-Greg’s Take-

Before the years of horses drinking beer, muddy twang and an over “’Merica” mentality, there was a vast space where country and pop met. It was solidified by a mutual fondness of story, typically in the form of folk, and life experiences.

On the ridge overlooking the plains where the Cash’s, Mitchell’s and Cline’s watched the sunset, Linda Draper’s Edgewise revels that this sound is not gone, but stowed away deep within a songwriter, aching to be revealed.

Draper’s Mitchell-esc delivery lingers on a hauntingly retrospective singer/songwriter style without ever overreaching. Her ability to create spellbinding tracks over and over again speaks volumes to her writing. But, you see, her voice never quite conveys the sharp edge of the words she sings; much like her predecessors.

Does this slow Draper down?

Not a chance.

Through eleven tracks she exudes a classic sound that fits snugly in that vintage country/pop era, but when you listen closer to what she is saying Linda Draper becomes a modern presence that we should all be keeping an eye on.  The majesty of Edgewise is found more in the lyrics than anything else. When she sings “Everyone’s got something to say in this town/some hipster just sarcastically sold me/his friend’s band’s t-shirt/they’re so underground they call themselves dirt” in “In Good Hands” there is a moment of humor laced with real-world observation that you’ll quickly see is the foundation for the entire album. Gems like “Hollow,” also the first single off the album, her cover of Paul McCartney’s “Blackbird” and the Cash-like “Shadow Of A Coal Mine” expand Draper’s playbook from just another poet and a guitar to a real contender.

The fine line that is not pop, not country and doesn’t quite taste like folk is a very difficult one to achieve, but Linda Draper dances on it with grace. Her purposeful words and simple instrumentals certainly set her apart from the crowd and have me clinging to each song. Edgewise isn’t an attempt at getting a point in, but a demonstration of how someone can slide in and out without being restricted to the confines of one particular genre; just simply a singer and a songwriter.

-Greg’s Take-

Producer, artist and visionary Amon proved his ability to create an audible paradise with Hurricane Season In Brooklyn. His uncanny ability to mesh worldly style into a blend that is more experience than simply sound solidified itself in our Top 25 Albums of 2012.

Much to my surprise, but more like excitement, he is back at it with the Analog Players Society. This time the stay is brief, but nonetheless impressive.

The Analog Players Society has released the aptly titled CKY to JFK. CKY is the call sign of Conakry International Airport in Guinea and JFK is, well I’m sure you know, the airport in New York.  Though there is over 6800 km (over 4200 miles) between the two locations, the EP brings together the vision of New York jazz with Guinean jazz vocalist Missia Saran Diabate as if they were living right next door. The culmination of Amon’s prowess and Diabate’s elegance culminate at nothing short of stunning.

The three tracks reinforce a traditional, almost primal, approach to music and fuse it seamlessly with modern production. Most importantly, however, it does not lose and ounce of grace and personality as it honors both with superb respect.

Starting out with “Coule’Ba,” CKY to JFK dances with a trippy swagger that feels as though it could fit perfectly in the most tribal circles and the most packed clubs all at the same time. Then, as if the thought was all your own, it dawns on you that there is an exceptional jazz foundation to this and it drives an instinctual attraction in you.

That feeling doesn’t stop at the first track.

“Korosi” features Petite Konde and Mamady Kouyate and ignites the horns and guitar I was hoping for. The sound, which is quickly becoming synonymous with Analog Players Society is just as rich as the first time I heard them.

Bringing back Missia Saran Dioubate, the EP contorts into an electronic, full out four-on-the-floor arrangement I did not see coming. The dance foundation electrifies your senses and had me reeling in the glory of this track again and again. It is smooth and rich and nothing short of fantastic.

The Analog Players Society makes traditional styles cooler than the mainstream without prejudice or pretense.  The bridge that brings the jazziest world styles and modern production together is welded from Amon’s vision and it is strong and sturdy enough to deliver a whole hell of a lot more.  His incorporation of eclectic instrumentation and digital frontiers keeps me on the edge of my seat again and again. CKY to JFK is proof positive that music is heading in the right direction.

Spoon. The band, not the utensil, is arguably the greatest thing since the spork.

The boys from Austin have released seven full length albums in the last seventeen years. Of those albums they released, one of our favorites and one of the most “indie” defining, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. On said Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, they released “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb.” The driving swagger perfectly embodies all the great things one could expect from an indie rock band.

