Album Reviews

Oxford Collapse, 'Bits' (Sub Pop)

onlineintern — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 10:38:02 -0400

Your town probably has an Oxford Collapse -- a tightly coiled indie act, smart-but-not-too-smart, hard-working, well-respected purveyors of shout-along choruses who've never quite broken from the increasingly crowded pack of same. So, about 25 minutes into their fourth album, when Dan Fetherston's martial drums and Adam Rizer and Michael Pace's choral vocals begin the slow rumble of "Children's Crusade," the moment feels as revelatory as it is cathartic -- Arcade Fire–size elation, without the uniforms and all the friggin' people. It's the sound of a band realizing they've outgrown their cramped room and bursting through the ceiling. But they're not going pomp on us -- let's see Win Butler try the couplet "My love came back from Sweden / Brought me some bathroom reading."

Jamey Johnson, 'That Lonesome Song' (Mercury)

onlineintern — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 10:31:32 -0400

Opening with clanking prison doors, then taking off with "High Cost of Living," a nearly six-minute, drugs-nullifying-life drone that's as close as 2008 will get to its own "Heroin," this honky-tonkin' ex-Marine's first album since Sony booted him turns a cracked mirror on Nashville triumphalism. A depressive cuckold's lament updates Glen Campbell's "Where's the Playground Susie," and a funereal cowboy dirge gets country's most gothic studio effects ever. By the end, when Johnson stakes a place vocally, geographically, and alphabetically "somewhere between [Waylon] Jennings and [George] Jones," you're relieved he still has his wits about him.

The Faint, 'Fasciinatiion' (Blank.Wav)

onlineintern — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 10:28:11 -0400

At first it just sounds like a bunch of ugly computer-mangled noises battling each other -- arrangements so crammed with discord that the tracks practically deconstruct themselves, plus lyrics about pointless arguments, equally senseless wars, and other evils. The latest from these Nebraska dance rockers doesn't instantly charm like the '80s flashbacks found on 2001's breakthrough, Danse Macabre. But its fixation on the present pays off with repeated plays as clashing guitar and keyboard hooks hammer home the Faint's central theme -- the chaos of a world in conflict.

Conor Oberst, 'Conor Oberst' (Merge)

onlineintern — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 10:25:21 -0400

How much significance should be attached to the (presumably temporary) ditching of Conor Oberst's valuable emo-folk indie brand Bright Eyes? It's tempting to read his solo album as a statement of grown-upitude, his final step toward status as a songwriter for the ages, rather than the trembling voice of the all-ages crowd. Or is it just a lark, a quick leg stretch before returning to the responsibility of embodying Bright Eyes?

Turns out it's a little bit of both. Recorded in Mexico with a group of Oberst's friends dubbed the Mystic Valley Band, the album does an admirable job of living up to its low- key title (with spare acoustic tracks) and its situation (with loosey-goosey, classic-rock-indebted numbers). While the quiet ones run songwriting circles around the rockers, the whole thing gels remarkably well: Each mood lets the other breathe.

Some might balk at the simplistic country rock of "Sausalito" and "Moab" or the barrelhouse boogie-woogie of "I Don't Want to Die (In the Hospital)," but there's plenty of contemplative Conor, too. Bookend tracks "Cape Canaveral" and the heartbreaking "Milk Thistle" strike slow, sad notes, offering the naked vulnerability that inspires fan devotion and Dylan comparisons. Content to be half-lovable, Conor Oberst takes some pressure off its namesake, allowing him to lean into, or away from, his strengths.

James Jackson Toth, 'Waiting in Vain' (Ryko)

onlineintern — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 11:09:41 -0400

Absent MySpace/YouTube flash, how does a literary singer/songwriter type like Toth hope to make an impression, especially now that he's abandoned Wooden Wand's freakier folk for smoother tunes? Well, pray the restaurant and lounge crowd is ready for a scruffy fellow traveler who can sing about "Cocaine and bourbon / Pinball and pool" without prompting any check requests. Those lyrical pairings come courtesy of "Look In on Me," a soul-drenched slow-burner that, in five-plus minutes, captures Toth's knack for Southern sensibility and beatific sloth -- traits that also infuse "Midnight Watchman," a loping, closely harmonized country rocker that could be a lost Tom Petty nugget.

Takka Takka, 'Migration' (Ernest Jenning Record Co.)

onlineintern — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 11:05:56 -0400

While Takka Takka's debut often sounded like Lou Reed in cuddly, McSweeney's-reading drag, their sophomore effort develops an atmospheric, rhythmically sophisticated sound that recalls the late-'70s work of Peter Gabriel and Brian Eno. Crisp guitar melodies weave a delicate latticework with the taut, understated polyrhythms of drummer Conrad Doucette. And though some tracks recede into the background too easily, upbeat numbers such as "Everybody Say" and "Homebreaker" have an exceptional charm.

Windmill, 'Puddle City Racing Lights' (Friendly Fire)

onlineintern — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 17:06:04 -0400

With a vocal style so wide-eyed and winsome that it makes Jack Johnson sound cynical, Matthew Thomas Dillon flirts with earnest disaster on his patchy debut. Indeed, on the thickly orchestrated "Asthmatic" and "Boarding Lounges," he pushes the goopy melodrama over the line. But buoyed by lilting melodies that conjure a less cerebral Flaming Lips ("Newsflash," "Plasticine Plugs") and hired hands who jolt their irony-deficient leader with percussive sonics, Puddle City Racing Lights achieves a certain cotton-candy stickiness.

Paul Weller, '22 Dreams' (Yep Roc)

onlineintern — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 17:01:05 -0400

The heftiest of Weller's nine solo studio albums, 22 Dreams finds the modfather kneeling humbly at the altar of craft. Make no mistake, Noel Gallagher would gladly give his best bowl cut to flick off guitar stabs with such Motownish fidelity or weave string arrangements with such silken grace -- even forays into flamenco (!) and modal harp jazz (!!) deliver subtle charms -- but craft can be a cage, and come the eleventeenth pleasant chord progression and workmanlike melody, the album's title may portend the listener's immediate future. Sweet dreams.

The Rumble Strips, 'Girls and Weather' (Gigantic)

onlineintern — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 16:56:57 -0400

Crushing angst gets a bright, shiny makeover at the hands of this British foursome. Powered by blaring horns reminiscent of vintage ska and soul, Charlie Waller could be Billy Bragg's twitchy offspring, wailing with awesome fervor as he wallows in self-loathing ("No Soul") and turns the simple act of watching the sky into a meditation on doomed romance ("Clouds"). The Rumble Strips are so contagiously charged up that it's tempting to overlook their pathetic mind-set. When Waller exclaims, "The bells of doom are ringing," he sounds like he's entering party mode.

Pas/Cal, 'I Was Raised on Matthew, Mark, Luke & Laura' (Le Grand Magistery)

onlineintern — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 16:52:58 -0400

After three charming EPs, some thought that this band's Queen- meets–Belle and Sebastian songwriting might make for the next Great American Pop Album. Matthew, Mark, Luke & Laura doesn't match the hype, but it's still an ambitious mess of wordy melodies, whistle-along detours, and multipart epics that recall nothing so much as Mansun's schizophrenic '90s Britpop. Herky-jerky dynamics and ADD bombast only succeed when executed with purpose; the problem with Pas/Cal is that they're talented hook-writers who never quite justify their crafty excesses.