Voyagers and Glory Fires: The Top 14 Albums of 2014 (unabridged)

Hello! It's been a while since I've written here. As I imagine most readers know, I've been busy writing for Boise Weekly this past year. It's been a lot of work, but overall, it's been great.

This article was originally published in an abridged version in the Weekly on Jan. 7, 2015 (an apparent upload mishap made it even more abridged). I decided to publish the full version here--with the kind permission of BW, I should add--because I worked hard on it and, God help me, I actually think the writing's pretty good. Hopefully, you good people will feel the same. More importantly, I hope you like the albums I picked and maybe discover something you didn't know about.

Also, I thought that this could serve as notice that I intend to write more for HCTD in the coming year. Admittedly, 2015 has already been keeping me busy: On top of working four different paying gigs, I'm looking into contributing to a Boise-based music website that's being set up (stay tuned for info on that). Nonetheless, I do miss writing stuff here. Leaving alone the freedom to write whatever I want however I want, I have by no means forgotten that this crude-looking, stupidly named blog has been the source of nearly everything good that has happened in my life over the past three years. For that and for your readership, I will always be grateful.

Okay, enough preface. Hope you enjoy!


Tough times call for tough music--music that challenges, surprises, enlightens and delights. Whether it came from young upstarts staking their claims or old lions roaring once again, a lot of this kind of music came out last year. Here are 14 of the best albums of 2014.

Lee Bains III & the Glory Fires, Dereconstructed

The Clash is alive and well and jamming with Lynyrd Skynyrd in Birmingham, Ala. As unlikely as this description may seem, it's really what Dereconstructed sounds like.

Birmingham-raised, NYU-educated Lee Bains proclaims his undying love for the South while railing against some of its--and America's--many ills: racism, homophobia, thieving businessmen, regressive politics, blind consumerism. He and the Glory Fires back up these fighting words with snarling guitars and a rhythm section that can handle sludgy stomp, mid-tempo boogie and full-throttle blitzkrieg.

The Bitter Southerner declared that this punk-Southern rock hybrid "may be the most important record about the South ever released." It may also be the best rock album of 2014.

Jenny Lewis, The Voyager

Many reviews of The Voyager reference the rough patch that Jenny Lewis went through over the past few years. These experiences--the death of her father, the breakup of her band Rilo Kiley, struggles with insomnia--may have influenced the album, but focusing on them can distract you from the wit, empathy and complexity of her songwriting.

With production help from Beck and Ryan Adams, Lewis depicts women making their own mistakes, learning their own lessons and speaking their own minds. These concise tales of sexual and chemical experimentation feature some of the sharpest melodies and slyest vocals of her career, making The Voyager and almost perfect pop-rock album.

Run the Jewels, Run the Jewels 2

At Treefort 2014, Run the Jewels' Killer Mike got a crowd full of Idahoans to shout, "Fuck Ronald Reagan!" With their second album together, he and partner El-P pull off something equally audacious.

Run the Jewels 2 mixes social protest, trash talk and blunt-and-booze glorification without shortchanging any of them. Killer Mike and El-P deliver it all with slamming beats, razor-sharp rhymes and quicksilver flow. Add it up and you have an album that can support cameos from both ex-Rage Against the Machine frontman Zach de la Rocha and ex-Three 6 Mafia rapper Gangsta Boo. The latter, incidentally, comes on a sex rap that practices equal opportunity while piling on raunchy details.

Seun Kuti, A Long Way to the Beginning

As Jakob Dylan or Sean and Julian Lennon could tell you, making music under the shadow of a legendary parent isn't easy. As the youngest son of Afrobeat creator and political firebrand Fela Kuti, Seun Kuti's cross would seem especially hard to bear. He's managing just fine, though, in part because he inherited Fela's band. He's also absorbed his dad's vision and, in some ways, improved on it: "Black Woman," the soulful closing track on Beginning, helps clean out the bad taste left by Fela's condescending "Lady."

Seun's taste in producers helps too. While From Africa with Fury: Rise (2011) featured production from Brian Eno, the Nigerian musician turned to jazz-hip-hop cross-pollinator Robert Glasper for his latest album. Together, they concoct a denser, faster and more abrasive take on the elder Kuti's meld of funk, jazz and High Life. You might think of it as Public Enemy to Fela's James Brown.

Drive-By Truckers, English Oceans

The Drive-By Truckers have gone through two major crises in the course of their 18-year career. The first, which led to the firing of singer-guitarist Jason Isbell, produced the masterpiece Brighter Than Creation's Dark (2008). The second, which caused bassist Shonna Tucker and guitarist John Neff to quit, produced English Oceans, the Truckers' best album since Brighter.

It's tempting to infer that the band's internal struggles seeped into the album's songs: More than usual, Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley's lyrics focus on fraught, complicated relationships. What's more important, though, is that the two songwriters delineate those relationships with humor, wisdom, respect and solid tunes. Two acidic portraits of political hustlers provide some socio-cultural perspective. The two songs that bookend Oceans--Cooley's tough-talking, hard-rocking "Shit Shots Count" and Hood's majestic "Grand Canyon"--provide uplift.

