Steel City Trawler - Luke Doucet & the White Falcon

Steel City Trawler

Luke Doucet & the White Falcon
Six Shooter Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

“It’s strange,” Doucet admitted in a recent interview with Canada.com. “I still sometimes wake up and go: ‘How the fuck did I end up in Hamilton?’” Now there’s a sentiment I can immediately relate to, having lived my own spontaneous, month-by-month existence in our nation’s notorious Steel Town. Sometimes it’s easier to question my time in Hamilton than to remember the reasons that delivered me, no differently than how its garish cityscape of industrial towers and thick smog disguise the many charms that lay just beyond view. Steel Town Trawler, a joint project between Toronto ex-pat Luke Doucet and cartoonist David Collier, embraces this conflicted romance with Hamilton through blue-collar tunes and a comic protagonist who’s battling to find sanctuary in a troubled town.

For the musical end of Steel Town Trawler, Luke Doucet carves expert impressions into songs of the Hamilton experience. Borrowing from the classic-rock riffs that continue to terrorize the working-man’s radio (y’know: Bachman Turner Overdrive, Ted Nugent, etc.), ‘Love and a Steady Hand’ boasts some familiar percussive prowess (courtesy of Sloan’s Andrew Scott, who produces) whereas anthem-for-a-girl ‘Dirty, Dirty Blonde’ swaggers like a minor summer hit. Doucet’s artistic longing joins the greater proletarian anguish, glorifying the underappreciated on ‘Thinking People’ and empathizing their hardworking principles over the thorny blues-rock of ‘You Gotta Get It’. “Everything I own I slaved for it / and everywhere I been I traveled so far / everyone I love they love me in turn / and every time I crash I burn,” Doucet intones, and his gritty musicianship meets the muse head-on. The White Falcon’s guitar-licks can border on raunchy and Doucet’s lyrics can show vulnerability – sometimes, as shown by ‘Hey Now’, on the same track – but Steel City Trawler rarely drifts too far from its Can-con centre-of-gravity. In the odd case of 'The Ballad of Ian Curtis' (replete with new-wave leanings), it’s an unexpected, unprovoked delight.

David Collier’s graphic novella, bundled and doubling as a lyrics-book, is equally enjoyable to rummage through, capturing the city’s downtrodden feel while investigating some of its beautiful escapes. As with Collier’s chronicle Hamilton Sketchbook, his new tale Lo in Steel City documents the artistic struggle for integrity and, of course, financial survival within Hamilton’s downtown core. Corporate buildings hang “for lease” signs and filth litters the crowded streets. And yet there’s a field where the city dump once was, the Bruce Trail on Hamilton Mountain, and a selection of great music-buying locations (Cheapies and, my favourite, Dr. Disc). Steel Town Trawler is an album full of fun and familiar rock-and-roll jams but it’s Doucet’s subject matter that elevates this record beyond commonplace classic-rock fodder.

Broadcasts In Colour - Boy Is Fiction

Broadcasts In Colour

Boy Is Fiction
Sun Sea Sky Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

Last Saturday night, the temperature hit zero for the first time in five months. Just a tiny touchstone in the greater transition toward winter but, standing on a transit platform, I witnessed its effects as if I’d just fallen out of July. The glow of humidity that hung beneath summer streetlights, seemingly magnifying the reach of its rays, had gone and all of the hospitality of Ottawa’s downtown core – the warmth of its curbs and benches – was thinning into the sidewalk’s texture. And, waiting for the last-call bus, I took in winter’s first breath with Broadcasts In Colour dancing between my headphones; a record that grapples for the heat of the moment between subdued and chilly mood-scapes.

Despite ‘As Far From Here As Possible’ being peppered by prominent IDM beats and treated melodies that arrive and pass like speeding headlights, Boy Is Fiction’s embrace of autumnal melancholy lasts until ‘Feeling Lazy’ delivers a swoon-worthy anthem that exists purely in the present. That Alex Gillett’s lazy feeling acts as the potent focus to such an emotionally motivated song unveils just a shade to his songwriting’s complexity, the greater confusion residing in the question: why doesn’t Gillett write more of these electronic-pop stunners? Heavily treated vocals make another appearance in ‘Until Morning Comes’ but are barely audible amidst the drums and lovely piano that carry the majority of these songs. The densely layered ‘I Close My Eyes’ plants these piano progressions into an industrial pit that Jesu might approve of, unlike ‘Either Way, I’m Dead’ which languishes them in stand-still ambience. Standing firm at seventy-five minutes, though, the record's growing dependence on pretty instrumentals makes us long for another upbeat, vocal-assisted anthem.

Flexing songwriting chops that excel at capturing the sweet and menacing, Broadcasts In Colour keeps remarkable flow considering how perpetually unstable its direction is. Gillett has vision and talent - attributes that are plainly audible within his LP's purposeful ego - but these widescreen laments not only become predictable (take what should’ve been one of the record’s loveliest moments, 'For My Friend', here undermined by an overused template), they outweigh what ‘Feeling Lazy’ proves to be Gillett’s equal skill. An enviable collection of songs to take through the brisk weather, Broadcasts In Colour leaves somber clues to what tremendous follow-up album may lie ahead if Gillett balances his gifts.

Public Strain - Women

Public Strain

Women
Flemish Eye Records.

SCQ Rating: 86%

Pretention is a matter of dates. Those who argue between worthy innovation and been-there bullshit are slipping down a subjective wash, divided by musical knowledge and general preferences. About two weeks ago, a showdown concerning pretention kicked up on No Ripcord over its review of Public Strain, Women’s sophomore album, which was described as “auditory maliciousness”. Yet for a record with such a comprehensive blueprint for divisiveness, it’s strange that Public Strain’s relationship to lo-fi – a focus-point in many of the readers’ colorful comments – lies at the center of debate. Unlike the contest between innovation and pretention, there’s a tangible difference separating orchestration from noise, premeditation from experimentation.

