Some Toy Band members rocking out forever

The MP3 I have posted is a total pop gem called “Lottery Ticket,” off their 2010 self-titled EP (which you should get your mitts on immediately). From the beginning, the song is almost unbearably gleeful, and although that’s generally not my bag (being pretty goth), I can’t stop listening to it. Colin Summers sings, joined by Karen Adelman on the chorus, which is really the wacky epicenter of the song. To me, the chorus invokes the kind of psychotic optimism that comes with getting drunk in the hours before noon: the entire day is ahead of you and you (and your BFF Jim Beam) are gonna! Take! It! On! Then after that, my favorite thing ever happens: a musical break with a shouty singalong. Yeah, you can tell they’re toys, and yeah, it’s a bit ridiculous, but the integrity of the song’s composition gives it enough grown-upness for maximum listenability. I actually think it’s a bit surreal, like Svankmajer’s Alice, but without all the dead animals.  These are real musicians.  They’re just acting real weird.

Toys & Tiny Instruments — “Lottery Ticket”

Visit the Toys & Tiny Instruments MySpace (and also that of My Friend Other, the band consisting of two core Toys Colin Summers and Alec Betterley, around whose songs the project takes place). And if you’re in NYC, they’re playing on January 8th at noted Bushwick venue Goodbye Blue Monday.  Oh, yeah, and you should probably either trade money for it or just try to sweet-talk some of the members into giving you the five-song EP because it’s really really good.

Sabbath Assembly — “Hymn of Consecration”

Each tune on the album seems to dedicate itself to one of the deities; “Hymn of Consecration” is a Satan song.  The first time I heard it, I nodded along, and then I realized I was nodding along to an invocation of Satan (“purify me with the fire”).  I had a chilling and beautiful moment with the Prince of Darkness.  Can I say that?  I’m not ever going to run for public office.  But even if I did, and they impeached me, I’d still say this is one of the best of the year 2010 (anno domini). Here is a second, sexy, scary tune called “In the Time of Abaddon” — I like this one a lot because her voice cracks and it is the end of the album and it is thrilling, frightening and kind of sublime. “Amid the grand disorder / Amid the great destruction” are the final, unadorned words of the album and it’s a little bit terrifying. 

Sabbath Assembly — “Time of Abaddon”

I want to be terrified. If you tell me you hate this we cannot be friends.  You cannot come to my house and look at my copy of the Satanic Bible and we cannot be friends.

[myspace] [Jex Thoth website]

But in actuality, this and the other various brushes with death that occurred throughout the trip went unrecorded. In fact, we ended up filming a band. Hope I didn’t spoil the surprise.

On October 25, The Corin Tucker Band, as part of the tour promoting their record 1,000 Years, played the Paradise Rock Club. Let me tell you, this club possesses excellent columns. They appear to be made of some fine stone not unlike marble, covered with an attractive metal mesh. I couldn’t have asked for a better inanimate object to lean against through the opening acts as I gathered myself to claim a spot at the stage the moment the main act appeared.

Which reminds me: the first opening act deserves what I might call an honorable mention. I initially gave Mrs. Danvers a rating of “pretty okay,” giving extra credit for having broken a string and played half their set with no guitar, and still sounding good. It was the next day that I realized their song was still stuck in my head and decided I needed to hear it again. I’ve listened to it many times since and I’ll present it to you here, just so you can have the full “listening to a band I’ve never heard of and wondering where the main act is” live show experience.

Mrs. Danvers — “What Did I Do (You Always Looked Good In the Morning)”

The Corin Tucker Band consists of Corin Tucker (Sleater-Kinney), Sara Lund (Unwound, Hungry Ghost), and Seth Lorinczi (The Golden Bears). They were joined on stage by Mike Clark (Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks) and Lorca Wood (also of Hungry Ghost). I wish to note that Mike Clark presented a frightening visage: a strangely intense man in a tie who gave me the impression that someone had hired a lawyer to play bass. Although most of the focus was of course on Corin Tucker, the whole band played excellently.

The Corin Tucker Band — “Half a World Away”

I’ve read a lot of comments online complaining that this band isn’t Sleater-Kinney. First of all, tell me that “Half a World Away” doesn’t sound like Sleater-Kinney. I can almost hear Carrie Brownstein. But no, of course it’s not Sleater-Kinney. In an oft-quoted statement, Corin Tucker called this album “a middle-aged mom record” and yeah, you can definitely hear that. A lot of the songs don’t have much of an “edge,” and I guess anybody who was expecting a really rockin’ record might be disappointed. But none of that is important. Take the band on its own and it’s clear that they’ve put together a great album that does exactly what it set out to do.

