Archive for the 'art school' Category

ties the other

I’ve never bought into the whole “support your local (insert entertainment or creative media here) just because they’re local” mindset,particularly when it comes to journalistic, critical coverage/review/feature. If proximity was to be the dominant, or a least a major, deciding factor in wielding that ever-lovely binaural label of “good/bad”, every crappy New York band with red Lip Service ties and black Lip Service jackets (ordered together, from the online store, to save on shipping costs-you can bulk order for your band, you know…now THAT’s good B2B salesmanship) would be gushed upon by photocopied upstate undergrad attempts at newspapers.

Oh, wait…

Anyway. I’m probably an ass for saying so (probably?), but how close a band/artist/DJ/producer resides to me really is relatively little concern of mine. There are some, like, say, Deerhunter, that the Fork-Gum folks would kill more babies than they already do to have performing at the local Chuck-E-Cheese, and I basically refuse to *ever*, ever, engage a Deerhunter live show again. And I think in the next week I’d have four opportunities, if I desired. I just can’t find the beauty of their recorded stuff in the audience-punishing live show, but I digress and repeat myself. Then there are some local bands, like The Swear, that I just don’t get to see enough of-consistently rockin’ live, and with a disappointingly small recorded output, the only way to get the full force of Elizabeth and her band is to step into the realm in which they truly excel-live performance.

I am hoping my new local obsession, One Hand Loves The Other, ends up in the sort of category that bridges the cradled-to-my-chest headphoneloving I have for Deerhunter with the rabid desire to catch every show they every play in this area.

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Seriously. Having just popped up on my radar, and making it a little cloudier yet crisper, One Hand Loves The Other’s self-titled debut album (the name, I assume, comes from a line in Bjork’s “Unison”), released this year by Atlanta indie stalwart Stickfigure (home to one of my favorite, and coincidentally local, bands of all time-the cathartic screamo collective with the greatest band name ever, I Would Set Myself On Fire For You), is the sort of emotional, orchestral, classical composition-infused glitch pop that doesn’t seem of this world. Too crystalline, too textured, too fragile and open, pumping with real blood augmented with chasmic, silver-electronic veins.

From One Hand Loves The Other’s myspace bio

Lou, the lyricist and voice, emerged from a background inspired by blues and soul artists of the twentieth century female persuasion. Nancy, the flautist and fingers of the synthesizer, blossomed out from classical piano and flute instruction. Mikey, the electronics engineer and composer, came from the pits of electronic haze with a clear idea of the ability to merge the organic and synthetic. Lastly, Mary, the cellist extraordinaire, picked up the bow where her precursor left it. She can make like the dickens on the strings of the cello.

Gotta love a band bio that sounds like Dave Eggers wrote it. More to love, though, than the quick-witted press material (or even the ramped-up pr push that’s building fans like Liza with a Z…we at Res sure as hell can’t compete with that, though My Chem can), are the actual songs on One Hand Loves The Other. Having shattered the windows of contemporary post-WARP glitch aesthetic, and re-assembling it with fragments of smart pop stained with sunset hues of opera and neo-classical composition, One Hand Loves The Other isn’t the Stupidisco that’s oozing from everyone’s musical pores right now-this is smart, pretty stuff.

One Hand Loves The Other: Don’t Know

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As Lou’s vocals climax and soar, the rhythm rides, and strings wrap around each other, it’s possible to get lost in the sheer musical bliss of “Don’t Know”. The lyrics, though, providing a vocabulary and vocal exercise like Anthony Kiedis’ smarter brother who aced the verbal part of the SATs, need their own attenion:

complications evaporation
subtle stasis is all encased in you
subliminal lift the weights off my chains
no more days where i dream in blue

Poetry. Gorgeousness. Like a lucid, drunken dream, achingly clear at the moment but a warm blur immediately post-awakening, this is the sound of One Hand Loves The Other.

They’re playing a handful of shows in the Atlanta area and surrounding locations in the near future, and all that info can be snagged at their myspace. You can pick up the record on iTunes, or at Stickfigure’s site.

I have not been this excited about an Atlanta band in a long, long time. For an electronic music scene that’s just now discovered the last decade of German and French electro, One Hand Loves The Other sounds fresh, real, clear as water and cool as a fall day. This may be an autumn album, but you’re going to hear more from them here at Res very soon. Believe me.





Patiently patiently await for sound

Deerhunter have been, for ages, one of the most polarizingly unique bands in the Atlanta scene. Known roundabout these parts for their terrifying, sonically destructive live sound and disconcerting stage presence, when their Kranky debut Cryptograms was released early this year the wave of praise from everyone, everywhere, ever, was deafening. It was also extremely, extremely shocking to me-the praise, and then the album itself. Honestly, given that the last time Hacks and I had seen Deerhunter, frontman Bradford had ended a stalk-across-the-stage-and-scream-into-the-hyper-delayed-mic session by banging the hell out of said live mic against the drum riser.

