This is exactly why I love the Ripple Effect so much.
Chances are, I would have never heard the second album by Been Obscene if Racer hadn't sent to me. I couldn't be more tickled that he did and I'm even happier that it's an actual cd. Night O' Mine is an extremely unique medley of fantastic rock music, accompanied by awesome vocals. The Austrian alt/psych foursome play incredibly memorable tunes that will burrow in your head and stay there.
I think the first track is especially infectious and it completely draws me in to the misty, atmospheric world of Been Obscene. I feel naughty. The past couple weeks at work I've repeatedly caught myself singing verses from "Endless Scheme".
"Waiting for the morning light, but you don't dare to go...Drift into the innocence, but you don't care at all..."
I'm not singing too loud...but still. This one has stuck with me like a venereal disease and I don't know when or if I'll ever shake it. Not that I really want to. The warm, fuzzy guitar notes and tones instantly remind me of my all-time favorite band, Kyuss. The grooves are hypnotic and the hooks grab me and lift me up to heights that I haven't been to in a while.
"Snake Charmer" follows lightly for the first three minutes, before the tempo shifts dramatically into a heavy, head-bobbing groove and then a trippy, heavy-psych breakdown. Another killer song, "Cut The Rope", could be compared more to QOTSA, in my opinion. Josh Homme has been an obvious influence on the guitars in Been Obscene, and I love that about them.
The title track is one of the heaviest and grooviest on Night O' Mine, even though it has plenty of tempo shifts. It starts furiously, with bashing drums and driving bass, and the guitars are crushing. While a lot of the song is instrumental, I still think the sparse vocals are some of the best on the album.
On the sixth, "The Run", Been Obscene surprise me yet again. They've made a habit of that. You'd think I'd know by now that they really know what they're doing. A comfortable beginning to a cool desert evening, almost too light for me, but delves into the heavy Kyuss realm about haflway through. Did I say awesome vocals yet?
"Memories in Salvation" is the lone instrumental track and it's friggin' beautiful and moving, which can also be said as "Alone" begins. Touching, too. I think I've said this plenty in my reviews, but the last is often the greatest for me. I won't say this one is heavy at all, it's not, but the music moves me and that's all that really matters. Can it touch my emotions? Yes, it can and it did.
I'm so amazed that I don't even notice that the cd is still playing, long after "Alone" has ended. I'm still wondering why the hell I hadn't heard anything from this band before. I have to wait until the 17:11 mark before I get to hear the bit of hidden music. Cool. I won't spoil it for you but I'll just say there's some piano.
Discovering fresh and talented rock bands like Been Obscene is what it's all about for me. I can't get the songs on Night O' Mine out of my head and I'll bet that once you listen to them, you won't be able to either.
Check the Been Obscene Bandcamp stream, listen to the whole album and then buy a digital copy. Light the band's website up for physical needs.
I've been in and around Europe but that was years ago and it's only been lately that I've started listening to rock bands from across the pond. Man I wish I could go back to France now and hear the three-piece Soul Manifest in person. At least I can always listen to their amazing debut album, White Season.
I think Soul Manifest's White Season is an intoxicating dose of 70s psychedelic, progressive blues-rock. The frenchmen picked a first-rate band name too, 'cause I sure hear a lot of soul in their music.
I'm under the influence after the first notes of White Season. "Dead Man" begins with a tiny taste of synth and then a gargantuan, bluesy-ass riff. Impressive, groovy organs and vocals that floor me. The singer has a solid delivery and kinda reminds me of a Billy Squier/Robert Plant hybrid. Right now I'm thinking: how is it that some of these guys from foreign countries sing so damn well in English? I guess that's a whole other story. Back to the album.
"White Season pt 1" has a super-sized 70s rock aura to me while "Do We Have the Same View?" shows Soul Manifest can have a softer acoustic side, too. "The Devil's Meeting" is a colossal blues-boogie treat. On the consciousness-expanding "White Season pt 2" I already have a sense of how well this organist/pianist plays but I'm still awestruck. I sure needed this. I've been missing out for sure.
