When I noticed that every band I'd grown up with's new material was starting to sound less and less interesting, I started to wonder if the creative wave of awesome that infected the music scene in the late '80's through about 1997 had been systematically vaccinated by corporate record labels and increasingly hoodwinking marketing techniques. "Remastered Re-releases" for example. What a fucking scam, and way for a stalemate artist to take out a second mortgage on his claim to fame, while simultaneously serving as back up power generator for the inevitably blacked out and doomed major label conglomerates. Really, the major labels slit their own throats when they got away from seeking out new and unique boutique bands with potential, to instead rest on the laurels of what had already been proven formulas for platinum selling records. Instead of putting money into promoting interesting new music, they opted for the vehicle of Pepsi advertisements and sixty second Nissan commercials.
I got to thinking about this (who am I kidding - I always think about this) and how it so strongly drives home the importance of independent music. Without it you have nothing but the purest of artistic impurity. You have processed sludge in a neat little box designed to taste good, but lacks any sort of nutritional virtue. You have something only vaguely reminiscent of raw, unique and untainted. So the other day, I sifted through my albums and CDs, on a mission to discern what was new and creatively progressive, and just plain not touched by slimy corporate fingers set only on weaving crispy synthetic dollars. It was then I noted that there was clearly something stirring in the midwest. Which was really convenient to investigate since I live around there.
So this is a guide to my decided findings. 12 songs from 12 great independent artists that coincidentally all happen to be from the midwestern region of the country - all active now, producing amazing shit now, and all as yet unspoiled by anyone other than their enamored fans. These are what I decided are their best, most promising compositions; and wholly representative of the substance that makes them great. The track list is in order, and it plays like so....
(p.s. for the artists below who have their work available on bandcamp.com, you can click the band's name in each selection to download their music. I like bandcamp as a digital music site. They are pure and good. And I really wouldn't want to support any other site enough to promote for free, so... yeah.)
1. The Well by The Vega Star (from the album The Night):
Tracks from this, The Vega Star's debut album, will likely make every "best of" list I compile from now until I die. It's just that engrossing; and while its tracks ride dangerously close to "sound alike", there is enough individuality in each of them to make it near impossible to choose just one favorite. "The Well" (for this list anyway) is that favorite. It's the opening track on the record (as I notice a lot of these selections are... hmm), and it's a great one because it literally kick starts the entire CD. Secondary guitarist Jackson Messner (who has since amicably left the band) slides sideways while frontman Justin Rolbiecki hammers down the quick and deadly rhythm guitar that will ultimately serve as the back drop for this entire collection. His voice comes in low and ominous, as the clouds take their cue and roll over the moon. "I'm down here thinking of a world. A world that's only in my mind. And if I ever see this world, I could lay right down and die..." The song wraps oily black vines around your chest, and raises the hair on your arms. "In this room there is a well, and this well is filled with dreams. Dreams of summer, dreams of days. Days that pass and days to come..." Without knowing the cryptic Thing the song warns of, you regardless worry of it. There is want for knowing in this track - "fear of", as well as "fear of not". "The Well" tells nothing at all, because to know is contravention of the highest offense... and knowing that alone should be enough.
2. Creature by The Fatty Acids (from the album Leftover Monsterface)
I can think of no other song that is as conducive to creepy crawly visual imagery than The Fatty Acids' "Creature". In a dank basement somewhere, this thing seethes, waxes and wanes. "This is the creature we made and then dressed in the winter..." The track has such an insistent, deliberate cadence you feel literally pulled toward and in front of this nameless glissading monster. In slow motion, in relentless foreboding, while this song pulses and breathes. You can put your hand on its side and feel it bristle. You're never really clear on what exactly this is all about, but as the distorted and wailing guitar segue rears up at 2:49 minutes in, then drops into a flatline of a singularly pulled bass string, and the slow drop... drop.... drop... of the percussion - quick head jerk guitar bursts - and now you're unconcerned. Your concern is with The Creature, taking it all in, and marveling at it for all the inexplicable glory that it is.
3. The East Coast by The Daredevil Christopher Wright (from the album In Deference to a Broken Back)
This next track brings some sunshine with it (but not too much, listen to the lyrics). The cracked and pitchy vocals belie the gentle pluck and strum of the acoustic guitar work, and the angelic chorus of butterflies and birds singing "Everyone thinks I'm the same man everyone thinks..." weaving behind each of line of the first refrain is the most wildly illustrative depiction of quiet insanity than any that comes to mind. There's a warbling little flute buried in there, adding an additional bit of warped and mocked pretty, and the sun sets on "The East Coast", whilst our narrator desperately inquires: "Now when you come home, does it feel like you thought it would?"