John Nemeth, Memphis Grease

If you like your soul music with two dimensions or less, go ahead and buy St. Paul and the Broken Bones' much-hyped Half the City. If you want the real thing, pick up the latest release from one of Boise's favorite sons.

On Memphis Grease, John Nemeth joins forces with The Bo-Keys, whose members have played with Rufus Thomas, Al Green and Otis Redding (bassist Scott Bomar also scored the great 2005 hip-hop film Hustle and Flow). Nemeth's smooth, nuanced vocals almost steal "Crying" away from Roy Orbison. Also, you might wonder who wrote songs like "If It Ain't Broke" and "Keep the Love a Comin'" until you check the album credits and see that the man did himself. (Sidenote: Nemeth didn't write this one. Otis Rush did.)

St. Vincent, St. Vincent

Annie Clark, a.k.a. St. Vincent, has been dropping so many jaws lately that her music and videos should come with a warning label from the American Dental Association. She stunned viewers and critics with her cover of Nirvana's "Lithium" at the 2014 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Last February, she released her most accomplished and accessible album to date.

On St. Vincent, Clark wraps her idiosyncratic lyrics and playful, alluring vocals in bumptious beats, mind-warping noises and loads of irresistible hooks. It's too bad that Lady Gaga already used the title Artpop: This album embodies the concept better than almost any in recent memory.

Sylvan Esso, Sylvan Esso

While St. Vincent kicks down the door, Sylvan Esso sneaks in through the window. Amelia Meath's sweet coo and grounded lyrics ride atop Nick Sanborn's waves of sinuous beats and quirky synthesizer hooks. This spare, clever electro-pop may seem unassuming at first, but these songs will stay stuck in your head for days if not weeks.

Wussy, Attica!

Is Wussy, as Robert Christgau claims, "the best band in America?" It's debatable, but the case for this Cincinnati, Ohio-based indie-rock band gets stronger with each new album.

Wussy's latest, Attica!, is its best yet. Front-people Lisa Walker and Chuck Cleaver have never sung with more confidence or delicacy. A beefed-up rhythm section and some distorted slide add heft and bite to the duo's surefire melodies and droning guitars. Thanks to the power and beauty of the music, Walker and Cleaver sound triumphant even when they compare their apartment to a prison cell or sift through the ashes of their burnt-down home.

Angaleena Presley, American Middle Class

Sturgill Simpson may sound like Waylon Jennings, but his hit record Metamodern Sounds in Country Music has more in common with Youth Lagoon's The Year of Hibernation. Both albums let listeners indulge a fantasy of escaping from this mean old world.

With Angaleena Presley's American Middle Class, such opiates for the masses aren't on the menu. Instead, you get 12 songs that combine the down-home feminist sass of Loretta Lynn (or Presley's Pistol Annies cohort, Miranda Lambert) with the tough-minded yet compassionate class-consciousness of Merle Haggard. Presley may have sweeter tunes and vocals, but she hits just as hard as Lee Bains III or the Drive-By Truckers.

Jessica Lea Mayfield, Make My Head Sing

Great rock and roll takes risks. On her latest album, Jessica Lea Mayfield takes a couple of large ones. Singing softly and carrying a big guitar, she ditches her earlier folk sound and unleashes all the grungy thoughts and noises in her head. She gets support from husband Jesse Newport's steadfast bass and Matt Martin's muscular drumming. Make My Head Sing is raw, tender, brave and beautiful.

Tennis, Ritual in Repeat

"Night Vision," the lead track on Tennis's latest album, fuses the sensual and the spiritual over a hypnotically simple, syncopated drumbeat. It's one of 2014's sexiest songs, but that's just Alaina Moore's warm-up. Drawing from '60s folk and girl groups as well as '70s new wave and disco, Moore and husband Patrick Riley stand up for tender-hearted bad girls and craft affectionate portraits of Vivienne Eliot and a Fundamentalist grandmother. Throughout, they turn three-minute pop songs into odes to female desire, strength and independence.

Various Artists, A Tribute to Bob Dylan in the '80s: Vol. 1

2014 had two excellent Dylan-related releases. One was The Bootleg Series 11: The Basement Tapes Raw. The other was this tribute album, which applies just the right balance of respect and irreverence to the great songwriter's most uneven period. Highlights include Built to Spill's anthemic "Jokerman," Craig Finn's down-and-out "Sweetheart Like You," Aaron Freeman's goofy "Wiggle Wiggle" and Lucius's transcendent "When the Night Comes Falling from the Sky."

The Old 97's, Most Messed Up

"We've been doing this longer than you've been alive," Rhett Miller sings on the first song. You wouldn't know it from the way these alt-country stalwarts kick out the jams on their tenth studio album. With amped-up tempos and unfailingly catchy tunes, they get drunk and get it on like a bunch of freshly minted 21 year-olds. Is it really better to burn out than to fade away? Looks like The Old 97's will find out.

