oct 2011

oct
2011
byvolume
music. uninterrupted.
review /
blink-182
/
m83
/
wilco
+
dan mangan / jack's mannequin / low / aidan baker / johnny foreigner
thrice:
the
scenery
spins
page 10
plus
#
1
live:
blink-182
mcr
matt and kim
dananananaykroyd
page 13
mixtapebyvolume / byvolume recommends
october 2011
4/ dan mangan
5/ amplified: aidan baker
7/ live: dananananaykroyd
8/ M83 *
first line
adam knott
10/ amplified: thrice *
12/ low
13/ live: blink-182, mcr
15/ mixtape by volume
erm... hi.
16/ blink-182
Welcome to the very first page of the very first issue
of ByVolume. That sentence is a pretty cool one.
18/ wilco
I can’t work out whether to make this editorial nonchalant or dramatic. Like, I could ramble on about
how WHEN I HAD THE IDEA I had no inkling that
blah, or how I HOPE YOU ENJOY READING IT AS
MUCH AS WE DID WRITING IT, but I dunno, maybe
you’ll hate reading it. Maybe we hated writing it!
I promise the majority of what’s contained within
isn’t this ridiculously unstructured (although some
of it is - looking at our Blink-182 feature in particular). We love music. It excites me to be writing
these words not just because I love the final product but because I’m entirely sure I’ll love the next
one too, on the grounds that, well, we love music.
19/ Jack's Mannequin
20/ Byvolume recommends
22/ johnny foreigner
23/ contact us
We sort of hope you love it too.
2
byvolume / october 11
byvolume / october 11
3
/review/
/amplified/
still smiling through car crashes,
even if they've lost some of their charm.
dan mangan
oh fortune
6
1/2
eric loose
On his last record, we left Dan Mangan quoting Vonnegut, wailing about his road
regrets, and the joys of life being lost among the living. More or less, we found
him wandering Canada in something of a funk, and creating a superb, intimate
collection of singer-songwriter anthems out of his depression. Fast forward,
though, and from the first track on Oh Fortune (or the album’s title, even), we
can see Mangan ditching this attitude. Lonely chord progressions have turned
into orchestral flourishes, loud wailing has turned into an ebullient liveliness,
and Mangan is looking up instead of down. Don’t be mistaken: Mangan has always been the shining example of a man writing happy music with sad lyrics,
and Oh Fortune only speaks more to his ability to achieve this musical paradox
rather perfectly.
That bipolar beauty is what drives Mangan’s latest, setting it apart from Nice,
Nice, Very Nice. Perhaps most striking of aspects is that Oh Fortune is a busy
album, evidenced by the denser, lush soundscapes present in “How Darwinian” and the more electric textures of “Post-War Blues.” All-in-all, this is the
general aura of Mangan’s third full-length. Oh Fortune pays more attention to
atmosphere than it does hand-claps and catchiness (not that these aren’t present, still). At its best, it calls to mind Andrew Bird, especially now that Mangan
employs a more full-band approach. It’s a give-and-take, though; where the
album excels in a more technical, atmospheric sense, it sacrifices in the organic
intimacy and immediacy that made Mangan so damn lovable in the first place.
But make no mistake about it, this is still the same bearded songwriter from
downtown Vancouver, digging through your bag. His lyricism is again a main
draw, and it lives up to his past work... with many artists, this would be a neutral qualifier, but in Mangan’s case it’s much, much more. When he does end up
confronting morbidity, like on the all-too-obvious “Regarding Death and Dying,”
he seems to do so with tongue firmly in cheek. If there was one facet of the
songwriting that absolutely needed to remain, it was his ability to seemingly
smile through car crashes and genocides, and remain it does.
in short
less lonely beardedguy, more orchestral
flourishes; mangan
cleans up his act but
might lack a touch
of his glow, too.
if you like this...
4
Every year I make both a conscious and sub-
conscious effort to listen to as much music as
possible, often ‘wasting’ crucial time that would
have been better spent on study or work. I’ve
realised that I define periods in my life by what
records I obsess over at that time, and there
always seems to be a slight lean towards particular genres each year - while a lot of people
claim this to be a result of there being ‘no good
such and such genre records released this year’,
I think it’s more to do with one’s mood and
the stage in which there life is in. As it stands,
countless albums come out all the time, so for
any genre to not actually have anything good released over a whole year is utter bullshit.
Last year I devoured entire discographies by
bands like Low and The Magnetic Fields, and
albums from those bands now take me back to
older feelings, but at the same time create
new ones. 2011 has been quite diverse in terms
of what I’ve been listening to - while this is
generally the case every year, 2011’s records
are spread out across even more genres and
sub-genres, perhaps signifying my own indecisiveness towards events in my life. But I digress. One particular genre, both in terms of
2011 released records and in my general listening, has definitely stuck out, and that is
ambient. Bypassing any extended foray into
what I think about the genre or what it means
to me, the two most important names in the
genre in 2011 (at least for me) are Tim Hecker
and Aidan Baker.
andrew bird
frank turner
damien rice
playing
canada
oct 14-nov 29
discography
nice, nice, very nice
So while Mangan adds a few members and ditches the solo, lonely, beardedguy act, he remembers to keep the important parts on Oh Fortune. Still, I’d
be lying if I tried to convince you Mangan hasn’t lost a bit of his charm. If you
can though, ignore the fact that it’s not just you and Mangan any more when
listening to Oh Fortune, and concentrate on the more impressive technicality
and engrossing atmospherics. If you can, Oh Fortune provides one of the more
pleasant albums this side of 2011.
the year of
aidan baker
berkay erkan
delves into
2011 records
by ambient's
ruling class
postcards and
daydreaming
byvolume / october 11
Hecker, unlike Baker, releases LPs sparingly. His last record before Ravedeath, 1972 was 2009’s An
Imaginary Country. What characterises Hecker’s work is that he is consistently brilliant at what he
does. Each and every album he has put out is a masterpiece in its own way, although I would be the
first to argue that Ravedeath... is the pinnacle of his musical career so far. On the other hand we
have Aidan Baker, who rather than constructing expansive records over a long period of time, puts
out an album for every idea he gets. I’m avoiding bias as much as possible, because I believe that
each artist approaches the genre differently, and excels in it in their own way. While many of Baker’s
records are not quite as good as others, the sheer amount of material negates any criticism. Plus,
when he does get it right (which is more often than not), there’s no denying the inherent quality.
Baker has thus far released 6 LPs in 2011. This article will only be covering 5 of them, as I have
unfortunately not heard Pure Drone (Drone Compendium One). From what I can tell however, that
record isn’t pivotal in articulating Baker’s output for the year. The other five vary remarkably in
style, though they still retain that engaging element which characterises most of Baker’s work.
