The cosmos have been a much mulled over theme throughout modern music history, whether the results are great (i.e. Bowie’s “Space Odyssey”) or just odd (i.e. actual space music created by deriving celestial signals from planetary shifts). In the case of the genre known as “space rock,” there have been numerous attempts to marry the two seemingly unrelated subjects together. Regardless of the musical merits or functions of those before, Dappled Cities have taken a stab at creating a sort of grandiose space odyssey of their own with their latest release, Zounds. And the result is unearthly in the best possible way.

Though not quite post-rock, Dappled Cities adopt the musical delay and pace changes that is sometimes associated with that movement. They blend borrowed bits artfully into a futuristic electro-pop sound of their own, never compromising to the standards of one style or another. Zounds is the picture of tightly intertwined synth versus strings, which, when mixed together as well as Dappled Cities do, create a strikingly futuristic sound that steers clear of sounding overproduced or tawdry. The time and care that went into the arranging process is evident, and duly appreciated.

Zounds starts off with a bang on the bold and introspective “Hold Your Back,” which, with eyes closed, functions perfectly as the album’s symbolic takeoff, wrought with brooding minor chords juxtaposed with spacey, wistful reverberations and vocals. The theme continues throughout the album, with each opus building upon the other, straying further and further into the unknowns of the universe. The comparatively disco-driven “The Price” is a splendidly raw and emotional vocal display, using repetition and catchiness to its advantage. The entire album is littered with spacey metaphors that recount the very real tribulations of those of us who cannot quite defy the gravitational hold of Earth. Fortunately for those of us who are forever ensnared by gravity’s iron fist, Dappled Cities have provided a 56-minute escape from the confines of our terrestrial ills.
Jennifer Farmer

It’s either luck or fate that chose to release A Sunny Day in Glasgow’s sophomore album, Ashes Grammar, at the exact moment the leaves in the Midwest are starting to turn. Following a summer filled with ephemeral “chillwave” jams and tropically tinged indie rock sub-genres, the fever dream searing through the woozy layers and grand expanse of Ashes Grammar plays like the calming denouement to a complex, sweat-soaked season. From a distance, it would be hard to see the tiny gears and motors that propel Ben Daniel’s blissful experiments. Obscured in puffs of swirling haze, flashing pastels and wayward echo, the initial smokescreen of Ashes Grammar could be chalked up to any bunch of nameless shoegazers blaring their album from the basement and through the heating ducts. Certainly the touchstones are there. The dual vocal performance of sisters Lauren and Robin Daniels recalls the celestial intonations of the Cocteau Twins’ Elizabeth Fraser; the warped and warm rushes of synths on “Close Chorus” soothes like a faded copy of Loveless; the methodical patterns of pulsating electronics matched with a very human heart stand as populist as the Postal Service—but none of those signifiers stick. Daniels instead keeps his compositions in an atmospherically confounding state of flux, a place where everything blurs into one prolonged illusionary trip.

In that regard, Ashes Grammar becomes an album that operates as two. On one hand it’s perfectly crafted escapist psychedelia, especially when sewn together with a number of sparkling snippets (“Canalfish,” “Life’s Great”). On the other, when listening becomes focused and intentional, songs like “Shy” and the stunning “Failure” take on greater meaning. The latter shows the band veering away from preciousness and honing in on a tribal symbiosis of rhythm more in line with Animal Collective, eventually swelling towards ecstatic crests before freefalling into a net of crystalline guitar and piano. With all the spurts of serene chaos that seem to encapsulate Daniel’s approach on Ashes Grammar, there’s always safety in the fact that he can expertly pen a jangly pop song and hide it in the folds. Both “The White Witch” and closer “Headphone Space” display this wonder: the power to sonically obscure and melodically dazzle, depending on your perspective.
Kevin J. Elliott

MP3: “Ashes Grammar” and “Ashes Math”

When people look back on this shameless decade of ours and the trends that defined it, Simian Mobile Disco will most likely be viewed as the also-rans of the dance revolution. While like-minded bands, including Daft Punk, Basement Jaxx and Justice, became party-mix heroes, SMD have found only moderate success outside of British electronic circles. And yet all of these groups use basically the same musical ingredients (ridiculous vocal hooks, four-on-the-floor beats, and keyboard riffs that sound as if they were written for electric guitar) so why do DJs James Ford and Jas Shaw always come up with the slightly-inferior product?

