Going against all notions of economic common sense, Eric Lanzillotta from the Anomalous label/mail order business and Ri Be Xibalba and Tanith Lanzillotta from the band Forest of Grey have just opened a shop called Dissonant Plane. A music retail establishment. That doesn’t sell popular music. In late 2008. Ballsy.
Dissonant Plane is located inside of Resolution Audio at 5459 Leary Avenue NW in Ballard. (DP doesn’t have its sign up yet, so look for Resolution Audio’s. Call 206-784-5163 for more information.)
From Eric’s email:
What you will find here is a store selling things [CDs, DVDs, books] you won't find in other places in Seattle. [We specialize] in black metal, free improvisation, avant-garde classical, experimental, ambient, and many other regions. Our stock is small so far, but growing all the time and includes a lot of special items, including many out of print items from the archives of Anomalous Records.
My wallet just wept a little.
From me to you, the best Christmas tune in the history of beings that are human.
With only an hour of work left before a long holiday weekend, I leave you with this video of a New Kid on the Block singing a song about turkeys and pumpkin pies:
You're welcome.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
But what's the word for when Britain loves you?
Whatever it is, it's totally applicable to Fleet Foxes, whose debut record is the #2 Album of the Year in Q Magazine's music poll.
Beyonce Has #1 Record: Or Sasha Fierce does. Whatever.
Shitastic: Coheed and Cambria announce tour with Slipknot.
Matt Pond Releases Free Album: And it has a longer name than that Fiona Apple record!
Jesus Lizard Announce Reunion: And 2009 tour dates.
Former MTV Exec Takes Over MySpace Music: I don't really care, but it's a slow music news day and wanted more than four items.
Now please enjoy this:
Low has always done Christmas songs perfectly—their cover of "Little Drummer Boy," as Pitchfork already pointed out, "served to obliterate all cynicism and drown the world in a white mist of shared wonder." And their song "Just Like Christmas" has been a lo-fi bell-laden mainstay on every Holiday mix CD I've made since 1999.
For me, Low is a holiday staple. But their new Christmas song, "Santa's Coming Over" is just not right. Actually, the song is fine. It's pretty dour, but not every holiday song has to be happy (see Murder City Devils' "364 Days Until I See You Again"). Then I saw the video that accompanies Low's new opus; the video is unsettling. It's a string of kids' faces looking terrified, confused, uncomfortable, and, in some cases, homicidal (I'm talking to you, Mr. One-Minute-and-Thirty-Seven-Seconds). Like the director said to them "Okay, kid, when you sing along look like Santa's coming over... to beat your puppy to death."
I love it.
From 1994 to Infinity:
The tune comes with a memory. In time, the summer of 1994; in space, the Bay Area; in love, me with two tall women. One is my girlfriend; the other is my girlfriend's best friend—both look very much alike. From close, one might confuse them for sisters; from far, for twins. I have known and loved both since the winter of the previous year—1993—the year after I discovered Nabokov. For the trip down from Seattle (me, the passenger; my girlfriend, the driver), I brought all of the works of a poet I had just discovered, Yeats. That is all I want to read that summer. The next summer I will discover and read all of Proust while staying at a cabin near the line where Oregon finishes and the ocean begins.
It is my first time in San Francisco, and my lover's best friend, who used to live in Seattle, now lives in the Mission District, in a two-story row house that shares a leafy, shade-cool courtyard with other row houses. My lover's best friend is a rising DJ. Her bedroom is packed with old and new rap records. She plays me everything that is important to her. And the most important record of the moment is Souls of Mischief's 93 'Til Inifinity. Because Souls of Mischief are from East Oakland, bars and parties all across the Bay Area are playing their record from start to no end. This is the birth of Left Coast hiphop.
The album, 93 'Til Infinity, shares its name with its most popular track. To this day, there is not a week that closes without within it four minutes being filled by the sad melodies and pounding beats that make "93 'Til Infinity" one of the highest aesthetic achievements in hiphop production. In fact, I now only listen to the instrumental version. The music says much more than the words. It's about the diamond infinity of moments that, in glittering rings, radiate from 1994 until the present, the now, the moment that's being crystalized by the sorrowful soul of the looped electric piano, the lonely blow of the Pete Rock-like horn, and the man-machine compression of the drum machine.
Next to the room I first heard "93 'Til Infinity," is the room I first read these lines, which, like the song, I return to again and again: "Though I am old with wandering/Through hollow lands and hilly lands/I will find out where she has gone/And kiss her lips and take her hands/And walk among long dappled grass/And pluck till time and times are done/The silver apples of the moon/The golden apples of the sun."
I've missed M83 every time they've come through town, which is a shame because I'm quite fond of much of their older work and am completely head over heels in John Hughes musical montage teenage love with their most recent album, Saturdays=Youth. Still, though, I'd heard mixed reviews of their live shows, so I was going into their show at Neumos last night with both high expectations and just a bit of worry. If I was worried, though, I seemed to be alone in the sold out crowd; as Anthony Gonzalez took the stage alone and began the set by holding down one sustained, slowly unfurling synth chord, the audience let loose with cheers—possibly the first time I've ever heard cheers for such a soft synth pad.
