Showing posts with label carly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label carly. Show all posts


Album of the Week: Lesionread - I gave my robot a brain and it got scared and turned herself off


We did a spotlight on Lesionread after his first EP, 2012, in April. It was the first time I listened to Buffalo, New York student and artist Shawn Lewis’ music, and the beginning of a beautiful friendship. It was the start (for me, and in many ways for Lewis) of a madness that crept around the hardwood floors of Buffalo music venues and lighted our chins. Every time Lesionread performed was different and better, culminating in a dancetastic show at The Tralf opening for Wild Nothing that rallied our spirits, as if the silly string and plastic blow up pool critters were just a distraction from the open chest, the pounding heart of a Buffalo starship.

Lesionread’s latest EP, I gave my robot a brain and it got scared and turned herself off, is a bright light in the warp speed microcosm that Lewis created this year. It’s unifying and personal, but it’s also dark and assuming. It needs to keep moving or it will crack and bleed. Each track (there are 37) is a piece of earth, a chunk of metal, the slippery lips of a cavern. According to Lewis, the EP was inspired by Dan Deacon, Department of Eagles, and Dirty Projectors, especially their early, less conventional work. So it’s no surprise it has an amorphous, amebic quality; what does surprise me is how solid the framework is. Little arms of goofiness splatter the experience with somewhat unoriginal bullshit (Lewis counts to 100 on a track; a Yodaesque voice alerts the listener to the shared human experience of having first-day-jitters; a Spotify ad interrupts the EP midway; we recognize the calm voices of the local music world), but the music itself—the beats, the lyrics, the core—is beautiful.

The major course of Lesionread’s robot is cinematic and modern. The phrase, “I’m happy I’m changing with you” repeats on one track, while the music solders like a hexachord. Every purely musical track is stronger than the one before it, though there are moments of intense brilliance throughout. By the end, the music is simply excellent. Sunspots, robots, and the tiniest human notions, all rolled up into a hot little diamond.

Lesionread and fellow Buffalo electronic musician Kristachuwan are touring now (#LK2013), casting a handful of shimmering dust wherever they go. Check them out, and get Lesionread’s music, including I gave my robot a brain and it got scared and turned herself off, here





buffaBLOG Video: Lesionread


Lesionread, the manic alter ego of art school student Shawn Lewis, has been very loudly taking Buffalo by storm over the last few months. The electronic producer has been honing his skills in his basement and Monday after Monday at Inventory Night at Hardware, including one such night where he screamed at the crowd until someone found his middle name written on notes all over the Allen Street Bar (this was much more fun that my writing indicates, just ask winner Bryan Johnson). Last month, Lewis and crew opened for Wild Nothing at the Tralf in what was one of those "you had to be there" kind of sets. Weird, shocking, hilarious, and down right fun, the musician turned the packed house into his very own circus, something the people at the Tralf had to just love, that is until they started to clean up the silly string that became one with the floor later that night. Word is they are still scrubbing.... 

Anyways, we took a little time to talk to Lewis, who will soon take off on a tour with fellow electronic music Kristachuwan (formally of Cinnamon Aluminum) following his opening set with Darwin Deez early next month at the Waiting Room. With some recent new music and an upcoming collaboration with Malt Disney on the way, look for Lesionread to continue his wild takeover of the Buffalo. 


~ Interviews by Carly Cassano
~ Photo by Jeanette Chwan
~ Video by Chris Osterhoudt




Tonight: Lesionread


Lesionread, the extravagant habit of young art-monk Shawn Lewis is playing a couple Infringement Festival shows tonight that we recommend checking out. On this very holy First Friday, Lesionread will whack buttons on his neon equipment, throw his face into the lights, and shout into the quiet of a smiling audience at The Gallery Next Door at 138 Elmwood Ave. at 7:15pm. Get ready for another lush, choppy canopy of sounds at midnight at Nietzsche's, following Buffalo rock and roll band The Tell Tale Signs. A chill night compared to his zany, full band, massively inspirational show with Wild Nothing at The Tralf earlier this week. We won’t get sprayed with silly string—just the wanton threads of musical innovation.





