Perhapst

Revise Your Maps
Jealous Butcher

The rock music scene in Portland is fifty years old this year. To a certain extent 1963 is an arbitrary date. There were something like rock bands before that time, but they were combos who played sock hops and the like. Bands such as the Wailers and Paul Revere and the Raiders were already up and running in the Northwest. So were Portland’s Kingsmen, more or less. But in 1963, the rock music “club” scene first began to take shape. They were teen soda bars, to be sure. But live rock music was being played in them.

The Headless Horseman downtown, the Chase out in Milwaukie, D Street (the Division Street Corral) and the Silver Skate Ballroom in the eastern quadrant, and a few others in the vicinity created something of a circuit for local bands. Combine gigs at those clubs with high school dances and various other opportunities, such as store openings, parties and the like, and an enterprising band could achieve something resembling a career. Or, at least a career from the perspective of teen-aged boys’expectations.

Though Paul Revere and the Raiders and a few other regional acts made minor national noise before 1963, there were no “rock” music acts calling Portland home. But that all changed when the Kingsmen ran “Louie Louie” out into the realm, and the story of the Portland music scene began

Over the ensuing fifty years, a few names (like, say, the Kingsmen for instance) have been accorded “royalty” status within the hierarchy of local rockdom. Most of those names have been enshrined in the Oregon Music Hall of Fame, but not all of them. Many members of that royalty, some going back nearly to the headwaters (Steve Bradley and Jim Mesi come readily to mind) are still playing today. And others who have been in the scene since the mid-to-late ‘70s are still playing (Dead Moon, Chris Newman, Sam Henry, anyone?) regular gigs and making an impact.

In the late ‘80s, about midway in the meandering course of our fifty-year musical history, the Dharma Bums from the Salem area began to appear in the local clubs. They exuded an earnest, woodsy sincerity that complimented fiery, youthful exuberance and spirited musicianship. Their songs often rang like anthems: perhaps in the REM lineage. Their sound and stage presence were predecessors to Seattle super-grungers like Pearl Jam and Nirvana (it is reputed that Kurt met Courtney [perhaps met her in a biblical sense] at a Bums gig).

The Dharma Bums didn’t last that long, three albums and out in a cloud of dust in 1992. From there, various members went on to do different projects. Good drummers being in high demand (just ask Janet Weiss), Bums drummer John Moen played with just about everyone in town, it seems—Heatmiser and Elliot Smith solo, Spinanes, among countless others. In the 1993 Moen and Bums bassist Jim Talstra formed the Maroons), who won instant acclaim from the Portland music public and critics alike. It was in the Maroons that Moen first showcased his own material, singing and playing guitar in the band while Talstra played lead guitar.

The Maroons released a couple of albums before moving on in the early 2000s. From there, Moen launched another episode of peripatetica that has yet to relent after nearly ten years. He logged time with Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks after the Maroons demise in 2002. He became a member of the Decemberists in 2006 in time to record The Crane Wife and has remained a member of the band ever since. He contributed to Scott McGaughey’s Minus 5 collective. Somewhere along the line John began working with the Decemberists off-shoot bluegrass band, Black Prairie.

Moen joined with Robert Pollard’s Boston Spaceships in 2008. That year, he released his first solo album under the band name Perhapst. That debut is a rather subdued affair, with a distinctly DIY vibe, wherein he played most of the instruments. The recording had its moments, bolstered by the presence of ex-Dharma Bum Eric Lovre, Mister Jick himself Steven Malkmus, and Jonathan Drews.

Drews is probably best known as guitarist for Sunset Valley, a quirky, Portland all-star outfit that, while achieving a modest regional notoriety, never quite lived up to expectations that they would follow in the Dandy Warhols’ footsteps down the path of national adoration. Instead they broke up in 2006, though a couple of years ago they did gig together. But long before that, he and Sunset Valley bassist Eric Furlong were in the Canaries. For a very interesting interview with Jonathan Drews, check this out.

The Canaries showed up in Portland in 1994 having emigrated to Portland from the Bay area (originally from Athens, Ga.). They were truly the predecessors to Sunset Valley although their canary lives were short lived. Speaking of canaries, it was somewhere around that time that Furlong and Drews began working with songstress Kaitlyn ni Donovan helping to guide her career through the rest of the ‘90s and into the ‘00s. Somewhere along the line Jonathan and Kaitlyn became an item. In 2007 they opened Last of the Explorers studios. And that is where this second John Moen album was recorded.

Jonathan Drews is one of the few links between Moen’s first Perhapst album and this sophomore affair. In this instance, he plays an integral role in the success of the arrangements and production. And one thing should be made very clear from the start. This album is a rousing success. With able engineering and faithful instrumental and vocal support, Drews could rightfully be considered to be a member of Perhapst. But the fact remains that the focus of this album is locked squarely upon John Moen and at no time does he disappoint.

While distinctly contemporary, with elements of Fleet Foxes (especially J. Tillman), and hints of Ben Gibbard and Bon Iver—Moen’s music contains a strong undercurrent of ‘70s country/rock. Start with the fledgling Eagles and the latter day, White/Parsons countrified Byrds and work outward. There you go. Elements of bands such as Ozark Mountain Daredevils, Pure Prairie League, Firefall and Poco seem obvious enough.

Where the heck he had access to such a wealth of country/rock references is anyone’s guess. But there’s a ton of them—whether obtained in his formative years through familial acquisition, or from the subsequent creation of an intensive record collection. Moen’s music falls somewhere between what is now alt. country and Americana, and it falls lightly, but with considerable impact. It is the sum of all the various musical aggregates in which John has performed (though it sounds least like the Decemberists) over the years, with the addition of his own unique, original perspective.

The distant train of a haunted country slide guitar moans plaintively against a low-strung spaghetti rumble to open “Birds Off a Wire.” Moen’s flexible falsetto summons comparisons to Jim James of My Morning Jacket or Chris Martin of Coldplay in tone, and Thom Yorke in warmth, but Elliott Smith in the boyish innocence of his delivery. The song has no chorus, to speak of other than that low, muttering Peter Buck-ish guitar figure—but satisfies, none the less.

Drews’ soaring, Duane Allman-like slide guitar propels “Willamette Valley Ballad,” a song with a Neil Young After the Gold Rush era riverboat feel. Backing himself on drums, bass and acoustic guitar, Moen breezes through the down home verses with a warbling vocal, sounding like that shy kid from the next block over upon meeting a former crush at the ten-year high school reunion. At around the two-minute mark, something like a fuzz-guitar driven chorus finally comes to light, in the form of a canonical contemplation.

“Ramble/Scramble” wheels on the spinning top of John’s piano riff, calling to mind Emitt Rhodes (McCartney by proxie) from the early ‘70s. Guest Lewi Longmire’s country twinged guitar licks and Black Prairie Decemberist Jenny Conlee-Drizos’ organ thicken the presentation without getting in the way of a simple song. A Small Faces vibe courses through the happy, summery chorus. Catchy! Scott McGaughey tosses in a ragged harp solo to bind all the elements together.

Nearly every musical configuration with which John Moen has ever played is represented somewhere on this recording—some member makes an appearance. But never do the guests sound gratuitous. Instead they contribute intrinsically to each song and add to the cumulative quality of the music presented.

Black Prairie Decemberist Chris Funk’s supple dobro and ringing mandolin, and Eric Lovre’s (former Dharma Bums, etc) jaunty basslines augment John’s piquantly pretty piano theme on “Revise Your Maps.” Moen, Drews and McGaughey combine for tight three-part harmonies on the luscious chorus, singing the mystical line: “Revise your maps, your color’s blue/Revise your maps.” A cartographic reference, one would suppose. Musically: think Beck circa Sea Change. Effortlessly performed.

“Sorrow and Shame” is a riley piece of rock—as if Steve Miller and Blitzen Trapper were jamming on a spirited version of the Beatles’ “Ballad of John and Yoko.” Moen sings and plays all the instruments on this rousing tune, but for Conlee-Drizos’ hard charging piano. A fun song.

The intro to “True Sparrow” sounds directly lifted from Jethro Tull’s “Songs From the Wood” era, with crackling acoustic guitar and soaring flute tones. In a similar context, the song’s melody resembles Steeleye Span’s version of “ Black Jack Davy.” John adds prickly electric rhythm guitar, Grisman-esque chiming mandolin and Rowan Brothers-style vocal texture to the proceedings, with a couple of Neil Youngian solos to top it all off.

A ghostly pretty ballad, “Find Me” is simply arranged, just Moen’s acoustic guitar, Drews’ simple hand percussion and Black Prairie Decemberist Nate Query’s sinewy bass—either an acoustic stand up, or effected to sound like one— offering long, vaporous lines which sometimes melt into what sounds like a cello. This song radiates the same youthful innocence and simple beauty as Elliot Smith’s “Angeles” from Either/Or, with a vocal melody that faintly evokes equal parts U-2’s “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” and the Doobie Brothers’ “I Cheat the Hangman.”

Longmire reprises with bristly six-string interjections for the Dead-informed “Offering the Blues,” while Funk bequeaths smooth-polished lap-steel to the background. John’s slippery falsetto slides in and out of the sly lyric with elastic aplomb. Fun. The Byrds, of course, are instantly referenced by the plucky electric 12-string guitar figure that leads-off “Still (Mt. Zero).” John’s easy-going vocal evinces “Take It Easy” Eagles, Jackson Browne or Jonathan Edwards. Ah, the ‘70s!

Query returns on upright bass for the simple acoustic number “Thousand Words.” John’s finger-picked acoustic guitar scatters like raindrops across the earthy substance of Query’s bass in the verses. At the chorus, John launches into a beautiful, Brian Wilson inspired aria, buffeted by a round cello sound and the warm wind of Kaitlyn ni Donovan’s violin. Moen’s piano unwinds like a music box minuet to introduce “Queen Mary.” Electric guitar arpeggios serve in counterpoint and underpin a vocal motif worthy of Chris Martin, resolving in a lovely, yearnful passage through the lullaby soprano chorus. Drews’ fiery lead guitar sears a raw scar across the musical terrain. Powerful.

Jonathan Drews, John Moen, Chris Slusarenko: Eyelids

“Highlife” twists on a knot of urgent chords, recalling the Gin Blossoms or early Smithereens. Chris Slusarenko’s (Sprinkler, Svelt, Guided By Voices, played with Moen in Boston Spaceships, and there is a rumor of a band called Eyelids comprised of Moen, Drews and Slusarenko in the works) churning bass paces like a quickened pulse through a mournful verse: “Highlife, baby/Your windshield saves me/from flying insects/Am I your best friend?” Things come to a monetary abrupt and complete halt. Then a corner is turned into a gorgeous wordless chorus worthy of the Dandy Warhols. The ubiquitous Annalisa Tornfelt (Black Prairie) joins for a solo midway, and angelic vocal harmonies in the back half of the song. Another winner.

Funk’s lonesome pedalsteel hovers around John’s wispy acoustic guitar and chunky piano chords like a fog of depression through the despondent verse of “Lightlow Nightowl.” As Moen demonstrates repeatedly throughout this album, he is a crafter of gorgeous, Smithian choruses and the one for this song is no different, buffeted by his plaintive vocal adolescence and knack for a catchy melody. Having a couple of vocal octaves to experiment with while creating those melodies is obviously of great benefit—here, as everywhere else.

A good songwriter assimilates every song he hears—storing away the choicest morsels for later application. These fragments may reappear in a new original song as merely a faint and distant reference, or they may be more direct. As a songwriter, John Moen works in the former context. All of his songs, and all their arrangements sound instantly familiar. By the third listen, every song is indelibly implanted in one’s subconscious. Apparitions of his songs will well up through the course of a day. They are not so much remembered as absorbed.

What’s true is that John Moen and his aggregation, Perhapst, are equal to any of the other organizations with which he has heretofore been affiliated. He’s in their league. He has taken a little something from every one of them and made it his own. Each song here is a tiny gem—once heard, not to be forgotten.

Radiation City

Animals in the Median
Tender Loving Empire

Musical acts with a choral female vocal core have been a mainstay of popular music since the genre was inaugurated early in the 20^th century. The Boswell Sisters, in the early ‘30s, come instantly to mind as purveyors of tight harmonies and blues-inflected jazz phrasing. Later the Andrews Sisters glommed onto those tight harmonies and, later still, it was the Chordettes singing “Mr. Sandman” in 1954 with bright, brassy barbershop harmonies.

