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Review :: The Servants :: Youth Club Disco

The Servants :: Loggerheads

A photocopied clipping on the back cover of this Servants reissue advises that the best way to dig for the next big thing is to always show up for the opening act. It's at once pleasingly familiar and profoundly fresh for a nearly 30-year-old comment. A no-brainer, sure, but the fact that this has been a tradition for so long in an art form rather young justifies all the hardcore fandom and cult folklore. I'm somewhat skeptical of Captured Tracks on this release, having to ignore a growing sense that perhaps they were scraping the C-86 landscape (literally, the compilation's original tracklist) for something, anything, that their legion of fans hadn't heard. It's also noteworthy that the aforementioned clipping was in reference to a show that Felt headlined, whose (largely un-reissued) decade-long catalog dwarfs The Servants paisley-chain of mid-80s EPs.

That said, the brevity of the David Westlake-led Servants allowed for a concentrated and streamlined statement so cultish that even Stuart Murdoch couldn't track it down. The folks at Captured Tracks have realigned the band's sessions and singles previously released by Cherry Red (see: Monochrome Set, another Captured favorite) to flesh out their tastemaking hitlist. And I commend them. So much of what we've heard from the Brooklyn label over the past year and change has the unmistakeable echo of bands such as these. Present, melodic bass, trebly and for fuuuucks-sake jangly (how about tastefully pluck-strummed?) guitars, 4/4 time, and detached vocal delivery. It's reassuring to know that a growing label is looking out for what came before, allowing for rediscovery that translates fluently to where the fans already stand.

But really, this isn't a review of the state of boutique record labels. Youth Club Disco paints a pocket-masterpiece of 80s guitar-pop reflection, one that's more noir and cosmopolitan than some of their drifting and arch contemporaries. Witty but not condescending, spacious yet concise. And really just refreshing. Nowhere have I read comparisons to fellow Creation-mates The Loft, which is unseemly and baffling, but telling: they're not considered precious for nothing. Everyone wants a band to call their own, and the best of them fit the bill timelessly. This is the cult that Murdoch was referring to in 1996.

Features :: Left-Coast Luminol :: Debacle Records

"Records" in a looser definition here, like "recordings," as in the event of capturing a sound intended for replay to a pair of impatient ears. Those vulgar and mysterious funnels on the sides of your head which too often get plugged up by peculiar Apple-white nodes of diminished sound quality. People still buy vinyl? Get on with it - that is so absofuckinglutely 2007. Cassettes? Early 2011, best. The sooner we agree that CD-Rs not only sound amazing, but put the entire coaster industry out of business as if by afterthought, the sooner music will finally divorce format from fashion-statement. Universal sigh of relief, time to pull out your Case Logic suitcases again. Debacle Records is blazing the trail on this front, organizing a wide swath of the Seattle drone scene under one donut-shaped silver saucer. No hate here - founder Samuel Melancon is a fantastic citizen of the American West, and we could all learn a lot from him. Since starting a subscription series in 2004, Debacle has expanded to international artists, and continues to act as an effective siphon to bigger labels. He sucks those artists right up into that mouth of his, swishes them around a bit, and with puckered lips, squirts those little guys right out. And everyone's happier in the end.


Two of the more recent finds are Karnak Temples and the fairly-flippantly-named Brain Fruit. The former is drone via Lara Croft OD'ing on medpacks, the latter is drone via Ralf Hutter getting stuck in traffic. After a heavy night of drinking.

Video :: The New Lines :: Voyager Program 1977

The New Lines - Voyager Program 1977

Not much to say about my absence on here other than that my new bionic blogging hand has been successfully installed and I'm still out to murder my father. Mainlined a shit-ton of metachlorians, kissed my sister, and I'm good to go. She even bought me a new lightsaber. I asked for coral, but it turned out more salmon. Apparently no one updated her Pantone chart. Here to propel us to the outer reaches of cool nonchalance is The New Lines from Princeton. It doesn't take long for this one to lift-off, and it never lands. Can't seem to dig up a release date, but their debut is due out on The Great Pop Supplement sometime in the next few weeks. Fasten your re-entry helmet and enjoy this video for the time being, you jerk.

News :: Upcoming Shows :: October

10/1 :: Pissed Jeans :: Golden West

10/4 :: Lands & Peoples :: Red Onion (6pm in-store)

10/7 :: Trans Am/Les Savy Fav/The Psychic Paramount :: 9:30 Club

10/11 :: Dinosaur Feathers/Lonnie Walker :: DC9

10/12  :: Yuck :: Black Cat

10/13 :: Acid Baby Jesus/Black Mamba Beat/JJ Damage and the Bandits/Beach Bloods :: Asefu's

10/15 :: Moss of Aura/La Big Vic/Family Portrait/Future Shuttle :: Subterranean A

10/17 :: John Maus/Young Prisms :: Black Cat

10/19 :: Double Dagger/Imperial China :: Black Cat

10/21 :: Zola Jesus :: Black Cat

10/22 :: Dum Dum Girls/Crocodiles/Royal Baths :: Black Cat
Weatherbox/Sainthood Reps/Buildings :: Subterranean A

10/24 :: Jacuzzi Boys :: Talking Head

10/25 :: Future Islands :: Black Cat

10/27 :: We Were Promised Jetpacks :: Black Cat

10/29 :: Boris/Asobi Seksu/Liturgy :: Black Cat
             Foul Swoops/Wax Idols/Terry Malts :: Comet Ping Pong

10/31  :: Dead Meadow :: DC9