This is a truly diverse band: composed of one dreadlocked black man, one curly haired Latino and one Arian cowboy. But as we learned in the 90's, diversity does not equal quality. A Little Revolution plays acid rock blues and although it's not terrible, it's really not too good. Half decent guitar riffs are met with boring bass and drums backing up goofy yet emotional singing. All this plays into a sound reminiscent of Monster Magnet. Titles like "Choking on the Whiff" seem to lean on the complainy side of why the world sucks for one reason or another. And on this album there is no shortage of lyrics explaining why "the man" is keeping them down. This is comical stuff, which isn't funny, because I'm thinking they may want to be taken seriously. The only thing keeping this album from being a total and complete joke is the great energy of the band. One listen to this album (that's all they're gonna get) and I can imagine they put on a great live show. It just doesn't translate well to tape. (Jacob Caravan)

www.casanatra.com
casanatra@bluewormrecords.com

 

 

Ambient music seems to walk a fine line of being either boring sounds made up by some talentless "musician," or creative works that really have some originality and substance. After repeated listens to dal-LAB, I would have to say he falls somewhere in between. dal-LAB is actually Finish born, Sebastian Pitkanen and his handy Macintosh G4. He has resided in France for the last seven years and admits that he has no formal training in music. His influences include film and film soundtracks, which are very prevalent in his music. The songs are very ambient and truly seem to "fill the space." Sebastian creates his music by layering sounds upon sounds. He compares his technique to the way he paints a picture, layer by layer. He has a great description of this on his webpage. One weakness that stood out is that the samples tend to get repetitious and sound like they are on never-ending loops. With the endless possibilities of sounds available to sample, dal-LAB needs to expand his sound and explore more territory. I must give credit to dal-LAB for developing interesting sounds in such a nontraditional manner. I hope that he uses his artistic techniques to successfully explore more aspects of music. (Neal Mayerle)

 

Preface: I just want to point out that it is difficult and irritating to try to read liner notes and lyrics that are all run together across several panels of a fold-out cd booklet. Otherwise, the design of this cd is ok.

David Stephenson is a recording artist in Portland Oregon with his own label -- Pollinator Records, with a nice clean web site. I am going to go ahead and say "top honors" for this release -- I was leaning toward honorable mention, but I want to hear a few of these songs again. And over all, the cd is an interesting portrait of a guy making good music in his own studio. The last cut, "Sound Scientist" is a great bonus as a very listenable novelty.

The best songs to my ears are some of the simpler, less ambitious and more focused ones -- "to recline," "keep it down," "concrete." Others, like "Julie," have a lot of production value and good melody, but too much heartsleeve or obtusity. His song to Mark David Chapman just doesn't work, for me anyway. I'd like to hear the best of these songs on a mix tape or on indie radio. Overall these songs are ultimately winning -- with moments of great sonic texture and an honest vibe. (Norm Deplume)

Another tightly produced, passionless musical effort, here. The lyrics are also dead weight, lacking any inventiveness whatsoever. Take the tune, “My Vertigo,” for example: ‘Every time you are near/I feel like I’m on a Learjet/I’m falling here I go/You’re my vertigo.” Yes, she is rhyming “fear” with “Lear,” and wow, gee, you’re falling. In love? This ‘aint any better than Brittney Spears (worse, actually—at least Brittney has the sense to camp up the lame songs written for her). And these winning words are followed by, “I’m not afraid to fall/I’m afraid to hit the ground.” Sound familiar? Think The Badlees and their huge hit song (from a surprisingly good album, River Songs, in 1995) “Fear of Falling”: “I have no fear of falling/But I hate hitting the ground.” This isn’t to say no one else re-treads lines for their own use, but Powell’s overall clunkiness on this album makes any “borrowing,” deliberate or not, really stand out. (Mike Mitchelson)

The classical guitar album "Nerves" opens with a Spanish-influenced intro featuring a plaintive, simple melody over ostinato layering reminiscent of the Pink Floyd soundtrack "More." Moving on to a blues progression in the next track, we hear a well-played solo, which makes use of flamenco-style tremolo, and by the fifth track we are treated to an anxiety-riven ambient piece which lends it's name to the title. Though this and all other music is played on the same single guitar, it manages to create a sound more reminiscent of a techno sampling of an old Moog synthesizer than the Ovation Celebrity Deluxe, weaving together a myriad number of tracks into a seamless orchestra, albeit a spooky one.

