Posts Tagged ‘Dead Oceans Records’

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Kane Strang’s album “Blue Cheese” is a slow-burning gem debut album that inherently necessitates repetition.  Clever and quirky, the motley collection from New Zealand’s Kane Strang flows fluidly through agile turns of phrase, swelling psychedelic textures, and pointed articulation of instrumentation. It’s the kind of album that was made with care. Each song is quite different from the next, yet united in a hazy, lumbering psychedelic aura.

Strang maintains the discernible structure of his psychedelic pop numbers by always pairing at least two elements of together as a slightly distorted mirror. Rhythmic harmonization between bass and vocals on “The Web” and “Never Kissed A Blonde” make the songs’ melodies pop. On the album’s closer, “Scarlet King Magnolia,” the melody is paralleled in voice and guitar as it patiently wanders forward, often only wavering one step higher or lower. The cohesion makes for an easy and consuming listen.

The album’s other key feature is a ephemeral use of subtlety. Sneaking in on short pauses and quiet riffs, the placement of the little things is what makes the songs shine. Subtle syncopation in “What’s Wrong” and “Full Moon, Hungry Sun” provide attention grabbing breaks from otherwise lingering tunes. One deep listen to “She’s Appealing” will reveal an intricate web of layers all align into a full and progressive psychedelic backdrop.

Truly too short but just the right amount of sweet, Blue Cheese is the concentrated effort Strang had promised. For a self-produced album, it’s got a whole lot of charm that is derived from slightly from its lo-fi nature but mostly from its confident delivery. As a grouping of songs, it serves as the perfect introduction to what Strang has to offer and jumping off point for the rest of his music career. I hope it receives the attention and praise it deserves. You can purchase it on Kane Strang’s Bandcamp below.

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I’m not sure anyone has ever more seamlessly gone from writing sparse folk songs to Springsteen-esque stadium rock anthems. I’m all-in for it this new album. Strand of Oaks Frontman Tim Showalter parties hard in the new music video for “Rest of It” above. This is a rocking second single from the band’s upcoming album, Hard Love.

Here is the backstory, courtesy of the band’s Facebook page:

“Rest of It” is the song for everyone who wanted to burn the party a little bit longer. Boogie through whatever is getting you down and just suck out every last drop. I’ve spent enough time talking about the “tough” parts of life, this song’s soul purpose is for us all to collectively rage. I spent a weekend freezing my ass off in Chicago, partying with the amazing Weird Life Films crew. However you find this song, just blast it, and I hope it makes you smile. Also, can we just talk about Jason Anderson shredding? That’s the first take people, it’s something to behold! peace – tim

Hard Love is scheduled to be released on February 17th, 2017 on Dead Oceans. Last month, the group shared the LP’s more downtempo first single, “Radio Kids.” check it out elsewhere.

“Rest Of It” from ‘Hard Love’ by Strand of Oaks, out February 17th on Dead Oceans

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The music journalism community is currently still in the midst of tallying all of the reviews, opinions and song counts that occupied 2016,  We would bet our vinyl crates that Mitski’s ornate eye-opener “Puberty 2” will take a huge amount of that pop culture real estate at the end of the year listings. The soulful singer/songwriter’s fourth LP swings between comical, sincere and devastating at a song’s notice (or sometimes within the same track, as in album opener “Happy”). Mitski has remained largely private throughout her ascent, so her live shows are a fleeting window into the singer’s world.

In this web exclusive, Mitski absolutely crushes “Your Best American Girl,” off her album “Puberty 2,” with help from Jon Batiste and Stay Human.  Mitski’s album came along the grippingly confessional Puberty 2, where Mitski Miyawaki’s distortion-glazed alt-pop songs kiss you softly on the forehead one minute and floor you the next.

Mitski, Your Best American Girl from the forthcoming record, ‘Puberty 2’ out June 17 on Dead Oceans Records.

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Mistki has shared the music video for the final track from her 2016 album,Puberty 2, following the releases of videos for “Happy” and “Your Best American Girl.” “A Burning Hill” is a resolvedly drowsy track that begins by quickly declaring “I’m tired of wanting more/I think I’m finally worn” but then closes the album out on the small resolution of “And I’ll love the littler things/I’ll love some littler things”; it’s an ending that’s not happy, per se, but that finds a melancholy peace in the decision to continue to, as one gets older, accept joys that are smaller and smaller.

The song itself is not much longer than 2 minutes, and the video that’s just been released follows suit in being wholly unadorned — focusing most of its brief time on close ups of Mitski’s face or her hand, as it floats through the water or past a landscape in a car, basking in a seeming “love of [those] littler things.”

