Jeff McCord on the month’s new releases
Monahans
Dim the Aurora
Misra
The finest bands create not only great songs but also mood, and no one gets that like Austin’s Monahans. The four-piece group named itself after the tranquil West Texas oasis, but the band’s tone is dark and unnerving, like a storm rolling in— all pounding drums and big guitar riffs, alternately thunderous and eerily ambient. Monahans morphed from Milton Mapes, an Austin band led by Greg Vanderpool and Roberto Sánchez, and yet despite the name change, it is essentially the same outfit, a bit less alt country and a bit more bombastic. Vanderpool has an uncanny knack for juxtaposing beautiful melodies over sonic fireballs, and his bandmates have clearly listened to their Crazy Horse and U2 albums. At first listen, Dim the Aurora (Misra) sounds unfinished; most songs are short and stop abruptly, and of the album’s hour, 29 minutes are taken up by instrumentals. But this lends a fascination and mystery to the band’s second album that you wouldn’t find on a more conventional recording. When the best songs end before you want them to, you’re left hungry for more.
Steve Earle
Townes
New West
“I stood in line and left my name / Took about six hours or so / Well, the man just grinned like it was all a game / Said they’d let me know.” These lines, from the new Steve Earle album, have just the sort of populist, humanistic slant that has won the singer acclaim over the years. Yet they aren’t his. “Marie” is one of fifteen Townes Van Zandt compositions featured on Townes (New West), and if it seems odd for Earle to follow his Grammy-winning Washington Square Serenade with an album of covers by the Texas great, he is blunt about why: He’s finishing a novel and has no time to write songs. Earle’s no stranger to Van Zandt; as an idolizing youth he abandoned his Schertz home and made a beeline for Houston in search of the songwriter, who became his reluctant mentor. And Earle hasn’t exactly tossed this project off. Recorded in multiple styles, he chooses material both obvious and obscure that showcases all aspects of Van Zandt’s evocative writing—grim, hopeful, funny, lustful—and pours his heart into these remarkable songs. If not enough to make you abandon everything yourself, their language will at least seduce you.
Meat Puppets
Sewn Together
Megaforce
When the Meat Puppets emerged from the Arizona desert in the early eighties, no one knew what to make of their raw, hyperaccelerated blend of country and psychedelic rock. The Kirkwood brothers (bassist Cris, singer-guitarist-songwriter Curt) had gone beyond a hardcore-punk style to adopt this new sound, and while the music had the same loose cohesion as, say, the Grateful Dead’s, the Pups sounded nothing like them—or anyone else. But following their biggest success (1994’s Too High to Die went gold), Cris’s drug addiction splintered the band. Curt moved to Austin and carried on, and the brothers reunited in 2006. Sewn Together (Megaforce) is their second release since this reunion and the first to really recapture their glory days. The album strikes a balance between their nineties major-label polish and the magic of their early lo-fi SST releases, and Curt’s nimble guitar lines no longer dominate the songs (hook laden and lyrically inconsequential) or vocals (multilayered and actually in tune). The Meat Puppets are a more accomplished band now, if, minus their amateurish charm, a slightly less interesting one. Still, it’s nice to have ’em back.
St.Vincent
St.Vincent
Photograph by Coy Koehler
The 26-year-old Dallas-raised chanteuse (real name: Annie Clark), a former member of the Polyphonic Spree, received universal adulation for her independently made, far-reaching 2007 pop debut, Marry Me. Now she’s back with the even more ambitious ACTOR (4AD).
How did you get the music bug?
My uncle is an amazing jazz guitar player; he and his wife are a jazz duo called Tuck and Patti. In the summertime, when I was about fifteen or so, I would go and travel the world with them—China and Japan—and basically be their roadie. I saw not only that music was a possible, viable career choice but also that the travel was exciting.
Were you in bands yourself at that age?
I was thirteen or fourteen when I started recording myself on the computer, so I think I developed a do-it-yourself attitude, because I was able to be my own backing choir and add my own bass and really compose.
Then you went to Boston’s Berklee College of Music. You were obviously serious about music as a career at that point.
I think I always wanted to do this. I didn’t really tell anyone, because sometimes you want to keep those things private and quietly work toward your dream.
What did you learn at Berklee?
Truthfully, I’m of the mind-set that reading [Charles] Bukowski or knowing about film or reading Susan Sontag is just as valuable to knowing music as learning about scales. I mean, the nuts and bolts are necessary, but it’s also necessary to forget what you’ve learned and to never sacrifice athleticism for style.
How long were you with the Polyphonic Spree?
From the summer of 2005 until the spring of 2007. I played guitar.
When did you start calling yourself St. Vincent?
I was making the Marry Me record, and I wanted it to be something bigger than myself. It’s a family name, so I thought it was a nice way to honor where I come from.
You released Marry Me in 2007. How did you feel about it once it was out, and how did that shape your follow-up?
Playing Marry Me live, I became aware of how much I love groove, when there’s a beat that feels good. When you have something rhythmic and constant, you can get away with all kinds of esoteric arrangements and pretty things on top without it seeming pretentious. So I wanted the follow-up to have a good-feeling groove on it, and also enough violent guitar that I would get to attack the guitar when I play live.
The new record has a lot going on. Can you describe your creative process?
Before I wrote any songs, I spent a lot of time carving out arrangements, writing instrumental music on the computer. I had all these intricately carved puzzle pieces, and compared to my normal process, this was extremely backward. It was like I had all the icing but needed the cake. But by using the computer, I also felt like I was making music that was smarter than me.
You’ve said that you approach songs as sound tracks to your favorite films. How’s that?
I start by watching a film I love and zeroing in on a scene, then I put it on mute and think about how I could score it. I come up with ideas by the cadence of someone’s voice, or by thinking about what a character embodies—you know, what does Woody Allen sound like?
You’ve received a lot of acclaim for your work. Did you expect it?
You always hope for the best, but you don’t really expect anything. On the Marry Me record, I wasn’t signed; I funded it myself and put it together with the help of friends and calling in favors, so I didn’t know if anyone would hear it. I just knew I wanted an album that people would like. There’s no guessing what someone else’s palate will be, so you focus on the only thing you can do and make something that is beautiful and exciting to your own ear.
