Roses and Rants

-COLIN DUNLOP

Who are we really publishing for?

To answer that question, I'm going on a small tangent, but stick with it.

After spending a couple years in a newsroom and on deadline, my brain has become sharp. It's ready to go at a moments notice to beat the pressman. Being on the copy editing staff we were used to getting things late but having to make up for that lost time.

That's why when I started my critical writing class I knew it was going to be different than anything I had really done before. I never really stopped to smell the roses – there was never any time. It's not just me and journalism either. It seems it's all go, go, go in everyone's lives. The stock market's in the crapper, who has time for roses?

Well, gardeners for one.

Don't like metaphors? OK, I'll spell it out for you. The roses are art, like movies, television, books, food and performances. Gardeners are artists, such as painters, directors, writers, chefs and actors.

If you're following along carefully at this point then you've probably found an argument in there somewhere. Yes, I am insinuating that critique is as much for the artist as it is for the viewer. Without the critic no one would know how to get any better. Even the “error” of “trial and error” is defined by the choice words of those judging the merits and detriments of artistic expression.

This dynamic exchange, however, is under duress. As more people become vocal critics through the Internet, the voices coming at an artist become so large in number that the substantive argument is worthless. As a critic I have come to find that most reviews are a mix of the good and the bad. Some sites, like rottentomatoes.com, have begun to oversimplify the arguments into “thumbs up” and “thumbs down” categories. As a copy editor, one of the most potent lessons I learned was that whether something is good or bad is irrelevant without the “why.”

So the critic of the future is faced with a task not seen before. They must fight against the onslaught of simplistic verdicts and challenge their reader. That fight is being fought write here on these pages. The HBFP is a blog devoted to taking critique and articulating it.

This is, of course, in an unproven medium. Some Web sites have been shown to create money, but is the critique of Perez Hilton really substantive? Faced with a gloom and doom economy we may be seeing the decline of the critic with something real to say. They'll reemerge though. If the industry can ever find them a new home.

Taking on the HBFP

- ALEX BERRY

Does “Hipster-Bullshit Feedback-Playlist” even make sense?

Let’s break it down. The coined term “hipster” can be defined across musical genres. It’s about swagger, alienation; it’s pure funk. Anyone can be a hipster, really. It’s about presentation, style, demeanor—regardless of what type of beats you listen to (indie, emo, rap, country, blues!) Anyone who dares to take just one step outside of the norm and explore their own personal realm is a hipster. And “bullshit,” well, bullshit describes everything I just wrote.

Though you won’t find mainstream music on my project playlist, just because a single or artist gets some major radio air time, doesn’t take away their credibility. Merely stepping outside the conformist circle of pop artists singing sing-a-longs doesn’t legitimize any artist. Despite my Rockist tendencies, honestly, music is a form of artistic expression. I sure as hell couldn’t make million-dollar tracks, so who am I to judge?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I think Chris Daughtry’s howling is insufferable and I’d rather drag my knees across concrete than listen to Britney Spears’ single “Womanizer” one more time. However, sometimes personal biases just get in the way of giving music a shot.

Therein lies the difference between reviewing and criticism.

You can be a hater all you want, but if you can’t defend why you detest or adore arts and culture (here, music in particular) then your written opinion is categorized as just another review without credibility.

Check out any interactive website today and likely opinions will be tossed right and left without justification. Anyone can blog. But to truly criticize is to express opinion via thorough exploration of a creative work. Dig Deep. Discover exactly what it is that makes you cringe or scream the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

People rely on other people’s opinions; it’s human nature. Reading a critic’s judgment that shares similar interests, dislikes, and attitudes can heavily influence whether a consumer chooses to buy Kanye’s new album or not (see Jessica O’Neal’s Review).

The snarky attitude behind the “Hipster-Bullshit Feedback Playlist” precisely describes my attitude towards reviewing music—with a hint of humor, slightly racy, and at times a bit rude. And yes, snarkiness comes with a taste of cockiness but with a good argument standing behind my opinions, cockiness is simply a type of writing style.

**Note: Chris Daughtry’s whiny, purposefully shaky voice paired with overdramatic super-hero soundtrack music contributes to my distaste of his stuff. And Britney Spears, well, I’ll save my opinion on her for another review.