Lost in the Rat Maze was the first on Baker’s roster this year (after Pure Drone...). To put it very simply, this is the sort of record that makes me revisit all the reasons why I love the genre. The album’s
focus is on gradually evolving soundscapes, all very lush and organic. Parts of it remind of his Green
& Cold album, not only in aesthetic but also in composition. While the overall atmosphere on the
record is very warming, Lost in the Rat Maze is characterised by a cold tension, which I believe fits
in very well with its concept. While I would not say this is as much an achievement as Green & Cold
was, or even that it’s the best thing he’s put out this year, I simply love this record - it’s not to be
missed. But on the point of his best output in 2011, the next record to be mentioned is Only Stories.
This one is my pick of the five, but only for one simple reason: it sounds like Scalpel. Only Stories
byvolume / october 11
5
/live/
consists of four songs of sparse acoustics, each note gently echoing against every other. I find this to
be even more minimalist than Scalpel, as it eschews a lot of the background noise that Scalpel had.
This might result in making the record somewhat harder to digest, but its languid nature doesn’t
take long to become an addiction - listening to the endless soft acoustic passages simply for that
short climax (which sometimes doesn’t come) is an excellent way to spend an evening.
Unfortunately for us, Only Stories is where Baker peaked this year. There may be more to come
before the year ends, but as it stands the three albums to follow were not as intriguing as the first
two - at least not aesthetically. Conceptually speaking, though, Baker is always an intrigue. Still
Life, the third record, takes a detour from the usual Baker ambience and provides an exploration of
the ‘lounge’. This involves excluding all guitar work (normally a fundamental tool of manipulation
in Baker’s music), focusing purely on a combination of piano, drums and bass. Generally speaking,
the rhythm section provides a cushioned foundation upon which the piano directs the songs. Though
of course Baker is not an artist to be pigeonholed, and his eccentricity shines through on several
occasions – ‘Complex Iconographic Symbology’ juxtaposes rather eerily with the first two songs,
conjuring an extremely dark mood that takes the record to its end. Another peculiar example is
the midsection of ‘Refuge from Oblivion’, comprising of a frenetic and disorderly piano line, which,
ironically, is no refuge from oblivion. While my personal preferences may downplay this record, I
would not shy away from recommending this strongly to those who would be able to appreciate it.
conceptually speaking, baker is always an intrigue
The fourth LP, Tonstreifen, seems more of an experiment than a record. Its two tracks (‘Ton’ and
‘Streifen’) make a two-part album that is both conceptually fascinating and aesthetically dull.
While ambient music takes a certain kind of person and a certain kind of mood to be truly enjoyed,
Tonstreifen manipulates the genre’s formula, retaining all of its repetitive elements but foregoing
typical texturing and atmosphere. The style here can simply be categorised as ‘constant’ - it takes
one particular melody, locks itself into a groove and just plays that melody over and over again.
There exists a very subtle variation within either track, one in which the intensity is increased ever
so slightly. While this may seem a ‘boring’ experience to some, there is something very hypnotic
about this record. When the groove locks itself in, so does the listener. This then leaves Tonstreifen
with two elements that define it: first, the forced repetition, or ‘constant’ if you will, of the melody,
and second, the transition between the two songs. Said transition represents a lag in the first song,
a slight hesitation which then transforms itself into the next calmative sequence. One comparison
which I’ve used before that describes Tonstreifen from an outside perspective, is that the entire
thing sounds like a New Order intro on repeat. I’ve gone on at length about this record, which may
seem contradictory to my statement earlier about it being ‘weaker’, but I’m a sucker for concepts
and this has a great one. While it won’t be a regular listen, Tonstreifen is a record that I keep for
those particular nights.
if the ideas and concepts surrounding baker's work entice
you, do not waste any time in exploring these albums
Plague of Fantasies, the last of the five records, is my least favourite of the lot. This is not to say it
is not good, but I haven’t been able to connect with it as I have with the other records. It might have
something to do with the amount of time I’ve had to absorb the album (or lack thereof), or also because of the glitch elements used here - I’ll go out on a limb and say that I find glitch in general very
annoying, and only in very specific circumstances do I think it works well with the styles of ambient
I generally enjoy. Plague of Fantasies does not do a bad job of combining glitch with Baker’s usual
approach to the genre, but certain sections, particularly on the first track, push me away rather
than pull me in. Nonetheless, Plague... does not stray too far from excellence, and the way I see it
is that Baker can be forgiven for already providing me with four other excellent records to absorb
in 2011 alone. He has certainly had a good year, which means I’ve had a good year (at least in terms
of my ambient binges). If the ideas and concepts surrounding Baker’s work entice you, do not waste
any time in exploring these albums.
6
byvolume / october 11
live
volume
robin smith
danananananan
anananananana
nananaykroyd
the old library, leeds
I hadn’t heard a second of Dananananaykroyd’s
music before booking a place on their short farewell tour, and I was told it really didn’t matter. If
anything, there seems to be this kind of defiance
amongst fans when it comes to actually listening to one of the band’s records, as if it simply
can’t do justice to the gig at which you surely
will be the only one who can’t sing along. They
might have something there, though: while Hey
Everybody! and the band’s final record, There
Is a Way, are evidently built on adrenaline, it’s
at the live show you’ll recognise it in them. It’s
here you’ll pick up the lyrics within seconds,
learn where to place every handclap and every
fist pump. It’s at a Dananananaykroyd gig, quite
simply, that you’ll learn how to be a member
of Dananananaykroyd. Which is a shame, since
they’re splitting up.
It’s kind of odd, also, how it was the sound of
a band touring off a new album; There Is A Way
found itself wedged between loving break-up
jokes and the post-hardcore chants of their
debut, but seemed to make a case for how organically these guys play shows: no one could’ve
learned the words coming out of their mouths
that quickly (within two weeks of a release), and
even if the lyrics in any given song only extend as
far as a “What’s my name? Dananananaykroyd!”
chanting contest, the crowd couldn’t have been
more ready to take on the Glaswegians in their
last ever moments. The gig’s highlight, “Think
and Feel,” seemed to go on long enough for it
to absolutely glow in the crowd’s estimation,
as it hit its wave of choruses so perfectly that
everyone was tracing each of the band’s moves,
moving between the two lead singers’ yelping
competition.
That was the sound of a breakup, then? You
could forgive the crowd who gathered in Leeds’
Old Library for protesting perhaps too little at
Dananananaykroyd’s jokes about career termination, because it was like remembering it was
happening all over again. Or maybe it was more
like realising it for the first time: as they stumbled through the crowd, hugging anyone they
could get their grubby fingers on, it seemed impossible that anyone in this band was feeling the
tension of a split. “Our label are looking for replacements,” they joked, but the gig seemed set
on making all six members deadly irreplaceable.
It was an odd paradox of a night for a band who
seemed completely comfortable in saying goodbye, but perhaps more comfortable than ever
to be a band. This was no on-stage breakup of
Women’s. This was a hug and a wave.
