The Compound - Say It Again Now

The Compound - Say It Again NowSelf-Released, 2012
Three stars

Over the course of their new album, Say It Again Now, Ontario-based trio The Compound adopt a mélange of different sounds and styles, hitting everything from the classics (the ever-present Beatles influence), to rootsy rock 'n' roll (The Band), to more modern rockers. The bluesy moments of the Thrice discography come to mind numerous times (especially on the second track, "When I'm Away"), while singer and bassist Tommy Lowe sounds eerily like the ghost of Jeff Buckley on a few tracks. Add in the reference to Weezer's "Say it Ain't So" on "Feels So Good," a slow-burn of a blues song that contrasts that 90s hit in almost every way imaginable, and you've got a band that clearly adores the vast musical history that surrounds them as much as they love adding to it.
 
Say It Again Now is a hard record to pin down precisely because of the plethora of influences on display, resulting in a collection that, while only eight songs and 25 minutes in length, is far more diverse thank your average modern rock rock album. The aggressive guitar lines of the first two songs (the propulsive title track and the aforementioned "When I'm Away") morph into the southern rock drawl of "Memories," a song with a riff so sweepingly familiar that I swore I'd heard it before. "Memories" is the immediate stand-out on the record, a song that is at once both classic and remarkably fresh, and that it builds to a remarkable showcase for guitarist Simon Talevski (who also fills piano and synth duties, among others) doesn't hurt either.

Lowe gets his own shining moment on "Turning the Tables," laying down some impressive bass licks, in addition to sounding his most innately Buckley-ish on vocals, a compliment in and of itself for those familar with the late singer. Album highlight "Blues (Has Got Me By the Balls)" sounds like a Paul McCartney outtake, with a thumping piano line, dreamy back-up vocals, and some bluesy guitar accents straight out of the '70s. The Beatles influence is felt just as strongly on "Feels So Good," which builds from a softly ambient intro to a brilliantly soulful bridge, while "Holiday Heartache" lands somewhere between "I Want You/She's So Heavy" from Abbey Road (my favorite Beatles record) and the Red Hot Chili Peppers: believe me when I say that the combination is more successful than it sounds on paper.

The only problem with The Compound's shape-shifting sound is that Say It Again Now ends up feeling like a record distinctly lacking in any semblance of flow. That the album closes with "Enjoy Your Summer," an entirely instrumental track, proves this point perfectly. While they write terrific songs and have undeniable chops (nothing proves this more than the closer, which gives all three members showcases for their talents), The Compound seem like a band more tailor made for the live concert experience than for the album listening one. But ultimately, despite the fact that Say It Again Now does not equal more than the sum of its parts as a record, it's still a stellar collection of songs without a discernable weak point, and it still represents the work of three musicians with talents that should absolutely not be ignored. And since the entire record is available for free download, in high quality, directly from the band, I can see no argument for not checking it out and spending a half hour with these three gentlemen and their bevy of influences: there couldn't possibly be a better price to discover one of the best unsigned bands I've heard in ages.

Molotov Jive - STORM

Molotov Jive - STORM

Cosmos Music Group, 2012

Three stars

Sometimes epic, overwrought production can serve bands incredibly well: U2 almost defined the idea of arena rock in the late '80s and early '90s, not only by delivering towering choruses and heartfelt lyrics, but also by hiring guys like Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois to man the boards, guys whose knack for taking songs to the rafters (and beyond) are unparalleled. Coldplay has built a massively successful career out of channeling that tendency, packing their arrangements with such a vast array of sounds and musical ideas that they have to play live shows to a backing track. And meanwhile, there's The Killers, who burst onto this scene last decade by taking the influence of '80s new-wave and synth pop and merging it with the skyscraping hooks and production values of Morning Glory-era Oasis (or, on Sam's Town, Born to Run-era Springsteen). Needless to say, bigger has proved better for more than a few acts in modern music, and one need look no further than the tour receipts or album sales for the aforementioned acts to see that a massive sound is more likely to lure in large audiences than, say, a lone troubadour with raw production and an acoustic guitar.

