Sometimes you encounter music so eclectic, so diverse and brimming with influences that you know it must either be the work of one person or eleven.  When the musical diversity is at its highest, I think perhaps the one-person unit is the one with the lower degree of difficulty—humans are animals, and with the natural infighting, egos, whatever, you figure, “This must just be one dude in his basement.”

That was my first thought when I heard the enigmatically diverse yet immediately accessible Emanuel and the Fear.  During the first two songs I heard, I wrote down a list of no fewer than 30 bands who I heard shades of, including Zepplin, Mars Volta, Decembrists, Sufjan, Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against the Machine, Bjork, Muse…what on earth?  The list goes on.  The influences list on their myspace would be a joke except you read every one of those artists and nod, “yep,” to yourself.

Well, on the, “who is making this greatness?” front, turns out it’s kinda a bit of both the one and eleven person options.  Up front, a clear vocal and song-writing presence is Emanuel Ayvas (lead vocals, guitar, piano)—a born pop-singer and songwriter, it seems, who takes great command of each track.  But he’s no dude in a basement—he’s backed by The Fear, ten fearless musicians of impressive prowess: Gil Goldin (bass), Jeff Gretz (drums), Tom Swafford (violin), Dallin Applebaum (synth, vocals), Liz Hanley (violin, vocals), Dan Tirer (guitar), David Nelson (trombone), Nic Cowles (flute), Brian Sanders (cello), Chris Coletti (trumpet). Eleven equally dazzling and classically trained musicians.

There’s a consonance in that list of, “sounds-like,” artists mentioned above, though, in that for those artists, their pop sensibilities are front and center of their experimentation (weaker Mars Volta aside…), prompting my second mental question: “I can’t believe these guys aren’t famous yet…”

One listen to Emanuel and the Fear and I suspect you will think the same thing.  Hearing them reminded me of the first time I heard Mika, and thought, “oh yes, this will catch on in about an hour.” And that’s no sleight either.  This impression of imminent success isn’t due, as it might usually be, to pop-culture pandering, lazy-but-fun beats, or any use of auto-tune (thank god).  Rather, Emanuel gives this impression because it’s just that good, and just that accessible.

Emanuel and the Fear are the first good band to come out of some place called Brooklyn, New York.  Okay, that’s not true, but let’s not fault them for locational unoriginality.  Despite their advanced sound, they’re relatively new to this game.  Listen is their first full length, released just last month through Paper Garden Records, and already earning them rave reviews from most people with ear holes.  This band isn’t afraid to gig, either.  How on earth they all fit on stage is beyond me, but they’re doing just that around Europe as we write/read.

I challenge you to not like “Dear Friend.” Go on.  Just try.  Okay, don’t try too hard, because it’s going to be much more enjoyable to like it.  “Dear Friend,” is, at its core, a classic American pop song with a bit of flourish in the form of strings and electronics.  What sets it apart is how well executed the flourishes are, and how flawless the pop is done.  The track starts with two high energy hits leaving the piano underneath, joined by vocals that give way to the choral build-up of strings and brass.  Truly great pop artists are able to milk much satisfaction out of even the smallest moments, and this track is full of them, like the held notes of, “and then much to my surprise…” or the trumpet work or trombone solo, or, dear lord, how much do I love the little Muse-esque breakaway in the middle of this track?  A lot, that’s how much.

And somehow this peculiar mid-track-electro-float-to-cloud-9 allows this simple song to return with some snapping, a one note organ riff, and a whole lot more gravity.  Already “Dear Friend” has earned its keep and it’s not even half over, with many majorly epic and sweeping grand pop moments to come.  The rest is a pretty textbook intro to choral swells and post-verse builds that, with additions of backing vocals and some real live strings (Thank god!  I love you, keyboards, but you weren’t built to simulate strings) that retain full tone and therefore keep the power of the harmonies.  Do do do do do do doooo…something I never thought I’d say.  And then, of course, closing on the same two hits, like a gymnast nailing the landing.

