Print Edition: October 17, 2012
Jason Lytle
Dept. of Disappearance
While Jason Lytle—former lead singer of Grandaddy and indie-rock superhero—tends to structure his songs around simple stories, he always finds truth and a deeper understanding in life’s details. He is one of the few modern songwriters writing his songs like they are screenplays, giving his characters self-contained story arcs, whose themes are threaded together throughout the album. Lytle’s latest record, Dept. of Disappearance sounds an awful lot like a Grandaddy album – although for those unfamiliar with their melancholic quirks and technological fetish, it’s tough to decipher where Grandaddy stops and Jason Lytle begins. DoD however is not just another Grandaddy album; it’s his best since Sumday. The title track is a self-reflective crime noir, as Lytle’s characters argue about bureaucratic authorization, “You’ll never get the clearance/I work for the department/the department of disappearance.” The album’s most stunning moments come during “Your Final Setting Sun,” a sinister track about a kind of cult leader, punctuated with robotic keyboard woops and the ambiance of a public access television station. Lytle’s optimistic ballads about forlorn regret offer the listener moments for gentle reflection, making Dept. of Disappearance infinitely strange and wonderful.
Freelance Whales
Diluvia
Diluvia—the sophomore record and questionable science fiction odyssey from the precocious New York indie quintet Freelance Whales—is likely to put listeners to sleep before it ever demands their attention. Sequence is even more important on a concept album, yet Freelance Whales have opted to put some of their least compelling work near the front of the track list. The band’s best asset is its ability to craft centrifugal and interlocking musical motifs that gracefully unspool over the course of a track. The problem here is that these motifs act as mere ornament on lacklustre, predictable song writing. They are crutches rather than fully-realized extensions of a compelling musical vision. But there’s something even more disappointing about Freelance Whales’ overly agreeable dream-folk digest: they play it far too safe. There are some moments, like the urgent “Spitting Image” and the wide-open bridge of “Winter Seeds,” that provide glimpses of how affecting Freelance Whales could be if they demanded more of themselves. Untethered and listless, the band could use a serious injection of danger and daring to give their ornate arrangements some substance.
Metz
Metz
Metz comes at a time when radio listeners may be whining that the most popular Canadian acts right now is Justin Bieber and Carly Rae Jepson, but I am just positively delighted that there are Canadians making great music too – including this Toronto outfit that has produced an incredibly solid album of post-hardcore. Coming from the illustrious SubPop Records, Metz’s eponymous album is a collection of hard, jarring, noisy punk, the type that’s not so fast as it is pulsing, rambunctious, and perfectly timed. There is an artistic precision to the resonance of the cymbals, there is a high level of attention paid to everything. The guitars are fuzzy, crunching conveyors of rhythm that at times relapse into sustained dissonance. The vocals are mostly strains of yells that seem to come from a chorus of chained men shouting through bullhorns at the bottom of a well or an industrial-sized fractionation column, and though the lyrics are unrecognizable, the sound alone is ample. The tracks are made the better by repeat listening because of their layered toughness, and this is easily done as each is around 2:30.
Wildlife Control
Wildlife Control
This album has a summery feel to it, anchored by easy guitar chords and occasionally complemented by a brass section, simple keys and a bicycle bell. The first song feels like the kind of thing you want to blare in a convertible on a day when the sun is shining so brightly it washes everything out. It’s the kind of song that sneaks up on you, suggests you drive to California and makes you think it was your idea. The second song sounds like what would happen if John Lennon and OK GO joined forces to record electrified pop, a weird combination that makes an absurd amount of sense. The clear piano chords anchor the sound in a way that dabbles with jazz, and by the time we hit “Melody,” the overall tone has become meandering and mellow, sunshiny and distorted. Spoilers: Marimbas and they don’t even sound awkward. It’s an album of gentle transitions and toe-tapping instrument combinations, and when they sing out “Everybody’s Moving to Brooklyn” as an anthem, I’ve already bought my bus ticket and I’m on my way there. So can you be.