I guess, at the end of the day, I needed no prior knowledge to enjoy “Think and Feel” or any
of the other songs I later picked up on record.
I knew the chant for “Think and Feel” almost
naturally after a minute, which may be what
boggles my mind about this split most of all: Dananananaykyrod have none of the trappings of
an indie band that fizzle out. They have songs
that are already ingrained into the side of your
skull after a minute of consumption. They have
a name you essentially have to revise. And they
have songs that ask you- hell, command you, in
the case of the proud “Watch This!”- to remember just exactly who these six Glaswegian guys
are. They were Dananananaykroyd, and that was
the sound of them bowing out, skulls thrown to
the floor of the stage, head bangs to a maximum. Just the best break-up ever.
7
byvolume / october 11
/review/
so much for subtlety:
these songs run like rivulets in the night
m83
hurry up, we're dreaming
9
1/2
in short
keelan harkin
night-time dream
pop which glows and
races in equal
measure. an
extroverted and
intricate essential.
So much for subtlety—though it would seem that was never Alex Gonzales’ plan for M83, ever since “Gone” closed out Dead Cities, Red Seas
and Lost Ghosts. M83’s newest, and probably most obvious attempt at
a magnum opus (being a double album and whatnot), races straight out
of the gate and into the open road—night sky and all. The much hyped
“Intro” featuring a guest spot from Zola Jesus, starts Hurry Up, We’re
Dreaming with twinkling synth ostinato before driving right off the cliff,
Thelma and Louise and all, into a canyon of glorious fireflies. Normally
I would caution myself against such hyperbole (and unnecessary movie
references) but I think this is exactly what M83 want the listener to think
of in the first place. In an indie-world where subtlety is king, Hurry Up,
We’re Dreaming is maybe the first album since Passion Pit’s Manners that
proves unabashed ostentatiousness has its uses too. But not ostentatiousness in purely the showy “let me impress you” way, because these warm,
glowing synths prove so communally wonderful: “Wait” should probably
be the slow dance at every hipster’s (scratch that, everyone’s) wedding.
It’s the kind of impression where you want to impress the author back.
if you like this...
beach house
eluvium
passion pit
playing
north america
oct 15-nov 23
europe
nov 27-nov 30
united kingdom
dec 1-jan 22
discography
saturdays = youth
8
This isn’t to say that Gonzales’ compositions are blitzkriegs of bombast
with no thought or breathing room. I mean, that reverbed shout that gets
repeated at the end of “Wait” is really what makes the climax so fucking good. Such a choice as that is purely down to a composer who is very
careful with what his music is doing. It really is a balancing act—one that
Gonzales has been trying to perfect with each successive album. After
the spotty Saturdays = Youth; Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming has managed to
be that man-on-the-wire, capturing the special kind of epiphany-inducing haze of pleasure which is particularly tailored to dream-pop. So for
each soaring epic like that of “Intro”, there are a handful of mellifluous
interstitials like “Where the Boats Go”; for every anthem like the piano
driven slow-burner “Splendor”, there is a slice of three minute electropop genius like “Midnight City” or “Steve McQueen”; for each ballad
there is something joyfully playful, like the exploration of a child’s imagination (or getting high off licking toads) in “Raconte-Moi Une Histoire.”
The result is an album that flows immaculately—fittingly it is dreams that
byvolume / october 11
are the record’s central theme because these 22 songs run like rivulets
in the night time. And this is a night time record, one built as much for
stargazing as it is for sharing the darkness with friends and loved ones.
The flow of the album is actually particularly impressive knowing that
its twenty-two tracks create just what you would expect from an album
where the band seems so conscious of their attempt to make something
grand: this thing puts the long in long-player. It’s the easiest criticism
to lob at the record, and it’s one not without some validity. Especially
as Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming drifts into its second half, listener fatigue
starts to become an issue. Though still sporting choice cuts like the propulsive “Year One, One UFO” and “Echoes of Mine”, the latter half of
the album is a slight drop in quality from the first half. Not that any of
this should come as a surprise to anyone who has encountered a double
album before. But criticizing the length of this album is a hard task to
do tangibly: at no point on this album, because it flows so wonderfully,
can you ever pinpoint a specific spot where you can assuredly say “this
should be cut out.”
Because, frankly, cutting out bits from the album would dint the magic
that M83 have managed to create here. When was the last time you met
an extrovert who thought it wise to tone it down a notch? That is, after
all, what Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is: a big extrovert waiting to usher
you in with enthusiastic arms. You should let yourself fall into the embrace; nit-picking this or that aspect of the album would be to miss the
point entirely. Although, if such is your calling, pulling apart the finer
details of M83’s work does nothing but bolster the initial impression of
the work. This is no skeletal structure with a glossy façade, this is an
album that has been carefully constructed to create all those feelings it
elicits over its long runtime. Such expressivity always lingers in danger of
rapine, but the beauty of Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is that nothing feels
forced, we never feel plundered, just... embraced.
byvolume / october 11
9
the scenery
spins
thrice's major/minor is
the next organic step,
backward glances and all.
adam knott
Thrice emerge amid racing
drums and blistering guitars;
not much room to draw breath,
but their post-hardcore snatches
at a metallic ferocity and dazzles.
In that way Thrice shun the new, confused definition of musical ‘evolution’ so expected and revered
butmore frequently misunderstood. We live in an
era where maturity has come to mean a slower
tempo and development has come to imply weirdness; critics demand PROGRESSION! at every juncture and band after band jump at the chance to impress, feigning artistry because they think people
can’t tell. Thrice’s growth and contraction show a
different side to that story, a more natural and human desire to try new things whilst not changing
literally everything about themselves for the sake
of proving they can.
The Artist in the
Ambulance (2003)
2000-03: out of the traps:
/amplified/
2005-08:
meanderings
Vheissu diversifies Thrice’s
pallet considerably, and brings
a more thoughtful approach to
the table. In 2007 and
2008, the band explore
these avenues head-on,
tackling acoustics and
ambience - and more on the Alchemy Indices.
2009-11:
refinement
And so that’s why ‘Anthology’ does more than just
avoid catastrophe; it draws lines through a discography that hasn’t made a huge deal about either its
development or, frankly, its quality. By 2011, Thrice
have stayed on form for a whole decade, and there
T
he penultimate track of Thrice’s new album Major/
Minor should by all normal standards of songwriting
convention be an unmitigated disaster. The concept is
simple but sounds clumsy and pretentious: the aptlynamed ‘Anthology’ collects lines from Thrice songs of
old, building from them a collage of nostalgia. It sounds
far more like something you’d find on a washed-up quartet’s comeback record than the eighth studio release
from a band arguably at a career peak. Even in light
of the California rockers’ impressive track record, it’s
difficult - on paper - to see how they can make it work.
