jan 2012 - By Volume

jan
2012
byvolume
music. uninterrupted.
me
the
generation
#2
coldplay
the roots
a (brief)
retrospective
the
manchester orchestra / the bled
big
idea
indie concept albums
and
plus
tom waits / lotte kestner
los camps! v johnny foreigner
mixtapebyvolume / byvolumerecommends
january 2012
4/ amplified: the roots
6/ lotte kestner
7/ tom waits
8/ the me generation
10/ the big idea
first line
adam knott
we're baaaack
12/ manchester orchestra
13/ 2011: in brief
16/ amplified: coldplay
18/ the bled
Welcome to the November issue of ByVolume. Hey...
hang on a second. Yeah, due to wholly foreseeable
circumstances (life, etc.) we’ve been away a while,
and now it’s 2012. Only 11 more issues until our
Doomsday Edition; we’ve got the mixtape drawn
up already. Given that looming shadow, then...
19/ mixtape byvolume
2011 was clearly a fantastic year for the world in
general, but music - as it tends to do - gave us
even more to smile about than the gradual collapse of society. In amongst it all we founded ByVolume but given our late arrival it’s fair to say
we haven’t shared as much of our favourite 2011
material with you as we’d like. BV#2 sees us
take a few backward glances to set that straight.
24/ tenement
20/ byvolume recommends
22/ los camps! v jofo
25/ about byvolume
I’d like to take the opportunity to remind you that a lot
of ByVolume is interactive - clicking images will take
you to YouTube videos and such, and you can navigate
straight in using the contents list over on the right.
Happy new year - enjoy reading.
2
byvolume / issue 2
byvolume / issue 2
3
/review/
/review/
an album on a
Quest
(love)
the roots' undun
is an ambitious
concept album that
shakes off the
consistency label
robin smith
Behold, a bigger, bolder attempt to make the backwards symphony, that mistreated corner of musical experimentation reduced to songs played in
reverse; for the few who want to fuck around, for
Youtube conspiracy theorists with nothing to lose
from defiling their favourite band’s lyrics. When we
play something backwards it tends to make the element of music the item of least concern: here lie a
hundred Youtube Satanist comments explaining that
what a musician let slip via backmasking was “fuck
Jesus.” That’s how we got it in our head that Kurt
Cobain yelled “I hate you!” a hundred times. Playing music backwards is for laughs, and if it isn’t for
laughs, it’s for nutcases. So I guess my question concerning the semi-backwards symphony that is‘Undun’
- a serious and embodied attempt at telling a story
backwards, rather than a fan’s incidental Youtube experiment, is this: do I ruin it if I play it frontwards?
4
This is, after all, the first Roots concept-album,
and ?uestlove has been very matter-of-fact about
that: there’s an importance that this is played
in reverse-chronological order, but what exactly
does it reveal to watch a character die at the beginning? Essentially, The Roots are saying this is
an album that begins in medias res, as the poets
would say (and I guess The Roots are poets sometimes), and then traces the whole thing back like
a big flashback. That, however, would be an unfair
description: ‘Undun’ doesn’t tell the story of Redford Stephens in hindsight, but rather flows back
byvolume / issue 2
to it like continuous and uninterrupted memory. Or,
maybe, further-rather, the story that’s happening in
the present is the life before he’s dead, but backwards. It’s hard philosophical fare to get our heads
around, but maybe the reason we play this backwards
is because it recalls the circumstances of his death as
the present. Redford is part of some shitty cycle that
stays at the end, even if he’s killed off almost instantly.
‘Undun’ has its obsession with backwards motion
pinned down like the best of conceptual artists, as
if they’re a hip-hop band who’ve sat in a dark room
and digested nothing but Dory Previn records for the
last two years. There’s no-one yelling “dad is dead!”
down the phone a hundred times, but the way the
band storyboard this record is tight and repetitive,
not with any particular musical motif, but an interest in a beginning that matches up to a fitting ending: telling it super simply and back-to-front, kid
Redford struggles on the street and becomes a victim
of it by twenty-five, the album climaxing, arguably,
with his tragic death on “Make My,” its intentions
made clear by its gruesome, tortuously slow video.
It’s interesting to have a climax this early into a record, and to know that from here the record is studying its character rather than gearing up to his ending.
There’s something of a seriousness embodying ‘Undun’ that quells all of its breezy tune moments, that
justifies a bit of Greek tragedy in the otherwise just
sexy sounds of “Kool On.” There’s something to justify
every appearance on ‘Undun’, with every new voice
introduced (yes, you’ve probably read this a thousand
times) a different part of his consciousness gettin’
its actualisation on, with every female vocal a third
party giving Redford what for in his hopeless little
life. The dynamics on ‘Undun’ feel so wholly serious
that The Roots aren’t just “veterans” on this record:
they’re dark and burdened storytellers, and ‘Undun’
is something—or someone—that they’ve given themselves over to as if too huge for themselves to handle.
I also see a bit of Kanye in this symphonic thing, if I
may; Dory Previn and Kanye West is a lethal combination to inject in the Roots, but the record’s highly
classical curtain-call almost feels like the group are
treating ‘Undun’ like a higher calling after years of
being called the world’s “most consistent” in hiphop. Call this record downbeat, but those moments
feel like opening up to a Kanye way of thinking, and
where a desperately-toned hip-hop track like “All
of the Lights” can be prefaced by a twinkling piano
performance, ‘Undun’ signs off—or begins, or fucking whatever— with these reflective instrumentals.
byvolume / issue 2
the roots
undun
81/2
It’s for a record too big to just end with another
guest-spot; the story is too huge for Black Thought
to handle or for P.O.R.N to get another feature to bow out with, and instead Redford’s story
ends with the existential space it was promised.
‘Undun’ is asking a lot of questions that suggest the
band considers it bigger than themselves, and so it
doesn’t just feel like an indie slight of hand to have
a Sufjan Stevens song transitioning the record from
hip-hop tunes to contemplative piano music. Instead,
it feels like a band with a huge idea that even they
can’t fathom, much like Kanye, and it might just
make us think of The Roots as more than pure consistency. Of course that’s an accurate description to
make with a discography so tight, boasting a strong
‘90s origin story and a stream of brilliant albums that
turned them into workaholics. And to work as a house
band is more work than we might hold it to be—shit,
to essentially be playing a show every night, with a
different band, must be hard, mundane work. But
don’t tell me that ‘Undun’ is just another hip-hop
banger, or a slick record of samples and features in
the vein of ‘How I Got Over’. Downbeat or not, ‘Undun’ is the flight of the consistent band into a hugely
ambitious one, a group of mad storytellers hopelessly
detailing a character they took the time to create.
Or just listen to this little lyric: “if there’s a heaven, I can’t find the stairway.” That’s what ‘Undun’
is: it’s a fucking eulogy, and there’s not much with
more weight than the death of someone you’re attached to. Character or no, The Roots feel this one.
