From time to time, I will attend a concert in which I’m looking forward to the opening act more than the headliner.
In fact, it just happened a few months ago when I saw Yuck precede Tame Impala at Lincoln Hall in Chicago. I only made it through a couple of songs before I walked out on the headliner.
But no matter how much I liked the “smaller” band, I can, at the very least, always remember the main act.
That wasn’t the case when I saw The Head and The Heart last year. During a free show under the Space Needle in their hometown of Seattle, THATH so overshadowed the other groups, that I had no recollection who they were opening for. (As it turns out, the headliner was Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band.)
The six-piece has drawn a lot of comparisons to bands such as Fleet Foxes, The Avett Brothers and Mumford & Sons. But I think their most similar contemporary might be Dawes.
THATH released their self-produced, self-titled debut in 2010. Then, after a heated battle for their services, they signed with Sub Pop Records, which remastered and re-released the album in April of this year.
One of the notable things about THATH’s best songs is the way they slowly unfold. About halfway through the 5-minute-long “Down In the Valley”, the song changes course, picks up the pace and gets really good. (Sidenote: Considering my current profession in the newspaper business, I particularly like the line “… wish I was a slave to an age-old trade.”)
“Lost In My Mind” doesn’t pick up until the 1:30 mark. And in another strong ditty, “Sounds Like Hallelujah”, it isn’t until the 1:40 mark that the song alters course and becomes more enjoyable.
They’ve been in Chicago a couple of times this summer, and I just missed seeing them when they opened for The Decemberists. But they’ll be back in town in October, so I may have to make a special trip over to the Windy City.
The recent resurgence of all-girl groups on the indie scene reached a peak with bands such as Vivian Girls and Dum Dum Girls channeling the sounds of the late 1950s/early ’60s.
A couple of years later, Best Coast took that sound, cut the harmonizing down to one female voice and added a lo-fi, surfer/slacker vibe.
Now Cults comes along, with female vocalist Madeline Follin, who sounds like she could’ve been a member of The Shangri-Las or some other group from that era. Paired with instrumentalist and backup vocalist Brian Oblivion, the Manhattan duo has taken the girl-group sound back to its roots and slowed things down with a slightly gothy layer.
The two New York University students formed a band in 2010 and rose to prominence when they released a three-song EP. In June 2011, Cults put out a self-titled full-length debut, to much critical praise.
A band’s name can sometimes be just as important as the music it makes. A name gives a band an identity and can often give the uninformed an idea of what to expect before pressing Play.
A lot of bands pick names that sound cool or are funny or have some inside meaning. Others just lay it all out on the line.
When you see names such as Metallica, Megadeth and Anthrax, you know what’s in store for you.
While nowhere near those aforementioned bands on the musical spectrum, the group Beach Fossils do share the trait of owning a pseudo-onomatopoeic name.
As their moniker would imply, Beach Fossils harken back to the golden age of surfer rock. But it’s stripped down to its most lo-fi form, leaving nothing but a guitar, a drum machine and some moderately haunting vocals.
Putting out their self-titled debut LP in September of last year, Beach Fossils are the latest in of a wave — pardon the pun — of bands going extremely minimal in sound and instrumentation, resulting in an incredibly relaxing, almost trance-inducing sound.
Bands such as Lower Dens, Wild Nothing and The XX have all put their own personal stamp on this genre. What Beach Fossils bring to the mix is an unmistakable sun-and-sand-filled beach vibe, reminiscent of The Drums.
About a year ago, I found myself listening to Wild Nothing’s album numerous times in a row — often falling asleep to the dulcimer tones. I’ve had a very similar experience listening to Beach Fossils.
So, it’s no surprise that the two Captured Tracks labelmates have combined forces on a release for Record Store Day this year — Gruesome Flowers: A Tribute To The Wake. I had never heard of the Scottish band, but it’s apparently well-known enough to deserve a tribute. On the 7″ release, Wild Nothing covered “Gruesome Castle”, while Beach Fossils put their own spin on “Plastic Flowers”.
In addition to the LP and split single, the Brooklyn four-piece put out an EP in March of this year, What a Pleasure, which, at eight tracks, should really be considered an abbreviated full-length release.
