3-song demo

self-released

Rating: Yes

Despite the mostly loud, fuzzy guitar licks, this middle-of-the-road Freebirdin' music will appeal to those into the mellower side of the Crows -- either the Black or Counting variety. All three tracks on their self-released debut EP move at an EZ-FM radio pace, plodding forward with an even keel, trying hard not to offend and succeeding.

The talent is there, with a line-up consisting of some local veterans, including lead singer/guitarist Justin Lamoureux, bassist Mike Fratt (ex-Acorns) and drummer J Ochoa (ex-The Get).

Lamoureux's twang-tinged voice does just enough to ebb and flow with the two-dimensional chord changes, trying his damdest to sound like someone you've heard before but can't quite put your finger on. The best parts, however, are when Lamoureux isn't singing and the band simply leans back and does some jamming in a quasi-Neil Young sorta way. They would be well-advised to draw out these little jams for four or five minutes during their live set -- but something tells me that would be a bit 'too risky.'

Their music suffers from a bad case of the same-ees -- there isn't much variety from song to song, especially in the pace, dynamics and chord progression departments. Even when the band tries to take it down noticeably on the closing track, the ballady "On My Own," it only takes a minute or so to get back into the same old groove. The end product has a slightly hypnotizing effect. Still, for a demo, not bad at all. It'll be fun to see what happens when the band let's go of its self-imposed reigns and takes the road less traveled.

Posted Nov. 1, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

The Tops of Trees Are on Fire

The Militia Group

Rating: No

I listened to this one a few times and thought it was a woman on vocals. In fact it's a guy named Scott Windsor who sounds, at times, exactly like one of the Indigo Girls, which is fine because his songs are essentially Indigo Girls-style acoustic janglers, with Windsor cooing preciously about standing in the rain forever or how he's anxious to see the ocean and run his fingers through the sand or, well, you get the picture. Consider it a lighter, more even-keeled Dashboard Confessional with a little less heart on the sleeve, though when Windsor coos "You're the only thing that keeps me breathing," (Mixtapes and Memories) you can't help but think of Carraba and wince. Some of it is catchy, and the guitars sound good, but there's very little variety and by the third song the whole thing becomes way too easy to ignore.

Posted Nov. 1, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

I'm Datin' Satan!

Kahuna Records

Rating: Yes

Old school punker Jacobi's been doing his thing since the first punk wave hit the shores in the '70s. You'd think a guy his age would lose his stamina, but he manages to keep it up on most of the heavier, harder, noisier, angrier numbers. The opener is two minutes of sheer Midwestern Ramones, with Jacobi spitting out the inspiring line "She's turned from a lovely woman / Into a lunatic bitch." Nice. "Hung Over" is pounding surfaholic heavy metal with an Iggy Pop twist. In fact, Iggy's influence is all over the noisier songs, from the growling title track to the burning "Old Fashioned Love" to the thick-lipped chugger "Chunk-a-runkus."

Less interesting are the seedy, countrified howlers. It's a fine line between cheese and camp, and Jacobi walks it like a blind man on the funk-guitar-fueled "Nervous White Guy," horror-metal grinder "Stella" and truck-stop back-beater "Four Beer Story." Maybe he's mellowing as he gets older, just like a fine malt liquor. I just assume he leave the hick stuff at home -- it's the punk that makes him legend.

Posted Nov. 1, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Demo CD v1.0

self-release

Rating: Yes

Three songs on a mini-disc-sized CD by a humble San Francisco-based trio that isn't ashamed to present demos that sound like demos. The best of the bunch is the opening low-fi number that's dominated (overpowered) by a bass that throbs so much that my speakers almost split. Still, the vocals and brush drums don't get lost, not too much anyway. It's sort of a homemade trip-hop epic with Throwing Muses overtones that, despite a horrendous recording job, still makes my knees shake.

By contrast, track 2 ("Birthday") is better-recorded and more straight-ahead from an indie standpoint -- slower, slacker, a shot at Kindercore pop. Vocalist Sadie Contini sounds kinda sad, kinda sweet, like Liz Phair back when Liz Phair still felt something. The last song is another low-fi mess, all scratchy electric guitar and kettle drum and Contini fuzzed through fuzzed equipment, singing about having a "shot of whiskey in each hand" while she does the indie twist with the rest of us.

Rough, really rough. But just like all good music, the good parts shine through the muck. Get 'em an engineer and a studio and watch the sparks fly. Hell, they're already flyin'.

Posted Oct. 13, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

When We Leave, We Will Know Where We've Been

Urinine

Rating: Yes

This K.C.-based trio was pegged early on as Notwist-style electronica trip-hop balladeers who understood how to weave melody into the bloop-bleep landscape. With their debut full-length, they veer off that heavily trodden path for a more-traditional singer-songwriter route and the change of scenery is a surprising improvement.

The band is calling their sound "futuristic low-fi." Not bad. I was thinking more on the lines of "digital indie," or, considering the number of dark electronic tracks, maybe "goth-club"? Opener "Rest Assured," with its acoustic-guitar lead and subtle keyboard touches, sounds like something off the first Reindeer Section CD before it builds into a full-fledged, multi-layered rocker. "Smoke and Mirrors" is strummed guitar, a dry indie vocal and a chiming bell-like synth supporting a reserved melody.

Ah, but then along comes "An Unproven Theorem," with its jittery rhythm track and bombastic, echoing electric guitars that drop off to piano and lonesome vocals. "Conspicuous Minimalism" is a return to the Notwist style that highlighted the band's self-released available-only-at-shows demo, while "How to Attract Love" is a static-laden headtrip that's club-ready from the outset.

They miss on the most subdued numbers (down-right dreary, they are), but there are only a couple of them. With what could be the worst name to come out of K.C. since Cher U.K., Namelessnumberheadman are onto something uniquely their own.

Posted Oct 13, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

On

Merge Records

Rating: No

Sort of a conglomeration of indie-pop styles highlighted by hand-claps, tambourines and woo-woo's, these snappy back-beat rockers are as thin as communion wafers -- i.e., they have all the substance of a red-hot Krispy Kreme -- tasty and gone in seconds. This is the vacuous Spoon CD that Britt Daniel would have created if he wasn't talented (in many ways, it's damn close to Kill the Moonlight). Producers Steve McDonald (Redd Kross) and Anna Waronker (the amazing That Dog!) bring none of their own sensibilities to the project. Too bad.

First thing you notice is that someone has discovered the poppy songs off Sonic Youth's Goo CD, or at least the rhythm tracks. The next thing you notice is that they're trying painfully hard to make it catchy. I don't think you're suppose to listen too closely to the lyrics ("I love baby / Baby's a doll." "She's teacher's pet." "I'm a million dollar man/ Somebody catch me while you can," and so on). Methinks the lyrics were written as an afterthought, which isn't necessarily a deal-breaker. It just means the onus is on the melodies to hook us. Never happens. The result: disposable.

