It's no secret that Trent Reznor is awesome. He's brought industrial music to the forefront and given the dark side of ourselves a kickass soundtrack. Pretty Hate Machine, The Downward Spiral, The Fragile, With Teeth, Year Zero, Ghosts I-IV, and now, we have The Slip, the newest, and might I add, free album.

That's right, this one's on Trent:

That's the word from the website. How fucking cool is that? A whole goddamn new album, free to download. All the major music outlets are buzzing with the news. And rightfully so. Not only is NIN one of the biggest musical acts ever (side note: they turn 20 next year), but ever since leaving Interscope, his former label, Trent has gone through a sort of Renaissance in terms of musical output. Back in March, he dropped Ghosts on us, an incredible instrumental album that, when released online, crashed the servers due to the immense traffic it generated. I shuffled into work the next morning a zombie because I stayed up all night waiting on my download. And just a couple weeks ago, we were treated to a free download of the single "Discipline" and a cryptic message that said "Two weeks." Naturally, fans were up in arms about this. Two weeks till what? More tour dates? Another album? God help me, the suspense is unbearable!!! And so, at midnight PDT May 5th (actually, just a little after, I noticed), Trent gave us "The Slip," an inspired and very danceable effort.

From the site:

This one, like 'Ghosts' before it, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike agreement, and of course, you can remix it if you so choose. Hell, after you download it, you'll get a page where you can email three of your friends a download link. Spread it all around, share it with everyone. Get a listen here. And how much money does TR stand to make? We won't know till the physical sales numbers are released. All I can say is that he must be very confident in making up that money in other ways. He made over a million dollars easy in the week after 'Ghosts' was released, just through online sales.

Here's the tracklisting:

Yeah, it's short, but it's great. I'll leave the discussion of its merits in SG's very own NIN group (join if you haven't). What I'm excited for are the setlists for the upcoming tour. With all this new music, are the shows gonna be 3 hours long? Not that it would bother me, but it may prove a logistical nightmare for the band and crew. Speaking of touring, go register with nin.com if you'd like to get presale tix. It's a new system they're using, and here's their logic:

Once again, check the performance page for the show dates/times/locations and presale info.

While I, like others, lament the decline of traditional record stores and the physical media they provide (there's just something about actually holding an album), I do embrace the new path that NIN and others (i.e. Radiohead) are blazing with digital downloads, and the subsequent closer, more direct relationship with fans that normally would be blocked by the record labels. The times change and we must change with them. For some opinions on this brave new world we are entering, check out David Byrne and Thom Yorke in Wired Magazine.

Does your town suck? Are you bored as hell? Got a band but no place to play? Or maybe you live in a city where the only venues to see live music are greedy, stuck-up clubs that make local bands pay-to-play and hate you for being poor and/or under 21 (you dirty little criminal). Through exhaustive research, I have compiled a list of tips to help you and your clever, creative friends build your very own D.I.Y. scene using only a second-hand P.A., your dad's guitar, some punk rock chutzpah, and several un-bent paperclips. 



I asked my friend Todd Patrick, better known as Todd P, to advise me on how it's done. He's been putting together shows since high school, and at 32, knows a thing or two about doing it yourself. After throwing events in Austin, Texas during college and then running an all-ages club in Portland, Oregon for a few years, he made his way to New York and single-handedly built an energetic, eclectic scene in the crumbling neighborhoods of North Brooklyn. Through a combination of charisma and reliability, Todd can make people open their ears and give his weird line-ups a chance. Or, as an anonymous denizen of the scene put it, "He could put his name on a polka party and people would show up."




The crowd at one of Todd P's shows (photo courtesy of Impose Magazine)

Patrick is at an all-ages punk show in New Brunswick, New Jersey when I call him on the phone. This might come as a surprise considering that, as one of the premiere curators in the Brooklyn underground scene, he's known for his impeccable, avant-garde taste. He'd never book a straight-up pop punk, ska, emo, or hardcore band. And yet there he is, rocking out to those very genres alongside the kids. "It's a rowdy, awesome rock and roll show," he shouts above the noise.

Patrick respects the people who make fun happen, regardless of whether their tastes align with his. "Local shows are the last vestige of real, straightforward community art for middle class people in this country," he tells me. "Everything else is controlled by an industry…music is the last one where people can literally put a band together, start playing, and the community votes with their feet and their dollar to see who they endorse and that is who the industry has to pick from. There's no other form in this country that's like that anymore.”


Deerhunter at Market Hotel (photo courtesy of Impose Magazine)

His desire to make this community mojo happen is sincere, and it shows. The myth that Brooklyn's avant-rockers are too cool to dance is shattered as soon as you step inside one of his sweaty, raucous warehouse operations. People get all up in your shit, in a good way. It's a visceral respite from the cold, corporate city in which we must all behave in order to make a living. Patrick has presented a laundry list of great musicians over the years: Aa, Deerhunter, Xiu Xiu, the Dirty Projectors, Dan Deacon, YACHT, and High Places are just a few bands who have graced his stages and subsequently gained increasing recognition, thanks in part to him. "That makes it fun," he says with no small amount of pride. "You have an impact on your community, spotlighting people you think have talent and helping make certain people rise…that's how you improve the national culture." A culture which, let's be honest, is in need of some serious rehabilitation at the moment. 



You need to put in a goodly amount of time before you can go about improving the national culture, but the good news is that anyone can do it. "It does not involve anything you can go to school for," Patrick says. So here it is, a list of advice gleaned from the master for building a happening D.I.Y. anti-empire from nothing.



Locate a Location



This can initially be tricky. Luckily, you are tricky too. Drive around looking for un-used spaces, investigating anything that looks promising. Warehouses, backyards, basements, and empty lots can all be put to good use. All you need is electricity, or barring that, make it an acoustic show. Find out who (if anyone) owns the space you fancy, and be persistent. Todd P's first show was in an abandoned lounge above a coffee shop in Austin: "I asked the owner, and he said no. I asked manager, and she gave me the keys." And once you've put on a few good events, he says, "the offers come out of the woodwork." A house here, a rooftop there, and before you know it you're drowning in rock love. This is especially helpful if you need to move a show at the last minute for whatever reason.



Find Talented Talent



It might make sense to have your friends' bands play; scenes are all about friendship, right? That all depends if you want your shows to actually be good. If you're into your friends' tunes, by all means give them a shot. But don't be afraid to cast a wide net in search of that perfectly bizarre band to play your party. Patrick recommends "random MySpace checks; search for bands who sound like bands you already like, or check out their friend lists.” Also, get to concerts on time and “see who opens for your favorites…those are people you can probably get.” He continues, "Put your heart and soul into it…stuff you find interesting, and sooner or later touring bands are calling. You do a good job, people appreciate it. Learn by trying."