It’s just as strong as the first album and features Wild Nothing’s Jack Tatum on the track “Out In the Way”. It also includes my favorite song so far by the group, “Face It”.
The Naked and Famous might be this year’s Ladyhawke — an electro/indie-pop band from New Zealand that puts out a couple of amazing singles, but just can’t sustain the awesomeness for an entire album.
I first discovered the Kiwi quintet via my boy, Simon, over at Outroversion. (I’ve never actually met Simon, but I bet we’d hit it off smashingly if we ran into each other at a festival Stateside. What do you say, Simon, SXSW 2012?)
Now, it’s been awhile since I listened to Ladyhawke, but, if I recall correctly, I absolutely loved three of their songs and could do without the rest.
As for The Naked and Famous (TNAF), they dropped their debut album, Passive Me, Aggressive You in December 2010. I’m a big fan of “Young Blood” and “Punching In a Dream” and I’m also digging “No Way”. But as for the rest of the album, I could pretty much take it or leave it.
It’s hard to pick out influences for TNAF, as they don’t necessarily sound like any one or two bands. I will admit that they do a good job of switching up their sound from song to song, but it’s still generally just an amalgamation of electro-pop sounds.
One band that did come to mind on a few tracks was Empire of the Sun.
Clearly, the band has the potential to put out some solid songs. So, I’ll be sure to keep a lookout for any new music it puts out. TNAF is actually gonna be at Lollapalooza this year, but I won’t be in attendance.
A week or so ago, I found myself scrolling through the pages over at my favorite blog from across the pond, Outroversion. I found several new bands that I dug and intend to look into further.
One of the bands highlighted by ole Simon was Spokes, a five-piece from Manchester, England. He noted that their new album, Everyone I Ever Met, was tabbed to win Mercury Music Prize next year. And after listening to a slew of songs on their MySpace page, I can hear why.
Simon said they sounded like a better version of Elbow. I’ve only heard one song from that particular British “it” band (“Grounds For Divorce”), but it sounded nothing like Spokes.
They label themselves as “alternative/ambient/pop,” a description with which I wholeheartedly agree. Especially the ambient part. Many of their songs have an almost symphonic feel.
In fact, their debut album, 2009’s People Like People Like You, consists of six long, drawn-out, mostly instrumental songs — only one of which includes any vocals.
But the tunes are so good, I didn’t even notice the lack of words until I was halfway through the album.
When Spokes actually choose to employ singers, as they did on their second album, they evoke comparisons to Arcade Fire in their manifold harmonies and layers of instruments. The anthemic, almost chanting, vocals also call to mind Los Campesinos!, but in a much more accessible tone.
It took three listens to their self-titled debut album before I realized who Motopony sounded like. From the soft, airy vocals of Daniel Blue to the light, melodic instrumentation, this Seattle quartet is very reminiscent of Junip.
It’s almost as if Jose Gonzalez and crew had tweaked their sound a little bit then put out a new album. On songs such as “June”, “Seer”, “King of Diamonds”, “God Damn Girl”, “Wake Up” and “27”, Motopony conjure up thoughts of the Swedish geniuses while still managing to retain their own identity.
One reviewer on Amazon.com referred to the band’s sound as “alterna-folk” — a label I will be stealing for future use. On their bio, Motopony lists their sound as “hard-soul/glitch-folk.” They take the Junip sound and amp it up with doses of pop and funk.
The manner in which I discovered the band — via a Facebook ad — is just the latest addition to the long list of ways I’ve found new music. I randomly saw the ad on the side of the page, kinda liked the band’s name and decided to click on it — I assumed I wouldn’t like it at all and it would only be a waste of a few minutes.
The ad took me to a video on YouTube for their big single, “King of Diamonds”.
Needless to say, the video piqued my interest, so I watched a couple more videos then downloaded the album. I think it would be a worthwhile purchase for anyone who likes Junip (duh), Fleet Foxes, Iron & Wine, Bon Iver or any of the many other folk-pop outfits dotting the indie scene these days.
