The Tuesday Review: Orbitron, B-Boy Universal

No, this isn't a brand-new record. Orbitron put this sucker out last December— but it bears repeating, because it's one of most promising pieces of plastic I've had in my hot little hands so far this year. B-Boy Universal proves that Orbitron, a competitive breakdancer, is as quick with his tongue as he is on his feet (or his hands, or his head), and it's got the kind of scratch-heavy, early '90s Tribe sound that underground hip hop keeps alive, even as the mainstream turns to shit like, uh, reggaeton (ok, I do KINDA like Sean Paul. Lay off.) A lot of novice emcees make the following mistakes on their first records: they spit rhymes at the same pace for the duration of the album, they don't pay enough attention to the beats (that means, rhyme spitters, that if you're not a good DJ, admit it to yourself and then go find someone who is), or they haven't been writing long enough to use words in new and interesting ways. Well, Orb doesn't fall into any of those newbie traps. DJ Tecumseh does a bang-up job complementing Orb, who alliterates and weaves his way through the beat with surreal metaphors and metaphysical musings. And most importantly, he changes up the tempo. Some of the jams, like motivational tip "All Day All Night," are party rockers fit for butt-shaking; others, like "Manifesto" or "Freedom Song" (which features Geologic of the Blue Scholars) are contemplative, even a little trippy, with some very nice psychedelic funk guitar action to remind you that we're in Jimi's hometown.

In short, ladies and gentlemen, this is quintessential Northwest hip hop, that perfect blend of political commentary, personal discovery, dro-smoking and dedication that let you know our man's serious about getting somewhere with this. And if you claim to love local hip hop and don't own this record yet, you need to change that, either at Orb's next show August 29 as part of the Asian Hip Hop Summit tour at Nectar, by hitting up some of our fine local record purveyors (Orb's website doesn't say which ones) or just get yourself a digital copy.

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The Tuesday Review: The Airborne Toxic Event's Self-Titled Debut

Less than eight months ago, The Airborne Toxic Event was exploding in an unreal way. Unsigned, unrecorded and unpromoted, the band drew nearly 1,000 people to a 400-person occupancy venue and was placed on regular rotation over the LA airwaves with nothing but an unmastered mp3.

The story of the band’s formation is fascinating and tragic in and of itself: in March 2006, fiction writer Mikel Jollett experienced the worst week of his life. While working on his novel, he learned that his mother was diagnosed with cancer, ended a long-term relationship, and was himself diagnosed with genetic autoimmune disease that brought on alopecia areata (hair loss) and vitiligo (skin pigment loss).

In the following month, he kicked a two-pack-a-day smoking habit cold turkey and, though he continued to work on the novel, eventually realized he was writing music. But the connection to literature didn’t disappear by any means; the band takes its name from postmodern author Don DeLillo’s novel “White Noise,” where protagonist Jack Gladney is forced to confront his own death after being exposed to a chemical explosion dubbed an “airborne toxic event.”

Like my colleague Kevin Capp wrote just yesterday about the literary appetites of the new generation of American bands, Jollett’s writing is the true hallmark of the album. It’s easy to get caught up in danceable melodies, but stepping back to fully comprehend the lyrics is a true poetic experience. It’s beautiful, and painful, and terrifyingly real.

Even the songs themselves have a seemingly literary quality. Though the songs are usually driven by Steven Chen’s steady guitar and Daren Taylor’s meticulous drumming — drawing comparisons to Franz Ferdinand and Modest Mouse —there’s trappings of a more whimsical, synth-and-viola-driven atmosphere that appear in opening track “Wishing Well” and heartbreaking single “Sometime Around Midnight.”

Though the album is short, clocking in at just over 37 minutes between the 10 tracks, but there’s more talent in its entirety than could be hoped for in a disc three times its length. And guess what? They have a stop scheduled for Endfest, Sept. 13 at Marymoor Park. I suggest you go.

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A 2006 Album That's Way Better Than I Thought It Was When It First Came Out

That'd be the Long Winters' Putting the Day to Bed. I mean, I liked it when I first heard it, but I didn't love it. And I think the fact that I didn't love it was because they failed to include my favorite Long Winters song, "The Commander Thinks Aloud," on it. But I just gave it another spin, and now I love it. And I'm not just saying that because I love John Roderick's scribblings in the Weekly, which I do. But have I gotten over the fact that "The Commander Thinks Aloud" has not appeared on an LW LP (it's appeared on an EP)? No, I haven't. Bring the noise, Johnny.

