‘Low Ceiling‘

While this tune is more of a general alternative rock mid-tempo chug, lyricist Jerry Cantrell has sinister plans for the message. The chorus focuses on an unfortunately low ceiling, but also hints to a grander message of the futility of slaving away at a blue collar job “on an unlaid track” for a tiny box of an apartment; our narrator’s ceiling is “another’s floor,” and the lack of space his making it “hard to breathe:”

Old Mr. Fun is back
Wonder where he’s been hiding at?
…
Finding (my) ceiling’s low
I’m too big or this room’s too small
Why’s my ceiling another’s floor?

‘Voices‘

Like “Low Ceiling,” the radio-rock traipse of “Voices” undersells the go-to mental health issue used – delusional schizophrenia with auditory hallucinations and split personalities. The “voices” in our narrator’s head have ruined him, leaving him to “kneel where he once stood.” Possibly a nod to regret over hedonistic drug use – “I want more/Than I need” – “Voices” can’t quite decide if it’s a serious declaration of illness or just a token ‘I’m crazy’ jam – which adds to the Calvin and Hobbes vibe:

I want more than I need
I don’t know what is real
I’ve been told dreaming’s free
Think I’ll go back to sleep
Everybody listen (to the)
Voices in my head
‘Cause you’ll see what mine says

‘Phantom Limb‘

Ostensibly a punchy, metal take on Aron Ralston‘s story, Cantrell and DuVall harmonize to describe someone trapped alone in a wilderness, preyed upon by “vultures” and other “bottom feeders” but refusing to accept a near-certain death: “Don’t want no requiem.” After completely “pulverizing [his] ego,” our scavenger-bait hero methodically removes his own arm for survival and suffers the “haunting of a phantom limb:”

No hope of rescue
I’m trapped here alone.
If I don’t dig my own way out I’ll die here
Give my loyalty too soon
Now the fork-tongued viper’s dead
Weather’s shiftin’
So cold goin’ up
Through a pinhole of light, I see vultures circlin’

‘Lab Monkey‘

The creepy sludge that opens “Lab Monkey” signals an understandable paranoia from a worn-out animal, weary of being tested with various chemicals and surgical procedures. On the other side of the coin, DuVall examines the suburban, white-picket life lived by the sadistic scientists in charge of the monkey until its escape. Possibly the first stoner-metal/grunge song that could be a soundtrack for ASPCA or PETA commercials, and thank God for that – I’d like to be force-fed images of sad dogs to something other than Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel,” thanks very much:

Anybody out there?
Anyone at all?
Can you finally hear this deepened
Scratchin’ through the wall

Came far to find me
Down the rabbit hole
Watch me smiling back while
Chewin’ on this skull

‘Breath on a Window‘

Finally, we reach depression, or “roadkill heart” as it is known in Rocker language. But, a solution comes to this depressive state in nighttime weirdness, possibly even transvestitism and prostitution (if not other risqué activities). Still, that can’t stave off “rain that comes from the side,” much less undo the regretful “damage done” by DuVall/Cantrell. What any of this has to do with breath on a window is anybody’s guess, outside of the typical look-out-a-rainy-window solution to sadness:

Ghost-town strip of misery
Are you feelin’ no better
Roadkill heart inside of me
Follow it to the letter
Sundown brings a welcome change
Everything that’s hiding
More at home in lipstick strange
Are you selling or buying?

‘Step‘

This double-nod to Souls of Mischief’s “Step to My Girl” and “Pachelbel’s Canon in D” shows Koenig’s soft-spoken, whiteboy sing-rap chops with immediate references to the world’s largest Buddhist temple and Tanzania’s biggest city. However, there are even more wink-nudge moments to Run DMC (“Tougher Than Leather”), Outkast (“Tomb of the Boom”), and the fact that Koenig’s “fronting” is actually a pun: [LISTEN]

Back back way back I used to front like Angkor Wat
Mechanicsburg, Anchorage, and Dar es Salaam
While home in New York was champagne and disco tapes from L.A. slash San Francisco
But actually Oakland and not Alameda

