There is much housecleaning to be done before the year-end: expect interviews with Jim Guthrie, Secret Mommy, Amon Tobin (bonus round), Weakerthans and Handsome Furs in the next week or so.
In the meantime, here are some live reviews penned for Eye Weekly's web site, in reverse chronological order. For scrolling reference, here is: Spiral Beach, Tunng, Black Mountain, Beirut and Suzanne Vega.
SPIRAL BEACH, Run With the Kittens, Donlands and Mortimer, Friendly Rich and the Lollipop People, Sister Suvi @ Centre of Gravity, December 1. link
Lots of great pics here
How’s this for a hot Saturday night: a five-band bill in a black box-y room in the depths of Toronto’s east end featuring bands barely out of high school. But immediately upon entering the Center of Gravity—which, for you scientists out there, is at Gerrard and Greenwood—it was obvious that this was worth braving the season’s first serious snowfall for. Colourful curators Spiral Beach are a band that take the tired term “CD release party” very seriously, rather than just another random gig where a new album happens to be for sale.
It wasn’t just the grilled cheese sandwiches on offer for a toonie at the dry bar, or the mountain of coats on the floor as an ersatz coat check, or the tire swing in the corner, or the neon face painting, or the tricycles—though all these elements made a world of difference in transforming the space into a welcoming atmosphere. The fact that every band but one (Run with the Kittens) had a distinct calypso influence in at least one song only added to the festivities. Anywhere else, it would stick out as the least likely indie rock influence imaginable. Here, it was imperative to the fun factor.
The real indicator was the early sight of gawky teenagers dancing giddily to the intense ukulele-driven art rock of the opening act, Montreal’s Sister Suvi. There was equal enthusiasm for everyone and everything on this bill: everything but jaded cynicism and blurry boozing. There’s plenty of that on West Queen Street West, where many of these bands haunt Elvis Mondays at the Drake. This show was for the real-life kids of Degrassi Street, the spawn of boho parents and arts schools, the next generation who will take the Torontopian torch and run with it. In other words, Whitney, the children who are our future.
Friendly Rich was happy to play the token fogie on the bill, if only because it gave him a chance to play up his dirty old man image. “Back when I was in high school, I would have sex with cantaloupe,” he informed us. “Any of you kids do that?” He was greeted by a small round of cheers—slightly less so when he told us, “I’d touch all of you if it wasn’t illegal.” Nonetheless, the fedora-adorned ringmaster had no trouble getting the crowd two-stepping to songs about Toronto boxer George Chuvalo and Afghani warlords, with his lovely Lollipoppers on harpsichord, trombone, bassoon and banjo. The gig poster had promised “circus acts” that didn’t materialize; by merely being himself, Friendly Rich more than compensated.
After the old dudes shuffled off stage and went home to bed, the kids took over. The boisterous six-piece party Donlands and Mortimer are considerably more exciting than the non-descript east-end intersection they’re named after (although it does sport a spiffy dry cleaning joint). Ridiculously talented and good looking, both guitarist Carmen Elle and drummer Steven Foster have plenty of stage charisma to burn; they trade off lead vocals and own the stage as if it were their birthright. The rest of the band are no slackers either—including a tight horn section—but there’s a clear sense that this is more of a group of friends than a real band. Several have their own solo projects that will likely begin to take precedence, but in the meantime D&M’s exuberance goes a long way. It’s a bit like Most Serene Republic—only good. They got the largest crowd reaction—if only because the crowd had dwindled somewhat by the time the equally ecstatic Spiral Beach took the stage at 12:30 a.m.
Run With the Kittens took advantage of the venue’s day job as a circus training centre when singer/guitarist Nate Mills—clad in a Santa suit, as were his bandmates—entered on a harness, elevated a good fifteen feet above the stage, while his rhythm section plowed through a Primus-y medley of “Phantom of the Opera” and “Kashmir.” Mills’s flailing legs suggested that a few more dry runs with the stage hand might have served him well, especially when he was unceremoniously yanked around—seemingly unexpectedly—in the middle of the set. The bizarro theatrics helped distract from the band’s mid-90s frat party music, complete with a terrible rap called “Let’s Make Fuck” that even Ice-T (he of “Let’s Get Buck Naked And Fuck” fame) wouldn’t chuckle at.
Spiral Beach didn’t need theatrics in their own set—their music is a new wave circus unto itself. They’ve always been an exceptional live band, but in front of a packed house fuelled by teen spirit, bathed in strobe lights and egged on by their peers, Spiral Beach made it clear why they will be the first band from their graduating class to conquer the world. Airick Woodhead is morphing into a guitar hero and a much better vocalist; brother Daniel balances the push and pull between prog and pop, bassist Dorian Wolf has toned down the mugging and lets his instrument do the talking; and keyboardist/singer Maddy Wylde is easily the most magnetic female stage presence in the country. Too bad, then, that one young girl decided to face the crowd and dance on stage right in front of Wylde for most the night—the show is not about you, honey.
The main attractions called it a night at 1.30, though the venue remained open until dawn, with a pancake breakfast promised for the stragglers. Outside was a blustery wind, some serious snowfall, and the sight of streetcars slowing to a crawl. Staying inside with Spiral Beach kids all night seemed much more appealing.
Live Eye: Tunng @ the Horseshoe, October 28. link
Listening to Tunng’s third album Good Arrows—where they transform from a promising folktronica band to a bonafide pop outfit—you would never expect their live show to be a visceral experience.
And for the most part, it wasn’t. By the time a rousing and rabid audience called them back for a well-deserved encore, it was easy to forget that most of the audience walked into the Horseshoe well prepared for a subdued Sunday night show observing six somber hippies quietly enacting their 21st century Wicker Man pageant. Yet from the moment they took to the stage, the smiling troubadours of Tunng were quick to replace any mystique with full-on geek, courtesy of their jovial stage banter, which dwelled on their fascination with Toronto’s many charms—especially our black and albino squirrels (“Wot, do you play chess with them, then?”).
With their gorgeous four-part British folk harmonies and three acoustic guitars, Tunng may well have been playing Hugh’s Room for Fairport Convention enthusiasts. It’s their electronic touches—loops, drum machines, and live manipulations—that likely got them signed to Thrill Jockey in the U.S. (home to Mouse on Mars, Trans Am and all things Tortoise) and a crossover to a slightly cooler, non-boomer crowd. Though the modern embellishments provide lovely Four Tet textures on CD, in a live setting they proved to be minor distractions, especially when clarinetist Martin Smith’s seashell percussion was just as effective at providing creepy crackles as Phil Winter’s laptop machinations (though Smith should lay off the g-damn windchimes). There were times when the electronics seemed downright gimmicky: during the somber murder ballad “Jenny Again,” Winter injected an incongruous sample of a man exclaiming “Jenny!” For a split second, it actually seemed like they might break into De La Soul’s “Jenifa Taught Me.”