Watching B-side “Guatemala,” played live really cements a subtle Rage Against the Machine element to the repertoire.  Partially because of the Morello-esque riffing, partially because of the political fire Ayvas spits here, and probably mostly because of the Zach de la Rocha hairdo.  Though this is one of the few times on Listen that the energy and vitriol reaches this level, Emanuel and the Fear pull it off quite effortlessly, and with some very diverse flourishes.  Once again the string and woodwind section complement the meaty pop extremely well, and some particularly punchy electronic drum hits are blended in expertly to give a nice electronic cusp to an otherwise fully symphonic powerhouse song.

I like this track as a B-side because I think it really shows off Emanuel and the Fear’s range, both sonically in the many genres of music weaved into the work, and also emotionally, particularly in contrast to the jaunty “Dear Friend.” “Guatemala” has got a hell of a bite to it, and The Fear create a lot of that tension by playing off the standard rock and roll drum-bass-guitar. From the chaotic flute barely perceptible at the beginning of the track, to the swelling strings trading off moments with the vocals.

The album definitely takes quite a lot of emotional and tonal turns.  Less well executed, and Emanuel and the Fear might be labeled, “chaotic…disorganized…blah blah blah.”  Ultimately, you’re not really going to hear those things because Emanuel and the Fear succeed.  They succeed because their music is earnest—uncomplicated in its complexity.  People tend to worry more about disorganization when the music isn’t good and they’re grasping for reasons why (read: I’m suspicious of this as a reason for a music’s failure).  Fortunately, the great thing about music as an immersive art form is that we can forget about all that for a while, the critical us.  So when you’re done reading this increasingly ironic appraisal, my final recommendation is to enjoy the hell out of these songs.

Rick Andrews

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

I’m glad I overcame my fear of fun in music. Otherwise, I might have never enjoyed The Hibernauts. I still haven’t quite figured out what it was. I came into being a consumer of music from a steady diet of “oldies 103.3″ outside philly, which is pretty much what my parents chose to have on in the car. But when I became a modern music consumer, I skewed away from musical levity. The first CD I got was Limp Bizkit’s “Significant Other.” The second was Powerman 5000. Part of me feels the need to defend this, but whatever, I was like 12 years old. I was young, kinda angry, and listened to bad nu-metal, and had little interest in “fun” music. Even when young-me started skewing softer, it was to things like Low, Mogwai, etc., not party pop jams. I think fun seemed substance-less?

I’ve changed though. I’ve seen the funlight. There’s a hidden brilliance to good “fun.” Because of course, fun without any substance isn’t really fun at all. And yet that which is fun hides behind the countenance of, “hey man, we’re just hanging out. No need to get serious in here.” But in that pure visceral enjoyment is a link to something very real and potentially lasting. The music in the made-up-genre-I’m-calling-Fun lasts with us because it does something to us, like all music does, beyond just distracting us from traffic for 15 minutes. What on earth does it do?

Fun, of course, is not the true subject of this review. The Hibernauts are. Hailing from Saint Louis, The Hibernauts are in the release period of their new album, Velvet Suit, their full length follow up to 2007’s Periodic Fable. They’re a decidedly talented rock group who accomplish the increasingly rare feat of achieving an indie aesthetic while still exhibiting that yes, they can be precise with their writing and instrumentation.

Pushing play on A-side “Intermurals” drops you right into the fun zone (which I imagine is similar to a Discovery Zone). The major chords start a-rippin’ and some jovial little note bends get your head bobbing. Two seconds in, the beat kicks and this song is off to the races. We’ve got lead singer/guitar play Tom McArthur oh-oh-ohhing through the verse. We’ve got guitarist/vocalist Jack Stevens coming in from the left, Mr. Chad Rogers with a deceptively funky grove on that chorus kick, Bill Vehige on some light tinkly keys and Brett Ramsey driving the song forward with classic pop finesse.

“I’m gonna put on my velvet suit. I’m lyin’, I don’t have one, I think its fun.”

Very astute, Song Lyrics. It is fun. Jesus, its fun. The guitars wash in and out. The bass scales up and down until clannggg, the pick scrapes and it’s over. But there is a human passion to the fun being had here, most musically apparent in the continual forward march of the drums and the schwika schwika wahhh guitars.

“If you knew the fire…and the thunder…that I feel.”

Yes! Though the primary mood is fun, this song, and all successful funpop music retains its human essence. I have trouble with things like, oh, let’s say, Chromeo (why not? I need an example), because sometimes I forget that there’s people making the music. Precision is one thing, but take a Ratatat—just as precise, but much more FUN and much more HUMAN; in fact, much more of both because of the other. Much more fun-man.