The Corin Tucker Band — “Doubt”

That’s not to say the record doesn’t have its louder bits. “Doubt” is a great track and hearing it played live was completely amazing. That’s really about all I can say about it.

It’s tough to find live music when you live two to four hours away from anything. To travel that far for one band involves a careful balance of spontaneity and meticulous planning. “Leave nothing to chance!” was my constant refrain as we prepared for the trip. “Leave nothing to chance,” I said, as I plotted every inch of the route with Google Maps. “Leave nothing to chance,” I said, as I reminded my friend to bring his ID and, because it might get cold, his jacket. “Leave nothing to chance,” I said, as we cheerfully left my car in the parking garage and walked for a good twenty minutes before I remembered that I hadn’t grabbed the tickets. I recall freezing suddenly at that moment, patting my pockets awkwardly, then beginning, “So, uh…” Turns out something always gets left to chance, but at least I remembered them before we tried to enter the club. This moderately embarrassing anecdote, by the way, was the payment my friend required before he would send the photos to me. Thanks, Troy.

Mrs. Danvers is a local Boston band and they exist primarily on their MySpace page. Their EP, What Did I Do, is on iTunes!

The Corin Tucker Band is on the good ol’ Kill Rock Stars label, and you can buy the new album, 1,000 Years, on the website. Unfortunately, the band’s touring seems to pretty much be over for now, unless you’re reading this in Japan, but keep an eye out in case they go for another round. The show is amazing.

And now, I’ll leave you with a Girlpants world exclusive: Corin Tucker performing “Miles Away” at the Paradise Rock Club in Boston on October 25, again courtesy of Troy. Enjoy!

Marnie Stern — Marnie Stern [Kill Rock Stars]

To me, a self-titled album several records into a career means a reboot, or at the very least a repositioning, but for Marnie Stern, Queen Tap Herself, it’s of course much more meaningful, maybe biographical, perhaps something akin to a ten-volume memoir or a special on 60 Minutes. So here’s Marnie Stern with Marnie Stern, the third album from Marnie Stern, and possibly Marnie Stern’s best yet. Of course, the thing slays, but it’s remarkably intimate too, those needling leads and gattling-gun drumz pummeling your ears felt instead as soft kisses. I’ll put “Risky Biz” here as an example you’ll see what I mean:

Marnie Stern — “Risky Biz” from Marnie Stern

Superchunk — Majesty Shredding [Merge]

SPEAKING OF SHREDDING, the new Superchunk album is totally good. A great year for early-90’s resurfacings from Merge (Teenage Fanclub also put out a killer record only a few months back), with plenty for the new hips and the old curmudgeons to crunch into. There’s not much I can say here that hasn’t already been said about Mac and the gang, so here’s “My Gap Feels Weird,” a title that could’ve just as easily come from Wayne Coyne:

Superchunk — “My Gap Feels Weird” from Majesty Shredding

Surf City — Kudos [Popfrenzy]

Long-awaited (since forever ago), the proper full-length from these proper boys is properly solid. Because they’re from New Zealand, tons and tons of comparisons have been drawn by bloggers webzine printmag-staff to nearly every successful New Zealand act, exhausting the critical reservoir (“hey dude they’re like the Clean and also the Verlaines a little”) and putting some real heavy expectations on Kudos. Nevertheless, the guys do that nostalgia-grab pretty well, and it’s a smooth record if you are into characterizing records as you would a peanut butter. I picked “Teacher” for all my friends currently doing the teaching thing right now.

Surf City — “Teacher” from Kudos

But I digress.  Below are some links that effectively update us on a portion of the fascinating matter that is music in the summer. 

