Those looking for a repeat of the electronic tones of Sexsmith’s 2002 release Cobblestone Runway may want to feel disappointed by this seemingly more traditional effort.  Don’t.  This is the Canadian tunesmith’s most fully realized work to date.  It combines the sonic adventurousness of Runway with the rootsier feel that Steve Earle’s production brought to 2001's Blue Boy and maintains Sexsmith’s trademark of pitch-perfect pop melodies.  Musically, the album is remarkably diverse.  Stripped down, melancholy tracks like “Imaginary Friends” and “Tomorrow in Her Eyes” would feel right at home on some of Sexsmith’s earlier albums.  Others seem at first listen to share these characteristics only to reveal more elaborate elements.  “Dandelion Wine,” for example, begins simply before strings wash over the melody half way through the song.  Most striking is “Whatever It Takes,” which adopts the silky soul that Willie Mitchell pioneered at Hi Records while producing Al Green.  Soul afficionados may find such appropriations blasphemous, and it must be admitted that Sexsmith’s voice is not necessarily well-suited to the genre.  Yet, as always, his genius for melody saves him from any potential embarassments (much of this potential derives from a tendency toward morose, teenage lyrics).  Other standouts include “Hard Bargain,” the album’s opening tune, which adopts a light tone reminiscent to that of Belle and Sebastian on their latest release, and “Happiness,” an homage to the shambling, piano-driven numbers that the Beatles worked to such great advantage.  With its sonic playfulness and vibrancy, Retriever may just be the perfect album for the Spring and Summer.

Bland Whitley

The Church is one of those bands that never go away. Like The Fall they've been around for over 20 years and yet still rock on. Their ability to outlast goth, or new wave, and stretch generations into indiedom is a testimony to how they've survived music's trends not on shifting tastes, but on a devotion to pop never quite given its due. As people argue over Interpol's relevance, here stands one of indie rock's cornerstones still recording the same shit year after year. The only thing The Church has gone through is an intensity in focus. One gets the feeling these cats are listening to their children and picking up on the shedding of keyboards for a more primal orchestration of slathering guitars and new-wave romanticism. Basically, emo-rock grew up around these guys, and The Church is still doing it. Good for them, great album.

-Andrew Jones

American music geeks have always had a soft spot in their collective heart for the late-80s/early-90s sounds of British pop music lauding and even obsessing about The Creation Records milieu, The Stone Roses, and, of course, The Smiths. But when a Yankee Doodle band taps into the Anglo-rock source, they are deemed "retro," "derivative," unworthy to fill said predecessors shoes. It is almost musical anathema to write songs that recall the era. Josh Dooley's Map doesn't really care. With Secrets By The Highway, he unashamedly cops the tricks that made classic Brit Pop wonderful; he does so with reverence, panache, and skill.

Dooley reverently tips the hat to the Morrissey/Marr songwriting brilliance by wielding classic Brit Pop guitar gymnastics and slightly clever-n-melancholy lyrics about relationships. I'm sure Dooley would admit that The Smiths are his muse; but he is by no means a mere imitator. The songs have a markedly 21st Century vibe with druggy keyboard washes, sweet glockenspiel/toy xylophone riffs, superbly executed jangle guitar that is every bit mid-80s American as British.

For the most part, Secrets By The Highway is a mellow pop record. "Lay Down The Law" sashays and grooves with a truly Marr-esque jazzy lead guitar (the breakdown at the 1:30 mark is straight out of the Smiths), but it's got atmosphere - the song glides up and down, smoothly soaring with the hook "I won't take the fall, I lay down the law." 

"Love And Magazines" evidences pure classic pop song-smithery. Dooley's vocals are the strongest here.  No doubt because of the tremendous (though not exactly original) melody. Dooley strips it down to just himself, his acoustic guitar, and a tambourine: this sounds like disaster ("What the world needs now is another folk singer like I need a hole in my head"). In a serendipitous moment, the song picks up steam (in a truly pop way) as instruments join: mandolin (nice touch), drums, keyboards, toy-xylophone/glockenspiel, Byrds-y guitar, even horns (synthesized?); in a
beautiful cacophony of pop nirvana. 