The Hibernauts never let you forget that there are five dudes playing this music. Five dudes with beating hearts and maybe beards and possibly girlfriends, and apartments and bus passes and too many dishes in the sink. This is my favorite thing about rock music—sometimes I like music because it’s reaches an inhuman place, inhumanly smooth, inhumanly vicious, inhumanly robotic, but rock music is music made by people you can instantly imagine with itchy faces and nylon stringed acoustic guitars in the corner of their tiny 4 person apartment, just like me, just like you. (Ok, I’m lying, I don’t have one. But I think it’s fun…)

I like this thesis because I think the B-side “Villain” supports and strengthens it even though, at face value, it should undermine this little party I’ve got going here. But follow me anyways. “Villain” is not a party title. And the song is gentle. It has an emotional edge to it. It uses a robot for beats. There’s some slow keys. Oh, and strings, strings can’t be fun, right? Strings are in orchestras, and those are very serious. But something awesome happened after I heard this song, oh, I don’t know ten times. I started having an awful lot of fun. The low organ three-note progression is deceivingly groovy. And sorry, Hibernauts, but that’s a catchy chorus! You cannot escape! It’s soft and mellow and the lyrics are you lied! But gosh darnit if that isn’t a fun lick! I feel almost guilty getting a little groove on to this song, but when you can write songs and craft melodies, that’s what happens, even when the mood is tempered.

Look, we love music. And when we hear humanity in it, we have a bit of fun. Listening to sad songs is, underneath the surface, kind of fun. I think a lot of the times people forget that when they just set out to “rock.” No one wants to hear you just “rock” because, geologically speaking, that sucks. You need to convince us that you’re just rocking, while actually doing more. The whole rock and roll imagery is built into this deception—the carefully arranged cover shots of everyone looking super casual, the million dollar videos of the guitar player just doing, “whatever he feels.” This is why rock and roll is difficult; this is why rock and roll is more fun than Chromeo (no hard feelings, dudes). This is why rock and roll is American and this is why rock and roll really isn’t going anywhere.

The Hibernauts clearly understand all this, to the point that even when they aren’t rocking out, the lessons they’ve learned are still present. Being fun is serious business people. Now, doff your hats and commence the rocking.

Rick Andrews

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

Jasmine Wagner of Brooklyn/Montana’s Cabinet of Natural Curiosities is exactly this kind of musician. Quite frankly, she’s this kind of writer and artist, too. Wagner, together with fellow sound-conspirator Alex Wilson are the items belonging to this curious natural cabinet. Together their folky tendencies and love of sound create a most serene concoction: 1 part soundscape, 2 parts folk song, all parts lovely.

You might be quick to call Cabinet of Natural Curiosities “experimental folk,” and you wouldn’t be the first one. The modifier “experimental” has quickly become a signifier of the “sound lover” state I described above, and in that way it is telling. However, in an imaginary world where genres weren’t predominantly used as some kind of socio-musical categorization, and merely used as description, Cabinet of Natural Curiosities might just as much be considered experimental electronica. For even though the foreground sounds are often the acoustic guitar and voice (the folk) I would argue that it’s what is in the background that actually makes Cabinet of Natural Curiosities, well, a curiosity.

Many of the songs on the full length Searchlight Needles (from which our two Ampeater tracks originate) are very frequently centered inside some kind of noise or atmosphere. When this is at its peak, on tracks such as “Little Ice Age,” “Sun,” or “Glass,” it feels like the songs are simply sung inside some great weather event or cave—the tracks become oddly geographical for me. I’ve been reading “The Ice Palace,” by Tarjei Vesaas recently, and I can’t help but picture “Little Ice Age” (available on their myspace) as taking place inside a frozen waterfall.

The point being, the electronics and noise used by Cabinet (Can I call them Cabinet for short? I can’t help but feel like when pitchfork gives their next LP (tentatively titled “Buttermilk Channel”) an 8.5 and all the Greenwich Village hipsters start listening to them, this is what I’ll overhear the kids standing outside Tisch smoking cigarettes refer to them as…) are simultaneously apart from, and integral to, the songs. This is a wonderful effect and sounds more like Leonard Cohen playing next to Faust inside a subway station than anything else. It’s quite splendid.

