Don't Forget About... Lesser Matters

The next entry in my series spotlighting under-appreciated albums.

You know, I’ve listened to this so many times, I probably don’t need a refresher listen to write this post. The Radio Dept,’s Lesser Matters is not only one of my favorite records, but it’s a flawless album…

It’s not that it’s groundbreaking or revolutionary or genius or any of that; Lesser Matters won’t blow your mind. It is, in fact, a relatively straightforward pop/rock album with shoegaze undertones.

Unlike most shoegaze, however, The Radio Dept. doesn’t try to wash your feet out from under you with noise. They, instead, transport you to another time and place with ambience. Take, for example, “Slottet #2”. On the surface, it’s a little instrumental break in the record. A bit deeper in the mix lay echoes of rustling leaves. This smart little addition instantly puts you on a country lane in the fall, making the song necessary to the flow of the album. Brilliant.

This approach works great with the vocal tracks, as well. A touch of ambient haze makes each song seem like a fond memory, placing importance and familiarity on the reflective lyrics. Though I was only 10 in 1995, the song bearing the same name makes me nostalgic for the days of my distant childhood. When they sing, “You can’t touch me ‘cause I’m way beyond you today,” in the song “Strange Things Will Happen”, the listener is really placed on an emotional plateau. If everyone viewed art as the search for emotional beauty and serenity, this would be a hallmark of the music medium.

It’s not as if that’s even the highlight of the album, though. If anything, the shoegaze element is simply an afterthought, a footnote in the list of things that makes Lesser Matters so great. At one point I got so stuck trying to choose a song off this album while making a mix for my soon-to-be wife, I decided just to give her the entire CD. It’s like every track is the record’s strong point. In a perfect world these would be hits burning up the charts. If only…

But that’s the thing; Lesser Matters isn’t about “what if,” it’s about what was. If you want a quiet evening of reflection, pop this sucker in and sit back – it’s a memory stimulant. Gosh, the first time I heard this thing, I didn’t leave the couch until I completed the third listen. Each minute of Lesser Matters distracts you from your surroundings and puts you somewhere else. It’s the audio equivalent to reading a great book, and, being 43 minutes long, it’s highly (but not dangerously) addictive.

Oh, and it’s not just an album full of great individual songs. Lesser Matters works great as a whole, starting out with a fast pace and traversing a unique ebb and flow. They give and take, stopping for a breath with the afore-mentioned “Slottet #2”. When Lesser Matters concludes, it does so with flair and perfect timing. Each arrangement is packed with melodies and hooks, but not so many to make the listener’s head spin. Each composition suits the song just right. There is nothing less than ideal about this record.

As is the case with such brilliant debuts, The Radio Dept. has spun their wheels a bit since they put out Lesser Matters back in 2004. The Swedes' last few releases, while pretty good, lack the same unspoken something that makes this one so great. That’s okay, though. This album will provide memories for a lifetime.

Don't Forget About... Witching Hour

The next entry in my series spotlighting under-appreciated albums.

The club scene is one I’ll never know. It’s dark, glamorous, and devoid of emotion. The occupants of the best ones, it seems, dance not because they want to, but because they have to. Icy stares suggest having a night out is some kind of duty. No, this is not something for me. It is, however something with mysterious appeal…

Enter Ladytron, a British band whose reputation from the get-go was shrouded by their involvement (and arguably pilfered sound) of the club scene. It seemed the critics and public alike didn’t take it as seriously as the group and their compatriots. The band’s music was for clubbers, made by clubbers, and there was little appeal outside those boundaries. At least until 2005 when they released Witching Hour.

Like any other great album, Witching Hour works on various levels… It works as an ode to the aforementioned club scene, with every song pulsing with an aggressive fury urging listeners to dance. Lyrically, this is a love letter to nightlife: with subject matter rarely venturing past lullabies of endless weekends, Ladytron is sticking to what they know best.