Manifesto, it's such an overused word

- BRIAN CREECH

We live in a world where our role is more frequently defined by what we consume and less by how we participate in society or in government. As the power of the unified citizenry continues to shrink in the global economy, and as the culture market becomes flooded and art of all types becomes seen as a commodity, we see the political and commercial become deeply intertwined.

Which is why now more than ever we need critics who are capable of looking at things at pulling apart all the socio-geo-politcal-economic consequences of the art we consume. For so many people the art we consume is an identity-defining gesture, yet critics are operating in a smaller arena as taste-makers, bloggers, and amateur reviewers close-in the boundaries of true criticism.

It might be elitist to say so, but in order for criticism to remain a commercially viable enterprise, it must find a way to offer something unique and significant. Good criticism has to place art in a world that exists beyond the gallery or the stage or the screen. The best of art helps us to understand the world in more poignant ways, and good criticism should do the same.

As media become more integrated, there will always be a need for those who can navigate the world with intelligence and keen critical eyes. A critic's eyes are attuned to the subtleties of the world with a penetrating insight that can help us understand the greater consequences of our actions by elucidating the latent values behind the things we buy.

We live in an age filled with literate and educated people, more than ever before, and while this might increase the amount of voices that are needlessly adding to the critical cacophony, it also notes an increase in the number of eyes and ears looking for smart things to consume. People want to know how the new M.I.A. album relates to the plight of the Senegalese rebels, and need critics to place those albums into the larger geo-political context.

Critics are ultimately the grand educators, who tell us why things are important, how they are important and what to do with the art/food/music/movies/television we consume. In the end, the only thing a critic need do is help the consumer make a more informed decision, and as long as people have buying power, then those decisions are going to be made with dollars. Critics have the great pleasure of always telling us what is good, and what values in our art we choose to support with our dollars.

So then, as the general education level of the population increases, so too will the need and demand for critics. The world's culture machine creates ephemera at an alarming rate, and at the very least there will always be a need for those who are smart and discerning to direct the rest of us to the meatiest parts.

Manifesting the Inner-Hipster

- JESSICA O'NEAL

Maybe it's about who you are.

I have never considered myself popular or interesting. Who am I to define taste and criticize artistic expression? It took me a long time to grasp this concept, but why the hell not? The name of our blog- "hipster-bullshit feedback playlist" might explain my new found self-realization.

I'm a hipster, but not necessarily defined as a contemporary rock type. Through my sorority girl antics and tendency to grab shinny satin over plaid button-ups, I enjoy going against the norm and having a bit of snobbery in my music and style preferences.

I'll take The Roots over Young Jeezy any day. Urban alternatives, indie rap, and neo-soul tell the story of my life. My music doesn't top the billboard charts and is rarely played on music stations, but it challenges themes and goes against musical standards.  

I consider myself the hip-hop and urban critic of our blog. Slight beliefs in rockism can seldom limit musical diversity among my fellow hipsters. In the mist of the local Athens music scene, folk rock tends to out shine underground hip-hop. Maybe through my voice, a better appreciation for hip-hop can grow.

I hate to describe our passion as bullshit, but at the end of the day some people take this music thing too personally.  Subcultures are created. Certain types of idealism can arise from a lyric in one song. Sometimes I stand back and look at my fellow music worshippers with a cocked head saying, what the hell?

I have an amount of sarcasm to my criticism of music. It's usually not intentional. The cynicism easily comes out after making careful observations of parishioners falling over themselves when listening to a particular band or turning into dancing zombies after the first three songs in a set. It's hard not to laugh at other hipsters.

But my comrades and I take music seriously. We don't use it as background noise, or as a simple form of entertainment. Music drives our lives.

As critics and pundits we find it necessary, to search for what is innovative and artistic. This is where the "feedback" originates from. Our site gives you basic feedback on concerts, albums, and whatever else in music we feel like mentioning.  We are critics.

Is the critic important and relevant to journalism? Yes. Is the critic important to music and other forms of entertainment?  I would give that an even bigger yes. Music critics praised Lil Wayne's newest album, Tha Carter III. Their criticism helped his album become more mainstream and helped him grab eight Grammy nominations this year.

The term "taste maker" is thrown around when we define the role of a critic.  The content we select for our site creates particular tastes and music choices. This is our playlist.