‘Everlasting Arms‘

In one of many of this album’s tracks dedicated to a god whose motives Koenig understandably can’t wrap his head around, Koenig uses plain English for the most part. However, the featured lyric breaks free from that – Mozart’s “Dies Irae” is an apocalyptic “judgement day” requiem, while the much better known “Hallelujah” is the triumphant soundtrack to Easter Sunday we’ve all come to know and love. This is actually one of the least esoteric quips of the album:

I hummed the Dies Irae, you played the Hallelujah

‘Hudson‘

Starting off with a New York real estate in-joke, Koenig proceeds to liken our inability to escape our destiny to the de facto ownership rules of “99-year-leases.” He may recognize he was “born on third base,” but doesn’t take it for granted, even if his lyrics give off the occasional air of “William Bottomtooth,” as if he couldn’t deliver them without brandy swirling (begrudgingly) in his sifter:

A stranger walked in through the door,
Said all apartments are pre-war
We laughed and asked him for his name
He stayed until the end

We watched the Germans play the Greeks
We marked the 99 year lease,
Our fathers signed
Which I declined to try and comprehend

‘Hannah Hunt‘

Supposedly taking the name of an actual former classmate of Koenig’s, “Hannah Hunt” shows a dissolving relationship through several lines that could be pun-based wordplay, or simply two vagrants losing trust in each other. It’s a great track, but if Koenig wanted us to see the narrator as a drifter instead of a prep, then maybe “Waverley” should’ve been left out:

Though we live on the US dollar
You and me, we got our own sense of time
In Santa Barbara, Hannah cried
Amidst those freezing beaches
And I walked into town
To buy some kindling for the fire,
Hannah tore the New York Times up into pieces

‘Finger Back‘

Using an actual Manhattan falafel shop as the setting, Ezra decides to get Romeo and Juliet here – only with conflicting parties in the Middle East instead of Montagues and Capulets. Luckily, there’s enough context to figure it out without the aid of Wikipedia, but seriously, Koenig – we get it, we don’t read enough:

See ya next year in Jerusalem
You know, the one at 103rd and Broadway?
Cause this Orthodox girl fell in love with the guy at the falafel shop
And why not?
Should she have averted her eyes and just stared at the laminated poster of the Dome of the Rock?

For those unfamiliar, these guys hail from past careers in local legends The Murder City Devils, as well as The Blood Brothers and Pretty Girls Make Graves, but like much of the city, have made the switch to bearded folk-music – a thread they inadvertently tapped on the opener, a woodsy, ambient jam powered by flute (played by new bassist Morgan Henderson), before morphing it into Naomi‘s lead single “Northern Lights.” Pete Quirk’s lyrics about wisdom imparted under the arctic phenomena from a fisherman attracted a loving gaze from the front-and-center crew, particularly the ones who caught the bus home to the seafood-centric Ballard neighborhood afterwards.

Later, Quirk’s harmonica solo and Marty Lund’s semi-Reggaeton groove on “Shine” elicited more than cheers, as newly-legalized cannabis smoke clouds filled the air of the indoor (and supposedly smoke-free) club. Either the beat or the weed got the concertgoers bouncing, but it soon became clear that the Saturday night audience really wanted. The following blues-rock hits old and new (“Black Leaf” and “It’s a Crime“) started the dance party, catching even devoted fans off guard by their newly-bolstered, full-band sound with Henderson’s addition.

Though the boys gave the audience a chance to mingle over droning minimalist jams with the same aplomb. Settled in with a captive audience after the barn-burner teases, Quirk was ready to unleash Naomi‘s theme of redemption and growth through the Rusted Root-ed groove of “Canopy:” [LISTEN]

Canopy, burning gold
I’ll make peace on my own
Canopy, what is foretold
Up in the sky, flowers are gold

Still, the boys weren’t clueless to the audience’s polite applause – we wanted the “too-drunk-to-get-home” recklessness of the blues burners, and they gave it to us again at the end. As Quirk “rode out his Red Bull high with some visuals,” the final encore “No Prosecution If We Bail” sounded absolutely massive with the full-band setup, yet maintained the tightness of their earlier acoustic trio work. Their face-melting impressed far more than the introspective jams that night. A whole show “turned up to 11″ may get boring, but the same goes for 90 minutes of forest nymph lullabies. Luckily, The Cave Singers can do both.

