LEAVE IT: Our Lady Peace - Burn Burn.

Four years after Healthy in Paranoid Times, Our Lady Peace finally returns with its follow-up and seventh studio album, Burn Burn. While the songs are technically perfect — glossy, melodic, radio-worthy — compared to the band’s earlier albums, Burn Burn seems more concerned with marketability than with cleverness and originality, a surprise considering the album’s an entirely independent release with no labels execs to please.


The first single, “All You Did Was Save My Life,” is standard upbeat pop-rock fun — if you block out the lyrics. Baffling lines like “You looked at me as you walked in the room / Like the Red Sea, you split me open / Somehow I knew these wings were stolen / All you did was save my life” leave me wondering whether vocalist Raine Maida’s sarcasm is for real, or if he’s genuinely appreciative of being saved by his pseudo-angel. The music video for the song, which features 90210’s Shenae Grimes being chased by her apparent savior, is even more perplexing.

(Embedding of the video has been disabled by request, but if you’re interested, check it out here: “All You Did Was Save My Life” video.)

None of the songs on Burn Burn are life-alterningly memorable, but some are pretty great. “Refuge,” “Dreamland,” “Escape Artist,” and “Monkey Brains” have earned their spots on my iPod. The rest of the album unfortunately falls by the wayside.

LEAVE IT: Crosby Loggins - Time To Move.

Delilah called. She wants her "Brokenhearted Boyfriend" radio playlist back.

Crosby son-of-Kenny Loggins will not be making music history any time soon. His debut album, Time to Move, was slickly produced to blend in with the Top 40 mainstream. There are a few pretty tunes here and there, but overall his attempt is uninventive and stale.

Loggins seems to be straining to find his niche. Varying from pseudo-country to power pop to minor-key diary entries, he never comes across as genuine. While bebopping about having a "Radio Heart," he affects his voice like BSB alum Nick Carter. Not exactly a role model for vocal control. And apparently having John Mayer as a guitar soloist on the title track wasn't a good idea, because Loggins practically stole Mayer's whole persona when he wrote "Heaven Help Me."

Based on Loggins's lackluster performance as he tries to convince someone that she is "Everything," I just don't think he'd know true love if it bit him in the pants and gave him rabies.

I love a tinkering honky tonk piano, but the 21-second snipet of cleverness on "You Want To Be With Me" isn't enough to give the song a second listen. Like most of the songs on this album, Loggins seems to be obsessed with letting some girl know she is stupid not to be with him because he's better than other guys and is a mess without her.

Wait, what? He's not a mess? He's not waiting on "Nobody No More," so maybe....oh, nope, he still is a mess. A country/Bossa Nova miasma strums along as he twangs about not going to the same bars and not having polished silver anymore because his lady moved on. Very upsetting, both for him and for the listener who hoped for more from the son of the legendary man with loose feet.

Loggins could have promise. He has technical skill and a pleasant voice, but unless he can hone his talents and decide on a more distinctive sound, he doesn't deserve to make it in The Biz.

LOVE IT: Moby - Wait For Me.

Moby has a rare gift. He doesn't seem capable of sucking at anything. Whether he's creating pulse-pounding beats or lulling melodies, the man has got skills. He's never been a huge name, which makes his artistic statement more genuine and impressive. He makes music because he feels something and wants the person putting on their headphones to feel it too. With Wait For Me, his ninth studio album, Moby is experimenting again, to mostly great effect. He said he set out to make "a really emotional, beautiful record." And succeed he has. The album is one big instrumental cloud of ethereal where-am-I-ness, like how it must feel trying to sprint on the Moon.


The way-too-short album opener, "Division," seems like it'd be right at home on a war movie soundtrack. A mass of strings swell emotively as cellos drag the melody along in the mud towards that Bright Light. It's touching and epic - just the kind of thing I'd expect to hear during the slow motion climax of a gruesome battle.

As "Shot In The Back Of The Head" begins, it sounds like it was recorded in some messy teenager's basement, slapped onto vinyl, then crunched around in a washing machine and laid out in the sun for a couple days, but at about 40 seconds, we're back to the studio for more synth glossiness. But I guess we should expect that kind of bipolar recording from a Moby experiment inspired by David Lynch.