Though the not-so-freaky folk is their core strength, the beats do transform Tunng’s material on the dancefloor. By set’s end, the cross-armed chinstrokers in the crowd were clapping along and dancing to the current single “Bricks”—a song that fulfills the pop potential of the long-lost Beta Band much better than that group’s current spin-off The Aliens manage to do.
But it’s not because they can pull off a pop song that places Tunng in a position to be much more than a footnote to the fading folktronica fetish: it’s because that’s only one of their many strengths.
Live Eye: Black Mountain @ Horseshoe, October 5. link
If it’s too loud, I am without a doubt too old. But for the record, I wasn’t the only one plugging my ears while Black Mountain tried to peel paint off the back walls of the Horseshoe on Friday night.
Sure, there were occasions when the visceral punch was welcome—as on the one-two punch of “Druganaut” and “Don’t Run Our Hearts Around,” two of only three songs they played from their near-flawless 2005 debut, which remains a vibrant mélange of psych rock, glam, gothic garage and stoner soul.
The other old favourite was the set-closing “No Hits.” It was an apt choice, seeing as how the bulk of the two-hour set was devoted to material from the forthcoming In The Future [isn’t the future always forthcoming?], due in January. As a showcase for new material, however, little of it connected—and the bludgeoning volume didn’t help.
The most welcome change is the increased presence of vocalist Amber Webber—who previously played second fiddle to guitarist/songwriter Stephen McBean, and shines on her own in Lightning Dust. The set opened with an ambient number that allowed her to play with her vibrato, but even that powerful tool soon wore out its welcome. Instead of swooning at her Grace Slick stylings, we were left wincing while Webber’s wails lacerated our eardrums.
On the other hand, McBean’s guitar playing does benefit from that volume, especially on new tracks “Tyrant” and “Lake of Fire.” And he’s become a better player—if not a better soloist, as some of the more extended (read: jammy) passages betrayed.
But what was truly missing from much of the new material was powerhouse drummer Josh Wells. His propulsive fills were key to the grooves that made the first album so exciting; now he seems content to lay back and play it straight. On one of the only new numbers where he was let loose—with several bars of a drum solo at the conclusion—the audience let loose the loudest roar of the night.
Who knows—this was early in the tour, and maybe these songs came together better in the studio, which is how the first album was written. And maybe they’ll be easier to appreciate without our individual pain thresholds entering into the equation. Hopefully Black Mountain can still be a land of mystery and beauty and awe, rather than the scorched landscape we saw Friday night.
Live Eye: Beirut @ Danforth Music Hall, October 2, 2007. link
The ukulele has taken a beating over the years. After all, it’s hard to recover from an association with such an iconic figure as Tiny Tim. And other than Beirut’s Zach Condon, the only modern singer daring enough to redeem this poor instrument is Stephen Merritt of the Magnetic Fields, who may well be using those dainty strings only as a perverse counterbalance to his deep baritone.
It suits Condon’s confident crooning style to a T, however, a feat that may well make him the only man capable of making the ukulele sexy. The only instruments that inspired more screams of adoration at this sold-out show were Beirut’s trademark, triumphant Balkan horns. They served as a rallying call for dancers, who—as usual—were deterred by ushers. Halfway through the show, it was becoming obvious that a typically Torontonian reserve was what restricted Beirut from delivering a great performance as opposed to a perfunctory run through songs from 2006’s Gulag Orkestar and the brand new album, The Flying Cup Club.
And so at just over the halfway point—and in an exact replication of last week’s Devendra Banhart show at the same venue—the band gestured the audience to not only get out of their seats, but to join them on stage. Soon enough about 100 people flanked the band and cheered them on—except for the incredibly awkward dude who planted himself directly in front of the drum set and looked nonchalant with his hands in his jean pockets. If you’re so bored, buddy, why on earth did you rush the stage?
Condon and his crew were delighted by the newly charged atmosphere, but they didn’t alter the set list to play up the momentum. Indeed, it was remarkable to see that no matter what the tempo was—or how many of them are waltzes—Beirut songs were consistently stirring and anthemic enough to cause inspired wig-outs from hippies and preppies alike. And there are few stranger sights than seeing how early track “Postcards From Italy”—powered by little more than ukuleles, mandolins, and Condon’s soaring voice—was received like a rock’n’roll rave-up.
The other citizens of this Beirut are well-assembled: other than the accordionist, the violinist and the drummer, each of whom stayed put, everyone else traded off on guitar, bass, ukulele, mandolin, brass instruments, clarinet, flute, saxophone and keyboards. Owen Pallett ran on stage, without a violin, to sing “Cliquot” from the new Beirut album and then promptly disappeared, re-emerging only for the encore to play some horn and dance with the hordes.
Colleen opened the show with her electroacoustic loops of acoustic guitar and cello, which works much better in the studio than on stage. Maybe it’s because her loops take too long to accumulate—especially when she’s standing alone on stage with a set of wind chimes—but her payoffs aren’t worth the wait. When listening at home, her music suggests all sorts of fantastic worlds. On stage, the mystique evaporates quickly.
Of course, that’s also true of Beirut: mystique was a big part of their early appeal, when Gulag Orkestar came out of nowhere to become a word-of-mouth indie hit. But stepping out from behind his ukulele doesn’t detract from Condon’s charisma, and when those Balkan brass lines kick in, one can’t help but think of that old Waterboys line: “Your love feels like trumpets sound.”
Live Eye: Suzanne Vega @ Mod Club, September 26. link
Six years after her last album, 11 years since her last Toronto gig—not to mention a divorce, a remarriage, a label change, a battle with depression and a death in the family—the 48-year-old Suzanne Vega hasn’t aged a bit. Not her poetic, observational odes to New York City, as heard on her strong new album Beauty and Crime, which is vintage Vega. Not her style, which inspired one lady listener to heckle, “You’re still a total babe!” And not her stage presence, which can shift from engaging storytelling to a steely-eyed glare, as on her classic teen alienation anthem “Left of Center.”
The set touched down on all corners of her catalogue: the sexy slink of “Caramel;” six songs from her first two albums; seven songs from Beauty and Crime, including the peppy pop song “Frank and Ava” and the haunting “Ludlow Street.” Many were introduced with brief stories or statements that only a songwriter of Vega’s stature would dare get away with: “I was walking down the street pondering the nature of desire—as I often do,” she chuckled.
Her four-piece band arrangements are more vivid than those heard on Beauty and Crime, though they did lean heavily towards her 80s sound: string patches for the keyboards and flange and chorus pedals for the electric guitar. There was no denying that the secondary star of the show was engaging bassist Mike Visceglia, whose dextrous playing provided the lone accompaniment for Vega’s vocals on “Blood Makes Noise” and “Left of Center.” No wonder he’s been in her steady employ for over 20 years.