Yes, Eric Sootes is a competent guitar player, but he also has quite an ear for recording, and throughout this self-written, self-played, self-recorded CD we hear a singular mood which is at once comfortably familiar, and alien; like the moon's frozen surface.

The pieces are short enough to hold the listener rapt, and are without the self-important pomp that often accompanies solo CDs. Here one finds pieces that create an emotional mood moving enough to fill strange spaces with warmth, while expounding on ancient and recent musical ideas with the knowledge of a studied artisan. All this is punctuated by the surreal "Nerves" theme, upon which Sootes experiments successfully, rising and falling in volume and excitement, each visitation adding more to the haunting minimalism.

This is a classical guitar CD for rock, techno and progressive rock fans, and one that will stay in my CD collection. At last, an intelligent CD which is fun to listen to. (Serena Vale)

Competence can only get you so far, especially when your niche is "polished but not particularly clever jazz-funk-rock." It's just not fair -- these guys play their instruments very well, their singer is unobtrusive and not especially obnoxious, and they seem to have a decent sense of rhythm and composition, but they're severely lacking in hooks or interesting lyrical ideas. I guess if you like "Supernatural" more than "Abraxas" then this could be the band for you. I'm ten years too young for this sort of thing. (Nate Patrin)

Ex-Marine Jon Allmett (thanks for your service to our great country) is lead man of Garrison Field Featuring Jon Allmett. Yes, this is the complete band name. Why not "Garrison Field Featuring Jon Allmett the III"? The band name thing is a long and boring story found in their press kit and isn't worth repeating. Lets just assume that the real reason is Mr. Allmett didn't want to give up his solo artist status. For me, this attitude is reminiscent of modern women refusing to give up their maiden names in marriage, hyphenating instead.

Jon Almett's lyrics are warm, bittersweet, serious, sympathetic and a little boring. He tells stories of freedom, oppression, discovery, acceptance, regret and girl on girl love. I want to say their pretentious but I believe he is sincere, and that is nice.

Garrison Field Featuring Jon Almett tells me that on their CD, "Dawn," "an enormous amount of love and energy can be found in every note." Is Garrison Field Featuring Jon Almett correct here? I think so. The music is very well constructed and recorded. His voice is cool and smooth and everyone in the band is a real pro. They might be compared to The Eagles or Toto, without the desperate longing, or maybe a pop version of Incubus, without the weird sound effects. There is definitely something 70's synth rock about the music on Dawn, but more modern in both mood and production quality. I'm forced to give Garrison Field Featuring Jon Allmett a thumbs up. It's not really my cup of tea, but it's damn good music recorded and mixed exceptionally well. Dawn is easily the most professional built album I've heard from the Demorama bin, and its original and varied enough to keep one's ear entertained for all 10 songs on the disc. (Jacob Caravan)

I’d like to just sit here and summarize this band by saying they sound like shit and just end it there. But you need more. Even if you don’t want it, I know you need it. Welcome to the living glory hole of musical excrement that is the Greedy Kings. Crappy electrostatic outdated metal at its worst/finest. I swear to God if I have to listen to another band this bad anytime soon, I might just have to become a Slim Whitman fan.

Three stupid songs await your listening pleasure. They are “Rewind Me” (trust me, you won’t want to), “Grape,” and “Break It Down” (gladly). Let me just give you a sample of the rot that passes for lyrics in “Rewind Me”:

“And then she calllllllled (Or is that “cold”? The lead vocalist sounds like his nuts are going to bust from over-emoting) / She wants to come again / And I said that’s OK / ‘Cause I don’t give a shit! / Just like when we fiiiirrrst met / And everything between was all a dream.”