But against those seemingly stacked odds, ‘Anthology’
doesn’t just work - it’s quite possibly the most enthralling song on the whole of Major/Minor, a record which
harbours its fair share of great tracks. It’s also bizarrely difficult to imagine Major/Minor without such a totalising microcosmto point at. So how does a song as
bold as ‘Anthology’ manage to sound entirely at ease
with itself for the best part of five minutes? The same
way that Major/Minor achieves that feat throughout:
it’s all down to Thrice, and their quiet confidence.
10
The way Thrice execute ‘Anthology’ with such unassuming grace shouldn’t be surprising; this is a band
that has, in just over a decade, managed to evolve
without it ever seeming like a deliberate progression.
That might seem like a strange thing to say about the
outfit that released The Alchemy Index, a collection of
songs taking on interpretations of the four elements,
but that conscious step into experimental territory
wasn’t the re-definition of ‘Thrice’ - simply a crash
test to find how much impact ‘Thrice’ could take.
And the band emerged unscathed, having tested waters which would later serve to make Beggars the
triumph it so surely was. The Thrice of the turn of
the millennium, surely, would have been incapable
of writing a song as confident and grandiose as Beggars; the panicked siren-like guitars hid behind Dustin
Kensrue’s declarations of futility in such an assured
manner. And that’s what Major/Minor shows beyond
anything else; the ability to draw on elements of the
band’s history and combine them with poise but without screaming, “Look! Development!”
byvolume / october 11
thrice
major/minor
8
1/2
If Beggars saw Thrice
settling down post-Alchemy Index, Major/
Minor is the continuation of that trend;
more aggressive and
single-minded than its
pre-decessor, their 8th
studio album holds all
the passion and vigour we’ve come to expect of
California’s finest.
Vocalist Dustin Kensrue once finds himself with a
terrifying amount of conviction, most notable in the
climax of “Call It In The Air”, as guitars wail around
him and Breckenridge propels every other song to
anthem velocity.
What Major/Minor lacks of Beggars’ Radiohead-borrowed introspection it makes up for in drive and
grit; this is a rock album in the real, complimentary
sense of the word: fast, heavy and visceral.
byvolume / october 11
have been no diva moments,
no collapses and no blips. They
may no longer be the same riproaring set of guys they started
out as, but they are one of the
few rock bands on the planet that can capture urgency
without necessarily sounding
aggressive, that have an inherent energy and intensity no matter what approach they take.
Off the back of their
experimental travels,
Thrice find a relaxed
but dynamic sound on
Beggars, and crank up
the volume to that on
Major/Minor.
Beggars (2009)
Major/Minor is the most straightforward
proof of those truths yet, but as a record it
proves so much more. It’s very rare that you can
say a band still sound like they’re ‘in it for the long
haul’ 8 records down the line from their debut, but it’s
hard to see Thrice any other way. Major/Minor is majestic and assertive, clear in its atmospheric aims and
flawless in achieving them, and it poses an interesting
question that with Thrice it’s okay to ask: where next?
11
/review/
/live/
subtle in its own misery:
low craft a cold and complex stranger
low
c'mon
8
1/2
berkay erkan
Low’s cold embrace has, for their ninth record, become even colder - while
earlier works have verged on deep isolation (I Could Live in Hope) or emotional
renewal (Things We Lost in the Fire), C’mon is seemingly a gesture towards
Low’s fans, as if to say ‘c’mon, cheer up the fuck up’. This is not to say that
the slowcore-cum-alt rock foundation of the group has become diminished in
any way, as it is obvious that they’ve not lost the ability to convey sensitivity through minimalism. What is perhaps most impressive about C’mon is in
the way it both replicates Low’s mid-90s aesthetic yet still retains the poppier
elements of the last two records. Furthermore, in an attempt to dissassociate
from common conceptions, Low have gone out of their way to take on board
feelings of estrangement, to the extent that the record initially feels alienating
and conceptually sparse. Naturally, though, continued dedication to it unveils
a carefully constructed and transcendental composition, a ‘c’mon, get with it’’
to all the naysayers.
in short
minimalist slowcore
with layers galore:
c'mon is depressing
but not one-dimensionally so.
if you like this...
codeine
C’mon is, by every definition of the term, a ‘slow-burner’. Any emotional connection to the songs here (excluding particular tracks such as “Especially Me”),
or to the record as a whole, comes hard. I would go as far as saying that C’mon
is the band’s coldest and most depressing record since I Could Live in Hope.
Moments in tracks like “Witches” or “Especially Me” recall the hopeful naivety
of The Curtains Hit the Cast or Things We Lost in the Fire, but they are minute
expressions of innocence from a band who have traversed the entire spectrum
of the slowcore genre (not that it constitutes a great deal of variety). C’mon is a
depressing album, but at the same time it is an album which seeks to transcend
the typical “depressing album” label. The Great Destroyer and Drums and Guns
could perhaps be considered attempts at such a paradoxical concept, but their
over-reliance on radio rock sensibilities leaves little room for a deeper analysis.
C’mon is inarguably in a different vein. It languishes in its own stupor, then is
quick to rise above it. It casts its grip upon the listener, while at the same time
pushing you away... yet still holding you back.
bedhead
This is undeniably what you want from a record such as this - something that will
seem unremarkable at first, but will then proceed to take you on a tumultous
journey every time you put it on. The majority of Low’s discography has toyed
with these elements, and while the band’s musical aesthetic has remained generally constant over two decades, their subtlety has become more and more
entrenched. I Could Live in Hope, which in my opinion is their best record, was
intentionally blunt in conveying its inherent sadness. C’mon can easily be considered as deep and affecting as that record, but it certainly does not wallow in its
own immediacy. It has taken several months, but C’mon has finally reached the
stage where I can easily consider it one of the best albums of 2011.
i could live in hope
12
red house painters
playing
europe
nov 24-dec 3
discography
things we lost in
the fire
the curtain hits the
cast
byvolume / october 11
live
volume
+ blink-182
+ my chemical
romance
+ matt and kim
adam thomas
at the hollywood bowl
W
hen I woke up on the morning of October 8 I
had no intentions of being at the Hollywood Bowl
that evening watching a band that I have had a
rather love/hate relationship with for the last fourteen years. To be honest, if it wasn't for someone
mentioning it in passing the night before I would
have gone about my life and Blink-182's concert
that night would have passed by without even a
blip on my radar, but when a box seat to the bowl
falls in your lap that's not an opportunity you pass
up. Upon entry it was more than apparent that this
was the most corporate event that I have ever been
to. With it being the “Honda Civic” tour that was to
be expected, but it was to the point to where I'm
pretty sure if I walked into a bathroom that night
the toilet would have been branded with something
along the lines of “This piss has been brought to
you by Honda,” albeit a bit more G-rated.
Even the crowd was a reminder that I was somewhat out of my element. After being in the comforting homogeneity of an indie club show only
two nights prior, it was hard not to people-watch.