That’s not true. The dust in Manchester, Tenn., likely won’t stop swirling until some time in mid-December. But I’ll get to that later.
It’s been six days since I left the massive farm that is home to Bonnaroo, and the buzz from the festival has almost completely dissipated. (Hopefully, writing this article will delay my withdrawal a little longer.)
As you may have noted in my post a couple of weeks ago, I was rather apprehensive about this whole Bonnaroo thing. All signs pointed to me have a miserable time, with the music providing an inadequate reward to all the risks I would be undertaking.
In a lot of ways, that’s probably accurate. But with a now-level head, I can honestly say that it was a totally worthwhile adventure, and one that I would definitely consider embarking upon again.
THE PROLOGUE
The trip got off to a rather inauspicious start on Tuesday night, when I got off work around midnight and hit the road, bound for central Illinois. I was just shy of the Indiana-Illinois border when my truck started going haywire. I was able to get off the highway and coast through the city of Hammond, turning into an auto repair parking lot just as the engine completely shut down.
Figuring it was almost definitely my alternator, I knew there wasn’t much I could do other than hang out at the shop until it opened. So that’s how I ended up lying/sleeping in the bed of my truck for seven hours on Wednesday morning.
I wasn’t the only one who had a poor night’s sleep, as Drew was tossing and turning in Peoria, struggling with a bout of some form of bronchitis.
We eventually met at his place around 1 p.m. then tooled around town, picking up some last-minute supplies, including a less-than-pleasant stop at a butcher shop. When we finally did depart town, we were only officially on the road for about 30-40 minutes when Drew decided we should stop in the small town of Delavan to eat at a surprisingly awesome restaurant.
We didn’t know it at the time, but that detour would impact the entire rest of our trip. I hadn’t planned on doing much, if any, drinking during this vacation. I figured I’d be spending most days just trying to stay hydrated and most nights recuperating. But when we walked into The Harvest Cafe and I saw what was on tap, I knew I’d be quaffing a beer or two.
After the meal, we stopped for gas on our way out of town, and Drew came back with a 12-pack of PBR. And with that began our slow trek toward Nashville, Tenn., with me pounding beers in the passenger seat.
We ended up making several more stops and picked up more beer along the way. By the time we arrived at our incredibly overpriced motel, I’d put away 13 beers and used an empty Gatorade bottle to evacuate my bladder multiple times.
THURSDAY (The arrival)
We got up at the crack of 10 a.m., took our final showers of the week, ate at Waffle House, filled up the gas tank, picked up some whiskey and a couple of six-packs of craft beer, then headed to Manchester — with me in the driver’s seat this time.
As we closed in on the town, we kept waiting to see the perilously long line of traffic. But it never appeared. Normally, arriving at that time of day would have resulted in a minimum wait of five hours or so. But this year, the gates opened at 7 p.m. Wednesday — although, I heard a rumor from a local that they actually opened at 4 p.m.
We were still forced to follow the incredibly elongated and circuitous route around the town, but when we finally arrived at the security checkpoint, there was absolutely no wait at all.
We meandered our way back through the campground and ended up pulling into a spot in Camp Stewie Griffin — although, which camp we were actually in is still up for debate.
And much to the delight of Drew and me, we would be spending the rest of the week camping next to four lovely ladies from Providence and Boston. They were all seasoned Roo veterans, with this being the third or fourth year each of them had attended. So we were constantly peppering them with questions the first couple of days.
One thing I gleaned — and always knew, I suppose — is that, if you’re an attractive girl, you can bend a lot of rules.
Nevertheless, by 5 p.m., we had set up our camp and were drinking some beers and enjoying some very tasty pork tacos that our neighbors gave us. Sitting under our canopy, we were just basking in the beauty of a nice day and were in no hurry to get to Centeroo for the actual music.
That would be a recurring theme throughout the weekend.
Eventually, we made our way to That Tent for Deerhunter and caught the end of The Walkmen’s set, including “The Rat”.
Drew is way more into Deerhunter than I am, so I just ventured off to find a place to relax. Shortly after sitting down, I saw a man and woman exchanging something in front of me. And, before I knew it, the dude was putting the item up to his nose and snorting.
