The Warm Hardies’ “Fast and Heavy” is the best song about locomotives since Bob Dylan’s “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry”; it is the best Death Cab song since “405″; it is a song that will fill your eyes right up as you reach to press play again and again. (It is not a Death Cab song. But it comes close enough.) The Warm Hardies are a Seattle girl-guy duo who sing with quiet, untrained passion, their harmonies brushing against each other like a cashmere cardigan against oxford cloth. “Fast and Heavy” is their first song; the band tells me a full-band version is on the way, which would be exciting if it wasn’t already completely perfect.
In the wake of Broadcast singer Trish Keenan’s untimely death, it’s reassuring to realize how influential the group was in the time they had. On sophomore album Celeste, U.K. act The Soundcarriers draw from the band’s space-age retro-future amalgam, pairing dispassionate psych harmonies with Krautrock grooves and coy pop hooks. “Last Broadcast” opens with a lockstep mission statement; elsewhere, “Step Outside” leans deeper into “Age of Aquarius”-era pop and the twinkling “Out of Place” offers an atmospheric ballad tied to Earth by resolutely busy percussion. It’s crisp, well-executed stuff — and, though unintended, a worthy tribute to a woman who helped make it possible.
Mighty Clouds’ 2010 self-titled debut, which one again teamed Saturday Looks Good To Me’s Fred Thomas and Betty Marie Barnes, continues to rise unbidden to the top of my iPod. It’s an utterly lovable collection of mid-fi pop crafted by one of the genre’s most underrated teams. If you missed it last year, the band will be repressing the vinyl for Record Store Day on April 16 — and in even better news, a number of rare/out-of-print Thomas-related albums have just been made available digitally. I suggest starting with Thomas’ solo set Everything is Pretty Much Totally Fucked, which has, hands-down, the best cover of the Beach Boys’ “Don’t Worry Baby” ever. Well worth your $5.
There’s not a lot to Hosannas’ video to “When We Were Young” — eggs, basically — but through a combination of conflicting textures, cinematography and broken yolks, it manages to be disconcertingly visceral. The music, too, is a gooey, gross affair, all Chewbacca synthesizers hugging it out with Women-like guitar distortion. Almost as good as that Killers song. The Portland band’s Together came out last year; stream it in full after the jump Read the rest of this entry »
I, like most people I know, like R. Kelly best when he’s being funny. On songs such as “Trapped in the Closet” or “The Same Girl,” the oft-troubled R&B veteran taps into the same vein of genius absurdity that keeps screenings of The Room full of spoon-throwing crowds. Kells, though, deserves credit for keeping a straight face while masterminding his sometimes baffling music. On Love Letter, his attentions turn serious, a switch he makes to general success.
From the sepia-toned album art to the throwback arrangements, it’s clear the singer wants to align himself with the greats — Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke, Michael Jackson. The duet “Love Is” is a latter-day Gaye and Terrell homage, while “Radio Message” offers Cooke-like twinkling pianos. Some of it comes closer to Sade (or, for that matter, Billy Joel): the come-hither wah-wahs of “No. 1 Hit” or title track’s weirdly Joanna Newsom-esque harp, a slice of cheese in an album that admittedly has its moments of lactose intolerance. But mostly, it’s Kelly doing what he does second-best — singing — and keeping the slow jams mom-friendly without entirely sacrificing his way with words. He’s got the right idea: the club needs more of the classics. Love Letter brings them.
The 2010-released When We Were Boys soundtrack is an extremely nice reminder that Jim Guthrie remains the understated, Canadian answer to Sufjan Stevens’ often indulgent flights of fancy. It’s mostly instrumental, but does offer some new vocal work — “If Chairs Were Bears” is miles better than the Islands-bro-damaged pop of 2008′s Human Highway release, as is the upbeat “Trouble” and the early Death Cab gloom of “Sexy Drummer.”
Guthrie’s best-of-decade-caliber Now, More Than Ever was reissued on vinyl last year, though I believe this release marks his first solo pop efforts since. (The soundtrack also includes cuts from Rock Plaza Central and Tomboyfriend.) Stream the soundtrack in full and buy it after the jump. Read the rest of this entry »
Getting To The Point Dept.: You need to hear Carl Hauck’s Windjammer. I’ll never post anything I don’t seriously like on Rawkblog, but this is a special record, a collection of tender country-tinged folk that draws on Michigan-era sufjan Stevens and Heartbreaker/Gold-era Ryan Adams with equal adeptness. The northern Illinois musician sings with Stevens’ hushed somberness and a touch of Southern twang, a voice that pairs flawlessly with fingerpicked acoustic guitars. Given that the album’s filled end-to-end with them, that’s a good thing, but the ballad-driven set is at its best when Hauck’s most insistent: at his most Adams-y alongside slow-burning electric guitars on “Coming Away” or in the company of horns on “Martial Riesling.”
His arrangements are thoughtful and minimally laid, a saxophone here, a lead guitar there, and always so rich an addition that one can’t help but wonder why Hauck didn’t opt for more of a fuller sound throughout. Still, even at its most spartan, Windjammer offers fine songwriting and performances delivered with the clarity of a new morning.
Brooklyn band Chalk and Numbers’ He Knew EP sounds like She & Him might have if Zooey Deschanel had paired with Saturday Looks Good To Me’s Fred Thomas instead of M. Ward. A ’60s homage on a budget, “He Knew” and “I Hope You Do” nod to the Zombies’ “Time of the Season” and “She’s Not There,” respectively, while “I Really Wanna Work This Out” evokes the Supremes with its staccato bounce. All the songs are charming stuff, recorded with just enough analog edge to recall the classics’ feel without submerging completely in hero-worship.
Chalk and Numbers – “I Really Wanna Work This Out”:mp3