Epecially when my seat was sandwiched between
byvolume / october 11
a stoner couple in their mid forties who just happened to have the world’s supply of roaches tucked
away in an Altoids container, a group of genetically
cloned sorority girls that instantly brought to mind
the Debbies from The Oblongs, and - to the front
of me - a loquacious and oddly effeminate kid that
was proclaiming that his post-hardcore band would
be the next big thing, that is, if they ever wrote
songs. Further accentuating my trip down the rabbit hole were the hordes of obviously misunderstood warped tour “punx”, a demographic that my
mind completely blocked out of existence once I
graduated high school. You know, the kind of kids
that think that pink hair is a “statement” and
whose lives were turned upside down by Green
Day’s American Idiot, because we all know that album is the most punk thing ever, right?
Matt and Kim started the night. Their live show is
pretty much exactly like their music: vapid, insipid, and really fucking fun when in the right setting.
This was obviously the right setting. While I can’t
say that they performed their songs, or the myriad covers they played bits and pieces of, all that
well, they were beyond exuberant. They burned
through a few of their popular tracks and a few
covers including Europe’s “Final Countdown” and
Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” for their opening set,
and while most of early arriving audience seemed
to be either oblivious to their songs with the exception of their breakout single “Daylight” or were
too young to grasp the irony of their choice of covers, the duo got the crowd dancing in their seats
from the energy of their performance alone. Kim
even brought a bit of over-sexualized club vibe to
the historic venue as a warm up for Blink-182’s foul
mouthed banter by bringing out Mark Hoppus only
to grind all over him for a couple minutes.
After a short intermission to break down sets, My
Chemical Romance took the stage. Their latest album Danger Days... was quite a disappointment in
my eyes, but while listening to it, it was clear that
the songs were geared towards the stage and that
the album was basically a means in which those attending their live shows could prepare in lending
themselves to that planned energy, so I was interested to see if they could at least follow through
in that respect. They did. The newer songs that
were included in their set, “Na na na”, “Planetary
(GO!)”, and “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W” have the same
13
/mixtape/
overall vibe in a concert setting as 80’s arena cock
rock bands such as Bon Jovi, insomuch as even if
you aren’t much of a fan of it, by the second chorus
it has pounded its way into your head and despite
your better judgment you're singing along with the
same energy as fanboy in front of you. The New
Jersey pop-rockers also brought out the hits from
their three prior albums, with “Our Lady of Sorrows” from their 2002 debut I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love being a pleasant
surprise.
The quality of their performance has only gotten
better as the band has gone on, this being the fifth
time I had seen My Chemical Romance in a live setting in some way or another, and say what you will
about their somewhat humorous emphasis on image
which has most recently culminated in them looking like background characters in some live action
redoing of Akira, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that
they put on one hell of a show. (On an side note, it’s
always nice to see James Dewees on stage. While
I would prefer to see him reunited with Coalesce
or The Get Up Kids or even playing songs from his
solo project Reggie and the Full Effect, seeing him
to the side of the stage still rocking out on the keys
while in a big blue bear outfit put a smile on my
face even if he was up there playing with My Chemical Romance.)
tour dates
blink's north american tour is over
save one date in louisiana (oct 29)
the band are scheduled to play european
dates in 2012.
Blink-182 took the stage a bit before 9:30 to thunderous applause. This being their second tour since
reuniting it was obvious that for most in the audience this was their first time seeing one of their
favorite bands. They kicked off their set with
“Feeling This”, the lead off single from their 2003
eponymous release.
14
The crowd roared again as Mark introduced their
latest radio hit “Up All Night” by saying something
to the effect of, “We have a new album out and
it only took us eight years.” The night was a cornucopia of the key songs from the latter half of
Blink-182’s career. They rolled through such classics as “Down”, “What’s My Age Again?”, and “Stay
Together for the Kids”, all the while sounding near
perfect, which was a pleasant surprise as Blink is
somewhat notorious for having fun but egregiously
sloppy live performances. Everything was as perfect performance-wise as anyone could have asked
for, right down to their trademarked crass yet hilarious stage banter. It was almost as if it was just
as surreal for Mark, Tom, and Travis as it was for
the kids in the crowd as after Tom Delonge led a
sing a long of “Fuck A Dog”, his vocal compatriot
remarked how it was a great honor that he could
see the defiling of a venue as prestigious as the Hollywood Bowl with the song.
Moments like these reminded me that there are
few people more instantly likable yet painfully
self indulgent than Tom Delonge and that for all
that he’s done to tarnish the prior in his time
with Angels and Airwaves, he’s still the same snot
nosed brat whose whine was an integral part of
my growing up. After playing for an hour and a
half they announced that “Josie” would be their
“fake last song” and sarcastically nodded that
there was “no way” that they would come back
out to play two more songs. Unfortunately, before the audience got to see those final two songs
they had to sit through one of the more ridiculous
platitudes of rock-show excess: the drum solo.
The stage hands fitted Travis Barker into a drum
kit attached to a pneumatic crane and fed him out
over the audience like Kanye West at Coachella
earlier this year. Luckily they quickly remedied
the situation with encore performances of “Carousel” and the eternally youthful “Dammit”. As
they took their final bows and exited the stage
Tom took the classy way out and closed the night
with “Family Reunion”. It was a reminder that no
matter how old you get, you’re not too old for
dick jokes.
mixtape
by volume
Every month byvolume's contributors will piece together a mixtape-of-sorts from their
favourite songs, current and classic. october's mixtape by volume features feist, m83
and future islands. click a track and be magically transported to youtube or something!
feist - graveyard
*
m83 - intro (ft. zola jesus)
*
future islands - give us the wind
*
lana del rey - video games
*
l.w.h. - bitin and shakin
*
big kids - pier 14 locals
*
cymbals eat guitars - rifle eyesight
*
the weeknd - life of the party
*
iceage - white rune
*
main attrakionz - bossalinis and foolyones
pt. 2
*
iselia - assurance, uphold
*
the format - if work permits
byvolume / october 11
byvolume / october 11
15
/review?/
/review/
i don't f**king
miss you
channing freeman doesn't review blink-182's neighborhoods
There is an episode of Louie where Louis C.K. remembers a hot girl from his childhood, looks her up on
Facebook, calls her, goes to her house, sees that she has not aged well at all, and then hooks up with
her anyway. It’s a funny scene for sure, but it also has an immense poignancy to it. He knows he can’t
judge her for not being what he expected, because he’s not what anyone would have expected. He’s
overweight and middle-aged just like she is, he has kids just like she does, and just like her, he’s not
who he was twenty-five years ago.
The message I take from that scene is that Louis is a good person. And the message to take from this
article is that I am not. I wouldn’t have done what he did in that situation, and I know that because I
refuse to listen to Blink-182’s newest album Neighborhoods, because Blink-182 are old, stupid assholes
now with not a jot or tittle of decency between the three of them. And I don’t say that because I give
a shit about their legacy.
they were on hiatus and I cared for maybe ten
minutes and this was when I was fifteen and
I fucking cared about everything way too much.
