4AD, 2008

Black Francis and Kim Deal were the creative and spiritual Yin & Yang of the Pixies. While Frank Black Francis seems locked in a perpetual, unspoken contest with Robert Pollard and Ryan Adams to release the most material in a calendar year, Mountain Battles is only the fourth Breeders album in 18 years. One theory being akin to Stephen King putting out so many books that some of them have to be good: the other more in line with creating when there is something to create.

The Deal sisters return with the much of the same support staff used on their last album Title TK, unfortunately, the results are decidedly mixed. While the last effort was quirky, it was still mostly enjoyable.

Mountain Battles is lethargic even in its few attempts to rock out. “Overglazed” kicks things off with echo-laden vocals and persistent drums and guitars, but quickly grows tiresome with the repetition of “I can feel it” throughout the duration. “Bang On”, “Walk It Off” and “It’s The Love” round out the upbeat portion of the album. “German Studies” is sung in German and, while kind of cool in theory, is pretty horrible in practice. “Regalame Esta Noche” is sung in Spanish. Not the same revved up sort of tune found on Surfer Rosa, but a tepid ballad that is instantly forgettable.

The rest of the album is filled with melancholia that doesn’t add up to much of interest. The problem with Mountain Battles is that it sits so firmly between pretty good and somewhat terrible that it is difficult to develop any real feelings for it one way or the other. If you retain affection for Kim, then you might find enough in it to enjoy on an occasional visit. If not, it’s probably not worth your time.

Jagjaguwar, 2007

Okkervil River are an Austin based group that swim the same murky, hard to define water as Bright Eyes and Wilco. They deftly incorporate aspects of freak folk, stark country, orchestral pop, and noisy rock under the general “indie” umbrella.

The Stage Names is their fourth full length release and is rich in concept and content. The songs are tied together curiously by a number of overt and obscure references to popular culture. Instead of coming across as contrived or pompous, this serves to force the listener to pay closer attention.

“Savannah Smiles” is a somewhat biographical account of doomed porn star Savannah who died in a car crash in 1994. The song is tender and understated with faux strings and xylophone that lend an unexpected innocence to the subject matter. “Plus Ones” is a brilliant piece of songwriting. Will Sheff weaves several popular songs that were numerically themed ( ex. “99 Luft Balloons”, “Eight Miles High” and “7 Chinese Brothers”) into the structure by cleverly adding one to each. This also comes to bare in the song “John Allyn Smith Sails” which is the strongest composition on the album. Here, Sheff tells the tale through the eyes of American poet John Berryman, who is considered one of the founders of the Confessional school of poetry. The song concludes with a twisted, suicidal send up of the Beach Boys’ classic “Sloop John B.” Each line tweaked just enough to maintain relevance to the subject. The song is darkly humorous and all the more affecting because of it.

The Stage Names is, ultimately, an expertly crafted work of compelling and rich songwriting. The album functions in the same manner as Radiohead’s OK Computer or Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon as a series of thematically tied songs to be enjoyed as a whole.

I would recommend giving it a listen as soon as possible.

Matador Records, 2008

Do you remember when Supertramp was awesome? I don’t either. Somehow, apparently, Stephen Malkmus does because he’s spent most of the last 6 years trying to sound like them.

Pavement were the closest thing to an indie rock Beatles as there ever was. Their influence was great and the output was consistent and often amazing. They influenced Blur to sound more blurry and Radiohead to stop sounding like Nirvana. The clear creative mastermind behind Pavement was Stephen Malkmus. Upon their demise at the close of the 20th century, all eyes were on him to see what would come next.

With the release of his first solo album, there was much to be excited and relieved about. It contained material as good, if not better than the last two albums Pavement released. Unfortunately, the two subsequent releases were mostly self-indulgent, proggy missteps.

In 2007, it was announced that former Sleater-Kinney and Quasi drummer Janet Weiss had joined Malkmus as part of his backing band, the Jicks. This was promising and exciting news based on Weiss’ track record as one of the best and most underrated percussionists around. Maybe her influence would wake Stephen from his 70’s daydream and back into form.

With the release of Real Emotional Trash we have our answer. Nope. Not at all. If anything, it’s only getting worse. Malkmus seems more concerned with masturbatory guitar excursion than actual song writing. Even his ability to turn cleverly oblique lyrics into something provocative and often embracing has been lost. Now the lyrics are an afterthought; almost a hindrance.

As with his last two releases, there are occasional moments of promise, but they are few and far between. The albums opener “Dragonfly Pie” comes in as a heavy stoner jam but quickly shows its weakness as the lyrics are comically stupid.

“Gardenia” has glimpses of his first solo album. Its concise and catchy but would still probably only be a B-side on that album.

For the most part it seems as though these songs are only excuses for guitar solos. Someone, please tell Stephen that we all know he’s an amazing guitarist. Maybe someday he will be return to writing the kind of influentially brilliant music he is known for. Unfortunately, it seems that he is taking the long way home.

