8.9.2010
New Music: Gabe Hascall – “Just Dust” (Demo)
You may remember Gabe Hascall’s voice, if not his name, as part of early ’00s duo Slowreader — a sort of King of Convenience for Figure 8 fans. Now based in Portland, the singer’s had a rough time these last few years — from the dissolution of his band (and prior outfit The Impossibles) to kicking a meth addiction. “Just Dust” and a handful of other fresh songs are the product of getting clean and getting inspired. He’s still double-tracking, still sincere and, unlike the late, lamented Elliott Smith, still here if you want him.
Gabe Hascall – “Just Dust”: mp3
(Hascall’s Just Dust EP is out now)
While 
The only thing scary about Ghosty is how long they’ve flown under my radar. The Lawrence, Kansas, band has been recording since 2001’s Five Short Minutes, with only scattered output over the years until joining More Famouser records for a trio of new EPs. Last year’s A Mystic’s Robe was the first of them, three tracks of semi-sweet pop with a craving for melody. Singer Andrew Connor’s sincere tenor ambles through turns of phrase reminiscent of the Zombies or the Beach Boys even as the music opts for a gently minimal indie-pop arrangement approach. He earns his membership in the Droll, Conflicted Singer Club (President: 1996 Rivers Cuomo; Vice-Chair: 2007 Jens Lekman) on the pro-female “My Girl Is Strong,” singing “I don’t want a sleazy sex thing.” Judging by the music, what Connor wants is beauty, best showcased in the spectacularly Brian Wilson-esque “Secret Language.” So nope, nothing scary here – except the thought that you, too, haven’t heard Ghosty yet.
I wonder if it ever dawned on Andy Warhol that someday, everyone would have their 15 minute of fame… simultaneously. Indie rock’s greatest problem at the moment, whether one’s in a band trying to signal through the noise or a listener trying to sort through the muck, is the sheer glut of material: in any given day, Pitchfork (just for instance) reviews five albums, three tracks and drops another half-dozen MP3s on Forkcast. And they’re supposed to be the filter! No wonder Best New Music bands become such lightning rods for sales and attention: it’s too much fucking work to listen to the rest. 
To call Jim O’Rourke’s The Visitor much anticipated would be akin to wondering if people are still looking forward to the second coming of Christ. O’Rourke fans are less multitudinous, and arguably less devoted, but nevertheless, after almost a decade of nothing but scattered vocal tracks on Loose Fur records since 2001′s Insignificance, we’ve been dyin’ over here.
Like the evenly cooked oatmeal in “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” so many things about Pants Yell!’s Received Pronunciation are just right. The guitars jangle along the edge of fuzz but not to the point of stylization; the vocals are sincere and dorky but not without confidence (at one point, singer Andrew Churchman sings, “Your boyfriend’s an asshole,” and on “Not Wrong,” drops the line “You had the gall to tell me I’m wrong / but I’m not wrong”); and the performances are joyfully loose even as the songcraft is sewn tight with care. Despite their links to twee labels Asaurus and now Slumberland Records, four albums in, Pants Yell! have risen above their indie-pop roots to the broader camp of indie-as-pop – the big tent of Pavement and Beulah. I will now listen to this album for the fourth time in a row.