They don’t have a legacy. They are trying to recapture something that was never there. The world moved
on ridiculously fast after their breakup. I remember that shit. Blink-182 were one of my favorite bands
and I remember reading the post on their website that they had canceled some show in Australia and
then they were on hiatus and I cared for maybe ten minutes and this was when I was fifteen and I fucking cared about everything way too much. Even then, they were just a band. Who cares! They put out
three great albums and one classic and it’s not like I couldn’t listen to them anymore just because Tom
Delonge is a moody bitch.
Speaking of Tom Delonge, let’s talk about that fucking douchebag for a second. I remember how he
hoodwinked me with that Angels & Airwaves bullshit. I actually got excited for that band. Reading the
interviews, hearing him say that he was going to make the greatest record ever or some shit. And what
did we get? THE WORST THING EVER. Bullshit arena rock for pussies. Also, I fully stand by the assertion
that calling an album Love is much worse than calling an album I-Empire. Because you just fucking know
that Tom Delonge didn’t call it Love because he thinks love is a great emotion or something schmaltzy
like that. He fucking called it Love because Love was supposed to embody love sonically, man. This is a
guy who has always had aspirations that were beyond his capabilities, and you’ve kind of got to wonder
if he just likes to fuck with people. I mean, the line “Went to a farm to tip some cows/Forgot that I left
my pants down,” has actually been sung by his stupid mouth before and we’re supposed to believe that
he is capable – by himself! – of creating the best album ever?
16
byvolume / october 11
What an asshole.
I actually did listen to half of Neighborhoods the day that it leaked, but I was also playing Demon’s Souls
at the same time and I wasn’t really paying much attention. But it wasn’t just because I was playing
video games. It was also because it wasn’t worth paying attention to. It was homogenous and bland and
somewhere along the line I forgot my indifference and got fucking mad because these thirty-something
pieces of shit phoned this album in and now they are on tour and probably never play “Asthenia.” Yeah
that’s right I don’t give a shit about “Pathetic”; I wouldn’t waste my time complaining about them not
playing shit like that. Anyway, it didn’t even sound like Blink-182. It sounded like a mix between Angels
& Airwaves and (+44), aka it sounded like a mix between one band who tried to amplify Blink-182’s sound
and failed, and one band who tried to play exactly like Blink-182 and ended up simply sounding diluted.
So we have this sort of even more diluted sound that tries to cash in on the innovations they achieved
on the self-titled album by having an interlude somewhere on the album. It’s like instead of sitting down
in the same room and saying “Let’s do something different and make this reunion worthwhile and NOT
BULLSHIT,” they sat down in separate rooms and told each other over the phone, “Let’s try to recapture
our glory days circa 2003!”
an album by some dickhead named j cole sold
217,000 copies the same week as neighborhoods
And I am so glad that people didn’t buy into their bullshit. Neighborhoods sold 155,000 copies in its
first week, which is by no means a number to scoff at in the days of digital piracy, but Take Off Your
Pants And Jacket sold more than twice that in its first week, and an album by some dickhead named
“J Cole” sold 217,000 copies the same week as Neighborhoods. So clearly there were more people out
there willing to buy CDs that week, just not Blink-182’s CD. This is my point: there is no legacy to be
recaptured. And even if there was a Blink-182 legacy, Travis Barker and Shanna Moakler already took
two giant shits all over it when they signed a contract with MTV to make Meet The Barkers. Who the
fuck thought these two idiots would be interesting enough to warrant a TV show? I can at least understand why people like to watch those idiots on Jersey Shore. They’re entertaining! They get into fights
and they bitch and moan constantly and it’s funny! It’s trash but it’s entertaining trash, and that makes
it good trash. What the fuck did Meet The Barkers offer us? Gasp, how will Travis go on stage when his
drumsticks are wearing away the skin on his thumbs? GASP, Shanna Moakler is upset that Travis had
to kiss Sophie Monk for the “Always” music video!!! THESE WERE ACTUAL THINGS THAT HAPPENED ON
THE SHOW. GOOD THING TRAVIS FOUND A PRODUCT CALLED “NEW-SKIN” FOR HIS THUMBS SO HE COULD
GO ON STAGE AND PLAY DRUMS. Fucking douchebags. And now Shanna Moakler hosts the single worst
fucking show ever conceived, Bridalplasty. This is a show on which brides-to-be fucking compete in
games SO THAT THEY CAN WIN VARIOUS PLASTIC SURGERY PROCEDURES. HERE IDIOTS, EAT YOUR WAY
THROUGH THIS CAKE WITHOUT USING HANDS AND IF YOU FIND THE CERTIFICATE THEN YOU WIN NEW
TITS.
So no, I’m not going to listen to the rest of Neighborhoods.
blink-182 - neighborhoods
6
1/2
byvolume / october 11
adam knott
For what it’s worth, it’s not all bad news. Though you
can still hear Angels and Airwaves pumping their fists on
mountaintops in the background of most of these songs,
you can also sing along without feeling entirely guilty. The
best tracks are the ones that revert to the simpler terms
of old: find a goddamn hook, for better or for worse.
Listen to Up All Night, Snake Charmer and Even If She
Falls; if you like what you hear, perhaps you’ll manage to
prolong the illusion another couple of years.
17
/review/
/review/
this album starts with 15 step by radiohead and
ends with Desolation row by Bob dylan
wilco
the whole love
7
1/2
robin smith
Let’s just lean in on “Art of Almost” for a second, as any adoring Wilco fan is wont to do on
their first listen of The Whole Love. Can you really move past it? It’s hard not to fall head over
heels for the white lie it’s telling: another “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart,” experimental
beats and all! Another “At Least That’s What You Said” with it all going to pot for two minutes
of guitar fits! It’s the Wilco who we used to hail as country music’s biggest manipulators, the
guys who would gladly have the phrase “their OK Computer” tacked on album sleeves. “Art
of Almost” is weird. It’s kind of awesome. But it’s important to move past it once the seven
minutes are over.
Because that’s not telling a fair story of what Wilco are, past incarnation or present. Wilco
have been playing the meanly titled “dad rock” for a few years now, but they were no lightweight at it before Yankee Hotel Foxtrot redefined whatever it redefined, or retrospectively
encapsulated a day it never meant to. Wilco wrote a song called “My Darling” that was about
as sugary and country as they come. And it was still brilliant. Which explains why The Whole
Love veers steadily away from the mystique of Wilco everyone recognises, instead revealing
itself to be an album both deeply rooted in their country origins (“I Might”) and deeply invested in the subtlety that made us forgive such a fact (“Whole Love”). Occasionally, there’s
even a moment that reminds us of just how geeky we got about our favourite American band.
