Album Review: Years - Years

I consider myself one of a lucky few, and not just because of how pretentious I am--I listened to Years far ahead of its scheduled release date of May 5th. But I am redundant. Watch as I posture breathlessly about this indie-cum-experimental-cum-Dntel (because Jimmy Tamborello takes a category for himself) "masterwork." I promise to call it a masterwork at one point.

When I was debating whether or not to pick up this CD by Broken Social Scene and Do Make Say Think multi-instrumentalist Ohad Benchetrit, I was worried. Ohad never really made himself known to me, and I knew Do Make Say Think's reputation--slow movements, high crescendos, sometimes dull. Was I ready for an intelligent snoozefest?

I wasn't, which was fortunate, since Years is no sleep inducer. It's a magical, emotional post-rock masterwork. BSS and Do Make Say Think fans look elsewhere; this is not Ibi Dreams of Pavement or Almost Crimes, nor is it even related to Goodbye Enemy Airship the Landlord Is Dead. Years is a guitar plucked and kneaded by nimble hands, in parts chopped up and down with a staccato knife and others angelic like a swan. This is a tome of sense and sense decayed, of times past and present.

If Broken Social Scene is baroque pop, then Years is baroque post-rock. All the most eccentric aspects of BSS are pulled together and introduced with new elements. All semblance of pop normalcy goes out the window when you hear album opener "Kids Toy Love Affair," a nearly neurotic orchestral combination that start starts with airborne woodwinds and flighty guitar strings pressed in punches. But even this serene yet puzzling arrangement is injected with a symphony of horns and nervous violins. The elements crowd together and crow with tension and the illusion of resolve. For an album opener, its as out there as "Clap Your Hands!" on Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, but here it makes as much sense for totally different reason--this is the song that sails away from the port and tells you that your journey will not be in the standard format.

Years escapes most definitions of music, so it must be content to be called post-rock. It's not acoustic, although much of the album makes use of decidedly un-electric guitars. "Binary Blues" is You Forgot It In People it it was produced by Dntel coming hot off of Life Is Full of Possibilities, and "Are You Unloved?" The Glow, Part 2 the same way. Other parts veer off into wild, unexpected nooks and crannies, like the heartbreakingly subtle "Hey Cancer...Fuck You!" as it captures all the mood swings and chaos of a catastrophe even as the rhythm never deviates from its prescribed path. The fugues of "September 5. October 21. 2007" and "44" are about as experimental as an artist can swing without veering into crazy country.

On the other hand, Years quotes classic Broken Social Scene and proceeds to demonstrate why those hipster Canadians are so damn popular. "The Major Lift" is almost certainly inspired by "Canada vs. America" from their E.P. To Be You and Me, with its frantic horn calls and indecisive strings fractured by hi-hat stutters stolen from The Flashbulb, who's looked for them in his sock drawer twice by now. And I'd be damned if the horns (again with the horns!) that soliloquize in "Are You Unloved?" didn't take a leaf out of Feel Good Lost. "A Thousand times a Day (Someone Is Flying)" probably learned how to put that tremolo on its guitars by listening to "It's All Gonna Break."

Maybe I'm just seeing Broken Social Scene in Years where there is none. But some of the cues and references are spot-on, and in a collection of music as diverse and tangent as Years, it can't be just a coincidence. I refuse to believe it. And you know what? I'm happy with that. Years is loaded with emotion and nostalgia, and it'll be a delight both for fans of Broken Social Scene and people who obsessively listen to... well... I'm not sure. How does on classify the human heart set to music?

Album Review: Bishop Allen - Grrr...

Bishop Allen makes that kind of indie pop that's chirpy and adorable. Not eccentric enough to be comparable to Architecture in Helsinki or Belle and Sebastian (and certainly not as populous either with only two steady band members--seven other musicians assist the duo), Bishop is Allen is kind of like a tropical version of The New Pornographers à la Challengers.

