Precious Tempo: A Sheet to the Wind

Preface:

Precious Tempo is the title of a series of entries that will cover what I am working on in regards to music or art. I hope for it to be part-reflection and part-informative. This year I have tried to remain more focused and motivated when it came to music-making, so I feel cataloging and writing about it could serve as a somewhat interesting narrative. It might not, so fair warning.

I - Ending Revisited

Near the end of 2018, I felt a familiar sense of ennui that comes with the lowering temperature and farcical sense of survival people have for "making it" to the "end". Having been unexpectedly laid-off since September, I dedicated much of my free time to sleeping, feeling sorry for myself, and listening to music. I told myself that taking some time off would be good in order to finally finish some music, but the lukewarm response to "Footpath Republic" made me doubt my direction and desire to really get anything done. Band rehearsals weren't exactly great either, with what little shows played going decently but feeling a sense of drudgery. By late November I was seeking other outlets of inspiration, having been invited to record and perform on a cover of Pavement's "Texas Never Whispers" with Static Hands' Steve Keen and Marc Crossland. It was a great bonding experience in playing with talented people, re-arranging a classic song in a new styled, and recording what was essentially a live session, but it only helped to exacerbate the feeling of stagnation back at home base.

This feeling came to a head during my last show of the year, a strange affair where all live members of HS were present on a Thursday night (!) but were either playing in different bands or simply part of the audience. As I looked on to the scenery, a half empty room mixed with acquaintances and drunken strangers, I felt my tolerance for any false holiday cheer reduce to zero. Instead, a bewilderment at why I was even there to expose itself, and a deep dissatisfaction at this ill glorified and unattended end of the year party. I tried to muster up some camaraderie but instead I spoke of how it felt like the years repeating the process of playing to the room with the drunks of disposition were weighing down. To say the least, I was feeling down. I did not blame anyone but myself really. So once the post-show wallowing ended, I decided to be proactive: I cancelled a New Year's Eve show and began to figure out what I should do.

 In Burbank with friends: HS show flyer in Glendale Community College (Nov. 2018)

Contrary to this dire straits situation, and how magnified it felt in the final month of the year, I knew deep down that it was pretty successful, all things considered. The band had played the most it ever had in out-of-town locations, from Downtown Los Angeles and Echo Park to Ventura and West Covina, and usually we would be mild innovators in playing these places before our local peers. Not that it meant anything, since it was impossible to play in a frequency that capitalized on these plantings of the flag. Recognizing this problem and having free time, I knew I had to try something new.

II - Here to Go

Previously in 2017, I reached out to my friend Nicky (better known as songwriter Nicola Rivere) in hopes of performing semi-acoustically as a duo, in which we would perform songs from each other's back catalog and attempt to write some songs together. For about a month or two, we had rehearsed and re-arranged a handful of our songs (many of mine being from the early era of How Scandinavian, never played live before) with hopes of going on a mini-tour in cities we'd never played before. Unfortunately, and admittedly through fault of my own, we didn't play a single note of these arrangements we had developed together and the project fell through. Understandably, I suspect Nicky had grown sore at my indecision and we would not speak again for many months. It would take until the summer of 2018 for us to get back in touch.

In my current dilemma of not being able to perform out of town with enough consistency, I sought to make good on my previous promise and asked Nicky if he were willing to join me on a three month trek of open mics. Feeling similarly discontent in how stagnated the local scene was becoming, and needing a new challenge to seek outside audiences, he accepted. The plan was to do the discovery ourselves, going through pages of Craigslist, Facebook, and Instagram in hopes of finding open mics that were held in locations as far as 60 miles away; the point being that we would "go for it" and try to stretch ourselves as far as possible from our home. I would drive the majority of the time and split the gas bill, but Nicky was willing to share the burden of driving in his car for certain shows, or if I were already in the vicinity, he would meet me at the location. With this all in mind, we both set out in researching locations during the last two weeks of December and settled on making our first move the farthest and biggest: the open mic at Back to the Grind in Riverside, CA.

Recording for a cover of "Texas Never Whispers". Pictured: Steve Keen. (Dec. 2018)

Having the plans laid out and travel itinerary set in stone, I felt a sense of excitement that I had not felt in playing solo acoustically pretty much ever. It was admittedly not my greatest strength and did not really showcase what I felt was the "full" experience of How Scandinavian songs, but having this challenge made me practice much harder. As a result, I felt my voice control improved being solely backed by acoustic guitar; this really pronounced the importance of restraint and when to let loose. Now with boosted confidence and new reasons to move forward, I personally felt better at having a purpose and the physical nature of moving to other locations did wonders for a grounded laid-off person like me.

