For as long as I’ve been familiar with the Appleseed Cast, I’ve never done a deep dive into their discography. Ten years passed between hearing them on Deep Elm’s Emo Is Awesome/Emo Is Evil compilation and purchasing Low Level Owl. It’s taken me six years to buy anything else in their catalogue.
And when it comes down to it, I basically purchased Peregrine at random while looking at the severe lack of Appleseed Cast in my collection and deciding I needed to do something about it.
And here is where I abandon every single amount of musical elitism I’ve built up and out myself as the poser I am.
Because this is my favorite Modest Mouse record—by a pretty significant margin.
Maybe it’s because it’s the first record of theirs that I heard. Maybe it’s because at the deepest core of my being, I am a pirate and am thus a sucker for anything nautical-themed.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s a really, really great record.
Every once in a while, a record comes around that completely transcends what it was trying to do.
For example, no one ever would have guessed that what started as an emo-leaning indie band with a manic, ranting lead singer would one day release a pop song as perfect as “Float On.” Yet fifteen years later after that song hit #68 on the Billboard charts, it remains an indelible part of the cultural consciousness.
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.
No matter how much music evolves, a few things remain absolutely timeless. Things like easy melodies, singalong choruses, and a truly gnarly electric guitar tone.
Mikal Cronin understands this better than most people. His second solo record isn’t revolutionary by any stretch, but dang if it isn’t great.
A hit song is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it can thrust you into widespread acclaim. But on the other, it can pigeonhole you, your audience forever using your old stuff as a metric. Your work progresses, but your fans are stuck in the past. For a great example, remind yourself that “Creep” is still Radiohead’s biggest hit.
For another example, look to MGMT, who had three such songs. “Time to Pretend” and “Kids” especially were already several years old by the time they appeared on Oracular Spectacular. And overall, that synthpop sound wasn’t very representative of that record. If you just look at the neo-psychedelic freak folk on the deep cuts, Congratulations is a faithful follow up.
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.
For the last few years, it’s been suggested by a number of music snobs (or at least by me) that we’re currently in a post-genre landscape.
While the dividing lines between, say, dream pop and post-hardcore have generally been laid out pretty clear, these days there’s so much cross-pollination between influences that music taxonomy is an almost fruitless undertaking.
Case in point: Death Lust, the debut record from Canadian solo project Chastity. When I went to add the files to my iTunes, the cursor sat in the “genre” tab for several minutes, blinking mockingly at me as I tried to put a name to this (I copped out and settled on “alternative”). Continue reading