Author: Tyler Crain

The Memories are a sun-soaked, dreamy power pop band based out of Portland, Oregon, sharing members with the punk outfit White Fang. Their most recent release (on Burger Records, a label with an impressive repertoire, to say the least) Love is the Law features seventeen songs to the tune of short and sweet. Simplicity, then, is the key stylistic element. The bare-bones guitar riffs supplement lyrics that stick to talking about girls and weed. Sound easy to get into? Transparent, almost? That’s absolutely right.

Simplicity should never be interpreted as a flaw. Some of the most beautiful songs ever written have been created on the foundation of just four chords (and sometimes even less). What The Memories have going on Love is the Law is a prime example of what critics and music dorks alike refer affectionately to as “slacker pop.” Not to be confused with actually lazy songwriting (and make no mistake, the lines can often blur), the songs are crafted in such a way that would inspire visions of the band members sitting together in a cramped apartment or practice space thick with pot smoke, banging out these songs in rapid succession. The lyrical content seems to be hastily concocted, scribbled on crumpled scraps of paper salvaged from old notebooks and the backs of fast food receipts. With this comes a certain charm that many bands try to emulate, but few are successful in.

Standout tracks on the album include “En Espanol,” “You Need a Big Man,” and “Go Down On You.” With the song titles as straightforward as they are, the feeling of the album is easy to pin down. “You Need A Big Man” is entirely absurd, which makes it a great (albeit questionable) addition to the album. The lyrics are lewd, childish, and terribly tongue in cheek, with a hummed vocal part in lieu of a guitar solo. In a strange way, it sort of embodies Love is the Law. It’s respectable pop without taking things too seriously. This is a fun listen above all else, and easy to immerse oneself in. The attention to sound and atmosphere, appearing in short bursts yet leaving an impression on the album as a whole, make the record that much more substantial.

The overall impression to be drawn from Love is the Law is face-value: what you see is what you get. It seems like common sense, or even lackluster to a certain degree. There is no package here, nothing to be sought after or understood. No big picture, no pretense, just a collection of summery, jangling pop songs. And sometimes that’s all you need.

The Resolution EP offers listeners a fresh taste of what is to come from Australian singer-songwriter Matt Corby. It is a clear continuation of his previous work and simultaneously marks a new chapter in his career. The single (for which the EP is named) was released just before a sold-out national tour, giving a preview for a full-length record to be released. In the midst of Corby’s ascent to fame, the Resolution EP deserves to be digested.

At first glance, the EP seems a bit lacking in material, with four tracks clocking in at around the twenty minute mark. However, Resolution is filled with enough substance to make the collective mouth of Corby’s fans water in anticipation for the imminent full-length.

The Resolution EP begins with the title track and single, drawing in old fans and prospective ones with apparent ease. Corby’s guitar arpeggios fade in as his signature croon begins, singing of his “resolution,” a glimmer of hope in a bleak existential crossroads. Understated percussion accentuates the track, reverberating though the listener and lifting them up as Corby seems to have been lifted up.
Each subsequent track is a gem in its own rite, displaying a great variety in tone and mood throughout Corby’s creative process. Subtle touches of violin (Lay You Down) and piano (Evangelist) add to the guitar and vocal-focused tracks. Evangelist, an 8-minute near-epic, builds up from sparse instrumentation and soft cooing to a soaring refrain, then breaking down to a loose, primitive jam. Evangelist is impressive, but still exists in the shadow of the single. However, it leaves something for listeners to hold on to, giving depth to the EP and raising expectation for any material to follow. Resolution closes with an alternate take of the single, decidedly more somber and subdued. Both versions represent enormously redeeming qualities in Corby’s music: his ability to encapsulate the listener in both a driving, larger than life tune or a soft-spoken introspection.

Testifying also to Corby’s range as a musician is the difference in vocal styling on each track. For a split second, one may gather the impression that a different vocalist is featured on every track. While displaying Corby’s range (a quality to be taken into consideration) it does leave the Resolution EP feeling a bit choppy. However, for the purpose of previewing the forthcoming Matt Corby release, Resolution does just fine.