Obscure tracks from her back catalogue were greeted with cheers at the opening chords, yet the most obvious song was met with relative silence. After she introduced the band and started “Luka”—which we assumed would close the set—it felt like the room took a deep breath and thought, “Oh right, this one.” It’s simultaneously her biggest hit and her most depressing lyric. No matter how great a pop song it is, no matter how stirring the chiming guitar solo still is, its frank character sketch of an abused child still casts a pall over a room.
As on 1987’s Solitude Standing, Vega bookended the set with “Tom’s Diner,” arriving on the stage to sing it a cappella—only to discover that the audience was determined to interrupt her by singing the coda as a chorus, as it was on the early 90s dance remix. She closed with her own band’s take on the remix, where the polite and poised songwriter took the mic in hand and awkwardly danced around the stage.
“I could see some of you getting worried there for a moment,” she deadpanned after the dance. Really, the only thing we were worried about at that point was the prospect of another 11-year wait for her return.
-end-
Showing posts with label Spiral Beach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spiral Beach. Show all posts
Friday, December 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
November 07 review round-up
Reviews today from the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury, mainstream daily newspapers where I do a weekly consumer guide review column.
In alphabetical order, we have: Federation, Jay-Z, Kevin Michaels, Ghislain Poirier, Prefuse 73, Seal, Sigur Ros, Spiral Beach, Wintersleep, Neil Young.
Not appearing here, but that ran in the paper are: Band of Horses, Bishop Allen, Buck 65, Duran Duran, the Inhabitants, the Most Serene Republic, Sadies, Shaggy, Siouxie, and Peanut Butter Wolf. Different reviews of Buck 65, Bishop Allen, Duran Duran and Siouxie ran in either Eye Weekly or Magnet; those will be posted here shortly. If you work with any of these artists and need a clipping, let me know.
Federation – It’s Whateva (Reprise/Warner)
Now that Timbaland, the Neptunes and Kanye West are all firmly entrenched in the mainstream—where they walk a fine line between gleeful subversion and tired old tricks for the highest pop bidder—there’s a void waiting to be filled by the next great American hip-hop producer who can take things to the next level. So far the safe money should be on Rick Rock, the architect of San Francisco’s hyphy scene and the puppetmaster behind Federation.
The three MCs here are entirely disposable jokers who are too stupid to be offensive; thankfully, that also means they’re easy to ignore, leaving the listener to instead focus on the fat synths, rubbery bass and ominous beats that signify the hyphy sound. Rock only stumbles when he tries to be commercial, like on the sappy Snoop Dogg track “Happy I Met You”; he does, however, pull off some solid electro soul balladry on “When I Was Your Man” and even some shockingly convincing metal crossover on “Black Roses,” featuring Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker.
Rock is the true star here; as for the Federation themselves—well, whateva. (November 1, 2007)
Jay-Z – American Gangster (Roc-a-fella/Universal)
Now that he’s the richest man in hip-hop—as well as president and CEO of DefJam Records—Jay-Z is nothing if not a shrewd marketer. Linking himself to the streetwise story of Harlem heroin kingpin Frank Lucas is undoubtedly a bid to bolster the gangster persona of this now-respectable mainstream MC. This is not the soundtrack to the new star-studded Lucas biopic of the same title, though Jay-Z claims that each song is based on a scene from the film; snippets of dialogue can be heard throughout.
The story of Lucas—much like most of the less cartoonish aspects of gangsta rap—argues that criminal culture is one of the only options for impoverished African-Americans to buy into the American dream. Whether this is still relevant 50 years after the beginning of desegregation is subject for debate. But in an era when corporate cronyism and outright deception are government policy, the glorification of gangster culture as a metaphor for American life—found everywhere from The Sopranos and The Wire to The Clipse and 50 Cent—is more timely than ever.
In returning to this subject matter, Jay-Z pens some of his more memorable lines in years, particularly when he gets into the “genesis of the nemesis,” recalling his broken home and Brooklyn youth. But he also embodies the nihilism inherent in Bush-era America, where every criminal is quick to absolve himself of responsibility. Everything can be rationalized as being a product of the environment.
For starters, Jay-Z is not ready to be a scapegoat in the ghetto language debates sparked by the Don Imus incident earlier this year. He’s unrepentant for the self-loathing that his language reflects back to his own community—and others, as the Imus confusion pointed out. “I missed that part/ Where it stopped being about Imus/ What do my lyrics got to do with this sh*t?” he asks, like an innocent bystander, not the cultural icon he is. “Are you saying what I’m spittin’/ is worse than these celebutantes showing they kitten? You kiddin’… / Let’s stop the bullsh*tting/ ‘til we all without sin/ let’s quit the pulpit-ing.”
Right—so unless everyone is without sin, we all might as well go on sinning. It’s a thought echoed by MC David Banner, who has openly attacked America’s black leadership—especially Al Sharpton—for not solving every problem that faces black youth today, essentially arguing that the persistence of racism in America is the fault of the previous generation. Banner wrote in a statement: “This life we are continuing to live was handed to us by the people before us who didn’t do much to clean it up.” Ghetto life is what it is—it’s not the kids’ fault. Blame it on the parents.
Jay-Z takes this and runs with it: “We ain’t thugs for the sake of being thugs/ nobody do that where we grew up, nigga, duh… / You ain’t gimme forty acres and a mule/ so I got my Glock 40, now I’m cool/ And if Al Sharpton is speakin’ for me/ somebody get him the word/ and tell him I remove the curses/ if he can tell me our schools gon’ be perfect/ When Jena Six don’t exist/ tell him that’s when I’ll stop sayin’ ‘bitch.’”
When trying to tie in his own story with that of Lucas, Jay-Z backfires a bit when he goes on an anti-snitching screed on “No Hook”; after all, Lucas only served 12 years of his 70-year sentence—many believe it’s because Lucas himself started talking to police. Just like any gangster, Jay-Z doesn’t have any trouble stretching the truth to his own ends. (November 8, 2007)
Kevin Michaels – s/t (Downtown/Warner)
This might sound familiar: a cocksure Italian/African-American who plays a mean guitar and wants to mix up his rock and R&B with a spine-tingling falsetto. For young Philadelphia singer Kevin Michael, the comparisons with Prince stop there: instead of being a one-man show, he employs a small army of co-writers and collaborators, and much of this debut album doesn’t rise above pedestrian songs along the lines of “Liquid Lava Love” and “Hood Buzzin’,” despite guests such as Q-Tip and Lupe Fiasco. Michaels’ lyrics are at times downright embarrassing: “Rent is racked up and my toilet is backed up/ Damn, wish I could flush the drama away.”