--------------on page 10 robin
smith undus his own
favourite concept albums
---------------
5
/amplified/
/review/
trespassing 2011
a good tom waits album.
a good album by tom waits.
berkay erkan explores trespassers william vocalist's solo material
tom waits
bad as me
Anna-Lynne Williams certainly loves her fans. All other musicians
should be doing their best to emulate her thorough approach to
her own music. While it has been several years since we’ve heard
any material from either Trespassers William or her solo moniker Lotte Kestner, Williams took the initiative in 2011 and provided a host of releases that further established her musical ingenuity - and all while providing absolutely no original material.
In some instances, the songs are almost unrecognisable, but retain a loose essence of the originals.
When it comes to cover songs, simply recreating originals has always seemed utterly pointless; Williams’ approach, where the songs are remoulded within her own style, is the way a cover should
be done., resulting in acoustic numbers with occasional layers to prop up Williams’ delicate vocals.
One track that cannot go without mention is her version of New Order’s “True Faith”; the original had its
own depressive tone, albeit in an 80s new wave kind of way, but her reinterpretation is depressingly good.
Similarly, her cover of The National’s “Fake Empire” retains the solemnity of the original but adds a slowcore-esque mood to the already emotive song. To put it bluntly, Williams nails it with Stolen. Each
song is as poignant as the next, and the album even manages to stand on its own as a cohesive record.
So, in our first issue we reviewed Thrice,
and not long afterwards, they announced an
indefinite hiatus. “That sucks,” we
thought. And then, two days after this
piece got written, Trespassers William announced their own hiatus. Are we cursed?
Who knows. We obviously apologise to
fans of these bands on the off-chance that
something supernatural is at work, but we
also see an opportunity. We’ll be writing
about Nickelback in next month’s issue.
- Adam Knott
6
1/2
keelan harkin
2011 saw Williams pay homage both to a host of her own influences, and
to herself. The former was achieved through a covers album, cleverly
titled Stolen. This was accompanied by an EP of some more covers,
though I assume the tracks from both releases are from the same sessions. “Lotte Kestner” has always represented a more stripped back
version of Trespassers Williams, and Williams stays true to herself whilst
covering a variety of artists, including Bon Iver, The National, The Cure,
New Order, Beyonce, Catherine Wheel and Billy Idol.
A poignant message:
8
Her next piece of 2011 concerns Trespassers William songs Anna-Lynne Solo Versions contains reworkings of various Trespassers William songs in the Lotte Kestner style. While Different
Stars could be considered “stripped-back” - minimalist, even the rest of the band’s discography gravitates towards alt-rock
(Anchor) and forays into shoegaze on later EPs. This solo versions record takes 10 largely overlooked Trespassers tracks,
strips them back, and slows them down, to the point where
silence plays as much of a role in the songs as the music itself.
For the avid Williams fan, these reworkings may seem an unfortunate distance from original material, but they’re plenty to
chew on. It seems Williams knows her music as much as she knows
her fans, and I can’t say that I’m disappointed with any of her
work from the past year. While this may be the time to “recommend” these Kestner records, I know that if you’re already under
her sway, their very existence will be enough to do so anyway
byvolume / october
issue 2 11
At this point, the critical response to a new Tom Waits album usually consists
not of the question, “is it a good album?” but rather, “is it a good Tom Waits
album?” Such is the consequence of leading such an unbelievably consistent and prolific career. It doesn’t hurt that the man’s success has been built
around one of the most unique and mystifying voices around. But unlike
numerous other acts who have trudged along till they’re easily labeled “veterans,” Waits is a bad-ass. Like the other cool guys still putting out relevant
work, Waits’ longevity is due in major part to his relentless experimentation. He has always mixed the wacky (“What’s He Building Over There”) with
the soulful (“Georgia Lee”, “On the Nickel”) with the pure awesome (“Rain
Dogs”). Everything has its place in Waits’ world. So when approaching Bad As
Me it is nigh-on impossible to remove the album from that world. Where critiquing an album against an artists’ discography is usually limiting, it seems
the most appropriate way to even approach a new Tom Waits record.
in short
And in this context, it is no small gesture to say that Bad As Me is a very
good record. There are some noticeable differences for those used to the
experimental, heavy side that Waits has harboured since at least Swordfishtrombones. In many ways Bad As Me is a return to the early, bar blues-soaked
crooning of Waits’ early albums such as Nighthawks. Gone are the woodblock
instrumentals; instead these twelve tracks run the gamut of more traditional songwriting fare. But that shouldn’t come as an indication of drop in
quality or lack of vigour. Quite the opposite; the much touted “Hell Broke
Luce” is easily the best anti-war song in a long time because it trades in
pedantic political jousting for a stomping romp that just roars with a sense
of being pissed off. Yet the album is mostly about contrast; it’s not all firesermons. “Kiss Me” longs for youthful passion, for the ability to “kiss you like
a stranger again,” atop gently strummed guitars and a sparse arrangement;
“New Year’s Eve” describes a dysfunctional family over droning accordion
before breaking into a fantastic coda of “Auld Lang Sine”.
nick cave and the
bad seeds
everything has
its place; the
wacky, the soulful and the
purely brilliant
make bad as me a
near-classic
if you like this...
discography
rain dogs
mule variations
Though it feels belittling to speak of Waits’ work in such dichotomized binary - traditional and experimental, dark and light - Waits feels so aware of
what he’s doing that he is able to create a third idea outside of the binary.
Such is the world of Tom Waits, a world where Bad As Me fits in like a shining
new car. It doesn’t have that worn feel yet, but it begs to be driven. Give
it time and this one becomes a classic: maybe not up to the same level as
Mule Variations, Rain Dogs, or Bone Machine, but it’s really not that far off.
byvolume / issue 2
7
/review?/
/review?/
let the
writing flow
channing freeman writes about writing about music
Much ado is made about the changing landscape of music distribution – so much so that the salient points
need not be repeated here – but what I find more interesting (and perhaps more disturbing) is the change
in music journalism. In some ways it does parallel the physical-to-digital change that music is going through
(certainly people pay more attention to a site like Pitchfork than they do to Rolling Stone), but I think the
problem goes deeper than that. In high school, writing papers seemed like the most awful experience ever.
Too often it was more about form than content, and it seemed like you never got to write about something
you were interested in anyway. With music reviews, we get to write about the thing we’re most interested
in, but still so many people focus more on how they’re writing reviews than what they’re actually saying.
Which begs the question: what is a music review?
we get to write about the
thing we're most interested
in, but still so many people
focus more on how they're
writing reviews than what
they're
actually
saying.