Unsurprisingly during this extensive planing, the live band's stagnation in rehearsal felt more pronounced, so I decided to cancel all practices until the New Year proper and see how it would feel with some time off. It felt like a good idea, as I anticipated a very important show in late January, planned many months in advance, at a record store that was the last of the all ages venues. I felt optimistic time off would reinvigorate everyone for the show, let them have a deserved break, and that a sense of unity for incoming new year for the band would prosper. What could go wrong?

Song of the Day: Zelienople - Ship That Goes Down

It is a simultaneously odd and uplifting thing when one hears a piece of music that not only transports the listener to a certain place in their mind, but transports them to an imagined reality of where and how the music came to be. When I first heard Zelienople, an experimental band who borrow their name from a borough in Pennsylvania but reside in Chicago, Illinois, it was during my most fertile and hungry era of listening to music. The desire to consume and understand music, partially as a need to avoid my responsibilities and realities of being a college student, was an at all time high. The romanticism of unknown sounds from places I'll never visit, coupled with a desire to create my own music, was a recipe for continual search and imagined realities.

I wish to think that I had a kindred spirit with listeners of the past during these times. Hearing countless stories of how one could afford only one or two records, and then would listen to them endlessly and explore every aspect of album art and sound, it seemed similar to buying CDs as a 7th grader from Best Buy (I once saw a copy of Mark Kozelek's Lost Verses Live at my locale, a kind of future specter). This extended even in later years of online sharing, then in the last years before streaming, it seemed that there was still a sense of possession and value in the effort of finding something worthwhile.

So upon hearing Zelinople's 2004 album Sleeper Coach in the middle of this period, it seemed all too perfect a candidate to lose my imagination in. Filled with distant sounds and murky production that shrouds the music in a icy veneer, every second of this record reflects its album art of out-of-focus gray scale nature. But this isn't a depressing record by any means, it's more of a meditative and trance-like one that lets its atmospheric drones and sonic moods sink a listener in until it is near claustrophobic, but paradoxically calming.

The frequencies that shift in the main organ (or is a guitar?) drone in opener "Sea Bastards" sets a wandering mood, one that recalls 70's free jazz in layers of metallic saxophone playing. This directly transitions to the track most indebted to early post-punk in the form of the driving, spaced-out bass in"Softkiller", which then slows to a glacial crawl when it fades in during "Dr. Brilliant", an entirely well-crafted one-two punch of ambient meets slowcore. From there the songs only increase in meditative power and sonic exploration as Zelienople further eschews traditional song structure.

Songs like "Corner Lot" and "Curtains" seemed derived from similar spaces of transcendental searches as those found in Talk Talk's Laughingstock (they would go on to record a version of "The Rainbow" for Spirit of Talk Talk in 2014) and are performed effectively with a sense of emotional urgency. While it may seem easy to overindulge in building opaque after opaque layer, Zelienople never seem capable of doing such a thing; allowing for their travelling soundscapes to be hypnotically alluring.

But the irony is that despite all this powerful and genuine talent in the creation and search of transcendental music, Zeleinople's defining moment on Sleeper Coach is one the simplest and most indebted to pop structure, "Ship That Goes Down". Beginning with some start-up noise/whispers and the warming up of a keyboard, the song immediately has a presence of warmth and cinematic quality that has not been encountered until this moment on the record. Slowly, the bass line enters playing a gentle riff that could be derived from a centuries old lullaby. Then, mournfully, the vocals begin with a survey of the some forgotten moment, a trace memory that isn't fully retrievable:

A dinosaur

After all they did

Over my dead tomb

I will take these shots

All I can’t see and they won’t show me.

Drums and percussion slowly murmur in the background as the vocals continue to recall fading details, details that perhaps need to be remembered in order to prevent some sort of disaster, or a disaster that has already passed but could occur again.

And you called it too

And you starved the woods

By the ship go down

And the lakes are rays
All I can’t see and they won’t show me.

Keyboards and organs now ascend to fever pitch, as if going back in time to witness what was once there, or what may happen if things do not change. Or is it a representation of the ship (the past itself, or the singer himself?) going down, slowly descending into a whirlpool of sound and doomed to being forgotten? As the tones shift and turn, one imagines that this is how such difficult sounds can be so very human and emotive when utilized so expertly.