Yet he does show plenty of promise, mainly because of his elastic voice, which shows all of the range of his labelmate Cee-Lo of Gnarls Barkley. And he also boasts two great singles, “We All Want the Same Thing” and “It Don’t Make Any Difference To Me”; each of them appears here twice, once in highly produced pop version with a guest MC, and then again as a low-key acoustic number. It’s too bad all his talent goes into those two songs. Next time out we’ll be expecting a lot more. (November 1, 2007)
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune/Outside)
The term “urban music” has always been a bizarre, unnecessary code word for hip-hop and R&B. Other than the weird racial politics behind this, it’s a waste of a perfectly good descriptor. Montreal’s Ghislain Poirier makes music that speaks directly to the multicultural urban experience, where harsh electronics punctuate the daily rhythm, where speaker-rattling bass is the one sound that unites all. Poirier’s vision of urban paradise is where Brazilian baile funk meets UK “grime” hip-hop meets Jamaican dancehall with Arabic and East Asian melodies on top.
Poirier has never had a problem concocting compelling instrumental narratives, but as a safeguard here he lines up a wealth of obscure MCs to toast on top, including Toronto’s nerdcore Abdominal, Quebec’s joual jokers Omnikrom and Chicago dancehall king Zulu.
No Ground Under is his first release on a reputable international label—a chance for him to give back to the globalized beats he borrows. Soon enough, however, the world will be borrowing from him. (November 15, 2007)
Prefuse 73 – Preparations (Warp/Fusion 3)
In his work as Prefuse 73, Guillermo Scott Herren always came across like an ADD kid who took meticulous delight in splicing up hip-hop and jazz samples, re-arranging them into itchy and glitchy compositions that gave you the jitters. In his considerably more pastoral alterego of Savath + Savalas, Herren makes ambient Spanish folk music that fades into the background all too easily.
On Preparations, however, Herren happily marries the lush arrangements of his other project onto the sliced and diced beats that are the trademark of Prefuse 73. This results in a captivating tension, where beauty proves eternally elusive as Herren continually pulls a bait-and-swith with the rhythm, yanking the carpet out from underneath. It’s no coincidence that tracks are given titles like “Aborted Hug” and “Spaced + Dissonant.” There are times when it sounds like someone turning a radio dial in rhythm—is that necessarily a bad thing?
While his earlier recordings were certainly innovative, this is the first time Herren sounds like he’s finding his own voice as a composer.
And as a bonus to fans, instead of recycling the leftovers into separately sold EPs—as he usually does—they’re included here on a bonus disc devoid of any beats at all, which is a lovely, light dessert after such a dense main course. (November 15, 2007)
Seal – System (Warner)
This suave Grammy magnet clings to the 90s formula that made him a global superstar: Euro pop with techno underpinnings elevated by the occasional folk flourish and Seal’s soulful voice, which promises assurance and salvation in a cold, heartless world. You can’t argue with his System, which even at its most maudlin still stands tall over anything else you’re going to hear in the drugstore aisles. Celebrity watchers will delight in the “Wedding Day” duet with his supermodel wife Heidi Klum, but nothing here tops the opening track, “If It’s In My Mind It’s On My Face,” where the eternally glum and scarfaced singer takes the weight of the world off Bono’s back and carries it himself. It’s overwrought and heavy-handed and has the cheap disco pulse of a World Cup anthem, but only a singer of Seal’s depth could begin to pull it off. (November 22, 2007)
Sigur Ros – Hvarf/Heim (XL)
Icelandic band Sigur Ros never do things normally—like sing in a language they didn’t make up themselves, for starters. Chock it up to their contrarian nature that these two EPs are not the soundtrack to their new concert film, which bears the similar title Heima. The movie was shot during their first-ever full tour of Iceland, where every show was free: from a crowd of 25,000 in Reykjavik to small community halls in remote outposts. During that tour, Sigur Ros played acoustically for the first time ever, which led to the decision to release an EP of that material, accompanied by an electric EP of b-sides and re-recordings of early material.
While the film sounds fascinating, the not-quite-a-soundtrack isn’t exactly essential for anyone but hardcore fans. Sigur Ros music is already sparse, haunting and gorgeous—playing it acoustically doesn’t prove to be revelatory. Likewise, the b-sides—which date from 1995 to 2002—slipped through the quality filter of their full-length albums for a reason; some of this is the most heavy-handed material the normally delicate band has ever made. Save your money for a movie ticket. (November 22, 2007)
Spiral Beach – Ball (Sparks Music)
As we all know, graduating from adolescence is daunting and scary. Toronto’s Spiral Beach hadn’t finished high school when they recorded the exuberant pop of their first album; now that they’re a bit older, the world isn’t as colourful and joyous as it first appeared. The carefree, almost cartoonish nature of early material is replaced with ghosts, black eyes and beasts; the sci-fi vibe remains, and each member’s instrumental prowess gives even the weaker material inventive twists. Despite their talent, Ball falls short of their considerable potential. No worries, though—there’s lots of time. (November 15, 2007)
Wintersleep – Welcome to the Night Sky (Labwork/Sonic Unyon)
Are the 90s over yet? Wintersleep don’t seem to think so. Thankfully, the Halifax quintet have moved on from being moodier Pearl Jam disciples and have started to mine Radiohead’s The Bends—while vocalist Paul Murphy is bearing a remarkable resemblance to Adam Duritz of Counting Crows, with shades of Peter Gabriel on the slightly Celtic alt-rock of “Weighty Ghost.” Thankfully, Wintersleep are more melodic than other crass imitators, and the rhythm section of Loel Campbell and Mike Bigelow—both can often be found moonlighting in Holy Fuck—are several steps above many of their peers. There’s a great band in here somewhere with a voice of its own, though that’s still at least one album away. (November 8, 2007)
Neil Young – Chrome Dreams II (Warner)
It’s hard to believe that someone as prolific as Neil Young still has hours of unreleased material in his vaults—especially considering the dubious quality of many of his official releases. This album is somewhere in between.
Though it features mostly new material—much of which is instantly forgettable—the title is a nod to a 1977 album that Young recorded and scrapped, releasing some salvaged tracks (“Like a Hurricane” and “Pocahontas” among them) on other albums. Don’t bother looking for any kind of thematic thread, however—the title is merely a red herring for geeky fans.
The single reason most of his disciples are excited about this is the presence of “Ordinary People,” a song that dates back to 1988. It’s notable only because it led Young out of the wilderness of much of his 80s output, acting as a bridge into the career renaissance that was 1989’s Freedom.
The 18-minute song is a by-the-numbers portrait of a crumbling consumerist American dream, but Young’s scorching guitar solos—there’s one after each of the nine verses—speak more about paranoia, collapse and frustration than anything he expresses in the actual lyrics. They also explain why he would shortly embark on a mutual love affair with Sonic Youth and the grunge generation.
But even this song is a mixed success: the structure is monotonous, the groove is plodding, and the horn section is a wasteful distraction. No wonder he kept it in the vaults; there are several similar tracks on Freedom—both lyrically and musically—that are far superior.