“Capitol City” reminds us what it was like just to love a silly Wilco song, a song that abandoned all common sense and got giddy instead. “Capitol City” folds its arms and reminds us
that a Wilco album is just about enough. The difference between The Whole Love and the
two albums that have preceded it, though, is just how easy this one feels. Sky Blue Sky and
The Album may have pertained to be a band in celebration mode, but I’m damned if this isn’t
where the band sound most at ease with one another.
That might be hard for us fans, since Yankee Hotel Foxtrot may have been a glimpse at the
band’s height of conflict. How on the cheek does The Whole Love feel on a first listen? It lacks
subtlety until the cogs start to turn, and they sure take a while to turn. But isn’t that what
makes it a Wilco album? If you didn’t know Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was a favourite album the
first time you listened to it, you knew it was going to be. It might be a little different this
time around- we don’t expect every new Tweedy record to be a landmark, tragically connected
to circumstances around it in a way that made “Jesus, Etc.” a statement beyond a love songbut The Whole Love grows and grows in just the same way. So too does it capture what it was
about Wilco in the first place; this album is not another country record to swoon to (and their
latest records have celebrated way too much for their own good), but it can be if it wants to.
Here, it’s the ease at which Tweedy can play a song as traditional as “One Sunday Morning.”
It’s staggering this time around, immaculately captured in a way that “Hate It Here” felt too
awkward for. “One Sunday Morning” doesn’t lean on a rock ‘n’ roll great like it could. It could be
a homage to Dylan as “Hate It Here” was to Lennon, but it instead feels innately Wilco. When
things start to sound like the confident Tweedy of yore, there’s an ease to the record he makes,
and no need to focus on what kind of record he’s making. The Whole Love is all-encompassing,
and none too fussed about it.
So yes, it’s hard to get past “Art of Almost,” hard not to run to a thousand message boards and
reveal your holy fuck moment as you hear the song split down its middle. How could it not be?
It’s been so long since we’ve heard a Wilco happy to use dishwashers as instruments and kettles as ambience. But the rest of The Whole Love is just as Wilco as the smallest, weirdest little
quirk that we recognised in them in 2002. The Whole Love is everything Tweedy says it is, and
it’s said with such ease, in three minutes or twelve.
18
chalk one up for resilience:
nothing's gonna change andrew mcmahon
jack's mannequin
people and things
7
adam knott
in short
effortless, wilco
to its core: past
"art of almost",
the whole love is...
well, whole.
if you like this...
the war on drugs
the tallest man on
earth
playing
united kingdom
-oct 29
europe
nov 1-13
north america
nov 29-dec 16
discography
yankee hotel foxtrot
summerteeth
byvolume / october 11
Jack’s Mannequin’s first two records saw songwriter Andrew McMahon in
polarised frames of mind; if Everything In Transit was expressly optimistic
summerpop, his battle with leukemia dragged the tone down to a breathless
desperation, even in the most optimistic of moments. It would be insanity
to call anything adorned by these gorgeous pianos ‘unhinged’, but there was
a certain extremity to songs like “I’m Ready” and “Crashin’” that made it
sound like everything was either about to begin or end: put simply, we were
used to Jack’s Mannequin having everything or nothing at all.
It’s subtle, because McMahon still sings in the same impassioned manner as
he has since Something Corporate’s Konstantine became the most sincere
thing in all music ever, but the band’s third studio release reigns in the torture and ecstasy and feels more cohesive for it. Centrepiece “People, Running” says it best, skipping along to the tune that “we are just these people
running around” and (explicitly) making no effort to delve deeper into that
idea. Don’t get me wrong: there’s still an abundance of emotive lyricism
on People And Things: McMahon can’t write a song without at least one line
which makes you wonder why you ever thought a chapter of your life was so
complicated.
And there’s no colossal twist in the musical direction, either; these songs
might not sound like they belong to a beach or a hospital, but they certainly still feel like they belong to a Jack’s Mannequin album. Like always,
the infectious rhythms are these songs’ crowning glory. It’s the drums that
give the tracks their identities, even if the piano takes centre stage most
of the time. McMahon still writes the most gorgeous instrumental parts, the
most memorable being the picked acoustic guitar of “Restless Dream”, the
record’s most low-key track. Elsewhere, there are upbeat rockers and midtempo half-ballads; nothing quite matches up to the singular nature of songs
like “Dark Blue”, but little does.
And despite the band putting the brakes on lightly, it’s absolutely impossible to declare People And Things an inferior record to either Everything In
Transit or The Glass Passenger. It’s so adorably consistent and spirited that
even the lack of genuine stand-outs can be easily overlooked. It would be
fair to say that most people who count themselves as Jack’s Mannequin fans
will probably hold one of their other records closer to heart than People And
Things, but the distance between the three is negligible. Chalk one up for
resilience: nothing’s gonna change Andrew McMahon.
19
in short
jack's mannequin
reign in their ups
and downs a bit, but
everything stays in
tact. catchy as ever
if you like this...
something corporate
steel train
the honorary title
playing
usa/can
oct 20-nov 12
australia
feb 25-march 5
discography
everything in transit
the glass passenger
byvolume / october 11
/recommends/
byvolume
recommends
berkay erkan explores the depths of 2011
mental powers - homoh
It can be quite difficult to describe Mental Powers’ music - it’s folk-y, cacophonous, very experimental yet highly structured, and even though some parts of it
may be initially off-putting, this grows on you in a big way. It’s sort of like an acid
trip recorded onto wax, if that even means anything. There is a huge dichotomy
between the two sides of the record. The A-side’s two tracks serve almost as an
introduction to the B-side - the first song explores free-folk territory, creating a
haunting atmosphere with weird whistles and sounds. The second track is almost
like a come down, with a lethargic beat and some interesting melodies. Flip
the record over and Mental Powers really comes to life, combining controlled
rhythms with discordant melodies. Some parts of the B-side even remind me of
My Disco in the way that it’s almost mechanical. I’ll stop describing the record
and simply say that if you like music that isn’t prearranged to meet typical notions of ‘music’, then you will enjoy this LP.
ByVolume delve into the lesser-known so you don’t have to.
(still, do, and let us know what you find - editor@byvolume.co.uk)
total control - henge beat
iceage - new brigade
Apparently it’s cool to be into post-punk now, and bands are popping up all over the place - this is most certainly not a complaint. Iceage’s debut LP New Brigade takes everything that is
good about the genre, makes it a little noisier and puts it into
a 20 minute record. The Danish group have done their research
well, capturing the post-punk aesthetic perfectly. A lot of people
have already begun to worship this album and band, and with
good reason. Welcome to 2011.
bad life - the day you die
I find it hard to to properly categorise Bad Life. At its core, the band follows
a post-punk template, but elements of noise rock, doom metal and Have a
Nice Life-esque melancholy shine through. To sum it up as concisely as possible, this record is a fusion of both post-punk’s and doom metal’s versions of
depression. Hearing Curisms alongside clear Black Sabbath influence seems
to be a rather unpalatabe combination, but Bad Life make it work perfectly.
