Category: Reviews

This formerly lost-to-the-ages 1974 release is now ready for fans/addicts to pull into their world music-collecting realm. The eleven-strong conglomerate that was the Sweet Talks hailed from Tema, Ghana and this short but scintillating album boils with their youthful highlife-meets-Afrobeat enthusiasm. Then again, they do call it The Kusum Beat and anyone with ears will instantly recognize a slight difference in their haughty vocals, chattering guitars and hard-to-beat horn arrangements. The drummer lays heavily into the hi-hat, keeping the rhythm on high boil throughout and there is a palpable jazziness to their trumpet solos that will please even the most discriminating seeker. The repeating musical statements, mostly based around a cheap-sounding organ, almost become swirling and psychedelic at some points and the rhythmic structures advance before your ears and suck you in with a charming yet unrelenting flow. Nice plus. (Soundway, www.soundwayrecords.com) Jeff Monk

Although Stylus has gone half a year without a single Pitchfork mention, it’s nearly impossible to write a review of this album without doing so—it was about a year ago that P4K (barf) hyped up the track “Despicable Dogs,” basically putting Small Black on everyone’s radar. The core duo was then joined up by two Pitchfork TV contributors to fill out their sound for live shows and a seven-point-nothing was given hastily to this EP just to throw the conspiracy theorists off the scent (in my humble opinion). The lead-off track “Despicable Dogs” is downright loveable and will instantly shoot doses of nostalgia into listeners’ hearts, but the rest of EP (including two bonus tracks for this reissue) doesn’t quite hold up the same standard of songwriting. But that doesn’t mean they’re not good—they just pale in comparison. The rest of EP is full of drum machines and distorted toy keyboards in a fashion similar to Think About Life, Miracle Fortress, or Not Animals. All of which scream Stylus rather than Pitchfork, anyways. (Jagjaguwar, www.jagjaguwar.com) Taylor Burgess

Another reason to love the internet: Norway’s Sleepyard would have passed completely below my radar. While the core of the band are the brothers Kersbergen (Oliver and Svein), they’ve got no less than twelve other musicians (including keys and treatment from Spacemen 3’s Pete Kember) strapped in for the epic trip into twilight. The first four pieces wouldn’t sound out of place in the dream sequences of Terry Gilliam’s Brazil. They’re soaring, lush soundscapes with ethereal, gauzy guitar, fluttering flute and strings. “Hot Radio” and “Bionic Exercise” both stand out to me, the first being a lush vibe with crescendos and waves over a primal, krautrock beat while the latter sounds like the Beach Boys, if that beach was located next to an unexplored jungle. Almost primal, totally surreal. “Afternoon Suntrap” is the sound of unknown, dark and foreboding, yet inviting. It leads you to the “Tangerine Road,” where angels sing you down while the rag-tag duo of old-tyme piano and pedal steel play on. “Heavy Sunset” ends the disc, prying your eyelids open with rays from the sky. The whole album has the hazy, dream-like, something you thought you’ve experienced before but can’t quite pin down quality. But unlike a dream, this is something you can easily find and fall back into. And with the internet, there’s no excuse to not check out this, or any other Sleepyard discs. (Oliver, also super cool, is a Google search away and would love to hook you up with his music.) (CCAP, www.checkpoint.no/ccap) Patrick Michalishyn

This shard of the star of Black Moth Super Rainbow doesn’t take on the sound of synths ’n’ beats or distorto noise. Seven Fields of Aphelion (née Maureen Boyle) is the synth/piano player of the group and on her first solo record she delivers a pretty collection of reverb-hazed grand piano interweaved with squishy space-synths. The piano parts in many of the songs find a pretty phrase, focus on it and repeat, the delayed sound coming back and filling in the gaps between key hits. Some could say it sounds too similar, or needs more variation, but it adds to the dream-like atmosphere. Kinda like taking too much Nyquil and being blown away by everything while walking through your house. The best part is that, much like a Black Moth album, Periphery will find some weird memory in your brain and tie it to a song. Really. “Wildflower Wood” sounds like the kind of melodramatic music you’d hear on Sesame Street when one of the characters feels sad and their friends come by to tell them that everything’s gonna be OK. “Starlight Aquatic” sounds like a cut from a soundtrack to a futuristic serial you’d catch on ’80s-era BBC. “Cloud Forest (The Little Owl)” makes me think of when I watched Blade Runner all by myself in my basement with the lights out. The package is great too. Besides being a fine pianist, Boyle is a damn fine photographer. The disc comes with 14 dreamy, double-exposed photographs that you can swap out and use as an album cover. While that practice is hardly unique, those fuzzy pictures and these dreamy songs go together like horse and carriage. Highly recommended! (Graveface, www.graveface.com) Patrick Michalishyn

