I Love You, But Not This: #1 The Wooden Birds – Magnolia (2009)

I’m having trouble wrapping my ears around far too many albums by artists I love as of late. This column is an attempt at understanding why.

(The Wooden Birds via Woxy)

The Wooden Birds – False Alarm

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Sound reasons probably exist explaining why all anyone can say about The Wooden Birds is, “If you loved American Analog Set you’re likely to enjoy this band.” My guess: perhaps because The Wooden Birds, as a band, feel like an answer to the question “What do you do with the American Analog Set when you can’t do anything with the American Analog Set?”

“Percussive.” It’s the one word you’ll see repeated ad nauseum regarding The Wooden Birds. Once you get past the obligatory Neil Young head nods, the comparisons in vocal timbre to Ben Gibbard, reviews are awash with the word, “percussive.” This. Is. Sloppy. Criticism. The Wooden Birds two-step, they let the bass lead, they even boast a dedicated percussionist, and still, they are not what I would consider a percussive band. And I think the problem, in general, is that everything this band does will be criticized (or lauded, as it were) by what it does not. The Wooden Birds are not The American Analog Set. The Wooden Birds’ songs are not as keyboard-heavy as American Analog Set’s earlier songs and so must be “percussive.” However — and this the most glaring flaw with the band and the aforementioned branding — The Wooden Birds’ arrangements are nowhere near as interesting percussively as American Analog Set’s non-keyboard-heavy later songs.

Which songs? This song off American Analog Set’s superb 2005 Everything Ends In Spring EP.

American Analog Set – The Green Green Grass

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‘Cause maybe you want him
Like you want me
Only truly
- American Analog Set “The Green Green Grass”

When I attended The Wooden Birds’ concert at Mercury Lounge on April 10th, Andrew Kenny’s bass, an Epiphone Thunderbird, bore the words “I’ll shoot you through a door” upon its pickguard. And I believed it. A 21st century promise of love. Unfortunately, for fans of the American Analog Set, every song played like “Choir Vandals,” except less memorable. In fact, the only time people enthusiastically moved was when the band launched into American Analog Set’s Know By Heart-favorite “Aaron and Maria.” According to Kenny, they make a point of playing at least one American Analog Set song per set; it’s clear why.

The former beauty of American Analog Set was their insistence on shaping a song around the rhythm of Kenny’s heartbeat, album after album. Vivacity. Playfulness. Sheepish flirtation. These were visceral qualities endearing American Analog Set to its numerous devotees. The Wooden Birds offer a meek, albeit earnestly warmhearted display of competence, and if that sounds harsh, good — it ought to — because there’s overwhelming evidence indicating these talented musicians are capable of much, much more than Magnolia.

As it stands, every Wooden Birds song plods along with a near-identical gait.

Don’t believe me? Visit The Wooden Birds’ Myspace page. Listen to the first 10 seconds of “Sugar.” Listen to the first 10 seconds of “False Alarm.” See what I mean?

If I’m sad, maybe it’s because all of The Wooden Birds’ songs sound like an apology without actually sounding apologetic…but maybe that’s too critical.

Not even American Analog Set started with Know By Heart.

[The Wooden Birds' Myspace, American Analog Set's Know By Heart]

Concert Review: Julie Doiron @ Cake Shop, April 24th, 2009

Julie Doiron at Cake Shop
(Photos courtesy Nikki Ross)

Julie Doiron – Borrowed Minivans

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Let’s face it — we love, love, love women who sound like Julie Doiron. From Moon Pix-era Chan Marshall, to PJ Harvey circa 2004’s Uh Huh Her, to Wye Oak’s feedback-fondling Jenn Wassner. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, The Pop Filter really likes these artists. Which is not to say Doiron sings with a similar sense of urgency or, in Harvey’s case, a penetrating obtuseness, but rather with a vocal clarity/subtle airness in higher registers bound to elicit drawn-out, contented sighs from listeners the likes of you and me (you know who you are).

And for the record, no, Julie Doiron isn’t pop. Or rock. Or indie (whatever that means today). She’s a musician who manages to convey more sincerity with three chords and a drum kit than most accomplish with instrumentation numbering in the double digits — a feat, I find, warranting considerable praise. Rawkblog recently classified Doiron’s I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day as “a Kimya Dawson record for adults,” which I agree with in most respects. Real music about real feelings played without agenda. These are skillfully crafted songs. Structurally. Contextually. In aim and execution. And they’re good.

Additional photos after the jump.

> > > Continue Reading Julie Doiron @ Cake Shop, April 24th, 2009

Concert Review: A Hawk And A Hacksaw and Daniel Martin Moore
@ Mercury Lounge, January 10th, 2009

A Hawk And A Hacksaw – The Water Under The Moon

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If forced to choose between live performances by Beirut or A Hawk And A Hacksaw I’d choose the latter almost every time. A Hawk And A Hacksaw are scores away from being the better band, but their songs are downright cinematic, at least on record, resulting in an infinitely more fascinating, albeit less intoxicating, listening experience than Beirut-frontman Zach Condon’s dulcet tones.

It’s unclassifiable, this attraction, but something about A Hawk And A Hacksaw’s songs consistently succeeds in transporting one someplace extraordinary. A year or so ago, and inspired by this very track, I wrote the following story about miners attempting to dig their way from one end of the moon to the other for now-defunct Stylus Magazine:

We’ve been digging three days now. We’re halfway through. We mustn’t look back. The moon is ours and we shan’t be deterred or forgo our ambitions.
We stood at its peak. We heaved and towed, knowing the shortest distance between two points a straight line, and we will prevail. We must.

Time is no concern. We have time. Time. Oxygen. Dried, strawberry ice pops to remind us of home.

We are diggers. Tunnelers of rock and withered things of blank identity. Our skins are space suits. We bounce between breakthroughs in tin-can gravity. Up down, up down, and oh, it is the moon, we know. It is the Earth, we know. We have dreamt of this moment, we quartet of space cadets, and little else. We push forward and downward. It is our lot in life to dig and we will prevail upon this plot of Godforsaken.

Miners and men, our goal is simple. Our paths lead to one.

Down.

We are carving our way through the moon, top to bottom, until it is halves. Earth refused, turning its back and branding us Banished. So we left. But now here we are, on a moon soon to be two under limbs 16 strong.

The task is daunting, the odds unfavorable, but our dream is true and our bellies full of the sweet and sicklies of home life. We will make our way. We will fashion a path. And at the moment of truth we shall leap. We will fall through the moon, top to bottom, and into oblivion, into the deep black before the deep blue that is Earth and fate.

There is water under the moon, we know. An Earth, big and bright. And we will return to it in glory befitting olden kings and men with dispositions such as ours.

Helmets off. Faces pared. Eyes closed in triumph.

Imagine my surprise when A Hawk And A Hacksaw’s set began with the duo digging through audience members, instruments in hand/on chest, before settling on a spot upon which to croon a tale involving poisoned hunters and gleeful deer.

Then things got schizophrenic. How schizophrenic?

A Hawk And A Hacksaw – The Sparrow

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This schizophrenic. I wager A Hawk And A Hacksaw played more notes in one song than the other three bands managed to produce all night, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but more of an inevitability, really, at least when accordions are involved. Nevertheless, the band’s overall performance was nothing short of breathtaking.

Daniel Martin Moore – It’s You

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Speaking of breathtaking, allow me to introduce Daniel Martin Moore.

If god lives anywhere, I swear, it’s somewhere in this man’s throat.

Moore opened to a meager audience consisting of Brooklyn Vegan freelance photographer Natasha Ryan and yours truly, which is a shame since his songs were by far the evening’s best. For the most part, people sat upon the benches lining either wall discussing upcoming acts while I stood front and center admiring how even Moore’s unintentional, guitar-induced feedback licked at my face like a puppy dog.

