Ham1

Seriously, my sincerest apologies to Jim and his posse for shellin’ out their new songs while rehashing an old review of the band. They deserve better. They deserve so much more. But, alas, this is all I could muster in the middle of night when I should only be doing ONE thing: sleeping. Besides, you can read up on the band and their label and all the good things they got going on down there in Athens, GA right here.

Hare Lipped Bust [MP3, 3.4MB, 192kbps]
I Had a Good Idea [MP3, 3.9MB, 192kbps]
White Rat [MP3, 5.6MB, 192kbps]

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Tiger! Tiger!

This is the band I want haunting my garage this Halloween. Their simple ch-ch-chunking staccato chords, the wailing organ, the sultry, slightly off-kilter vocals teasing from down low in the mix send shivers down my spine. And oh, that fuzz! Makes me wanna shimmy and shake all night long. Bear with my L.A. bias when I say Tiger! Tiger! would make cute kissing cousins with X, Mary’s Danish, and The Gun Club. They pare down that punk-twang to its garage origins circa 1970-something. Tune into their myspace page for more fine examples.

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Demander

The Santa Ana’s are roaring in these parts. The winds and smoke burn my sinuses, eyes and throat. And after spending two hours helping my 6th grader with his math homework my brain’s burnt as well. Fight fire with fire! Demander has brought a sweet equilibrium to my dry and fried skull. Imagine Siouxsie Sioux rising out of the DC punk scene as part of the Dischord family. Yeah, it’s cool, and cools, like that.

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Miss Fairchild

The promo materials promise that Miss Fairchild aren’t a bunch of “suburban white kids play-acting at being an ’80s funk band.” Well, unless they were born in Detroit fifty years ago they are exactly a bunch of suburban white kids posing as an ’80s funk band, and guess what??? THAT’S OK. All I care about is that you actually pull it off without a whiff of irony. Miss Fairchild does just that. They are 100% committed to a rump-shakin’ dancefloor party, no wink-wink-nudge-nudge attached. Miss Fairchild bring the smooth, R&B-styled party-pop, the kind that’ll have all your friends waving their hands in the air like they just don’t care, especially during the “cha-cha” breakdown in “Number One”…”Yeah Rosie, Yeah Rosie, Yeah Vije, Yeah Vije, Yeah Patty, Yeah Patty, Yeah SylviiiiiiAAAA!!”

Now all they need to do is hop on the road with Hunter Revenge and Gen-Y’s Prince will have his Morris Day counterpart. Deluxe.

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Annuals

Let me begin today’s post with a favorite passage from the book I’m currently reading: “For what is genius, I ask you, but the capacity to be obsessed? Every normal child has that capacity; we have all been geniuses, you and I; but sooner or later it is beaten out of us, the glory fades, and by the age of seven most of us are nothing but wretched little adults.” An apt description as to why I’m NOT a genius. The only things I have the capacity to be obsessed over are chocolate and burritos. Not always in that order. The power of concentration eludes me. Like Homer Simpson, I’m so easily distracted, not by squirrels like Homer, but by all sorts of flights of fancy: reading, writing, picture taking, music listening, journaling, bike riding, skateboarding, snacking, and fathering, that I never obsess over any one thing and therefore fail to excel at anything (with the exception of fathering: I’m working like mad to raise three responsible members of society).

Likewise, Annuals seem unable to pin themselves down to any one sound. “Dry Clothes” shines through like a summery Beach Boys tune, “Bleary Eyed” trots along like a Grateful Dead jam, “Brother” inches along as an atmospheric meditation, and they drop a dance-floor beat into their remake Manchester Orchestra’s “Where Have You Been?” Eventually all these comparisons break down as the songs break down as well into something sometimes entirely different. It seems concentration escapes Annuals as well, but their lack of focus still retains a playful childhood capacity for genius.

Touring soon with Manchester Orchestra.