Tonight: Jonathan Wood Vincent - "Lo a Buff"


Tonight’s 7:30 event at Ashker's Cafe in Elmwood Village is going to be the storm Buffalo needs to break this unbearable heat. Jonathan Wood Vincent, a grumbling, statuesque piano player of tie-silk pants from NYC who performed beautifully at the Triangle House show Wednesday, VWLS, a Buffalo meditation tent art project, and T.J. Borden, experimental cellist and prolific young music nerd, and master of Buffalo noise, Pat Cain are going to scream and crackle and caress their way into the atmosphere, electrify the whole city with the voice of a jungle. 

The music, each set a different style, will trick listeners into feeling like we’re in a rickety aircraft, dipping over magnificent landscapes: the ocean waves crashing so soft below we barely believe in motion outside the mind; dead mountains poking like nails through the crumbling, white ground; trees so dark and purple we misread sky blue. Dots of wild buffalo, birds, and flying fish. Kicked dust, sheets, and boots. Tornado houses, sand-storm jewels. Waves and waves of heat. And then, salty lightning and rain. First, hard. Then the kind you like to walk home in. 








Tonight: Ghost Mice


Chances are, if you've been to the Glitterbox, a cozy West Side basement at 359 Parkdale Ave., you're going to check out tonight's 6 o'clock show featuring Ghost Mice, Brimstone Blondes, and Bill NehillAs a relative newcomer to Buffalo, I'll leave it to a few friends-who-know to describe the opening acts. 

Bill Nehill, a local songwriter, says on his Facebook page, "Ed Hallborg [and I] ... will be playing mainly new songs...included on a record the two of us will be working on soon, tentatively titled "Ghosts Both Abstract And Human." I am on vocals and guitar while Ed plays piano. If you dig Songs: Ohio, Nick Drake, or Fred Neil, you might want to come down and check it out," then asks us again to "Dig it!" 

Mike Moretti, WBNY D.J., calls Brimstone Blondes "lo-fi, light-hearted... reminiscent of Talking Heads, Elvis Costello, or The Exploding Hearts," then asks us to "Check it out."

As for Ghost Mice, the Bloomington, Indiana  acoustic punk group, I was impressed by a sentiment in the song, "boy meets girl:" "Anyone that doesn't want to die must not really be alive." 

If you want to test the boundaries of happiness at a punk show, this Glitterbox gig is IT! 






Festival Bands, Man!: Parquet Courts


There weren’t too many people at the Parquet Courts show at the Tralf recently, and—according to members of Merchants (who opened with one of their cleanest yet punkesperformances)—apparently the band wasn’t in a great mood anyway. It didn’t show, because the set was full and fun, and, actually, these guys look like they don’t smile for a feather. Parquet Courts are like your witty friend who’s kind-of-but-seriously an asshole, and the delivery is the same. Good for them though, the New York quartet is in the throes of proper public recognition.

Pitchfork (who called their debut LP, Light Up Gold, one of the year’s most overlooked) hosts its eighth annual Music Festival July 19 – 21 at Union Park in Chicago. (A few Buffabloggers had the opportunity to attend, interview, and photograph the Festival last year). Parquet Courts—not-exactly-led-by Andrew Savage—plays straight-forward punk-to-post-punk without whiny-ness. It’s really pure. The bond between the musicians, the lyrics, and the audible and visual execution of these, is both nonchalant and damaged. If you’re going to Pitchfork, make sure you check out Parquet Courts, but don’t expect to feel exuberant; expect to feel like you’ve been stomped on and laughed at and liked it. 

DETAILS




Festival Bands, Man!: Thomas Carbou


Today’s Festival Bands, Man! artist is Thomas Carbou of France, who currently lives in Montreal. The Montreal International Jazz Festival, which is going on tomorrow through July 7, classifies Carbou’s music as avant-garde. While some of his tunes are experimental—especially the solo (custom 8-string) guitar tunes—others aren’t, and I stopped to wonder what avant-garde really means these days. Does it mean art for the sake of art? Does it mean art for the sake of social or political reform? What does it sound like now?