Matt Corby is well on his way to making a name for himself outside his native Australia, Resolution standing in as a milestone on his journey. Corby can truly claim ownership to a masterful execution of songwriting, and as such, is well on his way to a bright future.

Dave Gahan, formerly of Depeche Mode fame, released his second solo effort Hourglass in October 2007. While the record garnered mostly favorable reviews, it can be difficult to disassociate Gahan from his work with Depeche Mode. While Hourglass is certainly reminiscent of the group, there are undeniable qualities separating it from the Depeche Mode catalog. The end result is respectable electronica, with urgent percussion and Gahan’s signature croon for style.

The album opener, “Saw Something” does a fine job acquainting the listener with Gahan’s vocal and lyrical style, but did not seem to fit the album as a whole. It easily could have introduced an entirely different record, with more airy pop qualities. The whole of Hourglass is slow and mechanical, pounding along with force and constancy. The percussion is mostly to thank in this instance. It laid an immense foundation, with the rest of the instrumentation following its lead. The mechanical din of synthesized instruments nodded at Gahan’s Depeche Mode past, though remained undeserving of any “industrial” classification. Organic instruments were featured on Hourglass, and were blended in with the rattling homogeny of the other instrumentation. They served a seemingly supplementary purpose to the whole of the album.

The record seemed to exist more as a collection of songs rather than a purposefully arranged album. Though not to be taken as a fault, necessarily, it seemed that Hourglass was lacking in any real direction, with strikingly similar tracks backed up against one another, amounting to an unfortunate monotony that consumed the middle of the release. The standout tracks offered a different range of sound, from noisy oscillations during “Deeper and Deeper” to more melodic tunes such as “Miracles.” Hourglass seemed to shift attention from atmosphere and feeling (per the droning interludes in between songs) to the musical and lyrical content, perhaps further attributing the lack of focus that subtly haunts it. The tracks flowed well into one another, but could be more easily compared to mounting an exercise bike for fifty minutes rather than a trek from points A to B.

Hourglass would most likely be a more fulfilling listen to fans of Gahan’s other work or the Depeche Mode catalog, but from an outside perspective (or one unfamiliar with his other works) it seems to fade into the overwhelming mass of electronica releases . However, despite its apparent flaws (however minor or major they could be perceived), there are equally as many redeeming qualities to be found and enjoyed. Hourglass is a testament to musicians who have found their forte, but may forever work in the shadow of their prior efforts.

ID is the most recent effort from Pittsburgh’s Chris Laufman, perhaps more widely acknowledged as the recording artist Wise Blood. Laufman is, for all intents and purposes, a beatmaker, sampling what seems to be thousands of sound clips from an eclectic range of artists. He manipulates them until they are miles removed from the original: essentially a musical Frankenstein’s Monster, sewn together in ways that make one wonder whether or not it’s playing God or just artistic ingenuity. There are arguments for both, of course.

Wise Blood’s end result is a varied, layered and entirely controlled pop record that serves as a snapshot of Laufman, existing in a swirl of modern luxury and discontent, his own vices and his own perception of himself. ID offers a foray into Laufman’s mind: shamelessly quirky and often tongue-in-cheek, yet entirely self-aware and overall sincere. Not only does the listener get a glimpse into the inner workings of the artist, but they are even further included in the joke, more than likely totally identifying with the subject matter. Regrets about the last few nights at the bar, a love song to the Target franchise and a list of things he wishes his friends could be make ID an almost classic testament to the love-hate relationship that young people have with youth culture.