One of my favorites on White Season has to be "All but My Dream can be Erased by the Rain". It starts with an infectious drum beat and my left foot starts tapping. The killer 70's guitars kick in and my head's nodding feverishly. As the electrifying vocals start my torso's moving side-to-side. Catchy as hell. This song is almost 6 minutes long and has an incredible jazzy piano solo near the middle. I'm including a link to this one so you could hear it right away. I'd suggest you click it.
White Season ends with a psychedelic 70s rock opus, "The Light" (9:46). It's tripped-out man. You have to hear it. Crazy mondo synthesizers on this one with some haunting guest female vocals to accompany the band.
Wow. Tremendous group and exceptional rock music. Or, en francais: c'est bien. tres bien. (It's good. Very good.) I wish I could say more but I only know a little French.
"Dead Man" and "White Season pt 1" are free downloads on Soul Manifest's Bandcamp page, where you can also stream and purchase all 7 songs on White Season (Feb. '11, Night Tripper). Don't miss out like I did for months.
Prior to hearing The Bride Screamed Murder from Melvins, I knew very little about the group. Now, after listening to The Bride Screamed Murder several times back to back to back, I know even less about them. I can say this, though . . . Melvins approach the creation of music unique to their own perspective, a perspective forged from the fires in the bellies of stars in solar systems light years away from what we may perceive as normal. That’s not to say that the music is unlistenable or so avant that it won’t fit into the average persons everyday scheme of minutia, its more akin to working a logic problem where the solution to the puzzle isn’t directly in front of you or obvious. Listening to Melvins made me rethink the way I think about music, challenged my perception of logical sound flow, dared me to push the envelope on what I thought I already knew (or was confused by) in music. This album really should come with a condom . . . the raping that my mind took has me in living in fear on how I will listen to the next album submissions.
“The Water Glass” kicks off with a ballsy, detuned guitar riff . . . all sludge-y and fat, oppressive and overwhelming . . . but it’s not the tonal quality that makes me rethink what I thought I already knew. No . . . no, that would be coming from the odd time signature of the riff and how the flourishes that drums add to the mix. Then, the washes of feedback bathe my ears in waves of septic brilliance, drenching my audio receptors with dense and sticky sound. All of this happening within the first minute and half before seamlessly shifting into a wild high school marching band tirade of beats and vocal chants. Are you kidding me with this?!?!? In-freaking-sane! Leave it to Melvins to push music to the fringes of reality! The majority of this tune is bereft of any instruments outside of the drums and vocals, yet it remains one of the heaviest tracks that have assaulted my headset in months. What any of this has to do with a water glass is beyond, but I’m okay with that. I like the mystery. It gives me something to come back to during those future listens when I need to have my mind impregnated by fresh ideas.
“Evil New War God” is another burly, dense onslaught of sludge toned guitars . . . all playing this massive riff that doesn’t make logical sense to me. Just go with the flow, friends, and the happy conclusion will show itself in time. Listen for the majestic ball crushing riff at the 1:38 mark. Crom! That’s the kind of sludgery that makes me think of St. Vitus. A massive wall of distortion with the capability of deflecting the blast from a nuclear bomb. Note the little flourish of cowbell that these guys mix in there. Awesome! And the vocals . . . again, the sinister quality and paranoid menace permeates from between the flurry of dense notes that barrage the listener. And just to make sure you’re paying attention, the band drop this beast of a tune down to a quasi-jazz beat, cymbal ride, and soft bass drum pattern, before the eerie keyboards add some texture. This entire composition has more in common with jazz than hardcore or punk or metal or whatever genre people lump Melvins in these days. Absolutely spectacular song!
The Bride Screamed Murder is a roller coaster ride for certain, but Melvins have created a thrill ride that’s more than just senseless left turns and corkscrew loops. They’ve composed an epic listen by weaving bizarre nuances in between solid riffs and straight forward ass kicking. “Electric Flower” is one such song as it incorporates a pseudo- surf vibe with a five finger formed fist and a crushing blow to the bridge of the nose. Mixed in all of this chaos, the band still works in portions of magnificent musical performances that highlight the individualism of the musicians at hand. These guys have one of the busiest drummers in all the land. Tons of rolls, little cymbal flourishes, crazy fills that defy reason . . . simply mad! Listen for the guitar solo as it cuts through the din of frenetic chaos with a touch of class. So much going, so much emotion, so much sonic violence . . . and all within three and a half minutes.