The internet has made it increasingly easy to be
educated about music for those willing to learn,
and that’s great. But the educated are also the
main audience for music reviews, and what can we
tell them that they don’t already know? They’ve
got their expectations already, and they will
cling to them even as you undermine them with
a review. And any writer who writes for the fringe
audience that reads reviews to learn would go crazy writing the same things over and over. Or at least you’d
think so. Hell, I’m not sure how half the world’s music journalists haven’t quit in frustration. It must be the
checks they get every month from thesaurus companies.
Sometimes I envy the music journalists who work for print magazines because they don’t have to deal
with a comment section. They don’t need to be as educated as online journalists. Then again, that’s why
they’re dying off. Lack of accountability (beyond easily ignored letter-to-the-editor sections [interestingly,
has anyone else noticed how those sections are increasingly used as jokes these days?]) makes it very easy
to disappear up your own ass, secure in a knowledge bank that is in desperate need of being updated. It’s
no wonder that readers are turning away from them. Not to mention the slow turnover rate of a monthly
magazine; with the relatively recent development of album leaks, magazine subscribers are often reading
about albums they already heard weeks earlier.
That’s not to say that online journalists aren’t in trouble either. Because of the constant need for continuing
education, a generation of super-journalists is being bred, and I wonder how surprised they will be when
they find out that they’ve got nowhere to go. The print magazines are on their way out, and there’s only so
8
byvolume / issue 2
much room on the staff lists of websites. There’s also not much room for promotion, which means that
staff turnover is essentially nonexistent. Those that are there are most likely there to stay. And then
there are still huge numbers of people online who write reviews online without pay, as a hobby. You
would think that they would exercise more of a sense of freedom than employed writers, but most of
the time they’re just filling in blanks, thinking that by simply writing about music, they are expressing
their passion when really all they’re doing is turning that passion into a form letter.
Which brings us back to the original question: what is a review? More specifically: what is the purpose
of a review? Is it to inform the reader about the album? Is it to describe the album itself? Or is it to
get the reader to listen to the album? The easy answer is to say all of the above. It gets murky when
we consider how you’re supposed to do those things. There seem to be two basic schools of thought.
Dividing them into new and old may simplify things a bit too much, but for our purposes it should
work. On the one side we have the old school, adhering to the idea that there is a fixed, unchangeable
definition to the term music review, the idea that a review exists solely to give a description of the
album or artist in question in the hope that that alone will be enough to persuade potential listeners.
I don’t mean to imply that this way of thinking is ineffective. But I do mean to say that it often results
in soulless, boring pieces that regurgitate oft-heard phrases and descriptions. It is an assembly-line
methodology, it throws passion and ingenuity out the window, and it is bullshit.
The new school is actually not so new. It has its roots in the Gonzo style of journalism popularized by
Hunter S. Thompson in the latter half of the 20th century, in which the author of a piece becomes
a central character even though he is not the point of the piece. Fellow journalists often felt the
need to use phrases like “breaking all the rules” while writing about Thompson’s work, but why were
there rules to break in the first place?
Why is it wrong to use personal pronouns?
Why is it wrong to become a character
in something that implicitly involves you?
Anyone who has sat down and attempted
to write a novel will tell you that the
more you try to conform to what you think
you should be writing (to the rules), the
harder it is to actually write the damn
thing. There should be one rule and it
should be unwritten: let the writing flow. There is absolutely no reason that a music review
can’t be a compelling piece of writing, absolutely no reason why it can’t inspire someone beyond getting them to listen to an album. And the simple fact is that inspiration comes from
shared experiences, shared feelings, from seeing a small part of yourself in a piece of writing. In
terms of music reviews, by describing the reactions and feelings that the writer experienced
while listening to the album, readers can hope to experience something similar. Alternatively, if they’ve already heard the album, a review can open their eyes to a different perspective.
but why were there rules
to break in the first place?
why is it wrong to become a
character in something that
implicitly involves you?
And although you’ll find my feet planted firmly in the new school, the point of this is to say that – old
or new – there is no wrong way to write a review, as long as someone reads it and and takes something away from it, same as any other form of writing. Music journalism, obviously, is never going
to go away entirely, but it is changing, just like music itself. But while record labels are trying to
find new ways to distribute their music, the world of music journalism seems to almost be receding
into itself, becoming more firmly entrenched in the old methods, willing people to take notice. And
they won’t unless something changes. It’s unfortunate that as music reviewers, we are writing to an
audience that thinks they know better than everyone else, but that should push us to be even better, to be even more informed, and to put even more effort into affecting our audience. Otherwise,
what’s the point? I know that there’s a good chance that the people who read my reviews have had
similar experiences, and I know that I can try to tap into that, to relate to readers the correlation
between music and feeling, music and experience, music and attitude, music and life – things they
already know about inside themselves but aren’t able to express in words. That, to me, is the point.
byvolume / issue 2
9
/amplified/
/amplified/
the big idea
robin smith
The awesome (but confusing to type) ?uestlove recently wrote a column for Pitchfork listing
concept albums that inspired his own - The Roots’ Undun. I can’t be bothered to link the article—
also because you can’t link things in printed magazines and we still pretend this is a magazine,
right? (ed: digital magazine! have a link) — but here’s my response to that absolutely smashing article. These are a few of my own, very indie, picks. I’m aware that “concept album”
is a disputed, generally stupid term, but I like being contradictory. So without further ado:
Sufjan Stevens - Michigan
State albums, and that’s probably because he was
a little more attached for this one—it’s his home
state, and it feels like every city he talks about
isn’t listed and overwritten for ambition alone. It’s
like Sufjan knows the place inside out on ‘Michigan’, whether it’s a love letter to a broken city or
the blues for how the other half live up on the Upper Peninsula. Some beautiful coverage of a place
this composer knows like the back of his hand.
It’s pretty self-explanatory, as luck would have it; all
about love, a lot of it parody. This record spawned
Peter Gabriel’s cover of “The Book of Love,” but
when Stephen Merritt heard it, his response was
that the song was meant to be a joke. Let’s not
forget the story behind the record though, because
it fits the tone well: Merritt found himself in a gay
bar, when the idea to write as many show-tunes as
possible came into his head, but that idea became
this twee pop delight instead. Add Merritt’s tone
of hateful joylessness into the mix, and you’ve got
an over-the-top triple album grounded in a deep,
depressing baritone. If someone tried to explain
how good this record was to Stephen Merritt, he’d
respond aghast, “good?! What’s good about it?!” Or
so I imagine.
Miles Davis - Sketches of Spain
The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love
Songs
Let’s not forget Undun’s catalyst. Last year, The
Roots used samples from Joanna Newsom and the
Monsters of Folk, but the way their newest record
descends into the indie sphere is startling: it circles
in on “Redford”, a song so delicate the Roots are
scared to even touch it. Instead, the album features
the original Sufjan composition, in front of three instrumental movements, and it takes the album dramatically out of its landscape. Or, you might argue
that this comes first, and the hip-hop is what transforms the record. That’s if you want to be difficult.
