Vitamins

Milk Thistle

Beauty Bar, 3/30

Milk Thistle has two pretty charismatic, loud singers. You can hear the words they're saying even when the band is going at full power. That puts them two up on many locals. They also have some plus songs. They're not conventionally structured but they're rehearsed and the members of the band are on the same page. At their best moments, both guitars and bass chip away with layered rhythms while the drummer steers confidently. Their sound is quite current, well-defined, and they've left themselves room to move around in it. They have double-time grooves and ballad feels to break from their midtempo comfort zone.

Unfortunately, I can't recommend you go see them... yet. I think I like their songs and I definitely like their singers, but picking out the original qualities of their music requires superhuman effort at this point. That's because the band doesn't really have the slightest idea how to set up their equipment to play outside of the confines of their practice space. Popping bass on their first song had me on the verge of walking out. Only close visual examination proved that their guitar players were in fact working distinct, separate parts, because as far as sound went it was an unpleasant buzzing wave of nasty indistinct midrange. Their drummer plays tom-heavy, and pretty well, but he got drowned out in the mess. For their bassist I have a useful (stolen) piece of advice: there's no money above the fifth fret. Treble-kicking bass is fine -- if it's not just driving into a three-way pileup with two mid-heavy guitars.

When you play with two rhythm guitarists, like Milk Thistle, you have to find a way to differentiate the sounds of the two. Similar guitars, similar settings, similar amps and you're going to step all over each other. If you strain, you can make out the excellent ideas these guys are developing, but you have to be really inclined to give them a chance.

The New Loud

Quiet Company

Eastside Yoga, 3/20

Named Austin's 4th best new band (in their fourth year of existence), Quiet Company clearly know what they're on about. They have a will to succeed... you can tell because it takes five minutes for their MySpace page to load completely. In terms of placing themselves right in the sweet spot as far as what people expect of current radio-friendly indie, they've filled out every form completely. Their singer has the voice of a 14-year-old, which helps make their thematically tiresome lyrics sound less processed. Their songs are well-crafted. I appreciate the way that they use harmony vocals extensively and in a varied fashion -- not the same sort of arrangement every time.

They're a fine live band, particularly doing a good job of upping the intensity of the instruments without totally obscuring the vocals. But I would never in a million years buy one of their records, because there is nothing even remotely original about their songwriting. If you're reading this, you've heard it all before. Quiet Company lacks any potential whatsoever to surprise. When their singer switches from piano to guitar, they still sound exactly the same. The lyrics are decently formed in small doses, but ultimately their songs are indistinguishable from each other, lacking big central hooks or any kind of telltale dynamics. They're aggressively pleasant -- which is not a good thing if you're ambitious.

For their show at Eastside Yoga, a benefit for Music for the City, they put their best foot forward by leading off with a song that showcased a guest horn section (trumpet and trombone) splendidly. I got excited. Unfortunately, for the rest of the songs the horn players mostly bobbed up and down, instruments silent, while the two guitar-bass-drums band worked their single groove into a nice wide rut. Then they finished things off (for me, anyway, I leave when bands play terrible covers) with a dreadfully within-the-lines reading of a hugely overexposed song ("Monkey Gone to Heaven"). Couldn't they have at least worked out a horn part for the knee-jerk Pixies cover? Would that have been so hard?

These guys are talented musicians and melody composers. But their band as presently composed is way too much of a okay thing. Where are the slow songs? Where are the fast songs? Where are the lyrics about something besides being self-interested, overindulged white romantics? If they used the horn players full-time, at least you could describe them as "Death Cab for Cutie with horns" (as I have). But they don't use the horn players full-time. So what's left to make them distinctive, their outfits?

Not that it's strictly relevant here, but I always wonder how many Death Cab for Cutie fans are aware of the Bonzo Dog Band. Do they know who Neil Innes is? Are they fascinated by the weird connection to Monty Python? Or is that just me? Probably just me. When does a dream begin?

Night and the Sea

The Night, The Eastern Sea

Annie's West, 3/19

Two Austin bands at different stages of their development, I enjoyed myself immensely watching both The Night and The Eastern Sea back on Friday night. The Night, as discussed some Demo Sweats previously, have a heavy Joy Division jones. When I first listened to their recordings, I didn't think they were entirely without merit. They've picked a difficult style to play in effectively, and although not original their early songs were intelligently written. They had chorus hooks and lyrics that related to the music well, enhancing the feeling of wee-hours mixed exhaustion and elation that's key to this lean, speedy style. As a live band they're a few steps further along the path than I expected they would be. First of all, they're really solidly together as a band. Zafer Hamza is exceptionally good at playing the bass (with his fingers!) and singing at the same time. He doesn't just pound the rhythm, but he often provides the principal melodies while keeping meter too. Drummer Nick Welp deserves praise for both his technique and his willingness to play very simply but for just the right moments. In getting to hear a whole set's worth of music, I started to hear some different, non-Mancunian influences creeping in, particularly in Troy Hooper's guitar playing. Not a lot of fingerpicking on Joy Division's records. They should nurture those seeds to be sure.