Daniel Martin Moore – By Dream

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“By Dream” remained one of the few tracks where Moore shed his guitar and focused on singing. Eyes closed he whispered the verse’s opening lines.“I will go by dream to you if you cannot come to me/Beneath the pines I’ll sing to you if you cannot come to me.” His lips pursed and parted mere centimeters before the microphone, eyebrows instinctively cresting as occasion warranted. However, Moore imparted more about himself by the slow, simple manner in which his right hand stroked the thumb of his left. It had a history, that stroke; in all likelihood, it probably had a name, too.

I could give you a list of similar artists — a Jack Johnson for people whose ears aren’t stupid, a Bonnie Prince Billy for those whose hearts are; like a less sultry, male Madeleine Peyroux; a musician for people who enjoy watching Andrew Bird’s face when he sings, or for any fans of The Real Tuesday Weld — but I’ll say again, if god lives anywhere, I swear, it’s somewhere in this man’s throat. Keep an eye on him.

Stay tuned for part 2 — Haley Bonar and the Great Lake Swimmers.

Happy inauguration day!

[Buy A Hawk And A Hacksaw, Daniel Martin Moore]

Driveway Graffiti

Wye Oak – Obituary

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When I wake it’s with a whistle. I wake with fluid joints, swift movements and a song. I stretch. I open my mouth and the room fills with the scent of freshly made waffles. I wash my face out of habit more than necessity.

I eat well-balanced meals. I exercise. I scrub the dishes and load the washer while listening to NPR. I brew coffee, but only decaf and only for the smell; dependency is death.

For the past 12 years I’ve called 1-800-WEATHER for the daily forecast. I could step outside; I could turn on the television; I could query the Internet, but no — 72 degrees Fahrenheit with a 20% chance of rain. I put my umbrella away. I call again just to make sure. I call a third time just to listen. And a fourth. And a fifth. She is the only woman who will speak to me that day.

At work I do the crossword. Literally. I am a Knight Ridder employee, and it is my job to make words flow into words flow into a satisfyingly throbbing mass of letters. First, I trim my nails. I lick my lips and get to business.

When finished I leave for lunch. I walk to the deli across the street my coworkers enjoy. I sit at the bar. My bread is wheat. My drink is milk. I chew slowly to aid digestion. I tap my foot to shouts, cries, order numbers, cash registers, and I know what 16 Across will be tomorrow.

I finish my meal as my coworkers enter. I always finish my meal as my coworkers enter. Once, on August 3rd, 2001, someone said, “Hello, Toby.” but they were speaking to the man beside me. It was still very nice.

The local kids are on to what I do. When I arrive at home my driveway will bare graffiti. Every night it’s something new. Tonight it’s the word “Quaker,” last week’s 28 Down. I act as though I’m upset but, really, I’m just glad someone noticed.

[Buy Wye Oak, Myspace]

Six Is The New Five, Five Is The New Fifteen

I have regained my health! Huzzah!

I also made the following observations about Gainesville-living during my sickly stupor.

1. $5 used to grant access to most local music shows. Now it’s $6 over 21, $7 under.
2. One cannot buy three gallons of gas for $10.
3. A pack of cigarettes also costs less than one gallon of gas, which leads me to conclude this town considers driving a greater sin than smoking.
4. Student movie ticket prices are $8 at both Regal cinemas.
5. Most student jobs are minimum wage. Minimum wage in Florida was $6.67 until two months ago.

Suggestions for all you hip, artsy-type Gainesville residents wondering how to lower your expenses and maximize disposable income (say, for shows)?

1. Don’t smoke.
2. Buy a bike/scooter.
3. Watch movies for free any day but Friday at the Reitz Union Cinema on campus (this goes for non-students as well!).

That’s it. Three simple steps to save you several thousand dollars per year.

Now no complaining about local shows being too expensive!