How does an artist identify with an identifier like “avant-garde”? When does he know his art is weird enough? When does he know it’s reaching its goal (to be for the sake of being, or, conversely, to work for the cultural good)? How many questions should it extract from the audience, and where should it be performed? If you’re interested this stuff, head to Montreal, Quebec, for one of the most beloved jazz festivals in the world. Experiencing jazz is a way to answer questions.

There are hundreds of acts performing in downtown Montreal, and there’s a massive center stage outdoors where the “main attractions” perform. Some of the main attractions include “adult alternative” artists from the states, Boz Scaggs, Bonnie Raitt, and Rufus Wainwright. These respected musicians and musical leaders, even the lesser-known of them, represent the kind of progress artists usually strive for; unfortunately, it’s with moody moderation.

Odd, but I don’t think breadth of musicality, a wide variety of collaborations, down-played expertise, and sensuous experimentation necessarily make music avant-garde; or maybe they do, but they don’t make it very exciting. There’s no sweat in this music. All the same, Carbou has been in the business for a long time, and has made an impression around the world as a culturally-advanced musician.

So, if you want to chill out with a glass of wine and listen to beautiful sounds while catching a sweet breeze under your nose, this festival will fill your soul up like a rain bucket. If, however, you like your jazz like a puddle that disperses at your feet, never to return to the same spot on the road of life, this might be too sweet for your taste.





Album Review: Sigur Ros - Kveikur


Sigur Ros’ seventh studio album, Kveikur (XL Records), returns the Icelandic band to a sound more reminiscent of their native landscape: beautiful, barren, and rocky. The album retains some of the watery electronics prevalent on Valtari, their 2012 release, but harkens back to the chimes, post-rock guitar, and traditional beats on Takk (2005) and Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (2008).

I saw Sigur Ros perform at Bonnaroo in 2008, the first year they toured with a fucking marching band. It was outrageous (white and red suits and instruments), mind-blowing (the level of professionalism on so many instruments), absolutely the most thrilling concert I’ve seen (though I was hopping up and down like kernel to witness the ever-changing set). And it was a concert—like watching Led Zeppelin or the New York Philharmonic. The sun was setting, the energy was enormous, the crowd was full of psychedelics (and probably void of any real food), and the sound was enrapturing! It was an “experience;” after which, oddly enough, I stopped listening to the band. As if Sigur Ros music exploded and I couldn’t possibly put the pieces back together. The same pieces, I think, the band compiles every album out of. As if the music exploded for them too. Kveikur is a variation on a theme—gorgeous and unusual, but I just don’t like doing the same puzzle (a castle in the clouds; a seaside view with lighthouse; a flock of Escher-birds; some faeries in a magical garden) over and over again.

The thing is, I love this album, just like I love a puzzle when I’m in the mood. It incorporates a few different elements, but mostly it infuses the Sigur Ros style I like the best (rock) into the fantasy. Starting off with a heavy chain of a song ("Brenniseinn"), the album drags slowly over a medieval landscape. Fanfare and horns (in "Hrafntinna") lower down the promise of something Sigur Ros-traditional and fun ("Isjaki"). The title track is one of the most exciting Sigur Ros songs I’ve heard in a while, because it unleashes a level of noise (bordering on punk rock) I had come to not-expect. And the final track, "Var," is like waking up from a nap to discover we’re a character, stolen and placed in a high tower (that damn castle again).

I guess we’ll have to wait until Sigur Ros releases their next album to find out if the dragon is slayed, or—the pattern indicates it’s the more likely outcome—the dragon extracts us, hair blowing like a waterfall, and carries us away to another pretty place. 

Grade: B






Festival Bands, Man!: Tonstartssbandht


North By North East is happening right now! If you’re heading up to Toronto for the gigantic downtown music festival, check out our Festival Bands, Man! band Tonstartssbandht ("ton-starts-bandit") tonight at BLK BOX for a 1am show or Saturday night at the Comfort Zone for a midnight show.