If there's anything one can be sure of, it's that Grrr... by Bisop Allen sounds organic. The atmosphere is minimal, with every instrument ringing out in its own little space. It's reassuring to know that catchy indie pop can sound professionally recorded without becoming (too much). The background chorus on "Shanghaied" sounds fun and passionate, and listening to them I realized what Bishop Allen is about. They're that kind of indie band, the happy-go-lucky, always cheery, a little bit cheeky, taking The New Pornographers (and with them all the adventurous parts) and cranking the cute factor up to 11. Justin Rice and Christian Rudder, who front the band, could not have planned it any other way. They make no effort to remove themselves from the record, on every track leaving imprints of themselves--Justin Rice's vocal impurities (not enough to be called gravelly but audibly dirtier than James Mercer's), the distant clicking of drumsticks in opener "Dimmer", the hum of the guitar amp in "Oklahoma." This is art that was crafted out of love. The problem is that it sounds soulless.

Wait, what? How can a love-inspired collection of cute little bits be just the opposite? What is this madness I write? Is Jell-o now cake? Is George W. Bush a Hindu? Am I a teacup, short and stout?

Fear not. Bishop Allen is a band that justifies the existence of the likes of Times New Viking and Women, bands that despite such clean production are listenable because the emotions they produce don't sound like they were produced in a clean room. It strikes me as I hear the "distortion guitar" on the song "South China Moon." It produces none of the feedback expected and none of the impact it should. I don't slight just the production values. It's the realization that music is fun to listen to, and that's really it. The lyrics are passable and so wrapped up in the intricacies of relationships that they never involve me. Lovely phrases bounce around here and there, but I wish they meant something.

I have no doubt that Bishop Allen is a band whose members love what they do, but I wish they would make more than a pretty picture.

Album Review: Youth Group - The Night Is Ours

This it: a haunting, beautiful excursion into anthemic alternative rock. Australian quartet Youth Group holds a modest profile, and this is potential evidence for the absence or nonexistence of God. They are known better in native Australia than in the States, but if Architecture in Helsinki and The Avalanches can both successfully make the leap to North America, then Youth Group deserves similar acclaim. Their blend of emotional catchphrases, alternately sparse and milky arrangements, and sometimes downright (or, rather, upright) masterful song structures triumphs over the CD that holds The Night Is Ours. Every song more or less drips with overflowing emotion, unrestrained. Perhaps it is this fully owned and embraced romanticism that distinguishes Youth Group from some weird Morrissey-cum-Gang-of-Four-cum-Cure Frankenband.

While the casual listener might gag at the sound of horns or strings (notably at the approach of the synthesized varieties), such textures are common to this disc, as are the delicate presses of piano keys; where electric guitars fail to convey doldrums or pluck away your reservations for the music one by one--like a sharpshooter--these sounds amplify the intensity or cake the soundscape in moodiness. It's the musical equivalent of Edgar Allen Poe melted together with Shakespeare (King Lear and The Tempest especially come to mind) à la Henrik Ibsen.

Intellectual delusions of grandeur massaged, I am forced by the necessity of clarity in my articulations to further my review by (sigh) talking about the music. I am struck and stricken by the conflict between minimalism and ornamentation orchestrated throughout the album. In a way, the structure of the CD reflects this. The Night Is Ours begins with "Good Time," a reflection on alienation that starts with nothing but a murmuring synth note, hung in the air like wind chimes. The tone is soon joined by a pensive bass note repeated over and over, followed by Toby Martin's soft baritone vox. As he begins to question his identity, he is joined in time by plodding piano keys and drum hits until he reaches an epiphany--represented both vocally and melodically. Though slow and containing little rock substance, this short tune evokes a kind of symbolic texture I rarely have the pleasure to hear.

From here Youth Group ventures into "One for Another," which recalls the subtle energy of God Is an Astronaut, but with excursions into the kind of bass-guitar interplay that the Futureheads use to great effect and all the lush trappings of the Human League. The ending switches gears entirely, shifting into a horn blowout that almost quotes Broken Social Scene's "Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)." "Two Sides" is equally appreciated, as much a salute to self-conscious indie pop rock as to 80's synthpop. "Dying At Your Own Party" is purely channeled Morrissey with a backing band that explores the narrator's underlying emotions even as Martin sings abjectedly. The first half of the disc ends with the full-bodied "All This Will Pass."