Pop bliss is achieved on "Beautiful Friend", a somber and laid-back tune about relationship uncertainty. "Our love may be coming to an end" croons Dooley and then he sadly sighs, "Sad, sad, but true." While on the surface, this is rather pedantic; the lyrics combined with the music can rightfully claim the mantle of Good Songwriting. Again, Dooley's guitar is fantastic. As his lead takes control of the song, he adds a wonderful guitar hook that drummer Frank Lenz accentuates with perfectly placed drum rolls and cymbal crashes. The song's crescendo with piano and mournful guitar slides into intensified resignation, most excellently capturing the lyrical mood.

Map can also rock out. The opening track, "Everything Is Bad For You", bursts forth with a trembley phat guitar riff, pounding drums, and punchy bass that segue flawlessly into jangle-y guitars and Dooley's lazy near-side-of-Morrissey vocals. "Strange Girl" is Map at it rockinest. The verses are propelled by driving acoustic guitar with distorted electric guitar blasts and tinkling synths courtesy of Starflyer 59's Dicky Swift (reminiscent of his work on Starflyer59's "The Lights On"). The chorus hits high gear with it sonic guitar leads and Dooley moaning "Strange, strange girl." The songs are a nice changeup and give a physically psychic blast to
the record.

Before you think I'm ready to proclaim this a perfect record, I do have my gripes. Dooley stumbles on the going-nowhere track "Tell Me" and the instrumental "The Dancing Girl" (as most instrumentals go, it is quite unrememberable - unlike The Pixies "Cecilia Ann" from Bossanova, or Joy Division's "Incubation"). There is "Ugly Girl", a simple tune that is a mixed bag: a decent melody but the song seems intent on recycling itself over two-and-a-half minutes (something that has plagued previous Map efforts - the songs went nowhere). 

Dooley's guitar work is so noticeably strong that it's easy to overlook the songwriting. He's always been an impressive musician.  But the songwriting, this is where Map has grown leaps and bounds over previous releases. Secrets By The Highway is diverse (with rockers, mellow pop, classic pop, ballads) but tied together by pop songcraft and the dedication to deliver complete songs, not just flashy guitar. Ultimately, the record is a pleasant surprise.

-Chris M. Short

This is Heather Duby's second release since "Post to Wire,” her Sub Pop debut which was co-producer Steve Fisk who colored the music with loops and samples. Fisk is one of three producers with credits on "Come Across the River.”  The production hones in on the songwriting and precise, organic arrangements centered around a piano and bass backbone. Think dark, beautiful, deeply emotional and a little atmospheric ala Azure Ray.

On the seventh track, "Coin Jar,” Duby is accompanied singularly by a piano drenched, and I mean drenched, in reverb. She sings, "I'm not convinced anything matters/who makes you feel that way/can't get much older than today.” The lyrics are quite introspective, though bland.  Yet the important thing here is a collection of brilliant melodies. 

Duby cheers up a bit on the final two tracks "Auto Immune" and "Golden Syrup," which owe more to a catalog of cabaret standards than indie-rock. She flexes a versatile Broadway singer voice, up and down a slew of ranges, and she goes out with a bang.

-Jai Agnish

I cut my modern rock teeth on Depeche Mode.  So I have no aversion to a little gratuitous melodrama for the sake of a good song.  Yet I'm a somewhat confused by "Frustration Plantation," the fourth full-length from the corseted "cello-rock" (I swear, it says this in the press release) ensemble Rasputina. Their act is tough to figure, let alone swallow: a three piece combo, accoutered in 19th century garb (and lyrics), playing modern pop-rock songs on sometimes-electrified cellos.  Equal parts Tori Amos, 16 Horsepower, and renaissance faire, this shotgun ménage-a-trois of talent, concept-rock and histrionics makes for a mixed platter of sometimes good, sometimes awful fare.

