My Little Corner Of The World – Volume 37

by Vinh on October 27th, 2009

The Rakes – Capture/Release (2005)
This week, I was sad to see that The Rakes have decided to call it a day. Their 2005 debut Capture/Release is one of the best post-Britpop era examples of “in the city” rock ‘n’ roll. The arty post-punk-meets-Blur sounds perfectly set up Alan Donahoe’s lyrics which are smart and capture the life of a twentysomething living in London. ‘22 Grand Job’ is an anthem for those with dead-end jobs who need only enough money to ensure another night out and ‘The Guilt’ is a song for anyone who has ever woken up with an awful hangover in a stranger’s bed on a midweek morning realizing they are late for work.The defining moment for the band will probably be album closer ‘Work, Work, Work (Pub, Club, Sleep)’, for me one of the best songs produced this decade. Another trek through the mindset of a hungover, underpaid, and unmotivated city worker, Donahoe tells it like it is, “I’ve got the same shirt on for two days in a row/with the soy sauce stain so everyone knows/can shower and scrub, still smell like the smoking bit of a Weatherspoon’s Pub”. The Rakes will be missed but in their three full length albums, especially this one, they have left enough quality music to be remembered fondly for some time to come. – Matthew James

Benton Falls – Guilt Beats Hate (2002)
Even a midwest-emo fanatic like myself has to admit that variation is not exactly the genre’s forte. Specifically, see every whiny tenor who’s ever fronted an emo band for proof. The intro to the first song on Guilt Beats Hate, ‘This Housecall Could Kill’, lays down your typical midwest formula. That is, until Michael Richardson’s deeper, and particularly strong voice starts pleading in a unique tone that someone like Chris Simpson would never be able to match. As for the rest of the band, they more or less follow the same formula as every other second-wave band. But hey, if it ain’t broke… – John Spencer

Timber Timbre – Timber Timbre (2009)
Canadian folk-rock band embarks on their third full-length, insisting on the same eerie approach taken in the past. This album features soft-spoken ditties tinged in blues on a creepy, cinematic landscape basking in twilight. There is rarely a misstep as Taylor Kirk enlightens us on his strangely relatable tales, flawlessly avoiding the melodramatic while never hiding his emotions. Sparse instrumentation allows room for our minds to start playing tricks on us, and ethereal vocals ensure our unwavering attention. Kirk politely asks “Oh reverend please can I chew your ear? I have become what I most fear” and we want nothing more than to hear further dimly lit, ghostly accounts of his compelling terrors. – Rick Southwick

Aesop Rock – Labor Days (2001)
The indie hip hop scene that emerged in the mid-to-late 90s has done its best to provide an alternative to the empty party rap that had begun to dominate the airwaves. Typically marked by a greater social conscience and more abstract lyrical content, the movement hasn’t generated the popularity that its originators had hoped. It has produced some great talents though, chief among them New York’s Aesop Rock. With a slippery, rapid-fire flow and a sharp, attacking delivery, he is one of underground rap’s best, and Labor Days is his first masterpiece. His lyrics are usually dense, and require quite a bit of work to wade through, but few can create such vivid imagery or tell such compelling stories. From the stream-of-consciousness waves of ‘Flashflood’ to the depiction of ‘Lucy’, the reclusive artist Aes shows that he has a pretty good idea of how the common man works. The high point here, though, is ‘Daylight’. His best work to date, he expresses the despair combined with gritty determination of post-9/11 New York perfectly. In this context, the chorus “All I ever wanted was to pick apart the day/put the pieces back together my way” juxtaposed with a sample of Beastie Boys’ Ad-Rock telling you that “It don’t stop/You keep on ’til the break of dawn” is some moving stuff. – Paul Bulow

Weezer – Pinkerton (1996)
After listening to the leak of Raditude this past weekend, I did a number of things. First, I added Raditude to the list of disappointing Weezer releases. Second, I lost any faith I had left in a band I used to love. Third, I spun Pinkerton for a few hours and remembered why I loved them in the first place. Cuomo’s evolution as a songwriter went largely unnoticed from The Blue Album to Pinkerton and that is probably because, at its core, Pinkerton doesn’t change the musical approach Weezer established on its debut. Instead, Cuomo builds on that approach and unveils his failures in love and in life for all to hear. ‘Pink Triangle’ is a hysterically sarcastic approach to a crush Cuomo had on a lesbian. ‘The Good Life’, one of the catchiest tunes Weezer’s put together to date, proves that the band still has that fun-loving approach to music that made all us geeks love them. My personal favorite Weezer song of all time and Pinkerton’s best track, ‘El Scorcho’, details Cuomo’s obsession with Japanese women and speaks to anyone who has ever felt the painful side of love. I used to wonder when this Cuomo would show up again and redeem the failings of Weezer’s last four albums. With Raditude, I now know for certain that version of Cuomo is dead and buried. Perhaps I should have known all along. After all, Cuomo told us at the end of Pinkerton that he “ain’t never coming back”. The only difference between now and then, he isn’t the least bit sorry. – Joe Mateo

Pacific UV – Pacific UV (2003)
For all of the talk espousing personalities, sometimes, merely being really, really, really good-looking suffices to reel us in. Natural beauty can be transportive, it can lure us in so deep we’re led to believe the physical is a portal to the spiritual. In many cases, exterior traits convey far more than the mouth in question ever could verbally. Pacific UV is brushed with this very feature, as the lush guitar-led atmospherics are paired with seraphic harmonies to form 8 ingratiating, gorgeous tracks. Narratives are recounted on the strength of sinuous soundscapes rather than lyrical touchstones, as even when celebrated indie chanteuse Maria Taylor drops by on ‘Out In The Blue’ and ‘Blind’, the musical nature of her contributions supersedes the messages she’s attempting to impart. The Georgia outfit’s first full-length is a triumph in empyreal lethargy, in cinematic, slow-burning spires that seem tailor-made for days spent watching clouds drift by with the greatest of ease. The artwork is a fitting snapshot of the album’s effects as well, with eyes closed and heads tilted back in order to bask in the type of pervasive colorful glow that impairs our self-awareness yet profoundly attunes us to our surroundings. – Vinh Cao