Treat ‘Can’t You See’ as the debate’s official litmus test: if all you hear over the course of the opener’s three-minutes and forty-one seconds is off-key screeching and plodding bass, well, nobody should argue that this record isn’t for you. For the rest of us: yes, Public Strain has lo-fi’s elusiveness but only as a playful tool to position these songs within earshot or frustratingly beyond. The argued-over ‘Penal Colony’ ascribes to similar subdued effects first heard in ‘Can’t You See’, but feels warm and aquatic as if Jim O’Rourke had taken over sound-duties. Instead it’s Chad VanGaalen behind the boards, stretching strings, laying down warm keys and recording some of Women’s most pristine rock jams. Whether you buy into VanGaalen’s blizzard of drones or not, the merits of lo-fi needn’t come up; there isn’t any four-track tape-hiss or untrained static being wielded here.

Speaking of O'Rourke: Sonic Youth must love this album, and not because the two bands share lo-fi as an icebreaker. Women’s songwriting compliments the Thurston Moore-led outfit’s exceptional approach to pop music, rebuilding the genre’s foundations with scathing arrangements that would sound self-hating to most pop purists. Bass-driven grooves cement ‘Narrow With the Hall’ and vicious call-and-answer guitar-spikes surf ‘China Steps’ to a calming resolution, showing Public Strain’s considerable thaw; one that pierces VanGaalen’s desolate atmospheres with rays of clearheaded (but still rightly soggy) pop sensibilities. None of these sonic parallels tread on Sonic Youth’s history in the least and yet elements of this uneven, patience-testing sophomore by Women strike mirrored threads of genius that pepper E.V.O.L. or even Sister.

Some hooks are nearly inaudible, but their set-up and repetitions are felt in tiny collisions, as how the bass and guitar finish each other’s thoughts in ‘Heat Distraction’. Otherwise it’s the deceiving nature of Public Strain’s negative space that transforms these initially underwhelming valleys (‘Can’t You See’, ‘Penal Colony’) into wondrous slow moments which, through no accident, reveal their faults as charms we’d never really considered before. In some cases, listeners may require closing highlight ‘Eyesore’ to put all of Public Strain’s wayward instrumentation into perspective. There is a slight learning-curve here. Even in the presence of ‘Drag Open’ and its tremendous ferocity, I acknowledge that the punk-as-fuck DIY spirit can only bring you so far. Teamed with VanGaalen, Women have transgressed lo-fi for the greater good, delivering one of the year’s most quietly affecting indie-rock records.

Enough Conflict - Proem

Enough Conflict

Proem
n5MD Records.

SCQ Rating: 69%

Industrial noise must be a tough drug for electronic artists to dabble in. More often than not, it seems interspersing industrial elements into one’s laptop palette results in an overdose of dark synths that brood over and serrate any notion of a melody that might’ve been. ‘deep sleeping birds’ may be little more than an appetizer to proceedings but its jagged metallic shards repeatedly convinced me to skip those following twelve tracks and play something brighter instead. Little did I know that Enough Conflict’s opener is a red herring, a chrome-heavy chunk of IDM that stands alone in recalling all of those industrial-dependent artists who can’t muster any light to contrast their gloom.

Things take a positive turn from that point on, as Richard Bailey displays electronic songwriting unmasked of its ominous smoke and mirrors. Leave it to a song called ‘guns.knives.lemons’ to first let rays of sunlight upon Bailey’s tough-as-nails beats, but with the help of some acid squiggles and buzz-saw ambience, assenting vibes follow course. Enough Conflict doesn’t ditch its early industrial leanings but balances them more evenly with airy cinematics (‘jiittirrrrriii’) and crystal-clear melodies (‘seafaring velvet waltz’). For electronica fans who find all the doomladen material a bit cumbersome for everyday listening, Proem’s latest acts as an ideal gateway record; still fraught with challenging passages but melded to enticing refrains that, whether dreamy or nightmarish, should give industrial-fearing kids like myself an appreciation for punchier IDM. At times evoking Aphex Twin, Bailey creates concrete song-constructions from the otherworldly ‘she never cries’ and the Drukqs-era ‘a short bit before you go’.

A mixed bag of harsh beat patterns (‘back to fail’) and tender soundscapes (‘kalimba jam’), Enough Conflict, like its title, feels oddly at peace with its scattered ideas. Satisfied letting its unsettled nature drift almost organically song to song, Proem’s eighth LP often feels lacking in narrative, as if each stage of its journey finds disconnected chaos, serenity, or one within the other. Although concise in running-time, the record stretches generously without any major, game-changing highlights – something ultimately more liberating than detracting. It may not be for everyone… but anyone with an ear for IDM would be remiss to pass on a listen of Enough Conflict.

Some Move Closer, Some Move On - Gianna Lauren

Some Move Closer, Some Move On

Gianna Lauren
Forward Music Group.

SCQ Rating: 80%

Anyone who has even glimpsed over Skeleton Crew Quarterly knows that this is a haven for album discussion. Nobody who regularly scavenges these parts should be overly concerned with individual tracks, back-stories or tour-dates because, even in this digital age, all facets of music remain hinged upon recorded music. The art of creating a moving body of songs that sequence well and conjure something greater than the sum of their parts is perpetually changing, but the mindset remains the same. Gianna Lauren, whether she’s ever thought about it or not, knows this mindset all too well.

She’d have to, because Some Move Closer, Some Move On has the forethought and finesse of a great album. Bearing a tone would’ve felt tucked away had it not encompassed the vast majority of these eleven songs, Lauren’s sophomore album creates enormous elbow-room from the quaint quarters her music compliments. Drawing from languid bass-notes and molasses-slow guitar progressions, tracks such as ‘Be Nice’ and ‘Stowaway’ expand upon their minimalism with tasteful ventures into moody ambience that feel out and pad the corners of any listening space. None of this intimacy would matter so much if pocketed into couplets but Some Move Closer, Some Move On’s stirring start, with opener ‘Become What You Can’t Be’ peppering soft beats next to warm strings, grabs us with Lauren’s understated presence. A horn section, undoubtedly one of the toughest things to work fluently into a predominantly low-key record, arrives naturally, its fanfare as somber and elegant on ‘Standstill’ as the depression-era jazz tempo whispering through ‘Hold Your Horses’'s gramophone.

