Who Made Who, Who Made Who (Gomma Recordings)
In which 70s funk-pop preservatives and ground-floor techno-by-numbers join forces to heist and re-label choice arena-disco artifacts, as seen in “Happy Girl” (a reupholstering of Tommy James), “Rose” (a poke at “I Feel Love” that sounds like Donna Summer’s backup band, not an altogether horrible thing) and “Space For Rent” (ditto). Unnecessary nu-mod brown-nosing (“Cigar”) and a shot of Jack Johnson (“Small Wonders”) are shamelessly tacked on as insurance policy riders that only serve to detract from the authentic flavor of the core Ohio Players concept. gomma.de
Rob Rock, Holy Hell (Candlelight Records)
Merger of hard rock and Fates Warning-ish Mach-metal from former MARS singer Rock, who’s played with Ozzy’s rhythm section and other castle-owning miscreants. Rock’s all-pro voice falls between Rob Halford and Bon Jovi, a departure from spandex girlie-men scratching up perfectly good plastic with the usual dog-whistling puff-chested nonsense. Very little of this suffers from pre-fab Sabbathoid riffing, and Carljohan Grimmark’s Martian-echo solos are Bill and Ted enough to cram any suburban hockey rink with potential National Guard cannon fodder. robrock.com
Winston Giles Orchestra, Soundtracks for Sunrise (Playup Records)
A mash of 70s white-trash horns, lunar-flow rhythms, kid’s singalong albums, unidentified flying samples and comfortable-shoes acoustic guitar – on paper it might look like inaccessible noise-mongering, but it’s pure commuter Zen – the only thing keeping you from floating right out the car window is the occasional coffee-spraying clown-around. Elements include ELO, “Bell is a Cup”-era Wire, Verve and Coldplay. Giles takes the nicest melodies that ever infested his skull and builds around them as someone trying to leave a legacy rather than baffling a few unarmed straights. Techno-trip doesn’t get more good-natured than this – Giles graces us with a generous shot of dopamine from his transparently positive soul. winstongilesorchestra.com
Roma 79, The Great Dying (Ascetic Records)
Dorm-dweller emo incorporating nu-mod and Weezer-punk now and then. The vocalist is wholly indistinguishable from all the other billions-and-billions-served Lit-by-numbers, small failure compared to the innovative prog environment that is its promise. The songs range from okay to okay, stressing floaty vibe and technical aerobics over creamy-center Hooks For Dummies, so although you’ve been here before you will assuredly find one or two new things. roma79.com
Robin Stine, Daydream (Sweet Blossom Records)
Ballroom-jazz chanteuse who’s got enough already – she’s cute enough to borrow a few hits of Chai tea from, possessed of a Protestant songwriting ethic that helped her fill up an entire album (save for a benchmark version of “Nature Boy”), and a brassy yet mousy warble that encourages walk-ins to investigate Jurassic pop. Naturally the acid test is whether Stine’s original pieces can make like they’re from the 40s, and she gets scooby-dooby-doos all around. robinstine.com
God Module, Viscera (Metropolis Records)
Demon-snarled hardfloor techno for Mortal Kombat fight scenes or pistol-whipping your sex slave this holiday season, its cinematic bytes appropriately sinister and gory (one sample features the “wonderful, terrible things” epithet cooed by Carnivale’s Brother Justin). Sole proprietor Jasyn Bangert specializes in quite danceable themes hung with a serial killer’s sense of decorum. sector9studios.com
Hush Collector, Flowby (Candy Cone Records)
Now that rock is nearly 60 years old, it’s always amusing to read the promo-sheets of Ovation-strumming nu-folkies like Hush Collector as they endeavor to appear culturally vital, unlike the Joni Mitchell/Sheryl Crow clue-fleas that they are – in this case the plot for world domination involves “a pinch of Cowboy Junkies, hints of Calexico… acoustic-tinged slowcore” blah-de-blah. Sure, the stench of watered-down Chango wafting from this slogging, repetitive gruel could actually be Don Eduardo tequila, but don’t vow to swear off oxygen if no one concurs. hushcollector.co.uk
TVForDogs, Roller (Wampus Records)
Brits TVForDogs escape a hasty CMJ-rock lumping by redrawing 90s grunge with emo and blues-rock brush strokes, but no vacuous Nirvana clone, this – Neil Luckett’s vocals have an elastic, grown-up quality that does for alt-disaffection what Sevendust does for nu-metal, leaving pretension and dullness behind for use by the less fortunate. “100x” successfully executes a hybridization of Death Cab daisy-scented candle cut with Simon and Garfunkel Barcalounger-pop, but that’s their plush side – for the most part it’s substantial power and indie exuberance reined in capably and conscionably, ie it’ll probably be overlooked by Pitchfork-thumping scene-finks but could certainly stand the test of time. tvfordogs.com
Unwind, A Journey Into Global Grooves (Compact Records)
Meditative ambient soundtrack from Israeli DJ Auspexx. In the main Auspexx relies on lo-fi echo, desert-plain whoosh and slow sunbursts in his chill-pill trances, some supplements of which include a few wiggly hypno-chants from hometownies, the occasional 70s wah wah pedal, and a grand total of one movie sample. Title tells the tale, safe for humans. israel-music.com