But arena-sized ambition can derail bands as well: Tom DeLonge gave up blink-182 for a solid decade, making three oversized records with his side project Angels and Airwaves, a band whose depth of musical ideas never even approached the scope of their production. A similar thing happens to Swedish rock act Molotov Jive on their third full-length, titled STORM, an almost absurdly overblow spectacle of a record that constantly tries to sound huge...whether or not it has the melodies to make that sound work. But that's not to say that Molotov Jive isn't a talented band, that STORM isn't a solid album, or even that the production is a complete blunder: indeed, when the sound works, the songs are undeniable, like with the towering should-have-been-opener "Run," which possesses a shout along chorus, a wall of guitars (a la The Dangerous Summer), and a flourish of synth melodies that recall both '80s bands (the record is evocative of Depeche Mode throughout) and the post-millenial new wave revival (yes, The Killers) to pleasing effect. But just as often, that spacious, echoing production is shackled to songs that don't go anywhere, compositions that meander and search for melodies or hooks ("Take Me In Your Arms") or stumble upon grating ones ("Manhattan").

More frustrating is the vocal production, which surrounds singer and songwriter' Anton Annersand's voice in an almost comical amount of reverb, causing his every word not only to ring, but to actually echo for a few moments after he sings them. The effect is doubtlessly aimed at giving the band a bigger sound, but the actual result is almost aggravatingly distracting, and, for me at least, was almost impossible to get past. It doesn't help that Annersand's default setting as a singer is desperate earnestness, causing him to shriek, inhale, and almost cry out every note in order to heighten the emotional texture of the song at hand. I'm all for emotional connection, but Annersand's overwrought delivery is almost always aimed at breaking-point intensity, and as good as he can sound in that vein (the radio-ready "Friendship" is a good example of what happens when it works), it becomes exhausting over the course of the record. That said, when the band drops the tempo and Annersand sings the songs straight (and in a lower register) like on the climactic finale that is "Sleep Safe," or on the gorgeously resigned and electronic-influenced "Just Leave," the results are stunning. He has a unique instrument, giving the band an instantly distinctive sound (despite their obvious collection of influences), but he just needs to learn to save his emotional intensity for the appropriate moments.

It's almost not fair that Molotov Jive will instantly be compared to some of the biggest acts in modern pop and rock music, but that association also has its perks. At its best, STORM sounds like a welcoming bell, an announcement to herald an act with the talent and the scope to play in the big leagues; at its worst, it comes across as pale imitation of that scene. The songs the band has written here do generally merit the size and scope of production they attempt, so it's a shame that the finished product is a bit shoddy and mismanaged. With a giant like Brian Eno or Daniel Lanois behind the boards, these guys could have been filling stadiums; by all rights, the same thing should have happened with Sylvia Massy (whose resume includes work with Aerosmith, Prince, and Red Hot Chili Peppers), but the result is almost stifling instead. Still, these guys have a gift for the grandiose and the subdued alike, and while STORM only rarely reaches its high level of potential, with the right person behind the boards, they could go global.

Bruce Springsteen Retrospective Part V: The River (1980)

"But I remember us riding in my brother's car
Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir
At night on them banks I'd lie awake
And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take
Now those memories come back to haunt me
They haunt me like a curse
Is a dream a lie if it don't come true
Or is it something worse?"

By the time Bruce Springsteen reached his fifth LP, he wasn't the international icon he should have been, but he was a star with a good following and a handful of terrific records under his belt. He'd moved from the Dylan worship of his first two albums comfortably into a rock 'n' roll sound that was all his own, and he had the eclectic, electric talents of the E-Street Band behind him. What better time to attempt the double album, that mystical Holy Grail of rock music? Ever since the Beatles entered into the double album conversation with The White Album in 1968, it has undergone a colorful history that has seen works from everyone from Pink Floyd  to the Smashing Pumpkins, Led Zeppelin to the Foo Fighters,  from the Red Hot Chili Peppers to M83. To attempt the double album is to enter into an ambitious task that has proven, time and time again, nearly impossible to succeed in completely. Double albums overflow with songs, sounds and ideas; they allow artists to indulge in their quirks or in their adoration of genres outside of their comfort zone, and while they often result in some of the most creative and engaging material of ant artist's career, they also often come out gloriously flawed, with more throwaway filler material than should ever make it onto a full length album.

