The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Sky Full of Holes by Fountains of Wayne

Bruce will always have Nebraska. Bowie will always have Berlin. But Fountains of Wayne have always seemed to be perpetually stuck in suburban America. 2007's Traffic & Weather lingered on protagonists who tragically rushed through their lives without ever getting anywhere. 2003's Welcome Interstate Managers was an ode to suburbanites trapped in the cubicleland of middlemanagement hell. Sky Full of Holes, however, is a new and novel take for this band on the subject: it's the suburban disseration on mortality. Tuneful but passingly morbid, it's their rumination on life, death and all the rest. It's their own American Prayer; a reimagining in which Jim Morrison wears short sleeved button down shirts for his accounting job. It's a powerpop Automatic for the People that trades the gothic austerity of Athens, Georgia, for the simple pleasures of Jersey Shore.

Which is not to say that Sky Full of Holes is a glum affair. It's still a FOW album, after all, and nobody makes the mundane more spectacular than Fountains of Wayne. Their brilliance has always been their ability to find the humanity of a song skirted between the accelerated delivery of comedy and the nuanced languor of tragedy. Sky Full of Holes, their most straighforward effort since 1999's Utopia Parkway, has plenty of characters that offer both.

There's the hare brained losers of "Richie and Ruben," the roadsick musician of "Roadsong," and the despondent girlfriend in "Hate to See You Like This." At first glance, there aren't a lot of thoughts here on the surface that linger towards morbid fascination. But spread across the whole album, there is a a pervasive unease that comes with the realization that time is oppressively encroaching upon all of us. "Workingman's Hands" concerns itself with saving money "for a hole in the ground, a black car and a long wall of roses" while "Cold Comfort Flowers," with it's psychadelic harmonies, states it's affair much more plainly with the chorus of "cold comfort flowers will bloom and decay."

Given this newfound morbidity, it's not hard to understand the mordant ennui of the the girlfriend in "Hate to See You Like This." The haplessly bored sister of "The Summer Place" feels it, too. She daydreams about feeling half as alive as she felt when she was a shoplifting teen. The Walter Mitty-esque protagonist of "Action Hero" finds himself in the midst of a medical scare that's soon to be an existential crisis. "Cemetary Guns" is a sermon for the "blue war widow in the grey raincoat." Bloom and decay, indeed.

Lacking the Steve Miller-esque sheen of their last album or the new wave hooks that propelled "Stacy's Mom" to public consciousness, it would be all too easy to write off Sky Full of Holes as an excercise in solemnity. But FOW keep the arrangements simple and let singer Chris Collingwood's vocals do the heavy lifting. Their typical snarky flare is traded for a more subtle delivery as they let their impeccable songwriting and nuanced melodicism do all the talking. The end result is still unmistakably Fountains of Wayne: even with the softer touch and slower delivery, everybody still sings along.


essential listening:

Action Hero
Cold Comfort Flowers
Cemetary Guns
*the Story in Your Eyes (amazon exclusive)

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Ceremonials by Florence + the Machine

As a group, Florence + the Machine's sound could best be described in one word: elemental. Singer Florence Welch's voice was a hurricane amongst the ethereal atmospherics of their debut album Lungs. Ceremonials, on the other hand, is delivered with an earthiness only hinted at in prior efforts. With it's solid piano hits and bombastic drumming, it's an album that revolves around the tasteful reserve of the band's musicianship versus the release of Welch's full throated vocal throttle.

Given the oversize melodies and theatrics of the songs, it's easy to reimagine Welch as a mainstream hook laden diva in another life. But with such a powerful voice at her command, it's inane to campare her to any of her female contemporaries. Forget Britney, Christina or any of their clonified proteges. Welch is a supernatural talent who bears more resemblance to mythical creatures of lore- think sirens and banshees. One banshee, in particular, comes to mind: Siouxsie Sioux.

Whereas the Yeah Yeah Yeah's Karen O always conveyed more of Sioux's vocal DNA as unrestrained id, Welch flips the coin by instead appropriating her deft sense of glamour and restrained elegance. It's there in the anthemic chorus of "Only If For a Night." It's there in the hushed melody of "Breaking Down." It's there in the haunting anguish of "Seven Devils." Welch's voice, a supernatural wonder of massive destruction and beauty, is a lethal alterna-punk sleeper amongst the soft mainstream divas.

But the real challenge for Florence + the Machine has got to be finding songs that allow the band to define their singer as much as she defines them. Lungs suffered from a severe case of debuitis in which the young band threw everything, possibly including the kitchen sink, at arrangements. But Ceremonials, with it's diverse offerings, is a more tasteful display. There's a strong sense of deliberation at play here- they allow the arrangements more room to breathe while the supporting cast choses the best moments to reveal their best parts. This allows them to shine instead of crowding the picture as the songs luxuriate in the ambiance they've created.


essential listening:
Breaking Down
Shake It Out
Lover to Lover

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Hanna Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

As composed by the Chemical Brothers, there is a remarkable amount of music box whimsy that accompanies the original motion picture soundtrack to Hanna. Laced especially through "Hanna's Theme," "the Devil is in the Details" and their respective variations, it's the perfect sound for the youthful naivete that comes with the protracted and protective isolation of childhood. Alternately, action scenes are delivered with digital loop de loops where layer upon layers of synth sounds spiral into kaleidoscopic new sounds.