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The Tuesday Review: At the Spine - Vita

Many a struggling musician have looked to their European travels for inspiration, and At the Spine's fourth record, Vita, demonstrates what can happen when a guy who usually writes rowdy, politicized punk rock songs decides to see how the other half lives. Just as the European lifestyle moves at a slower pace than Americans are accustomed to, crossing continents slowed things down for At the Spine frontman Mike Toschi as well. Vita is definitely the band's quietest record to date, and while the revolutionary, introspective lyrics and badass breakdowns are still present, they, too, travel at a more leisurely pace. But while At the Spine's previous effort, Sonic Resistance, is solidly grounded in punk and metal, Vita feels like the band is testing the murky, unfamiliar waters of pop music, rather than swimming comfortably in them. Which is probably why I prefer Vita's handful of rockers, like "Transylvania" and "Crumble," to the slower numbers— because to me, At the Spine is at its best when it's fast, loud, and in your face. And if that's what you want, give Vita a try, but you will probably prefer Sonic Resistance, a great specimen of homegrown punk rock music and my own personal favorite At the Spine record.

Oh, and I should mention that At the Spine will be celebrating the release of Vita on October 10th, even though the record officially comes out today, so stay tuned.

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Alt Rock Coffee Shop Drop

Those of you who still can’t put down your old Ben Folds Five or Third Eye Blind albums will love Adam Marsland. He’s touring coffee shops (in alt-rock-pop tradition) to promote the album that he’s dropping today entitled Daylight Kissing Night: Adam Marsland’s Greatest Hits. For only six bucks you get an album that sounds like the power-pop-rock of the 90’s and will make you miss your old cut off jeans, crimped hair and the hiking boots that you wore every day while you “pretended” to play an acoustic guitar.There are plenty of oooohs and woo hoos throughout the album that make it borderline cheesy, but that was the 90’s for ya and you’ve gotta love it. Skylark Café, 3803 Delridge Way S.W., 935-2111, www.skylarkcafe.com, Fri. Aug. 1st 9 p.m., Free. JAIME SWINDLE

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Review: ¡Forward, Russia! - "Life Processes"

At first listen, ¡Forward, Russia!’s sophomore record “Life Processes” seems… a little out there. But then again, the tracks have titles that are words rather than numbers. That, among other things shows the maturity the Leeds, UK group has developed since their 2006 debut. And working with producer Matt Bayles, whose previous projects included The Blood Brothers and Minus The Bear, only accelerated it.

“Life Processes” is dramatic and unique. Driving melodies and math-rock rhythms found throughout drive the musical complexity of the group and the album. Ominous, choppy hardcore guitar (“Gravity and Heat”) can quickly and suddenly morph into gentle vocals washing over a slow piano line (“Fosbury in Discontent”).

The maelstrom of sound behind vocalist and keyboardist Tom Woodhead isolates the piercing clarity of his voice. When he shoots into falsetto, Only rarely will he allow himself to dip into the frenzy, but when he does the raw desperation is poetic.

Their sound is one thing, fairly easy to understand and enjoy, but the themes are something else entirely.

The lyrics can seem nonsensical and disconnected at times, but when taken in context of the song and album as a whole, are impressive. As a concept album describing the facets of life — from fear to love to hate to confusion to acceptance — "Life Processes" has a literary quality and tries to be exactly as it's named.

Though it takes some effort to truly appreciate and understand the album, that shouldn’t scare you away — ¡Forward, Russia! is a band you can throw on and lose yourself in without a struggle.

Score: 8.1/10

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Tuesdays Aren't Good For Much

but if nothing else, they do bring us new records to listen to. And last Tuesday, The Dutchess And The Duke's brand-new LP, She's The Dutchess, He's The Duke (on Sub Pop offshoot Hardly Art), officially hit the shelves.

I've had a lot of conversations with my dad (an accomplished guitarist and the music buff who turned me into the same) about the decline of the Album-As-Concept in favor of records that are basically a collection of catchy singles that are wonderful on their own, but don't necessarily bear any contextual relationship to each other. Of course, the downfall of many concept albums is the decision to include tracks that make sense in relation to the record's theme, but aren't that interesting on their own.

