Sound Salvation Army

And just like that, they were gone.

I just got home from the Polymaths’ farewell show. It was just like the first time I saw them play at O’Hanlon’s years ago: a similar stage set-up, the same wallflower posture on most of the band, the Polylamp. Probably a lot of the same faces in the same crowd at the same bar, the same smiles calling for the band to “chop chop” until there are no more notes left to play.

Even now, having arrived home and listened to nearly their entire discography (all 90 minutes of it) I can’t tell if the set was short or if it just seemed short. There were songs that didn’t get played, but that’s not really the point is it? Every track that was there deserved to be; this band never wrote a bad song.

There was even a song that never got released, the last song the band’s current iteration wrote, apparently. It was good. It was, completely unsurprisingly, about living in Regina all your life and how that can hold you back. It had, also unsurprisingly, a “la la la”-style refrain that was impossibly catchy. The crowd, I’m certain, would expect nothing less.

After an “encore,” an encore, and The Real Encore The Crowd Wouldn’t Leave Until It Got (”Lumberjack Rock,” duh; I still can’t believe they didn’t even practice it beforehand) it was over. There were hugs, there were handshakes, they packed up their gear.

And that was it.

They were also literally giving away whatever merchandise they had left. And yes, I took that as a tacit approval of what I’m about to do: post the entirety of Home Again for you, dear reader, to download. There is no hyperbole involved when I say that this record is perfect. You must hear it.

Download here, for a limited time only.

Below you’ll find one last track streaming, from the band’s equally brilliant EP. It’s a favourite, but it’s not the favourite. It was perhaps the most appropriate song of the night, but it wasn’t the closer. You’ll also hear a song from the full-length, the one that would’ve played over the climactic end sequence, maybe the credits, if the band were a movie.

On a night where it was still 21° celsius at TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING; where it was so humid and muggy even at 11:00pm people could be seen on the bar’s patio fanning themselves with their hands and holding a cold beer to their forehead; on a night when the stage must’ve been hot enough for a band to consider going on strike against the weather one last time; the Polymaths said goodnight.

 

 Polymaths - Strike!: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Polymaths - Burst Into Flames [4:22m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Stay tuned to Urban Planning Records to keep on top of post-Polymaths projects. Some already exist!

Pat entries Canadian content, farewells, indie rock, parting is such sweet sorrow, Polymaths, pop, Regina, rock, sadness

Parting is such sweet sorrow, you guys. It will be even more so this Thursday night at O’Hanlon’s in Regina, however, as the mighty Polymaths take the stage for the last time. Ever. In the world.

The shame of it all is that they only got one full-length CD out in their time together; one completely incredible full-length CD. It should have made my Best of 2009 list — and likely would’ve been somewhere near the top — but since I’m not as plugged in locally as I used to be I totally missed it’s initial late-December release. I picked up Home Again early this year and it’s been a resounding, poignant listen that I just can’t leave alone.

Keeping in line with their own history (on the So Long, Castle Road EP) there’s a lot of Regina in these songs. The presence of our fair city in Craig Fink’s lyrics shows itself in a variety of forms, from the obvious-to-those-that-are-from-here references in “The Longest Bridge Over The Shortest Span Of Water” (see the wiki for historical footnotes) to more subtle references to prairie life as compared to living in “London-town” or at Queen’s University (both in the comparative mecca of Ontario). There’s almost a thematic arc to the album; softly strummed opener “Age Sixteen” sets the stage with Fink intoning a tale of a young person leaving home for good only to plead ninety seconds later, “Go home.” The album ends with the slow, harmony-draped “Letter From Home,” a spiritual sibling that sees Fink insisting that he can’t/won’t go back to where he’s from.

Those songs, along with the half-dozen or so in between that touch on the same topic, hit close to home for nearly every young Saskatchewanian, I think. Our province’s legacy in the last several decades has been that of a feeder community; our young people inevitably go off to more exciting (re: less flat) places to seek their education and/or fortune. The line, “I’d like to remind you that home is where your shit is piling up” rings true to my generation’s experiences; while we go elsewhere we rarely REALLY leave. For one, the cost-of-living shift between places deemed desirable when compared to Saskatchewan is often stark and makes it tough to take your whole life with you. Moreover, it’s a hard place to get away from. People from other places may not realize it, but the prairies never leave your blood. As blog favourite Emmet Matheson recently opined on the always-delightful Bulldozer With A Wrecking Ball Attached, you’re always from here whether you like it or not.