"Stock Radio" is a stream of vibrating and swishing monotone nothingness, 50 seconds of "recording an old broken bakelite radio and running it through some broken old effects pedals to see what it would sound like." It's sometimes fun to see what artists do for fun, but this track is random and oddly placed on an album of personal, emotional melodies.

"Study War's" pacifist message is super timely and meaningful, and the tune is upliftingish, but five minutes of spoken repetition is no one's friend.

I have never tried to imagine what elevator music and a cathedral choir would sound like together. Thanks to "A Seated Night," now I don't have to. Interesting.

Moby simultaneously draws us in and shoves us away during Wait For Me. This confusion is slightly uncomfortable, yet refreshing in today's verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus style of songwriting. Moby was right: this is different, beautiful, emo stuff. Encompassing the listener with soothing and lilting swarms of sound, he definitely develops a mood. As soothing as the mood is, however, an hour of this synthy warmth and I'm mental putty. Don't listen to this at work or while operating heavy machinery.

LEAVE IT: Pete Yorn - Back & Fourth.

This is hard to say, but.... I'm disappointed in Pete Yorn. In the past he has composed some of the most hauntingly perfect tunes I've ever heard (Nightcrawler's "Ice Age," for one), but with his latest album, Back & Fourth, he displays little artistic growth or melodic diversity. And that is not the Yorn I know and love.


As I was listening to the album all the way through for the first time, I had to keep checking back with my CD player to make sure the tracks were progressing and that the album wasn't just one long song. Although he has decided to add a full backing band, each song is strangely like the one preceding it. One could say it's like listening to polka. With that genre it's all polka all the time. With Back & Fourth it's pretty much all moderate band-Americana all the time.

"Don't Wanny Cry," "Paradise Cove," "Close," "Social Development Dance," "Thinking of You," "Country," "Four Years," "Long Time Nothing New." Same song. Annoying.

"Shotgun" and "Last Summer" don't change up the tempo; they just add more drums to make them seem bigger. The album closer, "Rooftop," is a little more mild and cozy, but even it doesn't come close to a true ballad.

Where is the range and variety he used to show? Where is the rebel who experimented with instruments and styles? Where are the quiet who-am-I ballads, mysteriously discomforting political pieces, heartwrenching climactic choruses, and creative life-is-good melodies? I know artists are often known for a certain sound, but come on. Next time, Pete, show me what you got.

LOVE IT: Zee Avi - Zee Avi.

After days and days of humming her music and trying to place her sound, it finally came to me - she's the Malaysian Ingrid Michaelson!!



Plucked from the bowels of YouTube and brought to Jack Johnson's Brushfire Records, this woman has done more to make the ukulele cool again that anyone I've listened to. Her debut self-titled album has all the intimate and sweet imperfectness of homemade ice cream on a Florida summer day.

My personal favorite is "Monty" but every tune is catchy, light, and clever. Her strumming and whisper-singing is gentle and lulling. Definitely experience this CD.

LOVE IT: Mandy Moore - Amanda Leigh.

For a long time, I didn't like Mandy Moore. As soon as I got over my middle school girl/boy pop band phase, I sold all of my Mandy CDs for $2 to Sound Exchange, just to get them out of my sight. Years later, from the TV screen of the Target music section I heard Mandy's voice belting out an amazingly respectful version of Elton John's "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters." Lo and behold, she had broken away from the mainstream and become an artist.


From that moment on she's been back on my CD shelf and in my heart. Her new self-titled album, Amanda Leigh, is even better than her Coverage of well-chosen inspirations. Taking furious notes from her icons, Mandy brings the cleverly-arranged, finger-picking '70s into the 21st Century in a welcome burst of harmony and fun.

"I Could Break Your Heart Any Day of the Week" is light and sassy, which is terrific given that she's crushing some guy's sense of security with vocal harmonies, hand claps, and an organ.

Mandy has said that discovering the singer/singwriters of the '70s has changed the way she hears music, and the deescalating piano chords "Indian Summer" is definitely reminiscent of Elton John. I've never known anyone to actually have been an Indian summer, but the song is so prettily nostalgic that I can overlook that line's confusion and just enjoy the tune.

"Pocket Philosopher" is really quirky and cute, but it seems to belong on a Broadway musical soundtrack rather than on a collection of pop songs. Oddly-placed as it is, however, Harry Nilsson would be most proud.