You have to be a major Neil Young geek to appreciate Chrome Dreams II. Anyone else with the strange urge to buy a new Neil Young album should stick with the 1971 Massey Hall concert released earlier this year. (November 1, 2007)
In alphabetical order, we have: Federation, Jay-Z, Kevin Michaels, Ghislain Poirier, Prefuse 73, Seal, Sigur Ros, Spiral Beach, Wintersleep, Neil Young.
Not appearing here, but that ran in the paper are: Band of Horses, Bishop Allen, Buck 65, Duran Duran, the Inhabitants, the Most Serene Republic, Sadies, Shaggy, Siouxie, and Peanut Butter Wolf. Different reviews of Buck 65, Bishop Allen, Duran Duran and Siouxie ran in either Eye Weekly or Magnet; those will be posted here shortly. If you work with any of these artists and need a clipping, let me know.
Federation – It’s Whateva (Reprise/Warner)
Now that Timbaland, the Neptunes and Kanye West are all firmly entrenched in the mainstream—where they walk a fine line between gleeful subversion and tired old tricks for the highest pop bidder—there’s a void waiting to be filled by the next great American hip-hop producer who can take things to the next level. So far the safe money should be on Rick Rock, the architect of San Francisco’s hyphy scene and the puppetmaster behind Federation.
The three MCs here are entirely disposable jokers who are too stupid to be offensive; thankfully, that also means they’re easy to ignore, leaving the listener to instead focus on the fat synths, rubbery bass and ominous beats that signify the hyphy sound. Rock only stumbles when he tries to be commercial, like on the sappy Snoop Dogg track “Happy I Met You”; he does, however, pull off some solid electro soul balladry on “When I Was Your Man” and even some shockingly convincing metal crossover on “Black Roses,” featuring Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker.
Rock is the true star here; as for the Federation themselves—well, whateva. (November 1, 2007)
Jay-Z – American Gangster (Roc-a-fella/Universal)
Now that he’s the richest man in hip-hop—as well as president and CEO of DefJam Records—Jay-Z is nothing if not a shrewd marketer. Linking himself to the streetwise story of Harlem heroin kingpin Frank Lucas is undoubtedly a bid to bolster the gangster persona of this now-respectable mainstream MC. This is not the soundtrack to the new star-studded Lucas biopic of the same title, though Jay-Z claims that each song is based on a scene from the film; snippets of dialogue can be heard throughout.
The story of Lucas—much like most of the less cartoonish aspects of gangsta rap—argues that criminal culture is one of the only options for impoverished African-Americans to buy into the American dream. Whether this is still relevant 50 years after the beginning of desegregation is subject for debate. But in an era when corporate cronyism and outright deception are government policy, the glorification of gangster culture as a metaphor for American life—found everywhere from The Sopranos and The Wire to The Clipse and 50 Cent—is more timely than ever.
In returning to this subject matter, Jay-Z pens some of his more memorable lines in years, particularly when he gets into the “genesis of the nemesis,” recalling his broken home and Brooklyn youth. But he also embodies the nihilism inherent in Bush-era America, where every criminal is quick to absolve himself of responsibility. Everything can be rationalized as being a product of the environment.
For starters, Jay-Z is not ready to be a scapegoat in the ghetto language debates sparked by the Don Imus incident earlier this year. He’s unrepentant for the self-loathing that his language reflects back to his own community—and others, as the Imus confusion pointed out. “I missed that part/ Where it stopped being about Imus/ What do my lyrics got to do with this sh*t?” he asks, like an innocent bystander, not the cultural icon he is. “Are you saying what I’m spittin’/ is worse than these celebutantes showing they kitten? You kiddin’… / Let’s stop the bullsh*tting/ ‘til we all without sin/ let’s quit the pulpit-ing.”
Right—so unless everyone is without sin, we all might as well go on sinning. It’s a thought echoed by MC David Banner, who has openly attacked America’s black leadership—especially Al Sharpton—for not solving every problem that faces black youth today, essentially arguing that the persistence of racism in America is the fault of the previous generation. Banner wrote in a statement: “This life we are continuing to live was handed to us by the people before us who didn’t do much to clean it up.” Ghetto life is what it is—it’s not the kids’ fault. Blame it on the parents.
Jay-Z takes this and runs with it: “We ain’t thugs for the sake of being thugs/ nobody do that where we grew up, nigga, duh… / You ain’t gimme forty acres and a mule/ so I got my Glock 40, now I’m cool/ And if Al Sharpton is speakin’ for me/ somebody get him the word/ and tell him I remove the curses/ if he can tell me our schools gon’ be perfect/ When Jena Six don’t exist/ tell him that’s when I’ll stop sayin’ ‘bitch.’”
When trying to tie in his own story with that of Lucas, Jay-Z backfires a bit when he goes on an anti-snitching screed on “No Hook”; after all, Lucas only served 12 years of his 70-year sentence—many believe it’s because Lucas himself started talking to police. Just like any gangster, Jay-Z doesn’t have any trouble stretching the truth to his own ends. (November 8, 2007)
Kevin Michaels – s/t (Downtown/Warner)
This might sound familiar: a cocksure Italian/African-American who plays a mean guitar and wants to mix up his rock and R&B with a spine-tingling falsetto. For young Philadelphia singer Kevin Michael, the comparisons with Prince stop there: instead of being a one-man show, he employs a small army of co-writers and collaborators, and much of this debut album doesn’t rise above pedestrian songs along the lines of “Liquid Lava Love” and “Hood Buzzin’,” despite guests such as Q-Tip and Lupe Fiasco. Michaels’ lyrics are at times downright embarrassing: “Rent is racked up and my toilet is backed up/ Damn, wish I could flush the drama away.”
Yet he does show plenty of promise, mainly because of his elastic voice, which shows all of the range of his labelmate Cee-Lo of Gnarls Barkley. And he also boasts two great singles, “We All Want the Same Thing” and “It Don’t Make Any Difference To Me”; each of them appears here twice, once in highly produced pop version with a guest MC, and then again as a low-key acoustic number. It’s too bad all his talent goes into those two songs. Next time out we’ll be expecting a lot more. (November 1, 2007)
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune/Outside)
The term “urban music” has always been a bizarre, unnecessary code word for hip-hop and R&B. Other than the weird racial politics behind this, it’s a waste of a perfectly good descriptor. Montreal’s Ghislain Poirier makes music that speaks directly to the multicultural urban experience, where harsh electronics punctuate the daily rhythm, where speaker-rattling bass is the one sound that unites all. Poirier’s vision of urban paradise is where Brazilian baile funk meets UK “grime” hip-hop meets Jamaican dancehall with Arabic and East Asian melodies on top.
Poirier has never had a problem concocting compelling instrumental narratives, but as a safeguard here he lines up a wealth of obscure MCs to toast on top, including Toronto’s nerdcore Abdominal, Quebec’s joual jokers Omnikrom and Chicago dancehall king Zulu.
