Their awkward to pronounce name – it’s “The Do-U – r – b – e – r – villes” – from Thomas Hardy’s novel Tess of the D’Urbervilles presents a beguiling front for this Canadian band. By naming themselves after the poor English family featured in the novel, are they asserting their own poverty? Or, hailing from Oshawa, Ontario, do they consider themselves second-bests to their more sophisticated Québécois? Or is the band – which attained its complete form in college –using such a literate reference ironically, a self-conscious acknowledgment of their middle class privilege? The questions swirl in the background as The D’Urbervilles don’t so much lament their poverty –real or imagined – but rather use it a defiant rallying cry on “We Are the Hunters.”

The first thing you think when listening to this A-side, though, isn’t whether these guys are poor or not: it’s whether – with the slap bass, manic energy and onslaught of guitar hits – it’s going to be “War Pigs” done for the pacifist set. But then it melds into a punk sing along that suggests they aren’t some limp-dicked indie band: “We are the Hunters, it’s time for killing!” Exhausted? We haven’t yet arrived at the infectious, Depeche Mode-esque bridge, built on a bubbling base line that makes it pretty much impossible not to do one of those bobbing 80s shakes. “At night we own the city skyline / By day we hide our selves from sight,” John O’Regan sings; “Making ends meet/Burned up like a fire in the street / you can strike our hearts anywhere you like.” O’Regan, who moonlights as Diamond Rings  – Side A on the PS I Love You split 7-inch that caught our attention last fall – manages through his robust, beautiful voice to convey both the weariness and defiance of the lyrics. (His voice is even more incredible in person: I saw O’Regan perform as Diamond Rings back in the fall in New York and was blown away.) The band only enters the 21^st century at the triumphant chorus, sounding like the Killers without the bourgeois melodrama, synthesizer and all.

So yeah, The D’Urbervilles are kaleidoscopic. Their chutzpah itself is worthy of praise: though plenty of bands experiment with different sounds, it’s actually somewhat incredible how few rock songs these days change tempo or rhythm, let alone style. I’ve always been drawn to this kind of virtuosity, built for the easily bored (or less generously, those with short attention spans). Of course there are endless great songs that build to a climax with shifting-tempos, and plenty of showy music-for-musicians (e.g. Zappa). But rarely do we see this collage-minded freely-borrowing approach, the best (and most famous) example of which has to be the circus of freak-doo-wop “Happiness is a Warm Gun.”

But The D’Urbervilles are no Beatles, and upon first listen this rapid juxtaposition, this drive-by of the last forty years of rock can be appear jarring if not downright crude. They sound like a band that is either completely aware of what they’re doing or totally clueless. But upon repeat listens it becomes clear though the D’Urbervilles try on many different musical outfits, they are so tight that they pull it off.

But the other reason, the reason they have incredible potential to be successful and great, is that they root themselves in the trendy post-punk sound but use that as a point of departure. Like the rest of their album of the same name, on “We Are the Hunters” The D’Urbervilles have all the elements of that sound: pile-driving bass, generally minimalist arrangements, and quickly shifting forms. While Tim Bruton does a fine job on guitar and synth, it is the bass of Kyle Donnelly that dominates here, giving the band their appealingly Pixies-like meaty sound. But instead of sticking to the formula, The D’Urbervilles add some hard rock guitar here, sprinkle some synthesizer there until it comes out just right. Bon appét-indié.

B-side “Worst Case Ontario” feat. New Slang sounds completely different than anything else The D’Urbervilles have recorded. It is, frankly, unrepresentative of their work – but it sure shows that these guys have a sense of humor. A self-mocking shout out to their home state, the track starts out with a clip from perhaps the funniest – and trashiest – piece of pop culture to emerge from our neighbors up north: the Trailer Park Boys. Built around an old-school hip-hop (read: funk) beat with similarly loose, simple vocals, the track contains such zingers as:  “I ain’t no moron/so I swim in Lake Huron,” such sophisticated smack-downs of other states like “What the heck, Quebec?” and the classic taunt: “Do you have the balls to swim Niagara falls!?” They are more “wiggidy-wiggidy-wiggidy-wacks” here than a Kriss-Kross single and they seem to be in that twelve year old state of mind as well. Which is to say: they don’t take themselves too seriously. Thank god.

