St. Louis Music Blog

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

M. Ward is a self-professed George Harrison disciple. This is not immediately obvious in terms of songwriting style, but becomes clearer when one focuses on the hauntingly spiritual nature of Ward's output. His incorporation of timeless production techniques and stripped-down arrangements creates a perfect template for this type of exploration -- and Ward's new album Hold Time is no exception.

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

This week I was made privy to the existence of Brooklyn's latest shoegazey blog darlings The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. While I generally try to avoid hanging my hopes and dreams as a music listener on the recommendations of the trendy New York blogosphere, in this case the band definitely lives up to the hype (at least on record).

"Everything With You"

The first sound on the band's self-titled album is about five seconds of piercing shards of guitar feedback that makes one think that TPOBPAH is about to unleash something fairly painful and rip-roaring. Instead, the young quartet slides into "The Contender" a Jesus and Mary Chain-esque pop number (sans drums) that lightly bounces on loosely strummed distorted guitar, reverb drenched jangles and soothing overtones of harmonically pleasing guitar squalls.

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

This Tuesday I was lulled into an introspective state of bliss by the atmopheric sounds of Magnetic Morning the newish project from ex-Swervedriver front man Adam Franklin and Interpol drummer Sam Fogarino.

Christy Bush

From the first lush chords of this duo's much anticipated debut full-length, A.M., it's clear that the project is going to have little to do with Interpol, and much more with Franklin's mastery of echoing, effects-laden soundscapes. Even in this era of countless "nu-gaze"  bands and overuse of tired and derivative effects manipulation tricks (note to all guitarists: please stop bending down mid-song to play nonsensical swirly jams on your delay pedal), Franklin manages to coax some truly fresh atmospheres which hover above Fogarino's drumming. Layering of multiple-room-mic'd drum kits and flourishes of reverb-drenched percussion, mellotron string samples and echoing piano stabs add to the dreamy vibe.

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

This week the promo gods bestowed upon me the new album by epic Japanese instrumental rockers Mono.

Hymn to the Immortal Wind is a really epic album. No, seriously -- you don't understand. It's truly a mammoth collection of noisy orchestral bliss, soaring guitar effects fury and oh-so-patiently-building waves of harmonized feedback. It's easy to scoff when you load a CD into the ol' iTunes and you're confronted with a seven-song album that's an hour-plus long, with not one but five songs clocking in at over ten minutes. However, the album's deliberate dynamic shifts, and the fact that most of the songs gel together so seamlessly, allow Wind to stealthily drift by like the loosely connected motifs of a lucid dream.

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

Since 2005, Roma 79 has released two solid albums on St. Louis' own Ascetic Records (2005's The Great Dying and 2008's Praise the Divide). But despite releasing some endlessly challenging, percussion-driven experimental pop, the San Francisco quartet has been largely overlooked by tastemakers and trendsetters. This could be because Roma 79's music is hard to get one's head around at first. Divide is the kind of album that starts sinking in on the second listen -- and really takes hold on the third and fourth.

The band's material tends to evolve stylistically from song to song, and incorporates hints of Midwest post-rock (huge drums, slightly complex time signature shifts), progressive rock flourishes (epic song lengths, keyboards and synth-patches placed over guitars) and melodic indie rock (think Death Cab for Cutie, but heavier on the abstract lyrical motifs and lighter on pop sensibilities).

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

This week New York shoegazers Asobi Seksu kept me company with its soon-to-be released full-length effort Hush.

Asobi Seksu had my attention from the first time I saw them perform in St. Louis at The Way Out Club way back in 2005. Its eponymous 2004 album was packed with sugary pop numbers shrouded in gritty layers of guitar generated noise and 2006's Citrus was even more irresistible, with vocalist/keyboadist Yuki Chikudate dropping saccharine-sweet lemondrops-as-pop-hooks that were once again awash in guitarist James Hanna's supersonic noise machine.

But Asobi's latest album Hush is a serious departure for the band. Chikudate and Hanna craft a mellower brand of spacey dream-pop that's more mature and challenging than anything it has done before. Instead of harsh waves of distorted guitar, this record focuses more on lush synth patches, round and sub-low bass tones and reverb-drenched acoustic strums. While the album does have a few catchy choruses (the first single "Me and Mary" qualifies), its songs mostly rely on sprawling arrangements that set a mood and then incorporate dynamic shifts -- from densely packed passages of swirling atmospherics to weightless and dreamy sections that allow the spotlight to shine on Chikudate's tender falsetto swoon. Hush will be released on Polyvinyl Records on February 17.  

(Tuesdays can be a trying day here in Club Land at the RFT. It's deadline day for the show/concert listings, and this fact hangs over my head just like all of those foreboding elementary school (and high school and college) homework assignments that I would inevitably put off to the last minute. But Tuesdays always go off without a hitch, and it's all because the right music always seems to present itself. Each week I'll talk about what induces the trance-like state I need to become one with the listings.)

This week I was fortunate enough to receive a high quality MP3 of the title track to Bon Iver's soon-to-be-released EP, Blood Bank. 

MP3: Bon Iver, "Blood Bank"

Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago was my favorite album of last year. Its solemn, wintry harmonies and quiet, windswept falsetto laments make it perfect cold weather music, much like Mark Kozelek or Belle and Sebastian. So I knew that the arrival of this MP3 link in my inbox was definitely going to be my big excitement for the week. (I don't get out much.)

Upon first listen "Blood Bank" doesn't seem like much of a departure for Justin Vernon (the guy most people know as Bon Iver). It's built on the familiar broken-down acoustic strum and barebones production style used on Ago. But whereas most of the material on that album was staunchly introspective, "Blood Bank" is more of a story-song. The premise is this: A couple is sitting in a parked car eating snacks and trying to get their blood sugar to recover after donating blood. They end up making out.