Monthly Archives: January 2016

Originally released as a private press in 1979, the sole self-titled effort from Australian songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Steve Warner is undoubtedly a niche item, but it’s also a consistently enjoyable and occasionally intriguing collection emanating nary a trace of outsider vibes. Additionally, there’s an unusual amount of range on display across its 13 tracks, so ears attuned to psych-kissed folk balladeering enhanced by appreciable skill on guitar, bass, piano, and more may find Warner of interest; he returns to print January 22 on vinyl, compact disc, and digital through Earth Recordings.

Steve Warner reportedly honed his chops in the Melbourne acoustic folk and coffee house scene, and he immediately exhibits deftness bred from experience on his only recording. It’s a private press affair paid for via bank loan and council grant, but there is basically nothing off-kilter or amateurish about this painstakingly conceived project.

Warner cut the LP across three years with the assistance of Nick Armstrong at Spectangle Studio, the same facility where his fellow Aussie Howard Enyon made his only record So What If Im Standing in Apricot Jam. No doubt some recall Earth’s reissue of Enyon’s platter a couple of years back; Apricot Jam was initially released on the tiny Basket enterprise in 1974, but it took until ‘79 for Steve Warner to briefly emerge on the Tasmanian Candle label.

Frankly, that was a little late in the musical game for the sound Warner had crafted. Just as bluntly, those who require a modicum of edge in their listening choices (and by extension abjure the lightness of the hippie-folk ‘60s and the maturing mellowness of the following decade) should probably steer clear of Steve Warner.

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“I have no shortage of warm, music filled memories from my childhood: falling asleep to melancholy folk songs on family road trips, eating Saturday morning pancakes while my dad got his classical music fix, celebrating Christmas to the jazzy tune of Duke Ellington’s The Nutcracker Suite record. But though those more classic genres were threaded into my upbringing, my introduction to pop music took a bit longer—and those memories aren’t quite as poetic.”

“Though I’d caught popular songs on the radio here and there as a kid, my first real encounter with pop happened on AOL Instant Messenger, the once notorious messaging app where I, like many other curious middle schoolers, discovered the ‘file transfer’ feature and began swapping music with friends. One file transfer at a time (which happened at a snail’s pace, since we were all using dialup Internet), I discovered a range of new sounds, diving into everything from Regina Spektor and Arcade Fire, to En Vogue, T.I., and Mariah Carey.

It was natural for me to continue consuming music digitally, so I did—most of the time illegally. Pirating was just so easy. Even my favorite album in college, Corinne Bailey Rae’s The Sea, wasn’t properly paid for. But then I took a college speech class.

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The long musical career of Rick Wakeman raises an interesting ethical question: should certain forms of music be illegal? More so even than Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Wakeman is the High Priest of Prog, and his 2,000 or so LPs—many of them concept albums on themes having to do with Merry Olde England—are synthesizer-riddled nightmares that force one to confront the very real danger of symphonic rock.

I mean, this stuff is potentially lethal. Its pomposity levels spike at Chernobyl-like levels, and exposure to his work, even in small doses, carries with it the risk of being prog-rocked to death. Church organs, massive choirs, and full symphonies—Wakeman spares nothing and no one in his obsessive quest for the grandiose. It’s his Sword in the Stone, a subject about which he has of course recorded an album, namely 1975’s The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

The very fact that Wakeman—a member first of Strawbs and then Yes, taking time off to record solo albums—makes ELP sound like the Ramones speaks volumes, and is almost impossible to fully comprehend. One thing’s for certain; this is not music to be fooled with. Which is why I took the precaution of wearing a Level 4 biocontainment suit while listening to the above mentioned LP. One has to be cautious when dealing with prog at this level of toxicity. Listen to too much of it, and soon you’ll be walking around saying things like, “Faire lady, whither hast thou merkin gone?”

Like all progressive rockers Wakeman caters to that crowd of prog-rock pinheads who think lowly rock’n’roll can only be improved by a major infusion of Wagner and Beethoven. But even idiots have rights, and I’m on the fence when it comes to banning Wakeman’s work worldwide. Like Lionel Richie, he makes one question how far freedom of expression should go. But I’m not here to argue ethics, but to attempt to communicate to you, dear reader, just how horrifying a thing a Rick Wakeman album can be.

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Press Play is our Monday recap of the new and FREE tracks received last week to inform the next trip to your local indie record store.

Merival – Kicking You Out
Swaying Wires – Suddenly
Toadies – Heroes (David Bowie Cover)
Plastic Animals – Ghosts
Gazebos – Just Get High
Relick – Offering
Krisp – Franz
Coldair – Perfect Son

TVD SINGLE OF THE WEEK:
Hunck – I’ll Wait

Pleasant Grove – Disintegration (Consider Your Brother)
Jo Passed – Lego My Ego
Tacocat – I Hate The Weekend
Chris Storrow – A True Christian
Shinobi Ninja – Funday
Ursa Major – Dusk
Lunice – Look Like
Miami Horror – Cellophane (Loframes Remix)
Loudan – Envision

We’ve closed up the shop today for the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday. While we’re away, why not fire up our FREE Record Store Locator app and visit one of your local indie record stores?