That would also be a recurring theme of the festival.
At that point, we returned to our campsite to grill some rather awesome hamburgers and drink some more brews. We didn’t actually head into our tent until about 5 a.m., which would not bode well for us.
FRIDAY (Todd’s lost day)
By the time the oven-like conditions in the tent became too much for me, I arose to greet the morning and discovered, much to my dismay, that it was only about 9 a.m. Since we had moved the canopy over the tent, I spent the next couple of hours snacking on various things and trying to find shade wherever I could.
Eventually, Drew arose and we moved the canopy out to give us a nice shaded area again. Later, while eating lunchmeat sandwiches that really hit the spot, we attempted to plot out our day. It became clear that we’d never make it to any shows that started earlier than 3 p.m.
As we were starting to get our things together and head out, one of our neighbors offered us some cookies. I took a couple of bites, not knowing that these cookies held magical powers.
Within about 20 minutes, I found myself in a scene from the movie, Inception. After marveling at my surroundings and freaking out for about 30 minutes, I begrudgingly joined Drew on the trek to Centeroo. Considering the walk there usually takes 30ish minutes, we figured there was no way we’d make it, so we hopped aboard one of the various taxis.
Best. Decision. Ever.
After what felt like the world’s longest rollercoaster ride, we arrived at the gates to discover a rather lengthy set of lines to the pair of entrances. We ended up standing there for at least 90 minutes. Since our focus was waning during our preparation, we didn’t exactly bring as much supplies with us as we should’ve that day.
By the time we finally got inside Centeroo, I had unwittingly come down with a severe case of heat exhaustion. So we headed to That Tent so Drew could catch The Sword and Opeth. Meanwhile, I was sprawled out under a tree, attempting to stay lucid and hydrated.
Eventually, we decided we should get out of the sun and into some air conditioning, so we headed to the Fuse Relax and Recharge area. We were there for a while, and I was a babbling mess. I could barely hold my head up and kept forgetting to take sips of the water that Drew was getting for me.
I hit rock bottom when I grabbed a nearby garbage can and, for about five minutes, filled it with the entire contents of my stomach — most of which appeared to be water.
Later we ventured over to Cafe Which to catch Hesta Prynn. She was the front woman of the all-girl rap trio Northern State. I loved that group, but I had yet to listen to any of Hesta’s solo stuff. It was definitely a fun show, one that even Drew enjoyed. Her new sound is more pop/dance, but she did give an occasional glimpse to her MC’ing skills.
Next we made our way over to What Stage for My Morning Jacket. The boys from Louisville played for two hours, about 1.5 of which I apparently slept through. But what I was conscious for I really enjoyed.
During the hourlong break before Arcade Fire went on, the sky lit up with what seemed like thousands of glimmering lights. We soon realized that a few parachuters were up there dropping little, blinking lights down on the crowd. It was a pretty surreal moment, especially when the “stars” would finally fall to earth.
By the time Arcade Fire hit the stage, I was still pretty tired, but, for the most part, I was coherent. And the band rewarded my perseverance by putting on a great show. It was like watching a greatest hits compilation as they bounced around among their three albums.
What turned out to be my favorite show of the festival closed with one of my favorite songs from last year, “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)”.
We then made our way back to camp, where I managed to stay awake long enough to chow down on some tasty brats and decent wings.
SATURDAY (Black Keys and blah)
We got another late start Saturday. It seemed like every morning we’d wake up and just not want to do much of anything for a while.
We got into Centeroo in time for Drew to catch most of Man Man. I had no interest in said band, so I wandered around, trying to stay hydrated and eventually making it over to Which Stage to see Mumford & Sons. As I meandered around the grounds, I happened to walk by That Tent and caught the one and only song by Portugal. The Man that I know, “People Say”, so that was nice.
By the time I arrived at Mumford & Sons, I quickly realized it wasn’t going to be a great experience. That stage was by far my least favorite. The grounds were just too cramped, and with big names on stage, things became intensely packed.