XL, 2008

Vampire Weekend are, at once, a band of the time and a throwback to another. They have made the rapid ascent from Columbia University to blogosphere to record deal to hype machine. They teeter the line between anticipation and disdain amongst hyperbolic press and hipster aristocracy. In the end, all that matters is the music.

At first glean, Vampire Weekend are hard to embrace. Terrible correlations to Paul Simon, Jimmy Buffett and open-toed shoes are almost enough to deter further investigation. The first sign that there is more to be had here is the space their songs occupy in your head for long periods of time. This becomes more apparent through unremitting humming several hours after hearing them. Lyrically they embrace the same hyper-literate yet nonsensical constructs of classic Pavement; clearly embracing their Ivy League education. Musically, they are a peculiar blend of Afro-pop, new wave and elements of classical music. In the end, it comes across as a bit of the Talking Heads, English Beat and even Haircut 100. Even their videos display a sort of whimsical abandon not dissimilar to a prep school version of the Monkees. That may not sound promising, but it turns out its quite addictive and refreshing.

Many of the songs on their debut album have already been in circulation on the internet and EPs. “Mansard Roof”, “Oxford Comma” and “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” are laid back constructs of shimmering, clean guitars, tribal drums and understated keyboard melodies that evoke a Caribbean vibe. “A-Punk” and “Boston” are more up-tempo with bits of ska and string arrangements peppered throughout. Of the eleven songs comprising this album, eight are excellent. “One (Blakes Got a New Face)” and “The Kids Don’t Stand A Chance” aren’t quite as well executed in contrast the rest of album.

With their meditations on architecture and grammar, unorthodox influences and elitist image, Vampire Weekend are anything but typical. They stand out amongst their contemporaries and deliver a delightful collection of material that proves enduring and stimulating.

Alive Records, 2007

Garage rock is an anomaly in that it actually benefits from two typically negative qualities: mediocre musicianship and poor production quality. That said, it seems that the genre has come to be defined by it. Without the abrasive production of their debut album, would the Strokes have been considered successors to the Velvet Underground and Stooges? Their subsequent releases haven’t fared nearly as well without the rough edges.

Working under this method, Brimstone Howl have release Guts of Steel. Being that it was co-produced and engineered by Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys, you could guess as to the content and you would be correct in doing so. This album is filled with a dozen scuzzed out blues-based rockers; none of which is more than about three and half minutes in length.

“Bad Seed” kicks things into gear from the start with Nick Waggoner laying down a riff that would not be out of place on any Black Keys or early White Stripes album. John Ziegler’s vocals sound as though they are filtered through a transistor radio, a common technique in this genre. It is effective in many respects but can come off as a crutch with overuse.

“Luck of the Spade” along with “Six and Seven” bring to mind Exile era Stones or the New York Dolls. “Cyclone Boy” is a fierce fist-pumper that cuts like vintage Dead Boys. Filled with piss and vinegar, it rocks and rolls in all the right places.

In the end, you have to wonder if the songs would be as strong without the formulaic techniques so common to “garage rock”. Each track, although strong enough in many respects, sound derivative and repetitive when listening to in succession. After the third or fourth song, you begin to lose interest. Still, there is enough here to show a great deal of promise.

Ba Da Bing!, 4AD, 2007

In the latter half of the 17th century, the religious oppression of the French Huguenots led to a mass exodus. This resulted in many of the refugees settling in Germany. This melding of Franco-Germanic society has had an enduring impact on art, music and culture as a whole.

Zach Condon is an artist of fearless romanticism. At the age of 16 he left High School to travel Europe and found himself inspired by the traditional folk music of the Balkans. Operating under the moniker Beirut, he teamed with former Neutral Milk Hotel percussionist Jeremy Barnes to release the album Gulag Orkestar in 2006. He would also release the Lon Gisland EP a few months after. Both were rich with profoundly well crafted songs and easily some of the strongest of the last decade.

On his new album, The Flying Club Cup, Condon eschews some of the eastern European influence of his previous material. The time around it seems as though his roots are watered by the (primarily) French and (somewhat) German cultures mentioned earlier. Owen Pallett of Final Fantasy was enlisted to assist in the string arrangements; each lending to the inherent melodrama common to this palette. Recording took place in the converted church owned by the Arcade Fire with whom Beirut seem to be kindred spirits. Both are hard to categorize and both are more a collective than a band.

Surprisingly, the tracks grow stronger as you progress through the album. Each robust and dynamic with the same beautiful melancholy found in classic French cinema. There are transitional instrumental tracks from the onset (”A Call to Arms”) and positioned carefully and cleverly (”La Banlieue”) for a seamless listening experience.

To pick out a few of the stronger tracks would be an injustice. “Nantes” is romantic and builds from keys to strings to brass. “Cliquot” is a parade of longing built upon a rolling snare. “The Penalty” finds the familiar ukulele from Gulag returning.

Honestly, it would not be overstating the stunning level of brilliance saturating this work by highlighting each track. Operating in such a peculiar and antiquated genre would seem to work against a modern artist. After a while it might come across as redundant. Clearly, this is not the case. The Flying Club Cup surpasses expectation and may well have an enduring impact on you as a whole.