How fucking psyched are we for Mastodon's "Seabeast" video, which finally gets around to staging the epic whitefugginwhale deathmatch portrayed in so many of Leviathan's songs? We have no words, only the above pix courtesy of Ryan Russell via Relapse, who provided these details:
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.
Arch, sophisticated, and impeccably dressed, Bon Savants frontman Thom Savant croons fey, picture-postcard indie-pop with a bitter aftertaste. Already beloved by Anglophiles from Central Square to Times Square, they're just now getting around to finishing their debut album, Post-Rock Defends the Nation, which was produced by Bill Racine (Rogue Wave, Flaming Lips).
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.
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.
1. We've been playing the ID3 tags off this jawn all week, people keep poking their heads in the door like they smell candy. There really isn't anything to say about this song except, y'know, "holy fucking shit." Compound 440r's Mark E. Moon, whom you know from Plunge Into Death as well as his OTD-only Crunkin' Donuts mixtape, has been awful quiet lately, laying low while the other C440r dudes dropfire
Bugs and Rats’ recently released debut album, Smart as a Whip (NotCommon), is a smorgasbord of sludge-slathered riffs, noise-stained guitar leads, guttural screams, and drum abuse that would make In Utero-era Kurt Cobain proud. The Quincy trio, who met as teenagers and bonded over Black Flag and airbrush propellant fumes, make the nastiest, scummiest racket this side of Flipper, and live they look and sound as though they could fall apart at any second.
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.
Former Letters to Cleo frontwoman KAY HANLEY may have put her roots down in LA, but her heart's apparently still in the Boston scene through which she came up. In fact, her latest single, which you can download below, is a tribute to her "dear friend" and longtime Phoenix contributor Brett Milano and the column he helmed for many years (and still contributes to), "Cellars by Starlight."
DRIVE LIKE JULY's hyperactive-lunatic frontman, Silas Copathic, began his musical career as a mild-mannered trombonist in the Duxbury High School marching band. But as he came out of his shell and became more psy-chopathic (get it?) over the years, he started writing minor-key-melody-driven punk-metal tunes, perfected his scream, and put a band together.
Oh, there can't even be any question: there's gotta be some domestic tension over at the Mr. and Mrs. Spears residence. Can it be any coincidence that, less than a week after K-Fed leaks his big hipster move -- a debut baile-funk single -- his wife's most coveted unreleased track finally surfaces? They said it would never be heard, and frankly there've been times we thought this thing was completely apocryphal, but it's out: the song the DFA produced for Britney.