Lesson No. 1

Stoley P.T.
(In Music We Trust)

Yesterday, the Pea Pod staff attacked Clear Channel's underwater fortress. Aaron took advantage of his diminutive stature by climbing into a heating duct. He crawled through the castle walls until he came upon the secret radio control room, which was filled with guardian robots. Aaron poked his head out of a ceiling vent and coated the robots with molten lead. In the uproar that followed, the rest of us Podders were able to shoot, stab, and knee-face-bash our way to the central room. We then guarded the doors, brandishing two AKs apiece, until the entire Clear Channel staff had either fled or perished. MPP ain't nothing to fuck with.

So! Here we are, suddenly in control of the radio. We get to decide what songs America hears. Get ready for your new diet: all Residents, all the time. Unless Aaron wrests control of the boards, in which case you're going to get all Lucksmiths, all the time.

Not really. If rock radio played nothing but the Residents starting tomorrow, riots and murders would sweep the nation. MPP can fill the airwaves with music that's creative and interesting, but it must also be reasonably radio-friendly. This is where Stoley P.T. comes in.

In a better world, Stoley P.T. would be the very definition of "radio-friendly." Their music is catchy, energetic, and easy for anybody to relate to. However, it pulls this off without ever pandering to the lowest common denominator. Lesson No. 1, their debut album, has a very broad appeal, and yet it isn't bland. No mean feat.

Not only that, but Lesson No. 1 would actually make sense within Clear Channel's current rotation. The album is post-grunge, if post-grunge weren't the musical equivalent of watching puppies being tortured to death. Stoley P.T. do the masculine tense verse/overdriven chorus thing. However, unlike their awful, awful contemporaries Nickleback and Puddle of Mudd (or more fairly, Stone Temple Pilots), they keep their music unpredictable and the singer isn't constipated. At best, their melodies have unique personalities; at worst, they're still plenty catchy.

And then there's the dissonance. This record contains loads of high, shrill, dissonant guitars. Not just noisy solos, but coloring over the verses and choruses themselves, making the songs a little more interesting and a little harder rockin'. It won't blow your mind; anyone born in the '80s has already heard infinitely more terrifying guitar noise on In Utero. Stoley P.T. just like a little tasteful weirdness decorating their alternative rock. Lesson No. 1 could serve as a great transitional album, carrying listeners from Incubus to the Pixies.

When I say that Stoley P.T. should be the ultimate radio-friendly band, I mean that as a compliment. However, it does also imply that they are never too challenging or creative. There's no true innovation here - just an assimilation of influences. But so is 99% of music, and they've picked a good combination of influences that haven't really been done before, to my knowledge. Stoley P.T. have created a unique sound derived from good sources. Hopefully on their next album, they will add something truly their own.

Official Site
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See Also: The work of Chad Kroeger?

Interview: Johnny Headband

Johnny Headband first rocketed to the center of the metro Detroit scene a little over a year ago, achieving notoriety with their keyboard-enhanced two-man indie rock and incendiary, theatrical live shows. Now, as 2006 reaches the halfway mark, brothers Keith and Chad Thompson have added a three-piece backing band, the Headbandits (featuring Greg McIntosh of Great Lakes Myth Society on guitar), and a whole new layer of depth to their sound. The result is a band who could look just as natural opening for the Flaming Lips as for Electric Six - and how many other acts could you name who fit that description?

The Modern Pea Pod caught up with lead vocalist and songwriter Chad last weekend to discuss the line-up change, the band's upcoming album, and the state of Michigan Rock Itself. Intrigued? Read on.

Modern Pea Pod: You guys started out as a two-piece, but last year you expanded the line-up to five. What was the rationale behind that decision?

Chad Thompson: Well, it was always sort of in the back of my head, I guess. Keith and I did the two-man thing out of necessity and efficiency and ease... the idea was to establish what we are without other people, make it what we wanted, and go from there. It had to be the right people, though. Once you've formed a fanbase and formed expectations, you always have to be careful with stuff like that.

As far as the reason we did it, though, we were playing a Christmas specialty show with Pas/Cal at the Lager House. I wanted to bring in some more people for that show, and we just kept doing it after that. It wasn't really a planned thing - I mean it sort of was, it's not like we were gonna say, "Okay, thanks for playing with us, see you later." But then again, we might have. (laughs) If it hadn't gone well, we had the option to go back to just the two of us. But the people we have are great; we've known them for a long time, and they fit really well with the sound, so it worked.

