AWmusic

I’ll go out on a limb here and assume your imminent satisfaction level with The Appleseed Cast (new album Sagarmatha) is based solely on what it is you hold in your hand the most. If it’s an IPod you’re regularly clutching I’m going to guess you’ll find them agreeable at best. If it’s a microphone you prefer (as in karaoke) chances are you won’t like the group. But, if it happens to be drumsticks or the neck of a (working) guitar you’re holding, I’ll hazard a guess you’re going to like them.

The Appleseed Cast – a quartet originally from California but now based in Lawrence Kansas – is what happens when musicians make music – as opposed to musicians making songs – or, even worse, when simple people make (simple) songs.

They’re like poets reading other poets. There music isn’t readily-accessible but it can be appealing. It’s the sonic equivalent to moderately-priced wine feeding the masses. Those with broader tastes – in this case, ears – are likely to find the music more agreeable to their palate.

Look them up on Wikipedia and you’ll find, besides the obligatory timeline and FYI, a good portion of each of the four member’s bios is filled with a detailed listing of the weapons they wield, right down to the effects pedals (lead Chris Crisci, for example, uses an Xotic RC booster, Fulltone Fulldrive 2, Line6 Echo Park, Boss TR-2, Line6 DL4, and an Electro-Harmonix Deluxe Memory Man in case you were wondering).

Thing is, these guys – Crisci along with Aaron Pillar, Marc Young and Aaron Coker – know their audience. They play to an eclectic, learned crowd. They’re exploratory artists. If you want structure and an anthemic chorus, look elsewhere.

Their songs –a term used rather loosely in this instance – vary anywhere from a minute and a half to eight minute wonders. As Little Things Go, the first track hits the 6:22 mark before you hear the first word (although you’d be hard-pressed to know what it is) while other cuts are simply instrumentals. Let it be said though that this isn’t a detriment; it’s more about adapting your listening style. If it’s structure you seek, turn on the radio. If you want to hear some guys and their wandering axes, listen closely.

While I’d like to say this is a monumental album, it isn’t. It’s way past ordinary; somewhere in front of decent and nipping at the heels of excellent. Personal favourites include the aforementioned opening track along with The Summer Before and An Army of Fireflies. Exactly why I like them is pretty much a mystery and therein lays the beauty of The Appleseed Cast but I can guarantee something about them, some element, one song or two, will appeal to everyone. How much you appreciate them as a group and Sagarmatha as an album, is dependent on aural music sensibility and penchant for playing music as much as listening to it. And, with that, I’ll stick with my initial theories.

The Appleseed Cast – A Bright Light
The Appleseed Cast – As Little Things Go
The Appleseed Cast – The Summer Before

Stephaines Id is about as far away from that tired stereotype as one can be. If you were to pick them a hometown based solely on their sound you could easily say Oslo or New York City or Montreal. They eschew acoustic, opting instead for a collection of keyboards, bass rhythms and monochromatic drums. It’s not techno. It’s not rock. Call it pensive pop or brooding electro folk and, while it’s not entirely original, it’s not all too boringly familiar either.

They seem to have a thing for those instruments not easily associated with the musical zeitgeist (band member Krum plays the sleigh bells in case you were overly curious) and what makes this album so listenable is the mere fact that no two tracks seem to sound that similar. The mystery in determining Stephanies Id distinctive sound grows deeper and more inconclusive as you progress through the album.

The one constant would have to be lead singer Stephanie Morgan’s breathy, at times aching voice. She mutates from a quiet and breathy Kate Nash (minus the thick Brit accent) to a polite and audibly-discernible Bjork (minus the spontaneous impious shrieks). Ms. Morgan seems willingly buried within the songs, as if each is a specific tale and, in each, she takes on a specific, slightly-different role. You’re left with the overwhelming feeling she’s telling you stories as much as she’s singing you songs.

Any one of the first seven tracks from Warm People (their third full length album) could be considered exemplary of how good this band actually is although Mission from God, Hello From The South and The Weakling would be on the podium if I this were my Olympics and I was holding a collection of medals.