Bruce Springsteen came into The River with enough material for three or four albums (and b-sides from it make up at least a full disc of the Tracks collection). Like his predecessors, he stumbles into a few of the double album's inherent traps, but the resulting record is one of his most brilliantly compelling. The River, like many double albums, could be considered a blend of Springsteen at his loudest and his softest, his most raucous and his most introspective. Throughout the album's two discs, Springsteen presents a set of songs striking in their duality, one half bar-band rock 'n' roll, the other half among the darkest material he ever recorded. The opener, "The Ties That Bind," is a classic Springsteen rocker and perfectly encapsulates the record's louder sound. At first, the record was going to be a single-disc effort, and "Ties" was going to be the title track. That changed as some darker material began to emerge in Springsteen's writing, ultimately resulting in the stunning title track that closes the first disc. If "The Ties That Bind" captures Springsteen's more joyful side, "The River" finds him at his most inward, as he takes us on a journey through memories shrouded in shadow and regret. His portrait of young love in hard times captures an entire relationship in the course of five minutes, from the ecstatic euphoria of first love to the end of innocence, and the result is one of his best songs. Next to "Thunder Road," I don't think Springsteen's lyrics have ever hit me harder. His vocal is also a revelation, as he delivers his evocative lyrics with emotional honesty and intensity that is, quite frankly, chilling.

"The River" follows in the footsteps of Darkness on the Edge of Town, and like many of the songs on that album, it examines what happens after we wake up from the American Dream, after Thunder Road runs out and we realize that maybe we weren't born to run after all. It's heavy subject matter, and it permeates the best songs on The River, like the gorgeously sad "Independence Day," a song that Springsteen wrote about the day he finally moved out of his father's house. Springsteen and his dad never saw eye to eye, often fighting when they were young, but even despite this, his love for the man is palpable on "Independence Day," and the result is one of the most revealing songs he's ever written. It reminds me of one of the greatest recorded moments in the Springsteen collection: a live version of "The River" that was released on the Live: 1975-85 collection, along with choice cuts of many of Springsteen's most notable songs. This version is arguably better than the one on the album, full of all the sound and the fury that comes out when Springsteen cuts loose live, but the best part is what comes before the actual song. Amidst an elegiac rain of accompaniment from the E-Street Band, Springsteen tells a story about his father and the relationship they shared:

"I remember I got into a motorcycle accident once. I was laid up in bed and he had a barber come in and cut my hair, and man, I can remember tellin' him that I hated him and that I would never ever forget it. And he used to tell me: 'Man I can't wait 'til the Army gets you. When the Army gets you they're gonna make a man out of you. They're gonna cut all that hair off and they'll make a man out of you.'

And this was in, I guess, '68, and there were a lot of guys from the neighborhood going to Vietnam. I remember the drummer from my first band comin' over my to house with his Marine uniform on, sayin' that he was going, and that he didn't know where it was. 

And a lotta guys went and a lotta guys didn't come back. And a lot that came back weren't the same anymore. And I remember the day I got my draft notice. I hid it from my folks, and three days before my physical, me and my friends went out and we stayed up all night. And we got on the bus to go that morning...man, we were all so scared.
And I went and I failed. I came home. It's nothin' to applaud about...but I remember coming home, after I'd been gone for three days, and walking in the kitchen, and my mother and father were sittin' there.
My dad said, 'Where ya been!?'
I said, 'I went to take my physical.'
He said, 'What happened?'
I said, 'They didn't take me.'
And he said, 'That's good.'"

The first time that version really hit me, I was in the middle of a lonely drive home after a weekend of concerts, one of which was my first Springsteen live experience. It was late a night, barely a car on the road aside from my own, and I had nothing but my thoughts and my music to keep me company. I played that version of the song, and by the end of Springsteen's speech, I was in tears. I never heard "Independence Day" the same way again after that night, and it remains one of my favorite things Springsteen has ever done. With so many Springsteen songs, it feels like he's writing from the point of view of another: telling a story with complex characters, giving voice to the everyman: hell, it was his ability to write like that which earned him the nickname "the Boss" in the first place, but "Independence Day" is such a special song because it is completely personal and because it comes right from his heart. As the years go by and my relationship with my own father continues to dwindle, that song just hits me harder and harder.

