Late Nights with Maxi Priest

With the seasonal closure of the Poolside clubhouse, it's time to move on to Late Night -- the imagined soundtrack of a 2 A.M. rendezvous in the penthouse jacuzzi. This might pertain to smooth jazz or adult contemporary deemed too "fatherly" for the hipster contingent, but I assure you, there are some gems Late Night. Just give me a minute to find them.

Recently I was fortunate enough to find Maxi Priest's "Close to You" 12" for a mere $.50. A bargain for the dub mix alone. Maxi started his career as the "king of lover's rock" -- and lover's rock is to reggae as smooth jazz is to jazz. Basically it's reggae completely stripped of sunshine and replaced with moonlight, gentler rhythms, and endless proclamations of midnight booty calls. Maxi has taken the lover's rock one step further, stripping it of any remnant of reggae and injecting it with a soaring and catchy chorus -- a little infectious rap and this thing's a number one hit (no lie). This was a ubiquitous single in the summer of 1990, a period in music when any fringe genre could be compartmentalized into a pop song. Keep in mind this was a year when Glen Medeiros, Wilson Phillips, Tommy Page and Nelson all had number one hits. So in comparison, "Close to You" was golden in it's purity. For some reason I can't relate this to any scorching sunlight, only suburban darkness and island breezes. I'm sure I had this on a mixtape en route to Clearwater Beach.

Witness the Wisdom of Bangs

Between the time a friend of mine shot me a link to this wonderful video and today, Bangs has already become an internet/pop culture sensation. By far the best Sudanese import since....??? There could be question as to if this is elaborate put-on in a world of intense irony and quick gimmick or as genuine as they come -- a earnest artist emulating the bling and machismo of American pop-hop. I'm sticking with the later. "Take U To Da Movies" is not all that extreme when it comes to jokesters mocking rap, and for that I'd have to say Bangs means all of this from the bottom of his heart.

The Lindsay do Syrup Bag

The Lindsay’s micro-psychedelic masterpiece, Dragged Out, was quickly regarded as one of the finest homegrown records Columbus had heard in a long stretch of time. The stars seemed to start aligning for the fairly unassuming quartet – they had a stunning debut, a searing live show, and a label that appeared to be doing things right. I don’t know all the facts as to why Man Up dissolved, but it did, and with that, slowly it felt the Lindsay were crumbling molecule by molecule. Nothing happened. The logical next step was to get the rights to Dragged Out (as it will likely be reissued years from now as a one-off classic – damn, someone needs to press it on vinyl immediately, but I’ve been screaming that from the beginning) and tour, record, tour, record, release delectable sophomore album to critical acclaim and crowds across the country. Nothing happened. Sure, the band would play the occasional live show, and the songs from Dragged Out stood the test of time, survived on the stage past expiration, which is indicative of the group’s dedication to playing and the quality of their hooks. But truly, nothing was happening. They were the one band in town that didn’t seem to hew close to the burgeoning lo-fi movement who were actually worth venturing out to see (but also wholly embraced by the TNV/PHS/CDR/BOBO mafia). So it was almost depressing, at least extremely frustrating, to see it all squandered away.

Nearly three years later we get an explanation in the form of Syrup Bag. In that time the Lindsay have, for better or for worse, become a staple in the bars – no real progress when it comes to topping the tunes on Dragged Out, but raging in synchronicity and genuine energy. When I first heard about the Syrup Bag release show, I was already underwhelmed, thinking maybe it was a joke as the band is known to have an acerbic wit about them. But in seeing them on stage for the first time in months and subsequently going straight home to hear the seven songs that make up Syrup Bag – I realized they have been growing. Not exactly sure if they’re growing in revolt of their recent stasis, or if the growth is borne of anger and indifference – but this was certainly not expected.

The first thing you’ll notice is that Syrup Bag sounds as if it’s come from directly off the stage. Gone are all the effects and extra layers that glazed Dragged Out – intricacies that lent the songs an aura befitting the album cover’s paisley wonder illustration. But that’s fine when a scorcher like “Change My Oil” and “Thurston Moore Sez” piles on the guitar squalor till there’s little room to breath. The similarities to Sonic Youth continue unabated and unashamed. Just check out that last title, they’ve got a god and they’re going to use him – more like abuse him. I actually think what the Lindsay crib from Sonic Youth they put to great use. The lead “It’s Not Easy” is just as ferocious as anything on Daydream Nation, cut with the melodic sensibilities SY has found in recent years. I’m just imagining guitarists John Olexovitch and Tom Schmidt as a Moore/Renaldo destructo unit twenty years younger, with plenty more fire in their souls and hooks in their head. I may be in the minority here, but I never thought SY had that many hooks – intriguing atonal intangibles and hipster ooze sure, but hooks? No.

