Review: Oranger, New Comes And Goes

San Francisco underground indie pop heroes Oranger are back with their latest wonderful album doomed to obscurity thanks to an utterly ignorant listening public.

Oh, shit, sorry, I'm in one of those moods. Should I try again?

Oranger are back with another wonderful (if not exactly groundbreaking) album of radio-friendly pop... if we lived in an alternate universe where good music still got played on the radio.

Better? No, probably not.

Moving on... Oranger have drifted through a variety of indie pop stylings, largely derivative of umpteen other bands but with just enough clever tunes to keep me coming back for more. While earlier albums saw them trying an edgy Flaming Lips-influenced style, then a more mod-influenced Who/Creation-tinged style (with some XTC overtones), and more recently a more Brian Wilson-styled lush pop sound, 2005's New Comes And Goes seems to find the band trying their hand at New Wave-era pop, reeking of late 70's/early 80's alt-poppers like Shoes and 20/20 (but with more guitars and fewer synths). To their credit, the disc nonetheless sounds fresh and instantly contagious. Again, not enough new twists to give Oranger a distinctive sound, but energetically riffing on the right influences can be good enough for an enjoyable listen. To some extent, they seem to be drinking from the same well as Fountains of Wayne, albeit with a bit less wit and heart, but there's really no good reason the Fountains should be rising from indie pop obscurity while Oranger isn't. Bottom line -- good album, certainly should be high on the must-buy list for anyone who has ever bought a Yellow Pills compilation or misses the days when the Cars were actually fairly cool.

Did You Say More Mash-Ups?

Looks like I forgot to post this one a few weeks ago. This time around I took the most over-used sample ever, Zep's "When The Levee Breaks," notched it up to double speed, and used it as the backing beat for Brian Eno's dreamy pre-ambient "St. Elmo's Fire." I also mixed in a bit of King Crimson's "Elephant Talk," pitting Robert Fripp's wonderful solo from "St. Elmo" alongside his later KC pickings.

Check out "St. Elephant's Fire"

Now Playing: The Libertines, "I Get Along" EP

Holy shit. I mean holy fucking shit.

[Actually, stop reading right there, and that pretty much says it all. But if you find that description unduly vague, carry on...]

For the handful of us who still believe rock & roll can save the world, here's one of those rare reminders that we're absolutely, undeniably, inarguably right. Now, I'll admit, I totally skipped over the Libertines during their brief and totally fucked up life, a brief, drug & violence-drenched run that made the Pistols seem like the Stones in the longevity department. I wrote them off along with the rest of the "The" crowd that was all the rage for about 5 minutes a few years ago. The Hives, the Strokes, the Doves, the whatevers. A couple cool songs apiece, sure, but there's only so many ways you can recreate the New York Dolls or the Velvets or the Stooges or Bowie... all artists worthy of recreation, sure, but it's not going to change the world. But the Libertines... or at least the early singles & b-sides, yeah, that just might do it. Thanks to my mix-trading friend Rob, I finally took the time I needed to get into these guys... in this case, all of maybe eight seconds. And while the band's 2 (count 'em, 2) full-length albums before they imploded were fine enough, what really blew me away were two early b-sides, both found on this (now out-of-print) EP: "Skag & Bone Man" and "The Delaney." Think the early Jam and the White Stripes mashed up and spit out, pissed off and rollicking drunk. Can't say I understand a word of it, either.

The first day I threw this disc into my car stereo, I listened to each of these songs about a half dozen times. And right now, all I can think about is how pissed off I am that it's night time and I'm sitting at my computer in the quiet rather than back in my car listening to these again.

Now Playing: The Shins, "New Slang"

There's a scene in Zach Braff's melancholy indie flick Garden State where the impossibly cute and perky Natalie Portman character slips her headphones over Braff's head and whispers, "This song will change your life." And out of the screen pours the Shins' wonderful masterpiece "New Slang." And for at least a minute, you have to agree that she's right.

Now, I'd owned the Shins' Oh, Inverted World disc for some time by the time I saw the movie (which my wife, who is from New Jersey and whose sister apparently went to school with Braff, insisted we rent as soon as it came out on DVD). But "New Slang," a hushed, largely acoustic track, had never been a stand-out for me, as I'd been more taken in by the more upbeat off-kilter pop songs like "Know Your Onion" and "Girl Inform Me." The movie changed that, and ever since -- and it's probably been around eight months since I watched it -- I've had the song in constant rotation: on my stereo, on my iPod, on nearly every mix cdr I share with friends, and in my head. When's the last time a movie (or a song) did that for you?