Honorable Mention
Wovenhand, Refractory Obdurate
Frazey Ford, Indian Ocean
Dave Alvin & Phil Alvin, Common Ground
Bob Mould, Beauty and Ruin
Robert Plant, lullaby and... The Ceaseless Roar
Desert Noises, 27 Ways
The Both, The Both
Eyehategod, Eyehategod
YOB, Clearing the Path to Ascend
tUnE-yArDs, nikki nack
White Lung, Deep Fantasy
Brandy Clark, 12 Stories
Peter Murphy, Lion
Badbadnotgood, III
Thompson, Family
Aan, Amor Ad Nauseum
Azealia Banks, Broke With Expensive Taste (note: This one came VERY close to making the top 14 list. If you have any feel for hip-hop, check it out. Aside from a surf-rock parody near the end--seriously, WTF?--this album is stunning.)

You can find info on Facebook and elsewhere online. And if you haven't done it already, follow HCTD on Facebook to keep track of what I'm up to. (You'd think it would've dawned on me to mention that a couple years ago...)

Shook Twins, Stone Seed and Grand Falconer @ the Egyptian Theatre (9/20/13)

I'd never seen the Shook Twins before, but I'd been curious about them for a while, especially since Katelyn and Laurie Shook were born and raised in Idaho.  Indeed, I was so interested in them that I pitched a feature on them to the Boise Weekly (which I thought came out rather well overall).  Anyway, I also got a chance to check out this show thanks to my job.

I counted about 130 people when I got to the Egyptian Theatre.  I don't know how many were there when the Shook Twins played.  I don't know how many people went down to Tom Grainey's to wish a happy birthday to To Entertain U's Seth Brown either (happy belated birthday to him, by the way).

Grand Falconer opened the show.  I'd remembered this local band being good, but I didn't remember them being this good.  Their blend of folk and indie-rock sounded sharper and more balanced than it did before.  They complemented their ringing guitar, warm cello and clean three-part harmonies with stomping, syncopated rhythms.  Their playful, self-deprecating banter was most welcome as well.  Guitarist Michael Johnson joked about their being notoriously awkward onstage, but they didn't seem that way to me (or they were comfortable in their awkwardness, at least).  Over half the crowd was on its feet by the set's end, and those who weren't nodded to the beat in their seats.  I'll look forward to this group's new EP, which they said they've been working on these past eight months (thought it had been a while since I'd seen their name around).

Stone Seed played next.  When the Weekly feature on the Shooks got shared around on Facebook, this band tagged me in a comment asking what they needed to do to get mentioned in the article.  A little pissy, perhaps, but they did kinda have a right--I try to make it a point to mention the openers in my articles, but unfortunately, it slipped my mind with this one.  My bad.  Anyway, this roots group's high energy and smooth grooves did a good job of filling the space of the Egyptian.  Idyltime's Beth Mason looked a little stiff on standup bass (she'd only played with the band for a couple of weeks at this point), but Ty Clayton's guitar and Benett Barr's djembe held down the rhythm just fine.  Lindsey Terrell's sultry harmonies meshed nicely with Clayton's gritty baritone drawl, and her elegant violin solos gave the music some extra spark.  People danced off to the sides, in the aisles and in their seats.

The Shook Twins closed out the night.  I imagine that if, at any point in the proceedings, Katelyn and Laurie Shook came across as smug or calculating, I might have found their plaintive folk tunes and pristine harmonies unbearable (not to mention touches like the Lite Brite that read "SHOOK TWINS" that sat at the foot of the stage).  But since they came across as thoughtful, warm, funny and endearing as Katelyn Shook did when I interviewed her, said tunes and harmonies won me over completely.  As did their sprightly beats, skillful beatboxing and subtle looping.  Indeed, between their offhandedly sophisticated musicianship, their smart, slightly off-kilter lyrics and their expansive, generous spirit (an a capella Tears for Fears cover--why not?), I'm halfway tempted to call them the only real 21st century folk band.  But that sounds way too pretentious for this music, so I'll just say that this was easily one of the best shows I've seen this year.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to the Record Exchange, To Entertain U and Idaho Live.

Welcome to Anhedonia by Like A Rocket (2013)

Anhedonia (noun): a psychological condition characterized by inability to experience pleasure in normally pleasurable acts.

--Merriam-Webster Dictonary

I like Like A Rocket's first album Hey Man quite a bit; it's got well-crafted songs, smart vocals and some clever production (I especially like how "NY Girl" sounds like the Strokes).  After I'd listened to it for a couple of months, however, a voice in the back of my head started talking.  "Yeah, the songs are good," the voice said, "but the whole thing feels a little safe, a little tame.  Also, the drums don't sound quite right; they don't have the meaty thwack that they should.

"I get that these guys were just figuring stuff out on that one, and I know that they kill it live.  Still, when are they gonna record that devil's child song?  Or that waiting-on-the-fall song?  When are they gonna put something out that'll justify my calling them one of the best bands in Idaho?"

Well, they just did.

