Link: http://www.reverbnation.com/crowvslion

Dan Gallagher presents and alternate reality within the singer/songwriter world. His lo-fi bedroom project Crow Vs. Lion is a lazy drawl of back country ramblings as Rest Your Bones feeds interesting songs on life in Bucks County.

As the album progresses, you get a better familiarity of what Gallagher is trying to convey, and you begin to settle down but in my mind I am painting a better mental image of Southern Georgia than rural Pennsylvania.

The recording is built like it was R.E.M.’s Chronic Town with the slight echo to his voice, like he found an abandoned church to record in. Sometimes the effect works, but other times it just sounds like a bad recording choice. It’s one thing to scruff up the music to accent the dusty prose, but when the prose itself becomes dusty, it takes a degree of tolerance to fully appreciate what is going on some of the songs.

Gallagher works best around a full array of instruments than with him as a solo venture. It adds depth and contrast to his songs like “Edgar Allan Poe” and “Time Inside My Years.” However, when he pulls something like the shanty “Sea Sick,” he does a pretty good at weaving a story with the sound of his guitar.

Pat Jordache
Future Songs
Constellation
Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Link: http://patjordache.com/

Pat Jordache may be more well known in the Montreal circuit, creating a musical history in the Quebec city. Spending maybe as much time in isolation than on the scene, Future Songs is his testament.

Channeling the mantra of Richard Hell in an Elvis Costello nebula, Future Songs gives us a unique perspective on noise pop and a hail to the bop.

“Radio Generation” begins with a big sound as Jordache’s falsetto matches the sonic layers of guitars backing him up. It’s almost frightening the power he impresses on the listener. And what is even more impressing is that at one time stolen, the tracks were saved from a forgotten lo-fi mediafire copy and then remastered from that instead of the original intention of running through traditional studio methodology.

“Get It (I Know You Are Going To)” is what really brings this album to life. Its further proof how raw Jordache spins his yarn (he is responsible for most of the instruments). It makes the song seem otherworldy like it’s that great pop song stuck between two dimensions.

“Salt On The Fields” blend Asian themes with indie fervor that beckon marathon sessions of Kurisawa as Joy Division spin tales of woe in the background.

I’d like to say this album is easy, but it is not. Songs like “Phantom Limb” is dissident where you feel like Jordache is doing a great job at maintaining sincere restraint. “Gold Bound” could be thrown in the Sebadoh bin and for this song, it’s a hard pill to swallow.

But Jordache returns to his quirky self with “Song For Arthur” followed by the part spoken word of “The 2-Step,” where you are not quite sure if he’s drunk or just insane.

Either way, despite its lo-fi attributes Future Songs would not be as eclectically interesting if it had a much bigger and cleaner sound. So whoever thieved these tracks, thank you because it make Jordache more pertinent.

Link: http://www.sicalps.com/

Sic Alps emits the impression that their live shows are an experience to behold upon the ears and eyes. A sonic artistic impression that shoot sound waves into the souls of those who stand in their way.

I can visualize where seeing them in the moment is something worth experiencing as their songs have room to transform from night after night and. As for their latest release, Napa Asylum is a hit and run of dirty feedback and dust-covered tracks that may not be the easiest to listen to, but these are songs that grow with appreciation and take on a life of their own. It’s as if the band took off in a beat up Chevrolet and hi-tailed to hidden town in deep America with nothing but a beat up amp and some instruments, lost their minds, recorded songs in a weathered and abandoned house, and came back to society with a reel of tape like it was the secret to the universe.

The subtle soul rock of “Cement Surfboard,” the low end after-hours pop rock of “Do You Want To Give $$,” and the wig-out psych rock of “Occult Display,” some of it is painful to listen to as notes bend out of tune and the lo-fi recording interferes like some estranged glitch in an old silent film. But in its bare-bones ruggedness, it’s also what makes these songs what they are. But it’s the equivalent of reading a comic in black and white versus color. The color version of this band? The experience is best when experienced together.

Links:

Let’s Wrestle: http://www.myspace.com/letsfuckingwrestle
Merge: http://www.mergerecords.com/artists/letswrestle

Let’s Wrestle up steps by joining the Merge family. This rough and tumble band shows that they can ride along colleagues Lou Barlow and Butterglory with their lo-fi punk pop and geekishly charming dismeanor.

