As the Reviewer Tries to Get Behind Another Indie Label, a Barely-Legal Swede Saves the Day

Cleeman: 45 Minutes Mostly About Caring

Cajita: The Ellipsis

Chuck Morgan: Patchworks

Television Keeps Us Apart: A Slight Change of Light

First, a little hint - make sure to scroll to the absolute bottom of the page. Okay: I recently became aware of Series Two Records, an ambitious Nebraska-based label proving that anything can happen anywhere. Anything doesn’t just happen in the American hinterlands, relatively speaking, either. I can imagine the delight of musicians when they hear they’ve been signed to Series Two, which, per its Myspace, is “…releasing some of the best Swedish Indie pop bands as well as music from USA, Canada, Mexico, Argentina, Peru, Costa Rica, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, United Kingdom, Taiwan, Japan, China, Australia, Indonesia, Thailand, Croatia, New Zealand, Latvia, Ireland, Germany, Belgium, Poland, Russia, France, Switzerland, Spain, Italy, Finland, Brazil, Singapore, and Israel.”

It’s pretty exciting to open a mailer of CDs and what the Brits call badges (pins) from Christopher, founder of the label and the Nebraska Pop Festival. After my first hour of listening, annoyance has replaced enthusiasm. I mean, I’m glad the label is giving people reasons to get up in the morning. Unfortunately, the first half of this listening experience did not affect me similarly. Based on two of the CDs, I start to think maybe Christopher is on some sort of wonder drug that makes everything sound nice, like soma in Brave New World.

I’m wishing someone would give some of that to Cleeman, a Dane whose amusing CD cover implied something stimulating. Although his depressing, vibrato-laden dirges lead to more drowsiness than annoyance, I can see how repeated listens could mean a massive sleeping pill acquisition. Who knew anything could make me miss Al Stewart or Christopher Cross? While this doesn’t really, it makes me miss how when I hear either on the radio the experience is bound to end in three minutes or less.

UK-based, Cajita does a decent job of the sort of electronic emo that spread like cancer in the mid ‘80s, with a bit of solo Morrissey-ish bathos. I’m glad that part of the ‘80s is over. I’ll never forget my chagrin at moving to NYC just in time for the best of the new wave to be over, a murky white-people-music period when disco, synth-pop and post-wave poseurs (Boy George really did exist) ruled far too many clubs and jukeboxes. One of the most depressing nights of my life was at some bar in the East Village; the music was so dreadful that “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” became a high point, dimly punctuated by the vomiting of a NYU frat boy.

Live, Cajita is sometimes backed by visuals, making its output even more sleepily hypnotic. Still, one can always applaud the knob-turners’ glee, which once upon a time informed David Bowie’s Eno-collaborative output – which makes me want to watch this video of a track from Heroes:

I’m losing faith in Series Two and annoyed that the last two CDs do nothing on my main player, meaning I’ll have to listen to Chuck Morgan (a/k/a Anton Ekman, a Swede in Gothenberg) through midget speakers. Characteristic of Ekman’s occasional awkwardness with English is the title of the opener, “It Is About Time,” which eases in cool as the watery guitar of Danny Kirwan circa Bare Trees or Future Games – a good but not great thing, as the melody isn’t up to the song writing on either. But when the compellingly moody progression driving “Please Take The Train” takes hold, I stop thinking about all the other things I’d rather be doing. Sure, it sounds a bit like Broken Social Scene or Mice Parade. MP helped save a really bleak July for me with the kind of sublime abstraction I may never tire of.

Throughout this debut, almost everything which has affected Ekman is employed in a “renewable resource” kind of way. The occasional oddities dotting Ekman’s English also allow for spots of brilliance. And my restless ears are riveted by an array of evocative, humorous or simply unexpected sound effects so effective, I remember my first experience of Stevie Wonder’s Talking Book (I’d just been fed hash brownies at a pool party in Spain overlooking the Bay of Fuentebravia, and was listening through quality headphones).

Re: Patchwork's two or three near-missteps, here’s a relatively unqualified statement: Swedes shouldn’t rap. As it’s a major influence (along with Speaking In Tongues-era David Byrne), Ekman does: On “Big Pink Can’t Sleep,” awkward early stanzas are saved by momentum and an infectious refrain. Similarly, “Perdido” is rescued by a rather original storyline.

Patchworks is something pretty unusual now that everyone’s heard everything (even if they haven’t had the original historically/culturally-related experiences). First, Ekman grasps the essence of whatever’s found its way into his psyche. Secondly/more rarely, he’s meshed it into more than the sum of its parts. So 11 songs penned between the ages of 15 and 19, often addressing the well-trodden joys and miseries of adolescence, add up to the kind of gem that puts pressure on the artist. It’s hard for me to imagine how this 20-year-old is going to top this mix of inventiveness, melodic ingenuity, and intuitive collaborators (on sax, clarinet, beat box, bass, and production mastering). I hope any future release will at least retain Ekman’s elegantly restrained aesthetic.