• John Darnielle performs 2009’s The Life of the World to Come in its entirety, and you can view the video at Pitchfork if you act quick-like etc.
• If you live in New York, you should plan to attend Northside Festival.  This year’s tremendous lineup includes Wavves, Au Revoir Simone, Titus Andronicus, Liars, and about 928347 times more.
• Everyone ever has already done an “anticipated summer releases” list, so I’m not gonna rehash. But heyo, Arcade Fire! They’ve put up the track listing for their highly anticipated new album Suburbs, and with this track listing have surfaced also some tracks for listening. Below is a radio rip of “Ready to Start,” gorgeous and slow-building. You can also listen to “Month of May” here.
  Arcade Fire — “Ready to Start” 
   
• Indie Rock Café has a good post on recent summer releases that are easy to miss in the uproar over heavy hitters. Personal highlight for me is the Lou Barlow song “Losercore,” but the post also covers Cary Ann Hearst, Apollo, the Vita Ruins, and Communist Daughter.
• Also, you should know that you can stream the Lou Barlow EP = Sentridoh III at Merge’s website. “Gravitate/One Machine” is so good. It’s hot outside plus a thousand humidity today and this song is making me want to box someone.
• And finally. Does anyone inspire as much crit lately as Lady Gaga? I know this might be old news (and the publication title may be a tad hyperbolic) but I follow this all-Gaga journal with fascination; some recent pieces posted discuss hysteria, commodity feminism, the Gaga/Illuminati connection, and Gaga as Kate Bush response. (Another topic of note might be Gaga as George Bush response, but that’s not an article I’m going to write this summer.)

Girls Names came at a good time for me: I’m digging the mini-album format for short trips and easy-listening (I tend to do albums proper justice even when in casual listening mode). In fact, their Self-Titled ep is so listenable it’s beating out Surf City for my most-listened-to-ep-in-recent-memory slot. Other write-ups have compared the guys to jangle progenitors Beat Happening and Black Tambourine, although these Girls have a distinct The Good Earth–era Feelies feel. That distinction is really arbitrary, so here’s “Graveyard,” my fav track from the ep.

Girls Names — “Graveyard”

If you have palpitations from possible horrors, don’t worry, it’s not creepy or anything; I think the graveyard being described is more Princess Bubblegum’s Candy Mausoleum (outside the Candy Foyer) than Pet Cemetery II. I love that zigzagging opening, and really really dig the changing rhythm throughout (it goes from shuffling feet to outright beat right quick). Even the vocals sound merry and sweet, not like those decaying corpse sounds we’re all well familiar with.

Check out their blog (hey, it’s updated much more frequently than ours!) for progress on their upcoming full-length. The ep is still available from Boomkat if you’re interested in ordering it.

I took in my surroundings in a split second. I was in the Girlpants office; in fact, at my desk, though I did not remember arriving there. I was surrounded by dark, faceless, half-transparent men, who were stumbling backwards, taken by surprise by my sudden activity. My colleagues were each slumped over their desks, surrounded by more of the bizarre shadow men. Their incorporeal hands were plunged into the skulls of my new friends, feeding off of their mental energy. I was immediately filled with an indescribable rage. I had never asked to be a blogger, but I was here now. And no shadowmen were going to take that away from me.

I drew my katana.

The rest was a blur. I did not mark the number of minutes that passed as I battled, nor the number of strokes of my mighty blade. Awareness of my surroundings returned to me gradually as I crouched, panting, the last smokey remnants of shadow just now fading away. My colleagues were coming to all around me, their words slurring as they asked me what had happened, why I had not brought them their morning coffee and cheese danishes. I sheathed my sword, shook Joel’s weakened grasp from my sleeve, and sat down in front of my computer.

I had to find something. I had to hear something as powerful and relentless as the rage that, even now that the danger had gone, still filled my spleen to the bursting point.

The Pack a.d. — “Deer”

Perhaps the demons might have seen my awful metaphor about how much I enjoy drum kicks and crashes and envisioned some place in Dante’s hell where I would be forced to listen to a song that consists of virtually nothing else. If so, this would be that song. However, it would not work, because this song has been my favorite from this album since the first time I played the whole thing through. That the lyrics would appeal quite readily to anyone in high school who likes to consider themselves “weird” is only another part of its charm.

The Pack a.d. — “Crazy”

This track was released as a single for the album and it’s a little more representative of the band, which I would describe as a bluesish band trying to sound more punkish, though I really hate trying to slot bands into specific genres like that. It’s a fun little song with a catchy chorus that comes to a satisfyingly noisy conclusion which, as our more loyal readers may be aware, is about all I ask from any song.

We Kill Computers is The Pack a.d.‘s latest album, released last month and now available through Mint Records. The combination of bluesy vocals and noisy guitars and drums grew on me very quickly, and the album overall has a strong sense of, dare I say it, simple rock’n’roll fun. In particular, “Big Anvil” has a classic rock scream near the end that I love listening to. If you feel a strong dose of noise and energy is just what you need to defeat your own faceless soul-sucking demons, I heartily recommend this album!