Ralph Alfonso has been a busy guy; running a label, and a publishing a zine, and contributing to other artists’ and writers’ projects. Enough to make some forget that Alfonso has a bit of a recording history of his own. This is the first Alfonso release since 2001’s This Is for the Night People, a collection of poetry and a pastiche of music that wouldn’t sound out of place on the CBC, committed to tape. In fact, all of Alfonso’s CDs have that late night radio comfort factor to them… but anyway, the EP. If you’re gonna do three songs in under 12 minutes, make sure they’re quality. And they are. “Billy Fury, Billy Fury” sounds like a Blues Explosion song, a totally welcome surprise (I was expecting a touch more jazzy business, given what’s come before). Ari Shine’s guitarwork is the star of the song. Congrats! Next, this acoustic version of “Yesterday & Today” is total punk-as-fuck,  unplugged power chords courtesy of Dave Rave (Teenage Head) with smoky snarled vocals. It’s bad-ass like you wouldn’t think an acoustic could be. And finally, the live version of “People that Love Forgot” rides the “Louie Louie” riff ’n’ vibe back into the garage, almost killing the original (save for the killer solo found on “Coffee, Jazz and Poetry”). Enough of the hors d’oeuvres; bring on the main course, Ralph! (Bongobeat, www.bongobeat.com) Patrick Michalishyn

My love of the Pointed Sticks started in summer of ’09 with me finding Zulu’s compilation Part of the Noise for $5 while in Vancouver. Tons of B.C. bands I love drop the Pointed Sticks name, the first three 7” releases are legendary and Perfect Youth is still a fantastic LP. And they’re playing out again! Fantastic! So I finally have the new Sticks album playing right now, and I’m sadly disappointed. The snottiness of youth, I guess it’s blown out and in the wastebasket. It’s been decades, so I’m not expecting that piss ’n’ vinegar to stick around, but boys… the music isn’t bad at all, but it’s too polished and the attitude is all gone. It’s a good POP guitar record, and if you’re expecting “Somebody’s Mom” or “Lies” or “The Real Thing,” you’re not gonna get it here. And while they might still kill live (hello Stooges!), this music on this platter doesn’t hold a candle to the past. And that sucks. (Northern Electric, www.northern-electric.ca) Patrick Michalishyn

Fact 1: everyone in Past Lives are former members of the Blood Brothers. Fact 2: they sound almost nothing like the Blood Brothers. They have hung up the boots of screamy jazz fusion for a more indie rock feel. The EP that preceded this album was a collection of fast catchy rock songs; this album is neither. All of the songs are hypnotically slow and in the place of “catchy” is “eerie.” A huge portion of this has to do with Jordan Blilie’s vocals. He takes his John Lennon mutter to the extreme creating a tone of voice that may never have been heard in the genre. On top of this the vocal melodies are just plain weird; the listener will always expect different notes to be hit at the end of phrases, effectively confusing them. The instrumentation also creates its own level of creepiness by having the bass structured and rhythmic while the guitar is playing blue notes that should irk everyone just a little bit. This is one of those albums that must be listened to a number of times until one knows what to expect; only then will one be able to decide whether or not it’s good. For fans of… well, certainly not the Blood Brothers. (Suicide Squeeze, www.suicidesqueeze.net) Paul Nordin