Completely embracing that love-hate relationship, Wise Blood creates an entirely fresh sounding alternative to the blanket “indie pop” term that tends to be thrown around so haphazardly. ID is a pop record for people that don’t like pop music. Samples from everywhere under the sun are thrown into the mix and flawlessly strung together, driving forward Laufman’s vocal work and lyricism. His slightly self-deprecating, yet confident tendencies channel a Yoni Wolf-like persona; dripping with what prove to be complex array of emotions mixed with external factors and some element of existential woe. Laufman takes care to throw some humor into the mix as well, as if to make listening less like a visit to the shrink and more like exchanging grievances with a friend over coffee. The instrumental “8 P.M. – 10 P.M.” and “11 P.M. – 1 A.M.” act as wordless vehicles to the same end, in that one can almost imagine Laufman sitting at his computer in sweatpants for the hours indicated tweaking his tracks.

ID comes forth at face-value without compromising even a single bit. It has the ability to assert itself as having this sort of self-evident clout. The record itself has an attitude, an air about it the demands attention. Chris Laufman has been quoted as saying “I want to sign a big contract and take over pop music.” If ID is any indication, he probably can.

Mavericks by Work Drugs is the most recent full-length release by the sun-soaked Philadelphia synth-pop outfit. They bring to the proverbial table a largely accessible testament to the genre with some underlying substance and subject matter driving their music.

At first glance, there seems to be a slight disconnect between the band’s aesthetic and their city of origin. Philadelphia is widely considered to be a part of the geographical (and perhaps even more so, cultural) United States East Coast. However, Work Drugs employs a distinctly West Coast image evident in their album artwork and even some of their material, namely in Mavericks’ “West Coast Slide.”

Though the principal East Coast/West Coast feud may belong to 1990s hip-hop, the two coasts tend to produce a different cultural context, not only based in location but a general paradigm. Perhaps such an observation could be taken as a look too far into such a trivial aspect of Work Drugs’ style, but it exists nonetheless. They seem to be fairly genuine in their doing so, indicating that it may have been an intentional creative choice.

The decidedly West Coast aesthetic can also serve as the first step in describing Work Drugs’ sound, creating a point of reference even beyond the vast “synth-pop” tag. Mavericks features lush instrumentation not entirely electronic in origin. The use of reverb-treated guitar and the featured saxophone on “Sunset on High Street” stand out as brilliant additions to an already well-orchestrated record. Another feature that makes Mavericks an enticing listen is its production. The plague of over-production tends to afflict electronic music, but Mavericks subverts it spectacularly. The result is a smoothed-out pop record with a more organic feeling than a vast majority of electronic releases can claim. The record shows a certain lyrical depth as well, with songs of love and loss like “For James” and “Trifecta,” commentary on the aligning co-culture in “A Measure of Life” and “Payola (A Numbers Game),” even ranging to a larger social commentary about the divide between homelessness and youthful privilege in “Sunset on High Street.” The lyrics float above the persistent punch of the instrumentation in a smooth, relaxed and melodic falsetto, entirely deserving of the self-described “smooth-fi” moniker. Mavericks thrusts all of these qualities forward in a neatly-organized exposé of Work Drugs’ material, from up-tempo, club-ready tracks like “Young Lungs,” practically begging for shamelessly wacky Friday night dance moves, to the relaxed melodies of “Trifecta.” The record is balanced to the point of pop perfection.

Work Drugs’ Mavericks could not have come out at a more seasonally appropriate time. It practically screams “summer” at the listener, with great potential to serve as a soundtrack for a night drive with the windows down or a raucous party with close friends and perfect strangers. Mavericks seems to have created the musical equivalent to the summer for the young-adult socialites of the world, in the best way possible.

The Silent Comedy are a rock group based out of San Diego, California. They have been garnering a great deal of attention recently, attracting a sizeable fanbase with their brand of folk and Americana-tinged music. In doing so, they are growing rapidly out of the bar scene that they once called home. In that way, their music tends to reflect their roots and upbringing.

To that end, I’m not sure I’ve been exposed to a more accurate sonic representation of bar culture. And I’m almost positive that’s not a great thing. In the romping blues-pop tune “God Neon,” the single from their latest Friends Divide EP, one can almost hear the beer bottles being cracked open and the crowds of intoxicated twenty to thirty-somethings talking over their set. The Music News Nashville blog claims that the way to best experience their sound is to see them play live, and I’m convinced that such a thing would only further prove my point.

