A music-related Best of 2013 list for those who don't particularly care much for My Bloody Valentine, Kanye West, or the latest Arcade Fire album

The Dillinger Escape Plan. Photo: Sumerian Records

I bought a lot of records in 2013. A number of them happen to have been released this year. I liked 10 of them enough to write about them here. And though I can't help but roll my eyes at end-of-the-year lists posted in early December, I also realize that I probably won't pick up any more records between now and January 1st, unless I'm pre-ordering something new from Dillinger Four. Note to Dillinger Four -- we're now approaching six years of waiting. Again.

Review: Tegan and Sara - Heartthrob

Canadian indie-pop duo Tegan and Sara once relied heavily on elements of folk, but the group now more closely resembles Kesha than Ani DiFranco. That’s not to say the progression is unexpected.

Band Write Up: We Were Skeletons

Appears at http://www.nationalunderground.org/news/bands-you-need-to-know/451-bands-you-need-to-know-we-were-skeletons

If Ampere decided to find some middle-ground between having a regular tempo and no discernible tempo at all, the result might have been remarkably similar to We Were Skeletons, a chaotic three-piece screamo band from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The band adds a mathy twist to many of their songs, and it’s always smartly integrated, briskly played, and typically utilized as a series of transitions into angry, full-on blasts or subdued moments of restraint. Dual vocals often overlap in a tag-team manner reminiscent of early Twelve Hour Turn.

Over the span of their nine-song self-titled sophomore LP, which came out last year, We Were Skeletons demonstrate a remarkable talent for holding the listener’s attention through one dynamic shift to another, and song lengths range from two to seven minutes. The immense “This Destroys Us” features super intricate guitar work that progressively takes shape alongside a percussion-heavy rhythm that breaks down as quickly as it picks back up, and that’s just the first thirty seconds.

Currently signed to Topshelf Records, We Were Skeletons have released a split EP with MNWA, and subsequently released a split with The Saddest Landscape last April. The band recently wrapped up a U.S. Tour, and will be playing the Fest this October. Stream We Were Skeletons at Topshelf's Bandcamp page here!

Rain and Sweat

The House of Vans in Brooklyn has hosted several free shows this summer. I’m not sure how they do it, to be honest. The place is formally a skate park, renovated to temporarily accommodate a large stage. There’s a barrier, as well, with no-nonsense security tossing out crowd surfers without a single warning. But hey, not my problem. The strictly enforced no-crowd-surfing rule is completely understandable considering the cost of entry, and I imagine it’s somewhat necessary in combating the inevitably shitty result of having offered free beer. The combination of alcohol and flying bodies is surely a recipe for destructive rowdiness.

I showed up at four PM last week to secure my spot in line for Against Me!. Against Me! were opening for Tokyo Police Club, for whom I did not stick around, but they played a lengthy set, regardless. My dad, sister, and sister’s friend sought food, drinks, and a bathroom while I held our spot. They returned shortly thereafter with a slice of pizza for me. Unfortunately, the rain picked up at about ten minutes 'til doors. We got soaked, me in particular, as wetness clung between my skin and a sticky flannel shirt. I dried off eventually, but enduring the rain was unpleasant. In all my years of waiting in lines, I’ve actually never encountered it, so that was a first. House of Vans employees sold ponchos at the last minute, but by then it was too late, and there was no point. They finally started to let us in at 6:30.

RSVPing, which we all did, was recommended prior to the show, but it turned out to be pretty unnecessary, as the line filtered into the building without so much as an ID check. Perhaps the lack of formality was in part due to the rain, but I’d also heard of people having very little amount of trouble getting in. They allowed entry up until a certain level of capacity. I believe that most people, assuming they endured at least some of the rain, managed to get in. There was plenty of space. My sister and I ended up in the second row facing stage left and some poorly-placed amps that blocked some of the view onstage.

The openers were remarkably awful. I’ve heard good things about Japanther, but the telephones-for-microphones gimmick and garage rock mediocrity did little more than bore me. Boredom, however, turned out to be among the least of my concerns, as it transcended into uncomfortable, horrified embarrassment when Big Freedia emerged alongside four backup dancers and a DJ. Big Freedia is a Brooklyn-based, flamboyantly gay “rap” artist whose performances feature unsightly, gratuitous amounts of rear-end gyrations that culminate in a volunteer-based “booty battle” to the tune of the self-explanatory “Azz Everywhere.” The songs themselves were comprised of so many repetitive loops that it became, at one point, totally nauseating, both audibly and visually.

Against Me! more than made up for that horrendous display, invigorating the crowd with the first decent thing they’d heard all night. They somehow squeezed eighteen songs into fifty-five minutes, pausing only to thank the crowd and the venue. It's truly astonishing how tight they’ve become. The set was incredibly well-rehearsed and professional, yet it somehow appeared to be equally casual and joyous. The band is clearly having the most fun they’ve had in years, and that unbridled enthusiasm undoubtedly descended to the crowd, climaxing with the ever-impassioned “We Laugh at Danger and Break all the Rules.” I left the show with Black Crosses on CD, a smile, and yet another soaked t-shirt.