Matt and Kim get happy in a temporary warehouse space (photo courtesy of Impose Magazine).

Broaden Your Taste



No one is going to stop you from booking the 1,000th Black Flag clone your high school has produced, but for a bit of artistic freshness, look to Todd P's shows as an example. There's no obvious commonality between the bands he picks; in a single night, you might hear the curious, tinkling loops of High Places, the incantatory ghost punk of These Are Powers, and the pounding electro-metal of Genghis Tron. None of these bands sound like each other, but none of them sound like anything you've heard before, either. "You can be really great at what you do," says Patrick, "but if it doesn't strike my ear as fresh, I don't care about it. If it's a new idea, I usually like it. I'm easily bored." If nobody likes your oddball choices, they can throw their own damn shows. Some bands take warming up to, but assuming your selections are intelligent, people will come around. "There's a lot of bands that a few years ago would have been too weird for people to appreciate who are getting big now," says Patrick with the joy of a man vindicated. In time, the world will catch up with your genius. 



Don't fight the law, 'cause the law will win

When I ask how to deal with the cops, he says it’s simple, really: "Don’t attract them." Choose an out of the way place where either the neighbors are chill with parties, or there are no neighbors. This is harder in big cities where everyone lives on top of each other, but even New York still has under-used or abandoned sites. Of the last 400 shows he’s thrown, Patrick says maybe seven have been shut down. Use your common sense to determine where people should not be allowed to go. “Make sure your patrons aren’t destroying the neighborhood. Don’t drink in the street, piss, etc. The kind of stuff you wouldn’t wanna see in your front yard.” And don’t be afraid to get in their faces about it; a few assholes should not be allowed to ruin everyone’s good time. If the cops do show up, be polite. Arguing with them won’t get you anywhere but jail, and wouldn’t you rather go to an after party at someone’s house than jail?



Keep it all-ages

“It’s classic discrimination to say someone who the government calls an adult isn’t allowed to see music because it’s wrapped up in alcohol,” Patrick says, pointing out a logical inconsistency that’s become the norm. There’s beer everywhere at baseball games, and that’s ok, “but if you’re watching shows, someone bad’s gonna get you.” Though it may be a slight added hassle to worry about having minors present, it kind of defeats the point if you don’t let them in. “Rock is youth culture, it always has been. To exclude under-21 pretty much kills off the scene.” And giving kids things to do is constructive to the community. “They take away the right to congregate, kids turn to things that are worse than drinking or going to a rock show.” Think back on all the dumb shit you did as a teenager that got you in trouble. Don’t you wish you’d been too busy rocking out to stick those fireworks in the cat’s butt?

Don't rape wallets

“Places seem to bleed money,” says Patrick. “I think you should make shows cheap, and keep them quality.” Try to keep the cover charge under $10. If you keep a low overhead, you should be able to pay the bands a decent amount after covering the cost of your crappy PA rental. “The majority should go to the bands, because that’s why people pay to see shows.” Take only a celebratory pittance for yourself. You’re in this for love. “It’s not good for grassroots culture” to exclude poor ass college students and other people who can’t afford high ticket prices. If you want piles of money, become an i-banker or open a horrible club that charges eight dollars for a Budweiser, and see how much fun you have.


No Age fucks up Silent Barn (photo courtesy of Impose Magazine).

Don't write off NYC

Despite lawmakers’ best efforts, New York still has one of the most exciting scenes of anywhere. It only took me a few stops on my recent tour to realize there’s no place quite like Brooklyn in terms of energy, turn out, and general joie de vivre. Sayeth Todd Patrick: “There are amazing musicians here, a lot of really good vibes. People are hungry for new things. They love to absorb and enjoy art forms of all kinds. Everyone is interested in culture.” This benefits promoters and musicians alike. “If you are talented and you’re putting your stuff out,” Patrick says, “you will find some level of success in New York. You can be an awesome person in small towns and find nobody to care. If you are good in New York, you’re a national band.” Suck it up, get a job, find a place, work to party.



Don't write off East Buttfuck, USA, either

If you are stuck somewhere that’s not New York or any other place with a thriving scene (L.A., Chicago, Atlanta, Baltimore, Austin, Portland…the list goes on), chances are you are still in high school (if not, perhaps it’s time to move out; it’s nice to be able to have sexy time without worrying your mom will hear.) But even if your local culture is legally dead, you can still attract talent. Don’t be afraid to ask bands from nearby cities to come out; you’ve got the mystique of the unknown on your side. Your shitty town is an exotic adventure in the countryside to them; they will come “because it sounds interesting.” And a town that was previously a cultural wasteland will appreciate you much more for your efforts. “You can really make an impact,” says Patrick. “I won’t say it’s easy, but it’s something anyone is capable of…and people will respond because there’s so little shit of any consequence happening in America.”



Have fun!


There’s no need to be a perfectionist. "If it doesn't work out, it's just a rock show,” Patrick reminds me. “No one's gonna die if you can't hear the vocals. Ultimately, the stakes aren't that high. Everything's got a learning curve.” So grab your friends, make some fliers, and see how far you can take it. You’ve got nothing to lose but your crushing suburban ennui.



Dan Deacon at Todd P's birthday show (photo courtesy of Impose Magazine).


A rare snap of the man himself (photo courtesy of Impose Magazine).

Maynard James Keenan doesn't do many interviews. But when he does, one thing is certain: it is never your run of the mill chit chat. Last October, SuicideGirls hopped a plane to the Tool frontman's Arizona vineyard and got some amazing insights into winemaking, his creative process, and his latest multimedia, multi-personality project, Puscifer. More recently, last week Maynard stopped by SGHQ for some lively conversation about Puscifer's newest album, V is for Viagra: the Vagina Remixes, out today, April 29th.

"I, personally, have only done Viagra once," Maynard revealed. "I took a half a tab and it did nothing. Later that night I took the other half and it did nothing. By the time it actually kicked in I was actually at the airport going through security. Not a fun situation."

With V is for Viagra, Maynard wanted to "abandon the idea of the songs being finite" and enlisted an array of musicians to tackle the remixes including Paul Barker (Ministry), Lustmord, Michael Patterson, Aaron Turner (Isis), Danny Lohner (Nine Inch Nails), and Dave Ogilvie (Skinny Puppy), among others. With titles like "Desert Porn Mix", "Disco Viagra Mix", "Guns for Hire Mix", and "Dirty Robot Mix", the resulting tracks are as varied and unique as the minds that created them.

James and Chloe Suicide sat down with Maynard at SGHQ where he answered a few questions about the remixes, Puscifer's touring plans, and the new "DoZo" music video, which confirms that dildos do in fact make excellent weapons.

Watch the hilarity ensue and check out Puscifer's YouTube for a special, alternate version...


Dozo Music Video, directed by Meats Meier.