Posted Oct. 13, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Guinea Pigs

20/20 Music

Rating: No

Slickly produced commercial stab targets the Matthew Sweet / Supersonic / Rembrandts crowd and almost succeeds except for a lack of variety from song to song (i.e., it all sounds generally the same). No doubt that Zonana's voice is as radio-friendly as anything Matchbox 20 or Sugar Ray has to throw at it, and these solid FM ballads border on something special.

Who knows, from an FM programmers' standpoint, this is probably a homerun. Though he prides himself on being an indie artist, this really is geared more toward turning the ear of the guy who programs KROQ than KRNU (Nebraska's college radio station). It lacks the insight or sensibility to move it beyond just another straight radio band. No question, Zonana's got talent, but he's gonna have to quit reaching for the gold ring and reach inside for something more significant, if it's there.

Posted Oct. 13, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

The War of the Bruces

Misra

Rating: Yes

Alex McManus is the guy in the shadows, sitting quietly next to Vic Chestnutt and Simon Joyner, gaining the reputation as one of the most distinctive sidemen in a business that doesn't really value sidemen. When McManus added his fiddle to Simon Joyner's The Cowardly Traveler Takes His Toll, he added about a mile's worth of loneliness to the sullen folkies' confessions. When he picked guitar alongside Chestnutt, an Athens legend, it was like listening to two best friends telling stories in the garage over longnecks and cigarettes.

The Bruces is McManus playing sideman to McManus, and as much as you want to like this, it can be a forced listen. Forced in the sense that you really have to make a conscious effort to pay attention to what's going on. It's very pretty musically -- a soothing, rustic thing covered with a slight country residue (Mr. Chestnutt has indeed rubbed off on Alex) that frequently dips into dreamy feedback. But these aren't songs that you'd whistle after you got out of your car, let alone sing along to when you're in it. The lyrics don't stand out on first listen, and you'll eventually be forced to sit down and follow along with the lyrics book. In contrast, it's impossible to ignore Joyner's or Chestnutt's gloomy tales. Part of it is McManus' penchant for obscure metaphors ("All the eyes are flames" "Find your fears then make them lonely," eh?).

Ultimately, though, this War is worth the extra effort because of songs like the bouncy opener "DO SI DO," the subtle banjo plunker "Two Dogs," and the warm, sprawling "Mountain" -- among the best tunes I've heard this year. One part John Denver, one part Neil Young, "Mountain" starts off as a simple folky lullaby and turns into a brooding, fuzz-guitar dirge halfway through. Inspirational verse: "Sometimes a mirror is a mountain and I've gotta get over it / But then I get to the end and I still can't see shit."

This one may or may not grow on you, but for those who make the effort, McManus' dust-covered melodies are a road best taken.

The Blue Sky Project EP

self-release

Continuing the tradition bregan by other great Twin Cities post-punk rock outfits, Gone Out Gone pulls a Husker Du (opener "Angel Kiss" bleeds Bob Mould) when they're not fuzzing it up like space stoners (the feedback-laden title track is My Bloody Valentine meets Luna and a headful of valium). Track three sounds like a stab at rock trance, but is quickly forgotten when closer "Lay Me Down" blares ahead like a Social Distortion outcast. Yeah, the band is all over the board stylewise, but that ain't such a bad thing.

Posted Sept. 22, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Regrets

Geeves Records

Cute and charming rock and roll -- like something your little brother would put together with his gearhead buddies -- but the overall sloppiness is unforgiving, especially in the vocals, which don't sound intentionally half-ass, just half-ass.

The music resembles a lot of those nice '90s American bands that you remember if you were into indie -- 'nice' as in the ones that tried to maintain some sort of melody when everyone else was freaking out with distortion or screaming or busy deifying Lou Reed. Think The Posies or Matthew Sweet or Trip Shakespeare or The Pooh Sticks -- those bands that had a jonze for '70s garage rock.

Eric Zwieg's dowdy vocals merely find the melodies and do nothing to get us to notice what he's singing. Bottom line: This is pretty sloppy with a one-off feel to it. The band jokes on the one-sheet that it took an hour to record and half that long to write -- at least I think that was a joke. If they stay together and do a second CD, they'll look back at this one and laugh, but will understand that they needed to get it out of the way before they started doing the real thing.

Posted Sept. 22, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Strangeways

Mt. Fuji/Roam

Rating: No

Not bad, but not great power pop songs, sporting their fair share of dBs sheen on relatively straightforward radio-ready music. When there isn't a distinctive Bob Mound-as-Sugar thing going on (though these tracks lack the depth and edginess of that band's landmark efforts) Strangeways comes off as an alt-country tribute, patting Uncle Tupelo and Son Volt on their respective shoulders.

The four-piece, headed by former Omahan, now Seattlite Michael Jaworski, knows its '90s-era alt -- an era when alt rock still meant something good. And they hit it flat on the head, perhaps too flat, because there's nothing here all of us poor suckers who lived through it haven't heard before. Makes one wonder if a band that's so influenced by its influences could ever allow its own voice to emerge. Without something new to add, there's nothing here to hear except really good mimicry. I'll wait until Jaworski and Co. come up with their own thing. At least they got the influence-part down pat.

Posted Sept. 22, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

split EP

No Karma Records

Rating: Yes

A split EP between indie legends The Wrens and newcomer The Five Mod Four is worth it if only for the three Wrens tracks which span all the way back from 1991 to today.

Opener "Was There Ever," recorded back in '98, is a moody, almost laid-back rocker fraught with urgency and dread, bound together by a pulsing bass, lost-guitar whines, and a yearning line that goes something like "Was there ever an 'us'?" An amazing track. The song from '91, "Bus Dance," is a rollicking punk-fight with a dance beat that sounds like it could have been recorded yesterday. While the most current track, 2002's "45'er" begins by blending found sounds, disembodied guitar, voice, piano and other noises before shifting into a chiming, acoustic indie-rock number halfway through. All of this is a good omen for The Wrens' upcoming full-length, The Meadowlands.

The Five Mod Four is the project of record-label entrepreneur Michael Wojtasiak, who also happens to be the webmaster for the Wrens website. "I'm the Funniest Person You Know," is standard-issue, jangly indie rock a la early R.E.M. with thin, unsure vocals. "Make It Look Like a Robbery" incorporates wonky organ alongside Wojtasiak's fish-flop-flat, incomprehensible singing. He sounds completely lost on "Ghosts (and Masks)" and the closer, "Carry." Not exactly great, but hey, it's the poor guy's debut and The Wrens aren't exactly an easy act to follow.