The advent of rhythm and blues in the late ‘50s portended a change toward a new and different sound that came to full flower in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Although there are earlier examples (the Shirelles most prominent among them), the precise recording I will be referring to, in going forward, as the headwaters of what rivered down thereafter is “Sally Go ‘Round the Roses,” released in 1963 by the Jaynetts. That recording features no real lead singer to speak of. It is just a bunch of girls—at least sixteen of them, maybe more—singing mostly in unison, a spinoff of a well-known nursery rhyme.

For some reason, there is something very eerie about that muddled, muddy recording. Eerie in a good way. Happily eerie. Like when a warm breeze blows through you and you experience a chill. A chill of warmth, if you will. The Primettes had already become the Supremes by that time, so it’s a good bet they and Berry Gordy Jr. were listening to this record too, as it seemed to have a direct effect on their sound. It’s the sound of a bunch of girls singing in unison.

Oh, the Supremes improved upon it (“Baby Love.” You bet!), of course and Phil Spector built a career out of it. Then the sound became part of the soul and rock vernacular and it spun off in countless fruitful ways. From Laura Nyro to the 5^th Dimension, from Sergio Mendez and Brazil ‘66 to Abba. Mamas and the Papas, the Association. Everywhere—you can hear the sound of unison. Yeah, there’s a little harmony at times, but it’s that sound of many voices singing the same note, turning that single note into harmonic sludge. Yup. That’s it!

Perhaps you are wondering where the hell I’m going with all this. I know I am. Radiation City. And all the above merely serves as reference to a single aspect, out of many that distinguish Radiation City from most any other band. Why?

Because Radiation City are able to absorb the essence of other bands like Nancy Crater sucks the salt out of people in the original Star Trek episode “The Man Trap.” Only in a good way. For world peace and the benefit of pop music, I guess. I don’t know. Radiation City seem to love music, to love playing it together and to have an uncanny knack for producing familiarly new and unique pieces of music that creep into your DNA in precisely the same way that their (grand)parents’ music has crept into that of the members of the band.

And if everything I have described up to this point could be considered as cake, then it would be safe to say that they have mastered the recipe. But where Radiation City truly excel is in the art of frosting. Their attention to composition and detail is keenly superb. In fact they are so dedicated to frosting that they tend to frost the first layer of their creations with a second, thicker, even more ornate layer of frosting. It’s thick. It’s rich. It’s Radiation City musical frosting!

Right from the start, with”Zombies,” you get a sense of where these guys are coming from—and where they’re going. Over quirky, Beach Boys-ish church organ, burbling percussive effects, Cameron Spies’ skittering rhythm guitar, and Matt Rafferty’s stacatto bass pumps, vocalist Lizzy Ellison broadcasts a verse with a melody faintly reminiscent of Alan Parson Project’s “Eye in the Sky.” And while you try to conjure that in your mind’s ear, mix in Abba doing “Fernando” when multi-instrumentalist Patti King joins in harmony vocals at the chorus. Consider an air of the Cocteau Twins (and all subsequent related elements) hovering an atmosphere all around. Let the frosted frosting surround you.

“So Long” sounds as if it’s driven by an Optigan or a vintage Lowery organ or something of equal delightful tackiness, along with a squirrely ‘60s style psychedelic guitar and Randy Bemrose’s hard-hitting beat in the clinches. Strange vocals imply a Dodge commercial from 1963, produced by Raymond Scott. Ultimately, this is music for the 21^st century Space Age Bachelor Pad where swinging bachelorettes are welcome as well.

The brief “Wash of Noise” creates a mood of angst and discorporation, with clever, intellectually astute lyrics. “I’ve got a proposition/Why don’t we change positions/I’ll take your physical prowess/You take this rabbit hat from me.” Heart-thump drumbeat and other drain clearing percussive sounds, elastic bass, and swooning melotron-like violin contribute to the stark, desolate ambience. A strange, mildly unnerving piece to be sure.

The fellas articulate the intro section to “Food.” But eventually a lilting double-tracked female voice (with harmonies the second time through) comes into the sonic picture to dally the choral seam aforementioned—recalling the timbre of the Brit girl duo, the Caravelles, from ’63. This is over a lazy Sergio Mendez-style samba, with spaghetti western guitar theme, mixed in with a feel sailed in from the early ‘80s, circa the band Berlin (slowed down—without the coke edge). These guys are nothing if not pliable!

It really isn’t until the entry of the burbbly chortling arpeggiating synth and soft, sandy acoustic nylon stringed guitar that float around the launch of “Foreign Bodies,” that the complex components to the elaborate confection that is this album begin to congeal into a full-fledged musical cake. Over that is spread a vocal with the consistency of Mary Wells singing a Laura Nyro song (produced by Phil Spector)—which never happened but it should have. When the drums kick in at the turns, the crew steals the echo effect from the Cowsills’ “Flower Girl,” while adding a ‘60s elevator element that is peculiarly all their own.

“LA Beach” maintains that laid back feel, well worthy of its sunny, blue-sky title, and maybe reminiscent, production-wise, of something from the Beach Boys’ Surf’s Up period. The brief “Entropia” extends that vibe. Hauntedly cool male voices somnambulently lead the listener through ghostly sand, sounding all Wilson-y in its ornate nakedness. The melody of “Wary Eyes” bears a direct reference to Joao Gilberto’s “Desafinado” (if Astrud Gilberto were ever to have sung it) and maintains a similar restraint—perhaps in a league with early Cocteau Twins.

Buckminsterfullerene_animated — Buckminsterfullerene

That Cocteau Twins affinity is further realized on the aptly (considering that faint connection) named “Buckminsterfulerene,” which even sounds like a Twins title. As we all know, Buckminsterfullerene was named after its resemblance to “Bucky balls,” and is the largest object to have been shown to exhibit wave-particle duality (it’s a quantum physics thing. Don’t worry about it), and, of course, solid and gaseous forms of the molecule have been detected in space. Right?

Anyway, consider this song as a possible out-take from Heaven or Las Vegas (with the addition of an array of electronically generated whizzy zizzy accoutrements) and you approximate the milieu. What would it sound like if Phil Spector produced the Cocteau Twins? Now that’s something to think about! You can get some idea by listening to this track.

“Summer Rain” maintains a 5^th Dimension “Stoned Soul Picnic” antique soul sensibility, paired with uniquely spacey passages of a modest au current grandeur—leading to a piping “Chopsticks” section reminiscent of “Good Vibrations” Beach Boys meeting at Harry Nilsson’s Point. This is all pulled off with spectacular élan in the two minutes it takes to get that far into the song.

Then, in the middle section, they break into the sort of jazz-edged synth solo that Steely Dan might recognize, followed by a short symphonic breakdown worthy of Prince, and back to the Stoned Soulish verse. Three minutes flat. Radiation City work fast. And efficiently. As luxurious as the songs can often be, they don’t linger beyond the moment before flitting off to some other musical destination. You have to pay attention!

The lazy gaited ballad, “Lark,” provides a lush thicket of sound. Brambles of keyboards, with arpeggiating acoustic guitar play against delicately non-descript female and occasional male voices. If there is a criticism to be made of Radiation City it’s that on occasion their vocals, male and female, tend to be a bit bland. They are all very pleasant, to be sure—as everything is with this band—but at times these vocals sound as anonymous as one of those sixteen singing “Sally Go ‘Round the Roses.” Still, after all, the same could be said for Abba. So that’s no knock-out punch, by any means.

But fortunately they bounce back with the vivacious final track, “Call Me.” With frogs and crickets a-chirpin’, Spies’ Jobimian Spanish guitar serves as loci, with wiry low-synth set off by puffy nimbus cloud tones purring and whirring in support. Inside of that, the ladies embroider a vocal tapestry that slowly fades into an ephemeral fog, then into a frog.

Radiation City do what all good bands do, they assimilate and recast all that has gone before them. They do that in an unusual way. Their presentation is incredibly idiosyncratic. They fashion their musical pastries with great care and obvious fastidity—to the extent that the arrangements and production values often overcome the songs themselves.

But, upon close inspection, some of the songs themselves seem insubstantial. There’s too much frosting and not enough cake. And the cake we get is like angel food: mostly air. There is nothing wrong with angel food cake, until you try to apply two thick layers of frosting to the flimsy gateau. It’s too much.

Radiation City are not to that point. They show a great deal of promise in very promising ways. But, in order to create memorable music that stands the test of time, more important than arrangements or clever instrumentation well-executed—more important than the band or its performances, are the actual songs themselves. Without consistently solid, well-crafted songs, with lyrical depth to match a skilled melody, the center will not hold. The cake will collapse. Radiation City are too good at their craft to ever allow that to happen.

Little Sue

New Light
Self-Released

Susannah “Little Sue” Weaver has been a fixture in the local folk picture for, dare I say it, about twenty years now—since she first burst upon the scene with the lamentedly late, great Crackpots (In Exile). And while we have all aged to greater or lesser degrees over those two decades, there is little question that Little Sue has aged better than most.

Little Sue produced a spate of recordings in the late ‘90s and early Aughts [Chimneys & Fishes (’97), Crow (’99), The Long Goodbye (’02), and Shine (’04)] before entering a nearly identical maternal career trajectory as that of Corin Tucker (former Sleater-Kinney flamethrower). She spent the better part of a decade being mother to a child (a boy). Like Tucker, Little Sue released but a single album in the interim: Baby Knows Better in 2008.

She has, however, been involved in numerous side projects over the years, including stints in a duo with Lynn Connover and membership in Casey Neill’s Norway Rats, as well as turns with the Minus 5 and From Words to Blows—which seems diverse enough to me as far as hobbies go.

This recording was funded through a Kickstarter campaign. And it’s a very smart production—headed by the legendary Mike Coykendall at Blue Room studios. In addition to occasional guitar and bass backing, Coykendall just kicks the shit out of his kit on the rockier tunes. There aren’t a lot of those, but they stand out by his presence.

Most of the ten songs presented here maintain a quality of antique burnished wood, like an old hickory branch rocking chair. That note of hickory in the presentation is not artifice in Little Sue, but a reference to her own roots in West Virginia. Her music has always freely referenced Alt. Folk/Alt. Country/Americana genres, though she has often claimed no real affinity for those styles. Apparently they claimed her instead.

Because she’s about as good at delivering it as it gets. Though not stylistically, but in some sort of organic way, Sue’s music resonates with that of Laura Gibson. But whereas Gibson is all tumbleweed prairie wind and restless, burning sage, Sue comes from something of an Appalaichian perspective, which would seem to be generated more by heritage than by intention.

If anything, this album is even quieter than any of her previous work—which has almost always been acoustic in nature, and pretty damn quiet to begin with. In the past, Sue’s preferred instrument of choice for accompaniment was acoustic guitar. Here she forgoes that half the time in lieu of the ubiquitous ukelele, which stands with the recorder as perhaps the least threatening musical instrument of all. It is, however, the instrument du jour. I mean, good Gawd, human fawn Zoey Deschanel—with whom Coykendall has worked—plays one (she plays a Fender uke, fer chrissakes!)! That’s about as high as the adorability scale goes, am I right? Am I right?

Fortuitously for all involved, Little Sue elects to present the instrument in a uniquely different light. Perhaps it’s the Appalaichians or some other mountain thread woven into her musical coat of many colors, but much of her approach to the ukelele calls to mind the sound and texture of a dulcimer. Her songs, by their nature, tend to support that moutainesque country atmosphere, with maybe the occasional nod to the American Standard Songbook. The arrangements here, for the most part are just flat out weird, but distinctive for precisely that reason.

The songs in this package vary in texture, while maintaining a certain artistic adhesion—attributable to Sue’s strong musical persona. She bears nearly the specific gravity of a ruby such as Dolly Parton or a sapphire like Emmylou Harris. Beyond that, with only a few exceptions, many songs maintain an arcane parlor-like ambience.