The D’Urbervilles are smart. They sing with sincerity, but always with a nod and a wink; they address real issues with verve but aren’t afraid to be completely silly. They inhabit the hot sound of the moment but twist it in original and exciting ways. And they prove that even in an age when rock is becoming more and more orchestrated, a hard bass and beautiful vocals are all you really need to make a great song.

Nick Kelly

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Before this decade, only Canadian artists who had explosive popular appeal – like Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Alanis Morissette, Celine Dion and the rest – would make it in the States, their success having less to do with a homegrown Canadian music market and more to do with the open-armed American music industry’s willingness to swallow any delicious pop morsel whole. Most other bands were left to wither in the lonely, obscure Canadian cold. And then Canada surprised everyone and produced, in one decade, not one but two genuine, sprawling homegrown scenes – based in Toronto and Montreal, really the only two cities in Canada anyway – that led to great art-tinged pop groups who also found immense popularity across the border. Led by the New Pornographers and then Broken Social Scene and Arcade Fire, these groups have perhaps defined the sound of Indie rock in the last decade more than any others, American or Canadian. The explanation for their popularity has little to do with the Canadian scene itself: the burgeoning international indie movement of the last decade has created a larger venue for more experimental artists, and the online democratization of music has made it easier for new bands to catch a break regardless of their location.

There is nevertheless something distinctive about Canadian indie rock. While most American indie rock bands seem to revel in their go-it-alone attitude (only recently with projects like Dark Was the Night has any semblance of an American indie collective began to emerge) Canadian musicians often act collectivity. PS I Love You in some ways epitomizes this and in others throws it by the wayside. They are part of an online community that quadruples as the place to find the goings-on-about-town in their home of Kingston, Ontario, a record label, music video club and zine. And their first pressed single, “Facelove”, came as the B-side on a (physical) 7-inch with their friends Diamond Rings (though the first track got some Pitchfork love, the B-side was largely overlooked).

But PS I Love You is just multi-instrumentalist Paul Saulnier and drummer Benjamin Nelson – who lays down an excellent, feverish set throughout, especially featured on A-side “Facelove” – and is primarily the lifelong musical journey of Saulnier. And yet they might as well be an army. Where the Japandroids, another recent breakout duo from Canada, describe themselves as “a two piece trying to sound like a five piece band,” PS I Love You is a two-piece that actually sounds like a five piece band, with Saulnier on guitar, vocals and (via his seemingly possessed right foot) bass organ.  Not that that really matters. I listened to this song for weeks without knowing that there were just two guys in the band. But it only adds to their mystique: when I offered them a gig (admittedly for basically nothing) they responded that, as “poor Canadians,” they didn’t even have passports (see their video too). For shame. These guys pack more than enough edge and just enough hook to fill whole hipster stadiums – ones that don’t usually serve as most-of-the-time ice rinks.

I’m serious. Why? Turn on “Facelove” and keep reading. This single is pure propulsion. There is no hook or verse, just continual upward motion. Using the wavering, weighty bass organ as a jumping off point as it gains momentum, they briefly toy with a surrealistic love call (“your love is like a giant strawberry (or) a delicious glass of wine (or) a naive dream of mine / thrown in my face.”) but then cascade into a guitar solo that would put Jimmy Page to shame. Yes, there is something distinctly heavy metal about this song: the beat may be post-punk but the guitar solo is more Black Sabbath than Joy Division. The way he doubles the lines, his effortless shredding – Saulnier clearly has some nostalgia for times when guitarists proved themselves by doing more than looking pissed off. And just when you might expect them to pull a 360, to return to Saulnier’s high-pitched hoarse cry, they just keep pushing, turning the bridge into a never-ending solo that makes you wonder if the guitar is going to fly right out of his hands. No need for another verse; that would bring these guys back to earth. They are in outer-fu*king space.