Tracks such as "Doomsday Averted," "Girls School" and "Secret Message" successfully brew in the authentic orchestral, sometimes "gothic" drama.  One gets the feeling Rasputina is trying to realize a Halloween highschool stage-production. "The Mayor" rides along in the deep swirling saw of cello strings and sharp, sparse percussion.  The vocals reverberate around the song as if sung in a bourbon-drenched New Orleans brothel. Rasputina are quite good as a chamber-pop combo creating unique, Brothers Grimm-styled pop songs. Yet that strength falters when layered against the electrified touches and big-muff bass of the (deliberately?) PJ Harvey sounding "Possum of the Grotto." Coming across like recent Depeche Mode, post-Marilyn Manson-glam-pop, Rasputina move away from their base talents, and in so doing, caricature the legitimately hard-to-get-away-with, successfully executed, stronger tracks on the album.  The Ani DiFranco style spoken-vocals on "If Your Kisses Can't Hold The Man You Love," fall flat. "High On Life" motors along with all the bounce and rough edged catchiness of a Linkin Park single until abruptly breaking down in a quiet viola solo that contradicts the tone and rhythm of the song. Such ill-advised flirtations with agro-rock and goth® only serve to paint white pancake over what should be a genuinely good and uniquely talented record. "Frustration Plantation" is just that—a sprawling estate occasionally marred by throw-back eyesores.

-Josh Baze

Mark Eitzel's new album is called "The Ugly American," but something along the lines of sad and depressed American is probably more descriptive. It's a collection of previously recorded Eitzel songs, only this time these familiar tunes have been reinterpreted with assistance from a group of traditional Greek musicians. These selections span the breadth of Eitzel's recorded catalogue, and go back as far as "Nightwatchmen," which originated on the American Music Club's "Engine" album from 1987.  It also features a fuller instrumental sound than we're used to with Eitzel, who is more often sort of a lo-fi balladeer. Nevertheless, it's an experiment that ultimately works. 

Eitzel's borderline hopeless perspective on life is summarized best on "What Good Is Love." He asks the hard question (and I’m paraphrasing here): If true love turns out to be unreal in the end, is life really worth living? But like a scientist who can’t let a nagging hypothesis die, Eitzel has based his artistic life upon the quest of proving—at least to himself—that tangible love exists. Such desperation is distilled nicely on "Anything," where he promises: "I'd give anything to be where you are/Right now."

This album includes some odd instrumentation—at least to rock & roll ears. The unusual melodic and rhythmic suspects include the zourka, bouzouki and creten lyre. Putting Eitzel’s old wine inside these new wineskins sometimes creates an unexpectedly pungent vintage.  For instance, "What Good Is Love" rises up with an old country, gypsy feel to it, primarily because of all the fiddle work in the mix. "Here They Roll Down," however, sounds a little like an unplugged Velvet Underground, on account of its chaotic strings. It also features a wailing jazz saxophone in there somewhere, however, which would have sounded really out of place on any vintage VU disc.

In the end, this marriage of Eitzel to a traditional gang of Greek players, results in a big, fat Greek wedding of conjugal musical bliss.

-Dan MacIntosh 

Pretentious art pop is growing on me here. Another release from 54 40 or fight that takes a route less prog rock than previous releases. Basically it's still annoying but more in a no-nonsense, no-wave sense. The Planet The chokes eighties keyboard in the dirt while sounding like The Ruins trying to hum a Phil Collins tune. Obviously, the roots here lie with Devo, The Units, The Residents, and Talking Heads. Those staples of eighties avant-pop are re-compiled to fit with the angular banging of post-Arab on Radar hardcore. All that said, The Planet The offers touching little caches of melody and, making “Physical Angel” more than just a bully rubbing dirt in your face.  Indeed listening to it is jarring.  Yet, the record is more like a neighborhood thug who bullies and subsequently goes home, cries, and listens to Queen (and yeah there's a Queen moment or two in this album). Later tracks mellow out, proving behind all the artifice that the group is really just the band down the street. Sweetly eclectic, creative, and memorable.