Finally, the singer reveals (at least in my interpretation) that they were the "dinosaur" returning to some long lost land (in this case, Tennessee) that has changed beyond recognition. It's been so long that these surroundings might as well be a tomb, one where those who stayed behind have walked all over and claimed it as their own. But no one truly owns the surroundings they are a part of, that they grow to be a part of. At the end of the song, the singer realizes the folly and sorrow that for all his past investment, there is no entitlement to be given by the next generation, "All I can't see and they won't show me." Once you leave, you start again just like everyone else.

But there is relief at the end as the song begins to dissolve and erode like the narrator's own memories. A solace generates that even if these experiences cannot be fully translated to the world at large, or even the small world that they inhabited, they will at least live on for the narrator's own comfort and appreciation. All the remains is a sustained drone, the initial spark of remembrance, and then it goes away as quickly as it came to be.

It's a memory

You can count on me.

Afterword:

Despite the fate of many bands that I discovered during my college years, Zelienople not only continues to exist as a unit (their latest full-length released in 2015), but have band members that frequently release albums and musical projects in rapid succession (a favorite being the Greenworks EP). Though as of now, it seems much of the group have grown into their adult lives and will probably never do a tour again. My initial romanticized mystery of this talented group is faded, but the reality of existing in real-time is much more potent and inspiring. A good trade off, I think, and the memories will always be there when needed.

Song of the Day: Ute Lemper - Split

There are times when the level of seriousness in a musical arrangement can almost seem ridiculously melodramatic, and when coupled with intelligent, emotional lyrics, the effect can lead to overt self-awareness, or at worst, camp. But the songs where this fine line is just on the precipice of being passed, there exists a sense of equally exciting and affecting power. "Split", a song from Ute Lemper's 2000 album, Punishing Kiss, is one of such songs in this category.

Born in early 1960's Germany and brought up with a lifetime of participation in stage musicals, film, and behind the microphone, Lemper seems the sort of classically trained superstar that is largely absent in modern times. Gaining early fame for her performance in the original Viennese version of Cats in 1984 and later recording Ute Lemper Sings Kurt Weill in 1987, she would create a successful career of interpreting classically influenced work that was either derived from or sent to the dramatic stage. Even at the age of 16, she seemed to have sophisticated ambitions beyond those of the usual teenager and would join the Panama Drive Band, a jazz rock band influenced by "Joan Armatrading, Chick Corea, the Brecker Brothers and all that." 

But perhaps singing standards left Lemper with a sense of stagnation during the late 1990's (including a minor role in a panned 1996 film, Bogus, with Whoppi Goldberg), a new collaboration would commence with Northern Irish singer-songwriter Neil Hannon of The Divine Comedy. Requesting songs to be written for her by serious heavy-hitters such as Scott Walker, Elvis Costello, Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and Phillip Glass, along with her usual Weill-penned classics, the record is a showcase for Lemper's lifetime of prowess as a singer and performer.

Costello-penned numbers "Passionate Fight" and title track merge his cynical lyrics and shifting musical arrangements with Lemper's tender and emotive vocals, while "Streets of Berlin" have her match Glass' chanson inspired "rock" song in period-correct 60's voicing. Even Scott Walker's "Scope J", a behemoth of a finale with dissonant textures and tension, seems to be no problem as she moves from quiet intimacy to siren of despair for the song's continual build and collapse for 10+ minutes.

But then there is "Split", by far the most electrifying and driving track of the whole lot. Written by main collaborator Neil Hannon and his mainstay arranger, Joby Talbot, Ute Lemper goes toe to toe with Hannon handling the duet vocals of an estranged lover.

Like a rude awakening (hear the organ going up the scale chromatically in the first seconds), the song begins with a crash and tom-tom led drumbeats, driven by a persistent staccato piano chord progression, and call and response guitar/organ riffs that are treated with Leslie speakers.

Suddenly, Hannon begins singing in his near-lowest and most serious register (long-gone is
the soft-spoken bookworm of "The Booklovers"): "I was made for you, you were made for me... I thought." And Lemper responds in kind, "But maybe not after all!" Continuing this call and response, Hannon reminds her that "We had so much love..." and Lemper sets the dagger, "Love enough for three, I guess... Oh god."

Clearly, subtlety isn't in the cards for this song, but where the song could plod along as melodramatic moodiness forever, the song takes a relate-able, human shift as Lemper suggest that "Maybe there's hope...". And so the chords change, the pleading for forgiveness begins; "I never meant to hate you." And three, two, one...!

