April 2011 (PDF) - Antigravity Magazine

REVIEWS
Your enjoyment of Starting From
Nowhere depends wholly on your
ability to appreciate subtlety. If
you’re expecting the kind of manic,
schizophrenic comedy that populates
Tim & Eric Awesome Show Great Job! then you’ll be sorely
disappointed. Heidecker and the show’s composer Davin
Wood have instead crafted an homage to the kind of soft rock
that’s currently piling up in clearance tubs and dads’ CD towers
across the country. The music is so spot-on that it hardly counts
as parody. From the lilting vocals, to the bland “funky” bass
lines all the way to the banal electric piano melodies, the music
on Starting From Nowhere is adult contemporary at its finest.
Therein lies the conundrum; the spoof is so close that it’s not
really a spoof. Heidecker & Wood have an obvious love for
this kind of music, whether it’s the folksy hum of a Simon
& Garfunkel tune or the jazzy meh of Steely Dan. The joke
lies in their close approximation and the slight jabs taken at
its expense. Record opener “Cross Country Skiing” weaves a
faux-inspirational acoustic ballad around the titular activity,
noting details like a belly full of warm coffee and a sack
of, “raisins, nuts and corn.” Songs are imbued with insights
undercut by their banal triviality, (“The Grandest Canyon” –
“Maybe a canyon’s just a canyon and a man is just a man.”),
and the dopey, gutless instrumentation surrounding them. This
is a difficult record to make peace with, as it never settles
which side of the fence it lies on and ambiguity, especially in a
“comedy” record, is a tough thing for an audience to swallow.
I can’t say the album on musical merits alone is worth adding
to a heavy rotation, but there’s something about the sly punch
lines and skewed take on the trappings of AOR that makes me
chuckle. I suspect that there will be those who can’t look past
the white bread songwriting and yacht rock, but that for those
who can, Starting From Nowhere will provide a new laugh or
two on each listen. –Mike Rodgers
For six years, Jason Isbell was 1/3
of the massive triple guitar attack of
lauded southern rock band, the Drive-
By Truckers. But four years after
parting from his former bandmates,
Isbell is well on his way to establishing a strong solo career with
his backing band, The 400 Unit. Here We Rest is the group’s
second outing (the third solo effort for Isbell) and they’re clearly
settling into a groove. Isbell was always the most “romantic”
of the three guitarist/songwriters for the Truckers. He penned
heartfelt ballads like “Goddamn Lonely Love” and stirring
odes to fatherhood like “Outfit.” He softened the rough edges
of the group and brought an air of gentility to their work. The
tracks on Here We Rest continue in that vein, exploring themes
of love, heartbreak, loneliness and isolation. Opener “Alabama
Pines” is a stirring tune about the very real ache for home that
forms when you’re on the road for too long. “We’ve Met” and
“Stopping By” both deal with running into someone from your
past and dredging up all the old baggage – a bittersweet mix
of nostalgia and regret that most of us have experienced at
some point. “Daisy Mae” and “Save it for Sunday” are perfect
examples of Isbell’s talent for minimalist, acoustic beauty that
relies mostly on his poignant songwriting and expressive vocal
delivery. “Never Could Believe” is all juke joint strut where
“Heart on a String” is pure soul. The album has good variety,
but I’d by lying if I said I didn’t miss the edge his Truckers
compositions had. I understanding needing to take a step away
from that after leaving the band, but it’s been a few years and
I’d love to see him integrate a bit more grit and stomp into his
next album. All in all, though, Here We Rest is an admirable
outing that solidifies Isbell’s talent and sets him up for what
will hopefully be a long career. –Erin Hall
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HEIDECKER & WOOD
STARING FROM NOWHERE
(LITTLE RECORD COMPANY)
JASON ISBELL & THE 400 UNIT
HERE WE REST
(LIGHTNING ROD)
KVELERTAK
KVELERTAK
(INDIE RECORDINGS)
The first thing that might strike the
listener about Kvelertak, even before
proper spinning of the songs, is the
worm-limbed, rose-crowned, daggereyed
owl smothering two fair skinned
innocents amidst vibrant colorings on the cover artwork. If
you cannot picture this properly, take the image described and
set it to the surreal artwork of John Dyer Baizley, who did the
artwork here, and who is the front man and artist of Baroness.
