!!! - Strange Weather, Isn’t It?

Warp Records

I will travel far and wide to see !!!, a band named for three staccato sounds (“chk chk chk” is the preferred pronunciation, though you can also say “pow pow pow” or “bang bang bang” to a fellow fan if so inclined). In the past five years, I’ve seen them at least as many times. From a slightly awkward but riotously fun gymnasium show in Chicago to a slam dancing mess at Boston’s Paradise, I’ve been there.

I’ve seen related side projects and new ventures from Out Hud to Free Blood to LCD Soundsystem, and loved every minute of madness each show brought to my life. But every time I dance my ass off with the expansive !!! crew, I do it alone. This is distressing. Do I really not know anyone else who wants to dance the Nic Offer, a twist-meets-disco gyration named for the band’s lead singer? I only know one person who even has a name for the main man’s dance. I guess that’s how it goes when you obsessively listen to slightly obscure dance rock. Unless you have Coachella fanatic friends, you go it alone.

Strange Weather, Isn’t It?, the band’s third full-length effort following the preposterously manic nine-minute single “Me and Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard (A True Story)” and a split EP of Magnetic Fields/Nate Dogg covers, is a solid if slightly subdued release for a six-plus-member group known for switching instruments between every song at live shows. Several slower psychedelic tracks fill the nine-track album, and unlike previous efforts which relied on eight-minute dance jams, none of these songs clock in over six minutes. Vocalist Shannon Funchess, seemingly the only woman to stick around the !!! ranks very long, is officially included on the album after touring with the band for the last several years.

Strange Weather, Isn’t It? sounds like an amalgam of new work and older tracks left off of other albums. Opening track “AM/FM” captures the sound of a live performance with Funchess’ breathy vocals mixed with Offer’s half-spoken chants about how “you can change the station, but there just ain’t no replacement.” An oft-used !!! lyrical formula, it also discusses the merits of dance music (and in this case radio DJs and frequencies) in detail. “The Most Certain Sure,” with lyrics about lessons not learned, could have been cut from sophomore release Louden Up Now and reworked in the interim. “Steady as the Sidewalk Cracks” begins with an '80s pop riff reminiscent of Wham! and segues seamlessly into a classic !!! jam that urges you, “Don’t you ever look back/You’ve got to trust the music.”

In the past years, as my love for them and their fame has grown, !!! has experienced tragedy in their ranks; two band members have died in bizarre, tragic accidents involving elevator shafts and bike-car collisions. As with any sizable lineup, shifts within the ranks are bound to occur, but I sometimes worry so many changes will permanently destabilize an already slightly chaotic collective.

!!! makes a party for your stereo, for your life, and I say, make that party yours. Own it.

Review by Brittany Shoot

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

Tribella - Thirteen

Rocklittleface Music

“Jangly” is a complimentary adjective in my music lexicon. It's a descriptor applied quite often to indie rock bands of the early '90s: think classic-era music from UK label 4AD. In the case of Texas trio Tribella, jangly serves as both a term of endearment as well as a nod to their forebearers. These darlings of the Austin music scene produce edgy ethereal power pop, showcased in fine form on their debut full-length album Thirteen.

Released on the heels of the six-song EP My Guest List, and following the band's 2009 U.S. tour, Tribella's Thirteen is an ambitious collection, featuring nine (highly) original songs and one remix. Tribella has three members: lyricist, guitarist and lead vocalist Sarah Glynn, bassist Rae Golding, and drummer/vocalist Dena Gerbrecht. They've kept good live company, sharing stages with such artists as San Antonio trio Girl in a Coma and music festival mainstay Sarah Bettens (K's Choice). The group dips its toes into pseudo-Britpop, indie rock, prog, shoegaze, and even math rock. The result is a gleaming multifaceted expanse, leaping joyously from rhythm to rhythm–often within the same song–while still achieving a constancy of sound that successfully unifies the album.

With lyrics like “Think of all the books you'll read/Now that you're rid of me,” the title track is wry bittersweet barb. Its sting hearkens back to the Lush song, “Ciao!” (featuring Jarvis Cocker of Pulp), in which a recently separated couple barrage each other with insults while wallowing in regret and denial. “Revolution Script” eloquently considers the socio-political impact of our actions, sans preachiness: “Look back with a rock in my hand/Throw it in the future/Hope it might land.”

Previously released EP lead track “My Guest List” also features prominently on Thirteen, both in its original form and as a tinkling, yet somewhat tepid, remix courtesy of Eric LeRoc. There's a sassy defiant charm to its chorus: “And all the world that matters/Will be on my guest list/And all my friends that matter/Will be on my guest list.” It seems to be at once mocking such a shallow mentality, while at the same time celebrating the truly important things in our own little microcosms by bestowing upon them the honor of VIP status.

For me, Tribella's sound is so familiar that it's difficult to critique. I just... like it. I delight in their use of irregular meters (highlighted with the title song, which is played in 13/8 time), their cynical-sweet lyrics, and most of all, Glynn and Gerbrecht's dense harmonies. If your heart doesn't beat to the rhythms of groups like Belly, Throwing Muses, Lush, or Metric, then Tribella might not be your cup of tea. Not everyone cottons to the complex flavors of genre-defying rock. But do me a favor: give it a teensy taste. Please? You never know. You just might like it.