The best playlists are random. They don't have a particular sequence or order. Our blog develops it own personality and has a mind of its own. We give it different selections, and it inspires the reader to create his or her own opinions.  

Critical writing reinforced my views on free speech. Everyone has a voice. They have a right to say what the feel and what they believe.  There are people out there even willing to read and accept my opinion, and that's kind of cool.                                                                                                   

Common and N.E.R.D. help everyone unleash their inner geek

- JESSICA O'NEAL

Common and N.E.R.D. indulged a league of geeked out, hipsters at the intimate concert hall of The Tabernacle in Atlanta.
  

I was surprised when I learned the show was called "Souled Out." It should have been named, "Unifying the Ghetto Nerd." It was a celebration of the 21st century beatnik. However, the unique crowd was to be expected from the home of eccentric music artists like, Cee-Lo Green or Outkast.
    

Skinny jeans, high top sneakers, with light bling scattered on novelty tees was the main dress code among the afro-centric and diverse crowd. Pharrell Williams, lead singer of N.E.R.D. embraced the stylish audience shouting, "They'll want to be dressing like you next year."

Atlanta artist, Janelle Monae, began the parade of psychedelic hip-hop. I must say, I wasn't too keen on Ms. Monae before she performed. Her theatrical R&B album never intrigued me. The skeptical group of girls beside me felt the same way. Not only did she convert us, Monae had liberated souls making you unafraid to loss control during the rest of the night.

    

Imitating her alien robot persona from her album, Metropolis: The Chase Suite, this odd petite girl stormed out rocking a female version of an old Temptations outfit. Her voice reflected Sarah Vaughn or Ella Fitzgerald, singing on funky, rock tunes. She moved like James Brown in his prime, but had the swagger of Andre 3000 with her own futuristic jerks.
    

From the beginning of the show singing the high energy "Violent Stars Happy Hunting," to sobering the mood with her remake of Nat King Cole's "Smile," Monae had you with her every step of the way.
    

There was nothing sacred or untouched on stage, she crowd surfed and fiercely pulled her doo-wop styled Mohawk. The cynical convert beside me explained it best, "God she's weird, but I'm loving her."
    

N.E.R.D. made it a point to keep the crowd hyped, although the third part of the trio, Chad Hugo, was nowhere in sight. With their vast instrumentation in the background, N.E.R.D. brought the crowd to a newer level of high; Pharrell was giving it up for the "CNN junkies." He said he didn't need to remind us to vote because he knew we (geeks) would. The same way he knew we would love the band's rendition of the White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army."
    

Politics guided N.E.R.D.'s playlist from their album, Seeing Sounds. As Pharrell and band mate Shay Haley rapped to the pulsating rhythms of "Kill Joy," saying "to you they might look beautiful, but they're rotten in the inside…Beautiful losers." Pharrell sarcastically screams, "This one's for John McCain."
    

When they played their oldies like "Brain" or "Lapdance," the audience marinated in Pharrell's energy. The lead singer actively interacted with the crowd, and the band created a mosh pit on stage during a spirited performance of "Rock Star."
    

Even with all the distracting groupies on stage during, "Everybody Nose" and "She Wants to Move," I was still embarrassingly lusting over Pharrell. The women wanted to be with him and the guys wanted to be him.
    

But, before he left the stage he wanted to make sure we were all voting for his candidate. He whispered to the crowd, "Who are you voting for?" and the band chanted "O-ba-ma" as they left the stage.
    

Common brought a different type of vibe to the modern crowd. He brought the same energy as N.E.R.D. and accomplished it better. The rapper/actor didn't require an entourage to back him up to get the crowd's hands in the air. All he needed was the talent that has kept him around for over a decade.
    

The show was theatrical. The stage was set like the inside of a club where a bar, bartender, and girls were all included. There were bits of dialogue between him and female clubbers on stage before he performed each of his classics. One lucky female crowd member was brought on stage to get a drink while Common serenaded her to the romantic track, "Come Close."
    

Along with tracks from his albums Be and Finding Forever, he performed around seven new tracks from his LP, Universal Mind Control, which will be released at the end of December. Title track, "Universal Mind Control," and a song he performed at the end of the show called "Gladiator" found Common experimenting with tempos and I found myself begging for more.
    

The rapper kept the political theme going as well. He encouraged the crowd to vote for what's right. He added to the rhetoric, "I'm not saying not just vote for any candidate, but I'm talking about Obama."
    

