Through the naughts, and even the 90s, home recording was a fast growing game. Not only were more people doing it than ever before, but the best of the DIY-types – everyone from Pavement to Sebadoh to Why? and even Bon Iver and Youth Lagoon – were finding new ways to expand the scope of the craft. In the 70s and 80s, home recording meant folk or punk; in the 90s it meant indie rock and hip-hop; and in the naughts it meant, well … it meant – with the rise of available new technology – that anything was possible. Now we have bands like the Black Lips and Times New Viking who, despite recording in top shelf studios, chose to give their records of a DIY sound for aesthetic effect. Enter Portland, Oregon musician Liz Harris, known in the music world as Grouper. Her latest record, the instantly great The Man Who Died in His Boat, could have been recorded at Electric Ladyland Studios in New York City or under Elliott Smith’s old apartment staircase in Portland – who could say. The aspirations and the effect of the record feels sprawling and epic, yet the moving parts couldn’t be more streamlined.

Essentially a collection of songs recording at the same time as Grouper’s other classic record, 2008′s Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill, Boat plays through as a sister to that great disc – an almost ambient take on post-rock that uses its lo-fi fingerprints in a surprisingly epic manner. The collection almost reminds me of PJ Harvey’s gigantic Stories of the City, Stories of the Sea, if you were to strip away the electric guitars, drums and power vocals. Harris sings hazy harmonies that may or may not actually be words. Sounds, mostly, not unlike the best Sigur Ros songs. Humming behind Harris’ air-light howls are woozy strums that echo and shake, drone and distort. It’s a blurry sound that feels like a great film score for an incredibly dramatic, nuanced, autumnal film you’ve never seen. Some lost Color film from the late Krzysztof Kieslowski. You never quite know what you’re hearing – vocal effects? Strings? An e-bow? Keyboards? Loops? Everything blends together like a sweet, soft smoothie – creamy and hypnotic, music to think to. Music to sleep to. Music to help pass the lonely, soft nights.

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Beaches :: She Beats

by J. Hubner on May 20, 2013

Hailing from Melbourne, Austrailia, psych rock quintet Beaches’ new album, titled She Beats, has all the ingredients of an excellent record: loud guitars; dreamy, reverbed vocals; a solid rhythm section; and the seal of approval from NEU’s Michael Rother (not to mention his guitar work on a couple tracks). She Beats is a mix of lo-fi graininess, zone-out atmosphere, psychedelic colors and some good old fashioned rock n’ roll bombast.

“Out of Mind” opens the album with some jangly guitar spray before the song jumps into gear, bringing to mind Primal Scream’s noise/melody recipe for ear candy. The song puts off a tape hiss, lo fidelity vibe, all the while never sounding too lo-fi. The dark aural shades only add to the song’s mystique, enhancing the already dreamy vibe. “Keep on Breaking Through” rolls in on a steady cymbal ride and some reverbed guitars, giving the track an almost “Riders on the Storm” sound – albiet sans the thunderstorm sound effects before the space echo takes the track into the milky way. Beaches, while they conjure dreamy soundscapes and ambience in the form of swirling guitar chords and echoed riffs, don’t fall under any sort of shoegaze category. These Melbourne ladies play guitar with bravado and attitude more in tune with the likes of Erik “Ripley” Johnson or Wayne Kramer (as opposed to, say, Kevin Shields or Andy Bell). They don’t coax sound from their instruments as much as they pull them out with swift, stern strokes. “The Good Comet Returns” brings to mind old Cure, back when they were still a trio with something to prove. “Distance” is the centerpiece track, with Rother jumping in on guitar to give the song a motorik drive. Vocals, while barely treading the musical waters, become part of the overall mix as opposed to being the centerpiece. Singing is merely another instrument used to fill the canvas.

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Tops at the Box: Iron Man 3 once again sold big, bringing in another $72 million over its second weekend, upping the action romp’s 10-day total to $284 million in the U.S. and $948 million worldwide. Look for this little flick, from director Shane Black and still starring Robert Downey, Jr., to end up on the list of all-time Top 5 grossing films. Sounds like a fun time at the movies to us.

Also at the Box: Baz Luhrmann’s much discussed The Great Gatsby – starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, Joel Edgerton, Carey Mulligan and Isla Fisher – opened big, selling $51 million over its first three days in the U.S. Not bad, but also not great, when you consider the movie cost almost $300 million to produce and promote. Reviews for Gatsby have been very mixed, with most critics complaining that that spectacle of the production overpowers the soul of the story. I’ve seen the trailer and, well, that sounds just about right – endless glitter and gloss, with just a touch of character. Michael Bay’s latest, Pain and Gain, continued to sell steadily, bringing in another $5 million last weekend, upping the film’s total to just under $42 million. Rounding out last weekend’s Top 5 were Tyler Perry Presents Peeples ($4.8 million in sales over its first weekend, a startlingly low number for Perry) and 42 ($4.6 million over its fifth weekend). Also of note, Jeff Nichols’ Mud continues to chug along, selling another $2.8 million, upping the movie’s so-far box office total to just over $8 million. Looks like an especially great flick to us.

New this Week: J.J. Abrams’ much anticipated new feature, Star Trek Into Darkness will finally see the light of day this coming weekend, opening everywhere and starring Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto, Zoe Saldana, Simon Pegg, John Cho, Bruce Greenwood, babe Alice Eve and ScreenTime favorite Benedict Cumberbath. Looks like a fantastic production. If Abrams’ first three films (Mission: Impossible III, $134 million; Star Trek, $257 million; and Super 8, $127 million) are any indication, Into Darkness should hit especially hard, most likely knocking the monster that is Iron Man 3 out of the top spot at the box office. Also, look for Benedict “Sherlock” Cumberbatch to be a household name by the end of the year. A powerful, incredible actor, that one.

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I first heard the Delfonics when I was a small child, on the radio – in one tiny ear and out the other. Then, when I was in high school, I saw Quentin Tarantino’s Jackie Brown, which featured the music of the Delfonics very prominently. That same night, by chance, I found an old Delfonics greatest hits disc in my mom’s stash and was an immediate fan. All these years later we have Adrian Younge’s third record, titled Presents the Delfonics, a collection that attempts to introduce a forgotten artist to a new generation, not unlike what Jack White did for Loretta Lynn or Dan Auerbach did for Dr. John.

I first heard Adrian Younge, the real star of this show, back in 2009, when I saw the film Black Dynamite, a blaxploitation movie – and instant cult classic – scored by Younge. Then, in 2011, I finally heard Younge’s opus, a R&B record called Something About April that sounds as classic as any R&B music I’ve heard released during my 25 or so years of music fandom. April plays through almost like a lost Al Green album that was produced as a collaborate effort between an early 90s RZA and classic-era Portishead. It’s a masterpiece. So to say that I have been greatly anticipating Younge’s next move would be an understatement. And now, after almost two years of waiting, it’s here in the form of this new Delfonics record. But this isn’t really a proper Delfonics record, is it? There’s no “La-La (Means I Love You)” or “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)” moments of perfection here; really, all we get are some of William Hart’s sweet, light falsetto vocals. No Randy Cain, no Wilbert Hart and no Major Harris. Sure, the Delfonics were mostly thought of as William’s band, but William’s voice alone doesn’t quite offer the full effect of a proper Delfonics record.

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How many times over the last 40 years have we had these posthumous release blues from the Hendrix Family Archives?  From Blues, South Saturn Delta and Valleys of Neptune to First Rays of the New Rising Sun, Live At The Fillmore East and Winterland, Hendrix fans have endured money grab after money grab to the point where every year we just put some money back waiting for the Hendrix family to announce its next bit of table scraps they plan on tossing our way. To be fair, some, such as Winterland and Valleys of Neptune were nice collections, especially the fiery performances caught on the live Winterland. But in all fairness, Jimi Hendrix died in 1970 leaving us with three studio albums that changed the face of guitar and rock and roll forever. They showed a progression in not only his playing but his songwriting in just three short years that anyone would be hard pressed to repeat, ever. And only a handful of musicians and bands have done since. Basically, we didn’t need all these posthumous releases. There’s a reason they sat in a vault;  for the most part they weren’t all the great. I don’t think Jimi Hendrix would have put the majority of these albums out his family has deemed “Hendrix Family-Approved.”

So, all that being said, you can imagine my pessimism when late last year it was announced that yet another posthumous release was coming out. What now? Hendrix: Polka? Hendrix Live From Heaven? Hendrix Unleashed in the East? After hearing the first single, “Somewhere,” pessimism turned to optimism. It was a slow burner. That classic Hendrix voodoo that permeated albums like Electric Ladyland and Axis: Bold As Love was all over this track that was recorded with Buddy Miles on drums and Stephen Stills on bass. Eddie Kramer at the helm, this was a classic Hendrix track that was finally seeing the light of day in a new, and much better light. So after hearing the album, I can say that without a doubt this is by far the best posthumous Hendrix release to take money from our wallets. Does it stand up to those three classic and timeless Jimi Hendrix and the Experience releases? Not by a mile. But there are some gems well worth owning on 2013′s great money grab.

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Jack Tatum and Wild Nothing make music that’s both very familiar and very foreign to our ears. At once his songs are a flashback to the early days of 80s alternative and at the same time they’re the echoes in his head of some alternate universe where The Thompson Twins, Art of Noise and Gary Numan joined forces. His first full-length as Wild Nothing was Gemini, a group of lo-fi-ish 80s dance gems that hinted at Tatum’s impressive songwriting and production prowess. Nocturne came out in 2012 and was one of best indie releases of the year. Jumping off where he left Gemini, he refined his sound, beefed up the production and made pop gems that were simultaneously light and airy – yet also had low end and depth. Tatum had perfected a sound he could call his own. Now comes Empty Estate, a long EP or very short album that implies that Tatum became restless and needed to redefine his songwriting. It’s an album with late night dance excursions, guitar pop and otherworldly weirdness that hint at a Sufjan Steven-like re-imagining of one’s career. It also hints that Tatum and Wild Nothing are working on what will surely be a masterpiece of a third full-length.

“The Body In Rainfall” opens Empty Estate on an almost playful, guitar rock hand clap vibe. It’s a straight-up rock ‘n roll song, complete with driving drums, guitar fuzz and – lingering in the background – airy piano chords. “Ocean Repeating (Big-Eyed Girl)” has a loping, funky beat with a fluid bass line and a somewhat sinister vibe. The track is much more in the vein of Nocturne, but with a spidery guitar line taking the place of that album’s synth washes. There’s a weird, sinister vibe to the songs on Empty Estate that wasn’t in Wild Nothing’s music before. It’s refreshing and alarming all at once. It’s as if Tatum sat around listening to Swell Maps, Com Truise and Neon Indian one lonely evening in his Brooklyn apartment. Tatum shows a love of ambient instrumentals as well, like on the Brian Eno-inspired “On Guyot,” and the droning beauty of album closer “Hachiko.” The echoes of Nocturne’s dance-pop and 80s alternative can still be heard clearly on “Data World” and the excellent and delightfully quirky “A Dancing Shell.” Both show that Wild Nothing isn’t completely abandoning Tatum’s pure pop beauty, he’s just adding a few extra ingredients to make the colors a bit brighter and the pleasures more pleasureful.

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Tops at the Box: Iron Man 3 blew away the competition at the box office last weekend, selling $175 million at the U.S. box office over its first three days, good enough for the second biggest opening weekend of all-time. The film has also sold over $500 million abroad, setting the flick on pace to be the fastest billion-dollar-selling movie of all-time. Directed by Shane Black and starring Robert Downey, Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Don Cheadle, Guy Pearce, Jon Favreau, Ben Kingsley and Rebecca Hall, Iron Man 3 has been getting good reviews as well as raves from fans. The movie is supposedly fun and funny and full of action – just like the other two Iron Man films. Can’t wait to see it, as Black is a good director, RDJ a powerful actor and Favreau a very solid producer.

Also at the Box: Michael Bay’s Pain & Gain took the No. 2 spot at the box office over its second weekend, selling another $7.6 million, upping the film’s 10-day total to $34 million in the U.S. Not good for a Michael Bay film but not bad for a movie that cost $25 million to produce. Sports drama 42 took the No. 3 spot at the box, selling $6.2 million, upping the movie’s 24-day total to just under $80 million. Rounding out last weekend’s Top 5 were Oblivion ($6 million) and The Croods ($4.2 million). Also of interest: Jeff Nichols’ third feature, the very good Mud, sold $2.2 million while Derek Cianfrance’s The Place Beyond the Pines’ sold another $1.3 million, upping the movie’s total to just under $19 million.

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It’s a great feeling to be moved by music. To be grabbed by the lapels and shaken out of your stagnation. To have that swelling feeling in your chest. The tingling that runs down your spine as notes played by heartfelt musicians keep air locked in your lungs as you wait for that explosion of rapturous noise to push that breath from you. Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, and Debussy felt as if God Almighty was speaking through them. Their symphonies merely their Makers words written out in notes, cadenzas, arpeggios, and nuanced refrains. They were as moved by the music that came out of them as were the masses that packed hot music halls of Vienna, Munich, and Prague. Whether you believe in God or not, there’s something quite spiritual and transcendent about what music does to us. That can’t be denied.

Explosions In The Sky have been on my radar for a few years now. I’d never made the plunge and bought any of their albums. Well, I recently made that plunge. Those Who Tell The Truth and The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place recently found a home in my record collection and I have been indoctrinated into the world of Explosions In The Sky. Call me a fan. A fanatic, even. I always say to myself “How did I not get into this band sooner?” whenever I come across a gem that never made it to my ears until now into my late 30s. It’s happened a lot in the last few years. Bands like Pavement, Can, NEU! and Television are bands I discovered in my 30s. And in all honesty I think it’s a great thing. It’s like finding a Christmas present in March that never got opened in December. It’s a bonus, man. To be able to still find new and exciting music in my veritable middle age and be moved by it, well that’s what keeps things interesting. That’s what keeps me a music fanatic. You’re never too old to find something new. Or NEU!

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Since Zach “Aw Shucks” Braff started raising money for his second directorial effort, a whole lot of press-types have been taking dead aim at the guy. His first movie, indie hit Garden State, has been called into question. Recently one of the sites I frequent most often, Vulture.com, wrote a particularly interesting piece about the film.

I was running a record store when Garden State came out. I was and still am one of those guys who skips meals or pays the rent late so that he can afford to buy Robert Pollard’s 12th release of the year. And so I already had opinions on most of the bands on the soundtrack before it was released and had CERTAINLY already heard The Shins songs a million times or more long before the movie went into production. I remember the general public being very “un-hip” back then compared to today. I remember very clearly thinking “wait, so people are going to like The Shins now?” That movie and soundtrack ended up being THE hip thing that the un-hip people first liked. It was a tourist thing – a gateway drug away from the malls and into the thrift shops. Then many of those people took it too far and became hipsters and, ultimately, sad cliches – their identities buried in a sub-culture they never actually cared about or had any roots in.

I remember telling my girflriend in 2005-ish “I don’t like that all these young people are starting to dress like me but don’t know the words to Pavement songs – or care about Pavement songs. Or care about anything other than how they look.” Retro was suddenly in, as was the I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck posturing I’d been swimming in for years. I also REALLY didn’t like that irony and sarcasm were both suddenly in style. Those were coping tools for cynics and fuck-ups like myself, not for shiny happy former prom queens who suddenly wore fake eyeglasses and drank weird beer. Everything really blew up from there to the point that “hipster” culture is now just another empty phase. Skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors are no different than Skidz. Those fake eyeglasses you wear are the crimped hair of today.

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From the first notes of “The Right Thing Right” we know Johnny Marr means business. It’s a cross between The Jam jangle, Ian McCulloch’s vocal prowess and that driving rhythm that pushed so many of The Smiths great songs (there were many). There’s even a touch of Cheap Trick bombast that starts the song out. You listen to this opening track and wonder why it took Marr so long to put out a proper solo release. Sure, he had Marr and the Healers back in 2003. But he was still under the protective umbrella of a band. For the first time in over a 20-year career Marr is on his own, without the watchful eye of old lady Morrissey or countless other bands that were fortunate enough to have Marr slinging his guitar around in their bands – and ultimately making them more important and better than they actually were. Is The Messenger a game changer? It depends on what rule book you’re playing from. Either way, it’s a great album to get lost in for a little under an hour.

I often wondered how Marr lasted as long as he did with Morrissey. I mean sure, The Smiths were amazing, and Morrissey had a big part in that. But without Marr’s musical magic it would’ve been nothing more than Stephen Morrissey’s Oscar Wilde impressions. Marr provided the lush musical pages onto which Morrissey could write his scathing verbiage. There might not be the stories of naught Headmasters and girlfriends in comas, but the drama is still retained in Marr’s knack for great melodic play. On The Messenger Marr seems to be making up for lost time, as the musical scope ranges from Smiths-ian drama to punch-y power-pop to straight up rock ‘n roll.

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