Ya know, sometimes on a Thursday night, in the early evening — like happy hour early — I want to bring the club home. The girl in the stilettos, too. But more so bounce hard to some dirty electro at cops knocking on your door volume. Inside my apartment. Who better to hit repeat on than the mayhem instigator orchestrating nocturnal dance music Vitalic.
The strobe light-like pulse and gutter bass rages on “Candy”….
“Newman” wastes no time with its hypnotic bass that swirls round and round, all while a demonic synth hits harder than I want the cops to knock on my door….
While some in Moscow are protesting, others are creating Michael Sembello influenced masterpieces. Moscow’s Tesla Boy concoct Korg heavy pieces that shimmer, radiate funk, and bring the sound of yesterday to today’s cones and woofers. 2012’s “Fantasy”, the lead single from the heavier forthcoming record, paints a tale of lust, one that speaks openly about what most all are thinking; instead of pent-up thoughts and emotions, Tesla Boy unleashes these fantasies via a pulsating sound inciting a riot full of explosiveness, a burst of energy, a jolt of electro-pop so intricately curated, this sound isn’t anyone’s but their own.
An EP is easy to return to. Its blessing is the conciseness in it. Rarely is a band including filler in a five track EP. One can trust each track was purposefully placed to make as great of an impact as possible. The EP and its brilliance in brevity and exquisite quality has been well documented: I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness & Home IV featuring Bright Eyes and Britt Daniel are standards in this aural delivery. Typhoon now, too. This act out of Portland may only feature 1/10 of a full-size orchestra, but what they lack in musicians, they makeup in unadulterated musicianship.
Music critics throw around adjectives like “orchestral” and “expansive” all the time these days. But here’s a band that actually deserves such labels. Portland’s Typhoon is an indie rock geek’s dream: a dynamic 12-piece with a seemingly unending reservoir of energy, emotive vocals, arpeggiated guitars, horns, multiple drum kits, strings—there are so many sonic details crammed into the five tracks on A New Kind of House, the band’s second official release, that you might need two pairs of headphones to properly connect the dots.—Ryan Reed
2010’s Hunger & Thirst and the aforementioned 2011 A New Kind of House EP are all we have to experience true symphonic rock at its finest. Now, thanks to Fuel Friends blog, we are graced with an intimate live set taken place in a house of worship. Out of these four tracks, three are new; the other, CPR/Claws Pt. 2, is more glorious and captivating than the first celestial experience it sent you on.
Music evokes emotions. It’s also meant to stimulate gay movement, steps and hip swinging that are synonymous with an uplifting and pleasant mood. But music can also incite pandemonium. Vitalic, the French wizard reminiscent of Daft Punk when they’re hard-wired for a dark, edgier than ever evening, composed the highly acclaimed and definitely revered ’round these parts OK Cowboy in 2005. Off that record was “My Friend Dario”, a rager of a track with a throbbing bass line and start and stop explosions of ecstasy meets chaos. The video captured it beautifully in an artistic manner.
This morning I wanted to rev up my metabolism. I ventured over to the gym; before hitting up whatever routine was going to sporadically come to mind, I hit the locker room. Whatever, wherever, my life is usually set to a soundtrack. My “Let’s Get Physical” play list was in motion. The gym tries to cater to all sorts, so the hand dryers are set at different heights. One is to the extreme and the other is to the extreme. One I have to practically bend down to use, and the other, I have to almost jump to grab the net to turn on. I skip around the corner, see a rather large individual, one that’s easily 6’2″ and a good 250 with dark, long hair utilizing the taller dryer. No, not for his hands. His death metal locks need to be wrung out. This 80s ex-hairband bassist is gyrating his head as if he’s envisioning Metallica’s Ride the Lightning performed before him. A demonic like pandemonium came over this fella. And what’s playing as I’m taking this spectacle in? Vitalic’s “My Friend Dario”.
This blog is bogus. I proclaim I’m sharing music I truly dig with you. But returning to the archives showcases only a few acts I hope to cheerlead for until my ear drums are blown out. A joke, but there are many acts I’ve held on the highest pedestal who’ve yet to grace these pages. It’s a jagged peak, one that once is surmounted, opens up all the posts one can generate. Some acts you covet so much you’d hate to butcher their MiS debut.
Caviar, a guitar driven act that gave nods to the modern rock sound of the mid-to late 90s, has never been formally introduced. Figdish, their predecessor, has been mentioned. What Caviar reincarnated into got a few nods — and they are the best supergroup ever. Caviar’s late 90s’ sound was fresh to me. Yes, they hopped on the electronica sound — without this direction, The Prairie Cartel most likely wouldn’t exist — but used those elements sparingly to channel an amalgamation of the sound of before with a direction that accentuated them well: Multi-layered tracks marinaded in crunchy, hard-hitting guitars with a bright appeal courtesy of keys and perfectly placed samples over witty lyricism.
Take “Goldmine”, an indifferent sounding vocal delivery proclaiming one’s inferiority to an unreachable female prize. With loud, chugging guitar lines, a light sprinkle of piano melody, and a shameless approach to woman and pop music in general, “Goldmine” speaks highly of Caviar’s true character.
I don’t care if it was released in 2000. Nor that this Melbourne act only has released one record, one so mind bending that you don’t just sample a song; you lose yourself in this journey these masterminds envisioned: A trip of abstract thought meant to keep your mind mesmerized and your body in constant juke fashion. The Avalanches’ forthcoming record has been a long time coming. Pitchfork dropped some facts upon us today in a spread entitled “What We Know” to whet our appetites for this 2012 release.
This long player from way back is one of the only reasons I unshuffle iTunes. An 18 track experiment in funk and groove that you might not realize, is one of the strongest dance records radiating out of your speakers.
Opening up for an act has its many advantages. Hey Rosetta!, the aforementioned sextet my Canadian virtuoso Hawksley Workman cheerleads for, preceded Bombay Bicycle Club on Monday evening. First, you’re playing to a sold-out crowd who more than likely came for the headliner. Bring everything you can and win over new listeners. Second, time is of the essence. Not necessarily a fault for not having the audience you deserve. With the clock ticking down, the act knows there are no songs to include in the set where people begin chatting about Mars, perusing their mother’s Facebook status, or seeing if anyone has visited their OK Cupid’s profile page in the last 25 minutes. Hey Rosetta! not only packed in a set consisting of “New Goodbye” and “Seeds”, amongst other impactful orchestrated movers, they also showcased what a finely tuned outfit can do with minimal time: Captivate a crowd and leave them wanting just one more.