First off, you should never judge a book by its cover. Unless that cover is for Portugal. The Man’s upcoming album, The Satanic Satanist (See the artwork below if you don’t believe me).
The band’s fourth proper LP drops on July 21, and boy oh boy is it a doozie. Its eleven tracks play like a collection of distilled moments of clarity for a band who continue to evolve and perfect and experiment with their sound. Well, after several hearty listens, I have to say I hope this album becomes not just another mile marker along their musical journey, but rather a beacon off shore, a light source as they sail ahead into the deeper, darker waters of notoriety. Because, if my suspicions are correct about the eminent reception of this album, they will need that beacon in the same way Modest Mouse needed it after Moon & Antarctica. (At this point, however, Modest Mouse need a life-boat to get back on board, but I digress.)
So what does The Satanic Satanist sound like, you ask? Well, if you have followed Portugal. The Man’s previous albums, starting with Waiter: “You Vultures!”, you will have seen an evolution from post-emo spazz rock to more of an art-folk indie vibe (is that even a vibe?). This album, however, is something different entirely. It’s actually deceptively hard to define, but if you will indulge an analogy for a moment: Imagine The Pixies calling up 311 (don’t ask) and inviting them over to Frank Black’s manse to throw a Sly and the Family Stone appreciation party. But half-way through the gala, evil cousins Ween crash in and send the whole night flying off course. And yet, somehow, impossibly, it all works, like a good magic trick.
There are hints of Yeasayer here, though not in a direct way; I think it has something to do with the fluctuating falsettos and experimental nature of both bands. There is also a spacey, pulpy, Jack Vance sci-fi undertone to several of the songs, but I’ll get to that later. You could do worse than to throw Phoenix into the mix as a point of loose comparison as well, for its laser-precise production and sheer pop appeal.
Reputed producer Paul Q. Kolderie, who has produced / mixed / engineered for such bands as Radiohead, Pixies, Uncle Tupelo, Lemonheads and Dinosaur Jr., produced The Satanic Satanist, which, when you listen to the fluidity and refinement of each track, I’d say it shows. It all flows so smoothly; the songs wash over you like the tide, slipping into your subconscious before you ever know what hit you. But by then, it’s far too late.
No song is too long (unlike this review), and if there is a guitar solo, it’s sixteen-bars, maximum. In fact, a few of the tracks are probably too short, based solely on the fact that I wanted more! Working, for the most part, within the confines of straight-ahead verse/chorus/verse structures along with the predictable refrains, bridges, reprises, and breakdowns of pop albums near and far, I found myself wondering how this album continued to surprise me turn after turn.
The lead vocals courtesy frontman John Gourley transform tightly wound, simple productions into all-out anthems. Crooning falsetto melds into quasi-rapping only to be proceded by the ooh’s and ahh’s we’ve come to know and love within the indie über-genre. He’s no Josh Groban, but I’ll take Gourley’s earnest brand of vocal delivery over the former any day of the week.
On the album opener, “People Say,” a very Ween a la “Your Party,” bass line kicks things off, until the chorus steals the show, reminding us why we loved bands like Blur and Oasis once upon a time. “What a lovely day, yeah we won the war / May have lost a million men but we’ve got a million more.” Look for your local college radio stations (XMU if you listen to satellite like I do) to play the hell out of this song (pun intended). This track reeks of song of the year potential.
The very next track, “Work All Day,” defies you not to bob your head along to its chain-gang style beat. It’s the proverbial summer bounce track, pivoting off a sick break beat and an infectious sing-in-the-shower chorus. I put it up there next to Grizzly Bear’s “Two Weeks,” as another easy contender for song of the year.
“The Sun,” reminds us why we wanted to love Magic Numbers when they first came out, but just didn’t have it in us. This is how you do it, fellas. It’s not about indulgent vocals or over-the-top production. Instead, “The Sun,” pulls it off with distant hand claps, a quirky yet convincing falsetto, and a true appreciation for the R&B greats of an almost forgotten era. “If you’re talking to the moon, the moon might sing about: / the universe shouting out: ‘I don’t need, I don’t need time.” Epic grooviness.