As a score, it brings the Chemical Brothers to an arena in which they can explore dynamic shifts and ambient subtleties usually disallowed within the realm of techno. Scenes such as "Car Chase (Arp Worship)" fire off with a contained urgency and an appropriate amount of time to build tension before spilling over with an arena ready drum sound and then suddenly coaslescing into a hushed breath of a bridge. As it's own musical entity, it's compelling. As a score, it's so strong that it just comes short of overpowering the movie it was written for.

None of which is to say that the Chemical Brothers have completely abandoned form. "Escape Wavefold"s swaggering bass is a phenomenal reminder of where these composer's originally hail from. And "Container Park" shows the Chemical Brothers digging deep into their bag of techno tricks as the music lulls in and out of time and phase.

As an independent piece of work, Hanna stops just short of being a true album. There are too many snippets that stop short of being true songs. Additionally, there are also themes that bear repeated variations (though none so good as the demented electro clash "the Devil is in the Beats"). But as a score, it's undeniably captivating. It's an audio equivalent to Alice in Wonderland: a Dali-esque melting slideshow of childhood's journey as it's informed by the treacherous shadows of adulthood's lingering expectations and the surreality of a world formed beyond one's control or influence.


essential listening:
the Devil is in the Beats
Container Park
Escape Wavefold

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: 100 Lovers by Devotchka

Opening with the gently swelling strings and piano of "the Alley," 100 Lovers arrives like the gently sweeping sands of a desert oasis. It's exudes a feeling so calm and serene that it's almost impossible not to imagine the majestic expanse of the desert in its still and silent beauty. It's not until the propulsive opening bars of the second song, "All the Sand in All the Sea," that the album starts to feel more like the center of a dust devil.

Welcome to Devotchka's sixth studio album. It's an album rich with inspired visions of the desert, tastefully impressive musicianship and a production sense so epic that its cinematic. It's an album that sounds like a Lorca play scored by Ennio Morricone and spiked with red wine.

It's also probable that it's the most romantic piece of work you'll hear all year. Whistfully poppy at turns, elegantly strident at others, their usual blend of ambitious world music is bolstered here by a production ethic that enhances it's accessibility without sacrificing it's diversity. They veer effortlessly from flamenco ("Bad Luck Heels") to spaghetti western bombast ("the Man From San Sebastion") while still managing to cover all points points in between. The success of this approach, whether it's the infectiously breezy pop of "100 Other Lovers" and "Exhaustible" or the arena ready urgency of "All the Sand in All the Sea" and "The Common Good," is self evident.

Musically, Devotchka tower. And even though the songs don't sound like it, they are deceptively straightforward. They live within the simple skeleton framework of pop music songwriting (verse chorus verse and so on) but every devilish little deatil, whether it's Thomas Hagerman's violin work or Nick Urata's double duty with the theramin, take the songwriting from dependable to spellbinding. It wouldn't be hard to argue that Devotchka may be the most literate band out there but this is still a helluva ruckus for four musicians who look more like a book club.

essential listening:

All the Sand in All the Sea
100 Other Lovers
the Common Good

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Collapse Into Now by R.E.M.

How simple it all seems with time. Collapse Into Now, R.E.M.'s final album on contract with Warner Brothers, was declared by many as a return to form and the band's most listenable effort in more than a decade and a half. What a bittersweet affair, then, that this record has turned out to be now that they've announced their retirement, effective immediately. Using Collapse as their exit strategy, they knowingly crafted a love letter of an album. It's a fond farewell to each other, to their legacy as a band and more than anything, to their (some would say long-suffering) fans. And in the process, they reminded us why we all loved them so much to begin with and why, ultimately, we'll miss them so much down the road.

And all they had to do was sound like R.E.M.

All facets of R.E.M. are on display here: the elegiac beauty of Automatic for the People, the up-tempo strumminess of Out of Time, the anarchic fuzzbox glee of Monster. Stipe's vocals are worth the price of admission alone as he veers from personality to personality with ease. He goes from mournful crooning to ecstatic wordplay (word vomit as he's called it in past interviews) to defiant pronouncements as if he's covering the whole of his career in just one disc.

Unlike a lot of bands, R.E.M. has never successfully recouped on tensions within the group. At their best, they defined themselves with a cohesive artistic vision- whether it was the acoustic Out of Time or the 90's glam Monster. And while past efforts may have seemed chronically laborious for both the band and listeners, this album feels more like a joyuous rediscovery of all the best that the band has always had to offer. They sound at ease with themselves, as though they're unburdened of the baggage of being R.E.M. and finally able to just enjoy it for what it is.