Sadly the CD drops off precipitously with the final three tracks on the album. You get the feeling they had rhythms and melodies they couldn’t fully cultivate before the CD was pressed. While it’s not nearly enough to wipe off that musical smile created with the first seven, you wonder if maybe this deserved to be shorter and, in turn, sonically sweeter.

Still, after all is sung and done, this is a very good record. It deserves to be heard by more people than are actually likely to hear it. Stephanies Id has staked their claim on the southeast and in Ashville and likely the greater North Carolina area. How far they will go seems solely dependent on how much people are willing to expand their own musical geography and aural horizons.

StephaniesId-The Weakling
StephaniesId-Hello From The South
StephaniesId-Mission From God

They hail from Edmonton which makes their sound that much more unique. If this band hailed from New York or Los Angeles it would make a lot more sense. They are a blend of soft-shelled punk, sounding very Talking Head-ish although, in this case, David Byrne has lost his voice.

Whereas The Talking Heads had bounce and rhythm Hot Panda has a myriad of stops and starts, riding on the undulating keyboards and glockenspiel (yes, I said glockenspiel) and a certain affection for hollow guitars and a spastic bassline. It’s not that the music isn’t good; it just doesn’t feel refined. It screams jam session.

Hot Panda’s lead duo – Connelly and Maghan Campbell – spent time abroad indulging in the vibrant Norwegian music scene and it’s not hard imagining this band calling Oslo home but, like most bands from across the pond, some things like street directions and dinner orders just don’t translate well, or well enough.

You get the vibe this band is an amalgam of sensibilities with all the members fighting to get their flavour on the record. You have the formidable accordion work and the infamous glockenspiel (indie) mixed with off-balance vocals and an occasional run at The Hill of Rock n Roll; each with their own merit but, in this recipe, they all collide awkwardly, creating a translucent and indigestible stew. It’s like everyone is auditioning for star status except they just happen to be doing it together.

The songs’ lack of structure isn’t really any kind of fatal flaw. There is plenty to carry the band and there are some purely-instrumental interludes on the album that can really appeal to a person, that is, elements of the songs themselves are actually pretty good. It’s just that when Connelly starts to “sing”, the bubble bursts. It becomes muddy and it becomes a haphazard, occasionally interesting collection of noise.

Perhaps they’re a great live show. Maybe Connelly’s quirkiness and warble works in a different avenue. Just – for me at least – not here.

Hot Panda – Chinatown Bus
It’s Worth Eight Dollars by Hot Panda

To enter into the world of jazz is an act of pure treachery whether it’s as a listener or an artist. Few genres of music are as haughty and unforgiving to wide-eyed neophytes. It’s not that there isn’t room in the club for another, just that you really have to try hard to gain a spot.

Madeleine Peyroux found hers back in 1996 in a way very common to jazz newcomers – via enormous cult status and a subsequent smash debut album (Dreamland).

Of course jazz “rules” state that one can only gain critical acclaim in the world of horns and riffs by paying homage to the recognized masters of the jazz style and sensibility; that is, you can only gain acceptance by doing – contrary to pretty much every other musical faction – personal covers from the deep library of jazz standards. Should you pass this demanding initial litmus test, you are ushered in and thus proclaimed worthy of this exclusive club.

This is precisely why I believe most jazz to be annoyingly snotty and transparently pretentious and its followers – for the most part – even more so.

Jazz maintains a snobbishness matched only by hardcore poetry and impressionist art. It’s not that there isn’t actually any talent and endearing qualities in the music, it’s just that is so deeply buried beneath layers and layers of arrogant posturing.

For Madeleine Peyroux – the artist – she has the requisite history and sincere bohemian background to solidify her place in the genre. Her youth was shared between New York City and California, then Paris by way of her parents’ (self-proclaimed hippies) divorce. That, combined with a life of eclectic music and higher education, seemed destined to send Madeleine to a life amongst the bebop set.