The Roots named their story’s hero after Sufjan’s
little piano instrumental and transformed the newly-born character’s life into a street-level tragedy,
but regardless of how different the two records are,
it’s interesting that from one concept album spawns
another. Michigan was my favourite of Sufjan’s two
10
It would be nigh-on criminal not to mention
something as ambitious as 69 Love Songs, and
most people probably know its arc already.
byvolume / issue 2
The Kinks – Lola Vs. Powerman
and the Moneygoround
It’s probably unfair to lump this Davis album under the rather spontaneous category of ‘concept
album’, but the way ‘Sketches of Spain’ plays to
one style is no easy feat. The discipline here is astounding, and to think it is the only album he would
make in this style—and one of least ‘jazz’ things
he did—makes it pretty special. I don’t know, can I
write about jazz? I can’t. But ‘Sketches of Spain’ is
designed, from that sweet alliterating wordplay to
its stylistic homage, to honour something through
music. And that’s a pretty neat concept.
byvolume / issue 2
The Kinks Koncept Album was always on the minds of
the Davies brother’s, and they weren’t all that good
at making it a reality: every album name moved
to outdo the one before it, until you got ‘Arthur
(Insert Very Long Alternate Title Here If You Really
Must)’, and until every bloated storyline on ‘Village Green’ got lost somewhere between its fifteen
tracks. It’s sad to think, amidst this all, that the
closest they got to making a fully-fledged concept
album was on the outrageously under-appreciated
Lola vs. Powerman and the Moneygoround, which
boasts three title tracks, none of them really interrelated at all. The last of those, “Moneygoround,”
speaks to the album’s skimmed concept. This was
a time when the Davies brothers were pissed off at
their managers and producers and all things money,
and so this song, along with the deliciously cute
“Denmark Street” and the awesomely cheesy “Top
of The Pops,” attempt to provide commentary on
what it’s like to be trapped in a shitty music industry. It’s funny that the greatest songs on this opus,
however, sound delightfully sincere, and have none
of this Zappa-esque cynicism: “Strangers” is perhaps the most heartfelt Kinks song there is. ‘Lola’
may have never cut it as what it tried to be— a
concept album, damnit!— but at least that gives it
a deserved status as ‘unrealised classic’. The best
kind of classic, right?
11
/review/
/review/
essentially their magnum opus without all
the ridiculous hype that usually surrounds one
manchester orchestra
simple math
9
1/2
steve m.
There is a hint of irony in the way that ‘Deer’ kicks off Manchester Orchestra’s highly acclaimed fourth studio album. It is threadbare in essence, consisting of nothing more than a lightly plucked acoustic guitar and front man
Andy Hull’s candid lyrical admission: “Dear everybody that has paid to see
my band, it’s still confusing, we’ll never understand.” Obviously, though,
they do. Heading into the creation of this album, Manchester Orchestra had
to be aware of the impact they have on their fans, because otherwise they
would never have made Simple Math the album that they did. This record
is the culmination of everything Manchester Orchestra stand for, from the
smooth and colossal sound of their debut’s closer “Colly Strings” to the grittier side displayed in Mean Everything To Nothing’s “Shake It Out.”
This is essentially their magnum opus minus the preposterous amount of
hype that sometimes surrounds a release of such magnitude. Here, the band
actually lets the music speak for itself, and the results are amazing. The
closest they come to bragging is when Hull mutters at the end of ‘Deer’ that
he is “hungry now”, and that is exactly when Simple Math embraces its true
spirit with the sweeping “Mighty.” From that point on, the album never relents. It is heavily orchestrated, instrumentally tight, and it possesses some
of the catchiest choruses you will hear all year long. ‘Pensacola’ is unforgettable with all its twists and turns, ‘April Fool’ has that rock and that roll,
‘Pale Black Eye’ gushes with emotion, and ‘Virgin’ builds and builds within
all of its enormity. There are standouts among these standouts, such as the
utterly breathtaking title track, but this is as close to a consistently flawless
album as Manchester Orchestra has ever produced. Even the second half of
the record is packed with jaw dropping moments, from the dramatic string
sections in ‘Leave It Alone’ to the deliberate exhale that is ‘Leaky Breaks.’
Simple Math shows growth in a number of ways, from Hull’s dominant vocals
to the pristine string arrangements. To those who thought that the band was
already at its pinnacle, this is an emphatic yet completely natural progression that begs to differ. It isn’t as raw as Mean Everything to Nothing or as
lyrically profound as I’m Like a Virgin Losing a Child, but the overall quality
of the songwriting obliterates anything that they were able to concoct in
prior endeavors. Combine that with the overflowing emotion and intensity
that accompanies any Manchester Orchestra piece, and you have one of the
premier rock albums of 2011 - if not the best outright.
12
in short
finding a whole new
plane of intensity,
strings and stories
intertwine to form
something devastatingly personal.
byvolume's
best of
2011
(sort of)
Standard practice at this time of year, we believe, is to enter into a painstaking process
of consensus-finding about all of the music released in the last 12 months, and then
present it in such an objective way as to make it look like an entire publication’s writers
agree on everything. So we’ll leave it to you to decide why, instead, we’ve chosen to
just... share some of the stuff we liked in 2011. Without all the numbers and stuff. And
without treading old ground: it’s not our fault if you haven’t been paying attention!
if you like this...
frightened rabbit
right away, great
captain!
playing
australia
march
discography
like a virgin losing
a child
Frank Turner
England Keep My Bones
Lana Del Rey
Various Tracks
Andrew Jackson Jihad
Knife Man
One of the world’s most endearing
singer-songwriters
explores the notions of history and legacy by conjuring
Bob Dylan and the ghost of his
grandmother. Also featuring:
probably the least controversial atheist anthem ever. -AK
Though her album isn’t out
until a few months into 2012,
the hype surrounding Lana
Del Rey has been building
slowly online ever since the
summer when she released
“Video Games.” Her sound
mixes classical beauty with
songs inspired by hip-hop,
Americana, old pop music,
and everything in between.
Whether her record can justify the millions of Youtube
views is yet to be seen, but
Del Rey could most definitely stake a claim for one
of 2012’s best records. -CF
As a mildly neurotic man in
my mid-20’s who is stuck in
the wastage of American
sprawl there really is no better therapist than Andrew
Jackson Jihad’s Sean Bonnette. AJJ’s latest creation
Knife Man is a jangly collection of inwardly focused, self
deprecating musical genius.
