Reviews

I decided to post some of my reviews for the station that are written marginally higher than a fifth grade reading level or are about an album worthy of negligible listenership.



Tar..Feathers
Make Way for the Ocean Floor to Fall to the Surface
RIYL: Woods, Meneguar, Les Savy Fav, Owls, Modest Mouse
"Was it Even There?"

Here we have another DIY miracle. The music, artwork, lyric sheet, and packaging are all the product of one Marcus Nyke from a little place called Sweden. Nyke is all over this record with his doubled/tripled/multi-layered vocal tracks that will stop at nothing to haunt you at every verse, chorus, and breakdown. Although Nyke is responsible for writing the songs, the bass lines and drum beats are filled in by friends Morten Bileskalns and Pål Olovsson. I really hope these guys can pull off everything on this album live because it would make a bad show an impossibility. Their sound is like a good synth-pop take on all the new freak folk bands that have been sprouting up lately, and I'm struggling to find anything wrong with that. It’s like Jana Hunter meets Les Savy Fav. I mean, come on! They’re from Sweden!



SeepeopleS
Apocalypse Cow Vol. 1
RIYL: The Physics of Meaning, Band of Horses, The Shins, Fields

They say puns are a rare medium well done, but SeepeopleS’ new release Apocalypse Cow Vol. 1 puts a stake in any grisly foretaste that might be nibbling at you. This album demonstrates not only the band’s exemplary application of wordplay, but their musical aptitude as well. Also, SeepeopleS claim to be an anarchist band, putting many of their political messages at the forefront of their lyrics when not about love or something even more boring like personal and universal issues. Why is it that anarchists bands always have the best album titles? Anyway, this Asheville, NC band manage to easily hold their own among southern indie greats like The Physics of Meaning and Band of Horses with this immense 15 song release on the band’s own Razcalz Recordz, a name of which its wordplay sorely lacks the same sense of whimsicality as Apocalypse Cow.



Chemikal Records
Ballads of the Book
RIYL: Areogramme, Idlewild, Sons & Daughters, Arab Strap, Scottish Accents

This compilation by Chemikal Records puts Scottish musicians in collaboration with Scottish writers. Chemikal Records considers it an "elaborately ambitious" project, but I think I would describe it as being closer to plain old "totally awesome." I'm surprised at how non-verbose this record really is. The lyrics are just as strong as the music and take nothing away. There really is no gimmick here. Despite all that could have gone horribly wrong, Ballads of the Book remains a fantastically genuine album. Upcoming and unsigned artists belt out, with heavy Scottish accents abound, solid and convincing rock songs that leave hardly any low points on the album. I would have it no other way. I can only hope this doesn’t become something more government "Art Councils" begin to latch onto.



Pistolero
The Last Foire
RIYL: Wilco, Spoon, Dead Ponies, The Kinks

Kick up a stool at the old saloon, buckaroo, and buckle down with some melodies from the wild west. Well, the west. And really, just west of here. Which means Atlanta. All right. You know what? Their CD case has a dude with mutton chops on it. So if that isn’t good enough for you, I don’t know what is. Honestly, aside from their name, Pistolero aren't so much representative of the wild west as they are of British rock and roll during the 60s. They manage to mix a few different influences to create a pleasant dissonance that is largely unique to the Atlanta music scene while still letting the British invasion shine through.



RTX
Western Xterminator
RIYL: Pussy Galore, Royal Trux, Memories of Hollywood before the “Hollywood Rock” music festival made everyone turn in their guitars and self-parody for synthesizers and sunglasses.

This will be the music blaring through the side-alley door of a cocaine-littered rock club while some 1980s, blast-from-the-past head banger, whose butt crack would be surging toward freedom if it weren’t for the overgrown mane sprouting out of his balding cranium, watches you with intrigue as you’re wallowing in your own vomit after a night of some impressively hard partying on the Sunset Strip. Yes, it really does take so many adjectives to explain the weight with which this album [review] should be taken. I’ve never seen a five-piece rock outfit pretend so hard to relive an era in which the only notable events were the rise of Mötley Crüe and the release of Beverly Hills Cop.

Actually, on second thought, where do I sign up for this?