Although the songwriting-side of Gianna Lauren may attract fans of Cat Power’s brooding early work, the arrangements of Some Move Closer, Some Move On breathe like those found on a post-rock record. The spacious guitar-work of ‘We Were Displaced’ rings of Mogwai - yes, Mogwai! - even before she commands her electric six-string to a chugging climax. Few albums drop so many convoluted signifiers, ranging from folk to gospel (as on the a cappella ‘Oh Feather’), without sounding like a misdirected mash-up. Then again, few artists sound as fresh and original as Gianna Lauren.

Admiral Fell Promises - Sun Kil Moon

Admiral Fell Promises

Sun Kil Moon
Caldo Verde Records.

SCQ Rating: 86%

“Have you heard this yet?” Heather asked suddenly, lifting a copy of Admiral Fell Promises from a pile on her bed. No, my girlfriend Emily replied, explaining how she and I had been saving it until autumn came around. The end of September had ushered the beginning of fall and, although the outside gardens were still wet with green, we decided to end our Sun Kil Moon fasting. Heather hadn’t heard it properly either, having tried it once in her fiancé’s noisy car and given up. Now that fiancé is a husband, Heather’s his wife, and the soft finger-plucked notes of ‘Alesund’ dance into a room threatened by abandonment. Wall decorations that have marked her territory from student flops to this parental loft now lie on the bed, while cherished CDs have been pillaged from their shelves. Endless pamphlets for wedding locations, wedding dresses, wedding caterers and honeymoon resorts fold crisply into the trash.

Emily and I sat against Heather’s closed door, exhausted from a day of Boston shopping and Indian cuisine. No sooner had I arrived at the house when I developed a fever, something that made Mark Kozelek’s stripped arrangements more isolating but no less soothing. Certain tracks spoke out more immediately, like the sweetly melodic title track that harkens back to April’s more contemplative material. That’s the problem with the present, though; trying to determine the worth of a current moment seems impossible next to the power of a later memory. Admiral Fell Promises works no differently, expelling the attributes that would catch most listeners off-guard in favour of slow-burning melodies that dig under our skins over time.

Drinking tea on the floor and hopelessly dazed, I was still vulnerable to Kozelek’s skeletal atmospheres developed over lonely nylon strings. ‘Half Moon Bay’ speaks to New Hampshire’s blanketed night, its almost bluesy refrain carried by a haunted vocal performance. The bleak ‘Australian Winter’ burrows further toward autumn’s frozen end, begging for a fireside to warm our faces from all Kozelek’s old-fashioned inhospitality. Although technically astounding in their naked skill, these cold-hearted compositions can’t be salvaged by Kozelek’s warm timbre alone, his guitar’s darkness enveloping us no differently than the mouth of night swallowing this farmhouse. To quell the burden, the majority of these lengthy tracks drift off into incidental classical figures that provide a lighthearted bent to ‘The Leaning Tree’ and deepen the emotional complexity of ‘Third and Seneca’. And occasionally, as on ‘Church Of the Pines’, Kozelek breaks into bouts of experimentation, seemingly testing passages off of each other to see how they gel. Naturally, they do.

An hour of such narrow scope can understandably blur upon early listens and the calm beauty of ‘Bay Of Skulls’ closed the disc while we conversed unaware. Heather was due to take her luggage to the new apartment downtown but ended up staying late to watch bad movies, snack, and take comfort in the cozy paralysis a farmhouse affords after dark. Most of Admiral Fell Promises’ virtually endless subtleties were lost on us then, leaving only gentle progressions that scored tired conversations, but I’m swimming in those details now. Maybe, like all of Sun Kil Moon’s best work, that’s what substitutes all of Admiral Fell Promises’ empty space: memories. Those occasional waves of reflection in which you realize the implications of what was once an ironed-flat, cause-and-effect present and the crises, the ruts, and rites of passage you now admit as your past. Wistful for whatever reasons, maybe that’s the push Kozelek’s music gives us: to feel those moments we lost to the present.

“I’m really glad we waited until fall to hear that,” I told Emily the next morning, but I didn’t know the half of it. Rarely has a record stirred my interest in guitar tones so, and those obsessive codas have followed my park-side walks to work ever since our New England trip. Reminiscent of the four-track EP that April came bundled with, Admiral Fell Promises showcases Kozelek surveying the space of his own charisma, subdued but undeniably hypnotic. If memories are to assist us beyond the anecdotal excuses of this record review, let them highlight the refinement we’ve undergone as individuals since. And for Mark Kozelek, let Admiral Fell Promises stand as his sophisticated peak, a masterpiece of his former self.

The Pearl - Brian Eno and Harold Budd

The Pearl (2004 Remaster Series)

Brian Eno & Harold Budd
Astralwerks/Virgin Records.

SCQ Rating: 80%

Eno-readers who weren’t alive during the time of Roxy Music seem to break-down into three groups: (1) those who are trying to gauge whether Music For Airports really is the ambient record to invest in, (2) those who are finally looking to branch off from Music For Airports, and (3) David Byrne fans who’ve wandered to the left. That third group I won’t comment on, namely because I can’t speak for them, but The Pearl contains valuable insights into Eno’s career that music critics, armed with twenty-twenty hindsight, typically overlook. As for groups (1) and (2), if any record can upset Music For Airports’ rank as the premiere ambient album, it can likely be found amid a shortlist of other Eno classics. Less hyperbolized than Ambient 4: On Land or Another Green World but equally powerful is The Pearl, the almighty underdog.