Then, as it should come as no surprise, the band throws in a psychedelic track in “Hospital Up,” filled with weaving and shimmering guitar lines, all of it making me feel like I’m bathing in a lava lamp. The guitar tones aren’t as dense as some of their more straight forward rockers and heavy tunes, but there’s still an imposing vibe fluttering throughout all of the music. The vocals have a gritty crooning quality to them, almost reminding me of moments from Farflung (fantastic psychedelic stoner doom band) and I’m digging how the nuance within the voice conveys an element of manic paranoia. Again, the band work well together to create a song that would fall to pieces if it were performed by any other group of musicians. The individualistic qualities of the players shines on and I go back to my earlier ascertainment that Melvins are more of a jazz band than anything else. Hell . . . listen to the end of the tune when all hell is breaking loose. The keys . . . the bass . . . the horns . . . jazz.
Finally, strap your asses in and assume a crash position. “Inhumanity and Death” is a hundred mile an hour death trip down a winding one lane deer path through oncoming traffic. Don’t look up, just pray that you’ll make it to the bottom of the hill in one piece . . . and alive. The opening bass line and subsequent vocal scream is enough to fill the most seasoned thrill seeker with terror, and as the song careens to its conclusion, there will undoubtedly be soiled shorts amongst the riders. I stink now, but I’m smiling . . . and I’m happy.
Dudes . . . and Dudettes . . . I simply love The Bride Screamed Murder. I can’t tell you if Melvins as a whole area good band, but based on this album alone, I’d call them gods. The musicianship is insane and the musical perspective is refreshing. I don’t suggest diving into this one head first without any previous understanding of what these guys are about. Busy yourself with something on your initial listen to familiarize yourself with the aural assault that is wrapped up in this disc before completely immersing yourself in the music. Once you do go back to giving it your full attention, it won’t hurt as much . . . well, at least, it shouldn’t. The Bride Screamed Murder is a brilliant execution of avant jazz metal that will surprise you every time you listen to it. - Pope
After a hugely successful, 1 week debut on some of rock's finest websites, JPT Scare Band unleashes their darkly sarcastic attack on BP to the general public and the world. Reports are that the biting, inflammatory video was picked up by over 40 news outlets and websites, as anger over BP's mishandling of the Louisiana Gulf Crisis bubbles over the boiling point.
Featuring the guitar wizardry of Terry Swopes, often hailed as "the most unheralded guitarist in rock" "Not My Fault" is a classic JPT Scare Band tune, written by drummer Jeff Littrell in the '70's but not recorded until 2004. The ironic, almost cheery nature of the song plays in direct contrast to the destruction that BP has left in it's wake.
If you like the video, stay tuned to the very end, as the original 911 call BP made to the Louisiana Police demonstrates their epic downplaying of the situation.
And if you enjoy the video, please pass it on to your friends. Link to it, embed it, twitter it, facebook it. BP has paid millions of dollars to buy up all the sensitive search terms on the gulf crisis and is spending hundreds of millions of dollars white-washing it's role in the disaster and cleansing it's reputation.
On July 3, 1971, Jim Morrison, the famous frontman for The Doors, was supposedly found dead, naked and half-submerged in a Paris apartment bathtub by his wife Pamela Courson. Upon finding Morrison’s reportedly dead body Courson called Dr. Max Vasille, a local French medical examiner. Vasille declared Morrison died of “heart failure” and took charge of the body. No autopsy was performed. The casket was closed at the funeral. At the burial, at a site hand-picked by Morrison just three days before his death, Doors’ drummer John Densmore blurted: “. . . the grave is too short!” Based on these circumstances over four decades of fans have speculated that Morrison staged his death to remove himself from the public limelight.
It might be true. I just listened to the six track EP “Blues for Bobby Solo” by La Muneca De Sal and Anthony Reynolds. La Muneca De Sal is a Spanish band whose name translates to “The Salt Doll.” Anthony Reynolds claims to be a singer who was born in Cardiff, Wales that worked in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s with the British pop group “Jack.” He is supposed to have written two full-length biographies - one on the 1960’s group The Walker Brothers and one on singer/songwriter Jeff Buckley. He also claims to have written a collection of poems in English and Spanish called “Calling All Demons.” If Jim Morrison is not dead he could be Anthony Reynolds.
The EP Blues for Bobby Solo is the closest thing to a classic late 1960’s/early 1970’s Doors’ album that I have heard since Morrison purportedly took his final bath.
The songs “Lulu walking,” “Life’s a laugh” and “Lulo“ are the type of drug-induced psychedelic trance music made famous by Pink Floyd but pioneered by the Beatles in “Revolution No. 9.” It evokes the era of the late 1960’s/early 1970’s when the Doors released the classic disks The Soft Parade and Morrison Hotel. These psychedelic tracks set the stage for Reynolds mind-blowing Jim Morrison (or is it him?) vocals. Reynolds powers through “Be my next ex-girlfriend,” a sentiment Morrison would likely have agreed with. The song is a modern day version of a Morrison poem that has been tempered by forty years of musical evolution. It is not all Jim Morrison impersonation. There is a hint of The Cars, a bit of David Bowie flamboyance, and a dash of Hinder theatrics. The band does well in its support of Reynolds’ emotional vocals. The entire package is much like that of the Doors’ Robby Krieger, John Densmore and Ray Manzarek - an excellent backing band with a superior poetic vocalist front and center.
The third track “Wonderful life” pulls you back to 1966 when the Doors appeared at the Whiskey A Go Go with Van Morrison and Them. At this point I started asking myself, “is this a lost classic? It is on par with the Doors “Land Ho!” and “Crystal Ship.” I have never believed in the cloak and dagger stuff or the conspiracy theories around Jim Morrison’s death, but at this point I too started questioning whether or not Jim was dead.
It is the fifth track, “For when you were young,” that seals it. It has got to be Jim Morrison - no doubt about it - well maybe a little. “For when you were young” is a Doors’ song if there ever was one. When singing it Reynolds finally becomes Morrison - lock, stock and bathtub. Soaring emotive vocals, a driving beat, polyphonic interplay of words and sound. He is good, very good - extremely good. So good I though about tie-dying a few T-shirts and searching for my copy of “L.A. Woman.”
They say you can never go back. If that is true one of two things has happened. Morrison did not die and is now performing as Anthony Reynolds (in my estimation this is not likely since Morrison was born in 1943 and would now be 67 years old) or, more likely since Reynolds claims to have been born in the early 1970’s and Morrison is supposed have died in the early 1970’s, Morrison was reincarnated as Reynolds. Yes, that must be it. Either way it is good, all good
As I write this, an Icelandic volcano has grounded jet liners over a good portion of the world. In my opinion, if it wasn’t the volcano putting a stop to air traffic, it would’ve been this eruptive new disc by the legendary JPT Scare Band. And I don’t toss out that metaphor frivolously. From the first time I heard these Acid Rock pioneers plying their distinctly original blend of fuming hot jams and molten acid excursions, a picture of a spewing volcano was what came to mind. Searing hot, flowing like boiling magma, eruptive in force, and seismically heavy. That’s JPT. And everything any JPT fan has every loved about the band can be found right here in Rumdum Daddy.
Starting off with the subtle, yet simmering “You Don’t Want to Know,” somethings become immediately apparent. First, Terry Swope is without a doubt the world’s most unheralded guitarist. His fingers boil across the strings, leaving shimmering fiery paths in his wake. Whether slower and nuanced, as on this song, or tearing the strings apart with earth-quaking might and power, Terry’s tone is always perfect. His notes flow and flood together like that boiling magma, at times faster than the human ear can detect the spaces in between. Most importantly, he doesn’t noodle for noodling sake. As much as the band loves to jam, each note is fiercely selected, determined in tone and quality. Each note tells a story, each note is a vital part of the overall lava flow.
Adding to that intensity, Paul Grigsby and Jeff Littrell are a rhythm section of world class power. They do so much more than simply keep time. Together, they lock the groove in place with Teutonic intensity, creating some semblance of terra firma for Terry to stand on while his fingers flare. Paul’s bass is the secret weapon, thick and dirty, always clearing the path with it’s long looping bass line, nailing down the backbone of the song, building when Jeff joins in with his intuitive style. Together they clear a wide swath for the terror and destruction that follows in Terry’s wake. A power trio in the purest sense of the word.
Never is this synergy felt more strongly than on the devastation that is “Rat Poison for the Soul.” It only took one moment into the song, when I first heard that monstrous, seismically heavy riff, for me to fall in love. This is earth-shattering rock and roll at it’s finest. Thirty years into the game and the boys can still unleash it just as mean and nasty as ever. As monolithic as “Rat Poison” is, “Rumdum Daddy,” may be my favorite song on the disc. Starting off with some simply gorgeous guitar tones, undermined by Paul’s rolling bass, “Rumdum Daddy” is an exploration of moods and tones. Terry’s voice, always an under-rated instrument, searches for new emotion here, digging down into the lower registers of his tenor, then sailing into the upper reaches of his range. And then there’s that guitar solo! Strings bend and dip, sparks fly, earth moves, volcanoes explode.
No JPT album would be complete without a couple of free-form, spontaneous jam sessions and Rumdum Daddy doesn’t disappoint with three of them, my favorite being the finale, “Bookends Jam.” Starting off with Terry’s guitar in a heart-searching solo, Jeff drops in with a few pounds of the tom, before Terry loses himself in swirling plumes of ash and smoke. Turn off the lights. Close the curtains. This song should be reverberating off the glassware of every bong ever made, slowly finding it’s way, exploring, until . . . 2:38 into the song, the explosion happens. Terry’s fingers sear across the strings in fiery flares of intensity. Paul and Jeff lock in behind him, Terry’s fingers ignite and the whole damn volcano explodes again.
Having heard this, it should come as no surprise that JPT Scare Band were the first band we signed to our new indie label, Ripple Music. That’s right. Coming at you this June, expect to see the first Ripple release, Acid Blues is the White Man’s Burden on CD and double-LP, gatefold, multi-colored vinyl. More JPT Scare Band to come your way.
The Dolly Rocker Movement - Our Days Mind the Tyme
I know I shouldn’t have been surprised by this. Bad Afro Records has already proven themselves to be one of my absolute favorite labels, digging deep into the bowels of the earth to uncover one glorious gem of fuzzed out, psychedelic pop after another. They did it to me with Setting Son. They did it again with Baby Woodrose. So why did I doubt that they’d be able to launch another perfectly aimed tie-dyed arrow into my steely heart?
Oh, me of little faith. For surely, Bad Afro has done it again, and this time the object of my drooling affection is this absolutely glorious disc by Aussies, The Dolly Rocker Movement. With all the garage and retro-neo-psych I listen to here at the Ripple office, I keep expecting to get burned out, but so far, that hasn’t happened. If anything, charming new releases like this third effort by Sydney’s Dolly Rocker Movement have got me more excited than ever about this scene. TDRM mix some bare-bones framework of T. Rex with a pastiche of swirling organs, chiming guitars, soft looping bass runs, and more hooks than can be found at a hanger factory. Each song on this disc comes across like some tasty treat, some delicious morsel, just waiting for my consumption.
“The Only One,” starts off with it’s amazing wash of retro organ and acoustic guitars. Daniel Poulter has an affecting voice for his songs, laced with glam and drama, bringing forth each moment of emotion and melody. “Sold For Sinners,” drops the glammy vibe back down into the garage with the cum-‘60’s organ washings and the drop dead melody. “A Sound for Two,” is as gentle and pastoral as any of the early Cambridge-prog of the ’60’s with its strains of harpsichord and strings. While “My Heavenly Way,” simply rocks and grooves on it’s oil-stained, do-the-swim beat. Damn, this song is so good, I defy you to play it for any one and not get some butt-swinging in return. Bring out the lava lamps, the hip huggers and the funny little cigarettes. This one’s a keeper.
Don’t think that the genre melding of those previous songs in any way creates a dischordant listen. Far from it. The ability of the band to mine its fertile field of neo-psych pop, while dabbling in the soil of other sounds is one of the things that makes TDRM stand out. Whether it’s the paisley of “Memory Layne” or the T-Rextascy of “The Ecstacy Once Told” TDRM do it all flawlessly, effortlessly. Beautifully.
Other than having a name that made me feel slighty light-headed and in search of a Dramamine, Seaspin were a total unknown to me when the disc was tossed on my desk by our fearless mailman, Sal. Watching Sal licking his fingers after dropping it off should have been a hint that what waited for me was a tasty treat. And tasty it is indeed.
Seaspin conjure up a positively dreamy, smoke-drenched strain of psychedelic dream pop. Imagine Ripple favorites, Apteka, fronted by a woman who’s voice has the ability to send your conscious into flights of erotic hallucinations, and you’ll begin to get the picture. Over these 5 tracks, Seaspin flow over an expanse of dreaminess that varies from the vaguely Janes Addiction-esque churning turmoil of “Love is a Fable” with it’s buzzing guitars, swirling keyboards, and undulating dance beat, to the neo-Cocteau Twins vague lovliness of “Dream Life.” Vocalist Jennifer Goodridge carries both tones with ease, her voice always floating some where just above the music, just above my head, somewhere near my dreams. Meanwhile, guitarist Ronnie Washburn alternates from laying down some surprisingly heavy tones with moments of pure romantic restraint. The sound is lush and layered, incredibly dense, but not claustrophobic. Rather it breathes within it's own textures and rhythms. It is heavy and light all within the same breath.
The biggest problem I had with this disc was the effort it took me to allow the CD changer to move off of “Love is a Fable” to the next track. That song is just so simply perfect, I never wanted it to end. Give me the 15 minute expanded version. Hell, the 30 minute ultra-expanded cut. Loop it for me, let it be a sound track to my day. I’m good.
But move on the CD does and of course the rest of the disc is just as powerful. I’ve already alluded to the gentleness of “Dream Life,” with it’s gorgeous harmony vocals and vague Mamas and Papas-'60's-ish melodies. Then, as beautiful as “Dream Life” was, “Give Yourself” is the anger that follows. The crush of the ending relationship, played out with crunching guitars, swirling harmonies, and manic drumming. “Reverser,” raves with an indy pop sensibility while “The Way You Move,” ebbs and flows with dissonance, groove and noise pop.
Then, if you’re like me, you’ll hit the repeat button and start all over with “Love is a Fable” again.
The Most Powerful Telescope in the Universe - The Moonlight's Fair Tonight
In the simplest terms, it's rare to find an album this gorgeous. And even rarer to find one so warm, so positively glowing in the moment. A group of friends, as much as a band, The Most Powerful Telescope In The Universe recorded their full length album The Moonlight's Fair Tonight by assembling a group of musicians and shuttling them off for two weekend-long stints at a secluded woodland cabin somewhere in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. Nothing was written in advance. Nothing prepared. Just the musicians and the desire to create an album on the spot. Obviously, the environment was conducive to feed the muse of these cats, because what they created is a breath-taking journey through Of Montreal's indie-pop sensibilities and Explosions in the Sky sonic experiments.
Guitars weave and curl, swirling through the mix like smoke coming from that cabin's fireplace. Keyboards layer in, hiding underneath, floating to the top, twisting through the air like dust floating in a beam of moonlight. Songs float and levitate across the vinyl, barely being contained by the pull of gravity's force. "Last of the Incas," the lead-off song fills the air with all that these guys represent; loads of swirling, reverb soaked psychedelic guitar that builds in subtle beauty until it takes flight. Joy Division-esque bass adds a weighiness to the proceedings, keeping the song from become fey or too disconnected. Keyboards float by like cosmic dust while the vocals jump on the tail of a passing comet, adding a gentle whispering beauty. "Cops Chasing Undercover Cops," follows without bothering to touch back down on terra firma. So gorgeously constructed, so lushly soaked in the sweetness of some floating constellation.
Don't let the thought of "space rock" or "psychedelia" put you off. This isn't head lost it's own ass music that wanders endlessly searching for a melody. It's a testament to the strength of the musicians that each song hangs together firmly within it's own melodic structure, but loose enough to expand throughout the solar system. Simply put, this album is scrumptious. One listen is all it takes. One listen to know that you also want to join that flight, leave the earth behind and reach out into the cosmos. Or at the very least, join the musicians next time they take to that remote cabin. Ah, what I wouldn't give to be there and watch it all happen.
Available as a free mp3 download, or you can buy the lush vinyl at:
Continuing on our journey through the cosmos, we jump from the diaphanous clouds of space dust that is The Most Powerful Telescope in the Universe onto the back of the rocketship Exeter and blast off deep into unexplored galaxies. Keeping the swirling, churning guitars that hallmark spacerock, Exeter marry them to a full-on jet fueled engine. This is spacerock with someplace to go. Roaring with a wall of sound, powered by a truly thunderous drumbeat and driving bass, Exeter fuse shoegaving spaciness with the urgency of post-punk, leaving me breathless as I motor on this high-octane ride.
Black holes shoot by to the left, giant brown dwarves to the right as the guitar grind down with a meaty intensity. Heavy. Gritty. Song structures are tight, but not contained, leaving the band plenty of room to blast off in all directions of feedback drenched guitar and catastrophic collisions of sound. "Bittersweet Vanity," lays it all bare on the first track. Heavily atmosphere-drenched guitar brings us in eerily, building with the anticipation of the coming blast-off. And we don't have to wait long. About 40 seconds in some crunchy chords slice through the mix, drums building in the background until full liftoff hits us with the power of a rocket launch. From there, it's one cinematic escalation of spaced-out fury, tempered from destruction by some simply gorgeous melodies and layered vocals. As a song, it's a show stopper, and it's only the first track!
From there, the boys from Austin never let up. Grey Noise, White Lies is a celebration of sonic textures, punk intensity, and unexplored worlds. Never a dull moment, never a moment less than mind-boggling. Catch this rocket if you can.
Sometimes it's frankly alarming at just how good some bands are. Rounding out our journey through the outer cosmos, following the simply stunning albums of TMPTITW and Exeter, this report just wouldn't be complete without a mention of this Chicago group and their debut, Tour EP. Blending a Jane's Addiction vibe to their non-stop swirling kaleidoscope world of shoegazing and The Seeds-flavored garage-psychedelia, this band isn't one to watch, they're one to know now. So much music comes into the Ripple, and all of it gets heard. Sometimes it takes several listens to find an album's spine, to get deep into it's mind. Not here. Twenty seconds into the album opener, "The Sheet," and I was hooked. Walls of feedback drenched guitars fill every conceivable nook and cranny, the drums hammering the song forward, until . . .wow! Until the vocals kick in amidst a sudden flurry of bass and super-revved guitar. That did it. In that moment I became a charter member of the Apteka Space Federation, willing to go on countless missions of sonic exploration with my pilots. Yes, it really is that good.
First of all, calling this album an EP is a massive disservice to the band. Recorded while on tour, the Tour EP is fuller than most albums, clocking in at 9 fully-realized songs of stunning, sweeping mood and texture. "Where You Sleep," loses itself in post-Joy Division hazy psychedelic moodiness, riding that monsterous bass line through the opening into uncharted territory. Believe me, the Joy Division references drop out quickly as the boys delve into a simply gorgeous multi-part harmony of delicate psychedelic pop. "Cicada Song," is another unabashed winner, brought in by a handsomely strummed acoustic guitar. By the time the the chrous kicks in, we've left the gentleness behind, rocking out like The Church at their fiercest. There's not a misstep here, all the way to the full-on assault of "She is Riots," the Jane's Addiction-esque closer of thundering walls of guitar and clashing clouds of bass.
Best of all the whole album can be downloaded for free here. If any of the bands I mentioned get you going, don't miss this one. Years from now, when Apteka is headlining some massive intergalactic music festival, you'll be able to say you knew them "back when."
JPT Scare Band - Rumdum Daddy
The Dolly Rocker Movement - Our Days Mind the Tyme
Seaspin – Reverser EP
Exeter - Grey Noise, White Lies