Listening to Toby Keith, Brokencyde, and Japanese Electro-Pop Does Not Make You Cool

For a lot of people, there’s a strange reverence for having what they deem a “diverse” taste in music. In my small world, this is best exemplified by a particular application that analyzes one's statistics on Last FM in order to measure such a thing. I can’t specify how it actually works, but it calculates the number of similar artists in one’s music library. The “similar artists” feature on Last FM itself is not necessarily a foolproof, definitive determination, but it’s also surprisingly adequate. If, on a large scale, users tend to listen to band X along with band Y, then band Y is categorized as a similar artist of band X, and vice versa. Sure, the similarity of users is more closely examined than the similarity of the bands themselves, but is the idea of a feature analyzing and comparing specific musical characteristics actually plausible? I don’t think that it is, and further, it isn’t necessary. The current feature is helpful, regardless.

There exist groups of Last FM users who proudly boast of their eclectic tendencies, but I don’t feel that they are somehow more enlightened or more open-minded than the rest of us. That being said, I would certainly describe my own personal taste as “diverse,” but I don’t view that as some indicator of my musical know-how, hipness, or creativity. The listeners who comprise the aforementioned groups often display or express a hubristic sense of pride, a sentiment that’s reaffirmed by a brainless and flawed application that plainly tells them something along the lines of “Congratulations! Your music taste is EXTREMELY DIVERSE. Keep discovering new bands!”

What, then, does it actually mean to have “diverse” taste? If I listened to Toby Keith, Brokencyde, and some foreign electro-pop band that I discovered in a Japanese anime, I’d have diverse taste. If all of my favorite bands occupied a single scene or sub-genre, I wouldn’t. The former, however, is not more virtuous than the latter. It’s probably fair to assume that the one who trumpets Toby Keith, Brokencyde, and the electro-pop band is actually flat-out clueless.

A “narrow-minded” taste doesn’t at all speak of a listener’s musical exploration. In fact, it may do the opposite. If I listen to Elliott Smith, for example, it’s only logical that I seek out Bright Eyes. I don’t have to like Bright Eyes, but there’s no harm in at least looking into him. I should look into him. I’ve never quite understood people who resent a particular artist for sounding too similar to an artist they already like. I don’t expect new artists to top or match the artists they’re often trying to emulate, but that doesn’t mean that the supposed subpar versions are completely devoid of merit or potential. This might technically be a "narrow-minded" approach, but so what? I enjoy discovering bands whose characteristics make them reminiscent of bands I already listen to, but that doesn't mean that I'm opposed to everything outside of that particular frame.

Now, I’m not in any way implying that a rigid musical focus is somehow superior. To be fair, I enjoy Converge, Tegan and Sara, and Matt and Kim, none of whom sound anything alike, and I’d like to think that that’s a more respectable selection than one consisting of Escape the Fate, Avenged Sevenfold, and that wave of cheesy hair-metal revival (But to each his own. That’s hardly the extreme when it comes to awful trends). In this example, diversity trumps consistency, but that’s never an unwavering rule.

The conclusion I’ve reached is that diversity is essentially irrelevant to “good” or “bad” taste. Rather, it’s completely neutral. It is simply the bands themselves that determine those qualitative decisions, and even then, there’s the whole aspect of subjectivity that comes into play, as painful as it is to admit that Insane Clown Posse has appeal. Not to me, obviously.

Review: Touché Amoré - Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me

Appears at http://www.nationalunderground.org/news/must-have-albums/412-touche-amore-parting-the-sea-between-brightness-and-me

Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me documents an entire cathartic experience in a mere twenty-one minutes. In spite of the brevity, however, the record is ultimately fulfilling. It is passionate, awe-inspiring, and a testament to the dedication and collaboration of five talented musicians and one equally talented producer. “There is weight in the words we’ve said, too heavy to carry in our heads,” remarks singer and lyricist Jeremy Bolm on “Face Ghost.” Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me is certainly a capsule of once bottled-up emotions. More than anything, it is a release in the sense that it comes clean and confronts these emotions.

Contrary to the sentiment of “The Great Repetition” in which Bolm notes his ongoing struggles with the recurring mundanity of his environment, the record itself avoids saying the same thing twice. While a singular theme is consistent throughout, Bolm communicates introspection without relying on a chorus or more than one or two refrains.

There is truly a sense of urgency pushing the music, with each song transitioning seamlessly into the next, often without pause. “Uppers/Downers” ends with Bolm frantically screaming, “You said,” which are also the first two words of the following track, “Crutch.” The intense three-part sequence climaxes with “Method Act,” a heavy, confessional recollection of fears and anxieties.