Review by M. Brianna Stallings

Elliott Smith - From A Basement On The Hill

Kill Rock Stars

My indie cred—if you want to call it that—is this: I was at one of Elliott Smith’s last shows. At the Northwestern University A&O Ball in 2002, Smith attempted to open for Wilco, fumbling with his guitar, breaking a string, complaining that his hand fell asleep, and never really finishing a song before trudging off stage an hour later. My friends and I were so angry and disappointed. “Is he on drugs?” If only we’d known the truth. If only anyone had known what was to come. A year and a half later, Smith committed suicide by stabbing himself in the chest.

I love Elliott Smith's music. I’m a sad former college radio nerd who grew up at the height of his popularity. “Miss Misery” is undoubtedly one of my favorite songs, in part because I love any movie shot in Boston and featuring under-the-radar music. But after he died, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to From a Basement on the Hill. Tragically, I’m a pro at handling death in the short term, but posthumous releases sort of freak me out. What’s done is done, right? What does it mean if the artist isn’t here to be a part of the production or release of his or her work? Only recently did I pick up some posthumous 2Pac and feel good about it. A decade later, I apparently come around.

Kill Rock Stars, arbiter of northwestern indie cool, recently got the rights to the 2004 release from ANTI-. Anyone who got a first listen in, well, the past five years, knows that this album is beautiful but sad. Songs like “A Fond Farewell” are reminiscent of XO. Others dabble in noise rock with strange layers of buzzing and bird noises attached. The album, sort of like Smith’s life, feels like a celebration on a rainy day. You could try to be the happiest person in the world, attempting revelry with friends, but inevitably, there will be a dark cloud on the horizon. That’s just how some of us are made.

Such a large percentage of From a Basement on the Hill deals in morbid fare: goodbyes, being a fuck up, memories, drugs, feeling lost, trying to keep it together. I’m not the first to say that it all feels foreboding, even now that we know the end of the story.

But you don’t listen to think back in sadness. You listen to remember why you ever listened at all. Elliott Smith made incredible music during his short time on Earth. If you’re as silly as I was—to largely overlook this album for the last few years—go grab a copy and remember the good times with the floppy-haired guy with the acoustic guitar and mellow voice. And if you never discovered Smith while he was alive, you still have time. Take advantage.

Review by Brittany Shoot

The Bundles

K Records

I used to have a Livejournal, and Kimya Dawson was on my “friends list,” meaning I could read her journal entries. She was always a cheerful yet honest writer. Kimya shared photos of her lovely self, her bearded-and-bespectacled-husband, and her baby dressed in gender-neutral colors. I quickly admired this plus-sized woman with body modifications and tattoos, going about being a mother, wife, and artist, all in her own way.

Both Kimya's music and overall personality seemed to lack the superficial posturing many other folks demonstrate. Needless to say, I was inspired. Unfortunately, many women completely sacrifice their work (creative and otherwise) in order to care for their families, and I was happy to see Kimya balancing both her family and her art—a difficult task, to say the least. However, to supply time and energy to our loved ones and personal projects, that time and energy needs to be taken away from something, or someone, else.

This leads us to Kimya's latest creative endeavor: performing with a band called The Bundles that consists of Jeffrey Lewis, Jack Lewis, Anders Griffen, and Karl Blau. Although this album is their debut, the group itself is not exactly new. These folks originally started The Bundles about eight years ago, developing songs and performing shows. However, they never actually recorded any of the songs. The band members drifted to solo work and other bands, and it wasn't until recently that they were able to finally come together to record their self-titled album.

Kimya has inspired me yet again by reconnecting with her old friends and finishing what they started a very long time ago. The first song, “A Common Chorus,” tells us from the beginning, “Don't forget about your friends.” Jeffrey Lewis' voice has a Jonathan Richman cadence about it, no matter how heated he gets. Kimya's familiar childlike vocals are alternately soothing and scurrying through the syllables. I was also surprised to hear her growl a little bit on “Ishalicious!”

Aside from trading vocals, Jeffrey and Kimya sometimes clash in complete cacophony. “Shamrock Glamrock” is like listening to all of your pans fall out of the cupboards and hit the linoleum at once. But my favorite sound is when Jeffrey and Kimya harmonize with a full chorus singing in the background.

The Bundles' lyrics often alluded me. Was that “phoenix out of the ash” or “kleenex out of the glass?” My advance promotional copy didn't come with any liner notes. I often picked up on radical references and silly tidbits, like the ones on “Jello Biafra and Hello Kitty.”

Musically speaking, I enjoyed the guitars and drums. They switch from wholesome acoustic chords to floating electric fingering, depending on mood. I can't recall hearing Anders Griffen's drums before, but I'm pretty amazed! It's hard not to play “air drums” to many of these tracks.

“In the Beginning” seems to showcase the best of everyone. The music for “Metal Mouth” is solid, while the lyrics are hilariously juvenile, reminding me of something my heroes, Ween, would do. The ending is “Be Yourself,” which is a mellow sort of “good bye” track.

So there we have it: The Bundles is a fun, capable collection serving as closure for old friends.

Review by Jacquie Piasta