The Perms, Better Days (Hugtight Records)
Mercilessly upbeat general-admission bar band available for wedding receptions and action-comedy meth-lab busts. Think Mighty Mighty Bosstones vs Van Morrison vs Elvis Costello in a steel-cage Bop-It match with no outright ska allowed, all hooks all the time. Obligato indie rock is in “Verses,” senior discounts available. theperms.com
Realation, Self Posturing & Gesticulation (Realation Records)
A few virtuous Alvin Lee guitar runs from David Evans suffocated by rank-amateur Beatnik Night college drivel that sets alt-rock back ten years (keep it down, you in the back) in what may very well be a serious jab at label interest, a shuddery thought. Each song comes helpfully separated by bush-league stream-of-unconsciousness dialog between two easily fascinated slack-jaws pseudointellectualizing the battle of the sexes, which, let’s face it, is what life is all about, right dude? realation.com
Dave Downs, demo (self-released)
Simple-life porch-reclining folk-rock leaning toward G-rated-but-cool whatsits like Harry Nilsson and Randy Newman. Were Downs to aim for Jack Johnson-opener gigs he’d maybe get his wish – the Burl Ives non-toxicity of lines like “She’s as cute as a baby chimpanzee” require mindsets that aren’t prone to fritzing at the thought of laying in the grass for hours scanning the clouds for horsie-shapes while totally straight. The Oblio feel is pervasive, as if Downs had bankrolled the whole business for use in a wide-screen children’s book adaptation.
So I Had To Shoot Him, Alpha Males and Popular Girls (Crucial Blast Records)
Murderchick thrash dada amounting to Pat Benatar fronting Dillinger Escape Plan, ie music-less jazz chords played at hamster-wheel speed. “John Cleese and the Fountain of Youth” could have been a pre-megastar Blondie were it not for the calc-metal jam-out, which, per the rules, dangles a flavorful hook under your nose and rudely yanks it away to shove more sophomoric prog-wank down your gullet. These folks (who’ve been around long enough to know better) could have just bought tee shirts reading “I’M OF AN ALTERNATIVE MINDSET” and saved the studio engineer a few angry prostate cells. soihadtoshoothim.com
Final Selection, Meridian (Black Flames Records)
Gloomy Gus synth-pop drone rooted in an alternate-universe 80s ghostlier than the one owned by Depeche Mode, the bulk of it sung like Thompson Twins out on a shopping trip for gravestones. Nothing too bouncy here, but the attempts at melody succeed more often than not, and the Xanax trappings are less unnatural than what’s typically poured into this increasingly poser-diluted genre, whether or not the histrionics therein are funnier than anything Weird Al ever pulled. Tangents aside though, Final Selection have Joy Division’s spirit pinned to the mat but could stand a few more history lessons (or for something completely different, an attack of forward-thinking) – a wrist to the forehead doth not a statement make when it’s been done to death and there are no real surprises on hand, about which the worst thing is a scenario wherein listeners eventually tire of the wintry filibustering and scramble for a Blur CD or some comfort food, whichever’s handier. final-selection.de
Deva Premal, Dakshina (Narada Records)
After releasing so many disturbingly pretty pop-chants the undisputed queen of yoga-bubble has been long overdue for a flop, and thus it is that “Dakshina” is her budget-bin half-effort, a saccharine parade of half-baked scale practice hogging up the first third of the record while songwriting guru Miten goofs off and counts rupees stage left. “Aad Guray” finds Premal finally rising from her duff to affect the husky tantric greatness that earned “The Essence” and “Love is Space” a legal crossover passport, but the end product isn’t more than a sheepish admission that she’s overdrawn at the hook bank. mitendevapremal.com
Lulla Bye, Lulla Bye (Brain Music Records)
Hard to believe that bands are still knocking out songs about the 9/11 attacks, but here we are again with another country heard from, this time Brazil. Lulla Bye’s post-wave drama-rock is a not-unlistenable mix of U2 gloss, nu-metal and emo that’s a bit late throwing its hat into such an oversaturated ring, even if it’s better than most. Brownie points for sparing the world another Hoobastank vocal-clone and including a sealed can of energy drink with their press kit. Lots of dough behind these fellows, Cleopatra-size production and English lyrics (in other words they’ve gambled away any TV lip-synch spots on “EL MUNDO DEL GRANDE!!” or whatever it’s called). lullabye.net
Violet, The Last Cathedral (Wine and Vinyl Music)
Room-temperature folkabilly slept through by a Joan Baez soundalike hurling wild darts at the KD Laing area of the board. “Fill You In” wields a Wysteria Lane speed-babbled rant in a vain effort to distract listeners from the complete lack of catchiness and stands as the lone excuse for the CD’s existence, whereas “Don’t Let Me Down Again” wants to be “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” so badly it wets its plaid Talbots slacks. violetsong.com
Indie label releases, spaghetti sauce recipes and silly questions are always welcome. Email ericsaeger@mindspring.com.
