TYBS #26
Here are more new releases from SONY-BMG Music Entertainment for days when the weather turns into that weird inclement of sunny and drizzling.
TRAVIS
The Boy With No Name
Travis was one of the things I couldn’t understand when slacker pop got into vogue. Their sound smacked of the “I’m so white and middle class it’s hard to keep myself from whining about the bad stuff.” Case in point: “Why Does It Always Rain on Me?” That seemed like a big waste of sonic time and contrary to the whole point of rock. Travis just seemed to make catastrophes seem like farces rather than tragedy.
Still, The Boy With No Name has some startlingly tasty tracks that puts them above the usual indie droll of Athlete, Low and other sentimental rockers. This album is as doozy and introspective as an after dinner moment on the rooftop with the dusk just coming down. Truffles anyone?
The provincial gothic of “3 Times and You Lose” with its melancholy riffing and understated vocals is a despondently folkish surprise that comes across as wholly unaffected. And then the lyrics hit you and somehow you’re in paranoiac Radiohead territory, albeit done with a country vibe.
Just check out: “The little people had very little left to say/ Their words had all been shortened/ It didn’t really seem important/ And I had a feeling you were very far away/ But then a little voice inside me said: `You’ll never get away from here’.” Gloomy, yes, but precise.
“Big Chair” is a sound trip that rolls and crests without ever climaxing. The bits of electronic drum pads and the piano weaving in and out like a ghost in the woods is perfect for the kind of masterplan subtlety Travis excel at, even if they do it with such sappy passion -- like geeks pining for the homecoming queen they know they can never have.
Don’t go to sleep as you quickly go through “Eyes Wide Open” and on through “Colder” as Travis never kicks up the pace beyond a dripping faucet. Still it all makes a kind of heart-on-my-sleeve sense when “New Amsterdam” comes in. Titled after the old name of New York, this song is a paean to the artsy and the passion of a city that coaxes such conflicting reactions.
The Boy With No Name isn’t an album to be listened to in one sitting (unless you’re going through post break-up) but taken in light sips. A couple of tracks for tonight and several for the next, other wise it’ll be too much sap. Over that period it’ll be more memorable and will conjure up other memories like some Proustian madeleine best taken with alcohol or very slow sex.
KINGS of LEON
Because of the Times
The catchy southern rock of the Followill family takes a turn to the obscure with their third release. Sometimes insolent, sometimes griping but always with an exciting point of view delivered in garage punk flair, Because of the Times is part manifesto of fear and declaration of readiness to combat that paralysis.
The gloomy, atmospheric “On Call” spits out emotion and melody like a rattler on downers. With the majestic blues driver guitar doing overtime it’s something to play during moments of moody menace. Add to that the serial killer allusions of “Trunk” and you’ve got a recipe for a very interesting album.
The grit and twang on “McFearless” and “Black Thumbnail” are excellent Southern rock numbers. Though short on hooks they make up for it with a rollicking melody that’s easy to nod to. The rest are either jangly, ragged-at-the-edges pop songs or fusions of Allman Brothers with Alan Parsons, a bit of Creedence Clearwater Revival thrown in and mixed with Lynrd Skynrd plus a healthy dollop of 21st century jadedness.
Nevermind the challenging listens that are “Fans” or the “The Runner” with their seemingly drawn out or foreshortened rhythms. They’re most certainly experiments in form. The best of them has got to be “Ragoo” with its maxim-worthy encapsulation of music as a medium of personal gospel: “Here’s to the kids out there smoking on the streets/ They’re way too young but I’m way too old to preach/ They know it all but they still ain’t seen the truth/ Just play my song and I will show it all to you.” Bittersweet, that.
With this one the brothers Caleb, Nathan and Jared along with cousin Matthew have crafted the next step of their evolution with just enough balance of rawness and polish. Here’s to Nashville rock.
~ 30
Here are more new releases from SONY-BMG Music Entertainment for days when the weather turns into that weird inclement of sunny and drizzling.
TRAVIS
The Boy With No Name
Travis was one of the things I couldn’t understand when slacker pop got into vogue. Their sound smacked of the “I’m so white and middle class it’s hard to keep myself from whining about the bad stuff.” Case in point: “Why Does It Always Rain on Me?” That seemed like a big waste of sonic time and contrary to the whole point of rock. Travis just seemed to make catastrophes seem like farces rather than tragedy.
Still, The Boy With No Name has some startlingly tasty tracks that puts them above the usual indie droll of Athlete, Low and other sentimental rockers. This album is as doozy and introspective as an after dinner moment on the rooftop with the dusk just coming down. Truffles anyone?
The provincial gothic of “3 Times and You Lose” with its melancholy riffing and understated vocals is a despondently folkish surprise that comes across as wholly unaffected. And then the lyrics hit you and somehow you’re in paranoiac Radiohead territory, albeit done with a country vibe.
Just check out: “The little people had very little left to say/ Their words had all been shortened/ It didn’t really seem important/ And I had a feeling you were very far away/ But then a little voice inside me said: `You’ll never get away from here’.” Gloomy, yes, but precise.
“Big Chair” is a sound trip that rolls and crests without ever climaxing. The bits of electronic drum pads and the piano weaving in and out like a ghost in the woods is perfect for the kind of masterplan subtlety Travis excel at, even if they do it with such sappy passion -- like geeks pining for the homecoming queen they know they can never have.
Don’t go to sleep as you quickly go through “Eyes Wide Open” and on through “Colder” as Travis never kicks up the pace beyond a dripping faucet. Still it all makes a kind of heart-on-my-sleeve sense when “New Amsterdam” comes in. Titled after the old name of New York, this song is a paean to the artsy and the passion of a city that coaxes such conflicting reactions.
The Boy With No Name isn’t an album to be listened to in one sitting (unless you’re going through post break-up) but taken in light sips. A couple of tracks for tonight and several for the next, other wise it’ll be too much sap. Over that period it’ll be more memorable and will conjure up other memories like some Proustian madeleine best taken with alcohol or very slow sex.
KINGS of LEON
Because of the Times
The catchy southern rock of the Followill family takes a turn to the obscure with their third release. Sometimes insolent, sometimes griping but always with an exciting point of view delivered in garage punk flair, Because of the Times is part manifesto of fear and declaration of readiness to combat that paralysis.
The gloomy, atmospheric “On Call” spits out emotion and melody like a rattler on downers. With the majestic blues driver guitar doing overtime it’s something to play during moments of moody menace. Add to that the serial killer allusions of “Trunk” and you’ve got a recipe for a very interesting album.
The grit and twang on “McFearless” and “Black Thumbnail” are excellent Southern rock numbers. Though short on hooks they make up for it with a rollicking melody that’s easy to nod to. The rest are either jangly, ragged-at-the-edges pop songs or fusions of Allman Brothers with Alan Parsons, a bit of Creedence Clearwater Revival thrown in and mixed with Lynrd Skynrd plus a healthy dollop of 21st century jadedness.
Nevermind the challenging listens that are “Fans” or the “The Runner” with their seemingly drawn out or foreshortened rhythms. They’re most certainly experiments in form. The best of them has got to be “Ragoo” with its maxim-worthy encapsulation of music as a medium of personal gospel: “Here’s to the kids out there smoking on the streets/ They’re way too young but I’m way too old to preach/ They know it all but they still ain’t seen the truth/ Just play my song and I will show it all to you.” Bittersweet, that.
With this one the brothers Caleb, Nathan and Jared along with cousin Matthew have crafted the next step of their evolution with just enough balance of rawness and polish. Here’s to Nashville rock.
~ 30
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