While the Kvelertak artwork is great here, as always with
Dyer Baizley’s, the reason I mention it is because he always
lends his talents to genre-slashing metal acts and Kvelertak is
certainly no exception. This six-piece from Stavanger, Norway
is unclassifiable certainly, yet inside their genre-bending
approach lies a very assured and matchless style shared by no
other band I can think of at present (reference points could be
Dawnbringer or Kylesa). Kvelertak formed in 2007 as a punk
band, a three-chord experiment between friends that morphed
into the dense and brutal beast it is today after years of playing
with one another. This eponymous debut stands as the first
official worldwide release of the band’s music and it is damn
good--- they just recently won two Spellemann Awards in
Norway and now I know why. The lyrics are sung primarily
in traditional black metal guttural scowlings, entirely in
Norwegian, but it is the music and instrumental prowess the
band exhibits throughout the debut that impress the most. Take
a song like “Sultans of Satan,” the only song with an English
title, and the picture becomes clearer. The song kicks off as a
Refused-like punk anthem before breaking into a lighter, calland-response,
guitar solo laden, catchy as fuck (even though
lyrical deciphering is impossible) chorus before taking off once
again. The truly curious turn occurs just before the 2-minute
mark however, when the drums restrain to only rapid cymbal
graces and the guitars unite in solo exaltation, before the music
thereafter switches again into what the Melvins might sound
like with three guitarists and a bit more funk, only to then break
down into a Syknyrd-meets-Motorhead race to recapitulation
and finish. Every song on this album can be broken down in
similar fashion and that is what is best about Kvelertak--- they
are unpredictable, ferocious, studied and talented with a capital
T. –Dan Mitchell
MALACHAI
RETURN TO THE UGLY SIDE
(DOMINO)
Malachai is a difficult band to get
a clear picture of. At times grimy
and patchwork, at others lush and
symphonic, Return to the Ugly Side
is a record with shifts and spins at
every turn. The duo from Bristol blend elements of ‘60s mod
psychedelia, orchestral grandness and rock into a chopped
and pasted pastiche of sampled beats. From the stutter step
drum breaks of “Anne” to the scritchy-scratch trip hop of
“Monster,” Malachai weave dusty old LP drum samples with
a haze of murky sound; creaking strings, whistling sirens and
wax scratches populated the background while Gee’s hoarse
vocals sit front and center. His distinctive groan is half the
magic to the tracks on Return. On the record standout “The
Don’t Just,” sluggish, clanging chords ring out like funeral
bells before erupting into a fevered wash of psychedelic swing
while Gee wails, at times sounding broken hearted, others
desperately passionate. There’s a warmth to the record that this
kind of sample cutting music excels at that most synth-based
electro can’t replicate. The snares pop with a hiss, the sounds
have a natural depth to them and there’s a definite sense of
something organic living at the core of the record. The oddly
beautiful “Rainbows” is exemplary, letting gentle treble-heavy
riffs and clicking percussion frame up a soft, almost sultry
duet that reminds me more of Serge Gainsbourg than Massive
Attack. Return is a record of disparate parts all colliding
together, its personality remains dark, even brooding, but the
tenor constantly changes, from the dusted jungle of “(My)
Ambulance” to the Tom Waits-on-acid spiral of “Hybernation”
that draws the album to a close with 808 pops. Malachai remain
just as difficult to explain once the record has stopped spinning
as they were before, a darkly trippy amalgam of breaks, riffs
and sampled soul. –Mike Rodgers
MOUNTAIN GOATS
ALL ETERNALS DECK
(MERGE)
Over the past 20 years, John Darnielle
has been a bit of a haphazard artist
in many people’s eyes. This, simply
chalked up, can be explained by the
fact that the man is restless as fuck,
never remaining in one place for long, always yearning for
new inspiration. Unlike many people who prefer to remain in
place until that space begins to make sense, Darnielle refuses
sedentary situations and proclivities in favor of a pursuit of
motivation through twitchy and agitated means. His new album
under the moniker Mountain Goats, named All Eternals Deck
(produced in part by Erik Rutan), speaks to this notion of
restlessness, motion and yearning in a way that no other previous
release has up this point in his now three decades-long career. It
is the perfect incorporation, a man at peace and at odds with the
world around him simultaneously. The songs inside the album
vary greatly from one another and this is what makes the album
feel so cohesive--- Darnielle is not content in any single sort, his
manner, at best, as it is here, finds representation through various
hues, subjects and emotions that often conflict with one another
as much as they marry. The songs ooze and crack, splinter and
reform with such eloquent ease that in the end, the only way to
truly describe them is as breathtaking. Eternals starts with two
vivid, stately and articulate songs, “Damn These Vampires” and
“Birth of Serpents,” tales of man’s journey into new worlds,
complete with places and headspaces of horror and yet of endless
possibility nonetheless--- these cuts are inspiring and haunting at
once. Then the album breaks open with “Estate Sale Sign,” a
punk spider web of a rocker complete with dramatic imagery
and spectacular vocal delivery from Darnielle that ring as devout
and anarchic at once. The album moves forth beautifully, with
other highlights like “The Autopsy Garland,” where “fat, rich
men love their 12 year-olds, deco cuff-links and cognac by
the glass,” “Beautiful Gas Mask,” a song of loss, anguish and
retribution and the spiritual, harmonized, rising striker of “High
Hawk Season.” This is an album that fans of the Mountain Goats
will hold dear and share only with others of their ilk, but that
goes against the spirit of the record, as Eternals is a journey for
all to find the “signposts on the path to the inner self” as mapped
through the songs themselves. –Dan Mitchell
O’DEATH
OUTSIDE
(DRAG CITY)
Brooklyn quintet O’Death has been
playing together since 2003, and
Outside will be their fourth fulllength
record. That’s about the end
of the available knowledge on these
guys; this lack of information is almost as woeful as some
of the tunes that yelp and thrash their way out of the band’s
instruments and vocal chords, but it’s also in keeping with the
riverside, backwoods, bonfire aesthetic the band cultivates with
those same songs. The small slice of psychedelic Appalachia
the band carves out is undeniably dark and hauntingly frantic.
Outside is dirge-y and cave dwelling, and even a bit resigned,
but not at all mopey. It’s actually hopeful in the way that
work songs and field hollers were. In “Long Black Dress,”
about Small Factory Town, USA, vocalist/guitarist Greg
Jamie yowls, “the drugs for years had been wearing off/which
reminds us why we sing.” It’s a dark black journey, but with
song titles like “Howling Through” and “Pushing Out” there’s
a sense of plodding on and forward movement throughout
the record, which is driven hard by Gabe Darling’s banjo
and ukulele, and punctuated by choral handclaps and David
Rogers-Berry’s chain links on kettle drums. The sonic result is
something like Paul Simon and Iggy Pop gobbling a bunch of
acid and collaborating to score an episode of Deadwood. The