Posted Sept. 1, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Sparkling Disaster Strategies

Sickroom Records

Rating: No

Bad, experimental jam-band music -- meandering melodies, hippy-sounding organ, the occasional pedal-steel, and what has to be purposefully off-key vocals that sound like they were mailed in. Don't know who's tweedy yodel that is, but it's so grating that it ruins the few songs that actually have something interesting going on. "Reason," for example, has a deceptively complex structure with laid-back chord changes, all ruined by the Emo Phillips-style vocals. This is one of the few CDs other than the occasional hardcore jaunt that causes people to walk by my cube at work and ask, "What the hell is that?" with a look on their faces like I just broke wind.

Their one-sheet says the project began as a group of San Francisco "Freeschool" musicians (the first sign of potential trouble) that have since moved to northeastern Kansas. Fact is, it ain't as experimental as the bad vocals would lead you to believe. Be interesting to see what would happen if the guy just tried singing on pitch.

Posted Aug. 31, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Pajama Avenue

Loose Thread Records

Rating: Yes

The caveat: You really gotta be in the right mood to listen to this sort of music.

From Chicago, the trio's recipe is quiet rolling bass, quiet brushes, quiet synth tones and almost inaudible (and completely incomprehensible) whisper vocals. They throw in the occasional quiet guitar or quiet clarinet as a garnish. At times, there's almost a Trinity Sessions feel to Pajama Avenue, probably because most of the echo-filled tracks were recorded in bedrooms, kitchens, bathrooms -- you know, the sorts of places where you just naturally expect someone to record an ambient LP.

There's a ton of other "ambient" dreamscape outfits out there -- Mercury Project, American Analog Set and Tristeza come to mind -- but they all have catchier melodies than Zelienople's always-hushed mood-setters. This could have been a real boring ride, but the recording's sheer consistency saves it from becoming trash-bin fodder. There are few other CDs in the rack that have Pajama Avenue's dark-blue to violet to black tone, pure lights-outs bedroom music perfect for your own special "quiet time," so far into the void that there should be a warning sticker about listening to this while operating heavy machinery.

You have to assume that they expect listeners to, at some point, forget that the damn thing's on; that they're going to simply zone out and not pay close attention. Fact is, you don't get "lost in the recording" as much as it gets lost behind whatever it is your doing while listening to it. Zelienople's music is like a good scene-setting soundtrack, as long as the scene takes place somewhere at night, and alone.

Posted Aug. 22, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Via Della Strada

Skinsuit Communications/Ant Records

Rating: No

I'm not a metal fan and I don't pretend to be. And the fact that I used the word "metal" to describe the Omaha trio's sound only raises the ire of the band members themselves, who hate the term and prefer the more trendy-though-generic "Noise" to describe it. Whatever you call it, it's loud, it's fast, it's mostly in a minor key, which means it's also kinda scary, if not depressing. I wish it wasn't, because these guys are much more powerful when they take things less seriously -- almost carelessly. I'm not saying they have to completely abandon their serious themes, just that they could do a lot worse than loosen up a bit. For example:

The bass-driven, heavily syncopated "Sacrifice" represents everything and everywhere I want to see this band go. It's no less intense than anything else on the CD, but it wins because it's downright, well, funky. It emotes the stereotypical head-wag that is a hallmark of all good, heavy music. Its architecture is loud/louder/loud (as opposed to quiet/loud/quite). It bounces, and is even, dare I say it, laid back. Maybe it's nostalgia that's driving my admiration for this particular track, because other than maybe "Teleport," and to a lesser degree "Steel," nothing else on the CD sounds like something that the band would have done in their past incarnation -- Ritual Device.

There, I said it. It can't be ignored. Ritual Device, the Omaha-based outfit whose gutter-groove punk flourished in the '90s, might have been a better band, but not necessarily because Tim Moss (who now fronts the S.F.-based stoner-rock band Men of Porn) was the frontman, though his circus-geek-on-acid routine was most entertaining. Bassist Randy Cotton and Guitarist Mike Saklar were the backbone then and are the backbone now. Maybe it was Moss who shifted their focus toward getting a groove on rather then breaking a speed record. Whatever it was, it worked and I miss it and it's here once again on "Sacrifice."

"Teleport," the other standout, showcases Ravine's admiration for the majesty of Bauhaus. By writing around a dark hook and a bracing counter, they raise the bar on everything they do. They just don't do it enough.

So what about the rest? It all just sounds too similar and all too familiar. Other than the detours on "Sacrifice" and "Teleport" -- which would make a helluva single -- it's the same, grinding, minor-key rattle on every track. Sometimes they get into a groove and push it further than you think it can go. Metal, uh, I mean "Noise" fans might dig it. The rest of us yearn for the variety that Ravine could offer if they only let themselves.

Published in The Omaha Weekly Sept. 4, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Practical Wireless

Absolutely Kosher Records

Rating: Yes

This acoustic folk outing by one of the guys in the UK pop group Hefner is a stunner.

It boils over with rustic beauty, all full of breathy twang permeated by a weird British air (At one point the guy refers to somebody's "knickers"). Hayter's sandy, craggy voice is an eerie combination of Peter Gabriel, Richard Thompson and Cat Stevens tossed onto compositions that even John Denver would love. And while you could file this under the Will Oldham/M. Ward Department of Minimalist Indie-folk, Hayter's quirky British enthusiasm puts a twist on everything like a raised eyebrow on an otherwise sullen face.

The music is camp-fire warm and bone simple, usually just a guitar and a few other utensils, but it's more than enough to lead us through these strange, heart-glowing tales that are never down, dreadful or dreary. Highlight moments -- the lonely, sentimental waltz "Blind Man's Fog" with its endearing lyric, "She's got eyes like piss-holes in the snow" (Hey fellas, try that line on your girlfriends tonight); the Daniel Lanois-esque, French-sung "Au Lion D'Or" (I have no idea what he's singing, nor does it matter); and the trippy, sad lullaby a la Gabriel "A Boxer's Dead Wife" with the yearning verse: "I know I will be weightless when I'm gone / And we'll be lifted up whilst they are all dragged down").

At times, Practical Wireless feels like listening to your grandpa sing his favorite traditionals that he learned while outwaiting the Huns in the trenches. Hayter is too young to be a grandpa, but his music's timeless melodies along with his ageless voice make this a CD worth passing onto your grandkids.

Published in The Omaha Weekly Sept. 4, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

I Can Make You Try

self-release

Rating: No

They are a Boston-based techno-pop band. They are a male/female duo, but they aren't married. They will be compared to my all-time favorite male/female duo, the woefully overlooked Timbuk 3, who also relied on electronics to provide their rhythm section. They're not as good as Timbuk 3. Why? 1, Their lyrics aren't as memorable (i.e., not as good). 2, Their melodies aren't as interesting (i.e., not as good). 3, Jonny Pape's smoky vocals are augmented, not balanced, by Sue Boyer's sweet harmonies. Bottom line, they're not as funky as Timbuk 3, except on the EP's final track, which fuses an irresistible disco beat with nice, dry vocals and spy guitar. They keep going this direction, and they might be onto something. No, they're not the next Timbuk 3, but they could be.

