Back in the musical saddle and on the search for something new, I stumbled across Wild Beasts' latest release Two Dancers. The British band's second album was released on August 3rd overseas and is set to be released September 8th here in the states.
Always intrigued by something out of the ordinary, I was immediately struck by the comfortingly clear, concise, delicate guitars that cut through each track like an electric eel shocking it's way through the salty waters of a tropical reef. Soaringly falsetto vocals swim in parallel like a fleeting school of fish which darts back and forth, constantly changing its direction and mass. I feel as if I'm in Geometry and Trigonometry class all over again, memorizing sines, cosines and the hypotenuse theory. Hayden Thorpe's delicate voice complements each song in a manner that is both angular and logical. The musical melange created by band members Ben Little, Tom Fleming and Chris Talbot constructs a dusk-like, muted, floating dreamscape somewhere between Donald In Mathmagic Land and The Never Ending Story.
Having an almost ethereal quality, Two Dancers sounds like the savant love child of the Dirty Projectors and Antony & The Johnsons. It is a tangential diva.
I admit I've had musical ADHD lately. I've always had a screaming red streak of it, but lately it's been off the friggin' charts. I chalk this up to the non-stop Murphy's Law awesomeness that has somehow moved into my day to day existence like a foreboding, black cloud this past month. Needless to say, when one is immersed in damage control, some things just tend to fall to the wayside. However, things are looking up. The storm is passing and the sunshine is peeking out between the wispy clouds like the childhood classic that is the overly friendly and most likely kiddie-fiddling ball of fire on the Kellog's box of Raisin Bran.
It's just about my favorite time of year here in Salt Lake. Summer is still in full effect during the days, but the early mornings and evenings bring with them a taste of Autumn. There's something in the air, that crispness that grabs you and makes you feel nostalgic. I've never quite been able to put my finger on it, but there is something about that cool air that makes your hairs stand on end that gets me all ooey-gooey. It makes me crave comfort foods. It makes me want to wear nothing but sweatshirts and scarves. It makes me long for past beautiful moments in life that I will never have back.
There is something introspective about the season. The air, the leaves, the shorter days.
Since the loony carnival has packed up and left town, I've found myself actually listening to music again. More importantly, I've found myself listening to a full album, again and again. This is a rare moment, indeed. Something has to be pretty damn good for me to 1) be able to listen to the entire album and 2) listen to it on repeat.
If you read my post of on Florence & The Machine, you already know how absolutely, positively, goddamned great this band is. If not, now is your chance. Seriously, just listen to it. Their first full length album, Lungs, was released July 7th. It's been in my collection since then, but for whatever reason, it's just now taken ahold of me.
This is the perfect album to herald the arrival of Autumn. The album is full of rich instrumentals, creating depth and texture. The vocals are both feminine and incredibly strong, sometimes commanding. Each song is perfect in it's own right but back to back, they weave the perfect soundtrack to Fall. I said it before and I'll say it again, Florence Welch brings blue eyed soul like the New World Order. Out of the gates like a ravenous dog, she lays it down on each track channeling some serious gospel-like attitude. She is commanding us to listen.
In light of what could very well be the worst 2 weeks of this chickie's existence, I've been laying low and just now coming out of my funk. A few days ago, I found myself perusing my iTunes and YouTube for the songs I remember dancing to in middle school. Now, as a general rule, I conscientiously try to forget this 3 year streak of awesomeness, but something about these almost-cheesy but incredibly catchy songs actually started to perk up my oh-so-foul mood. It's my own little ode to 1990. So just what is New Jack Swing, you ask? It's the non-stop fantastic dance numbers and romantic jams from the late 80's/early 90's that were R&B in flava and produced with a Hip-Hop style. More info here.
I'm pretty certain my fall down the musical rabbit hole started with Bobby Brown's 'Every Little Step' and gained giant snowball-like momentum from there. However, once in the rabbit hole, it was a magical land indeed. I will fully admit to watching Boyz II Men, New Edition, Bel Biv Devoe and Janet Jackson videos for the majority of my time yesterday stuck in front of this damned computer screen. Every last second was so, so worth it.
Here are a few of the clips that actually made me crack a smile and almost bust a move.