That fretful uke or the occasional acoustic guitar, is sometimes paired with Jill Coykendall’s butterflying clarinet interludes, other times Annalisa Tornfelt’s (pretty much the current go-to fiddler in town, she plays with Black Prairie, as well as stints with countless others) sonorous violin or yodeling fiddle—matched with Jenny Conlee-Drizos (Calobo, Decemberists, Black Prairie, From Words to Blows, ad infinitum) adding accordion and piano to most songs. Miss Michael Jodell lends vocal support in many places along the way. Wendy Pate and Little Sue’s son Vaden Goble make guest appearances as well.

As for example, let’s study the first song, “History Mystery.” Plaintive ukelele and rhapsodic clarinet mingle mournfully in the intro, leading to a telling first verse. “When ties came to sever/The words that came so clever/I could no longer employ/I no longer could enjoy/Working on a song/It all just came out wrong,” a well-place diminished chord emphasizing that poignant last line. In the chorus, which resonates faintly of the Easybeats’ “Friday On My Mind,” layers of backing harmonies, ostensibly Sue and Miss Jodell, sound like the Boswell Sisters backing Paul McCartney on “When I’m 64.” Or, there abouts. Conlee-Drizos joins to duet on accordion with Jill Coykendall on clarinet, Sue contributes a little bass at the end and out. A nice low-key entry into the album.

On “Find Yourself” Conlee-Drizos and Jill Coykendall exchange positions with Jenny’s honky-tonk piano upfront leading the charge and Jill laying back, while Sue carves out a more insistent rhythm on acoustic guitar over very restrained basic trap set. Like it’s predecessor, this song seems to have faint melodic ties to the canon of John Fogarty. Where an echo of “Who’ll Stop The Rain” reverberates through the first line of “History Mystery,” a hint of “Lookin’ Out My Back Door” breezes across the verses of “Find Yourself.” Just enough to connote a mood.

Annalisa Tornfelt joins the fray on the hard-charging “Energy: A Love Song For West Virginia.” Over Mike Coykendall’s driving beat and bass, she burns a country/bluegrass fiddle, with Sue ukeing a sound similar to a capoed nylon string guitar. Sue slips into a comfortable vocal gear on the verses ala Emmylou Harris—and she and Annalisa duet on the choruses. This cut is a standout, extremely air-worthy.

Jenny and Jill return, with Sue on uke, for “Elephant In The Room,” a song which balances on a ball like a circus pachyderm. Sue’s brittle voice relates the tale over a series of referential chords, but Jenny soon jumps in with well-turned piano stylings, calling to mind jaunty McCartney circa “Penny Lane”/”Your Mother Should Know.” Superficially it’s a children’s song, but with a second layer of meaning that is clearly adult in context.

The instrumental “Song No Words” balances flitting dulcet uke and piano arpeggios against wafting clarinet and warm violin to create a nice mood piece. While there is no real melody to be found among the instruments, they riffle through the pretty chords with heartfelt aplomb, creating a winsome atmosphere. A familiar descending chromatic figure inaugurates the gospelly “Always Be Mine,” where the laid-back downhome quality of Sue’s vocal recalls the early days of Dolly Parton. Jodell’s vocal harmonies are spot on throughout.

The final verse, nakedly personal and razorblade introspective, reveals Sue’s inner struggle. “Here comes the night/And it shines on you/And it sheds a little light on everything you do/Here comes my love/Watch out for me/Throw me a line else I drown in entropy.” ‘Drowning in entropy’ is an image that is hard to focus, but once in place, offers facets of crystal clarity.

“Today” is another Mike Coykendall slammer. He piledrives drums and bass behind Conlee-Drizos’ chunky Wurlitzer electric piano and Sue’s distant acoustic guitar, punctuated by an attractive array of multi-tracked backing vocals. It rocks! On the wistful ballad “Head Banger” a lone acoustic piano leads the path for Sue’s willow reedy voice—doubled, as Annalisa Tornfelt returns with sad, windy violin strains and Jill Coykendall flies a nightingale clarinet solo into the lovely wuther —a desolate moor of a song.

Uke, clarinet and piano unite once more for “The Back Forty.” Sounding as if lifted from a ‘20s/’30s musical, the light-hearted pastiche trundles through rainswept corridors before arriving at the pastoral citadel that is the entitled destination. Again Sue and Miss Michael pair in perfect harmony for delightful backing vocals, which serve to create a mood that harkens to another time, long ago—whenever that was.

The title track finale is another gospel-tinged go-around, with Conlee-Drizos laying down bold, open chord piano, and Sue sounding the spittin’ image of Dolly down to the shushy little eshesh she shumtimes shings in shofter momentsh. It’s a touching feature, particularly because it does not sound affected in the least, but genuine, on a very heartfelt song.

It’s almost as if this is two separate albums. The one is the traditional Little Sue Weaver who steers a country road as well as any folkie. But the other album is very unusual. The ukelele/clarinet/piano or accordion trinity sounds entirely anachronous, if ever there was a time when those three instruments regularly gathered to jam. Maybe the ‘20s? But none of that music that I know of sounded anything like this.

And a ukelele can become old pretty quick. Sue does far better than most at making the instrument fit into a variety of musical scenarios—managing to elicit tones reminiscent of dulcimer, mandolin and acoustic guitar besides, of course, ukelele. The point being that the ukelele driven numbers here are the most unique. But the possibility of sustaining a career utilizing a ukelele as one’s main ax would seem at or near absolute zero.

The quality of Sue’s songwriting has always been consistently sharp, if somewhat melodically rote in context. Such is the case with this album, although it is noteworthy that, whether it is as a result of the ukelele influence or just the natural progression of these things, many of her songwriting turns drift away from Folk/Country models toward those found in more traditional Popular music. In the long run, learning that vocabulary can serve only to benefit her as an artist.

Wilkinson Blades

“Watch the World Go By”/“Out of the Way”
Shiftone Records

We first heard from Steve Wilkinson and his new musical entity the Wilkinson Blades about nine months ago with the release of their debut album 4AM, which scored for them the Number Six slot in my Top 9 of 2012 list. And while that venture was more or less a solo album with benefits, many of the same side players who contributed to tracks on that album are now fully integrated members of the real band. Having played dozens of gigs together over the past year, no one in the band sounds like a guest.

Wilkinson and team have decided to plot a somewhat unorthodox course in releasing their music. Steve has chosen to issue the band’s music incrementally—in a series of singles, in lieu of saving them up for a yearly posit. These songs may or may not appear on an album at some future date. But it’s Steve’s intention to release songs as they are written and recorded, while they are still fresh, rather than to sit on them until enough material has accrued to record a whole album. This is a similar tack to that we observed earlier this month with Y La Bamba and their new EP Oh February. Strike while the creative iron is hot and all that.

Wilkinson Blades (Photo by Daria Mamarella Landar)

In the Wilkinson Blades we have windswept Americana at it’s finest. I spent much of last year’s review comparing Steve’s voice to early Neil Diamond. Before he was the crooner of Longfellow Serenades turning on his Heartlight, Neil Diamond was a Solitary Man, the classic anguished outsider. You hear that brooding loner in Steve Wilkinson’s voice. Weary desolation. Hardworn resolve.

But the two sides of this single reflect a less singular, more proletariat point of view—stylistically closer perhaps to the work of John Cougar Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen. Part of this is attributable to the band: lead guitarist Grant Cumpston and Rich Landar on keys, bassist John Huckfeldt, and drummer Jon Beyer. They form a cohesive sound, supportive without being flashy. Stripped down, but not sparse. There are comfortable touches of down home country here—an essence rarely heard in the actual country music genre anymore. But you hear it in the classic Mellencamp/Springsteen songs. It’s the sound of the people. The sound of the heartland.

Since we’re dealing with a single here—two songs—it’s not possible to draw a true discernment of the band’s “sound,” per se, or the direction in which they ultimately may be headed. They’re a western band. Not in a country music context, but in the directional sense. Out here, in the wide, open spaces.

“Watch the World Go By” falls into an easy groove, nudged forward by Landar’s thick electric piano and Cumpston’s chiming guitar. Over that, Steve intones a raspy baritone, mulling a strategy for the forward progression of his life, and the obstacles that lie in his path to that advancement.

In the verse he ponders his private dilemma. “I can count on one hand the ways/All of the sins we wage/If I hold on to everything/It’ll get me down.” In the chorus he weighs his options. “I think I know what I need/I can feel everything.” He can either participate in the emotional turmoil in his life. “Or I can sit back and smile/And watch the world go by.” Or he can go with the flow and simply observe it all as it transpires before him.

But ultimately he sees that all around him is but illusion and façade. “Well I head up to the lake/Where people are just as fake/As a fur coat at a zoo party.” Rich adds vocal harmonies in the verses that are Van Zandt to Steve’s Boss, while Grant contributes a scrabbled solo—with a bit of chortling country twang on the edges. There is a certain distant melodic resemblance between the verses of this song and the Who’s “Baba O’Riley” (“Teenage Wasteland”), and “Won’t Get Fooled Again” too for that matter, but it’s ineffable at best. Genetic memory, perhaps.

The “flip side” (a 20^th century, analog, vinyl term), “Out of the Way,” hits a little harder, calling to mind the gritty, cranky outpourings of Soul Asylum or our very own Dharma Bums, with a hint of a Springsteenian sense of sonic sweep and grandeur. Rich’s chiming piano is comparable to that of Roy Bittan, with churning guitars and Huck’s hard charging bass leading the spirited sprint.

The second is something of a resolution to the first song. Wherein his initial considerations concluded in a wait and see attitude with “Watch the World Go By,” here exclaiming in a Stipe-like anthemic croon, Steve decides, “I’m moving out of the way.” This song and REM’s “Driver 8” bear similarities: this being the major-key version, perhaps.

Signed to the Austin-based Shiftone label, the Wilkinson Blades played South By Southwest last year and will hopefully be there again this year as well. Austin seems like just the right place for these guys (not that we don’t want them to stay here!) and their silver-buckle, worn boot-leather sound. They aren’t re-inventing the wheel, but they have come up with a vehicle that rolls real smooth.

Y La Bamba

Oh February
Tender Loving Empire

Recent recipients of the Number One slot among my highly coveted “Top 9 of 2012” awards with Court the Storm, Y La Bamba have returned eleven months later with the breathtaking Oh February. The six songs found here serve as a window into the world of artists in the midst of tremendous musical growth. The members of YLB are maturing as individuals, as musicians, and together they are ripening—very satisfyingly—as a precise musical entity of great power and portent.

They spent most of 2012 touring and re-touring the nation, while their parent label Tender Loving Empire tendered a loving new distribution deal with ADA, the premier independent music distributor (Sub Pop, Saddle Creek, the Secretly Canadian label group, Dualtone, Matador, Bar/None, etc) in the country. Finally Y La Bamba, among a wonderful lineup of outstanding TLE acts, will see the sort of national representation that they had not been receiving for the past couple of years from NAIL Distribution in Portland.

As Y La Bamba prepared for a tour as openers for the hot, hot Lumineers (who record for the Nashville-based Dualtone label), ADA requested fresh product to help to promote their new act in tandem with the Grammy nominees—thus this hastily fashioned EP. YLB drummer, vocalist and multi-instrumentalist, Michael Kitson provides insight: “Our original plan was to record a full length album in the first half of 2013 with Steve Berlin again [Berlin of Los Lobos produced Court the Storm], but this changes our plan. We’re going to try to take some time off this spring before Festival season to write and rehearse a bunch more so we can indeed record with Berlin again by the end of 2013.”

So at the beginning of December with time of the essence the band joined Chris Funk (Decemberists, Black Prairie) at Search Party studios in the old La Luna building for a sudden burst of recording grandeur. After a few subsequent sessions with Victor Nash (Point Juncture, Wa.) in his studio, the project was quickly completed. By the end of the month the record was mixed, mastered and ready for public consumption. The result is a spontaneous masterpiece. And while Funk receives credit as co-producer, Nash and especially engineer Graeme Gibson deserve acknowledgements for their contributions, as well. Gibson’s wizardry adds new sonic dimensions to several tracks.

