It’s certainly no coincidence that many of the melancholic and dreamy strands of the American indie set make their homes far away from the sun belt. What better way to fill in the long winters and gray springs than by stretching out your vocals and music until it cuts through the stillness with…pretty stillness? Portland, Maine’s Seekonk conjure delicate longing with mandolin and vibes on “Love,†and elsewhere Sarah Ramey’s vocals wrap around you like a blanket (especially on “Air,†which as yet is only available on MySpace). Yes, summer is on its way, and though Seekonk finds its muse in the snowy north, the life it evokes sounds good in all seasons.
Beirut
Zach Condon is an A-student from Albuquerque who bummed around Europe for a few months and came back with a head full of Balkan harmonies just begging for a pop reawakening. With the help of Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeremy Barnes, who lends lovely layers of percussion, they’ve gotten just that. Condon’s melancholic, lazy-tongued crooning owes more than a little to the Magnetic Fields’ Stephin Merritt, as does his ability to turn the oddest mix of melodies into an aural box of chocolates. From a hodgepodge of musical traditions, and without a single traditional pop rhythm, Beirut creates little gems that will stick in your mind as much more than just quaint novelties from faraway locales.
The Black Heart Procession
It might be strange to think of The Black Heart Procession as offering up a summer song, but “Not Just Words” feels like that kind of anthem, one that will bring a little light to the breezy summer nights. But if you’re not going for that and you just want to listen to them in your bedroom with nobody else around, just be sure to put on your headphones—BHP songs are still meant to feel bigger than their surroundings, and they still do.
Grizzly Bear
Sorry for stepping into my own head a little to describe Brooklyn’s Grizzly Bear, but it occurred to me that the pop-ish noise at which they excel is the polar opposite of the explosions you hear coming from Parts & Labor, another Brooklyn band (borough represent, yo). Where P&L is controlled chaos at light speed, GB is a molasses meltdown. “Don’t Ask” has a subtle hint of the Dream Academy’s “Life in a Northern Town,” and the rest is pretty noise made with pretty instruments. Also check out their Gentle Ben-esque website and listen to “Deep Sea Diver,” which, ahem, isn’t available as an MP3 download…yet.
Elf Power
There’s more than a passing resemblance between Elf Power’s latest, an organically trippy tempest in a teapot, and very early REM. But those who’ve grown to love Elf Power for their subtle vocal lullabies over inventive pop-folk arrangements will know that the resemblance is far from a ripoff. Elf Power are simply building on the “Athens Sound” – a genteel southern intellectuality that allows for fantastic sonic experimentation but keeps it as personal as a front-porch jam.
The Situation
With The La’s making a comeback, it might be time for some young lads from this side of the Atlantic to bring back that Manchester feeling in their own Americanized way. The strong bassline, Philadelphia-accented nasally vocals, and infectious rhythm make it clear that The Situation have taken their cue from the flop-topped Brit-pops of the early ’90s. But that’s a good thing when you add a little Philly soul.
POSTSCRIPT: As Oliver astutely pointed out in the comments below, The La’s are actually a product of Liverpool, which geographically is just a short drive from Manchester but psychologically may as well be Athens to Manchester’s Sparta—or vice-versa if you prefer. Anyhow, rest assured of one thing: The Situation is still from Philly, and they still rock it.
Victor Scott
By all accounts Victor Scott shouldn’t be aspiring to what he aspires to — rhythmless porn-funk on “Gotta Go,” hybrid-power balladeering on “Mareel,” couch-surfer-rock on “Golf,” lounge-hop on “Airstream” — but he does. And it works very well. Fans of the eminent Honky King Calvin Johnson will see in Scott the same irresistibly affectless soul. Fans of Quentin Tarantino and David Lynch soundtracks will see in Scott a torch singer who croons charming oddities as if they were ageless standards. Victor’s a different chap, that’s for sure, but once you catch on to his wavelength, you’ll want to ride his current all the way to the shore.
The Stills
Perhaps the name is a subliminal bit of wishful thinking, because these Montreal, uh, rockers? new wavers? Franco-popsters? never seem to stay still for too long. But the great part is that none of their many aural wardrobe changes sound contrived because they’re not mimicking styles; they’re bringing their own sound to bear on what’s out there. Their latest, “In the Beginning,” is a southern rock anthem. “Retour A Vega” is wistful even though I only understand every third word. And “Still in Love Song” is full of intelligent teen angst. So if you’re having trouble deciding what kind of mood you’re in, don’t bother with the shuffle on your iPod. Just load in the Stills and let them do the shuffling for you.
death vessel
Death Vessel is Joel Thibodeau, a slight New Englander with a face that could tell a story all by itself. But since you can’t see him, what you’ll remember is his singular falsetto, an energetic chirp with the Celtic gusto of Gospel Oak era Sinead O’ Connor and the front-porch personality of Gillian Welch. It’s all in service of lyrics with a Dylan-esque, both Bob and Thomas, sense of the fantastic and the melancholy in this thing called living. Sit with him for a few and let him sing you some songs.
Pink Mountaintops
We usually save our announcements for the Junk Drawer, but today is a momentous day of sorts here at the Hive. It was two years ago that our very first posting went live. Although we contributors are more likely to get excited about the birthday cake than the party, we thought we’d celebrate in our own way by bringing you a two-fer and saying thanks for checking out what we’re listening to these days. Speaking of which…
It doesn’t take long to lock a visual on the meaning behind the name of Black Mountain guy Stephen McBean’s side project, and as titillating or offensive as you might find it, the name thankfully ain’t all she wrote. McBean is a maverick one-man-band who falls somewhere along the continuum between Eels, Nine Inch Nails, Nick Drake, Self, and that dude from 13th Floor Elevators. That’s a pretty disparate list, and it still doesn’t do much to describe how Pink Mountaintops mixes bawdy lyrics with Casio-tized death metal, sweet noir balladeering, and even singer-songwriter affectation. He’s an enigma, in case you didn’t get that from the poster at the label website, and like all good enigmas, you won’t want to stop listening even if you can.