Patrick Watson

Patrick Watson // Fireweed

My Gold Mask

Back in the day - which was a Wednesday, mind you - Nick Armondo was strumming his acoustic in the den of his Chicago flat. A few rooms over, ladyfriend Gretta Rochelle started belting along with a depth of vibrato he wasn't familiar with since their days in punk rock outfit Bang!Bang!
"That's neat," he mused. "wonder what else we could do with that."

A few more den sessions and they found a practice studio to expand their bojanglin'. It wasn't a 4-star space, heck there was even a tom tom and kick drum leftover from the last tenants. Rochelle, no percussionist, ambled over and figured out how to attach the pedal and tap out a 4-beat before adding her pipes. ::wtf wunderkind:: Armando got apeshit on his nylon-stringed electroacoustic, and so My Gold Mask came to be.

Finding inspiration in lucha libre masks (they've always wanted a gold one),
their pug (who doesn't?)
and well..each other (but Mates of State they are NOT),
MGM's January release A Thousand Voices EP has them pounding out east-Indian influenced cadencies outside of their comfort zone. They perform as a duo, Rochelle's vocals ranging from rasps to operatics, Armando's guitar distorted to sound as un-guitar-like as he can get it.

"Violet Eyes" - provocative, dissonant, nostalgic for more noir times - has her prowling through the lyrics over his ectoplasmic riffs. You'll want for ripped stockings and an EMF meter.

My Gold Mask // Violet Eyes

Jack Peñate

There's a lot of pop out there to sift through. Orchestral pop, bubblegum pop, afro-pop, dream pop, cherry pop rocks. Can't blame the musicmakers - daily bread depends on the earworms making you fork over hard-earned .99cents. Lucky for us, there's a hefty portion of it that doesn't suck.
(disclaimer: don't call me a pop snob. I stood in a teal Pontiac convertible belting Backstreet Boyz "Incomplete" in 2006 all right? Sorry I'm not sorry.)

Peñate pop, it's got range - R&B, soul, gospel, disco, reggaeton.
It's got fash - the English lad looks good in a bedazzled track jacket.
It's got moves - not many a man can shimmyshonga at this caliber while playing guitars, singing, making sex eyes, etc.

His cockney yelp fizzes pleasantly over tracks washed with horns and vibing to distorted Telecasters. Everything is New is slow and smooth carbonation. You'll sing, you'll dance and you'll raise your can of cream soda to acknowledge the mustachioed gent.

Jack Peñate // Be The One

Roky Erickson & Okkervil River

To spin the yarn of True Love Cast Out All Evil, the fibers begin to twist in Rusk State Hospital. Locked up on an insanity plea for possession of one joint, Roky Erickson spent years beside the worst kind of men in the criminal mental facility. After submitting to shock treatment for schizophrenia and to exorcize the LSD and heroine craving demons; he re-entered society a shadow of himself. Nearly unrecognizable as the once ferocious lead of The Thirteenth Floor Elevators - a pioneering act of '60's psychedelic rock and storied muse of Janis Joplin. Paranoid and plagued by night terrors, he spewed dark, tortuous music for a few years until tumbling into his own abyss.

Keep braiding the twine to 2001 in a Texan courtroom where Roky is the knot betwixt a family tug o war over religion and modern medicine. Tethered for years to the care of his mother who prescribed prayer, sensible love and second-hand knowledge from spouting daytime talkshow psychiatrist; younger brother Sumner Erickson looked to gain guardianship of his shadow sibling. Pull him out of poverty and hopelessness; out of his head and into the light. (check out 2005 doc "You're Gonna Miss Me")

With urging of certain central figures and firm hand over hand on the line, Roky has pulled himself to where he is today. Fellow Austinites and temping troubadors Okkervil River incessantly champion him; Will Sheff & Co.'s lush guitars, horns and ivories make Roky's crystallized honey tenor all the sweeter.

True Love's songs blaze with redemption. As true love should.