Turning to the digital single we have on display here, the story is perhaps even more curious. More so than any of the other tracks on Searchlight Needles, I think, Side-A “For Sparrow”/Side-B “Owllullaby” are songs, not sounds. Flip to any track on the LP and you’ll know that Cabinet of Natural Curiosities loves sounds; but it’s not perhaps until you hear these two songs back to back that you realize just how much love Cabinet of Natural Curiosities has for The Song as well.

Take A-side “For Sparrow” for instance. The song centers around Wagner’s voice and strums, filled out by lush sine-wave drips and an insecurely steady organ hum that complete the atmosphere of the track. But it’s Wagner’s multi-layered vocals here that lift the song, pushing and pulling it along, finding slow beautiful hooks within this soundscape. Heck, drop the drips and the organ, and this is simply a folk song with a little bit of bass.

The last two minutes of “For Sparrow” give the game up, though, as the song fades away into an ambient sonic collage that maintains and extends the mood of the song like some strange held note. This “discursion” is nothing new in music, but what is slightly novel is the length of the track devoted to the sounds. What many bands might limit to 15 or 30 seconds as a “cool outro, bro,” Cabinet of Natural Curiosities let extend into a musical motion with more levity, owning almost a full quarter of the track’s running time. I love how the two sections of this track play off each other—at first listen, the ending is a bit of a surprise. However, it arises so organically that now I can’t picture the track without it. This, truly, is a song from lovers of sound, and they integrate the two elements in a way that would make it unruly to separate them.

B-side “Owllullaby” is, if I’m continuing with this sound/song contrast (thanks for bearing with me, by the way), is all song, baby. “Owllullaby” also not-so-coincidentally functions as the final track on Searchlight Needles. In the movie in my head of this album, this is when the musicians, who have until this point been battling through storms and ice caves and noise monsters, finally emerge into an open field to simply play, only voice, guitar, and some cheerful bells to accompany. The song is hypnotic, seductive, and really is a lullaby that I will consider singing to my kids, even though they will not be owls. The acoustic guitar sounds off in never-faltering 1–2-3–1-2–3 while the tiny high bells chirp in to accentuate the dream.

The transition from “For Sparrow” to “Owllullaby” actually mimics quite well the effect that the album has on how we perceive “Owllullaby” with the swirling last quarter of “For Sparrow“‘s sonic glory resolving itself into the pleasant and satisfying plucking. Some of the branches lost their leaves / to show off the owls in the trees. / Some of those owls would agree / you should close your eyes and fall asleep. Yes, yes you should. This is music I want to fall asleep and dream to, and any good lover of ambient music (or music with some ambiance) knows that is far from an insult.

Wagner remarks that these two tracks fit together as an A-side/B-side because, “one is a winter song and one is a summer song. They oppose each other the way the seasons do. Both songs were written and recorded during a cold Montana winter, though ‘For Sparrow’ references a hot a smoky summer when the pine forests were burning and the skies of the Missoula valley were yellow and gray, the moon red at night.” I have three things to add/note on this.

First, I think this is good evidence that beautiful sentences simply tumble out of Wagner, potentially without her even meaning it. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a better sentence given to me in the body of an email.

Second, this dichotomy mimics the dichotomy of sounds I’ve been discussing that’s present in Cabinet of Natural Curiosity’s music, the hot of the human voice and guitar and cold, sterile electronics, or reversed, the hot highs of electronic warblings and the low steady hum of voice and string. Whichever way Cabinet of Natural Curiosity decides to play it, this contrast is always present in the songs. To me, that’s what’s in the cabinet. Something summer, and something winter.

Third, I shall add only that both of these songs are about birds. And when one travels to Wagner’s art site, one finds another bird to greet them. It makes a great deal of sense. Both of these songs are birds. Stunning, striking birds.

Rick Andrews

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

“I’m gonna walk / down the sidewalk / like it’s a runway / … / I’m gonna be like Madonna“
We Are Soldiers We Have Guns,  November

I’ve just moved to New York City, and it’s just turned to November, and I have to say that I admire the attitude of those lyrics.  When it starts getting darker earlier, and everyone’s bundled up in patterned scarves and heavy coats, the sidewalk starts to feel a bit lonely-I’d very much love to be like Madonna walking home from work some days.