Fink expertly captures the love/hate relationship that a lot of young people still have about places like Regina. The latter-half track “Winter At Queen’s” sees him lamenting an intense homesickness while studying away from home; the man who once railed against the prairie weather is now idealizing it after seeing the colour of the grass on the other side. Hearing his insistence that he wants to have “a spot to plant his soul” ready and waiting for him is what truly makes Saskatchewanians Saskatchewanians, the cathartic push/pull of needing to experience more but wanting to hold on to that pastoral quietude that defines us as a region and a people.

That’s not to say that this album is unlistenable for anyone that has never seen the sun rise over five hundred kilometres of flat prairie. The other half of the songs here are laudable critiques of love, working retail, and the fragility of dreams. While the Saskatchewan suite of songs stand out to me lyrically, the remainder of the tracks often rise above even those numbers.

Frankly, some of these songs are fucking astounding in how completely amazing they are. The band is firing on all cylinders in this recording, expanding their no-nonsense guitar-bass-drums-keyboard 4/4 rock and roll to incorporate genuine moments of soul music with incredible effect. The two stand-out tracks are both slower songs that begin with patient musical build-ups and Fink’s gentle singing (which transitions into near-growling insistence over their running time). “Unreliable” is the first (and possibly only) truly classic soul number written by Regina’s rock and roll underground, a tense, perfectly-arranged track that gives Fink the opportunity to exorcise the demons of a hundred spurned lovers, culminating in a note-perfect guitar solo that adds just the right amount of chaos into the closing. “Burst Into Flames” is a rumination on personal shortcomings and the conflicting nature of reality versus the dreams of our youth, a genuinely affecting number with a mournful tenor that feels like an ending, and not a good one. “I’m laundry hung out on a line,” Fink admits, before insisting with his last breath that geography might once again be playing a part in how he and his character’s lives end up.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, at least half of the band members are leaving Regina for grad school. If the lyrical content of this album is any indication I have every confidence they’ll be back some day. Saskatchewan might be the one place where you can go home again.

I can’t say enough about this album, and this isn’t future-nostalgia or pre-beak-up hysteria. I’ve been spinning this disc non-stop for months and it is worth every revolution. I don’t understand how this record and this band aren’t getting the acclaim and attention that your Library Voices or your Rah Rah are having showered upon them. No, they don’t have 14 people in the band and they don’t give away free candy at shows. They write the balls off some smart, passionate rock music and make no apologies for it.

Come out to O’Hanlon’s on Thursday and let them know that’s still worth something. Send them off to grad school with some fucking smiles on their faces.

 

 Polymaths - Sputnik Sweethearts [4:11m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Polymaths - Unreliable [4:12m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Final show is Thursday night at O’Hanlon’s. BE THERE. Click right here for more information.

Get the record from Regina-based Urban Planning Records; it comes in a crazy paper case!

Pat entries Canadian content, indie rock, local music, Regina, rock, soul, Urban Planning Records

Listening to The Gaslight Anthem’s 2008 album the ‘59 Sound I heard a band starting to deliver on its promise. I had no idea what was to come.

The newly-released American Slang is the band truly delivering on their potential, finally and fully achieving the synthesis of punk, Springsteenian rock, and 50’s soul and R&B they’ve been patiently waltzing their way toward for the last five years. They’ve done away with crutches (the power chords and modern punk tempos) that supported them on much of their last two full-lengths and an EP (which, frankly, was pretty awesome despite being nothing but an awkward growth spurt).

How did they get here? Well, it’s pretty simple: they stopped fucking around. Primarily that means getting rid of the lyrical obfuscations that have marked their previous work. Frontman and songwriter Brian Fallon has spent most of the band’s past releases couching his songs in stealth, whether it was naming every woman referenced in his songs Maria or crafting tunes that referenced musicians he admires (often directly by name) with only the vaguest hints of story/substance clinging to those references. The closest he seemed to get to autobiography was “Drive” from the debut Sink or Swim, a song about driving the tour van. Not exactly painfully personal storytelling.

