Brian Chaloux

Christmas Grab-bag, 2012

Sam

Will it fit?

Giving local music for the holidays

I always give local music for Christmas [this was 2012, back when people still had CD players and stuff. I don’t do this anymore, which sorta makes me sad, but all the music lovers I know just have spotify now, so what’s the point?]. It’s like giving twice: Once to the gift receiver, and once to the band who get a little revenue for the holidays. Sis used to be an underground hip-hop kid, so she generally gets something recent from the Milled Pavement catalog. The three musically inclined brothers-in-law get a hand-made CD-R out of Strange Maine, the latest Sidecar EP, and whatever Chris Moulton’s latest project is, respectively.

Hmmm, might have to get creative this year for those last two.

If you’re feeling like you need to get creative this year, I’ve pulled out a bunch of stocking stuffers that I didn’t get around to reviewing this past year, but which will likely be a great fit for your special someone:

For anyone who hit the Avett Brothers, Old Crow, and Mumford shows in the past year: You’ll definitely want to grab them North, the debut EP from the Ghost of Paul Revere. A talented group of acoustic pickers with old souls and a nice feel for multi-part harmony, this is a band that can get touchy-feely (“Kodiak”) right before they blast right through a barn-burner (“Wolves”), and the closing “Spirit” has a real thump to it before an a capella finish that will keep you guessing.

For your uncle, who recently showed up wearing a leather jacket and a sarong: Make sure to pick up Philip Carlo Paratore’s Bronx to Bali, a record for adventurers. Tracked over six years, it’s got big rock elements, Latin swing, Caribbean rhythm, Pacific Rim melodies, and a vocal delivery that’s somewhere between Zappa and Transylvania 6-5000. There can be a simple seductiveness to instrumentals like “Kembali,” and the waterfalls of chiming digital bells might be just right for the holidays.

For the cousin to whom you gave a William Gaddis novel last year: For dense, smart, lyrical songs that you can consume for days, give Post Provost’s Ancient Open Allegory Oratorio, album that uses 14 musicians to create 11 tracks. One of the best albums released locally this year, it’s full of beautiful surprises, like “The Walking Cadaver,” a jazzy tune full of brushed snare, a walking bass from Johnny Venom and a close-out that includes a dire piano from Michael McInnis.  “Tall and Strong” has a “Girl from Ipanema” thing going on that’s hard not to like a lot and “Ping Pong Dash” is a delicious gypsy polka.

For your little sister, who just started at UVM: Sure, you could get her that Bob Marley box set, but think how cool she’ll seem to the kids in the dorm when they get a load of Maine reggae, thanks to Royal Hammer’s My Bubble. Fronted by Michael Taylor and with local lions all over the place – David Noyes, Jerusha Robinson, Gary Gemiti, Tyler Quist, Lucas Desmond, Ryan Zoidis, Stu Mahan – these guys have been at it long enough now that they’re super tight and locked in on the easy vibe that makes for great reggae. Add in the closing track, where they put a reggae cover on Micah Blue Smaldone’s “Mule,” and this is probably the best-every locally released album of this ilk.

For your aunt, just up from Memphis: You gotta make a gal feel at home, right? Well, for decent blues in this town, turn first to Bob Rasero (of Renovators fame). His latest, Not Gonna Worry, sees him turning in his electric for a mean acoustic guitar that lets him get more breathy with the vocals and more subtle with his delivery. The recording, done down in Bronxville, N.Y., at the Loft, is mint – the solos are so crisp you can hear every hammer-on and slide and it feels like Rasero is right across the room from you. My favorite is “Who’s to Blame,” with a solo that spits right in your eye even as it fades out, but there’s plenty for everyone here, even a Christmas tune.

For your friends with kids: Maybe they’re not hip to Laurie Berkner and they’re playing Wiggles drivel? Hand them Rob Duquette’s Love Is Contagious, a charming EP of five songs targeted at a decidedly younger audience (although I think “Brush Everyday” is solid advice at any age). Unless you’ve got an aversion to xylophone, songs like “Friends Forever” and the title track are very listenable, which is pretty crucial for parents who enjoy their sanity.

