Following on from the last time I raved about Final Fantasy's new material, here's a live performance of 'Lewis Takes Off His Shirt' from the Hillside Festival in Guelph, Canada. It's rather wonderful, and clearly the song is so good not even that rain can stop it.
The sun came up, quickly at first, then slowly, travelling towards me as I walked on, amongst damp and glistening blades of grass, and insects heading homewards, dropping their heads into the sticky earth, and then, in a good mood, and remembering I was writing all this, I made all the flowers around me bloom in vivid and gaudy colours, like drips from some melted rainbow, surprised by my morning sun. I headed away from the dying night behind me, and taken up with a sudden love and ecstatic joy, I began to run and leap and fly in little bounds, and the birds wheeled in the sky and clouds formed and dissolved sadly, and the sun burned fiercely for me, and in the distant greatness the few stars that remained exploded or didn't and every molecule of my being hummed with some content smile, and happiness bloomed out of everything! And I wanted to take that exclamation mark I just created, and place it as a cloud in the sky for all the country to see, and I did. Or maybe I just listened to this beautiful, beautiful song a few times, and let my mind wander.
This song, both because of how it sounds and how things are at the moment, sounds to me like being boxed in to some old home. The drums are the noisiest thing, thin and stocky, like walls that are so close you're always leaning against them. The keys are soft and warm, laid with the vocals, soft and almost conversational, the people kept close to you. The violin groans along gently like the old brass water pipes that keep the place heated. Everything is near and close, a family of things bumping off one another, gathering speed to crash at the chorus, finally overflowing and shouting about the things that aren't right, the things that just aren't there. It's a beautiful song, really.
Harlem Shakes, not content with simply making one of the finest records of the year, have gone ahead and made one of the most original music videos I've ever seen, turning the YouTube video clichés on their head in a rather glorious fashion. {via Nialler}
Grizzly Bear’s last record, the phenomenal Yellow House, was built as much on its unique atmosphere and production as it was on fine songwriting. The expansive and distant aesthetic gave the songs a genuine setting, and brought them to life in the titular house where they were recorded. It worked best as a slow trip, fifty minutes as a guest in the band’s world. Veckatimest is something different. From the opening splash of the jaunty ‘Southern Point’ to the cloudy vocals and starry piano that bring ‘Foreground’ to a close, there’s something of the outdoors about it - isolated and wild, like the little New England island which gives the album its title. You’re still away with the band somewhere, but they’ve moved from the dusty house out into an equally serene landscape: the first lines of the album declaring that: “our haven on the southern point is calling us.” It’s like Grizzly Bear have founded their own country on this abandoned scrap of land, and are inviting everyone to come and see what happens. They’ve even got their own anthem in the form of ‘Two Weeks’, a song so summery, it’s as if playing it loud enough could make the sun come out. Ed Droste’s brooding vocals ring out over bleached piano keys and a beat that positively struts with confidence, and it’s one of the most glorious moments on an album full of them. Given how much attention has been paid of late to his co-vocalist Dan Rossen- his other band, Department of Eagles, having released a fine album of their own - it’s almost surprising how much Droste positively rules here. Be it on the choppy ‘Cheerleader’ or the ethereal closer ‘Foreground’, where his vocals sound more haunted and forlorn than ever, the impression given by his appearances is one of a musician at the height of his powers. Most songs here build noticeably on the foundations laid by Yellow House. As well as Chris Taylor’s “was-that-even-a-guitar?” production, which remains utterly gorgeous, the band are taking their favourite tricks and applying them in new ways. Their barbershop quartet sound works here on a new level, as on ‘Dory’ or ‘All We Ask’, the last thirty seconds of which are so joyously lovelorn, it’s difficult to let it end without hitting repeat. Rossen’s trademark golden guitar tone is as effective as ever, especially when used to such stunning effect on the album’s other instant hit, ‘While You Wait For The Others.’ As the group’s second album proper, Veckatimest does everything it should. It takes a significant step on from Yellow House, and develops their sound without simply following the same old paths. It’s got enough depth to satisfy fans, and enough pop genius on display to win many new converts. It won’t appeal to everyone - there’s a lot going on here, and the album takes a few listens to properly reveal its scale. But it certainly would seem to be the masterpiece Grizzly Bear have been threatening to make, and as fine an album as you’ll hear this year.
It's late, and I'm tired, but I've been listening to this song and this band non-stop since being pointed towards them earlier today. If you want a band to get really excited over, if you want a band that lays their guitar squalls down over the drums, then chants wordless whoops over them, with claps, accordion and strings thrown in, then this, dear reader, is that band. This song in particular makes you want to get up and run immediately to some special place, or some special person, and to start doing the kind of things that sends your heart leaping to your mouth, aching to get a glimpse of what you've planned for it. It really is that gorgeous.
This is Golden Holy, and they seem to be utterly brilliant, in that kind of epic-songs-small-studio way that I love. If you go to their GimmeSound page, you can take a moment to register and then download their entire album for free, with the band earning a cut of ad revenue. There really is no reason not to do this.
By weird coincidence, this song - an old favourite, and one I rediscovered only last week - was the first one I heard upon returning to Ireland, on a rural road at night, moths dazzling in the headlights, trees creaking in the darkness overhead. It's weird, because this song once meant something else to me, and I no longer know what that was. Now it's the time I came back and remembered all the things I'd forgotten, the cold, the mist, the bad roads, the damp and the ghostly countryside. It's staying awake on the long drive home from the airport. It's being that great Irish tradition, the son coming home from abroad after receiving the news.
The Milk-Eyed Mender is one of my favourite albums. Buy it here.
I like to think of this song as being like the weather. When you're listening to it, it takes your mood and makes something else of it - like today, wandering through stuffy-aired Berlin, where clothes cling to skin like paint, and the ground is bleached a blinding white by the sun. Today the weather was an irritation to the senses, gnawing away at us, until the rain came down in great big drops that splashed onto your forehead, little shocks, welcome and delicious. The pavement shines, reflecting the clouds, lively and grey. People walk with a little more ease and haste, and maybe it gets worse, and it's an event, people congregating beneath balconies, can you believe this rain? Things are so different so quickly. That's what this song seems like to me. It's been out for a long time now, on a nice little EP on one of my favourite little labels. You can buy it if you like.
Most of the songs on this album seem imbued with city nightlife. Not the drunken pub-crawling, but the lonely wandering after the last club has shut its doors, looking up at dawn stretching the night out of the sky, and streetlights still lit, keeping watch and taking care. Not drunk enough to be senseless, but enough to feel the outer world creeping in. These songs fit together in an interesting way, like hazy memories of different drunken rambles, all recalled at once. The album is gorgeous, but full of contradictions, one minute comfortable as in the song above, elsewhere cold and distant. The vocals aren't passionate but remain oddly warm, as much an instrument as the synths, samples and bump-click beats. It's a beautiful collection of sounds, and is undoubtedly one of the finest Irish releases of the year.