Common demonstrated that hip-hop and intellectualism grows better with age. He was the ideal ending for the night.
    

This concert not only satisfied us southern, hip-hop geeks, it empowered us.

Check it
N.E.R.D. - Spazz

Janelle Monae performing Violent Stars/Happy Hunting

Modern Skirts Have a Hard Time Rocking-out in Front of Adults and Children

-COLIN DUNLOP

 In full disclosure, The Ashford Manor "Concerts on the Lawn" was not the first time I saw Modern Skirts live. In fact, the last time I saw them I was hammered drunk, in the small, dark and dingy 40 Watt Club, belting out lyrics alongside a strictly 18-plus crowd.

    

But Monday night the band was not playing its normal scene — far from it. The Athens quartet was front and center on the back lawn of a classy, yet rustic bed and breakfast.
  

To say the band played a family-friendly show for a family-friendly concert series in a family-friendly town is an understatement.
    

In the antithesis of their normal eclectic wardrobe, the polished members came on stage in button up collared shirts and looser-fitting jeans — not ones made for teenage girls. Even the on-stage banter was curse free.
    

The set reached just under two hours, thanks to the 30-minute intermission, and the band's power-pop tunes translated nicely from their normal drunk college-aged crowd to sugar-buzzed children.
    

What didn't translate so well was a Skirts staple — high impact on-stage energy.
    

Starting promptly at 7, "My Lost Soprano" sailed through the speakers and into the chilled dusk air — but the open-air venue muffled the songs normal punch. The audience couldn't have felt the music rattle through their bones, I thought. But as cheers rose up at the end of the first song, it was very apparent they weren't looking for a skeletal jolt.
    

The Ashford Manor series, now in its eighth season, is wildly popular in Watkinsville, a town 15 minutes from the musical Mecca of Athens. In fact, the Skirts played Athens just three days before, but still managed to pack out the Manor. It seems the call for talented bands to play a family-friendly venue sounded (see Packway Handle Band's June performance) and Modern Skirts was more than happy to oblige.
    

The band sped its way through a first set dominated by highlights from "Catalogue of Generous Men," its first album. The band took its time with the second act, which, as expected, was geared toward its recently released sophomore album, "All of Us In Our Night." It was during the latter set I made two observations: I hate the way "My Bully" sounds played outside but love the way "Pasadena" does.
    

Don't get me wrong, I love "My Bully" — it's my favorite song on the first Skirts CD — but it demands to be played loud in close confines. "Pasadena," on the other hand, has never been my favorite. But it managed to reinvent itself as a perfect end of summer anthem more potent by a crisp fall breeze — a feeling unmatchable in a hot, sweaty, crowded club.
    

But that's the magic of Modern Skirts.
    

Its musical talent and versatiliy means the band can play a 1 a.m. show to a stinking, drunk college crowd, or make a 10-minute drive and croon to hundreds of small children and aging hipsters in the waning evening hours. While I won't fault the Skirts for branching out for its listeners, I can't say I'll be attending anymore of its outdoor shows.
    

No, I like seeing my bands blind-stinking drunk, cramped in a dingy club.

Check it
Modern Skirts - Pasadena

Modern Skirts performing Shaker in the Band

This is What Happens When Things Get Too Emo

- ALEX BERRY

Soft spoken but kind of chatty, solo acoustic act The Final Goodbye chuckled at himself while attempting to motivate the crowd—which included myself, three other girls and Tasty World's bartenders. Filling in for two emo/punk bands scheduled to play Tuesday night, The Final Goodbye's lone singer and guitarist, Johnny B, didn't introduce himself nor did he present song titles before performing them. He simply dove right into carelessly strumming and singing his enjoyably catchy, lovesick tunes.
  

Currently on tour, Atlanta based The Final Goodbye's sound mimics an amateur version of Dashboard Confessional—think slightly whiney, yet melodic, voice and simplistic acoustic guitar chords. His side-swiped dark brown hair falls gently across his eyes as he sings songs from his EP "Don't Take This Lightly" at times almost at a whisper as if the concert were more like a private VH1 session.
    

In between unintroduced tracks during the just under thirty-minute set, Johnny B joked about his "crappy voice" and filled the dark forgotten venue with rants on the weather. Attempting interaction with the "crowd," he asked us nonsense questions which went mostly unanswered save for an occasional "wooo" from a dreadlocked bartender.
    