Although excessive on the song selection (16 songs lie total, which is about six to 10 songs too many), In The Court of Wrestling Let’s has its ups and downs. Often times they bring back memories of Archers Of Loaf, while trying to accentuate their British charm. “We are the most reliable guys in the world,” they sing on “We Are the Men You Will Grow To Love Soon.” You cannot help but find some adorement even when they sing out of tune or craft a song that is non-poetic and non-imaginative.

“In Dreams” sounds like it came from a dirty demo that carried over while “I’m In Love With Destruction” is exactly where they need to be all the time: sincere, noisy, and brazen like they are about to kick over the stage in order to give you a big hug.

The more you listen to this band, the more you are unsure where this band is going, traveling from a song about “Insects” to “Song For Old People” to “My Arms Don’t Bend That Way, Damn It!,” an amazing noise-pop song that deals with life and overcoming the obstacles.

One thing you can assure is that this band plays from the heart and it’s very obvious when you listen to this.

Friendo’s debut Cold Toads comes to us with a degree of simplicity that really is not so simple, but the delusion makes for a good listening experience.

The three-piece churn out seven songs of ‘70s punk aesthetics with what can only be explained as the Sonic Youth dissonant noise experience.

Although some songs feel a little too repetitious — “Young Fellows” and despite its ghostly vocal appearance, “Calling” — there are some real lo-fi sparklers on this album.

“Counter/Time” brings us into the band’s mindset with a cosmically hypnotizing guitar time signature and a thumping beat that tribalizes the experience. “Hailey Oman” slips into that late ‘70s/early ‘80s art punk sound like Cabaret Voltaire or some early 4AD band is to follow.

Michael Wallace, from Women fame, is a leader. With an album like Cold Toads, you immediately realize that despite the limitations, this is a band who is unashamed at leaving the boundaries of their musical periphery intact. It probably serves them best when you travel through their lo-fi means and soft rebellions.

Some songs you will find listening to over and over while others you may want to sit there and think about the songs you do like.

Holy Broken? Holy reminder! From the get-go, I’m instantly hearing the resemblances to that Number Seven Uptown record from Swearing at Motorists. From the use of distorted guitars and slag tempos to the Hayden-tinged sound of the vocals (Swearing at Motorists covered Hayden’s “Bullet” on the aforementioned LP); the album from this duo, known as Sin Ropas, is a spitting image of the Midwestern lo-fi ramble rock I knew so well.

Well, it pays that Tim Hurley and his wife Danni Iosello (Hurley of Califone and Red Red Meat fame) make the city of Chicago their hub for production. However, Holy Broken was actually recorded in a cabin located in the mountains of North Carolina.

If you’re hankering for a bluesy swank, “Nailed In Air” features the slow sway of a bar band whose lead singer is drugged up on Valium. And, we also get a taste of Joseph Arthur-style cooing two-thirds the way through.

‘What good is stealing light from another star?’ Hurley slurs overtop pedestrian acoustic guitar strums on the dusky “Stolen Stars and Light”. The smooth husk of his singing is so reminiscent of Paul Hayden Desser that this could’ve been plucked from 1998’s The Closer I Get. “The Fever You Fake”, at the head of the record, achieves an energy that is never surpassed from the rest that plays out. But, it sweetly owes to 90s alternative rock, sounding like a product of Lou Barlow and Mark Everett from Eels.

You’ll continue to hear strange clattering and electronic drones throughout Holy Broken, as Hurley used instruments that he tailored himself out of who-knows-what; certainly retaining a bit of uniqueness on the album. Yet still, the bumbling chord changes and nightmarish lyrics are all but exact copies from other lesser-known songbooks. Hurley does steal light after all, but only from the dimmest of the stars in the indie rock universe.

Links:
Blind Man’s Colour – http://www.myspace.com/weareblindmanscolour
Kanine Records – http://kaninerecords.com/

When All Night Radio released Spirit Stereo Frequency it sounded like psychedelic music being broadcast in space. With Blind Man’s Colour’s Wooden Blankets, it feels like a late ‘50s/early ‘60s radio station being broadcast at the bottom of the ocean.

If this was an instrumental or sparsely vocalized EP, Wooden Blankets would be brilliant. Their sonic structure bleeds through like rays of light through water molecules. But there is a lot of sonic edging and studio witchery that distorst and contorts their sound and it ends up being more annoying than it is effective.