Suddenly the song is in full orchestral melancholic glory as both harmonize in a truly majestic (and effectively catchy) chorus of "ALL the times that we TOED the LINE, look what we've GOT! ALL the times that I FORGAVE YOU!". For a brief moment (and in each subsequent repeat of this chorus), the song has its melodrama validated, both characters here being fully justified in their vindication and pleading. Hannon's character for being so foolish to "let go of the signs" and Lemper's character for taking advantage of this foolishness. It's the pathos of a dramatic stage brought to audio form.

As it continues, the ugly details continue to pour out;"You were there for me... and HIM, and half of the western world it seems!/Oh baby that's not fair, there were two or three at most, but I don't like to boast!" And once the second, angrier variation of the chorus ends, what seems to be the actual physical aspect of confrontation and separation (the split, so to speak) is played by a fierce organ solo on the path of retribution.

Finally, after the orchestra uplifts for the third and final time for a glorious final chorus, the reality of the doomed situation comes crashing down with a repeated progression of descending strings, horns and piano chords. Now fully aware of the gravity of the situation, Lemper's character pleads for a final chance to be heard, "Baby please listen! Oh why won't you LISTEN?!", as Hannon sings with equal remorse, "GIVE ME ONE REASON WHY! I JUST want a REASON, WHY!" . Finally the madness of regret turns into vain bargaining, revelations of abuse and full-blown anger from Lemper, "I'm GONNA MAKE YOU LISTEN! So OPEN your EYES! You don't REALIZE the nights that I've CRIED the SALTIEST tears! The lovers who LIED and stepped on my PRIDE! I WANTED to STOP! I wanted to DIIIIIIIEEEE!". All the while, the desperation in Hannon's repetition of demanding to understand just "WHY" this has happened increases, the plea for a logical and rational reason for a devastating betrayal denied.

As the song fades into an eternally descending march into oblivion, Lemper simply whispers to herself, her character's betrayed partner no longer listening, "Want only you, need only you..." So ends the story with two people entirely separated and unable to communicate. And yet, for all the downtrodden nature of the subject matter, it is hard to not root for both characters in this story, for their downfalls are convincing, emotional, and gradually turn more complicated as the song reaches its climax.

When asked about her first band's falsely reported genre as punk, Lemper would respond, "I was never a punk person. The music of punk is not interesting to me, it’s horrible." With her discography and musical upbringing, it isn't hard to dismiss such a claim since punk was the nihilistic "answer" to sophisticated music, where complexity must die. It was an opposite world to what she was raised and thrived in; where performance and skill undeniably mattered the most.

But in the confines of "Split", the ferocity and simplicity of punk is matched and replaced by cutting musical arrangements, equally cutting lyrics, and dramatic vocal performances. Punk music simply lacks the vocabulary to reach the upmost heights of stage drama while demanding a quasi-universal emotional response. All in all, the knife is best impaled with precise skill and a confident, wry smile.

What's the purpose?

Ah yes, the adage of "it's been a while". Repeated endlessly by countless many as an excuse to restart something or to preface how things will be different now. I am not really sure that works in the context of Chief Tizo Records (the blog? the record label? outlet for bored afternoons or insomniac nights?) since it is hard to say what it even was to begin with.

Well, it is possible to chronicle the somewhat patchy history of what Chief Tizo Records was supposed to mean. In short summary, in 2011 there was a need to encompass and legitimize all musical releases that I would make. Inspired by the myths of independent record labels of old, Chief Tizo Records was formed to assist and, perhaps more accurately, fulfill the illusion that it was indeed possible to start a label. 

Surprisingly, it got farther than I thought possible; we ended up actually "signing" a couple people that didn't go anywhere, and then merged with another "digital" label to no real strategic advantage. Eventually I landed a decent interview with Dan Barrett of Have a Nice Life, and we started to get some minor traffic. People would submit music to be reviewed, or to be considered for this hilariously intangible label. But over time with other life priorities and general disinterest, we packed our bags and left.

Yet in the era of reunions, even Chief Tizo would have one. So after a short revival in 2016, we packed it up again after doing some video interviews with a couple of friends and artists. It was an entirely easy decision, really. With the advent of microblogging, Instagram, and Spotify as the seemingly only way people decide to read, view, and discover things in the musical and art realm, what was really the purpose of this blog? We did not have an answer, so we disbanded again.

