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 (Independent)
Local indie post-rock that is mostly brilliant.
Fists opens with quiet, twinkling guitars, and a vocal baritone that drones like a young, weary, non-literary Nick Cave. A poignant sample (a monologue on nature’s savagery, by German art house director Herzog Werner) precedes the violent chorus, which is reminiscent of Explosions In The Sky. The instrumental Break And Enter then starts with a slow beat, and cascading guitar passes, while the bass subtly reinforces the song’s growing tension, and sense of foreboding. When soft predictably turns to loud, the delayed lead guitar lines strafe like tracer fire, scarring an imaginary sky. Cymbal crashes and guitar freak-outs eventually bring the song to a close.
Fell Away changes the feel of the EP by revisiting vocals, but after Break And Enter, the melodic limitations of an untrained, sonically dry human voice become all too obvious. The song drags from start to finish, weighed down by a dreary monotone that doesn’t match the dynamics of the complex instrumental layers beneath it.
The apocalyptic closer, E Song, rounds-out the EP. The song is achingly short, and could have used another few minutes to tease out its structural potential. It is indicative of the band as whole, whose burgeoning post-rock brilliance is curtailed unwelcome by rock and pop conventions. The instrumental aspect of Nikko is cleverly dynamic and genuinely moving, but the songs feel restricted by their short, predictable structures and vocals that honestly sabotage the melodic interest, and detract from the ambiguous emotional depth that the band otherwise convey. It’s still a great EP though, and despite my nitpicking, I like it a lot.
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 (Beggars Banquet Records)
Quality material from the National but did we need it?
Releasing an exceptional LP such as 2007’s Boxer is as good a reason as any to release a follow-up appendix, in this case called The Virginia EP. Though hardly an EP with twelve tracks, it’s comprised of an assortment of covers, demos and live tracks, most of which have been previously released as b-sides. It also comes packaged with a documentary on the band called A Skin, A Night by Vincent Moon, which while a little superfluous will still be quite interesting to fans of the band, documenting the making of the Boxer record interspersed with some live footage. Opening track You’ve Done It Again, Virginia is entrenched in the Boxer aesthetic and features Sufjan Stevens on piano, with the same sort of pretty flourishes that he offered in Boxer’s Ada. A demo of Slow Show illustrates a more stripped back imagining that works well in its own way, though in its earlier stages the song is without the gorgeous piano outro of its Boxer equivalent. Live versions of Fake Empire and About Today are rousing but any subtle differences to the studio version are obscured in the mix and so they feel a little pointless. A live cover of Bruce Springsteen’s Mansion On The Hill is particularly well executed, Padma Newsome’s strings stand out and Berninger’s voice suits perfectly. If you’re a fan of the band, snap this up. If you’re a little more tentative then I recommend you proceed directly to 2005’s Alligator before you visit this very enjoyable but not necessarily vital release.
MICHAEL PINCOTT Be first to comment on this article |
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 (Matador Records)
There is nothing wrong with your CD player. They like it that way.
Ok, if you do stumble upon this album at some stage in your life, I beg of you to ignore the request on the CD case to ‘please play loud’. Your stereo will commit seppuku within minutes. I don’t know how they did it, but Times New Viking and their producer (enigmatically named Matt Horseshit) have made 30 minutes of short, distorted guitar-pop that spends the entire time in the red restricted realm of sound where it sounds like your speakers are crying in agony. Did they record and mix the entire album, but then re-record it through a mobile phone? It’s unnerving at times, at others bowel-loosening, but strip away the layers of pure noise and what’s left is 16 portions of primal pop – based around boy-girl vocals and biting guitars – that combine to make an overall enjoyable creation. The kind of album that you could only be sure about after reading reviews about it. You’re welcome.
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 (Anticon/Stomp)
Sound collages transcend the constraints of genre and time.
I can tell when a release is good, because (a) it takes me a month to get around to reviewing it, and (b) I’ve long since lost the press release at a party somewhere. Now, while Son Lux (AKA Ryan Lott) isn’t exactly a party starter, the newest Anticon signee is a stunning writer, performer and producer, which provides a great many moments you feel compelled to share. His debut record commands a slew of trip-hop beats, contrasted with waves of hazy, rhythmic samples. Electronic blips and pulses are complemented by strangely fitting baroque instrumentation, while Lott sings in a tastefully minimal, yet deeply bitter manner. His soundscapes become a constantly evolving pastiche of synthesised rhythm sounds juxtaposed against the melodic motifs of classical instruments. While this can be slightly trying at times, the songs are short and remarkably varied, and the record never once really drags. It’s interesting that such a dissimilar set of sounds can hold a vibe so easily, but I guess that’s the point. The theme is that of an exquisite sound collage – a transcendence of genre and era – and Son Lux articulates it perfectly.
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 (Lexicon Devil)
Stoner-rock supergroup launch into the stratosphere.
Gary Arce, Bill Stinson, Scott Reeder and Mario Lalli. These four names may not be instantly familiar to most, between them they have the combined experience of bands ranging from Yamning Man to Ten East, Kyuss and Across The River. And while these bands may hint at the direction of Soft Monsters (stoner-rock mixed with psychedelia and post-rock), the forty minutes of instrumentals contained herein stand alone in their broad repertoire. Denser than a mangrove swamp, more intricate than a calculus crossword, this acid-fried quartet will be a joyful listening experience for those who don’t need lyrics to tell them how to feel. Although the bulk of the songs were written predominantly by Arce and Stinson, you definitely get the feeling that this was an entire band’s attempt at something altogether more experimental and cerebral than previous efforts. And, as with all the best cosmic post-rock, the album retains a strong sense of melody that will warrant repeated listening, to pick up on more sonic elements as you progress. I’m going on my fifth listen in 24 hours, and it’s still no less absorbing.
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 (Groove Street Records)
Funk/reggae jam band from Brisbane. Yes, another one.
Album opener Don’t Eat Food starts things well with a guitar-based jam; just over a minute of jazzy country good times. I can handle it, this is nice. What’s next? The world’s biggest sigh … clocking in at about 67 seconds as the syncopated guitar rhythm so often heard on clichéd white reggae (Regatta de Blanc, if you will) again rears its ugly head. Yes, that classic organ sound influenced by Scratch Perry or The Specials is freakin’ awesome, but I’m going to need more than a keyboard tone to convince me of a band’s worth. Unless we’re talking about Santana, which we’re not in any case. Perhaps the most grating thing about the album (apart from the inevitable inclusion of vaguely political subject matter that can so often descend into a oversimplified ‘this is good, this is bad’ argument) is the harmonized vocals that are frequently out of sync. How hard is it to get two people to start and stop singing at the same time? Methinks the band have taken their ‘take it easy, it’s all good … bro’ ideology too far.
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