This attempt at a project that wouldn’t be under a laser-focused limelight failed as the bloggerati hype machine has not only built up their two records – the unreleased 2008 EP Mouthoil and the soon-to-drop album Grownass Man – but somewhat undersold any relation of these records to Vernon’s previous work. There’s still rich, doo-wop harmonies, name-drops for various American cities, and that famous falsetto – it’s just more rootsy and heavy. This blues-centric feel reminds a bit of Ben Harper and Charlie Musselwhite‘s recent collaboration Get Up! as well, but with a garage-rock vibe. Check out Vernon’s switch from whine to distorted howl on “Heaven Knows“: [LISTEN]

Heaven knows you’re the kind of lady
That could shoot me in the foot
And take all of my possessions
And then hit me with the boot
Goddamnit, y’all

They shine most on ballsy tracks like that one, but also run the gamut from alcohol-fueled escapism over uptempo country (“Mother, When?“), gospel-based Jackson 5 influence (“New Theme“), and classic rock reminiscent of “Beast of Burden” (“Seven Sisters“). The overall aura cultivated is of a sunset at Langerado (RIP), the kind of music that magically puts a Shock Top (or virgin strawberry lemonade) in your hand and shades on your eyes, reminding you it’s been too long since you went to a summer festival.

While not quite as hipster-friendly or groundbreaking as Bon Iver, The Shouting Matches are a slick listen and put on a solid show. They may not be quite the anti-Bon Iver as advertised, but don’t let your feelings about the latter affect your first listen of the former. The sentimentality may be diminished, but you always knew that the guy who birthed his breakthrough album from a cabin in the woods was a ‘bear‘ at heart, bad news and all:

Oh baby I’m a bear
I’ll bring you bad news

‘A Tooth For An Eye‘

One of two singles released, this minimally crafted electro-pop anthem is a lyrical corner stone of the album. Within the simple backdrop, Karin finds the space to question the merits of recorded history. The initial examination, however, is just the beginning as it quickly transitions to a number of other more pertinent social issues, including gender identity. Between the catchy beat and semi-coherent vocals it’s as smooth a segue as your going to get from The Knife you remember in 2006 to The Knife you have today: [LISTEN]

And we write history
To suit our needs
Open my country
The truth will run

‘Full of Fire‘

One of the biggest hurdles to overcome when dismantling something as complex as gender norms is making sure you don’t get too didactic. You don’t want to break down a wall only to build two more. Luckily Olof and Karin approach that quagmire with tact and ingenuity. The way they synthesize the lyrics and rhythms help blur lines without stating the obvious. It’s a conceptual methodology that seems to shine brightest here. They don’t divide themselves from the issues they’re fighting for – they’ve internalized them and turned them into a valid creative direction: [LISTEN]

Somtimes I get problems that are hard to solve
Here’s a story
That’s my opnion

‘Raging Lung‘

Of course money and class were going to work its way into the diatribe, which is where “Raging Lung” falls. It’s an indictment of the western social structure that seemingly thrives off the misery and misfortune of others. This is The Knife’s valiant attempt to expose the government and speak for those that exist without a voice: [LISTEN]

Hear my low sign
I’ve got a story that money just can’t buy
Western standards
The poverty is profitable

‘Without You My Life Would be Boring‘

Taking a break from the headiness, this polyrhythmic sound garden is a foray into some heartfelt introspection. Olof resorts back to an earthier, more organic rhythm to help soothe the primal urges in Karin’s voice. It seems indulgent at first, but the lyrics evoke love and sympathy at every turn. It’s a song about hope and promise, while still remaining cautiously optimistic about the future: [LISTEN]

I think we can make it
But we’ll say that we can’t
Shaking the habitual
Really took time