Other standout moments include the fuzzy, layered loveliness of “Do You,” in all of its Pixies-circa-”Where Is My Mind?” wonder; the ‘64 Impala flavored badassedness of “Guns and Dogs;” and the soaring, angelic sweep of “Lovers in Love,” a song the Rosebuds wished they would have recorded when they still had the chance.
As the album unwinds, and its final three tracks lull us into a beautiful sense of quiet (dis)comfort, and the final words of the last track usher us away (“We’ll be just fine, We’ll be just fine, I don’t believe…”), you really have no choice but to circle back and play the whole thing again from the beginning, just to see if there was anything you missed, just to take the ride again.
I later discovered the entire LP is, in fact, a concept album designed to parallel a sci-fi story (written by Gourley himself, I believe) about a man who builds a rocket, is banished by his king, then flies into space in said rocket, and crash lands back onto Earth later on (but the planet is completely void of any signs of life now). Ummm, ok… I’m not saying you will discover this hidden story on your own, but it does explain the undeniable sense of narrative structure to the song cycle.
Where other acts have failed in their attempt at manufacturing a successful concept album (ahem, Decemberists), Portugal. The Man succeed in the best way possible: each song maintains its own distinct identity, while an undercurrents of cohesion flows through their collective veins. It’s also worth noting that this is a gapless album, meaning many of the songs run together without any pause in the instrumentation. I usually loathe this cheese ball tactic (especially on hip-hop albums), but here it truly works to build a seamlessness and connective tissue from one chapter to the next.
As I reflect upon The Satanic Satanist, I realize there is nothing satanic about the album at all. Rather, it is nothing if not a sunny, groovy, summer soirée with hooks and riffs and anthems sent down from a troupe of bearded angels donning unkempt wings. Not a jam album per se (not quite), but a work no doubt destined to turn heads (concert and blog-heads alike) later this season. I guess that means I’ll be turning my head twice, sort of like I was possessed…
My second favorite active songwriter in the known world is back with his band Magnolia Electric Co., set to release their fourth proper LP, Josephine, on July 21.
Here’s to hoping the new album shines as brightly as the Songs:Ohia final LP (Named Magnolia Electric Co.), and not as much like Trials & Errors, which was good not great.
This album is loosely dedicated to late band member, bassist, and key contributor Even Farrell, who died in a tragic apartment fire early in 2008. Molina is very proud of this album (“When I walked out of the studio, I knew that we had done something important.” -via Pitchfork). He feels it is so raw and naked he may never even listen to it.
My friend Ryan Rothermel just wrapped shooting of a new promo for Portugal. The Man, along with another buddy, Robbie Johnstone. They sounded pleased and exhausted. I’m anxious to see how this bizarro setup edits together. Check out some of the behind-the-scenes shots below (check out the full set on Flickr, here).
Client
MillerCoors Agency: Saatchi & Saatchi NY Creative Directors: Ralph Watson, Andy Carrigan Exec. Producer: Jerry Boyle
Production Company
Michael Schrom & Co. Director/DP: Michael Schrom Exec. Producer: Carl Sturges
Post-Production
Ladies & Gentlemen Creative Director: Ryan Dunn Exec. Producer: Brendan O’Malley Design: Shaun Collings, Ryan Dunn Edit: Ashley Kreamer Animation/Compositing: Marco Giampaolo, Eric Bauer Music: Dodos “Visiter”
If you like sports, or if you watch television at night, you may have seen this commercial already. It is an spot I recently completed at my new studio Ladies & Gentlemen, in collaboration with Michael Schrom. The agency approached us with the request to reshoot and rework a concept they had already produced and shelved. Instead of giving their previous commercial a face lift, we asked that we be able to reimagine the whole thing, taking their brief to heart as we came up with a new concept.
