Song, by Toad

Goodness gracious me, talk about a peculiar sense of place. Samamidon (spelled Sam Amidon in the phone book) wanted to create an utterly new, completely engrossing record of old Appalachian folksongs, and so he obviously wanted to record it . . . where? Well where else? Reykjavik. And then he called it All Is Well, and it was well. Actually, this record–which succeeds in just about every conceivable way–was a collaborative effort of the Bedroom Community collective, composed in this case of Amidon, producer Valgeir Sigurdsson and arranger Nico Muhly — whose own new record of chamber music compositions, entitled Speaks Volumes, was created with Sigurdsson at about the same time and released by the self-same Bedroom Community.

Amidon’s singing voice is a bit tremulous and reserved, but in a decidedly good way. To my ear his voice compares favorably with those of fellow old souls Will Oldham and Matthew Houck, and its delicacy is beautifully well-suited to these songs. Nico Muhly’s orchestrations are likewise perfectly adapted to the material, sweeping but intimate, and he seems to have taken a few of the best pages from Sufjan Stevens’ songbook, particularly in his horn arrangements. There is something deeply unsettling about this record, and I like it more every time I listen to it.

Of course the star of the show is the songs themselves. “Little Johnny Brown” is a “game song” or “dance song” with roots in West Africa, and it is typically sung by a group, standing in a circle around a scarf or blanket that has been placed on the ground (“lay your comfort down”). As the song progresses, each member of the circle steps to the center, folds a corner of the scarf/blanket, and performs some improvised repetitive motion in time to the rhythm that is imitated by the rest of the circle. The song was popularized in America in the early 1970s by the children’s music pioneer Ella Jenkins, but her version bears scant resemblance to Samamidon’s treacle-dipped affair. “Saro,” the other track posted here, is apparently an adaptation of a couple of old folksongs, “Pretty Saro” and “In Eighteen-Forty-Nine,” which tell the heartbreaking story of an immigrant’s longing for his lost love back home. Muhly’s horn, woodwind, and string arrangements on this one are just stunning. It’s a very moving record. You need to hear it. ‘Nuff said.

Samamidon – Little Johnny Brown
Samamidon – Saro

website | hype | buy from bedroom community

Well, that’s it. I’m through. No, no, don’t try to dissuade me. I understand your sorrow at this our first parting, but I’m a ramblin’ man, and Matthew and Kate keep insisting that it’s time for me to return the key and stop riffling through the drawers. Fine. I’ll be damned if I pay them for the water damage, though.  Oh, and Matthew?  I’d run the potato peeler through the dishwasher a few times before using it again.  You know the one I mean.  With the oversized handle?  It got, um, dirty.  Adieu.

Even in my absence I didn’t want to skip this little weekly roundup of all things live and Edinbugsly, so I wrote this post in advance just to make sure I didn’t let you all down.

I hope C&B has been treating you well, and that you’ve all been nice and gracious and left him lots of comments to show your appreciation. You’d fucking better – I don’t want him being nice enough to help me out and you bunch of ungrateful wastrels not showing him some goddam gratitude.

Anyhow, after the excesses of Homegame, there are some great things on in Edinburgh this week, so read on for your itinerary.

Tuesday 1st April: Barry Adamson at the Voodoo Rooms.
Barry Adamson is just fucking brilliant. Patchy, but brilliant. His cinematic jazz noir is perfectly suited to the Voodoo Rooms plush exuberance, and I am really looking forward to this. So much so that I bought Mrs. Toad a ticket without even asking her. I’ve heard rather negative reports of his latest album from a very reliable source, but I’ll take my time and make my own decisions on it, as you would expect. In the meantime, I am really excited about this show.
Barry Adamson – The Big Bamboozle
Barry Adamson – You Sold Your Dreams

Thursday 3rd April: Zoey Van Goey at Henry’s Cellar Bar.
I don’t know too much about Zoey Van Goey, but they’re pretty well thought of from what I can tell, and I think a friend of a friend twice removed is in the band. Or something like that. Either way, I’m going along. It should be an indie-pop pleasure.
Zoey Van Goey – Song to the Embers

Thursday 3rd April: Josh Ritter & Dawn Landes at the Liquid Room.
I’m not, I must confess, a massive Josh Ritter fan, although that may be due to not having heard much of his work. This is the gig for you if you like singer-songwritery Americana because he is supported by the slightly folkier and utterly lovely Dawn Landes. Expect a lot of thoughtful head-nodding in the mosh pit, but I reckon it should be a pretty good gig nevertheless.
Josh Ritter – Wings
Dawn Landes – Caroline

I’m from New York originally.  Not the City.  The State.  I don’t live there anymore, but I grew up near the Catskill Mountains, which are a sort of junior varsity Adirondacks.  Very bucolic and of human scale, but rarely what you’d call majestic.  Anyway, when I was younger I wanted nothing to do with the place. Boring. Conservative. Cold as the grave in winter.  Profoundly Caucasian.  Now I’m thinking I might want to move back there someday.