‘Ready to Lose‘

The monarchy is another target for the Knife to unleash their fury upon. They feel that the bloodlines that define a generation is flawed both in theory and practice – a system rooted in sociopathic tendencies. Karin is ready to break that mold and does so by projecting a solemn and rational tone. She’s imploring the minds of the privileged just as much as she’s empathizing with the heart’s of the oppressed: [LISTEN]

Ready, ready to lose the privilege
I’m more than happy, a transfer of positions
Ready, ready to lose the privilege
Of finding the sequence, an end to succession

Afraid of Heights finds the real world catching up to snotty lyricist Nathan Williams. Inspired by public breakdowns, paranoia, “where is my life headed” crises and the responsibility of supporting your parents right after mooching off them, Wavves truly do sound more developed. Williams pursues these inner “demons” by venturing into new musical territory – mainly 90’s alternative/grunge – with some outside help: Top-40 big-shot John Hill (Rihanna and MIA) produced and Jenny Lewis provided backup vocals and weed delivery.

Williams’ and Hill’s decision to drop the noise-pop copious distortion trick exposes the songwriting. Some songs shine in this unveiling, and others were shown to be basically Weezer and Green Day covers. Probably because Williams listened to The Blue Album everyday when recording and they’ve always been more pop-punk than your average Pitchforker would ever admit.

“Lunge Forward” sees Williams sounding exceptionally Billie Joe-like while power-chord chugging at a “Basket Case” speed and complaining “you’re so fucking boring that I’m fucking snoring.” Maybe “mature” isn’t quite the name for it. The title track then lifts the “found Jesus” line from “Say it Ain’t So” and the harmonies of “Buddy Holly” with drunken apathy, but the outro redeems with a sonic split between kaleidoscopic colors and a Doldrums-feel from The Phantom Tollbooth as Williams realizes that being really high won’t curb boredom or reveal purpose in life: [LISTEN]

There’s nowhere to go
Got nothing to lose
When it comes to being high
Got nothing to do
Nothing to prove

When Williams’ inspiration varies more, the honest lyrical insight and added sounds really show a band growing up. His questioned choices on “Everything is My Fault,” “I Can’t Dream” and “That’s on Me” make the best songs on the album. The first two are droning, minimalist ballads, while the third uses Kim Thayil guitar effects and Alice in Chains harmonies to spell out Williams’ reconsidering everything and claiming responsibility: [LISTEN]

Do what your brain says
Take what you like
Soon it’s over, you’ll regret your whole life
It’s not easy as I thought it would be
That’s on me

It’s different. It’s better. But it’s still Wavves. Save for the “blown-out-speakers” touch.

It all started with ‘Pond Rot‘ – a juggernaut which Gurtowsky tells us that he wrote while on vacation in The Cape. “I felt alienated from my family,” he says of the trip. Hardly surprising coming from a front man from Amherst, right? Wrong. When did you last hear J Mascis‘ pen find solace in Animorphs - yeah, that book series about those weird ass kids who could morph into any animal that they placed their hands on? Because that is what this good shit is all about: [LISTEN]

Would you, would you,
Live down in the murky ground
Turning the fishy deep
Where it’s dark and gloom
Feels and fens growing in my skin
I want a pond to rot in

Although he says that he “certainly likes some lyrics,” Gurtowsky is no socially awkward Dino-in-the-making. He delights in telling us that California X’s glowing debut dissects “the meaning of friendship” and marvels at “the flux of life.” At this point in the interview, Gurtowsky breaks the entire album down, track-by-track. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell if he is trolling us. But, on the whole, the songwriter’s bizarre anecdotes appear to come from a genuine – and extraordinarily charming – place:

• ‘Sucker‘ is about a friend who lost their job and never found one again.
• ‘Curse of the Nightmare‘ is about my friend Devin. He will soon be married.
• ‘Pond Rot‘ is about many things. One thing that it is about is pollution.
• ‘Hot Hed‘ is about when I have one beer and the feelings I have.
• ‘Spider Song‘ is about the time I accidentally ate a spider.
• ‘Lemmy’s World‘ is about how my name is actually Lemmy (Lemuel).
• ‘Spirit World‘ is about those who have passed on. It is also about my favorite movie.
• ‘Mummy‘ is about a friend who was trapped in a cast for quite a long time.