Los Angeles International Airport... en route to SXSW... I sit on the floor of the terminal, waiting to board, hoodie pulled over my eyes to avoid the wait-at-the-gate small talk, when over the loud speaker comes the nasal whine of an airport attendant, "Last boarding call for passenger Vince Vaughn... Vince Vaughn this is your last boarding call for flight [redacted] [redacted] departing to [redacted] [redacted]..." I peer up through a tangle of my hair to catch Vince Vaughn himself, within seconds, come barreling out of a bar... hauling ass down the walkway towards his gate. And I think he has the right idea; I should be in that bar, preparing for this monster music festival that is going to hit me like a tsunami the minute I land in Austin, Texas.

But that was three weeks ago now, and the SXSW 2008 Music Festival has wrapped and left town. Packed into four non-stop days were 1,580 bands, hundreds of panel discussions, and what felt like a million bloggers scouring the city and leaving no beer-stained flyer unturned. What started in 1987 as a who's who of up and coming artists has transformed into perhaps the largest, annual music festival and media gathering this side of Rick Rubin's living room.

Ahem, so let's get started. This year I decided to liven things up a bit and forgo the pen and notepad for something with more of a pulse, per se. So, armed with a video camera and handy SG mic that doubled as a baton if needed, I took to the guitar pick-strewn streets to chat up some talent. There were the bands that stole my heart, and the bands that stole my cabs. There were SGs I couldn't wait to meet, ex-lovers I couldn't wait to avoid and, by the end of each night, a hotel bed I couldn't wait to throw myself in. My partner in crime, Hunter, filled you all in last week with her recap of the week's events, so now some SGTV video footage to round out this year's music week coverage.



First up, Hunter landed a curbside interview outside of Spiro's with metal band Black Tide to chat about SXSW babes, their debut album Light From Above and what it was like getting kicked off Ozzfest for being underage.



That night, I made camp at the Definitive Jux showcase at the Scoot Inn and talked with label head and hip-hop artist EL-P about signing Dizzee Rascal and Del the Funky Homosapien. I also sat down with Del himself to chat about his new album, The 11th Hour, and being one of what he calls, "the nephews of funk."



Later, Hunter covered some distance as she talked to UK imports British Sea Power, new Austin local Ladyfingers and LA's Barrio Tiger about SXSW survival tips.



I also tracked down John Reis (Rocket from the Crypt, Drive Like Jehu) to talk about his new band, The Night Marchers, before they took the stage at a Vice party.



On our last night in Austin, we partied with SuicideGirls Selket, Illyria, Zak and Sheila at the Indie 103.1 FM showcase (home of SG Radio) at the Cedar St. Courtyard, where the station had been broadcasting live all week.



Zak and Sheila talked to band Io Echo and got the scoop on their upcoming collaboration with She Wants Revenge, while Selket met up with The Airborne Toxic Event backstage to talk about their recent success and playing SXSW for the first time.

It has always been frustrating for me to read new CD reviews … What are the critics saying about ____? The more important questions have always seemed to be Who are these critics and Why should I be interested in their value judgments?

So much of modern culture revolves around codifying, describing, and categorizing art products, arguing for the supremacy of one product, one CD, one painting over the other. We send our opinions into battle as logical concepts with Kant smiling in his grave over our ambiguous taste; we too smile – smiles of silent contentment about knowing the truth, understanding the right answer, possessing good taste, having a better appreciation of the artistic facts than the man next door.

It’s unavoidable, really, both the observation and experience of these phenomena, but today let us appreciate the fact that we will not have to do this with the new Nine Inch Nails material. I won’t tell you that the songs are good or that the songs are bad, that NIN has improved over time or has become rubbish. I won’t write that way because Nine Inch Nails' Ghosts doesn’t ask to be critiqued in such a manner.

Nine Inch Nails, oh, Nine Inch Nails. We’ve seen you practically establish the industrial rock genre. We’ve been wowed by your live performances. We watched as you won multiple Grammy Awards. And, now, seven studio albums later, we’ve witnessed you really and truly probe the creative process. And that very idea is what this article focuses on: the artistic process entailed in producing Ghosts, NIN’s latest work. And, reader, you will soon understand why… why this thematic focus is practically necessitated.



The material was released on March 2nd via NIN.com. That website has also recently announced some dates for an extensive tour that begins in July and will be promoting the new tracks.

These songs. How were they made; how did they come about? Well, Trent Reznor has released several audio clips of him discussing that very process. The tracks certainly weren’t intended or anticipated; they just happened. “Much to our surprise,” Reznor says, “we ended up with thirty-six tracks.” Thirty-six tracks. Thirty-six tracks in ten weeks. TR had given himself a ten week timeframe within which to create, essentially, anything. One song might have come out, or one hundred. With the time period as the only structured preconception, Reznor was free to create. Free to do as he pleased. And a significant portion of this freedom is attributed to being without a record label, as he states, “I wouldn’t have been as comfortable trying to pull [this] off on a major label…something I wanted to do…that felt exciting and different and kind of fun.” This album is the band’s first that has not been released by Interscope since 1989’s Pretty Hate Machine. Without limitations imposed by a label, TR was able to avoid the effort of funneling his music into a pop song mold.

The freedom involved in the composition process, which engendered songs that may likewise be described as free, went something like this… Reznor would sit down and picture a visual image; he would conjure up some vision and then attempt to create it with sound. The end results, he says, “[are] basically soundtracks to daydreams” that formed as he “just pictured something in [his] head.” This idea is similar to European classical program music that intended to suggest extra-musical ideas, images in the mind of the listener by musically representing a scene, image or mood.

The new Nine Inch Nails songs weren’t created in an effort to fulfill some externally imposed expectations; they were made out of pure spontaneity and enjoyment of the creative process. To me, this is an example of subverting the contemporary cultural machinery that has been established for distributing popular music. Reznor’s is a process that very much reminds me of Jacques Attali – the French economist and scholar – and his hope for saving music from the harrowing grips of capitalism wherein all art becomes interchangeable and of equal value.

In his book, Noise: The Political Economy of Music, Attali theorizes that the trend of promoting bad music that merely fits a certain popular image can only truly be obstructed when “the musician plays primarily for himself, outside any operationality, spectacle, or accumulation of value…[when] music extricates itself from codes and emerges as activity that is end in itself and creates its own code with each work.” And so we hear Trent Reznor similarly discuss abandoning major record labels and creating music for the pure pleasure of the endeavor, describing his experimentation with “different sounds and textures and feelings” as “the most fun [he’s] had in the studio in a long time.”

To make Ghosts, yes, Trent Reznor was free from a label and its prescriptions, but he also worked to liberate himself from his own mind. What he wanted to do was to make a record without using “the editorial brain.” He “never switched that brain on” and, instead, just let his “ideas turn into whatever they turn[ed] into.” He wasn’t critiquing every idea or painstakingly writing out melodies note-by-note; he was simply letting the music effortlessly arise from within him. Again, Reznor impresses me with his discussion of the creative process and reminds me of another theoretical dialogue. In the cross-section between psychology and Buddhism, there is a concept called flow.