The Felice Brothers come from the same place, more or less.  Three of them are in fact brothers surnamed Felice (Ian, Simone, and James), and they make glorious clattering music, bathe rarely, drink freely and by all accounts vomit copiously.  The bass player’s name is Christmas, like that badass from Faulkner’s Light in August.  They’re Italian kids from Palenville, New York, population approximately 1100, nestled in the Catskill foothills, 20 miles or so from Woodstock. But they made their name and honed their skills 100 miles to the south, busking on the New York City subway and cruising from gig to gig in their “short bus.”

When I listen to them, I am Home, whether I like it or not.  Sometimes I am swimming in a deep cold lake or driving at night on one of the pitch-dark backroads of Upstate New York.  All peaceful.  But then I blink and I can see the greasy-haired kids growing up in post-industrial towns, dirtbags with skinny arms protruding from sleeveless Iron Maiden tee-shirts, spray-painting Jim Morrison’s “poetry” on the walls of the National Guard Armory and drinking cheap whiskey mixed with Mountain Dew out of two-litre bottles.

People seem to compare The Felice Brothers to Dylan and The Band, and there’s certainly something to that.  Ian and Simone Felice sing with an honesty and fragility (and humor) that I can hear in Dylan and Danko and Helm, while the playing has a loose, ramshackle quality that wouldn’t sound out of place on The Basement Tapes.  I also hear echoes of Grant Lee Phillips at his very best, especially on “Murder by Mistletoe.”  Can you tell that I like this?  Actually, I fucking love it.  And I’m going to see them play on April 10.  I’m giddy.  They have a new, eponymous record out on Team Love Records and it’s just tremendous.  Buy it or I’ll sue you.

The Felice Brothers – Frankie’s Gun
The Felice Brothers – Murder by Mistletoe

website | hype | buy from team love

Well, so much for joy.  Now it’s time for doom and misery, Nick Cave style.  Murder by Death are a four-piece from Bloomington, Indiana, but this ain’t no little ditty ‘bout Jack & Diane, and it ain’t no Jacobs School of Music post-graduate seminar either.  No.   This is a 1972 Dodge Polara making for the Ohio Line at half-past the Apocalypse with a bloody duffel bag in the trunk.  This is the Soundtrack to a David Lynch sitcom about the kidnaping of Little Johnny Cougar, canceled after the pilot when viewers complained.  With a left-handed singer/guitarist, a drummer named Dagan Thogerson and a hot dame playing the Cello.  Oh, and a bass player called Matt. (Sorry Matt, I couldn’t think of anything snappy).

Baby,
It’s been so long,
That even the roses’ hips
Are turning me on.

Amen, brother.  Murder by Death have actually been around since 2000 or thereabouts, and they’ve always been about homicide and Old Testament vengeance, but their latest release on Vagrant Records, called “Red of Tooth and Claw,” is a leap forward sonically, and the songs are just top notch.  It was recorded at Dark Horse Studios in Nashville with Trina Shoemaker, who has worked in the past with such luminaries as Kristin Hersh, Whiskeytown, Emmylou Harris, Giant Sand and, erm, Sheryl Crow. . . Cough.  Anyhoo, Shoemaker’s steady hand at the boards has shown real results here, and singer/guitarist Adam Turla–who has some prodigious pipes by the way–describes the finished product as a “Homer’s Odyssey of revenge, only without the honorable character at the center.”  Aww.  Sweet.

Rock on, as it were.

Murder by Death – Comin’ Home
Murder by Death – Fuego

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Erm, hiya. C&B here. I’m one of Matthew’s multiple personalities, and he and the lovely Mrs. Toad have left me to guard the valuables while they traipse off on one of their debauched “swinger” weekends to some Sandals resort in the Caribbean, where they’re undoubtedly lounging half-naked by the floating bar and sipping flourescent blue cocktails as we speak. Bon voyage, you little dickenses!  If anyone believes that whole Homegame story, well, you have my pity.