Ah, but here we get another view at Fallon’s emotional depth. All of the track’s here offer a more personal take on songwriting, including some that expand on previous hints of real-life heartache. For instance, “Bring It On” offers more about the broken relationship only hinted at in the ‘59 Sound’s brilliant opening missive “Great Expectations.” It’s a classic storyline flipped on its head, the male protagonist faced with a lover threatening to leave. It remains couched in Fallon’s vague reference to The Cool, presumably making it a period piece when Miles Davis’ new twist on jazz was invading the clubs and driving the boys and girls wild. An inexplicable air of nostalgia has always clung to Fallon’s songwriting an that’s no different on this record, as no less than three songs use a variation on the phrase, “When we were young” (an interesting tendency for a man in his early 30’s). The group’s most awkward moments have always been their attempts at modern, punkier songs so it makes sense to some degree that they’d run as far as possible in the opposite direction.

“Orphans” and “Boxer” are an uptempo back-to-back pair of tracks that might cut the closest for Fallon from a lyrical standpoint. The former concerns a formerly-young man lamenting on a lonely past and trying to find himself in the world; the latter tells the tale of a rough-and-tumble youngster who escapes into music and songwriting to escape the abuse he suffers at the hands of an overly-macho father. These may or may not be windows into Fallon’s past but even if they are character pieces it certainly gives some insight into the somewhat bleak undercurrent that can permeate his songs from time to time. But that tenor does conflict somewhat with his constant nostalgia; it’s hard to imagine someone longing for such a rough-and-tumble past.

Regardless, it’s refreshing to see the group has made a conscious effort to stop writing about their favourite kind of music and instead fold its influence into their own work. That’s most apparent in tracks like “The Queen of Lower Chelsea” and “The Diamond Church Street Choir,” which are laced not only with back-up vocals from the other members of the band (heretofore nonexistent on Gaslight albums) but also with several tracks of Fallon wailing at the top of his lungs, doing his best impression of a 60’s soul singer. The commitment and charisma he shows in those layered performances are genuine and so unexpected and engaging they nearly run the risk of calling the listener’s attention away from the song as a whole.

Fallon has said in interviews that he and guitarist Alex Rosamilia put in a lot of time simply getting better at playing the guitar in preparation for this album. That comes across in a much more sophisticated interplay between the two than on past records. While several songs here maintain the upbeat punk spirit of their earliest releases they’ve also tempered that by playing parts that go beyond simple power chords, emphasizing melodicism and muscle in equal parts.

The band folds Fallon’s new-found songwriting bravery and their musical maturation into brand new territory on “The Queen Of Lower Chelsea,” a patient, quiet tribute to a woman that’s letting life pass her by. The track is a bold new step for the band, focusing around a catchy, rhythmic lead guitar figure that serves as both hook and the anchor for the song, a melodic centerpiece that is returned to throughout. It’s a song that is 95% restraint, exploding only momentarily in a quick bridge section. The band immediately quiets back down again, save for some duelling background vocals from Fallon, tortured wailing that moves the band closer than ever to the early Clapton/Stones white-boy blues vibe that influenced the writing of this record. It’s a captivating listen and a masterfully-crafted song, perhaps their best yet.

The fuller sound that has resulted from Gaslight’s obvious efforts to just get better makes this album well worth the wait. Culminating in the tortured, plaintive wailing of the final track, “We Did It When We Were Young,” the record is a huge step forward musically in addition to being a long-awaited peek into the singer’s mind. After enjoying his vague ruminations on some of his favourite artists of years past, Fallon’s finally taking steps to ensure he and his band have a shot at leaving a legacy of their own.

 

 the Gaslight Anthem - Boxer [2:47m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 the Gaslight Anthem - the Queen Of Lower Chelsea [3:39m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Plenty of music and “apparel” available through the band’s webstore. Albums are digital through iTunes as well.