They are far from “bad.” It’s clear that they have some chemistry and talent as a group, and the six-track Friends Divide has a solid range of songs (from the raucous “God Neon” to a slower, folksy “Simple Thing”), all executed very well in terms of musicianship. But I think The Silent Comedy’s least desirable quality is, unfortunately, the whole package. I can’t shake the “bar band” image that they’ve built themselves up on. The members of the band, neatly bearded and seemingly clad for a night out are subject to and simultaneously a product of the image-conscious microcosm of bar life. Their music is upbeat enough to hold a tipsy audience’s attention, but lacks any further depth that could impact a listener at home. Their music seems to rely on swaggering bluesy guitar riffs and choruses that take up most of the EP. Perhaps their live show is, then, something to be experienced for those interested in such a group.

The Friends Divide EP is a classic example of plain music veiled by hype and loosely applied genre tags in an effort to give any kind of credibility. While The Silent Comedy reached a level of success with their last full-length record, Common Faults, it seems that the follow-up Friends Divide would serve as their real breakthrough effort. The Silent Comedy is not undeserving of attention, but I feel as though it should be taken with a grain of salt. The content on their most recent EP is fine (if not predictable), but lacking in any real substance. The “God Neon” single appears first on the record, leaving something to be desired for the duration of Friends Divide as soon as the dust settles. The remainder of the EP goes through the motions of a vaguely Americana-inspired rock record, ranging from slower and somber to harmonious and slightly uplifting (namely the final track, “Ghosts”). The Friends Divide EP may compliment a Friday night out, but is slightly underwhelming in any other situation.

There seems to be quite a bit more buzz surrounding Eisley than I had initially realized there was for this folk-influenced pop rock outfit from Tyler, Texas.

With their latest Currents being my first listening experience, I was surprised at the apparent microcosm I was being thrust into, even upon my first listen. Eisley seem to have a knack (even without knowledge of the rest of their body of work) for creating a dense atmosphere, remaining present throughout the whole of the record. Perhaps “orchestral” does not accurately describe Currents’ sound, being created principally by typical rock instruments, but the movements and feelings throughout vaguely resemble something along those lines. Sherri DuPree’s vocal work adds an important ingredient as well. Her voice almost inexplicably contributes to the record’s sonic presence, yet remains distinguished and melodic, soaring above the rattle and hum of the instrumentation. Even further, the presence of atmosphere does an excellent job in tying this album together. There never seems to be a lull in energy and emotion, something I now consider to be one of the defining aspects of Currents.

In the midst of all the atmosphere and continuity, Eisley truly has an ear for the hook. Their loosely folk-based sentiment married with indie pop (as broad of a tag as that may be) serves as an excellent representation of a trending sound. It is hard not to hear traces of Arcade Fire, Florence + The Machine, or a host of other groups that share a similar sound. Bands of this caliber seem to have successfully calculated a balance between quality musicianship and accessible, radio-friendly music.

That being said, it seems that while the group paid close attention to the detail and composition of the record, it seems to have fall short in the diversity department. While the album remains loosely thematic and has a distinguished flow and consistency of motion, Eisley does not stray far outside their realm of comfort. This can be interpreted in two general ways: the first being that Eisley have found their sound and are sticking to it, which is commendable in and of itself. Consistency is important, and a band with too varied a range can often seem amateurish or indecisive. On the other hand, though, it does not seem far-fetched to say that Eisley can be easily categorized as a band. While they stand established, the comparison to other groups (as mentioned above) is a simple one. This is in no way meant to be a negative commentary on their music, but instead a praise. They are successful in the actualization of their sound, but at the same time, not much of what they’re doing is groundbreaking or entirely original.

Currents, as a whole, is a well-crafted pop record. Their influences shine through clearly, with a decidedly “Eisley” spin present throughout. It stands as a cohesive, strong-standing representation of Eisley as a band and of those that fit into the genre. While not entirely groundbreaking or fresh, it was catchy and emotionally charged throughout.