The flick itself is only above average. While I'm generally a sucker for angst-ridden talky indie flicks with great soundtracks, this had just a bit too much of a post-Graduate vibe going, and the epiphanies and revelations seemed just a bit too obvious (though I appreciated the cast of cute Jewish suburbanites, who had a nice familiarity to them). But in an age where every cynical producer throws a crappy, popular song into the background of a needles montage scene in order to cash in on a parallel Official Soundtrack release, Braff's use of music in Garden State was simply superb. Plucking one obscure but truly great indie rock song out of a million truly great indie rock songs and finding a way to make it not just unforgettable, but simply perfect, is pretty damn rare. And while "New Slang" was the signature track of the film, either because of Portman's bold declaration or just because it's a wonderful song that just needed someone to call attention to it, it wasn't even the only example. Another Shins song, "Caring Is Creepy," is used to fine effect in the movie as well. As is one of my favorite oldies ever, Simon & Garfunkel's "The Only Living Boy In New York," one of the most beautiful uses of harmony ever recorded and a song I'd been extolling the virtues of to whomever would listen long before Braff thankfully validated my taste. (Though the use of S&G may have been a factor in making Garden State seem somewhat derivative of the Graduate.)

Obviously, there a few other decent movies where the soundtrack is more than just an excuse to push a crappy compilation record. The new wave soundtracks of various 80s films are in some ways inseparable from the movies themselves (think Valley Girl or Breakfast Club); more recently, Donnie Darko comes to mind -- hard to even think of Echo & The Bunnymen without thinking of the opening title sequence. Still, it's a rare art, and one that should be practiced with more care by more directors/producers.

Incidentally, if you've read this far and still don't own the Shins' Oh, Inverted World disc, you're really missing out on an amazing piece of work, a handful of Brian Wilson-infused, striking, introspective but warm pop songs that stand out from a crowd of like-minded artists. (And its follow up, Chutes Too Narrow, was no less excellent.)

Review: Sufjan Stevens, (Come On Feel The) Illinoise

Every six months or so comes one of those buzz discs, the kind that every critic is thrusting in front of you like it's the second coming, but actually stopping to pick it up seems like too much of a chore, too much responsibility, like making yourself actually sit down and watch Citizen Kane or Schindler's List instead of plopping down in front of Pulp Fiction for the 20th time. Plus, those albums are generally just inaccessible enough that listening to 30-second online samples doesn't really do it for you; there's no hook to grab you. But eventually the guilt takes hold and you buy it. And on first listen, of course, you hate it. But maybe you come back a few months later and next thing you know it's your favorite album ever. That's happened to me a few times; the Flaming Lips' Soft Bulletin comes immediately to mind, a disc I put off buying, loathed on first listen, and then couldn't stop playing once I gave it a chance. The Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs box set had a similar effect.

And so with Sufjan Stevens' 2005 release (Come On Feel The) Illinoise. Or at least it started out that way. Jeez, talk about glowing press. Article after article about this thing, and Stevens' vow to make an album for every state (this is his second, following Michigan, which wasn't as heavily promoted and which I haven't checked out yet). So, yeah, I caved. And, after the initial hesitation, I fell in love with it. Or at least the first half. It starts out just like all those other critics' dreams, utterly unique yet bringing to mind loads of other artists -- orchestral lushness, gorgeous lyrical balladry, campy cheesiness, over-the-top prog-like flourishes, making me think of the Flaming Lips and Magnetic Fields, sure, but also Neutral Milk Hotel and Elliott Smith. Lyrically, it seems to be an assortment of small-town tales, maybe a middle-America response to the Kinks' takes of pastoral Britain in Village Green Preservation Society.

Unfortunately, after the contagious wackiness of the title track, it slides downhill, with way too many meandering slow songs and instrumental interludes. For the first few songs I was so excited by the overall weirdness of the thing that I could overlook its flaws, but by the end I was just. Bored. Silly.

But, hey, I'm gonna give it time. Albums that go out of the way to be different, challenging yet warm, do earn a bit of extra indulgence. I'll see how it turns out.

Review: Death Cab For Cutie, Plans

I joined the party a bit late, jumping on the DC4C bandwagon only after the release of 2003's sublime Transatlanticism, but I made up for lost time by listening to that disc around the clock. Hell, I still do; if I ever get around to updating my Pop Kulcher's Greatest Albums Of All Time list, that one's gonna make the cut. And the new one, Plans? Not as good. But still a great album. Let's put it this way: it kinda makes me wish I were back in college, just so I could invite some sweet young thing back to my dorm room and play this disc to impress her with my sensitive side. Not like I ever did anything like that when I was in college; just saying.

I mean, really, this is pretty mushy stuff. Soul-searching, love and life and death and all the stuff of philosophy seminar essays. Which is ok with me, especially when it comes in such a nice candy-coated package. Hey, I can do lo-fi with the best of 'em -- ask me about my Guided By Voices EP collection, please -- but there is something to be said for pure, gorgeous sonic ooomph, and Plans has plenty of it. If Transatlanticism showed a huge leap forward for the band in terms of songwriting quality, catchiness, and production, this one shoots for the moon. At least sonically. Musically, it's a bit of a drop-off. Nothing that jumps out of the stereo and throttles your neck like, say, "The Sound Of Settling" from the last time. But it's a pretty consistent disc, with only one track lazy and shambling enough to send me reaching for the "skip" button. My advice: Go buy Transatlanticism; if you've already done that, and you liked it, then get Plans.