Antigone Rising
From the Ground Up
Lava
A2P rating: 4.0
Named
for the defiant heroine of Sophocles’s play, the five chicks
that make up Antigone Rising keep up with the spirit of their namesake
by eschewing the contrivances of modern rock, pop, folk (they dabble
a bit in each) and instead producing a sound that almost feels out
of place in today’s music.
Turn back the clock a little, back to the ’70s and—voila!—you
have Antigone Rising’s natural habitat. Look how they thrive
there, where their rebellious songwriting/storytelling skills (think
Springsteen with a shot of Mitchell-strength estrogen) are right
at home. Spin the clock hand back to today and, rather than be hailed
as something glorious (which they very probably are), they instead
come off as a novelty act simply because…well, they’re
just that good. Oh, and they rock. And, sonuvabitch, they’re
hot too. Not hot in that way so many songstresses usually are; you
know, where the spotlight and videos make men gawk at them with
that bleary inattention to detail usually reserving for when they’re
staggering out of a bar; but in that way that, when you consider
how much talent they can’t help but show off, makes you wonder
if perhaps they’re the product of a nefarious genetic experiment
designed to resuscitate music and create a magazine-cover-ready
female band.
Last month, their first album debuted on Starbucks Hear Music’s
new Hear Music Debut CD series, which means you can only find this
14-track goldmine there. While I have mixed feelings about Starbucks’
foray into the music market, there’s no arguing with their
taste in artists. From the Ground Up (Lava) was recorded
live at Sony Studios; a stripped-down, acoustic rendition of the
electric album that is due in record stores this fall.
And what should you expect? Imagine hitting the town for a night
of heavy drinking and carousing with the Dixie Chicks, except it’s
Chrissie Hynde slamming shots with you, not Natalie Maines. Yep,
pretty much something like that. In other words, big country-gospel
rock jams and an even bigger voice out of lead singer Cassidy (just
one name, please).
Highlights include…okay, almost every song. If I had to pick
a few, I guess “Don’t Look Back” (co-penned and
co-produced by Rob Thomas), “You’re the Reason,”
and the Spanish guitar licks of “Rosita” are some of
the easiest to toss out there. Even easier is “Longshot,”
Cassidy’s accounting of a how she surrendered to one more
passionate night of sex before a final good-bye—“If
there’s one right thing you’ve got to do, don’t
do it tonight,” she sings to herself. If I have any luck,
women everywhere will be inspired by her words.—Cole
Haddon
The Hard Lessons
Gasoline
No Fun Records
A2P rating: 4.0
Here’s
a hard lesson I’ve had to learn:
Being a member of a cruel and self-aggrandizing race (Homo criticus—aka,
the Music Critic), I have a responsibility to review the bad and
the good. Unfortunately, I have the habit of only taking the time
to write about the good. Usually, the very good. It’s not
like I don’t enjoy tearing apart the bad. I do, really. Problem
is, I don’t enjoy listening to it. Music, when it’s
good, has a way of monopolizing your life for a time—like
when you score an album you just love and, consequently, it exists
in a state of “repeat” on your CD player for the next
week or two, until your friends complain. That’s what good
music does. That’s why the Hard Lesson’s new LP,
Gasoline (No Fun Records), has started skipping, even though
I’ve only owned it for three weeks.
The local critics have been calling the Lessons the next big thing,
but that doesn’t tell you much about what the next big thing
sounds like. Try this one on for size: It’s like the White
Stripes’ country-fied rock super-charged by the Jets’
post-AC/DC Aussie rock riffs and attitude, glued together by the
enlarged testes of singer/guitarist Gin (Agostino Visocchi) and
the soulful voice of singer/keyboardist Ko Ko Louise (Korin Louise
Cox). Hell, since there’s only one other member of the band,
I’ll mention him too. Bearing the moniker the Anvil, Christophe
Zajac-Denek is the Lessons’ drummer and lends every track
a bob-your-head, throw-a-barstool, and slam-a-beer quality that’s
hard to come by these days.
“The next big thing,” people say.
Too late. They already are the big thing everyone’s looking
for. Now, if only American would open its collective eyes. Considering
our country’s willingness to reward Ashlee Simpson with a
multi-platinum-selling album while acts like the Kings of Leon continue
to only find success overseas, I’m not confident the Lessons’
day is nigh. In the meantime, people like me—you know, the
ones who think Simpson’s only worth lies in the future
The Surreal Life season she will inevitably star in alongside Coolio
and Scott Baio—will have to just be happy with the fact that
we, a blessed few, are privy to the Hard Lessons’…well,
awesomeness.
If you don’t believe me, check out Gasoline’s
spritzer-fun “Milk and Honey,” Ko Ko’s bluesy
vocals on “That Other Girl” and “Love Gone Cold,”
the alt-country goodness of “All Over This Town,” and
the Joan Jett-esque “How It Is With Me.” If you’re
not hooked after that, then turn “Pieces of Me” back
up, because people like you don’t deserve good music. —Cole
Haddon
The Perceptionists
Black Dialogue
Definitive Jux
A2P rating: 4.0
Not too very long ago, while the ever-tired hip-hop vs. rap argument
buzzed hopelessly in the background, a trio of young, black Boston
visionaries stepped into a recording studio with one goal in mind.