Posted Aug. 16, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Together Now

Bitter Stag

Rating: Yes

An elegant, slacker rock recording in the Sebadoh/Todd Rundgren tradition sung by a guy whose voice is the spitting image of Joe Walsh's. Captivating arrangements surround sparkling, melancholy melodies. It would be somber affair if not for those damn drums, that damn throbbing bass, and Adam Klein's friggin' weird Neil Young-style voice that demands you listen.

This ain't no typical indie-rock CD. When the keyboards and feedback blend, like on "Retreat," the music more closely resembles mellow, acid stuff of the mid-'70s -- again, think James Gang-era Joe Walsh, Blood Sweat and Tears (especially when they add a horn section) or even Elton John. After about a dozen listens, I still couldn't tell you what the songs are about, which gives the band something to work on for next time.

Posted July 29, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots

Warner Bros.

Rating: Yes

It's a concept album, sort of, or maybe it isn't. The CD's title seems to apply only to the first four or five songs that surround a theme right out of The Iron Giant. The rest are philosophical musings about life, love and death, not necessarily in that order or of any particular relevance. Don't matter, though, because you reach for The Lips for the trippy arrangements, dreamy melodies and the occasional experiment or two that either takes it to another level or falls flat on its face.

For those who haven't been to the well before, think Pet Sounds in space sung by a slightly nasal muppet. There are fewer experiments this time 'round, and as a result, Yoshimi is less interesting than their career landmark, The Soft Bulletin. Still, I like the tunes better, as well as the overall embraceability of tracks like the sun-lit rocker "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt. 1," the chiming "Do You Realize?" and the grinning-through-tears "It's Summertime" -- all radio hits if I ever heard one. Too bad they'll never be heard on any radios around here.

Lips followers will notice more acoustic guitars and drum machines then usual, and that the tracks are drenched in afternoon-light -- subtle, almost purposely mello. Yoshimi is a sweet diversion, an empty-calorie audio confectionery -- and all the better for it.

Published in The Omaha Weekly July 31, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

self-titled

Barsuk Records

Rating: No

This is essentially a collection of demos by Death Cab for Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard recorded back in '99 on 4-track and portable Walkman. You get all the warm, fuzzy melodies you've come to expect from a Death Cab recording minus the production values.

The songs recorded on 4-track were originally release as an ATQ CD-EP and can stand on their own thanks to relatively full arrangements highlighted by simple keyboards and Casio-tones, light percussion and Gibbard's always-interesting vocals. Among them is his groovy rendition of Magnetic Fields' "Why I Cry," which utilizes a toy piano to full effect. The other 4-track numbers would sit nicely alongside the best DCFC stuff.

The live-to-Walkman tracks, originally released on cassette, are Gibbard and guitar and though they have all the melodic firepower of any DCFC song, sound incomplete. Gibbard's strong suit has always been his voice and melodies, not his ho-hum lyrics, which are about all you get from the Walkman stuff. With little variety in the melodies, this gets boring quickly.

ATQ is probably a must for the die-hard Death Cab fans and completists. New fans are better served picking up older Death Cab releases.

Published in The Omaha Weekly July 31, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Control

Jade Tree Records

Rating: Yes

An indie rocker unafraid of hiding his own faith, Pedro the Lion's David Bazan writes 4-minute sonic morality plays about the lives of lost souls futilely walking blindly into the dark void, feeling their ways along the walls of morality without a religious flashlight. Never preachy, he gives you the facts and leaves the judgment up to someone else -- someone a little higher up, so to speak. The middle-class suburbanites in his songs never seem to make the right choices while they stumble through their flawed lives.

Unlike his early folky stuff, Control resembles Bazan's last Jade Tree outing but rocks even harder and darker, reminiscent of Bob Mould's Black Sheets of Rain. When he lightens up, the music pops, though the message stays consistently bleak.

Infidelity and its consequences are the underlying themes this time 'round. Every deceit is overshadowed by guilt and retribution. "Rehearsal" finds the narrator more upset about the triteness of his lover's infidelity than the act itself, with him threatening to match hers with his own trite actions -- by killing her. The plodding, dark "Second Best" emotes the sexual futility of a used-up relationship, while "Priests and Paramedics" recaps a wife murdering her husband, his death and funeral all to a cool, jumpy beat.

In between the infidelities are a couple comments about failure and futility in a corporate world. "Penetration," is Bazan's update on Pink Floyd's "Have a Cigar," with the record executive telling it like it is: "If it isn't making dollars / Than it isn't making sense / If you aren't moving units / Then you're not worth the expense" ending with the advice: "If you want to make it / You had best remember this / If it isn't penetration / Then it isn't worth a kiss."

Bazan rarely strays from his dry-as-dust singing approach, sounding like a low-voiced, sober Mark Kozelek.

Does he leave you with hope? On the funereal closer, "Rejoice," Bazan sings "Wouldn't it be so wonderful / If everything were meaningless / But everything is so meaningful / And most everything turns to shit / Rejoice." Not exactly uplifting, but Bazan rarely is. Taken as a whole, Control is a driving masterpiece of pure indie rock melded with a dreadful message that is unforgettable.

Published in The Omaha Weekly July 31, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Anonymous American

Side1 Records

Rating: Yes

Matt Whipkey, leader of The Movies, disputes the fact that his band's music is "alt-country," but dispute as he might, the opening guitar twang on "Half Past Seven," will immediately galvanize the perception to even the most out-of-touch listener. Hey, why deny your roots, Mr. Whipkey?

Probably because The Movies style on Anonymous American, the Omaha-based band's Side1 debut, is closer to all-out country rock. Forget the "alt." Their music is much more at home in a honky-tonk than in a punk bar, with an extra nod to some of America's favorite freedom rockers. On the poppier numbers ("Half Past Seven," "Run and Hide") there's plenty of Born in the USA-era Springsteen and post-Creedence John Fogarty.

But on the earnest ballads, like "The Clock Never Lies," they come off as Neil Young devotees, thanks to Mike Friedman's rusty, dead-on guitar work -- one of the disc's highlights. When Friedman joined The Movies last year, the band finally galvanized their sound and became a force in the Omaha music scene that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with their brothers in the Saddle Creek Records stable. The fact that the CD was recorded by Jason Evans at Presto! Studios, the home studio for all Saddle Creek recordings, helps matters immensely.

"Seventeen," the band's melancholy power ballad, melds Let It Bleed-era Rolling Stone song structure with another tasty Friedman Rust Never Sleeps guitar solo. Friedman switches to pedal steel on "Anonymous," the twangiest of the bunch that reminds me of The Silos, except for the working-class-guy lyrics.