Then something kinda changed in 2017, when I was able to physically release How Scandinavian's single, Emma, on cassette. The folly of this whole Chief Tizo Records thing was somewhat made reality, since it was released under Chief Tizo Records and had that name in the liner notes. The purpose of this initial enterprise was finally fulfilled in an echo of a mention.

So what's the purpose now? Well, Chief Tizo Records is back, but again, it never really existed to begin with. It's a real independent label, but perhaps the capital and logistics of it aren't ever going to be what was dreamed of back in 2011. But hey, at least we can print stuff out with CHIEF TIZO RECORDS on it in bold followed by a catalog number.

So for now, this blog will serve as a place for updates on what releases we might get out (as of right now, we have two that are being completed and planned) and it shares pretty much the same cast of musicians when all is said and done.  In addition to that, it'll still share music and "songs of the day" that are of interest, along with small stories and anecdotes on recording, printing, and art. We might even get the interview series back in action if we can muster the courage. 

For now, at least, Chief Tizo Records is back.

Song of the Day: Survival Knife - Cut The Quick

Since the blog had its death in early 2013, three years worth of music that I have enjoyed is sorely missing a written appreciation. Right around March 2012, I was feverishly excited to learn that Justin Trosper and Brandt Sandeno (ex-members of Unwound) had begun playing live in a band called Survival Knife. In the hands of fate though, they would not release their 7" single Traces Of Me/Name That Tune until exactly a year later on March 2013. By then of course, the blog was all but buried and I was not able to give an approximation of how much I loved the single, the following Divine Mob/Snakebit 7-inch, their sole album Loose Power, and how I thought their Survivalized EP was a shoddy collection of odds and sods.

But aside from diverging this into becoming an entire breakdown of the band's small discography (I will attempt it some day), I wanted to focus on what I consider is one of their strongest tracks entitled "Cut The Quick". Starting off with the click of a distant harpsichord, the song enters a slow burning 4/4 trudge with a riff progression reminiscent of Challenge for a Civilized Society. But where the late-career Unwound would focus on atmospherics and layers of unique instrumentation, Survival Knife focuses its collaborative songwriting in a more emotional and straightforward fashion.

The song itself has a song structure reminiscent of Polvo if they were slowed down about 50% (see: "City Birds") and were half as long and complex. But instead of dizzying riffs and frequent tempo changes, Survival Knife allows for "Cut The Quick" to build its tension during its introductory verses, release some "false" tension during the first refrain, enter an uplifting second verse, release the "real" tension ("STOP CUTTING YOURSELF DOWN!"), have a louder noise break, enter the guitar solo outro, and end on an acoustic guitar/banjo/harpsichord instrumental piece. Much like sister song "Roman Fever", "Cut The Quick" is more audibly influenced by guitar-based progressive rock and the more adventurous sounds of late-70's rock.

Yet, it is crucial to understand the most radical shift that Survival Knife introduces is that we hear Trosper loud and clear, front and center. While Unwound's lyrics were typically abstract and passionately sung/shouted, an audibly older Justin Trosper now sadly intones: "A letter from an alien/Never to be read/By anyone/Sorry about the things I did/Couldn't find my way/In this world we live." It is a sign of maturation in a way, where he would previously mask his voice by layers of distorted guitar in the early years or by studio effect trickery in the end, listeners are treated to the full blow of musical inertia in his voice. It seems progression is stripping things back to all muscle and sinew.

Sadly. at present it appears that the band is defunct since their website is down, they have not made any updates since exactly last year (June 2015), and pleas asking about the status of the band have been left unanswered. I was lucky enough to catch them live twice, and genuinely hope they return to make enjoyable and relevant rock music. Purchase Loose Power HERE.

Song of the Day: 12 Rods - Telephone Holiday

It is hardly hyperbole that I immediately loved 12 Rods after about 30 seconds of listening to their music. They possessed a very good and rare sense of experimentation and interesting musical arrangement mixed with catchy melodies, strong drumming, and genuine lyrics. Unfortunately, they never got big, were abandoned by their label after their second album, and never really expanded beyond their regional popularity in Minnesota. Still, they remain a very important band to me that evokes excitement and admiration.

This song, “Telephone Holiday”, is the closing number from their final album from 2002 entitled Lost Time. It is funny to think that while the whole musical world over was busy praising post-punk revival and heralding some sort of second coming of NYC bands, this album was receiving no attention for its great songwriting, performances, and blending of rock with other musical approaches.