Aside from those two landmark songs, the first disc of The River is actually fairly upbeat and fun. "Sherry Darling," which first originated during the Darkness sessions, is one of the catchiest songs Springsteen has written (he'd imitate the song's style a lot two and a half decades later on Magic). Disc One also contains numerous great bar band rave ups. Springsteen and co. sound like they're having an absolute ball on "Crush on You" and "You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)," and "Two Hearts" and "Out in the Street" are almost equally enjoyable. None of them are among Springsteen's best songs, nor can I say that they're more worth of being on the record than a few of the Tracks stand-outs ("Take 'Em As They Come," "Restless Nights," and "Be True," among others), but Springsteen has never sounded as spontaneous on record as he does here. Disc One also yields the pleasantly pretty slowdance of "I Wanna Marry You" and "Hungry Heart," a song with a radio ready chorus that earned Springsteen his first top ten hit.



I've often felt with double albums that the artist begins to lose steam somewhere during the second disc. Looking back at my favorite double albums, it's hard to find one where I legitimately prefer the second disc, but on disc two of The River, I think Springsteen laid down some of the finest songs of his career. The opener, "Point Blank," is one of the most haunting introductory tracks I've ever heard. A slow-burning masterclass in intensity, "Point Blank" epitomizes the kind of mournful regret that defines much of The River's second half, and it's only the beginning. It's the same sense of urgency that infects the narrator on "Fade Away," a simplistic break-up song that Springsteen injects with every ounce of heartache that comes with the end of a once brilliant relationship.

Gorgeously downbeat electric guitar chords and piano flourishes herald the arrival of "Stolen Car," and over the course of four minutes, the song has consumed me, time and time again. Perhaps more than anything Springsteen has ever recorded, "Stolen Car" is entrancing and hypnotic, and to this day, even after listening to it hundreds of times, it still breaks my heart. Over the course of those four minutes, we watch the love between two people evaporate and drift away. Springsteen doesn't have to say much: it's three verses and two choruses, but the song's atmosphere is so utterly, hopelessly heartbreaking that the song, which comes at the end of the record's third side, has always stopped the whole thing dead in its tracks. Amidst the song's mournful atmosphere, Springsteen delivers what might be the most perfect lines about falling out of love that I've ever heard:

"She asked if I remembered those letters I wrote
When our love was young and bold
She said last night she read those letters
And they made her feel one hundred years old"

It's a simple verse, a mere four lines long, but in those four lines, Springsteen fits an entire relationship, from the first days, so full of excitement and spontaneity, to the falling in love, all the way to the present, where the narrator feels so broken and lost that those early days feel like a part of another life. Is he really driving a stolen car? Did he commit a crime to feel alive and spontaneous again? Is he really that far gone? Or is the car a metaphor for a life and a love that has gone so completely off course that he no longer knows how to find his way back. "Each night I wait to get caught, but I never do," Springsteen sings. With either interpretation, the line is drastic and powerful, and the song ultimately comes to the same meaning: this man is lost, and he needs someone else to wake him up again. Springsteen has never written a more shattering, hopeless song; I don't think any other songwriter has either.

The closing trio of songs (along with "Ramrod," another big bar rock song) make up one of the best sides to any record in the Springsteen catalog. "The Price You Pay" finds our protagonist (whoever he may be) in the same situations that have defined so much of the music on this album or on Darkness. The American Dream has faded, the age of innocence and youth has come to an end, and the characters of these songs have woken up to a world that is bleak and unforgiving, but much like Darkness's closing title track, "The Price You Pay" finds that character in a state of resignation and defiance. The song's gorgeous, often biblical lyricism, and simple, almost hymn-like musical structure build into an unexpected anthem, with Bruce's voice rising above the chaos until it reaches it's rousing peak in the song's final moments. "Drive All Night" is the song's spiritual sequel, and it is certainly no mistake that the songs are back to back, near the end of the record. That same defiance and redemption found in "The Price You Pay" continues to grow here, and Springsteen comes to an ultimate conclusion that has often left me wondering why "Drive All Night" isn't this record's finale. Despite the fact that his life has taken a different course than he envisioned in his dreams, the protagonist has, at very least, finally answered one of the key questions of life. On "Born to Run," Springsteen sang "I wanna know if love is real," and here, he comes to the realization that, not only is love real, but it has this massive power to heal and support. In the song's final verse, he sings:


"There's machines and there's fire waiting on the edge of town
They're out there for hire, but baby they can't hurt us now
Cause you've got my love
Through the wind, through the rain, the snow, the wind, the rain
You've got my love, heart, and soul."