It's almost as if they're finally throwing themselves that apocalyptic party they've always wanted to.


essential listening:
Uberlin
All the Best
Mine Smell Like Honey

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: I Am Very Far by Okkervil River

I Am Very Fary, Okkervil River's sixth album, is a Mad Max dystopia of a record. Unlike Okkervil's past efforts, which is marked by a languid sort of patience, this record surges with an unprecedented menace that's oppressively urgent at one moment and dreadfully quiet the next. It's a record of extremes- a controlled descent into madness where every ray of sunlight is defined by the shadows that grow dark around them. It's littered with wide open soundscapes populated by every doom and gloom pronouncement lead singer Will Sheff can make.

The majority of I Am Very Far is akin to releasing a beast of an Okkervil River that's only been hinted at on prior releases. It makes a move away from the band's usual high minded works of literate deliberation and towards a more freewheeling sound where the id runs rampant for better or worse. Only on "Lay of the Last Survivor" do we get truly close to a traditional Okkervil sound: quiet, reflective and reserved with more than a little sadness for its subject. The rest of the album is shot through with rampant paranoia and desparation as it goes places that one knows better but can't resist.

Which isn't to say that this is a wholly brand new model for the band. A lot of the intent here is the same. It's just the palette of colors that isn't. The ideas here, musical or otherwise, are still grandiose and deceptively expansive in ways not often found in the typical rock canon. "We Need a Myth" sees the band shifting dynamics and instrumentation in a manner akin to 2007's "John Allyn Smith Sails" while "Rider" features an up-tempo dynamic that would not have been out of place on the Stand Ins. It just takes a song like "White Shadow Waltz" to see that this is still the same Okkervil, it just happens to be through Brian Wilson's acid tinted lenses.


essential listening:
The Valley
Your Past Life as a Blast
The Rise

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: Past Life Martyred Saints by EMA

Past Life Martyred Saints is not so much an album as it is a sound collage with occasional bursts of melody, rhythm and harmony. As artistic statements go, it's a piece of work so histrionic in it's honesty that it becomes epic fiction. Much of this is due to EMA's almost Reznorian taste for lo-fi white noise production. The songs range from industrial stomp rave-ups ("Milkman") to pulpit bullyings ("California") but really, most of the songs here are just the fevered beginnings of incredible imaginings. They start off gently before before unspooling into epochal sonic journeys to the afterlife and back. The opening "Grey Ship" alone is enough to start garnering comparisons to a post modern Dark Side of the Moon.

Coupled with a dash of Karen O's vocal verve, EMA shows a keen instinct for attacking a song while at the same time abandoning traditional song structure in ways that only a young person can. The lyrics convey an artist who's not just in conflict with herself- she's at war. She covers with a frighteningly stark and emotional honesty the goalposts of affection, obsession and all points in between: second chances gone wrong, substance abuse, depression, mutilation and every other source of angst out there.

"You were goth in high school," she sings, as if self immolation ever really goes out of style. Not only is it still fashionable here, it's an act of defiant, conflicted beauty. Especially when tempered by the longing in lyrics like "If this time through, we don't get it right, I'll come back to you in another life."

Past Life Martyred Saints is not the easiest album you'll hear this year (or ever for that matter). There are moments that veer from choral to atonal before haphazardly embracing both elements. There aren't many hooks. And there isn't a lot of leeway for casual listeners. It demands proper attention and respect from listeners in the hopes that they'll take the time to really take in the tragic beauty of the burn that's happening before their ears. In short, it's the sort of record that makes one wish they'd never heard music before just so they could obsessively fall in love with music for the first time... again.


Essential listening:
Grey Ship
California
Milkman

The Story Thus Far 2011 Edition: King of Limbs by Radiohead

Long past the guitar histrionics of Radiohead's 90's output, every new release becomes an excercise in Schrodinger's rock: all albums are possible until it's finally released. Their latest, King of Limbs, alludes to ghostly trees and Eurocentric mythology but the sound is more akin to Japanese horror-pop cinema.

Not only are the songs here ghosts in the machine- they are the machine. They're cold, detached and methodically haunting. Sounds creep in and out of familiarity before contorting into hyperpixelated landscapes of ghostly melodies and rhythms. At one moment, they're a spectral glimpse of a song waiting to happen. Then, they're melting into inside out shapes of themselves like a glitchy sample stuck on repeat. Lost amid the stir of echoes here is Thom Yorke's crooning falsetto. Here, he sounds at home swept away in a stream of sounds equivalent to some seriously corrupted signal.

And then something really confusing happens. Starting with "Lotus Flower," the album's midway point, conventional songs start to appear. A more commercial artist would have used this material to sequence a hushed meditative album that melts into a Dali-esque slice of audio acid. Instead, the rhythms straighten themselves out and melodies start to cohere. "Codex" and "Give up the Ghost" bring a welcomed but unexpected quality to the album: hushed codas. "Separator" is as straighforward a song as Radiohead makes these days and an excellent send off that leaves the listener perplexed as to what comes next.


Essential Listening:
Morning Mr Magpie
Lotus Flower
Give Up the Ghost