MPP: Would you say the extra band members have changed the group dynamic or sound?

CT: Yeah, in a way; it's more like the exact same effect with more people. I mean, I'm just going by what other people say about it. People tell me the sound is fuller, but it's still sort of retained the charm we built on our own. You have to be careful, because adding members can detract from what you've established and undermine it.

MPP: What about live? A lot of two-person bands I've talked to have said that the limitation of a smaller line-up is a big part of the chemistry of a performance; did you have trouble adjusting to that kind of change in the stage act?

CT: Well, I mean it's changed the sound and it's changed the visual effect. And onstage, personally I was doing a lot and so was Keith. Our whole thing is based on high performance, high entertainment - it's a show. We retained that with the bigger line-up: having more people frees me up to do more stuff, and not have all this garbage going on in the back of my head. Like, "okay, now I've gotta do this, and then I've gotta go there..."

Everybody's a multi-instrumentalist in the band, too, which is awesome. The drummer can play piano, the keyboard player can play drums... they're all really good. So you can always change instrumentation around: take the drum machine and make it into a real drummer, take the back-up parts and give them to another person. You've just got a lot of options. You've got a lot of options with the computer too, I guess... but it's a computer. (laughs) With real people playing, you can put in anything you want.

(photographer unknown)

MPP: Johnny Headband has an unique element going on in that it's a band led by two brothers. How long have you and Keith been playing together?

CT: We've been playing together since about six or seven. Our dad is a guitar and piano player; when you have a musician-type family like that, you do it early and you do it together. And you learn instruments according to need - you don't need three guitars, so I learned drums, my brother learned piano, and my dad played guitar. From there, I was always in concert bands and marching bands. In college I played on the MSU drum line. And then you combine that with multimedia: we both have TV backgrounds, so with Johnny Headband we combine video, media, music and performance, just all facets of entertainment. It's something we're both interested in.

MPP: Is this your first band together?

CT: Yeah, I mean, we've been in bands, but some of the other stuff's not even worth mentioning. The bands we've been in together maybe played basement shows or whatever; not like a rock band who's done all the legit things, like book shows in Detroit, put out a demo, try to be famous... (facetiously) Because that's why you do it, right? Money, women, and fame - that's the only reason.

MPP: Now you grew up in Durand, right? How did you both make it to Detroit?

CT: (laughs) That's funny. Basically, we both went to school at MSU and then we both got jobs in the Detroit area. It wasn't planned, none of this was planned - I mean it wasn't random, either, but I didn't have visions of this in my childhood or anything. I guess I was sort of expected to be in a band because I've always been in bands. I taught drums and I played in the MSU drum line for a while, though, so with things like that you get a music outlet, you don't have to be in a rock band. But then my brother was in a band called the Beggars who played Detroit, so he knew how to book to an extent. So you get your foot in the door once you do that, and if they like it you can create a bit of a stir.

Durand, though - to be honest I try to mention Durand as little as possible. (laughs) It was funny, though, because we played the Temple Club, this big beautiful venue in Lansing, with the Paybacks and the Muggs... and there were like twenty people from Durand there! (laughs) I was like, that's never gonna happen again.

(the Headbandits in action - photo by Fotog Ink)

MPP: This is something that sort of interests me, because I'm from the Lansing area: it seems like more bands from Detroit are starting to play Lansing these days. Why do you think that is?

CT: I'm not really sure. When we played the Temple Club, we used the Detroit connection a little bit just so we didn't have to go through all the bullshit you have to do when you're on you're on your own. But the Paybacks hadn't played there! And they've been around forever. It's kind of strange, because people play Ann Arbor all the time, but they never think to go to Lansing. They'll go out of state before they go to Lansing.

I guess part of it is that the scene there is still pretty new. When I was going to school, there really wasn't much. I went to Mac's a couple times, I think, but it was nothing like it is now. There was the Wharton Center and the Breslin and everything, and really big acts would come through there, but there wasn't that Magic Stick or Blind Pig level: like not people making $50 and not people making $5000, but right in the middle. So we had our doubts. But then we went to see Neko Case at the Temple Club, and it was amazing. I think things are definitely picking up in Lansing; Mac's Bar has a bunch of people coming through, the Temple Club is getting really good at it. And that's just been happening in the last couple of years.

