Author: Nathaniel FitzGerald

Record #371: Boris – Noise (2014)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Boris is one of those black hole bands. You know–groups with outputs so prolific and consistent that it’s impossible to choose a starting point. You know, bands like Sonic Youth, Stereolab, Mogwai…
And like all of those groups, Boris has cut their teeth indulging every experimental whim and recording every note they’ve ever played. Noise, their nineteenth album, might be a controversial pick for a favorite Boris album, but it’s a microcosm of their entire catalogue. The variety of the disc might be best described by their own press release, which describes the album as an intermingling of “sludge-rock, blistering crust punk, shimmering shoegaze, epic thunderous doom, psychedelic melodies.” 

That might sound hyperbolic, but it is entirely correct. In fact, it completely skips over the bouncing J-pop that informs the sugary sweetness of “Taiyo no Baka.” And needless to say, the guitar amps are pushed almost to blowing the whole way.

Fans of Boris of course aren’t surprised by any of it. Their (reputed, anyway) landmark album Pink spun from long-form doomgaze to head-banging garage punk at whiplash speeds. My issue with Pink is that it spends too much time in the garage and not enough indulging the slow burners that they play better than anyone.

Noise on the other hand rests on the other side of that coin. The album tends more towards the crushing heaviness of tracks like “Ghost of Romance” and “Heavy Rain” (after all, I originally looked up Boris after seeing them in the “similar artists” on the Russian Circles AllMusic profile). Even “Vanilla,” the most straight-ahead rock song on here, still makes good use of the rumbling, detuned guitars and metal riffs that informs the rest of the album. 

The album’s centerpiece, the nineteen minute long “Angel” is a masterwork of tension and release. The first section drones alongside a looped four note guitar riff, vocals and drums joining in a few minutes in. The song teases a catharsis a number of times–the drums play a few fills anticipating a crescendo, only to drop back out to let the drone continue on. A few minutes in, distorted guitar chords swell in on a new progression, and after a few measures of building, the explosion we’ve been promised finally hits in the second section, soaring guitar solo, crushing bass chords and all. It burns wild and huge at the same droning tempo for a couple minutes, then the drums riff into a hard rocking double time section that bears zero resemblance to the opening minutes of the track.

This third section crashes to a close in an almost “Thank You Cleveland!” moment of cymbal crashes and guitar feedback. But out of those ashes rises a new heavily-delayed guitar riff in a major key. The drums rejoin and a tremolo picked guitar rises up the scale, making for one of the most beautiful moments on the disc. It all decays into an incoherent wash of reverb and echo, which reaches its apex and abruptly segues back into the opening guitar loop. For a few minutes, the song teases another moment of catharsis before letting the drone ring out to silence, ending this wild ride where it began. 

It’s a happy accident that the vinyl edition puts “Angel” on its own side of the disc, because such an expansive masterwork deserves a moment of silence to rest before the start of the trashing, shrieking crust punk of “Quicksilver,” the first few minutes of which is the only moment on the disk that sometimes rubs me the wrong way. But only a band like Boris has the guts to follow a masterpiece like “Angel” with a breakneck tempo, screamy song. Or rather, that’s what it is for the first six of its ten minutes, before its heavy punk riffage gives way to a few minutes of unfiltered doomgaze. 

Having only scratched the surface of the Boris iceberg, Noise delivers everything that makes Boris appealing to me. Heavy guitars, sludgy tempos, and plenty of moments of post rock catharsis. This is my first Boris record, but I doubt it will be the last.

Also, I’d watch the hell out of whatever imaginary anime series “Melody” is the theme for.

Record #370: Hall & Oates – Voices (1980)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
I’ve said on multiple occasions that my musical worldview has a number of blind spots–bands (or sometimes entire subgenres) that have made a mark on pop music that I’m just entirely ignorant of.
​Hall & Oates occupy a certain pocket of ‘70s and ‘80s middle of the road soft rock that I’ve somehow missed.
Of course I’ve heard their name–I’d be hard pressed to miss that. But I’m not sure if I’ve ever knowingly heard them. My friend Dan flipped out when he heard this, so when I found this copy in my mom’s collection, I took it home.
And now that I hear them, I’ve put a name to some of the great pop tunes I still hear on the radio–”Kiss On My List,” “You Make My Dreams,” and “Every Time You Go Away” still have healthy radio airplay, and with good reason. They’re infectious pop tunes with harmonies as sweet as honey. What’s surprising is just how new wavey some of the deep cuts are. Side one features a bunch of moments that clearly took notes from Talking Heads and Duran Duran. But as post-punky as they get, their vocal interplay remains just as sweet and sun kissed as the pop singles. It makes for a surprising first foray into a band’s catalog, but I dig it.