Now, through some miracle we could have only dreamt of, two of our favorite Bay Area bands have collaborated to recreate this magical track.

Mr. Kind and Picture Atlantic came together to recreate, not cover, Spoon’s iconic “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb.”

The collaboration is fun and fresh as it does well to maintain just enough originality that it doesn’t become another cover song. The two bands together, even splitting vocals, melt into one cohesive sound that is a blast to listen to again and again. They keep the swagger, add some flair, and get you moving. This is the kind of thing that makes loving independent and local music so awesome.

Click the artwork above for a free download and watch the video below.

By Greg
5/20/13

In a recent opinion piece on the site for the magazine that doesn’t ever plug Bloodhound Gang, Brandon Soderberg boldly proclaimed “Kanye West Has Become Our Pink Floyd, Just Admit It.”

The only thing that could be considered wrong with this statement is, well, everything. What it does is shed light on the very real position modern music powerhouses see themselves in.

Such publications and most artists they so shamelessly tout are the epitome of the decline of our modern musical era. Some may say it is the digitalization of music and the ease at which it can be stolen that plagues the music industry, but they would be wrong. The Kanyes, Will.I.Ams, Taylor Swifts, Billboards and sadly Rolling Stones of the world have taken honest-to-god good intentions and destroyed them.

While it sounds like I am digressing, I am not. You see this mentality of blowing smoke up the skirts of mediocrity is what stifles the progression of music. The so-called “talents” of pretty much anyone who is given a Grammy or Billboard Music Award actually live more in the producers at the mixing board than they do the faces we see. The prevalence of Auto-Tune and over production is playing a trick on those who don’t care to look any further. Like the Man Behind the Curtain, modern “mega-stars” get all the credit while the producers drive what the radio plays.

Sure, Beiber, Swift, Kanye (maybe) and the like can all sing better than me, but I am not a musician, I am a fan of music. Somewhere along the way, people like me were pushed to the recesses of the musical world and journalist majors who couldn’t cover Michele Bachmann’s lunch order were given the music desk.

And this is where we find Mr. Soderberg and his sensationalist reporting. If he, and the powers that sign his paycheck, would sit down and listen to a Pink Floyd song they would soon realize that Gilmour, Wright, Mason, Waters and even Barrett produced one of the most consistently timeless sounds music has ever seen. Aside from their early albums, Floyd fits perfectly into any and all decades equally.  I don’t recall a moment where Mr. Gilmour jumped on stage to rant about some injustice over an award. Even in Mr. Waters’ most tangent moments, he didn’t compare to the overrated, under-talented musician (I use that term loosely) that is Kanye West.

Simply broadcasting your face in a “truly terrifying for a few minutes” moment, does not make you Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd was elegant and deep; thought provoking and bold. Kanye West is a child crying for attention. If you believe this is a relevant moment to make an entirely inaccurate statement, then I suggest you put on your big boy pants and go work at a major news network. I’m sure they would love your off-the-mark associations and sensationalism. Real music has no place for such comments and frankly the name of Pink Floyd is marred by such a remark. Kanye is as far from Pink Floyd as I am to sitting down and having lunch with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

-Greg’s Take-

The conviction that fills music is the life-force of an artist and separates sound from art. All too often this is left out of the process, whether in the artists themselves or post-production.  But every now and again a musician becomes truly an artist by transcending sound waves and lifting your spirits or pushing you to the edge of intimate emotion.

If you can’t say you have ever felt this or you have become lost in the oversaturated, overproduced world of modern music, then take a seat, Mr. Christopher Paul Stelling is about to blow your mind.

Stelling’s sound embodies the weary traveler passion that ignited the flame in the greatest blues players. He makes the Mayers and LaMontagnes of the world feel like frauds and phonies while falling closely to a William Elliott Whitmore-like impact.  His haunting, shakily delivered vocals resonate with a folk essence, but only as a medium to express their deep poetry.  Lyrically Christopher Paul Stelling weaves a world that will have all who listen clinging to his stories without flinching for a moment out of fear of missing any ounce of his sound.

False Cities lifts modern folk, from its gospel roots, out of the mud, brushes it off, hands it a guitar, tips its hat and sets it down the road in the right direction. With a simplistically powerful presence the ten tracks prove that so much can be done with so little.

