Brew Records, the purveyors of Brit 3-piece “punk” outfit Kong [MySpace] were kind enough to send the lead single from the group’s new album Snake Magnet over for us to preview. The song in question, “Sport” (don’t get too excited Huey Lewis fans) and is a riotous four minute trip to the very border of punk and screamo. Marked by simple four-chord progressions, pounding intrusive bass lines, and indistinguishable layered lyrics, you’re looking at the finest produced high-school single you have ever heard. …read full article…

The Glasgow sextet, The Phantom Band [Official Site, Myspace] are set to drop their debut long player, Checkmate Savage, very soon. Our recommendation: hang outside the record store all night to score a copy. Okay, perhaps nothing that extreme, but definitely pick it up after work. The boys were good enough to send over a couple of single-worthy tracks for review, and we’re thankful for it.

The Phantom Band’s debut album Checkmate Savage is coming out January 26th on Chemikal Underground Records.

Check out some tracks and more “after the jump” …read full article…

The man who issued the finest singer-songwriter album of 2007 [Pride review: here] deserves a break, but Phosphorescent [Myspace] did not take one. Matthew Houck did release a tracklist of covers this winter, but with such remarkable sensitivity that To Willie is less a filler record than a Herculean emotional effort. It is a wonder the man can stand.

To Willie is, of course, a touching reference to Nelson’s own To Lefty From Willie (right down to the cover art), a posthumous tribute to Lefty Frizzell. We’ll ignore the nagging fact that Nelson is still alive. Considering the history and personnel behind the record, it is no surprise that Houck embraces his country propensities to the detriment of his folk leanings. …read full article…

Critic darlings Dungen [Official Site, Myspace] return this year with 4, their sixth offering in as many years. The band is still as laid back in their psychedelia influenced nostalgia as ever, and makes ample time for rolling guitar solos. What the world suspected of Dungen in their first offerings rings true on 4: Gustav Ejstes is no songwriter, his music has already been written for him. The man is more of a tinker than a composer, and he filters his varied influences through thoughtful, if mundane, hip-hop production. …read full article…

Steadfast funk rock 3-piece Real Be Easys [Official Site] has been playing their native New York bar circuit for the past few months, and venues great and small are thankful for it. I caught them early in their latest circuit at Snitch Bar on West 21st, a smoky joint known more for their party atmosphere and background music than for fostering the best sound in their performers. In the preprogrammed lighting and apparent lack of sound technician, acts often flounder a bit. Real Be Easys could have been one of those, but there is much to be said for confidence in one’s sound, and lead singer Evan Jaffee and crew have plenty of it. Amidst the chaos, the band played a short but solid set, managing highlights in favorites like “Rollin’ My Jays” (a bonus track in demo form on their first record) and a spectacular guitar solo on new track “Milk and Honey.” …read full article…

Coming off an extended residency at a resort in St. Barths, Evan Goodrow Band [Official Site, MySpace] is resuming the hard north-eastern tour circuit, but not before releasing a collection of live tracks from warmer climates. Goodrow’s trademark blend of soul and funk have always been delectably perfect for the bar scene he frequents in New England and New York, especially in Cambridge where the band calls base, but something different pokes its nose into his sound when surrounded by hot nights and ladies over-imbibing the all inclusive booze: its name is fun, and one can tell from A Night at the Bazbar that the band is having plenty of it. …read full article…

There’s been a lot of noise about the new Beach Boys in town, and it is simultaneously so much more than that and not much more at all. To be sure, The Explorers Club [Official Site, MySpace] is channeling Brian and crew to a tee, but the accuracy with which they do it while still retaining a knack for original songcraft is uncanny. However this six-piece is more than just a copy cat of a forty year old phenomenon; they let their other influences shine as well. For all the indie kids secretly pining for a new Beach Boys record they can be proud of, Freedom Wind is that album. …read full article…

What comes from absorbing lots of early American literature, Sufjan Stevens, and pro-green politics? If we’re lucky, its Bowerbirds’ sophomore effort Hymns for a Dark Horse. This collection of hypnotic lullabies plays almost like a concept album, however it is more of an overtly thematic homage to the pastoral, with some recurring anthropomorphically vocal woodland characters. Never has Appalachian indie folk been so consciously pretty, so positively in love with itself and with its inspirations. …read full article…

Had Landis Wine and Cinemasophia [Official Site, MySpace] not shared a stage or two with Grizzly Bear, the casual listener might wonder where they find the balls. There’s almost nothing new being said on their second release Whole Ghosts, but we’re going to forgive them. The early nineties radio rock influences are healthy and yummy, and what that man can’t do behind a soundboard! The band started as a one man project helmed by Wine called Josephine the Singer, but has since morphed into Cinemasophia, a six piece shoegaze act with members from both Richmond and Brooklyn.