Record #369: Grateful Dead – Blues for Allah (1975)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
I recently just turned thirty, which among every the other milestone marks the point at which I have lived more of my life as a guitar player than not. And like every other guitar playing teenager, I had a huge classic rock phase in high school. I methodically drudged through the old rock and roll masters, playing my way through the Canon. To this day, I remember how to play every note of “Stairway to Heaven,” and with a little noodling I could probably remember “Purple Haze.” I’ve studied Harrison and Clapton and Blue Oyster Cult. I even had my own jam band (for one show).
All this to say, until today, I have never knowingly listened to the Grateful Dead. I mean, of course I know their reputation. I know about Jerry and the Bears and Deadheads, but this is the first time I have ever cued up any of their cuts and hit play. In fact the only time I know I’ve heard them is that late episode of Freaks and Geeks where Lindsey borrows a copy from a new girl and dances in her room. I can’t speak to the reason behind my avoidance–in recent years it’s probably my distaste for the schlocky jam bands that picked up their mantles, but I never had that aversion when I was studying the great guitar players of yore.

And Jerry Garcia is certainly in that company. In spite of the occasionally lackluster composition (read: jam band), Jerry’s fretwork is as nimble as the legends claim, deftly climbing its way through key changes without pausing for a second. The songwriting is much more substantial than most of their disciples also, taking the time to establish a framework to build their noodling on rather than just some sort of…noodle tower? You know, like trying to build a tower out of wet noodles? It’d just fall apart? I lost my metaphor.
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It is strange listening to the Grateful Dead forty years after their heyday though. I would very likely hear them differently if it weren’t for Phish and Dave Matthews and their ilk who followed in their footsteps–and also the ilk that follow these bands around on tour. In 2017, the Grateful Dead occupies more a cultural position than a musical one, and divorcing them from that is impossible. But it’s a little sad. Forty years ago, this was probably absolutely groundbreaking. Now, that ground is built up with overpriced high-rise condos that smell like weed.
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Edit: I’m not keeping this.

Record #368: Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons – The Greatest Hits of Frankie Valli and the Fabulous Four Seasons (1974)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Okay, let’s get this out of the way.

​This has fifty-five songs on it.

If you’re going to call something a greatest hits compilation, it stands to reason that you might not want to just release everything that artist has ever done. This is supposed to be a collection of their best songs, not every song. It seems an act of hubris to include more than a single disc of music. Especially since the first three songs (Sherry, Big Girls Don’t Cry, Walk Like a Man) stand so tall above the rest of them. Especially when put so close to their bizarre cover of Bob Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, I’m Alright, where Frankie Valli changes the line “I wish that there was something you could do or say/to make me change my mind and stay” to simply “I wish that there was something you could do.” Like…did you not realize in rehearsal that those lines don’t rhyme?

​But when this collection is on, it is on. The combination of the Four Tops huge harmonies and Frankie’s growling falsetto (famously homaged by Elton John’s Crocodile Rock) is one of the most iconic sounds in rock ‘n roll. And since I picked it up off of the curb, it’s still worth it even if there’s only one good disc (I didn’t have time to listen past side one).

​Record #367: The Four Tops – Motown Superstar Series, Vol. 14 (1980)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Every once in a while, a brand will so dominate their market that their name becomes synonymous with their product. Things like Band-Aid, or Kleenex. Motown achieved the same sort of notoriety, in which its name has actually become a genre marker. And that’s not by accident…
iIproducers, recording engineers, session musicians, and songwriters they could find and churned out hit after hit after hit after hit. They became so successful that they began an artist development program that trained up performers with choreography, wardrobe, and etiquette training. This excerpt from Wikipedia is too good not to share: 

Motown artists were advised that their breakthrough into the white popular music market made them ambassadors for other African-American artists seeking broad market acceptance, and that they should think, act, walk and talk like royalty, so as to alter the less-than-dignified image commonly held of black musicians by white Americans in that era. Given that many of the talented young artists had been raised in housing projects and lacked the necessary social and dress experience, this Motown department was not only necessary, it created an elegant style of presentation long associated with the label.

While it’s true that Motown’s model is to blame for the mass produced saccharine pop dominating the airwaves now, there’s no denying the label’s success. Acts like The Supremes, Marvin Gaye (who bypassed artist development), Stevie Wonder, and The Jackson Five came through their doors, creating indelible hits. 

Speaking of indelible hits, consider this Four Tops compilation. This disc blisters through the Tops’ hits at whiplash speed, opening with a twelve minute medley of their top-charting singles (“I Can’t Help Myself” and “I’ll Be There” both make an appearance). And after that, the album only slows down because there’s a fade between songs. Every second is filled with the most blissful Rhythm&Blues/Soul music this side of the Temptations. And the fact that this is the fourteenth entry in a series of Motown’s best artists and that this compilation is this good is only further testament to Motown’s exceptional legacy.

Record #366: Cult of Luna – Salvation (2004)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
As much as I love Isis, it’s amazing I haven’t come across Sweden’s Cult of Luna sooner… 
Any article about post metal mentions both of their names (and Neurosis, whose discography is a little more impenetrable). I may have come to their seminal record twelve years too late, but its punch isn’t diminished any.

Rather, Salvation displays a group with an unmistakable mastery of patient composition–maybe even more patient than Isis. While the songs are built on repetition and slow builds (read: post metal), they never languish in tepidness. Rather, they traffic between ambient lows and punishing (midtempo) highs with a cold calculation.

