While I’m generally very cautious with my record budget, every once in a while I take a gamble. One of the best gambles I’ve ever taken was a five-record mystery pack from Top Shelf Records for $25.
As far as gambles go, that that was a home run. But perhaps the best thing that came out of it was this record from emo punk/indie rockers Mock Orange. Continue reading
Minus the Bear is most well-known for their asymmetrical drum rhythms, effects pedal experimentation, and double-handed guitar tapping.
But if you give a casual listen to Menos El Oso, you might miss all that. The group is so comfortable in their experimentation that they use their mad scientist tactics to create a record that might be mistaken for a pretty accessible pop record.
In the spring of 2006, I drove to Grand Rapids with my best friend to see mewithoutYou with Thursday. In between the two was a group called Minus the Bear.
I had heard the name before (and kept confusing them for Iwrestledabearonce), but had never heard them. Honestly, I was a little underwhelmed by their almost clinical stage presence, but there was a technical prowess to what they were building that enticed me. And on record, those technicalities blossom into an intricate masterpiece.
At some point in college, I decided that I was “over” all of my adolescent tastes. I ignored all of the emo, punk, metal, and whatever else in favor of folk, indie rock, post punk, and “weird” stuff like Krautrock and dub reggae.
I’ve since come back around, but I’m still trying to catch up on all of the stuff I’ve missed during that time (I still haven’t listened to a full album by The World Is A Beautiful Place). In trying to sort out what’s worth diving into and what isn’t worth my time, a friend recommended Basement. And from the first listen, I was absolutely enraptured by the jangling chords, soaring melodies, and dynamic shifts.
Cursive’s Tim Kasher has always had a knack for offering twisted, anguished rock and roll. Throughout their career, he has delved deeply into divorce, corrupt religion, art as masochism, and every neurosis you can think of.
But on Vitriola, he sounds downright demented. Continue reading
I was previously unaware of gates when I discovered 2016’s Parallel Lives. But I quickly fell in love with that album’s blend of tender indie rock songwriting and epic post rock composition.
So when my friend Rob offered their debut full-length up in a trade for a copy of my band’s full-length, I took him up on it.
And while Bloom & Breathe is a little less tight than its follow up, there’s a rawness here that makes it just as rewarding.
If Destination: Beautiful had convinced detractors that Mae was overly sentimental and pretentious, then The Everglow certainly wasn’t going to change their minds. I mean, it’s a concept album with an accompanying picture book that opens and closes with a narrator explaining itself, for crying out loud.
But for those of us who had bought-in to their first disc, the follow up was a masterful epic that was a definitive work in every sense.
My sophomore year of high school, I found a great indie/emo band called Sky’s the Limit on Interpunk.com (oh, Interpunk…their website has never been updated, btw). I bought their only release, which was only released on a burned CD-R, and I was spellbound by the intricate guitar work, catchy rhythms, and soaring melodies.
So when I discovered Mae on an old Tooth & Nail compilation, I was attracted to them for many of the same reasons. I bought this album, and was amazed to find a Sky’s the Limit song on it. It was only then that I realized that Dave Elkins was the lead singer and principal songwriter for both of them.
I first saw Pittsburgh’s Lawn Care passing through my local coffeehouse venue. They played a “stripped” set that included two guitars, a bass guitar, and a trumpet. And even in such a minimalist context, they were absolutely hypnotizing.
So when I caught them playing as a full band, I was entranced. I had to have the record.
Continue reading
In 1994, a Seattle hardcore* band called Sunny Day Real Estate released Diary. It was a veritable tour de force of emotional range, led by the otherworldly falsetto of Jeremy Enigk. It lit the underground music scene on fire—it’s even credited by some as the first proper emo album.
Then, as quickly as they had gained prominence, the group broke up. They released one strange, mathy, untitled follow-up, then the group went their separate ways.
A year later, Jeremy released his first solo record. I’m not sure what Sunny Day fans were expecting, but it was not Return of the Frog Queen. Continue reading