Hello Hurricane by Switchfoot (2009, lowercase people records)

Jon Foreman. Blond-haired beach god? Trusted ally of Big Guns Upstairs? Hopeful folkie? The frontman of rock band Switchfoot wears many different hats, juggling the identity of his band in the balance. What is Switchfoot? On Hello Hurricane, we learn that these guys can rock hard (but not too hard) and raise your spirits. The album is perfect for those who want experience “alternative rock” while still feeling like there’s hope and wonder in the world (and maybe even a heaven above).

On the opening track (and album’s biggest highlight), “Needle and Haystack Life” Foreman speaks of “a needle girl in a haystack world” (frankly, one of the more original couplets in alternative rock today) before ending the chorus with a powerful, “We are once in a lifetime.” Foreman wants you to walk away from the song feeling empowered and changed. The vaguely Christian lyricism (sometimes Switchfoot gets tagged as a Christian band) is uplifting, but not religious at all; it’s feelings, not religion. The songs are catchy and cool on the record, sometimes attempting to rock out too hard, like on “Mess of Me,” in which we can’t take the band too seriously when Foreman talks about him being his affliction. Some lines just don’t work: “Your love is a symphony.” That sounds cool and all, but other than it being pretty and radio, it doesn’t really create any imagery. The broad tenets of forgiveness, sympathy, and love are introduced on the songs so you never get a personal side of the band; they’re too busy being populist. Are you lost? Switchfoot will try to show you the way with the broadest strokes possible so that the messages can tailor themselves to your life.

What follows is a bunch of sometimes cliche, radio-friendly “rock.” This band is cool; you feel like you’d probably like them if you met them. But there is no mystique, no mythology. Although there is no proof of this, Switchfoot sounds like a band who would go on a tour sponsored by Toyota…could you ever imagine a band like Wilco doing that? There is nothing between the lines on the album and nothing to discover. Listening to the album is like eating fun dip: pretty sweet in the beginning, but if you consume it too much, you easily get tired of it without it ever having the chance to fill you up.

So is it bad? Nah. But is it great? Definitely not. Switchfoot manages to put out an above-average rock record that entertains, but doesn’t fascinate. They need a little more spark and inspiration; maybe they’ll find it in their lyrics?

GRADE: B-

The Second Gleam by The Avett Brothers (2008, Ramseur Records)

Just as Bob Dylan opened folk music up to entirely new audiences back in the 60s, The Avett Brothers are displaying the genre to a wider audience, bringing their down-home, dynamic harmonies to people who wouldn’t necessarily classify themselves as “folk music fans.”

They’ve been called the “Appalachian Beatles” and the title seems extremely appropriate on the 2008 EP, The Second Gleam. The brothers love writing songs about being a better man, pretty girls, and their ramblin’ ways. At first listen, it’s undoubtedly folk music: heavy use of the banjo, stripped-down and drumless. The record sounds exactly how it would be performed live, with beautiful fingerpicking intros and brotherly harmony. With only five tracks, The Avett Brothers accomplish more than most bands do in a full-length. The emotive voices of Scott and Seth Avett represent some of the most pleasant new voices in music. In every note sung, there’s an emotion to go with it: pain, joy, tenderness. On “Tear Down the House,” a banjo and acoustic guitar ballad, the boys talk about forgetting and moving on. With the past in the past, the Avetts don’t sound too happy about moving forward. But when all is said and done, these changes (such as the main change, which is having to move on from a love) make the boys better. The words are crisp and carefully selected; The Avett Brothers expect you to quote them.

“Murder in the City” is the stand-out track, by now a fan favorite, in which they, “wonder which brother is better” stating that if they pass on, they’ll be “comin’ home.” This sets the thread for the rest of the album, a wonderfully phrased, poignant array of songs of love and loss. The boys aren’t trying to wow you with grandeur; sometimes the simplest of things can suffice as a great record.

GRADE: A-

Now We Can See by The Thermals (2009, Kill Rock Stars)

It’s getting late and “You Dissolve” is just finishing. Sleep is imminent as eyes fuzz over and fingers start to clumsily bash against the wrong keys. I love Portland-based The Thermals, a band known for their easy-to-play, straightforward religion and political issues with a punk rock lead singer (Hutch Harris) and a twee sound. The Thermals are a happy band; although they may sometimes be dismayed about the things around them at least they can laugh about it.

But, as I slowly start to daydream about real dreaming (a dangerous phenomenon) it hits me: Now We Can See is a bit of a let-down. After such awesome Thermals albums as Fuckin’ A and The Body, The Blood, The Machine, The Thermals wait several years to follow up with an album about…nothing interesting? Now don’t get me wrong; the hooks are still catchy and the energy’s there…it’s just I don’t care about a majority of what Hutch sings about, which is weird, because that’s the main reason I liked the group in the first place. The lyrics are strangely cookie-cutter rock ‘n’ roll, not merry prankster happy punk in classic Thermals songs like “Here’s Your Future.”

But maybe I’m being too harsh. I mean, the title track is a knock it out of the park single. The question is: does a punk band’s worth lie in their music, their message, or their image? You could find an example for each one (ie Buzzcocks, Dead Kennedys, Ramones). But The Thermals seem to have all three (a rare-ish combination) on other records…but what’s the message on Now We Can See. Can a punk band suddenly not be a punk band even though their music sounds similar and they wear the same clothes because what they’re saying just isn’t…punk?

GRADE: C

Is This It by The Strokes (2001, RCA)

The coolest debut from one of the coolest bands at the turn of quite a cool century. Is This It is made by cool kids for cool kids (but even if you don’t consider yourself cool, you basically are because you like The Strokes), a Y2K hipster’s laid-back, but incredibly rich opus that, unlike any other record the band ever recorded, hits you right between the eyes on every track.

It’s somewhat hard to listen to The Strokes without picturing the band members themselves. Leather jackets, tousled hair, and cigarette smoke; Ray-Bans and serious faces. Is This It represents a generation that’s looking for its identity, finding dead ends and constantly asking the question that bears this album’s name. The cool kids are fed up with pot and money and parties. The Strokes are really just a dirty, pretty garage band with chops and killer hooks. Too lo-fi to be mainstream, but too accessible to underground, Is This It is a crossover hit, although it doesn’t seem that way at first. And although the “too-cool-for-school” persona of lead singer (and, from interviews and performances, pompous dickbag), both soccer moms and Brooklyn hipsters can appreciate the tunes.

More on Casablancas: it is his voice that truly makes The Strokes. It emotes when it wants to, resigns to half-spoken monologue when it wants to. In some ways, Casablancas’ voice resembles Bob Dylan; he’s the lead singer of a band that doesn’t know how to sing and doesn’t need to know how to sing. His cadence and style are singular, leaving little confusion instantly to who you’re listening to.

The “who-gives-a-fuck” approach is found in numerous tunes and makes for great rock ‘n’ roll. On “Barely Legal” Casablancas forces out, “Oh you ain’t never had nothing I wanted/But I want it all/I just can’t figure out/Nothing.” The indecisiveness and loneliness sounds just like Elliott Smith on paper. But in the tune, it sounds downright rebellious.

Don’t count out the brilliant guitar work of Albert Hammond, Jr., the technical soul of the group. His guitar lines are pretty and crisp, contrasting interestingly with Casablancas’ dirty and strained voice. “Someday” is a guitar classic of the decade. “Hard to Explain” couples terse beats with layered guitar parts and an ecstatic, emotional chorus. The closer, “Take It Or Leave It” is attitude at its finest. Casablancas goes haywire, his voice sounding like a distorted guitar solo. In life, you may wonder if this is it, but at the end of the day, you can either jump on the bus or get left in the dust…especially if the bus requires one-way tickets to Coolsville and Casablancas is at the wheel.

Contra by Vampire Weekend (2010, XL)

Ah, the namesake. I am often asked what the heck my blog name signifies; it’s always an unnecessarily complicated and misleading answer in which it ends up sounding like a Vamp Wknd Fan Site. False. Rather, it is a vaguely esoteric, marginally indie, catchy name…exactly what college kids come up with when they’re high on life and low on sleep. BUT, enough chit chat. Here’s the review:

The fabled sophomore slump is never something a band wants to hear about in a review of its sophomore album. After making white kids like afrobeat music with they’re impossibly catchy and skillful self-titled debut, Vampire Weekend took their time with a follow-up. The end result, Contra, is a diverse, (mostly) succinct album that has a bunch of direct hits and a few near misses.

But let’s start with the album’s cover art. What the heck does “Contra” mean? Does it have to do with Latin America in the 80s? Why is there an attractive Nordic woman with a popped Polo and a Hipstamatic deer-in-the-headlights re-enactment? The imagery (much like the photo of the chandelier from the first album) is actual a perfect embodiment for the music about to be revealed. Vampire Weekend takes the jet set, pretty girls, and an almost hipster attitude (they are hipsters to kids who watch iTunes ads looking for a hit, but pop stars to hipsters). For most of the record, Vampire Weekend has a rollicking good time. On the opener, “Horchata,” singer Ezra Koenig spits out a bunch of refreshing couplets about obscure beverages over a sunny day synth. “White Sky” is all yippie and “Holiday” has commercials written all over it (which would ring true!). When Vampire Weekend takes it down a notch on the gentle piano suite of “Taxi Cab” they seem to lose their stride. We want these guys playing the outdoor frat party while every looks on in bright J. Crew and Miller High Lifes. The frenetic “Cousins” shows the band at their silliest, with fast, taut rhythms coinciding with surf’s up guitar and mechanical precision bass.

But maybe when the party’s over and everyone’s driven their BMWs home, not everything is at it seems. Such is the masterwork of the closing track, “I Think Ur a Contra.” The tune slowly ambles on with Koenig cooing gently. When the strings kick in and Koenig sings, “You wanted good schools and friends with pools/You’re not a contra/You wanted rock ‘n’ roll, complete control/Well, I don’t know.” Depth is rare in bubbly indie pop. This song is the perfect closer to the parties with the diplomat’s son in expensive clothes. “Don’t call me a contra ‘till you’ve tried.” Contra is about being something you’re not. And when listening to an album about status and “white people problems” coupled with bouncy songs, Vampire Weekend proves they can be exactly the opposite of what people expect them to be when they want to.

GRADE: A-

20 album names were placed inside of a pirate hat. 7 came out. Here is the schedule:

Monday: Is This It? by The Strokes
Tuesday: Now We Can See by The Thermals
Wednesday: The Second Gleam by The Avett Brothers
Thursday: Hello Hurricane by Switchfoot
Friday: Rules by The Whitest Boy Alive
Saturday: Shut Up, Dude by Das Racist
Sunday: Antifogmatic by The Punch Brothers

It’s Never Been Like That by Phoenix (2006, EMI)

It’s fitting that the French pop-rock foursome Phoenix start off with a tune called “Napoleon Says.” In a unique, non-singer singing voice (which is actually quite an asset in rock ‘n’ roll), lead singer Thomas Mars says, “You know your French well.” With the dance-able grooves of fellow Frenchman Daft Punk, but the pop sensibility of Arcade Fire-lite, Phoenix seemingly burst on to the scene with 2009’s Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, but take a listen to It’s Never Been Like That and truly see why this band is so spectacular.

Taut rhythms and hummable melodies are mostly to blame for the infectious energy of Phoenix. On the bouncing, bopping “Consolation Prizes,” the pitter-pat of the kick drum pulsates just so to get your foot tapping. Like most of their tunes, the chorus is instantly memorable, before descending back to the more subdued verses. Songscaping, the art of plotting out what the listener will feel when and where, is a great talent of the boys of Phoenix. On one of the album’s freshest tracks, “Long Distance Call,” Mars sounds lost as a “messed up kid with no ideas at all.” When the chorus comes around with Mars emphatically repeating, “It’s never been like that,” we believe him (regardless of “how it ever was”). The emotional honesty, coupled with the band’s sense of timing (especially in the building rhythm guitar), leads us not to necessarily understand; but by the end of the songs, we feel that we’ve shared in whatever struggle or ecstasy the band is carrying on.

But the best part of this album: you can go from start to finish without ever wanting to press the skip button. Songs flow and end on time; there is no real soloing or self-centered musicianship. Just like a great dance song, the point is to feel the groove and ride it until you’re finished. And from start to finish, It’s Never Been Like That presents different, but lovable sides of a band that’s bound for greatness. You’re just doing yourself a disservice if you don’t listen to this album.

GRADE: A

Back to Black by Amy Winehouse (2006, Island Records)

Music journalists usually reserve words like “legacy” accompanied by adjectives like “enduring” and “everlasting” for the legends, musicians so accomplished and prolific that their work can stand the test of time and reign as an impetus for other, future generations to look to as a guide. Sadly, in the case of Amy Winehouse, who passed away at the seemingly cursed age of 27 (like so many legends before her: Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain), her work was cut short. What the world was left with was her 2006 breakout smash, Back to Black, a modern classic in the truest sense of the word radiating with girl-group fundamentals, daddy’s girl attitude, and serious vocal chops. With or without Ms. Winehouse’s untimely passing, Back to Black stands as one of the greatest female crooner records, not just of this century, but of all-time.

From start to finish, listeners are transported to Amy’s world. The world of Winehouse is littered with long nights at the bar, bad decisions with men, and martini-soaked heartbreak. Her voice is instantly recognizable, complete with a sexy rasp that sounds like it’s been around the block a few times and been soaked with all types of liquor. The album opens with what would become Winehouse’s most famous tune, “Rehab” in which Amy lets us know that though she probably should go to rehab, she’s definitely not going, in a mocking, Shirelles-style refrain. But despite her resilience, Amy relents midway through the song, saying, “I don’t ever wanna drink again/I just, ooh, I just need a friend.” Loneliness, not booze, seems to be her biggest weakness; if she could just find someone to hold on to, she could put the drink down and get her life together. But in another standout track, “Tears Dry on Their Own,” Winehouse sounds in denial about her own independence. She laments, “Should be my own best friend/Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men.” Over an instantly recognizable sample of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” Winehouse makes it her own, just as she does on the rest of the album.

Much credit is owed to Mark Ronson, the “it” producer behind Back to Black. Instead of recording an album that sounds reminiscent of the girl-group soul of the fifties and sixites, Ronson constructs an album that could stack up neatly to the records of Dusty Springfield and Billie Holiday. 200 years from now, when music students look back, many could be easily fooled by when the record was released; in essence, Back to Black is a 1962 vinyl record that just happened to be from 2006. That, in itself, is remarkable.

The most important thing on a soul record is actually painfully obvious: soul. We believe every painful lament; we share every tear-soaked booze binge. Back to Black has so much heart and soul from its leading lady that we listen to it as one would read a diary of a trainwreck; Winehouse’s narratives simply fit better with Motown horns and sweeping strings. On the album’s title track, Amy sums up her journey: “I tread a troubled track/My odds are stacked/I’ll go back to black.” Black and blue has rarely sounded so tortured; but torture has rarely sounded so utterly beautiful.

GRADE: A

Wolfmother by Wolfmother (2005, Modular Recordings)

The first yelping scream of frontman Andrew Stockdale lets the listener know, “This is going to be a wild ride.” Embodying the spirit of Black Sabbath, Wolfmother, the three-piece Aussie rock band takes a cosmic and supernatural journey to the tune of blaring guitars, thundering drums, and pounding bass. Perhaps the hardest rocking out from Down Under since AC/DC first saluted those about to rock, Wolfmother sits as an under-appreciated rock opus, spanning topics from gods, to witches, to unicorns, all with unabashed courage and a total lack of self-consciousness.

Every track is written to appeal to a wide audience, rarely ruffling feathers or breaking ground, but shining on in the tradition of rock classics from the 70s. The result is a remarkably palatable album of big tunes that never seem to get old, no matter the amount of listens. On the epic, and appropriately titled “Colossal”, Stockdale screams in his trademark wail, “The first time I saw/Colossal God.” And we believe him. The sincerity in the unique vocals and relentless power emanating from just three men is noteworthy. On the funky “Witchcraft” the band busts out a downright groovy organ solo; the acoustic, fairy tale style “Tales” grows sonically like Jack and the Beanstalk.

The result? A grand, sweeping rock album reminiscent of old prog legends that, though not always original, never ceases to melt faces.

GRADE: B+

11:11 by Rodrigo Y Gabriela (2009, Rubyworks)

The twin guitar hero attack of Rodrigo Sanchez and Gabriela Quintero is startling at first listen. The album quite literally begins with a bang on “Hanuman” where the duo sets the stage for the tone of the rest of the album: tautly rhythmic, intensely fast acoustic guitars with a distinctly Latin flavor. The song thunders through at lightning speed, with either strumming or pounding on the back of the guitar for rhythm (a technique employed on all tracks; this is a guitar duo in the truest sense). On the track, the two employ the chops of all-star shredders, but the unmistakable Latin influence (they hail from Mexico) and propulsive, almost dance-able beat drive the layered parts to a thrilling finish. It is this spirit that drives Rodrigo Y Gabriela: building parts on top of one another, while maintaining a strong emphasis on technique and note proficiency.

Each song on 11:11 is dedicated to a particular guitar hero, issuing shout-outs to everyone from Jimi Hendrix to Paco de Lucia to Carlos Santana. The inclusion of this information is a clever choice for the guitar wizards. By revering their heroes, they allow a mainstream audience to begin to connect to instrumental acoustic music, not the most popular genre of all time. What’s interesting about 11:11 is that there’s something for fan, with jazz-fusion, prog-rock, heavy metal, Spanish classical, and Latin American dance music. “Buster Voodoo” (the Hendrix shout-out) is downright funky, with many recognizable licks and riffs that wouldn’t be out of place on Electric Ladyland. With “Atman,” spiraling fret dancing evokes Bollywood, while the rhythm curveballs and use of wah guitar on “Santo Domingo” sound straight out of Zorro. The dabbling spirit of the duo is refreshing; with one track to the next, you’re never quite sure what you’re going to get.

Of course, the album isn’t perfect. It is one thing to marvel at the lightning-fast precision of their technique, but on several songs, namely the way-too-mellow, prog experimentation of “Logos,” the band dulls down. The attempt at trying to hit all bases is admirable, but there are points where one wishes Rodrigo Y Gabriela realized their true strength (bad-ass speed) and didn’t color outside the lines. After several listens 11:11 will cease to amaze you and merely begin to impress you. But give it a try; it just may become your go-to Mexican speed acoustic metal in your record collection.

GRADE: B