In 1984, the same year he composed the long-form Thursday Afternoon and produced U2’s The Unforgettable Fire, Eno camped out at Daniel Lanois’ Hamilton, Ontario studio and produced The Pearl with Harold Budd. A striking collection of piano-based compositions with transient electronics slinking behind Budd’s notes, The Pearl works with the same fluidity and grace that marked Eno’s heralded classics. What’s shifted, then, is Music For Airports’ sterility; here replaced with palpable emotion that weaves through ‘Late October’ like distant memories. Neither happy nor regretful, stunning follow-ups like ‘A Stream Of Bright Fish’ and ‘Against the Sky’ evoke those recollections as rightly intangible, thus partly tragic. Eno’s initial mission statement for ambient music still applies in spite of Budd’s thoughtful progressions but The Pearl become increasingly oblique, slipping further into heavy grays as the disc continues. The echo-wrapped piano strolls into eerie surroundings on ‘Dark-Eyed Sister’ and again for the twilight gloom of ‘Foreshadowed’.

Perhaps it’s that arc – an inevitability when you’re working with a renowned composer like Budd – which spoils The Pearl’s ambience for a purist’s perspective, thereby damning it to the completist’s end of Eno’s catalog. It hardly matters. As a studied appreciation between classical and electronic backgrounds, Budd and Eno weren’t afraid to give ambience some direction; that devious smile is what ultimately distinguishes The Pearl.

In Evening Air - Future Islands

In Evening Air

Future Islands
Thrill Jockey Records.

SCQ Rating: 87%

Post-punk, to me, is premiere party-music. It launches out of the gate with a bass-heavy groove full of tension and uncertainty, then rides that momentum with deviations – some subtle, some grandiose – in a pattern that elicits a fully present hypnosis. New Order, Cocteau Twins; any genre that creates enough elbow-room for these two acts deserves acquisitions like Future Islands, a band capable of cutting performances and swoon-ready tempos. With a record so capably catering to very different circles, as both a party record and a break-up soundtrack, In Evening Air’s most unfamiliar association is its label, Thrill Jockey, more commonly known for structural experimentation than heart-pounding love-letters.

Future Islands’ core sound, on the other hand, feels familiar; maybe it’s the way vocalist Samuel Herring’s enunciation recalls a tortured Torquil Campbell of Stars, or perhaps it’s how the band’s take on post-punk extends beyond the tight confines of minimal synth into something scarier and more satisfying. ‘Long Flight’, which incorporates samples from the STS-1 shuttle launch, uses that discord as a dirge to alter the tempo perceived by its spritely percussion. ‘An Apology’ stretches those smoke-and-mirrors further, letting programmed drumming push on like a metronome while an unobtrusive synthesizer mans the counter-tempo. The rhythm section of J. Welmers and William Cashion are crucial, but another ingredient twists and bends the immediacy of In Evening Air: Herring’s vocal delivery. Moonlighting with a desperate rasp, Herring’s transformation from weirdo-crooner to cathartic bellower acts as a game-changer for off-kilter single ‘Tin Man’ and retro ballad ‘Inch of Dust’.

It’s that break-up-at-a-party combination again; you’ve just had your heart broken but the momentum’s so addictive, you can’t stop feeding the festive mood. Wallowing in self-pity has rarely sounded this controlled or liberating. In Evening Air’s macabre edge completes its impression as a perfect companion for autumn’s best parties and heart-heavy moments.

The Early Widows - Justin Rutledge

The Early Widows

Justin Rutledge
Six Shooter Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

Justin Rutledge’s name has always been more familiar to me than his work. It's a name that might not stand out among Canada’s folk-centric export-list of birth-name musicians totting acoustic guitars, where the truly gifted tend to blur in with the coattail clingers. Yet the Rutledge name has far more prestigious connotations than local indie-admiration, and the man twice long-listed for the Polaris Prize officially distinguishes himself from our nation’s sad-sack contemporaries on The Early Widows.

The grounds that single Rutledge out from a line-up of rootsy, plaid-wearing balladeers isn’t as cut-and-dry as the laws of genre would prefer. Yes, The Early Widows bears the alt-country cross, even if the reality of its ten songs is far bleaker and emotive than most followers of Great Lake Swimmers or Hayden could handle. This is death-country, patiently throbbing amidst a spectrum of highs and lows (mostly lows) reminiscent of California’s infamous desert valley. So then what renders the yearning ‘Islands’ or ‘Turn Around’, with its kick-drum echoing canyon-wide, so captivating? Rutledge’s quivering vocals don’t disappoint, lending a committed authenticity to lyrical olive-branches, and his frugal climaxes ensures The Early Widows’ flow more meditative than conservative, but give due credit to Hawksley Workman as well. Without Workman’s subdued but all-encompassing production, placing expertly layered contributions into a barren but hopeful abyss, Rutledge’s restraint and perpetually earnest tone might’ve stretched this record into an unmerciful marathon. At their chest-beating best, Rutledge and Workman churn out exhausted ballads about drawing lines in the dirt. ‘Be a Man’ and ‘I Have Not Seen the Light’ both build from down-and-out lyrics and Top 40 country-signifiers to rousing choruses that satisfy any listener’s restless highway spirit.

If the mention of “exhausted ballads” doesn’t tickle your buying-bone, The Early Widows will likely test your patience. Even ‘The Heart Of a River’, an excellent mid-tempo rocker, can’t balance out its neighbouring stillness. Those with a tolerant ear, however, will persevere Rutledge’s pitch-black plateaus and learn to appreciate their creeping beauty. Although the pacing may be litigious for some, the album’s mood fills in any generous compositional holes with pedal-steel and choirs. All of these additional musicians create a bigger, more compelling picture for The Early Widows, even if none of them can make it feel tighter.

Lucky Shiner - Gold Panda

Lucky Shiner

Gold Panda
Ghostly International.

SCQ Rating: 79%

This summer’s remix-heavy You EP, although enjoyable primarily for its few original tracks, seemed incapable of telling us what Gold Panda was really about. Sure, the title track suggested a beatsmith with the melodic ear of Four Tet while ‘Peaky Caps’ and ‘Killing Yourself On a Beach’ obsessed themselves with micro-house tinkering, but Lucky Shiner illustrates a much more thorough outline of Gold Panda’s strengths and intentions. ‘You’, which prefaces this debut full-length no differently than that cloaked EP, remains the poppiest effort here, but it’s a sugary appetizer compared to Lucky Shiner’s heady bulk.