Roky Erickson & Okkervil River // Goodbye Sweet Dreams

Club 8

No one expects slinky samba and bombastic bossanova buttshaking beats from a pair of frosty Swedish blondes. Well, guess what? Those aren't highlights, people. And white kids can occasionally dance, providing the moon is in the waxing gibbus phase and it's the fifth Thursday of months that end in "ary."

Dream-pop duo Karolina Komstedt and Johan Angergård of Club 8 took a trip to South America for love, for inspiration, for cassava. Full of heat and humidity, they returned to Sweden to produce an album in homage to their tropical muse. Albeit surreally - while they sweat it out in the studio their countrymen walked around in their earmuffs and mink stoles during the dead of winter. The result of feverish brazilian beats with vocals that dip&soar on the warm updrafts of West-Afro guitars have you ready for summer, sugarsnake!

Now dance whitey, DANCE

Club 8 // Shape Up

Judson Claiborne

Leaky pipes and rusty wheel spokes. Tied sneaks thrown over a phone line. Cracked robin's egg on the sidewalk and a husk of a moth's cocoon on the porch. That's Time and Temperature by Christopher C Salveter aka Judson Claiborne, a name given by his father he says to be reclaiming.
Interesting process - to be taking back an invisible thing that was given to you in the first place. Most of us would probably like to do the same since losing a number of things, mostly between the ages of 13 and 17. But that's a haiku for the time capsule buried in the backyard and ES ain't dealing with that esoteric mess.

You might recognize the frontman's ambly lament from Low Skies, who toured with the likes of Neko Case, Okkervil River, Band of Horses, et al. After gaining inspiration biking Southeast Asia, getting zenned in a spiritual haven off the Hudson and finally landing in Chicago - Judson collaborated with a few who mutually share wearied adoration for steely mist and fog.
tu
la
ru
lah.

Judson Claiborne // Song for Dreaming

Nurses

These former drifters have carried their experimental psychedelic folk rock project, Nurses, around for far too long. After Idaho, California, Illinois, Mercury - they're putting a taproot down in PDX. Foot-weary and needing a little rest, I imagine they log-rolled in a verdant meadow or creek-stomped Willamette a bit before recording songs like this one for their last album, Apple's Acres. Because that sure as hell would've been my result if I rolled and stomped and could whistle. Which I cannot, and there's no need to be judgy about it.

Along with robin red-breast whistling, Aaron Campbell's astringet, ether vocal roughens up John Bowers and James Mitchell's pyschotropic circus. Juxtaposing wildly overgrown and crystalline layers of instrument and sound makes it all a tad off-kilter, maybe it sparks a little second-hand anxiety? ...maybe I need to have some of whatever their having?

Or maybe we just all need to get out on the playground. RECESS !

Nurses // Caterpillar Playground

the National

Hi.

After a long, coastal hiatus - I returned to cubicle existence with a head full of inspiration. Tripping along boulders jutting out of the Pacific will do that to you. But a week of automaton immersion makes all that tidal beauty fade away - and all that inspired momentum with it.
Luckily, a dear friend sends a leaked copy of High Violet, the 5th album and Boxer followup from The National. The modular walls disappear and I'm back in the waves all over again. Music's f*cking great for that.

High Violet is an upswing but no, it can't be happy. That's just not their style. I spent a summer cross-legged on my backporch, smoking ciggs and purposefully listening to Boxer & Alligator for good reason. It's a contemplative low rumble from Matt Berninger. It's gothic and orchestral builds from the Dessner and Devendorf brothers - brass, woodwinds, strings, organs and enough guitar to flood the Sydney Opera House. There's cresting melodies and whydidn'tiwritethat lyrics like "live on coffee on flowers / try not to wonder what the weather will be."

And there isn't a skip-track in the bunch. Even if there was, cameos by Justin Vernon and Richard Reed Parry would keep your finger off the button. Guested by Sufjan Stevens, track 7 carries you on it's haunting winds and makes you pray to god you'll have the drugs to sort it out.

The National opens their spring&summer tour April 22 at, well, The National / RVA.
See you there.

The National // Afraid of Everyone

Scanners

When doing some digging on Scanners, the first hit was 1981 cult horror flick about suits using psychics to wage war on the world. "Their thoughts can kill!"

