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REVIEW: “Palm Reader” by Sonny and the Sunsets

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Sonny and the Sunsets’ follow-up to Longtime Companion is entitled Antenna to the Afterworld, and like many indie artists to go before them, Sonny Smith and his band are ripe to tackle death and its aftermath.  The band suffered the loss of a close friend, and that tragic experience has led them produce songs like “Palm Reader,” a light ditty about reading palms and impending death.  The production on this song is top-notch with its sharp, analog synths and country-western electric guitars.  The song kicks off with the low-register twang of the main guitar riff, and that riff continues for the majority of the song.  Smith’s vocal track is the only component that really misses the mark in the song, with such bland lines as “Every year, they say the end is near/ But we’re still here.”  His voice is too jarring amidst the warmth of the instrumental tracks, and his lyrics rest awkwardly between the quirk of Syd Barret and the heart of Phosphorescent.  The song is whimsical and is not meant to erupt at any point, but it never seems to find its way.

7/10

REVIEW: Ladyfinger (ne)’s Errant Forms

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Ladyfinger (ne) occupy a strange locale between punk, post-punk and FM rock.  Nothing truly gets sketched out, but that seems to be Ladyfinger (ne)’s objective here.  In their own words, they describe pulling inspiration from early 70’s classic rock.  But that label is a bit of a misnomer, because Errant Forms sounds nothing like the 1970’s.  Nor does it necessarily sound like any other decade, and that is Ladyfinger (ne)’s selling point and ultimate downfall.  Errant Forms cherrypicks from various rock and roll derivatives from the past twenty years, and the result is sometimes rewarding and oftentimes frustrating.

Frustrating firstly in that Ladyfinger (ne) will deploy a serious tease by initiating a track with a sonically diverse introduction only to have the song swiftly switch gears to make way for a stifling and forced opening verse.  If this sounds specific, take a listen to the album’s second half.  The two most devastating fake-outs are “Poison for Hire” and “Meathead,” and it’s worth noting these two stand with some of the most lyrically trite works on the album.  Both intros to “Poison for Hire” and “Meathead” illustrate Ladyfinger (ne)’s greatest strengths: rhythmic complexity, frenetic guitars and a knack for building tension without giving anything away too soon.  But like a left hook to the jaw, Ladyfinger (ne) cut the intro and rip into the first verse.  Different tempo, different style, different everything.  The sloppy editing is disappointing mostly because it highlights a possibility Ladyfinger (ne) could embrace instead of spending their time writing songs about the insecurity felt in the presence of machismo.

And that is Errant Forms’s second most frustrating aspect: the cheeky lyrics.  Singer Chris Machmuller has a special habit of preaching and confessing a little too much in his lyrics.  The big stinker here has to be “Galactic,” in which Machmuller outlines a possible conspiracy theory involving aliens.  As a joke, it isn’t very funny.  As something serious…well, it still isn’t funny.

Errant Forms shines when the instrumentation has room to breathe and expand and the rigidity of its pop structures falls away.  Moments like these are few and are usually ruined by troubling lyrics, but these brief flashes of intriguing experimentation illustrate a band with the sensibility to rock but the hesitation to find a voice.

Top Tracks: “Renew,” “Birds,” “Blue Oyster,” “He Said She Said”

5/10


REVIEW: Toro Y Moi’s Anything in Return

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Chaz Bundick’s production skills are unmatched.  His keen ear for beats, wiggling bass lines, and soulful vocal samples lends his music an immediately recognizable style, one that dabbles in disco, electro pop, and (gulp) chillwave*.

That being said, what made Toro Y Moi a force to be reckoned with was his inclination to push his E-keyboard funk into realms of noise rock, experimental, and lo-fi guitar pop.  There was a time when Toro could have easily served as tour support for Deerhunter, and his 2010 release Underneath the Pine married those tendencies with the electro-funk of Causers of This to form a singular, unique vision.

Anything in Return pairs those stylistic traits together but lacks the instant earworms and irresistible grooves of Underneath the Pine.  Bundick has traded in whatever funk he has crafted over the years for a slower, less youthful iteration of his worst tendencies.  Perhaps Bundick’s growing up and allowing himself more room for lyrics addressing the eventual matter of settling down with your love, but his end result is bloodless and uninspired.  The vocal melodies stretch his voice into high falsettos and are forgettable and indistinct from song to song.  Most songs hang around the mid-tempo mark, the point at which grinding at a party can ensue if the bass is just so or at which everyone stands around wondering when the party will actually get started.  And though Bundick has never been consistent in producing party music all the time (which is more than fine with me), his newest batch seems to fit neither in the party setting nor in the headphones.  Not many songs stray past the five-minute mark, yet their aimless structures slow time tremendously, giving the feeling that every track could benefit from heavy editing.

The one point at which Bundick seems to let loose is “Never Matter,” a razor-sharp piece of hi-fi electro pop that could have easily slid anywhere into the track listing of his debut.  Since Underneath the Pine’s success, Bundick gave an interview and made the comment that his music can never stay in one place.  Meaning, the next album would undoubtedly mark yet another evolution for the producer/songwriter.  Instead, he has given us effectively more of the same but with his virtuosity tuned to grayscale.

*Side note: what the hell else am I supposed to call chillwave?  As soon as someone gives me a new term that will in time become a sour soundbyte, I will comply.

6/10


REVIEW: Snowbeast

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Album: Snowbeast by Snowbeast

The upsurge of intentional lo-fi music that has pervaded the Internet lately has usually been written by artists looking to emulate roughness and obscurity through the recording means now offered on everything from Ableton Live to Pro Tools.  Without question, many of these faux-fi musicians seek the warmth of analog or grittiness of a past era’s recording technology, but Snowbeast’s lo-fi tendencies and stripped aesthetic never sound over-wrought or exploitative.  There is honesty within this EP that somehow gets lost or strangled out of a recording once it undergoes the slick treatments of post-production.

But Snowbeast’s strength doesn’t lie solely in its production.  Vocalists Riun Garner and Brayden Pichor drawl and scream their lyrics, which hinge on the threat of growing older and the paranoia that accompanies too much change too quickly.  “Backyards and alleyways/ Skateboards and roller blades/ It’s all stayed the same,” Riun sings, ending the repeated refrain with “It’s you that has changed.”  At certain moments, Snowbeast break from their grungy, shout-along guitar rock to dabble in Vampire Weekend tropic stomp and electro noise, and these left turns occur only when the lyrical mood becomes harried, panicked, or even playful.  Snowbeast have crafted an entire world that expands beyond their EP.  Their moniker, EP title, and opener all share the same title, and their Facebook page provides a proper definition of the Snowbeast that stalks their persona.  In short, to “capture a glimpse of a Snowbeast” is to witness truth, ease the mind, and retreat into a world free from pain.  It’s a bare release from a bare-bones band –one that invites you into the church they recorded in and hands its music to you with delicate ease and raw emotion.

7/10