Look, this isn’t a competition, but right now I can’t hum you one song from this year’s Eternal LP. The seven songs from Syrup Bag? Won’t leave. I suppose it’s that the Lindsay add everything to their angular thrash that I’d wished Thurston Moore would add. Plus the Lindsay have that worn-in, homegrown, humility to them. That’s especially with bassist Gretchen Tepper bobbing, weaving, and shouting through all the boyz noise. She’s somewhat the Flavor Flav joy to Olexovitch’s Chuck D glum – and packed within the words are tales about why this all took so damn long. Local meta-indie rock about the little band that could, then couldn’t get it up. Too bad the life cycle of a band is so short. The Lindsay have only been around for a little over three years and I was already prepared to write their eulogy. Thanks for changing my mind…..kids.

By the way…..you can fetch the entire Syrup Bag digitally, right here.

The Renaissance of Home

Last week I was blessed with some of the best news heard in quite some time. One of my all-time favorite bands from the indie era -- Home -- overlooked and underrated as they've been much of their existence -- is returning again.

Back when Sexteen was released -- two years ago -- I wrote a pretty lengthy piece on all of their albums up to that point. The announcement last week, while introducing the world to Seventeen, was bigger than I could imagine. They've just released Home I through Home VIII -- tapes that were nothing more than myth in the mid-90s, a box-set of memories I was promised many times but never received. I actually remember buying a $30 import disc of "selections" from the box-set from Mondo Kim's in NYC, just to get a taste. Now, at $14.99 this is a steal. That's a good four hours of music -- I'm still sifting through it all.

Seventeen is being released by Brah in January, and the band has planned some live show in celebration of this monumental occasion. Look for full reviews of both over at the Agit-Reader soon.

Gold Circle Coming Soon

Watch This Space.

Allison Iraheta - "Friday I'll Be Over You"

I've never been secretive about my obsession with American Idol. Though I think the quality of the performers and the choice of material has waned in recent years -- I always have a favorite that I was sad to see leave. Given the circumstances of this year and the Adam Lambert/Kris Allen culture war showdown, I've almost tuned out enough to give up completely. Especially with no Abdul hysterics next season. The only hope I had this past year was that Allison Iraheta -- the 16 yr. old phenom -- would prevail through all the male dominated shenanigans. She may not have had the vocal chops of Mr. Glambert, but she had her own style. I thought that was enough to make her the dark horse.

Finally we are about to see the results of Ms. Iraheta's burgeoning recording career. Currently her first single, "Friday I'll Be Over You" has yet to set fire to the charts, but I'm in love with how they've projected her to the airwaves. While I'm a bit weary of the Pink makeover her handlers are giving her, I love the pseudo-Runaways vibe and the eerie Metroid music box ludes that frame the chorus. A bit more Avril than I wished for, but I'm predicting a long career. At least as long as Kelly Clarkson, and long(er) than her season 8 peers.

Poolside with Washed Out

This might be the last Poolside for a long while. At least until I get the itch in March. This is actually more than Poolside, it's a chance to announce what I think is the single of the year -- Washed Out's hypnotic "Feel it All Around." That's hypnotic, no hypnagogic (and who knows what the fuck that entails). I've likely listened to this at least once a day since it was released. Goodness. It's inspiring, melodic, soothing, contemplative, nostalgic -- everything I want in a Poolside jam. This is a fan made video. Though I've never had the experience of scuba, and I didn't get close to a beach the entire summer, this is beautifully fitting.

FEEL IT ALL AROUND from Northern Lights on Vimeo.

Where is Indian Summer?

I guess it has arrived this week. Thought with the frost and the rain that we might not see it this year. I was beginning to worry, as this is my favorite time of the year.Driving through the fall foliage with the windows down yesterday I realized why I love Ohio, if only for this seven day seasonal harvest. Can you imagine living in a place without seasons?

Anyways, this post is just an excuse to show a Beat Happening video. Funny this fits autumn perfectly.

Do Not Do It Yourself

While a little culture war continues unabated (over at Donewaiting.Com) regarding this tidy documentary and the validity/quality/ability of Times New Viking -- the band continues their umpteenth tour of the entire U.S. Do not believe in the myth that things are happening in Columbus -- for the most part they are not. For every Times New Viking and Psychedelic Horseshit there are a dozen bands made up of middle-aged men (infants) who came from a dozen other failed bands to form a Voltron of Midwestern mediocrity. Don't get me wrong, there are a handful of excellent bands in this town -- but few escape the bars and make something happen. I would love to write an essay on the fountain of suck that is created once a band in Columbus breaks the boundaries of I-270 and makes something happen. Nevertheless haters come out of the woodwork and keep their identities and their insufferably shitty bands hidden. Please, break-up your band.