MPP: What about Detroit? I know some people are saying that there's a sort of change in the scene going on there - like Jack White's gone or whatever, so it's time for something totally new and different. But I'm not so sure that's what I see.

CT: To me, whenever somebody says something grandiose like that, it's like, yeah, it's got some merit. But some of those bands are still there - it's not like they broke up, "oh, the scene's over!" The Dirtbombs still have it, and they were one of the key bands. And then you've got others coming in, which makes it not so one-dimensional. I think the difference is it's not as publicized. It was a scene because it was written as a scene, because that particular style is what people wrote about. There were bands who were there that weren't garage rock, but it wasn't the hot story or whatever. And then there's a band like us, who have had success in Detroit now, and people say the scene is changing. Whoever's popular at the time is what the perception becomes.

MPP: It seems like that's almost better for Detroit, musically, not to have so much attention from the press.

CT: Yeah, with too much attention you get people doing it for reasons other than it's just what they wanna do. It's better for the music scene to not be scrutinized so much; that's what makes it more diverse and dimensional and interesting. But I'm not gonna sit here and say anything like "everything's changed" or "everything's the same."

(photo by Fotog Ink)

MPP: So this summer, you're going to be recording your first album. Do you know how you're gonna do it yet - like where to record it, that sort of thing?

CT: Well, I don't really wanna say for sure, because it might change. I can say that we do want to use a studio. We have our own sort of recording set-up, but it's not the same; all the stuff on MySpace I did at home, and it's good enough, but for the record I want to use another person. First, though, we've got tons of demos - about 65 - and we want to take that down to a manageable number. So the first part of the summer is that. And then we'll release it in the fall... it's a lot of work, a lot of work that record labels can do for you that we're doing for ourselves. But yeah, some sort of release, some sort of tour if possible, that's the plan.

MPP: Is this is the first thing you've ever released? No EPs or anything like that?

CT: We have an EP, sort of, but it's just a demo, not like a real release; it's only for show purposes, just to get our music out to people who go to our shows. So yeah, the first release is a full-length. We've got the songs, so we might as well do it... I mean the reason you put out a single or an EP is because that's all the songs you have, that's my understanding.

But we're trying to learn along the way the best way to do something. We know a fair amount of people who have done it, and some have had a fair amount of success, so we can e-mail them up and ask about it. Because, I mean, I don't know about it. I don't really care. All this stuff I've never had to think about, like how long do I want my CD to be? It's like, who cares? Unless you grew up idolizing and fantasizing about liner notes - and I didn't. I played drums for years, I played piano... I just wanted to make music. This is more structured and more formulized than what I've done for years and years. I wrote a song about it.

MPP: You wrote a song about putting out the album?

CT: Yeah, I came up with a line for a new song idea: it's like, "I don't know what you know so stop trying to burst my bubble." 'Cause I hate it! Everybody's like "this sounds like this, that sounds like that"... like Pitchfork, I guess. Sorry, I shoot my mouth off a lot.

MPP: Nah, it's fine, we can barely even get through a review on this website without knocking Pitchfork. But is that something you have to deal with a lot, the indie snobbery kind of thing? Do you have trouble with that?

CT: Do you mean does it bother me? Yeah. It did. I wasn't used to dealing with it when we started out. But I think it's not any different from any other organization or community you get involved in. There's always those people - I learned to deal with it in other things, like the drum world.

But especially when you to start to get any kind of reputation; it's like, "that's that, that's this, they're a poor man's Dykehouse." You think you're doing well, because people are coming out to see you, you knock 'em down with your shows or whatever... It affects me less and less, though, because I just get more like, what I'm doing is what I want to be doing. Some people have been doing it forever: they started a band when they were sixteen, now they're 34 and still going. I started a band when I was 25, now I'm 26. And our grace period was definitely accelerated in Detroit; we didn't have to wait long, everything we did got attention.

(photo by Sandi Wheaton)

MPP: It seems like Detroit is a good place for getting attention quickly.

CT: If they're into you, they dig you, and if you're putting forth something of quality then you can go pretty far. But then there's people like the Deadstring Brothers, who I think are amazing, and they've been under the radar in Detroit for years - they're just taking off now. So hype kind of goes both ways. We've had skeptics from the start. People in Detroit definitely know we leave some sort of buzz going, so we've had people really liking us and people hating us from the start. I'm just glad there aren't many people who are indifferent.

MPP: It seems like that might be the worst, not to get any kind of reaction.

