Teenager: (From left) Theresa Walsh, Taylor Price, Beth Beer, Teddy Curry and Donny Alger have released a new album in the lo-fi vein.
Teenager. Entitled (Record Records).
For an area that once hosted former Velvet Underground frontman Lou
Reed during his stint as a Syracuse University student during the
1960s, it’s odd that there aren’t more bands around town influenced by
Reed’s intentionally blase, proto-punk art-rock. Auburn’s jangly
strummers Teenager, however, prove they have a taste for heady, lo-fi
recordings much like contemporaries such as Belle and Sebastian and the
Arctic Monkeys, who have defined the current epoch of alt-rock.
Teenager courageously leaps into the
pool of smart, wallflower rock bands of the 2000s with their debut
disc, which is easily a reaction to the overly dramatic, prima donna
“modern” rockers that have dominated the airwaves since Creed ushered
in one of rock’s darkest, most wannabe-filled eras in the late 1990s.
In fact, one of Entitled’s more anthem-like tunes,
“Imadontwannabe,” is a declaration of indifference that sprinkles
underwhelmed “yeah”s among lyrics that poke fun at those that “follow
the crowd down to the music store.”
A 17-song, full-length work (man,
is it ever!), the album tends to focus concepts into short, three- to
four-minute tracks that come across like the poignant statements made
in John Lennon’s post-Beatles work. “Droppin’ Out” features heavily
reverberated guitars that likewise bathe the entire album in
atmospheric textures, while the song’s lyrics continue to draw on the
“tune in, turn on, drop out” theme that Generation-Xers tend to
glorify. Other gems include “Tilt-A-Whirl,” a poetic jumble that
juxtaposes postmodern images against each other (“kung-fu monkeys
singing Suzy Chapstick” and “pornographic electric guitar{s}”) as well
as the dreamy, charmingly languid “Lipstick Fool.”
Teenager’s core members—Teddy Curry
(rhythm guitar), Donny Alger (lead guitar) and Taylor Price (bass)
initially formed the band in 1998—plus newcomers Beth Beer on drums and
keyboardist Theresa Walsh have made a thing of art with this release.
Let’s hope they stick around the local circuit long enough to influence
others to put their Marshall stacks away and put their songwriting
skills to the test.
Andy Godlewski: Dead Rose frontman, pictured performing at the first Inner Harbor Block Party on May 15, is featured on his band’s newest release, No Tomorrow. MATT MUMAU PHOTO.
Dead Rose. No Tomorrow (SubCat).
Sure, its members still look like they’re 12 years old, but we should
all have such problems. Local rock faves Dead Rose officially released
its rock education thesis project, courtesy of the school of hard
knocks, on May 17, revealing 10 original tracks that embody an
Incubus-like attention to melody and harmony that the band’s members
have apparently gleaned with the help of their cover band roots. Andy
Godlewski on lead vocals and rhythm guitar, Jim Falco on lead guitar,
bassist Greg Mathurin and drummer Rob Zaccaria show a respectable
amount of growth on the album, proving the fact that they’re able to
pull off licks akin to Guitar Hero’s greatest 1980s and 1990s hits in
“rl” (code for real life, for those not hip to the video game slang).
Double kick drum hits aplenty rattle off
like unending cannon blasts from one end of the recording to the other,
which aligns the group’s sound with the likes of any standard K-Rock
playlist. Meanwhile, angry, angst-filled lyrics give the tunes the
proper amount of teen psycho-babble to appeal to the younger set.
“Lust Over Attraction” could be
described as a vanilla take on Buckcherry’s testosterone-filled
“poetry”; it has a chance to become one of the disc’s more
well-recognized tunes, if not for its lyrical simplicity, then for its
pile-driving, Marshall-excessive ostinato. That track comes after a
handful of warmup grooves, including a metallic lick-fest (“Scream”)
and a song that opens with an Ozzy Osbourne-like cackle (“Buried
Alive”).
The album has a tendency to sound a bit
too congruous; maybe someone should nudge Godlewski and explain to him
that rock singers don’t need to enunciate with the precision of the
trained Eliza Doolittle. Yet the lighter-burner “Everything” and an
interesting smattering of harmonic layering throughout No Tomorrow give it enough variety to be an admirable first effort.