Despite the analogous guitar lashings, California X is not the work of a “fanboy” who devoted his adolescence to the study of You’re Living All Over Me. Rather, Gurtowsky cites veteran pop-smiths like Nina Simone, Marty Robbins and Debbie Harry among his influences. Telling, then, that beneath those thick blankets of delicious sludge, a hook is nurtured, a melody is refined and – above all – a friendship is bound. But, about that spider:

‘Let The Day Begin‘

In terms of covers, “Let the Day Begin” does everything it can to pay homage to the original while still standing on its own two feet. And stand on its own two feet it does, albeit with two crippled knees. Lyrically, it’s as straightforward as it comes – banking on the nativity of convenient criticisms – so no surprises there. But it’s the delivery that makes this a flop. Beem just can’t seem to synchronize himself with the song – maybe it’s too close to home. If anything it’s Peter Hayes‘ guitar that does most of the talking: [LISTEN]

It’s the winners of the human race
It’s the losers in the game
It’s the soldiers of the bitter war
It’s the wall that bares their name

‘Teenage Disease‘

BRMC rehashes the old Frankenstein story: man builds society, man gets corrupted, man makes monster, man is monster. “Teenage Disease” tries to be this generation’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” – right down to the bullish groans. And while it does drive with a sort of reckless abandon it pushes about as hard as a soft breeze. It desperately wants to be rebel music, but its lyrics, meaning the writer, don’t seem to understand the desperation of what it means to be alienated. What it meant for Dr. Frankenstein and his creation, and every adolescent out there without a voice: [LISTEN]

Surprise you got a head full of lies
I’d rather dies than be living like you
I’m a teenage disease

‘Lullaby‘

There’s supposed to be an ebb and flow to this album, a tide that reflects the emotions of BRMC. “Lullaby” is supposed to be that soft wave that smooths out the coastline, but the drastic shifts in emotion make it hard to sympathize with; yearning becomes whining, and longing becomes bellyaching, which sours the good intentions underlining the album. It’s sad, but in a terribly awkward way, like seeing your dad cry: [LISTEN]

You are the sun to the Earth
You are the light of this world
Won’t you see
Why won’t you see?

‘Lose Yourself‘

“Lose Yourself” is a good ending to a bad album, a flavorful morsel that leaves a bitter aftertaste. The ambiguity of the lyrics blur the portrait, and the airiness of the instrumentation tries to push you over the edge. To bring you back to the beginning of the album as if you wanted to experience the emotional excursion all over again. It’s incredibly melodramatic. But again, if that was BRMC’s intent then good for them – it must have been tough losing someone so close – but that doesn’t mean it should be as glossy and self-indulgent as it is: [LISTEN]

You can’t keep quite, you can’t even scream
You hold it in your heart
Leave the rest to me

‘Sometimes the Light‘

If Bob Ross woke up to one song every morning this might be it. “Sometimes the Light” is full of happy little clouds and tall evergreens and tiny cabins next to quiet little ponds. It’s the corniest song on the album, and certainly one of the most emotionally charged. It’s in direct contrast to some of the heavier songs, which leaves it in this state of arrested development. Love is the overriding theme here. And to some extent it succeed. But to have this drone on and on makes for a queasy ride.

Sometimes the fallen is all we know
I leave your picture inside the room
For I’ll remember all we could
Sometime the light turns out too bright

As their name implies, Low are seasoned pros at soaking in a depressive state as a form of cathartic therapy. Or, as they describe it on “Waiting” [LISTEN]: “The truth can hide/Sometimes right behind the sorrow.” They refuse to stop looking for that truth, and they’ll check behind every last piece of sorrow they can find.