My favorite song, and coincidentally the only one that really seems like a ripoff, is the ridiculously Cat Stevens-esque "Bug." Several male hummms and beautiful guitar strumming takes me back to my vinyl copy of Tea for the Tillerman. "Longer Boats," anyone?

Despite a few tracks with uncomfortably dissonant melodies, Amanda Leigh is a winner. Hopefully this is just the beginning of Moore wonderfulness to come.

Vetiver: An Anthology of Perfection.

Published on www.gargoyle.flagler.edu - 4.8.09.

I was recently introduced to the Vetiverse, and there’s no turning back. For those of you who don’t know, the Vetiverse encompasses the wildly wonderful San Fransisco indie folk band Vetiver and all its fans. Since their March 23 show at Café Eleven, I’ve attacked the group’s discography with a religious fervor, and, as it happens, I’ve discovered that every song in Vetiver’s collection is a pretty much a masterpiece. Overstatement? Maybe, but not by much.

You’d think a band that pumps out four albums and two EPs (plus world tours) in five years might not really be taking the time to perfect each song before they release it. Au contraire. With each album, Vetiver has experimented and developed and added layer upon layer to my disappointment that they actually existed for so long without my knowing it. In the wake of their fourth LP, Tight Knit, let’s take a look at the history of the band you will probably be obsessed with in about 10 minutes.

2004 – Andy Cabic and his posse unveil their self-titled debut album, much to the delight of indie folk lovers everywhere. “Oh Papa” lulls me into an ethereal stupor so I kind of space out and forget the song is happening. “Farther On” bobs along pleasantly, though the line “bored to tears but dry inside” makes me depressed and thirsty. “Los Parajos del Rio” is in Spanish; I have no idea what Cabic is singing, but it is muy bonita.

2005 – Vetiver releases the EP Between, featuring three studio tracks – an acoustic version of “Been So Long” (to be discussed later), “Save Me a Place” and “Busted” – and two songs recorded at performances. Of the live recordings – although “Belles” is amazing – I prefer “Maureen” because its honesty and shuffling melody hints at early Harry Nilsson (a personal favorite).

2006 – To Find Me Gone is unleashed. One of Vetiver’s best-known songs, “Been So Long,” kicks off the album in a way that says “kick off your shoes and play checkers in a rocking chair at Cracker Barrel.” The melody’s minimalism highlights the group’s penchant for dreamy ambience. Hollow drums and droning electronic tanpura give it a Brad-Pitt-sneaking-into-Tibet feel, while lyrics like “fate has a way of showing you where you belong, oh, it’s been so long” are true and optimistic without being sappily inspirational. The guitar-as-bass on “Idle Ties” is inventive and upbeat; it’s my favorite track if I had to pick one. They whip out a harmonica for the haggard, has-been bandito tale “I Know No Pardon,” which is quiet and sad – reminds me a lot of Hank Williams Jr.’s “Blues Man.”

2008 – Cabic pays homage to 13 of his favorite artists with the album Thing of the Past. Highlights include Bobby Charles’ “I Must Be in a Good Place Now” and Garland Jeffrey’s “Lon Cheney,” for which they finally roll out a piano, an under-utilized instrument on their albums. Vetiver’s take on Derroll Adams’ “Roll On, Babe” is a mix of John Denver, Simon and Garfunkel and the Kinks (sounds weird, but trust me, it works), and Michael Hurley’s “Blue Driver” is a load of fun, like thumping down a dirt road in an old pickup truck. This CD is a great compilation of little-known tunes.

2008 – Fans who couldn’t get enough of Vetiver’s covers got the EP More of the Past, featuring five bonus songs not included on the full-length album. The adaptation of the Wizards’ “See You Tonight” is straight-up 60s mod-rock, unlike any other song they’ve recorded. It’s punchy and electric without being overproduced. The rest of the set consists of twangy rockabilly that’s more bouncy than most of Vetiver’s original work, but it seems Destiny wrote the intimate EP closer, Gordon Bok’s “Hills of Isle Au Haut,” just for Andy Cabic. A traditional campfire fisherman shanty, it is perfectly suited for a voice as smooth and precise as his.

2009 – This brings us up to date, with Vetiver’s latest full-length CD, Tight Knit, released not two months ago. These 10 tracks expand from the group’s twinkly sound and offer a few more up-tempo numbers, like “More of This,” “The Other Side” and “Rolling Sea,” which moseys along like the theme song for a summer road trip. As soon as I heard the triangle and shuffling guitar on “Sister,” all I could hear for the rest of the song was “Stand By Me” by Ben E. King. I like it, but I get too distracted by images of little Jerry O’Connell running and tripping in front of that train, praying he doesn’t die before he hits puberty.