Equipped with a grab-bag of wildly eclectic tracks, Pro Tools and,
I’m guessing, a couple tattered backpacks stuffed with Playstation
2 games and Cornel West books, The Perceptionists set forth to wipe
conventional notions regarding each aforementioned genre from the
board and revolutionize, rework and reinvent both in the process.
When spinning this long-anticipated debut album from established
indie hip-hoppers Mr. Lif, Akrobatik and DJ Fakts One, it’s
readily apparent that Black Dialogue is a well planned
and executed exercise in social, political and rhythmic progressiveness.
It advances from the notion that modern-day rap and hip-hop have
effectually become caricatures of themselves—too often spotlighting
bass-allergic and Fresh Prince-esque hip-hop MCs and rappers who
typically spit more Alize than rhymes—and offers itself as
both the whistle blower for and solution to the problem. Take, for
instance, the album’s title track ,in which Dr. Martin Luther
King Jr., Grandma Moses and Langston Hughes are nominated as true
role models for today’s Fiddy-saturated culture. Here, Akrobatik
inquires, “Should [we] be shucking and jiving, fucking and
kniving just to keep our bank accounts thriving?” Later in
the disc he confides that he’s tired of being surrounded by
drugs and gunplay and, in “Career Finders,” takes on
the satirical role of an occupational counselor for the dime-a-dozen
violent-and-sexist rapper wannabe.
And all stereotype-smashing lyricism aside, Black Dialogue is a
deeply infectious and ever-evolving animal where the music itself
is concerned. Most tracks resemble each other so vaguely that if
it weren’t for Lif and Akrobatik’s unmistakably idiosyncratic
delivery, one could potentially forget that this genre-shattering
disc is not, in fact, a compilation album or mix CD burned by Rasheed
Wallace.
The record’s floor-stomping icebreaker, “Let’s
Move,” is punchy and groove-inducing and “5 O’Clock”
is a cooled out R&B joint that’s relaxed and steady enough
to make Toni Braxton roll a jealous eye. “Memorial Day”
is a symphonic anti-Bush romp and “Frame Rupture,” which
is irrefutably the album’s crowning jam, carves low-key grooves
and spits slow-creeping hooks in all the right ways. Plus, it references
hell and mashed potatoes in the same bar.
Black
Dialogue is a grand debut and envelope-pushing paradigm rolled
into one. And in a time when beefs and bling all but define the
prevailing rap culture, its arrival comes not a second too soon.
—Dave Kargol
Team Sleep
Team Sleep
Maverick
A2P rating: 3.0
Following various setbacks in a five-year gestation period, Team
Sleep’s much-anticipated and doubly hyped debut record has
materialized into a real, honest-to-god purchasable item. They have
it in stores and everything.
The album showcases the first official collaboration between head
Deftones wailer Chino Moreno (the authenticity of whose name is
still very much in question) and a caravan of innovative young artists
summoned from all parts of the musical spectrum. Its lengthy development
inspired many a would-be fan to question the likelihood of the record,
which was leaked onto the internet in rough form sometime in the
early 2000s, ever being released. The premature exposure proved
to be a double-edged sword for the still-developing troupe; the
tracks roused a great deal of attention with their shadowy soundscapes
and entrancing loops, but the attention frustrated Moreno and he
shelved the project indefinitely. You know how testy these rock
stars can get.
The end result of Team Sleep’s troubles is a sprawling and
ambitious specimen of an album that’s as intriguing as it
is involved. Moods and textures shift between gloomy lows and tranquilly
harmonious highs throughout, as Moreno and his crew burn through
layers of rhythmic consciousness and fight tooth-and-nail to avoid
becoming trapped in creatively restricting boxes. As the group’s
moniker appears to suggest, Team Sleep taps the subconscious and
channels the intricate emotional nuances of dreams.
Considering the weight of the task, then, it’s only natural
that Team Sleep should, on certain occasions, fall a few steps short
of its mark. While gently serene tunes such as the wearily playful
“Princeton Review” and the Elliott Smith-ish “Elizabeth”
demonstrate authentic songwriting flair, a few tracks like “Blvd.
Knights” are heavily mundane, lack rhyme and reason and sound
as though they came out of a dustpan on The Deftones’ cutting-room
floor. The harmonic progressions in “Your Skull is Red”
sound sloppy and almost random, and Moreno’s intentionally
off-key crooning, which is scattered unsystematically throughout
the record, walks a troubling line between being innovative and
genuinely irritating.
In Team Sleep’s defense, however, they are at their very best
when sweeping the darker and quirkier corners of the harmonic catalog.
“Delorian” offers subtle string-work while fuzzy radio
interference looms in the foreground, and “Tomb of Liegia,”
which is undoubtedly the pinnacle of the album, bleeds haunting
keys into gentle female vocals and swirling electronic drum tracks.
The first half of “Staring at the Queen” showcases a
zany mishmash of snappy percussion and electronic blips before melting
into a peaceful single-guitar melody, and “King Diamond”
makes a lasting impression via twirling synths and rambunctious
vocal interjections.
All of this announces that Team Sleep can and will try on, if not
wear, as many musical hats as its members damn well please. After
all, they can do whatever they want—they’re rock stars.
—Dave Kargol
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