CT: It's definitely the worst. You can hate me, that's cool. At least they hate me and remember me and tell somebody they hate me...I'd rather be hated than have nobody care.

MPP: You're playing your last show before the record is released in the fall this weekend, correct? At the Elbow Room.

CT: Yeah - well, sort of. There's something else that might happen this summer, but let's keep that off the record because it's a good idea and I don't want anyone to steal it. So yeah, we're playing with Great Lakes Myth Society and the Muggs. It's Tax Day, so if you see any fliers with a piggy bank at the bottom, that's us. Originally it was going to be an EP release for GLMS; now it's a farewell show for us, but we didn't know at the time. So we're playing first because it's three headlining bands, and the Muggs played first last time. That's fine by me. It just means we get done earlier.

MPP: Cool. Anything else?

CT: Be there early, because it's gonna blow your nuts off. That's all.

Johnny Headband will play their last show of the season at the Elbow Room in Ypsilanti, on Saturday, April 15. Doors open at 10 pm. For more information on the show, the upcoming album and Johnny Headband in general, check their website.

Top photo by Sandi Wheaton

Official Site
MySpace Page
See Also: one fan's way of paying tribute

Imaad Wasif

(Kill Rock Stars)

Okay Indie Kids, let's play Imaad Wasif trivia. We'll start with the easiest question: what extremely popular (well, in indieland) band is Wasif touring with? Yes, you with the horn rims and asymmetrical haircut. No, the one to your left. ...Correct! It would be the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Now, name two of the three bands he's been associated with before this solo release. Okay, you, the girl in the Sesame Street shirt who needs to eat a sandwich. ...Oh man, you totally nailed all three. He indeed was in alaska!, Lowercase, and the New Folk Implosion. Now for extra credit, what does his name mean? No, no, I don't actually know that either. But what I do know is that Wasif has created an unexpectedly gentle album on his new eponymous release.

Imaad Wasif is a lot like Beck's Sea Change in the sense that it's less about the lyrics, but more about a feeling. It's not as much of a great (and underrated) accomplishment as Sea Change, whose opening chord change on "The Golden Age" automatically pulls the listener in, but this record could be considered a younger cousin to it. Wasif's vocal and guitar contributions are genuinely morose without being trendily overblown. Everything flows together to feel like a morning where you've already woken up salty-cheeked miserable and everything continues to sit off balance. This is not a "sip a cup of coffee and think about being in love" record.

Nor is this the work of a master poet or songwriter; Wasif does have the tendency to forsake melody for long strung lyrics. And while this can unsettle people (I personally am still a little angry at Wasif for using the phrase "serpentine passion"), it can also be strangely appealing. There's something about the imperfections of Wasif's songwriting that makes him seem real: he has none of the greatness which surrounds other melancholy songwriters - Elliott Smith, Big Star, Lou Reed (when Lou gets sad, his black clothes turn even blacker), the Buckleys - but there's a common-man element to his ineptitudes which makes Wasif so interesting. These songs feel as if they're written by a close friend with a lot of artistic potential; all they need is a couple of years and a talented editor, and they could really be something grand. And though some may wish for immediate success, perhaps if Wasif does live up to his potential, he'll be able to accomplish the next step of underground success: proving all of the backlashing naysayers wrong.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: the answer to your extra credit question, you indie know-it-all

The Back Room

Editors
(Fader Label)

Okay, let's all just get it off our chests right now: Interpol is played out. Way back in 2002 and 2003, hipster college kids across the world were losing their virginity to the rainy day gloom of their vinyl copies of Turn Off the Bright Lights. Everyone was cutting their hair asymetrically and wearing empty gun holsters while playing their bass guitars. But now it's 2006, and Interpol's hype has fizzled out. Neither their site nor Matador's has any information on what exactly the band is doing, and it's been months since Pitchfork has released a frenzied Interpol news update. So here it is, the question on everyone's lips: who will keep the ghost of Ian Curtis alive?

It's easy to say that Editors lead singer Tom Smith is doing just that, as he wails on The Back Room's opening track "Lights." And thankfully, Editors don't seem to take themselves quite as seriously as Interpol did. But while The Back Room is listenable, what's really the point? For the entire record, the ghosts of Interpol and Joy Division linger over every track, reminding us of past trends in hipness and semi-indie popularity. What is the point of listening to Editors when they can never overcome all of the other groups they sound like? Yes, they're currently an "It" Band. Yes, the songs sound good as I play them on my record player. But I've listened to this record six times now, and it never stays with me. It's just blandly good. It has the sound that all the indie mags and New York blogs rave about, but what about inventiveness? What about creativity? What about excitement? Does the world really need to buzz so much about a record that's already been made at least four times before?