The unfathomable infiniteness of deep space is hard to capture. Even pictures can’t do it justice. The “2001: A Space Odyssey” theme tried, but it’s too epically camp now to be taken seriously. Well, I don’t know how they did it, but Vetiver has somehow penetrated the black abyss with their swarming synths and delicate guitar picking. “Down From Above,” I’m convinced, was written from a galactic hovercraft looking down on Earth. It would be great during a NOVA documentary about the constellations on the disc cover.

Tight Knit closes with “At Forest Edge.” Cabic is obviously referring to a magical forest here, the kind that twinkles with exciting hidden secrets. The sounds swoosh in and out as Cabic “ahs” variations of the melody. Is it just me, or does the rambling, plucking beat remind you of Disney’s “Robin Hood”? It sounds like they’re singing from the other side of the forest and the wind is carrying the echo over to my side. I love it. I listen to it over and over.

In conclusion, pay close attention to Vetiver. They are everything and more.

LOVE IT: Bell X1 - Blue Lights on the Runway.

Published on www.gargoyle.flagler.edu - 3.11.09.

Imagine you are sitting in a window seat on a red-eye flight. As you coast toward the runway to take off, the blue lights of the lane markers come into view. They’re individual dots at first, but then as the plane picks up speed, the little lights blur into one waving, neon streak that acts as a buffer between you and the world that baffles that a 100-ton metal bird can defy gravity. The music you hear in the distance that gets louder and louder above the roar of the engine as you take off? That’s Bell X1.

From the get-go, anyone can tell that Bell X1 is obsessed with imagery and wordplay. Their fourth album’s title alone gives the sense that the band is touching on something deeper, and way cooler, than many of their contemporaries.

Once they take off, they bring their listeners up with them into the clouds; it’s one big party, filled with music so bright and exciting that you can hear the band smiling as they sing. It’s beautiful, ambitious and just plain awesome.

The album bursts through the stereo with the initial drum beats and hand claps of “The Ribs of a Broken Umbrella.” A slightly fuzzy filter on Paul Noonan’s vocals adds a wacky touch that melds perfectly with the bass synth, and the many voices on the chorus make it feel alright to jam along, like chanting summer camp anthems at a bonfire with a group of lifelong pals.

What is this I hear in “A Better Band”? Cow bell? If that alone doesn’t make it terrific, try this line on for size: “The world is bearing down on me like a fisheye lens.” Enjoy.

“Light Catches Your Face” is Bell X1’s contribution to the great tradition of balladry. Noonan’s voice is obviously suited for both belting and whisper-singing. The shuffling guitar and meandering piano create a mood so incredibly intimate and touching, Noonan could surely swoon an ice queen into buying a Hallmark card.

“The Great Defector” is my number one song for spring. It’s bouncing with funkiness, hand claps and twisting metaphors that I’ll gladly take another listen to get. The chorus bangs out synths and organs like nobody’s business, and Noonan’s vocals are sassy and piercing.

Bell X1 is “coming in to land,” but as they do, they tear through the world’s sense of The Norm, begging us to “love the color of it all” and remember that life is supposed to be an adventure. Even if you don’t understand English, these songs will help you understand life.

LOVE IT: kLoB - speed dial: LOVE.

Published on www.gargoyle.flagler.edu - 2.18.09.

Too often a band will start to get lazy once they realize they have a substantial fan base, then it will inevitably smudge slowly into the periphery of music history. Such is definitely not the case for Jacksonville band kLoB, whose relentless enthusiasm for performing tells us that not only do they love their jobs and their fans, but also that they’re not going anywhere. Anywhere but up.