Witching Hour also works as a breakthrough album, fusing their already-established electronic sound with the re-emerging shoegaze flavor. The newfound echo and ambience of their keyboards and guitars makes Ladytron sound like they are hosting a dance party in a haunted house. Of course, the creepy Bulgarian lyrics of “Fighting In Built Up Areas” make this an apt comparison. Track after monster track pummels the listener until their head spins, and the record’s hazy sound makes you just feel like you’re in a club. This isn’t just Ladytron’s best album, it’s one of the best dance albums ever.

Another trait of great records is the closing song, and Witching Hour follows suit with “All The Way”. Like the rest of the album, the lyrics are sung with little emotion. The music, however, tells the real story here. The song’s tension and release puts the listener into a reflective state, as if something worth remembering just happened. It’s the sound of Ladytron going home after the party, looking forward to the next.

Though Witching Hour is unquestionably Ladytron’s high point, 2008 follow-up, Velocifero, is nearly as good. This is encouraging news, as very few bands can affect a listener like Ladytron. Their sound is that of pure escapism, the essence of club life. They don’t bring the listener to their element, they bring their element to the listener: that is the mark of a worthwhile group, and a trait few bands possess. Bravo!

Don't Forget About... Scavengers

The first in a series spotlighting certain under-appreciated albums.

Calla’s Scavengers (2001) left a permanent impression on me the first time I heard it. It’s not epic, it’s not life affirming, it’s not anything that people would like to call ‘classic,’ and that’s okay: it doesn’t need to be. Instead, it’s a very good album that I caught at the right place at the right time…

Secluded near the television in-between bouts of homework, I was with a lonely college boy’s best friend (or was it just mine?) – Knights of the Old Republic on the xBox. All by myself in the basement, I spent the Friday evening wielding a lightsaber while downing a bag of Cheetos and drinking Dr. Pepper. My brain cells cooked as my muscles rotted.

When such things are done out of necessity rather than convenience, there is a certain attitude life’s necessary soundtrack must take… By no means one of joy, but not one of despair either. No, such a state is voluntary, though not desirable. It’s a feeling of willing self-depreciation, taking joy in your wasting away. Scavengers hits those notes perfectly.

It’s easy to stare your vision into blurry focus when the country-twang guitar solo descends into hazy feedback and background noise on “Traffic Sound.” It’s like the solo’s Lone Ranger just died in a heroic rescue attempt, but the listener is still vegetating. Other such buildups are thwarted during the listen as well, but the debauchery of “Traffic Sound” is probably the most affecting. The album, being full of such moments, doesn’t want you to get up and do something with your life; it just wants you to get up for another beer. For example, the most upbeat song on the album, “Slum Creeper,” buries what, in another life, may be a dance guitar riff under a deep, lazy bass line determined to keep up its slow pace. Even when the song builds, it does so into deafening noise instead of a stadium cheer. It’s as if the music is yelling at you: “Sit down!”

It’s not until the beautiful closer, a cover of U2’s “Promenade”, that Calla give up the bleak outlook. The song, though it didn’t make much sense on The Unforgettable Fire (U2’s best album, by the way), works perfectly here, capturing the simple beauty of an everyday situation. Listen, it says, enjoy your moments: not just the happy ones, but the sad ones too. It’s all life; each moment has its own importance and significance, take it all in and appreciate it. And then you start to feel better.

So, that’s the desired affect; that’s what makes it so good. So what’s it sound like exactly? Like a cowboy riding the New York subway at 3:00 a.m. Calla uses Texas guitars (with twang, echo, and vibrato) to accent songs rooted with pummeling bass and electronic textures. At times, it seems a bit creepy-crawly (there is a bug on the album cover, after all), and every sound is liable to get engulfed in the haze of the feedback hovering through the album like an apparition. In the right circumstances, listening to Scavengers could make your spine shiver in fright. But most of you probably wouldn’t listen to this while reading Kafka in a low-lit room (don’t do it, trust me).

Of course, I’m not telling you to give Scavengers a try just because there isn’t a lot out there with its particular shade of melancholy. I’m telling you to try it because it’s so good it just may own your soul. Or at least comfort it.