That opener’s milking of repetition sounds elementary once ‘Vanilla Minus’ peppers over the speakers like a millisecond of Detroit techno spliced and thrown off-axis into an oscillating synth-line. Samples are incorporated patiently, not so patiently as to snowball into eight-minute decadence, but subtle enough for these disparaging pieces to fit snugly within half the time. Imagine hearing the euphoria of The Field but without Axel Willner ever coasting; that’s the Gold Panda M.O. That adventurous take on The Field’s love of repetition inspires a handful of other highlights here, from the stabs of trance like passing headlights on ‘Snow and Taxis’ to the bending momentum of ‘Marriage’’s club-hook.

Perhaps it’s because Gold Panda’s focus on textures tend to override the presence of any prominent bass, but Lucky Shiner – despite its BPM earnings – isn’t made for the dance-floor. Surrounding those upbeat bouts of jubilation are less concrete permutations of electronic songwriting, resulting in the micro-note armies behind ‘I’m With You But I’m Lonely’. The split duo of ‘Before We Talked’ and ‘After We Talked’ stray further from Lucky Shiner’s breathtaking first half; the former would’ve fared better sticking to its morning ambience undertow than tacking a hokey half-melody on top, and the latter track never gathers enough steam to jump beyond its sluggish core.

At Lucky Shiner’s optimal, Gold Panda motions electronic-pop toward a threshold that’s equally melancholic and joyous, with a technique both tender and visceral. ‘Same Dream China’ and ‘India Lately’ even advance his nonchalant approach to worldly influences by pitting deft beats against timeless organic instruments which, sampled or not, deepen the beauty of this collection. It’s certainly one of the better electronic records this year, but I wholeheartedly believe Gold Panda will top this sometime stunning but unbalanced debut.

Soon - Joe Lapaglia

Soon

Joe Lapaglia
Moodgadget Records.

SCQ Rating: 67%

Joe Lapaglia’s hometown of Niagara Falls, NY, has always rung false to me as a Canadian whose hometown exists twenty-minutes shy of Niagara Falls, Ontario. That two distinct countries share the world-wonder made sense, given the Falls’ proximity to the border, but driving over a bridge from one Niagara Falls to another – essentially leaving a country and yet not the city’s namesake – became a source of childhood confusion. Why have two entities right next to each other that pride themselves on the exact same thing? In short: because they still feel and look different. Whereas Canada’s half of the Falls became overrun with tacky sideshows and tourist-traps, the American side subsists on a quieter, suburban backdrop.

Joe Lapaglia exists on a similar parallel with Ben Chasny, also known as Six Organs of Admittance, in that both acts circle the same well of inspiration. Longform guitar jams weave delicately over coarse, sometimes abrupt, collages of noise and ambience while Lapaglia rasps in a softer, confident tone. ‘Days You’ve Left’ effectively encapsulates this streamlined take on Chasny’s aura, as fluently plucked acoustic-strings form a backbone of autumnal regret that eventually turns into a distortion-blurred wrath. These aurally abusive outbursts typically show up unannounced, preceding both the otherwise lovely ‘Soon Will Come’ and ‘Here, We Will Bury Our Memories’ without really playing into either song’s construction. To redeem these thrashing moments of disconnect, ‘In the Wake’ ties the sonic fury into its mood, allowing the electric to latch onto a momentum already worked-up via Lapaglia’s trusted acoustic. Even when faced with the psyched-out lead guitar of ‘Beyond the Edges’, no foul-play exists in Soon’s evocation of Six Organs of Admittance. Lapaglia avoids venturing into some of Chasny’s international influences and, besides, songs like ‘Somewhere, Tennessee’ display a soothing, textural focus that would disagree with Chasny’s malevolent side. If Lapaglia’s compositional efforts are purposefully so leveled, it would benefit this hour-length record to feature an occasional songwriting curveball for narrative’s sake. With each track so meditative and static, Soon illustrates a forested plateau lacking either an origin or exit sign.

Despite his rock-oriented set-up, Joe Lapaglia belongs on Moodgadget because, even without a heavy dependence on electronics, his music possesses that hypnotic quality the New York-slash-Michigan label is respected for. Soon proves that there’s no shortage of room left to wade in today’s brooding psych-folk well; if you’re a fan of what’s come before, don’t hesitate to cross this bridge.

Beeps - Gamma Gamma Rays

Beeps

Gamma Gamma Rays
Hot Money Records.

SCQ Rating: 76%

Having a song entitled ‘Focus’ doesn’t immediately say a lot about your band’s sound but, when that track starts like a grounded Get Up Kids and finishes like a devil-may-care Pavement, it does inform listeners as to the irony and energy percolating beneath the surface of this Halifax outfit. Whether Gamma Gamma Rays are cresting on detuned guitar jams or surveying intricate arrangements, new flourishes threaten their course at every heartbeat. Bearing curves that feel more like detours than flat-out U-turns, the eleven songs that constitute Beeps swarm with countless ideas but make sure to execute at least several to their full potential. Dizzying as this may initially sound, our failed attempts at pinning Gamma Gamma Rays down ends up being half the fun of courting Beeps.

Let me backtrack a moment; yes, this quintet packs songs as if they’re piñatas loaded with name-brand candy and frilly trimmings, but that chaos never overwhelms. Nor does it take precedence over clever songwriting; the spiky rush of ‘Banks’ connects the missing link between euphoric post-punk and orchestral pop (what with its lovely piano cascades) whereas ‘Blame’ savours a moment’s stillness before delving into scrappy indie-rock. Beeps’ glowing variety in part stems from influences, at different points finding the band cozying up to Modest Mouse (on ‘Growth and Health’) and Conor Oberst’s voice-shredding side-project Desaparecidos. Above those superficial parallels, Gamma Gamma Rays’ sound attracts because its clattering orchestration never relies on easy mood-setting effects that many pop acts utilize. Even the few tracks (‘Great Sons’, for example) that get overshadowed by their more melodic counterpoints display genuine, nearly-made-it potential. Truly indie-rock in its innovative and hands-on approach, Beeps deserves its jovial outlook, stitched of DIY charms and tiny triumphs.