Jesus Christ, that reeks. But then there’s “Grape,” noted as “an empowering song about finding love in a ‘bitter, perfect world.’” Man, the perfect world is bitter? That sucks, dude! Well, so does the song, filled with hilarious jerked off riffs that sound like they were ejaculated in 1986 and left to dry on a greasy motel room wall. Listening to it didn’t empower me, it just made me pine for the return of Marty Robbins. Come on, now. “El Paso” fucking rules compared to the heavefest that is “Grape!”

Fuck. Then there’s “Mellow Mover,” which the band likes to think as being “a mellow mover about remembering great times and good friends.” Makes me wanna barf already. OK, hit the play button, please. The guitar solo makes me wanna shit my spine it’s too damn funny. You know guys, there were some very good reasons bands like L.A. Guns, Faster Pussycat, and Nelson shriveled up and blew away. You’re playing each of those reasons right here.

I refuse to recommend anything by Greedy Kings, because, well, I can’t, and number two anyone with a pair of clean ears can tell you this is the absolute bottom of the shit barrel when it comes to cheesy hard rock/metal. But hey, whatever gets you laid and paid, right? But then again, I think of all the outright nasty freaks I’ve known in my life also getting laid and paid and not hurting my ears with mind numbing bullshit like this. Give it a rest, guys. You don’t have what it takes. Oh, I do love the picture of you all swaddled in an American flag surrounded by a ring of fire. Who the hell thought that was a good idea? I can’t blame you for hiding it under a link. But hey, Taco Bell always awaits new recruits. (Jason Thompson)

 

 

 

Hank Harris dabbles in many genres on this demo; everything from faux-reggae to pseudo-gospel to kinda-new age. It's all delivered in Harris' Don Henley-toned, Tim Buckley-inflected vocals, and like Henley, Harris isn't afraid to aim some barbs at culture. It's topical without being pedantic. The playing is top-notch and the sound is fine. A good effort! (SCIsadore)

 

Henry is old school gothic punk, similar to the Misfits but less Elvis. Wait a minute, no, they're 90's style emo, or is it 70's style ballad rock, drippy Portis Head like noise minimalism, Lou Reedish beat poetry? Let's just say that Henry plays a great variety of musical styles, none of them particularly original, but always does a decent job of it. And that does make for a strange listen, which maybe is just what I needed. It is good to hear an album where every song isn't a carbon copy of the last.

The instruments on "Cyanide" sound real and not at all over-effected. The vocalist is a bit whiney, but not terribly, and plenty of people really like that sort of thing. The songwriting is simple, heartfelt and dips in and out of good old fashion rock and roll. I nominate these guys to be a future musical guest on Saturday Night Live. (Jacob Caravan)

These days, not much surprises me and neither did this CD. Another poppy, punky Blink wanna be, college band from the east coast, singing about stupid suburban problems, and trying to catch your daughters ear just to molest her. Well, not today folks. Nothing special bout this band!! Don’t get me wrong; there is some talent present. I am sure millions of little girls will be screaming for them on TRL soon after some money grubbing, overpaid label exec exploits them.

I am still confused bout the mascot on the website: a big, fat, hairy guy in a thong wearing heels. What the fuck is that about. Must be an inside joke or maybe one of the band members’ dad. (Killer)

With its quizzical rockabilly feel and pop-crooner vocalizing this album puts you in mind of an old blues singer stomping his foot to the beat as he plucks a battered guitar, a killer pleading his case on judgment day, a shabby stranger kicking a stone by the railroad tracks.

Blues music lies at its core but the music continually surprises the listener with unpredictable chord progressions and luscious tango rhythms. Apollo's poetic moodiness and delightfully tortured soul weave in and out of violent climaxes and tiptoeing two-steps, creating a danceable feel despite a certain self-consciousness, and occasionally, catchy hooks emerge out of the chaos that seems at times not to know where it is going.

Highlights include the redemptive "Crawl When You Come Down," a perfect example of the above. And the seedy cover of Sixteen Tons is as delightful as it is perfectly at home on this disc.

