Stereolab’s almost break-up not so bad thanks to “Not Music”

“Indefinite hiatus” is a word everyone hates, universally. It’s the overture to breaking up, the “we should take it slow for now” of relationships, television and music and when Stereolab said those exact same words in 2009, everyone started fretting. Regardless of whether they are truly calling it quits or just putting a bluff, the band was “kind” enough to launch a new record as a way of saying “let’s still be friends” in an attempt to calm down us weeping fans, and it kinda works, kinda.

 Not Music is certainly a misleading name.

The Londoners and laid back lounge rockers extraordinaires Stereolab released “Not Music”, a package of unreleased songs from their 2007 album “Chemical Chords” recording sessions, Tuesday on Duophonic Records. This maybe farewell gift by the ensemble is just a little more than an anthology of esoterica by the group; it’s a whirling ditty of pop grooves and robotic rhythms.

“Everybody’s Weird Except Me” kicks off the album, a sing-sung piece pulsing with synth leads, chiming harpsichord and Tim Gane’s  guitar leads alternating with Laetitia Sadier’s entrancing and warbling croons, all of which ride upon the subtle pound of a background piano and ultra-tight mechanical drumming. What follows is an hour-long rendezvous of classic Stereolab tunes: vibrant yet relaxed, seemingly simple yet laden with the soft nuances of a pop aesthetic.

 “So Is Cardboard Clouds” is a lofty electric piece of a tasty driving nature bubbled by analog flutters that hypnotize and ensnare and their “Sun Demon” mixes in the wavering of static with frenetic sunshine melodies but it’s still unafraid of being a playful imp with the clashing of teeny-tiny internal movements. 

The band has not strayed off from their catchy, yet loose, sound which has made them a favorite among long haired listeners and which this album has remained faithful to it like Lassie is to someone stuck between a rock and a hard place. The only qualm with this replication of sound is that it is not as aurally challenging as it was in the past: surprisingly, the bossa nova rhythms found in other classic albums such as “Emperor Tomato Ketchup” and “Dots and Loops” is surprisingly toned down and made transparent (with the exception of the track “Equivalences” which is as close as the album gets to anything south of the Tropic of Capricorn) and the mangy fuzz-drenched crunch is also tamed (“Pop Molecules” getting a little bit out of the clean sounding safe-space and breaking out the feedback, but in small doses) , which might leave some fans with somewhat of a bland taste in their mouths because the vivacity of the band relied on the decadence and excess of noise and pop melody, combined with the “motorik” beats of the krautrockers of yesteryear.

Besides that, Stereolab manages to merge the cold mechanical buzz and crank of drum loops and synthesized instrumentation with the warm reception of traditional rock orchestration with a couple of interesting endeavors. “Delugeoisie” is charmer with its Steve Reich like vicious vibraphone overture to a dreamy and shimmering passage with a tinge of a muzak filtered keyboard. “Silver Sands” (mixed by pysch-rockers Emperor Machine) is one of the pieces that jumps out and sticks: a 10-minute piece buoyant with Kraftwerk heavy analog programming and super-tight percussions juggling and gravitating between NEU! Riffs and 8-bit funk, that will have everyone stomping their feet like a British disco. The album’s closer “Neon Beanbag” (off “Chemical Chords”, remixed by Atlas Sound) is the apt closer, remembering the band’s days of wilder noise and sweet drones through an 8 minute mammoth of recurring beats.

“Not Music” is certainly an album, or at least feels more like a full-fledged record rather than a collection of B-sides, and though it isn’t as visceral as their previous releases the Stereolab magic still resides on the little things, the million myriad collection of sounds and details that give each song a wider depth and sonic palette than merely just, “Oh, you know, that Stereolab song”. Hopefully, “Not Music” shouldn’t be their farewell gift, because it doesn’t feel like the bang they deserve, this albums feels more like the “until next time” record. But for now, this album pleases, and we have to take whatever we can get.

Not your average love songs in Belle and Sebastian’s new release

Let’s face it, selling records is hard: the temptation of free music, online streaming, and bootlegs is simply overwhelming. So what does indie magnate Belle and Sebastian do to continue their comeback streak, they write about love.

The Scottish septet has laid down their knitting kits, woken up from their naps since 2006’s stellar “The Life Persuit” and put out another memorable chamber pop sonic fun fest with “Belle and Sebastian Write About Love”, released on Rough Trade records  Tuesday this side of the Atlantic. This time around, songwriting and arranging duties are distributed democratically among the ensemble, but die hard fans fear not, used-to-be sole songwriter Stuart Murdoch is still cranking out his own brand of sugary-sweet tunes alongside his mates and a few welcomed voices.

The whole sound kick starts with the appropriate and ironic “I Didn’t See It Coming”, initiating the whole experience with an eerie oscillating analog flutter before engaging in the familiar tambourine/drum/piano sequence, segueing into classic B and S. “Come on Sister” follows with a danceable synth motif, but don’t be fooled by the delectable sounds, the trials and tribulations of a decadent lifestyle pop up with it’s haunting and heartbreaking, yet sweetly sung, “Don’t touch me/ If you touch me/ You’ll never go back” and “Tell me about your men/ And your hopes”. What ensues is staple Belle and Sebastian tracks made memorable by their trademark emotional depth masked under the wave of reverb drenched hooks and swings.