Brothers from Florida who cradle their instruments like dead rabbits, Andy and Edwin White now live in Montreal and New York. Bluesy, psychedelic, electronic, a tough little boy who’s been thrown out of his trailer, Tonstartssbandht works to open your heart with Crosby Stills Nash-, Beach Boys-, Avey Tare-, Gregorian-, Fuck-Buttons-sweetness, then wraps it up in a steely, wool blanket and, laughing, chucks it in a black river. You check our bleeding heart flying down the dark current and notice the shores are lined by a thousand Allen Ginsbergs of various age chanting, cloaked in moonlight, and music wafts through the warm night on the odor of fried dough.

Listening to this music will be an experience, especially late at night when the cats come out and you’re starting to feel a chill. Tonstartssbandht released LPs in 2009 and 2011 and a special edition of 100 split cassettes with a Dirty Beaches B side in April. 


Band: Tonstartssbandht 

Festival: NXNE, Toronto, Ontario, CA

Venue/Stage: BLK BOX; Comfort Zone

Date & Time: Thursday Night, June 13 12AM; Saturday, June 15 1AM  



Concert Review: Eleanor Friedberger


“I don’t wanna bother you, but there’s something to say that I want you to hear: (it’s hard when you’re far, I forget when you’re near) I’d rather be two inches from your face.”

At her show at The Ninth Ward, the first night of her tour, Eleanor Friedberger—who the same day released her second album, Personal Album—looked slender as a poem in puce high rise corduroy, a Hawaiian-inspired blouse, and hard, shiny nubuck boots.

Friedberger, along with her brother Matthew, put out some of the most respected weird rock in the last decade with The Fiery Furnacesand only recently broke off do her own thing, starting with 2011’s Last Summer. Less free jazz than The Fiery Furnaces, Friedberger’s music is warm and lively, but throws an ocean breeze that makes you get dressed frantically—a juxtaposition she masters through off-rhymes, a husky, masculine tone, and loner-sex-appeal lyrics. 

The show was not well attended, but the music didn’t suffer for it. TEEN, an all-women trio that traveled with Friedberger’s band from New York, opened the night with real force. Teeny Lieberson, singer and  songwriter, has an incredible ear and plays with her voice as if it’s a piano. The music is upbeat and clean, occasionally weighty (dainty hand, pressing licks), and had the audience looking up.

It was fun to smoke with the bands and chit chat with them about their upcoming tour—the following night in Toronto (which we all seriously considered going to)—during intermission and after the show. Friedberger was busy discussing getting paid with a Babeville representative and didn’t have much time to get involved in the hype, but she was vaguely personable if not simply having an introspective night. I got the impression she was stressed out—and why wouldn’t she be: she’s a leader. That element is exactly what made her performance so beautiful. She has a generous understanding of  her bandmates’ roles, as accompaniment and artist. The show took on a spirit akin to a new mother full of a special kind of confidence that breeches the fear of doing something important.

It was a serious performance, as was TEENs, but not without some laughs. I was even the butt of one of Friedberger’s improvisational jokes, and felt good looking at the people around me who were rapt by good vibes and a very solid appreciation for who-knows-what. We felt it was a “personal record,” and we understood the struggle and loved the reward.   




Tonight: Pleasure Leftists, Utah Jazz, Cold Comfort, and Big Suze


Don't know who made this joyful flyer for Pleasure Leftists, the expressive Cleveland transcendental post-punk quartet playing at Broadway Joe's tonight, but it really strikes a chord. Joining them, Utah Jazz, Cold Comfort, and Big Suze! Punk N' Tots, a weekly "punk rock theme night brought to you by the fine people at Spiral Scratch Records," is excited to show off this awesome out-of-town group, and is getting lots of support by local garage-punk, girl-guy, screaming-fun types, too. It's five dollars (entry and a free basket of tots) and the party starts at 10ish. See you there! 