When he's not writing love songs, Whipkey's lyrics are idealistic portraits of the everyday working man, too often characterized in Long Horn Bar terminology -- ie., pick-up truck driving vets struggling with bad jobs and alcoholism who, goddammit, still love this country. Whipkey calls them heroes; everyone else calls them hicks. Too bad Matt drives a Ford Taurus instead of a Ford F-150, a fact that the alt-country fans can smell a mile away.

Whoops, did I say alt-country again?

The CD's closer is a folkish, harmonica-fueled love ballad, again carried by Friedman's amazing pedal steel, which is symbolic of the entire CD's craftsmanship. Although there's nothing really new on Anonymous American, The Movies pull it off because they do what they do so damn well. In the words of Lou Grant: These guys got spunk. And I hate spunk. Usually. A solid effort by one of Omaha's new, important voices, whether its alt-country or not.

Posted July 2, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Asleep in the Well

Two Sheds Music

Rating: Yes

Quiet, sullen, hang-dog ballads, like a recent Simon Joyner or Will Oldham CD sang by a young, sad Ricki Lee Jones or Mary Lorson. Hushed but brooding, it lacks the character and dynamics of fellow folkies like Ida or Retsin, but her dry, flat delivery-without-a-twang is pretty enough to make matters interesting.

On "Daytime," the Atlanta-based singer/songwriter threads a thin melody backed quietly by guitar and piano. "Frames" adds a casual electric guitar. The ultra-quiet "Double Negative," is the best of the lot, a duet with Blake Rainey, his voice adding a deep, thick fog to the mix. Rainey also sings on "Dare," the one and only time the production comes close to Indigo Girls territory, and to the CD closer "Howlaround," which would have fit well alongside tracks on the last Low CD. David Barbe (ex-Sugar) closes out the trio on bass and provides both backing arrangements and the use of his Athens recording studio, Chase Park Transduction.

Kleppinger's barely awake vocal approach can get lost in the mix. When she bubbles to the surface, like on solo acoustic "2-minute Warning," where she quietly laments "You were the one who / I was counting on," you feel her pain. Slight and simplistic, Asleep... is well-crafted, honest, late-night pillow music.

Posted June 19, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Revolution

Watersound

Rating: No

Easy listening acoustic love songs that are one part Rembrandts (those guys that sing the theme from "Friends") and Dan Fogelberg (the guy that sings the cheesy "Same Old Lang Syne" from the '70s who I often mistake for the guy who sings the cheesy "Pina Colada" song). DeGrazio has a good voice and knows his way around a swaying guitar. No question that this is very professionally done, almost slick productionwise.

It's a solid stab at AOR radio fodder, having all the right EZ105FM qualities -- stereotypical impersonal lovesong lyrics, soothing elevator-music beats, never takes any chances, totally devoid of any possibility of offending anyone, etc. This is music your mom or your girlfriend who's into classic rock might love. In fact, if DeGrazio were to replace the second guitar with a pedal steel, twang a little and add a cowboy hat this could be country music.

Am I being unfair? I mean, how is this really different than something Freedy Johnson would do? Well, Freedy's lyrics go beyond the ho-hum stuff like on "I'll Be Yours", which goes "Why does it have to end / Because I feel inside like I feel back then / And I wish I could have you again." Reads almost like an England Dan and John Ford Coley song. In fact, Revolution sounds like something that was written during that whole early '80s Christopher Cross / Air Supply era. That doesn't mean it sucks, it just means that it's been done before, and was hardly memorable the first time 'round.

Posted May 30, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Consume...be silent...die

Extremely Baked Records

Rating: No

With a band name like this, what did I expect? Eight songs in 13.4 minutes -- do the math -- most tracks are under two minutes, which is a godsend. Mild hardcore with metal overtones. Metallica (especially in the vocals) meets Slayer. Lots of macho preening over relatively uninspired and unoriginal guitar licks.

They're better off when they try to sound hardcore. "The Smiths," is apparently an anti-war song, but the guy "singing" on this track is a ton better than the Metallica-rip vocalist who dominates most of the CD with his boring, horror movie growl -- he sounds like someone whose trying to sound angry.

There are probably a thousand bands like this out there (I know of at least a half-dozen in Omaha alone), all catering to disenfranchised 13- to 16-year-old rebels who at this time in their lives have no interest in melody. Well, here's another. Not good.

Posted May 28, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Daisy Cutter

self-release

Rating: No

This is your standard-issue freshman effort from what sounds like your typical local bar band who has decided that they have enough material to record and release a CD with the outside hope of maybe, just maybe, catching the ear of a hungry young record label executive. Gelu Sullugiuc's sloppy and slightly off-kilter vocals ride clumsily on top of simplistic rock band arrangements heavily influenced by FM-safe bands like Creed, STP and maybe even Bachman Turner Overdrive. Overall mix is muddy, with drum, bass and guitar lost in a noisy fog. Lyrics are generally uninspired cock rock poetry. Sometimes the band lights into blues-style licks a la Blues Hammer. No doubt they pack 'em in at the local club with songs like "Going Down" and "Hey Baby." They're trying hard to be what a cover band thinks a rock band should be, and something tells me they know it.

Posted May 28, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

When Do We Start Fighting...

Nettwerk

Rating: No

There's plenty of American pop-punk meshed into this London-based four-piece's rather commercial take on alt-rock. Through most of the first half of the full-length -- the half where the band is obviously reaching for something that will turn the ear of a friendly radio programmer -- you will hear a ton of Sonic Youth-esque guitars and drums mixed with the U.K.'s usual derivative take (Blur, Oasis, Bush) on American '90s post-grunge-era college bands. It's not the most creative-sounding CD you've ever heard, but U.S. radio could do a lot worse than this rather amped-up, safe, angst pop.

"Pleasurehead" is pure commercial alt-rock that starts off with "Bull in the Heather" trap drumming before David Line's blue-sky vocals take us back to a comfortable mid-'90s soft-alt era. The follow-up, "Cloaking," rips some guitar lines right off Goo and then smoothers it in Bush.

When they turn down the amps and adopt a more-simple, soothing approach, they comfortably crawl into a completely different rock cliché that's more relaxed and less forced. Slackers like "What May be the Oldest," and "Similar Assassins" sound like early Judybats meet latter-day Eleventh Dream Day or even The Connells. At least they don't try to sound like Radiohead.

You have to wait until the end for glimpses of creativity amid the slick alt-rock production. The CD's last four tracks blow away everything else on the album. Line, accompanied only by an acoustic guitar, sings "Desert Stretched Before the Sun" like he was auditioning for Badly Drawn Boy or The Reindeer Section. On "In This Light Will You Fight Me," Line and drummer Caroline Banks harmonize on a dark-room haunter that let's go into an electric-guitar-fueled mantra, like some sort of weird, half-speed version of Led Zeppelin's "Achille's Last Stand." The slightly off-kilter but beautiful closer (there's also a rather forgettable "hidden track" that isn't worth waiting through the black spot) features Scott McCloud (Girls Against Boys, New Wet Kojak) whispering words beneath and around the melody that repeats a closing line "He collects himself / Because everything is dead." I would much rather hear a full hour of this ingenious weirdness than the acceptable-though-vanilla attempts at pleasing American alt radio that takes up the first half of the CD.