The more this record plays, the more dead it feels. There's no passion in Editors; there's nothing to connect to emotionally or intellectually. To be worthy of all of the praise, all of the buzz Editors has been gathering, there should be something there. There should be something more after unraveling the layers of sound, the repeating hollow vocals, to justify Editors; there should be a heart beneath the robot's sterling silver suit. But for this reviewer, all that appears is another trendy band into whom too many people are reading too much.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: someone who used to embody musical passion

Dying to Say This to You

The Sounds
(New Line)

The first track off the Sounds' sophomore effort, Dying to Say This to You, is entitled "Song with a Mission." So to start, let me just get this out of the way: no band whose album art resembles an American Apparel ad as closely as this one should ever be allowed to lay claim to a "mission." Ever.

Unless, of course, that mission is just to make a helluva catchy pop album...in which case our hypothetical band would be in mighty good company. Right down to the shaggy scenester hairdo and cigarette-damaged sneer of frontwoman Maja Ivarsson, the Sounds are quite possibly our greatest triumph of style over substance extant. Just listen to the aforementioned "Song with a Mission": it's rousing and propulsive, with enough cowbell, rumbling bass and stabs of guitar to suggest that these guys have been learning a thing or two from fellow stylish Swedes the Hives ("Walk Idiot Walk," anyone?). Hell, if it weren't for the fact that it means absolutely nothing, you might even find yourself believing that the song really is an anthem. As an opening salvo, an exercize in egotism and a statement of vapid intent, "Song with a Mission" couldn't be better executed - and if the rest of Dying to Say This to You was as good, I'd be a very happy man. Unfortunately, that isn't quite the case.

To their credit, however, the Sounds don't lose momentum for lack of trying. While nothing else on the album really matches "Mission" for pure energy, songs like "Tony the Beat" and "Hurt You" make up for the angular guitar rock they lack with dance beats and infectious synth - they're Euro club tunes with an edge. And if high-attitude, low-content lyrics are your thing, then you're in luck; pricelessly ironic lines with a tenuous-at-best grasp on the English language abound, most of them about who shouldn't be listening to the Sounds ("This song is not for you," Maja crows in "Song with a Mission," and in "Tony the Beat," she emphasizes that "This song is not for your lovers," either). All in all, Dying's combination of slick production, retro dance stylings and goofy-as-hell words reminds me of nothing more than the brief but intense flirtation I had with J-Pop in my early high school years. The vocals are often a dead ringer for Kumi of Love Psychedelico, and a straightforward synthpop number like "Ego" could have fit in neatly on a Tommy February solo album...although I sincerely doubt that Tommy would ever say anything as bitchy as "I've seen your fucking attitude" or "I've been doing someone that you know."

The only trouble is, once Ivarsson and the boys stray away from the pure kitsch that is their specialty, things get a little...well, too silly. Tracks four through six dig into an angst that's unbecoming for a band as inherently shallow as the Sounds; and if "24 Hours" and "Painted By Numbers" at least justify themselves with hooky, upbeat arrangements, "Night After Night" is the unquestionable "Lick My Love Pump" of the bunch. Over a heartfelt piano arrangement, Ivarsson spills her guts: "Night after night, you say you'll move on / Tomorrow...tomorrow... / Now what's holding you back? / I don't know... I don't know... I don't know..." It might just be the funniest, most ludicrous moment on the record - but something tells me that was far from the Sounds' intention.

Still, at just under 36 minutes, Dying to Say This to You clearly knows its place: it's a sugar rush of an album, a quick, fun and disposable dose of stylish, New Wave-influenced rock with a Europop twist. Is it some kind of masterpiece? If you've been reading this review, you'll already know the answer to that question. But music listeners can't subsist on masterpieces alone; so if you're looking for a dessert to complement your daily serving of mid-period Blondie - or maybe even something to play in the car on your way to American Apparel - then this just might be the ticket.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: Lick My Love Pump

Reflections

The Temptations
(New Doors)

Some great voices are instruments of artistry. Stevie Wonder, Curtis Mayfield, Marvin Gaye - these are all composers, pop artistes; their legendary vocals just one element of their equally legendary visions. Other great voices, however, are something else entirely: they, themselves, are the instruments. Otis Williams belongs decidedly to the second category. A founding member of legendary soul quintet the Temptations, his powerful, melodic baritone sounded great on classics like "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" and "Just My Imagination"...but it was arguably just as well-served when Rick James used it for songs like "Super Freak" and "Standing at the Top," a single brick in the wall of Mr. Mary Jane's '80s-revamped Motown Sound. Why? It has nothing to do with quality (though for the record, Street Songs is nothing to sniff at); it's just that Williams' voice is more remarkable for its tonal, purely musical qualities than for its association with any specific style or standard of quality.