Where A-side “Facelove” sounds like bits grabbed from the last forty years of rock thrown into a smelter and served hot, B-side “Subtle and Majestic” firmly situates PS I Love You in the Canadian indie rock scene. Recalling the more spacious singles of Broken Social Scene’s You Forgot It In People, the lightly picked guitars and delicate chords complement Saulnier’s off-pitched voice and render it as something that is both serene and grubby. He conveys the mix of sincerity and self-deprecation that every musically-inclined dude has experienced when making a mixtape for a significant other (hopeful or real): “I’m not trying to be romantic but I made you this mixtape/ It’s subtle and majestic and I know that you’ve probably heard most of these songs before/ But this time they’re from me/So you can really hear what they actually mean.” He gets at that perhaps ridiculous (or, in the opinion of this mixtape obsessed writer, perhaps not) feeling that, by putting songs in their just-perfect order, you put your unique mark on them and make them real for your obviously floored listener. More, Saulnier’s strained but powerful call at the end of “Subtle and Majestic” (“Let’s quit smoking together/let’s start smoking together”) expresses the familiar longing to undertake shared projects with another, though which particular project is basically irrelevant. What matters is that last part: together.

I think we like bands best that take the familiar and put an unusual twist on it; that don’t so much re-invent a genre as perfect it. With hard hitting beats, sweet guitar hooks, some seriously heavy bass organ and just a bit of self-conscious sensitivity, PS I Love You is able to be both a part and an extension of their scene and sound. Now let’s get them some passports.

Nick Kelly

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Ashraya Gupta is a voice out of another era – though exactly what era is up for debate. She most immediately recalls the sweet, delicate voices of 60s and 70s folk singers like Vashti Bunyan, but she sings with the wispiness and tight vibrato of Billie Holiday. At certain points she even sounds even older – in her precise intonation, she sounds something like an imagined popular singer from the 19^th century.  All of which is to say that Gutpa has an incredible voice that is immediately loved by most everyone who hears it; describing it is almost a waste of time. But, since one paragraph doesn’t really do her justice, let’s indulge a bit.

Gupta was born in India, raised in England and Cincinnati, and at last settled down in the most un-cosmopolitan of places (Long Island). She’s been playing for years in another band–the Kitchen Cabinet. That band, upbeat and carefree almost to a fault, provided a nice breezy compliment to Gupta’s light alto. But here we get a real treat: Gupta on her own, exploring original ideas with just a keyboard to boot. Though this barebones set-up could prove monotonous or boring in another’s hands, Gupta carries these two songs with her voice alone.

A-Side “Dogwood”, built around a simple and haunting melody, finds Gupta in a near-whisper at points. The deep calm that she conveys here perfectly evokes a mood that is at once lonely and hopeful: “Damp and dim on an empty street/morning light never looked so bleak…but on a clear day from my window/I see the palisades so green like the summer/ on a clear day from my window/I see the days when first you looked at me.” It’s not hard to imagine her writing this song at her window as a kind of self-medication for those lonely cold seasons, and with her warm tone and ethereal arrangements, she welcomes you in. You’re almost right there with her, looking out. I first heard these songs while walking one weekend in the dim, airless hallways of a local housing project. Gupta’s quiet but powerful music was the perfect anecdote to that downtrodden environment.

“Great Expectations” expands Gupta’s soundscape with a minimal drum track. She sounds a bit wounded here, drowned out by the keyboards and percussion around her (if I do have one complaint, it’s that I want to hear vocals, though I suspect this is more an issue of levels than arrangement). When her singing at last rises above the accompaniment at song’s end, it’s to deliver a real kicker: “The echo chambers of this heart/ four empty rooms to tear apart.”

