Blair - Die Young

Autumn Tone Records

Blair Gimma bounces about between art pop and insightful complexity with her first full-length venture, Die Young, juxtaposing the indelible angst of indie folk rock (with help from her daydreamy vocals) with stark lyrical imagery. Die Young was produced by Keith Ferguson, and uses all New Orleans-based musicians as a sort of tribute to where Blair spent her adolescence. Although the deep-rooted sounds of this genre are not entirely reflected in Die Young, the personal nature of the record touches on its sentimentality, as if most of the songs were acoustically derived from adversity and recorded in the solitude of Blair's bathroom.

“Rampage” sets the partial tone for the record, filling the landscape with echoed reverb and a little Pavement-inspired noise rock delight. Listening to electric keyboard synths in the opening verse of “Hearts,” one can almost picture the rolling credits of a favorite 80s soundtrack in all of its soft new wave splendor. “Hello Halo” features Blair's sprightly vocals, cushioned with classic indie distortion and a pulsing, syncopated beat that’s as pleasing as it is fitting, all while Blair recites, “Got a radio in my head…and it tells me what to say"; not to mention Blair’s amusing ode to girly glory, as she continues by deadpanning, “Kittens, rainbows!” “Paris, France” is moody and ethereal, blending electro-pop and the warm glow of ambient-pop, lush and hypnotic. “Candy in the Kitchen” works with heavy beats and moves in the same direction, albeit with a bit of a departure from the rest of the record. Gleefully, Blair sings, “I was dancing to Whitney Houston,” as you adjust your ears earnestly just to hear what she’ll say next.

Die Young is an extension of light summery pop melodies with harsh complex concepts that cut through its airy pop conventionality. Blair’s mix of vulnerability and savvy musical chops work in tandem, even though some of the songs could be on different records. Her personal pilgrimage, lasting over a span of five years, is still in its beginning stages, a cunning premonition to her eventual creative evolution in the years to come.

Review by Cat Veit

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - Mojo

Reprise Records

Think of the word mojo in the classic sense (energy and zest for life) before Jim Morrison distorted it, and it's really the best adjective to describe this album. Having listened to Tom Petty—with and sans the Heartbreakers—since high school, I have to agree with fellow fans that the guy just doesn't make bad music.

Like many an artist going through major life changes—divorce, having a child grow into an adult, a new marriage—music tends to be worn on his sleeve. While his releases have varied a great deal in the past fifteen years or so—contrast the mellowness of his solo album Wildflowers with the sad, longing lyrics of the tracks from She's The One (a soundtrack from an Ed Burns movie), to the pissed-off rants on The Last DJ—it's been a long time since he's put out songs with any real, well, mojo. Needless to say, this listener is glad he has it back. The lyrics seem to come from one who has loved, lost, toughened up, and loved again.

Not one of the fifteen tracks on Mojo disappoints. Some, like “Jefferson Jericho Blues,” “I Should Have Known It,” and guitar-heavy “Running Man's Bible,” have echoes of classics like “American Girl” and “Refugee,” but don't sound the least bit recycled. Likewise, there are lyrics in songs like “The Trip to Pirate's Cove” that have the trademark Tom Petty trait of nearly making sense, but then failing to (think “Mary Jane's Last Dance”). I don't normally care for rock artists attempting reggae, but even the track “Don't Pull Me Over,” with its slightly sad riffs, is done in good taste. And no Tom Petty album could be complete without honest, slightly tear-jerking songs about love and longing, and “No Reason to Cry” and “Lover's Touch,” while musically quite different, fit that bill.

In sum, don't download it song by song. Longtime fans will want this album in its entirety.

Review by M.L. Madison

Peasant - Shady Retreat

Paper Garden Records

Here’s the dilemma: I like a lot of divergent genres. Living in northern Europe the past eighteen months, I’ve been able to embrace my unabashed love of electronic club music and synthpop. I live in the birthplace of Eurovision, in the land of ABBA. Well, I’m twenty miles south of Sweden, but you get the idea.

My partner and I are making plans to move home within the calendar year, though “home” may become anywhere from NYC to Silicon Valley because he’s a start-up guy looking for funding. On an intercontinental phone call with my Indiana-based best friend the other night, I lamented how much I would miss The Voice, a European answer to what MTV was when it actually played music. I can switch on the appallingly commercial station at almost any hour of the day and catch a mix of Danish bubblegum pop, American hip-hop, and French club music. “When I get back, I’ll have to go back to listening to my college radio cry rock again,” I moaned to my pal, only then fully realizing just how far removed I’d become from the world I’d once inhabited.

To ease back into the idea of being stateside, I’ve been listening to Peasant. A bit more heavy-handed production-wise compared to Damien Derose’s first album, Shady Retreat is an excellent follow-up for folks who dig mellow songwriter jams—or people like me, who have to force themselves back into a once-loved genre.

The opening track, “Thinking,” starts rather abruptly, almost as though the producer meant to fade up the track but got excited at the last minute. Thankfully, other songs make up for the unsettling intro. “Prescriptions” is a cross between mellow folk-rock and a country ballad, complete with the clop-clop horse trotting sound effect in the background. It may be nothing more elaborate than a block being hit with a stick a la elementary school music class, but it produced an endearing, lo-fi quality for a wanna-be country gal like myself. I even felt my own Midwestern instincts kicking back in as I listened to “Into the Woods.” “Don’t go out into the woods,” Derose croons. No joke. I can get behind staying home where it’s safe and warm.

If you think you’re a club kid who hates sad bastard singer-songwriters, think again.

Review by Brittany Shoot