The other problem is that Mumford’s songs were mostly on the slower, quieter side. That’d be fine if they were playing a smaller venue or at night when it’s dark and peaceful. But in the late afternoon under the beating sun, it just wasn’t conducive to goodness. Plus, I was far enough back that I couldn’t really hear their stuff that well.
So, after a few songs, I cut my losses and headed over to What Stage to get a comfortable spot for the Black Keys. I finally touched base for a few minutes with a friend that I knew was at the festival, then I met up with Drew at a decent spot outside the handicapped area where we had watched Arcade Fire the night before.
The Keys put on an incendiary set. While I’m not an avid fan of theirs, I still knew plenty of songs. And the ones I didn’t recognize were still great.
Next, Drew and I tried to catch Buffalo Springfield at Which Stage, but we quickly came to the realization that wasn’t happening.
It was about that point that we got split up. He apparently headed back to the campsite while I hung around at What Stage and caught the first few songs by Eminem. It was all newer stuff, so I decided that was my cue to head out. As I walked back to the campsite, I could hear him start to do the older stuff that I liked, including “Stan”.
When I arrived at camp, I discovered that our neighbors were trying to nap in anticipation for a 2 a.m. set by Girl Talk. I had no energy for such things and wished them well. Sounds like they had a blast.
We threw some hot dogs and brats on the grill and eventually called it a night.
SUNDAY (One last chance)
The main goal we had for the final day of the festival was getting a good spot to see The Strokes that night.
We did some afternoon grilling for the first time, cooking up some more hot dogs and pork chops — all of which were great — and even shared the dogs with our neighbors, who were packing up and moving out to get a spot closer to Centeroo.
We had a little more pep in our step and arrived at The Other Tent early enough to catch most of Junip’s set. While I like the band, I preferred to find a spot off to the side by the wall, and Drew headed into the crowd.
It was definitely a good set, one that Drew considered among his favorites of the weekend.
Then we headed to Which Stage for Iron & Wine and to get a good spot for The Strokes. By the time we got there, it was already starting to get crowded. Drew was determined to get a good spot, so he moved into the wall of people while I hung on the periphery.
I didn’t care too much about Iron & Wine and ended up looking for a comfortable spot somewhere else. I ended up sitting about midway between Which Stage and This Tent, where Cold War Kids were playing. It made for an interesting mash-up in my head.
The most notable aspect of this point in the day was that I had managed to find perhaps the dustiest patch of land in all of Bonnaroo, which is saying something. The entire weekend, the dust was horrible, and people were walking around with bandanas around their faces, looking like bandits in some old Western movie.
In my spot, I was getting coated with dirt, but I didn’t mind because I was comfortable and actually sorta passed out for a little bit.
Eventually, I headed to Which Stage to catch The Strokes. I managed to find a decent spot to sit for most of the show. Since I was sitting, I couldn’t really see the stage, but that was fine since I could hear the music.
Drew had wormed his way up next to the beer tent, behind some railing and had a great view, which led to him proclaiming that his favorite show of the weekend.
After The Strokes, we caught the tail end of the SuperJam with Dan Auerbach and Dr. John, which was less than memorable. Then we headed back to camp.
By the time we got to our site, Drew was feeling shitty, but I was doing great. I ended up polishing off a bottle of pinot noir our neighbors had left us and pounded a few beers before I drifted off to sleep.
THE EPILOGUE
By the time we awoke around 10 a.m. Monday, most of our fellow campers had already departed. As per usual, we weren’t in any real hurry and slowly started tearing down our site.
After a week full of amazing experiences, peering out over the now-barren farm was probably the most surreal site.
We finally got the car all loaded and were on our way out of the camp around noon. The drive home was as eventful and elongated as the drive down. We made a slight detour and stopped at Moonlite Bar-B-Q Inn in Owensboro, Ky. A couple of my colleagues had raved about the barbecue buffet, and I figured this might be my best chance to hit it up. It was pretty good — not amazing, but certainly solid.
From there, with me in the driver’s seat, we meandered through southeast Illinois before we had a layover in Champaign, home to Drew’s alma mater.
By the time we left there, I was ready to pass out, so Drew drove the rest of the way to his place, where I quickly dozed off.