But when he began playing again, his basic two-chord strum on his chocolate framed guitar that bled violet into its wood grain hollow body, echoed serenely out the open windows of the warehouse style bar in downtown Athens, Ga.
    

A slight stamor slid into his boyish, yearning voice from nervousness and inexperience as he crooned typical emo-lyrics, "We all need someone to say goodbye to, We all need someone to hold on to." The term "emo" music derives from the deep emotions emulated in the lyrics and mellow tunes. Generally this category is chastised as over exaggerated belly-aching. Though The Final Goodbye's music may fall into this whimpering, high-school daydreaming genre, his music is also sincere, somewhat unrefined, yet it resonates the emotional pull his voice demands.
     

Aside from the ranting, The Final Goodbye's presence and short, soft punk-rock anthems of longing were packed with potential. I can almost hear the polished instrumentation behind his soothing voice. Nothing worth jumping out of my seat for, but The Final Goodbye is definitely deserving of a second listening on a late afternoon drive.

Check It
The Final Goodbye - Corey and Topanga

Don't tell your Mom: We've Been Getting Stinky, Dirty and Sexy with RJD2

- DANA ZELMAN

Do you like sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll? How about a good romp among some drugged-out, writhing, sweaty bodies? Like to get a little dirty? Well then this Saturday night's show at the Georgia Theatre by the Philadelphia DJ known as RJD2 might have been just for you.
  

This was a great dance show, provided that you came prepared for some debauchery and didn't mind the infestation of drugs. His music could be the love child of fellow electronica artists Sound Tribe Sector 9 and DJ Tiesto, with an extra emphasis on hip-hop's characteristic resounding bass. RJD2 performs in front of a video projection, and even though he doesn't use any instruments other than turn tables, he is very interesting to watch. He moves through his music precisely and has a real gift for seamless transitions. This leaves little punctuation in his music, however, and the songs blend together to form one long, exhausting set. His mixes are expertly crafted, most of them building up to an orgasmic climax.
    

This was a dance party if I've ever seen one. The crowd moved with an almost electric, sexual pulse; I felt like a real badass for just being there. The mostly white male crowd was eccentric, with plenty of Athens' requisite obnoxious frat guys and smelly, dreadlocked hippies — not exactly the audience you'd want to bring home to Mom. Thinking of a few notably wild-eyed people gyrating next to me, the puffs of pot smoke ejected into the air every few minutes, and the mess of empty 32-oz. beer cups at my feet, I doubt anyone was legitimately sober at this show. It was a free-for-all, a debauched celebration of self-indulgence. The crowd was inconsiderate and aggressive, and I was elbowed out of my spot on several occasions; it was every man for himself in a heavy-breathing orgy of dancers.
    

RJD2 rocked the crowd, but he was also humble. Unlike his crowd, he pushed just a little, but not too much. His show was balanced, not only between hip-hop bass and electronic melodies but also between audio and visual.
    

The visual element of his show, a video projected on the screen behind him, was absolutely perfect for this potentially hallucinating crowd. It was a video remix, a fun house mirror to his music. It would sometimes show a live camera of what he was doing on the beat machine, but most of the video content was beyond weird. Old-school vampire movies and 80s dance-offs were mixed with soft-core porn and images of popular cartoon Aqua Teen Hunger Force and The Matrix. The cherry on top was a really notable sequence of people eating hot dogs. I got a few laughs out of that video, and so did the rest of the crowd, which was already high and giggly.
     

RJD2's fans aren't exactly your Red Cross volunteers (or maybe they are, via court-ordered community service), but don't let that stop you from venturing to one of his shows. He puts on a funky and energetic show, really showcasing his talent as a modern musician. My mother would never approve of me coming to such a blatant display of human vice, but I came to this show to get down and dirty — and I got dirty. 

    

I need a cigarette after just thinking about it.

Check it
RDJ2 - Smoke and Mirrors

Work it Out from RDJ2

Kanye's Sad

- JESSICA O'NEAL

Album Review
Kanye West "808s & Heartbreak"
Just when I was wishing that hip-hop would get T-Pain's annoying signature sound off of the air waves, Kanye West releases an album with 12 songs that is based on use of the cliché vocorder.
A year after his mother's death, a bad break-up with his fiancée, and dealing with becoming subject of media scrutiny, West found his inspiration behind 808s & Heartbreak.
  