And as badass as that sounds, what I was really looking for is nearly on par.

Two boys and two gals from London with 80's post-punk pop sound - they keep a sneer on their face whilst pouring on the melodic hooks so everyone can get soaked. Sparked by Sarah (total babe - vocals, bass) and Matt (vocals, guitar) in 2004, they played sets backed by a drum kit. Amina (guitar, keys) and Tom (drums) soon joined in on the stank to release their first EP Violence is Golden.
Submarine released this past month, and they just finished getting beast at SXSW to rave reviews. Won't be long before Sarah will be on the "this or that" list with Siouxsie Sioux, Karen-O and Joan Jett.

"Salvation," menacingly sweet and simple. Both here and your own. Ominously windy whooooas twisted with brightly chipper "I'll take you to my grave" makes for a track Billy Corgan could be proud.
"Sick Love" makes me want to take a surfboard out to the breakpoint. Maybe see a shark. But then see that shark get it's ass handed to it by a dolphin. Then I'd ditch the board and ride in on the dolphin - or keep going out? Depends on what the dolphin wants; it IS bigger than I am and I would owe it for saving my life, so I couldn't exactly demand to be taken back to the beach. You know?

Now pardon me while I go take over the capital building using my sixth sense. Or my dolphin's echolocation.

Scanners // Salvation

Scanners // Sick Love

Phantogram

Sometimes you don't realize just how good you have it until you go and fuck things up. You spit on the hand that feeds you and it doesn't want to feed you anymore. Then it's all you can do to get one more glance at the fingernails. Those fingernails are the inspiration for today's post.

It's been a long time since I've posted anything of merit. Or anything at all really. Mainly because I've been absent. But even I can't be invisible to something this overpowering. The beats and sweet electronic melodies from Phantogram make time slow down. The music just reaches through the space, grabs a hold of whatever air you're harboring behind that epidermic mask you wear, and simply makes you high. But not like a crack high, more like a pure air clarity high (RE: Woody Harrelson).

This duo from Saratoga Springs, New York, consisting of darling keyboardist Sarah Barthel and guitarist Josh Carter, with their latest album, Eyelid Movies, have made the perfect collection of baby-making tracks that will occasionally make you think about things that are important. Things like you. "'Cause you are the Ocean. And I'm good at drowning."

Phantogram // You Are the Ocean
Phantogram // When I'm Small

Archie Bronson Outfit

On first listen to "Shark's Tooth," I felt like my brain was involuntarily jangled from earhole to earhole. Lots of reverb, lots of steel serration, lots of shaking a sheet of tin. My head nearly exploded, no joke! I had to turn that shit down, son!
Then I realized I was drumming on my desk and robotically shimmying my shoulders. Maybe even having a daydream about riding a stag armored with uzis, shooting down enemy cyclopses. Hey-o, Bronco!

The good stuff comes from a trio that became mates at Kingswood School, Bath. Just look at the guys, you know reverb comes easy when you have that kind of lavish beard to help with the acoustics.

Their most recent LP, Coconut, came after a four year hiatus post Derdang Derdang. If you'd like nothing more but to have your ears ringing with sound heavy on ferocious, primal squalling from these lads - you'll have to cross the Pond to catch them on tour.
Nbd, you can take my battle stag.

Archie Bronson Outfit // Shark's Tooth

Big Spider's Back

A DIY project out of Seattle, Yair Rubenstein is another musician coming out of his bedroom studio and hanging in the clubhouse with the likes of Atlas Sound, Black Moth Super Rainbow, Animal Collective and Neon Indian.

Just listen to the first 120 seconds of this track. First there's acoustic strings, maybe ukulele? Add synth percussion. Stir in tin bell jangles. Splash on shimmery light. Pound on piano keys. Sift on two-picked electric guitar chords. Blow in river reedy vocals on the lower keys. Keep up the loops of both electric and acoustic guitar to wrap it up in a tight cocoon you wouldn't mind climbing in to yourself.

You'll want to listen to most of the tracks on his debut EP, Warped, on "repeat one" so you don't miss anything.

Big Spider's Back // Perfect Machine