Mitski said of the filming of the video (which is directed by Bradley Gray):

The director and I spent a weekend just driving around New York and Pennsylvania while the camera kept running, and most of the time I’d forget I was being filmed. It felt like a vacation, but it was also quite emotional, as I was thinking about the song and what it means to me now while jumping in rivers and driving down dirt lanes.

Mitski, A Burning Hill from the record, ‘Puberty 2’ released  June 17th on Dead Oceans.

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Not many artists have had better years than Mitski. With the release of her celebrated album “Puberty 2” (via Dead Oceans Records), Mitski only got bigger and bigger, but always on her own terms. On November 21st, she played her largest headlining show in New York yet, with a sold out performance at Webster Hall, along with two great openers in Weaves and Fear Of Men. It was even more impressive to see the hold she had over Webster Hall crowd during every living moment of her personal 15-song set. She attracts a young and passionate fanbase, who are devoted to every word and line she delivers, singing it back even more emotional than it was originated. There’s a sincere power to her voice, and it’s hard not to be swept up by it all.
Mitski is only going to garner more accolades as the best of the year lists continue to file in, it’s safe to say that her star will only rise even more over the years. It’s been a great pleasure to watch her grow as an artists, and here’s to whatever she does next.

In “A Loving Feeling” from her new album Puberty 2, Mitski Miyawaki asks, over static and guitars, “What do you do with a loving feeling/ if a loving feeling makes you all alone?” It’s a question she poses, in various forms, throughout the record, sometimes in a hopeful whisper, other times in an enraged, accusatory shout. By the end of “Puberty 2″, it becomes clear that it’s a question she can only answer herself.

The album’s title positions it as a sequel—the awkward, cruel extension of a life stage few people would willingly revisit. She depicts that tension and confusion with particular pointedness in “Happy,” where the titular emotion finally visits her, only to leave a mess behind. “Well I sighed and mumbled to myself/ ‘Again I have to clean,’” she sings in amusement. The sax riff and dry applause that follows land like a punch line.

Subtle images of “pinky promise kisses,” of being the little spoon that “kiss[es] your fingers forever more,” of taking one last look at a lover in the rear view mirror, convey a vulnerable intimacy; it’s as if Mitski, in the midst of self-doubt and anxiety, wants to make herself smaller. Yet throughout the album, those subtleties give way to sudden, explosive moments of exhilaration and self-assertion: slow doo-wop declarations of love in “Once More to See You,” ragged howls and aggressively-strummed guitars in “My Body’s Made of Crushed Little Stars,” the invasive flash of sweet memories during “one warm summer night” in “Fireworks,” and the fierce look of love on “I Bet on Losing Dogs.” By the record’s end, it’s clear that Mitski has made peace with her question about a “loving feeling.” She finds all of the strength and peace she needs simply by loving herself. She may be alone, but she’s never lonely.

Mitski — Puberty 2

That might make Puberty 2 sound meek. It is anything but. Mitski and her sole collaborator and producer, Patrick Hyland, trade the slightly rustic quality of 2014’s Bury Me At Makeout Creek for grungy sharpness and spacey ambience, These 11 tracks creep up on you, as her coiled melodies suddenly explode into cavernous freak-outs or build to a crescendo of unbearable catharsis.

Mitski – Puberty 2 (Dead Oceans Records)

Puberty is a motherfucker. It’s a time when your body’s doing weird stuff, your hormones are running wild, and every little problem seems like the end of the world. But things gets easier. Your emotions don’t go away or even get smaller, necessarily — you just learn to deal with them, to manage them, to live your life anyway. That’s what growing up is, and Puberty 2 is the sound of Mitski growing up.

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The fuzzed-out indie-rock that’s become her signature is supplemented by drum machines, synths, even a saxophone, blossoming from the soft/loud dichotomy of Bury Me At Makeout Creek to a more nuanced spectrum of sound. Lyrically, Mitski is focused on what basically amounts to Newton’s third law of emotion: for every feeling, there is an equal and opposite un-feeling. On opener “Happy,” that endless and inevitable cycle is cause for hopelessness and exhaustion. But by the closing track, you get the sense that she’s figured out the secret to living, which is that that there isn’t really a secret to living — you kinda just have to do it. Or, as she sighs in the album’s closing lines: “So today I will wear my white button-down/ I can at least be neat/ Walk out and be seen as clean/ And I’ll go to work and I’ll go to sleep/ And all of the littler things.” Puberty 2 might be a huge achievement, but it’s the sound of all the littler things that get you through the big things. It matters.