The Eastern Sea don't need to worry so much about originality. Their songwriter Matt Hines just has it -- I'm pretty sure he gets appreciably cooler every time I see him in person. As a band the Sea follow his lead, with a confident sense of their ability to change styles, volume levels, and intensity. Their two EP's get deeper with every listen, not so much because of an overabundance of instruments but because the choices each one makes are so right on. Augmented on stage with horns and violins, I was eager to see what they'd do. At this point regretfully they're not making as much out of the extra players as they could, relying on them more for single-tone drones to add mass rather than new rhythms and tunes. Perhaps my standards for them are too high. In any event, the show was memorable for seeing the group make their best effort to maintain their high energy on a stage that was cozy for five.

Recurring Dream

The Fever Dreams

The Music Gym, 3/20

I'm skipping way ahead chronologically; there are five other bands that I saw before the Fever Dreams late Saturday night for whom I have thoughts to share. But allow me to indulge in a bit of personal reflection. Earlier this evening, I began writing a post trying to explain why it is exactly that I'm driven to digest so much obscure local music when I do have enough remaining freelance connections that I could with a little effort get myself into "name" shows for free. I couldn't seem to find a way of doing it, on my first attempt, that didn't overemphasize two of my less endearing personality quirks: I'm pathologically cheap, and gigantic groups of people make me uncomfortable.

So I stared at a weak title and a bunch of blank space for a while, put on the first side of Pet Sounds, and decided that if I wasn't going to get any writing done tonight I should at least go see some more bands. (I definitely wasn't going to address the situation with the dishes in the sink, which have been festering all week.) Then, while I was crammed into an east side sweatbox pulsating to the waveforms of the Fever Dreams, I finally found my entry point. Why support undiscovered bands at the expense of the already recognized? Put aside the fact that nowadays, unspeakably awful music becomes hugely popular all the time. I believe that the state of the music consumed by most young teenagers at the age when they first become passionate about what they listen to is as bad as it's ever been, but I don't mean to argue that at this time.

Even you believe that rock music is no better or worse than it's ever been, and that those bands who become widely discussed and written about for the most part deserve the attention, there's another reason why you should have a least a handful of local developing bands that you support to your utmost. I should have thought of it before, but watching the Fever Dreams it came upon me all at once. If you attach yourself to a promising young band and watch them grow and change, the chances are good that every time you see them they will be better than the last time you did so. If they can keep their lineup steady, dedicate themselves to practicing as much as it takes to stay tight, and write new stuff constantly with an ear to challenging themselves and their audience, every time you see them it'll be the best show of theirs you've ever seen. And that's pretty great, right? And certainly not true for the vast majority of established bands. It's all downhill once you've passed your peak, to quote a Nick Lowe song (about a forgotten silent movie star who was eaten by her dachshund).

OK, please excuse my meandering notions on critical theory. It's been a long week for all of us. Let's give the Fever Dreams their due. I wrote about them for one of my very first Austin live reviews, back when I was still living in Williamson County and didn't even know that the Texas Colorado River is not the same as the Colorado Colorado River. In the intervening months we all have grown more comfortable with our surroundings. The Dreams have a (somewhat) new drummer with a totally different style than their old one, and they're hard at work on a new record. Partly due to the drummer, and my increased familiarity with their music, they sounded less jammy and more acutely structured tonight. Their music has always reminded me of the sea change in music between the very late 60's and the very early 70's. In that time experimentalism for its own sake began to give way to a more codified, canonical way of composing and discussing rock and roll. A good single example might be the Soft Machine, who started out as a totally frazzled psychedelic prog band and trickled gradually into jazz fusion.

The Fever Dreams take a perfectionist approach to their songs, which is necessary given how dramatic the changes in their new stuff are. "The Bartender Song" kicks off with an appropriately Tom Waits-like reel then morphs into what sounds like Interpol waltzing. Another tune stomps in 5/4 until it gives way to a section where different instruments play in separate time signatures. Barry Huttox's ability to define each change clearly with a firm rhythmic hand (and almost melodic flourishes, with his many different toms and small cymbals) increases the feeling of strong organization. Proper guitar and keyboard solos are near absent from the band's sound now; very precisely layered instrumental breaks with guitar and bass parts that lock together like Jenga blocks are the rule.

In their efforts to make their new songs really new songs, the Dreams are opening up their influences. The swinging Huttox lets them abandon rock underpinnings entirely if they feel like it, but they also have a driving-but-chiming gear now that sounds like the more sophisticated variety of modern indie-guitar rock. Harold King's vocals are a hard sell -- he's a bit flat and he lacks the range to really compete with any of the melodic instruments. But he's screaming and emoting more on these new songs, and while it's not musically perfect the more he puts into it the more compelling it is. It's kind of fascinating, and maybe a little poignant, that such a multiply talented musician (he's superior on both keyboards and guitar) can't do anything about his singing voice. When he's on, though, the raw quality of his singing ties the highly cerebral elements of the band back into more elemental, basic rock building blocks. If you require pristine vocals to enjoy a band, look elsewhere. But I find the struggle between King's skills as a composer and instrumentalist and his limitations as a singer compelling -- and relatable.