The stylistic dream pop sounds throughout give Whole Ghosts its unique, almost concept feel. However, they are taken to extremes when they replace sorely needed hooks, and on tracks like “A Slogan” that I might consider filler, were it not for its saving, competent hard rocking jam in the second half. A percentage of the tracks on Whole Ghosts include thirty to ninety second electronic sci-fi intros that are either arguments or apologies, neither of which should be necessary. A surprisingly effective mood setter on “The Firmament,” the spacey tones create an upsetting feeling of impatience in the listener in other tracks like the intro to the album, which makes one wonder why we haven’t progressed past this preening penchant for stuttering as a culture. …read full article…

The Wannabe Hasbeens: Official Site, MySpace

Former Trans Future Vol. 1 is the hard rock album your dad always insisted existed but you never believed him. Solid arena rock with sweeping guitar solos and blues-punk sensibilities has been a myth since the early eighties (“Please don’t let the decade reference turn you off to this record,” he asked humbly), until now with the advent of The Wannabe Hasbeens. Still, for all the throwback mentality, the band is meticulously not retro. The Minneapolis quartet’s debut effort sounds fresher than a punk pop band made of fifteen year old hipsters. What is particularly refreshing is that it nimbly avoids all the potholes the style invariably throws in its way. The Wannabe Hasbeens are mature without being tired or world weary, and fresh without sounding like another Blink-182 clone. Rather than introduce elements of new rock sounds into their own, the band manages to skirt the huddled masses, observe passively, and simply ignore the cool scene altogether. The result is a sound alarmingly distinct, considering the influences.

Drop the disk in your machine, and crank the volume for the first few tracks. Hard rock junkies will not be disappointed. Head wobble to “Call Your Bluff” and “Gimme Substance,” as you will not be able to sit still. Immediately following, the album’s obvious standout track will break the “back” button on your iPod, as you demand repeated listenings from your poor device. “Hey George Bailey” is one of those tracks that meets the requirement of a perfect pop tune; plenty of hooks, like making love to a large woman, too much wonderfulness to digest in one sitting, not to mention a short-but-sweet solo and a Jimmy Stewart references. The hard rockers are reminiscent of Cheap Trick’s early years, pre-“I Want You to Want Me” of course, only The Wannabe Hasbeens seem too cool for the sleaze, and rely on sweetly sinister lyrics sure to please their lady fans. What gives the band a solid basis in rock reality is its rhythm section, a no-nonsense combination that is sensitive to both the heavy nature of the music it is playing, and the pop melodies it has to sustain.

“Anthem for a Late Bloomer” is just that: a six-plus minute, solid rock anthem, with ballad eccentricities thrown in to powerful effect. The Wannabe Hasbeens are clearly not afraid of their power ballads: a full third of the 6 track record are ballads. It is a band that knows the formula to any radio playable tune, they have studied and perfected it. Not conservative by any means, nevertheless they recognize (as perhaps only Dave Grohl does) a tried and true system when they see it, and will depart from it only minimally. It is a difficult procedure to retain a distinctly indie sound while churning out songs that would become Top 40 if my little sister and her friends got a hold of them. The Wannabe Hasbeens is that hero.

Alta Mira: Official Site, MySpace

In recent years, the home for atmospheric big beat rock has either been masked by enchantment or simply burned to the ground. When nineties hard rock fans have nowhere to turn, surrounded by Hinder and Nickelback clones, Yes fans are ready to lay their weary bones down because they’ve heard all there is to hear, and even Yorke-philes are ready to admit that perhaps Radiohead truly has gone a bit far on the vision quest, the idea of accessible yet soulful art rock seems lost to David Byrne’s swamp. Enter Indian Ledge Records and their new poster child Alta Mira. The band is an anthemic rock wet dream, at once comfortable in misty bars and sold out stadiums, and calling pointedly on the heyday of solid rock and roll, whether one finds that in the pulsing art pretension of Talking Heads, the grunge sensibilities and harmonizing of Jerry Cantrell, the crooning sensitivity of Jeff Buckley, or the modest sprinkling of ambition found in The Bends era Radiohead.

However, a glance at the track listing to the band’s first offering, The Fables and Fabrications EP alerts the listener that this will be no cake walk, easy listen. The opening track’s title, “The Berlin Waltz,” tells us a couple of things about what we are about to hear. First, your garden variety hard rock outfit doesn’t attempt a waltz lightly, and one wonders if we’re going to be seeing some Elliott Smith stylings from the ambitious young upstate New Yorkers. Alta Mira’s rhythm section (Tommy Krebs, August Sagehorn) manipulates the challenging clash of genres effortlessly. Secondly, the addressing of Berlin suggests an understanding of European culture, which to the average American might as well equate to existentialism. Indeed, in your search for the comfort of good times rock and roll (a la Tool), you may just have stumbled on something very adult here. Just because lead singer Joe Michon-Huneau isn’t belting out enigmatic riddles does not mean he doesn’t know what he is talking about.