Mick Fury: The frontman of Silent Fury enjoys a meal in celebration of Sunday Stilettoes.
Silent Fury. Sunday Stilettos (SubCat). Lead singer Mick Fury is known throughout the local music scene to be a bit of a showboat. When he was a nominee at 2007’s Syracuse New Times
Sammys show, the consummate showman arrived in a limousine, perhaps
expecting to be showered in regalia and women as he received his
award—until Stone Soul Foundation took the Best Rock album honors
instead. Little seems to slow the intrepid musician, however; Fury’s
new EP, which features the latest incarnation of his band, journeys
ahead through the development of his signature modern rock sound.
That signature is largely evident in the
disc’s opener, “Kick Down My Door,” the sad tale of an apparently
bohemian love interest whom Fury turns down, only to regret the
decision later. “I don’t need your love hangin’ round my couch/ and I
can’t have your lips pressed against my mouth,” Fury laments with a
throaty scream.
“Please Don’t Lie,” a live cut Fury
perhaps included for the fans, is a funky, jammy track reminiscent of
Syracuse rockers Doctor Pocket, who were successful in winning the 2001
Sammy for Best Jam Band. The groove envelops choppy guitar work more
subtle than that for which Fury has been known in the past, while
bassist Joe Santorelli and drummer Jose Varona both take solos that
demonstrate a high level of musicianship.
The album’s other tracks, “Hands Off
Your Skin” and “Faded Glory,” come across as a bit more conservative
both in the topic of their lyrics (insatiable lust and love’s labor
lost, respectively), and the general jump (or lack therefore of) in the
rhythm section’s parts. Overall, this brief EP offers an assertive
update for Fury fans.
Gregg Yeti: The veteran indie rocker’s new release includes a myriad of special guests. Michael Davis photo.
Gregg Yeti and the Best Lights. Heart Palpitations of the Rich & Famous (Eskimo Kiss). Those familiar with the ambient, pleasant weirdness of Sufjan Stevens (who released the CD Come On Feel the Illinois
among other gems) will feel somewhat at home with Gregg Yeti’s new
release. While Yeti has self-produced albums and toured solo around the
country since his former band, the Flashing Astonishers, broke up in
2002, Rich & Famous brings a high level of art and an
attention to acoustic nuance akin to, but slightly twisted from, that
of Stevens into a scene that so desperately needs smart songwriters.
Having one of the area’s top recording gurus, Jocko from More Sound
Studios, turning the knobs, as well as musical guests including local
rock chanteuse Ashley Cox, this top-notch recording is worthy of any
audiophile’s collection.
The spinner opens with an overture,
“Deal With You Perfect,” full of positive vibes from the major-key
tones of an acoustic guitar mixed with toy percussion. After the song
gently expands into a spiritual chorus of female voices, an
overwhelming waft of shining, happy sentiments predicate the album like
a powerful, musical version of the yoga sun salutation. Oddly, that
feeling accompanies a strange statement that seems to beg for sympathy
for the imperfect: “What’s so wrong with black and blue?” inquire the
lyrics.
Onto a juxtaposed concept, “Adventures
In Bad T-Shirts,” a male-female call-and-response, ruptures the aural
plane a few tracks later with a dissonant play between a jangly guitar
and an insistent bass. The song’s story reads like a tale of the
discord between a pair of methamphetamine-fueled lovers: “You’re too
beautiful to get out of bed/ all tangled up inside of me/ I touch you
and you create oceans/ We’ll share diseases like we share kisses.”
That song finds its lyrical opposite
with the sweeter, strumming “Brighter Than the Sky,” a folky, droning
romance that opens with a line that explains to the narrator’s lover,
“At night your goose bumps are the braille I read/ It’s one of a few
good things/ You don’t want to go stale.” If a musician’s first true
love could be said to be his own music, then Yeti does a superb job of
living up to that idealistic desire to keep things fresh throughout the
disc’s remaining tracks, a fact that should persuade fans of artful
rock to pick up this album.