Past Time - Grass Widow

Past Time

Grass Widow
Kill Rock Stars Records.

SCQ Rating: 70%

Much has been said about Grass Widow’s influences, by way of critics who compile a shortlist of female-fronted bands and consider their job done. Although the theory that this trio references these influences by entitling their full-length sophomore Past Time may be correct, I think Grass Widow had more in mind than to honour stale Sleater-Kinney comparisons. For my money, Past Time cites the fleeting sensation of listening to its rapid-fire twenty-six minutes.

This is a record that requires serious time to take apart, not only because of its brisk run-time but because each song carries over the same sonic touchstones. Although certainly a multi-pronged talent, Grass Widow utilize the same signature techniques – layered, harmonizing vocals and intertwining guitar – on every single track. With only the odd distractions from this basic set-up (a nice violin-accompaniment, some muted organ), Past Time floats by pleasantly yet vaporously for such a guitar-based collection. I mean, Grass Widow aren’t some dream-pop outfit enveloped in haze; they’re a rock band who interlace their six-strings like a late-period Sonic Youth record, who offer spiky garage-rock like a modern day Kinks. Each song is concretely present, instrumentally cerebral in some cases, even, but the restricted palette of this record will divide audiences into two groups: (1) those who instinctively love the first song (and, subsequently, will love all of them) and (2) those who will try, possibly in vain, to separate these songs from their clone-like neighbours. As someone who would describe ‘Uncertain Memory’ for its post-punk bass, free-wielding percussion and lovely vocal harmonies, I clearly belong to the second group as I could describe half of Past Time the exact same way.

This homogenous result feels like a rip-off for the band. For one, Grass Widow’s instrumentation is always mobile, circling itself or interacting in clever ways, and secondly, the trio’s democratic approach to vocals ensures that listeners have at least two different vocal hooks to sing along to. So who’s at fault? Am I short-sighted or is Past Time just not as revelatory as people anticipated following their self-titled release last year? Answers may vary, but here’s a record that will confidently appeal to a sizeable fanbase as surely as it’ll elicit guilt from those who can't break through.

Out At Sea EP - Magnetic Island

Out At Sea EP

Magnetic Island
Disregard Records.

SCQ Rating: 65%

The lead track off Out of Sea EP, ‘End In Bender’, blasts into climax with the shoegaze guitar washes and blistering drum explosions that most indie outfits would deem fit to close a record on. Not Magnetic Island, the new project of former-Renminbi members Lisa Liu and SMV, who add some descending “ooohs” in the distance as if to mark their chorus amid the song’s five-minute summit. Such a slice of post-rock isn’t terribly unexpected from the Renminbi (R.I.P.) duo, but ‘End In Bender’ does feel fuller, less angular and increasingly chaotic. Give due credit to TJ Richards and Nikkie McLeod for putting some added distortion in Magnetic Island’s ear, then, as Out At Sea EP looks to make an immediate impression on Brooklyn’s indie-scene.

Part of this impression will be crafted from this release’s diversity, introducing lyrical verses in the twisted maelstrom ‘Sung (Not Said)’ and a heart-on-sleeve plea on the stripped-back (but, you know, still noisy) ‘Summer Phase’. And while ‘Let It Lie’ properly combines the respective fury and melody of those previous two tracks in what is likely the best track here, the EP feels like a teaser of directions Magnetic Island may explore on a full-length down the road. Will they follow the path ‘Sung (Not Said)’ anticipates, reminiscent of Asobi Seksu before they torn off their love of distortion? Or will they dive further into the pool of layered vocals and tender guitar that define ‘Let it Lie’? None of this material really sticks with you, but how they deliver components of their overall sound through different songwriting lens effectively keeps listeners on their toes.

Because Magnetic Island seem too in-the-moment to know what comes next, Out At Sea EP’s sequencing ends up being one of the best indicators for the band’s future mentality. Terrifically raw and pounding to begin with, then slowly unveiling more sentimental layers, Out At Sea’s ass-backward introduction suggests a band unafraid of finding themselves in the spotlight.

The Grey Kingdom - Grey Kingdom

The Grey Kingdom

Grey Kingdom
Dinealone Records.

SCQ Rating: 79%

Attack In Black last updated their website/blog in February of this year, and used the post to detail the steps necessary to bake a tremendous pecan pie. I suppose that’s a colourful way to insist that the band, as a unit, is settled at the moment and quite possibly consuming vast amounts of homemade pastries. But they aren’t whittling away the hours now, are they? Having established You’ve Changed Records over a year ago, members of the Welland-based quartet have been filling their time off with individual projects like Daniel Romano’s Workin’ For the Music Man and, now, Spencer Burton’s guise as Grey Kingdom.

Whereas Romano skipped back a few generations for a full-length indebted to classic folk and country, Burton feeds The Grey Kingdom with contemporary atmospheres that interact well with his acoustic yearnings. At its barest, the patient guitar pushing ‘Love Is Fast (The Tragedy of Kait Hagarty)’ meets Burton’s layered vocals, a force in and of itself, but with the subtle aid of echo and gentle chimes, the song’s intimacy resonates as if performed within a canyon. Uplifting and serene, ‘Paintbrush Soul’ also carries the winter-still confliction that moves beneath the linens of this EP’s four songs, otherwise presented naked on ‘I’ll Say Nothing But Goodbye’. The Grey Kingdom’s gentle ambience never overpowers Burton’s compositions, instead providing rich textures that emphasize each note and lyric. Even on ‘Haunted’, where ethereal drones swell up next to Burton’s vocal harmonies, the song’s core lies in the silence between verses.