Especially noteworthy are a few cuts that blossom into some of the most gorgeous original pop I’ve heard in some time. The touching “Talent For Luck” glows with confessional courage and tasty acoustic fingering. “Our Future Could Be So Bright” has a touch of The Ballad of Todd Rundgren and of the Beach Boys circa Surf’s Up. At the heart of the album is this wistfully enchanting song:

Chuck Morgan - This spring is

I haven’t heard such sublime Scandinavian melancholy since the version of “Carnival” where Peter Svensson takes the lead, solo vocal. Although the rather difficult, edgy “Smells and Colors,” follows, the transition is masterful, and by now I see that this really is an album; worth acquiring for the experience of listening to the tracks together, in the intended order. It’s the most extraordinary "pop" listening experience I've had since discovering Micachu. Of course, anyone who’s followed my reviews knows I tend to like sounds that hold my interest, which includes some pretty trippy stuff. I imagine there are those who would disagree with my picks. I don’t know whether to feel sorry for them or study them under microscopes. I do know that after listening to this for a couple of days, I have a problem: How to get myself to play anything else.

However, there’s one more Series Two-ster to consider, a Swedish duo with an intriguing name: Television Keeps Us Apart. I hate TVUA’s ponderous organ sounds and vaguely trip-hop electronics, some of which sound just plain ugly, so much I can’t even listen to the whole thing. But thar’s gold in them thar Nebraska hills: While Series Two’s approach seems a bit hit-and-miss, a little miracle happened when it signed Chuck Morgan. In any case, the treasure hunt of listening to everything I could get my hands on has always intrigued me. So maybe if Christopher isn’t too upset after reading this I’ll see if he wants to send four more CDs.

C0pyright October, 2009 by Mary Leary

www.myspace.com/chuckmorgan8

www.myspace.com/seriestworecords

SURFACES CAN DECEIVE

This installment doesn’t lasso anything very far from what might be called the mainstream–which, for me, is kind of off the beaten track. But I’ve never wanted to care whether I’m adhering to whatever the coolest Heather or most terminally unique record collector thinks should be the focus. It’s led to a happier life, including good pop (although it’s hard to say without blushing, I’ve been known to smile at Hall and Oates), and, sometimes, flat-out schlock (especially if it’s amusing). Here's a clip of some pretty schlocky pop...



ROB BONDURANT

Occasionally some things just make sense. Local songwriter/performer Rob Bondurant’s spot in the finals of Shaner Promotion’s 2009 Songwriting Competition is one of them. I became aware of Rob when he showed up for an open mic. at a café I was booking a few years ago. He caught every melody-hungry ear with “Waitress,” possibly the best original we heard that night, and certainly the best for anyone his age, which at that point I think was 19. His sound gleamed with a fresh, breathless excitement I heard from few others on the scene, including people who were far more confident or technically talented. Two years later I caught up with him at a venue with dreadful sound. It didn’t matter: Among several sublime moments, the chorus of recent composition “Crossing Lines” raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Rob says it will be one of his two entries in the competition, which happens at Humphrey’s this Sunday, September 27, from 2:30-6:30 p.m. If you miss that, Rob’s first Lestat’s show happens October 24, when he opens for the jovial Josh Damigo, himself a quite ingratiating performer. All the det’s are on Rob’s Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/rbm18

THE LOVE ME NOTS: UPSIDEDOWN INSIDEOUT

Maybe you’ve heard how hipsters in hot, dry Arizona are staying hydrated. It’s an odd little method, also known as copious alcohol + the Love Me Nots, who tend to surface in dimly-lit enclaves throughout the state. Around this new album they will go further, with junkets to the Northeast and Northwest.

On September 20 the mood reported on their Myspace is “hungover,” which makes sense right after a CD release party. As a former hard drinker (which, as a half-Irish poet, may go without saying), I often wonder at people who can throw ‘em back until they get sick, then be (or care about being) functional.

Drunk or getting over it, the Love Me Nots continue to churn out impassioned regurgitations of Farfisa-driven, ‘60s-flavored rock somewhat colored by later regurgitations (Blondie, the Cramps, and more). There’s no irony in it, or it’s all irony without chuckles, which is part of why this has been something of a tough sell for me. If a style is being redone, I tend to like one of two approaches: Do it straight; as well or better than the original. Or, as Rudy Protrudi (Tina Peel, the Fuzztones) figured, knowing his audience all knew the originals - poke fun at it and yourself while taking a few left turns and somehow creating something new, or at least different, along the way.

The LMNs do neither, playing it straight but as if new/post-new wave colorings were part of the original deal, which is something I see often with indies from roughly 1998-forward. I suppose it’s an inevitable consequence of the ready availability of all recorded media.