Cliff Diver: The bizarre local has released his newest disc, while simultaneously demonstrating his lack of fashion sense.
Cliff Diver. A Collection of Songs That May Never Have Seen the Light of Day (independent).
Given that Cliff Diver (aka Tom Bushnell) would prefer to portray
himself like a psychedelic terrorist with a broom’s business-end for a
head, it should come as no surprise that his music is, in the very
least, a bit unconventional. He rarely brings his Zappa-meets-bin-Laden
influenced music to nearby watering holes (although his Myspace.com
profile labels himself as the “Pride of the South Side”), and
references a variety of marijuana experiences as his primary music
inspirations. Still, his latest release is a quirky listen; at times
it’s reminiscent of the stranger parts of the Beatles’ “Blue Jay Way,”
while other moments recall the grungy bile spewed forth in Rage Against the Machine’s “Bulls On Parade.”
Humor and lowbrow antics are abundant
throughout the 14 tracks. “Who’s My Baby’s Daddy” would make for a
great segment on Jerry Springer’s show, although it’s doubtful that
Tina Fey was influenced by the song when she envisioned her Baby Mama
movie. A more intricately composed harmony accompanies “Itchy Dog,”
which conflates subversive sexual angst for Diver’s high-school teacher
with a likely improbable tale about how he learned to play guitar; the
banal, non-sequitur chorus proclaims “My dog has fleas on her.”
A handful of instrumentals, such as “The
Drummer Stinks” and “Drunk,” reveal an LSD-fueled engine that drives
the demented Diver, although joke-songs like “Porn” lack any sort of
punch line. Not quite Weird Al yet not quite equitable to anything else
in town, Cliff Diver’s disc will appeal to the margins, where plentiful
bong rips and fleeting brain cells still congregate.
—Matt Mumau
The Jam Bones. New Recipe (Jam Bones Productions).
For their sophomore release, the Jam Bones extrapolated nearly every
root of music they’ve sonically sowed to create a hybrid worth further
harvest. From the opening seconds of “What Else Can a Poor Boy Do?”—as
Rich Walikis’ chicka-chicka reggae-guitar palm mutes are layered
beneath the hard-to-be-unfunky sounds of Tom Witkowski’s Hammond B3
organ, then shakes hands with the ska rhythm arrangement of drummer
C.R. Stewart and bassist Drew Hall—it is evident that the band’s
influence encompasses more than just your standard blues band.
From one song to the next, the LP’s
musical direction seems to jump eras and genres without missing a step,
and impressively maintains a mostly consistent vibe. The sole exception
is “Keeping the World Safe Tonight,” a “we are the U.S.A. and we’ll
kick your ass” number that might be better suited for Toby Keith if he
wasn’t driving a proverbial musical motor home; it’s not a bad song,
but it veers off the path of the Jam Bones’ jump-up-and-have-some-fun
course.
Many of the CD’s cuts, however, feature
some seriously Hendrix-influenced guitar extravaganzas. Walikis
accompanies straight-up blues numbers like “You Sweet Thang” and “The
Blues Find Me,” the latter leading off with a Jimi-like “Woodstock
Improvisation” instrumental that morphs into a mellow “Red House”
12-bar shuffle.
The band’s ability to stand at the
crossroads and pick a different road than the blues helps keep the
album strutting along toward a light shining brighter than Acapulco
gold. “Cool Vibe” is just that, as Walikis leads the band into an Ennio
Morricone spaghetti western-style score, utilizing space between
plucking a sparse acoustic twang out of his six-string while Stewart
and Hall veer off into a samba territory custom made for the shakin’
hips of a Brazilian senora. “The Tone,” on the other hand, takes on the
spirit of early Santana, with congas added into the percussion
arrangement and even more samba goodness spices the drum and bass lines.
Very rarely does recorded material evoke
the energy of a live performance, but the Jam Bones have done just that
with this release. A word of advice if you ever see them live around
town: You won’t be sitting down for very long as they’ll free your mind
from the typical Syracuse music, and your ass will follow.
—Tom Kahley