If there's one thing I absolutely, positively LOVE, it's a mad scientist. I'm surprised that absolutely none of my ex-boyfriends have met this criteria considering my levels of amour for insanity shrouded in a white lab coat and goggles. Just a few mad scientists I happen to love: Pinky and the Brain, Todd Fink from The Faint doing a mad scientist impression on their last tour, Dr. Frankenstein and Tesla.
My latest discovery came to me while perusing a Steampunk issue of Make magazine. After seeing page after page of Victorian-era meets modern computer age inventions, I took my musical query for more Steampunk action to the ever-awesome internet. Looking for something a little off the beaten path and well, just plain weird, I found Dr. Steel.
Dr. Phineas Waldolf Steel.
At the name alone, I was sold. This guy is the absolute epitome of a mad scientist. Bald headed, crazy and bespectacled in black goggles with a trimmed black beard and goatee lining his square, jutting jaw. It's painfully obvious this man was destined for world domination from his first scheming breaths outside of the womb.
Upon every listen to his album People Of Earth, I have to strongly resist the urge to go batshit crazy myself like The Kid Who's Mom Cancelled His W.O.W. Account because it's JUST THAT AWESOME! He is hard to peg down stylistically. Sometimes he sounds like Tom Waits, sometimes he sounds like Powerman 5000 and other times he sounds like That Handsome Devil. The songs vacillate from creepy organ grinder monkey music to Steampunk Hip-Hop to Industrial to super creepy French accordion music. Listening to the album, it makes me feel as if I have been kidnapped along with the rest of the unfortunate ankle-biters from The City Of Lost Children (which happens to be one of my absolute favorite movies. Ever.), a dark, insanity filled subtitled French movie about a mad scientist who kidnaps children off of the French streets to capture their dreams in an underwater laboratory.
Experience the awesomeness that is Dr. Steel here:
Aside from laughing at other people's expense, I've been unable to stop listening to 'Genesis', the first track from Justice's album Cross. There are some eerie similarities to Michael Jackson's Thriller, so here's my ode to the brilliant weirdo gone tits-up.
After hearing a few people rant and rave about these guys for the past few weeks, I'm finally catching up to the civilized folk of my fair region. For a few weeks, I've had one song from a friend's mixed CD but after a while, that's just not enough. Certainly not enough for someone who goes through music like the pocket-protector wearing geek who, due to severe OCD, changes his briefs 3 times a day. Cretin no more, I broke down a few days ago and purchased their 2009 album 'Salvation Is A Deep Dark Well'. Needless to say, I have become tragically, fatally addicted to it.
This group is a rarity in that every single song on this album is magnanimously, fantastically righteous. I'm talking about never wanting to skip a song during the musical journey that is now officially my favorite release of 2009. Maybe it has something to do with Deadwood re-runs appearing on my rarely watched cable, but the Devil Went Down To Georgia meets Buffalo Springfield goulash that is The Builders And The Butchers has me pining away for spaghetti westerns and a potent bottle of Maker's Mark.
While I root around the depths of my closet searching for a duster, my High Plains Drifter hat, spurs and a six-shooter, I am confident I'll ride off into the sunset like a serious bad-ass, quickly followed by rolling credits.
Ryan Sollee's vocals are a bit off-kilter in the likes of The Decemberists' Colin Meloy and Built To Spill's Doug Martsch. They are the shiny center point of the musical web, cutting through, with lyrics like the sharp tip of bloody knife piercing through the canvas-like sail of a pirate ship.
Each song brings it's own amalgamation of instruments like the cereal fun-paks I used to love as a kid. Cocoa Puffs, Apple Jacks and Lucky Charms could be just as sweet as these perfectly crafted and flawlessly executed snippets of musical excellence. The mandolin and banjo lend a bluegrass-like flair, reminding me of summertime folk and bluegrass festivals and giving me the urge to fast-forward every single Deadwood episode to the credits, just to hear the closing song. The harmonica, tambourine, violin and what I swear is a recorder also make their appearances as well as some seriously awesome trumpet action that puts your ass right into a time-machine headed to the old west.
I've even successfully turned some non-twangy folk onto these guys. Proof that damn good music is just that.
These fine boys will be coming to the Urban Lounge July 20th. You know my ass will be there.