As if it is the most natural thing for Stelling to do, tracks like “You Can Make It,” “Brick x Brick” and “Homesick Tributaries” echo with images of Americana while they breathe life into a deep dark place. His music is that old rusted out truck rolling through the towns where ranchers still work the fields, where diners still stand as a stage to the local gossip and where people still wave as you drive by. It moves you to your core and allows you to become lost in nearly forty minutes about family, life lessons and a world far from smartphones, electronic beats and man’s produced dilemmas.

I did not quite know what I was going to get when I hit play. What I found, I will not soon forget. Christopher Paul Stelling is not simply a musician or an artist; he is a poet and a preacher of a religion that is found on six strings and memories. You will be doing yourself a great injustice if you even consider passing on this album.

When something is labeled neo-New Wave or caffeinated pop we tend to turn the volume down and hope we don’t become tempted to learn the results of American Idol.

Well, turning down the volume on Rathborne’s “Last Forgiven” (single from the forthcoming SOFT) would be the worst decision you could make.

Striking a strong similarity to Julian Casablancas in verse and Ezra Koenig in chorus, Luke Rathborne drives a train of addictive, fun sound straight at your inner audiophile. With tracks like this he is sure to standout to those who did not know him before.  This rolling New Wave sound will have you receiving it with open arms and eager ears.

Little fantasy, not much go-round, but a lot of Beauhunks style.

The new Marvelous Beauhunks sound has a face to put with the name.  The guys deliver a dose of cynicism laced with humor, drenched in much needed rock purity, in their video for “Don’t Mind Doin’ (What I Just Did)” off their recently released stellar EP Who Said The Kids Are Alright?

Produced by Matthew Brown at the Moustache Club (formerly the Ozone) in Beauhunks territory (Oshawa, Ontario, Canada), the video nods to band struggles but ultimately proves that the guys are back and better than ever.

Through the shining beacon of pleasantries that is drummer Stephen Wright, we can see in the video that the band sincerely has fun doing what they do and they don’t mind doin’ it. We can only hope that this is the beginning of a second wave of Beauhunks that will be around for a long, long time.

Don’t Mind Doin’ (What I Just Did) from The Marvelous Beauhunks on Vimeo.

On December 19, 1999, the world’s best sports official Jeff Triplette lightly tossed a piece of fabric into the air and it got caught in a gust of wind which propelled it into the eye of a Clevenland Browns’ offensive tackle. The sheer shock and happenstance caused Triplette to immediately render aid that could only be rivaled by a hug from the Snuggle bear himself.

Ok, so part of that is a lie. Jeff Triplette is a plague on the National Football League and one of the worst officials sports has ever seen. You see, 14 years ago Mr. Triplette maliciously threw the flag (filled with lead shot to weigh them down) at Mr. Orlando Brown while he was on the ground striking him in the eye and starting the process which led to the end of Mr. Brown’s career.

Aside from many necessary rule changes, the best thing to come of the incident is in fact Autumn Hollow’s “Orlando Brown.” The ode to athletes encapsulates all the best from The Autumn Hollow Band and propels them forward into not only a fun, but thought provoking band.

The track, which features a group chorus at the end which shouldn’t be missed, plays to the folky influence we’ve come to love from the boys from Boston. The rhythms and sincerity we fell for on Love Letters and Ransom Notes stands proud in their single but shows just enough maturity to see that these guys have what it takes to last. They have made big fans out of us and we cannot get enough of “Orlando Brown.”

-Kevin’s Take-

I recently had the pleasure of being asked to review Anoka County, Minnesota’s Crankshaft and the Gear Grinders’ 2013 release What You Gonna Do? and I must say – it is a music lover’s dream. Every so often there is an artist that comes along so true to self that it seems as though they couldn’t possibly play a bad song if they tried. Anything I write here is going to become irrelevant once you listen to a few songs, but allow me to break down a few notes on what makes this an instant favorite.

In any musical offering, from a solo acoustic guitar to the 35 piece jazz ensemble, there is a recipe that exists to contribute to that sound. It is made up of style, influence, culture of the artist, writing/playing ability, and any number of other “ingredients.” With this in mind, let me highlight a few things that stood out to me as a fan of music, as a musician, and as a critic.