"Sweet Unknown" showcases a good sense of swing, high drama and extremely competent musicianship while telling a personal story of heartbreak and anguish. Quite worth a little of one's time getting to know its brooding secret. (Serena Vale)

Normally, when an artist sends a note saying they only want certain tracks reviewed, I ignore them and review what I want. (Ever the contrarian!) In this case, thanks. Now I don't have to slog through more Dave Matthews-inspired drivel than I have to. Or in this case, you want me to. Ok, ok--this sounds fine and is played well, but it's safe as milk. I don't want my rockdudes to look and sound like every other Abercrombie & Fitch-geared toad hangin' at the local sportsbar. Memo to Mr. Sax: Don't play unless you have a part--and doubling the bass only counts once. There's a reason Clarence Clemons plays as much tambourine as sax these days. (SCIsadore)

 

These guys are from the heavier side of the tracks in Matchbox/Third Eye country; guitar licks and harmony vox galore. In fact, they sound like a 'roided-up Toad the Wet Sprocket much of the time. (Believe me, this is not a cut!) The sound is uniformly excellent and these snappy/catchy tunes could/would/should fit comfortably in many AOR formats. (SCIsadore)

In this era of bellyshirtamericanidolbritneychristinashakiranavelringedimagefirstmusicsecondi'lldoanythingtobefamous tarts, I can't really tell how old Kiersten is (even from photos); she could be anywhere from 17 to 27, but I can assume she takes this seriously enough to send this in. I mean I can't crush some helpless teen-ager can I? Kiersten, please take your canned backing beats, Little River Band-harmony guitars, and insipid, subservient, lyrics back to Mankato. And if you are 17 (or even 27), find your own style, keep practicing and stay away from pimp/producers who only want you for one thing--$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$. (SCIsadore)

This was difficult for me to review. Not because I didn't like it (I did), but because my usual approach to reviewing was failing me. Normally, I just do a "casual listen" of a submission before sitting down and giving it my attention on the second time through. This CD is not at home in the background.
Liz Foster's moody, introspective folk songs avoid most of the typical pop conventions to concentrate mostly on the lyrics. It wouldn't shock me to hear Tori Amos or Shawn Colvin doing these songs. The lack of pop song-structures made me work more than usual, forcing me to pay close attention to what she was actually saying to get anything from this. It's a collection of poetry set to music, really.
I would have liked to have gone into a song-by-song analysis, but I fear I am too clumsy to do them any justice (for good or ill) in what limited space I have. For that, it might have been better that this was a single rather than a whole CD.
Foster is obviously an intelligent writer and builds a narrative not so much by normal story-telling methods, but by combining observations on (say) a snippet of time, an emotion, or a personal recollection. It is an immersive, interesting approach that has its Zen-like moments, since this CD has more than one mysterious "what did she mean by that?" line lurking within. In fact, I think her songs work best when they contain moments of uncertainty, as it leaves at least this busy listener something to think about when the song is over. I guess it's the difference between communication and mere expression. (Conrad Teves)

 

Ah, Mr. Martin Devaney. Darling of the local Twin Cities scene for the past couple years. Everyone likes Martin. Sweet, dreamy, golden-throated Martin. Croony, creamy, butterscotchy Martin. I have heard nothing but praise for Marty over the past year or two from local radio, press, and scene supporters. I even passed two Cheapo Records locations recently and saw the entire front windows displaying his lonesome visage in promotion of September. At last, in front of me is the latest offering from our local troubadour, and I’m swooning with anticipation since I’ve never actually heard him live or otherwise.
As I listen to the ten songs on September, I find myself asking just why Martin is so popular among the locals? As I hear it, there’s a huge Dylan influence in his writing. Most songs are musically slow and melancholy while Martin’s unsteady vibrato warbles almost out of tune (he’s actually flat a few times) then barely cracking with emotion on tunes like "Nobody’s Saint" and "Don’t Give Your Soul Away." But to my surprise, there is very little to differentiate these songs from others: same tempo, same key, same organ grinding softly in the background, same guitar slowly strumming out open chords, same nasally Dylan-esque vocals. Sure, he throws in a mandolin or harmonica once in a while, but overall he’s kind of a one-trick pony. By the end of the disc, I’m just plain tired. To his credit, Devaney writes emotive music that he’s obviously passionate about. However, he never does anything new with it. (I.e. Track five has over four minutes of the same three chords again and again and again and again and again…)
Simplicity is not always the best approach, and while the album could be lauded as "incredibly intimate," I suggest "boring" instead. My wife and I were recently driving home listening to a local music show on the radio. We heard "Nobody’s Saint" and halfway through the song my wife exclaims, "What is this whiney shit?" I had to laugh. What is it about Martin Devaney that has so many folks in awe? My wife and I are still wondering. (Archie Rex)