Grey Kingdom will certainly summon up comparisons to other Canadian Zen-folk songwriters like Evening Hymns or Great Lake Swimmers, but these songs belong isolated unto themselves. In their own headspace, if that makes sense. Although it'll leave you wanting much more, The Grey Kingdom is both contemporary and timeless.

Dog Weather - Baby Eagle

Dog Weather

Baby Eagle
You’ve Changed Records.

SCQ Rating: 68%

On a track called ‘Me Vs. the Devil’, Steven Lambke (the man behind Baby Eagle) returns home dragging mud and the devil into the kitchen. If Dog Weather held the blueprint for a good-time, roots-rock record, Lambke has muddied it beyond recognition with half-muttered lyrics and a backing-band (featuring Shotgun Jimmie, Daniel Romano, Colleen Collins and David Trenaman) that can best be described as cantankerous. Distortion pierces through guitar figures like waves between the rocks, sometimes growling convincingly beneath (as on ‘Haybale Song’), other times colliding messily (yep, that's ‘Me Vs. the Devil’). Thank God for all this mud; without Baby Eagle’s stormy disposition, Dog Weather might’ve felt tame or, worse, conventional.

Lambke’s intimidating use of feedback might flag a few division-points, but it hardly compares to Baby Eagle’s polarizing approach to songwriting. Consider how the first few songs play off each other with ‘Day Of Our Departing’, which shuffles along an avenue of electric guitars into the heavy-handed gutter of ‘Fisherman Or Fish’ before resurfacing with the garage-rock flavour of ‘Haybale Song’. It’s a tumultuous patchwork that feels organically sequenced, as if these tracks were following a singular, shifting mood. Makes sense, when you take into account that Dog Weather’s recording stretched a meager two days, but Lambke saddles the album’s second-half with a rollercoaster of relaxed ponderings (‘Man Of My Time’) and confrontational rockers (‘American Drum’) that feel motion-sick tossed together.

The problem with Dog Weather’s harder-edged material should actually be its merit-badge; standing by all of their frayed notes and broken strings may give a song like ‘River Bank Sitter’ its authenticity, but it can’t add dimensions to undercooked songs. By rocking out with their hearts, this talented group of musicians forgot to brainstorm where these songs were heading, and Dog Weather’s biggest divide lies between the quality of folky arrangements (as on the excellent ‘Child Of the Weather’) and the aimlessness of blistering dry-runs. Lambke’s vocal-delivery rarely eases this separation, opting to chatter through verses and occasionally pull himself together for a chorus. He’s a visceral lyricist capable of painting strong imagery, but whether he's doing a conversational Craig Finn impression or a mumbling Matt Mays one, Lambke’s vocals sink many details that distinguish these songs.

Lastly, it’s worth noting that Baby Eagle doesn’t seem like the type of band who’d care about these criticisms and that confidence repels a lot of the record’s glaring missteps. Sure it’s challenging and those hurdles make it feel a lot longer than it is, but Dog Weather is a dustbowl of manic energy restrained to dense, acoustic revelry. He may be difficult but we need artists like Baby Eagle to combat all the substandard roots-rock records out there. Maybe the devil should stay in Lambke's details.

The Cradle - Colour Revolt

The Cradle

Colour Revolt
Dualtone Records.

SCQ Rating: 58%

A superficial spin of Colour Revolt’s new record The Cradle will leave an impression on you but, chances are, it’ll be an ill-conceived one. Trust me, I discovered this after hearing ‘Our Names’ and relating their layered, semi-spooky indie-rock to Grizzly Bear’s edgier moments. That opinion hasn’t changed; in fact ‘Our Names’ has all the melody and added grit that Veckatimest seemed so bashful about. Yet my impression hadn’t considered the possibility that the songs surrounding that highlight might borrow more from hard-rock in both its electric riff-age and the band’s testosterone-tinged lyricism. So is it a metal-influenced folk record, then? At the risk of making another erroneous assumption, I’ll say no.

‘8 Years’ opens with pounding drums and tight chords undercut by Jesse Coppenbarger’s torn-to-pieces voice and, for a moment, I had to check whether The Cradle came out via Vagrant Records. Between that first shot of adrenaline and the metal arpeggios that punch up ‘Heartbeat’, one can hardly be blamed for considering Colour Revolt too hardcore for indie-rock. Sounding nearly as grizzled as Bob Mould, Coppenbarger (alongside Sean Kirkpatrick, the two founding members remaining) seethes over sharp guitars and reflective atmospheres, offering serviceable range in bar-room rocker (‘She Don’t Talk’) and the after-hours lament (‘Everything Is the Same’). Few of these cuts register as anything beyond a change-up for variety’s sake, except for ‘Each Works’; a track that, like ‘Our Names’, dunks their riff-heavy foreboding into pools of textured keyboards.

Their playfulness with genre, tripping between hard-rock scapegoats and proggy flourishes, ends up far more interesting than their stunted emotional scope. What began as a puzzling filter of influences disassembles by The Cradle’s final third with the regrettable 90s radio-rock of ‘Mona Lisa’. Colour Revolt have the blueprints to create something original and special, there’s no doubting it, but The Cradle squanders the trust we listeners put forward. An unstable effort from a promising band.

What I Dream Is Where I Live - Whoop-Szo

What I Dream Is Where I Live

Whoop-Szo
Out of Sound Records.

SCQ Rating: 72%

Whoop-Szo’s press-release tells the tale of how Adam Sturgeon and Kirsten Palm met through increments of seasons and hibernations. Identifying this reclusive way of life which trends heavily in the Great White North as a spiritual escape, Sturgeon and Palm began utilizing winter’s inhospitable tenure as reason to hole-up and record their hyphen-required folk tapestries. The result, What I Dream Is Where I Live, exists in sleepy, half-realized vibes and sugar-high restlessness.