Back to this doc though. Granted, TNV is not for everyone, but those who "get" it, adore it. Explaining this band to squares is always a challenge, so I'm glad something like this now exists because in the future I'll just direct them this way.

Faust Surprises in Old Age

I didn't expect much from Faust. I didn't expect a solid ratio of original/hired members or old/new compositions. So hearing a haunting version of the gaseous "Jennifer," no matter the arrangement, was thrill. Here's a full review.

I thought of this as a once in a lifetime experience, but then again, the more discovered and exposed Faust becomes (Pavement just announced them in their line-up for ATP), the closer I believe they'll get to the "authentic" Faust. Considering the "band" was more a concept, a reactionary form of dadaist art, defining "authenticity" is really impossible. That's especially true when found Uwe Nettelbeck passed last year. The myth still live through, through the first 4 Faust LPs and bit of film such as this.



(Editor's Note - I named this here blog after their country jam hut in Wumme, Germany.)

MJ One More Time? Why Not?

Yeah. Losing Michael Jackson was a huge chink in my armor this year. Don't know why, since I haven't gave a damn since maybe Dangerous. I even shed a tear. I even wrote an obituary. I said he shaped my life more than any other celebrity I grew up with. So happy to start teaching this Autumn and see high school seniors clad in tribute t-shirts and Thriller era garb. That's a comeback. But he was going to have a "real" comeback, and I was almost willing to head to the UK to see this. This weekend at an IMAX viewing of Where the Wild Things Are, my wife and I saw the preview for This Is It, and we both got goosebumps. The This Is It tour was going to be HUGE. Had he lived, he would have certainly made it over to the states, a new album, why not?

On Kurt Vile (Gash)

I don't think enough has been said about Mr. Vile. Trying to spread the gospel in my feature last week, I'm convinced Childish Prodigy is merely the closing of the first chapter in his career -- there are certainly higher peaks to reach. Take the time to laugh at Pitchfork decree that he should be MORE lo-fi. What's the point of that? Especially for a band as heavy and heady as the Violators? Has it gotten so bad that we're discouraging increased sonic exploration? Go buy this record now.

I'm listening to Springsteen now Kurt. Thanks.

Endless Boogie on a School Night

For starters, I should not have gone to this. On a schools night, after two plastic buckets of overpriced Budweiser at the sweaty and solid Arctic Monkey's show (journalistic hardship), but it's hard to turn down a Psychedelic Horseshit show, especially when they're opening for Endless Boogie at the last minute. Not sure when PHS will get their sea legs back and get off the house music -- love it, but after hearing Too Many Hits for the very first time I prefer a rambling band behind the brother. I was already a bit blotto anyways, so it didn't make much difference. Those infective blips are worth any lost sleep.

BUT....it was the nonchalant mosey to the stage made by Endless Boogie that proved the night's worth. Nicely (scantily) attended for a Monday night in Columbus, I only lasted through the first two 15 plus minute openers before submission -- a 70 MPH date with 71-N. I decided not to research too much into what is exactly going on live with these guys. They are Matador affiliated, record obsessives with a sweet tooth for kobe beef. The magic is in the magic man, the axe in the front, who reminded me of any of the guitar gods scribbled on the trading cards that come with the Galactic Zoo Dossier. I'd rather remain ignorant to anything the man has done before -- hopefully some forgotten blues-psych metal LPs will be re-issued when the time is ripe. Oh wait, there are three perfectly groovy Endless Boogies records to keep me occupied into my '50s. And two of them, the first two, priceless artifacts well worth tracking down. I can't be sure but I think they led off with my favorite "Stanton Karma," though after a while it all blends into one-mammoth solo that never breaks for conformity or uh...squareness. I need to make it out on more school nights.

Live through this:

Dominique Young Unique Indeed

Let’s list ‘em – a half-decade list of female “of this moment” lightning bolts in bottles – Rye Rye, Lil’ Mama, Lil’ Sister, Yo Majesty, Amanda Blank, Santigold. All have achieved at least an ephemeral minute of notoriety, but only an artist like M.I.A. has really taken it to the finish line or at least close for now. Not sure if it just starts of so white hot, that the burn-out is immediate – hip-hop sparklers? Not so much letdowns, they just haven’t followed through. So then, another? Sure, Dominique Young Unique is wilder. The Tampa- native, Yo Majesty-affiliated, seventeen year- old just won Florida’s artist of the year. This is not surprising as her debut platter “Music Time” is wilder than anything I spoke of previously. Of course, as stated, it’s much too early to predict or even hope, but so far these hyper-booty-dub-sides by way of Danny Elfman pinball is enough to make me let loose. Let loose.