For anyone who’s been around a little bit: An underappreciated album by a local supergroup that came and went awfully quickly, Army of Squirrels’ Pirates Vs. Temperature is a sneering, sarcastic, hard-driving rock album that pokes fun and revels in our local scene, from “Break up the Band” to the closing “The Skinny,” which sadly might not even resonate much with people nowadays. “Your Life is Like an Emo Song” is worth the cover charge, and contributions from Brian Chaloux, Nick Lamberto, Walt Craven, and Neil Collins are easy to hear. Great stuff.

Murcielago: Murcielago

Sam

Hammers of the gods

Murcielago unleash some heavy guitars

Maybe you’ve still got a decent sound system in your car, or a weighty receiver you can still dust off from time to time. If so, there’s a chance you can fully appreciate the long-awaited Murcielago record. It’s got the gravity of a mid-sized planet.

The self-titled work, caught up for a bit in the dying gasps of the label system, certainly quells any fears fans might have had that the four-piece wouldn’t be able to live up to their transcendent live shows. The resonant vibrations of every tube in every amp these guys employ is translated wonderfully, avoiding that digitized chill that can pervade metal of a certain vintage and instead settling into a loud rock that wraps you in its warm embrace just as it’s beating you about the head and neck.

Benny Grotto, down at Mad Oak Studios in Mass., and Jim Begley at the Studio have done masterful work in capturing this sort of fire and brimstone without shaving off the edges or pumping too much air into the vocals. Neil Collins (Lincolnville, Eldemur Krimm) may be draped in reverb, but it’s still possible to make out just about every lyric, and what might be a gimmick—keeping guitarist Ian Ross always in the right channel, Matthew Robbins (King Memphis) always in the left—ends up being a splendid trick for keeping them straight and helping the listener appreciate fully their artful interplay.

There’s plenty of Kyuss and ZZ Top and Judas Priest here, maybe some 6gig, but with Jack Bruce’s recent passing, it’s hard not to hear a ton of Cream, even if it’s just because there’s a bass player doing most of the singing. It’s the same raw punch, the same joy in a riff well executed. “Money” is particularly playful, with guitars and Brian Chaloux’s (Pigboat) snare firing things up, then letting Collins go a capella: “I once had recourse, for every single slight / It’s not that I need you around, it’s that I can’t keep you in my life.”

The solo late should catch attention, with Robbins throwing out slight staccato strums, supporting the Ross lead beautifully in a desperate and crushing run: “I’ve lost all reason; I’ve come undone.” And then Robbins just takes over as they swap roles. At times it’s like they’re playing tennis.

It’s also something of a treat to hear Robbins sing on “Fairlane Swain,” a seven-minute opus of stoner rock. It’s crunchy in the open, with three-note riffs dominating, and then comes Robbins with a sneering and caustic high-end delivery that’s the height of bitterness: “Heavy metal parking lot, just a dimebag of shitpot / My mom told me not to hang around with this lot.” There may even be a reference to “fat chicks” in there.

For the chorus, Robbins rides the two syllables of “fairlane” for a few measures, then let’s a guitar peal fill in for “swain” like he’s turning his back on the song entirely. Jesus, these guys have chops.

Like any good arena-rock band, though, Murcielago have a sensitive side, too. “Cheebahawk” finds Collins getting all kinds of touchy-feely at the two-minute mark—“every time you run around, I am senseless to the sound / Of the breaking of my heart… and I know you’re not my love”—making the hard charge of the guitars firing back seem like a slap in the face. And the one-minute-long “Smoke Season” is an acoustic palate-cleanser, with Collins moving over to guitar to show they could probably pull off one of those overall-wearing stringband albums if they really wanted to.

It’s clear, though, that this is exactly what they want to be doing. While these guys have been around too long for this to signal some kind of a trend, it sure is nice to hear a completely unapologetic rock band rip through some interesting material. Maybe it’ll catch on.