Still, I could see what people might complain about regarding the live show: the band is pretty damn introverted (in the classical sense of the word shoegaze). Frontman Anthony Gonzalez spent much of the show at 90 degrees to the audience commanding a cluster of synths, and he rarely took to the mic between songs except for the occasional soft-spoken gratitude. Someone at the show tells me you could see him chewing gum during most of the set. The biggest stage presences by far were the super-tight drummer, who played behind a glass partition presumably so the band could perfect the mix and just nailed every fill and double-time hi-hat, and keyboardist/vocalist Morgan Kibby. The first vocals I heard in the set seemed to be playing pre-recorded, from a laptop perched above Gonzalez's synths, and for a second I wondered if all their vocals were going to be delivered in this disembodied manner, if maybe that's what everyone had been complaining about. Thankfully, though, when the band launched into the aching, swooning hit "Kim & Jessie" (after three very mellow, mostly instrumental opening tracks), Gonzalez and crew took to their mics and started singing.
From there, though, they pretty much had me. "Kim & Jessie" is just an unbearably airy pop song, unfuckwithable, catchy as hell, and they followed it up with the two next best songs on Saturdays=Youth, "We Own the Sky," which they played with a little added arpeggiated outro, and "Graveyard Girl," whose hopeless romantic vibes had couples kissing in the corners. They closed with—I think—"You, Appearing" and encored with a fairly rocking, clubby rendition of "Couleurs" (another great one from Saturdays), after which the applauded and bowed like they were playing a classical concert rather than a rock show. I noticed at the merch booth a sign that said something about "buy a cd, get a pass to meet the band at an autograph session directly after the show," which struck me as a little silly and presumptuous, until I noticed the mooney expressions on the faces of the girls in the front row, one of whom leapt onstage between the set and the encore to snag a set-list. I didn't stick around, but I image Gonzalez signed at least a few autographs last night. And, you know what? Good for M83—they totally deserve all the rapturous fans they can get.
Due to a bad tip re: set times, I missed most of School of Seven Bells' set, but what I did see confirmed the cold feeling that I've gotten from their album Alpinisms. SVIIB just strikes me as a band with a great sound but without really great songs. Clearly, these are talented musicians with good gear and good ears and a taste for the gentler, glossier side of shoegaze (they sounded, generously, like a more restrained My Bloody Valentine with more upfront female vocals), but I couldn't really hum you one of their choruses if I tried. I'm as much of a sound design geek as anyone, but at the end of the day, I'll almost always take the catchy song with the shitty production (cf. punk rock) to the pristine production without the hooks. Even a lot of minimal techno doesn't get a pass from me if it cant muster a good melody to throw over the monotonous thump. Of course, I could never quite get excited for the Secret Machines, either.
Here's what Dave Segal says about Kraak & Smaak, who play Nectar tonight:
For a group named after two of the most heinous drugs extant, Dutch trio Kraak & Smaak—Wim Plug, Oscar De Jong, Mark Kneppers (they expand to a septet live)—aren't really a mind-altering proposition. They made inroads in the States with their 2005 album Boogie Angst, which is much more boogiecentric than angsty. The disc abounds with easily digestible (yet not cloyingly so) lounge funk laced with blaxploitation-soundtrack flourishes and big beat gestures. This year's Plastic People contains the kind of amiable house music and breaks cuts favored by radio jocks like KCRW's Jason Bentley. The single "Squeeze Me" comes off like the Crystal Method jamming with Tom Jones; the chorus—sung by Ben Westbeech—recalls the late-'60s hit "You've Made Me So Very Happy" (made famous by Blood Sweat & Tears and Lou Rawls). It's slightly left of middle-of-the-road fare for casual fans of dance music. Noted musical authority Perez Hilton described K&S as "Amy Winehouse meets Moby." So now you know.
Also happening:
Henry Rollins
(Moore) Henry Rollins has been a most notable figure over the course of his now nearly 30-year career in the realms of punk rock, spoken word, and as an "alternative" celebrity. He's done everything from spoken-word appearances such as this one to publishing books of prose and anecdote to driving the bumpy tattoo van in Jackass. The fact that he hasn't really done anything good since he was barely out of his teens in Black Flag has proven moot in the ever-steamrolling Rollins creative machine. Perhaps most inscrutable of all of his maverick moves, however, was his contribution to The Crow soundtrack, which was a grindingly literal song about a wholly unrelated comic-book character, Ghost Rider. What's the science, Henry Rollins? SAM MICKENS
Partman Parthorse, A.H. Kraken, Love Tan
(Funhouse) French noise-rockers A.H. Kraken create static, unwavering, bass-heavy tangents of raucous punk—think Arab on Radar meets Public Image Limited meets A Frames, or just think: really fucking good. If you're not interested yet, here's the band's own description of their sound, translated from French by the magic of the internet: "The border between experimentation and the does not import what is thin... to the two-thirds of the concert lacks it idea shows does me to lean for the second option. The minutes pass and the group resembles more and more to a band of junkies to the psychotropes improvising a substitute of music." Or maybe they're talking about someone else. GRANT BRISSEY
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