But while there's not one song on She's The Dutchess, He's The Duke I felt tempted to skip— and though She's The Dutchess, He's The Duke isn't exactly a concept album—on first listen I noticed a common thread. Whether the song be a twangy country number or a downtempo folk ballad, the upbeat melodies are always paired with melancholy lyrics (about, what else, heartbreak) that flout the sweet strings and strains of flute.

But it's the album's closer, "Armageddon Song," that ties the whole package together. It's all sunshine and bird songs for the first half of the song, right up until this line: "If there came an Armageddon shooting down from the heavens spitting white hot bullets from the sky/If the whole wide world was dead and destructed/Baby, you ain't gonna find a single tear in my eye/Cause everybody knows it baby we all gonna die..." And by the end of the track, our heartbroken heroes achieve closure. After all that crying about lost love, there's an epiphany: "For now, I've got you baby, by my side and I'm feeling all right." So simple, and yet, with this line, the record exhibits its strength, not only as a collection of songs, but as a cohesive work of art.

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CD Review: Bobby Digital’s Digi Snacks

I lied.

I told you, my vast and loyal readership, that I would post a review of RZA as Bobby Digital’s third disc, Digi Snacks, yesterday. Alas, I was unable to make this self-imposed deadline because I was too busy tanning. You’ll be encouraged to know, however, that I am now in possession of a robust bronze gleam, so all was not in vain.

On to business.

I’ve always enjoyed the oddity of RZA’s futuristic character/alter-ego Bobby Digital, as he provides sustenance to those of us who can’t help but be dismayed by all of these oh-so-serious MCs juiced on their own self-importance. (Lil’ Wayne, despite his PhD in Oddball, is nevertheless the latest such example, what with all that “I’m the greatest” crap. Pipe down, youngin’. You still got a ways to go.) Sure, he still brags, berates, and threatens “analog niggas” on his latest, never once stopping to think about their fragile feelings, but it’s so playful—so out there—that one forgives him his trespasses. Indeed, Bobby’s loopy originality should serve as a comforting pat on the back to the many suckers he turns into roadkill while tooling around in his CGI-enhanced flying car.

Unfortunately, Bobby’s car runs out of gas (or whatever it is they're powering vehicles with in the future; you know it ain’t gonna be oil) more than a few times here. The whole thing feels a little lazy, as if he fell asleep at the wheel. I say “as if” because RZA isn’t a slack-ass churning out records at Master P-type levels just to score a buck or two. He doesn’t treat art-making like crack-dealing. But there’s something missing on some of the cuts, and, thus, something missing in the whole.

Rather than hop in my earth-mover and try to dig up the missing pieces, I’ve decided to give you brief impressions of each song, excluding track 14, which I wasn’t given by the PR rep, a small oversight a commenter on my previous post on Wax Poetics magazine says is no biggie; he/she implies the song isn’t all that good. And, despite that I sometimes take for granted my readership by indulging in solar-centric cosmetic enhancements instead of typing, I do trust ‘em.

1) “Digi Snacks Intro”: Magic potion turns RZA into Bobby Digital, illustrating the “dangers and benefits of drugs,” as Bobby doesn’t always behave himself. Nice preamble. Recalls the opening of Liquid Swords.
2) “Long Time Coming”: A little on the goofy side—Bobby sounds like he’s melting in the shower—but the chorus is sufficiently haunting to keep it from completely failing.
3) “You Can’t Stop Me Now”: ODB’s wailing cum singing introduces this, the second best song on the album
4) “Straight Up the Block”: Bobby raps in slow-motion, his voice a low rumble. Then he starts in with the French, and I get lost. Weird.
5) “Booby Trap”: “When I was young/I slept with a battery on my tongue,” raps Bobby. Better.
6) “Tray Y Ya Ya”: Women in pain/pleasure lament ambiguously. Rattlesnake beat. Even better.
7) “Good Night”: Lullaby for the sexed-up and disturbed. Bobby plays the pornstar. Faint echoes of “The Whistle” from RZA’s Birth of a Prince meets that whistling song from Kill Bill.
8) “No Regrets”: Adjectives that come to mind: interstellar, hallucinatory, emotionally-crippled, minimal, insidious, and, finally, good.
9) “Money Don’t Own Me”: A blues-y, mournful complaint glues together a jam-band of competing sounds that don’t come undone but never quite fully stick.
10) “Creep”: Gunshots and a voodoo-like refrain of hollow wood contribute to this atmospheric goth symphony.
11) “Drama”: Skip this.
12) “Up Again”: Skip this, too.
13) “Put Your Guns Down”: Cacophonous diary of a mad man in a mad world. Not much to recommend.
14) No corpus delicti, no investigation.
15) “O Day”: Bobby announces that “hiphop is all about having fun,” and so he does—and so do we.
16) “Don’t Be Afraid To…”: The best song on the album. Sounds like the Roswell saucer landed on the orchestra. I re-played it three times in a row.