Most memorable is "Friedrichstrasse," a single tune that reveals itself to be a microcosm of the rest of the 38-minute effort. A ballad of escape and fulfillment, Martin croons, "I'm never gonna leave/ The possibilities/ I'm blowing through my mind./ Can I leave this behind?/ I'll make it on my own./ I'm never going home." The reason the song is unsuitable for airplay in its original form is its usage of a single curse word. But the song, with its ringing ambience, steadily drawn rising action, and majestic peak, all flesh out the musical soul of Youth Group: bright and dew-eyed, longing for all the grace and innocence of a doe with a weary, forelorn expression. "Friedrichstrasse" more fully probes the idea of layering of instrumentation to achieve climax, with great results. The song progresses confidently, rendering each successive transition transparently and comfortably.

As "In My Dreams" and "What Is a Life?" close out the album with charm and sophistication, I wonder why Youth Group has failed to achieve widespread fame as other, less deserving artists have captured. Unless my musical instincts are vehemently misguided, Youth Group has put out a stunning fourth LP. Good show, lads, good show.

Album Review: The Bird and the Bee - Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future

Finally, an album that fills the unprecedented demand for 60's-jazz-style electropop. And I didn't even know it existed. But based on Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future by The Bird and the Bee, I'm convinced that somewhere out there, an excited fan squealed in joy at the news of this record's debut.

Ray Guns is one of those albums that requires you to accept every other aspect of the music before you can approve of the genre. To that end, The Bird and the Bee succeed. Production values are about as polished as a classic Cadillac showroom. There is not a misplaced note on this album. And then the duo ofInara George and Greg Kurstin do just what they set out to do.

"Fanfare" starts off the album with a cascade of drum rolls and synth chords from an era where nuclear-powered cars were a nifty ideas. "My Love" follows, and this is clearly the lead song. Inara's crisp voice plays against a hip-hop beat and starry-night piano jingles. And every so often Greg's instrumental choices, like chimes and acoustic guitar strums, accentInara's graceful passages. Her voice is so airy, you could fill bicycle tires with her pipes. Mr. Kurstin's arrangement skills come through on the album, artfully layering his partner's vocals in choruses and calls-and-responds.

The Bird and the Bee succeeds at actually maneuvering in the microgenre that they so craftily occupy. Electro-cabaret? Check it off ("Diamond Dave," "You're a Cad"). Electro-lounge? Yep ("Ray Gun"). Kitschy dance pop? Uh-huh. Inara even sings in Japanese ("Love Letter to Japan"). Electro-ballads? Try "Meteor," with its lush, almost adorable chorus in a vocal register that will annoy your dog. All the while, I guarantee that you'll tap your foot to the catchy kick-and-clap drum pattern. The duo even manages to fit in some tongue-in-cheek musical jokes with appreciable subtlety. "Polite Dance Song" asks the listener to--in the most pleasant motherlycoos possible--"Give it up for me, please/Put your hands in the air/If you know what's good, you wanna shake it like you just don't care," all over a hip-hop beat so sincerely organic that it's possible to laugh and feel good.

This is a record that's just too good to pass up. Although the album might be considered too conservative for the style--indeed, the two musicians do almost seem afraid to stop throwing back all those references and quotations of an era gone past--the music is just so... catchy, not in an Aqueduct kind of way where a measure or two of music gets under your skin. The Bird and Bee innovates on pop music just enough to keep things interesting and keep you coming back for the musical flourishes that hit the spot every time.

Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future was released on January 27, 2009, by Blue Note Records.

Album Review: Aria Orion - Let the Sharp Stone Fly

Please, let the sharp stone fly. Maybe it will knock some sense into the head of Jules Gimbrone, who wrote this jumbled mess. Sparse and pretentious, the shortest song on this six-song avant-garde album is 4:17. Two reach the seven minute mark. Having no forehand knowledge of the band or their music, playing the CD for the first time proved a bad decision.