This record strays away from his three previous college-themed albums. West boldly decides to completely reinvent his sound into electro-pop. Rapping over his typical brand of brilliant sampling and hip-hop beats couldn't convey the emotional time in his life. Using the Roland TR-808 drum machine and simple instrumentation, West accomplishes his intention to pour out his heart and show his troubles.
    

No wonder he uses the African tribal dancers in his video for the first single, "Love Lockdown." That's exactly what the drum beats sound similar to in most of the tracks.
    

Some of the songs grab your attention immediately, like the throbbing "Amazing" assisted by Atlanta rapper, Young Jeezy. He conceitedly sings," I'm a monster, I'm a killer, I know I'm wrong, yeah." Even through his sentimental journey, he reminds you that he is still the arrogant celebrity that knows he's on top.
    

Lyrically, his second single, "Heartless" and the sobering, "Street Lights" are the best written songs on the album. The gloomy tracks are placed over dinky keyboard cords and pulsating drum patterns. They give you incite into West's fragile state of mind and don't fall flat compared to "Bad News" or the badly free-styled "Pinocchio Story."
    

The upbeat "Paranoid" is probably my favorite track. The 80s throwback has a catchy chorus and is the only obvious bit of fun on the album. He tries to convey that same concept for "Robocop," but the over-possessive woman concept is so cynical, I can't enjoy it as much.
    

Lil Wayne couldn't save the lackluster "See You in My Nightmares." The most irritating tracks are the first two songs, "Say You Will" and "Welcome to Heartbreak." I cringe a little as he uses the auto-tune to sing the hook, "hey-hey-hey-hey, don't say you will, unless you will."
     

Overall, I missed West's rapping and his ability to move you in his oldies like, "All Falls Down," "Can't Tell Me Nothing," or "Two Words." 808s & Heartbreak displays some of his best work, and maybe some of his worst.
    

I have a feeling he might leave even his hardcore fans a little stale—hoping this is his version of Coca- Cola changing its taste to New Coke. Hopefully like the company's brand transformation failure, West will quickly change his product back to the original.

Check it

Kanye West - Paranoid

Kanye West - Heartless

Are those guys homeless? No, they're just the Fleet Foxes

- BRIAN CREECH

The Georgia Theater was crowded to the gills as the Fleet Foxes humbly ambled on stage last Tuesday evening. Bearded, uncombed and unwashed, lead singer Robyn Pecknold played the part of wandering troubadour when he didn’t even take off his jacket to don a borrowed guitar. The rest of the Foxes, each in a state of minor dishevelment, were his road-weary traveling companions.
    

Their haggard look was well earned. Upon arriving in Athens earlier in the afternoon, Pecknold’s own guitar broke while the band unloaded their equipment. One of the band’s amplifiers also blew-up during sound check. Pecknold showed a characteristic candor that followed him through the night when he said, “We don’t do drama, but, man, Athens, you guys really rose to challenge. Everyone knew someone to call to fix the problem.”
    

From the packed audience, you couldn’t tell that the band had any technical mishaps while preparing for the concert. Kings of composure, their trademark vocal harmonies never faltered, and the instruments were crisp. The show started with the harmonized vocal opening of “Sun it Rises,” and continued through every other song from their self-titled debut.
The Georgia Theater architects mustn’t have been aware of acoustics when they built the place, because all the noise from the bar travels into the crowd, sometimes overpowering the music coming from the stage. But after four songs, the entire crowd stood captivated and silent as rich harmonies echoed throughout the theater.
    

There was a clear “gee-whiz” excitement the band had about playing to such a large crowd. The crowd reciprocated their enthusiasm and got lost in the mystical and complex atmosphere of the Fleet Foxes songs. “Blue Ridge Mountains,” “Your Protector” and “Ragged Wood” all sound like compositions the Beach Boys would have written, if they had come down from Appalachia instead of straight out of California.
    

Drummer Craig Curran’s back beats pushed each song with a sense of pulse-quickening urgency, especially during the break down of “Your Protector,” where the guitar hook, bass line and drums all built the song to almost Springsteen-esque levels of intensity.
    