No Ground Under is his first release on a reputable international label—a chance for him to give back to the globalized beats he borrows. Soon enough, however, the world will be borrowing from him. (November 15, 2007)
Prefuse 73 – Preparations (Warp/Fusion 3)
In his work as Prefuse 73, Guillermo Scott Herren always came across like an ADD kid who took meticulous delight in splicing up hip-hop and jazz samples, re-arranging them into itchy and glitchy compositions that gave you the jitters. In his considerably more pastoral alterego of Savath + Savalas, Herren makes ambient Spanish folk music that fades into the background all too easily.
On Preparations, however, Herren happily marries the lush arrangements of his other project onto the sliced and diced beats that are the trademark of Prefuse 73. This results in a captivating tension, where beauty proves eternally elusive as Herren continually pulls a bait-and-swith with the rhythm, yanking the carpet out from underneath. It’s no coincidence that tracks are given titles like “Aborted Hug” and “Spaced + Dissonant.” There are times when it sounds like someone turning a radio dial in rhythm—is that necessarily a bad thing?
While his earlier recordings were certainly innovative, this is the first time Herren sounds like he’s finding his own voice as a composer.
And as a bonus to fans, instead of recycling the leftovers into separately sold EPs—as he usually does—they’re included here on a bonus disc devoid of any beats at all, which is a lovely, light dessert after such a dense main course. (November 15, 2007)
Seal – System (Warner)
This suave Grammy magnet clings to the 90s formula that made him a global superstar: Euro pop with techno underpinnings elevated by the occasional folk flourish and Seal’s soulful voice, which promises assurance and salvation in a cold, heartless world. You can’t argue with his System, which even at its most maudlin still stands tall over anything else you’re going to hear in the drugstore aisles. Celebrity watchers will delight in the “Wedding Day” duet with his supermodel wife Heidi Klum, but nothing here tops the opening track, “If It’s In My Mind It’s On My Face,” where the eternally glum and scarfaced singer takes the weight of the world off Bono’s back and carries it himself. It’s overwrought and heavy-handed and has the cheap disco pulse of a World Cup anthem, but only a singer of Seal’s depth could begin to pull it off. (November 22, 2007)
Sigur Ros – Hvarf/Heim (XL)
Icelandic band Sigur Ros never do things normally—like sing in a language they didn’t make up themselves, for starters. Chock it up to their contrarian nature that these two EPs are not the soundtrack to their new concert film, which bears the similar title Heima. The movie was shot during their first-ever full tour of Iceland, where every show was free: from a crowd of 25,000 in Reykjavik to small community halls in remote outposts. During that tour, Sigur Ros played acoustically for the first time ever, which led to the decision to release an EP of that material, accompanied by an electric EP of b-sides and re-recordings of early material.
While the film sounds fascinating, the not-quite-a-soundtrack isn’t exactly essential for anyone but hardcore fans. Sigur Ros music is already sparse, haunting and gorgeous—playing it acoustically doesn’t prove to be revelatory. Likewise, the b-sides—which date from 1995 to 2002—slipped through the quality filter of their full-length albums for a reason; some of this is the most heavy-handed material the normally delicate band has ever made. Save your money for a movie ticket. (November 22, 2007)
Spiral Beach – Ball (Sparks Music)
As we all know, graduating from adolescence is daunting and scary. Toronto’s Spiral Beach hadn’t finished high school when they recorded the exuberant pop of their first album; now that they’re a bit older, the world isn’t as colourful and joyous as it first appeared. The carefree, almost cartoonish nature of early material is replaced with ghosts, black eyes and beasts; the sci-fi vibe remains, and each member’s instrumental prowess gives even the weaker material inventive twists. Despite their talent, Ball falls short of their considerable potential. No worries, though—there’s lots of time. (November 15, 2007)
Wintersleep – Welcome to the Night Sky (Labwork/Sonic Unyon)
Are the 90s over yet? Wintersleep don’t seem to think so. Thankfully, the Halifax quintet have moved on from being moodier Pearl Jam disciples and have started to mine Radiohead’s The Bends—while vocalist Paul Murphy is bearing a remarkable resemblance to Adam Duritz of Counting Crows, with shades of Peter Gabriel on the slightly Celtic alt-rock of “Weighty Ghost.” Thankfully, Wintersleep are more melodic than other crass imitators, and the rhythm section of Loel Campbell and Mike Bigelow—both can often be found moonlighting in Holy Fuck—are several steps above many of their peers. There’s a great band in here somewhere with a voice of its own, though that’s still at least one album away. (November 8, 2007)
Neil Young – Chrome Dreams II (Warner)
It’s hard to believe that someone as prolific as Neil Young still has hours of unreleased material in his vaults—especially considering the dubious quality of many of his official releases. This album is somewhere in between.
Though it features mostly new material—much of which is instantly forgettable—the title is a nod to a 1977 album that Young recorded and scrapped, releasing some salvaged tracks (“Like a Hurricane” and “Pocahontas” among them) on other albums. Don’t bother looking for any kind of thematic thread, however—the title is merely a red herring for geeky fans.
The single reason most of his disciples are excited about this is the presence of “Ordinary People,” a song that dates back to 1988. It’s notable only because it led Young out of the wilderness of much of his 80s output, acting as a bridge into the career renaissance that was 1989’s Freedom.
The 18-minute song is a by-the-numbers portrait of a crumbling consumerist American dream, but Young’s scorching guitar solos—there’s one after each of the nine verses—speak more about paranoia, collapse and frustration than anything he expresses in the actual lyrics. They also explain why he would shortly embark on a mutual love affair with Sonic Youth and the grunge generation.
But even this song is a mixed success: the structure is monotonous, the groove is plodding, and the horn section is a wasteful distraction. No wonder he kept it in the vaults; there are several similar tracks on Freedom—both lyrically and musically—that are far superior.
You have to be a major Neil Young geek to appreciate Chrome Dreams II. Anyone else with the strange urge to buy a new Neil Young album should stick with the 1971 Massey Hall concert released earlier this year. (November 1, 2007)
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Spiral Beach
Quick side note first: in my Baby Eagle post, allusions were made that Bry Webb of the Constantines might be up to some solo material. The rumours are true: his band is called the Paramedics, and they play their first official Toronto show on January 12. Info is here.
This week's NOW magazine has a cover story on Spiral Beach, written by the illustrious Sarah Liss. I'm tickled for the band, who I instantly fell in love with when I saw them for the first time last March, and Ms. Liss does a fine job of capturing their character, despite the absence of singer Maddy Wylde. (But who wrote that god-awful headline?)
I'd be lying, however, if I told you I wasn't mildly miffed: I was supposed to do a piece on them this week for chief competitor Eye, but NOW has a long-standing insistence on exclusivity when it comes to their cover subjects. Bastards! But this just means we'll wait until the new album is actually out [they were supposed to be recording this fall]. In the meantime, this seems as good a time as any to print this interview I had with drummer Daniel Woodhead in August, for a short article that ran in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record back then.