There was nothing more biting and more personal in
2011 to show us just how
fucked up we really are. -AT
mean everything to
nothing
byvolume / issue 2
13
byvolume / issue 2
13
Thursday
No Devolución
The Milk Carton Kids
Prologue
The Mountain Goats
All Eternals Deck
I like the word “swirls”; it
almost implies chaos, but
not quite. Teetering on the
edge of it this year: Thursday, with No Devolución
and its intriguing take on
creepy post-hardcore. -AK
Stripped down folk music
at its best, Prologue is an
album that survives off of
acoustic guitars, vocal harmonies, and lyrics - and to
be quite honest, it doesn’t
need anything else. -SM
One of the most prolific songwriters currently operating,
John Darnielle released yet
another winner in 2011 with
All Eternals Deck. With each
new release, he continues to
add elements to the classic
Mountain Goats sound, and as
a result, the songs grows more
beautiful every year. -CF
Papercranes
Let’s Make Babies In The
Woods
Able to succeed because it is
completely odd; Rain Phoenix’s scraggy vocals and disheveled delivery combine
with the lifeless, dejected
instrumentation that is driven mostly by boisterous percussion. If you like it when
musicians sacrifice order for
chaotic, swirling bouts of emotion, you’ll adore this. -SM
Red City Radio
The Dangers of Standing Still
Adele
21
Combining the gruff barroom
presence of Hot Water Music
and the anthemic pop qualities of bands like The Alkaline
Trio, this is the kind of nostalgia-tinged punk album that
drunken summer nights spent
on a front porch are made for.
The last time this many woah-oh-ohs were packed onto
a record Against Me! were
still playing DIY shows. -AT
For all the hate that pop
music gets, it’s a testament
to its audience that Adele
(along with Taylor Swift)
ended up being the music
industry’s savior. As soulless as the radio can be, it
is the artists with substance
that eventually win out. -CF
Alvarius B.
Baroque Primitiva
The War On Drugs
Slave Ambient
Blue October
Any Man In America
Bon Iver
Bon Iver
The War on Drugs remind me
so much of my childhood.
Their latest album instantly brings back thoughts of
listening to Tom Petty cassettes in my dad’s pick-up
and blasting Bruce Springsteen songs on the local classic rock station. The only difference is that now I’m old
enough to appreciate it. -AT
Blue October’s latest effort fuses progressive rock
with hip-hop and an array of
styles from the alternative
genre. Any Man In America
is a smorgasbord in that regard, but the Peter Gabriel
influenced “The Feel Again”
highlights the heart-wrenching theme of divorce and the
ensuing custody battle. -SM
Let’s not pretend: through
collaborations with Kanye
and dropped acoustic guitars, Justin Vernon’s music
hasn’t changed one iota.
Even
the
80s-drenched
“Beth/Rest” elicits the same
feelings of tenderness and
longing as his breakout album
For Emma. Stunning. -AK
14
byvolume / issue 2
Finally, a Sun City Girls record we can adore without preaching that it ain’t for the faint hearted. Alan Bishop takes up an
acoustic guitar and does some Spanish covers on it, along with
a wobbly rendition of Nancy Sinatra’s “You Only Live Once”
and a warped version of “God Only Knows.” He almost jumps
on the “Beach boys melodies” bandwagon. The result is an almost cute album attached to the Sun City Girls world. -RS
Jenny Hval
Viscera
Jenny Hval’s ‘Viscera’ is not a sexy album, but it is for lovers, a demure little album, both frank and fragile in equal measures. Fitted
against a backdrop of crystalline guitar chords that blanket slight
waves of white noise, rather than vice versa, Hval speaks to multiple
facets of the human condition across all genders and sexual orientations. So, no: not a sexy album. But it is a beautiful one that lacks
pretension, no matter what one considers of Hval’s pedigree. -LP
byvolume / issue 2
15
/amplified/
glowing
in the
dark
coldplay find their
hopeful transmission
...and it's paradise
means everything. Viva La Vida or Death And All His Friends was definitely odd - it might even have required the use of a translator for
some - but it still clung to a grounded idea, however distant - it had
a touchstone that Coldplay could revert to if all else failed, supported by their faux-revolutionary outfits and the paint scrawled
over a Delacroix painting. Like an insane person’s last logical ramblings before the cliff, it was Coldplay’s final straw, that dying reach
to stay sensible and maintain control. Thank heaven they’ve lost it.
Mylo Xyloto, five albums into Coldplay’s career, disregards thinking
about things and just DOES them. It abandons pretense. The experimentation that was so obvious on Viva La Vida sounds ingrained, and
the euphoria that “Lovers In Japan” showed off pours out of every
single melody. And Chris Martin sounds as though writing happy songs is
Or a rock album. Or indie? Parachutes was even
nominated for a Mercury Prize (The One They’ve
Never Given Radiohead) in 2000, and broke the
factory mould with its introspection, so despite
how much of a pop song “Yellow” undeniably was,
it found itself almost pretending not to be, as if
the falsetto that the song shared with its surroundings somehow turned one of the most recognisable hooks ever into a different beast. But
“Parachutes” was not a pop album, at least not in
a way I have ever understood pop; it listened to
itself too much, questioned its own thoughts and
held a little bit of something back, which is in no
way a slight; it’s what gave the record its charm.
But since those beginnings, Coldplay’s inhibitions
have kept them rooted to the earth. X&Y’s critics called it the sound of a lazy band but it was
far more the offering of a band that cared too
much in misguided ways, that valued - as Martin has admitted - the enormity of a sound over
the quality of the music. But what that quote of
Martin’s indicated was all of it, wrapped up in
one tiny insecure misunderstanding: They had to
“get better, not bigger,” he declared, revealing a
Coldplay who hadn’t even considered it possible
to be both - at least not yet. And yes, the incredible Viva La Vida followed, but it still, somehow,
sounded like it was searching for something. That
something is 14 songs long and it’s called Mylo
Xyloto.
And let’s talk about that name, Mylo Xyloto, for a
moment, because the fact that it means nothing
byvolume / issue 2
91/2
Bad things happen when you’re drunk, like,
according to Robin Smith, deciding to list the
5 best Coldplay songs. He dared me to try it.
adam knott
At the end of “Politik” - the quite brilliant opening track of 2002’s A Rush Of Blood To The Head Chris Martin laid down all his arms, put his warring
internal factions to sleep and asked quite simply
for “love over this”. It was a plea beyond anything for the primal over the considered, a sentiment that Coldplay have been punching around
for the best part of a decade, in more ways than
one. “Politik”’s crashing drums did a good job of
imitating the sound of a band losing control and
shrugging off the demons Martin counted on “Everything’s Not Lost”, but even if the abandon was
genuine it was quickly dampened by the apologetic nature of what followed it. All this, however
superb a pop album Rush Of Blood surely was.
16
coldplay
mylo xyloto
8
5. Swallowed In the Sea
The only track on X&Y that can
connect with its universalist
themes owes everything to its
simplicity
4. See You Soon
I will never understand how this
track never made it onto an LP;
granted, it’s a Chris Martin song,
but weren’t they all, once?
3. Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall
Coldplay wanted to write this for
an awfully long time before they
actually achieved it; euphoria,
from top to bottom.
2. Amsterdam
The track that hits hardest is beautiful throughout but hits a different level late on.
1. Viva La Vida
I mean, come on, how can it not
be? If you’ve seen them live, you
know it’s all you can hear for days;
loud, this track is one of pop’s best
in the last decade. Glorious.
what he’s always secretly wanted to do, and I mean truly happy songs, not optimistic choruses. And so we arrive at the crux of the matter - Mylo Xyloto is an album
to fucking smile to, from start to finish. It’s JUBILANT.
Sonically, sure, it dips and dives between synths and
guitars and stripped-down tracks. But the truth is that
pretty much every track between the driving “Hurts Like
Heaven” and the happy-go-lucky “Up With The Birds”
has the same effect as “Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall”.
1/2
Turn the music up, get your records on: that’s the message
to take from every facet of Mylo Xyloto, both directly and
on further
excavation: get the hell on with enjoying yourthe passion and vigour we’ve come to expect
of
self
and
don’t
hold back any more. THIS is pop music, so
California’s finest.
unashamed
it will not only ask Rihanna to provide guest voVocalist Dustin Kensrue once finds himself with
a
cals
but
declare
it a favourite moment, and so unrestrained
terrifying amount of conviction, most notable in the
climax of “Call It In The Air”, as guitars wail around
it feels dizzying even at its simplest. Fuck Adele. I mean,
him and Breckenridge propels every other song
to the radio needs songs to mope to if only to offset
sure,
anthem velocity.
this type of release. Half a decade ago, Coldplay would’ve
What Major/Minor lacks of Beggars’ Radiohead-borfallen into her camp, writing songs that feel sorry for
rowed introspection it makes up for in drive
and
themselves,
but not any more. Hell no. And it’s paradise.
grit; this is a rock album in the real, complimentary
sense of the word: fast, heavy and visceral.
byvolume / issue 2
17
/live/
live volume:
the
bled
adam thomas
I’ve always thought that the Bled were one of the
more underrated metalcore bands of the 2000’s when
it comes to legacy. Their vocalist James Munoz even
made a backhandedly humorous note about it at the
second to last show on their farewell tour at the Chain
Reaction in Anaheim stating, “What is this, 2003?!”
when referring to the energy in the building that
night. At the height of their popularity the Bled were
actually something of a big deal within the scene, but
after a hiatus and a revolving door of new members,
the scene they came back to wasn’t interested in dissonance and angular riffing. While former tourmates
such as Every Time I Die and Underoath had by this
time received unprecedented success by transcending their metalcore tags and entering the popular
heavy music lexicon, The Bled were stuck playing with
scene-shit bands such as Of Mice and Men, We Came
as Romans and the likes of all sorts of other riff-raff
that 15 year old kids who flat iron their hair seem to
cry to these days when they’re not pretending to be a
ninja in the pit.
So it wasn’t surprising that every opening band on this
date of their final tour were abysmally bad. The Chain
Reaction has a policy of stacking local bands who have
in the past sold their pay-to-play presales onto bigger shows as a reward for being semi-forced to net
the venue a few grand, and while I am not going to
mention the name of the two locals for the sake of
being a nice guy, all I can say is that both of the acts
were fucking terrible. It’s rare that I think that a band
should just pack it up and call it a day because their
negatives are just too too much to ever overcome, but
somehow the promoter at the Chain managed to find
two of them and put them on the show.
18
The audience seemed to agree, because by a few
minutes into each set even the straight edge kids
were clamoring for the cancer ridden air of the
smokers’ patio in an attempt to escape what was
happening on the stage. The Bled’s touring partners Decoder, who are basically comprised of
thrown away members from Oceana and Versaemerge, improved things slightly but even then the
crowd seemed sharply divided between in their
enjoyment with those in their twenties there to
say goodbye to one of their favorite bands from
their high school days having no interest at all and
the kids who were there to see a Rise Records band
getting some sort of kicks from them. As part of
the former, Decoder were not all that bad but if
you had told me that they had played the same
song over and over again for a half hour as some
sort of troll attempt on the audience I would believe you wholeheartedly because every song of
their set sounded exactly like the last making it
somewhat tedious to stand through.
Luckily, as absolutely wretched as the first three
hours of the night were, The Bled were absolutely
incredible. As soon as they took the stage it was if
though someone turned a switch that breathed life
back into the crowd. Fans from the age of fifteen
to thirty surged towards the front of the stage as
the opening notes of “Sound of Sulfur” rung out
from the stage. It only took a few seconds for The
Chain Reaction’s “No Stage Diving” policy to be
violated for the first of many times that night as
the lack of a barricade and stage security made it
an unmissable opportunity for many. Things only
got more intense as the night went on. The crux
of The Bled’s set was from 2003’s Pass the Flask
and their most recent release Heat Fetish. Even
though there are only two members in the band
left from the release of Pass the Flask, when songs
such as “Ruth Buzzi Better Watch Her Back”, “Dale
Ernhardt’s Seatbelt” and “I Never Met Another
Gemini” it felt just like the first time I saw the
Arizona based act back in 2004. As they encored
with “Red Wedding” it was bittersweet. It was astounding that while after all these years The Bled
were still at the top of their game, yet that this
was going to be the last time that I would be able
to see them absolutely demolish a venue like they
did not only that night, but every other time I got
the opportunity to see them in the past. James Munoz ushered in the closing breakdown in “Red Wedding” by singing the opening to R Kelly’s “Bump N
Grind” before the band behind him smacked all
250-some in attendance in the face with a slab of
drop-tuned chug.
byvolume / issue 2
mixtapebyvolume
Just the latest set of must-listen songs from our writing team.
(Click to be magically transported to YouTube in another window)
the weeknd - d.d.
*
parts & labor - fake names
*
prefab sprout - desire as
*
kate bush - snowed in at
wheeler st.
*
the roots - one time
*
sepalcure - pencil pimp
*
wye oak - the altar
*
purity ring - lofticries
byvolume / issue 2
19
Helta Skelta - Helta Skelta
/recommends/
To the best of my knowledge Helta Skelta first
popped up in 2010 with their Parasite demo, which
as an introduction to the band was quite excellent,
though it merely hinted at the band’s future potential. After dropping off the radar for some time, the
band returned to the fold with the announcement
of their debut LP in December; I knew it would be
good, but I was unwise enough to remain reserved
in my excitement for the long player. Putting all
that aside, Helta Skelta is one of the best hardcore records of 2011 - taking the tenets of various
80s hardcore styles I know nothing about and combining it with a jangly, almost ‘surf-rock’ tone,
the record is a unique
take on the genre, fusing catchy punk tunes
with an undertone of
aggression. While the
heavier side of Perth
- bands such as Extortion or Suffer - speak
for themselves, I won’t
hesitate to group Helta
Skelta with this city’s
best.
digging deeper
berkay explores the murkier depths
ByVolume delve into the lesser-known so you don’t have to.