The Fleet Foxes secret weapon is the emotional range they are capable of capturing with the smallest of musical gestures. With three notes in the middle of “Blue Ridge Mountains,” the song shifts from a pastoral meditation to a harrowing snowed-in catastrophe soundtracked by one of the most sinister repeating piano melodies of recent memory.
    

After the middle of the set, the band departed and left Pecknold on stage with just a borrowed guitar and his voice. He cracked a few jokes with the audience, and then casually launched into a cover of Judee Sill’s “Crayon Angels” that seamlessly segued into “Oliver James,” a finger-picked ballad about a baby found in a river bed. Pecknold’s solo voice took the main stage, soaring and falling to fill the entire theater. Again, the audience remained rapt, exploding into applause as he said, “Thanks” and stepped off-stage.
    

After coming back on for an encore, and the debut of a new song called “Silver City,” Pecknold and company again touted their praise of Athens. After a spirited sing-a-long version of “White Winter Hymnal,” Pecknold shrugged his shoulders and told the beyond capacity crowd “You guys are all awesome. Thanks so much for having us here.” To which someone in the crowd replied “Move here!” After scratching his beard and shrugging his shoulders, Pecknold said, “Sure, why not?”

Check It
Fleet Foxes Performing White Winter Hymnal

Electric Angst, lots and lots of Electric Angst

-ALEX BERRY

Album Review:
Breathe Carolina “It’s Classy, Not Classic”

The recently signed eclectic duo, Breathe Carolina, mixes a retro dance party with a headbanger’s ball in their first release album “It’s Classy, Not Classic.” The Denver based band creates a trippy euphoria by combining trance beats with intense screamo lyrics. Think Underoath lead singer, Spencer Chamberlain, crashing an underground DJ Tiesto rave. 

    

Recently signed to Rise Records—known for other club rock bands like Dance Gavin Dance and Take the Crown--Breathe Carolina anticipates the release of “It’s Classy, Not Classic” on September 16 with new tracks as well as songs from their “Gossip EP”—which premiered only on Itunes.

    

The boys (David and Kyle) wildly entertain with songs like “The Birds and the Bees,” taking a clever approach on explaining sex to coming of age youngsters. David’s melodic, boyish voice sings “I swear to God, I won’t stop until you’re shaking,” while Kyle compliments him with throat-tearing screams of “Trust me baby, you know I want you to.” The bouncy, upbeat tune, “That’s Classy” sarcastically claims sophistication but humorously contradicts the title with the lyrics,“You’re never gonna taste me. You never were what I wanted, bitch.” Breathe Carolina’s 9 track album has been featured on Purevolume.com as well as Myspace.com.
    

The electronica/indie/screamo band even covers U2’s“With or Without You,” that’s sure to make you turn your head to the familiar lyrics drowning in a techno pulse beat and growling back-up vocals. The eclectic concept of techno smashing into hardcore thrash seems too far-fetched, however the duo pulls it off. The contrast in the boys’ voices paired with the ambient, club music collides into a fun, teenage angst party full of raging hormones, glow sticks, and underage drinking.

Check it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rN7_ilhBoI8

A Twee Mash-Up at The Caledonia Lounge

- ALEX DIMITROPOULOS

Sweden’s Love Is All delivered minimal stage banter in meek, broken English, exuberant post-punk songs in tight formation and one of the most idiosyncratic voices in rock in an oversized teal sweatshirt. Josephine Olausson squeaks in a voice that is half infant, half feline and all party, and the audience at the Caledonia Lounge on Oct. 7 was lucky to catch her and the rest of the critically lauded band on the first stop of their North American tour. The two openers, the Buddy System and Je Suis Francais were vastly different, but attitudes gelled where styles did not, and all three made a warm, inviting atmosphere.
Openers the Buddy System, a local band that provides musical scores to animated videos by member Lauren Gregg, had the most elaborate setup, which looked as much like a flea market as it did a concert. Three tiny televisions, a projector and giant screen, Christmas lights and various animal lawn ornaments were onstage before the band arrived. The Buddy System aim to synchronize musical transitions to cinematic ones, and their timing is impressive. They play with bold blocks of color, alternating between simple chords in time with the creative changes onscreen, which range from comical to heartwarming. They “supported” cascading Nike basketball shoes, a bobbing jukebox and an anthropomorphized tooth that had its own teeth. Their final song, the epic “Return to Horse Mountain,” featured five hooded horses with pentagram pendants, and two heroes who punch those horses to create Sin City-style blood spatters. The Buddy System is the only band in town that designs engaging stories with such popping sounds, colors and imaginative interplay between the two. They often do so without saying a word.
    

