CD reviews
Sound Team, the Twilight Singers, Thursday
Sound Team scores 'Monster' victory
Monday, June 05, 2006Sound Team
'Movie Monster'
(Capitol)
It seemed unlikely from Sound Team's humble origins as a porta-studio project back in '01 that it would make the finest Austin album of the year thus far, let alone the best major-label debut a local band has produced in pretty much forever.
Add to that the fact that this is the six-man Team's first proper full-length and, well, it makes absolutely no sense that this "Monster" is as nuanced, powerful and accomplished as it is. Someone take these guys to Vegas.
The band's core is singer-guitarist Matt Oliver and bassist Bill Baird. Though there's a jam aspect to what they do, these two poke the band in musical directions they like, from pop song forms ("Back in Town," "Your Eyes Are Liars") to looser electronic clouds (the title track).
Sound Team's secret weapon is drummer Jordon R. Johns, who can move from propulsive motorik (the spiraling thud of "TV Torso") to something Ringo — the Beatle or the Lonely Boy — might break out (the noisy afternoon delight "No More Birthdays").
Recorded largely (and amazingly, given their major-label status) at the band's Big Orange studio by the band and Mike McCarthy, the album was mixed in large part by Alan Moulder (Depeche Mode). But Baird produced the most compelling moment: The monstrous "TV Torso," a live (and YouTube) favorite. Over a purely Krautrock beat, deep-focus electronic squiggles resolve into a rough melody while Oliver affects his best drunken cabaret belt, alternately mumbling and howling weird nothings. He sounds like Iggy Pop's ghost, lost and flailing, in one of David Bowie's thin white machines, and proves how Sound Team moves from musical station to station with ease.—Joe Gross
The Twilight Singers
'Power Burns'
(One Little Indian)
It's fitting that lead Twilight Singer Greg Dulli and President Clinton came to national prominence around the same time in 1993, Dulli with his old band the Afghan Whigs, Clinton with his old band the Democratic Party.
Both men are pudgy, yet magnetically charismatic. Both men seem to be compulsive womanizers, most likely related to insecurity about said weight, a fondness for the game of seduction and complicated feelings about women. Both men are brilliant, wildly successful (artistically and electorally) in their chosen fields. Since the Whigs' bust-up in 2000, Twilight Singers is the name Dulli gives to whatever full-band project he's working on now. (Clinton's also been a little lower profile since 2000, but not by much.) These days, the Singers sound more Whig-like than ever, but bigger, more detailed. Less melodrama, more ardor.
On "I'm Ready," the lead-off track on "Powder Burns," Dulli swears he's not the man he was: "Whatever you heard about me before/believe me, things ain't the way they were." Maybe it's because Hurricane Katrina clobbered his adopted city of New Orleans. "Underneath the Waves" and "I Wish I Was" feel like uneasy odes to the Big Easy. But there's also a story of addiction in "Powder Burns" (get it?). The last Singers' album, "Blackberry Belle," was dedicated to Dulli's pal, director Ted Demme, who died of cocaine-related heart trouble. Ever since, Dulli's seemed more thoughtful and less cynical, but still possessed of a tough narrative sense. It burns as brightly as it ever, powder and passion consuming everything around him.
(The Twilight Singers play with Jeff Klein on Friday at the Parish.)
— J.G.
Thursday
'A City By the Light Divided'
(Island)
What if U2 were an emo band? OK, not funny, but U2 always has been emo punk's secret parent. The band's triumphalism, sincerity, clear-eyed melodies — all of it's in emo. U2 also seemed like the solution to a punk problem: How do you move to a major label and signify that you still "mean it"? Thursday, an emo band from New Jersey that makes far better albums on Island than it ever did on punk labels, blends U2's heartstring wails with its own thickly chorded punk rock. "Sugar in the Sacrament" wonders where God is in all this desire, while "At this Velocity" screams itself hoarse over a movement without a goal. Dashboard Confessional, consider yourself . . . warned!
— J.G.