Addendum: According to Pitchfork and Filter-Mag.com, there are only 15 tracks on Digi Snacks. We report, you decide.

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New Mates Of State: Just Like the Old Mates of State

The new Mates of State album, Re-Arrange Us, is indistinguishable from most every other Mates of State album. I could comment on various tracks, but if you've heard previous Mates of State albums, then you've heard tracks that sound a lot like these tracks: simple keyboard accompaniment and lots of dreamy guy-girl two-part harmony.

Here's the thing: Nobody sounds like Mates of State except for Mates of State. Hence, there's no real need for them to evolve. And fuck, I don't want them to: Getting one of their discs in the mail is like Christmas in July. Re-Arrange Us is a gorgeous, economical listen. If it doesn't depart from what's gotten the Mates thus far, all the better. Prog-rock ain't for everyone.

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Best Records of 2008....So Far

My first month noms are for The Hands (I remain unconvinced that Mick Jagger doesn't sing lead vocals for this band) and Nada Surf (whose soon-to-be-released Lucky is reminiscent of Rogue Wave's Asleep at Heaven's Gate in that it features an established indie act showing it's not comfortable chillaxin' on an already sky-high plateau). But then, I don't get out much. Tell me what I'm missing so far, kids. Oh, and Nada Surf gigs this Wednesday at the Triple Door. The show's sold out, so maybe try and jimmy your way in through a heater duct or something.

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Shel-Shocked at Lynne's Springfield Smooth-Out

I was going to come on here and tear Shelby Lynne's horrible new album featuring smooth jazz interpretations of Dusty Springfield covers a new asshole, but it looks like Ther Huffington Post beat me to the punch. San Nunziato says it all here (the only other dig I'd include is Lynne performing "Breakfast In Bed" as though she's still asleep): "When I first heard about this project, I was somewhat excited. Good songs, good voice, good producer. What more do you need? Well, after one painful listen and a follow-up -"Was it really that bad?"- listen, I have decided that someone must take the blame. Fellow blogger, Matt Budd, closes his glowing review of this record by saying, "By doing this album (Shelby Lynne) has given us all the opportunity to listen to these great songs again. Thanks, Shelby." Everyone... buy "Dusty In Memphis" and any of the many Dusty Springfield Greatest Hits CDs that are available and you can listen to these great songs again...PROPERLY. I cannot "thank" Miss Lynne or producer Phil Ramone for sucking the life out of these legendary pieces of music that were just fine AS IS! Shelby Lynne's reading of such classics as "Anyone Who Had A Heart," "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me," and the title track, "Just A Little Lovin'" have no soul. Zero. Listening did not move me or make me feel sexy. It actually made me think of Wim Wenders and the desert...And what about "I Only Want To Be With You," the power-pop/girl group masterpiece? Was it necessary to slow this down and get all "laid back on our asses?" This version would make Perry Como shout, 'C'MON! PICK IT UP!' It's only January and I am pretty certain no release this year will disappoint and annoy me as much as this. I love Shelby Lynne, but this is wrong. Sorry, Shelby."