The warning shot came in March with the release of the solo acoustic single "Reason for the Gun."  A stark, chilling sermon that wouldn't sound out of place on one of Johnny Cash's American albums, the song signaled a broadening of scope and ambition.  The band got a small reward for stepping up their game when "Reason" was featured on No Depression's website.

If there's any justice, the release of Welcome to Anhedonia should garner Like A Rocket even more attention.  The album is a full-bodied dose of lust, fear, guilt and rage.  It improves upon Hey Man in almost every way--songwriting, musicianship, production.

Anhedonia's twelve tracks are loosely connected by a noir-ish story about a couple who embark on a robbery/murder spree.  But unlike, say, Quadrophenia or Southern Rock Opera, the album doesn't really unfold in a linear fashion.  Instead, it plays more like a fugue or a reverie.  It's as if the songs are running through the guy's head as he's sleeping on death row.

The title's a bit ironic, considering Anhedonia's numerous pleasures.  The album has enough fiery guitar to make any red-blooded Skynyrd fan tumescent.  The outro to "Legend of a Fool," for example, features not just one but three solos all stacked on top of each other (the first by Built to Spill's Brett Netson, the second by Z.V. House, the third by Speedy Gray).  That tapestry of guitar is just one of many inspired production touches.  Others include the smoky saxophone playing beneath the bluesy guitar solo on "China White" and the shimmering strings and sarcastically rising harmonies on "Ready for the Fall."

Throughout, the groove laid down by Z.V. House's rock-steady bass and Max Klymenko's tough, meaty drums will sound familiar to anyone who's heard the band firing on all cylinders on a Saturday night.  Speedy Gray's weathered drawl handles drugged-out languor ("China White"), psychotic fury ("Graveyard") and gnawing dread (just about everything else) with equal ease.  The tunes stick to your ears, and the lyrics are as clear and sharp as a broken bottle of Jack Daniel's on the pavement.

As satisfying as Anhedonia is, one can reach the woozy mandolin and autoharp at the end and feel that there should be more.  This is undoubtedly intentional; Speedy Gray has stated that the band hopes to release a follow-up EP entitled Police Report later this year.  Time will tell how that turns out.  One thing's for sure: the bar has been set very high indeed.

You can find info on Like A Rocket on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Welcome to Anhedonia is available now on Bandcamp and will be released on CD on July 20.

Sera Cahoone, Stoneseed and Cassie Lewis (the Foxxtones) @ Neurolux (5/28/13)

I like Sera Cahoone so much that I gave a copy of her album Deer Creek Canyon to my dad as a present.  Seeing as how my dad taught me a lot about music and writing (indeed, this blog probably wouldn't exist if it weren't for him), I can think of no higher compliment.  Her show at the VaC back in November was one of my favorites of last year, so when I saw that she'd be coming back, I immediately marked the concert down on my calendar.

I counted about twenty people when I got down to Neurolux, including Sera Cahoone and her pedal steel player.  When she played, I counted around forty-five.  A solid turnout.

Cassie Lewis from the new local duo the Foxxtones opened the show.  Her partner, Taylor Rushing, didn't make it to the gig for reasons unknown.  With a voice like hers, however, she didn't need much accompaniment.  Lewis's rich, blues-mama vocals were so strong and massive that she drowned out the handful of folks chatting behind me.  It was thoughtful of her to step a foot back from the mics when she really started belting; if she hadn't, she might have blown out someone's eardrums.  Thanks to all of this firepower, Lewis's honky-tonk-steeped originals sounded right at home next to her covers of "Blue Moon of Kentucky" and "Jolene."

Stoneseed played next with a new bassist.  Their lived-in blues/folk tunes and smooth, politely funky grooves proved just as enjoyable here as they did at the Tater Famine show back in January.  Ty Clayton's gritty baritone laid on the drawl a little thick at times, but he had brains enough not to rely on it too much.  It didn't hurt that he had Lindsey Hunt Terrell's coolly sultry vocals and sweet, yawning violin backing him up.  Their lyrics about whiskey, dark days, heading down the road and the like had a touch of corn in them, but their music was both slick enough and earthy enough to make it feel like part of a balanced diet.

Before she played, Sera Cahoone received a gushing introduction from Radio Boise DJ Wendy Fox.  I don't fault her for it: as both I and Neurolux regular/Merle Haggard devotee Greg Wiggins said afterwards, this was country music as it should be.  Her lyrics' occasional eschewal of rhyme only enhanced their air of intimacy and emotional frankness; it was as if she didn't have the time or the patience to gussy up what she felt.  Her simple, evergreen melodies, on the other hand, showed plenty of polish.  Both ends met the middle in Cahoone's singing.  Confident but not preening, sensitive without drowning in her own tears, her clean vocals felt as easy as talking but hit just the right nuance with every note.  Add on her sure sense of rhythm, her chatty, down-to-earth stage presence and Jay Kardong's elegant pedal steel embroidery and you had one of the loveliest performances that I've heard this year.