- Andrew Jones

Man, these guys need to break and form two separate bands. One would catch the gritty combo of Stooges guitar and completely passionless eighties licks, and the other would feature a drummer who isn't afraid to venture into territories a little outside of punk’s domain. Modern Day Urban Barbarians offer a mixed effort, harkening back to the tape-trading days of punk, when fiery vocals were less the norm and non-singer singers spouted out deadpan lyrics about their deadpan jobs. I'm sure there's one band in particular these guys are ripping on, but I don't know who it is. Metal might be the new indie, but you got Hair Police, The Sightings, and Lighting Bolt to digest before we really need more nostalgia bands. The incredible amount of ennui these guys put forth isn't charming.  It just seems dated.  Add to this an obliviousness to The Contortions and DNA and these Barbarians seem to be stuck in some distant, provincial backwater. Hard to explain how these guys simultaneously are brilliant and suck so bad, but that's how it stands. Retool that guitar, and let that drummer break free and MDUB could be cooking. 

- Andrew Jones
 

Edson is the kind of band you pray you’ll find first. Unless you were the unlikely one who introduced your little circle of friends to "If You're Feeling Sinister” 7 years ago, or you were the older brother responsible for getting that next generation hooked on the Smiths, it's unlikely you'll find a band more likely to spark the imagination of your comrades in indie arms. 

And with good reason. After only three albums, Edson has created a body of work that's as immediately accessible as it is meticulously constructed. Their third full-length, "Every Day, Every Second," is the kind of sunny-day, sad-eyed, bright and clean pop record that should be a staple on radio stations the world over. Packed with melodies that instantly and permanently lodge in the melody center of your brain and awash in chiming electric guitars, vibrant piano, bouncing bass lines and tender drums (with the occasional flute, melodica, glockenspeil or brass section thrown in for a good measure), these songs seem to come from a time and place when "pop" was never a bad word. 

Much like their contemporaries Stars or Belle and Sebastian (with whom singer/songwriter Pelle Carlberg must be constantly compared), Edson is unabashedly, unapologetically and strictly "pop."  With a voice that's equal parts Stuart Murdoch and Nick Drake (without overtly emulating either), Carlberg sings of love gained and lost with a lyrical deftness that is unparalleled. "Every Day Every Second" is packed with songs so classic sounding it's sometimes astonishing they aren't covers. "14-80-20" belongs in the King’s College of pop, earning an honorary doctorate from Lieber and Stoller—seemingly beamed to Sweden from the Brill Building's heyday. "14, 80, 20… I used to dial it plenty, but people drift apart" croons Carlberg over a gentle acoustic guitar and tambourine, punctuated with sparse piano, popping bass and a lovely "ba-ba-ba-badda" chorus, before borrowing the "fade-out-and-back-in" ending from the Smiths "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others." "Up With The Lark" is a sweetly-sad ode to a lover, in equal measures tongue-in-cheek self-deprecating ( "Hiding the tears in my eyes/humming a tune by the Cure") and wistfully sincere ("she's a pigheaded stray, but I like her that way"). When it comes to the nuances of great pop song writing, Edson do not make mistakes. Though the lyrical content of "Every Day, Every Second" seems to orbit around dissolving or dissolved relationships, with many a lyrical take on hurt and healing hearts, the album remains thoroughly upbeat in much the same way The Lucksmiths "Why That Doesn't Surprise Me" was. Just shy of the grand peaks of their debut "Unwind With Edson," "Every Day Every Second" is simply a must-have for fans of classic pop songwriting. Beautiful, hummable, and genuinely heart-rending—everything a pop record should, and used to, be. Track it down now (it's available in the US via Parasol) before its songs start showing up on mixes from your hiper-than-thou, and they start telling you "I told you so!"

-Josh Baze

The Lazy Cowgirls is a misnomer and an oxymoron, since this hard-rocking quartet is neither female, nor slothful. Instead, the LC’s 13-track release mixes up an elixir of country, blues, punk, and various roots rock flavors. 

At times, like on “Are You Ready,” The Lazy Cowgirls bring to mind Billy Zoom and X’s rockabilly-on-speed approach. But then there are also more acoustic rock moments, as with “Everytime I Come Around Here,” which is slow ‘n sad country-rock. Music veteran Earle Mankey (of Sparks) produced this album along with the band, and Sparks appears to have greatly assisted them with their widely varying musical mood swings.