The musical genres represented on the album range from indie folk to atonal and acoustic. For whatever reason, the band chose to place "Dark and Light" at the start of the disc. I cannot imagine why, as it's positively (or should I say negatively?) awful. Wind chimes kick off the song (never a good sign), transitioning into some of the weirdest Bjork-ish warbling I've ever heard. A slow string dirge follows for three minutes, and the song finishes with what might best be described as Schoenberg-style acoustic ska.

The title track comes next, and I can't find anything much better to say than, "This music is completely unplayable on the radio." Um, the musicians are competent? They play well, but the music they play switches focus all the time. Sometimes I feel like I'm listening to a poetry reading--wait, it's klezmer time! Then it's a drum interlude... what the hell is that guitar doing? Wow, this accordion and oboe section is boring, etc. etc. It goes on, and I don't know why this music was put to CD. None of it follows any semblance of structure or convention. "When I Wake" shows initial promise with its mournful vocal sections, but it's all lost in the shifting styles each song encompasses. When I hear something good, it's quickly set aside for a new movement. In the end, even "When I Wake" doesn't deserve radio play.

Someone should tell composer Jules Gimbrone to write fewer of these weird songs. The closest to mainstream is "Augur," which has all the texture of a forest scene conceived by indie hippies for the first half, then morphing into some strange minor section using strings in a way that they not meant to be used for. If my descriptions sound vague, it's because there is little that Aria Orion could be compared to. Listening to Let the Sharp Stone Fly, I get the idea that quality songwriting came second to unconventional songwriting. If any of my colleagues suggested that they would play this album on the air, any acceptable reason for this would only satisfy me if it were written in a lengthy essay.

Any time Let the Sharp Stone Fly gets anywhere near listenable, the band suddenly veers away from such sounds as if to say, "Oops!" Listen if you like tone deaf music, or if you don't like anything anyone else listens to. Even the jazz freak-out Radiohead once used in "The National Anthem" is more listenable than this. I'll let John Hodgman sum up my opinion of this record:

Album Review: Abe Vigoda - Reviver

Abe Vigoda is still alive, believe it or not. So is the veritable punk rock band of the same name. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps they are no longer alive as a punk band? Based on their EP Reviver, I think it might be safer to call Abe Vigoda an experimental post-punk outfit. I admit, I was caught completely off-guard the first time this punk-cum-shoegaze record.

If Reviver sounds inaccessible, it's because shoegaze is not often produced today, and not with the passion that Abe Vigoda throws in. Admitedly, some elements echo their 2008 LP Skeleton, particularly the band's penchant for walls of dissonance, but in a comparison Skeleton is gritty asphalt to the treble brightness of Reviver. "Don't Lie" sums up all the different elements of the CD within the first minute. Choral echoes fade in to the stroke of a buzzing guitar and idiosyncratic drum patterns with a sparse rhythm. Michael Vidal's quivering voice stalks through the forest of electric noise with the air ofMorrissey, punctuated with Juan Velazquez's harmonizing falsetto. Abe Vigoda straddles the line between opaque and accessible, with one foot in each camp. On the one hand, that 4/4 bass and whirling thunder are rarely exposed to radio, but then again the vocal harmonies are earnest and beautiful.

The rest of the EP continues in variations of aspects of the first song, "House" making do with syncopated rhythms and plucks razor sharp lead guitarzig-zagging across the soundscape . The harmonies here still resonate, but with a tone more baritone than the tenor of the first track. "Wild Heart" is an off-beat interpretation of StevieNicks's song of the same name, stripped down to the essentials: no percussion, Vidal's miserable drone, guitar pricks (and feedback), a pulsing bass keeping time, and a grating wall of sound that will pull at your heart with all the natural emotion of aXiu Xiu song; "The Reaper" finishes off the record with less variation than I would like (compared to the previous two songs), but it makes use of distinctly AbeVigoda sounds: vocals buried deep in noise. But Reaper sounds the most post-punk of the five-track EP. (Track 3, "Endless Sleeper," is more of an interlude than a serious song.) Between flashes of feedback, the guitars fret away in little snitches of melody that you must observe with care in order to catch.