We Are Soldiers We Have Guns may exist for just such times.  The Gothenburg (Sweden, for all those not down with maps) based pop vehicle brings a sharp attack of straight-forward, honest lyricism with some surprisingly upbeat arrangements. This lushness is the product of the mind of Gothenburg’s Malin Dahlberg, formerly of Douglas Heart and Laurel Music, joined by a wide circle of instrument-wielding accomplices.

One could argue that the major musical accomplishment of the 1980s was to re-inject popular music with a sense of fun and excitement.  Pop rediscovered that sense of child-like wonder that rock and roll had so foolishly squandered while trying to sound cool.  Colorful clothing, silly faces, etc.  Try to imagine the 80s without picturing a bunch of teenagers dancing around a library.  See? You can’t.

The most recent decade of pop, on the other hand, has excelled at incorporating the sonic mastery and precision of experimental and progressive music into the pop framework.  Albums sound great now.  Modern luminaries like Animal Collective and Radiohead continue to score points by breeding sonic exploration with the pop we all know and love.

You’ll find We Are Soldiers We Have Guns at the intersection of these two decades—the undeniable fun and sounds of the 80s permeate the music, especially the “November”/“Our Lips Are Sealed” 7-inch below.  Beneath that, however, is the careful sonic craft of this most recent decade of pop.  There’s real attention paid to tone—Dahlberg’s voice in particular stands out as being spot on tonally nearly all of the time.  Grand, multi-layered voicings back up the strong bridges and choruses, while un-layered vocals fill out the softer moments.  Like M83 before them, WASWHG have learned how to pull from the 80s without sounding wistful—to use their influences as a boost, not a crutch.

On their early work, there’s a progressive sparseness that drives the power of each track.  Much of the best work on two self-titled E.P.s and the mini album, To Meet is Murder is powered by the interplay between a lonely guitar and Dahlberg’s evocative vocals.  “There’s no need for diplomacy in music,” says Dahlberg, “For every instrument I/we use I ask myself: Would the song be good without this? If the answer is yes, I never use it.”

That attitude is quite apparent.  With their newest release, Get Up, Get Out, and on the lovely 7-inch we have on display here, WASWHG really flex their well honed 80s muscle while retaining the simple power of their early work.  Gone are the sparse guitar-centered arrangements, replaced instead with fuller-yet-no-less-intense pop layouts.

Take the A-side “November” for example.  This is an emotionally sneaky track; the opening strokes lead the listener down the path of a groovy polyrhythmic synth piece.  When the vocals and guitar interrupt, the mood changes subtly to a more poignant pitch, only to be joined back by the keyboard and drums in the lead up to and joyful chorus.  “I’m gonna be like Madonna,” Dahlberg sings.  Madonna had this much fun, but rarely was she as emotionally on-cue as Dahlberg is here, squeaking her way through the tip-toeing verses and soaring over the joyous chorus.

The B-side “Our Lips Are Sealed” is a cover of the 1981 Go-Go’s track, and really, this is a clever, clever re-imagination.  WASWHG have adorned the track with trappings of the soon-to-be-80s that bands like the Go-Go’s helped create.  Where there were only the plodding 70s-style rhythm keeping, WASWHG have added some reverby drum machine hits worthy of any Casio-loving 80s band.  A few well-placed synth lines later, and you forget that the original didn’t sound quite like this.  The modern touches are there as well—the beautifully layered vocals and heightened melody of the chorus gives WASWHG’s version a contemporary tenderness not entirely present in the original.  So, to recap:  cleverly plays with the music’s history; captures its original essence; adds a modern touch.  Yep, this is a great cover.

WASWHG wrote once on their website, “We Are Soldiers We Have Guns will never be cool; never be cute.” While I disagree slightly (See this.  You can’t tell me that’s not cute), the notion is spot on:  this is music that does not pretend to be anything other than direct expression from artist to audience.  “I don’t change my words just because they’re put into lyrics,” says Dahlberg.  “I use them as simply as possible, just as I do when I speak.” There’s no indie-pretension or shameless image shaping, just sounds that move beyond their source to live wholly in the song.  And that makes this nothing short of urgent, beautiful pop music worthy of your attention.

