The Year in Beach Talk

If you've read even an inch of my personal spew on W.O.W. you know it's been a bountiful year for local music along our concrete shoreline. 2007 was as diverse, enlightening, and nationally heard as any year I can remember ('95-Present). Of course I wasn't around for the Pica Huss years, but I had the shitty demo tape while living in Troy. I tried to get out as much as possible (harder now with a mortgage in Lil' Vegas), but thankfully the kids keep churning out piles of thoughtful vinyl to keep me company till 3 a.m. Facing facts, what shall forever be known as the "preemptive Spin Magazine trifecta," was the be-all end-all. There's a reason Times New Viking, Psychedelic Horseshit, and the Black Swans got there first -- they all made wonderful fucking records. So that's one, two, and three.

Let's end rank there. Everything else isn't lesser by any stretch, just loved in different ways. Believe me or countless others taking notice, the beach is spreading (now all the way down to Rontown).


Moviola made arguably the best record of their career drifting through a portal of Modern/Aoxomoxoa freakness without ever sacrificing the mature grandiosity of the recording process or the humbleness of the songwriting. Dead Knowledge is an album indelibly Classic on first listen. Meanwhile Deadsea's Rising is the fiercest offering from Adam Smith's death squad without penance towards his band's enigmatic quest. In other words, formidable local monsters are constantly evolving.

Though I'm compelled by The Casualties of Happiness and Entrance respectively, both Hugs and Kisses and Sword Heaven are best served live. One completely nostalgic and absurd, the other beastructive and enthralling. It's comforting there are now tangible documents of both. DVDs?

Look what the rookie did/// RTFO Bandwagon made the make-shift folk-punk album of the year in Flagships, but I've yet to see them play without reminding me of keggers on 15th Ave. I heard they might have imploded? I sure hope not.


Which leaves us right back where we began the year...it wouldn't be full circle without another mention of the (what's now becoming annual) January Surprise Columbus Discount Records singles dump. My brother re-iterated the fact with his excellent year-end singles list (maybe we'll join forces soon for a megablog, who knows), but I had to re-enforce getting right with the Magic Jesus and their brilliant little Funeral Home Session/Abracadabra 7". This chunk continues to puzzle, wound, slash und burn, and smoke-out any semblance of of reality in the room. Could be subtitled "Columbus Drug Experience - The Ride" or could be held as the purest form of "real" "true" "disturbing" psychedelia this town has seen in a long, long, while.
Just wait until '08. Methinks CDR is campaigning quite early.

Live from Maid-Rite

I'll admit the notion of a "loose-meat" sandwich doesn't sound too appetizing (imagine a sloppy joe without the tomato slop), but when it's simply called a Maid-Rite my mouth actually starts to droll now. I've always known of the tiny Maid-Rite diner nestled in the rolling farm community of Greenville, OH (home of Annie Oakley, Kitchen-Aid, the immortal Darke County Fair), I've just never known the history behind the place. Founded in Urbandale, Iowa in 1926 (the first car-hop restaurant in the country), president Fred Angell went on to start only 4 original franchises before selling the brand. Greenville's quaint dive is one of those four. Why? That's one of the mysteries I've yet to solve. What's a "Green Wave" represent? Water or Wheat? Why is the only thing you can order in addition to your Maid-Rite or Cheese-Rite Mike Sells potato chips and mini-bottles of Little Kings Cream Ale? Why didn't they sell off the place when the chain went big-time?

I hadn't had a Maid-Rite in over a decade, but they're more than worth the 45 minute drive to nowhere (actually minutes from the Indiana border, likely why the town was painted in Pacer's gold and blue) and the additional 45 minute wait to get our order. There is usually a line out the door and a row of cars around the block -- and of course a brick wall filled with other people's gum (just stick it and shut-up about it). Basically the Maid-Rite is a smallish sandwich (slightly bigger than a slider) on a sweet, unadorned bun. Inside is the aforementioned loose-meat (seasoned with a secret recipe -- possibly cinammon), pickle, onion, and mustard. It's easy to eat four or five of these with feelings of guilt and grease minimal. The smell stays around for a while, though after you've finished it's almost a welcomed scent. There's certainly a lot of planning and time invested in obtaining the sacred burger, then again Roseanne Barr would fly in specifically to get these things, so a relaxing cruise through Midwestern Ohio is minor for the prize involved.

The Albums of 2007 You May Have Missed

Manishevitz - East to East (Catbird)

I always thought these Chicagoans, Jajaguwar free-agents, were some minimal slo-core bore, without ever bothering to listen. I was wrong, very wrong. East to East is late-night decadence served elegant and quirky similar to Roxy Music and the Contortions. Even the ever-present sax here, which veers between smooth jazz and Morphine, fits properly into the landscape. Their back catalog is well worth a trip to the bins.