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Now, I’m obviously the one roundabout these parts who is in love with punishing noise, but this…this was ear-cracking. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure my hearing never recovered. It was after that show that I set into motion my decision to give the hell up on Deerhunter, “local-noise-rock-makes-good” be damned.

And then Cryptograms was released, to maddening hype. I’d heard one song on their myspace, and continuously, vocally questioned why they didn’t make an album with that sound-epic, pretty, droning, hypnotic. One day, at random, after some glowing review somewhere said something and randomly threw out “modern-day Eno producing a White Stripes record”, I gave Cryptograms a spin. It was more to honor the creative music journo than out of any hope for the music.

I instantly ate my words. The “Eno producing White Stripes” is pretty much spot on. At times Bradford’s vocals, which can be grating or endearing but always spot-on in their everpresentness, and in their oft-times use as more of an instrument than as a means to purvey lyrical content, emulate Perry Farrell’s dubbed-out Porno For Pyros sound. The music loops, blankets and divides inside and amongst itself like a living organism, with snaking guitars and some of the most captivating atmospheric percussion heard from a live act.

Cryptograms is split into two halves-the first being more ambient and atmospheric, the latter approaching the sound of a band, in a garage, discovering (as a unit) Remain in Light, Lodger and Taking Tiger Mountain simultaneously.

Deerhunter: Cryptograms (download removed at label’s request)

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After the album’s humming intro, this, the title track, unfurls, and it’s one of the few I remember witnessing the birth of in live settings. Both the opening, from whence the vocal “my greatest…fear” stabs out of the dark, and the end, on which “there was no sound” becomes a mantra, will get lodged inside your head for days.

Deerhunter: Octet(download removed at label’s request)

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This is my favorite Cryptograms song, and illustrates perfectly exactly how lush and itchy can merge in Deerhunter’s sonic palate to create something that’s impossible to turn off, to run from, to not crave. I’ve not yet listened to this in headphones, but it’s begging for it.

During the Cryptograms sessions, a few other songs were recorded and recently released as an EP, Fluorescent Grey. These songs fit at the end of the 12 Crypto-songs (god I hate the way that sounds in my head but I have to use it just once) and turn Deerhunter in the other direction-literally, the four songs turn Deerhunter inside-out, and the inverse of the fierce, confrontational band is presented. In its place, we’re given brushed drums, undisturbed singing, and plaintive dreampop.

Deerhunter: Fluorescent Grey(download removed at label’s request)

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Fluorescent Grey’s opener and title track, this has been pulling me out of lost moments for the past month or so. I can’t pinpoint what it sounds like, other than to say I’m sure I’ve heard it in a dream. It’s easy, with this, to imagine a black oxford-clad Deerhunter, candle-lit, onstage for an MTV unplugged-though I can’t imagine Bradford Cox without his precious DigiDelay.

All in all, the experience of combining Cryptograms with its’ Fluorescent counterpart/counterpoint causes the two albums to coalesce in a way that adds up to one of the most unique listening experience of 2007. This, as a whole, is a full-on album-the kind that starts when it begins, and only ends in terms of no longer playing aloud. The stuff here resonates inside your head permanently after one listen.

I have no idea what they sound like now, though their recent destruction of New York eardrums was widely chronicled by every this-that-and-there blog short of Gawker-so they’re apparently still huntin’ after all these deers, if you will. On album, though, right here, right now, there’s less hunting and more haunting-as in, for better or worse, this is music that will find you in your dreams.

Deerhunter’s official site

Deerhunter on Kranky records (you can buy there, too)

Deerhunter myspace





How to feel worse: on ADULT. live

There are two camps of those who attend a performance made up of the claustrophobic neo no-wave electropunk composed, arranged and produced by Nicola Kuperus and Adam Lee Miller. The first group are those who are only familiar with early Resuscitation-era ADULT., from when they were sterile and sounding remotely of Berlin (and, fortunately, I mean the city and not the band). The second are those to whom the band ADULT. is entirely unfamiliar.

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It’s easier in a live setting for ADULT. to win over the second group, as their current sound is more crushed Ritalin mixed with Adderall and bloodletting than the cold muted white IKEA electro toned that formerly trademarked their 12” of dance-floor apathy, most notably and memorably the anti-communication ode “Hand To Phone”. It’s that song that made them and that song that earned them both their place in “This Is Electroclash” history and parody-if you don’t believe me, check out Kevin Blechdom’s awesome in-joke “Always Frank”, which nails, to the blank-eyed head-turn and snarl, the early sound of ADULT.