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The Best Record I Heard All Year: Gonzales, Solo Piano

I just finished up my year-end top 10, and was forced to leave out the only amazing record I heard all year: Gonzales Solo Piano. For one, it was released two years ago in Europe and only reached the U.S. this year. But more importantly, assigning this record a numerical importance felt cheap.
Sometimes, records come along at really important times in your life. For me, 2007 was a year of major transition, and not just because I got married (which, by the way, is totally awesome). I found myself thinking of music in a completely different way. I, like many others, felt completely overwhelmed by music, little of which felt like essential listening. Gonzales' Solo Piano came along at exactly the right time and went everywhere with me in 2007. I recognized his name as an electronica/trip-hop artist, and as the producer for Feist and Peaches, but this had nothing in common with any of that. This collection of 16 songs (or, etudes) evoked a mood unlike any other. It wasn't jazz, it wasn't classical. It wasn't fast, it wasn't slow.
It just was.
Above is some presumably homemade video for the album's opener "Gogol". And I hate to say it, but if there are any Francophiles out there, you need to buy this record.

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Band of Beach Boys

I'm currently listening to a promo copy of Band of Horses' followup to their brilliantly anthemic debut, Everything All the Time. I loved that record, and I'm loving this record (Cease to Begin), but fair warning: the two records are nothing alike. Really the only unifying thread is lead singer Ben Bridwell's inimitably nasal, hyper-enunciated vocal stylings. Cease to Begin is a catchy, twangy, mid-tempo affair that goes way soft on the rawk quotient in favor of what might rightfully be called Smoky Mountain daydream pop. The album is nowhere near as loud and lush as Everything, but manages to mine its relative simplicity for several gorgeous little ballads, foremost among them "Marry Song," "Window Blues," and "No One's Gonna Love You". Added bonus: there's also a track called "Detlef Schrempf" that, far as I can tell, has very little to do with basketball. The album hits stores October 9.

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Dylan & the Dead

The Traveling Wilburys' song "Handle With Care" easily ranks among my Top 25 singles of all time. It's pure pop perfection bolstered by George Harrison's supergroup shackup involving Dylan, Petty, and Orbison (and producer/bandmember Jeff Lynne). This one-off band was a great idea, as evidenced by the super cool DVD documentary included in the Wilburys' new deluxe triple disc, The Traveling Wilburys Collection.

But other than the aforementioned track and the rollicking "End of the Line," the two discs devoted exclusively to music reveal the Wilburys to be better in concept than execution. It's fun to see these rock legends having so much fun together while holed up at a friend's house in the Hills for a marathon sleepover recording session. But the end product, unfortunately, mirrors the going-through-the-motions look in Dylan's eyes throughout the documentary. The Wilburys Collection is mostly uninspired, middlebrow pap, as is George Harrison's feathered mullet.

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X-static for return of Static-X

Static-X

Cannibal

(Reprise)

Static-X came to metal fame in the middle of the ‘90s nü-metal craze, but thankfully they’ve moved beyond most of those conventions. On Cannibal, the band’s recent release, there is still too much electronic wizardry, but none of the rap-rock that doomed the subgenre.

Vocalist Wayne Static, big hair and all, screams his way through the album like an asthmatic teenager trying to be James Hetfield. This would be much worse except that the vocals are never the centerpiece of any track. Static’s voice is mixed down in a manner that benefits the singer’s limited capabilities. What does come to the forefront is Koichi Fukuda’s lead guitar and Nick Oshiro’s drums.

The guitar riffs aren’t spectacular. Instead it is his basic work that stands out while Static keeps his rhythm guitar going, Fukuda manages to sound like the riffs are natural progressions of the melody. Many metal guitarists have forgotten this. Fukada also seems to have attended the System of a Down school of guitar. His work at playing on the down beat is reminiscent of SOAD guitarist Daron Malakian. Not as perfect yet, but in time Fukuda could rival the fellow L.A. axeman.

Oshiro’s percussion work keeps the driving nature of what Static has called “our most metal album yet.” Even when Static attempts to cover the drums with his Atari-sounding programming, Oshiro doesn’t let it happen. He’s always there, getting the job done.

Cannibal is almost a concept album, in that half of the 12 tracks mention cannibalism of some sort, and the rest could be taken as commentary from a modern Leatherface, one that actually looks normal and goes to clubs.

Static still hasn’t gotten over that programming bug, adding his little flairs wherever he can. They don’t add anything to the songs and would be easily replaced with more Fukuda riffs. It can be done. Also, the record never seems loud enough, even at increased volume. Straining to hear Static’s vocals and trying not to hear the electronic gimmickry only make head banging that much harder.

Maybe the live show will be louder.

Static-X, Otep, Invitro will rock the Showbox, Sunday.

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