(but still, do, and let us know what you find - [email protected])
Neat Beats - Cosmic Surgery
Cosmic Surgery is an electronic record, but it does not fall into the traps
that often put me off the genre - there is no meandering, there is no
identity crisis - and it doesn't actually try to be anything more than it
is. Inarticulate visions of grandeur (the new M83 anyone?) would have
ruined this record - Fenner keeps it thematically simple but compositionally coherent. At a fundamental level, this is an album of beats
and samples. Fenner probably spent a good portion of his time splicing
and dicing samples until he felt that the songs had actually become
more than the sum of their parts, and I feel he has completely succeeded.
Whether you look at Cosmic Surgery as an electronic record, or as an ‘instrumental hiphop’ album, the songs are all remarkably well crafted - there are very few albums of this kind
I feel comfortable listening to while I’m doing nothing else, but Cosmic Surgery is one. Songs
like ‘Video Game Characters’ or ‘The Machine Destroys Everything’ have strong pop elements which work entirely in their favour, but Fenner retains flow across the record by delivering different moods with each song. ‘Turning on the Large Hadron Collider’ and ‘I Love You,
Vashti...’ are perhaps more solemn in relation to the aforementioned tracks, yet sit alongside
them with marked continuity. As the artist says, the best way to listen to this record is to wait
for a rainy day, light a cigarette indoors and throw this record on. You won’t be disappointed.
Carissa’s Wierd - Tucson
20
After years of silence, Carissa’s Wierd have birthed a single to tease
fans prior to any new material that may or may not be appearing in
the near future. ‘Tucson’ is perhaps one of the best Wierd songs I’ve
heard - structurally it resembles the group’s usual method, but its
gradual layering and rise to climax is perfect, down to each individual note. Taking elements of both slowcore and pop, Carissa’s Wierd
avoids the excessiveness most slowcore bands mire themselves in,
and ‘Tucson’ is the best example of how they do it. The B-side ‘Meredith & Iris’ is more subtle though no less emotive, and acts as an excellent accompaniment to the feature single. Bring on the next LP.
byvolume / issue 2
Arctic Flowers - Reveries
Throw away your punk rock records; you won’t need them anymore. All
the good that can be said about punk and pop/punk is encapsulated within the wax grooves of Reveries, despite the fact the record eschews the
trappings the genre instills in most other bands. Eight anthemic tracks
make up the album, traversing devil-may-care attitutes and more resonant, introspective tones. The way in which the record is layered with
melodic guitar lines and a pumping rhythm section firmly establishes its
accessibility, but not enough can be said of its composition; every song
is written with a specific motif which just evolves as it plays. The same
can be said about the entire record overall, resulting in a piece of music that begs to be replayed. Last but not least the vocal performance here is exemplary; I don’t know her
name, but what she does here makes Reveries not just a great record but a fantastic record. The lack of attention it has received is unfortunate, but Reveries is not to be missed.
Preterite - Pillar of Winds
Preterite is a new experimental project out of Montreal, featuring the
haunting vocals of Menace Ruine’s Geneviève Beaulieu. I am purposely
going to avoid firm descriptions of what Pillar of Winds sounds like, as
this is the type of contemplative record that will be approached differently by different people - what needs to be said is that Beaulieu
once again shines with her towering presence on the album. I’m not
going to tarnish the emotive response one could have to this album by
creating any preconceptions. If you, like myself, have an addiction to
the darker side of music that Beaulieu’s voice so perfectly encapsulates, then do yourself a favour and solemnly circle around the pillar.
byvolume / issue 2
21
los campesinos!
hello sadness
This isn’t a review as much as it is a fond nostalgic moment for better break-ups. I remember
“You’ll Need All Those Fingers For Crossing,” and it was a little more telling than every inch of
Hello Sadness combined: a song about dumping obnoxious lovers at the side of the road, about
the curses of nostalgia and just how much of a back-and-forth affair being depressed is. It’s a
messy and chaotic thing, that, and only a band like Los Campesinos! can judge it in its entirety.
Los Campesinos! seemed to ask if it was even possible to have your heart broken too many times.
But I listen to “Songs About Your Girlfriend” - and note here, that the lyrics detail a Gareth seeking
revenge on a guy by having sex with his girlfriend, the girl in question his own ex - and I feel lost in
some endless timeline. So why, now of all times - off the back of Romance Is Boring, an album with an
impossible comedown - are Los Campesinos! not the ridiculous mess they once were? “I’m not sure
if it’s love anymore” is the first line that jumps out of line on Hello Sadness, and I guess that’s why.
The thing about “Songs About Your Girlfriend,” actually, is that it is messy, but the mess feels
entirely contained. It squeals and squirms for nothing at all, simply seeking out a hook from a
song that seemed to never have one to begin. And that’s kind of what this album does: it doesn’t
really seek to explore whatever tragedy has welcomed sadness. The album, overall, seems more
like a quick and cheap outlet for Gareth, which is why “Hate For The Island” stays nothing more
than a lone guitar riff and some heady reflection. It’s an easy idea to fall masochistically in love
with- a gloomy day and these songs might make a lot of sense- but its inaccessibility lies entirely
in how much it feels like the first album Los Campesinos! have written for themselves. Hello Sadness looks inwards rather than outwards, doing up its coat and shrugging off the world Gareth
and co. reached out to before. And the themes are the same. We’re always breaking up, but here
there’s no nodding and screaming about how true (and how catchy!) it is: there’s no throwing up
on football pitches in Hello Sadness, just laments from Gareth about his own footballing woes.
And that’s the state this little album forever lives in, scratching its head until all the sad-sack
feelings bleed out. They’re flowing fast and red in “By Your Hand,” enough for the rest of the
album to be sucked up completely: it all opens so loudly and so intrusively, as any Los Campesinos! album is going to do. It begins to talk with no regard for whether you screamed too much
information, it details bathrobes over blocky synthesizers that make you happy this has all been
done before. But after that? It’s the first Los Campesinos! record to truly feel sorry for itself.
Before this, a break-up was told through self-deprecation and a messy relationship was a cause
to scream your heart out down to the last second. But beyond the absolutely brilliant (and thus
completely devastating) “By Your Hand,” Hello Sadness simply mopes and picks its moments.
It’s disappointing to have to wait for things to happen from a band that proved time and again that
things never stop happening. “It starts pretty rough and ends up even worse” is the only line that
jumps out of the limping “Life Is a Long Time,” and as that song sits and waits for its romantic
woe to explain it, I can’t help but feel this time, Gareth is documenting something unremarkable.