Saatchi & Saatchi were very open to the idea, so we presented a new idea, and they loved it.
The concept was actually quite simple: Eschew gimmicky design for straight-up appetite appeal. We were pleased with the results, and so was the client. What separates this commercial (intentionally) from the competition is the risk the agency was willing to take with the music/editorial.
In more conservative hands, we may have ended up with a typical faux-Latin music track somewhere between Macarena and Spice Girls. Instead, our insistence upon keeping an early Dodos track in the mix yielded strong results. It gave us a hazy summer strum to cut to, with crescendos and lulls galore, and also took the beer to a slightly classier place, something that only amplifies the already tasty close-up beer performance.
After watching the sheer, uncontrollable, unadulterated beauty unfold before your merely mortal eyes, it may surprise you to find out that I have never once sipped a single drop of beer in my life. Scout’s honor.
This stuff creeps me out. I have a firm believe that lather and suds are meant to be a product of friction (caused ideally with my own hands), not a chemical reaction to air upon pumping.
But even more unsettling than the unnatural foaming is the displacement problem. When you have a puddle of soap in your palm, then clap your hands together, you get this touch-and-go sensation that the foam is going to seep out the sides and drizzle onto floor, or worse your wrist/shirt cuff.
Bat For Lashes and St. Vincent give credence to the phrase similar but different. Or is it different but similar? Either way, I want to take a moment to contrast and compare the two, and see if we can’t get to the bottom of who is better, if that is possible.
The Set-Up
Both of these bands are actually pseudonyms for two women singer/songwriters; Bat For Lashes is Natasha Khan, and St. Vincent is Annie Clark. Each have two LP’s under their belt, with each of their second respective LP’s having been released in 2009. Both women are under 30 years of age; Natasha is the older of the two at 29 (Annie is 26).
Both attended music school, with Natasha graduating from Brighton University and Annie dropping out of the Berklee College of Music after three years. Natasha won the Vanguard award in 2007. Annie won PLUG’s Female Artist of the year in 2008.
Annie’s experience in the industry began as a member of Sufjan Steven’s touring band. Natasha began recording music on her own while working as a nursery school teacher.
Annie is a Libra from Dallas, Natasha a Scorpio from Brighton. Both are brunette? Okay I’m reaching now…
The Critics
Their albums have been met with mostly critical acclaim. It’s hard to say who has made a larger impression upon the industry. St. Vincent made it to 90th on the Billboard 200 Chart, while Bat For lashes made it all the way to number 2 on the Billboard Top Heatseekers Chart. Pitchfork gave Two Suns, Bat For Lashes latest LP, an 8.5, and put her on their “Best New Music” list. St. Vincent received an eerily identical 8.5 by Pitchfork for her Actor LP, and coincidentally also made the “Best New Music” list.
The plot thickens.
The Sound
Bat For Lashes makes moody electronic music, no question about it. Her husky voice reminds us of Kate Bush and Björk at times. She conjures images of creepy dolls and lush forests and Smith’s t-shirts. Her arrangements are dense and dark, and her voice echoes against dank, damp, mossy walls. The sun shines through a swaying canopy in dusty, golden shafts.
St. Vincent sings in an also husky though more throwback style, in the spirit of mid-century acts like, I dunno, Lesley Gore maybe?Instead of gothic voo-doo dolls, Annie conjures up hallucinogenic angels flitting about heaven with neon halos. There’s a Lynchian-cum-Blue Velvet quality to her music. It is beautiful, but just a little bit off, like a porcelain patina over a rusted iron figurine.
The Verdict
It’s hard to say which of these bands are to be preferred. I think it depends on what mood you are in, and what type of a person you are. What is likely true, however, is that you would be hard-pressed to find a St. Vincent fan who doesn’t like Bat For Lashes, or vice versa.
