Clap Your Hands Say Yeah released their self-titled debut in 2005 with considerable buzz—some of it a special kind of secondary buzz, caused by the initial buzz itself. The band’s claim to fame, at least at first, had a lot to do with their do-it-yourself promotional methods and popularity among bloggers. Of course, there was the album, too, which had a knack for songs that, when coupled with peaks in Alec Ounsworth’s warbling vocal intensity, reached some nice emotional heights.
The band’s sophomore effort Some Loud Thunder, however, is no where near as consistent, and while it does offer a few brilliant slices which recall their previous work, some of it is just a mess. Ounsworth’s singing has earned him comparisons to David Byrne, but those seem only half-right: On tracks like “Emily Jean Stock” he seems to be simply wailing, helping to turn the song into mush, whereas on “Yankee Go Home” the intensity works. For that song, his delivery actually puts his whine to good use, exaggerating rhymes like “Honolulu / How do you do?
” and eventually spiraling pleasantly out of control. But what is “Arm and Hammer” doing on this album? It’s almost as much of a non sequitur as “Clap Your Hands” was on the band’s debut album The album raises some questions—like what is the band trying to accomplish, exactly, with the grating distortion on opener “Some Loud Thunder?
” Is “Satan Said Dance” perhaps too ironic for its own good? In the future will they include short instrumental tracks like “Upon Encountering the Crippled Elephant” or will they develop these sketches into full songs? The album isn’t without winners, it’s just that—sophomore backlash accounted for—Clap Your Hands Say Yeah could do a lot better in creating a coherent, consistent work.
Coming soon to a coffee shop near you: Norah Jones, the voice that launched a thousand lattes, returns with her third offering, Not Too Late. Accused of merely resting on the mighty laurels lofted by the runaway success of her debut album Come Away With Me, Jones’ latest presents a dramatic shift as she takes the pen into her own hand writing or co-writing all 12 tracks heard here. With Jones at the helm, the album takes on a much darker, almost resentful tone.
Once content cooing a slew of saccharine love hooks over a bed of lullaby like melodies, the singer now uses her piano like a weapon, hurling insults at former flames and making sharp-tongued political commentary. On “You Are Not My Friend,” Jones takes unforgiving aim at her ex vehemently spewing, “You are not my friend / I cannot pretend … I’ll be ok / Cause when I back away / I’m gonna keep the handle of your gun in sight.” The gloves really come off, though, on “Sinkin’ Soon,” when President Bush is delivered a lyrical bitch slap for the Katrina debacle; “A captain too proud to say / that he dropped the oar … now the hull has started growing weak / and we’re gunna be sinkin’ soon.
” Trading in her nouveau-jazz stylings for a little Nawlins’ grit, even Jones’ most endearing moments serve merely to mask an ulterior motive. On the first single, “Thinking About You,” what on the surface plays like a simple longing for lost love, is actually the tale of a couple torn apart by the Iraq war. Her insults fly cloaked in innocence perhaps making their unexpected sting all the more powerful.
While some will probably feel alienated by Jones’ bold stance, this album shows undeniable growth as we hear the artist’s true voice for the first time. The Apples in Stereo’s latest offering is New Magnetic Wonder—the group’s sixth album and the first to be released by Elijah Wood's new label Simian Records (yes, Frodo the Hobbit owns a record label). Peculiar celebrity connection aside, this album is a competent offering from these stalwart veterans of the indie pop scene.
Although it has taken the band five years to put New Magnetic Wonder together, it still has a disjointed feel. Only half of the album’s 25 tracks are bona fide songs. The rest are experimental interludes that, while interesting enough, disrupt the album’s pacing and don't contribute much else.
When the band sticks to what they do best, though, the result is a delightfully sweet treat. Composer and unfortunately named frontman Robert Schneider delivers on several sugary tracks. The infectious attention-grabber "Can You Feel It?
” is smart, near perfect pop. Electric vocals, exuberant melodies, and fuzzy synth-beats abound on a few of the other tracks. “Skyway” is fast-paced and discordantly catchy, and “Energy” is brimming with just that.
“Sunday Sounds” and “Sunndal Song” are penned and performed by Schneider’s former drummer (and ex-wife) Hilarie Sidney, who left the band last August for the High Water Marks. Her saccharine, wistful voice give listener's brief and welcome respite from Schneider's nasally vocals. At 53 minutes, the album feels long.
The energy starts to lag, and at slower tempos, Schneider's voice takes on a whiny quality. And the fact that the lyrics are without much substance also becomes increasingly noticeable: “Open Eyes” sounds like a reject Oasis song and consists of a single cringe-inducing line: 'You know you're not alone.’ It’s enough to make you wish that you really were alone instead of listening to Schneider.
Busdriver has built a reputation as a deft and lyrically dense MC, cramming impossible strings of syllables into each line, rapping in tongue twisters. This style has its pros and cons: For one, Busdriver tracks have always been interesting, something to unpack and explore. On the other hand, he’s received some critical flak for trying to do too much with an abrasive delivery and unintelligible, whimsical pronunciations.
Roadkillovercoat seems to address these criticisms, or at least meet them half way. Instead of complaining about the hip-hop market, or that his delivery doesn’t always match what’s popular, Busdriver seems ready to change his pace. The result is a divisive album supremely aware of the effect it will have on its listeners and long-time fans.
On “Ethereal Driftwood” the chorus goes: “I don’t have what you want / Won’t you accept my humble offerings?” He recognizes that he can’t please everyone but then goes on to try anyway, with an entire album of eclectic “offerings.” On “Sunshower” Busdriver doesn’t even rap; instead he performs some weird, nasal singing and indulges in traditional pop structure.
As with many of the album’s tracks, the results are surprisingly catchy and danceable. The best songs, though, are the ones which feature Busdriver rapping with alacrity and acerbic humor—tracks like “Casting Agents and Cowgirls” and the single “Kill Your Employer,” which has the chorus: “Post-recreational paranoia / Is the sport of now so kill your employer.” They’re bizarre but engaging, and every time Busdriver seems about to trip over his own line, he manages to catch himself.
Likewise with the album; what could have been a tragic mess in the hands of a less talented performer instead showcases an MC willing to experiment while—to some extent, at least—staying true to his roots and stylistic quirks.
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