Those lines are among my favorites that Springsteen has ever written. In the midst of this busy, disjointed record, full of boozy rock and roll and regret, there is this one grand moment of clarity. The protagonist knows there are always going to be hardships, but here, he's turning to face that darkness on the edge of town that's been dogging his steps for ages, and he's ready to fight. Love will be the thing to save him: what could be a more romantic ideal than that?




The River closes with "Wreck on the Highway," a moody, subdued post-script of a coda that does just what Springsteen has always been the best at in his songs: it tells a story. While driving home from work one night, the narrator comes upon the scene of a hit and run that has left a man half-dead on the side of the road. He calls the police, they take the man to the hospital, and then he continues home, but thoughts of the scene continue to haunt him. He lies awake at night, thinking about what he saw, imaging the death of the man and the reactions of the people that loved him, and he finally realizes the astounding brevity of life. Though The River seems to end in the same sadness and shadow that defines its best songs, I think there is a message of uplift here as well. The narrator realizes how our time here on Earth can be cut short in a split second's time, and though he doesn't say as much, I've always heard a resolve in his voice to try harder: to live more fully, to love more completely, to work harder and cherish the world around him and the people in it. For a record about characters getting over their regrets and failed dreams, there could be no more appropriate ending.

Over the course of The River's 20 songs, Bruce Springsteen covers a lot of subjects and sounds, from elegiac ballads to honky-tonk rock and rollers, from songs about family and love, both lost and re-affirmed, to fun ditties about fast cars and girls.  It feels disjointed, uneven, sometimes even completely directionless, but I'd argue that that's part of the point. The River, above all else, has always felt to me like a journey through adulthood: where Born to Run epitomized the endless opportunism of youth and Darkness captured the post-innocence shock of discovering a much crueler world, The River finds its characters settling into that world, learning to survive, love and (dare I say) thrive in it. Many have problems with the flow or the album's personality crisis, but life isn't consistent or easy or obvious: it's messy. Human existence is the messiest thing of all, and this record mirrors that. As a result, The River is a long, challenging record, and it actually took me quite a long time to recognize how truly spectacular it is. There have always been other songs I wish had made the cut, and it's length and tonal inconsistency has kept it from getting the kind of play Born to Run has over the years, but when I do put the record on, it still completely absorbs me. All double albums are flawed, but Springsteen made one of the greatest ones here, and I would argue that, aside from the untouchable Born to Run, he hasn't made another record nearly as compelling, memorable, or indeed, as great as The River.

***Lots of exciting news in Springsteen world in the past week, what with new album information and tour date announcements. Needless to say, I'll be offering my thoughts on the album as soon as it is in my hands, and I'll also be at the Concert at the Palace in April. Counting the days!***

A Year in Review: 2011's Biggest Disappointments

2011 yielded a lot of records that will probably achieve borderline classic status for me within the next decade or so, but as always, there were a few records that just didn't do it for me. You know the type: the kind of records that you put on your "most anticipated" list at the start of a year, but ones that end up just missing the mark entirely. Whether it was because the artists in question had previously made records that hit me in such an emotional place that the follow-ups couldn't live up to them, or because I've moved passed the point where I found the artist's music relevant in my life, these five records will probably get very little attention from me after the sun sets on this year. Perhaps there's a classic here that will unveil itself once enough time has passed, but I personally think each of these records failed in such a way that I'm no longer sure what place these artists have in my soundtrack. Only time will tell.

1. City & Colour - Little Hell

It's a bit weird that this one sits at the top of this list, since I really don't think it's a bad record at all, and a bunch of people even called it his best. It's all personal here though, since Dallas Greene (the singer-songwriter behind his project) made one of the most emotional, heartbreaking records I've ever heard back in 2005 with Sometimes. That record was just Dallas with his acoustic guitar and his unbelievable voice, and when I finally discovered it 3 years after it's release, I formed such an emotional connection with it that I don't honestly know if I love the record because the music is great or because it seemed to describe perfectly how I was feeling. The follow-up, 2008's Bring Me Your Love, brought a more fleshed-out, full-band sound with it, but I still felt a connection to what Dallas was singing about. I feel nothing at all when I listen to this record though. Everything sounds as beautiful as ever, but that palpable emotion that made Sometimes something special for me is no longer present in Dallas' lyrics or vocals, and that's a bit heartbreaking for me. Perhaps I'm in the minority, but I didn't find much to come back to on Little Hell, even though I tried time and time again.