 

Ever hear a disc and say to yourself, "Damn! That is some *slammin'* digital engineering!" No? Well ol' Dylan did when he heard this disc!! Sure, uber-bitch Jacqueline Van Bierk has some serious talent, not to mention, er, um, a certain *visceral* appeal, but it's the quality of this Reznor-esque recording that hooked me. Synched echoes, time-chopped insta-tremelo, reverb-free guitar /vocal layers upon layers upon layers...I scorched my pants!! Of course, even the best production cannot save lame musical ideas, but in this case the songs have great snotty Siouxsie-approved vocal melodies that sell that goth peanut to the pasty white elephants stronger than absinthe with an opium chaser. Especially the killer cut, "Showgirl." Seriously tuff stuff! You say that your roommate vows to kill you in your sleep if you play Pretty Hate Machine one more time? Then show her the cover and slip this disc into her cranium. She will hate it, but now she can't kill you...OR CAN SHE??????????? ...A very rare second-of-the-month Top Honors for Otto's Daughter! (Dylan Ritalyn)

 

I do not know a lot about metal music. Even though the website doesn’t make mention of the genre, I’m going to have to say that is what the album, “Pull It Down,” by Payne’s Grey, is. Well, sort of.

Metal is the only way I can categorize the use of such a lush voice as Murdock Scott’s, Shawn O’Neill’s power chords and a base provided by piston-like drums. Even when Payne’s Grey strips down the music accompaniment to a simple acoustic guitar, Murdock’s voice carries the power of a full electric backup.

I suppose you could also say it is goth, or industrial, but I’m going to stick with metal as my descriptor.

Murdock’s lyrics read like poetry most of the time, and his wordplay is creative, yet sometimes a bit too melodramatic. I know for this type of music it is pretty much a requirement to sing about stuff that will make us all want to sit brooding in the light of a single candle, but it can go too far.

The opening song, “The Ride,” brings up interesting images, such as the night stealing all the colors, and that “life gives you but one true chance to shine beyond the clay that we are.” Good, good. I can follow that. There’s some nice introspection there.

Then, to bring in some symbolic double meaning, he talks about local businesses in Texas (I assume), and once Woody’s closes, they have no place to go. “A short drive down Hillside lies our second home.”

Woah, is he making an allusion to death? Sure could be. But the last stanza goes, “In silence we play for we have no tomorrows as they have no todays.” Who? What? The businesses? The unnamed unfortunates of the universe? It sounds pretty, but really has no connection to anything in the song, that I can tell – unless he means that people only visit Woody’s, etc., at night?

Perhaps, but I think I’m stretching.

A song that stands up to my critical eye is “The Letter.” In it, Murdock deftly flip flops modes of communication and their descriptions.

If one can get past my occasional peevish need for clarification, then Payne’s Grey has put out a good album. (Vanessa Moore)

I don't know why I bothered to post that URL to the band's website -- except for the contact information, it's almost completely blank. Especially telling is the fact that the heading "Company Mission" appears on the page ("Company"?), with nothing but the line "This page is presently under construction. Please return soon!!'" appearing beneath it. It seems as though Polinski have no detailed, well-thought-out business plan, so I will write one for them: "Our goal is to synergize shouty alt-metal with gutless whine-punk. We believe that our subject matter of 'white trash'/teen angst alienation, combined with pretty good technical competence will endear us to the ears of very, very bored kids. Fellow countrymen seem more interested in some sort of 'garage' thing, though we are unsure if they mean the Strokes or the Streets; ergo we will concentrate on the sort of Hip Now Sound that American kids apparently cannot seem to get enough of, such as Stone Temple Pilots and Soul Asylum. Be sure to include one acoustic dirge to prove that the band has heard Radiohead's 'Exit Music (For A Film)' and like it so much they want to replicate it. Watch money roll in. Buy fleet of VW Polos and silk football shirts for band." There. That works. (Nate Patrin)

