As if the eagle-eye view of a Lego Dubai wasn’t already cool enough, it also features a a killer score by Ratatatty electronica-rock duo NOBOT. The sound design and audio effects were also pored over by Nobot’s Kyle Vande Slunt; the resulting clicks and bloops are a pretty crucial part of the experience, so you might prefer the alternate version of the track that leaves them all intact. Funny noises make everything better, even catastrophic end-of-civilization crises.
I’ve not said much to say, in print, to this point about John Zorn for a variety of reasons, but it ultimately boils down to two very simple issues. First, there is so much to say it’s both exhausting and intimidating to consider; how to even grapple with an output like this? Second, and perhaps more significant, I’m not at all certain my best efforts would sufficiently convey how important his music is (to me, for starters) and how truly all-encompassing his sensibility has become. And that’s just in the last 12 months…
Consider his Masada songbook: 100 compositions he wrote in the early ’90s, and then recorded over the course of ten albums with the (then acoustic) Masada band, including Dave Douglas on trumpet, Greg Cohen on bass and Joey Baron on drums. The klezmer-meets classic Ornette Coleman Quartet vibe, too often and easily invoked as a way of describing what this music sounds like, nevertheless is an acceptably succinct summation. These tunes were covered by another working band, Bar Kokhba (which brought in Cyro Baptista on percussion, Marc Ribot on guitar, Mark Feldman on violin and Eric Friedlander on cello–all mainstays in the NYC downtown music scene), giving the compositions an augmented grandeur that keeps the material challenging (mostly for the players) and always accessible. The Masada String Trio (Cohen, Feldman and Friedlander) also recorded and performed this material live.
Economopocalypse got you down? Banish the gloomies by slurping up a Chipwich® or a Bomb Pop™—American obesity has already pressed on beyond epidemic levels into pure comic Nutty Professor territory, after all, so why hold back in your time of need? If you’re among the few still watching your girlish figure, however, you can instead dip into Virginia composer Michael Hearst‘s adorable little Songs for Ice Cream Trucks project, which pays homage to the beloved nuggets of dairy delight and the remarkable mobile delivery infrastructure that carries them throughout suburbia with nostalgia-riddled melodic pointillism delivered via wobbly bells and xylophones. It’s also a remarkable study in self-restraint: these songs had to work with only the technical underpinnings of what is essentially just a giant music box on wheels. And even though ice cream is always awesome, the songs aren’t always upbeat, sometimes opting instead for creepy minor keys that remind you that at least a few of the truck drivers from your childhood were probably borderline pedophiles and Mister Softee kinda looks like a bow-tied turd. But you can grab these songs for free, so if you ultimately decide that rainbow sprinkles aren’t a suitable substitute for your 401k (imagine that!) and still need a pick-me-up at the other end, you’ll have plenty of money left over for the Jim Beam.
Michael Hearst “Where Do Ice Cream Trucks Go in the Winter? [MP3]
Me: I love Jenny Lewis.
Mom: Don’t you have a boyfriend, right now?
Me: Yeah, but, well I’m in love with Jenny Lewis.
Mom: Who?
I could scream it from the rooftops. Unfortunately, those listening, like my mother, would have probably not heard of this enigmatic singer/songwriter. Once a child actress, Lewis has emerged and developed as the lead singer of the band, Rilo Kiley. Within the last couple years she has explored her own voice—pairing up with the soul singers, the Watson twins. Her first solo album Rabbit Fur Coat, has been housed in the CD player of my car for the last three months. Her voice is sweet, but not too saccharine. Her melodies have done everything from mix Southern blues, with gospel, and folk with indie rock. Her lyrics, are simple yet biting: “I’m in love with illusions, so saw me in half / I’m in love with tricks so pull another rabbit out of your hat.”
But, what is it exactly about Jenny Lewis that makes women love her? A fair share of women I have conversed with have admitted that she is their one and only “girl crush”. I believe that Jenny Lewis is the archetypal free-spirited woman; she is smart and talented enough to write her own music, and doesn’t seem to give a damn about what other people think. She looks like a fashion icon with her short mod dresses and her signature red hair. There is no reason to be jealous of Jenny Lewis because we all secretly want to be her. I want to emulate that confident, quirky, versatile woman. She has a past and marches to her own drum, a drum that happens to coincide with the music she writes. Check out one of Rilo Kiley’s earlier videos…
After seeing a bit of Lukestar’s set on the last night of CMJ, I didn’t feel I gave them a proper chance. If anyone had been doing the amount of CMJ’ing that the PopMatters staff were, I’m sure they would have been in the same boat. But what it boils down to is that Norway’s Lukestar writes rather brilliant pop songs that aren’t meant for a crammed Cake Shop at 1 in the morning. They are meant to be played to wide open air in the Festival grounds or in an old cathedral where their sound can resonate.
“White Shade”, off their latest record Lake Toba, is the perfect example of the potential their sound can reach. Acting on perfect interplay between rhythm and melody, this song should have been the logical progression for the mid-‘90s alternative sounds of the Promise Ring and Sunny Day Real Estate into the new millennium, rather than finding itself rooted in mainstream American culture. Songwriter/Singer Truls Heggero, contrary to popular belief, does not sound like Sigur Ros. Just because he sings in a high register, does not make him anywhere comparable to the Icelandic group, and this is a good thing. His vocals have a more pop sensibility and serve not only as an instrument, but as a vital portion of the song.
This is almost a summer song slush fund. Despite hailing from Chicago, Ghost House molts more in a single song than most rappers do in a career. Spank Rock, OutKast, and codeine sippers of world all scramble on the angles of this electro-infused monument to being a “bad ass mutha fuckah”. Granted, that’s hardly new territory in the genre ego built, but the Ghost House crew have some humility in their hubris, which makes the self-inflation part of the song’s sky high energy and not just bragadacio baggage.
The opening keyboard riff, wiry and alien, sounds like a totally warped and reinvented take of the keyboard wash in Justin Timberlake’s “My Love”. I’m no Timberlake fan, but I’ll take every version of that space age stutter that I can get. The verbal flow gets skipped like a stone and shifted into frenzied knots just before drifting into the slow-mo sludge hook. “Samuel L. Jackson” unpretentiously swarms you with switched up rhythms, sexy come on’s and a sound grafted from the best of the cutting edges.
“Where Do Ice Cream Trucks Go in the Winter? [