Kevin Morby is considered by many as one of the prettiest folk revelations of recent years. Went through the Brooklyn bands Woods and The Babies , Kevin Morby He began his solo career with the great atomospheric album “Harlem River” followed a few months later pretty quickly with a second “Still Life” . So with Two opus in his deliciously vintage catalouge, invoking as emblematic figures like Lou Reed, Bob Dylan

Kevin Morby takes the side of a taut, rhythmic power pop and folk,  Then later this year Kevin Morby released the new album titled Singing Saw definately one of my favourite releases this year . Unsurprisingly, the charm still works . Kevin Morby brings his guitar to the End Of The Road Festival recently. He also has a new track available have a listen here,

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Last year, Ryley Walker released “Primrose Green”, a contemporary folk-rock record tinged with jazz that garnered almost universal kudos. The Chicago singer-songwriter toured extensively – sometimes in the company of veteran double-bassist Danny Thompson – then headed home to record with Wilco collaborator LeRoy Bach. Accordingly, everything good about Walker steps up a gear on Golden Sings That Have Been Sung, which now boasts clarinets and a tinge of Red House Painters.

Golden Sings That Have Been Sung is out 19th August on Dead Oceans Records

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“The Roundabout” taken from ‘Golden Sings That Have Been Sung‘ by Ryley Walker, out August 19th, 2016 on Dead Oceans Records.

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“The Halfwit In Me” off of the new album ‘Golden Sings That Have Been Sung’ by Ryley Walker, out August 19th, 2016 on Dead Oceans Records.

Ryley Walker has announced the follow-up to 2015′s excellent Primrose Green. It was one of my favorites albums of 2015 . Every time I spin the Ryley album I get completely lost in the tapestry and textures of it all.

Based on the first track of the upcoming album, “The Halfwit In Me”, I don’t see this album letting me down in that regard. Here’s some more info on the backstory of “Golden Sings That Have Been Sung”.

In November 2015, at the end of a ten-month period which saw Ryley play over 200 shows all over the world in support of Primrose Green, Ryley decided that he should probably head home. He went into the studio over the Christmas vacation to record Golden Sings That Have Been Sung whose songs were directly wedded to Ryley’s return to Chicago. Some of his formative musical memories had been shaped by the work of pioneering Chicago acts such as Gastr del Sol and Tortoise. “Jeff Parker was the guitarist with Tortoise, and I used to listen to him a lot,” recalls Ryley, who figured that, for the first time in his career, it might be helpful to enlist the services of a producer. With only one person on his shortlist, once again, all roads led back to Chicago.

Ryley had been a long-time admirer of sometime Wilco multi-instrumentalist LeRoy Bach. Back in 2009, still in his teens, he had frequented the improv nights hosted by Bach at a restaurant/gallery space called Whistler. “For me, it was an incredible opportunity,” recalls Ryley, “…because you would sometimes also have Dan Bitney, the drummer with Tortoise, and I’d get to play with these people. I mean, they were twice my age. I’m sure they thought I was annoying at first, maybe some of them still do, but I kind of looked at them like gurus – and to have these old school Chicago heads taking me in was just amazing.”

For Ryley then, the prospect of having Bach produce his album was something of a no-brainer. “It was everything I wanted it to be,” he enthuses. “I would go to LeRoy’s house every other day with a riff, and we would take it from there.” Perhaps more than any other song on the record, the opening track and lead single “The Halfwit In Me” most audibly bear the imprint of those Whistler sessions.

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Kevin Morby (Woods, Babies) recalls singer/songwriters of the ’60s and ’70s in his solo work, particularly Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen, and Singing Saw is his strongest album release to date.

Kevin speaks the language of records. His spare acoustic sound pulls from the late ’60s and early ’70s,  Morby’s earlier work refracted meaning through the lens of his record collection. His debut album, Harlem River, featured one song about a slow train, another about walking on the wild side, and a third with a line about going down to the station with a ticket in your hand, as if were still possible to buy paper tickets ahead of time. His music comes from another place, one where you try and piece together meaning by tapping into a kind of collective unconscious, using whatever tools you have at your disposal. And his references add up to something more than their parts and when paired with his unerring feel for arrangement and style.

Morby’s own albums keep getting better, and some of this we can chalk up to experience. Though he’s not yet 30, he’s been involved with a lot of records—two in his band the Babies with Cassie Ramone from Vivian Girls, A further four as a bass player in the Brooklyn band Woods (Morby is to Woods what Kurt Vile is to War on Drugs: a kindred spirit musically whose quirky vision needed more room than a band could provide), and now three as a solo artist. Singing Saw is his strongest album because it shows a process of refinement, and because Morby’s songwriting has become less referential and more grounded. The basic ingredients haven’t changed, but Morby is figuring out how to retain and amplify his strongest points—his weary and wise voice, his understanding of how the musical pieces fit together—and leave everything else behind.