STYLE: Oh, it’s distinct. Yes, it jumps around from the high-energy, raw 60s dance party/rockabilly; “When The Lights Go Out,” with its dare-you-to-keep-up key changes and super hooky rhythms and easy to follow lyrical style blending wonderfully; to the pure Chicago blues number “Trail of Tears” two tracks later. Yes, “Kingpin” is perfect 60s lounge groove that made me wish I had a hot rod to go cruise for chicks in. Yes, there are soaring dynamics that allow songs like “I Wanna Play,” a shuffle, jazz reliant on a “drunken Trumpet” and some damn fine delicate piano to lead the march, to not feel at all out of place.  In honesty there are a few tracks that, absent from vocals, you wouldn’t think they are the same artist. Not since Nazareth have I seen this on this level (seriously… how is “Love Hurts” on the same record as “Hair Of The Dog?” How is that even the same band?!). One thing’s for certain, it’s a sound all its own.

INFLUENCE: Far and wide, but let’s say the boy knows his blues. Alex Larson is a one-man arsenal and on this record brings in a band to round out songs that he plays comfortably and capably on his lonesome. Taking cues from Richard Johnston and the like, Larson often performs as Crankshaft with a guitar, bass drum, and hi-hats and snares rigged to pedals. I’ve seen Nick Schnebelen of Trampled Under Foot sit down behind a drum kit, guitar in hand, and play a tune. It was, in a word, intimate. It’s an invitation into a vulnerable setting, and all these men mentioned do it spectacularly. Larson/Crankshaft, in particular, has a style of writing and playing that seems to bend around song like a wayward kite round a tree branch. Once he has his touch to it, it’ll never separate.

THE “HOT DAMN” FACTOR: Crankshaft has a way of steering groove in a way that isn’t contrived or even discovered as much as it is conjured into existence; songs like “Let Me Love You,” “Barkin’ Up The Wrong Tree” and “Kingpin” I’ll once again use as a brilliant example of this. Progressively, the groove is laid down, thicker and stronger, piling on layers of drum, horn, keys and guitar; dropped like the desperate and reckless ties under a railroad track being built while the locomotive steams steadily ahead.

With easy grace and style, Larson leads the Gear Grinders masterfully through this collection, falling easily in place with the saints of blues music such as Jimmy Yancey, Earl Hines, Hudson “Tampa Red” Whittaker, or even Sleepy John Estes.

Do yourself a favor, buy this CD, grab your cruisin’ partner, gas up the car, and then…wait till you’re a good twenty minutes out of town before blasting this CD. After that, enjoy where the roads and the music decide to take you.

-Greg’s Take-

The crazy alchemy that is bridging throwback sounds with modern flair has eluded many and been achieved by a select few. Apparently the key to this formula is simply arming oneself with Mortar & Pestle.

With a retro vision played out over six underground jazzy electronic tracks, like a futuristic speak easy, Janaysa Lambert, Paul Shinichi and Sean Paul Duke grace the musical world with a presence reminiscent of vintage Bond themes and yet as fresh as anyone could have hoped.

Packing synth tightly against an experimental backdrop and wrapping it in Lambert’s powerful vocals there is a familiarity to the trio’s self-titled release. It feels as though these tracks were stashed away in the late 80s or early 90s with the intention of releasing them to the light of day when the world was ready.  They are not groundbreaking by any means; but, this is a very good thing. Each track is as bold and vibrant as the titles would suggest. “U.V.” and “Electric Angel” drift and sway on an electric wonderland while the rolling jazzy undertones of “Pristine Dream” hints at a lost, darker Kylie Minogue track.

The highlight of the six tracks falls in fourth under the title “Lighthouse.” The nearly three and a half minute song is sultry and bold before it breaks into a piano driven ballad form that will have you seeing 007 titles flashing before your eyes. Plainly put, it strikes gold, Goldeneye, Goldfinger or Man With the Golden Gun, your call.

While I find myself hoping for more consistency in the lyrics, as they tend to fade in identity toward the end, I am reminded of the pure power that this trio packs in just their talents. Where most bands have the story and grow in instrumentals, Mortar & Pestle have a musical identity well beyond a debut release and endless possibilities when it comes to their story. To find a flaw in this release is simply grasping for something to convince you that a debut cannot possibly be this good. Though I will reiterate that this is not game changing music, it should be known that this is memorable and fun. You will come back to this album over and over again for the comfort and familiarity, but soon find yourself thinking that all those other sounds sound just like Mortar & Pestle.