2. Bright Eyes - The People's Key

The only reason this record isn't number one on this list is because the only album Conor Oberst has ever made that I loved completely was 2005's I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning. That album's folky, Americana beauty had Oberst writing some of the best lyrics I've ever heard, and the last three tracks ("Land Locked Blues," "Poison Oak," "Road to Joy") are on my list for the best ways to ever end an album. The People's Key, to put it lightly, is a horrible record. It's a concept album about...aliens? Scientology? I'm not really sure, but the creepy spoken-word interludes mar songs that are already far less inspired than what Oberst is capable of. There's one moment of glory, near the end, with the piano based "Ladder Song," a gorgeous lament that finds a lot in common with Oberst's best work. It's a brilliant song, but it's four minutes of an album that seems to last far, far longer than it actually does, and the record's overall failure has kept me from coming back to the song as much as I should have. Considering that this is possibly the last record under the Bright Eyes moniker, it just seems even worse.

3. Red Hot Chili Peppers - I'm With You

I'm With You isn't a bad record, it's just a pretty damn boring one. It's hard to blame John Klinghoffer, who has to fill the immense shoes of former guitarist John Frusciante, and does it reasonably well when the band lets him. Unfortunately, they don't let him show off much, and instead opt to turn up the bass and let Flea take center stage, which also isn't a wholly bad thing, but which results in a record that is pretty redundant overall. Then again, maybe I've just outgrown the Peppers and Anthony Kiedis' nonsense lyrics. To put things in perspective, the last time these guys released a record, I was finishing up my freshman year of high school. I'm With You dropped on the day that I headed back to college for my junior year, over five years later. Five years is a long time in the music industry in general, but it's been a lifetime for my music tastes, which seem to have left this group behind a bit, not only judging by my lukewarm reaction to this record, but also to how little I've revisited any of their older records in the past four years. Still, I'm With You is almost unquestionably their weakest record since before Californication, even if there are a few songs I enjoy quite a bit ("Brendan's Death Song" being the highlight).

4. Lydia - Paint it Golden

This band came out of nowhere in 2008 with Illuminate, a record that I found haunting and enchanting, and one that I placed in my top five for that year, alongside the likes of Butch Walker, Jack's Mannequin, Safetysuit and Augustana. After the departure of co-lead vocalist Mindy White (she now leads the group States, who also released a record this year), Lydia supposedly ended, but that break-up was short lived, apparently. Here's another record that isn't really bad in any way, but which just feels a bit dull after the incredible record that Illuminate was. It's clear that White was the band's secret weapon, as without her, what could have been as haunting and emotionally resonant as the songs on Illuminate were, just fall flat. Leighton Antelman, the frontman behind this project, also made a record under the guise of The Cinema this year. It was a collection of catchy, electronic based pop songs that drew obvious influence from the likes of Ben Gibbard's Postal Service project, and ended up being a record I enjoyed a lot more than this one. It could just be that it's a better album (which I think it is), but it also has a lot to do with Antelman's use of the Lydia moniker, which just feels dishonest at this point.

5. I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody's Business - Gold Rush

Ace Enders, the ultra-prolific mind behind the Early November and the Million Different People solo project a few years back, has recently settled into making music under this moniker. Last year, he released an album called The World We Know, and while it wasn't one of my favorites due to what I found to be a lack of consistency, there were undoubtedly a handful of unbelievably great songs on there, and they earned it a spot on my honorable mentions list. Gold Rush seeks to be a summer pop record, but weird production techniques (especially on Enders' vocal lines) and a handful of strangely uninspired songs left this record as one that I half liked and half hated. Even the best songs don't soar like they did on The World We Know, and although I ultimately ended up giving this an honorable mention as well, it still feels to me like a strangely incomplete effort.  

*Bonus points for Lydia, for one of the weirdest album covers of the year.