Singing Saw finds him cool and controlled at every turn, fully aware of his limitations but confident in what he can accomplish within them. His singing is simultaneously intimate and distant, part conversation and part stylized monologue. He’s got a nasally diction with a tendency to stretch vowels that didn’t exist in the world until Dylan first gazed at the Nashville skyline and a fondness for short, direct statements that could have been written a century ago. The songs feature gardens and earth and shadows and fire and tears whose prevailing downward trajectory, yes, brings to mind rain. Single lines don’t really stand out, but Morby’s commitment to such elemental concerns has a cumulative effect, and the album’s lack of specificity becomes a strength.

 

 

That confidence extends to musical choices, including Morby’s tendency to let the small details of the sound do the work—he would never play five notes if four could get the meaning across. And while the core elements of his aesthetic—his deep voice with just the right halo of reverb, gently plucked acoustic guitar— are a constant, subtle instrumental variety abounds, which Morby sometimes takes great joy in pointing out. On “Dorothy,” he sings “I could hear that piano play, it’d go like…” and the buzzing uptempo arrangement falls away leaving a beautiful tumble of keyboard notes, and he follows it a bar later with a paean to a trumpet player that a horn player answers. “Singing Saw” seems to say something about how a single tool can be used either creatively or destructively, and features the titular instrument prominently (and very beautifully).

For Morby, any day-to-day situation or mundane observation could spark something for his next album, and sometimes being that tuned-in can be a curse. “Got a song book in my head,” he sings on the album’s title track, and he climbs a hill past the houses to find somewhere quiet where he can leave them behind. He claims in press notes that he wrote the song about his neighborhood in Los Angeles.

Kevin Morby – “I Have Been To The Mountain” from Singing Saw out April 15, 2016 on Dead Oceans

The first half of the album’s opening track is a beautiful, restrained ballad, which aches with quivering vulnerability. The second half of that same track is a screeching, thumping rock song. And the rest of the album continues in this brilliantly contradictory vein, layering Mitski’s emotive, scale-leaping vocals over squelchy rock riffs and a sea of noise. Its lyrics, too, are astoundingly beautiful.

Mitski’s broad, tremulous vocals and sly humor recall  maybe Angel Olsen, while the equal split between unencumbered acoustic pining and pummeling, mid-fi indie rock respectively aligns her with labelmates Frankie Cosmos.  And it lays out a compact scene of domestic bliss, littered with specificities—a lover who wears socks in bed, reads Objectivist poetry, and serves as the breeze in her Austin nights. The final acknowledgement of romantic contentment occurs less than three minutes into the album Bury Me at Makeout Creek and by its bitter end, the only thing that can bring Mitski any  comfort is the thought of dying with a clean apartment (“They’ll think of me kindly/ When they come for my things”).

The way an outsider might view her narrator is duly noted just by the loaded title of the song “Townie”—this is someone who’s stuck around far too long after the party ended and almost certainly has a distorted perspective as to whether it was any fun to begin with. “Townie” previews a horrible night out with all the protraction and morbid glee of a suicide pact. Her images are startlingly violent—she wants a love that falls like a body from the balcony, she’s holding her breath with a baseball bat  and sing-along hooks, Mitski shouts, “I’m not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be…I’m gonna be what my body wants me to be,” a call for freedom that’s galvanizing from a teenage perspective, but increasingly sad as songs like “I Don’t Smoke” and “Drunk Walk Home” lay out the terrible life plan the body of this self-described 25 year-old “tall child” has for her.

Though not necessarily nostalgia, the sound of Bury Me at Makeout Creek is inventive and resourceful in a ’90s-indie way. The choruses here soar like power pop, but are subdued by tempo and fidelity, while cheap drum machines are deployed as much for their tone as their rhythm. And even when Bury Me has full band arrangements, everything calls attention to the narrator’s loneliness—awkwardly thumbed basslines, slapdash drumming, a mocking chorale on “Carry Me Out”, organ drones that could pass for someone nodding off on the keys.

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The craft here is obvious, as is the accruing confidence of someone who’s developed a compelling voice in obscurity. Mitski can lay on the emo melodrama (“One word from you/ And I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby”) just enough so things aren’t too real and mundane, and while these songs are first-person and personal, they’re meant for an audience.

Mitski Miyawaki is starting to gain a bit of separation from her band; Bury Me at Makeout Creek still sounds like a breakthrough album.