If the combination of slumber and hyperactivity feel bipolar, you’re well on your way to understanding Whoop-Szo, whose specialty in folk and lo-fi pop occasionally erupts into noise-jams or other unexpected left-turns. What separates this Guelph-based band (which includes Nathan Campagnaro on drums) from many noise-folk hybrids is that most of the bipolar moments on What I Dream Is Where I Live benefit the material as charming progressions instead of attention-seeking weirdness. The fuzzed-out classic-rock chords that swallow up the title track’s gentle acoustics may seem abrupt but it’s as welcome as the electronic beats that propel ‘Sunshower Clean’ out of the folky slipstream. None of these twists in the road distract from Whoop-Szo’s primary focus of laid-back roots-music, represented best on ‘Out On the Lake a Pair of Loons Laugh Their Idiot Cry’ and the crisp-then-crunchy ‘Snowfall’.

These comforting concoctions occasionally recall Extra Happy Ghost!!!’s 2009 EP How the Beach Boys Sound To Those With No Feelings, even if Whoop-Szo’s 90s influences don’t really gel with the former group’s psychedelic muse. Both of these under-the-radar Canadian acts thrive through experimentation, distinguishing themselves by writing solid tunes and then injecting them with their respective idiosyncrasies. Although this debut gets watered down by ‘A Wolf Named Jealousy’, a pop song without any hooks, What I Dream Is Where I Live offers a great deal to enjoy and take solace in as winter draws near.

My Room In the Trees - The Innocence Mission

My Room In the Trees

The Innocence Mission
Badman Records.

SCQ Rating: 75%

The Innocence Mission have a longer history than most people care to remember, first grabbing attention for their self-titled record and that mid-90s contribution to the Empire Records soundtrack. Since then, the band has nurtured a steady (if characteristically low-key) fanbase by consistently churning out relaxed but oft stunning albums that center on tasteful guitar and Karen Peris’ lovely vocals. Featuring gentle guitar lilts and pedal-heavy piano, My Room In the Trees is another successful outing that will inexplicably dodge the Starbucks crowd… but I’m sure die-hard fans won’t mind that.

Having always carried a seasonal sensitivity in their records, The Innocence Mission grab for their spring jackets with My Room In the Trees, its arrangements dotted in puddles of accompanied piano and drizzly guitar figures. Match these somber green and grey tones with Peris’ singular voice and a song like ‘The Happy Mondays’ will keep even the umbrella-loving crowd inspired. As with previous discs, drumming is kept to a minimum but still creates a sway of breezy momentum for instrumental ‘Mile-marker’ and the Spanish-guitar of ‘God Is Love’. On the shoulders of these tracks, My Room In the Trees boasts perhaps the band’s most outwardly coffee-house approved disc yet and, while only a cynic would seek to reduce their oeuvre because of its complimentary existence with caffeine, I do take solace in their cloudiest, percussion-free laments. ‘Rhode Island’ and ‘North American Field Song’ both dance along the wire separating moody from uplifting, stagnant from graceful.

I suppose the band’s history feels overlong because my first Innocence Mission experience occurred well after their breakthrough, with the GusGus remix of ‘Snow’. Alternately, every record they’ve released since has played with identical dynamics and idyllic lyricism; a level of consistency focused enough to suspend time. On one hand this may suggest that The Innocence Mission are simply reinventing their catalog but, on the other hand, this consistency ensures that any fan of their previous work will also fall in love with My Room In the Trees.

The Grand Bounce - Gord Downie

The Grand Bounce

Gord Downie
Maplemusic Records.

SCQ Rating: 78%

The relationship between Gord Downie’s solo output and his parent catalog as lead songwriter in The Tragically Hip has to be one of modern radio-rock’s strangest. Whereas most artists gone-solo tend to spotlight what’s attributed as their best contributions to a band’s democracy, Downie’s non-Hip output has been just that; a complete break from the tried-and-true legacy of Canada’s contemporary powerhouse, Coke Machine Glow – and, to a lesser extent, Battle Of the Nudes – prided themselves on existing without the commercial expectations that have slowly eroded The Tragically Hip’s versatility. And for open-minded listeners unafraid of distinguishing Gord Downie from his famous band, these records are exhibits A and B in unraveling Downie’s soul.

When ‘The East Wind’ bounds into its full-band awareness with polished, radio-ready guitar strums, many of these fans will dread counting the years in which Downie has let his solo trajectory languish. That’s seven years which, if you’re a member of The Tragically Hip, mean fairly little given how their last two LP’s have only cemented their preexisting fanbase. To contrast, if you’re a member of Death Cab For Cutie, seven years mean everything. So maybe it’s logical that The Grand Bounce’s accessible folk-pop opener and each album track thereafter is produced by Death Cab guitarist Chris Walla. By covering everything from polka to bluegrass, Downie’s two prior works have swept him up a generous pile of tags, everything from poet to patriot, so why not jump the proverbial shark with The Grand Bounce’s relative directness? Adhering not only to dependable verse-and-chorus songwriting but also accepting his bread-and-butter skills, Downie gives up Hip-ish rock songs (‘The Drowning Machine’, ‘Night Is For Getting’) alongside layered folk songs (‘As A Mover’, ‘Retrace’) which Walla adequately spit-shines with some indie-modernism. The results of Downie and Walla working together are too organic to sound as if they’d calculated this beforehand, and no production polish could ever disguise Downie’s idiosyncratic approach to, well, everything. Lyrically and vocally, Downie’s as unpredictable and affecting as ever, especially on a few black sheep tracks that scathe the sequencing. ‘Moonslow Yer Lashes’ is pretty much as quirky as its title suggests, but you’ll find its silver lining the same way you probably had to on previous solo records. We’re not supposed to get too close to Downie, after all, and The Grand Bounce tows us between cleverly quaint and unfamiliar even despite its radio-ready intentions.

First impressions will likely resound with uncertainty for fans of Coke Machine Glow or Battle Of the Nudes, but in time The Grand Bounce feels as solid – if less ambitious – in league with his predecessors. Some introspection in Downie’s lyrics has subsided, or at least become more imperative and action-oriented, but he’s almost merging his solo work to The Tragically Hip’s reliable Can-Rock material. In this strange case where Downie fans and Hip fans can be split into two camps of equal pride and loyalty, think of The Grand Bounce as the bridge.