Artist: Songs
Title: Songs
Label: Popfrenzy
Genre: Indie
Bitrate: 201kbit av.
Time: 00:58:25
Size: 87.42 mb
Rip Date: 2009-11-14
Str Date: 2009-11-21
01. Farmacy 3:44
02. Something To Believe In 4:11
03. Oh No 4:50
04. Retreat 3:24
05. Clouds 6:00
06. Different Light 3:31
07. Out With A Curse 4:51
08. Pain 3:04
09. It's Dry 4:29
10. It Doesn't Exist 3:11
11. Just An Idea 11:01
12. My Number 6:09
Release Notes:
Would I have bought this?
I worry about criticism sometimes. ItÆs my job to, partly. (IÆm
studying for a PhD in online music criticism.) It bothers me that û in
all the centuries that music criticism has been taking place, George
Bernard Shaw being a prime practitioner û no oneÆs ever worked out a
set of applicable criteria. Precisely what are all these worthy and
golden critics giving grades to, for example? The state of the weather
outside, the state of their mind as theyÆre listening to the music, how
well the music manages to replicate the past while simultaneously
hiding the fact itÆs replicating the past, the throb of the bass, the
performance engendered, the quality of the songwriting, the fact there
are no songs present, the marketability, the recording qualityàor a
million (and more) other factors?
Reviews serve different functions: Consumer Guide, critical analysis,
musicology lecture, straightforward description, history lessonàand
thatÆs not even beginning to tackle the thorny problem of paid-for
reviewing, as favoured by the Australian street press. Some purists
(e.g. the American Government, with reference to criteria they want to
bring into place regarding blogs û link) think that the act of
receiving a free CD is payola.
When it comes down to it, thereÆs only one ever question you should ask
yourself concerning criticsÆ recommendations. Would the critic have
bought the CD, or paid for the ticket, themselves? Yes? Really? Then
you have yourself a recommendation.
And if noà
The debut album from Sydney four-piece Songs pushes all the right
buttons as far as IÆm concerned. Two guitars, two vocals, bass and
drums played with mesmerising precision and passion. WeÆre talking
echo-drenched, guitar-burnished, dream-time pop. WeÆre talking lengthy
explorations into sound and texture, with cymbals that crash like
far-off waves and guitars that drone and distort and bite deep. WeÆre
talking some of my most beloved bands of the past three decades û that
'80s Dunedin bunch (The Clean, The Gordons and Straitjacket Fits), for
starters. WeÆre talking about a band thatÆs not scared to keep playing
a riff or a drone once theyÆve got hold of one, and keep playing, and
keep playing, until they see what develops.
WeÆre talking about music that causes everything else to fall by the
wayside. So yes, I guess we are talking John Cale and a more minimal
Sonic Youth (particularly on the languorous, Lee Ranaldo-esque,
æSomething To Believe InÆ) and every band that was inspired to pick up
a guitar by Tom Verlaine and Robert Forster and (sigh) The Velvet
Underground. (Indeed, I was initially a fraction wary of this album
because of the way lead singer Max Doyle owes such a debt to Verlaine
on the opening æFarmacyÆàuntil I became overwhelmed by the songÆs û by
the SongsÆ û sheer gorgeousness.) And please note: these comparisons
are not supposed to denigrate, only enlighten. Songs are so their own
band it almost hurts.
So yes, we are talking about Melbourne band Beaches, and their
psychedelic wash of post-No Wave guitars: only a more naked cousin
perhaps. And weÆre not talking nudity, either. An obvious difference
would be, I guess, that Songs really have got songs û not for them the
Animal Collective trap of concentrating on the sound to the detriment
of everything else. This band knows the importance of the performance,
the sound and The Song.
The vocals (male, Doyle, and female, courtesy of bassist Ella Stiles)
often sound like theyÆre coming from far away down a distant bush
highway, or perhaps trapped inside your own imagination: chants,
rambles, tangential asides that lead nowhere and make you want to stay
there. The vocals ache and linger.
On the show-stopping, 11-minute long æJust An IdeaÆ, guitars shimmer
and shiver and blossom and spread into a blissful, torpid summer haze,
the same way guitars once did on Galaxie 500Æs climatic version of
Jonathan RichmanÆs æDonÆt Let Our Youth Go To WasteÆ.
As great as this song is, itÆs not even the finest moment here û right
now, that honour goes to the chugging, organ-fed, part-instrumental æMy
NumberÆ which so could be lifted from (much-missed former Brighton UK
band) ElectrelaneÆs 2001 debut Rock it To The Moon, it pains to type
these words. Or perhaps that honour lies with the tumultuous
place-holder æOh NoÆ, or the churning, soil-destroying, Brave Words
riffs on æRetreatÆ, or the Daydream Nation-like torpor of æCloudsÆ, orà
Again, IÆll say it. These comparisons are not supposed to denigrate,
only enlighten. I have few other mechanisms available right now for
expressing my delight.
So: would I have bought this album with my own money had I not received
a free copy? Fuck yes.
Songs is the Greatest Album I Have Heard This Year...and quite possibly
this decade. Not that music is a competition, you understand.
Ten stars. A hundred stars. A shimmering, cascading universe-full.
sire@hush.ai