So last month, Mike Skinner came back for another bout as The Streets. This is the first Streets album I’ve liked on the first listen. Does that mean he’s losing his touch? Possibly, possibly. Fans of his earlier work, please note that the slow beats and flat narrative delivery are still present. Also, those fans should drop me a line - I can’t seem to remember what it was about A Grand Don’t Come For Free that I once liked . . .

The third track on James Cavanaugh’s The Charm of Hugo and the first one I really heard. I like some of the other tracks, but I love this one. Those disconnected moments of travel are always so affecting.

Brooklyn-based musician, Rench, flirts with magic. I purchased his first album from Aime St. more than a year ago. After recently hearing one of those tracks on the TV, I checked up on his website. And so I found Gangstagrass.

Gangstagrass has been my bubblegum for the last month. On first taste, the disc gave me a giddy rush of wonder. Hip-hop rhymes and flow immersed with old-timey country sounds I love. I was pushing the disc on everyone I knew and everyone I saw. I loved throwing this in my stereo and pounding my typewriter in time with the easy beats and twang-y strings. The puppy love was perfect.

In an effort to have something interesting to say, however, I began to pay close attention to the tracks while spinning them again and again. Sadly, the close attention broke the magic. Rather than being integrated part of the music, the bluegrass samples sound more and more like post-production flair. So, just sit back and enjoy the ride for as long as the flavor stays fresh.

For the extra curious, check out this interview of Rench by a Swedish roots music site.

Editor’s Note: This started out as a post for Star Maker Machine but I misread the prompt and wrote about my first CD listening experience instead of a first music purchase. Instead of tossing the post, I’m throwing it here. A more traditional post is in the works.

Strewn across the bottom of my brain pan are a whole slew of musical firsts. The first album that was “mine”, the first mixtape I ever made, the first mixtape I received, the first time I *really* listened to Sgt. Pepper’s, the first time I pitched woo through song. From all of these precious memories, it’s hard to the choose the most important one. So I chose on song.

In 1988, I was seven and living in Yakima, a medium sized city in central Washington. One weekend, the parents threw my brother and me into the back of our crackerbox VW van and drove out to Seattle to visit their old school friends. One family we visited had a teenage son who was directed to entertain us while our parents talked. Not only did he have the inherent coolness of nearly-infallible teenage power, he also had all the newest toys. He was the first one to show us an 8-bit Nintendo, the first to show us a tree house, and the first to show us CDs.

The first CD he played that rainy day in his attic loft was R.E.M.’s Green. For a kid raised on Peter, Paul, and Mary; the early Beatles; the Beach Boys; and other safe fodder, R.E.M. was a revelation. Loud and awkward, the melodies were safe enough to embrace while being different enough to ensure the rest of the family would never like them as much. I became minorly obsessed with R.E.M. as a result. I hunted out bargain copies of old albums at every discount store my parents frequented. I pestered adults with questions about the biology of sleep. I even tried (unsuccessfully) to like the B-52s because they were from the same city.

To be honest, the magic of CDs was not particularly clear to me then and it was another seven years before I owned one myself. The first I ever purchased was a collection of John Williams tracks from Steven Spielberg films, but that is a different story.

Jane Vain and the Dark Matter live within the lines. The songs (or at least the ones I’ve counted off) are built in four-measure phrases of four-four time.[1] The down beats are so heavily emphasized that they almost count twice. Jamie Fooks even sings about the time signature in “Moving Notes”:

Now I can only hope
This broken heart of mine
Will mend in moving notes
And four-four time

The comforting simplicity of the structure allows each of the instruments to take turns very naturally. The use of minor keys and limited vocal range remind me very much of a Into The Pink era Verbena,[2] with both the up and downsides thereof. Taken individually, these minimalistic qualities and varied instrumentation create very compelling songs. In sequence, however, the limited palette makes the album essentially unlistenable.[3]

April 14th Update: Time has corrected my opinion. I have been spinning the whole album on a regular basis lately; it grows on me.

[1] I only counted out three of the tracks.
[2] Into the Pink’s fourth track from the end is Bang Bang; Jane Vain’s is C’mon Baby Say Bang Bang. Verbena’s most similar track, though, is the opener – Verbena - Lovely Isn’t Love.
[3] For a different take, I recommend the review over at Hero Hill.

She unrolls with tight discordance on the left channel for a full a half minute before the guitars are killed. Her voice has arrived. “Shall we kiss on the lips or shall I say that I’m sorry? That on any other day of the week I would have asked you back.” Such a simple opening and so assertive. Within forty-five seconds, Kat announces she is not tied to her guitar, not tied to boys, and not particularly concerned about either.

Scottish, she lives in London now. Kat’s not just one of those London Ladies, though. She’s not following Lily Allen, Kate Nash, Lady Sovereign, Beth Orton, Dido, etc. Goodness knows that a lot of Londoners. Nope, MFR says “The best thing about Flint is that she doesn’t fall into the trappings of lonesome female performer.” I’m not going to go that far - I think her songs are better than her musical taxonomy. The Run Out Groove compares her to Judee Sill and that’s not right either - Ms. Flint is no Laurel Canyon introvert.

As she says:

I could appease the fearsome crowd
But then I didn’t need to
I was a child and I had better things to do

And there, in short, is the what makes Ms. Flint special, she doesn’t need the attention, approval, and recognition of nameless strangers. Still, she does appreciate the support. Her first album was partially financed by fans. Can’t wait until I can get a copy stateside; can’t wait to see her on tour.

I found her, as I often do, at Aurgasm.

The McDades must put on one hell of a live show. On several of these tracks, the band hits their instruments hard. I appreciate the fast, joyful sections, but I feel trapped outside of the moment because they never seem to let loose. The biggest drawback of Bloom is that the playing and recording are too perfect. Every note sounds crisp, every percussive beat in time, and every phrase perfectly coordinated. Even the mixing leaves no frayed edges. Unlike my friend Nika, I just can’t relax in the cleanroom. Now, if only they were touring the Northwest . . .

I expect it’s going to stay crazy for awhile. I’m working on an updated version of my mp3 scraper which pulls from Elbo.ws and Hype Machine. The downloader is pulling in more good music than I can handle and is the coolest radio I’ve ever had.

Next month, I hope to integrate the two sections into a single display.

In the meantime, the Annex has seen updates to Basia Bulat, Dawn Landes, and The National.

Currently, I’m in love with The Submarines and their You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie.

Kara Keith - Kick This City

(More thorough reviews can be found at Herohill and Obscure Sound. An equally short comment can be found at Mainstream Isn’t So Bad . . . Is It?)