Perhaps there’s an interview, review, or feature you might have missed? 

Catch up and we’ll see you back here tomorrow.

“I grew up in the mid seventies, the era of the LP. I discovered Blondie’s Parallel Lines when I was three years old, barely old enough to operate the record player and not scratch the record. I had this strange habit of playing the album and running around a rocking chair in my living room. There is no logical explanation for this repetitive behavior, but it was before the labels of autism, OCD, and ADHD had come onto the scene. I was a fairly normal child, and it was pure joy.”

“There was definitely a stylistic musical polarity in our household, and to this day, my own taste and expression reflect a bit of that schism. My mom was really into new wave and punk records of the late ’70s, such as the Sex Pistols, Kraftwerk, the aforementioned Blondie, The Clash, and the Talking Heads. And my dad was into Southern Rock bands like Dire Straits, Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac, and Jerry Jeff Walker. We had Beatles and Cat Stevens records, and I had two audiophile uncles who basically had everything from Kate Bush to Captain Beefheart.

I played the heck out of Blondie’s Parallel Lines when I was three, Beatles Rubber Soul when I was nine, and XTC’s Skylarking when I was eleven. When Michael Jackson and Madonna were popular in the mid eighties, I proclaimed on the playground that I was into XTC, which garnered a few quizzical stares. Rubber Soul helped comfort me during a childhood depression at the age of eleven. So you could say music has always been a big part of my life.

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There is a moment in the film Meeting People is Easy, the Radiohead documentary, which details the furor that erupted around the band following the release of OK Computer that has always represented depth of feeling I have for songwriting. After a triumphant show in New York, Thom Yorke waxes philosophical about how his band and their songs could mean as much to their audience as his idols meant to him. It is truly touching. Then, shortly afterward, the bouncer at his own after-party tells Yorke that he is not on the list of people permitted to enter the club. As Thom walks away, the bouncer bellows, “Radiohead, ‘Creep,’ write a song about it.”

To me, there is little more that a person can or should do when to process experience than write a song about it. Songs encapsulate feelings, moments, emotions, and allow for not just the creator but also the listener to absorb and, if necessary, get over those experiences. There should be no mystery about why there are so many songs about standing up for yourself and not taking anyone’s crap or brokenheartedness.

The Unlikely Candidates clearly share a similar vision, though their latest work is far less trivial than the events Mr. Yorke experienced. Their new single, “You Love Could Start a War” is a hooky blast of alternative rock that expresses their feelings in response to unthinkable tragedy.

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Marc Ribot may well be the best guitarist on the planet. He certainly gets my vote. A dissonance-slinger who never forgets that rock’n’roll oughta rock, he plays up a tsunami, and in so doing makes Ceramic Dog—a Ribot side project—one of the most downright savage bands you’ll ever hear.

But they don’t limit themselves to rock. Standbys on the New York avant garde jazz/no wave scene, they also incorporate elements like rap, twisted folk, and even marching music into their sound. They also toss some Middle Eastern tones into the mix. About the only thing missing is the Cuban music Ribot loves to play. In short, they’re not just great musicians, they’re versatile and unique, in so far as I dare you to find another song quite as weird from beginning to end as “Masters of the Internet” off 2013’s excellent Your Turn. Rap, badass percussion, snaky horns, and a monumental beat that will keep your head throbbing for hours; it’s like the Beastie Boys meeting Sun Ra, with Sonny Sharrock on guitar. And it has a great counterpart in “We Are the Professionals,” another rap-rock throwback sporting a Native American feel that is all boasting, blaring horns, snarling guitar, and weird electronic blips. As for Ribot’s solo it’s a wonder of distortion, and a joy to behold.

The band’s core includes Ribot—chiefly a sessions man who has made his mark on LPs by John Zorn and the Lounge Lizards, amongst others—on guitar, horns, etc.; Shahzad Ismaily on bass and an assortment of other instruments; and Ches Smith on drums, percussion, electronics, and keyboards. Additional musicians on the LP include the great Arto Lindsay on guitar. Ceramic Dog’s versatility can be discombobulating; it’s hard to believe the band responsible for the harrowing guitar slash and burn (Ribot rocks!) that is the instrumental “Your Turn” is also responsible for the mid-tempo and traditional folk tune that is “Ain’t Gonna Let Them Turn Us Round.” Or that this very same band is responsible for the friendly retro-blues/jazz turn that is “The Kid Is Back,” on which Eszter Balint joins Ribot—who throws in some trumpet just for kicks—on vocals. Or the funky version of Dave Brubeck’s classic “Take 5,” on which Ribot demonstrates that he can stray from (relatively) straightforward jazz into madcap squawk and skronk with ease. He sashays from the melody to frazzle you with feedback, while Smith’s drumming is a tour de force. Ribot does the same on “Ritual Slaughter,” another instrumental that will take your breath away thanks to its fiery tempo and Ribot’s virtuoso axe-slinging.

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