“Telephone Holiday” itself is by no means their most experimental or complex song in their discography (it sticks to a standard verse/chorus/verse/chorus/bridge/outro format), but it does seem to mix in all their eras (from the gay? EP to Split Personalities to Separation Anxieties to Lost Time) into a convenient 4:42 package. The guitar and bass interweave in an almost impossible to ignore earworm in the first part of the opening verse, but then the second guitar (at 0:30) reveals the underlying tension of the song to gorgeous effect: “I’m a bad, bad person and I just wanted to play.” By the chorus, the ultimate intention of the narrator to avoid his Other is fully disclosed with swirling (and violent) synths entering, and finally shifting into a chaotic disco rhythm with incredibly melancholy synthesized strings. It is a perfect representation of 12 Rods’ nervous energy manifesting at full potential.

To no surprise, the narrator gets destroyed in the song, as leaving this one night stand now becomes an increasingly fucked up situation (“Little did I know, you were still in high school.”) and as the song gets to the bridge, the dramatics are set to stun. Is it the narrator, or the Other, who is now lamenting, “I’m waiting… for someone to TURN ME ON! Make it SEXY! Make it last LONG!”? It could sound all so sleazy on paper, but instead there is a depressing sense of remorse and desperation in the delivery; the sexual innuendo can double as desire for a meaningful and long lasting relationship. The narrator laments, that while he wishes for this too, that emotional distance and abandonment are just ingrained in nature and cannot be avoided.

Is any of that even what the song is about? Who really knows, but I have always found that 12 Rods mixed sexual tension within relationships in their lyrical content very well (see: "Kaboom”, “I Wish You Were A Girl”, “Accidents Waiting to Happen”), and it is a mature and rare quality in most modern music. If anything, the situation in “Telephone Holiday” is an eternal subject in pop music (see: "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover"), but now judgement is entirely ambiguous as it can often be in real life.

Chief Tizo Interviews #4: MC Coolarge

Hey folks! We promised new interviews, so here we are with a fresh interview with experimental hip-hop stalwart MC Coolarge. We discuss the lyrical content behind his old/new material, question some of his sonic influences, and get some info about his upcoming untitled LP, which is due in Autumn.

Check it here:

You can find MC Coolarge's current discography HERE.

Song of the Day: On A Friday - To Be A Brilliant Light

Many adore and love Radiohead's catalog for very deserving reasons (seriously, how many bands match the stretch from The Bends to In Rainbows?), but very few people know of their initial embryonic recordings under the name On A Friday from 1985-1992. Dabbling in a wide variety of different sounds across their handful of cassette recordings (see the hilarity of the sped-up ska in "Tell Me Bitch" or the steel drum tinged "Happy Song"), this particular recording comes from their second demo from 1988.

At the time accompanied by three saxophone players,  On A Friday wastes no time crashing "To Be A Brilliant Light" headfirst with full melodrama and force. Slowing down with a reverberated acoustic guitar riff resembling something out of In the Court of the Crimson King, Thom Yorke quietly sings, "I'm getting sort of worried/Like the time of life I've reached /I'm getting pretty old /I should be reaching my peak". As a song obsessed with growing old (see "Bones") and desperate to find success while one is youthful, the nervous energy is apparent throughout and remains one of OAF's strongest songs.

Possibly influenced by Elvis Costello and the Attractions during Punch the Clock (and perhaps even Dexys Midnight Runners), the trio of horns go further to add that extra touch of desperation as Yorke sings "Where to start to build a clock?" They then joyfully enter a call and response to his pleading of "TO BE A BRILLIANT LIGHT, YEAH", and it is nothing short of melodramatic brilliance. A definite must-listen for Radiohead fans, and to listen to Thom Yorke's powerful and youthful vocals.

Song of the Day: Tears for Fears - Advice for the Young at Heart

My listening history with Tears for Fears is one that is rivaled only by The Police, but to be clear, TFF were my first "absolute favorite band of all time". Despite not being as regular of a listen as they used to be, TFF set the gears in motion for my later taste in music: a healthy fascination with gloomy synthpop and quasi-post-punk music with their debut The Hurting, and introduced a seamless fusion of drum and synth programming with live "arena-sized" instrumentation on Songs From the Big Chair.

Among the innovations that TFF brought into their sound with Songs From the Big Chair, they subtly tapped into jazz flourishes (most notably on "The Working Hour" and "I Believe") and organic, almost post-rock sounds ("Listen"). These subtleties were something that TFF would explore further on their following 1989 record, The Seeds of Love.