The problem is that Simian Mobile Disco lack a set of unique musical characteristics that would allow them to stand out from the crowd. On their new album Temporary Pleasure, in particular, it’s hard to see what Ford and Shaw bring to the table that hasn’t already been devoured and spewed out by their illustrious peers. Take “Turn Up the Dial,” for instance. The song is silly, catchy and one of the duo’s best tracks, but I’d have no trouble believing you if you told me it was a B-side off Basement Jaxx’s Rooty. Earlier on the record, “10,000 Horses Can’t Be Wrong” features the same maniacally constructed chord progressions that can be found all over Justice’s Cross record (granted, Justice and Simian are true contemporaries so it’s hard to say who’s ripping off who). And then the very next track, “Cruel Intentions,” is basically a deadringer for Hercules and Love Affair’s “You Belong,” but with none of that song’s emotional resonance.

Sure, none of this makes Temporary Pleasure an unenjoyable listen. And the album’s latest single, “Audacity of Huge,” is pretty fantastic. (The song’s narrator is Chris Keating of Yeasayer, who says he’s got everything from Roomba robots, grape Kool-Aid-filled swimming pools and bio-diesel dirigibles, so he’s naturally perplexed as to why the woman of his dreams would want nothing to do with him.) But while there’s a load of fun to be had on Temporary Pleasure, the album falls short as a strong artistic statement.
David Holmes

MP3: “Audacity of Huge”

When you see a band’s MySpace page and they’re all in suits and their description reads “rock/soul/garage” you know exactly what you’re getting. Still it’s kind of hard to tag a band like that with the unoriginal label—that’s almost the point. San Francisco based band the Hi-Nobles are such a band, and their addition to the cannon is the genre-appropriate Shake.

While most of the bands categorized as such are virtually interchangeable, the standouts manage to twist up the formula with either the power of their performance or some individual take. The Hi-Nobles aren’t quite a standout band. Make no mistake, though, everything you’d expect is here in healthy doses. The Hammond organ bubbles and gurgles along energetically; the drummer lays down a rock solid backbeat; there’s serviceable bass work; and the singer sings, howls and croons enthusiastically. But at the end of the day, it’s all very much business as usual.

What Shake does have going for it is that it sounds like a great snapshot of what the band must deliver live. Even through the cold digital medium, the Hi-Nobles seems like the ones to ignite a red-hot dance party. Even the most rhythmically challenged listener would be hard pressed to not give an enthusiastic head shake to songs like “Don’t Go.” And the band does stretch its wings with the A/B switch over of “Gold Tipped Rhino.” The song starts out as four-to-the-floor rave-up, but halfway through turns into a slow burning outro. It’s not mind-blowing, but it’s very nicely executed.

At the end of the day, you can’t get upset when you go to a hot dog stand and you get served a hot dog. With that in mind, the Hi-Nobles’ Shake is a solid but unremarkable diversion.
Dorian S. Ham

Can we please resurrect the term “light rock?” The ’70s are long gone and no one can replace Bread, but many bands are reviving those unmistakably hazy harmonies and wispy arrangements. Good indie light rock should boast more layers than an East Hampton wedding cake. It should capture that narcotic vision of sun-streaked windows and phosphorescent leaves. And like Grand Archives’ new album, Keep In Mind Frankenstein, it should seep ingots of easy listening.

Former Band of Horses and Carissa’s Wierd member Mat Brooke formed Grand Archives in Seattle two and a half years ago, and the band released its first self-title album in February of 2008. Similar to its debut, Keep In Mind Frankenstein was recorded in the old mining town of Index, Washington and was produced by Ben Kersten. It carries, however, more palpable depth and sorrow than its predecessor. With the exception of “Dig That Crazy Grave,” the entire record was scrapped and recreated with under-harangued material. Meaning that the boys winged it. They were barely familiar with each song’s lyrics when they entered the studio, but somehow crafted on-the-fly verses that don’t feel like afterthoughts. Kersten’s encouragement of infusing experimental instruments like a shabby Theremin and a harp made of wine glasses helped maximize the album’s supernatural tone.

The band chose heartbreaking elegy “Topsy’s Revenge” to kick things off. Inspired by the Coney Island elephant that Thomas Edison electrocuted in 1903, it uses the whimpering sounds of the cello, accordion and ukulele to connect the previous century with this one. “Witchy Park” is the most impressive example of Grand Archives’ ability to navigate epic bridges through gentle refrains. Between Grand Archives, the Shins and Fleet Foxes, Sub Pop is likely responsible for 90% of all hipster candlelit dinners.
Alexandra Kelley
MP3: “Silver Among the Gold”