As was noted in the Court the Storm review last year, Y La Bamba never move in a straight line, and this instance is certainly no different—although once the zig has been zagged the crew stay on course for the entire voyage. Probably the most noticeable aspect of this new album is that lead vocalist Luz Elena Mendoza sings all six songs in English. YLB’s previous albums, Lupon and Court the Storm fairly dripped with Mexican culture, as Luz mined the rich ore of her heritage. Here, the presentation is more straightforwardly mainstream, in a quirky, idiosyncratic way familiar only to this band.

ylb 2 L Avid — Luz and Y La Bamba (Photo by L Avid)

And the context has changed slightly. Whereas previously the group seemed to be more or less Luz with (a very talented) supporting cast, Y La Bamba are now a fully integrated, well-oiled musical machine. The members are entirely aware that their lead singer may be one of the great vocalists living on the face of the planet, but now she is merely at the center of the action instead of being out in front of it. And the half-dozen songs here reflect a deeper spirit of collaboration and experimentation than all previous efforts.

Leading off the album, the title track would seem to be the link between what has come before and what lay ahead in the musical course these mates have charted. “Oh February” is a new song. It’s so new that the band only first played it for an audience in Annapolis at the very end of January. It’s so new that it’s two songs on this album, although the final track, “Mad As We Are,” while maintaining the lineage, departs from the components of the original to such an extent that they are pretty much two different songs.

“Oh February” begins at the point where Court the Storm—most specifically where “Squawk” and “Viuda Encabronada”—left off. Over deceptively simple nylon-string guitar accompaniment, Luz implores “Say what you want to say/Say what you mean.” Familiar divine vocal harmonies soon enter after the first turn, flowering in sprung abundance. The arrangement nearly dies, as if Luz is halting the proceedings altogether, before suddenly reeling forward, riding Afro tribal rhythms generated by Kitson and fellow multi-instrumentalist Scott Magee. According to Kitson, “Scott and I wrote the percussion part on the spot in the studio, which was actually pretty tricky due to varying meters and phrase lengths that tend to happen when Luz writes.”

Ben Meyercord’s elastic bassline tethers “A Poet’s Tune” to earth, as accordionist Eric Schrepel rings in with chiming bells and Kitson provides keyboard water tones that drip melodically. Magee’s insistent ¾-time drums are neatly counterbalanced by Edward (formerly Paul) Cameron’s gritty, grainy electric guitar intonations. Over the rivering waltz, Luz sounds as angelic as Josephine Foster (without the peculiarities). She and Cameron hover cloudlike above the rippling rapids below, as far off Meyercord and Kitson echo “Calling the rain, fall from our eyes.” A new direction for Y La Bamba, to be sure. And a delightful one.

“A Death on the Road” is nothing short of epic. A tour de force. We begin with a romantic, Old West feel, familiar to the Y La Bamba oeuvre—Luz’s voice evocatively filled with passion and intensity. Whining accordion and a cantering beat propel the tune into ghostly terrain. Wraithlike harmonies soar in the distance. The rhythm gathers momentum as electric guitar and organ begin to fleet and flitter in whirpool circles. Abruptly the impetus dissolves, with Luz chanting enchantingly, while Kitson’s piano maps the path. Slowly, celestial voices gather over a thunderous beat, Magee’s keyboard wuthering wearily to a close.

Assembling all the elements that make them such a unique band, “Clarji” is a stirring pastiche, comprised of a heartrending vocal duet between Luz and Edward accompanied by Magee on delicate ukelele and Kitson’s mellow-toned, bell-like keyboard figures. Schrepel’s moaning accordion coupled with flamenco style handclaps and foot-stomping percussion carry the tune, like a leaf blown by the wind. The song bursts briefly to life, carried by a haunting vocal theme that sounds almost like a cello. Brilliant.

Radiohead’s “There, There” comes to mind when listening to the second half of “River in Drought.” Magee’s rolling Phil Selway-inspired toms are intersected by jagged electric guitar—reminiscent of the quicksand static of Thom Yorke’s similar aural mosaic. As always, thick, lush support vocals surround Luz in luminescence, her gorgeous voice lulling in siren song.

How exactly “Mad As We Are,” fits with “Oh February” is a mystery to me, as they are two completely different songs, but it is entitled as something of a reprise. It’s an uncomplicated arrangement. Pastoral. Cameron on this occasion is responsible for simple supplementary tom and brushed snare percussion, against straightforward electric guitar. Perhaps the song is seen as a reprise, because it is February gray in context. But this too is a very new song, never performed in public and as to how it will blossom in the future remains to be heard.

Though this EP is only a little over twenty minutes long, it is still very satisfying as a piece of musical literature. Complete. It seems longer in duration—in a good way. In fact some of the songs are all too brief. But it is safe to assume that a few of them will be fleshed out and laid down again at a future date. But what is here is pure gold.

Those expecting any sort of holding pattern from Y La Bamba will be pleasantly surprised to find that they are sadly mistaken. The band has continued to grow with every gig they play. And they have played a lot of gigs in the past two years. Currently they are concluding that little East Coast mini-tour with the Lumineers. The Lumineers are this year’s indie darlings, with a Grammy nomination and performances on late night TV, as well as Saturday Night Live. This time next year, it is not at all unreasonable to expect that Y La Bamba will be in precisely that same position. This is rapturously poignant, original music at its finest. Heartfelt. Sublime. Magical.

Preview Oh February here.

The Top 9 of 2012

It’s the end of one year and the beginning of another. And at the end of every year, every music critic, music columnist, music writer, music journalist, music blogger or music fan of any note generates a “Best of…” list. Late in my career I am making the attempt to fit in to one of those categories. So, I have prepared my own “Best of…” list. I’ve been seeing these things pop up since, like, Thanksgiving, which seems awfully early to me.

Hello Comet of Doom 2013 — Hello Ison, Comet of Doom 2013

I mean there’s still five or six weeks left in the year, something brilliant might come out in that time! In the local scene that is entirely possible, as local musicians and bands aren’t so tied in to the corporate Christmas cycle of new releases—which begins winding down by mid-October.

But that anomaly didn’t happen here. The latest release on my list came out in September. So there you go.

I reviewed 13 albums this year. Many of those made several other assorted “Best of…” lists—my point being: look what excellent taste I have in the choices I make. Personally, I look for variety. And the albums that did not make this or any other “Best of…” list are certainly as interesting as the recordings that did. In fact several are more interesting, but they are so esoteric or peculiar to my own tastes, that they are not perhaps as accessible as the rest. Still, I rarely review an album if I don’t like it. What’s the point of that, after all? There’s so much great music being released every week, even in our obscure local sphere, that to waste space on a negative review seems counterproductive.

Of the nine albums to make this list, there are two for which, owing to the typical slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I was unable to finish and publish in a timely fashion. And so, inside a file in the same folder as this very document, those reviews remain to molder in the netherworld of documents never read, which may or may not exist at all, like the proverbial falling tree in the woods. However I did listen extensively to the recordings that did not receive their official reviews and I enjoyed them very much, and that’s why they are here:

Coming in at Number 9 in my Top 9 of 2012 is an album released last January. High-prairie Piaf, Laura Gibson’s La Grande opened many eyes and ears to her homespun Americana tumbleweed tales of love and sensuality. The energetic title track shows a different vein in the music she typically mines. More familiar musical territory is traveled with the lovely “Milk Heavy/Pollen Eyed” and the gorgeous “Time is Not.” Laura toured Europe with Calexico (Joey Burns produced La Grande) last fall and recently completed a west coast tour sprint. She works slowly, but there is little doubt we will be hearing more from Laura sometime this year.

James Mercer and the Shins, with several new members in tow, returned to the fray after a five-year hiatus. In March we took a listen to their latest release Port of Morrow, which comes in at Number 8 in the Top 9 of 2012 . The new album is a subdued affair, indicative of Mercer’s growing maturity and domesticity. Fans hoping for another Oh, Inverted World or Chutes Too Narrow will have to be content with a more contemplative James Mercer. However, his craft as a songsmith has never been more keen. The energetic single “Simple Song,” harkens somewhat to the earlier days. The haunting “September” perfectly demonstrates the new dynamic Mercer is pursuing as he approaches middle-age.

With Cardiology, released in August, Sara Jackson-Holman slipped onto the local musical radar screen, earning her the Number 7 spot in the Top 9 of 2012. After her debut single “Into the Blue” made its way into a crucial scene in the second year finale of the Castle television series in 2010, Sara recruited Dahlia/Auditory Sculpture master-mind Keith Schreiner to produce her sophomore album. Songs such as “Can’t Take My Love,” “My Biggest Mistake” and “Do I Make It Look Easy” give rise to comparisons to Adele, Macy Gray, Annie Lennox and Kate Bush. It is not inconceivable that Sara will one day soon rise to their stature.

Seasoned local veteran Steve Wilkinson has always been one of Portland’s most innovative grunge purveyors. With his new band, Wilkinson Blades, Steve turned angst into yearning with 4AM a great new album released in May. Steve’s deep, rich baritone could easily pass for that of the National’s Matt Beringer. But to these ears, early Neil Diamond comes to mind. There’s a touch of Richmond Fontaine-like dusty Americana desolation in Steve’s songs. “No Exit,” drips with the resignation of a man bowed, but not broken. “It Might Hit Me,” burns brighter and hits harder. The haunted ballad “Walking in the Snow” portends even bigger things from Steve Wilkinson. 4AM comes in at Number 6 in the Top 9 of 2012 hit parade. Look for a single from the Wilkinson Blades any day now.

Number 5 on the list of the Top 9 of 2012 marks the return of former Sleater Kinney screamer Corin Tucker with the Corin Tucker Band. Kill My Blues was released in September to fairly low expectations. After the breakup of Sleater Kinney in 2006, Corin spent the better part of the subsequent five years as a stay-at-home mom, releasing only the slim, scant 1,000 Years, her self-described “middle-aged mom” record in 2010. With that, many may have reasonably deduced that Corin had reached the end of the rock and roll line. But the new album soon dispelled any suspicions that Corin was washed up, as it is a clear return to form, with hardly a misstep, and a lot to love. “Groundhog Day,” Neskowin,” and nearly all the other songs on the album give clear proof that Corin Tucker has yet to reach her pull-date.

Radiation City’s brilliant EP Cool Nightmare was released in late March to widespread acclaim, earning for them “Best New Band” honors in the annual Willamette Week poll. The award was certainly well-deserved. Radiation City are a challenging young band, who incorporate a myriad of styles into their intricate arrangements. At various times, vocalist Lizzie Ellison conjures Elisabeth Fraser, Ronnie Spector and (especially) Doris Day (one of the highest compliments a vocalist can receive, in my book). “Find It Of Use,” could pass for the Cocteau Twins doing Space Age Bachelor Pad music for the new millennium, with guitarist Cameron Spies providing edge among the ambience of keyboard washes. ‘50s and ’60s girl group undertones awash in Sonic Youth overtones lend this band a decidedly unique cast and win for them the Number 4 spot in the Top 9 of 2012.

Numbers 3 and 2 in the Top 9 are closely related and (along with Sara Jackson Holman’s album) give rise to a new, more sophisticated Portlandia sound. The many organic aspects to be found in the work of such stalwarts as the Decemberists, Blind Pilot, Typhoon and countless others among their more homegrown brethren, are supplanted by cool, slick instrumentation. Lost Lander’s February release, DRRT, was primarily the work of longtime stalwart singer songwriter Matt Sheehy, with vital assistance from Brent Knopf (Menomena), who is the leader of Ramona Falls—a band for which Sheehy has contributed guitar and vocals at various times.

The bands are not interchangeable, but they do exhibit similar mindsets and musical tastes. Knopf’s multi-instrumental (though primarily a keyboard wunderkind) additions to Lost Lander’s album are intrinsic and the indubitable bridge between the organizations. The obvious hit is the liltingly lush “Afraid of Summer,” a sweet, sumptuous ballad. Forlornment well to the fore, magically celestial instrumentation sweeps across a stunningly beautiful chorus. Sometime, somewhere, “Afraid of Summer” will be included in a film soundtrack. It’s one of those songs.

Knopf’s band Ramona Falls are slightly more orchestral and electronic than Lost Lander, which is substantial to begin with. Still, on their May release Prophet, the songs themselves spin out of those orchestrations, creating a magnificent ambience for each one. Check out the unbearable exquisiteness of “Spore.” Keylines sprawling and scrawling intertwine against piano and guitar fragments like an array of stars in a galaxy of sound. Poignant. Evocative. One of the best songs I have ever heard from a Portland musician—matched perhaps only by Sheehy’s “Afraid of Summer.”