The record contains multiple elements of jazz, organic textures, and use of "widescreen" ambiance throughout its running time. Whether it be in "Standing in the Corner of the Third World"'s use of heavy dynamic shifts between its sleepy verses to explosive chorus, the bluesy piano and rattling drum patterns on "Badman's Song", or the sophisticated and expensively arranged pop sounds on "Swords and Knives", it was obvious that TFF shifted to a paradoxical raw but cleanly produced sound.

Many consider it to be the poorest of the group's releases under their first phase, before Curt Smith departed, and it is not hard to see why. While TFF definitely shifted their sound into new territory, it is arguable that many moments are overproduced, pretentious, or at worst, boring (the almost two-minute guitar solo on "Swords and Knives", the sheer length of "Third World", the veering on annoying sentimentality of "Famous Last Words", among other things).

I actually love the record though, and when the mood is correct, The Seeds Of Love comes off as an overly ambitious pop record that has an interesting mixture of psychedelia, jazz, and blues within its roots. Not to mention how damned inspiring some of the production is since TFF spent over a million pounds on this record, and it shows, for better or worse (I am of the former).

But even if you think the whole record is a bombastic mess, I find it hard to believe anyone who does not think "Advice for the Young at Heart" is a brilliantly arranged and produced piece of romantic pop. A song that pleads "Soon we will be older/When we gonna make it work?" and "Love is a promise/Love is a souvenir/Once given never forgotten/Never let it disappear", it is a melancholic masterpiece of romantic territory that many do not attempt today.

With its salsa influenced piano chords, ghostly synths that fill empty space, a rising and falling timpani, wailing organ, and the propulsive chorus, it all comes together to create a really beautiful track. By the end, a downtrodden Smith sings a quiet melody with the sole descending piano, and are treated to a final bit of "Advice."

New Release: How Scandinavian - Philistine Empathy EP

The latest and most delayed-est release by How Scandinavian ever. I put a good deal of work on these and I hope I didn't overcook the songs as a result. Much darker and 'lush' than Pity Won and it reeks of some sort of dreadful nostalgic call-back to Dolorous along with some new influences I've found through nightmares, dreams, and harsh cynicism. Probably the least messy and 'mid-fi' release I've been able to muster at this point in time as well. Now that this is out I'll be working on the sophomore LP and have some peace in not following personal deadlines. How Scandinavian will probably tour this little EP locally for a month and then I'll concentrate on both school and finishing the work I've already begun for the next LP. I hope any fans that still abide by this blog and HS will enjoy this. I'm sorry I took so long.

Track list:
1. Eucalyptus Burning
2. We Exist
3. New Romantic Ideas
4. A Brighter Hell
5. Life Is Saccharine

Song of the Day: Aesop Rock - Oxygen

Taking a deep-dive back into Aesop Rock's discography since taking a break after Skelethon came out. Float had some really great beats provided by Blockhead and Aesop's lyrics seemed a bit more "raw" and visceral in a good way. I gotta say though, his flow really hasn't evolved too much over the years, which isn't a bad thing to me but it is easy to understand why some people would find his work hit or miss.

Either way, some nice nostalgia is to be found here (the album art is very turn of the century) with the accompanying strings and esoteric samples provided by the aforementioned Blockhead. A new (old) age of hip-hop primitivism seems to seep out of the arrangement, and is something that is hardly heard of much today. Aesop seems to both evoke intelligence and desperation in his delivery for this track, and while it's hard to tell exactly what he's explicitly talking about, it's clear something is amiss. "Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into..." An underrated classic.

Track Review: David Bowie - Where Are We Now?

David Bowie surprised everyone with the month's best kept secret that he was returning with a new album titled The Next Day. He also decided to drop this song "Where Are We Now?" as the first taste of what is to come from the album. I personally find it hard to really have any expectations of Bowie since I've really never explored much beyond Scary Monsters because drum and bass 90's Bowie doesn't really sound that interesting to me and the 2000-onward releases didn't really indicate as if I was missing out on much.

While "Where Are We Now?" isn't game-changing or revolutionary in any way, it does lend itself some charm with it's sad vocal performance, lush production, and depressing chord progression. It's a pretty tune and it does catch your ear with the subtle hook in the chorus: "Where are we now? Where are we now? The moment you know, you know, you know."

It's a nice, melancholy, and polished song, it doesn't seem like it sets itself to be more than just that and I think most people who are pissed off that this isn't a return to the experimenting Bowie we heard during the 1970's were really asking for more than they deserve. But then again, this is the first single, so perhaps we'll be surprised when the entire album drops. Who knows what awaits? I guess we don't really know where we are exactly...

