JP King

Marion Jdanoff

St. Vincent - Krokodil

(4AD, 2012)

First -- stop reading and go to your record store and buy this 7", right now. It's a Record Store Day special release and there might still be one on the shelf for you. (At the time of writing, Rhino Records in Claremont has approximately three copies left.) You won't regret it.

Now -- okay. It's time to talk about St. Vincent.

Krokodil kicks ass. It's the first official signal of a direction she's been hinting at over the last few years: loud, dark, heavy, ugly. It rules. Actor, of course, was darker than her debut, the lyrics loaded with even more foreboding and entendre and general uncanniness, the music harder and more dissonant and more messy. Strange Mercy continued the theme, cut out the baroquey flourishes, made the guitars crunchier. In a way, the arc of Clark's career has been a closing of the gap between her dark-since-day-one lyrics (go listen to Marry Me again, and pay attention this time) and the music, which has been playing catch up. But this is something altogether new.

Except that it's not. Anyone tuned in to St. Vincent as a live act has seen (or at least seen on YouTube) a slew of disastrously awesome covers of gnarly songs by gnarly artists. Most notably Big Black, Tom Waits, and The Pop Group. When she blew everyone's brains out playing "Kerosene" a year ago, the web was rife with surprise: WHAT IS THIS CUTE LITTLE PIXIE GIRL DOING PLAYING BIG BLACK? WHO KNEW SHE COULD SHRED SO MUCH? WHERE IS THIS DARKNESS COMING FROM? These were stupid reactions for these reasons: 1) She has been shredding, always. 2) As mentioned above, violence and the eerie have always been present in St. Vincent, at least/especially the lyrics. And most crucially (this point explains the others) 3) People react this way in large part because Annie Clark is female. We're not shocked because an artist who makes experimental pop music (and it is, admittedly and deceptively, poppy) is playing a Steve Albini song -- we're shocked because it's a CUTE LITTLE NICELOOKING DOE-EYED GIRL playing Steve Albini.

The first problem might have been the Marry Me album art. From that moment on, much of Clark's career has been defined within this realm -- cute, beautiful, charming girl first; virtuosic composer and facemelting guitarist second ("an adorably spunky guitar prodigy" - Boston Globe). When I saw her on Thursday, every gap in the set was filled with audience members yelling about how much they loved Annie, how beautiful she was, asking her to marry them. This happens at every St. Vincent show. But something else happened, too.

She closed with "Krokodil". Clark walked off the stage and onto the crowd, Iggy Pop style, screaming into the mic over the song's rumbling guitar line. She stood on shoulders and sung half the song, then slammed herself backwards onto the crowd's uplifted hands. She finished the rest of the song crowdsurfing, throwing herself flat onstage at its finish. I was certain it was an '80s punk cover. Maybe Bad Brains? early Fear? another Big Black song?

Nope. And today we have the indisputable proof, on shimmering red vinyl. Krokodil sounds like those bands I just said. Those bands kick ass. The B-side, "Grot", is an even heavier track, a slow, sludgy, growling antiestablishment mess. An angel chorus shines through the song's end, but how'd'ya like them lyrics? St. Vincent kicks ass.

Pumice - Puny

(Soft Abuse, 2012)

1) Pum-ice [puhm-is] noun, verb, -iced, -ic-ing.

noun

1. also called pumice stone; a porous or spongy form of volcanic glass, used as an abrasive.
2. also called Stefan Neville; native New Zealander with a penchant for volcanic, glassy, often abrasive pop, amongst other sounds.  Distinguished by idiosyncratic charm and weirdness, languorously arranged wonderment, and a distinctive sonic palate happily hampered by a casual variety of miscued and failing audio equipment.

verb (used with object)

1. to rub, smooth , clean, etc., with pumice.
2. to listen to any given song recorded with Stefan Neville fingers; to be enraptured. 

2) Pu-ny [pyoo-nee] adjective, noun, -i-er, -i-est.

adjective

1. of less than normal size and strength; weak.
2. unimportant; insignificant; petty or minor:  a puny excuse.

noun

1. all-important 2012 album written and recorded by Pumice, aka Stefan Neville; characterized by signature Pumice-heavy sonority and album-length lean towards the pastoral.  Noted for (1) co-opting abrasive weakness for purposes of volcanic artistry and punitive strength, for (2) morose pumice-esque meanderings devolving into a paradoxically happy-gloominess, and for (3) attending to salvation-heavy methods of quasi-devotionalism with regard to "saving music" and "proving godlike artistry can still be accomplished"; magnum opus.

See also: Pumice "Hey Crap Crab"

Visualtraveling - 'Holy Cow'

Each Other - Taking Trips

 (Self Released/Prison Art, 2011/2012)

It seems appropriate somehow that the day I posted this about the band Long Long Long is the day I discovered Long Long Long broke up.  That's my life, it feels like.  Fortunately, that same day is the day that I discovered Each Other which in a lot of ways is just Long Long Long 2.  I hope Each Other is okay with me describing them that way.  They obviously are sharing some band members (I'm not one to worry about who, specifically) and a lot of what I said about Long Long Long can be said about Each Other (mostly that they're awesome).  And, if I may, I think the name "Each Other" is a step up name-wise.  Taking Trips is their delicious EP length introduction, initially self-released in October of last year or something like that and now reissued on cassette by Prison Art.  Here in Providenceland things are just starting to warm up and Taking Trips is my jam for sun sparkling goodness.  Every track is good, but if you're listening to "Looking Lapsed," the album opener, and you aren't smitten by the disjointed guitar breakdown that comes in at 1:01, you are legally dead.  Or your ears are in error.  Bury yourself in a river or under six feet of dirt.  There is nothing in this life for you.  Anyway...here's hoping that Each Other weathers the storm of being a band for a lot longer than (ironically) Long Long Long.  They deserve yours and everyone else's ears and hearts and dancing legs: come to Providence please, I love you!