Ashes Grammar Laboratory Test

A Sunny Day in Glasgow’s Ashes Grammar is my first specimen for the “lab test.” Gushing over it a few weeks ago, I have to give it a second time around to assure myself the album has a safe secure spot on the year end list. Confirmed.

Vaporous colours trapped in a sphere of iced glass. In that headspace melodies stream in and out of consciousness, somewhere in the distance a band is playing, but even with binoculars their visage appears out of focus, ghostly, transparent. Wisps of whimsical genius – “Failure,” “The White Witch,” that finale – they never really cement, bringing about an amorphous atmosphere, reminding me fondly of the Swirlies. They’re a band I discovered at Second Time Around on Brown St. in the three dollar bin. That Boston band created a similar shoegaze intoxicant. Blonder Tongue Audio Baton is at the other end of the spectrum though – thick, abstract, abject, slippery psych-sludge. No need to really re-evaluate both. Get Ashes Grammar, Find Swirlies (it’s all pretty good).


Below -- 120 Minutes standard video for the Swirlies "Bell" -- Sunny Day should be making film like this.

Today is Times New Viking Day (Equinox)

YES. It's been ringing in my ears for the entirety of the summer, but today, you can, and should, walk into a physical record store and buy a physical copy (preferably vinyl)of Times New Viking's fourth and decidedly darkest record to date, Born Again Revisited. I highly recommend it, though I'm the slightest bit biased. Fuck your blog.

And in the spirit, we did an Agit-Feature on them.

Below, the video for "No Time, No Hope"



They'll be back in town Oct. 14th at the Summit. Take the next day off work.

More on the Clean...

In conjunction with the Agit-Reader's excellent feature with the Clean, I decided to go scouring for the old snuff on the band. Above, a nice primer, and below the story of Flying Nun, which may or may not have survived without the Clean. Regardless of your opinions towards Mister Pop - I happen to love the slow-burn melodies intertwined in each bit of psychedelic-lite they make -- these clips are necessary viewing.

Os Mutantes Coming to a (American) City Near You

Though, in my own mind, I've become somewhat of an expert of Tropicalia, and would likely talk your ear off for an hour or two if you asked for some recommended albums from the era -- I couldn't likely pull myself away from what made me all in love with the genre -- and that would be Os Mutantes. I was completely nonplussed with their first announced reunion at a Pitchfork festival way back when, but decided to give them another chance this second time around -- since, at least Sergio Dias Baptista, was considering recording a new album. Well, Haih or Amortecedor has finally seen the light of day, and though reviews have been somewhat mixed, and I think that's due to ears not being hip to what's currently popular in Brazilian sound, I'm loving the variety, the diversion to our perceived "weird" underground and ethno-tastes, I'm thinking, though it's not up there with the top 3 Mutantes records, it's certainly better than the output they were outputting whilst falling apart in the '70s.

Still, nothing can match those magical moments in the late '60s.

Polvo's In Prism is That Good

If you read here regularly, you might notice I'm in a constant struggle with my teenage love for Polvo. I've often thought their music might not make it in a modern world, but I'm here to say that, yes, each and everything they did has aged well. Judging from my interview with Dave, guitarist from Polvo, the men of the band have, themselves, as well too. Now, a month or so after the release of In Prism, their 12 year comeback record, I can easily commit to adding the album to any subsequent year-end list. This is especially true when it is listened to on the thick vinyl issue of this behemoth. Each song sounds like craft-work, as if each song has been poured over and loved since they day Polvo threw in the towel back in '98. It's rare that a group, who seemed permanently cased in amber back then, can re-e-Merge and sonically compete - and nearly ravage -- any of their contemporaries who currently ape their "sound" and/or peers who angled and shone right beside them back in those days.

I say -- let the Polvo renaissance begin. We'll start with their humble beginnings. Keep in mind I didn't say their '90s video output aged well. Pure 120 Minutes mis-e-scene here.

Casual Vikings Blog

Yeah. It happened. I don't care about the opinion of the public, or the locker room for that matter, on the return/disappearance/return of Brett Favre. Everyone knows this is the right fit for my Vikings and everyone knows they're going to win a lot of games this year -- even if he sits some of those games out. Look. I'm over it and Brett Favre has been my most hated player in the NFL since he started wearing a Green Bay uniform. But I'm accepting, especially if my team is winning. Mike Vick I might have a problem with -- but Favre? Get ready AFC North.

I'm just posting this to warn you that World of Wumme may in fact become a "casual Vikings blog" for the remainder of the season. I've also decided to root for the Bengals. Go figure.