Kevin Blechdom: Always Frank

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Since their second actual compact disc release, Anxiety Always, Adam and Nicola have had a job fit for graduate Marketing student in terms of re-establishing their mission statement, their idea, their ADULT. brand. It’s been through no lack of their own efforts-from the mathy drone of Gimmie Trouble to the ungodly paranoid fusion of rave and noise that is Why Bother?, this is obviously not your Winter Music Conference ADULT. Most, however, have stepped away from the table, mistakenly labeling the newer ADULT. output as something less than what they fell in love with.

It’s in their live show that ADULT. take this misconception, hold it up to blinding red and yellow strobe lighting, and shred it to bloody, pulpy bits. The duo each have their parts to play in this Theatre De Anxiety-Adam, the barely moving, nearly-invisible behind-the scenes orchestrator, with his bass slung low and deep, and Nicola the worst nightmare torrent of moaning, shrieking and in-your-face aggression, lit from below and behind as though a walking ad for proof that scurvy leads to schizophrenia.

The Why Bother? Tour, at least its one-night stop in Atlanta (with a crowd somewhere between the capacity crowd Atlanta date and the 10-person plus Chan “Cat Power” Marshall attendance of the Athens show from 2005), is, as is the titular album release, the perfect amalgam of all ADULT. that has come before. Fittingly, they completely ignore both D.U.M.E. and Gimmie Trouble songs all together-both albums were written and recorded with perma-not third member Sam Consiglio of Tamion 12”, and their absence both allows a silent acknowledgment of his presence while allocating set-space for songs neglected last time ‘round. During a conversation with Consiglio before the Atlanta “Gimmie Trouble” show, he asked me if I wanted to hear anything specific that night. When I requested Anxiety Always staples “Shake Your Head” and “Kick In The Shins” he shook his head sadly. “Can’t play ‘em, didn’t bring the equipment for that programming”, he told me. This time, laptop-possessing, gear-heavy and stripped of moving parts (other than the banshee whirlwind that is Kuperus’ stage presence), those two songs rail out of Nicola and Adam in a neo-punk fashion, sped up, stripped of glamor and razor-sharp. Resuscitation’s “Minors at Nite” is less mournful and now spiteful, and the new songs, specifically the hardcore head-fuck “I Feel Worse When I’m With You”, became essentially unbearable.

All in all, it’s absolutely amazing, and an experience in having one’s internal panic button pushed to collapse.

It’s weird to be a devoted, up-to-date fan of this stuff, though, because there are inevitable those in the audience who are there for the opening band, and who scream things like “play a song about KRISTIIIN WOOOHOOO” and then point to their sequined halter-top wearing friend. From the stage, though, this goes ignored. However, the standard response when the request comes (as it always does) for “Hand To Phone” is to simply turn the fucking noise up. I spent about fifteen minutes in Athens attempting to convince Nicola to attempt a stripped-down, sped-up, reconstructed version of the piece of her own work she loathes most, in a fashion similar in concept to Blind Melon’s SNL version of “No Rain” (though minus the patchouli, hopefully). That hasn’t happened, to my knowledge, and on this night, “Plagued By Fear” kills that fuss.

It’s that very, very evident disdain, held by Nicola (and Adam also, I assume) for all things early in the maturation of ADULT. that caused my jaw to drop when the closing double-hit medly (a now-tradition of ADULT. shows) consisted of early, forgotten moments-their “telephone game” 12” “Don’t You Stop” and “Nite Life”, a long-lost single on Ghostly’s Disco Nouveau compilation. They’re bitter, they’re pointed, and, when Nicola marches into the crowd like, to borrow wording from R. Kelly, “a ghost from the dead” and begins a half-taunt dance with the crowd, it’s simultaneously creepy and amazing.

This is a band that knows how to push a crowd against the music, against themselves, and into a frenzied, paranoid fit of disbelief and excitement. Unfortunately, those who could be won over from expecting the sound of particleboard hitting a tin toaster in 4/4 time would never give the more-grown ADULT. the time of day. As such, it’s best to view this as an entirely new band, a no-wave neo-proto-post-punk electronic drone duo, one made of angst, noise, and that beloved anxiety. It’s an unwieldy, uncomfortable label, but then the music of ADULT. is nothing if not uncomfortable.

ADULT.: Don’t You Stop

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ADULT.: Nite Life

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Our review of Why Bother?

ADULT. online





You don’t need to emerge without pants

I’ve been in the process of trying to write an article on last week’s heart explosion of an anxiety attack (the ADULT. show), and instead I’m distracted.

From the annals of old old oldschool Casey Spooner, who

a)has a lot of friends

and

b)is, by far, the coolest part of Fischerspooner

a little avant-artschool action for you.

Caption the video. Best one wins my LOL.