Record #365: Gayngs – Relayted (2010)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Bon Iver surprised some people with their new album, 22, A Million, a glitchy masterpiece that relied more on synthesizers and saxophones than acoustic guitars. Some of us, however, heard Gayngs, the supergroup he assembled to write an album completely composed of 69bpm soft rock ballads all honoring “I’m Not In Love” by 10cc. 
Relayted is carried by almost trip hop dated electric pianos and synths, sung by several different voices blurred into one by Vernon’s favorite vocal manipulation techniques. Smooth jazz saxophone and the occasional makeout guitar riff peaks through the haze, betraying the lack of seriousness that the collective took this project.

But don’t let the punchlines keep you from thinking this album doesn’t rip. It achieves its goals with complete gusto. Never once does the album slum it up. Instead, every player commits to the project 110%, even if they’re winking under their Ray-Bans. This album reclaims sounds and styles long judged uncool with deft, unironic coolness. And dude, it works.
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Also the only concert they played was called The Last Prom on Earth and was MCed by Prince. And that’s just rad.

Record #364: Caspian – Dust and Disquiet (2015)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Strange that despite my affinity for post rock and Caspian’s position as one of the scene’s most consistent voices, it took me until last month to listen to them at all. 
And I’ll admit, I didn’t start with this album (I believe it was Waking Season). My first listen through, I thought to myself, “ah yes, this is good. Borrows enough from Explosions in the Sky and classic era Sigur Ros to be a good listen but not so much so that it’s a blatant ripoff.” It was not terribly groundbreaking or important, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Then someone recommended this record instead, and let me tell you–it blows the other out of the water.
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Where as Waking Season was a pretty by-the-book piece of guitar-based, climax-chasing post rock, Dust and Disquiet is a massive work that harmonizes post rock’s sprawling threads into a gargantuan, cohesive statement. The album opens with “Separation No. 2,” a gentle atmospheric ballad awash with tape delay and muted trumpet. “Ríoseco” carries the same mood through it’s opening minutes, and you might be tempted to think the entire album will follow suit. Then, in “Ríoseco’s” third act, it takes a heavy, minor turn, closing as a metal song. “Arcs of Command” adds electronic beats to the fray; “Echo and Abyss” adds vocals. Then, the album collapses into “Run Dry,” a decidedly non-post rock acoustic guitar song, complete with sung verses and choruses. And that’s only half the record.

After wrenching the record from any and all expectations, Caspian continues to explore. The second half doesn’t get quite as heavy, but it is just as fearless. “Darkfield” plays with rhythm with Battles-like exuberance. The title track closes the album with strings and horns. All in all, Dust and Disquiet is an album that not only shows the breadth of post rock, but also Caspian’s mastery of that expanse.

Record #363: Fire At Will – Life Goes On (2016)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Full disclosure: I did not buy this record for myself. My friend Curtis is part owner of Chorus of One records and handles their Stateside distro. I designed some promos for him when this record was coming out, so when the vinyl came in, he gave me a copy for my efforts.
That said, I didn’t expect to like it this much. (I didn’t know what to expect, actually). All I had to go on was his vague description of them as a French hardcore band. These days, “hardcore” is a pretty broad moniker, covering everything from early-mewithoutYou-soundalikes to screamy shoegaze bands (I’ve heard plenty of both at local basement shows). Fire At Will however plays the kind of hardcore that I would have loved in high school in the early ‘00s. Teeming with pop punk energy and a great sense of melody, this record lives somewhere between early Thrice and the Ataris–there’s some Rufio in there too. Which, fifteen years ago, I would have flipped for.

Record #362: Analecta – Aes Sidhe (2016)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Let’s disclose the potential for bias right here: the two dudes in Analecta are close friends of mine. Patrick is in my ska band, and we have worked closely putting on shows both at the venue he manages and my own living room. Calvin and I probably have the most musical overlap (both in listening and style of playing) of anyone I know. My band has played more shows with Analecta than we have anyone else (we’re one of two bands thanked in the liner notes). I recorded their first demo over seven years ago (it’s still on their Bandcamp page). I even suggested the final track listing of this album when the limitations of vinyl required the songs be rearranged.
All that being said, I can imagine how you, dear reader, might see a glowing review and think that I’m just shilling for my friends. But I have a lot of friends, dear reader, and some of them make bad music, and you don’t see me writing about them here. My friendship merely lets me see this work in context, appreciating it from a birds eye view.

Because this is not Analecta’s first album: their first, Janus Bifrons, was released five years ago as a three piece. Then, they were a pretty conventional three piece–guitar, bass, drums, maybe the occasional keyboard, and a lot of loopers (this has not changed). Shortly after, Kevin, the guitarist, left (I joked about joining), and Pat and Calvin restructured as a two piece. Lots more keyboards were added, Calvin, who was not a guitarist, now switching from guitar to bass between recording loops.

​By design, their compositions grew more patient and carefully constructed. This album is the culmination of years of regrouping and self evaluation, yet it doesn’t suffer an identity crisis. Aes Sidhe bears no resemblance to a band struggling to find their voice, but rather to a group that’s been through a crisis, found themselves in it, and are screaming more loudly than ever.