The rest of the audience seemed to feel the same way: they whooped and cheered wildly throughout.  "You don't have to clap along," Cahoone said at the start of "Nervous Wreck."  Most of the crowd did.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 would help.

Cait Olds and Marcus Eugene @ the Flying M Concert-Garage; Like A Rocket @ Pengilly's (4/24/13)

Two acts I'd never seen before out at the Flying M?  One local, one out-of-state?  That was all I needed to hear.  It helped too that I liked the little bit of Cait Olds's music that I'd heard.

There were five people inside the concert-garage when Nathan Walker started getting the stage set up.  The crowd would peak at about twenty-four or twenty-five.  Not bad for a Wednesday.

Local musician Marcus Eugene opened the show.  I took the image of Johnny Cash flipping the bird on the kick drum as a good omen.  For the most part, I was proved right.  Eugene came packing a clean, pleasant voice, some solidly constructed tunes and some thoughtful, well-turned phrases.  Meanwhile, his drummer's quietly intricate fills gave the songs some good forward motion.  Some of the drum parts could've used some tweaking, though, and both musicians seemed a little unsure of themselves.  Nothing a few more gigs wouldn't cure.

Cait Olds played next.  Between this Portland-based musician and Ari Shine, I'm tempted to institute a test for all singer-songwriter types: if you wanna show how good you are, write a song about a grandma (not necessarily yours, just a grandma).  If you can make it warm, sweet and detailed but not overly sentimental, you get an A.  Olds earned an A.  She did well by junkies and homicidal anger too.  Between her smart lyrics, her soothing melodies, her tender murmur and her bandmates' nice loping grooves, Olds was pretty much everything I wished Angel Olsen was.  Two jokes from this set:

1) Two whales are sitting in a bar.  One whale asks, "How're you doin?"  The second whale says, "Ooooowaaahhhhoooowaaaahhhhooooohwaaaah..."  And the first whale says, "Dude, you're drunk."  (That got the folks at an Astoria brewpub to pay attention to them, Olds said.)

2) Why did the scarecrow win the Nobel Prize?  Because he was outstanding in his field.  (Olds's banjo player said he got that one from Garrison Keillor.)

photo by Jen Patrick

After the show out in Nampa finished, I headed over to Pengilly's to wish Speedy Gray's girlfriend, Jen Patrick, a happy birthday.  This gave me the chance to see Like A Rocket live for the first time in a good long while.  They sounded a touch subdued at first, but they cranked it up real good near the end.  At any rate, everything I heard reconfirmed my belief that this is far and away the best straight-up roots-rock group in town (man, that Max Klymenko is a helluva drummer).

Newer songs dominated what I heard of the show.  This included a droning, sinister number that featured some scathing slide guitar from Z.V. House and a big chunk of stuff from their upcoming second album Welcome to Anhedonia.  I actually got the chance to listen to some rough mixes, and they sounded fantastic.  They recently started an Indiegogo campaign to raise money for the pressing and mastering.  If you'd like to contribute, go here.  Trust me, it'll be worth it.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

We're From Here by Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray (2012)

There are moments when I think that nothing I do matters.  I don't mean that in the cosmological sense; I made my peace with my meaninglessness on that level a long time ago.  I mean on a nuts-and-bolts, interpersonal, everyday level.

What I value, others do not (my thinking goes).  I don't have any real friends, anyone I can truly depend on.  People only show interest in me when they think they can use me (not that I mind playing the game, but when I start thinking that that's ALL there is...).  In these moments, I often wonder why I do anything at all.  Why do I write this blog?  Why do I talk to these people?  Why do I even set foot outside the door?  All is vanity and vexation of spirit and so on and so forth.

Judging from "Go Hang," the opening track of We're From Here, Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray have been there too:

Well, maybe I'll let my pipes rust.
I've run out of fools I can trust.
I'm gonna cry my nose runny
While I'm making my money
And my guitar is covered in dust.

I saw Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray play the Crux back on March 30th.  I was waist-deep in my Treefort write-ups at the time, so I'd decided beforehand that I wasn't going to write about the show.  I liked  this group's performance so much, however, that I introduced myself afterwards and gave them a business card.  In turn, Chris Stelloh (a.k.a. Yuma Wray) handed me a copy of their album.  If I liked it, he said, I could write a review of it.  If I didn't, we'd just forget the whole thing.

I listened to We're From Here a few times and knew that I liked it, but it didn't really sink in until I found myself in one of those (admittedly narcissistic) funks I mentioned earlier.  The album ain't exactly sunshine and roses: its lyrics are filled with hard times, broken dreams and heartache.  The punchline of "Morning Is Breaking" is "breaking my heart."  The most hope that "No Surprise" can muster is "It's not too late, but it's improbable."  Even the yearning of "Pneumonia" is tempered by lines like "Oh, better off alone" and "I'm gonna be with you 'til my blood runs cold/ Or 'til you just get old."