The album’s production is aurally more polished and thicker than their previous fares. One can say the sonic aesthetic has been ameliorated to comply with the modern sensibilities and have gravitated away from their famous sound of quiet acoustics with soft-spoken crooning lulls. Instruments are electrified, it’s not piano and dampened percussions most of the time, it’s electric guitar and organ. While being a clearly louder album, the band still has time for its musical roots of gentle plucking and mal d’amour driven lyrics with ditties such as “Read the Blessed Pages” with its honest inquiry (“Did I do my best dear? /That’s all you asked) as well as the aptly titled “Calculating Bimbo” (“A lack of understanding/ you took for being lazy”.) and “Sunday’s Pretty Icons” (“Every love you’ve ever forgotten/ And every person you’ve ever despised/ Is forgotten).

Though the band does not necessarily have a radical new sound, the various voices and styles in the record (courtesy of the other six members) do give it a feeling of variety. “I Want the World to Stop” features escalating voices and walls of shimmering guitars, swooshing violins and motorik drumming. The album’s most memorable moment is arguably “I’m Not Living in the Real World”, a saccharine, poignant look at the naïveté of having a job, schooling and overall living. The ghost-like organ, the guitar sonic assault, phantasmal whistles and buoyant singing come together in pop exuberance, mocking and na-na-na-ing  Fridays and feelings (“Think about happiness/Thinking about sorrow/Don’t think about sorrow/ Thinking about sorrow”).

This is just gratuitous hipster porn.

The group also gets a little help from their friends with some of the tracks. Folk idol Norah Jones pops up to sing back up and a couple of lines in the track “Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John” and Carey Mullingan (of “An Education” and “Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps” fame) puts on her singing mitts for the albums’ title track, a soul groove with a pound of  Doors-inspired organ.

 Tender pop goodness oozes out of every corner of the record, with lush melodies floating up and down the spectrum. The harmonic thickness is undeniable, and will keep most eager go-getters dancing. If there should be a qualm about this album it should be the slower compositions. Ironically, what has come to define and epitomize the band’s sounds, laid back and mellow tunes,  can sometimes drag on for too long and languor under its own weight. 

While not terribly daring and adventurous, “Belle and Sebastian Write About Love” is definitely a solid album and the band still manages to maintain their emotional. and sonic integrity, providing sweet instances and insights into life as we know it. It’s definitely not “If You’re Feeling” or “The Boy With the Arab Strap”, but it’s a listen that burrows itself deeper after every listen Not just any love songs, these are funny, poignant, critical, and more importantly, honest.

Fantasmes’ “Sidetracked” haunting local fairgrounds with ghost pop.

Fantasmes (French, noun)- a returning or haunting memory or image, it also happens to be the name of the local band that has put out one of the most intriguing sonic endeavors this year.

Brainchild of songwriter Mario Negrón, with the help of Darío Morales-Collazo and Juan A. Arroyo, Fantasmes followed-up their debut album “The Reveller” with the release of their EP “Sidetracked”, released last Thursday on Last Bummer records, alongside the heralds of other-worldly beckonings and shimmery string strumming.

Eschewing the modern machine-gun gatling assaults of modern furious and frenzied rock n’ rollers, Fantasmes combines the dream-pop flavors of the late 80’s/early 90’s and Beatles inspired melodies with folk sensibilities and a twist of trippy garage rock.

The record kicks off with the aptly titled “Banquo’s Ghost”, an ethereal overture filled with walls of delayed guitar goodness and soft and lofty drumming. What follows is a psych-fueled drive through sequences of airy and breathing tracks that will have your head afloat thanks to the help of reverb-drenched vocals, low-end bass thumps and hallowed soundscapes.

Just because the band’s sensibilities gravitate towards a quieter and somewhat more lyrical aesthetic, the album does have sport some intense, yet subtle moments. Tracks grow and expand, as though organisms on their own right, masking climactic moments of haunt under waves of echoes.

Sidetracked manages to balance very well the fluctuations between structure and free-form growth, mixing even-handedly amorphous textures and concrete rhythms. Much like its aural ethos, the eclectic mix of acoustic guitars and pianos go hand-in-hand along with flanging synths and ambient tones, carrying phantasmal hooks with pomp and wonder. The album also makes space for the surreal with the sound collage that is “The Majestic Cytherea”, chock full of nightmarish backward utterances and lo-fi programmed drum loops.

The record wraps-up with the sugary, yet quite eerie, “On Bridge’s End”, complete with a faux countdown and slap-back harpsichord which segues into “Magpie” a more moved and ghostly ditty stuffed with feed-backing, fuzzed-out guitar pummels, driving it all home, and exiting with “AM to Static” a quaint ambient electronic drone, nostalgic of something not fully remembered.

One thing is certain for the album, it requires time. The tracks don’t jump at you or command a sense of urgency on the first listen; it waits among the shadows of its own analog wash and creeps unto you slowly. Though most tracks might feel identical, they all have their moments, which can only be appreciated with further listens.

The album, as a whole, works as both a remembrance and a reverie. A gift that perhaps one would try to trace its source only to find it has no origin. The shades of past pop endeavors do shine, but rarely can the listener point out a distinguishable root. It harkens to some half-remembered past with spectral fondness.

“Sidetracked” is a peculiar kind of experience crafted by our own brand of backyard musicians. The soft-spoken manner of this listen might not be everyone’s cup of tea, and it’s length (clocking at a little over 30 mins.) might frustrate listeners, the albums is visceral yet solid, shaping a rewarding listen to all those willing lend an ear.  Though the album is not quite a classic, Fantasmes has certainly built an ancestral and eerie sound-house, the only thing left is too see if they can haunt it with their next release.

“Sidetracked” is available in digital format at a “name-you-own” price at www.fantasmes.bandcamp.com. For more info on Fantasmes, visit their Facebook and Myspace pages.