Pat Todd is this group’s lead singer and primary lyricist, and the CD booklet contains his brief explanations of each song. Todd is no poet, it’s true, but his workmanlike lyrics fit with these straightforward workouts nicely. With “I’m Goin’ Out and Get Hurt Tonight” by The Lazy Cowgirls, their pain is our gain.

-Dan MacIntosh
 

Jon Anderson of Modest Mouse steps in with a little seventies prog wrapped in today's more modern clothes to front 31 Knots.  Sadly, the opening tracks fall flat. Swelling and surging in alarm, the guitars angular high notes miss the mark. Stop and start dynamics just aggravate an album that drips melodrama in all the wrong ways. But in 31 Knot's favor, there's a moment in "The Gospel According To Efficiency" that's truly beautiful and the song finishes out to a startling conclusion of side-swiped echo. "Without Wine" paces itself down wind of the aggressive dramatics that make up the rest of the album. It's a good song, but not great. Snippets of electronic noise remind you this is a modern album, but even the laptop processes pale in comparison to The Books, Radiohead, or surprisingly even Modest Mouse.  The album ends with "Matters From Ashes," which again heads into the moodiness of, "Whiteout Wine," but is somehow less effectual than the former, turning all that boredom into a gothic gloom reserved a la Tool. Unfortunately, 31 Knots exists in a space between commercial and indie rock that spoils the charms of both.

-Andrew Jones

Karl Hendricks comes off a little like Mark Kozelek (of Sun Kil Moon/Red House Painters fame), fronting Neil Young’s Crazy Horse at a Husker Du tribute concert. He writes story songs about such varying characters as former Major Leaguer Bill Lee and ex-Black Flag bassist Chuck Dukowski, within a sprawling jam guitar-centric context. Usually, lyricism and jam-ism (to coin a phrase) are mutually exclusive rock terms, but not here: Hendricks is talented enough to jam and develop thoughtful lyrical themes at the same time.

His thoughts about Duckowski’s secondary role to Henry Rollins in Black Flag, and his exploration of Bill Lee’s philosophies are fascinating.  But the best track here is one called “Overweight Lovers.” It’s a sad window into the lives of the not-so-beautiful-people of this world. These are the sorts of folks who, “close their eyes and think about skinny girls/And try not to think about it.” It’s a realm of romantic rejection where, “a couple apple pies will make it all alright.” Like a small art house movie in song, Karl Hendricks Trio makes you empathize with the oddest of characters.

Hendricks’ voice is whiny in places, which gets a little old after a while. But if you can get past that, “The Jerks Win Again” is one smart and rocking little album. 

-Dan MacIntosh

I first found out about Fat Cat records when I convinced myself to buy the first Sigur Ros ep while shopping in Other Music during my cutting edge music addiction days.  With Sigur Ros, Mum, and their series of electronic releases, Fat Cat was normally fairly tame.  I was a little surprised by the addition of the Animal Collective to the roster, but oddly there is something peacefully noisy about their live sets and, at least, "Spirit They've Gone, Spirit They've Vanished" is an ingenious little pop record.  I haven't heard the second album that makes up the double release.  With that, I guess, I can claim some self-healing of my previous habits, but it's mostly because that cutting edge stuff is over-hyped and often lets me down.

On to the Giddy Motors story.  When I put “Make it Pop” into the slot drive in my PowerBook I nearly fell out of my chair.  This disc channels U.S. Maple from beyond the edge of rock music.  And there is more structure here, in fact.  Giddy Motors are set to rocking rather than the casual avant-jazz-rock wanking of U.S.  The 'Motors (we gotta get the Giddy part out of their name, I mean how can you sound cool telling people they should come with you to see "Giddy Motors"?) creep into that Arab on Radar realm without the faux-mental antics of their singer.  On this Motors disc there is energy, there is anger, there are loud guitars in all the right places.  "Make it Pop" is a loud record, but it's beautiful in the way a Sonic Youth record can be overwhelmingly noisy, but listenable.  At times, the Motors rage into an almost metal anthem, but in the right and interesting way that would make Royal Trux fans smile.  Then, just to psyche you out, "Venus Medallist" ushers in the subtle acoustic guitar and violins on the next to last track.  It's beautiful, and more what one would expect from Fat Cat.  The band brings it back down to give the album dynamic and feeling.  It's far from an art school band formed to out Yes/Rush their university counterparts. 