Both songs on this 7-inch are modest efforts that hint at something even greater for Gupta. They’re little songs that pack a tight, quiet punch. Gupta’s modesty – in setup, in delivery, in scope – suits her minimalist aesthetic, and puts the focus of her music where it belongs: on her voice. Where many solo records disappoint, becoming mere shadows of the bands that the artist usually inhabits, these two songs are gems in their own right.

Nick Kelly

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There’s something about the guitar/drum duo that lends it instant credibility in my eyes and ears. Bands like the Japandroids, PS I Love You, and Amazing/Wow are the stuff that rock music is made of, and I’m just a sucker for bands that really let their balls hang out. If you can’t say what you need to say in 3 chords and with shitty distorted singing, maybe you need to sit back and reconsider the whole rock music thing, eh? I mean, you can gussie it all up with harmony and some tricky chord substitutions, but a rose is a rose is a rose–they don’t really do a whole lot to change the fundamental character of the music. Amazing/Wow is just two dudes, bangin’ it out, but they elevate the whole venture to such epic proportions that a whole army of guitarists (a “guitarmy,” if you will) couldn’t show them up on stage. Fellow Ampeater writer Nick Kelly saw Amazing/Wow a while back, and wrote, “Amazing/Wow is really one of those bands that hits their stride live. You can get a sense of their raw energy from their recordings, but seeing them live is truly a physically overwhelming experience. Instead of going to another big-name show at Webster Hall and having to pinch yourself mid-way through to confirm that you are not in fact dead, go see Amazing/Wow in a loft somewhere. They singlehandedly reminded me that sometimes all you need is a bit of melody and a whole lot of adrenaline to make music worthwhile.” Hell yeah, that’s the spirit. Amazing/Wow is Barrett Lindgren and Adam Ferguson, and they’ve been making abrasive punk music with delicious pop hooks for only about a year now. Based out of West Philly, these guys are the real fu*king deal. Keeping the DIY tradition alive, Amazing/Wow isn’t label bound, but their recordings are killer enough to keep me headbanging at my desk all day long. Moreover, withstanding one of their live shows is purportedly akin to surving a tornado. Awesome, sign me up.

So now down to the real business: we’re serving up a nice new digital 7-inch from Amazing/Wow, so check it out. Side A is a punk anthem for the new millennium called “We Don’t Need Anything.” They’re right, they don’t need anything–not even a bassist. Fu*k bassists. The song takes off with some hefty feedback, ushering in a vocal intro and a hovering guitar part that suddenly casts us off into the meat of the song before we really know what hit us. I don’t think I had heard anything made in my lifetime that actually propelled me to punch the air during the chorus until I found this song. Amazing/Wow has a pretty basic agenda that they fulfill with style: punk songs + catchy melodies + lots of raw untamed masculine energy. Even the most apathetic of hipsters will find themselves looking like bearded bobble-head dolls when they put this one on. “We Don’t Need Anything” is a perfect example of what makes Amazing/Wow so great. Listen to it, now. Seriously, scroll to the bottom of the post and click play. The rest of the review will still be here when you finish.

The B-Side of this disk, “Covered in Blood,” shows what separates Amazing/Wow from your normal run-of-the-mill two person punk band (though I refuse to believe that such a thing actually exists). Amazing/Wow combines pop and punk in a way that gives credence to both genres. The song builds over a two-note riff, adding tambourine and drums until the vocals finally enter and remind us that we’re listening to something very, very special. The refrain, “I would like to see your face covered in blood,” gives way to a 3-chord straight punk riff that quickly becomes just a little embarassed by itself and drops us back into the indie-infused shell of the song. The song’s a bit schizophrenic like that, alternating between a deep indie guitar groove and straight punk. Oddly, I miss one when I’m hearing the other, which is maybe why I’ve had this song on repeat for hours now. It’s the perfect balance between music that draws heavily on a certain genre and music that’s directly referential. This is the kind of tune that gets jammed deep inside your head and stays there, but since you can’t really sing and have a shitty memory, the version that’s in your head is always slightly out of tune and just loops half a verse over and over again. Practice makes perfect?

