This is always going to be one of the toughest songs for me to listen to, because it reminds me of a time in my life where things weren’t very good. It was 2002 and I had befriended a boy who turned out to be a toxic, destructive force in my life, and I blame most, if not all, of my teenage angst and problems solely on him. We parted ways in a less than amicable fashion, and it wasn’t until about a year ago that I was able to get closure on the issue and – surprise – still a jerk.

The Juliana Theory were not introduced to me by him, funnily enough, but by a friend of his, who I still keep in contact with now. The boy in question did once send me an email of a ‘poem’ he ‘wrote’ for me, though, which turned out to be ‘The Closest Thing’ by the same band. Nice.

But the main theme that echoes through this song is distance, and that’s why it reminds me so much of this particular time in my life. I was under the illusion that somebody cared for me, very deeply, but the entire time I was destroying myself from the inside. It’s funny that the title of the song is what it is, because at the time I thought that it was a love song, and as the years go past it’s so much clearer to me that it’s anything but.

This is one of the songs that reminds me of what it felt like to be hurt and betrayed, but also what it felt like to finally be set free. Feel free to laugh at me for being a walking cliche, but I think everyone has a song like this.

It has been a lengthy wait, but Canadian indie orchestra Arcade Fire have finally put some new stuff out, the first since 2007′s Neon Bible.

‘The Suburbs’ meanders along a path similar to Arcade Fire’s previous songs, although it is a little tinny-sounding. Win Butler’s vocals have not developed much on this track, and musically it’s nothing out of the ordinary – I’d go as far as to say that the melody is even a little pedestrian, never developing much past its very strict chorus-verse-chorus structure save for a bit of a bridge which sits on the same triadic lines. Perhaps it’s because this is a leaked track, but the quality of the song is a little lacking as well. Considering the three-year wait, this is a little disappointing.

The second leaked single, ‘Month of May’, is a much more interesting and intriguing listen. It’s upbeat in a way that no previous Arcade Fire songs have really been – this one has a real rocky edge to it, and the instruments all mesh together to create a really raw sound that they haven’t touched before. I’m not loving it on these first few listens, but it sounds like a song that might be a real grower, and if this is the first taste the band has chosen to give the world of the album, then that’s a pretty good indication that the record is going to present some pretty radical changes to the Arcade Fire everyone knows and loves.

The album, The Suburbs, will be released August 2.

Ivy League Records – May 14 2010

It’s been a long time coming. Blue Mountains indie-pop quartet Cloud Control have garnered a strong fanbase over the years thanks to relentless touring and their 2007 EP including live staples ‘Vintage Books’ and ‘Buffalo Country’, and now they’ve finally let drop their debut album, Bliss Release, the culmination of all their years of hard work and also a good indication of what’s to come.

It’s fair to say that Cloud Control is seated in a fairly populated area of slightly experimental indie pop/rock – there are plenty of bands who have been here before, and as such there’s not too much on the album that hasn’t already been at least briefly tampered with in previous works around the world. But what is admirable is that despite this, the album sounds completely fresh; where so many bands easily fall into the trap of clichéd hooks and lyrics, Bliss Release instead offers familiar musical ground that also happens to ooze sincerity and genuineness.

Take, for example, standout track ‘There’s Nothing In The Water We Can’t Fight’. Written when frontman Alister Wright was travelling in India, the lyrics focus on the spiritual side of Eastern culture on both sides as Jeremy Kelshaw’s throbbing bass and Wright’s shimmery guitar provide a solid trampoline to spring from. Wright’s voice ranges from a low semi-drawl to a melodic soaring bird and, when coupled with that of Heidi Lenffer, makes for a gorgeously harmonic experience. Tracks like ‘Water’ and the following ‘Ghost Story’ are rooted in a more sombre mood, with the latter a stripped affair consisting mainly of atmospheric guitar and layered reverberating vocals as Wright wails, “we are the protectors, we are the debt collectors”. Contrast that with the twee indie-pop of tracks like ‘This Is What I Said’, complete with handclaps, oohs, aahs and “yeah yeah yeah”s, and breakthrough single ‘Gold Canary’ with its African-inspired thumping drums, whoops and chants – and contrast those yet again with acoustic numbers like the beautiful ‘Just For Now’ and the ethereal duet ‘Hollow Drums’, and you have a fairly good idea of the range of ideas and moods presented on this record. The great thing is that it never feels like a stretch – rather, everything flows nicely and it’s quite a cohesive collection of musical diversity.