It's for this reason that Reflections, the 61st album (!) to be released by Williams under the Temptations moniker, can be by turns both a success and a failure. When the material is good - and as a collection of classic Motown covers, better material could hardly be found - it's a pleasant nostalgia trip. Williams (the only living original member of the Temptations) still sounds great, and he's certainly chosen functional replacements for the classic line-up: current supporters Ron Tyson, Terry Weeks, GC Cameron and Joe Herndon may not have quite the same vocal alchemy as the Temptations we know and love, but every time their voices blend together, it's a reasonable enough facsimile to sweep this reviewer momentarily off his feet. The downside, however, is that Reflections is purely a vocalist's record; it has neither the creative spark nor the exciting newness of the best soul music, and so it stands and falls on the strength of its arrangements alone.

Which is very, very bad news, because these arrangements are oldies revival by numbers. "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved to You)" sounds a bit like Otis and friends are singing along to a particularly lame karaoke tape, and it isn't alone: "Try It Baby" tries to emulate big-band jazz with egregiously fake-sounding synth horns and strings; "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," meanwhile, sounds like lite R&B circa 1994. And "Don't Leave Me This Way" could be most bizarre of all - not just a straight cover of Thelma Houston's disco hit, but one which actually sounds more dated than the original. Predictably, the music is best when it's kept on a classicist bent, as on "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing" and opener "Can I Get a Witness," which channel something of the passion and ebullience of the Motown Sound even if they do fall inevitably short. But if the best parts of a 2006 record by the Temptations are when it sounds sorta like a 1966 record by the Temptations, then it has to be asked: what exactly is the point?

The answer, of course, is that this isn't the type of record which is meant for critical dissection. It's meant for fans of the current line-up of the Temptations, not purists; fans who probably just want to pick up a CD as a souvenier at one of their many shows on the oldies circuit. And for those people, Reflections might be just fine. But for me, I listen to this record and all I can hear is what could have been. Imagine Otis Williams in the hands of a truly fresh modern producer - a Pharrell or a Danger Mouse, doing the same thing for a legendary voice that Rick James did twenty years ago. Or better yet, where's Rick Rubin when you need him? How about a real back-to-basics soul record, more stripped-down even than the glossy Motown which made the Temptations famous? Just pipe dreams, maybe; and with only one original member in the group, frankly it might be better if Williams just put his recording career to rest after all.

But whatever side of the fence you stand, on one thing I think we can all agree: Otis Williams has done his bit. He's been a Temptation for over twice as many years as I, for one, have been alive, and in those years he's been involved in some of the most seminal records in the history of popular music. So if he wants to keep making records with arrangements that sound like Casio keyboard presets, then who am I to tell him no? Let's let the guy make a little money...he's definitely earned it.

Official Site
Buy It on Amazon
See Also: produce your own Temptations album!

Murdered By the Moore Brothers

The Moore Brothers
(Plain Recordings)

Musical brothers are not known for getting along. Remember the epic battles between Oasis' Noel and Liam Gallagher? For that matter, it seems like almost every time families get involved together musically, shit gets fucked up. The Jackson Five were notoriously rumoured to share their sexual partners, and are thought to have been abused by their father, Joe Jackson. Also, speaking of parental abuse, how about the Shaggs? Those talentless (but utterly entertaining) Wiggins sisters were forced to leave school by their father and make a record. And shit, don't even get me started on the Osmonds.

But what to think about California's Moore Brothers? Strangely, these siblings lack any juicy gossip...and even if there was any, it would take nothing short of bestiality charges to overshadow their latest release, the sparsely beautiful Murdered By the Moore Broothers.

