A few weeks ago Sara mentioned to me that she was enjoying a band called Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. I would’ve been sold on the strength of the name alone; a friend’s recommendation was more than enough to make me resolve to give them a listen.

It took me a couple of weeks, though (and an additional tweet from Matt) before I got around to it. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m a fan of the album. I find large parts of it to be a bit boring; other parts remind me — for reasons I can’t quite identify — of the sort of bloated, Fleetwood-Mac-ian WASH-FM rock that echoes off receptionist desks all over this town.

But “Home” — goddamn, what a song.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros – Home

There are a lot of things to like about it. I could’ve been counted as a fan on the basis of the Morricone-isms alone. And I’m a complete sucker for the female vocal, which has the sort of breathy, stretching-after-a-nap timbre that only happens when a really cute girl picks up a serious cigarette habit.

But more than that, it’s an amazing recorded performance between the two singers, one that evokes a genre tradition but invigorates it with a sense of utter, honest vulnerability. I haven’t heard anything like it in a while.

If someone stuck you in a studio, said “We’re rolling, try to sound in love“, could you do it this well? I’m left completely charmed, slightly wary, and unsure whether to believe in the singers’ talents or (god) their love. I may vaguely hate them for making me write that sentence, but I can’t deny that the sound they make together is miraculous.

Emily sent me this new video from the Swimmers, and this Everlong-loving kid thinks it’s pretty great:

But better than the video is the song.  I really liked the Swimmers’ first album, but this sounds like a real step forward from them.  Can’t wait to hear the rest of the thing.

I am, let’s face it, a bit too well-hydrated to pretend any semblance of rhetorical structure. So let’s just do this in context-free bullet point format, like the rest of our society:

• Indie rock beards: done. If I, on the cusp of my fourth decade, can see this, then surely the matter was actually settled in some Pitchfork staff listserv months ago. Capps has already accidentally stumbled into the vanguard. And now, in the blinding, beard-free light of day, it’s obvious that this was just a conceptual hangover from the Year of Earnest Music Composed in Cabins. But now it’s finished, and those of us with beard disabilities can rejoice. Temporarily, anyway — for razors cost money, and the unhygienic laziness of musicians is not to be underestimated.
• Harlem Shakes played a largely acoustic set, and mentioned offhandedly that they’d “lost” some equipment, conveying the impression that as consummate professionals they had recovered from larcenous adversity by composing off-the-cuff acoustic arrangements. The rock flute was deployed! And then the rock sax! And then the last two songs suddenly featured a drum kit and bass and electric six string, so, um, what?
• They’re doomed anyway. Harlem Shakes is a very good band, but their timing is all wrong. If they were eighteen months out from the last time David Byrne or Clap Your Hands did something? Sure, everyone would recognize that these guys are excellent musicians who make inspiring music. But they aren’t, so they won’t. Amanda and Catherine are probably right that the next album will settle things, but at the moment, critics’ self-satisfaction at their ability to name the group’s influences is dooming the band.
• We — you and I — are never going to escape this musical moment. These fucking synths — these goddamn waxy, Miami-fucking-Vice synths… Stick them alongside modern percussive artillery and our entire generation (+/-1) is powerless to resist. MGMT, Justice, Phoenix — all are trading on this unfortunate artifact of our upbringing. No doubt it will repeat, too, as the tautologically corny soundtracks of future generations’ childhoods are resuscitated by the bass-heavy trend of the moment, and that same stupid retro timbre will spawn era after era of not-quite-dance tracks waiting to be remixed into club smashes. There’s no question that Passion Pit is writing itself into this history. But they do, occasionally, lean over the edge of it. And maybe I’m just a sucker for this — actually, I know I’m a sucker for this, for any hint of rock and roll catharsis, for just the sound of human voices reaching — but yeah, Passion Pit are capable of pushing beyond the easy rut they’ve inherited. They didn’t care to do it often enough to make me stay for the encore, though.

But still: I enjoyed the show. Maybe I’m just getting old; these days it just needs to be loud, the people on stage just need to be feeling something. That’s all it takes. Let’s hear it for making a terrific racket.

Like Amanda said, the Harlem Shakes show is unfortunately cancelled. That’s too bad; I sent the band an email saying I hoped to have a chance to see them soon, and a note to DC9 saying I hoped to see my money again, ever. To date, both remain unanswered.

I think this tips the karmic scales in favor of sharing an MP3, don’t you? So here, have a listen to “Strictly Game”. This may not be the best track for hooking people — “Sunlight” is pretty clearly the catchiest, danciest thing on the record — but it’s the track I’m currently most enamored with. But hey, they’re all pretty good — the title track’s the only one I’m lukewarm on.

Harlem Shakes – Strictly Game

And don’t miss Amanda’s concert-grief-counseling strategy — that Pomegranates track she posted is awfully good, even if naming your band after the world’s most overhyped fruit is practically begging for dismissive reviews.

As long as I’m going on about music, I may as well recommend the new Harlem Shakes record. I agree with everyone about the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Bromst will certainly be one of the records I remember from 2009, but right now Technicolor Health is dominating my playlist.