Even though I’d rather go see the Satelliters (for the straight-ahead approach) or Imperial Teens (sweet-toothed pop glory + satirical schlock), there are some reasons for the buzz that’s been bzzzing around the LMNs. If these musicians were cooks, food critics might say the band’s fresh spy/surf/mod sound is well tempered by the “acid” of Laurenne’s icy passion. Producer Jim Diamond’s (Romantics/White Stripes) involvement hasn’t hurt. They seem dedicated to shows-as-parties. Re: this CD, the tracks I’d most recommend are “Do What You Do,” “Train Wreck,” and “Rosie.” Also notable, and rather feminist, is the anthem-ish “I’m Not That Kind of Girl.”

I just have one cranky critic’s quibble: The LMNs think big, as in referencing a mid-‘60s classic, the Yardbirds’s “Over Under Sideways Down,”(one of the best rock ‘n’ roll singles from an extraordinary era) along with calling the Cramps and Sonics influences. Sorry, but the Yardbirds, including sometimes over-his-head singer Keith Relf, could have kicked the LMNs offstage without missing a beat.

Part of that song’s power is in the approach, and it’s partly just great song writing. Re: approach, here’s an example of passion mixed with humor--in this case it’s not so much about technical proficiency as sloppy abandon and/or dropping “the act,” mixed with just enough discipline:

When the names of major talents are dropped, what I hope is happening (on the part of the band) is what the French call “homage,” and that critics are combining wishful thinking with impatience for this generation’s Next Big Things. Big ambitions could mean the LMNs will still manifest fantastic art. My apparent naysaying is really a sly way of whipping the band on to greater heights. Here’s one idea: since the Love Me Nots seem to do exciting shows and Phoenix isn’t that far, they should play the Casbah. They could open for Grand Old Party and there could be a metallic-girl-voice battle-of-the-bands (also, GOP’s guitar sound is spot-on mid-‘60s).

As Steve Marriott (Small Faces) might have said: the LMN’s clothes and graphics are boss. In fact, presentation is part of what piqued my interest, and then I felt a bit duped by the reality.

THE WANDAS: NEW WAVE BLUES

My experience with the Wandas has been nearly the opposite. The name doesn’t really convey anything. I wasn’t compelled by the CD’s cover art, which looks more appropriate for a sci fi tome. But I’ve found myself loving this music much more than I expected from my first look at a video (above) that drew over 36,000 views on Fuse.tv this July.

At first, New Wave Blues’s title track feels annoying: Why would I want to listen to a lead singer (Keith McEachern) who sounds like Julian Lennon on thorazine? After the guitar really kicks in there’s a nonchalant but inevitable-feeling progression, kind of like Sinister Luck or even Wilco, and then I get tired of reaching for comparisons because the work has the sort of strength that yells (which McEachern is sort of doing by the chorus, with backing): This is just us, doing what we do. Which makes me cock my head at whoever wrote this bio tidbit: “The Wandas have created an album that incorporates contagious hooks and rich harmonies while maintaining their indie integrity...”

Believe me, there are a lot of indies who should have this much integrity. And now I’ll tell you what I really think: “Indie” is a term that might as well be interspersed with “hip” at this point, and, uh, I kind of said all this in my Micachu review months ago, so if you’re interested, please just go back and read it. There should be no apology for wanting to write really great music in return for one’s rent, mortgage, or trailer space. And with the shake-up that’s rocked the record industry and made earlier indie labels scramble to keep up, it’s all coming down to what people want and like; what resonates - and what resonates often feels real. Like the Wandas - who also make me smile at how they seem to be carrying on a Northeast tradition of thoughtful, open, populist, loving music (the Lovin’ Spoonful, the Little Rascals, NRBQ, Innocence Mission–with, turning West, a dash of Bright Eyes).

“Bending Over Backwards”is another solid pop song.“Everyday” benefits from lead guitar that so effectively channels George Harrison in the ‘70s, I can forget what year it is. The cat sleeping next to me looks annoyed by the sudden energy of “Trepidation,” which is absolutely brilliant. It makes me want to go see these Cambridge-based young men live. It gets me excited about living even though I’m frustrated ‘cause I don’t have anything like the budget to run to Boston for a Wandas show, to see what kind of scene generated, and is supporting, this phenomenon.

“1 in 4" shines with some of the exuberance that knocked everyone over as the Beatles did with early singles like “From Me To You” or She Loves You.” “Fighting a War” sounds more specifically like the latter’s Mystery Tour phase, even throwing in some Paul McCartney “oohs.”

A wonderful folk-rock harmony kicks off “The Lady,” which throws a few elbows in our ribs.“Lose You” takes an abrupt left but ends up sounding rather like a Rivers Cuomo-Peter Svensson collaboration. Closer “Better Now” is a relief, since a painful break-up has clearly permeated this collection. Erica Mazaika’s added vocals are one of many wise choices ensuring the variety of sound fueling my Hearty Recommendation: Get this now, for the $9.99 suggested download price, or free, which is also on offer. In either case I have every reason to hope the Wandas will be around to add to some of the best pop I’ve heard this year. Here’s some footage from a surprising (they must have gotten passes from school that day) appearance on one of the last episodes of the Gilmore Girls.

Mary Leary

Copyright September, 2009