"SOLIPSIST" by Andrew Thomas Huang

Amazing, and weird.

Long Long Long - Everything

And by everything I mean everything: their entire discography (which, admittedly, isn't overwhelmingly huge).  It's all available on their Bandcamp page.  You don't have to read any further, really, you don't.  But if you are, if you're still reading here and wondering, what's the deal here? well, I'm on one of my overly-excited, potentially-hyperbolic excitement sprees.  I can admit it, I've over-hyped things in the past.  Am I ashamed of it?  Maybe a little bit.  I'm pretty sure this is different though.  And if you're a little hesitant, fine--you should be.  I don't care though.  In the end, if you're head-over-heels like I am or if you simply have to admit, yea, they are pretty good, it makes no difference to me.  If you're still reading, why aren't you listening?  I'm streaming everything below.  Seriously, listen all the way through a song at least.  Sounds kind of like Women, huh.  There is no way to avoid that comparison, as much as I want to (RIP, Chris Reimer, I'm still frowning over the news...)  (--They're even Canadian.)  The important thing is that the music stands on its own.  Long Long Long isn't a derivative or a replacement, they're a genuinely talented band writing some really, really great songs.  And that's something I feel like I've been missing a lot lately: really good songs.  I'll probably regret posting this later.  But there is another part of me, the part that's been listening only to Long Long Long for the last few days straight, that doubts it.  I haven't even said why I like it.  "What it sounds like."  Seems like a mute point.  You have ears (I'm assuming); push play (it's the larger triangle shape).

2011: Still Glittering, Pt. 2

Anders Hana - Dead Clubbing

(Drid Machine Records, 2011)

Anders Hana is the "Ha" in MoHa! and Dead Clubbing, his single-sided debut LP is, well, it's gorgeous--perfect even.  Six intense and gritty machinations, each with perilously gridlocked percussion set in looped propulsions, destined to fall off their prescribed track. 



____________________
Dead Neanderthals - We Are Dead Neanderthals

(Self Released, 2011)

If you're a fan of Anders Hana or MoHa! you'll find a lot to like about Dead Neanderthals.  Operating most often in controlled (or barely controlled) bouts of noise jazz and free rock, the duo (on drums and saxophone) have put out three violently delicious 3" CDs, two of which came out last year (including We Are Dead Neanderthals), and all of which are downloadable on their Bandcamp page (which also features their newest 10", a mind-bashing endurance test for the sadomasochists among us).  Did I mention that Dead Neanderthals alerted me to Anders Hana's Dead Clubbing?  Thanks Dead Neanderthals!



____________________
Zac Nelson - Sound a Sleep Sound

(Bathetic, 2011)

I hate this album cover so much, you better believe this album is amazing.  Otherwise I wouldn't be posting this stupid thing on FG.  Providing something of a reprieve from the pummel-heavy obliterations of Anders Hana and Dead Neanderthals, Nelson's work here is lush and mesmerizing, but in some ways no less chaotic.  Sound a Sleep Sound is brilliantly flowing, scattered electronics in the same solar system as acts like Caboladies and Shark's Teeth.  The A side, "Cloud Mine," is pretty much perfect.  Nelson is pretty prolific and all over the place stylistically as well, on other releases, but always really good.  It's just, this cover sucks so bad...

Goodness

Weasel Walter, Mary Halvorson, Peter Evans - Electric Fruit

(Thirsty Ear, 2011)

Contemporary jazz--the good stuff--the stuff that peels itself apart limb from limb, lurching and creaking, banking towards every wall at once before reverse-cohering, enmeshing into some glottal lip-purse; the kind of stuff hell-bent on engining forward, pushing, ever pushing, finding the boundaries (are there pushable boundaries anymore?) that we don't even know exist and making beautiful war with them--contemporary, or should I say free--no, lets say forward-thinking, avant garde: this album in there somewhere, these players--Mary Halvorson with her lightly dissonant strumming and plucking, Weasel Walter with his machine-gun percussion, cluttering, Peter Evans trumpeting bursts flitting up and down the scale--are of that kind, and Electric Fruit, then, is one of the more enjoyable free jazz--or whatever--albums that I've heard lately.  The interplay here is as playful as it is disorienting, dismantling and destructive.  A really wonderful record from three of my favorite players.

Viodre - Interpol Alchemi

(Hospital Productions, 2011)

Like death, or like Graham Lambkin had he swallowed a microphone for Amateur Doubles (maybe he did) and instead of simply driving his Honda patiently (or whatever it is he did) decided instead to drive the thing through a building, then drove it through a crowd of zombies, then drove it into an ocean of lava, or like pulling apart, cord and wire by cord and wire, the instruments and amplifiers of doom metal band mid-set, or like recording and listening to the hellish mullings of sediment and magma stretching together and twisting apart, the elements of that monumental taffy machine at work below our feet, or like John Wiese’s essential masterwork, Soft Punk, if it were Soft Doom, or like, though hopefully not—and as I’ve already stated—death: that’s what it’s like for me when I’m listening to Interpol Alchemi.

"Incon, Ceph."


"Far surface delir"