KWCW

Psychedelia ain’t what it used to be. No more LSD-induced ragas: gone are the 17-minute epics with unending drum solos. No, San Francisco’s Gris Gris have much more dubious and emancipating plans for the pseudo-sub-genre.

Their latest aural missive, For the Season, finds the erstwhile groovies colliding demonic chants with layers of deadly organs and free-jazz horns on some tracks and hypnotizing the listener en Espanol on yet another (”Cuerpos Haran Amor Extrano”). While the results sound suspiciously reminiscent of some Turtles or Zombies tracks (not to mention the nefarious Turtle-Zombies hybrid), the Gris Gris reinvent the sonic acid trip by multiplying the number of organs involved, thus reclaiming it from its usual incarnations as Acid-House or, dare I say it, Acid-Jazz. Certainly, whatever musical shape acid should take, it should remain nameless. The Gris Gris understand this essential musical maxim, if at times the psychedelic agent creates such a think smoke that it obscures the real elements at play.

Among highlights (or should I say noteworthy trips) of the album is an anti-ode to Jesus with rolling, thumping drums and a melody that fucks with the time signature. “Pick Up Your Raygun”, though it takes about 2 minutes to really get rolling, stands out as well for its apparent malevolence and outright resemblence to “Paint it Black”. Another standout is the anthemic “Year Zero”. And all of this is very enjoyable while sober. Really. For a look at a not-so-sober take on the album, I leave you with my alterego, Bruce Banner:

“Grrrrrr…Evil Tom want play in drum circle!”

Ahhh how refreshing it is when you get a record that sounds exactly how it should. Nothing too polished, nothing overdubbed, and pefection when it comes to the mixing process. Tom Vek delivers this exact record with “We Have Sound”. First off I will give a bit of history. Tom Vek is a 24 year old multi-instrumentalist from London, England. This entire album was recorded in his dad’s garage then mixed in various studios in Dublin and England. I know this sounds too indie for its own good, but before the quick dismissal, listen!

C-C (You set the fire in me) starts off the album with a bang, and an insanely catchy single to boot. Pounding drums and a great bass line, and he uses an electric fretless here which makes all the difference in the world. The second track is by far the “danciest” track on the album. The claps on two and four…..oh yeah it feels so good. Tom even shows off his falsetto in the chorus. Another really great track is “cover”, which if you listen closely employs the piano melody from DJ shadow’s “Building steam with a grain of salt”. This track utilizes the good old double bass along with great layered keyboard effects.

Lyrically, Tom doesn’t really drop any bombs, but his lyrics are descent and inoffensive to the ear. Don’t expect the next John Darnielle is all I’m saying.

This album sounds great, rocks my socks off, and grows on you like mold, so let yourself be that old brick of cheddar thats been in your fridge for the last year.

Years ago, well okay more like two years ago, I wrote about the ‘working-class groan’ emanating from the last Constantines record, Shine A Light. This classification met with befuddled reactions and even the threat to end my privilege of music reviewing. Nonetheless, in the two years since, I’ve heard the Constantines described as ‘working-class’ numerous times in articles ranging from Pitchfork to the New York Times.

The Constantines’ new effort, Tournament of Hearts, does nothing to change this widespread perception. Though it’s not like one would visualize the Canadian band laboring in overalls a la Dexy’s Midnight Runners, the Springsteen-esque quality of Bryan Webb’s voice and song titles like “Working Full-Time” certainly contribute to the proletarian nature of the band, even if the lyrics themselves are neither revolutionary nor Marxist. Tournament is in fact a mere intensification of the Constantines’ sound, disguising its sometimes-overpowering intensity under sleek textures in “Hotline Operator” and building up gritty tension in “Love in Fear”, two of the standout tracks. If we were to overthrow the bourgeoisie tomorrow, there’d be no better soundtrack for our brash and aggressive movement than this fine album. The nice part is you can listen to it even if you don’t happen to be participating in a coup d’etat.

What is it that makes Nickel Creek so adorable? Is it their beautiful harmonies and chord progressions, or the vigor of youth? Certainly the prospect of a group not much older than the median age of a college campus lends itself to some interest. A family of child prodigies Chris Thile, Sean Watkins, and Sara Watkins have been performing together since they were 13. Winning numerous musical awards, their technical mastery of the instruments is apparent through their sound. All that governs them is the tenacity of youth and their own creative exploration.

The first thing you’ll notice on Why Should The Fire Die? is that the trio has moved drastically far from their first two albums. Indeed, the lack of Alison Krauss to guide them this time out is more than likely a major contributing factor. The efforts of this third album can be said to be an experimental voyage across genres, the seeds of which were sown in their second album with their bluegrass cover of Spit on a Stranger by Pavement.

