Full Time Hobby

White Denim’s ramshackle debut Workout Holiday showcased a band with a penchant for songs that start in one place, end in entirely another and usually visit a few others in between.  Not all of their ideas worked, but at their best, on Heart From Us All, or Sitting, they were possessed of talent and charm, with the ability to surprise the listener.

Fits takes up where Workout Holiday left off.  White Denim still love 70’s funk, garage rock and psychedelia, and still display the same affection for blues rock boogaloo and the same willingness to try anything once.  Your affection for tracks like Say What You Want and Hard Attack probably depend on which side of the fence you stand with regard to Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica.  There are undoubtedly good moments and there’s fun to be had, but it can all begin to feel a bit like hard work.

Gloriously, eight songs in, they unleash the gorgeous, gentle Paint Yourself.  Its arrival cuts through the record like a ray of sunshine, much as Under Control did on The Strokes’ Room on Fire.  It’s superb, the fact that the vocals sound like they were recorded in a bathroom failing to mask the rich timbre of James Petralli’s voice.  Better yet, it turns out to be the first in a succession of slower, less frenetic numbers that close out the record.  These are invariably excellent - best of all is Regina Holding Hands, a stunning soul tune, and their best song to date.  When they drop the pace a couple of notches and stick to one or two ideas per song, White Denim are capable of being as good as anyone.  Fits is half a great album, and half a decent one.

Between King Creosote, Glasvegas and the Twilight Sad, there has been a resurgence in Scottish power-pop of late. While this might not be the ‘correct genre’, it roughly demonstrates the premise on show; honest lyrics, beautiful song writing and guitar playing, and various mixes of sweet melodies and crashing distorted violence. 

Former Arab Strap fan and fellow Scot Malcolm Middleton fits snugly into the above fold with material of similar tone; dark and brooding, sincere to an almost unbearable level and often enough, the music fades in and out with surges of delight and danger. Waxing Gibbous, his fifth solo album, begins in such a surging vein. Album opener and opening single ‘Red Travellin’ Sock’ simply  thumps along at 100mph with a straight forward raucous benevolence. It sounds folksy and fragile, like much on offer here but all held together by a strength in the man who sings from his gut on every line. ‘Kiss at the Station’ would be perfect for power walking. It’s a stern and urgent track, one that fiddles with a Talking Heads-esque break and bounces right back into the original dashing fray. ‘Zero’ is a stand-out. With it’s Napoleon Dynamite keyboards and transient 80s feel, it captures an exquisite piece of pop writing. The good moments continue with the gorgeous ‘Don’t Want to Sleep Tonight’ and ‘Shadows.’ 

Unfortunately, a mainly excellent album is lagged down with some rather depressing and uninspiring numbers. ‘Carry Me’ comes across as very preachy and scary, with its sincerity and honesty making it difficult to listen to casually. Those who want an intense introspective journey will be delighted however and the tone is carried over then into ‘Stop Doing Be Good’ and ‘Ballad of Fuck All.’ The album gets weighed down, especially by the latter tracks. Where as Creosote balanced his latest album Flicking the Vs excellently, there is a lack of such close attention here for Mr. Middleton. Dreariness takes hold and much like his former bandmate Aidan Moffat’s latest effort, it all becomes a little flat, possibly even boring.

Waxing Gibbous is better though. Not really one for the Summer but between some fantastic songs, some good and ultimately a handful of beguiling one, it‘s nevertheless a good album.

There is a moment about one minute into 'Kalaja Mari', the fifth track on this, the debut LP from School of Seven Bells (a trio of refugees from Secret Machines and On!Air!Library!), where Alejandra Dehueza asks in ponderous whisper: “Do you feel the pain?” Shorn of any accompaniment and delivered in what feels like intimate proximity, it aims clearly for a moment of profound personal engagement, but is instead, perhaps tragically, a moment of complete hilarity. Set amidst a forty-plus minute collage of inoffensive afrobeat, psychedelic guitar and ticking krautrock rhythm, it is the only moment capable of quickening the pulse, of provoking a response, and it only succeeds in doing so by crossing the line separating the hilariously banal from the merely mundane.

Alpinisms's great paradox lies in its ability to hold suspended in coherent melody a significant number of individually commendable aural features and yet succeed in leaving no trace upon the listener. A review elsewhere, largely positive, referred to the lyrics as 'modernist', aiming, one assumes, at the lyrical preoccupation with the intersubjective, but, in doing so, touched upon the crux of Alpinisms' great conceptual weakness. Like the 'failed' art of Modernist yore, School of Seven Bells have, in the process of relentlessly crafting the perfect medium, bled the work dry of everything conceived of as worth expressing in the first place. Pristine soundscapes are sullied by lyrics so noncommittal as to signify nothing at all, or so trite (see above) as to willfully empty themselves of meaning. Musically, it refuses to suddenly tip the scales or unsettle the listener, but, in having chosen that path, fails also to paint something sufficiently beautiful to hold the listener's gaze.

That it is undoubtedly worthy of being conceived of and critiqued upon the issue of its sincerity and the more abstract qualities of form should be seen as counting strongly in its favour, but it is unlikely that School of Seven Bells will see it that way, aspiring, as one must assume they do, to something more than background music at a hipster cocktail party somewhere.

A lot can happen in a couple of years, you can be lying flat on your back, you can fall in and out of love, and you can propose live on stage. Oh and you can record an album. Micah P Hinson presents himself this time under the guised assistance of a Red Empire Orchestra (he’s previously been ‘accompanied’ by Opera Circuits, Gospels of Progress) but has very definitely enlisted producer John Congleton to help out. Congleton, in turn, has brought with him his phonebook and members of the Polyphronic Spree and the like to assist.

Opener ‘Come Home Quickly Darlin’ starts low, and draws you in, Micah creating a lovingly crafted bit of Americana, his voice searing across the guitars. A simple repeated line of “Come Home Quickly’ pulls you into the album immediately.

‘I Keep Havin These Dreams’, with its background of violins and accompanied by female voice, demonstrates Micah P at his best and hints at his latest state, admitting his love and commitment to someone. Stand out track though is ‘You Will Find Me’, his guttural baritone voice creating a song that is pure Americana. Combined with the rising short burst of guitars, it’s a song that deserves more and more airtime and could be the tune that puts Micah the Texan into the big league .

Penultimate track ‘We Don't Have To Be Lonesome Tonight’ once again shows a new lighter side to his song writing, as he settles down and embraces the company of others. Closing song ‘Dyin' Alone’ is pure Micah P Hinson, proving that there is still torment and angst within this great Americana song writer as well as a voice that can still tug at your heart strings.

On Red Empire Orchestra that voice sounds clearer than before which adds depth and clarity to his songs. This coupled with the great production and obvious influence of the artist brought in by Congleton, makes this a great album, one which is accessible and will hopefully bring with it a wider audience.