Album Review: Savages - Silence Yourself


Don’t you hate it when your friends suggest doing something “yourself.” You know, as in, “trust yourself,” or “watch yourself,” or, as the band Savages puts it, Silence Yourself? It borders on truly judgmental aggression, while maintaining a passive (but-I’m-just-trying-to-help) quality, that pushes my buttons. “Know yourself,” there’s a killer. These are do-yourself-a-favor phrases that are usually accompanied by that face where you smush your lips together under your nose, fatten your cheeks, raise your eyebrows, pop out your eyeballs, and quickly shake your head back and forth like a cat following a feathered rod.

How is it that Savages, a London, England, all-women rock quartet, can ask you to “silence yourself” without making a shadowy grimace, without alienating, without ornament or pressure? According to their website:

"SAVAGES is not trying to give you something you didn’t have already, it is calling within yourself something you buried ages ago, it is an attempt to reveal and reconnect your PHYSICAL and EMOTIONAL self and give you the urge to experience your life differently, your girlfriends, your husbands, your jobs, your erotic life and the place music occupies in your life. Because we must teach ourselves new ways of POSITIVE MANIPULATIONS, music and words are aiming to strike like lightning, like a punch in the face, a determination to understand the WILL and DESIRES of the self."

So it makes sense. This album isn’t so much about calling you out under the guise of friendly “advice,” it’s about calling you in. The music asks us to lay down with it, look into its shiny eyes and drop our shoulders. Together we drift into a dark dream-trance, where Patti Smith's drawings come to life and grab our bare arms; where Chrissie Hynde shouts grimy love into our ears; where Siouxsie undresses in front of a screen. Savages is a very special combination of female punk-rock vocals non-rhythmically spaced over post-punk-bordering-on-metal instrumentation ("Strife") and exasperated English garage-rock ("Husbands"). 

It’s no-nonsense, repetitive self-love and Beethoven-style pounding bass. It's incredibly slippery guitar-screeching in an echo chamber lined with black and white newsprint, "Why do you treat yourself so bad?" ("City's Full" and "Waiting for a Sign"). It absolutely requires us to be reflective in the most proprietary way—by being mindful and adapting, or getting fucked ("She Will"). What better way to bite into the music you rock your neck and your knees to than in the strong, hard arms of the one you love—yourself.

Grade: B+





Festival Bands, Man!: Night Beats


Austin Psych Fest, put on by the Reverberation Appreciation Society, is this weekend! This week's Festival Bands, Man! band from the amazing lineup is Night Beats of Seattle, WA. The name Night Beats is a tribute to Sam Cook, and their music is in part, too. Bluesy, groping, and psychedelic, it’s one the best contemporary incarnations of the old stuff there is. 

The Growlers (also performing at Psych Fest) of Orange County, CA, do it well. I’m a huge fan of The Entrance Band (Guy Blakeslee). And there are many other great bands influenced by psych, garage rock, and soul music. The White Stripes, for example. But something about the old fashioned push of Night Beats sets them apart. It’s grungy without excluding jazz listeners, it’s personal, not trite, and it’s sexy. Psychedelic acts usually tip their glasses onto a little nakedness, but the steam dissipates with the immediacy of the voyage. Night Beats doesn’t let the blues bring them down, but swirls it around like a pat of butter on a hot pan. Sizzling, steaming, fattening, it’s delicious in a way new bands that sound like old bands usually aren’t. Like a gourmet dish, you appreciate its history, but the slippery taste of originality surprises you each bite. 

DETAILS

Band: Night Beats

Festival: Austin Psych Fest, Texas

Venue/Stage: Reverberation Stage

Date & Time: Saturday, April 27 5:45PM  





Album Review: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Mosquito


Why do we color our hair? Why do we pluck our eyebrows, wear makeup, whiten our teeth, use deodorant, shave, get tattoos, look in the mirror? Why do we subscribe to religion, eat sensibly, cast away pests from our homes, smile when we’re weary. Why do we try to understand the music we’re listening to? Why do we analyze our relationships, rip apart the fabric of our families, or kill innocent people? Why do we leave our houses, worry about our parents, wash our food, play the guitar, beg for forgiveness. Why do we prance around in despair, oppressed, and say, “your sun is our sun.”