I have no idea what they're singing about.  I'm not paying attention yet.  The band hails from South London, claims the one-sheet, and the album was recorded with Steve Albini in late 2001.  They started as a two-piece, but have added a third member for the live onslaught.  This record could probably be categorized with all the retro sounding post-punk bands or loosely connected to the Stripes/Strokes nu garage rock movement.  But Giddy Motors rises above it all with their clever technique and complex style.  "Make it Pop" is one fun ride.

Upon further research, I found this album came out like a year ago.  I'm not sure how I was able to miss this thing.  Me and any of my hipster friends must have been asleep at the wheel.

-Scott Hatch

I've had the odd experience of re-discovering Merge after nearly three years away. In my halcyon days of student DJ'n, Merge was the label to avoid.  It's releases mostly coming from clone bands that sounded just enough like what was on Sub Pop to be popular, but never really doing anything all that original.  Portatstatic still ranks as one of Merge's more creative forces, alongside The Magnetic Fields.  “Autumn Was A Lark” is fifteen tracks of sped up, Byrds-inspired greatness. The compressed vocals could pass for an Elephant 6 project, and there's definitely an Apples in Stereo feeling here.  But Portastatic is drawing from a different bible of sixties revivalist pop than the eternal summers of Brian Wilson and Ray Davies. Here is a touching tribute to “Sweet Heart of the Rodeo” encased in elegiac pop. A trailing female vocalist adds that right buoyancy to what are rock songs that bend in strangely folk-y ways. Something in the peculiar, nearly southern, slur of Superchunk's Mac McCaughan annihilates tempo, giving the songs an urgency.  Breaking the album down between electric and acoustic songs only adds to the records charms.  Eeven when unplugged there's a kinetic country energy to each song. Passable as a jammy near southern rock LP from around 74, there's still no pretension here.  It makes for an innovative, thrilling spin.

-Andrew Jones

I have this long-running debate with one of my good friends about the merits of Grandaddy in light of the critical acclaim gathered by the Flaming Lips' Soft Bulletin and Yoshimi albums.  My argument is that Grandaddy was making music akin to Soft Bulletin long before others, myself included, suggested they were.  I further extend the argument, mostly to anger said friend, by saying that Grandaddy is superior.  My friend’s rebutall drones on about the relevance of the Lips in the early '90s and how such pop, with a Sonic Youth-styled noise, was destined to morph into the Soft Bulletin.  It's a fun argument and I am quite a big fan of early Flaming Lips, but also quite a fan of the Grandaddy catalog.  In fact, one could say I celebrate their entire catalog if I were going for ironic half-funny movie references.  But I'm not and am really supposed to be talking more about Earlimart.  This Grandaddy v. Lips discussion is relevant, though, because Earlimart seems almost entirely derivative of Grandaddy.

Where there is some grey area as to the amount of Lips influence on Grandaddy, Earlimart escapes this influence, occasionally to their benefit, occasionally to their deferment.  Now, there are quite a lot of noisy sounds added to this Earlimart album, but they seem crisper, less lo-fi, less impassioned.  The record just sounds cleaner, giving it an almost "white boy" quality as they imitate their soul forefathers.  I could be accused of cruelty here, fixing Earlimart to the Grandaddy camp, but Jason Lytle and Jim Fairchild are involved in the recording as players and helped record at least one of the songs.  Earlimart is also originally from a middle of nowhere CA town and have certainly worshipped at the altars of shared late '80s/early '90s indie rock influences (Pavement, Yo La Tengo, and Built to Spill) along with Grandaddy.  Perhaps they are lesser only because they are a late arrival, though, with two prior full-lengths and three eps, maybe that's not even fair to say. 