 

A fine balanced disc of rootsy folk from an accomplished singer-songwriter who sounds wiser than his years. Gilpin can turn on and off his Irish lilt whenever the mood requires, and at other times he nails americana stylistic cues with equal ease. His relaxed, sweet tone is drenched in sincerity, yet it never ventures into sappiness or cornpone. Although it is obvious he wrote most of these songs just on an acoustic guitar, the backing instrumentation is great fun--simultaneously rocking and unobtrusive, especially the lead guitar work. Henry McCullough is obviously a fan of one of my fave discs, Hiatt's Bring the Family, and his six-string tastiness is right up there with the Ry Cooder's stylings on that joint. And thank god the engineers didn't overhype this mix with Ultramaximizer Compression! The natural vibe of this Northern Ireland-engineered mix makes it a welcome antidote to the earache-ey goop coming out of most U.S. productions. And with his promo-friendly looks, Gilpin should be quite marketable here in the U.S., so when's the tour? After all, if you can handle Sweden, you can handle Minnesota... Highest Honors from Mr. Ritalyn! (Dylan Ritalyn)

This band sounds exactly like Journey. Ugh! Everything from the over-emotive vocals to egocentric guitar solos dripping with Velveeta are right outta the "Play Like Journey!" songbook. Stylistics aside, these tunes are well produced, and performed well. SLT are certainly proficient, but they’re really just recycling retro-garbage without a shred of original thought. (Archie Rex)

On "Uncle Steve," the singer-songwriter from Massachusetts makes use of talents of family and friends to come up an overall pleasant sound. For his part, Furbish handles vocals and much of the acoustic guitar work. The vocals have a southern-rock, country air with Furbish's rough-edged sound bringing to mind Jerry Reed's "Amos Moses" with a strong hint of "Right place, wrong time" (Dr. John) . The tunes I listened to had a consistently smooth edge about them. "Don't You Ever" represents the flowing smoky feel well, with a lurking bass and wahwah punctuating Furbish's gravely voice. Some really fine backup vocals are found throughout this collection. Congo drums and harmonica also sweeten up the mix. "Jamaica," a feelgood tune has a fun, retrospective angst to it.

Though the writing doesn't offer a whole lot in the way of change song to song, it's not bad. There's just nothing that jumps out and grabs you. It's like Furbish has some interesting elements with which to work but doesn't quite put them together to knock one out of the park. The parts being greater than the sum or something of that nature. It does sound like he had great good fun putting it together and I think that bodes well for him. Take the talent he's found to work with, add a more electic songwriting outlook and there are some possibilities here. Something to check into a little later down the road. (Luis Fiske)

 

The Frequency Organization - TFO - is a 4-piece band playing in and around San Diego. To their credit they sound like a band, with a lot of tightness and energy. The sound is something like Midnight Oil with an injection of Suicide Commandos and something else - kind of a fresh sound in this era. Not a bad effort and probably a fun live show. (Norm Deplume)

I would really, really love to see these guys perform live. There’s no need to go into the details for my reasons to observe them onstage, other than to say that it has been a really long time since I have witnessed a bottle-throwing incident. You know, a good old fashioned hailstorm of empty Budweiser bottles raining the stage from a disgruntled audience, with one member of the offending band taking the bulls-eye shot square on the forehead. Immediate feedback, man. You just can’t beat it. (Mike Mitchelson)

One of the Demorama ideas (ideals?) that I cling to is that of the person who wanders into a studio somewhere and lets it roll. One player, one instrument, one live take. Yeah, it might be a tad romantic, but it usually blows through the other dreck I hear that month. Williams does just that on this demo. He wraps his Freedy/Ryan Adams/Neil vocals around his riffy acoustic guitar (with the slightest hint of harmonica) tunes to create a really intimate vibe. Some songs are topical, some tell stories, and some are autobiographical. Could be Texas' answer to Todd Snider or Peter Case! Best of (my) month! (SCIsadore)