Wandering thought: It'd be interesting if David Bowie did an entire album in slowcore style with songs that went in 10+ minute lengths that became slow burning epics with amazing production and instrumentation. I'm thinking a tamer The Seer meets Rollercoaster meets Station to Station meets Frigid Stars meets Low. Only in dreams!

Song of the day: Pulp - Mis-Shapes

"Oh we don't look the same as you and we don't do the things you do, but we live 'round here too. Oh really?"

Very funny and witty song from the ever lovable Pulp. I'm not usually a fan of this sort of lyrical content, but Jarvis Cocker just has something about his delivery that makes me feel as though I'm being told a personal account from a close friend. This opener rivals "Joyriders" from His n' Hers I think.

Song of the Day: Idaho - Fuel

"Yeah I wish I could leave; start a life that would be one."
Very underrated band, one of the few gems I've found since following the Red House Painters route (July 2010-death) of musical influence.

Song of the day: Smart Went Crazy - A Halo and A Nosebleed

Rarely can music find a median of presenting both perversion and grace in equal amounts without sounding like a parody of either. "A Halo and A Nosebleed" from Smart Went Crazy's debut EP Cubbyhole is the perfect introduction to the band's graceful and lifelong sarcasm and wit. With Chad Clark's distinctive cigarette smooth vocal and the sinister use of cello and crunchy guitar and bass, it's hard not to become addicted. With lyrics that describe a narrator having his relationship turn inside out and outside in: "She's at your mercy, she wears your coat. She's at your disposal, she's at your throat.", you just can't shake the feeling that Chad Clark is warning us to not get too high off possessiveness. Well said.

Song of the Day: Blonde Redhead - Here Sometimes

If I had a 'missed connections' list with various "eras, albums or songs" from artists that I loved; it'd be a really jumbo huge list. One of the most recent came in the form of Blonde Redhead's post-Misery Is A Butterfly material. It's not that I hated 23 or Penny Sparkle, it's just I was content enough being mesmerized by the their noisy art rock style and the later refining and expanding of their signature sound in the trilogy of Guy Picciotto-produced albums. But with a greater examination I came to see that their last two efforts were good ol' Blonde Redhead in a fresh new package. 'Here Sometimes' serves not only to show Kazu's new confident vocal delivery, but the incorporation of layering organic and electronic textures in ways that have only been hinted at in earlier releases. This and more (the goddamn bass and moog synth creeping in!) results in a smart slice of surreal pop that reveals itself seductively to the listener, something I'm more than happy to oblige to.

Catalyst or not

Here's the 'setup' for the collaborative project between Starlon and I; Mister Ugly. Consists mainly of me using the floor tom, hi-hat, and guitar while providing some much needed delayed vox. Starlon handles the drum machine (barely pictured), bugle, vox, and additional percussion. We both interchangeably use the horrible mid-90's keyboard thank you very much! While still in the infantile stages and with little hope of having an audience in the local area, we trudge on with early Saturday afternoon practices despite great sleep deprivation. More to come.

Song of the Day: Cold Body Radiation - A Change of Pace

I have been a quiet fan of Cold Body Radiation's shoegaze/slowcore inspired black metal sound for about a year now after I discovered The Great White Emptiness. It is a shame though that it took me a little bit longer to get into last year's Deer Twilight. It is a joyful revelation though, as "A Change of Pace" serves as one of the faster songs on CBR's slower sophomore effort and contains some extremely cool guitar progressions that leads to a nice breakdown accompanied by a sparse synth and chill bassline. Lovely and dynamic black metal.

The most avant-garde Christmas ever!

It's been a relatively short time since The Drift came out in 2006 and the onset confusion I've had ever since I first heard it. (Avant-garde meat punching just wasn't my thing when I was 13) I honestly wasn't expecting to hear another album by pop singer-turned-experimental-mastermind Scott Walker until I was 30. Imagine my surprise when this trailer pops up shortly after the announcement of a new album! Prepare for the sharp knives my friends.

Song of the Day: Boredoms - Acid Police

This is what a mid-90's Trout Mask Replica would sound like if were a million times more fun to trudge through (burn, not really). Highly recommended noisy, musical, Japanese dadaism. It also helps that the musicianship is raw AND top notch and makes you want to destroy things. Try and figure out how many words you can substitute in the refrain!