When we’re drained by life, when we don’t have clean water or rain, how do we manage to make art? When we’ve been sucked dry by mosquitoes, and our thoughts are filled with images of blood and death, dangerous sex, and appalling poverty, how can we taste the sweetness of our science? How can we delight in the breath of a joke?

I think many of us have asked ourselves questions from a similar kaleidoscope, varying in artistry and in light of misadventure. One of the reasons I love the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is that they like to break down the intellectual romp inherent in privilege, and just get down and dirty. It’s personal music, and each album they makeincluding Mosquitois different in the way people can grow to be over the course of their lives. Which is not very much. The organic progression the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ music has taken aligns with the simple, profound discoveries we make every day, or every couple of years, when something really happens to us. When a spark flies from our ears and we look at life sideways and say, you fucking trickster, I didn’t know it worked that way. I didn’t know, “If it’s all in my head there’s nothing to fear.” I didn’t know I could be kinder. I thought I was standing still.

Fat bass-y beats lead Karen O's spectacular voice into the lyric, “With every breath I breathe, I’m making history,” in “Wedding Song.” The slappy sound of the drums feels like gently smacking your chest as you stand, gazing concertedly, in front of live band that’s making the world a better place; or at least, art for the sake of art. In the case of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Mosquito, it’s music that beautifully narrates a commitment to a shared reality, in which life is sad and painful sometimes, but very often full of love and thrills.

“Mosquito” has a progressive rock electric guitar-and-drums-in-unison sound that makes your blood pump; “Subway” is a quiet tribute to the preciousness of not-yet-knowing; “Under the Earth” and “Always” sound like opening up a musical box, or placing a dead bird in a shoe box; and “Despair,” the highlight of the album—and the one most reminiscent of previous Yeah Yeah Yeahs music (this is, shockingly, their fourth studio album)—is so full of bath-time rhetoric and shaky window-light, you want to cry. It’s the joy that closes its lips around a tragedy. 

Grade: B+




Festival Bands, Man!: Wild Belle


Coachella’s this weekend (and next weekend!). I haven’t been, but I would go. I think. The most commercial (and at 400 bucks a ticket—I can only hope—the most expensive) of them all, it doesn’t even have the usual “music festival” suffix. It’s just Coachella. Like Madonna. Like Mao. Like Monsanto. Like Mom.

Much called-for attention has been paid to the corporatization of music (festivals), Coachella often the bright red cherry on top of the conversation. Isn’t that what Occupy Wall Street’s all about? But seriously, if your favorite bands play music festivals and hardly tour on their own (because they can’t afford to or are too tired to), then it makes sense to shell out a month’s rent for a ticket to see (most of) them in a single, drug-fueled, laser-produced weekend. Right?

It’s like everything else. How do we break the cycle of everything vs. nothing? How do we say yes, without saying no to our conscience. How do we tell the world we don’t want corporations to run (everything / the only) creative outlet many working class lovers have left, music? How do we convince our favorite bands (we’re so pleased they made it) they ought to tour in an out-dated fashion, like on a miserable bus, so we can see them at our favorite (God-willing they’ve survived) local  venues? How do we ask our friends to please come with us when we have to relieve ourselves in a public portable bathroom in the middle of a set, because we’re afraid we won’t find our way back to them ever again? I mean, music festivals are insanely fun, but I just don’t know if they’re worth the messy glamour, when it means giving up our precious music to corporate maniacs. "What's the definition of love if it's not material things?"