I’ll refrain from trying to review the damn thing myself and instead point you toward this writeup, several paragraphs of which I heartily endorse despite its basically missing the point:

Technicolor Health is some sick candy: it’s what our indie pop should sound like in 2009. It imagines a world where The OC still matters, where goddamned Kanye West is agreeably employed, and where your little brother doesn’t think it’s just ok to listen to Neutral Milk Hotel that many times/isn’t aware of more than half of the bands the Shakes are copping freely when they’re not just writing sad songs about girls, which is a lot. This is indie pop. This is your lousy local band carried forward starship-like into a fizzing pop nebula and left to spin so fast and so ably that you ultimately forget the baggage and any corny adage; because Technicolor Health fundamentally sounds good and because its songs are well-crafted enough to make a lot of the African drumming and horns sound less like garnish and more like some well-earned reward for writing songs strong enough to make that shit sound sort of necessary. Technicolor Health is self-sufficient. It isn’t community, it eats itself. It is every good-to-great pre-Wincing the Night Away (2007) indie pop record brought forth and actualised as the definitive good-to-great (but mostly great) indie pop record you should be hearing as spring turns into summer, 2009. The Harlem Shakes wear everybody’s clothes really well.

The writer seems perturbed, but I don’t know why. This is what’s great about pop music — about really good pop music — it will fool you every time. Don’t be upset or confused; this is its gift, and it would be boorish to question it. If they’re doing it right, that fresh-faced young band will always sound new, they will always make your foot tap, they will always make you feel like you’re soaring. Leave genealogy to the Mormons. You’re wired for this shit. It doesn’t have to be new, it just has to be great.

Man! There are few things I like more than getting back from a good show at the Black Cat. Chris suggested we go see his buddy’s CD release party, and it was unexpectedly great. With the exception of the City Veins’ horn-heavy, guest-star-laden offering, it was probably the best local CD release observation I’ve attended.

A big part of that was Olivia Mancini, whose opener status continues to perplex me. She’s got stage presence, she’s got pipes, she can play and, most importantly, she’s got the songs to make all of the aforementioned matter. All I can hope is that she’s on deck for the next doo-woppy pop/rock slot — between the Pipettes and the Ting Tings it seems like the market can bear one such act every year or two. Olivia certainly deserves that level of… well, if not stardom, then whatever replaced it in the current music industry landscape.

Olivia Mancini & the Mates – Jealous Type

Next up: The Caribbean. I spent a large part of their set retrieving beer, so I’m probably not in a good position to judge them. What I heard I mostly liked, but I think it’s safe to say that they’re not really my thing.

Finally there was Impossible Hair. And while they were oversold — if pressed, I would rate their haircuts as merely unlikely — they proved to be an excellent rock band. It was a tight performance filled with really, really good songs. Recommended! Would buy a t-shirt from again. Go see ‘em if you have a chance — looks like your next opportunity closer than Baltimore will be May 13 at Velvet. Unless you’re planning a trip to Europe, that is.

Impossible Hair – What is the Secret of Impossible Hair?

(which seems to be their entire album, unfortunately — I wish they offered some individual tracks on their site)

A while ago I pestered the author of the WOXY playlist widget to add Growl support — I like to be able to learn what I’m listening to without opening my web browser — and he was nice enough to do so. That worked okay for a while, but I think the widget’s no longer being maintained; at the very least my copy now seems to be broken.

But two things have changed, making the kludginess of a widget unnecessary. First, a few months ago WOXY began offering a 128kbps MP3 stream, providing listenable sound quality without the use of their iTunes-unfriendly AACPlus stream. Second, it appears that last month some nice fellow on the internet patched the GrowlTunes helper app so that it actually shows notifications properly when there’s a track change in a radio stream being played by iTunes. Thanks, stranger!

The first (intentionally) leaked track got me pretty excited about the new Thermals album. Now the rest of the album has made its way onto the internet, and after spending some time with it… I donno, guys. I won’t claim to be the world’s greatest Thermalsologist, but I really liked the last album. Unfortunately, it turns out that if you remove the anger and urgency from their music, you’re left with plodding melodies and lyrics that are occasionally pretty lame (the first verse on the album certainly doesn’t get things off to a very good start).

But I’m still looking forward to their May show at the Black Cat. Here’s hoping they decide to play all their new stuff twice as fast as they recorded it — that could go a long way toward improving things.

1. Coughing
2. Listening to this song:
   

   Harlem Shakes – Winter Water

My sincere apologies to all the wonderful people in town for Drupalcon — I realize this is a unique opportunity to see a bunch of great folks who’ve gone missing from DC. I really do want to catch up with all of you. But right now I’m leaning toward staying in tonight and whimpering pathetically from underneath a blanket. Tomorrow, though, I intend to be hale, hearty & ready to be social.

The fact that the Wombats haven’t yet become a hugely successful band is a persistent puzzlement for me. I’ve been patient! Ever since the first version of “Backfire at the Disco” I’ve bided my time, waiting for stateside tour dates and a favorable Pitchfork review. I thought that a much-touted SXSW showcase would do it, but no — I’m still waiting. In the meantime the band has released a number of increasingly overproduced (but still catchy!) singles, and seems to be prepping a new LP.

They also signed with Roadrunner Records, whose artists page is hilarious enough that you really ought to visit it. It’s filled with doughy, dour-looking gentleman who front bands with names like Dragonforce and DevilDriver and Nickelback, and who never, ever smile. It is probably the worst collection of bands you’ve ever seen — except for that one trio of little British fellas, who write catchy pop songs that are smart and fun and pretty much everything you’d want from a cheeky Liverpudlian trio. Bah! Anyway, if you can find this album at a non-exorbitant price, you should really think about getting it.