Pat entries Best of 2010, fusion, Gaslight Anthem, punk rock, rock

Bravery is a quality not often rewarded in music. If it is, it’s a superficial, hollow bravery; it’s Lady Gaga being hailed as a cutting edge “artist” because she wears sunglasses made out of lit cigarettes and hats made out of telephones, not because her music is innovative, cutting-edge, or even slightly cerebral. The music is disposable and pedestrian and certainly won’t be the larger part of her legacy. That’s why it feels so good to see a group of prairie boys (now relocated to Montreal to help gain a foothold in the music biz) pushing their own boundaries lyrically and looking to squeeze some adventure out of rock and roll.

Far and away my favourite moment of the City Street’s last album, 2008’s Concentrated Living, was the sprawling six-minute track “Burn Down The Churches.” It tips singer/guitarist/songwriter Rick Reid’s hand in terms of his world view; in it he implores the world at large to divest itself of the crutch of organized religion (pulling up short of atheism he clarifies that he does believe in God, but not in the typical way), calling on the world to burn down churches and live life more spiritually and less reliant on dogma and procedure. It’s idealist to say the least; he wants everyone to quit their jobs and live their lives, embrace life-affirming passions (like sex), and embrace personal freedoms (like having it). It’s set to a musical background of galloping drums and carefully-picked electric guitar that builds and rumbles and frolics and bursts. Like the group itself it doesn’t compromise a bit.

The same can be said of the band’s new record, the Jazz Age, which opens one of its catchiest songs with the singer’s bold proclamation, “I don’t put shit up my nose…anymore.”

Yes, the Jazz Age, is more of what they do best: minimally-orchestrated yet deftly-arranged tunes that embrace and enfold every aspect of rock music’s history (from the faster-paced power chords and gang vocal “woah-ohs” of “Song for Lee” to the solo-organ reverb of “White Noise” to the powerful, string-laden outro on closer “Slothrop’s Ghost”). They’ve always been a three-piece and they aren’t ashamed or afraid of that fact; while some tracks incorporate piano, organ, and strings they aren’t crutches being used to prop up some forced agenda of artistic growth. They’re incorporated sparingly and, more importantly, for effect. In fact, the entire band fires on all cylinders here but Reid’s comprehensive guitar work is the mucilage that holds it all together. Songs explode in the chorus with a heaviness that is somewhat more prevalent than their previous releases, Reid’s furious strumming and complex picking coming across regardless of tempo.

The album is sort of an inverted pyramid of depression, romantic/sexual mistakes made by youngsters, and the consequences that result from them. The second track, “Song For Lee,” strikes one of the most upbeat tempos on the record as well as one of the closest-to-positive messages: “Our dreams are just as real as the fears in their eyes/this is all there is, kids/lets live as hard as we can stand.” What follows is an album’s worth of songs about, as Reid writes on this track, “fucked up kids” and their myriad failures and drunken, drugged-out regrets. A thread of lost love powers the intricate, detailed lyrics while the music hints at early Elvis Costello, modern punk, and Neil Young-ian rock.

To me, the final track is very reminiscent of the aforementioned “Burn Down The Churches” and is a brilliant summation of the general tenor of the album. The nine minute track spends its first six relating Reid’s misadventures of the heart through the lens of Tyrone Slothrop, a character from Thomas Pynchon’s classic Gravity’s Rainbow. Going from a lone acoustic guitar to the full band to bass-only accompaniment back to a full-band build and emotionally string-laden burst that lasts the better part of the last four minutes, it is an epic ending to an album of unsurprising but absolute depth of emotion. Climaxing with the repeated insistence, “Fuck the war, we’re in love,” Reid shows once again that a legacy of a he-slut fumbling in the dark can be overcome with just one true, real, human connection.

The album is far from a gleaming beacon of positive energy but, hindsight being 20/20, Reid knows enough to know that everyone suffers their own mis-steps while traveling the road to a more successful or happy adulthood. While I wouldn’t characterize their past albums as fucked up failures, there can be little doubt the City Streets have followed a parallel track in creating the Jazz Age, one that will hopefully lead them to the prominence a record of this caliber commands.

 

 the City Streets - Song For Lee [3:53m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 the City Streets - Last Waltz Party [3:57m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

You can buy the Jazz Age, download the album for free, or make a donation to the band at their home page. Their previous two records are also available through their site.

Pat entries ambition, Canadian content, failure, nostalgia, rock, the City Streets