Parker, one of the pioneers of the stripped-down, mallet-and-brush indie-drumkit, is nothing if not subdued. Although Low bumps up the speed on a couple tracks, their volume never reaches “full rock.” Even when guitar-distortion makes its album debut in the breakdown of “On My Own” [LISTEN], there’s no bass drum or full-fledged drumstick to be heard. The rebellious choice reminds of John Roderick‘s recent punk-bashing manifesto, where he states ”indie rock is the belief system that loudness and energy [are] egotistical excesses.” Low prove this point, but even post-rock mope-masters Mogwai recognize that uplifting instrumentals with some bashing are good for the soul.

From the single-loving consumer angle, it could also use a heart-wrenching, TV-show-worthy cut of bald-faced, stripped-down beauty – like their own “Point of Disgust” [LISTEN]. The closest jam to that is the standout “Just Make it Stop,” [LISTEN] which skips along quickly, but resolves its chord progression infrequently and at strange times. This, coupled with the upbeat tempo, gives a sense of frustrated dissatisfaction that beautifully matches the need to “just make it stop:” our narrator tantalizingly close to her desires, but that one hindrance outside her control just won’t “stop.” It doesn’t matter what “it” is, because we’ve all felt it:

Now I’m looking up from a ten-foot hole
Seeing nothing but blue sky shining on my soul
As I enter the court, I untwist the knot
We could get where we’re going
If I could just make it stop

Although Invisible… starts with bitterness towards entitled drug users and plagiarists [LISTEN] and follows with loads of depression, it ends with a solution [LISTEN]: don’t “abuse the love we all need.” It’s largely single-free and less catchy than your more heavily-played alt-indie records, but the entire album calmly relieves you of unhappiness by bathing you in it.

The blogosphere’s theme is this: Optica is fresh and new, yet feels so utterly familiar. Pitchfork used the lead single and second track, “Illusions,” as an example: “you feel like you’ve heard it before, but you can’t tell where.” In actuality, what you’re feeling is 1992’s “Send Me On My Way” by Rusted Root with more synths; just try to not sing “on my way” in a deep baritone over the chorus. Opening track “Sugar” throws in a hefty dose of The Shins, “Walking In Your Footsteps” puts the main rhythm behind “Electric Feel” into 4/4, and “Blue Ice” just feels a little too safe. All these tracks are okay, but ultimately forgettable.

Optica truly shines deeper in the album, whether you dig 80’s music or not. After new-wave dancing through a slightly dark attempt to get in the pants of a privileged, yet unloved, French girl on the “14^th of July,” lyricist Adam Olenius addresses that strange middle ground between “burning out” and “fading away:”

The sun at your eyes and your face looks so much older
Than I can remember from last night
Do I remember anything at all?
…
I picked you up from the same place where I left you
You had your work clothes on, only the maid could reveal you
We ran the belt again, oh that sound is so alarming
It is louder than our love, it is louder than we’ll ever be

It’s a similar sentiment to some tracks on Yo La Tengo’s latest effort Fade, only with more cynicism and attention to detail. Told from a ‘morning after’ perspective, Olenius worries about how the belt on his car will never be out-moaned by their dirty doings, questioning his own passion in the subtlest way. His lyrical punch really connects on “Chasing the Sinking Sun,” though. Any former irresponsible, suburban teenager who has seen the old stomping ground for adventure turn into a “ghost town” can relate: [LISTEN]

I hear music coming from a house
Just around the corner from where I stand
Voices pouring out of the windows in the ground
I’m still waiting for that song, it will come
…
We were here – that I know
We lost our minds here long ago
Climbed the fence, got caught on the ground
And let them know we’re not all still around

While it hits home, it doesn’t share the one-size-fits-all, “palm-reader” lyric method that songs with similar messages may employ, i.e. fun.‘s  “We Are Young.” Even if they were going for a universal approach, it sure doesn’t feel like it. Though there are far too many highlights to mention here, such as the flute jam reminiscent of fellow Swedes Jaga Jazzist in “Glasgow,” or the unsettling and catchy stalker-pop of “Hermila.” And while the first few tracks may disappoint, Optica saves grace in its midlands.