The New Wave influence is hard to ignore here. “Apnea” recalls what Echo & The Bunnymen would have written if they ever grew up past brit pop Oasis clones…oh, and if they rocked. The title track employs the practiced droning of so many of the art-rock acts of the nineties, and calculatedly offers what can only be called a Corgan-esque crescendo for a catharsis in every verse. The conciseness of the record reflects the intelligence of the band as a whole. At a slim five tracks, there is an inherent understanding that there is potential for Alta Mira overload. The band is not yet ripe for the full length epics clearly stated as eventual ambitions in the EP’s undertones. They teeter on greatness, as the infant Mozart must have appeared as he learned to walk; the excitement here is the obvious potential of a band with clear and solid influences, and their letting us in on the ground floor.

The Warlocks – Official Site, MySpace

Not so quietly, or subtly, continuing the work of The Jesus & Mary Chain, The Warlocks has been a consistent presence on the Neo-Psychedelia scene since 2000. Fans of the genre have reveled in the nostalgia mash presented by front man Bobby Hecksher and his eight piece for the better part of this decade, and the band’s new release Heavy Deavy Skull Lover, is par for the course in its album a year journey. The goth rock octet with a heart of jam band gives it the ole college try for the sixth time, if college were Evergreen State in the late 1960s, and issues another solid set of drug culture inspired death rock with a Sonic Youth kicker.

“So Paranoid” is meant, it seems, to be the record’s centerpiece, offering more of a hook than any of the other tracks, and a dreamy vocal that is meant less to be ingested than absorbed through the pores. “Death, I Hear You Walking” is a more than solid track, and is exactly what went through Art Garfunkel’s head when he was on acid, including an inappropriate amount of harmonizing and buzzing, the presence of which only serves to strengthen the song. “Interlude in Reverse” offers up a vocal performance the bastard child of Robert Plant (“In the Light” Plant, not “Heartbreaker” Plant) and Thom Yorke would be mighty proud of. “Slip Beneath,” while not as exciting as a Machines of Loving Grace tune, does manage to employ a good amount of decent electric guitar work, worth mentioning because by the time you get there, you will miss it, and the Velvet Underground reputation they have enjoyed until now. The most exciting track on the album comes from “Zombie Like Lovers,” which offers a driving percussion section reminiscent of the man Bonham, bringing the marriage of Sixties and Nineties full circle, and gives the album a kind of catharsis.

“Dreamless Days” almost manages to recall some Pink Floyd, circa The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, the trippy mess of guitars taking us back to our fathers’ LPs, while the rhythm section plants us firmly in the early nineties when kids didn’t know whether to wear flannel or eye liner. In fact, if The Warlocks had made their appearance on the scene any earlier, you might have counted on seeing them on The Crow soundtrack, and that is not exactly a criticism, except perhaps for the fact that we have seen this act before, and the improvements they bring to it are either far too subtle to make a difference, or simply serve to muddy the mix.

The strength of The Warlocks comes in its ability to revel in black light psychedelia without indulging in the brooding atmosphere so often associated with it. If your girlfriend just dumped you, you’ll find little comfort here, but certainly look to immerse yourself in androgynous good times, as Bowie fans come of age, and Radiohead fans take a step back from pretentiousness. The album is a must buy for purists, but in all offers the same fare as previous releases. For a better introduction to the band, check out The Phoenix Album. I promise, you’ll still get all of the skulls, but with more of the listenability.

Real Be Easys: Official Site, MySpace

With the funk rock sensibilities of Bootsauce, the dance-ability of the Fratellis, and the pretty snarl of modern New York rock blaze Real Be Easys. There is a tendency to liken the band to a youthful Chili Peppers, but to do so would be a disservice to the intelligence of its homogeneous (let’s emphasize “genius,” and forget it is spelled differently, eh?) conglomeration of parts.

Whatever the ingredients of Real Be Easys’ “Lost Paradise,” fun would be listed first. Toe tap along with “Pop Bottles” and its ludicrous lyrics: “All I want is a tadpole/ I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole/ I wouldn’t touch you with a tadpole.” In fact, toe tap to every song on this album. “On the Road” teasingly reminds us of one of rock’s heydays, 1997, when every band had a number at the end of their name and a driving hook in their heart (I’m talking Eve 6 circa “Inside Out,” not Blink 182 here). One listen to “Jam On” reminds you why you spent so many late nights on the ole P2P finding every acoustic version of your favorite songs as you could. Can one ignore the Weiland-esque sleaze behind the vocals in “Maniac” and “Bullet?” Furthermore, listen to “Bullet” and try not to imagine Tom Morello behind that riff. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

In that respect I will give my fellow reviewers the comparison to the Peppers. Ever wonder what would happen if the tone deaf Anthony Kiedis was replaced by the disgustingly competent Scott Weiland? If Real Be Easys lack anything in originality, they pick right the hell up with nostalgia, reminding us of when we could actually listen to rock radio.