Of course, blues and country were built from the get-go to handle hard times, broken dreams and heartache.  Consequently, Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray's firm footing in these genres lends a durability and tough-mindedness to We're From Here's somber, skeptical moments.  Also, listening to Erin Frisby (a.k.a. Miss Shevaughn) dip these songs in her warm, rich, hundred-proof voice, I react in the same way that I do when I hear Aretha Franklin wail about being a fool over some guy: I imagine that at any minute, she'll shake those doldrums off and get back to kicking the world's a**.  The stinging guitar, the glowing organ and Chris Stelloh's pleasantly unvarnished croon add to that defiant, keep-your-chin-up spirit.

You don't need to look too deep for that spirit either.  The resolution and independence of "Make It Out Alive's" lyrics help make up for that track's slightly stiff performance.  "Martha Ann" celebrates the life of a woman who was given less than nothing, made plenty of bad decisions and still grabbed life by the balls.  And whether Frisby's telling her mama to go hang from a tree ("Go Hang") or Stelloh's putting the noose around his own neck ("Cloin's Lament"), the ultimate message is the same: "F*ck you--if I'm going out, I'm going out on my own terms."

We're From Here saves its most hopeful, life-affirming moment for last.  "Anniversary Song" tells of a couple whose piss and vinegar drove them apart but who start to reconnect after taking some knocks.  "Each painful moment, every toll, every tear/ Paid for the ticket that brought me here," Frisby sings.  This puts all of the hard times etc. that have come before into perspective.  A brief instrumental coda entitled "Prelude to Go Hang" further accentuates the idea that Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray had to endure all of that stuff to reach this point.  We will grieve not, rather find and so on and so forth.  Or, if your Wordsworth's a little rusty, you can't always get what you want...

You can find info on Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray on Facebook and elsewhere online.  You can stream and purchase We're From Here on Bandcamp.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.

Bamboo Spork, John Ross Boyce and His Troubles, Tambalka and Palankeen @ the Red Room (3/14/13)

I'd known of Bamboo Spork for a while: the group's co-founders, Doc Woolf and Matt Vorhies, play in other groups for which I have great affection (Fleet Street Klezmer Band and Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars, respectively).  However, I'd never seen them before, which gave me a good reason to check out this show.  It helped as well that the bill featured John Ross Boyce and His Troubles, a Utah band I'd never heard of.

I counted about thirty people when I got to the Red Room.  The crowd would build to about thirty-eight as the night wore on.  Not bad for a Thursday, really.

Palankeen (formerly Mostecelo) opened the show.  This set was a very pleasant surprise: I didn't even know that they were playing until the door man told me.  I once compared Rebeca Suarez's plaintive melodies and thoughtful, plainspoken lyrics to Joni Mitchell or Leonard Cohen.  With her bandmates' somber, droning keyboard and gently booming drums backing her up, however, she made me think more of Nico.  Or rather, she made me think of what I wish Nico sounded like.  Suarez's solemn vocals were in excellent form, and her newer songs "Slender" and "Baruch and the Northern Lights" convinced me that I really oughtta read Jude the Obscure and His Dark Materials.  Haunting, idiosyncratic, gorgeous.

Random sidenote: I spotted my old Aikido sensei, Kimbal Anderson, in the crowd just before this set.  I saw him chatting with Rebeca Suarez afterwards.  Man, Boise is a small town...

Tambalka played next.  I know next to nothing about flamenco music, so I really don't feel qualified to write about this group.  I will say, however, that I thought that their rippling guitars, percolating drums and light, gliding vocals got a good groove going.  The audience seemed to feel the same way: a handful of folks danced with varying levels of skill but with a uniformly high level of enthusiasm.

John Ross Boyce and His Troubles played next.  It was too bad that, due to Treefort restrictions, JamesPlaneWreck couldn't have played this show.  They'd have fit in nicely with this group's Tom Waits-esque mix of lumbering stomps, alt-roots tunes, slashing violin, fiery guitar and friendly, howled vocals.  Subject matter included atheism, booze, death, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.  Their muscular groove got the crowd boogieing and roaring with applause.  Brawny, charming stuff.

Bamboo Spork closed out the night.  This set had some problems with fluctuating sound (first I couldn't hear the vocals, then I couldn't hear the bass), and the band seemed a little stiff and lackluster at first (in their defense, they didn't start playing until after midnight).  Still, their winsome accordion, gently urgent bass, fluttering woodwinds and alternately jaunty and wistful tunes held considerable appeal throughout.  Also, they did pick up steam as they went along.  The crowd had dwindled to sixteen by the time that they played, but at least John Ross Boyce and his mates stuck around and got good and rowdy (dancing, jostling each other).

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.

What Made Milwaukee Famous, the Blaqk Family Band and Hollow Wood @ Neurolux (2/19/13)

When a band has a name like What Made Milwaukee Famous, they could be really good (cf. the Old 97's) or really icky (i.e. they could lay on the cornpone so thick that I choke).  Either way, I figured that it'd be something to write about, so I marked this Radio Boise Tuesday show down on the calendar.

There were already about thirty-five people at Neurolux when I arrived at 7:15.  By 8:40, I counted over eighty.  Pretty fantastic.