What I find interesting is how rarely the two names come up in reviews and conversation. I’ve always noticed strong parallels between their accomplishments, even if the music itself is as different as The Stepford Wives and Lost Highway.
The Winner
Why, the listener, of course. But you saw that one coming, didn’t you?
Patrick Daughters directed this promo for Grizzly Bear, the first of several I’m sure from their new album Veckatimest, due out May 26. In this clip, the four band members play the part of peculiar sunday school churchgoers singing their twisted hymn while seated in pews backed by stained glass panels. Shot after shot they ooh and they aah and they sing and they glow. You’ll notice fairly quickly that the band look a bit, um, different than you may have remembered. As they sing with independently blinking bug eyes and creepily rosy cheeks, we begin to suspect they have a secret they really want to share with us, and by the end we realize they most certainly do.
On paper, this promo could definitely work well and be interesting/disturbing. The problem, however, is that it requires a certain level of realism in order to succeed. I’m reminded of Chris Cunningham’s early videos and adverts, where he would distort faces to invoke a creepy, unsettling effect. He did it by convincing us that these alien humanoids really existed, and Cunningham shot them in a way where we felt he was just showing us the mutation on film.
I commend Daughters for taking a risk with this clip. The slow-motion camera work kept me engaged until the end, but I have to say it all looks a bit too Steve Madden in execution, seeming gimmicky where it could have been unnerving. The effect works better on Chris Bear and Chris Taylor than it does on Ed Droste and Daniel Rossen, though while trying to foreshadow the glowing climax of the promo, several shots come off like a Photoshop tutorial gone awry. And what was with those Sapphire Sparks filters at the end? Geez. Another nit pick, there’s a low angle quarter view shot at the end, where the band don’t have the eye effect on them; just sort of bugged me (pun intended).
In summary, amazing song, great album, mediocre launch video. Now let’s see what While You Wait for the Others and Cheerleader come out looking like when their videos arrive….
I still think they should have just used shots of my daughter dancing around to their song. Maybe I’m just a poor, jaded director after all.
At 1:15a last night, I was unpacking wardrobe boxes in my new Connecticut home while waiting for my sheets to dry. By 1:30a I felt a mild cramping in my lower left back, and figured I may have gas or something. By 1:45a I was literally on the ground writhing in what would later become the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.
I tried to deal with the agony as long as possible, holding out hope that it may have been simple intestinal cramping, and would go away. It did not.
By 3:00a I had woken my sleeping father-in-law, and asked if he had any ibu-profin. I explained my symptoms to him and he said, without flinching, two simple words.
“Get dressed.”
We arrived at the Danbury Hospital ER within the half-hour, where I was admitted and laid on a stretcher in a small room. They placed an IV drip into my arm, and asked me to describe all of what had happened. I tried to do my best in between shallow, pulled, excruciating breaths. Soon after, they sedated me with narcotics, and asked that I strain my urine the next time I had to go, which I did without protest.
Then I slept.
Two hours later, I was awoke by a new nurse (the day nurse), who informed me we were headed to a CAT Scan, followed by an X-Ray. It’s worth noting that I felt much better by this time, what with the drugging and all. After being wheeled all around the hospital to take the tests I returned to my room to await the results. Within fifteen minutes the doctor on call came into the room. He reminded me of a skinnier Quentin Tarantino.
He told me that the CAT Scan showed what he suspected to be the case: I had a kidney stone, and based on the imagery, I had passed it while in the hospital. This doesn’t mean it has left my body, only that it has made its way from the kidneys and is now floating somewhere in my bladder.
The doctor discharged me with a prescription for Percocet, and two days rest, at which point I will have to have a follow up examination. I am currently back home in bed as I write this, the home I literally just moved into today.
My kidney still throbs vigorously when I stand up, and the pharmacy doesn’t open for another two hours. However, compared to my ordeal in the middle of the night, I am on top of the world.
All of this said, I will not be coming into the office tomorrow to work.
