Carter Tanton :: "Horrorscope"

It isn't the words, you think, it's the space between them. It isn't the sounds, it's the timing of the silence that matters. For Carter Tanton, formerly of indie rock outfit Tulsa, it isn't the guitar fuzz, a four-on-the-floor cacophony, that makes "Horrorscope", it is the ability for all that noise to allow for something at the interstices. The arrangement explodes into chiming breakdowns, momentary respites from a melody that never feels like it totally has its sea legs, the kind of song that moves relentlessly forward because it fears what lies behind. Maybe it sounds like early Ryan Adams fronting a shoegaze outfit, but the focus is still the dynamic. The last second is most revealing. Tanton, instruments sucked away in an instant, stands alone on a note before the whole thing runs away over the edge. And, like that, it's gone.

Listen :: Carter Tanton - "Horrorscope"
Listen :: Carter Tanton - "Murderous Joy"

Future Islands :: "Balance"

There is a running joke in my circle of friends that prominently involves caps lock and broadly superlative sentences. It should be noted that this has most recently found its raison d'etre in emails claiming Future Islands to be, "THE BEST BAND IN THE WORLD EVER." Unsophisticated, I realize, and only mildly sarcastic, but nonetheless reflective of the unknowable good thing that Future Islands cooked up on a debut record, In Evening Air, and the same thing that the band looks to break bigger (see: moving from Brooklyn art space shows to selling out the Bowery on December 1st) on coming record, On The Water out October 11. On latest promotional single, "Balance", the band seems to invoke those awesome one word New Order songs that were at once nouns and descriptions, "Ceremony", "Temptation", "Confusion", "Procession", in this case, "Balance", both a thing and something that your superego recommends. The pop is glittering, replete with lively, upfront bass and twinkling synths, all rolled in a mantra, "It just takes time." Time, we assume, to hack into the email of unknown strangers to find yourself the object of a somewhat serious, half-funny joke. It is, at least, pretty and powerful.

Listen :: Future Islands - "Balance"

Luke Temple :: "More Than Muscle"

Frontman of synth purveyors Here We Go Magic, Luke Temple allows himself a different group of references on solo record, Don't Act Like You Don't Care. Apathy, addressed directly in the title, seems to run in the opposite direction of track two, "More Than Muscle" with its endearing chorus and wistful keys. The central implication regards how it will be more than a feat of historic strength to right some of our wrongs. The sound is lush in that way that feels nostalgic, bits of chirping guitars occasionally interjecting to suppose something that is between Generationals' "When They Fight, They Fight" and the isolated, art-rock triumph of "Stillness Is The Move". Temple doesn't specify what tools we will need beyond physical selves, perhaps a positivist spin on the album title - yes, caring despite its creepiness might be necessary - all wrapped such a breezy jam about the moment before you figure it all out.

Listen :: Luke Temple - "More Than Muscle"

Oberhofer :: "Gotta Go"

Some people just have a flair for departure. Brad Oberhofer, the label intern and NYU student turned serious indie rock commodity, spent most of his first best song, "I Could Go" yelping the title lyric to the enjoyment of everyone who listened. It was a mantra for a generation of shrugging kids who were content to, pardon the reference, take it or leave it. Newly signed to Glassnote, Oberhofer's latest track, "Gotta Go" is a different animal, suggesting a more lilting, emotional pathos about the power of a reverse impulse, the power of not leaving. If 19 year old Bradley was into the fact that he turned his back on Tacoma, Washington in a flourish, he has turned into more of a New York kid, full of solipsisms, a measure of rye self-pity and a narrative of co-dependency that is as intently argued as it is probably untrue. It is, in part or parcel, for show. When he rhymes "I don't ever want to leave" with "that would be too sad for me", he's putting us all on a bit. It doesn't mean that you can't grow up and lean yourself against someone else. It's just that he seemed a shade more earnest when he chirped about leaving us all behind.

Listen :: Oberhofer - "Gotta Go"

Keegan DeWitt :: "Colour"

A glossy bit of racing fun, Keegan DeWitt's "Colour" is relentless in its pursuit of something; the question is what? Brief color metaphors (pedantic, we know) add the weight to the chorus, but it seems as if the focus is less on our relationship to imagery, and more one the caustic, distant relationship we have to one another. The most memorable line is the rapid fire, "I hate the way we're speaking to each other", and it seems that DeWitt gets maximum mileage out of rhymes surrounding the word "other", nearly out of breath with the urgency of healing this gap between each other, the other, one another. The final 40 seconds are a glittering array of guitars and spitting drums, a final act that is neither reflective of what DeWitt calls the "black shadow at the center of love", nor our desire to kill each other that he blithely mentions in the refrain. It would be dark stuff if it didn't feel so damn aspirational, alive with the desire to crunch the distance between people, real and imagined, into an explosive pop song about how we talk to one another. Don't stop.

Listen :: Keegan Dewitt :: "Colour"

Sound and the Urgency :: "White Kids"

With a name that evokes the grandest gestures of Faulkner and his title source material in the fifth act of Macbeth, that old line about "sound and fury, signifying nothing", the sweeping, synth folk of Sound and the Urgency steeps itself in two signifiers that deny being signifiers. On "White Kids", Sound and the Urgency find this sort of interstitial tension appealing, crafting a head-nodding slow burn about, "white kids from the plains", a scathing rebuke of middle American mall kids. It is, of course, written by a white guy from the Pacific Northwest. No one said this would be simple; and it isn't.  The chorus, "I'm sick and tired of everyone" implies a critical turn inward, a magnanimous self-flagellation, an admission that we are all tied up in these failures. If they are disgusting, so are we. It is this distinction which is harder to parse or at least makes our ivory towers a little harder to inhabit. Maybe the mall kids watch Portlandia. The aesthetic is beautiful as rich synthesizers lay over a breezy acoustic progression and the loneliest lead guitar you'll hear this week."White Kids" is a fantastic slice of dark pop, electronic folk that, even in this post-modern analysis, absolutely means something.


White Kids by Sound and the Urgency

French Films :: "Pretty In Decadence"

Lead single, "Pretty In Decadence" from French Films' debut record, Imaginary Future, opens with the warmest guitars of 2011. Of the same genus as the Cure's trademarked tumbling post-punk, more recently perverted by bands like the Drums, French Films, actually from Finland, are more unique in their ability to find something new in these old archetypes. The glittering synths and pounding drums of the pre-chorus give way to a heartsick refrain with lyrics about helpless wandering and wanting to, "stay this way, baby". But, this is all semantic, the lyrical references to religion, cable television and hopeless love. You will more likely remember the sunny guitars and the infectious hook in the chorus. With a strong debut record and an excellent first single, French Films seem pleased to operate on these twin levels, catchy pop act with troubling depth beneath the surface.

Listen :: French Films - "Pretty In Decadence"