Mihaly Csikszentmihaly wrote a book describing this idea wherein to truly and intimately experience life, we must engage in activities that we are able to lose ourselves in. The theory explains that, whether it be sex or painting or physics calculations, fully engaging ourselves in activities allows for the most valuable and meaningful experiences in life. These are the endeavors that we devote ourselves to without concern of anything else, that we use to distract ourselves from the humdrum progression of daily routine, that we look up from after an hour thinking that only a minute has passed… And this is exactly what Trent Reznor seems to have done in the creation of Ghosts. He says, “If I didn’t think about it…music just started to flow out…effortless, sort of formless.” TR lost himself in the process of creation, not overanalyzing the sounds that he was creating, and ended up with a concept album that gives credence to the marksman’s idea that if you focus too much on a rifle target, you won’t hit the bull’s eye; instead, you have to let go and lose yourself in experience.

The thirty-six songs created in this manner are all without titles, merely numbered tracks. This was a purposeful choice by Reznor so that the names wouldn’t taint a listener’s response to the music. Instead, he wants you listen to the songs as if you were on a journey, imaging scenes as the music carries you to someplace else. Though TR had specific images in his head as he created the tracks, he wants listeners to summon their own scenes to accompany the music. In fact, Reznor is calling for submissions to a Nine Inch Nails film festival.

And that kind of creative exploration is what this album is really about…at both the level of production and at the level of listening. So, I’m not going to end this article with a summary of the motifs or the sounds of the styles of the new tracks, I’m going to have to leave those judgments up to you. NIN.com has tracks available to download and purchase, in addition to various CD and limited edition sets. There is also a streaming player here.

The Ghosts tracks really seem to be ghosts – amorphous, nameless, formless entities asking only to be defined by the imagination of the observer. And that observer is you.

Fatality secretly knows that I Ghosts 6 is actually the best track. Obviously and objectively so.

As I write this, I’m sitting in an RV somewhere between Atlanta, GA and Tallahasse, Florida. I’m hung over, coughing my lungs out, mildly disoriented, menaced by each Georgia police car that passes, and caked in three days’ worth of my own filth. I’m sleeping as much as the bumpy road will allow and surviving on junk food from gas stations. I couldn’t be happier.

This year’s South by Southwest Music Festival, which ended five days ago, nearly did me in. It nearly did everyone in; that’s its job, which it seems to get better at every year. However, unlike most people, I did not take my battle wounds home to nurse on Sunday, but motored off to cover a house show in Little Rock…then Springfield, Missouri, then St. Louis, then Knoxville, and tomorrow, Tampa. I’m traveling with Impose Magazine, writing daily updates for the website, and helping make a DVD with our partner/sponsor Viva Radio. Austin is miles behind us now. Amid the calm discipline of ten-hour car rides spent typing, napping, and staring out the window, it’s hard to believe such a festival even happened. I saw how many bands? Walked how many miles? Drank how many beers? Impossible! But true.

No matter how hard we busted our asses, Erin Broadley and I did not see close to everything we wanted to; there were simply not enough of us or enough hours in the day. To try to give an accurate list of precisely who had the most buzz, best performance, or highest percentage of dancing audience members would just be silly. The best thing I can do is account, as accurately as possible, the most interesting sights and sounds that entered my own particular sensory organs, for better or for worse. Here is my short list:

Ponytail



Freshmen of the eclectic Baltimore scene, this band has mainlined into the pure, childlike pleasure of noisemaking. But unlike the animal squeals of some dumb toddler, the noises they make are actually fun to listen to. Though I’ve seen them several times, their energetic art punk never gets old. From a packed show at the Market Hotel in Brooklyn to the somewhat sparsely attended showcase I saw them play in Austin, each performance I’ve seen of theirs has been fully lived in. Improvisational sections keep everyone on their toes, and no song sounds exactly the same twice in a row. At the same time, they maintain enough structure and rhythm so one can boogie and sway along for the duration of each meandering composition. When I saw them on Saturday, singer Molly Seigel jumped up and down in a trance as if trying to raise spirits from the depths of the Earth with her nonsense incantations, screeches, and yelps. They get even cooler when you find out that they started as a class assignment in art school wherein teacher-selected groups had to start a band together. They had so much fun they decided to stick with it, and I’m glad they did.



O’death

I felt a little guilty seeing them in Austin when I can see them any time back home, but the truth is I saw approximately 234,987 bands there and O’death was still one of my favorites. A fuller description of their raucous goth-country-punk can be found in my last column, but suffice it to say that I’ve seen them a million times and will probably have to see them a million more times before I get sick of them. Video footage of me bro-ing down with them can be seen in Erin’s forthcoming video reel.

Vivian Girls


Photo Courtesy of Impose Magazine

Another New York band; I swear I am not doing this on purpose. These chicks stood out from the gaggle of groups playing Todd P’s outdoor shows at Ms. Beas with their super cool lo-fi garage rock. They reminded me of early ‘90s riot grrl bands like Bratmobile, only more adept at/concerned with solid pop structure. Also more reverb-y. Tinges of surf rock conjured up images of girls in ‘50s style bikinis, tiki parties, and summertime concerts in friends' basements. If you dislike these things, you obviously hate fun, so you probably shouldn’t bother with Vivian Girls. Band trivia: their name is taken from characters appearing in the work of outsider artist Henry Darger who are actually girls with penises!

Though they didn’t get a full heading in this list, I have to mention Mika Miko, another great band in the riot-grrl-ish genre. They rocked Emo’s and made me dance despite my horrible Sparks-induced headache. Look them up and love them.

The Apes


Photo Courtesy of Impose Magazine

I caught them at the garishly lit American Apparel store of all places, where they rocked out amid brightly colored, unkindly cut clothing. This band has been around for a long time but I think they’ve really got something with their current singer: his power and range helps them sound like soul, punk, electro, and psychedelic all at once. My snobby ex-boyfriend got mad at me when I compared him to Jimmy Urine because Mindless Self Indulgence is not a hip underground band, but a favorite of the stripes-and-suburbs Hot Topic set. Sorry hipsters, but this guy’s menacing falsetto sounds a lot like Urine and that’s not a bad thing. Creepy organs and electronic drum sounds that drop in and out like very erratic stones add the same tingly, what-will-bitchslap-my-ears-next vibe that MSI has without being too heavy handed about it. My advice: stop worrying about what genre the Apes are and enjoy them.

The Airborne Toxic Event



I should start this off by noting that Erin is pretty good friends with this band. She had been talking big about them all week, and I was all, “Oh yeah? I’d like aural proof of your big talk.” Proof came during the Indie 103.1 FM (home of Suicidegirls Radio) showcase Saturday night, where I also got to sit down for a second and hang with local SGs Selket, Illyria, and Zak. To be honest, I was a tad nonplussed at the prospect of taking in a whole showcase worth of “indie rock,” which seems to have grown a bit boring and stagnant as of late. I’m talking about it as a genre/aesthetic, not a business model. I mean, how many times can you clone the Strokes before the copies of copies grow as dim as Doug Number Four in 1996 hit film Multiplicity? But the Airborne Toxic Event won me over with their mega-tight performance and skilled songwriting. It also didn’t hurt that their name is from one of my favorite books of all time.

I wasn’t surprised to learn that there are several music critics in this band; their songs show a command of pop structure borne of years of dissecting what gives a song that extra oomph. Great arrangements kept things moving with well-placed synths, violin, and crescendos. It seemed like every few minutes, most instruments would drop out and the crowd would gasp at yet another heart-stopping moment. This might have made me feel manipulated had they not sold it with emotional authenticity. Though he’s no young sprout, the lead singer seemed to have that man-child vulnerability that makes for a great rock front man. He mumbled his thanks between songs, and as he rasped emphatic lines like “when your friends say what is it/you look like you’ve seen a ghost” and “you just have to see her/you know that she’ll break you in two” he convinced me he meant it. I danced like a 16-year-old who’d just lost her virginity. At a Cure concert. In the ‘80s.

Parties thrown by Vice Magazine


Dark Meat rocks

Recipe for a damn fine late night throw down: one part hotties, two parts people I know and/or like, one part accessibility to downtown (getting a cab in Austin at 2am is hard), then throw in one psychedeltic party orchestra and the faintest soupçon of lame people (for mocking). The folks at Vice work hard because they want you to enjoy yourself to death. But don't touch the smorgasbord of free Sparks, or the monster with eyes in its hands will eat your head (see below).

Bouldin Creek Coffeehouse

If you are vegan/vegetarian and looking for a cheap, tasty and filling brunch/lunch in Austin, look no further. It’s a little off the beaten path, but everything good is. I chilled here for a bit and caught up with my old friend Adam, aka Ladyfingers while chowing down on tofu rancheros, hash browns, and some bangin’ ginger-honey lemonade. Perfection.

Walking

Walking did not much impress me at South by this year. In fact, I would have to say that walking downright sucked. I am used to New York where things are easy to get to, and if my feet start to feel like they're falling off, I can hop on the subway. A combination of heat, drunkenness, and dehydration made walking suck even worse. Two thumbs down. Next year I’m renting a pony or something.

Sparks

She is a fickle mistress. First I was riding high on a seemingly endless reserve of drunken energy, then next thing I knew I was hunched over with a pounding headache hating everyone and wanting to go home. All the way home, like to my mom’s house in Connecticut. I know it’s tempting when you’re offered delicious drugs in a can, but if you mess with Sparks and don't want it to mess with you right back, heed my advice: only drink one, and hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. This stuff is worse for you than ecstasy and cocaine combined. Ask me how I know sometime.

Drunk bitches everywhere

When the bars let out at 2 a.m., you’d best mind the drunk bitches, because they are everywhere. I thought there were a lot of drunk bitches in Brooklyn; I was wrong. We’re talking sprawled on the hoods of cars, puking in the gutter, skirts above their heads, shrieking, crying, hot messes wherever you are trying to walk. The guys weren’t much better, but I’m not as afraid for their safety. Seriously ladies of Austin/South by: take better care of yourselves. I worry.

That’s really just a slice of what I encountered this year. Erin was there to take video evidence of the mayhem, so if you can’t get enough SXSW coverage or are lazy enough to have scrolled through this entire column in search of visuals, the reel is coming soon. Don't worry, I'm not cross with you. Would you care for some Sparks?

Deep in Greenpoint, Brooklyn--amid crumbling warehouses, ancient Polish bread factories, punk rock dives and luxury high rises--O'death is recording an album. Much like the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood, the album is a mish-mosh of various eras, including some widely thought to be long gone. But unlike in Greenpoint, the eras on this album coexist peacefully, in so far as a crazy country-punk album can be peaceful. O’death is also much more fun to dance to than Greenpoint, and has 100% fewer underground oil spills, unless you count the metaphorical ones in their hearts. And those (probably) won’t give you cancer.

I make the trip up to Greenpoint to meet the band at their studio, and they sit down to talk over Yeunglings at the end of the first day of a grueling recording schedule. Though everyone is exhausted, they have a lot to say, and their excitement over what they are creating is palpable. A six-piece, self-described “gothic/country/punk” band, O’death is tricky to categorize. Their name might conjure up the tongue-in-cheek spookiness of Bauhaus, or, further down the food chain, their questionable '90s-era progeny which you might hear blaring from a Hot Topic on the way from Yankee Candle to Cinnabon. But we must not forget that before Manson or Murphy there was Faulker, and more importantly, people who had to eat possums to survive. The Southern Gothic aesthetic loomed large in Appalachian folk music long before it was a named, self-conscious idea; it was simply life, in all its messy, painful, comic, tragic glory. It’s that same dark spirit that inspires these six New Yorkers to make music that is both a tribute to the greats of blues and bluegrass like Doc Boggs and Charlie Patton, and a brand new thing in the world.

“The thing that struck me about this music,” says drummer David Rogers-Berry, “was that this is punk rock. It’s so aggressive raw and dirty, it’s really like life and death, heavy shit.”

Though he’s speaking metaphorically, he makes it literal by providing the loud, fast percussion that helps transform the band’s raucous live shows into something decidedly modern. David is a madman on stage; with gas cans, chains, and lots of elbow grease, he goes a long way towards fulfilling the band’s promise of punk rock.

Besides kicking ass through sheer decibel level, their shows embody punk ideals by being accessible to as many listeners as possible. Both folk/roots music and punk rock have been described as “the music of the people,” folk making this explicit in its very name, so it makes sense that the two would mesh well in sound and spirit. Despite the band’s rising popularity and bookings at large venues like the Bowery Ballroom, they favor house parties where “the people just want to sweat and jump around and get in some dingy basement and have a good time.” And lately, it seems like the balance of shoegazing cool kids and crazed music fans has been tipping towards the latter.

Case in point: the last O’death show I attended was at an unheated punk house in a not-yet-gentrified section of Bushwick and managed to draw well-dressed indie rockers, unwashed bike punks, bespectacled geeks, a few lonely goths, and some people whose retro outfits appeared to be some sort of attempt at living in the 1920s (do they come up with new subcultures while I’m sleeping? I will call them “dapper-core”). There was nary a fan too cool to rock out at least a little, and when the power went out, the rhythm section didn’t stop, but percussed maniacally to chants of “e-lec-tricity!” until it came back on.

The ability to bring so many types together in a place as cliquish as Brooklyn strikes me as remarkable, but the band sees it as a natural byproduct of the way they operate. “We’ve never really cared about genre or anything as specific as that,” bassist Jesse Newman shrugs. “People like it for what it is, so we appeal to a bunch of different ideas from a bunch of different subcultures.”

One idea that interests many of these groups is what singer Greg Jamie describes as “little p politics…the implicit politics of life.” Through myth and character, he explains, he explores his own psyche and how humans relate to the world. For example, the foot-stomper “Lean-to” is on its surface a song about "rejecting society" and living in a lean-to in the woods, something most of us Starbucks-drinking, iTunes-downloading city folk have never done. But in a broader sense, Greg says, it’s about saying, “I am so sick of all this shit,” even if you only say it to yourself. What balding, midtown middle manager has not occasionally looked out the window and wondered with a sigh of existential ennui what it would be like to wander into the woods, live off nature’s bounty and grow a gnarly beard? Maybe not all of them, but forgetting for a second that most of us would probably be eaten by bears, it’s a fantasy to which many can relate.

All of this fantastical imagining has drawn predictable fire from critics quick to dismiss anything that draws too much attention to itself via "excessive" sincerity or suspected subcultural affiliation. Even in positive reviews, it is almost as if the critics are fighting some weird schizophrenic battle between the part of them that’s indoctrinated to hate anything that’s not in their canon of safe sounds, and the part that feels things viscerally, the part that makes them need to hear music in the first place. For example, Pitchforkian William Bowers wrote of their last album, Head Home that, “The more genial tracks…are lived-in and powerful enough to help the listener forgive the anachronisms.” The whole review is an exercise in backhanded compliments.

David is mildly annoyed by this prevalent safety-seeking impulse: “Right now in the indie rock scene it’s very acceptable to sound exactly like your influences,” he says, “and audiences are eating it up, too. It’s like ‘Oh, I love Paul Simon’s Graceland, so Vampire Weekend is right up my alley.’” “People are also strongly encouraged to write very boring melodies,” observes multi-instrumentalist Gabe Darling, “it’s like, if you put too many really interesting rhythms into a vocal melody it gets out of style.” Singer Greg Jamie’s demented screech certainly falls into that category. “You’re really exposing yourself,” he admits of committing fully to a vocal part. I decide that most of these doctrinaire critics were probably picked on as children.

Luckily for O’death, the eclectic groups of people who flail about madly at their shows don’t care what the critics think, or at least what they think about O’death. Like many bands who play the New York underground circuit, they are too weird to really be categorized as anything other than “interesting,” and their colleagues are not the retro-costumed, spot-on stylized rockabilly groups, but fellow oddballs like The Dirty Projectors and Aa. “Most of the bands are a lot of the same bullshit,” David says, “but it so happens that maybe a third of them are really pushing themselves and doing different things.”

This band is pushing itself in more ways than one. They are slated to finish recording their new album in less than two weeks, then they head down to Austin to play an insane number of showcases at South by Southwest, often three a day. After that, they’re tearing around the country until the end of April, bringing their hard-hitting sing-along hootenannies to the masses. This breakneck triathlon will no doubt take a lot out of them, but as a band that lives for playing live, they’ll be in their element. “Music has become a spiritual outlet for us,” David says, “a chance to connect with people, something transcendent.” Get ready to join the congregation, America.



The band's tour schedule can be viewed here.

American Idol said goodbye to four of its contestants Thursday night: Colton Berry, Garrett Haley, Joanne Borgella and Amy Davis.

I’ve been watching American Idol since the beginning, and even auditioned for Season 3 in Atlanta. And even it is merely a matter of luck when it comes to picking the top 24, it’s still entertaining to see who can handle the pressure of performing for 33 million viewers.

The word is this year’s Season 7 has the best talent yet, but it’s hard to believe after watching the hideous performance of 17-year-old Peter Frampton—oh, I mean Garrett Haley (see below). “Breaking Up is Hard to Do” was a boring song choice, and Randy emphasized that he “didn’t do anything with” the song. The best comment was from Simon, who mentioned the boy’s paleness, saying that it looked as if he’d been locked up in his bedroom for a month. I just get the creeps when I look at the kid. Throughout the whole performance, I couldn’t stop staring at his faux-stache.

18-year-old Colton Berry made the not-so-wise choice to tell the world that from certain angles he looks like Ellen DeGeneres. I’m fairly sure that statement couldn’t have helped him get any votes. The musical theatre enthusiast sang “Suspicious Minds” and had Simon saying that he had no relevance in the recording industry.

25-year-old Amy Davis is beautiful and even Paula admitted that the camera loves her. But her agonizing performance of “Where the Boys Are” had me cringing the entire time. Joanne Borgella’s performance was just as bad.

So, who are my favorites? Right now, I have my eye on Jason Castro. He was the only performer who actually played an instrument, and as a musician, I am thankful that American Idol is finally allowing contestants to do this.

I also really dig Amanda Overmyer and her Janis Joplin-esque voice. This woman seems truly genuine to me and it doesn’t appear as though she’s trying to be anyone but herself. I’m also supporting Carly Smithson, another “rocker” chick on the show. Plus, she’s got a half-sleeve, so it doesn’t get much better than that.

What did you think of the first week’s performances? Did the American people send home the right people?



Uber-creepy Garrett



Oooh, baby I love your way...

And here's my girl Amanda Overmyer...

On February 12th, I wrote the following news story:

"I’ve never been a big fan of Yoko Ono. Though had you previously asked me to justify this opinion, I would have been at a loss. It was a view bequeathed to me by my father and his frequent voicing of what bitch he thought she was. But now I’ve been given some concrete evidence: she is suing Lennon.

Yes, she is suing Lennon, Lennon Murphy, the SG model and musician. Lennon is her real name, but Yoko Ono seems to think that the performer is “intentionally exploiting the name and confusing people by using it.” Lennon was, in fact, named after John Lennon and has been performing with that name since the age of 14.

Lennon claims that Yoko Ono has been aware of her name and its usage since 2000, when a lawyer at Arista Records presented the widow with the information. In 2003, Lennon trademarked the name with the United States Patent and Trademark office, and everything seemed to be copasetic. Fast-forward to now – two days before the statute of limitations on the trademark was to expire – the same lawyer has brought forward a suit against Lennon Murphy for use of the name. She is being accused of misleadingly representing herself, causing confusing in the marketplace, and tarnishing John Lennon’s name.

Lennon has posted an open letter on her website and Myspace page, from which the following is an excerpt:

And I agree. So here’s to supporting Lennon, a fellow Suicide Girl, against the incomprehensible greed of Yoko Ono. Yoko Ono, the woman whose February 2007 remix album is entitled Yes, I’m a Witch.

And, for the record, we're not alone - even Julian Lennon has voiced his support.




Fatality is just glad that Lennon is the SG and not Yoko Ono. *shudder*"

Since then, however, forthcoming information has necessitated a reworking of that story. On February 14, a reaction letter from Yoko Ono was distributed. In this letter, Yoko claims that the previous claims of a suit against Lennon Murphy are untrue.

It will be interesting to see how this all pans out as the feverish frenzy from the previous reporting simmers down...we can disentangle the relative distribution between misunderstanding, publicity intents, poor journalism, fulfillment of expectations and desires, misapprehension of the law, and all of the other factors that can combine to create such a headline. The truth seems a bit obscured right now, but if any additional news or commentaries from the two women arise, I will be sure to further update the story.

Fatality has edited.

We huffed the skies into our mouths/We saw the ocean and drank it down/Cause we were giants, or maybe birds/We slept with lions, tucked into their fur. -- Les Savy Fav

It’s 2:30 a.m., New Year’s Day 2008. Tim Harrington--lead singer of recently reunited Brooklyn indie rock powerhouse Les Savy Fav--is trying out to be a Suicide Girl. He lifts up his shirt to reveal his ample bosom and shoots the camera a coquettish look.

“That’s one set, I’m gonna do another set later.”

I’m trying to keep it together. My questions -- nervously typed up a few hours, several plastic cups of champagne, cans of Sparks, and swigs of box wine earlier -- lie crumpled on the greenroom table. My only saving grace is a fat blue line of Adderall I stumbled upon at a friend of a friend’s house party, ten ‘til midnight, when I went to pee and found myself surrounded by air-chewing frat boys snapping, “Do you want some or not?” It gave me just enough presence of mind to run and grab bassist Syd Butler when I saw him outside the venue and explain that the Bowery Ballroom’s security goon was guarding the door with the illogical single-mindedness of Cerberus. But now this focus feels out of place in a room full of rockers jolly from drink. I sip slowly from a bottle of Stoli and start things off with a fairly tame question:

“What was it like coming back after the hiatus? Was there ever any question that you would?”

“Not really,” Tim answers while taking off his pants, “I like to think of it like we broke up with you guys, the world. It was getting a little codependent, and we decided we needed a little breather, a time out… just wanted to be friends.”

His answer parallels, perhaps a little too well, the breakup-referencing title of the band’s new album, Let’s Stay Friends. He stretches out the metaphor, pants in hand:

“You know, you kinda can’t talk to each other for a little while when that first happens, otherwise it’s weird. It’s like, we want all the emotional closeness without any of the physical closeness, so we had a clean break and now we’re—” He stops, looks at the camera, then puts his pants back on, announcing, “This is my second set.”

I ask what it’s like to get back in the studio after such a long break. Tim starts to answer, but producer Chris Zane interrupts.

“It was miserable mate, let’s not even lie about it,” he says, slurring a bit. “If it wasn’t for me, the whole thing would’ve been a complete disaster. They wanted to cut ‘What Would Wolves Do’, and I put it back on the album. They’re foolish band members.”

“Who wanted to cut that song?” I ask, “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Everyone but me and Syd,” says Chris, shaking his head, “I’m just gonna say it right now, me and Syd were genius, everyone else, foolish. Rubbish, rubbish, everyone else, rubbish. Chris brilliant, everyone else, rubbish.”

I ask a follow-up question, directed at everyone, about the songwriting process, but Chris is on a roll. He's not even in the band, but I can tell he wishes he were from the way he hogs the spotlight.

“It was terrible! It was absolutely… horrendous process. Don’t let them fool you, fuck the press, the process was completely--” he pauses, perhaps searching for a synonym for rubbish--“rubbish.”

“Chris is extremely difficult to manage,” Tim sighs, then grabs my laptop and does this:



I start ignoring Chris Zane despite being seated right next to him.

“What do you guys do for fun here in New York?” I ask Tim.

“We like to eat food,” he says, “good food!” and I believe him. In a world of slouching, heroin-chic front men reveling in the melodrama of shirtlessness, Tim is a refreshing anomaly; he doesn’t take himself too seriously, and he eats. He’s also extremely comfortable with his body. He doesn’t see what the big deal is about bodies in general: when asked his opinion on SuicideGirls.com, he says, “People’s bodies, big whoop, everyone’s all freaked out about it. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. I think it’s natural.”

I think he’s more excited about his own modeling efforts than he lets on; I ask him to tell me some tour stories, and he coyly tells the story of what just happened.

“We were at this concert, and it was like, uh… I did a set. Got five hundred bucks. I showed my butt beaver. I showed my rear beaver.”

He’s not ashamed of this, and removes his top once more to prove it.

“That’s my third set. I have three sets—one set here, one set here, and one set down here…like a pig has three sets.”


© 2008 Calamity

I flash back to the day before, when I told some friends I was going to meet Tim Harrington.

“Don’t get too excited,” one of them said, “I’ve met him and he’s really quite normal.”

That may be the case most of the time, but there’s no reckoning with what the pre-show New Year’s party and a roomful of eyes have released in him. I’m along for the ride now.



note: While helping Tim blow up balloons to create a festive atmosphere earlier, I was struck directly in the eye by one of the little fucks.

Refreshed by my virtual head crushing, I ask the group about their New Year’s resolutions. Tim snaps back to attention; I can tell he’s thought about how he might answer this question.

“In 2008 Les Savy Fav plan to meet or exceed modest expectations.”

Words to live by.

Suddenly, everyone is talking at once. Tim's wrapping himself in silver paper, and their manager Simon is going on a tirade about how “you should never eat seafood on a Sunday.” No one’s paying attention to me but Chris, who complements my tights/shorts combo profusely, touching my leg to better illustrate which garment he’s discussing. Backing away, I tell him they’re my party shorts: I don’t flash anyone if I need to sit down, and the whole operation’s fairly tricky to get off.


© 2008 Calamity

It’s after three when Calamity (who has been manning the camera) and I leave the green room to stand at the edge of the stage, and the second show of the evening begins.

Les Savy Fav are a relentless rock-and-roll fun machine. Tim emerges still wrapped in shiny paper, and despite their 3 a.m. crazies, the band never misses a beat. The songs off Let’s Stay Friends are even better live than on the album. What some take for a reigning in of the band’s boundless energy is really a fuller exploration of their range; they hit eleven a whole lot harder when they’re not screaming up there all the time.

The chorus to “Patty Lee” invites us on a drunken sing-a-long:

Patty Lee, turn the lights on please, there’s something I don’t understand/Patty Lee turn the lights on please, this party’s gotten out of hand!

The raucous garage-rock strains of “The Equestrian” make us freak out like the pink haired six-year-old in the video. We do this until we are hoarse, sweaty, and covered in our drinks.

“Where are you going now?”

The show’s over and Simon wants to know. I’ve no idea. We go back to the green room but everyone’s cleared out and it’s just Calamity and me among untouched hummus and pita, Coronas, Red Stripes, bottles of tequila and scary plastic masks. We help ourselves to some of the refuse.


© 2008 Calamity

How we get home on the subway is anyone’s guess, but I awaken eight hours later to a world of pain and the image that caps off this journey in my mind: a wrinkled American flag inhaling and exhaling sweetly on the couch, my Calamity’s red hair spilling out one end, little feet poking out the other. Instead of puking my soul out, I sigh, turn over and go back to sleep.


© 2008 Calamity

For those who want to see more of this hot mess, the whole video can be viewed here.

Line.

This seemingly simple, one syllable word is capable of eliciting such a variety of reactions. Drug users’ hearts sing and soar, palpitating with excitement. Mathematicians might share a Euclidean insight. Actors are likely to rehearse and recite. But, today, to Radiohead fans in East London a line means one very good thing: a secret Radiohead show! And thus, like drug users, their hearts are likely to sing and soar.

At 1900 GMT, Radiohead will play a show at the Rough Trade East shop on Brick Lane. A secret show, yes. So secret, in fact, that even the staff of the shop did not know they would be hosting such an event. So, today, music lovers will line up on Brick Lane and wait and wait and wait, hoping for a chance to see Thom Yorke and crew.

The show will feature songs from Radiohead’s latest album, In Rainbows. While diehard fans have had a variety of reactions to the release – from absolute adoration to lamenting its purportedly more formulaic approach – the album has met praise from some particularly “big” sources. For instance, In Rainbows was named #1 Album of the Year by Billboard’s Critics Choice 2007 and #2 Album of the Year by Time Magazine.

The tracks were released for download in October 2007, but only in the first week of January 2008 did the physical version of the CD become available for purchase. Of course, this release meant that purchasers would be paying a set price for the music, rather than the original listener-dictated value of the downloads. This fact also meant that the album went to the top of the UK charts during the first week of the new year - particularly noteworthy in light of the previous "success" (i.e. large number of downloads) of the online version.

It was previously reported that most downloaders paid nothing for the album. This fact, however, is not particularly attributed to having motivated Radiohead to proceed with a physical release.

The musician said that an internet only release would have been insanity. Additionally interesting is the fact that the album is being distributed by XL Recordings – the first independent release for the band after a sixteen year relationship with EMI. Regarding this matter, Yorke grieved the major labels' inability to cater to the fans alongside their excessive profit cuts.

So, there you have it. Some recent Radiohead news. And in case any of you don’t see this until you get back from the show, be sure to fill us in.

Fatality only listened to three Radiohead songs while writing this article. She switched it up, she swears.

Since I have yet to see an overview of the music of 2007 on SG, I thought I’d share my top ten albums of the year.



10. Beirut – The Flying Club Cup

22-year-old bandleader Zach Condon found Paris as his muse for this album. The album takes off after a wail of horns into “Nantes,” in which Condon sings mournfully, “Well it's been a long time/long time now/since I've seen you smile/and I'll gamble away my fright... and in a year, a year or so/this will slip into the sea...” Condon’s instrumentation is joined wonderfully with an orchestra of violins, arranged by Final Fantasy’s Owen Pallett.

Favorite Tracks: “Nantes” and “Un Dernier Verre (Pour la Route)”



9. KT Tunstall – Drastic Fantastic

Tunstall’s music is what I like to call the thinking-person’s kind of pop. Her lyrics are full of meaning and her melodies are complex. Similar to her debut album, Eye to the Telescope, her second release is structured the same way. The beginning of the album is more rock-inspired, but it slows down toward the end into a few lovely ballads. Tunstall doesn’t keep the same bluesy quality she had with her first album, but turns to a more edgy-rock sound.

Favorite Tracks: “White Bird” and “Someday Soon”



8. Amy Winehouse – Back to Black

This woman was all over the tabloids in 2007 and many seem to get a good laugh out of her antics, but the girl sure can sing. This album is filled with the sounds of 1960s soul music. It’s evident that the woman has some great stories to tell, with the album beginning with the song “Rehab” and ending with “Addicted.” She knows how to grab people's attention, that's for sure.

Favorite Tracks: “You Know I’m No Good”



7. Spoon- Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

It doesn’t matter that this album has one of the goofiest titles ever—Spoon has every reason to be confident enough to give the album whatever ridiculous name they wish. Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is one of the trio’s finest records and just good ‘ole fashioned rock ‘n roll.

Favorite Tracks: “Don’t Make Me a Target”



6. Iron & Wine – The Shepherd’s Dog

Sam Beam is trying new things—and he’s doing it wonderfully. He has managed to find different worlds of music with this album and incorporated a much fuller sound than his previous albums. Fortunately, his warm melodies and harmonies are not lost.

Favorite Tracks: “House by the Sea” and “Carousel”



5. The Shins – Wincing the Night Away

The Shins third release is clearly their transition from pop music that you’d listen to at home to rock music that you’d want to hear live. Although they have not lost their pop hooks that make their songs so catchy, there seems to be more confidence coming from Mercer, along with a harder sound. I wouldn’t call this their best album, but it’s definitely leading up to something great.

Favorite Tracks: “Sea Legs” and “Phantom Limb”



4. PJ Harvey – White Chalk
My previous news article gave a short review of PJ Harvey’s newest album. “White Chalk” places you in another world. The voice she uses on this album, which she calls her “church voice,” is a voice she has never used on any of her previous albums, and I enjoyed every second of it.

Favorite Tracks: “When Under Ether” and “To Talk to You”



3. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible
Every time I hear Arcade Fire, it blows my mind. Neon Bible is the kind of album that can give the gift of self-discovery to anyone who listens to it, so I’m not going to even bother to describe the feelings it gave me while I listened to it.

Favorite Tracks: “Keep the Car Running” and “Neon Bible”



2. Radiohead – In Rainbows
Radiohead continues to prove themselves with this masterpiece of abstract and stimulating songs. I found something new that I loved about this album every time I listened to it. This is the prettiest Radiohead I’ve ever heard.

Favorite Tracks: “Faust Arp” and “Videotape”



1. Feist – The Reminder

This woman was in more commercials than the Noid. If her name doesn’t sound familiar, this song probably will.



Her ever-present appearances in commercials are entirely understandable because her music is phenomenal. In fact, her newest release, “The Reminder,” is the album I listened to the most in 2007. Although this album is more subtle and ballad-heavy than her others, I loved the unexpected melodies of the songs. And I just plain love the woman—she’s a goddess.


Favorite Tracks: “I Feel it All” and “1234”



There you have it--Elsie’s favorite albums of 2007. What were yours?