Abe Vigoda brings their unique, almost asynchronous shoegaze post-punk to fruition, succeeding at drowning the sonic landscape the band caresses. If you lose focus, the album will become noise. But if you focus, you can make out sounds maddening, glamorous, and melancholy.

Abe Vigoda's Reviver will be released on February 17th by PPM.

Album Review: TV on the Radio - Live at Amoeba Music

Don't believe all the hype: TV on the Radio can play live. Because Saturday Night Live tarnished the band's image, I find it ironic that one of theCDs I chose to review the very day before was TV on the Radio, playing live no less. Live at Amoeba Music was in fact recorded on September 22, 2006, but TVOTR's band members are not so aged that they should lose all their musical prowess two years after the masterpiece that was Return to Cookie Mountain and not even half a year after Dear Science.

For what it's worth, Live at Amoeba Music is a decent live EP and enjoyable to listen to. For a band that has a meticulously created studio sound, TVOTR stands (mostly) on their own two feet. Never is this more apparent than on "Wolf Like Me" and "Province," the two middle songs. Wolf is not performed, but enacted--the ferocity of the band could not be more apparent. Tunde Adabimpe's voice falters and cracks as he croaks out the lyrics with machine gun speed, while David Andrew Sitek's sonic thunder grinds away in the background. If TVOTR were ever a rock band, they were a rock band for this song. "Province" follows up this radio worthy rendition, an equally memorable recording, even if it does lack David Bowie's backing vocals heard in the original version.Kyp Malone's falsetto and Sitek's punchy 6-strings mystifies the atmosphere , manipulating the mood to reflect the emotional intensity the tune embodies. This would be an acceptable performance for a studio record.

The bookends, "Blues from Down Here" and "Wash the Day" suffer from TVOTR's more experimental fetishes. While by no means bad, occasionally the band suffers from tempo problems and a couple of misplaced notes, in addition to unnecessarily dragging out the songs. The horns on the first track, while gritty enough, fail to express their intended function, instead playing flatly and exclaiming that they are present. "Wash the Day" goes on for almost eight minutes, and by the end I feel like the wrong selection was played. I never was a big fan of this song to begin with, but I have trouble continuing to keep an active interest in alternativelyAdebimpe belting out words one syllable at a time and Malone softly shrieking against a backdrop of guitar distortion that feels like the distortion itself is on acid. It goes on for over five minutes, and it drives me nuts.

If you're a serious TVOTR fan, you need this CD, as it is cheap on eBay and contains some significant recitals of Cookie Mountain-era "hits." "Wolf Like Me" and "Province" alone are worth the cover charge, and you can prove all those SNL watching haters wrong about TVOTR with this fine compact disc.

Album Review: Sweet Water - Clear the Tarmac

Sweet Water used to be a post-grunge band in the 90s, combining grunge with pop elements. They were from Seattle and everything. The key phrase is "used to be." (Well, they're still from Seattle, but some things can't be helped.) Their latest album, Clear the Tarmac, is as much grunge as Buddy Holly was emo, and Sweet Water is proud to admit it. I really can't imagine what the transition from half-grunge to pop rock must have been like. Is there an organization called Grungers Anonymous? Are there 12 steps involved?

Whatever the case may be, Sweet Water makes every effort to convince the listener that they are relevant after their self-imposed hiatus, and I have to say I'm impressed. It's sugar sweet, energetic and peppy, a real guilty pleasure. I listen to the lyrics and I think, Well, those aren't very good lyrics, but I don't care. It doesn't matter that "Grass Is Green," the album opener, begins Hey/Oh/I found shelter/Under your hair's soft canopy/Time passes slowly/When I'm with you/I can't believe the grass is green. What makes the song special is the tremendous emotion that's put into the song and the catchy rhythm. Adam Czeisler has a great voice for the music his band makes. It's like Hamilton Leithauser of The Walkmen (the guy with his voice stuck in his sinuses) listened to Mick Jagger and decided to reconsider his style. And then the band decided to back up Adam with some Weezer-style background falsettos. And then they do it for an entire album.

