Trafficking in those familiar broody, moody vocals, reverb-and-delay-drenched guitar lines, and dance-dance-y drums, Birmingham’s EDITORS have drawn comparisons to the usual post-gothpunk suspects, both past (Joy Division) and present (Interpol). No surprise here: the NME faithful across the pond going bananas, and Stereogum says the NY show was ridonculous the other night.
1. A belated welcome to the new-look OTD. In case we didn't mention it before, that sweet logo is by Jef Czekaj, with whom any regular reader of this blog is already familiar via his numerous musical endeavors, most of which he chooses to pursue under one pseudonymn or another. Besides all that he's an awesome cartoonist. Even Dustin Hoffman thinks so, or so we've been told.
1. Why pretend otherwise? We had lots of blog-picked goodness lined up for today, but everyone's water-cooler discussion this morning is going to be centered around one song and one song only. Download courtesy Nick Fader and the Catchdubbettes: Cam'ron drops the a-bomb on Hova, setting off what's sure to be a mixtape battle of epic proportions.
So. This thing showed up the other day. We are not ready to review it or anything. But it's worth noting that the Dolls did two sorta odd things: they made a "rock" record -- which is not easy to do without guitars of any kind -- and they also stuck to the piano/drums format. In other words, if you were expecting an album filled out with other instruments, you aren't getting it.
Willy Mason -- that emo-folk kid from the Cape who signed to Conor Oberst's label, had a UK buzz-making hit with a really really awesome song called "Oxygen," and then seemed to drop off the face of the earth after having what sounded like a nervous-breakdown-ish episode -- has resurfaced on the Astralwerks label, home to such hipsterbait mofos as the DFA roster and Beth Orton.
1. You may recall that, once upon a time, a Florida DJ helped a Sri Lankan MC in British exile to gain international exposure by producing a song that borrowed liberally from a form of music popular in Brazilian ghettos that had in turn been derived from a style of hip-hop indigenous to Miami. Which, as you may recall, is a city in Florida.
Photos by Eric Antoniou.
(today's guest OTD post is from Matt Squadcar)
First the Ameriquest Mortage signage flanking the striking curtain mural that
hung in front of the stage came down. Then, after a few random guitar chords
echoed through the Garden, the scrim disappeared, as the big screen behind them
let off a blinding flash, the Stones were back in town on the second leg of
their “Bigger Bang” tour.
It won't be official for another week or so, but sources tell OTD that after a whirlwind bidding war, Boston's Aberdeen City will sign to Columbia Records. In another local connection, their A&R rep is Maureen Kelly, a Boston University grad who while at Universal Records signed the Scissor Sisters.
We didn’t stick around long enough to see whether U2 played, but we did catch a good chunk of the “Steve Morse Review” at the Paradise Monday night. In case you missed it, this was a chance for the “local music scene” to thank the exited senior Globe pop music critic for holding down the most tit job in town for 30 years.
You don't have to know anything about late-'90s "Black Sabbath revivalists" Roadsaw (though OTD does) to appreciate this utility-box-turned-rawk-white-board recently discovered in a practice space at New Alliance. Maybe knowing that the Curve of the Earth band once had two ass-related songs called "Fancy Pants" and "Handed You Your Ass" (scroll) might help.
Its an insidious combination: freak-out dance-rockers from the future who've traveled back in time to release a barrage of strident guitar riffs and reverbed vox over throbbing synthscapes, dancebeat breakdowns, and maniacal moogs galore. Think GVSB meets Prince, cryogenically frozen, thawed, and thwarted.
The guys in Taxpayer came of age in the same North Shore scene that spawned Cave In and Piebald -- but, being a teeny bit younger, bounced from hardcore to emo to "pink floyd shit" before settling on statuesque, anthemic pop with a commercial sheen: they're the type of dudes who have been known to put the best looking guy in the band closest to the camera for press photos, even when he's not the singer.