Local group Hollow Wood opened the night.  On paper, I really shouldn't like this band.  This bio (which, I believe, used to be on their Facebook profile) cites as influences two groups I can't stand, Typhoon and Bon Iver.  Which, I guess, just goes to show how manure can help produce a good crop.  Hollow Wood's soaring, folk-tinged melodies and harmonies sounded closer at times to Walt Whitman's barbaric yawp than to Justin Vernon's lullabies to his navel.  That expansive spirit carried over into the rest of their live performance.  Whether chanting as one or laying down some rousing beats (via drums, shaker and tambourine) to go with their steady basslines and their soothing keyboard drones and guitar jangle, this group evoked a sense of compassion and community--of folk, in other words--that Typhoon aimed for at their November VaC show (I think) and missed.  And so what if the lyrics got a little corny sometimes?  Everybody oughtta have a little bit of corniness in them.

Up next was local act the Blaqk Family Band, who made their live debut.  As excited as I am over this year's Treefort lineup, I'm disappointed that the Soft White Sixties won't be returning.  It's okay, though: should I feel my 60's hard-rock jones coming on, this group should feed it very nicely.  Jayne Blaqk's high, strong vocals rode atop Zeppelin-esque stomps, rubbery basslines and terse, snarling guitars.  They worked hard to convey that whole sex-drugs-and-rock-'n-roll vibe (this set featured some swirling, psychedelic lasers and a bouncy, Lou Reed-ish ditty about abusing medications), but their playing was too tight and focused for the drugs part to be convincing.  Hell, I've always preferred the other two parts of that combination anyway.  Watch out for this group.

What Made Milwaukee Famous closed out the night.  I've come to consider it a mark of quality in a band when they have to constantly tell themselves not to cuss on the air.  But regardless of that, while this Austin group's poppy tunes, gliding vocals and smooth groove called to mind the Old 97's, their slashing, stinging guitars and thoughtful, class-conscious lyrics called to mind the Drive-By Truckers.  Their performance got some good whoops, cheers and dancing from the crowd.  What Made Milwaukee Famous definitely didn't make losers out of us.  (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

Ken Stringfellow and Matt Hopper @ Neurolux (2/5/13)

Prior to this show, I'd never heard of Ken Stringfellow or the band that launched his career, the Posies.  I did some reading up on the man, however, and learned that he'd also played with Big Star and R.E.M.  If a guy can list bands like that on his C.V., I figured, he'll be worth a look at least.  The fact that Matt Hopper, whom I'd heard but never seen, was on the bill as well made this show even more attractive.

I only counted about twenty-three or twenty-four people when I got down to Neurolux.  That number would build to a little over forty during Matt Hopper's set.  Pretty good for a Tuesday, I guess.

Matt Hopper opened the night.  Ken Stringfellow would quip later, "Basically, Matt's a dead ringer for 1971."  He was referring to Hopper's looks (said the man looked like a cross between Big Star's bassist and producer), but he could have been talking about his music too.  With their jangling guitars, slippery basslines, smooth violin and keyboard and light, steady drumming, Hopper and company would've sounded right at home on classic rock radio next to Bob Seger and the Doobie Brothers.  Their finely polished tunes went down very smoothly.  That was the problem.  I kept waiting for the extra little spark in the music or the lyrics that would shoot the material into the realms of John Fogerty, Gram Parsons or, since Stringfellow brought up Big Star, Alex Chilton.  Since it never came, the songs just felt anonymous no matter how thickly Hopper slathered his drawl and yowl on them.  Rays of hope: their pretty sharp cover of Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" and their closing instrumental vamp on Nirvana's "Come As You Are."

Ken Stringfellow played next.  This man's music certainly didn't want for idiosyncrasy: his songs twisted and turned and meandered well past what should have been their breaking points.  Since his melodies were so gorgeous and pop-savvy, however, they held together and pulled the audience along with them.  The words poured out of Stringfellow so quickly that I barely had time to notice how clever they were.  He probably would've gotten by on his music alone, but his friendly and irrepressibly playful stage presence made him irresistible.  He moved a mic down to the dance floor to sing among the crowd, he sang a lovely duet with Larkspur/Spondee's Gia Trotter, he teasingly tried to faze Ashley the server by barking (it didn't work) and he cracked jokes throughout ("God said, 'I'll see you in court!'  The devil said, 'Where do you think you'll find the lawyers?'").  He made at least one new fan this night.

You can find info on Matt Hopper and Ken Stringfellow on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

a.k.a. Belle, A Seasonal Disguise and Danielle Galucki @ Neurolux (11/20/12)

This show was something of an indulgence for me.  When I'm planning out my calendar, I usually give special attention to shows featuring groups I've never seen before.  A Seasonal Disguise seems to improve each time I see them, however, and I never get tired of seeing a.k.a. Belle.  So, it being so close to Thanksgiving, I decided to treat myself a little.

I saw about thirty people when I got down to Neurolux.  A few more would trickle in as the night progressed.  Not a huge crowd, but not bad.

