Check out some of the unreleased not-quite-ready-for-prime-time-yet-full-of-promise releases we’ve got piled up on our imaginary CD shelf. For this month’s issue {June 2004}, we’ve reviewed Cassandra Speaks, Buttersprites, American School of Warsaw, Rockscar, Call Me Loretta, the Suspicions, the Bratz, and the Isidore Chamber.
Hoo boy — what a great sense of satisfaction this is, to finally tell you about all the demos we’ve received! First one I grabbed from the pile: Cassandra Speaks All Lovers are Gamblers. The one-song offering {yes, unless my CD player has gone all awry, this demo featured only one song} layers and then layers female super-harmonies (specifically, three) with lovely violins and guitar woven throughout. It encompasses all things wholesome and dainty, bordering on precious. Imagine the Indigo Girls meets Late Tuesday meets Carissa’s Wierd meets the Sound of Music, played at your neighborhood PCC or Whole Foods and served with Essential Baking Sweet Perrin bread.
While I can’t find another song — and I can’t find a website (only this ooky teeny-bopper page that can’t be right) — I am intrigued. Anyone know this band? Tell them their imaginary friend Dana would like to hear more.
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While we’re on the subject of girlie bands, holy Hello Kitty — have you heard about the Buttersprites? They’re an extravagence visual as much as auditory, a bevy of the cutest Asian girls you ever did see, donned in matching outfits (the photo I saw featured nurses uniforms; I’ve heard rumors of tennis gear). They specialize in punk-pop-o-rama tunes with Japanese vocals. While this demo EP still sounds a bit rough around the edges, I happen to know they’ve been in the studio, so expect a heartier release from this self-proclaimed “Sake-fueled butterpunk” band later this year. I bet the cover art will be hotter than wasabi. Also, catch the Buttersprites on Thursday night June 24th at the Ladyfest premier at Capitol Hill Arts Center, with Mirah, Tresspassers William, Anna Oxygen, and Dear Nora.
Next up — American School of Warsaw! This is an exemplary EP, with five songs that each pack a raucous wallop while still carrying a seasoned melody. While ASOW’s brand of driving rock falls short of “buttrock” it certainly has a metal edge that could make your head shake and your fist thrust upwards. Sean “Shonny” Moe‘s sinewy vocals soften the edge of the relentless drums and blaring guitars (from Tim McAnnally and David Wall, respectively). These guys win the prize for Best Rock Band of the bunch for this Go-Go around, and I think they’d seriously kick your ass live. And you’d like it.
Speaking of “The Rock,” Rockscar win the igChar prize for most “punny” band name. And igChar loves her the puns! Rockscar blare 80’s guitar rifts, 80’s soaring rocker vocals… dude, Rockscar is a buttrock band! I’m from South Florida, so I know my buttrock when I hear it. With predictably metallic guitar hooks, familiar rhyme schemes and song structures, the music isn’t gonna surprise you. “Look into my eyes do you see a place with no end? / Look into the mirror, do you see your only friend?” Ahh, Rockscar: it might comfort you, it might enrage you, it might rock you… all I know is, if we host another Buttrock Karaoke Party this year, we’re totally inviting these guys ’cause I bet they can party! RAWK!!
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Then we have Call Me Loretta, who stood out in the piles of demos for review based on 1) their incredibly clever band name and 2) the packaging on their Crosswinds album (which features this great Edward Gorey-like, starkly sad art). And as it turns out, they’re French to boot. Major sighs. I must be up-front here: this is not an easy listen. Despite the ethereal, lovely vocals, the songs drag with a lulled dissonance, a drunken stupor, a musical neurosis (track 10 “Coralled Horses” repeatedly laments, “I’m a mess, I’m a mess”).
At first, it made me decidedly uncomfortable — and every finger on these imaginary hands of mine felt compelled to type, “Loretta, you must take that much-loved copy of Goo out of your stéréo.” This is like Sonic Youth on Quaaludes. French Quaaludes. Which really, isn’t a bad influence. Is it? Sounds kinda fun. Mais oui!
As the CD progresses, I find myself haunted, lulled. Is this what imaginary boy Michael X hears when he listens to the Building Press? While my personal poptart sensibilities long for melody and hooks, my inner MX goads me that my shallow tastes are merde, that I should relish Call for Loretta’s disquieting charms. Besides, now that I know they’re French — that the vocalists sport the luscious names Stephanie and Sebastien — I like them even more. More importantly, I want them to like me. Is that so wrong?
The Suspicions‘ EP offers DIY garage three-chord punk with gender-neutral vocals that blast from a husky-voiced female singer known simply as Karen. The Suspicions’ likeable, sing-along songs have a tinny, rudimentary quality — which is exactly what DIY garage punk is all about. Those Suspicions, they can hook ya. While listening, I felt like I was eavesdropping on the kid sibling of one of those hottie-punk Dirtnap bands (The Girls, the Spits, the Hollowpoints… and yes, all their CDs are sitting here at TIG headquarters waiting to be reviewed too, sigh… but I digress). I hope the Suspicions grow up to join the gang.
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Speaking of punks, The Bratz play a T-Rex-meets-Motley Crue affected garage punkrock. Even though I haven’t seen them play live, I picture them swaggering while recording this demo, with their sassy-mouths, catchy hooks, and false British affectation. The sample is full o’ driving, no-brainer fun; it’s like
Red Vines® for breakfast for the ears. I’m not sure what the Bratz are doing that the Datsuns didn’t already do, but then, the Datsuns live all the way in New Zealand, so I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got the Bratz here. We Seattle folks need all the glamorous-puss fun we can get.* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Lastly {tho certainly not leastly} I present to thee The Isidore Chamber, who serve up a deliciously warm portion of that 80s old wave flavor that everyone seems to be savoring these days (myself included). The obviously low production value on this recording couldn’t mask the band’s lovely Tindersticks-like intensity, moody without being sullen, like a grey Northwest autumn day. What often presented as a dull, quiet start grew to muted crescendos. At times a bit hollow, these symphonies remain unfinished. I really liked this EP, but then, I’ve always had a soft-spot for the serenely sad. The Isidore Chamber is in the studios right now. I can’t wait to hear what comes out.
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