Finally, coming in at Number 1 with a bullet, the Best of 2012 is Y La Bamba’s Court the Storm, released in February. Thanks in large measure to essential production assistance from Steve Berlin (Los Lobos), the album helped to bring the band’s many and varied strengths to the fore. Vocalist Luz Mendoza is the beneficiary of one of the great vocal instruments in all of recorded music anywhere in the known universe and that is no overstatement. She is availed of the incredible good fortune to share the stage with five other accomplished musicians—all of whom are of a similar mind, contributing to the rich, cultural cross-pollination that takes place within their songs.

Intensely devoted to her Mexican heritage, Luz explores an emotional array of human themes, supported, vocally, by guitarist Paul Cameron in several tight duets, as well as by bassist Ben Meyercord and drummer Michael Kitson (and occasionally the entire ensemble) in the rich choral fabric the band weaves. Every song on the album is an adventure, maintaining roots in various Mexican styles with a characteristic urgency in the expression of each.

Favorites include the quixotic complexity of “Bendito,” the close harmonies between Luz and Paul on “Hughson Boys” and “Ponce Pilato,” and the inexorably exuberant “Michoacan.” Neko Case even makes a brief appearance on the title track. Since the release of the record last winter, the band has been touring relentlessly, criss-crossing the country, playing hundreds of shows, gathering a loyal fanbase. Expect an EP some time in the near future. The distinct improvement the band displayed with Court the Storm gives rise to the promise that any subsequent releases should be positively off the charts.

Crown Point

Curtains EP
CD Baby Records

After three years together, Crown Point are the perfect example of how a band evolves. When singer-songwriters Jon Davidson and Russell Stafford first aligned at the beginning of 2010, both came to the project with industry pedigrees. Stafford was actually signed to Sony Australia before he moved to the US. Davidson and Stafford put their band together slowly, methodically, with intention. They released a six-song EP, Wolves, a couple of years back.

That record met with modest acclaim. The single “Back to You” received airplay on over one hundred radio stations across the continent, a tally which may or may not have the cache it once had, as—with the advent of the internet—there’s three “radio stations” on every block. Still, the song was well-enough liked to be played over the airwaves and that is Mission One for most bands. Mission accomplished.

Not long after the release of Wolves, the team added drummer Kaycee Kay to the line-up and hit the road in support of the record. As is evidenced on any piece of promotional material you might find about Crown Point, they’ve logged over 70,000 miles touring the nation over the past three years, relentlessly plying their material in front of the public. These guys are pros and they know what it takes to succeed.

If one were to base his impressions of the band upon the six songs found on that EP, he might reasonably conclude that the Pointers might be a Christian rock band—not that there is anything wrong with that, necessarily. But it is a genre unto itself, with its own musical touchpoints and historical references, perhaps unknown to the everyday secular world. Many of the songs on the EP suffer from breathy, moany, gushy vocals familiar in the context of one attempting to express his relationship with God as a sexual encounter—the ulterior, high-octane, Christian double-entendre lyric meter running way in the red. Or not. But that’s what the lyrics sounded like.

Combine that with a safe, proficient ‘90s artistic sensibility, akin in places to Extreme circa the “More Than Words” period, or Bon Jovi around the reformation of the band early in that decade. Put that all together and what have you got? I’ll let you tell me. I’m no expert.

Russell Stafford and Jon Davidson (Photo by Mike Lyons) — Russell Stafford and Jon Davidson (Photo: Mike Lyons)

And if all of that was what we had here, why… we wouldn’t have it here! But I heard this new album first. And two years and 70,000 miles removed from Wolves, Crown Point are an altogether different band with an altogether different sound and presentation. Viva la difference.

It is not clear when, exactly, but at some point in the intervening two years the trio became a quartet—adding bassist Peter Arvidson. That served to solidify the rhythm section. And it also to freed guitarist Russell Stafford (with support from lead vocalist Jon Davidson) to broaden his sonic palette, adding richer colorations to the seven new songs found here, as well as embroidering finer, more ornate detail into the fabric of the mix.

Produced by the band at Black Diamond Recording in East Portland, this record bears a glistening sheen: radio-friendly, right out of the box. “Curtains Drawn” begins with the comets of Stafford’s soaring guitar lighting the path forward. Reminiscent of U2’s Edge or (now former) Editors’ guitarist Chris Urbanowicz, but most of all of Jorge Barcala from an unfortunately widely-ignored Miami band from the early ‘90s called Nuclear Valdez, Stafford bestows a veil of incendiary cosmic urgency to the introduction.

Jon Davidson (Photo by Mike Lyons) — Jon Davidson (Photo: Mike Lyons)

Davidson does not over-emote vocally but, instead, allows the song to develop its own intensity. His phrasing is vaguely reminiscent of Bono: operatic rock tenor—displaying a deft falsetto and wonderful vocal control. This is especially valuable while pronouncing lines such as: “Wait and see, wait and see, morning banishes the night/Wait and see, wait and see, morning bares the recondite.” Find me another song with the word “recondite” in it. I dare you.

The song culminates in a lovely, haunting chorus. Imagine A-Ha’s Morten Harket singing the chorus of Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me.” Go ahead. I’ll wait here. That might take a while to conjur. Well, this chorus sounds nothing like that, but at least it will put you in the proper mood and give you the necessary perspective to understand where this song goes, entirely in a 21^st century context, mind you. Nicely turned.

A reverentially ecclesiastical number, “The Room” begins quietly with organ-like tones resonating solemnly to set the mood. The vocalist (possibly Stafford) aches and ponders vocally, accompanying himself with chiming rhythm guitar, before the military march of Kay’s snare propels the procession forward. Vocally, the noble perfect 5^th interval is utilized as a means of passionate melodic expression. And while it connotes a sense of strength, it is nearly a cliché among the more operatic singers in rock world today for its heroic overstatement. There are certainly more evocative choices in the realm of note selection. That one’s been wrung dry.

Russell Stafford (Photo by Mike Lyons) — Russell Stafford (Photo: Mike Lyons)

The band maintains a sense of restraint throughout the second verse and through a well-built bridge. The chorus is pretty and pretty memorable. Stafford’s guitar work especially does much to fill in the sonic spaces of the arrangement with deftly placed filigrees. Stafford also plays a fundamental roll in “Afterbirth,” a song that has much in common with the first track. Another triumphal guitar intro, and dazzling fills and interjections, bring the song to full fruition, as Davidson sings, “Here in the afterbirth I long to know/What has become of tainted embryo/What in the name of freedom supervenes/Sanctioning predilection for the obscene.” Holy shit! You better hope this recording comes with dictionary included.

So obviously it can be a tough slog through the words to these songs. Not unpleasant. But a challenge. I have a pretty good vocabulary and I know what those words mean, but I have no idea what Davidson is attempting to convey. I’m thinking he’s saying: “Here in this mess I wonder what happened to the dream—what caused fucked-up shit to be accepted as okay?” That’s my guess, but who’s to say? And while all this deliberation is going on, Stafford is nailing down every loose end with riveting guitar lines. He makes the song special.

With “Head First” the creeping sense becomes apparent that a theme of birth is being explored (or at least alluded to) in the lyrical presentation of these first four songs. The libretto often being so dense (though penned by both Davidson and Stafford) it is sometimes difficult to understand what the hell the band is trying to say. They are earnest, certainly intelligent; but sometimes unintelligible too. “Triple point, we will melt to freeze again/Misannoint a scapegoat for our sin/Where’s the judge? I’ve forgotten my crimes/You begrudge, and again I’m doing time.”

Crown Point must run with a pretty esoterically erudite crowd, because, if that verse is in regard to an interpersonal relationship, it is way too circumspect to accomplish much. And if in regard to faith or a deity, the analogies and parable-like indirectness would seem only to serve the spiritual conundrum most people would hope to have resolved. Either that or this is a new form of Zen Christianity, where the question is the answer and one dare not ask wither. In other words, these guys really need to get to the “point.”

If we take “Head First” as a sonic collage, with the vocal serving as an instrument and not as a conveyor of words specific to the intent or meaning of the song, we are offered a languorous presentation— Stafford’s vergeless, cloud-like guitar hovers above a box of rocks drum loop, while Davidson croons in a whisper the sound of words as vapor. A vigorous chorus jumps to the fore, followed by a simmering solo from Stafford.

The intro to “Set Fire” sounds like something from Interpol’s Our Love to Admire, Stafford’s ringing guitar attack, reminiscent of the work of Daniel Kessler. The chorus breaks into one of those anthemic chants where one expects a crowd rife with arms aloft, lighters waving wildly in up-thrusted hands. A good choice for a single for just that reason (although it would appear that “The Room” bears that distinction). Here the lyric seems to reference touring: “We’re gonna pack our bags and hit the interstate,” but by the final verse, you’re lost again. However, the simple chorus saves the song from becoming too pedantic, which is a step in the right direction.

Reaching back to their roots, Davidson and Stafford perform as a duo through the verses of “Better Run For Cover,” just two voices and two guitars, without bass or drum accompaniment. Their vocal harmonies recall the Rembrandts, whom are probably best remembered for giving to the world the Friends theme (“I’ll Be There For You”) and “Just the Way It Is, Baby” in the ‘90s. Here, the undertone is more indistinctly apocalyptic, intimating imminent disaster of some sort: a hip, pop prophecy of pending doom.

“Record On the Radio” is another laidback affair. Pretty much just the two voices and a couple of guitars. Stafford sings without a lot of pretense and facade, which confers upon the uncomplicated song an authenticity the other songs seem to lack. There is also an abbreviated “radio edit” version of “The Room” included in the package I received—but I prefer the extended version, where the mood is allowed to grow organically.

Crown Point present a musical and philosophical puzzle. Let’s see if we can piece it together. First of all, I think they are a very good band. They write and produce excellent music. But it’s a victory of style over substance. The band sounds great! Everything is in its proper place and is executed with great precision. The arrangements are solid and well plotted.

But there is also a seeming lack of sincerity, or emotional honesty perhaps— in what seems an attempt to mislead an unsuspecting public as to the band’s veiled righteousness. It seems as if Crown Point are unwilling to commit to their real beliefs. And that’s not being fair to their music, their faith nor to an audience that might benefit from the insight they have to impart. There is a veneer to the presentation that is artificial. It’s not true. If the lyrics are written to make a point, the point is completely ambiguous and vague. They seem romantic, but they aren’t. They seem to speak to romantic relationships, but they don’t. Not really.

I don’t want to get into a big philosophical debate over the subject. Not here. Music is too precious. And there is a place for every kind. Music we love, music we don’t care about, music we hate. There’s room for all of it. But it is important that the musicians purveying it believe whatever they are playing and saying, whether it is deathmetal, polkas or lounge music. Music expresses an unique energy to the listener. But if the presentation is artifice or somehow duplicitous, there is a danger of losing the entirety of one’s audience, unless they are all in on the joke.

Check out Dan Reed’s new single called “Only Love.”

In many respects, Crown Point’s music is similar to that of Dan Reed. The intent is inspirational. But Dan is at peace with himself as a musician and a human being. His songs are always very spiritual in a very direct way. They are not religious. His lyrics refer to love, among other genuine human conditions. He isn’t trying to hide his feelings or to portray them as anything they are not. His admirers love him for that directness.

It may be true that their disciples love them and understand precisely what the band is saying. If that is the case, then Crown Point has a crucial choice to make. Either they can continue to proceed down their current path, surely acquiring a body of loyal fans as they go, fans in tune with the implied significance of the material—or, as appears they desire, the band can take the risk and attempt to appeal to a wider base. As it is here, we have a really good band that can’t seem to fully articulate the message they wish to reveal. They are simply talking in riddles and rebuses—a reverberant glossolalia.

Various Artists

Rise and Shine
Burgerville Records

Over the years I’ve reviewed dozens of various artist compilations comprised of the works of local artists. KGON produced a couple of collections in the early ‘80s. I reviewed Volume 2, the Homegrown album back in 1982. KKRZ, Z100 gave us in Pride of Portland in 1986. Since then, there have been other radio station related promotions, such as Church of the Northwest in ‘96. There have been theme-oriented productions, such as Used to Be—Blues From the Pacific Delta, surf albums: a couple of volumes of Hot Rods to Hell and PDX a Go-Go, which I reviewed a month or two ago.