First up was Danielle Galucki a.k.a. Kailie Leggett from the dearly departed local band Range Life.  She sang her plain ditties in her high, sweet voice and strummed her guitar in simple downstrokes.  She forgot lyrics, stopped mid-song when she just wasn't feeling it and looked pretty nervous throughout.  I imagine that some people would've found all of this unbearable.  Me, I found it funny, brave and utterly charming.  Half of the trick lay in Leggett's smart, detailed, acerbic lyrics, which undercut the sweetness of her singing and her melodies' childlike simplicity.  The other half lay in the fact that, while she did look nervous, she didn't sound affected, smarmy or smug (which is often how stuff like this comes off).  Her forthrightness gave the rough edges of her performance a refreshing, almost punk-like quality.  Call it perverse if you want, but I haven't enjoyed too many recent sets quite as much as I did this one.

A Seasonal Disguise played next and sounded in fine form.  Their deepening rapport and sturdy groove gave Z.V. House's guitar a more solid foundation from which to take off.  And take off it did: House's elegant soloing called to mind not just Neil Young but Richard Lloyd and Tom Verlaine.  They started, stopped, slowed down and sped up without stumbling, and their increased confidence added an extra sheen to the melodies.  They got some warm applause from the crowd, and rightly so.

a.k.a. Belle set a record with this performnace (as far as I can recall): they didn't even play one song before they started bantering with each other.  It all began with Catherine Merrick warning Sam Merrick not to cuss, since they were being broadcast live on Radio Boise.  Sam Merrick proceeded to tell the audience a little story that led up to the show, bleeping out the curse words with a few guitar chords.  It went on pretty much like that for the rest of the set.  I hope that the folks out in radioland found this as amusing as I did.  Too bad that they couldn't see Catherine Merrick's classic I'm-gonna-kill-this-f*cking-idiot glare (I see it a lot when I'm hanging out with married/dating friends).

Oh, and I should probably mention that the music sounded great too.  This set featured the return of Mike Rundle, whose smooth and steady work behind the drumkit kept the songs swinging.  Bass player Jason Griesa greased the groove nicely in spite of his reportedly having to play on painkillers (Sam Merrick mentioned that the man had to undergo back surgery soon).  Catherine Merrick had apparently been sounding hoarse over the past couple of weeks, but you sure couldn't hear it as her voice rang out across the bar.  Meanwhile, Kayleigh Jack's serene fiddle and harmonies complemented Sam Merrick's jagged, searing guitar.  While their older songs sounded as gorgeous and rowdy as ever, their newer material makes me look forward to their second album, which they're apparently working on now.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

Sera Cahoone, The Parson Red Heads and Desert Noises @ the VaC (11/3/12)

Prior to seeing ads for this show, I'd never heard of Sera Cahoone.  The fact that Desert Noises was opening for her seemed like a good sign, however, so I marked this one down on my calendar.  Then I listened to one of Cahoone's songs and felt even more confident that I'd made the right decision.  If you haven't heard "Worry All Your Life," give it a play.  Its tender admonition to not do like its title says makes it a small miracle, given that indie-folk sometimes seems like the exclusive domain of depressives and neurotics (not that Cahoone doesn't know where those folks come from: she also has a very good song entitled "Nervous Wreck").

I counted a little over fifty people when I arrived at the VaC.  The crowd seemed comprised mainly of the younger, collegiate/post-collegiate set.  Looking back, that feels like just the right crowd for this music.

Desert Noises opened the show.  Seeing this Utah-based band for the third time, I was struck by what I might call the hard-rocking wistfulness of their music.  The mature ease and confidence of their twangy riffs and loping, strutting, swinging grooves counterbalanced the fragile, almost childlike lyricism of their melodies and lyrics (and vice versa).  Part of me wants to liken it to kids playing dress-up with grown-up clothes, but that sounds way too icky and condescending.  Main point: they pulled off the neat trick yet again of sounding both fresh and steeped in tradition.

Up next was Portland group the Parson Red Heads.  Talk about steeped in tradition: their pristine harmonies called to mind CSN, their terse solos called to mind Neil Young and Crazy Horse, their jangly riffs called to mind the Byrds, and I'm pretty sure I heard some Tom Petty, Bob Seger and Eagles in the mix too.  The fact that they held up under the weight of these influences was a compliment to said harmonies, solos and riffs, but it was even more so to Charlie Hester's bass and Brette Marie Way's drums.  And to the pinch of arty drone that they tossed in, which they put to excellent use on their set-capping cover of Thunderclap Newman's "Something in the Air."

Sera Cahoone closed out the night.  This Seattle-based musician managed to do one better than her openers: not only did she make her folk and country influences feel fresh, she made them feel as lived-in as your favorite jacket.  Gorgeous melodies consistently met with considered, luminously plainspoken lyrics, and the unaffected, unassuming ease with which Cahoone sang them rendered both even more attractive.  Her band followed suit: the weeping pedal steel, fluid dobro and lithe rhythm section added just the right colors and shadings, nothing more and nothing less.  Mature in the best sense of the word.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.