Should they tone it down? Telling Sweet Water to tone it down would be like telling James Brown to stop being so funky. That would be going against their respective modi operandi. Also, James Brown is dead so you can't tell him what to do. But the point stands. Czeisler's tenor voice deserves adequate backing, and the other three band members oblige, with some faux power pop. You can hear the best parts of U2--the uncompromising guitar, the drawn-out cries in the upper register--and some spiritual channeling of Boston's bright eyed vocal choruses. The acoustic guitar strums that reinforce the rhythm heighten the action, never letting a song sit and stutter. Props also go to Paul Uhlier, whose agile drumwork propels the album into the stratosphere.

I hope it never comes down.

Clear the Tarmac was released by Golden City on February 7.

Album Review: Monumental Sonic Architecutre - Monumental Sonic Architecture / Music to Rob Banks To

So apparently there's this band called Monumental Sonic Architecture. Or at least, I think they're (they?) a band, because the back of their self-titled EP credits lyrics to The Evil Genius and music to Topper 3000 respectively. No other aliases are given. Bets are on as to who these people are. Madmen? Criminals? Amateurs? Professionals? In addition to this album, MSA also sent The Blaze a separate EP called Music to Rob Banks To--no credits at all were listed in the liner notes. Possibly even more mysterious is the object being smoked by the unspecified man on the cover of Banks. Is it a joint? A cigarette?

My bet is that it's a cigarette, because MSA doesn't strike me as stoner electronica. They start Music to Rob Banks To with the title track, a short, punchy, grit-sprinkled number that without the lyrics (which are outlaw themed, I should add) might just be suitable for a CSI soundtrack. At least one member of MSA knows how to play the guitar, as this is demonstrated throughout the four-song EP, providing the otherwise cosmic background with some seriously crunchy rhythms alongside some smooth synths. It's almost like electrorock, but MSA plays 70% electronic and only 30% rock. The guitar-playing, though not virtuosic, carries the EP with just the right texture, the jagged edge of a peanut butter face.

If I have a problem with MSA, it's that the vocals don't do anything for the band. I don't want to say that the singer sounds nerdy--because that's not exactly right. I get it--you and a friend wanted to make some ass-kickin' electrorock. You probably took a poll and asked, "Which of us has sweeter pipes?" but it turns out neither of you can sing. Sure, the vocals are passable, but I don't exactly hear you channeling Freddie Mercury, and I wouldn't expect to get famous with a style like that. Singer dude, you kinda remind me of Colin Newman from the band Wire, but not really in a good way. You're like the bastard child of him and Michael Stipe, but you have no range. You really don't. Please understand that before you embarrass yourself in a larger venue.

Moving on to the other release, I understand why MSA chose to roll their songs into two different EPs, rather than one very short album: the Monumental Sonic Architecture EP does not have the same sound as Music to Rob Banks To. To begin with, the mixing and mastering are audibly better on the former release. Everything sounds clearer and crisper (although Banks did not feature lo-fi or amateurish audio quality). Even The Evil Genius sounds better--but only slightly. Another major difference is that the self-titled EP sounds considerably more electronically orientated. Instead of grinding fuzzy rock against offbeat vocals like Banks does, MSA surrounds The Evil Genius with reverb-laden drums, glockenspiels, saw synths, orchestras ans choirs, and beepy-boopy arpeggios. Oh, the guitar riffs still take their place among the madness, but the arrangements are lusher and more spacious.

I have several problems with the saelf-titled EP; among them is short track lengths. There are four songs on the disc, but their total run time is 14.4 minutes. As soon as I being the settle into one song,another takes its place. Also annoying are the vocals--again. They feel restrained, and when I hear a good performance, it always happens on tracks that can't be played on the radio for explicit content. I'm looking at you, "The Diffuser" and "The Bishop." I actually counted the number of euphemisms for excrement uttered in the latter--the count reached 10 in the space of three minutes and twenty-four seconds. That may sound like a paltry figure, but when you're an unknown band with zero radio play, you have no reason to remove yourself from the playing field unless you have a good reason.