Sure, they might be bigger if they had a Cedric Bixler-Zavala to act as a mouthpiece, lightning rod, and focal point. But they sure wouldn't be the same band with anyone else singing, and just in the few months since the last time I saw them King has gotten better at projecting and emoting. Me, I like underdogs. That's my hangup.

If We Can Land a Man on the Moon, Surely I Can Win Your Heart

Miles Kurosky

Waterloo Records, 3/20

One of the more epic titles I've ever used for a post, but my favorite Beulah song. Besides "Emma Blowgun's Last Stand," which their long-dormant songwriter Miles Kurosky obligingly revived for the end of his afternoon set. Kurosky had enough musicians in tow to stab at "Blowgun's" extended, layering intro, though sadly no tablas, but besides that sunny marvel of a song there weren't a lot of highs to the set. I can't pass judgement on his new record, The Desert of Shallow Effects, because I haven't heard it, but it wasn't the ideal setting for a guy partial to wringing every ounce of melodic potential out of a 10- or 11-piece band.

Guitar-heavy and not equipped for a wide range of melodies from a spare percussionist and a weak keyboard player, the band didn't sell the new material very strongly. Kurosky himself, only recently out of forced retirement, was not in good voice. The health problems that have kept him out of commission continue to affect his body, if not his resolve. Given his situation it is a pleasure to see that Kurosky is still writing upbeat, cheery music with intelligence and sophistication. His guitar playing is still lean and effective, and even if his voice didn't let him nail them all his sublime sense for melody seems in good order. One of the most likable things about Beulah was the way that Kurosky always made his limited voice sound like a brilliant instrument with just the right choices of melody; but part of the effect was due to the way he had a small army reinforcing him.

Kurosky misses the support in another way. The band he's towing along now doesn't seem engaged on the same level. Miles wasn't a big performer the many times I saw Beulah in San Francisco; but Bill Swan and many of the other guys were, and they had a mob mentality going that grew exponentially the more people they could cram on stage. They were poppy and orchestrated and raucous. It would be nice to see Kurosky's health improve to the degree that he could match those heights again. For now he's trafficking in pleasant and there's a lot more competition in that field.

Holy City

New Jerusalem

Annie's West, 3/18

There's an entire other evening of cool bands I have to go help carry the PA in for tonight, hopefully after catching Miles Kurosky at Waterloo. Quickly, before I lose track, I wanted to mention how much I enjoyed seeing New Jerusalem last night. I covered them for a Demo Sweat not so long ago and I liked their neo-folk tones very much. I did think they were a little too consonant for their own good. As a live band they correct for that, and that's why they had a clot of people collecting on the street outside of the open-air patio where they were playing.

They split the difference between modern folk and populist bar country, with the very lovely harmonies of their recordings intact but also an unexpected, and most welcome, blood-and-whiskey lead guitar. And a harp! Tasty clean-channel country-western electric guitar AND a harp, with no waiting! Without a drummer, their upright bass player did a sweet job of propelling the group and also adding sneaky hints of melody. They're still a little loose, but they put on a good show.

Later in the evening, while my bandmates and I were loading our stuff into four cars (possibly we could have done a more efficient job, but we did have to bring two entire PA setups), the Fall of Troy were playing in a tent right on the alley. I got to hear pretty much their whole set while I was humping speakers. And it was good.

Full Throttle

Lozen

Creekside Lounge, 3/17

It would be hard not to notice that our usual haunts in downtown in Austin are less accessible and (slightly) more covered in garbage than usual this week. I have no interest in immersing myself in the feeding frenzy. Even if there weren't other demands on my time this week, I have philosophical issues with music festivals in general. To me giving a band your full attention is an active exercise, and there's only so much time in a day you can spend really concentrating on new music before your active-listening muscles become worn out. I'm also averse to crowds, profoundly broke, and sharing a vehicle with someone who works a difficult and irregular schedule. And I'm playing four shows in three days myself this weekend.

The moral of the story? With no money and little time Anna C. and I are still finding ways to put ourselves in front of amazing bands, almost every night -- just like we do every week of the year in Austin. In a perfect world I'd be getting to see more of my favorite local bands this week, but a whole bunch of them are playing at the Pepper Lane shows on Thursday and Friday, and starting next week it should be possible to park closer than 20 blocks away from the rock district once again.

Just once, for the sake of having done so, Anna and I went out with no plan to wander around downtown last night. We set manageable goals: she wanted to drink a beer in front of a band, and I wanted to find something cool to write about the next day. Avoiding lines at all costs, we followed my mostly infallible music ear into the Creekside Lounge, where Lozen were taking no prisoners. A sort of post-riot grrl duo with near-metallic power, the pair from Spokane use fuzz bass, slamming drums, and an intriguing variety of vocal approaches from both members. Sometimes they sing sweetly, and sometimes they howl in an unholy, unsettling but singularly feminine fashion that (for obvious reasons) you don't hear a lot of in the genre my friend Sebastian lovingly calls "dude-rock." Totally unexpected but very awesome.