Reports - Mosquito Nets (Paper Cities)

This is one of those modest yet adventurous small-press records you mistakenly stumble upon. Full of scruffy tuneful moments barbed like Polvo and at times wide screened into grand distorted fits. Matches well with Columbus' current crop of "Shitpop" revolutionists.





Deathspell Omega - Fas (Norma Evangelium Diaboli)

The bulk of my metal listening came from Guitar Hero ashamedly, but I also think that's indicative of the genre possibly reaching a threshold. Still, I'm constantly digging deeper to find the most bludgeoning and imaginative albums I can find and these Frenchmen fail to disappoint. Fas is simply bizarre -- heart of darkness black metal filled with woozy, distant acoustic passages and plenty of earthy production tricks. Evil fucking Evil.




Britney Spears - Blackout (Jive)

Yes. I'm serious. Dead serious. Most probably never gave this a chance. This is candy, purely, but candy you can't stop craving. Tantric Future-Funk that allows her producers to vie for Timbaland's throne -- she's just a perfectly robotic/psychotic conduit. The slowly leaked, unpolished demos are even better. Sure to be a cult hit years from now. At least the guy on NPR agreed with me.




David Vandervelde - The Moonstation House Band (Secretly Canadian)

Goodness gracious T. Rex. Have your Devendra (though he's valiantly trying to channel Brazil now, Smoky was a bit tedious) I'll take this slow-burning, psychedelic folk prodigy. When I'm "in the mood" this is the perfect John Cougar Donovan album.





Super Furry Animals - Hey Venus (Rough Trade)

I wouldn't blame the world for judging this one by the cover. Hey Venus has kind of shaken up the entire graphic aesthetic of why SFA are so intriguing. Sad because this might be their best since Rings Around the World as it's as brilliant a batch of pop songs as Gruff and Co. have ever written. A nice companion to his also unheard solo album, Candylion. More and more I'm beginning to think Super Furry Animals are the most severely underrated band of their time.

NYE 2007 Philadelphia

#1

Panda Bear - Person Pitch

Glorious existential bliss. Person Pitch could be looped for days and I would never tire of Noah’s endless harmonizing, endless waves of melody, and endless summer inside the machine. A new wave hippie that has persevered.

#2

M.I.A. - Kala

This one's kinda like Psychedelic Horseshit, in that there's not much more that I can say. I've tried many times to describe what I feel whilst listening to Kala but nothing comes close. A colleague of mine called it "omni-pop" and that's really that closest conclusion I can come to. If we reduce everything that's good in the world right now -- (the slow resurrection of Fela, the re-issue of all that's good in Brazilian musics, the uprising of Bmore, Blaqstarr, Mad Decent, Diplo, Switch, Rye-Rye, Mr. Devro, and all these wonderful things I've been linking to all year) -- it might get close. This album never fails to raise my spirits.

#3

LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver

There are reasons I don't want to include the LCD in my top ten -- they seem lazy (replicating their debut almost to a fault), they're not even remotely hip (in terms of aesthetic), and they've fallen on almost every list I've read so far. So why do I still feel indebted? Is it James Murphy's second-life, comeback, triumph (R.I.P. Six Finger Satellite, one of my most beloved bands of the 90's)....?

No. Not at all. And Mr. Murphy would not want to dwell on that past. Or even the last LCD effort, or even last year. He's a perfectionist first and foremost. And though he's a prolific label-man secondly (through his now-oft-neglected DFA Records) he still funnels every bit of his quitodian life into his music, and for that Sound of Silver is a flawless hurdle. Seeing this live was enough. Hearing it over and over after said concert was complete...was a revelation. He's concentrated all the hipster forms of electronica, dance, and standard rock, into one overwhelming force. Try and not dance, shake your head, or mouth his easy to comprehend/understand lyrics. In LCD land every night is a party at the center of Manhattan, if you want it or not.

#4

Justice - †

Hard to find a party starter that is a solid as Justice (but we'll get to that). The only reason this doesn't eclipse Mr. James Murphy's LCD is experience. While the debut by the Ed Banger Illuminati is exhilarating and above all else a fun trip, it lacks in songwriting. As a ephemeral piece of 2007 though, nothing will top it. SRSLY, take Daft Punk's Discovery and times it by a thousand.

#5

Times New Viking - Presents the Paisley Reich

I pledge allegiance. Join the Shitpop Revolution now...or be left behind. This is simply cocking the trigger in an ongoing saga. Maybe even just loading the pistol? Get to know them better here.