Posted May 11, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Start Here

The Arena Rock Recording Company

Rating: Yes

The Gloria Record was formed in '97 out of the remains of what arguably was one of the more influential late-'90s indie projects, a band called Mineral. They released a couple records on Crank! before this full-length, which is quite a departure from their rather subdued EPs. Interviewed last year when the band was recording the tracks at Lincoln, Nebraska's Presto! Studios with engineer/producer Mike Mogis (Bright Eyes), bassist Jeremy Gomez said the CD was "basically made up of 10 epic closers."

That's not a bad description. Start Here takes withdrawn indie pop and builds it to massive proportions, melding momentous and oftentimes plodding melodies with gigantic arrangements that make you remember Chuck Heston as Moses parting the Red Sea. If forced to compare it to anything, Elliott comes to mind as well as (he says with a straight face) Cave In -- two bands that have been known to try to create a sense of imposing apocalypse with guitars and keyboards. Guitarist/vocalist Chris Simpson's earnest, yearning moans bare a slight resemblance both in style and substance to Toad the Wet Sprocket's Glen Phillips, though most of the time, what he's singing is undecipherable.

The melodies are universally pretty, almost always starting small, accompanied only by a keyboard or guitar, before building over the course of six or seven minutes to a juggernaut in ideal "epic closer" fashion. The perfect example is "I Was Born in Omaha," where Simpson sings, "I was born in Omaha / In my mother's tired arms" (Those are the only words I can make out through the mumbling, and there's no lyric sheet). The song starts with a simple acoustic guitar then about halfway through its seven minutes a huge counter-melody is introduced on electric guitar -- very cool, and reminds me a little bit of how Red House Painters builds their epics.

Can the band sustain it over 50 minutes? Almost. By track seven the ambient sheen begins to wear thin, and you begin to yearn for just one strong melody that you could sing along to. Look elsewhere. Like an orchestral score, Start Here is all about setting a mood, bringing you to the top of a mountain over and over again.

Posted May 8, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Renderings

Loose Thread Recordings

Rating: Yes

Not just another lush instrumental recording in the Tristeza mold, the Chicago trio builds songs in an Eno-esque fashion, with simple guitar, bass and percussion at its core, then adds layer upon layer of sound, giving the musicians enough room to deploy their own solo ideas, not unlike a Metheny jazz set.

The underlying idea is to set a mood and play it through, which seems to be the goal of just about every indie-rock instrumental combo. I mean, how much late-night driving music does one really need? CRM isn't that much different than those other indie guys, though on a number of the better tracks the band manages to supersede the stereotype with more personal melodies that stray toward rather lonely, overcast territory. Some songs come dangerously close to New Age romanticism, but pull away just in time, thanks to some inventive drum and bass play, sound effects and keyboard treatments. Pleasant and quiet, Renderings does little more than relax, and it does that very well. How'sabout Indie New Age? Maybe.

Posted March 30, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

A Tribute to Bob Seger

Urinine Records

Rating: No

So I'm driving to the racquetball courts and we're talking about MTV and this buddy of mine is telling me how Metallica's cover of Bob Seger's "Turn the Page" was a stroke of marketing genius -- you're getting the oldsters who are into Seger, you're getting the metalheads into Metallica and you're getting all the girls who dig the "obvious" romance of what has become an American classic. Not to mention the video, which MTV only showed once because of it was apparently "too-graphic." I tell him that he's right, of course. Unfortunately the Metallica cover is a complete abortion, one of the worst covers I've heard from any band. A great example of someone taking a memorable song and ruining it. Fact is, I hate Metallica (always have) and, for the most part, hate tribute albums.

That said, this four-song "tribute" to Bob Seger by four undistinguished Midwest indie bands is pretty damn cool, not because the bands were looking for a shrewd marketing gimmick, but because it's obvious that they genuinely love the material.

DARYL opens the festivities with an update of "Mainstreet" that works because they throw their bodies into it and because they know enough to highlight that awesome guitar-solo counter-melody intro. You recognize, you acknowledge lovingly, you move on. This is the best of the bunch.

Saraswati's cover of "Feel Like a Number," tries too hard to be sloppy and lackadaisical, as if the singer just rolled out of bed, which ain't no way to treat Seger. Awful.
The Hillary Step do sort of an earnest version of "Against the Wind," and give the song plenty of room to roam. But if you think they had their work cut out for them, Sweep the Leg Johnny somehow found a way to reinvent the perennial '70s ballad "Night Moves" and make it their very own with an acoustic guitar, keyboard, and simple, respectful vocals. Pretty.

Urinine tried a similar experiment a couple years ago with a Supertramp tribute that made one critic's "worst of..." list. Gotta hand it to Sid, the label's owner, for not giving up on his warped vision of the '70s. Who's next? REO Speedwagon?

Posted March 29, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Bridge to the Northern Lights

Red Tide/Barsuk Records

Rating: Yes

From the opening of "Laughter Leaves You," Aveo drives forward on the strength of William Wilson's Pete Townsend-meets-Morrissey vocals and the chiming rock arrangements that recall Built to Spill at its poppiest. I don't know if it's because Phil Ek handled the production chores, or because of the band's Pacific Northwest roots, but there's a similar tonal quality to Modest/BTS/764-HERO/Death Cab. If anything, Aveo's music is sweeter than what Ek has handled in the past, though there's daunting storm clouds underlying all the melodies.

The trio's music embodies the "new Seattle" sound, with its jangly, almost heroic guitars, light, swooping, Arty Garfunkel-inspired vocals, and a bombastically syncopated rhythm section. It manages to be loud and pleasant at the same time. Whereas the melodies aren't as strong as Death Cab's and there's no Built to Spill guitar solos, Aveo is more about atmosphere than songs, and suffers slightly for it. You won't recall a single melody after you've crossed the Bridge to the Northern Lights, but you'll remember how you got there and will want to go back again.

Posted March 27, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Dawn of the Butterfly

My Pal God Records

Rating: Yes

When the opener rips open, I walk across the living room to my girlfriend and say, "This is how you have to dance to this song," and proceed to do the worst "robot dance" in history -- head tilted, arms bent at 90-degree angles at the elbows, jerky mannequin motions. The track, "Dawn of the Butterfly," with its deep, deep, deep computerized vocoder effects, sounds like a parody of electronic music, all heavy-handed Kraftwerky and Devo-esque, but you don't mind because you realize that it's impossible not to have fun listening to it. Knodel have a hard time reaching this zenith again on the CD, though they try, man do they try.