The Moore Brothers are clearly influenced by 1960s folk music; a muted sadness reminiscent of Simon & Garfunkle's "The Sound of Silence" drifts through tracks such as "Old Friend of Mine," and the more upbeat tracks, like "I Sing Today," are remiscient of songs by an equally sunny Cat Stevens - which is to say, Cat Stevens when he's not remembering his bout with tuberculosis. Also thrilling for any fan of older pop music are the traces of Big Star which float throughout the album (if you're young, I guess we could say Elliott Smith, but shame on you if you're reading the Modern Pea Pod and have not yet listened to at least #1 Record). But despite the pleasant rainy day music references, there is a haunting otherness to this record that refuses to be referenced as simply a modern reinterpretation of the '60s pop-folk canon.

Sparse album opener "Wish You'd Say," for example, with its single perpetual note over plinking piano, can both infuriate the listener and yet keep her hooked at the same time. The lyrics are gorgeous, wistful thoughts on wanting a lover who wants you back, but at the same time, the claustophobia of the instrumentation is a reminder that love is not an all-encompassing landscape, but a silent silver box held between two people. Another key example of Murdered By the Moore Brothers' oddness is "At Terror." This deceptively cheerful song bends the use of the word "terror," so that the listener cannot tell whether perhaps the town in which the narrator is searching for a woman is known as "Terror," or if the murderer implicated in the album's title is the narrator; maybe he is searching for this woman to murder her, but will only do so when she is completely consumed by terror of him. And then there's "Star of Confusion," which curiously ends while the Moore Brothers are still singing. Yes, this reviewer does understand the concept of a fade-out, but this song actually ends in mid-sentence, which leaves the listener feeling less as if she were listening to a CD of the Moore Brothers, and more as if she had just abruptly left a performance by the Moore Brothers. As if there is a room out there where forever the Moore Brothers will be playing "Star of Confusion", only to be perpetually walked out upon by their listeners.

There may be a few problems with these touches of the bizarre. Fans of, say, Simon & Garfunkle - sent to this strange record simply because the Moore Brothers are reminiscent of that era of music - will most likely be baffled by songs such as "Now is the Time to Chill" or the aforementioned "At Terror". The lyrics, too, have their flaws: most of them are extremely interesting and well-written stories, but there are moments which just strike me as incredibly, unintentionally funny. For instance, in this reviewer's favorite track, "The Auditorium Birds," there's the line "and just like a deaf girl / you'll be giving me a sign." It's a sweet image, but at the same time, it's a little silly.* There are other weird imagery-based moments throughout Murdered By the Moore Brothers, which could arguably stand as a tribute to their unique writing abilities; but such reasoning can also diminish the forest for the trees, simply because these odd asides run the risk of engaging the listener with more strength than the songs surrounding them. Despite these misgivings, however, this record is highly recommended for almost all listeners...especially those who like their pop music with a tablespoon of weird.

* This reviewer would like to state that even as a child, she never found deaf people funny. In fact, after learning about Beethoven in elementary music school, she was afraid that someday she too would have to use an ear trumpet.

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See Also: thankfully, this story is not about the Moore Brothers

Everything All the Time

Band of Horses
(Sub Pop)

The strangest thing just happened to me. See, I'd listened to Band of Horses' debut album a couple of times, and it just didn't grab me. I gave it an honest try - really, I did - but it had a way of fading into the background, sublimating itself into the soundtrack of whatever else I was doing at the time. It grated on my nerves a little bit, to be frank; how could a record be so thin, so insubstantial that it disappeared into the air around me every time I tried to grab hold? So I panned it. This afternoon I scribbled out a review on pen and paper: a lengthy, scathing diatribe about the shallow nature of indie trend-mongering, the facile attempts by webzines like Pitchfork (who, incidentally, gave Everything All the Time a startling 8.8 rating) to create their own personal hype machines, only to abandon them the moment the next big thing came along. I was insulted that an act as bland, as inoffensive, as utterly unremarkable as Band of Horses could be given such a royal treatment, and believe you me, I wasn't holding anything back.

But as I sat down to type the review, I decided to listen to the record one more time. And I honestly don't know what happened. Maybe it was because I decided to listen with headphones for the first time. Maybe it was because something just clicked inside of me. But suddenly, I got it. Everything All the Time wasn't bland, it was beautiful. It wasn't insubstantial, it was intimate. And while it might not be the most amazing or original thing I've heard all year - actually, I'll tell you right now that it isn't - it is far from unremarkable.