Mas y Mas, hailing from nearby NoVA, were a perfect soundtrack to this scene. They’re at once fidgety and disaffected, smart enough to know that the best of kind of fun, maybe the only kind, is the stupid kind. On this point check out the (um) pointedly titled “You Can’t Play Without Ice.” It kind of reminds me of the first time I heard the Thermals, all lo-fi and pissed off at posers, but these guys are a lot funnier about it, partly cause I can’t really tell if they’re joking or not. There’s a savant tunefulness too, even though Vinny often tries to hide it behind his Mike-Skinner–as-snotty-American-kid impression.

And the lyrics are golden, as anyone unfortunate enough to follow my Twittrrr barrage will know. On “Sunday School Hymn,” they tackle that freshest of topics—fucking religion, dude—and somehow manage to land it unposed. “Now who here’s had his grandma pass away and wonders why she is still sleeping, and who here’s read a little Walt Whitman and wonders why he is so happy?” Maybe because I’ve wondered both those things, maybe cause there’s some real melancholy in his arch schoolboy recitation, but it’s the most moving thing I’ve heard since Joel got drunk and read some of his poetry at the last gpants staff meeting.

Mas y Mas — “You Can’t Play Without Ice”

Mas y Mas — “Sunday School Hymn”

Mas y Mas are magnanimously giving away their album, Proud Sponsors of Pepsi, here.

Well, soon anyway. There’s a precociousness to them that could stand to mellow a bit. Consider the backstory, in which childhood friends Sam Lee and Alex Kaplow go to France for a summer, work on an organic farm, and mix down the album on their Macbooks. C’mon dudes. Jason and Ben once tried a similar thing in Lake Worth, working at the YMCA and recording onto a minidisc. It kind of sounded like Lightning Bolt.

Like this neatly-wrapped slice of summer resume building, their debut album Real Life Color has a sense of diligent overachievement. They less evoke their various influences than splice them together in a way that can seem simulacrum-ly. My favorite song of theirs, “Monster,” is a well-researched composite of indie dorm-room bangers. I hear Ezra Koenig fronting the Postal Service covering Arcade Fire, basically. But despite some lyrical missteps (“a silver spoon to feed me lies”? really?) it’s a frighteningly good approximation, and these considerations are more or less forgotten in the fun of listening to it. Especially live, where Kaplow bounces like a pinball across the stage, brushing the hair out his eyes and crowing into the mic like a bantam rooster.

And that’s the thing. It strikes me that they’re enjoying themselves, processing their influences in a way that doesn’t feel particularly calculated. And if they’re this good this early, well fuck. How good will they be after life throws them a few sucker punches and broken hearts? Sam will be graduating from Yale in mere weeks, after all. I can’t help but think of another pair of New England collegiate breakouts, who happened to be headlining the same festival. They started out doing something pretty distinctive and then unexpectedly segued into an album of genre exercises. It seems like Magic Man just might be on the opposite trajectory.

Magic Man’s album Real Life Color is available for free, in all of its glory, here.

In “rediscovering” Tillman’s backlog, I’ve fallen in love with nearly every record, but I’m particularly fond of Minor Works. Sure, it sounds a lot like Buckner, and that obligatory Molina sadness is drizzled over all them potatoes (i.e. “tracks”), but Tillman is breathier, sweeter, less jaded than those old birds. There’s something here that sounds too gentle to be browbeaten by sorrow. There’s no regret; instead, there’s a quiet joy.

J. Tillman — “Crooked Roof” from Minor Works

Pretty straight stuff, but sung with that deep, rich Tillman voice. I love the soft, sweet choir of voices accompanying that last chorus; the entire thing feels like cream in coffee to me. Suddenly I am famished.

J. Tillman — “Earthly Bodies” from Year in the Kingdom

And here’s a track from Year in the Kingdom — overall, I think this transition from a devoted singer-songwritery style to the more haunting, almost starved collection of hymns highlighting Kingdom is largely a space accounted for by 2008’s Vacilando Territory Blues. Somewhere in that long walk, Tillman got spooked, his voice etherealized and the grandeur he found in his travels materialized before him in a sparkling vista. As Tillman sings, “I have broached the giants who came before us, /and in a resurrected voice, / I can conjure up a soundless void.” Seek these albums out and hear it for yourself.

Meanwhile, in Jason’s blog-induced dreamstate, a disruption, the allure of gaming long-gone: