skip to main |
skip to sidebar
(Drive-In/Siladi, 1998)
Another hunk o' indiepop with distortion, buried vocals, and some lo-fi-MBV guitarblasts, a formula pulled off far more effectively (and with better melodies) by countless American bands throughout the ’90s. Based on the evidence here, defunct Michigan musictootlers Landis on a good day would’ve rated as Slumberland C-listers earlier in the decade. Sure, there are far worse things to be than that, of course, but just know ye well that this dinky one-sided (NOW COME ON, GUYS!) 7” isn’t anything particularly special or memorable. Prime dollar bin fodder.
And hey, not to change the subject, but let’s change the subject. Am I crazy, or does the part in Alice Cooper’s “Elected” right before the line “We’re gonna win this one, take the country by storm” sound a WHOLE LOT like the dramatic bit leading into “The highway’s jammed with broken heroes…” in “Born to Run”?! This has been weighing heavily on me, what with Cooper having blatted his biz first.
(Drive-In, 1998)
Nice reverb and mixed-gender harmony on here, but, like the band’s first single, I still find it too professionally adult-contempo for comfort… even the reasonably straightlaced likes of Damon & Naomi outshine stuff such as this with some degree of homespun warmth and off-kilter charm. Boring post-Brit-folk Terrastockers who are into the, I dunno, Tom Rapp scene, say, might dig the Imaginary Friend alongside chin-beards and shows where you really listen, but all others should just stick with beer and having fun. That’s my deal, and look how far I’ve gotten.
(Drive-In, 1997)
NO NO NO. There’s something about the skilled, over-emotive lady-sing here that reminds me of every mediocre local band that I, cross-armed and expressionless, suffered through in the coffeeshops and bars of high school and college. Oy. I admit: insane or not, I tend to be horrified by “technically-nice” voices, perhaps because they, almost always lacking the essential quality of EARNESTNESS, sound so out of place when set against the rudimentary/ugly/braindead musics I prefer. And, yeah, sure, there are some fine, spacey, post-Gal500 moozikmoods on this disc (“Hear From You,” especially), but this record achieves a spectacular blandness most noteworthy for its inability to impress itself upon your earholes in any way; the needle lifts and you’ve already forgotten what you’ve heard. Just as coffee races through the urinary tract, so does the Imaginary Friend scamper through the skull. Mentally flush it.
(Drive-In, 1999)As far as I can tell, this is the only record released by Grayson Lane, a near-comatose five-piece with a similar lineup to a livelier band called Slumber (as heard on the entertaining Sounds From Psychedelphia time capsule comp). “Memory Man” emulates the sleepiest moments of Yo La Tengo’s career to decent effect, with occasional swells of distorted guitar and decent gal-guy vox, but then it’s full steam ahead with the boredom on side B, where we get a pair of barely-there, voice-and-acoustic, candlelight clunkers. Extra crybaby demerits assessed for including a Nick Drake cover (“Hanging on a Star”). No doubt that this is an easily-forgotten mediocrity; if there’s more Grayson Lane in the bins out there, I ain’t buying.
(Drive-In, 1997)
…And meanwhile, halfwit John McCain is a serious candidate for President. Wha?? How?! The guy’s a buffoon and a phony, an elderly tough-talker who couldn’t chest-puff his way out of a rhetorical paper bag. Can this race POSSIBLY be as close as the polls say it is? Will any of you ACTUALLY stand up for a hawkish McCain administration (given how well a hawkish Bush administration has worked out)?? And will anyone ACTUALLY dare to play the “Obama is inexperienced” card after months of bizarre McCain foreign policy gaffes and Republican scrambling that ultimately results in the right trying to co-opt Obama’s positions?! YEESH!! But I’ll give you this: Perhaps you and your fetishized future dead soldiers would rather have a beer in heaven with Bush and McCain than with Kerry and Obama. Well, congrats, morons. You really showed ’em!
And this single? Shucks. It can’t possibly get me as worked up, cuz it’s just an inoffensive gtr-pop twee moodpiece that goes for nasal rainy-day mopiness in yer standard wimp-pop vein, leaving no real impression either way. Except! The brief violin breaks on “Archipellago” (sic!) give the song the kind of “sure, yeah” emotional resonance that the Rentals achieved every now and then, and that’s, uh, whatever, a nifty feat for a few seconds. But: was the song ever tortured by the Viet Cong? I THINK THAT’S THE REAL QUESTION HERE. Argh. Please wake me when we’re all D-E-D.
(Drive-In/BeBop, 2000)
Tomorrow I am going to join a gym, and then, when next we meet on the beach or the boulevard, I’ll beat you up. WITH MY ABS. I think I’m taking a positive step here; if I can maintain the discipline to go on a regular basis, it’ll add further structure to my life, helping me achieve my long-term goal of having almost every day rigidly planned out with a set series of activities far, far in advance. As it stands, I have the following “must-do” checkpoints during each weekday: wake up, go to the coffee shop, go to work, read certain political blogs at certain points in the day, have my 2:30pm coffee, walk up and down the fire escape (33 flights) for exercise at the end of work, go home, review a 7”, follow baseball, do my sit-ups and push-ups, go to bed. I can certainly insert a daily visit to the gym between the office and my record listening, and that’ll happily keep me out of trouble during those tricky late-evening hours. And make me STRONG. So I can kick the ass of crappy records like the one I’m playing at this very moment. This is pure ’80s synthpop, chilly and wimpy, with mannered Morrissey-style vocals crooning along atop the drum machines and frosty keys. I never cared for stuff like this; it always came off overwrought and anti-fun, and Chapter 13 offends doubly in that the group is doing what amounts to an impression of that already hollow sound. It’s a good impression, yes, but the melodies – which could have won me over and made the record worthwhile – are ultimately unremarkable, and, annoyingly, it’s never quite possible to get past that initial reaction of, “Hey, this sounds just like…” So yeah. Pass. “Crisco Disco” is as predictable as the deadening, routinized life I envision for myself, but somehow even less interesting. With my future brawn I give it the ol’ heave-ho.
(Drive-In, 1999)Wow, not bad! Singapore one-man-band Bobsy offers gentle acoustic pick ’n’ strum and appealing double-tracked vocals on this surprisingly moving, folksy lament for the end of something/anything. There’s a certain Byrdsian quality to its mournfulness that’s reminiscent of a tradition-minded McGuinn ballad, and it burrows deeper with each play. The similarly hushed, yearning B-side adds some glockenspiel (is it??) and maintains an admirable quality level, but it can’t reach the eyebrow-raising heights of the flip. Fair enough. Research indicates that this guy never released a follow-up, which is a shame, based on the impressive evidence heard here. Still, “The End of April,” even if it does end up a one-off burst of modest brilliance, is certainly a fine legacy and a finer listen. Check ’er out.
(Drive-In/Siladi, 1998)