They have performed all over Florida, up the eastern seaboard, and into New York City’s crowded bars and music halls. Their jams stomp through the crowd, creating unity and a happiness to be alive. Try experiencing the bouncy beat of “All the Time” thumping through your brain for four minutes without subconsciously starting to bob your head and hum along. It’s impossible. kLoB is quickly moving up in the industry, and with a great album out, it’s only a matter of time before we start hearing them on national radio.

kLoB front man and namesake Kip Kolb describes the band’s sound as soul music. “That’s where ya feel it,” Kolb said. “In your center. Like when you get nervous, or excited. The songs have a “new familiarity” to them. They don’t sound like the old classics, but they feel like ‘em.’

kLoB’s album, speed dial: LOVE – which the quintet of thirty-somethings recorded in St. Augustine and released independently – has sparked the ears of every hearing person in the eastern U.S., and has certainly garnered them a huge following. Kolb’s favorite part of the biz is obviously performing.

“We will play these songs everywhere, and the people will sing with us,” he said. “Favorites are tough. It feels great to groove on “Of a Story,” and it gets ya goin’ to ride out on “speed dial: LOVE.” “Parting Gift” feels great. They all do. Each one does something different to ya. “All the Time” gets people singing – loud. That feels so good.”

Kolb’s voice, which sounds like a Tom Waits-Randy Newman hybrid, blasts and croons its way through the 12 awesome, uniquely saucy tracks of speed dial: LOVE. The band has been together, more or less, for 10 years, and their friendship and easygoing natures come through in each song. They sync as a musical unit so well because they get on so well as friends.

“We have grown like a very healthy and beautiful weed,” Kolb said. “We’re all men. We love each other. Friends. A family. When Louie LeClaire joined the band, he slid right in. Sense of humor, work ethic, dedication, attention to detail, whiskey drinker. Easy. Same with Mike Bowman.

“They are all fantastic people and we all get along. Pickin’ on each other, keepin’ each other in line. On the road, it’s a party. No bickering. At my age (36), that’s how it would have to be. Everything clicks well.”

Life, death, memories, mental calisthenics, weirdness, and happiness course through the veins of kLoB’s music. In the song “3 Cats,” Kolb sings, “You really gotta love what you love with all the love that you got and shine thankful for every day.”

This seems a fitting outlook for a band members who clearly love what they do.

“We’re already a success,” Kolb said. “Watching the fan base grow so quick, and with so much passion, has been extremely exciting. The Big Label thing is out there. If they let us play these songs the way we need to and in front of all the people, no problem. But I’m not adding dancers and DJs so we can be ‘hip.’”

Hip or not, kLoB is a powerful experience, so get their CD and see them live before you die.

For more information on kLoB, their random capitalized letters, and their show schedule, visit www.klobsong.com.

LOVE IT: The Killers - Day & Age.

Published on www.gargoyle.flagler.edu - 1.28.09.

The thumping glitter of the Killers’ fourth album will reverberate and sparkle inside your head until you can’t get the songs out of it. Day & Age is more than just another mentionable addition to the band’s repertoire. It is a marvelously written and beautifully orchestrated beacon of hope for the previously dismal future of music.

“Human” features some of the most interesting synth, drum and string combinations produced for mainstream radio in recent years. Lead vocalist and lyricist Brandon Flowers’ words are funky, mystical and, as usual, a little confusing. If anyone knows what “Are we humans or are we dancers” means, please let me know. Maybe they’re trying to say that “when we dance we’re superhuman.” But the melody is timeless and unforgettable. And boy, does the group know how to work a hook. I’ve been humming that one confusing line over and over for weeks.

The Killers have always been upfront about their devotion to shimmery Eurobands of yesteryear, such as David Bowie and Duran Duran, but with “Spaceman” they officially time travel to a dance floor in the 1980s. Synths bang out the melodies, sounds weave in and out of each other, and I can feel the techno lights bounce off my closed eyes as I superhumanly dance with a happily inexpressible feeling that no other modern music creates.

The rest of the album is eclectic and all over the world map, but each song blends with the next, and always eventually returns to the group’s core belief in a beautiful, hummable melody and in mysteriously infectious dancability. The island syncopation of “I Can’t Stay” and the Oriental flare of “Neon Tiger” sound perfectly content as track buddies 7 and 8.

While the seven-minute “Goodnight, Travel Well” sounds like it was penned by the Grim Reaper, and seems an oddly dark ending to a furiously upbeat and exciting album, it just goes to show that the Killers are always one-upping the status quo. I’ve heard complaints that the Killers overproduce their tracks. Too many instruments, too much sound. Who are these people? I hope we’re not friends. How would the Killers be the Killers any other way? Their ambitious songs need room to explode and show listeners their enormous potential. And no Killers explosion has been bigger – or better – than Day & Age.