There are several quiet moments, but they are trimmed down to the most essential components. The opening notes of “Face Ghost” initially indicate a post-hardcore ambition in the vein of Envy, but the song quickly picks up, weaving through a few dynamic adjustments in under two-and-a-half minutes. “Condolences,” comprised solely of piano and haunting screams, is an effective, unique ballad and the perfect bridge between the much harsher “Wants/Needs” and the more melodic tour anthem “Home Away From Here.” The phenomenal closer “Amends,” as well, demonstrates a shift in tone. While the first forty-five seconds are characterized by relentless blast beats and driving guitar work, the final minute eases off the ascending tension, as a somber, quiet guitar riff culminates in Bolm’s most vulnerable moment: an honest apology.

Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me is a much more melodic record than its predecessor, but the intensity and the raw emotion remain apparent, if not magnified. With its intricate guitar work, speed and catchiness, the well-placed “Pathfinder” may be this record’s “Nine,” while opening track “~” is easily as powerful as “And Now It’s Happening in Mine.” There are some thematic similarities as well, but there are also significant differences. ...to the Beat of a Dead Horse was a record of isolation and hopelessness. Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me essentially picks up where the debut left off, though, this time around, the album is notably concerned with making reparations, and the journey is structured as a linear progression from dwelling on hostility and shattered friendships to promising to do one’s best to prevent them.

Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me is dark and emotionally exhausting, but it is also sincere and incredibly moving. It is clear that the entire record was approached in a thoughtful, meticulous fashion, as evidenced by the remarkable musicianship, the devastating lyrics and vocals, the excellent production by Ed Rose, the flawless track sequencing, and the terrific artwork done by guitarist Nick Steinhardt.

Review: Bright Eyes - The People's Key

Appears at http://www.nationalunderground.org/news/must-have-albums/379-bright-eyes-the-peoples-key

Knowing that the era of Bright Eyes was coming to a close, one might anticipate a four year absence to result in some epic, cathartic goodbye that somehow comes full-circle, providing an undeniably satisfying sense of closure. With these expectations, The People’s Key is not going to please everyone, but it proves its worth on its own merits. This is simply an excellent album, regardless of its position within the Bright Eyes catalog.

The band’s past two full-lengths, not counting the electronic-based Digital Ash in a Digital Urn that was released simultaneously with I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning, have hinted at an evolving preference and gravitation toward elements of bluegrass and alt-country. The People’s Key refrains from contributing to this pattern, instead embarking upon a new, final chapter. While this new sound is most comparable to that which characterized Digital Ash, the parallels aren’t obvious enough to indicate a conscious revisitation of former musical exploration. The People’s Key does contain the use of programming, synthesizers, and vocal effects, but for the most part, the album carries a distinct, unique vision that distances itself from the entirety of the band’s back catalog.

Musically, The People’s Key encompasses a dynamic range of styles that speaks of the members’ eclectic pursuits. The frantic between-verse transitions of “Jejune Stars” feature short bursts of punk rock chaos reminiscent of Defiance, Ohio. The back beat and vibes of “Approximate Sunlight” wouldn’t sound out of place on a hip-hop recording. The piano balladry of “Ladder Song” harkens back to familiar Bright Eyes territory, as does the unsettling chord progression of primarily-solo number “Firewall,” which incorporates faint traces of a pedal steel guitar.

Conor Oberst’s resentment and, perhaps, embarrassment toward a former self, is an apparent though understandable force informing these lyrics, not to personally discredit his early material. All songwriters grow, but Oberst has literally documented an introspective examination of his transition from child to adult. Now thirty-one years old, Oberst is no longer concerned with expressing the personal angst from which he acquired a massive fan base of young adults who felt they could relate to the raw emotions communicated by his quivering voice and painfully honest lyrics.

The People’s Key instead centers around the mystical as well as historical names and places, enhanced by the spoken word of a lecturer who guides the themes of spirituality through well-placed interludes. Self-reflection occasionally slips into the picture, though it’s usually in a subtle manner. Lead single “Shell Games” exemplifies this, with Oberst admitting, “I was dressed in white, touched by something pure, death-obsessed like a teenager. Sold my tortured youth, piss and vinegar. I’m still angry with no reason to be.” Lines such as these are few and far between, but Oberst’s indisputable honesty is nonetheless conveyed, albeit in some clandestine phrasings. This makes it all the more rewarding when one stumbles across a particular line and contemplates it as fitting within the context of Oberst’s introspective side. I found myself lingering on those bits and pieces that best reveal his true feelings.

With The People’s Key, Bright Eyes concludes a discography that has highlighted the many artistic aspirations of its members Conor Oberst, Mike Mogis, and Nathan Walcott. Rather than reverting to a crowd-pleasing formula, their final album merely widens the span of the band’s creative endeavors. While it would have been interesting to see a formal acknowledgment of its unfortunate discontinuation in the music itself, it is admirable that the members of Bright Eyes have approached the situation with modesty, as they’ve articulated in the album’s liner notes: “Many thanks to our friends and families and to all who have supported us over the years and continue to do so in spite of everything. We’d be lost without you.” One can rest assured that the gratitude is mutual.