There was Rose City Blues Festival – The Album from 1987, the inaugural year of the fest. That record stands out as one of the best local live albums of the ‘80s. Actually, we’ve seen tons of blues compilations: All My Friends Can Sing from 1997, A Taste of the Blue Rose from 1998, and Portland Genuine Blues from 2003. Venues have always been a source for live (or otherwise) anthologies. Satyricon sponsored a studio venture, but in addition there was Dean Fletcher’s incredible series of Live at the X-Ray cassettes in the early ‘90s. Later there were others, such as a couple of Live at the Laurelthirst editions in 1994 and ‘98. There was Live From Mt. Tabor in ’95.

Local labels have regularly released compilations. Mike Jones’ Schizophonic label was one of the first in 1990, gathering eleven high profile bands and a poet for the initial I-5 Killers series, which ended up numbering three that I know of. Cravedog Records released at least a couple volumes of Can’t Stand the Smell. There were non-sequitur packages, such as From Portland with Love in 1998 and Ramen Holiday in 1999. There was a various artist concept album, Colonel Jeffrey Pumpernickel, conceived in 2001 by the ubiquitous Chris Slusarenko.

Then there are the circumstances wherein bands contribute their creations for a greater cause, such as the Rose City Project supporting the Rose City Music Foundation, which provides musical instruments to school music programs across the city, and 25 Years On The Edge-A Benefit For Outside-In from 1994. But—of all the myriad various artist compendia ever to have been released in this region—none can touch this one. Not even close.

For one thing, it’s a two-disc set with forty local bands (!)—each kicking in a song to the package. And what a varied array! There are a ton of top tier acts here: Dandy Warhols, Blind Pilot, Blitzen Trapper, Pink Martini, Black Prairie and Y La Bamba, Typhoon, Ramona Falls and Lost Lander. Elliott Smith makes an appearance via a submission from David McConnell of Goldenboy.

There’s a solid line-up of local performers, such as Radiation City, Loch Lomond, Minus 5, Sallie Ford and the Sound Outside, Horse Feathers, Weinland, AgesandAges, Dolorean, Floater, Casey Neill and the Norway Rats, and many other exciting veterans and newcomers, each donating one of their best tracks to this noble cause. Heck, police chief Mike Reese’s band the Usual Suspects toss in a tune. That’s dedication!

How did the constabulary get into the picture, you ask? Well, because this effort is in support of the Sunshine Division, which is overseen by the Portland Police Bureau. The Sunshine Division has been in operation since 1922, distributing emergency clothing and food supplies to people in need throughout our community. During these trying times, their resources are being severely challenged. So, obviously, they need all the help they can get, especially as we move toward the darker, starker months.

That’s where Burgerville restaurants became involved. Though short, Burgerville’s illustrious career as a record label (and sole retail vendor) has been almost as successful as their Pepper Bacon Cheeseburgers. Their inaugural musical venture, last year’s Shakers’ Sessions, benefitted the Brian Grant Foundation—a resource for victims of Parkinson’s Disease.

Burgerville ended up contributing $54,000 to The Brian Grant Foundation after selling all copies of Shakers’ Sessions. They’re displaying this compilation for a limited time—as long as supplies last—and, at only $12 per set, they probably won’t last long. Profits from all sales go to the Sunshine Division.

As mentioned in the Shakers’ review, Burgerville is a locally owned venture, founded in Vancouver in 1961. They have committed themselves to going green whenever possible, sustained one hundred percent by wind power. They compost their food waste and conscientiously recycle. They make every effort to use fresh, local produce, natural beef and cage-free eggs. Burgerville even provides health care for their employees—unusual in the fast-food industry. And they help to fund this and many other worthy projects through the course of the year.

Befitting the title and theme of this album, one of the discs is referred to as “Rise,” while the other is “Shine.” Perhaps by design, most of the “big names” make their appearances on the “Shine” portion, while more of the up-and-comers open the show on “Rise.” Taken literally, the names of the discs would vaguely indicate those consignments. Although, this is not to say that the first disc is in any way inferior or less professional compared to the more star-studded latter. There is a lot to recommend the “Rise record.

caseynorwayrats-highres-023 — Casey Neill and the Norway Rats

It falls to Sara Jackson-Holman to lead off. She provides “For Albert,” from her new album Cardiology, which was reviewed last month in these pages. It turns out to be a smooth, cool disco number after an unwinding of Beethoven’s Für Elise. She is followed by McDougal, a solo performer of some gusto. He belts out “Ready, Begin” with a Woody Gutherie flair, while living up to comparisons with Tom Waits and the Avett Brothers. Casey Neill & the Norway Rats give us “All Summer Glory” from 2010. The Rats are an all-star cast including Jenny Conlee (Decemberists), Little Sue, Chet Lyster (Jessica Williams, Eels) and Ezra Holbrook. Neill’s gritty drawl is Stipe-ian in context in the verses, turning supple in the anthemic chorus, buffeted by buoyant vocal harmonies.

Star Anna Bamford turns in a faithful acoustic version of the Stones’ “Sister Morphine,” replete with detached, somnambulant vocal. Speaking of REM, the Parson Red Heads traveled to North Carolina to work with Chris Stamey (db’s, and has worked with everybody) and Mitch Easter (Let’s Active, “Drive In Studio”) on songs, that were released on their new album, Yearling, last year. Easter engineered several early REM albums and the smooth vocal texture of Redheads Evan and Brette Marie Way on “Burning Up the Sky” exhibits a similar attention to sonic detail. The Redheads gained some local acclaim earlier this year, appearing on an episode of Portlandia, where they participated in the musical skit “Dream of the 1890s.”

Allalujah Choir’s “I Swear I Saw You” brightens from the input of Weinland’s Adam Shearer, the song’s vocal arrangement sounding all feathery Crosby, Stills and Nash-like. As for Weinland, they submit a sadly sweet “Los Processaur,” the folk swept title track from their new album, due out at the end of the month. Similarly the glam-punk New York Rifles (propitiously named by Courtney Taylor) add “Girl Shaped Girl,” which is the title track of their new album. Vocalist Scott Young channels Patti Smith imitating the Divinyls’ Christina Amphlett while fronting the Dandy Warhols doing the Buzzcocks. An interesting little ditty to be sure.

From Alright, You Restless, their album of a couple of years ago, we are bequeathed “So, So Freely” from AgesandAges. Breathless momentum (sounds like the intro to “Get Back”) propels campfire harmonies. A comparable energy drives “Anthem” from Water Tower. Water Tower are preparing to move to California for a year, in order to build their fan base down south. They sound sort of like the Pogues with teeth, here recorded very live. Kenny Feinstein’s intense and muted acoustic guitar and energetic vocal (reminiscent of Gordon Gano from Violent Femmes) resonates over Josh Rabie’s mournful fiddle and Gordon Keepers’ festooning upright bass. And then the hardcore barndance gets down to serious business.

Police Chief Reese’s Usual Suspects produce about what you might expect from hobbyists, although they don’t embarrass themselves on “Tell Me Why”—out in basic country-rock land, circa 1976, give or take. With “Teenage Gravity,” Kasey Anderson and the Honkies map out a grittier form of country a little reminiscent of Jerry Joseph and Jackmormons or Tom McGriff and X-Angels turf. John Prine, John Hiatt would be more familiar touchpoints. Ty Bailie’s intricately simple keyboards add a touch of subtle sublimity in support.

Scoring a Ford Explorer commercial that aired on New Year’s 2011 football games, Derby cemented their fame in the annals of local lore: no longer reserved for Pink Martini and the Dandy Warhols. Here, “Common Sense” displays an obvious knack for a pop hook without overt imitation. The Dimes’ “Take Me Away,” is the perfect prelude to Typhoon’s “Summer Home” with Dimer Johnny Clay demonstrating a similar knack for antique hauntage as Kyle Morton—in Clay’s case without the orchestration Morton receives with Typhoon. Y La Bamba’s “Ponce Pilato” from last winter’s Court the Storm nicely captures the graceful and refined windlorn vocal interplay between the incomparable Luz Mendoza and guitarist Paul Cameron.

Brothers Andrew and David Voigt, as the electronic dance band 1491, create an atmosphere somewhat akin to that of a distant disco cousin of Lost Lander. The song, “Night and Day” comes from their February EP release, Everyone Knows But You. It’s an ‘80s sound they propound. You can hear touches of Depeche Mode along with a dash of the Police’s “Every Breath You Take.” Cindy Wasserman and Frank Lee Drennan of Dead Rock West come to the party with quite a pedigree. Their hymn “God Help Me,” (written by William Reid of Jesus and Mary Chain) from the recently released album Bright Morning Stars, produced by Peter Case (Plimsouls), combines jagged guitar and rumbling drums to create a feel reminiscent of X (Exene Cervenka and John Doe actually make guest appearances on the album)—not surprisingly, as JD Bonebrake mans the drummer’s chair throughout Bright Morning Stars.

Staking out the Russian/Eastern European klezmer gypsy territory to be found here, Chervona remind of Gorgol Bordello, with perhaps a dusting of 17 Hippies. Leader Andre Temkin came to Portland in 1995 lured by the sirens of the Portland scene, and has been striving for recognition ever since. Here we are given a strange Russian dixieland band with accordion and gritty, guttural vocals. Every city needs a band like this and these guys are ours. Richmond Fontaine cap the first set with “You Can Move Back Here” from their 2009 release We Used to Think the Freeway Sounded Like a River. Singer songwriter Willy Vlautin is a local treasure, his reputation secure. Here he conjures gray skies, sage and sand—fleshing out with practiced precision the taupe tones of his artistic vision.

Appropriately enough, disc “Shine” commences with the frivolous drolleries of the Dandy Warhols— dispensing the T-Rexy “Sad Vacation” from their recent album release, This Machine. The Americanapunkjugroots band Sassparilla counter with the homey, Wilco-infused “Threadbare,” from their new album called Magpie (produced by Chet Lyster). The father/son team of harpoonist Ross and washboardist Colin MacDonald serve as flavor agents for the soup of Kevin Blackwell’s various musical excursions. Blind Pilot tosses in the delightful “Half Moon,” from last year’s We Are the Tide. Cello and mandolin moan and flit beneath Israel Nebeker’s haltingly haunting vocals.

Textures come to the fore with Priory’s “Put ‘Em Up” from their upcoming 2013 release on Expunged Records (label to Blind Pilot and Sara Jackson-Holman). This talented young band, with the energy of Arcade Fire, the lyrical acuity of XTC and the artistic sensibility of Wolf Parade present a sunny ditty prefaced with African highlife guitar highlights and jangly, dappled piano in the intro and verses, before sliding into a strong, jaunty chorus, with slippery synth drips and a childtren’s chorus la-la-la-ing. “Boys will be boys/who like boys who dress like girls/and that’s all right. We’re hanging with the boys who look like girls tonight.” Well, hell ya!

Elliott Smith’s aforementioned turn with Goldenboy on the original tune, “Summertime” is absolutely poignant, to say the least. Blitzen Trapper give us the protypical “You Might Find It Cheap” from last year’s American Goldwing. Black Prairie are the aptly named Americana string-band off-shoot of three members of the Decemeberists: guitarist Chris Funk, bassist Nate Query and accordionist Jenny Conlee. Together, along with guitarist Jon Neufeld of Delorean (and Jackstraw) and violinist Annalisa Tornfelt (Bearfoot, the Woowines) the band offer “Do You Believe,” a piece they composed for Eric Coble’s children’s play, “Storm in the Barn.” Tornfelt’s winsome vocal captures the lone, dry desolation of the Kansas town the band are emulating.

Fellow Decemberist, drummer John Moen (with quite the pedigree of his own: Dharma Bums, the Maroons, Jicks, Minus 5) has a solo project, Perhapst, which allows him to explore his own musical ideas. His “Incense Cone” comes from his self-titled album from 2008 and sounds sort of like a home recording of the Dandy Warhol’s circa 1996, with buzzy low-budget keyboards and pedestrian guitars and John’s laidback gauzy vocal. But it’s certainly catchy, all the same.