#6

Radiohead - In Rainbows

I know what you're saying...This album needs no more press...but it's been quite a while since Radiohead has thrilled me (see the Bends tour, with David Gray opening at the Cleveland Agora). Sure, I was smitten with OK Computer and perplexed with the experimental duo of full-lengths that followed, but could only manage a yawn beyond that. In Rainbows came late one night, for free (but that's beside the point), and without warning. I'm pretty sure that the band knew they had a monster on their hands or else it all wouldn't have happened this way, it ebbs and flows with the finest releases of this year. Radiohead is fully aware of the corners of rock that they must re-establish and save. Could it be the closest thing to Pink Floyd our generation has experienced? OK. With the advent of computers, I'll accept that.

Henceforth...The lush atmosphere and lilting melodies In Rainbows pours over the listener is enough for a decade or more.

#7

Skeletons and the King of All Cities - Lucas

Lucas is a record that made much more sense months ago. I'm trying to imagine a fully realized version of all those Olivia Tremor Control excursions, only with an ear towards the Soft Machine, African High-Life, Tropicalia, and Danny Elfman -- instead of 60's nostalgia. Envision an orchestra balancing on a unicycle. Perhaps I need to take a few months off to research Sun Ra?

#8

Liars - Liars

Fitting that a band that was becoming too art-rock for their own good (i.e. letting Berlin get the best of them), would surprise the world by removing the art from the equation. Still this record is dark and engaging as the band's most puzzling work, but twice as catchy, twice as heavy. The most intriguing thing about this, a self-titled work, is that they chose to pull out all the Wire and This Heat references this far into their evolution -- a sign that this is a band that is in complete control (both creatively and professionally) of their future/fuhrer.

#9

Gui Boratto - Chromophobia

I'm not a techophobe -- never have been. But I'd say this is the first year where I've embraced the electronic genre with open arms. Blame it on my time with Stylus or blame it on the micro-masterpieces of minimalism from The Field, Pantha Du Prince, Deepchord, Burial, and locally by Deathly Fighter, but I've become accustomed to finding truth within circuits and loops.

The title of this one suggests that this Brazilian composer has a fear of color -- within the cold and calculated structures that may be true -- but Boratto reveals human errors, a human hand that allows cracks through which vibrancy flows. Of all the brilliant releases this year, Chromophobia sounds the most organic, a prism through which all forms of melody are welcome even when traditionally shunned.

#10

Psychedelic Horseshit - Magic Flowers Droned

I'm not sure if there's really anymore I can spew about this record that wasn't addressed here. All I can say is that the Horseshit boys, should they cum in your area (now with extra-pinkness), are probably onto a whole 'nother batch of songs. These here continue to puzzle and amaze and make me shake my head in total fucking agreement. Not a better pop record made this year besides Ms. Brittany Spear's tantric-future-funk masterpiece, Blackout. Recognize.

The Year in Records Two Ought Ought Seven

Since there's not much left on the new releases front and I'm huddled inside master-minding a perfect year-end list for the public to peruse (my brother claims he will not make a list, but he's already "list"ed off his favorite 7"s of the year). I don't find the harm in such lists, in fact I love reading my favorite critics picks, and predicting how many magazines will laud over what (to me) is a fairly mediocre The National record.

So the programming here will change for the next few weeks. I will be pulling the fine-toothed comb through quite a hairy year of music. Not only will I keep you on edge, slowly leaking out the year's best records from 10-1 (imho), but I'll find some other worthy categories to indulge you with-- including 2007's "unheard" and "neglected" albums. As always, I encourage your comments as they pour. Please Pour. Regular rants and Made-Rite sandwiches will continue into the new year.

Live from K's

Perhaps the last bastion of Andy Griffith-esque life in Troy, Ohio -- K's Hamburgers, right there on Main St. hasn't changed much since it began in 1935. At least it hasn't changed a bit since the last time I had dinner there. I've been hankering for nostalgia every time I head home, and this seemed like it would conjure up the most. Was I making too big a deal out of their little crispy hamburgers, "wet" fried and smashed on a smallish bun? As of this visit, the answer is no. The interior remains the same, the malts still there, the grizzled 70-something wait-staff still cackle 'your order's ready' in no discernible direction, the tiny men's bathroom still reminds me of some back-alley in a more industrial baby-boomtown, the price so low you can eat like a king (at least king of the Trojan Square) for under $5. Now that the festival's have shut down, my latest obsession falls with the fabled eateries of Western Ohio. Stay tuned, as I'm destined to go that way as much as possible, if only for the comfort of the Elliott family fireplace.

Those the Shjips I Was Looking For

When I first heard "Dance California" and read the description laid upon San Francisco's Wooden Shjips, I thought it was a collective of like-minded late-teenagers finally finding the truth in kraut, forgoing anything post in order to jam cosmic. Six months later I'm inebriated mere hours past noon, the Austin sun is beating down on the pavement, and I'm in a cave-like bungalow known as Beerland with only a handful of know-it-alls bobbing heads to a bearded forty-thirty-something bohemian with the raddest guitar seen in my life. It was Wooden Shjips -- in all their old-age, long-haired, infinite wisdom -- handing out free vinyl after the smoked had cleared. Well I played that 7" into the ground, and made many believers in its wake, but that full length? Let's just say it doesn't hold same sonic blister as does the live show.

Their limited Sol '07 almost did the trick, since it was an actual live recording, but it wasn't until their Sub Pop debut, Loose Lips, that I became devout towards their magnetic output. For some reason this is indicative of the performance more that anything before it. The keyboards and bass are far out front, the vocals not to intimidating (simply going with the flow), and the guitars carving on forever (the bread and butter of the band). Carving on forever, and ever, and ever. You'd think the song was 15 minutes.



Seriously, go buy this.

Keeping Up with the Gibbons Brothers

For Siltbreeze Alasehir's The Philosophy of Living Fire is release number nine. It's fitting considering that the trio is pretty much Bardo Pond sans vocals and oblique instrumentation, things that might get in the way of the Gibbons Brothers living room meditations/excursions. I'm afraid if Mr. Woodbe (or Lax) has one soft spot in his body, it's kneeling at the temple of the Pond, a Philly institution that has become more religion than band. Really, this duo should pass around a charity plate whenever company comes over and they just so happen to both pick up guitars. Imagine what those Matador Records (there's four to dig into) would sound like stripped to their bare elements, endless blooze jams pounded out into endless mantras, those enormous amorphous miasmas sapped of colour and tinted black and white while the listener floats in infinite gray-space.

Who knows how much drugs play a part anymore? I don't know the bros personally, but I remember a dorm room, a bong hit, and a cassette copy of Amanita at a very impressionable age. It was enough to make a believer outta me. Within the three tracks of Philosophy the trio finds the core of freedom, some repetitive release from past musics, chiseling deep into dark space. An endless boogie? After all, Alasehir is the modern name of the holy city of Philadelphia, Turkey. Look it up. There's certainly something sacred about these recordings.

And that brings me to Siltbreeze, and how they've got the cache to receive such grail. Oh how you've done so much for my social life this 2007. May I suggest a couple ideas for your 10th release? Just to end the year in a nice round number? How 'bout a vinyl comp. of all the strange voice mails you must receive in a given week, or yourself reading the correspondence that gets shoved through your mail slot? Or better yet, a little comp. of the best of the trash you get sent on a regular basis. Surely there's a teen from Ulan Bator recording "collage-scape" that we all don't know about yet. It's prolly worth hearing. Basically I'm saying, you've saved a lot of independent face this year. Saved Matador. Written the greatest one-sheet in the history of music promotion (I've read through a million). And turned me onto DER TPK,Pink Reason, Sapat, Factums, all long-players of the year. What's your sweater size?

25 Mintues With Pre (And Dry Jeans)

My time with Pre was brief. I wasn't expecting Pre, I wanted Pissed Jeans, but they had bedtimes apparently and when I arrived they were huddled around the dim lamppost outside the Bobo, looking like regular dudes, not the scum-rock fist-punk saviors found on Shallow. By all accounts their live show was great, but I'll stand by the razzing I gave Hope for Men, a disappointment that should be fully ignored. Shame on Sub Pop.

Back to the four blokes and nymphet from the United Kingdom that seized my attention in spastic spurts of proggy nihilism. I'd thought that I'd grown out of this Skin Graft state of mind -- I was once fascinated with the free-form skronk of Space Streakings and the detailed velocity of Melt Banana -- Pre however seemed to play with unconscious primal ism instead of studied histrionics. This is not Beefheart on 45. Each tiny knick and twist accelerated to Soul Disco absurdities. They've got Boredoms on the brain and that's a movement I can get behind.

Speaking of behinds, I saw the word "shtick" cleverly scrawled on a cocktail napkin to describe the singer's skimpy attire and sexual gyrations. Sure the sausage in the front row were drooling on their used shoes, but the sheer amount of sweat this girl shed allows her any uniform, any form of shock tactics she wants to throw down. The sleazy force of Pre prefectly fit the dingy environs and by night's end, or 25 minutes later, I had to crank my jaw back into place.

Mission Statement Revisited

You're probably as sad as I am that Stylus is dead. They were a nice fit for me. And somehow, having this blog linked through that site I was getting a lot of traffic (spam). So I thought I'd start anew here with the mission statement as read on the Stylus link:

“Teenagers Unite” is the permanent mantra heard in the World of Wümme, for though we age gracefully and our tastes become more refined, we forever cling to that 18 to 35 demographic until we choke out our last breath. If anything, this blog is a resource for young soldiers fighting a daily culture war on the streets. It’s a document filled with detailed tactics and strategy handed down to future generations aimed at creating a brave new world. We have a responsibility to reverse the predictions of an Orwellian fate and to build, to unleash a vertical proliferation of kaleidoscopic colors and deafening sound.

Happy November Already.