Rick Andrews

Get their LP and EPs here
Three Music Videos:
The Line is a Dot to You
The Great Depression
Me vs. Time=Fixed Game

Read the Ampeater exclusive interview after the jump!

Side A — November Download audio file (01 November.mp3)

Side B — Our Lips Are Sealed Download audio file (02 Our Lips Are Sealed.mp3)

[[[Download the 7-inch]]]

Interview:

Ampeater Review: I suspect that people are surprised when they discover, We Are Soldiers We Have Guns isn’t a hardcore punk band.  So, why the “aggressive” name and how do you think it interacts with the sound and tone of your music?

Malin Dahlberg, We Are Soldiers We Have Guns: Some are definitely surprised, yeah. To me that name sort of shows how you can make hard music without the usual clichés. You know: lots of guitars, lots of screaming and lots of jumping up and down. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not what I want to do. I wanted a name that sounds empowering, uncompromising and, well, pretty hardcore. To me those are pretty important sides of my music that I think a lot of people miss out on because of the traditionally un-aggressive expression.

AR: Which aspects of your sound then have you tried to make uncompromising?  Lyrics and simplicity of tone jump to my mind first, but I’m curious to hear your take.

MD: For instance, take “The Line is a Dot to You” (it’s on my Myspace for those who want to hear it). The song is about this horrible guy that I met once, and instead of singing, “I’m a bit angry with you,” I sing, “We will aim and shoot you down.” In reality I didn’t even approach him, but in the song I can kill him off if I want to! There’s no need for diplomacy in music, so I’m doing my best to keep it out of mine. It could be by simplicity or lyrics — I just try to keep an uncompromising attitude towards everything that has something to do with my music.

AR: I noticed that all three of your music videos involve, in some way, you looking directly at the camera for long periods of time.  Whether that’s all a lovely coincidence or not, it does seem that your songs are concerned with being really direct with the listener?  Would you agree?

MD: I actually haven’t thought about the fact that I do so in the videos, I don’t know why that is. But definitely agree on the soldiers being direct. I don’t change my words just because they’re put into lyrics. I use them as simply as possible, just as I do when I speak. And for every instrument I/we use I ask myself: Would the song be good without this? If the answer is yes, I never use it.

AR: You can definitely hear the influence of 80s pop, especially in the new full length.  What do you like about pop music from that decade and what 80s pop elements have found their way into your recordings?

MD: I don’t set out to sound like an eighties band or anything, but on the other hand it would be weird if my music wasn’t at least a little bit affected by the eighties. I grew up during the eighties, and now I’ve gotten old enough to appreciate it again. I listen quite lot to disco from the late seventies — early eighties and I love post punk bands such as Delta 5, The Au-Pairs and (obviously) The Go-Go’s.  I really like the tackiness, the limitless use of effects and funny synth sounds.

AR: Can you talk a bit about the songs you’re tracking right now?  In what ways do the songs feel similar or different from Get Up, Get Out?  I’m also curious what it’s like recording in Brooklyn vs. Gothenburg.

MD: The new bunch of songs go under the working title Payday. To me the biggest difference between recording in Brooklyn and Gothenburg is that I don’t have a job over here and can finally get the peace one needs to do something creative. That’s also what a lot of the songs are about: The way everybody works their life away without ever getting properly paid back.

I don’t really know what the songs sound like compared to Get Up, Get Out, but telling you about the setting might give you an idea: Get Up, Get Out, was recorded in a studio with about 15 people contributing. I record the new songs alone on my laptop, using only an old Casiosynth that I bought in a Swedish thrift store and the stuff that I find on the streets. So no guitars on these tracks, but a lot more drumming on boxes and furniture from the streets of Brooklyn!

AR: Final question, very important: 1980s vs. 2000s.  Which decade’s music wins in a bar fight?

MD: Let me put it this way: The 80s would definitely win the fight, but 2000s is most likely to go home with the best looking guy/girl in the place. While the 2000s is whimsing around with its post-this and ironic takes on that, the 80s would just give her a nice head butt and call it a day. But while the 80s is drinking her eleventh beer by the bar, the 2000s is already at someone’s place talking about deep stuff while getting undressed.