As a way of introduction, here's what I wrote in Exclaim about my virgin experience:
Spiral Beach
In a festival of hustlers, Spiral Beach was refreshing, even if only because these recent high school graduates are far too young to be jaded. An unconsciously 80s fashion sense made them look like they stepped out of a John Hughes movie, probably one made before they were even born. Their collective individual talent is terrifying considering their youth, but they put their music school chops to work on giddily unconventional new wave songs somewhere between the Sugarcubes and the B-52's. Each one is a bonafide rock star able to make their cojones sound casual, making Spiral Beach as playful as they are awe-inspiring. MB
Their youth is what most people find so attractive right now, and why not? They're viciously skilled and totally confident on stage, which is refreshing at the best of times, never mind at an age when most people are terrified to break out of their shell. Every one of them is an attention magnet, but they pull it off in spades. That giddy energy is probably what sells people on their proggier tendencies: they love a left turn like nobody's business, and they do this without belabouring the point. Their ten-song debut CD doesn't always live up to their potential but at least half of it stands as my favourite pop music of the year (sorry, I'm out of superlatives now that it's listmaking season).
Part of their success is also due to the fact that their parents are well-established in the Canadian folk scene, which leads to odd sights like old-timers Bernie Finkelstein and Richard Flohil giddily rubbing elbows with kids barely old enough to get into the club. No doubt all that wisdom will help them navigate the treacherous waters ahead--the sharks are swimming. I missed their Pop Montreal show in October, but rumour has it that O Patro Vys was stuffed with suits and professional chin-strokers.
This interview took place just as the industry hype started rolling (or at least before the band became fully aware of it). It's interesting to hear Mr. Woodhead admit to patently uncool formative musical influences, and to tacitly suggest that the Talking Heads aren't as daring as Spiral Beach is. (OK, he doesn't really say that, but it kind of sounds like it.)
Spiral Beach just got back from their first-ever tour, opening for the Hidden Cameras across the U.S. They met the band at Guelph's Hillside Festival (where I was an MC and introduced their set), just before this interview took place. Their next Toronto show is this Saturday at the Horseshoe, opening for Tokyo Police Club. Get there early!
This week's NOW magazine has a cover story on Spiral Beach, written by the illustrious Sarah Liss. I'm tickled for the band, who I instantly fell in love with when I saw them for the first time last March, and Ms. Liss does a fine job of capturing their character, despite the absence of singer Maddy Wylde. (But who wrote that god-awful headline?)
I'd be lying, however, if I told you I wasn't mildly miffed: I was supposed to do a piece on them this week for chief competitor Eye, but NOW has a long-standing insistence on exclusivity when it comes to their cover subjects. Bastards! But this just means we'll wait until the new album is actually out [they were supposed to be recording this fall]. In the meantime, this seems as good a time as any to print this interview I had with drummer Daniel Woodhead in August, for a short article that ran in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record back then.
As a way of introduction, here's what I wrote in Exclaim about my virgin experience:
Spiral Beach
In a festival of hustlers, Spiral Beach was refreshing, even if only because these recent high school graduates are far too young to be jaded. An unconsciously 80s fashion sense made them look like they stepped out of a John Hughes movie, probably one made before they were even born. Their collective individual talent is terrifying considering their youth, but they put their music school chops to work on giddily unconventional new wave songs somewhere between the Sugarcubes and the B-52's. Each one is a bonafide rock star able to make their cojones sound casual, making Spiral Beach as playful as they are awe-inspiring. MB
Their youth is what most people find so attractive right now, and why not? They're viciously skilled and totally confident on stage, which is refreshing at the best of times, never mind at an age when most people are terrified to break out of their shell. Every one of them is an attention magnet, but they pull it off in spades. That giddy energy is probably what sells people on their proggier tendencies: they love a left turn like nobody's business, and they do this without belabouring the point. Their ten-song debut CD doesn't always live up to their potential but at least half of it stands as my favourite pop music of the year (sorry, I'm out of superlatives now that it's listmaking season).
Part of their success is also due to the fact that their parents are well-established in the Canadian folk scene, which leads to odd sights like old-timers Bernie Finkelstein and Richard Flohil giddily rubbing elbows with kids barely old enough to get into the club. No doubt all that wisdom will help them navigate the treacherous waters ahead--the sharks are swimming. I missed their Pop Montreal show in October, but rumour has it that O Patro Vys was stuffed with suits and professional chin-strokers.
This interview took place just as the industry hype started rolling (or at least before the band became fully aware of it). It's interesting to hear Mr. Woodhead admit to patently uncool formative musical influences, and to tacitly suggest that the Talking Heads aren't as daring as Spiral Beach is. (OK, he doesn't really say that, but it kind of sounds like it.)
Spiral Beach just got back from their first-ever tour, opening for the Hidden Cameras across the U.S. They met the band at Guelph's Hillside Festival (where I was an MC and introduced their set), just before this interview took place. Their next Toronto show is this Saturday at the Horseshoe, opening for Tokyo Police Club. Get there early!
Spiral Beach, Daniel Woodhead
August 10, 2006
locale: phone interview from his Toronto home.
The first time I saw you was at the Drake during Canadian Music Week.
That was the 16th show at the Drake in a year. I don’t know how many shows we did that year, but probably half of them were there. At first we did an Elvis Monday: free bands and free food. The guy Will(iam New) who runs it invited us back a few times, so we figured we might as well play every week. Then just by coincidence, every other show we’d play turned out to be at the Drake.
Where are you all from originally?
Toronto. [Bassist] Dorian [Wolf] lived in New York until he was seven and then moved here. The rest of us lived close together as well, in the same neighbourhood. Me and Dorian went to school together, then I went to another one.
When did the band start?
These four started at the beginning of 2003. Me and Airick and Liam Titcomb, he was in the band with us before his Sony deal. To an extent it’s the same because Airick and I do a lot of the writing together. But it’s a different group of people. There were about five different names before.
Did any of them leave anything behind?
I got a t-shirt made up for Bilge.
How old were you both when the first band started?
Airick was 11. He and I never listened to pop music until we started the band. We listened to a bunch of people our parents knew, also Arrogant Worms and Moxy Fruvous, and both of those are half-comedy bands. We weren’t really into music, until we discovered that we could do that too. It seemed easy at the time, maybe because of the music we were listening to.
A lot of names come up when people talk about Spiral Beach. A lot of older people hear things from the 80s.
Yeah, I know, it’s kind of strange. There are a lot of bands that sound 80ish, lots of newer bands. If there’s an 80s influence it’s probably through newer bands that sound 80s. I don’t mind when people say it sounds 80s, that doesn’t matter. Or that it sounds like Talking Heads—they’re a good band! I know myself, structure wise, that some of the melodies and chords do things that Talking Heads wouldn’t do. I’m not really bothered if someone thinks we’re a Talking Heads rip-off band, but I don’t think people believe we are. [ed note: the youngest member of Spiral Beach was born the year Talking Heads broke up. Chew on that for a while.]