Finally, a new Chris Page record! I popped this one in the minute I ripped open my mail. Then I laid in bed, listened and smiled. Page has a voice that hides nothing. The emotions and feelings are real and right there. Speaking of standing out stark, this is also just a man and his guitar. Pure rock, through and through. Compared to his more rocking last release, Decide to Stay and Swim, Smoke Machine is a retreat to the cabin at the lake. It’s an introspective record, sometimes melancholy, and driving that home are song descriptions instead of lyrics (which are clear enough to warrant the lack of lyric sheet) that paint a picture of what the songs mean. But onto the songs. Leading off with “Patio to Stereo,” Page sets the stage with voice and masterful acoustic guitar. You can hear the buzzing of a fuzzy electric waiting to pop out from beneath the carpet, and when it does you’ll get goosebumps that’ll come back song after song. Reaching into his back catalogue, both Glen Nevous solo and from the Stand GT, Chris pulls out and puts the unplugged feel on some already powerful songs. “Good on the River” is a killer loud-LOUDER number and “Hello, Danger Bay” is the most drastic, putting the brakes on the anthemic heart-on-sleeve rocker and delivering it as a stripped-back on a front-porch at sunset lullaby. Kelp compilation track “Keep Me on Your Radar” is redone and even better than it was a year ago. Everything Page does, whether solo or with Stand or Camp Radio, is essential. What he can wring out of his chords, both vocal and guitar, is magic. Chris Page of our country’s hidden charms who’s been in plain sight for the better part of two decades. You’d be a fool to not take notice after a record like this. (Kelp Records, www.kelprecords.com) Patrick Michalishyn

MANRAYGUN
Everything Is Temporary
(Before you read this, apologies for all the “Manraygun sound like…” lines herein. They’re their own beast. Comparisons are inevitable.) I stumbled across Manraygun on MySpace, their name tricking me into thinking they were some kitschy sci-fi sampling, maybe-surfy band (à la Man… or Astro-man?). I was waaaaaay off. What I heard was a killer amalgam of more reminiscent of Murder by Death Americana, Sadies-ish instrumentals put to Randy Newman-esque lyrics. What a marriage. And the lyrics ain’t dumb either; the stories told are detailed and rich. What’s also really cool is that like another one of my favourite bands, the Vulcan Dub Squad, these guys can hop from style ’n’ sound to style ’n’ sound without tripping up or sounding forced. Everything/anything works! “Operazione Fritz” caught me off guard a little with its eight-bit beat that eventually was added to by the rest of the band. Not that I haven’t heard it before, but that coming after a few songs of dark saloon-rock, was a little unexpected. Good form, Manraygun! “Souvenir Dishes” is a Grinderman-like crunchy ’n’ greasy shitkicker. Manraygun run the gamut here on Everything Is Temporary. The slow songs will make you wanna raise a glass, the fast songs will make you wanna dance, and the mean songs will wanna make you fight. In case your interest isn’t piqued yet, this just came to me (try it on): Manraygun feel like putting Blue Rodeo and Eels in a blender and pouring the mix straight into your ear. Yeah, they’re that good. (Independent, myspace.com/manraygun) Patrick Michalishyn

The cover of this album shows half of the head of a rainbow-irised ventriloquist dummy that appears to be smoking. The initial off-put turned out to be a clever trick on Malakai’s part, because this album is simply excellent. It is pop music as I like it best—essentially catchy without sounding tired. The production is provided by Jeff Barrow of fellow Bristolians Portishead, and the album’s sound is at first very much akin to the latter’s music—beautiful and hypnotic and sounding like it was recorded in a glass studio. But the music is actually more reminiscent of an Odelay-era Beck stuck in with the copyright restrictions of 2010 (but still very British). In “Snowflake” (ever after known as “The Song What Will Not Leave My Head”) the chorus makes reference to a roundabout and the last half of the album sounds pretty straight-up Beatles. They even have a song called “Blackbird.” Despite the obvious musical references, the album stands as quite an original one. The songs never sound tired or overdone. They manage to remain hooky and catchy without becoming repetitive, a huge feat in pop music. The best thing I can say about this album is that I really want to finish this review snappily so I can get back to listening to it; as you should be. (Domino, www.dominorecordco.com) David Nowacki