4. The Birds by Crooked Keys (from The Birds EP)
Nothing sings praise, or assails so interminably, as a good old fashioned southern gospel country song. So while Crooked Keys aren't much in the way of being what you'd consider progressively creative, their charm is more in enjoying the fashion in which frontlady Leah Kowalewski exorcises her inner demons. For anyone who has ever been determined to enjoy a little catharsis by way of wailing out church fashion against their wrong doer, then this song will hit the spot. I have a certain affection for Crooked Keys in that everything about music that truly sets you free, lets you glide a little, and just all in all makes you let go, is in their music. I dare anyone reading this to not be driven to move in hearing this song. I have nothing for religion, and nothing for praise and worship, but hearing "The Birds" makes me want to find the most gospel rich church in town and go there and just sing along - just to be that close to music that rises, builds and crescendos like this does. Granted, Kowalewski's messages have nothing at all to do with The Lord's good grace, but by God even if they did, I'd sell my soul just to wallow in it.
5. Letters by Animals In Human Attire (from the Animals In Human Attire EP)
Admittedly, "Letters" kind of sort of fosters that Nissan car commercial feeling. Or a cell phone commercial showing hip and trendy twenty-somethings marveling at how conveniently they can send each other "pics" and videos whilst on the subway; smiling and laughing as the camera pans over to whatever the fuck else looks super cool and hip. But set aside the fact that songs as catchy as this are exactly the sort that give demographic targeting advertising excecs big hard ons, and give this one credit for embodying that so unintentionally. Every other song on this EP is pretty bold in its representation, and doesn't strive at all to fulfill any obligation to consumability. Jack Tell and company have too much character for that; and even if this track comes off sounding a little vapid next to other songs currently being overplayed on popular radio (that sound pretty much just like it), the sum of the album's parts tell you this was purely coincidently, and not an intentional... onomatopoeia? It's not trying to sound like what it is, it just happens to sound that way. Tracks like this wouldn't be so commonly exploited if they didn't have such mass appeal in the first place. Now, if this became a hit song for Animals In Human Attire, and they started producing little replicas of this on every album they did after (think of Everclear with "Santa Monica"), then shame on them. If they don't - which they won't - then crazy mad props to them for hitting the nail on the head with "Letters", and then moving on to try something else.
6. Over The Line by Hero Jr. (from the Hero Jr. EP)
As discussed in a previous article about this band, among many things that drew me to them was the album art; in this case something large and cumbersome trapped within another thing floating and light, held aloft by a tiny bird equally so. There are 8 tracks on the Hero Jr. EP, and the majority of them deal in issues of a troubled conscious, and a certain internal turmoil that addresses these in a way that only the "bothered by it" can hear. "Over The Line", from my perception anyway, is the "seriously - you actually think that?" type illustration of astonishment I think anyone can relate to. It's the personal justification of what you've given verses what you've received - and the disappointment and surrender in all of that. When you're ill received, you're ill over it - that's a base human reaction. Followed by parodic mockery, and then finalized by the consideration: "seriously - do I actually think that?" "Over The Line" maps a route in which the way the human id will wiggle at the mercy of a socially embarrassing faux pas. I can't say I've ever experienced it as well done as here - and yeah, I seriously think that.
7. Ghostsong by Daniel Knox (from the album Evryman For Himself)
Evryman For Himself is, hands down, my favorite album right now, and Daniel Knox is, no contest, the most intriguing musician I am aware of (notwithstanding Tom Waits). "Ghostsong" is a dead calm, black and white flicker show of despise and forlorn. "When I come back to life, I'll find you. Push my thumbs into your eyes and blind you. When you hear your name called out across a crowded street, you'll think of me and swear the ground was stollen from your feet..." It's the spooky threat of a vengeful potentate, driving home the message that it will get you, no matter what... it will get you for what you've done. Knox's gentle and consistent piano drubbing establishes such a somber, treacherous mood here - one that makes you fear any retribution you might have coming to you will indefinitely get you at this very moment, and you'll lie bleeding to death, the last thing in your ears this dismal, antiquated and sinister sounding ballad. It's a three and some odd minute Hitchcock montage that creeps and insults, and makes you scared that every shadow you ever thought you saw will be the one that exacts its revenge on you. Your fate will be sealed by it, and there is no saving you, and no one will care for the loss of your contemptible soul, for "yours is like the spirit of a breeze that blows through town. No one remembers unless it knocks something down..."
8. No Heart by I'm Not A Pilot (from the I'm Not A Pilot EP)
I'm Not A Pilot will surely be the next band voted "Most Likely To Put Milwaukee Back On The Musical Map". This is fact. With their unique disposition of a lead singer without a guitar (opting for keys instead), a proper Symphony Orchestra cellist in hot pursuit of his limelight, and a drummer that's really the only runner up to the kind of clairvoyance alongside his counterparts that ex-Primus percussionist Tim Alexander only ever displayed, the band is instantly interesting by design alone. "No Heart" represents just about everything about them that holds that interest, beginning with its opening build, the throaty glide, the tactful whisper, of Peter Thomas's cello, as frontman Mark Glatzel comes in with the urgent keys that induce panic in those strings. The percussion builds the momentum behind them both, until the song relaxes and levels out with the vocal introduction: "Now tell me how to feel, if you catch me I caught you. I sleep so neat and distraught when you're gone..." It's an interesting song, because not only are the instruments in constant pursuit of each other - racing to successive pinnacles throughout - but the lyrics weave tactfully around one another as well. "I try laughing when I've got no heart, I try feeling when I've got no love, I try racing down an endless hall, cause when I get there there'll be something more..."