I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit that there’s some dissention amongst the Ampeater crew as to what songs are Amazing/Wow’s best. I won on the 7-inch and got my two favorites, but Nick would insist that “Where is the Universe” and “Laserface” better capture the band’s synthesis of pop and punk, as they actually take a second to breathe and let a couple notes ring out every once in a while. I guess that’s okay, but part of what makes Amazing/Wow so potent is pure endurance, both in terms of their own performance and what they demand from their listeners. It’s not an easy task to keep up with Amazing/Wow, but if you’re up for a good time it’s one hell of a ride.

Want more music from Amazing/Wow? You can ask the boys for a CD through their MySpace.

Ben Heller and Nick Kelly

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Records often become inextricably tied to the place and moment in our lives when we hear them. Music’s power to latch itself on to our memories is truly remarkable: a single song can completely transport the listener back into that mood in ways that mere recollection cannot. They are an easy ticket for re-experiencing the past. But sometimes we associate them with memories that are too painful to confront, and they become unplayable. Listening to records that can arouse such intense emotional memory is a risky business, but it is perhaps that deeply affecting quality that makes music great.

Boy Without God (Gabe Birnbaum) has made one those records, one of those (and we all have our own favorites) that somehow got under my skin and stayed there. The particular moments I associate with it are dark and dramatic, but that’s not to say Boy Without God is a downer. Exuberant and full-blooded, Boy Without God creates music that is so raw that it will undoubtedly hit you hard; in what way, it’s hard to say.

That’s in large part due to his crafting of soundscapes. Boy Without God likes his sound meaty: lo-fi need not apply here. He wraps you in a variety of unusual timbres and creates tension and release by gradually expanding that space. No place is this more in evidence that on “Holy Holy Little Fist”, the no-holds barred opener on this digital 7-inch that showcases Boy Without God at his best: going for broke. Beginning with an arresting organ line and spare drum machine, the song is propelled by layer upon layer of vocals, percussion, a flurry of hand claps, and finally bursts of frenetic horns (all played by Boy Without God himself) that showcase his unique combination of indie rock and free-jazz. Where most rock musicians shy away from such frenetic dissonance, Boy Without God relishes in these moments while using them sparingly to heighten the effect.

“Boy Without God” suggests some type of existential searching, and his lyrics reflect this humanistic outlook in “Holy Holy Little Fist”. “I know fate is a lead coat/weighin on our/silky ties and dead bolts/ all our exoskeletons/ I know fate is lead, molten/pouring into/forms we cannot understand/ guided by our own two hands.” This rejection of fate, this emphasis on the earthy (in the same song he declares, “We are fields of wise goats defecating joyfully”) can be disorienting for listeners used to music drenched in irony and cynicism. But the conviction with which he sings seems to say: so be it. His deep, growly baritone – which he often over-dubs multiple times – recalls Matt Berninger of The National, but that doesn’t stop him from pushing his voice to the upper reaches of his register until he’s at a full out scream. Sincerity is only revolting when it veers into melodrama, and Boy Without God is anything but that.

“If You” is an intimate, hopeful ballad–the yin to the yang of “Holy Holy Little Fist”. Boy Without God adds his distinctive orchestral temperament to an otherwise sparse guitar track, adding smudges of horns and vibraphones to create a warm, welcoming palate. You get a sense of his extreme vulnerability here, but it’s an endearing vulnerability, not a pitiful one. In the same way that Elliott Smith used to turn his sadness into beauty, Boy Without God has a talent for turning his loneliness into something more.

This two track single from Boy Without God gives a small taste of his talent; his other work hints at the epic instrumental genius of Sufjan Stevens but with none of his cringe-worthy sentimentality. With a broader musical palate to work with than most indie rockers and flair for the dramatic, Boy Without God makes music that’s adventurous without being distancing; music that is, in fact, deeply arresting and personal. And memorable.

Nick Kelly

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