A Bunch Of Quick(ish) Takes

You people don't know how tempted I really, really am to turn this blog into All La Monte, All La Time for the sake of pure orneriness. However, since it's been kind of a slow week with the music-posting, I figured I'd just hoist up a whole bunch of Indie-Rock Nuggets Of Interest and let y'all have at it.

Shimura Curves, "Noyfriend" - It's been pretty difficult to ignore the motorik beat's glorious return to indie-pop prominence, but it's certainly been possible; I honestly do like all those bands like the Early Years and Emperor Machine, but it's pretty much impossible to see any frivolity in their approach to music-making whatsoever, and in light of the way frivolity kinda sorta defines every action that I've ever taken I just don't find myself fiending for them. I'm only bringing this void up, of course, because the Shimura Curves seem to have swooped in to fill it quite nicely - Tom over at the wholly essential Indie MP3 characterized them as "the Pipettes fronting Kraftwerk", a description of such elegant accuracy that it practically puts me in literal pain to hang those quote marks around it. What's revelatory about the Curves (or at least "revelatory" in that gloriously ephemeral winding-down-summer sense), after all, is the way they're able to pick up threads of the motorik sound which, in the hands of a band more interested in righteousness than awesomeness, would probably end up sounding like study hall rather than recess; the organ on "Noyfriend", for instance, may basically only be distinct for the way it sustains itself, but it stands in such striking, warm opposition to the relentless urgency of the beat or the achingly bloodless intonation of the vocals that it pretty much had me cheering like a jackass to nobody in particular as much as any song I've heard since "Pull Shapes". I mean, there's your answer as to why this band sure feels remarkable - they're hardly the only people turning their hip40something cousins' record collections into something for the chi'ren, but damned if anyone else is doing it with these records, let alone doing it so ridiculously well. (Click here to buy The Kids At The Club, an outstanding recent collection of indie-pop released by How Does It Feel Records featuring "Noyfriend", directly from the label)

Fury of the Headteachers, "Farewell Comrade" - As bad as it makes me look to admit it, I gotta admit that mp3 blogging offers no more invigorating pleasures than checking to see if there's any chatter on the Hype Machine about a band like Fury of the Headteachers and finding a big ol' blank slate. Part of this, I'm sure, lies with the fact that I spent most of my seventh and eighth grade years tagging bands for success with about the same accuracy that FEMA deployed rescue workers to New Orleans (unless, of course, there's another person on this godforsaken rock who still actually remembers the Greenberry Woods or Jonny Polonsky), and it's always a charge to find yourself with the opportunity to revise past failures. And BOY are Fury of the Headteachers ever going to be more of a success than the Woods or Jonny or any other shoulda-been buried towards the end of a CMJ CD; aside from their painfully cumbersome name, there's absolutely nothing on "Farewell Comrade" that makes me think they shouldn't be promoted through the ranks up to Bloc Party status sooner rather than later, right down to the way that the song sounds like nothing more than a grab-bag of decent ideas for a song until the chorus comes in and immediately has me in full-on OOH OOH OOH MISTAH INTAIR-NET mode. Of course, having said that, I'm well aware that this is hardly a coincidence - if nothing else, the "Farewell Comrade" single should mark the moment when Silent Alarm took over from Turn On the Bright Lights as the template according to which success-minded indie-rock bands construct their identities, right down to the HEY CHECK OUT THIS HIP YOUNG GUNSLINGER WE'VE GOT MANNING THE BOARDS routine for rising star Paul Harris - and that by plugging them on the Hype Machine (of all places), all I'm doing is feeding a machine which can only end in the next generation of My Chemical Romances; all I can say is that when Chris Presland barks out the "X! IS! FOR EXECUTION!" refrain, I don't give a fuck about what I'm doing anymore. Maybe that's why the barren machine is such a turn-on - it's about as close to good drugs as mp3 blogging ever gets. (Click here to buy the "Farewell Comrade" single directly from Grace Records' MySpace)

