Frances The Mute -- The Mars Volta

I am the kind of pretentious privileged upper-middle class white male that prides emself (sic) on not listening to hard rock, preferring the less wall-of-sound varieties. I am the kind of pretentious fancier-of-self-being-no-more-than-a-thoroughly-hubris'd-human-and-subject-to-the-base-impulses-thereof person that prides emself on not listening to prog rock, discrediting it as only for those caught up in illusions of grandeur, and of art as a mystical experience, preferring rather the simple, catchy, still-less-mainstream hooks of Good Shoes or White Rabbits.  Most of all, I am the kind of arrogant skeptical, cynical, unwilling postmodernist that condemns "experimental", "artsy" music, preferring something simply enjoyable.  Frances the Mute, then, rubs against just about every grain that I have... And I found it immensely, complexly enjoyable.  From the first four minutes of banging on pipes with amelodic tones in the background in the titular track, to the compelling, catchy theme at the start of "The Widow," that remains only rarely repeated, tauntingly; from the ragingly loud riffs scattered here and there, to the relaxed latin salsa of L'Via L'Viaquez; from the excessively mixed meter, to the presence of synth and overproduction of the sound, to the raw emotion and the fact that you don't notice a song transition until the album is over: Frances the Mute is the odyssey of an album that a balladic prog rock artist can only hope to achieve, if they ever aspire to relevance to an audience that prides itself on more than just esoterica.  This album was originally only 6 tracks, but the distributor required The Mars Volta to split some of the tracks up in order for it to be able to be released as an album rather than as an EP.  Many copies of this album come without the first track included, as it is otherwise too long to fit on a single CD.  The titles of the songs in this album come from the names of people in a diary found in the back seat of a car being processed by a friend of the artists who worked as a repo man, that told a story of a man's search for his biological parents.  That's how artsy, prog-rocky this album is.  Even so, though, the hauntingly natural mix of English and Spanish in the vocals, as overproduced as it is, manages to lend a certain irresistible familiarity to the album as a whole, weaving one entire narrative, only partially comprehensible, forcing one to consider the vocals as simply another instrument, often, rather than as a conveyor of sense.  Many albums are interesting, fun, well-put together, and intriguing.  This album, though, in the words of someone wise before their time, is the kind of album that a few times a year, you just want to turn off all the lights, lie down on a mattress, and actively listen to, letting the sound wash over and through you, for one and a half glorious hours.
             

Swearin' - Surfing Strange

When I started listening to this album and "Dust in the Gold Sack" started out -- a single female singer strumming open chords on an acoustic guitar-- I already had a few guesses as to where things would be going. I was prepared for a nice folksy number with some pretty vocal harmonies or a cute keyboard melody, but what came next was actually just about as unexpected as it was blatantly appropriate. When that little feedback squeal (arguably the best sound an electric guitar can make) started to squeeze its way into the scene, I knew I would love the next 3 minutes of my life. And I did. It's not often that a band breaks free from the current stadium-indie-rock paradigm of synthetic sounds and top notch production value. Instead, Swearin' takes the subtle approach: a basement jam session style rock band that doesn't try too hard to be artsy or groundbreaking. It's the kind of music that comes naturally. No hook is too wild, no line is too poetic, no beat is too complicated. It's just fun and familiar. You can almost smell that basement musk, see your band mates leaning on tables with guitars, hear the chatter of good friends, only half interested in the music being created a handful of feet away. With Surfing Strange, Swearin' invites you into their world -- a world that sounds a little bit like Pavement, Guided By Voices, and the Breeders -- not to partake in some grand musical experience, but just to enjoy and belong. Notice the sound of a light guitar pick slapping against strings, or an extraneous bass or guitar note here and there. 

On the other hand, Swearin' manages to take this tempestuous mixture of "loud" and make it into a coherent, smart set of songs. The heavier uptempo songs are offset with toned back tracks, all of which maintain a nice level of scuzzy. Lyrically, Swearin' serves up a nice set of unreserved confessions and unashamedly honest observations. "When you get older you'll realize what this was. It wasn't love. Or you won't, and you'll remain ignorant and in pain," hums Allison Crutchfield, accompanied by nice slow bass chords on "Loretta's Flowers", one of my favorites on the album. 

Sure, Surfing Strange probably wasn't an album aimed at changing the musical world as we know it. Instead, it comes across as an album meant to be enjoyed at face value, and at face value, it's really just a collection of good songs from a good band. Do you really need more?

"Dust in the Gold Sack" 

-Kane 

Melt-Banana - Fetch

So, like... Here's an album. Normally when I do one of these little "blog things" I listen to my choice album over and over again until I know exactly how I feel about it. In the case of Melt-Banana's new album, Fetch, I can't really do that. At most, I can handle about three listens through this album per day and then anything after that is almost unbearable to me. Similarly, if I listen to the Mars Volta or pop music for more than two hours I get a headache and it starts to make me nauseous. Fetch doesn't quite reach that level but it's still pretty close to that same feeling. 

"Wow, sounds like you hate this album!" is what you might think at this point, but that's not the case either. I actually think Fetch is one of the coolest new albums I've heard in awhile. But, while I really enjoy it, my ears also have a hard time managing the unrelenting sounds of piercing guitar tone, massive drum beats, and a Japanese girl yelling at me in a language I don't understand. On the other hand, those are the same things that make this album so crazy and so fun. The guitars shred, and not in a really technical "behind the back tapping, double hammer-on arpeggiated sweeps" kind of way. I mean, this guitarist is probably doing bad things to his guitar to get such a heavy sound out of such a bright tone. AND THE TONE! The guitar tone on songs like Candy Gun and My Missing Link could probably kill a man if you stuck him in a room and turned the volume to max. The drum beats are so heavy and loud, and the bassist lays down some tasty (loud) grooves through the entirety of the album. But, the thing that makes Melt-Banana is lead singer, Yasuko Onuki, whose high pitched, cartoony vocals stab through songs in a way that's just as unforgiving as the rest of the instrumentation. When it all comes together, Melt-Banana gives listeners a truly intense listening experience.

Please don't get me wrong: I'm not trying to say this is the best album ever and everyone should like it. In fact, I'd be more surprised if I found someone else that could get behind this album with me and agree that it's actually really kickass. It's an adventurous album. I showed this to a friend and he said "This is just not what I think of when I think 'Kane White,'" and I had to agree with him. If you share musical interests with me, then this album will probably be extremely uncharacteristic of what you normally listen to. Don't let that stop you! Maybe you'll love it, maybe you'll hate it. Either way, at least you can say you tried before your ears started to bleed and your brain oozed out of your nose. 

Check out their song "My Missing Link" below (y)