Lest you suspect that the Toad has left the fox in charge of the henhouse, I can assure you that I am far too inept at matters technical to do any lasting damage to this budding media empire.  In fact, I myself am a grotesquely nerdy fan of Song, by Toad, and so it turns out that Matthew has unwittingly left the family jewels in trustworthy hands after all.  You know what I mean (filthy bastards).

Anyhow, I can say without a trace of irony that it’s all about joy hereabouts.  To me, anyway.  JOY!  If you’re like me then many of the songs you’ve heard on this blog will have left you exhilarated and puffed up about music, with the Broken Records’ performance on the first-ever Toad Session being just the most recent example.  And since this is ‘da house of mirt’, I want to say a few words about a Brooklyn band I’ve recently discovered called Salt & Samovar.  They have a newish self-produced record out aptly titled “Old Joy, New Joy,” and I suppose if pressed we could agree to call it a study in gospel-revival psych-garage honky-tonk swing.  Yes, that’ll do.  Lots of hand clapping, foot stomping, piano tinkling, lovely full-throated boy-girl vocal harmonies and even some face-melting axework from lead singer/guitarist D.S. Moltz.

But the extra ingredient is love.  Each copy of the record is handcrafted by the band and contains a 16-page “hymnal” containing sheet music and lyrics.  On album opener “Swallowed A Pill,” Moltz sings without inhibition of the melodies that ensnared him and that have inhabited his dreams from the cradle.

It’s A Sorrow To See
How It’s Entrapped Me
Such A Beautiful
Misery

Perhaps I’m a gross sentimentalist, but this inspires me.  I want to be IN this band.  Oh!  And for what it’s worth, my wife may be an even bigger fan than I.  So you see, Salt & Samovar literally brings families closer together.  Is there anything they can’t do?

O! Be joyful!

Salt & Samovar – Swallowed a Pill
Salt & Samovar – What Can You Expect

website | hype | buy from cdbaby

I am off for the weekend, going to the Fence Collective Homegame Festival up in Fife, with the shining light at the very centre of my universe, the lovely Mrs. Toad.

Normally under such circumstances I’d write a pile of posts beforehand and set them to appear at regular intervals so that it appeared that I wasn’t away at all.  This time, however, I’ve had a different plan: a guest writer.

Campfires & Battlefields is one of my most loyal readers and regular commenters.  His regular feedback has been the sort of thing that makes a blog like this fun to write, and he’s sent me so much good music I’ve lost track of it all.  He has already been responsible for introducing me to A.A. Bondy, O’Death and Mariee Sioux (well him, and DC for that last one I think). Recently, though, he’s been prolific – I’ve been getting about an email every other day for the last couple of weeks, all stuffed with excellent stuff, so I thought it made sense to invite him to look after the blog while I was away and write about all this music in his own terms, rather than just mine.

So, there you go – four days of ‘C&B Presents…!’ to enjoy.  I should be back on Monday, so make sure you leave him lots of comments and make it worth his while.  I’m really grateful he agreed to do this, because those robot posts always seemed a little soulless to me.  So show the man some love, and by way of preparation, here’s a taste of the sort of stuff you’ve read about on this blog for no other reason than that C&B introduced me to it.

A.A. Bondy – Killed Myself When I Was Young
Nick Jaina – Maybe Cocaine
Samantha Crain & the Midnight Shivers – Rising Sun Take 2 (Demo)

Actually, two of them you haven’t heard about on this blog, have you.  That’s because I have yet to get round to writing about them.  See – told you we needed C&B!

Me? Hip-hop?  A genre I know absolutely nothing about, and can barely tolerate most of the time?  Well yes, actually, this week on The Waiting Room I have a go at hip-hop.  I fucking hate hip-hop with a passion for the most part, but this is basically due to the fact that it is a genre I don’t understand and know very little about.

Imagine if all you knew of indie was Coldplay, Kasabian and dickheaded antics of Pete Doherty – you’d dismiss it as empty cock-waving by middle class white cunts, wouldn’t you?  Well all I really know of hip-hop is the exact equivalent – the awful, awful commercial side of the industry with bitches, hoes and that peculiar form of homophobia that is just a bit too passionate to be entirely above suspicion.  Anyone who looks at the modern commercial hip-hop industry and doesn’t find it to be pathetic, contemptible and utterly disgusting is a cunt, simple as that.  It’s grotesque, infantile and insulting to everyone involved.