Which leads us to today’s Festival Bands, Man! feature, Wild Belle. A very fashionable band of Chicago siblings, Elliot and Natalie Bergman, usually joined by various talented instrumentalists. I’ve been following Wild Belle’s tumblr for over a year now (I believe they're currently based in L.A.); it’s a beautiful collection of images that reflects their over-all aesthetic: Afro-fuzz-60s-cool-desert-sex-love-and-light. Try ‘em on for size if you like soul singers, Lykke Li, late 60s African instrumentalists like The Movers, and tape-deck Atlantic Island music. It’s easy listening, and beautifully dispatched. Plus, who doesn’t love the bari sax?

On the track, “Happy Home,” from their debut album, Isles, Natalie sings, “I don't wanna be here,/ that's why I'm acting out,/ I wanna flee,/ but I don't know how,” then in the chorus, “Everybody in fancy clothes…But nobody really close,/ Everybody wear what family chose.” It gives the impression artists are as concerned as we are—even though they’re not afraid to bring it up to us, they don’t know how to ask the boss the big questions either. Not when they’re getting paid well enough. Are music festivals the artistic equivalent of the stable desk-job? Just comfortable enough to survive without going broke or totally mad? A cozy cubicle where—at best—we, “ain’t gonna cut [our] hair, even if you say./ I know it’s growing long, but I like it that way.” If growing our hair is still the best we can do, I’d like to insight a protest. Who’s with me?


Band: Wild Belle

Festival: Coachella, California

Venue/Stage: The Outdoor Theater

Date & Time: Sunday, April 14 12:00PM - 12:30PM 





Local Artist Spotlight: Lesionread


Lesionread is a Buffalo electronic group, led by Shawn Lewis, that wants to succeed! So bad! Every reverberated beat cries for attention: please-please; please-please; please-please. I'm projecting the Lesionread Facebook profilewhere the most obvious cute, banal pleas to friendly listeners resoundonto the music a bit, but something within it says it, too. I like attention, so I think understand this kind of music. It's a little obnoxious, but it's also refreshing and gritty. It's music for people who harp because they're genuinely interested in stuff. It's music for inventive, hyper kids, for newly radicalized readers, short-distance travelers, and forgetful lovers. Distracted by its own sound, it manages to get inside your head like good pop music, but is undeniably anti-social.

The wacky explosions of dislodged, swimmy beats sound like they were extracted and recorded from old public television shows or beat speakers. A very young man's lyric is strewn throughout many of the tracks, but it's angry, and drops into dark, ever-deepening pits where it usually breaks a leg.

Lesionread reminds me of Gang Gang Dance when they were weird in a break-out, we-don't-give-a-fucking-shit stage of music-making. The more I listen, the more I like it. So much so that I feel comfortable likening it to Thom Yorke's work. Of course you can't seriously compare anything to Radiohead or Animal Collective, so I'll just say this: for a low-fi, misunderstood, alternative psych project, the music is incredibly rad and oddly relatable. 





Local Artist Spotlight: The Tell Tale Signs


The Tell Tale Signs is like a crisp deck of cards, the jokers so intact they’re practically stuck together. Andy Kohler on lead vocals and guitar, Jay Galvin on drums, and Taylor Belling on bass guitar, TTTS is a band that likes to joke around. The Buffalo trio recently released two tracks from its forthcoming album—due out this summer—,“Us vs. Them” and “Amazon.” Especially on the latter track, we get sprayed by the waves of an impeachable shore, where leaves the size of cows drop from the canopy, and the sun shines bright behind a pair of dark glasses. How can this band cross into such dense territory without getting snared? I think it’s because these are serious musicians.

Their sound is really rich, and Kohler’s voice is so reminiscent of an era, youll swear you’re listening to something old. It's a raw revival of 60s garage rock right at the bluesy moment The Animals and The Who start flying off their mod, white handlebars into the mucky waters of 70s psychedelia. Plus, the band is extremely tight, which will make a great studio album and (more importantly) screaming live shows. The music is full of loud, concrete-floors-with-a-few-carpets-down drumming, pressed-into-the-microphone shouting, shockingly sweet harmonies on voice and keyboard, really wet guitar, and exceptional rhythmic energy. The Tell Tale Signs is the leader of a fresh pack, bound to litter the scene with surprises.