Unfortunately, in the case of Monumental Sonic Architecture, I couldn't find one. There's really nothing incredibly special here. Monumental Sonic Architecture is the poor man's alt rock equivalent of The Postal Service, knocked down several notches. Some unknown bands stay unknown for a reason.

Monumental Sonic Architecture and Music to Rob Banks To were releasedi n December of 2008 and can be bought through Amazon and Amie Street.

Album Review: Owl - Owl

Leave it to the new guy to review the band nobody's ever heard of. While the COTMA regulars get to chew on AC Newman and Los Campesinos, I must, whimpering and shivering for want of food and clothes, accept the self-titled release of Los Angeles band Owl. Then I cry myself to sleep, dreaming of revenge.

I kid, I kid.

Some of the most unexpected joys can be found in listening to a band that neither your nor anyone else on Earth has heard of but still kicks ass. I should know. During my junior and senior years at high school, I reviewed 100 CDs for community radio station KXCI down in Tucson, and some of my favorite artists I discovered in that time. So I'm used to it. That is, I'm used to the beatings and whippings.

Again, I kid.

The first time I listened through Owl, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It was only after subsequent listens that I decided this one thing: Owl refuses to cement its music in one category. While this trio uses hard rock as their base of operations, ignoring the other components of their artistry would do them a disservice, as the band does their best to show off their versatility. From the opening bars of "Charmed," I can hear Owl's roots in Black Sabbath, but the verses give way to a chorus that would sound more at home in a Staind song than a tune by Alice in Chains. Owl muddles in new wave vocals and trials the kind of bratty guitar tones that fill pop-punk refrains in songs like "Alive" and "More on Drugs." The rhythm guitar line that rounds the verses "No Light" recalls Horrorpops on top of the lite metal filler. I'm honestly a bit puzzled by Owl's intentions. Are they trying to push the bar, or merely trying to introduce themselves to the rock world?

What's clear is that Owl tries hard to rock, although I never felt the urge to throw up the horns at any time. (Note: I usually never do.)The press release that came in the mail with the CD did its best to embellish Owl's musical style, because I can tell you that Owl is very certainly not "progressive alternative rockers" as the mailer claims. If Owl is prog rock (pardon me, "alt prog") then Korn is also prog rock and Enon are shoegaze. Nearly every song on the record follows a verse-chorus structure ad infinitum with solos and bridges and whatnot smashed between. Owl just doesn't do any of the theatrics or unusual instrumentation that Yes or Jethro Tull toyed with. Maybe I just don't get this "progressive alternative" rock, but the only thing that seems prog about it are the static swirls and feedback sprinkled sparingly around only a few of the tracks. Owl could be described as Goo Goo Dolls gone Ozzy Osbourne after taking a songwriting class taught by Kaiser Chiefs.

Chris Wyse is the man behind this band. He's a bassist who's established himself by working with The Cult, playing alongside Ozzy Osbourne, and auditioning for Metallica. He wrote almost all of the songs. Sometimes, this album works. Other times, it just annoys me with its self-indulgent "alternative" style. The strings heard on "Alive" just don't fit in with the rest of the CD, and the nonsensical lyrics that run through "More on Drugs" just don't help a song that only rocks half the time and the other half merely acts tough. Honestly, the distorted guitars are the most metal thing about Owl. Wyse's voice, which could be described as Robby Takac's sans nasal passages, or Liam Gallagher with a cigarette habit.

If you love grunge, then Owl will alienate you for half the record. Alt rock fans will feel vaguely uncomfortable for the other half. Indie kids will run away. If you like solid, hard rock then I can recommend this record with extreme caution. It's a good effort by musicians with talent, skill, and experience in the music industry. Unfortunately, Owl makes too many concessions to sound accessible to a greater audience, so they never really flesh out their style. The closest Owl ever gets to hardcore is on the last song, "Waves," when flashes of miscreant tension flirt with primal screams and an alternating pattern of whiny guitar blares and deep guitar grinds. But Owl just can't stay with it, ultimately watering down their debut, making it unpalatable to fans of all the genres they try to bring together. It's unfortunate--this CD could have been a real pleasure if the songwriting had just gone all the way in one direction.

Owl will be released on February 10 by Overit Records.