The production on the record is crystal clear and it’s evident from tracks that diverge slightly, like ‘The Rolling Stone’, which gives itself more leeway with instrumental breaks and wonderful sighed vocal filler, that there is quite possibly a lot more where this all came from. Though male-female vocals have been played with excessively within this musical sphere, and “whoa-oh”s, “yeah yeah”s and other such syllabic vocal inflections have hardly had any rest either, both those aspects here add only to the band’s appeal.

The only complaint that can really be made about this record is that the band’s energy, which live is a palpable, infectious beast, is not even a fraction as strong here. That’s not to say that it’s their fault – when studio magic takes place and take after take after take demands consistent output, it’s not so easy to recreate things exactly – but what it does mean is that if you think Bliss Release is bloody brilliant, you’d best do yourself a bit of a favour and go along next time this young band plays a gig.

There are really no words to describe the absolute joy and pride that is felt when a band this talented comes right out of your backyard, working from the ground up. If anything better than this comes out of mainstream Australian music this year, I’ll officially renounce my lifelong hatred of Kings of Leon. In other words? Ain’t gonna happen, pal.

In the mid-1990s, ABC Kids used to randomly show a couple of music videos during the day in between programs. While Sesame Street and Superted and Raggy Dolls played on our impressionable minds, so, too, did the occasional song by bands not even orientated towards the primary school demographic. Which, in retrospect, makes no sense at all.

I was probably around 7 years old when I first heard Oasis played on ABC Kids. I wish I could remember the exact time, but an approximation will have to do. It used to be on multiple times a day, even, and I was intrigued by it – the black and white of the video, the almost monotonic drawl of the vocals, Noel and Liam’s faces (okay, so I had a pre-pubescent crush on both Gallaghers, what the hell are you gonna do about it, huh?!).

The reason that this song is significant is because it’s the first one I specifically remember discovering on my own – that is, without my mum and dad. Everything I’d heard before then, with the exception of Play School songs and nursery rhymes, was limited pretty much to The Carpenters, The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel and The Everly Brothers (if you ask my boyfriend, the world’s biggest Oasis hater, he’ll probably argue that my upbringing suggested a better fate than my ABC Kids discovery ever did). This was the first song in the modern popular music sphere that I ever heard, and I was captivated in an instant.

It was just about ten years later that this song came back to me. I was acting in a musical that my high school put on at the time and, as all of these nostalgic tales seem to go, I met a boy who became my non-romantic muse for the next year and a half. One of the first things I remember about him was watching him sitting high up on a wall with an acoustic guitar, singing this song. (Of course, now I realise the immense cliche that emerges from such a scene, but at the time it was a total knockout). For the rest of high school he helped me immensely as we both sought to stretch our creative and imaginative wings, seeking solace in each other because no one else understood our non-top 40 souls. (Again, this makes very little sense now because uh, we bonded a little over Oasis. But also Radiohead, so I suppose it’s alright).

All of these things seem a little silly in retrospect but it’s one of those songs that is timeless in a sense that it brings all these small occurrences in my life together. It suited my pop punk phase (Cartel‘s cover) and my ongoing mope phase (Ryan Adams‘ absolutely heartbreaking cover, which I’ve seen live – cue the tissues). Say what you want to about ‘Wonderwall’, but it has proven its own staying power – 15 years after its release, it’s still one of the world’s most recognisable songs and I’m sure I’m not the only one with an anecdote or two to share.

Jagjaguwar – May 7 2010

It’s rare that I’ll agree 100% with another writer’s opinion on an album, but Nate Patrin’s Pitchfork review of the debut Gayngs record, Relayted, is pretty much spot on – he describes it as an elaborate joke that is so elaborate that it, in fact, does hold some musical weight if you want it to, but a cursory glance derides it as self-indulgent pretension.

Let’s start from the start – Gayngs is a new musical project from Minneapolis, USA, centred primarily around musicians Ryan Olson, Zack Coulter and Adam Hurlburt (the latter two from electro rock band Solid Gold). And this is where one of the terms that makes me fear most for my life comes in – that’s right, supergroup. This project includes the contributions of over 25 ‘indie’ musicians, including Justin Vernon and Mike Noyce of Bon Iver, POS, Michael Lewis (who has worked with Andrew Bird), Maggie Morrison and Grant Cutler of Lookbook and – well fuck, I’m not going to go on, but you can sure as hell bet that it’s a bit of a who’s who (and an occasional who’s that) of the musical elite.

It’s an interesting combination, to be sure, and opening track ‘The Gaudy Side of Town’, featuring Vernon on lead vocals, sets the pace for an album that is both surprising and unsurprising. There are definite elements of trip-hop here, with the music somewhat reminiscent of Portishead, and Vernon’s typically floaty vocals ride over a lo-fi sea of fuzz and blips as he sighs and moans ethereally. This is probably the high point of the album – as the mostly R&B-inspired tracks go on they blend more and more into each other, cheesy 70s-style guitar solos and obligatory sax titters notwithstanding, causing a sense of drowsiness that has nothing to do with lack of sleep (the sluggish 69bpm pace of all songs bar one is no help, either). And by the time you get to closer ‘The Last Prom On Earth’, complete with shimmery tinkles, ’80s synths and a fat slab of autotune and seductive-sounding speech (“I promise from now on I’ll be true, but if you don’t trust me girl, that’s okay I understand, it’s been a really long road…” – wait, are you fucking serious?)…well, fill in the gaps yourself.

One thing to note about this album is that it is a total 10cc worship fest. The band proudly boasts that it was inspired almost exclusively by ‘I’m Not In Love’ and, just to prove their unwavering loyalty, also throw in a cover of Godly & Creme’s ‘Cry’ for good measure. After taking this into consideration, the album suddenly makes a lot more sense, and yet it still makes no sense – sure, 10cc were pretty big in their time and all, but why would anyone make an ENTIRE ALBUM that sounds exactly like one song?

Certainly it’s not all a write-off – there are ventures into more fascinating territory, such as ‘Crystal Rope’, where Vernon gets all Bone Thugs n Harmony over some chunky bass, and ‘Faded High’, which picks the pace up a little with a New Order-like repetition playing in the background over a descending vocal pattern – but for the most part, this album is a one-trick pony.

Relayted is an interesting listen for anyone who is intrigued as to what an obnoxiously large group of otherwise unrelated ‘indie’ musicians can come up with together. It’s interesting especially for the fact that it sounds nothing like you expect it would and has some pretty unexpected ideas, but that’s about where it ends, for me. This all sounds far too cheesy and ironic (and honestly, is there anything worse than hipster irony?) to be taken at all seriously, and belongs far back in the ’70s and ’80s, best suited to a terrible porno featuring an equally terrible moustache. Also, the first time I listened to this album iTunes went into ‘Invisible Touch’ by Genesis after it had finished and, not realising, I thought to myself – “well, this finally got better!”. No such luck.

I received an email from a bloke named Richard Lanyon this week. He wanted to tell me about his new musical project, Plantagenet 3, which he described as “a misguided combination of Spaghetti Western soundtracks, 1960s surf guitar and lo-fi post-rock…a bit like an instrumental version of Clinic or the Raveonettes”.

Interesting…

And really, that description isn’t so farfetched after all, I concluded after having a bit of a listen to the two tracks available on the MySpace. Clear electric guitars wade slowly through a sullen sea of sparse drum beats, with the only clear climaxes of the songs being a slight raise in tone rather than drastic rises in volume or mood – it’s very atmospheric, challenging stuff that crosses as many genres as it suggests.

Plantagenet 3 is mainly Lanyon himself on guitar and bass, with sometime collaboration from drummer Staz Owen – all coming at you from the reaches of London, UK. Have a listen if you’d like to hear something a little different from your usual, and keep an eye (or ear?) out for a 7″ from the project, which will be dropped sometime in the next month on Lanyon’s own label, Jitter Records.

Supported by: Guineafowl, Richard In Your Mind

So according to the guest list at Oxford Art Factory, I work for Ivy League Records. The more you know…

One of the most hyped bands of the moment, local wonders Guineafowl got things going for the early birds who had decided to pop in right on time. With a seven-person lineup including multiple guitars, synths, drums and a hell of a vocal combination, even those in the audience who hadn’t heard the band’s music before were immediately suckered in. On top of crystalline guitars and keys, a male-female vocal interplay shone, and rather than just operating on a harmonic level, the partnership was nicely complementary – they often sang in unison, with an odd octave between them, creating a pleasant sense of wholeness. The audience played a role in the set themselves, with the band inviting us to join in for handclaps, and the atmosphere at the venue had noticeably lifted by the end of their performance.

A total change in pace was ahead when psychedelic rockers Richard In Your Mindtook the stage. Watching a Richard performance is somewhat like hopping into a time machine – there’s no way that these guys are from 2010, it’s more like a Grateful Dead experience or something right out of the 1970s. The music itself is quite simple, but only comes to life thanks to the band’s generous use of an effects dial and some serious guitar feedback, as well as infectious, thumping bass. The band also tried out acoustic versions of songs, which resulted in a much more laid-back vibe more suited to the atmosphere of the show, but far and away the most entertaining aspect of the set was the band’s bizarre banter. Bassist Conrad Richters took a moment to ponder how awesome it would be to actually control a cloud, and frontman Richard Cartwright embarked on an impassioned spiel after declaring that their label Rice is Nice couldn’t stop them from selling their albums at shows. Damn the man! You tell them, guys!

You can get a pretty good idea of Cloud Control‘s incredible popularity when you consider that the venue was 100% sold out for the launch of their debut album. Sydney was lucky to see the Blue Mountains indie-pop quartet in action on the very day that Bliss Release hit shelves, and the band was clearly ecstatic to be sharing their new songs. Rattling off album tracks like last year’s hype track ‘Gold Canary’, ‘Medication Song #2′ and ‘Beast of Love’, the vocals of Alister Wright and Heidi Lenffer were in fine form as they slung the lines back and forth, Heidi armed with her usual tambourine.

As evidenced by tracks like ‘There’s Nothing In The Water We Can’t Fight’, Cloud Control are a much stronger and more energetic presence live than they are recorded – Jeremy Kelshaw’s ferocious bass sounds almost timid on the album, but he performed the song tonight with an almost frightening vigour that had heads banging and feet jumping. Wright’s singing is unique in the sense that it is exceptionally raw, and that organic rust really projected tonight. ‘Death Cloud’ was a set highlight, with Ulrich Lenffer’s drumming proving itself a forced to be reckoned with while keys, guitars, bass and vocals all meshed together to create a rock solid wall of sonic madness.

Coming back for a three-song encore including the stripped-back ‘Hollow Drums’ (in which people would not stop talking – manners, Sydney!) and classics ‘Vintage Books’ and ‘Buffalo Country’, by the end of the night Cloud Control had the audience eating out of the palm of their collective hand. Bliss Release, the final product of so many years, is a labour of love that is shaping up to be the Australian release of 2010 – and the band behind it is one that knows how to play a damn good show.

Set:
There’s Nothing In The Water We Can’t Fight
This Is What I Said
Gold Canary
Medication Song #2
Beast of Love
Death Cloud
My Fear
The Rolling Stone
Ghost Story
—
Hollow Drums
Vintage Books
Buffalo Country

This is the best video I could find of one of my favourite concert memories. It was 2008 and I went to the Hordern Pavilion to see Sigur Rós for the first time. I met my boyfriend at the time at the venue early, so we could line up for a good spot. When my friend arrived a few hours later, no one else had lined up behind us – it seemed we were way too keen. Those who had lined up before us sat in the queue chatting, eating cereal out of the box and making “Takk…” signs. Sigur Rós fans are pretty rad people.

So thanks to our super keenness, we ended up in the centre of the front row for the show and it was nothing short of spectacular. I could go on about it forever, but ‘Gobbledigook’ was the moment that, for me, really stood out. In the video, watch 2:51 or so when the white confetti shoots off the stage into the crowd during the song’s finale – the utter euphoria that surrounded me at that point in time was indescribable. People raised their arms and caught the little white pieces, laughing, smiling, screaming with joy. To be standing with thousands of other people and listening to words we didn’t understand, and yet still being able to feel that kind of unadulterated bliss, gave me a feeling that I’m unable to erase from my memory.

And so whenever I hear ‘Gobbledigook’, it takes me back to that exact second on that freezing August day when I felt like I could do or be anyone in the entire world. It’s one of those incredibly cliched things that is almost offensive to hear because of how utterly trite things like that are to say, but Sigur Rós are simply an act that has to be seen (or heard) to be believed. Moments like this one are enough to completely change a life within seconds.

Supported by: Cloud Control

Blue Mountains wonder kids Cloud Control have come a long way in a few short years. Opening the night’s proceedings, the foursome were welcomed warmly by the slowly growing crowd and played songs both old and new with infectious energy. Oldies like ‘Vintage Books’ were as upbeat as ever, although it was the new songs that were the most exciting, only a few days ahead of the release of their debut fullplayer. Songs like last year’s hype single ‘Gold Canary’ and ‘This Is What I Said’ drew rapturous reactions and Alister Wright and Heidi Lenffer’s alternating vocals, coupled with birthday boy and drummer Ulrich Lenffer’s steady beats and ethereally jangly guitars, all sounded super tight. The album is released on Friday and launched that night at Oxford Art Factory, so get along to the show – this will no doubt be one of the Australian buzz albums of the year.

One of this year’s most surprising musical moments so far, for me, was Vampire Weekend‘s Contra. Having been more than just a little indifferent to the band in previous years, I was pleasantly shocked to find that the album really appealed to me, thanks mostly to its clever lyrics and clearer Afrobeat/Paul Simon (!) influences. The band has reached out to a wider audience with Contra and that was certainly evident tonight – not just your average hipster crowd, the audience also included old folks and 12-year-olds wearing glittery butterfly purses. Yep, a totally new audience indeed, and a very, very vigorous one at that – so enthusiastic that it often bordered on frightening.

The band certainly lived up to expectations – in fact, they totally exceeded them. Coming on stage to thunderous applause, a screen showing the cover of Contra dropped down and the band launched right into ‘White Sky’. I was uncertain how the material would translate live, but thanks to some excellent sampling coupled with well-focused instruments, the live experience was just as clear as the recorded one. Songs like ‘M79′ and ‘Diplomat’s Son’ wouldn’t have worked otherwise, but they were perfect this way, even though they did sound almost exactly like their recorded counterparts.

The fast-paced ‘Holiday’ was an early highlight which created the precedent for the dancefloor dynamic of the night. Some songs weren’t as potent as they could have been – on ‘Bryn’, the bass was turned up too loud and drowned out some of the rest of the sound – but on other songs, such as ‘Cousins’, the balance worked well to bring out individual instruments (in this case Chris Tomson’s frenetic and mesmerising drumming). ‘California English’ was a highlight for frontman Ezra Koenig’s use of a vocoder, which completely distorted his voice to fascinating and intoxicating results, and ‘Taxi Cab’ saw bassist Chris Baio switch to cello. The band ploughed through hit after hit, playing everything but one song from both albums and enlisting the crowd’s help during songs like ‘One (Blake’s Got A New Face)’ in which the chorus was slung back and forth between the charismatic Koenig and audience members.

The stage setup was superb – the eyes of the Contra girl appropriately lit up and flashed along to songs, while chandeliers, which also flashed in time to the music, lined the ceiling as a nod to their first album.

Ending the main set with a bouncy ‘Oxford Comma’, the band came back for a three-song encore which peaked with a pulsating dance experience in ‘Mansard Roof’. By the time they ripped into their last song, ‘Walcott’, everyone was singing and dancing along about getting out of Cape Cod – it was a show that was all about having fun and not caring what anyone else thought about it. Vampire Weekend, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

Set:
White Sky
Holiday
Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa
I Stand Corrected
M79
Bryn
California English
Cousins
Taxi Cab
Run
A-Punk
One (Blake’s Got A New Face)
Diplomat’s Son
Giving Up The Gun
Campus
Oxford Comma
—
Horchata
Mansard Roof
Walcott