When the trio lightens up, the music seems better, but not as kooky. Look, that robot vocal thing is just plain silly and retro and will immediately get people into whatever they're doing. Sure, it's cheesy, but that's what makes it so much fun. When undistorted, the vocals have an indie, nerd-rock sheen to them, though they're nicely cradled in plenty of technology.

Get beyond all the computerized special effects and goofy synth sounds, and Knodel still manages to make this work because they know their way around a good melody, in a Euro sort of way. You'll recognize every geeky '80s New Wave cliché here and ultimately love them for it. They don't care what you think, they're rocking on their weird Gary Numan-meets-Flock of Seagulls tip, and if you can get over it, you can come along for the ride. Three-quarters of the way through (when the songs start to sound like Air cast-offs), it begins to get a bit tiresome, but all you have to do is skip back to that opener, and you'll be "roboting" all over again.

Posted March 27, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Elektra

Rating: No

Initial caveat: I don't own any other Stereolab records or CDs. Aficionados of the band, forget about getting comparisons to Emperor Tomato Ketchup or whatever.

For some reason, I expected this to be experimental. It's not. A modern instrumental-based (not techno, not "electronica") Euro-sounding project that has a lot in common with Air (yeah, I know these guys came first). They interweave solid trip-hoppy rhythms with pseudo-mod retro keyboards and '70s Bacharach-style horn arrangements to great effect. Add to that a low, throaty female vocal just right for Rick's Café Americana. My girlfriend immediately fell for this. For me, it borders on lounge/dental chair music, but its intricate arrangements keep it from being a total loss. This is the kind of music that the guy in American Psycho might play when he's trying to seduce another secretary (before the chainsaw scene). Music perfect for an art show or cocktail party, where a few hipsters might ask either: 1) who is this? or 2) is this Air?

After numerous listenings, Laetitia Sadier's flat, almost atonal vocals begin to grow on you, even if you don't know what she's singing about (it's in French). Becomes a bit tiring and blurred about halfway through. Chances are, however, that you'll forget that it's even on by then. Pleasant, though not particularly absorbing.

Published in the Omaha Weekly Nov. 7, 2001. Posted Sept. 24, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

various artists

Dead Droid Records

Rating: No

The first question is why is this even necessary. Look, here's my rules on tribute CDs -- they should either be fund-raisers for causes supported by the dead artist being memorialized or unique renditions of an artist's music that both captures the spirit of the original version and the unique qualities -- or voice -- of the band covering the song.

This tribute, of course, doesn't meet the first rule and only occasionally meets the second. Full, open-throated hardcore grunting (what has become affectionately known in the industry as "the Cookie Monster voice") hardly captures a band's unique "voice." In those particular instances (covers by Affinity "My Name is Jonas," Glasseater "Holiday"), the effect is both comical and insulting to the original version. Do you really think screaming the lyrics instead of singing them is enhancing anything? Embarrassing.

Song selection is relatively wise. If you're gonna try to cover a band as wildly popular as Weezer, you're better off not covering tracks that were on heavy rotation on MTV. The result -- no "Sweater Song," no "Buddy Holly." As a whole the covers of Pinkerton tracks work better than covers off the debut album (there are no "Green Album" covers here), mainly because Pinkerton bombed, and as a result, we're not as familiar with them.

Overall, the tribute succeeds only when the cover band really lets it hang out. I can hear Grade all over their cover of "Surf Wax America," and yet they hold back enough to let the original through. Christopher John's cover of "The World Has Turned…" is unique, capturing his Elliott style but with the proper Weezer overtones. The Impossible's beat-driven version of "The Good Life" gets honorable mention. However, in the case of Dashboard Confessional's version of b-side fodder "Jamie," they've managed to turn a good song into a typical Dashboard wuss-fest, though it's still better than anything that Dashboard guy ever wrote for himself.

For the most part, the covers merely remind us (as if we needed to be reminded) how good the original versions are and how long it's been since we had them in our CD player.

Posted Feb. 24, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

DriveThru Records

Rating: No

Sounds like a million other CDs just like it. Broken-hearted Promise Ring-style guitar "punk" with Dashboard Confessional overtones. These CDs are laser-targeted to the mid- to late-teen "punk" market who are into something louder and faster than the Britney Boy groups. Track 1 chorus: "Please don't leave me without saying goodbye." Track 2 (titled "Saddest Girl in the World") chorus: "Try not to go running back to him." Track 3: "Forget me girl, I'm still recovering from her. It hurts so." Track 4: "You know how bad this hurts. It's been three weeks and just gets worse." I don't believe of word of it.

You never get a sense that these guys have a clue what they're writing about. They're in a rock band for god sakes, writing stereotypical crush songs without a stitch of reality woven into the lyrics. You used to be able to get away with this kind of thing, but too many great songwriters are out there now, baring their hearts to the world with painful honesty. Which isn't to say this isn't good enough for the general CD-buying masses who don't really want to glimpse into any poor emo kid's sordid personal life but would rather find someone who they can identify with on the most basic and comfortable of levels.

Melodies are flat and unmemorable; recycled. Instrumentally, very tight. The cover of "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" is appropriate and the only highlight of this disc -- and it's a lousy song to begin with.

Published in The Omaha Weekly Nov. 7, 2001. Posted Sept. 24, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

The Road to Nowhere Maps

Has Anyone Every Told You?

Rating: No

Here's the deal: I actually dig this San Diego-based trio. I like Mark McBride's vocals; I like their basic sound. Unfortunately, nothing on this 6-song EP stands out above the oceans of other indie rock stuff out there, stuff influenced by the likes of Superchunk, Dinosaur Jr., The Pixies and Pavement.

The opening two tracks are typical Superchunk indie rock -- not particularly interesting but not bad, either. The bass-driven "Damaged Goods," has the benefit of a more distinct melody. "Pencil Fight" is back to the same, chug-a-lug indie rock sound from the first two tracks -- instantly recognizable but ultimately bland. "Die Remora," the CD's closer, starts with some nice angular guitars, but ultimately fades into more mid-tempo riffage a la D. Jr. but without his sad-dog angst. Lyrically, nothing stands out.

The unfortunate situation most "indie" bands find themselves in is that their style, sound, vision or instrumentation is so unique that they end up getting lumped in the indie section, though their music stands out beyond the stereotype (for example, how could anyone call Sigur Ros an indie band?). With Dewey, it's as if they made a conscious effort to try to sound like an indie rock band, bringing nothing of their own unique style to the table. The result is six renditions of "the same ol' song."