That said, the original rap scene from which hip-hop evolved was a serious underground movement, full of intelligence and subversion.  And a movement can’t be that big without having a significant number of really thoughtful, artistically inclined bands in there somewhere, so I know it is just my ignorance of the scene that keeps me from finding them.  There are a couple of things in my library that are vaguely that way inclined and so I thought I’d throw them into The Waiting Room this week.  Change being as good as a rest and all that.

So have a listen to this week’s Waiting Room, and see how DC and that Fisk character react to my choices:

The Waiting Room, Wednesday 26th March 2008

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And here are a couple of songs I didn’t put into my selection this week, but could have:
Roots Manuva – Witness
Jazzy Jeff – For Da Love Of Da Game

Oh, and DC has discovered the wonderful Art Pedro.  Huzzah!  Listen to this and then go and buy his albums from Fence Records.
Art Pedro – You’re a Twat

I was right to be excited about this – it’s bloody marvellous. All dusty guitar noise and distant, distressed vocal, this reminds me in parts of the likes of Band of Horses and Grandaddy, but also of more feedback-heavy, de-tuned stuff along the lines of Sparklehorse.

There’s a foreboding air to the album, almost like a distant storm brewing in the dusty Arizona desert. Yep, dusty again, sorry. It’s not a million miles away from the atmosphere conjured by Willy Vlautin’s wonderful Richmond Fontaine, although further from Calexico and perhaps a little closer to the Jesus & Mary Chain.

The constant fuzz of the background keeps things simmering away, but it’s not as one-paced as you might think for something with such a ubiquitous undercurrent. Five Ways I Didn’t Die might not be quite Top of the Pops fodder, but it’s a bloody enjoyable pop song in its own de-tuned way, and Raining in Eva is the sort of nostaligic, rueful oboe-licked meander that could easily have issued from the pen of the likes of Tom Waits, had he been dust-bowl hobo rather than an LA boho.

Those of you looking for something pleasant for dinner parties should steer clear, but if you like the sound of a record that treads the line between tense and angry, and wistful and redemptive then have a go at this. It’s a lovely, lovely album.

The Low Lows – Five Ways I Didn’t Die
The Low Lows – Modern Romance

website | hype | buy from monontreme

Apart from the disastrous IT fiasco, which was all of my own making, I didn’t mention the sprucing up of songbytoad.com a month or so ago, did I? If I remember, I was so relieved to emerge from my IT catastrophes that I pretty much glossed over the fact that the site is looking mighty, might fine these days.

Why do I mention this? Well not gloating, nor a desperate plea for approval actually, more as an apology for being an ungrateful arse. You see, were it not for the patient and generous assistance of the mysteriously-monickered ml, whose own blog Lambprey, is something of a masterful design exercise, then things wouldn’t be anything like as spruce around here.

As a verbiator I find it difficult to quite grasp how you relate to something with so few words, but then I bet an awful lot of my visitors turn up from the Hype Machine, download the mp3s they came for and fuck right off without reading so much as a sentence, so perhaps it makes more sense than all the chattering I get up to. In any case, as a designer by trade myself, I find ml’s work lovely to look at. The previous version of Lambrey was a gem as well.

Anyhow, big thanks for all the help – I’d never have managed to get Song, by Toad looking anything like this nice without your help.

Clem Snide – Beautiful

My pals Celebrity Chimp have been up to mischief once more, with four new songs making an appearance on their MySpace page.

They’re bastards, Celebrity Chimp, because the songs they write border on being novelty tracks – Pornstar, Too Pretty For Prison, Swingers, you get the gist – but it is definitely possible to read each and every one as genuinely barbed social commentary.  Why is this bad, you wonder?  Well because it might easily be total bollocks.

Both Andy and Tom are quite capable of writing songs that are simply irreverent and daft just for the fun of it, with no satire involved.  That said, they are both equally capable of lacing more pointed meanings with just enough slightly surreal fluff to disguise it and keep you guessing.

More specifically, they are almost certainly reading this and sniggering to themselves, which is why they are bastards.  How serious are they being?  Well it’s almost certainly that quintessentially British approach of being both 100% serious and completely tongue in cheek at exactly the same time.  And then chuckling to yourself when people don’t quite know what you mean.  Like I said, bastards.

Oh, and the tunes are fucking excellent as well.  Total bastards.

Celebrity Chimp – Swingers
Celebrity Chimp – Celebrity Chimp