Add to this a highly textured and addictive pop sensibility (warped beyond
recognition by the band’s experimental nature), and you have what could
possibly be one of the best underground records of the year.
the caretaker -
an empty bliss beyond this world
James Leyland Kirby, otherwise known as The Caretaker, has released several albums in his chosen style, but An Empty Bliss Beyond This World does remarkably
well to build upon the foundation of its predecessors. Kirby is an electronic artist
who takes old jazz 78s and creates moody ambient pieces using the original song
templates. The label ‘musique concrète’ most certainly applies to The Caretaker,
particularly the way in which a defining constituent of the atmosphere is the
rough crackling of the 78s that we can still hear. I’m quite new to this record and
thus cannot comment on its longevity, but all signs are pointing to this being one
of my favourite records in 2011.
20
byvolume / october 11
Henge Beat is the long-awaited long player from Melbourne’s premier
synth punk group Total Control. After toying with their fans for several
years with numerous EPs, the band have collected themselves and released an extraordinarly cohesive record to usher in the next stage of
Total Control. Henge Beat takes the overly jarring synth punk from earlier
releases and puts it into a much more palatable format. Several songs
have been rerecorded, such as ‘Retiree’, and sound just as good as the
earlier takes (if not better). Total Control essentially takes the energy
of punk music and combines it with electronic tenets, at times giving it
a strong (yet modern) post-punk vibe. The record excels when it is juxtaposing between its varying elements, and while being relatively short,
encourages constant listening. Not to be missed.
dirty beaches - badlands
Badlands is a dirty record. It’s for those times when you wake up after a late night
and you’ve got nothing better to do except lie comatose thinking about what a
piece of shit you are. It might cheer you up, it might make you feel worse. Dirty
Beaches is the project of Taiwanese born Alex Zhang Hungtai, who now resides in
Canada. Previous material received absolutely zero attention, as it took the idea
of ‘no wave’ and ‘anti-music’ to unlistenable levels, but Badlands reaches a balance between obscurity and pop fodder. Elements of garage rock and psychobilly
meld together in a lo-fi and noisy tribute to rock and roll, to the point that it
sounds like Bowie in some alternate ‘smoke-crack-and-sleep-in-the-gutter’ kind
of universe. While this may sound offputting, there is an undeniable charm to
the record, where the pop hooks and melodies that rise out of the lo-fi aesthetic
creep under your skin and stay there. Badlands so far has been a ‘sleeper hit’ in
2011, and while I doubt it would ever receive mainstream acceptance, it should
definitely not be ignored.
byvolume / october 11
21
/review/
You had your worst ever heartbreak to
f**king 'run' by f**king snow patrol
certain songs are cursed
johnny foreigner
8
about
byvolume
adam knott
There’s a point in every person’s exploration of music and the range of emotions it can provide us with which tips the balance of power. Simply put, it’s
the moment at which you give melodies and lyrics - the latter, especially permission to follow you around. Oftentimes, it happens without us realising,
until months down the line at a house party we hear that song on the radio
and it brings back the inexplicable surge of something you got somewhere a
long time ago. ‘Certain songs are cursed,’ say Johnny Foreigner, and they’re
not wrong. You don’t choose these songs; they don’t choose you. It’s just an
unfortunate collision.
With that in mind, it immediately becomes much easier to define
Johnny Foreigner’s mission statement: to provide the type of song
that you wouldn’t mind having as your cursed song. Because the
Birmingham-based noise-indie-pop-rock-whatever demigods have a habit of
writing music that has an open discourse with listeners, the effect of which is
an honest conversation which accepts the confusing hesitations and impulses
of any young person. This is so apparent in the closer to this 11-minute EP
that it’s scary; the track closes with a vocal sample of a fan talking about being
‘able to quell those emotions with the briefest of facial ticks,’ before going on
to elucidate the theme of the EP with succinct brilliance.
Musically, Certain Songs Are Cursed is as sweet as it is short,
showcasing the band’s feisty and dizzying style of noise-pop on opener ‘What Drummers Get’ (the answer to which is, apparently, ‘everything’)
and drifting into more pensive territory as the track listing progresses. The guitars drop from a screech to a strum but maintain the same
character, and ‘Johnny Foreigner Vs You (Cursed Version)’ even makes
rare but heartfelt use of piano as the backdrop to Alexei Berrow’s
distinct and unique lyrical stylings. But whether the band are playing at breakneck speed or stripping their songs down to single-instrument level, the brilliant mixing and melodies dissolve the wall between the amps and the speakers.
The limited edition of Certain Songs Are Cursed came packaged on a
frisbee. It would be all too easy to twist that into a metaphor for the
relationship Johnny Foreigner have with their fans, but it would be
easier still to simply recommend this unassuming but quite superb burst of
energy and release of tension. So that’s what I’ll do.
22
in short
nostalgic at the first
listen, idealistic kids
trading in-jokes and
anthems atop guitars
that remember sonic
youth.
if you like this...
los campesinos!
stagecoach
danananananaykroyd
sky larkin
playing
the band's new record,
johnny foreigner vs
everything, is due
for release on nov 7,
and they're playing uk
release party dates
discography
waited up 'til...
grace and the bigger...
Somebody - we’re not entirely sure who - once
said that writing about music is like dancing
about architecture. Does he have a point? Well,
we have a counterpoint.
This Issue’s Contributors
Because it’s not so much that our penning
thoughts on the art form ever hopes to even
emulate it, much less to replace it - but it can,
in the right ways, dare to explore it.
Christian Harrop (illustrations)
ByVolume’s definition of music doesn’t stretch to
the band’s promo photos, popstars’ wardrobes
or troubled artists’ latest court appearances we’re quite satisfied, instead, with melodies
and harmonies, rhythms and hooks. We toyed, in
fact, with an introductory headline of “f**k the
image”, but we decided that was kind of uncivilised. It was true, though.
Robin Smith
So we call ourselves a blind publication, instead,
one whose other senses (notably: hearing) are
made more acute by that refusal to take in our
surroundings. In our pages you’ll find us rambling, ranting and reviewing, but always with
one key goal in mind: never to let anything get
in the way of the music.
We think there’s room for a discussion about
music which knows the value of a CD but not
the price, which appreciates the people behind
it without becoming obsessed with their lives
beyond their songs and their records, and which
just wants to kick back, listen to an album, and
talk about how it makes us feel.
Adam Knott (editor)
Berkay Erkan
Adam Thomas
Channing Freeman
Eric Loose
Keelan Harkin
Contact
http://www.byvolume.co.uk
editor@byvolume.co.uk
We sort of hope you agree.
you thought you saw...
byvolume / october 11
byvolume / october 11
23