Je Suis France took the stage next, with shredded vocals singing, “I got an awesome sound,” in a song with an indeterminate ending that kept popping up in between more serious and straightforward numbers. The guitarist/vocalist would scream “stop,” breathe heavily into the microphone like a horror-film villain, and then the song would continue. Eventually, someone in the band hit a perfect Isley Brothers “Wait a minute” from the classic “Shout,” only to resume singing about Je Suis France’s “awesome sound.” Unlike The Buddy System, Je Suis France’s surprises and songs sound like they should come from two different groups. They are a cross between a house band and a power pop throwback. Here’s to hoping they fully swing to self-mockery and wild, onstage antics. Their gentler songs may have had excellent lyrics, but they didn’t come through the speakers clearly, and the energy of the band faltered. Their jingle about “Scooter World,” which the Athens business rejected, was a highlight, however. Penned by Kevin Lane, who was working sound that night, the song was a tongue twister rattled off at auctioneer speed, and it elicited laughs from the sometimes doubled over audience. The band segued into another, more professional brand of fun.
    

Finally, headliners Love is All unassumingly came on to close out the night’s concert. You can read their name in at least two ways. The first is that love is all-encompassing, and the other is an ironic answer to a question like, “What did you find on your trip through Candyland?” Their music, a sincere outpouring of emotion amid blindingly fast hi-hat work, sporadic saxophone jabs and electric guitar strumming, should point to the former. The band is so well practiced that Åke Strömer could drink a beer while hitting the automated handclaps.
Their dense accumulation of danceable rhythms from every instrument builds and breaks as beautifully as a wave, leaving only vocals, the rhythm section and a chill down your spine. It’s not easy to make a great song that has the lead singer saying “talk” 54 times in the chorus, not that many have tried, but Love Is All can do that and more. Their percussive, throbbing rendition of A Flock of Seagulls’ “I Ran (So Far Away),” the last song of the concert and part of their new EP, wasn’t tongue-and-cheek. “I Ran” is Strömer’s favorite song, Olausson said, and she could have been referring to the band’s cover. Love Is All is just that good. They look polite and unassuming, but their sound and talent are big. The band’s name should be as well.

Check It
Horse Mountain from The Buddy System

Orphans roaming the streets of Indie Power-Pop

-COLIN DUNLOP

Album Review:

Tokyo Police Club “Elephant Shell”

Putting on "Elephant Shell" by Tokyo Police Club is a little like melting down your Death Cab For Cutie, Strokes, Motion City Soundtrack and Bloc Party albums and then playing the ensuing mash-up.

     

The foursome hails from Canada – Ontario more precisely – and currently reside on Connor Obersts' Saddle Creek Records. "Elephant Shell" is the bands first full release, coming on the heels of their EPs "A Lesson in Crime" and "Smith EP" released in '06 and '07 respectively.

    

The album opens with "Centennial," which at just under 2 minutes long feels more like a welcoming introduction than a full track – but not to their detriment. It's vocals glide effortlessly over thick bass lines and ample percussion drawing the listener in, while also setting the mood perfect for their indie-pop creation that immediately follows.

    

The songs are relatively short, with only one of them topping the 3-minute mark (the power-pop sing-along "Your English is Good"). Even the seemingly slower songs "The Harrowing Adventure" and "Listen to the Math" seem punchy in their execution and the album never seems to drag on.

    

The only downside is that listeners are left waiting for that thing that grabs them. There is no ballad that reaches Death Cab's "What Sarah Said." No song that'll stick with you for weeks like "Hard to Explain" from The Strokes. And certainly no use of keys quite like "Fell in Love Without You" from Motion City.

    

But granted these comparisons are between a freshman effort and three bands that have been at the top of their game for multiple albums.

    

Tokyo Police Club have put out a solid 11-song breeze but without those chill-bump moments. If the Club continues their evolution we'll certainly be melting their CD's down in an effort to describe the newest up-and-comers.

Check it
Tokyo Police Club - Your English is Good