She set forth to topple the genre from within, tackling such esteemed icons as Billie Holliday, Bessie Smith and Edith Piaf. Her covers not only paid reverence to them but added her own personal Peyrouxesque flavour to the mix. Madeleine Peyroux had become the Next Big Thing.

And now with the release of her fourth studio album Bare Bones she attempts to put a permanent stamp on her own status within the jazz realm. Ms. Peyroux is doing this entire recording with not one old record or reanimated favourite. Bare Bones is entirely her.

For those who haven’t heard Peyroux sing before, you’d have a hard time believing she isn’t the result of some musical time machine. Her voice is smoky (aren’t they all?) and sultry with a breathiness and hush that seems much older than her thirty five years (again, aren’t they all?).

What makes this album unique are the ways in which she’s tried to embellish this offering in her own way. A lot of this music is simply historically un-jazzy. There are mood changes and alternate rhythms and lyrical depths not usually found in your typical jazz album.

Take River of Tears which is about as far away from typical jazz (read: upbeat) as you can get or Homeless Happiness which recalls her early life as a street busker (A bench by the shore/A coat for my pillow/A future with no guarantee/The world was a rat race and I had my fill oh/ No hurries no worries for me) or even To Love You All Over Again, a hopeful (yes hopeful) commitment to leaving behind the lovelorn and damaged past with the chance to start renewed.

Some will bemoan Peyroux’s latest primal scream and lament her unwanted personal signature on this storied style of music but then, they’re the ones in it more for the image than the music anyway. Great music, as the hardcore jazz aficionado needs to realize, didn’t die in 1962. Madeleine’s here to remind them of that.

Madeleine Peyroux – Instead
Madeleine Peyroux – River of Tears
Madeleine Peyroux – To Love You All Over Again

It will only take you only two Simple Times tracks to realize if Joshua Radin’s music works for you or not. It with either sound sappy, boring and contrived or so pure and effortless you’ll have a hard time believing he’s essentially an industry beginner.

Joshua Radin’s sounds are the breathy whispers from a lovelorn, introspective minstrel. You can imagine him wooing the girl from the castle or lamenting not having been able to do so. His transparent vulnerability is Radin’s strength and possibly his weakness.

His rise to glory is the stuff of inspirational legend. A screenwriter by trade, he managed to capitalize on a connection to his old college buddy Zach Braff, who helped him get his music heard on numerous TV shows, starting with Scrubs and eventually leading to others like Grey’s Anatomy, One Tree Hill and American Idol. His soft introspective tone, showered in melancholy provided the emotional perfect backdrop for what people like to watch – and to hear – in today’s viewing culture.

But therein lies the rub. Radin is so good at this – at providing musical accompaniment to television’s visuals – you get the distinct feeling he writes with that goal solely in mind. He’s so adept, so soon in his career, he’s quickly become the John Williams of the small screen.

And he’s already garnering so much positive press his rise to superstardom seems almost imminent, almost unstoppable. Assisting him in this sophomore effort are such industry luminaries as Patty Griffin and Meiko.

His musical talent, without a doubt, is formidable. His songs are so nuanced, so elegantly layered; you can see and feel his deft hands at work. Radin simply knows his craft. He knows his forte and plays to it.

Brand New Day is about as hopeful and optimistic as you can get in a song and They Bring Me to You is a meandering duet (with Erin McCarley) so true to who Radin wants to be portrayed – whether that’s to his betterment or his detriment. Vulnerability, as mentioned, is his high card and he plays it often.

The overwhelming feeling you’re left with after listening to Simple Times is how friendly and accessible this music is to the masses. You can’t help but imagine each and every song on a soundtrack and as background to a love affair, either onscreen or off. Perhaps it’s no simple coincidence given Radin’s original career choice. Either way he saw his destiny as much visually as he now does aurally. Whether he made the right choice is really left to you to decide.

Joshua Radin – Brand New Day
Joshua Radin – Friend Like You