Regardless, "Everyone Down here" is a beautiful record, especially when the strings set in and the style changes more towards the lighter side.  The soft-spoken vocals from Aaron Espinoza often hit the spot.  I must point out that though they name drop My Bloody Valentine references in the one-sheet, they never rock above mid-tempo, ala Grandaddy/Lips.  Tthere is no wall of guitar, there is no feedback to knock you down and make your ears bleed.  That’s all okay.  It makes the songs more fragile and even pretty sounding.  I would like to hear more, I know they're recording a new full-length at the moment ("Everyone Down Here" came out in April 2003), but they're doing it with Jim Fairchild from Grandaddy.  (I know this because my friend Matt is in the studio next door making a record with some electro clash band that was signed to a major label in the dying rage of that scene.)  It would be nice for Earlimart to come into their own and escape the influence of their predecessors and contemporaries.  In the end, I stick to the argument that Grandaddy and Flaming Lips are superior to Earlimart.  Both of those illustrious outfits have superior lyrical content.  Still Earlimart is a contender and should appeal to fans of the genre.

-Scott Hatch

It's always been a private theory of mine that the downtrodden hillbilly blues of country is a tonic for those with too much hope. As DNTEL put it, “Life is full of possibilities, so thank god for a bevy of sad songs to root over-zealous twenty something dreamers back to the ground.” The validity of this can be argued one way or the other.  But it's definitely how the new Ashley Park is making me feel right now. A nice pop outfit going down dirt roads and frontiers first forged by Johnny Cash, Blind Willie Johnson, and Al Kooper's work for Dylan, Ashley Park diligently tries to breathe new life into the now cliched drops of slide guitar and baptist organ. It's a shame their quaint, lazy country rambles aren’t ambitious enough to make it. The problem is Ashley Park first tries to twee-up country, letting their horn player put psychedelic horns on-top of their ditties.  But this unnatural graft is about as good an idea as tomacco. The rest of the album could be a throwback to Yo La Tengo's “Fakebook,” only without the Simon and Garfunkel minimalism. Further attempts to squish too many instruments into a music typically as barren as Depression-era Mississippi just makes matters worse. Touching, sweet, and a balm for sunday afternoons, but ultimately just one of several thousand failed experiments to take country and make it speak to the kids.

-Andrew Jones 

This collaboration features US-side artists Jai Agnish and Israel-based Gospel Zombie. It is a preview of albums due out on Men of Israel Records later this year. Agnish’s first track, “Basement Analog,” is a synth-drenched guitar melody that sounds like a folk-induced Royksopp. This simple track sets the tone for Agnish’s other tunes. His distinctive voice is a fine compliment to tracks that embrace electronica, folk and rock. Agnish explores the confusion of life in “40 Dimensions,” a slow track that is as ambiguous as the most cryptic REM songs.  “Green Series No.2” is a gentle guitar based instrumental that is like a relaxing Sunday afternoon. The simplicity and subtlety of Agnish’s take is a pleasant change from the loud, bash-you-in-the-head unsongs that dominate the dial today. You must listen to his work several times to get the full effect. Then you will find that Agnish is a great singer with a unique sound.

The “Gospel Zombie” portion of the “Our Split EP” starts with “Call to Arms,” which sounds like born-again era Dylan. Like Agnish, Gospel Zombie’s music is minimal. The melodies and rhythms are simple, with a guitar and vocals as the base. “Missionary to Alaska” starts off with Zombie sounding like a garage band. The noise subsides and an acoustic guitar and quiet vocal are left. “The Madness of Sir Adam” talks about Christ and other biblical figures and “children of destruction.” The meaning is unclear, but it is one of the most intriguing songs I have heard in some time. Like Agnish, Zombie includes a guitar instrumental, which crystallizes the down-tempo mood of the EP. This collection of songs is not mainstream, nor intended to be. It will not appeal to everyone.  Certainly,  Jai Agnish and Gospel Zombie are unconventional. For anyone looking for something different, take 25 minutes to listen to “Our Split EP.” It is a genre-bending collection, at once provocative and wistful. 

-Phil White