The album includes two live tracks at the end. I only say this because someone needs to tell you these are live tracks. They are as polished as the studio tracks, though they employ a rawer sound, and turn down the funk dial a bit. The only real misstep, and I loathe to admit it, comes in “Life With My Knife” which unfortunately comes off as the best song your high school band could come up with: awesome for you, hugely lacking for Real Be Easys. Disjointed and somehow still simple, it is a filler track, and the band knows it, throwing it toward the end of the disk before the acoustic track and the live songs.

Universality is Real Be Easys’ strongest attribute, their irreverence a close second. Guys usually have to dance to what the ladies want to hear, and now there is no room for complaint on either side. The kids that need something deeper in their rock than Nickelback’s new single will demand this album, and old fogies our age (and our fathers’ age) will finally settle down wondering what happened to fusion rock. This reviewer has not been this excited for a new band in at least a year. Never has an attempt to mix the chill of California with the intensity of New York worked so favorably, and if both coasts don’t make these guys millionaires there is something wrong with them. If I have to make the Milton reference, there may be some lost paradise for these gents, but it is not to be found on this album. Now if only I can get them to play Da Phunky Fish…

The Long Blondes: Official Site, MySpace

With the amp squeal of the opening track, one knows where they stand with the Long Blondes’ debut full length Someone to Drive You Home. The album is going to be another chapter in the new rock cannon, the recent standard for new bands since 2002 with the advent of The Strokes and their ilk. Think Franz Ferdinand without the distinctive personality.

What makes Someone a record of some consequence is the hodgepodge of styles lifted from outside that cannon. Combining the precocious three chord pop of early Pretenders with the stylized jangling of Maximo Park, not to mention the precious bitch attitude that has become so popular with teenagers and twenty-somethings in the UK and stateside, places the album well within the realm of listenability. The better tracks on the album even lend themselves to repeated toe-tapping listenings.

The obvious standout of the album is “Once and Never Again,” a track that consciously succeeds at putting Chrissie Hynde and Deborah Harry to shame. The song points the same finger that mothers around the world have used for decades, exposing the undeserved amount of emotion that seems to accompany young love, and basically telling the jilted lover to get over it. “You’re only nineteen for god’s sake” is a mantra that sets a dangerous tone for boyfriends around the world, giving young ladies the idea that they may not have to be quite so dependent on the dubiously handsome young lover they had grown attached to in high school.

“Lust in the Movies,” the opening track is a brilliant tone setter for an album with a not-so-covert concept. The constant repetition of the lyric, “I just want to be a sweetheart,” leads one to believe the young lady doth protest to much. Suspicions are confirmed with references to Edie Sedgwick, Anna Karenina, and Arlene Dahl. With “Giddy Stratospheres” Kate Jackson happily puts on her bitch hat, her sole intention to take some poor boring girl’s boyfriend from her. The thrill the speaker in the song gets is not lost on the audience, the driving beat demanding you dance, and the gorgeous vocal work alternately making you want to pass out and sing along.

The decided hard-edged femininity of the vocals leave the male listener in what this reviewer likes to call the Hooters mentality: in your face sexy and there to look at (or in this case, listen to), yet you are afraid to indulge in prolonged stares for fear of being considered a creep. This quality leaves the music with the delicious uncomfortability one hopes for in what could be considered the blueprint of chick rock. The rhythm section is decidedly par, Reenie Delaney and Screech Louder (a perfect rock monaker) delivering deliberate pounding, but including a disco flair that while engaging is hardly unexpected or revolutionary. Kudos to the guitarist, who manages to grant the jangling style a better reputation, avoiding the annoying hum drum of The Edge, while retaining the brit-pop credibility of Kaiser Chiefs and Maximo Park.

Without question, Someone to Drive You Home is not without its throwaways. “Heaven Help the New Girl” is a slower, less interesting retelling of “Once and Never Again,” and the repeating of the no-need-for-a-boyfriend theme detracts from the credibility of the concept, as if she is only saying it over and again to convince herself. Other album tracks rehash the same old same old that the Clash and the Pretenders wore holes in decades ago.

Still, the standouts make the record a rewarding listen, and a promising debut from a band with some staying power. Hope for evolution and maturity in future releases, but revel in the ridiculous fun and dirty poses of Someone to Drive You Home until then.