Digging deep into the historical Portland musical archives, Delorean found “I Wanna Live” from the 1972 Elektra album, Portland, by Gary Ogan and Bill Lamb. It’s a mellow, vocal-centered affair, reminiscent of a lot that was coming out in the early ’70s ala Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young). “Wondering” is a track from Floater’s 8^th album, 2010’s Wake, and substantially jauntier than their customary fare. Vocalist Rob Wynia sounds like Danny Elfman fronting Oingo Boingo (without the horns). Those who think they have Floater figured out and pigeon-holed owe it to themselves check out this new, leaner, poppier version of the band. Nice Brian May-ish guitar solo in the middle from Dave Amador.

RadiationCity-Credit-Mike-Harper — Radiation City (Mike Harper photo)

Voted this year as Willamette Week’s “Best New Band,” Radiation City demonstrate many of their strengths with “Hide From the Night” from Cool Nightmare, an EP released earlier this year. Vocally alternating between ‘60s girl group (think the Murmaids and “Popsicles, Icicles”) featuring keyboardist Lizzy Ellison in that role, while guitarist Cameron Spies’ baritone sounds as though it could be Ian Curtis or Julian Cope singing. Then the solos between Ellison’s keys and Spies’ guitar call to mind Raymond Scott jamming with a bunch of ‘80s German electronic guys—like a Bugs Bunny/Kraftwerk cartoon.

Whoever assembled this package knew what they were doing, for it is not carelessly that the honey-tenored Holcombe Waller, accompanied by Fender Rhodes, violin and cello (backup band—the Healers), precedes Loch Lomond. Waller’s beautiful “Hardliners,” from last year’s Into the Dark Unknown captures much of the timbre and tenor of Ritchie Young’s approach on “Kicking with Your Feet,” an exciting new cut released earlier this year—and only available (until now)—in Europe.

Furthermore, as an echo of the Perhapst track, some version of Scott McCaughey’s Minus 5 perform the lovely “Magnavox Lane,” the origin of which I have yet to determine. And Brent Knopf (a former member of Menomena with whom Holcombe Walker will tour this fall) produced Lost Lander’s beautiful “Afraid of Summer.” Brent Knopf’s band, Ramona Falls, come through with “Spore,” another gorgeously uplifting song, as it would seem Knopf is only capable of creating. With a sentiment similar to Sufjan Stevens’ “Chicago,” Knopf sings “Take off the veil/Let yourself be found/I bet you’re scared/People on the prowl/Ready or not, here I come/And I refuse to believe that it’s hopeless/I set my course straight for the abyss.” For this project, that’s a mission statement. This is the theme song. Worth the price of admission.

Between Lost Lander and Ramona Falls, we are treated to Sallie Ford & the Sound Outside, who come from a completely different musical direction. Sallie hails from the Bessie/Ella vocal tradition, with a helping of Gwen Stefani thrown in for heat and spice. “Not an Animal” comes from their 2010 EP of the same name. Ford joins Black Prairie to perform “(Everybody’s Waitin’ for) The Man With the Bag” for the upcoming Starbucks Christmas compilation.

Formerly called Say Hi to Your Mom, Eric Elbogen’s Say Hi are predominantly a solo recording act, where Eric performs all instruments and vocals. The soulful “Devils” (featured in the film Scream 4) from Elbogen’s 2011 album Um, Uh Oh has a distinct ‘70s sheen, calling to mind David Essex’s “Rock On” and Harry Nilsson’s “Jump Into the Fire.” Very cool—one of the many nice surprises to be found on this spectacular collection.

Pink Martini toss in “Aspettami” from 2004’s Hang on Little Tomato. And Horse Feathers end the disc with “Fit Against the Country,” a delightful pastiche taken from their April release Cynic’s New Year. Justin Ringle’s whispery tenor is countered by stark strings: Lauren Vidal’s cello and Angie Kuzma’s violin, and Justin Dybvig’s drums. Rustic chamber music with a lost soul heading the wagon train. What could go wrong?

So, you get forty songs from forty bands, more than two hours of music, for only twelve dollars, exclusively from Burgerville. I think that is the strangest sentence I have ever written, but it’s the facts, so what can I do? As far as local talent goes, this is only the tip of the iceberg. But if any of you out there want to demonstrate to the uninitiated just what incredible musical talent we have in this city, we have the consummate package for you here—the perfect Christmas gift. And the profits go to a worthy cause. Why, it’s tax deductable! And better than that Rise and Shine is two great discs of music—and it’s all locally grown.

The Corin Tucker Band

Kill My Blues
Kill Rock Stars

It’s been six years since Sleater-Kinney went on hiatus. For many music lovers, myself included, June 27, 2006 will forever remain a day of black sadness. Oh, it had been in the air for quite a while. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. But still.

Within the preceding twelve years, Sleater-Kinney had released seven albums, several of them transformative classics. Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker founded the band in late 1993. In 1994, on a trip to Australia in celebration of Tucker’s graduating from the Evergreen State College in Olympia, Brownstein and Tucker, along with a local Australian drummer, Lora (Laura) Macfarlane, recorded what was to be Sleater-Kinney’s eponymously entitled first album.

But even before Sleater-Kinney, Brownstein and Tucker had acquired notoriety around Olympia and beyond—Carrie as the chief singer and guitarist in a band called Excuse 17. Tucker acted as lead vocalist and guitarist with her fledgling group Heavens to Betsy and was one of the harbingers of the rowdy “riot grrrl” movement that thrived in Olympia the early ‘90s. Even at that early date Corin’s abilities as songwriter and lead banshee vocalist were already acquiring for her a bit of a reputation in these here parts.

So, then Carrie and Corin formed Sleater-Kinney, a band with a tough, vaguely militant feminist stance, and the brains and talent to get the point across. They released that first album, and recorded and released their follow-up LP, Call the Doctor, in 1996, with Macfarlane (who in the interim had moved to Washington from Australia) drumming. That album garnered for the band increased attention, not only in the Northwest, but nationwide.

In 1997, rock goddess drummer, Janet Weiss, late of Motorgoat, Quasi and Jr. High joined the firm in time to take the chair for Sleater-Kinney’s third release, the seminal Dig Me Out. Propelled by Weiss’ incomparably solid percussive fusillade, and Tucker and Brownstein’s constant development as musicians and songwriters, that album jettisoned the band into national prominence, which they maintained and expanded upon for the remainder of their run.

By the dawn of Century 21, S-K had carved for themselves a very secure niche in the national music scene. Renowned music critics Greil Marcus and Rober Christgau championed the band. In 2001, writing for Time magazine, Marcus called Sleater-Kinney “America’s Best Rock Band.” After taking most of 2001 off, so that Tucker could take care of her newborn baby boy, the band regrouped to continue with their musical onslaught. With the release of One Beat in 2002 (reviewed in Two Louies September, 2002, where you will also find a more detailed bio of the band) their ambitions for world domination began to find real traction.

Sleater-Kinney was at its creative zenith and, going forward, the possibilities seemed endless. After touring North America with Pearl Jam in 2003, the band incorporated elements of their newfound “arena rock” sound into their sonic foundation while preparing to record their next release. But, there was more talk of a longer break. Corin mentioned in several interviews the difficulties she was having in balancing riot grrrldom with motherhood. Carrie was exploring other opportunities outside of music. And Janet Weiss will never have to look for a gig. Ever.

Sleater-Kinney released their final (to date) recording, The Woods, in early 2005 (reviewed for Two Louies May, 2005). A year later they were on hiatus and going their separate ways. Always in high demand, Weiss has gone on to drum for numerous high profile acts, most notably Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. Not missing a beat, Carrie Brownstein quickly began blogging for NPR in 2007, while conducting several high-profile interviews for the network as well. She then formed Wild Flag in 2010 (with Weiss, Mary Timony from Helium on guitar and the Minders’ Rebecca Cole on keys). Their wonderful self-titled debut album hit the streets in September, 2011. And then, of course, there is her star-turn as writer and actor with the cult-hit and Peabody Award-winning television series Portlandia on the Independent Film Channel—now in production for a third season. Put a bird on it.

Corin Tucker did indeed become a stay-at-home mom for her son Marshall, and later begat a baby girl, Glory! in 2008. But in 2010 she returned to the fray, recording what she called her “middle-aged mom record.” And 1,000 Years was a departure from Corin’s work with Sleater-Kinney. Supported by drummer Sara Lund (Unwounds) and guitarist Seth Lorinczi (Golden Bears) whom she had known since the Olympia days, it was a mellow affair, more so than any predecessors. Corin hardly delivered any of her requisite elk-call vocals. While the album met with modest critical praise, longtime fans bemoaned the new more “mature” perspective. Those hoping for the Corin of old were sadly disappointed. The lukewarm response was not dissimilar to that Liz Phair received at the release of her maternally domestic third album, Whitechocolatespaceeg.

CTB 2 — CTB: Lorinczi, Tucker, Clark, Lund (Photo by Robin Clark)

Now, rapidly approaching forty, she has rebooted for her sophomore effort: Corin Tucker 2.0. With Lund and Lorinczi once again in tow, and with the addition of Jick, Mike Clark, here as bassist and keyboard contributor, long-time fans will be happy to know that Corin Tucker is back! All the way back. It is a mature album, she’s long departed from her Evergreen days to be sure. But the voice, womanhood’s answer to Zach de la Rocha, is here present and accounted for: a satisfying album. A little something for fans from all eras.

It takes about thirty seconds into “Groundhog Day” before you figure out that this album is nothing like the first, and that the former Sleater-Kinney fireball still has gas left in the tank. Prickly guitars front a gentle verse before the chorus explodes full scream. Lyrically, Corin tells the tale of what she’s been up to for the past few years. “Hey, que pasa/I’ve just woken up…I took a rest/ took some time off/Be a mom have some kids.” But then, raising her voice, in the second verse she begins to question the passions that she and her generation knew, pioneering the women’s movement in the music industry. “Hey, what’s up y’all/I thought we had a plan…” The chorus rocks hard and serves to define the musical terrain for what follows.

The intro to the title track, “Kill My Blues,” is driven by a familiar-sounding serrated Fender Rhodes sound, a spiffy riff—radiohead-y—playing seven against eight before the song breaks out with muscular droning guitar in the turns and chorus. Corin alternates hot and cool vocals from line to line. A tasty two-string-octave solo skims into a stirring bridge and resumes the solo, which slides into the keyboard intro and out. Well played, CTB, well played.

Energetic, chirping guitars beckon the way to “Neskowin.” Corin’s lunging vibrato wail flails in all its majesty here. “Darling I know/I don’t go/Like the other girls/It’s just I enjoy/Other toys/Other faculties.” She details what sound like the fairly innocent adventures of a couple of teenage girls on a family vacation. I can’t tell lyrically, but somewhere along the line, all kinds of hell broke loose on that vacation. The surf-y middle break moves into a Lene Lovich section, then to an extended chorus where Corin displays a wondrous swooping intensity, ululating like a fluted peacock British police siren.

Producer Alicia Rose’s video depiction of this song is dedicated to Poly Styrene of X-ray Specs (one of Tucker’s big early influences). But vocally, Corin doesn’t really sound that much like the late Poly— except that they both shout a lot. Actually, Tucker sounds more like Styrene on “I Don’t Wanna Go” where she does some serious bellerin’.

Calling to mind the riff from the Stones’ “Paint It Black,” the exotic guitar intro of “Constance” dissolves into a beat in the verses of which Phil Spector would heartily approve. A raspy Farfisa adds more ‘60s flair in the turns, leading to the churning chords of a “Smells Like Teen Spirit” inspired chorus. Then the slippery Farfisa returns for the bridge: a medieval affair with delicate vocal rounds. The Farfisa takes a brief solo and goes all gurgly Philip Glass, before the Nirvana thunder of the chorus kicks in again. This song is what we in the business refer to as a “tour de force.”

With the ‘80s new wavy, “No Bad News Tonight” Lund wheels driving toms and a hard-hitting surf snare. Corin’s vocal melody follows the chattering single-string lead guitar figure in a duet. She fires off a groovy guitar solo, which crashes to an ending that sort of fizzles to an abrupt halt.

Lund’s opening snare salvo on “Summer Jams” gives one the mistaken impression that they are about to hear a slightly speeded up version of Blur’s “Song 2,” but no. CTB heads in a different direction with tight bass/rhythm guitar interplay, churning against two-crunchy chords. At the turn, the song floats into infectious backing vocal chortles: “woo-oo, woo-oo-oo, woo” calling to mind the Dandy Warhols more than Blur. A sterling instrumental break, a lively African Highlife bass and guitar dance, follows—then into an intricate clockwork section, ticking methodically—which segues to a rock-y finish. Like Throwing Muses or Belly for the 21^st century. A very satisfying track.

Church-like organ and dappled piano lend “None Like You” an ecclesiastical feel, buoying a mysterious lyric. “Come gather children/Gather around/Night of December, our mother found/She lifted us with light touch/She put us down/Candle in each window led us back to her now.” It’s difficult to say what the song is about, exactly. Themes of motherhood, but something darker, like a fairy tale. Maybe witchcraft?

A nervous rotisserie of guitar and subtle electronics slowly begins to spin above the low inferno of the arrangement, amplifying the tension of the ominous lyric. Suddenly, dramatically, Lund sprays Gatling snare shots into the scene and the song gallops off like a frightened steed. The influence of Patti Smith seems to linger in the atmosphere surrounding Corin’s vocal on this song. She urgently repeats the lines of the chorus until she is drowned out by onrushing drums and a throaty sluice of overdriven guitar.

“Joey” is not the Concrete Blonde song of the same name, but it may be a reference to Joey Ramone, who was memorialized in an S-K song, way back when. Prickly skip stumblefall intro riffery and smackage resolve into straightahead verses and a lullabye chorus. But at the backend of one of those choruses Corin erupts into an intense “Joey-eeee” yowl. A fine interplay of tortured guitars wrestle an extended solo and back to the chorus, where the guitars gnarl pure elegance behind Corin, baying mournfully. A very well-controlled piece.

Stirring piano accompaniment and filigree guitar figures buffet the torchy “Blood, Bones, and Sand.” It’s a low-key affair, with a powerful vocal— without being over the top. Nice. The final cut, “Tiptoe” is strung along a jagged guitar line, sort of Zeppish in consistency, backed by thundering Bonham-washed toms.

My girlfriend thinks Corin sounds like Geddy Lee. I’ve conceived of many female vocalists with whom Corin Tucker is in a league, but not a male vocalist—and Geddy Lee never would have occurred to me, though the observation is not inaccurate. I’m more inclined to think of Ann Wilson. Whatever the case…jeez. Corin can kick it as well as just about anybody. Maybe a little more organic than the others. Wheezy organ accents wither and flit between a fiery guitar solo, back briefly to the vocal turn, back to a smoldering second solo and wham. Lights out.

1000 Years, the first Corin Tucker Band album, was pretty much her performing with a backup band, not a lot of interplay. This album is executed by a fully formed unit, running perfectly on all four-cylinders, blowing blue flames out the exhaust pipe. CTB is now a real (and quite formidable) band.

Seth Lorinczi and Mike Clark are simply superlative in everything they contribute to the record: guitars, bass, and keyboards. The instrumentation is varied and very powerful, but cohesive and of a kind—and always in support of a song’s arrangement. Always the perfect choice. Sara Lund proves herself to be an absolute monster on drums, expertly bashing through the heavy sections, imparting great sensitivity in the more delicate segments.

The evolution of what once was Sleater-Kinney is now set fully into motion. All the members are now officially growing as artists on their own—individually moving toward new challenges. All three of them are emerging as stars in their own right. Understandably, Corin Tucker has held back. She took five years off to raise her children, and her first return to music and recording was tentative. Now, two years later, Corin would seem to have completely recovered her confidence as a singer and performer. It’s all here in spades. Kill My Blues is a great album.

Sara Jackson-Holman

Cardiology
Expunged Records

Things have been moving awfully fast over the past couple of years for talented young Sara Jackson-Holman. The story is fairly well known: about her casually opportune interaction with Anthony McNamer, head of Expunged Records—Blind Pilot’s label—via her random post on the band’s fan page. Subsequently McNamer arbitrarily checked out Sara’s MySpace page, where she had posted home recordings of a few of her songs, a decision that eventually led to her signing on with the record company without the benefit of so much as a demo. Ah, kismet!

In May of 2010 under the guidance of Blind Pilot producer Skyler Norwood, Sara released When You Dream, her debut album on the Expunged label. Seemingly within weeks “Into the Blue” a song from that album was chosen as soundtrack for the climactic last scene of the Season 2 finale of the ABC series Castle wherein Beckett is forced to confront Castle’s apparent emotional indifference toward her and their relationship (or so I gather online, I’ve never seen the program). Sara’s halting ballad—her fluttery vibrato all slippery quivery, with sad strings sobbing behind her—melted hearts across the nation, the song standing on it’s own musical merits, while carving her name into the hearts of thousands.

Though songwriting is a relatively new component in her musical career, Sara has a background in classical piano. She was studying music and writing at Whitworth University when her career had its auspicious inauguration. She had only been writing songs two years and had no previous studio experience when her first album was released. In short order she learned about the music business: how the music is created, and the wheels of commerce that turn behind it.

When You Dream was met with moderate public acclaim—enough so that laying the groundwork for her sophomore effort was begun almost immediately. Over the ensuing year, Sara spent her time immersed in the songwriting craft. Still in her early twenties, she began to think for the first time in terms of the scope and sphere of music production and the studio experience, creating several dense, multi-track demos at home, which she brought to this project.

Along with Sara’s increased input, Skyler Norwood has returned to the producer’s chair for Cardiology. In addition, Keith Schreiner (Auditory Sculpture, Dahlia) is on board to contribute beats and synth programming. He also had a hand in producing several of this album’s stronger tracks (there aren’t actually any weak ones).

The result is a natural progression from the previous record, yet a bit of a jarring departure at the same time. What was classical folk pop keyboard flavored music has evolved here into technoclassical popfolk electronica. It’s not at all heavy-handed in execution. But Sara Jackson-Holman’s music is all about nuance and subtlety. Any new addition creates a stylistic domino-effect that reverberates through the entire project.

We begin with “Cartography” a moody, slow moving number ornamented with wheezing organ, wincing splinters of keyboard accent, humming synth, and watery washes of treated piano. From that, Sara’s uncertain vocal unfurls in “Copper fields and half dreamt dreams…” a sleepy confession of infatuation. “Cut the corner, circle round/Where you are then I am found.”

In singing that line Sara gives indication that she be may be suffering the initial stages of the dreaded Colin Meloy “Affected Enunciation Disease,” an impediment—which, if left unchecked—can become, as Mister Meloy will attest, almost impossible to fully eradicate. Take steps now, Sara. This disease is preventable. Don’t do it. It’s a bad habit. A lovely braid of harmony vocals wrap around the sweet chorus of this delicate, if directionally indeterminate number.

“Can’t Take My Love” has a distinct soul vibe at its core. Vocally, Sara renders a fair assimilation of Macy Gray’s “I Try,” with a touch of Aretha’s “Until You Come Back to Me.” Over mechanical drums and drippy piano drops, brooding cello and violin cry—winding tensile tension with swelling intensity. Across that, Sara’s snaky vocal slithers through the verses, before opening up in a chorus that calls to mind Fiona Apple and Annie Lennox.

Yeah. Annie Lennox. That’s accurate. There are comparisons to the Eurythmics and “Here Comes the Rain” that could be made here. A little zippier arrangement or a tarted up re-mix and this is a totally mainstream radio-friendly hit song, not that it isn’t radio friendly already.

Befitting of her penchant for classical music, echoes of Beethoven’s “Für Elise” serve as thematic inspiration for the intro and chords to “For Albert,” one of a number of songs written in response to the recent passing of Sara’s grandfather. After a brief, solemn intro, the song busts out into a full-on mini-simulation of Giorgio Moroder-gilded disco sensibility. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof, given our distant proximity to that era at this advancing date. The ironic drum machine-like snare is a nice touch. There is an Adele meets Florence and the Machine quality about this song. The Eurythmics are circulating through as well.

The lush “Freight Train” is a ballad dappled with piano and emotive strings—another tribute to her grandfather. Elegaic. Feist and Norah Jones come to mind as vocal/musical references. A piquant little gem of a song. The Schreiner produced ballad “Break My Heart” feels a little like the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams” (without the driving synth riff). Kate Bush and latter-day Tori Amos come to mind as vocal references in the chorus. Nice.

Julee Cruise’s theme from Twin Peaks could serve as the model for “Empty Arms.” A stumbling low synth figure bounces ungainly as Sara vocally evokes Leslie Feist with a haltingly understated vocal delivery. Somber but uplifting—in a determined sort of way. Skyler Norwood’s production of “To Be Bright,” is (over?) wrought with white noise gunshot beats. Those beats tend to get in the way of an awful lot of cool sonic information and may not be necessary to the betterment of the song. Otherwise, Fiona Apple and Adele meet Kate Bush over at the Eurythmics’ house. Great song.

With just voice and solitary unadorned piano, “Oh My Honey” seems more indicative of who Sara Jackson-Holman really is, behind the sheer veils of studio “magic.” “Come By Fire” is similar in construct—but for the sightest coloration near the end of the tune. More than any others found here, those two songs hearken back to the first album.

Drippy hollow-log synth tones set the mood for “Risk It All,” before the song slips into the bluesy soul-essence feel as heard on “Can’t Take My Love.” Driven by gurgling synths, and schizophrenic drum patches (it may be Skyler Norwood on drums—but they sound treated), Sara purrs and coos like Macy Gray. It’s a new vocal style she’s trying on here, so she’s not self-assured in the presentation. But just the same, Sara has hit upon a sound that could work for her going forward. She could easily out-Adele Adele at some near future date. Schreiner’s burbling synth line in the chorus is nicely executed.

Another hit in the making is the Schreiner produced “My Biggest Mistake.” The song dithers around in the verses, stuttering on crazy syncopated drum beats before busting out on an especially memorable chorus. Here, Sara registers one of her strongest, most original vocal performances. A harbinger of what she’s capable of attaining. Annie Lennox again comes to mind, in Sara’s clipped phrasing in the chorus, especially.

“Do I Make It Look Easy?” is one of the best creations of the set—an Appleish minor key piano prance. And finally, producer Norwood provides a real, big-beat, drum kit which lends considerable oomph to the proceedings. Compared to the other songs, it sounds like arena rock! Sara contributes a fine vocal— maybe: Apple meets Macy Gray. Sneaky sassy. Nicely done.

A moody, tender ballad “Cardiology” is very pretty, but is marred by a rather annoying martial beat. Sad synth figures fill out the peripheries, while the center ripens with angelic vocal harmonies and slow, pizzicato heartstrings, melding with the melodic bark of a wounded synth flute.

Impeccable, pristinely sparse, understated arrangements are rife on Cardiology. But, at the same time they are sort of solemn, sterile and gloomy: morose. So, for the most part everything has this depressed, desolate Portishead-like sensibility. Sullen landscapes, thirteen shades of Sara gray.

But her musical influences would seem broader than a scale from black to white. Here she presents a highly stylized sound—quirky synths, no guitars whatsoever, string and piano accoutrements, electronic-like drums and/or hyperactive percussive support: not always a solid foundation upon to which the real substance of Sara’s songs might rest. This is especially true on some of her more soul oriented songs. But this will be the sort of choice Sara will confront as her career progresses. Who does she want to be? How does she want to sound?

Sara Jackson-Holman is a minor-key soul, no doubt. And, still being new to all this, she is not yet fully actualized as an artist. She’s still maturing, still developing a musical style and vocal persona. Just the same, the essence of a major talent is right at hand. Even with lyrics more cerebral than most pop works, Sara is quite capable of producing a hit song. She seems destined for big things. Any day now, for that matter. And when success befalls her, she can then make all of her choices on a grander scale, with a wider palette from which to choose colors for her accessibly charming music.

By SP Clarke "I listen, so you don't have to."

Perhapst

Radiation City

Little Sue

Wilkinson Blades

Y La Bamba

The Top 9 of 2012

Crown Point

Various Artists

The Corin Tucker Band

Sara Jackson-Holman

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