Why Should The Fire Die? starts off with one of their stand out tracks of the album, When In Rome. Catchy and energetic, this track runs along the vein of their older work. Somebody More Like You is easily my favorite, with beautiful melodies that make your heart jump just a little. The middle of the album is punctuated with a Bob Dylan cover of Tomorrow Is a Long Time, obviously reaching out to their fan base with an ode to a legend. Missing from the track list are the long flowing instrumentals that used to comprise equal parts of their work. Stumptown is painfully short at just a minute and forty-four seconds and leaves you wanting more. The title track closes the album, an artistic closure that is on par with the song itself that just seems to cut out at the end. I’m not sure if this was by design or due to poor production. One of the most shocking tracks on the album, is Best of Luck which has a defined rock and roll sound. Perhaps they were trying to be edgy and innovative, but it really just leaves the listener to ponder “what the fuck?”

All said, Why Should The Fire Die? is a bold new direction for Nickel Creek which might leave devout fans of their first two albums scratching their heads or cursing under their breath. But the important thing to remember is that Sara Watkins is just a cutie straight up, especially when she’s playing the fiddle. A wry smile will take you places in this world.

Ghosty is the kind of band that you can envision struggling to rise above obscurity in the music business for another three to five years before they get that big break with a major label, upon which their cult following indie-as-shit fans will turn on them like a pack of rapid wolverines. Luckily, there’s still time to hop on the train as it leaves the station, so you can remain in the good company of those who liked bands like Nirvana before they were popular or accuse Modest Mouse of selling out.

Grow Up Or Sleep In is the first full length album since the band’s creation in 2000. With their haunting pop jingles, they produce a sound with a meloncholy yet hopeful message. Indeed it is time for Ghosty to grow up, as frontman Andrew Connor ends his stint at KU in Lawrence. Listing some of his influences as Wilco, Pavement, and The Flamming Lips, Connor got the chance to work with Wayne Coyne on the album, which appears as a bonus track.

Despite this star studded collaboration, Ghosty remains a low profile group for the time being. Whether or not they enjoy the success that other intependent artists have as a result of entering into the mainstream or sinking back into their dedicated fan base in Kansas remains to be seen.

Well, well, well. Another British release to feature traditionally “british” vocalists. And they do a fine job of it, too. Fortunately and unfortunately, their music is pretty basic. Yes, they have some grand hooks and their songs are for the most part extraordinarily catchy (”Retreat,” “22 Grand Job,” “Strasbourg”), but there’s not a lot of new sounds forged here.

They’re terrific for the here and now. Tom likes their lyrics, so do I, and they’re really nice for driving or biking. Radio friendly too. But not amazing.

“Hot New Shit” or just “shit”? Sure, I’ll give you that they share Montreal as a hometown with the Arcade Fire, and maybe the fact that they both have a distinct, catchy take on indie-rock, and sure, I’ll even concede that they both released execellent albums in the first week of September (the ‘Fire in ‘04). But really, don’t expect Wolf Parade to get you your next girlfriend or give you a poppy dirge.

“Apologies…” is the tale of two songwriters with pretty distinct styles, but you wouldn’t really know that from the first or even second listen. In fact, though the vocals alternate between the two on every other track, the angular, keyboard-and-guitar-driven hooks of every song are familiar and completely distinguishable from one another at the same time. “We Built Another World” sounds a lot like I wished the Constantines would at times, whereas “Fancy Claps” is like the fully-orchestrated Unicorns song that never was, cascading synths and all. Other notable tracks: the acoustic-but-not-jammy “Modern World” and “Grounds for Divorce”, which has an awkwardly tumbly synth bass line that somehow is transformed into the greatest hook of the album.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you though when you try and bridge the gap between this stellar band and their Canadien colleagues. Eyes will surely roll.

Cannery Hours begins with a haunting, murderous atmosphere straight out of some unholy marriage between Johnny Cash and Nick Cave. The track, “So Far”, vamps on two low piano keys with forlorn vocals sewing in and out of a dreary sonic haze. Yeah, I was smoking mescaline when I wrote this, but that’s the attitude you need to get you to the second track, which is decidedly more upbeat and certainly less pastoral.

Brooklyn-based The Occasion have a special brand of psychedelia that most likely originated not in the greater Tri-State area but rather in the land of vision quests and dehyrdation. Even the more raucous tracks, such as the title track, conjure up an image of badlands and cattle skulls full of poison. Other standouts are “Register My Complaints”, with its moderato guitar jangle and piano groove, and “You May Know Me”, featuring a tremolo guitar and some maracas. “All Over Idaho” has a low-key country-noir vibe.

Take the peyote, kid, and see where it takes you. Put on this album while you’re at it.