On Tuesday, after unpacking the car, I hopped in my truck and headed home to South Bend. Not long after arriving home, I finally cut off my Bonnaroo wristband and took a shower for the first time in nearly 5.5 days.
My Roo had officially ended.
RANDOM OBSERVATIONS
The one thing I expected to see but was nowhere to be found? Hippies with hacky sacks. Seriously, did hippies stop playing hacky sack or something? I didn’t know the hippy culture every actually evolved. I thought it was pretty much unchanged since the ’60s. Were hacky sacks just a phase for hippies?
The one thing I never expected to see but saw everywhere? Hippies with hula hoops. I guess they traded in their hacky sacks and bought hoops. From the first night I was on the grounds, I constantly saw hippy girls (and occasionally a dude) grooving out to the music whilst expertly twirling a hoop around their waists. Some of these chicks could probably compete professionally — of course, they’d never pass the drug tests.
The one exclamation that I heard multiple times a day but never got old? “Butt scratcher? Butt scratcher!” You know what I’m talking about. From Family Guy.
Let’s face it, 99.99 percent of music that’s out there at any given time is just a rip-off of some piece of music that came before it.
The key for bands to stand out is to mix their influences enough to sound fresh and not too derivative.
That’s what makes The Pains of Being Pure At Heart so pleasurable to listen to. Their music is dripping with nostalgic sounds of the ’80s and ’90s, but it still sounds new and exciting. Just ask this Amazon review.
Co-opting the best of The Cure and other post-punk/pop bands and combining it with the goodness of shoegaze and fuzz rock, The Pains have created a sound that would make any angsty teenager’s heart skip a beat.
That song was the big single off their 2009 self-titled debut LP that put them on the map as one of the “it” bands of late 2008/early ’09. It included a slew of strong tracks, such as “Hey Paul”, “This Love Is Fucking Right”, “Contender”, “Come Saturday”, “The Tenure Itch” and “A Teenager In Love”, which totally rips off a David Bowie song from the ’80s that I can’t think of.
The album was preceded by a self-titled EP in 2007, which, despite having no real standout tracks, introduced the New York City quartet to the music world as a lo-fi alternative for indie rock fans.
In September 2009, The Pains put out a four-track EP, Higher Than the Stars, which showed the band’s move to a more complex, fine-tuned sound. The disc was highlighted by “Twins” and a very Cure-like title track.
While the first full-length album had the band’s best singles, the 2011 follow-up, Belong, is the better disc from beginning to end. The songs are tighter, the lo-fi stuff is gone from the production and the band just seems more sure of itself.
Attending Bonnaroo started out as a pipe dream, first conceived during a drunken conversation several months ago with a friend who had already purchased a ticket and was planning on catchin’ a ride with some random people he knew.
Fast-forward to today, and I’m anxiously entering the final stage of preparations for my trip to Manchester, Tenn. I say “anxiously” because, after reading numerous B’roo survival guides online, I’m more than a little concerned about what I’ve gotten myself into.
From what I’ve surmised, at its best, Bonnaroo can be a transformative experience filled with amazing live music and getting back to basics in a large communal atmosphere. But at its worst, it’ll be a week of ceaseless discomfort that will test me physically, mentally and maybe emotionally.
THE GUIDES
Normally, when I do a Google search for something, I’ll click on one or two links — maybe even four or five. When I searched for “Bonnaroo survival guide,” I ended up combing through about three pages of links.
The overriding moral I came away with was, “Do not go into this half-assed. Be prepared.”
The first guide I read was probably the best. It laid out everything simply. It also lead off on a sobering note, telling of a friend who died of heat stroke at the 2009 festival.
The Consequence of Sound blog had a nice breakdown of things.
As you can tell, if you actually clicked on any of those links, there are a ton of obstacles when it comes to enjoying B’roo. The traffic into the festival is a nightmare, the quarters are tightly packed, the heat is nearly unbearable and the funk will likely be like nothing you’ve ever smelled before.
But it’ll all be worth it if the music is good.