I'm Not A Pilot will surely be the next band voted "Most Likely To Put Milwaukee Back On The Musical Map". This is fact. With their unique disposition of a lead singer without a guitar (opting for keys instead), a proper Symphony Orchestra cellist in hot pursuit of his limelight, and a drummer that's really the only runner up to the kind of clairvoyance alongside his counterparts that ex-Primus percussionist Tim Alexander only ever displayed, the band is instantly interesting by design alone. "No Heart" represents just about everything about them that holds that interest, beginning with its opening build, the throaty glide, the tactful whisper, of Peter Thomas's cello, as frontman Mark Glatzel comes in with the urgent keys that induce panic in those strings. The percussion builds the momentum behind them both, until the song relaxes and levels out with the vocal introduction: "Now tell me how to feel, if you catch me I caught you. I sleep so neat and distraught when you're gone..." It's an interesting song, because not only are the instruments in constant pursuit of each other - racing to successive pinnacles throughout - but the lyrics weave tactfully around one another as well. "I try laughing when I've got no heart, I try feeling when I've got no love, I try racing down an endless hall, cause when I get there there'll be something more..."
There's a certain feeling of crumble and collapse in this song, and one that at the same maneuvers deftly between each of its clearly defined sections in a way that - oddly enough - adds to the feeling it imposes more than detracts from it. The skittish brush percussion and harmonium (is that what it is?) intro is somewhat loose, supported by disjointed guitar and echoed out vocals far in the background of the instrumentation. So you focus on that as it builds, but then that diverts into the full body of a song that forms itself machine like and mechanized. It holds through each of the singer's cryptic and pointed, terse and disappointed, verses of all matters of disheartenment: "And we worry our mothers to death, with criminally shifting eyes...." And after you're thoroughly saturated in these second person swinglines that exploit your presumptuous nature, comparing them to the reality you've actually invented, the band let's you lurch in it only briefly, before that too falls away and the song shifts yet again, into solid pillars of chord progression that lead the entire thing to destruction... and redemption seeking lyrical refrains.
Uncle Larry, I've stated before, is The Residents of the modern age. One can only hope that they, unlike The Residents, continue to successfully produce difficult to decipher material that doesn't become steeped in tedious prose on the politics of religious hypocrisy and male genitalia. The Residents lost the ability to be clever about conveying a message through nonsensical lyrics around 1988, but Uncle Larry - two full lengths into their career - already show much more stamina than The Residents ever did, even in their salad days of Duck Stab and The Commercial Album. Figuring out what Uncle Larry is trying to say is difficult, if not impossible - but you very strongly get the sense that they are trying to say something. Odd and squirrelly numbers like "Love Is A Thing", however, encourage little concern for what they're saying, and more interest in just how unexpectedly groove-inducing bizarreness can be. What really makes "Love Is A Thing" is the schizophrenic trumpeting of guest musician Eric Sperry. It's impressive enough that the regular personnel of the band can so nimbly accompany frontman Billy Judge Baldus's strung out electric guitar and frayed vocalization, but Sperry's trumpet work is the one sane thing in the room that keeps a cool and proper order. And why not? Someone's got to keep the lunatics from running the asylum.
Martha Cannon likes whiskey. A lot. And when she is not soaked in that, she's wrapped up in an adulterous relationship with another woman's man. That's just how she rolls, and she makes no attempt to quell any indication that that's how she rolls. "Tell Me No" is her chronicle of the latter, but probably furthered by a fuck all dance with the former. Still, while she plays the other woman in this song (and a drunk in nearly every other on the album) you tend to like her brash honesty about it all - and confidence that she'd tell it the same way sober, if you catch her in the odd moment that she is. In any case, "Tell Me No"'s "back porch country" sound so deliciously compliments her sultry little tale of addiction of the flesh here. There's a pain in this song that is pushed so hard into the recesses that it disguises itself as the most subterfuge carefree shrug. "I just want you to tell me no," she sings yearningly, "you own me, but I'm not yours.... tell me I'm not yours."
For the most part, Miles Nielsen's songs are pretty standard issue rock and/or roll, but he's got enough eccentricity here and there to make him interesting. While a lot of his lyrics cater to exactly what you'd expect, he occasionally busts out a song like "Maria" that just makes you realize what he's really capable of. In live renditions of this, clarinet player Adam Plamann (frequently and appropriately referred to as The Dark Lord) steals the show from the frontman like a scheming villain waiting for his moment to strike. The song is as darkly creepy as a dilapidated sideshow, and Nielsen's vocals are slithery and sinister in a way that sees you willing to dance with every devil in the implied details: "Her mother was murdered in 1963. Maria was only 3, but she knew what consequence meant..." Hard lessons in a telling that doesn't mince words, and the song smiles like a ghoul throughout. Every verse is a newspaper headline printed bold and hard in a small town gazette; leaving you either horrified or mystified, or both. This doesn't happen often in Miles Nielsen-ville, but when it does, everyone's attention is rapt, wide-eyed and speechless... as they "watch Maria hang..."
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