I grew up in the 80s, and I realise in retrospect that a lot of bands from that time tried to rewrite the book in terms of verse-chorus writing. Somewhere along the line things got conservative again and people wrote normal sounding songs. One of the things I like about your approach is a return to that experimentation and yet it’s all still pop.
That’s an important thing: making sure people want to listen to it. I listen to some music that is abrasive and rude on purpose, but I don’t think it’s cool to be doing that. But I like when we throw in some extremely noisy stuff in the middle of a happy song. I’d rather do that than make a noisy song that no one can listen to.
People aren’t as afraid of noisy interludes these days.
If you listen to mainstream pop stuff, some of the beats are heavy—and I don’t mean the 80s snare drum reverb thing. The crunk’n’b stuff is great.
There’s also the ostensibly classic rock bands like Wilco who have all sorts of noisy bits in their songs, and then there are people like Deerhoof, who are always out on a limb and yet always pop.
As far as new bands go, there’s a band we’d want to sound like. Not that I think we sound like them, but if I was comparing us to something we’d want to actually do, it’d be Deerhoof. Although they’re more far out.
The lyrics are not conventional either. Is it boring to sing about normal stuff?
I do the lyrics, which is weird because I play drums and not really any other instrument.
Don’t you play keyboards on one song too?
No. Oh wait, there was one older song that we stopped playing because it was too quiet. For young bands, when suddenly the dynamic changes and it gets quiet, usually people stop paying attention. If we were playing the ACC [Toronto hockey arena] it would be different. In a little club, people want to hear bangin’ music. We scrapped that song because it was always the low point of the show. That might change. It’s not like we want to play loud music all the time. But what were we talking about…
Lyrics.
The songs are usually about not specific things, but what everybody has songs about: vibes, having the right emotion to go with the lyrics or whatever. It can be pretty vague. But they’re not supposed to be intentionally poetic. I think that’s kinda stupid. Unless you’re Leonard Cohen, most people can’t get away with having the lyrics stand alone—and they shouldn’t have to, either. It’s essentially dance music, to get people into it physically.
Do you go for phonetics, just the way certain words go together?
A lot of it is rhyming, for sure. I’m usually more worried about the next rhyme than following a story. They’re not stories, although some of the newer songs are more so.
How old is this record now?
We just did a new pressing, so it’s kind of confusing.
Haven’t you changed the cover each time?
Yeah, we have three covers so far.
Are people collecting all of them?
I kinda hope not, because it’s kinda silly to buy the same CD three times over. We actually finished it at the beginning of November last year, and we had a CD release at the Drake. When that sold out we made new ones with new covers, and we’re probably going to make another cover as well. This record was very slow to do, which is bad in my opinion. Too many overdubs, too much time spent on not-important things while we were doing it.
That usually happens with a band’s first record.
We have some EPs that are older, but they were done in a similar way, we just didn’t work on them as much. When we do a new record in the fall, we’ll spend less time on it and be more efficient. Last summer we didn’t do much, just record every couple of days and do a take.
Not that many people know who Spiral Beach is, but everyone who does is very excited about it. I’ve heard rumours of major labels sniffing around.
Really? I haven’t. We were talking to Paper Bag a bit, but nothing serious and I don’t think that will happen. At this point, not a lot of people have been talking to us about record labels, and it doesn’t seem essential at this point. In Canada, at least. I don’t think we need a label for anything other than distribution. If we could get distribution through a label without actually signing to them, that would be much better.
The rumour I heard was from a friend who was hanging out with an A&R guy at Hillside. My friend was enthusing greatly, and the A&R guy said, “I’ve seen them a couple of times, I don’t get it and it will never sell.’”
Well, that’s cool. Better they say that now than later. Major labels—I don’t have something against them in principle, but I know a couple of people who have been totally screwed over by them. For distribution, they can put CDs anywhere, and we can’t do that. At this point, we’re delivering CDs by hand to stores in Toronto. I think if we did something with a major it would be just for distribution. But you never know.
You grew up in musical households, and you know people your own age who had or have deals.
Liam is the best example of that. He had a huge deal and they spent so much money making his record with the guy who produced Madonna and Michael Jackson, and now he has no deal and he’s recording in his bedroom. Not that his career is over, or anything. He’s 18.
Just for the record, how old are all of you now?
We’re 17 to 19.
How does that work in the Toronto club scene?
It’s usually fine. The only thing has been at NXNE and CMW showcases, but I know they have to be tight there with all the chaos going on. Normally they’re fine with it.
The Barmitzvah Brothers always had horror stories about Toronto when they were underage.
Yeah, we’ve been friends with them forever. I think somehow they had it worse than us, I don’t know why. They told us that too.
Then again, they all looked even younger than they actually were.
They’re older than us, but they kind of look younger, it’s true.
How was Hillside for you? [the festival took place two weeks before this interview]
It was really good, it was crazy. Everybody was there. All these people I know from different places. There were people there who were my parents’ friends, and people there I listen to but I’d never met before. I was talking to Ian Blurton, and how cool is that? Although him being there was kind of weird, he was a bit weirded out. His band is much more of a club, downtown rock band.
You don’t see him in daylight very often.
No! But his band was really good. I thought they were one of the best bands there.
I heard that you had gone for years, and that you were Dish Ninjas before.
Yeah, last year all four of us were Dish Ninjas. That was sweet. It was fun, to a point. It’s an easy job, and it’s beside the main stage, so that’s cool. It’s funny that we were all back for another year, but playing this time.
I saw that you played a bunch of folk festivals this year. Hillside is a very different festival, but when you go somewhere more folkie like Blue Skies [folk festival outside Kingston, ON], how does that go over?
We were there last week, and that’s the most hippie one of anything. It’s like, extreme hippie. It’s almost too much to take sometimes. Everyone is just so happy.
Are you the loudest band there?
Not this year. Last year we did a main stage set and it was really loud and good. This year we did a totally not-electric workshop, which totally failed. We had decided beforehand not to plan it, and that didn’t work at all. When we got there, people were expecting us to play our songs, and we were expecting to play with some old people there with acoustic guitars and jam. But people wanted us to play ‘Voodoo’ or something. We just sat around and eventually got around to playing some songs. We also tried to do some clapping pieces like Steve Reich, which didn’t work at all. It was fun being there, though.
Don’t the hippies love to clap? Why wouldn’t that work?
They were good at clapping. We just didn’t know what we were doing. I was just having a really bad day, anyway.
Was Hillside the first time you played with the Hidden Cameras?
Yeah, and I’ve only actually ever seen them at Hillside. I’ve never been to one of their shows, which is weird, because they’re from Toronto. Mike [Olsen] the cello player had come to one of our shows, and maybe some other guys too. We know people who know them.
-end-
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