THE MUSIC
Yes. I’ve made it this far without actually talking about the music. That should tell you something about how I’m approaching this festival. When it came to preparing for SXSW, all I did was listen to a crapload of new bands, figured out which ones I liked and then ended up seeing a totally different slate of groups.
While a lot of the previously linked blogs mentioned discovering new bands at B’roo, that’s not why I’m going. That’s what SXSW was for. I’m going to Manchester to see a bunch of great bands I already know I love.
The two big ones I’m most excited about are Arcade Fire and Mumford & Sons. Also near the top of my list are The Decemberists, The Strokes, My Morning Jacket and the Black Keys. There are also a bunch more I’m eagerly awaiting, but those are the heavy-hitters.
Here’s a look at the whole lineup. I’ll admit it, I’ll probably try to go see Eminem — just for the novelty of it all.
If I’m still alive in a couple of weeks, I’ll be sure to update everyone on my B’roo experience.
I would assume that approximately 99 percent of the people in this picture reek.
For as long as there’s been pop music, there have always been “it” bands. They pop up, seemingly out of nowhere, get showered with a bunch of critical praise, make a bunch of money, then, more often than not, fade from the public consciousness as quickly as they arrived.
As blogs have become more prevalent, this cycling of flavor-of-the-week bands has not only accelerated but also increased in breadth.
The first time I really took note of this latest phenomenon was in the latter part of 2008 when the indie scene was being inundated with bands destined to flame out before they were able to make any real impression on fans.
Some of the biggest names I recall from that period were The Airborne Toxic Event, Pains of Being Pure At Heart and, to a lesser extent, Late of the Pier. While I knew that all of these bands had put out some good songs, I was so turned off by their overhyping that I didn’t give their music much of a chance and just pushed them to the periphery of my musical landscape.
Now that I’ve had some time for my bias to dissipate, I can finally give the bands a more proper accounting. And the timing worked out well since a couple of them just released their sophomore albums within the last few months.
I’m looking forward to delving into Pains of Being …, but, for now, I’ll just focus on The Airborne Toxic Event, which released its self-titled debut in August 2008 and followed it up with All At Once this past April.
The hype machine for TATE was working overtime in 2008, as the band received praise in nearly every music magazine out there. The media assault reached its nadir in May 2009 when Carson Daly devoted an entire episode of “Last Call” to the band.
Their popularity was not entirely surprising, considering they’re from Los Angeles and were doing the kind of not-so-soft indie rock that everyone eats up. As far as their sound, the best comparison I can come up with is a harder version of Okkervil River.
I remember listening to the album at least once, but the bulk of the songs just failed to grab me. There were exceptions, such as the big singles, “Gasoline” and “Sometime Around Midnight”. But, for the most part, the disc seemed like way more of a miss than a hit.
Now, after having listened to it a few more times this weekend, I can still detect several misses, but I’ve also discovered a few more solid tracks. The album opens and closes strong with “Wishing Well” and “Innocence” and also hits high notes on “Happiness Is Overrated”, “Something New” and “Missy”.
Because of my newfound interest in the first album, I had high hopes for the latest release. Unfortunately, it was a little more miss than hit again.
The band seemed to be doing a lot of experimenting during its hiatus and it negatively affects the overall flow on this disc. All At Once opens with the title track, which sounds like it could have been a B-side to Neil Diamond’s “Coming To America”.
I did give stars to a few tracks, such as “Numb”, “It Doesn’t Mean a Thing”, “Welcome To Your Wedding Day” and “Strange Girl”, but overall it was rather lackluster.
And the disc closes on “The Graveyard Near the House”, which sounded like a total rip-off of “Hey There, Delilah” by Plain White T’s. So much so that I often found myself singing the lyrics of the latter at different points in the song without missing a beat.
I realize my sentiments weren’t exactly positive, but what can I say? Some bands put out great albums, while others just have great singles (e.g. Ladyhawke). You should at least give Airborne Toxic Event a chance — or perhaps a second chance — before you totally write them off.
You can check out a whole mess of videos — including every track on the new album — at their official website.
And look for my post on The Pains of Being Pure At Heart in the coming weeks.
Infinite Shuffle 