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Club 8

I feel a special numerical affinity for Club 8. The number eight holds a particular significance with me, a significance that I don’t believe I’ve shared outright with our readership, which is surprising, even to me, because I’m quite obnoxious with it in person. Put it this way, I probably would’ve been much better at math if we worked off a base eight system. OK, I’ll put it another way: I wouldn’t get very far hitchhiking. Here, you’d better just have a look (Taken, probably ten years ago, by Mr. Lifto backstage at a Jim Rose Circus Sideshow. No it hasn’t been Photoshopped.). Now that we’ve established I’m a member of Club 8, onto the music at hand (pun not intended, seriously)…

Club 8 is the Swedish boy-girl duo of Johan AngergÃ¥rd and Karolina Komstedt, homemaking music since 1995. Incessantly smooth and gorgeous, both the singing and playing, Club 8 has toyed with different takes on their cozy pop sound: ’60s folk, trip-hop, and bossa nova. It’s been five years since the last Club 8 album due to the fact that both Johan AngergÃ¥rd and Komstedt also play in Acid House Kings, not to mention AngergÃ¥rd’s work with The Legends. Their new album, The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Dreaming, promises to balance sunshine (“Heaven”) and melancholia (“Jesus, Walk With Me”—a quiet rebuttal to Sam Harris et al). In a word, stunning.

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Darker My Love

It worked on me. Dangerbird Records (home to Silversun Pickups, Peter Walker and The One AM Radio) recently revamped their website and scooted Darker My Love into the studio to begin work on a new record. They thought giving away the last Darker My Love record might interest a few people and send them sniffing around the new site. I’m happy to help in this effort. Darker My Love first caught my ear by naming their band after a rare T.S.O.L. song and kept me listening by resurrecting L.A.’s Paisley Underground sound. They play a tougher and denser version of Rain Parade’s ’80s psychedelia. It’s Summer of Love 3.0.

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The Heliocentrics

I can’t promise you these tracks will be up long, so get ’em while the gettin’s good. Malcolm Catto leads the nine-piece Heliocentrics for a crazy, funked-up ride into the far reaches of jazz’s space time continuum. I don’t know what that means either, but it’d take up way too much space attempting to pin down The Heliocentrics sound. They didn’t call it Out There for nothing. It sounds retro, like a James Brown outtake, but Catto’s been spending the present-day diggin’ deep for funk 45s, drumming for DJ Shadow and Madlib, and releasing a solo LP on James Lavelle’s Mo’ Wax Records (the “Untitled” track below is a sample of an unreleased song from those sessions). “Sirius B” is just 1/24 of the electro-free-jazz-space-out The Heliocentrics have unleashed on an unsuspecting and unworthy world.

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Office

Office is to indie pop what Dilbert is to the comic pages. Early live shows featured the band decked out in office attire, suits, ties, blouses and sensible shoes. Each musician enjoyed an onstage secretary, ready at their beck and call. Lucky for the listener, they don’t sing about the drudgery of the 9 to 5 life (with the exception of “Company Calls” about a woman who insists on doing business on her cell phone 24/7 and the man who is in love with her), although they’re still prone to occasionally dress up on stage as if they just punched out. I won’t bother further trying to decipher what these songs are about when singer and guitarist Scott Masson explains them himself. Suffice it to say Masson does an amazing job at recreating a dream in “The Ritz” and his background notes behind “Oh My” are as hilarious as the video. The best part about Office is, of course, their music. Any band who aspires, and succeeds!, to blend the sounds of Neil Diamond and Daft Punk, The Beach Boys and Wire is plenty capable of knocking you out of your own 9 to 5 funk.

Office is now on tour with Earlimart.

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Oslo

I’ve been following Oslo for a while and I’m geeked their debut album is out today via finer digital retail outlets. Next month SideCho records will release the CD. SideCho is a great label out of Long Beach and consistently surprises me in a good way with their offerings. Oslo produces moody, brooding music in the vein of early ’90s bands like Catherine Wheel. Enjoy this first bite then dig in for plenty more!

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