Thing is, though, I still don't know what's changed. All the traits of this album which I initially loathed are still there: it's still a chronically laid-back, unassuming record, a clutch of droning, reverb-drenched songs which risk running together into one lengthy trawl if you don't pay enough attention. And it's still a bit of an "indie by numbers" exercize, too; shades of shoegaze and Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket and the Arcade Fire, Sub Pop's own Chad VanGaalen and a sort of Neil Young-via-Wayne Coyne vivisection. It's the kind of record that's instantly familiar, even when you've never heard a note of it before. But god damn it, I like it anyway. I like it because of the way the guitars overlap and intertwine on opener "The First Song," like waves of reverb crashing softly onto the shore. I like it because of the dramatic flair that whips "The Funeral" into a gentle frenzy, a masterful display of dynamics which reminds one oddly of Coldplay at their least insipid. And I like it because of gorgeous acoustic tracks "Part One" and "I Go to the Barn Because I Like the," both of which showcase the rootsy heart of a group who have spent some quality time opening for Iron & Wine.

So maybe Band of Horses are getting the press they're getting because they happen to sound like whatever the indie zine elite wants us to listen to. So maybe I hit it right on the nose. So what? Trends come and go, but history has shown that good music has a way of sticking around. Hell, even if Band of Horses do end up going the way of, say, Interpol, Everything All the Time is exactly the kind of record that will show up in a used bin years from now and give some impressionable youth an out-of-body experience at the listening counter. And next to an achievement like that, let's face it, a little unsavory hype starts to look mighty meaningless.

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See Also: a decidedly different "Band of Horses"

Revenge

The Architects
(Anodyne)

Ladies, ladies, ladies...when will you ever learn? Rock singers are appealing, sure: they sweat and they strut and they wear their jeans skin tight (the better to accentuate their stuffed crotches). Maybe they're even a little sensitive, too, with their liner note dedications and their power ballads. But once the break-up comes around - and come it will - you'll be spending the rest of your life hearing about what a bitch you were, and it's safe to say that no amount of free backstage passes is worth that. Just listen to the Architects' latest album, Revenge: frontman Brandon Phillips tears out of the gate with "Reciprocity," a broken-hearted tirade whose declaration of vindictiveness ("I want you to say / I give good reciprocity") bears traces of sexual sadism, and doesn't let up from there. Clearly, someone has pissed this man off in a bad way - and like any self-respecting rocker, he's gonna show it with a good old-fashioned break-up album.

And normally, that wouldn't be a problem. Some of the best and most passionate records in rock history have been fuelled by anger, after all, and Revenge has the added benefit of aiming its bile at more than one target. Phillips doesn't limit himself to revenge against just one woman: he sends equal amounts of rage to power-abusing police ("The Badge"), people who badmouth his neighborhood ("Don't Call It a Ghetto"), and yes, Society Itself ("Body Armor"). The trouble is, there's very little on this album that isn't about being pissed off; it's a fairly one-dimensional effort in both sonic and thematic terms. Add to this basic flaw the fact that the Architects frequently sound like the illegitimate offspring of Bad Religion-style modern punk rock and "Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins, and you'll understand why Revenge is unlikely to ever become the next Blood and Chocolate.

Some of these shortcomings, admittedly, can be explained by simple overproduction. Revenge only took four days to record, but the production work by John Seymour (also partly responsible for Santana's Supernatural) is glossy and radio-friendly enough to have taken four months; this works against the Architects, whose brazen, punkish rock would be better served by a more stripped-down, less flaccid sound (and it'd probably sound a lot less Loggins-esque, too). Quite frankly, Seymour's work is a double-edged sword which cuts its wielders in both directions: the hooks are either too big or not big enough, and in both cases they're thrown into sharp, unforgiving relief.

But not even the least sympathetic of producers can be blamed for faulty songcraft, and that's where Phillips and company aren't off the hook. These songs simply aren't that great. All of them coast by on the same old fist-pumping punk posturing, almost invariably taking the easiest of easy ways out: there's the riff, there's the throaty howl, there's the Big Chorus, every element present and accounted for and exactly where you were expecting them to be. The end result is an album which comes off as more than a little samey and monotone; it may drive the kids wild at Warped Tour this summer, it's even likely to win the Architects major label attention, but where's the soul?

All in all, while Revenge might work just fine as self-therapy, it's far from the kind of break-up record I'd like to have written about me. But then again, what better revenge than to immortalize your ex in song...and then make everyone forget about it?

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See Also: Highway to the Danger Zone