Whereas Season Dreaming was more intriguing, it’s baffling how the two were developed at the same time. And having a more personalized, stripped down approach, it does not work to their benefit.

I don’t know why the album is not more like “We’re Treehouse Kids,” a song that wanders about like analog ghosts and is musically iridescent. But “Canoe Paddles” is like shoving something sour in your mouth. It’s a song that makes your ears itch. “Fantasy Coves” is a little better like a deranged lullaby.

If The Beatles worked at a small town carnival, Wooden Blankets might make sense. The sound trip twirls around like a Fellini movie if Ray Dennis Steckler was in control.

There is appeal in its lo-fi glory, but what it comes down to is that this EP has too many purposefully distracting elements to render it more annoying than it is artistic.

Link: http://www.theoctagonrock.com/
Serious Business: http://www.seriousbusinessrecords.com/

It takes a lot of courage for a band who could have all the perks of technology to simply disregard the idea and go the lo-fi route. But that is a big part of the charm to Warm Love And Cool Dreams Forever.

What comes out of a Brooklyn practice space and analog tape on four track is earnestly brilliant. Sloppy only on the surface and with the best intentions, this is an album whose songs are solid through and through.

Don’t let “Suicide Kings” fool you, although soothing in its melody and lyrical coolness that meshes with noisy guitar riffage, it’s songs like “Cross Tops” and “Stop Snitchin’” that make you want to freak out with excitement.

And “Radio Days?” Holy crap, this is every fan’s fantasy who wished for more early ‘60s garage rock with a tint of shoegaze. A Ventures sandy drum beat, and a raunchy early ‘80s three-chord New York rocker melt your mind with a wall of noise coming in like a tsunami. “You can do it right, you can make it on your own. You can fall in love with everyone you know,” it’s a message that needs to be instilled over and over again as the chorus rings out.

With 16 songs on the plate, the back half of the album is just as impressive as the front. “One Five Five” is pounding power rocker while “Revolution” sounds like a lost gem from mid-’80s Minneapolis.

All in all, The Octagon is my new favorite obsession that keeps me constantly amazed with how well these songs stick to you, even in its rawest form.

Link: http://www.myspace.com/philandtheosophers

Phil and the Osophers are just that, philosophical ponderers. The three-piece are not shy to song crafting. With their own label, and this being their sixth release, they have quite the song library to choose from.

As much as they write, what is impressive is that their music is relevant and not just throwaway lo-fi dribble. Parallelo is jangly and sounds like it was recorded in one of the band member’s garage with the treble cranked up. That alone can be a distraction, but it’s also the charm to Parallelo. And when you have the reverb echo of the guitar “We Have All Summer” and “Propeller Jet” you cannot help but be brightened by it.

This is also an album you cannot take at face value. You have to dig deep. There you will discover that “Cheap Livin’” is a song about rich people who lost it all or “Creator” is a song about God in the time of slavery.

Somewhere between Beat Happening and R.E.M.’s Dead Letter Office, Parallelo fits perfectly nestled between the two.

Links:
Atlas Sound on MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/atlassound
kranky: http://www.kranky.net/

Atlas Sound starts out like an even more tormented Smog that’s been bent out of shape. Emerging with space bleeps that dominate the forefront with acoustic dribblings “The Light That Failed” is a clear demonstration of a disjointed figure as Bradford Cox sings out of tune. Whether on purpose or a lack of vocal skill, these twinkling sci-fi meanderings unwillingly take a seat in the background as Cox steps forward, breaking free from the introverted style that left us with Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel.

It’s a less than appealing beginning to Logos but things get a little better with the Spaceman 3-like guitar interchange on “An Orchid” and the spaced-out orbiting samples that flow in and out of “Kid Klimax,” as well as the title track.

Cox collaborates with various people, including Animal Collective’s Noah Lennox and Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier. That alone would make anyone want to pick up the album with curiosity, and each song is equally observant in the context of the whole, but I am only talking about a small sample of the album.

The rest is conducted with bedside manner and stretched into lo-fi quantities. Normally that would be a great thing, but Cox tries to incorporate the three-minute pop concept into his ethereal acoustic serenades like “Sheila” and “My Halo” but in the end, it feels like he cannot even pull himself up off the floor and make promising recordings. It would be better if he just went off the deep end with his music, but, alas, bending the fabric of pop culture wins. When it comes down to it, stick to instrumentals and save yourself the humility.