Perhaps that’s not a bad thing- who hasn’t got a favourite album that insisted nothing?- but this
sadness isn’t frothing at the mouth, and this isn’t one of the most heart-wrenching break-ups of
all time.
v
johnny foreigner
johnny foreigner vs everything
When you burst onto the scene with the lack (absence) of restraint that Johnny Foreigner did in
2008 there are two directions you can take. You could be forgiven for thinking the only way is inwards; that’s to say that if you drew a chart and plotted debut albums, most groups drift towards
the centre because that’s the only way they feel safest. But it really just serves to show that
however loose a band sounds first time out, only the really courageous ones can make that enthusiasm count in the grander scheme of things. Johnny Foreigner Vs Everything might sonically be
a less chaotic affair than Waited Up ‘til It Was Light - the lead guitar doesn’t screech with such a
jolt and there are less layers to punch your way through - but it’s still absolutely drenched in the
trio’s daring, who-gives-a-fuck attitude, proving in the process that such a mindset works best if it
is ingrained and deep-seated. Johnny Foreigner don’t have an “off” switch; they are these songs.
So while high-octane rock songs still serve their purpose on the band’s 2011 album, the quiet cuts aim for all the same rushes and highs and lows as “DJs Get Doubts” and “Spinderella”, the two polar opposites of their first LP; be it built from a Casio or a head-turning tempo it’s every ounce of heart and nothing less. Even their fans get it - the evidence is in the
way they talk on the interludes that are “Concret1” and 2 about music that catches them and
won’t let go. So Johnny Foreigner aren’t for you if you cringe at the thought of someone pouring their soul out onto record, awkward truths and all; these words and hooks are more trains
of thought than poetry, and as such they’re sometimes flawed, and sometimes dramatic, and
sometimes apparently trivial, but ‘apparently’ is the word, because if you look close enough,
you’ll see how everything links up, and that isn’t a result you get by design; it’s natural.
And inside this musical and lyrical everything-goes strategy, somehow, you find yourself: that same hopeless romantic, that same doubting club-goer, that same kid that
“knows when it’s over”. “New Street, You Can Take It” is 2011’s most devastating breakup song purely because it pretends not to be for the whole time it runs and then fucking
breaks right at the end, documenting its own denial and putting you through the exact same
list of emotions. There are no crossings-out or U-turns on Johnny Foreigner Vs Everything.
But, beyond all that - and here’s the crux of the matter - because of the abandon and defiance
with which they’re played out, these songs feel so directly born from the experiences they explore, rather than existing as a vacuum into which life accidentally found its way. Johnny Foreigner
explore that weird link between nostalgia and pop songs, between the intangible scratches some
choruses leave and the moments we hook them onto, and they explore it as anything else: head
first, explicitly, and adamantly. This band don’t sound like they’ve ever sat down and considered
the best way to bring about effect x, and more tellingly, they don’t sound like they could get it
any more spot-on even if they did. All the science in the world is sometimes no replacement for
trusting your gut.
adam knott
robin smith
22
byvolume / issue 2
byvolume / issue 2
23
/review/
recreating naivety and optimism
belonging to people half your age
tenement
the blind wink
7
about
byvolume
berkay erkan
There are days where nostalgia grips me so strongly that I’m rendered incapable of doing anything but putting on my favourite albums of yesteryear
or just lying on the couch and rewatching early Scrubs episodes. What I
listen to really depends on whether or not I want to get out of my fuzzy,
sentimental stupor - if I’d rather lie there comatose, I’ll spin something like
Disintegration, but if I want to smile in teary bliss then I’ll put on --. Nothing
you idiots, happy music is for losers.
Okay, not really. But to be perfectly honest, I’m usually overcome with melancholy in these aforementioned ‘episodes’ I experience, and most of the
time my musical therapy matches that mood. This is where Tenement come
in - their second LP, The Blind Wink, was only released this year, but it feels
like I grew up listening to this record. After about three listens, I felt like
I already knew the songs and that I had already bonded with them over a
period of years, not days. This isn’t because they imitate anybody (though
their influences are displayed proudly on their sleeves) and nor is it because
their music is generic in any kind of way - it’s simply because they’ve perfectly captured the youthful exuberance that the fuzzy pop/punk of the 90s
impressed upon an entire generation.
in short
grounded in the 90s,
the blind wink captures the youthful
exuberance of youth
in fuzz, pop and
punk.
if you like this...
yuck
discography
napalm dream
The Blind Wink takes on board a host of previous styles - as Amos from the
band states, ‘it runs the gamut of fuzz pop like the Swirlies, punk/pop like
the Descendents, and more minimalist Big Star styled pop songs’. The overall punk feel to the record is probably the most pronounced aspect, but the
incorporation of various indie rock tenets really complements Tenement’s
sound. Bands like Grandaddy or even Built to Spill are channelled through
the music, reinforcing The Blind Wink’s even greater grounding in the 90s.
If you’re 22 and embittered by your vanishing youth, this album is probably
perfect for you. While it makes me feel like a child again, it does it in a way
that is far from childish. With mature composition and a mature approach
to the genre, The Blind Wink’s entire purpose is to recreate the naivety and
optimism only someone half my age could have. And believe me, they have
succeeded.
Somebody - we’re not entirely sure who - once
said that writing about music is like dancing
about architecture. Does he have a point? Well,
we have a counterpoint.
This Issue’s Contributors
Because it’s not so much that our penning
thoughts on the art form ever hopes to even
emulate it, much less to replace it - but it can,
in the right ways, dare to explore it.
Christian Harrop (illustrations)
ByVolume’s definition of music doesn’t stretch to
the band’s promo photos, popstars’ wardrobes
or troubled artists’ latest court appearances we’re quite satisfied, instead, with melodies
and harmonies, rhythms and hooks. We toyed, in
fact, with an introductory headline of “f**k the
image”, but we decided that was kind of uncivilised. It was true, though.
Robin Smith
So we call ourselves a blind publication, instead,
one whose other senses (notably: hearing) are
made more acute by that refusal to take in our
surroundings. In our pages you’ll find us rambling, ranting and reviewing, but always with
one key goal in mind: never to let anything get
in the way of the music.
We think there’s room for a discussion about
music which knows the value of a CD but not
the price, which appreciates the people behind
it without becoming obsessed with their lives
beyond their songs and their records, and which
just wants to kick back, listen to an album, and
talk about how it makes us feel.
Adam Knott (editor, design)
Berkay Erkan
Adam Thomas
Channing Freeman
Keelan Harkin
Steve M.
Lewis Parry
Contact
http://www.byvolume.co.uk
[email protected]
We sort of hope you agree.
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byvolume / issue 2
byvolume / issue 2
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