Posted Feb. 9, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Matador

Rating: Yes

Matador has some of the best full-out tuneful indie bands in the business with acts like Yo La Tengo, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Stephen Malkmus and Belle and Sebastian. But for those of us who kept up, there were always the weirdo acts that somehow snuck in. Thinking Fellers Local 282, Sports Guitar, 18th Dye, to name a few; bands that were more avant-garde than pop but that had just enough pop elements to carry them through (18th Dye, for example, put out some of the most interesting stripped-down rock albums you've never heard). Aereogramme is right at home with the weirdos, mixing their quirky, noisy, metal soundscapes with quiet, delicate melodies.

"Zionist Timing" is a full-out noise rock masterpiece in line with Sonic Youth, latter-day Nine Inch Nails or, yes, 18th Dye. The three minutes of "Shouting for Joey," is divided between metal guitar, heavy drums and full-on indecipherable screaming and a light-as-a-feather acoustic interlude played over eerie industrial sounds.

For every weird one, there's a real beauty, like the stunningly ethereal "Hatred," that chimes forward on the strength of simple guitar, piano and Craig B's high-register, haunting vocals that border on praying: "Hatred is rising but I hope that I’m stronger than this." "Sunday 3:52," is somber cello, violin, acoustic guitar and a simple melody. The lyrics, especially on the quiet numbers, seem to be all about longing but could just as well be about recovery -- of the emotional or chemical kind.

At over an hour, A Story in White is both jarring and serene; haphazard on the surface, but beneath, there's a method to the madness.

Team AV

Rating: Yes

Enticing combination of indie and prog, resulting in a dreamy, cloudy, light-hearted romp. Hailing from Detroit, the four-piece has friends in high places (from an indie standpoint) including Death Cab for Cutie's Chris Walla, who engineered this full-length with all the care he puts into his own projects. The only thing missing is his fetching melodies, but Red Shirt makes up for it in sheer sonic bravado.

The arrangements and the oft-times muddy recording result in losing the vocals amidst the chaos. They're singing… something. In the weaker moments, like on the meandering "Later on the Whole World," and "Thugs with Venom," the intricate noise gets lost in its own clutter. But for the most part, especially when they're laying it heavy on the organ, they manage to pull off a groovy '70s prog-rock vibe. Tracks "Genuine Hiss" and "Years of the Skulls" have an early King Crimson / Moody Blues luster to them, trying hard to be retro-regal without being ridiculous.

Where they really excel, though, is when they push it into our century, like on the synth-driven "The Jigsaw Back" and the wizzy, head-trip instrumental "Booty Boot Camp," which chug along with simpler arrangements and, as a result, much more intensity.

Sure, you could write this off as an attempt at latter-day art-rock, but you have to give them credit for making it sound so damn interesting.

Posted Jan. 30, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Hydrahead

Rating: Yes

A two-song single meant to give you a glimpse of where everyone's favorite Rush disciples (as in the band, not the bigot) are headed with their upcoming full-length on RCA this summer, it isn't a big stretch from their "break through," 2000's Jupiter. Side A reeks of psychedelic Beatles residue and is generally Herculean in size -- big guitars, dense echoing production. B-side is more of the same. This reminds me of the majestic anthems that were so much fun back in the Big '80s. Where is Cave In headed? Your local FM station, they hope. And so do I.

Posted Jan. 30, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved

Milemarker

Frigid Forms Sell

Jade Tree

Rating: Yes

Originally released on D.C.-based Lovitt Records way back in 2000, this rerelease on Jade Tree blows away last year's Anaesthesia, thanks to a looser, jammier dance vibe. When the synths are at full effect, Milemarker is modernized synth-pop cross-pollinated seamlessly with angular post-modern guitars, resulting in new-art-prog by proxy. What the hell does that mean? The whole thing feels like the soundtrack to a horror film on the Sci-Fi Channel; the kind of music that would be playing in a bar in Blade Runner.

We're talking tear-your-head-off, D.C.-style angle-punk fused with futuristic synth noises and sneering vocals -- what would happen if you cross-bred The Faint with At the Drive In. "Cryogenic Sleep" is a laid-back indie stroller that changes gears, carving itself to pieces with bandsaw guitar, before dropping back into a robotic synth thing. On the trip-hoppin' "Industry for the Blind," synth/vocalist Roby Husick sounds like a strung-out Gwen Stefani, glowering over a synthesized haunted-house choir. The track ends with other-vocalist Dave Laney screaming PiL-style. Couldn't tell you what those two are singing about, though I imagine it's something either sexy or futuristic, judging by the bits and starts of lyrics: "Turn on the microwave and defrost the world." (Sex Jam One: Sexual Machinery) or "She looked at me / With the biggest brown eyes / And screamed at me / Would you like to fuck?" (Sex Jam Two: Insect Incest).

Despite being all over the place, the Frigid Forms Sell is surprisingly thematic and, ultimately, danceable. What brings all the chaos together is Sean Husick's incredibly precise, powerful drumming. The sound coming from his set consistently propels every track with a sense of urgency, unsettling almost on the verge of panic.

 Posted Jan. 21, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Team AV

Rating: No

Prog-art instrumental "rock" in the Yes vein. Too often it's a mish-mash of fusion jazz sporting angular indie-rock guitars that do little more than annoy. The bulk of the CD's variety comes from shifting back and forth between a few unnoticeable chords. Though it's obvious that they're going out of their way to not be catchy, it would be nice if something on the CD were memorable other than the frantic speed and intricacy of the compositions. The result is tedium and monotony bordering on jam. Never is there a strong, central theme or melody, the kind that makes music by instrumental giants Pell Mell, The Album Leaf and Tristeza work so well.

Posted Jan. 30, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

By contrast, Hot Water Music is more alive and kicking. Maybe it's because the Gainesville quartet realizes they have more to gain from the split then the Chicago trio does, and as a result, have come to the party with more impressive licks. To be honest, if you were to judge by this split alone, you wouldn't notice a huge diff between these two angst-ridden bands, but you'd remember the Hot Water tracks a lot longer.

"Radio" and "Bleeder" sound like grown-up versions of Dashboard Confessional tracks, sung by an adult rather than a child. "Radio," with its line, "I've got a big fat fucking bone to pick with you, my darling," is the modern-day fist-pumping rock anthem we all used to love in the '80s, while the all-acoustic "Bleeder," with its uncredited cello (at least on my version), and the line "You came to me like a dream / Like the kind that always leaves" tries hard to emote and is only half-convincing.

Neither band really sounds like it's laying it on the line, but even half-hearted performances from these two are better than 90 percent of the DC-esque indie stuff out there these days. Part of the Jade Tree split CD/EP series. Time: 23:46

Posted Jan. 21, 2002. Copyright © 2002 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

   Posted Dec. 17, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Posted Dec. 11, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

   Posted Nov. 27, 2001. Published in the Omaha Weekly Nov. 28, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Posted Nov. 27, 2001. Published in the Omaha Weekly Nov. 28, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.

Posted Nov. 18, 2001. Copyright © 2001 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.