The Neon Plastix, "On Fire" - Since it looks like the Killers have decided to become a Serious Rock Band (an ambition which should be held in the same regard as any proclamations I might make about wanting to be my generation's John Updike), now would be the moment for a hungry young band to dive for the torch of Infuriatingly Effective Synth-Pop Masquerading As Stadium Rock Music. It is, to be sure, a rather crowded field, but with the release of "On Fire", it's hard to say that Neon Plastix don't deserve to be counted among the frontrunners. I mean, lord knows they've got the hooks and the delivery and the beat that'd earn an instant beating from some huge dude named Tiny wearing a ratty old Slayer shirt to spare, but what's most encouraging about them is the way they don't reek of cocksure preordained success, an incredibly welcome change from all the bands that seem to think that just because their drummer can ride a hi-hat and their lead singer's voice can expand to fill whatever space it's put into, they have the right - nay, duty - to write impenetrably dull third-rate U2 ripoff tracks. That's not to say that "On Fire" doesn't sound like it couldn't cause a crush of bodies because good lord, but simply that they don't appear to be glossing over that part of their career that bands tend to be so reluctant to tell their grandkids about. "On Fire" is embarassing and juvenile in the most glorious senses of the words; it sounds like a band getting something not particularly noble or meritorious thoroughly out of them, but doing so in a style that just happens to be spectacularly easy to devour. Maybe "On Fire" is the kind of song that makes the most sense as simply being an indie-pop equivalent to a movie like Kill Bill; if this is in fact the case, then let's just thank God that they came along right when the Killers started making Jackie Brown over and over and over and over and over again. (Click here to buy Digital Penetration, a rather kickass compilation of the indie-rave scene put out by alt del records, directly from the label)

The Strand Arcade, "Get Knives" - The more observant among you might have noticed a certain fondness for nervous indie-disco in this post, and if you haven't, well, the Strand Arcade's "Get Knives" probably would have been enough to clue you in. Part of me wonders if my fondness for this track - which starts (although it certainly doesn't end) with those hi-hats hot enough to cook dinosaur eggs on 'em - isn't the result of some technical decision made in the heat of the moment (and, most likely, with an eye towards keeping the bottom line down); with the exception of the vocals, pretty much every other aspect of "Get Knives" sounds so far back in the mix as to almost pass for avant-garde. Okay, that's exaggeration, but it's still a striking effect, and more precisely a striking effect put to fantastic results on "Get Knives" - at the very least, putting such an incessant, insistent beat right up front nearly to the exclusion of all else is a formidably economical way to keep a song's energy level from dipping, and of course when all the other stuff does show back up in the chorus, the song suddenly leaps to nigh-unto-Strokes (or at the very, -Good Shoes) levels of sneering rock'n'roll abandon. It's a very quietly neat trick, no matter how it came into being; let's hope their future is marked by such effective deployment of resources. (Click here to visit the Strand Arcade's website for more song)

Air Traffic, "Just Abuse Me" - One of these days, I plan on sitting down and banging out the post about why Ben Folds Five's The Unauthorized Biography Of Reinhold Messner absolutely deserves unironic consideration as one of the best albums of last decade, but apparently before I get around to that, I have to point out that the Five have arguably done as much to popularize the writing of bad music as anyone not actually cashing royalty checks for Staind songs. I mean, Air Traffic's "Just Abuse Me" is a fantastic piece of jaunty piano-driven indie-pop up until the moment it damn near turns into a Millencolin song apparently simply out of spite for me; all that smirking key-pecking and those arch, self-deprecating "I'll let you use me/oh just abuse me" lyrics lose their luster in a hurry the instant I get visions of poorly-executed star vehicles for Julia Stiles. It's clear that they know how to be a Piano Rock Band at least as well as anyone since Folds; it's just a shame that they seem to lose their confidence in themselves and feel the need to compensate with bog-standard CRUNCHING GUITAR AVALANCHE stuff, since of fucking course that fucking stuff never ever ever ever ever gets fucking old as all fuck. I mean, go back and listen to "Army" off of Reinhold Messner; it's certainly not shy of Bits Where All The Rocking Kicks In, but it never comes close to abandoning its innnate showiness in a misguided bid to break into the wallets of a bunch of kids who'd otherwise be sitting around going LOL PIANOS BE 4 FAGGITZ. My advice for the band would be to leave those kids to their Avenged Sevenfold records; all the parts of "Just Abuse Me" that reject those jerks have me foaming at the mouth for whatever Air Traffic have coming up next. (Air Traffic's debut single is long since sold out, but check out their MySpace in the meantime - if "Just Abuse Me" doesn't get you jazzed for these guys, give "Never Even Told Me Her Name" a shot. And if that one doesn't work, LEAVE THIS PLACE.)