“Neighbourhood Social Scene”

I admit I was initially lukewarm on the concept behind The Happiness Project, the first solo album by Broken Social Scene- and Do Make Say Think-founder Charles Spearin. After having heard the first available sample “Mrs. Morris” (which, in retrospect, is more than “just an intro track”), I was ready to pass on the album entirely. But thank God I didn’t, because Charles Spearin offers a surprisingly mellifluous and successful experiment in re-contextualizing the tones of every-day speech.

Spearin derives most of The Happiness Project’s melodies from the rhythms of every day speech which he found in interviews he conducted with several of his neighbours ranging from children to the elderly (the interviews were loosely based on the subject of happiness; hence the album’s title). The dependence on spoken rhythms for melodies leads to some rather unpredictable and unique melodies and interludes. Eventually, the “lyrics” start to blend with the music and begin to sound like they are sung, even though it is the spoken words that dictate the time changes and melodies rather than vice-versa (hear the choral lyrics “It’s like they don’t ask beyond of what’s present” in “Anna”). Refreshingly, Spearin avoids the tediously long, droning ambience of too many experimental albums. Quite oppositely, with a mere run-time of thirty-one minutes, forty-nine seconds, The Happiness Project is an ideal album for quick, repeated listens.

The most satisfying aspect of The Happiness Project is that despite contributions from Kevin Drew, Evan Cranley and Justin Small, the album does not sound like any of their other projects (Broken Social Scene, Stars and Do Make Say Think, respectively). The only exception is “Mr. Gowrie” which recalls the more ambient moments on Broken Social Scene’s Feel Good Lost and B-sides collection Bee Hives. Nor are Spearin’s own contributions to his other projects immediately clear on The Happiness Project, an accomplishment which eluded both Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning on their respective solo albums (or perhaps an accomplishment which neither artist endeavoured to achieve). For creating an album that is distinctly Charles Spearin, and, most importantly, for taking on and delivering with such perfection a concept as original as the one behind The Happiness Project, Charles Spearin deserves to be commended, especially during a time when experimentation and creating an individual artistic identity have become increasingly difficult.

Interpol - "Lights" (Capitol Records, 2010)

As I’d mentioned in my previous post, Interpol recently finished recording its fourth album. That album doesn’t have a title yet, but the band has already released one song, the brooding, deliberate “Lights.” While “Lights” doesn’t exhibit the orchestral approach that the band has alluded to in interviews (not a surprising approach, considering frontman Paul Banks’ string-laden solo album and Carlos D.’s increasing forays into film scores, likely the sort of work he left the band to further pursue), “Lights” does revisit the band’s Bright Lights-era subtlety and attention to song-craft which the band has promised in even earlier interviews.

Despite these allusions/promises, I remain wary of the hope that “Lights” provides. After all, “Pioneer to the Falls,” which opens Our Love to Admire, is one of the best post-Bright Lights songs Interpol has written, yet the rest of Our Love to Admire displays Interpol at its worst (so far).

Addendum: Interpol's new logo is fucking rad.

Download "Lights" for free here.

(Next) Exit Carlos

So, Carlos Dengler (or “Carlos D.”) has left Interpol. Well, that just adds more incentive to stop caring about Interpol, or at least to stop caring as much. For me, this incentive already began with their largely mediocre third album Our Love to Admire which was released three years ago.

Usually, when bands change members, especially so late into their careers, it’s for the worst. Sure, Sonic Youth made its best albums after a seemingly endless search for a drummer, but Steve Shelley permanently filled that role during the art-punk pioneers’ formative years. By 2010, nearly eight years after Interpol released its modern classic debut album Turn on the Bright Lights, no matter whom Interpol recruits to replace Carlos, Interpol will never be the same band that was so integral to my formative years (of music-discovery).

I don’t know if it was the lofty, spacious production on Turn on the Bright Lights that made the album sound so timeless and even almost celestial at times or if it was just the quality or style of Carlos’ bass-playing (perhaps it was a combination of all three), but Carlos D. was the first bassist to have ever really made me appreciate the bass. It was Carlos’ clearly plucked notes, unobscured by the rest of the band’s instruments or Paul Bank’s melancholy tenor, that I’ll always remember having fallen asleep to in altered states throughout high school.

While Carlos stayed in the band long enough to finish recording its new, currently untitled album, he won’t be joining Paul et al. on their follow-up tour. Instead, the band has already announced that it has “some very exciting new recruits” joining them on the road. Sounds good, but I’m not holding my breath.

Despite my wariness, however, and despite my earlier sentiments about bands changing their line-ups and that perhaps it’s time to stop caring about Interpol, I owe a lot to the band. After all, Interpol was one of the first indie bands I listened to, after Beck and Radiohead drew me away from classic rock, which in turn drew me away from nü metal and rap-rock. For that reason alone, I know that no matter how bad Interpol may get, and no matter how strong my pre-conceptions of their new music may be, I’m always going to keep up with Interpol's work, Carlos or no Carlos.

The Dead Weather to Appear on Twilight: Eclipse Soundtrack

With an exclusive track called "Rolling in on a Burning Tire." This news pretty much sets the tone of my upcoming review of the Dead Weather's new album Sea of Cowards.

Do Make Say Think - Other Truths (Arts & Crafts, 2009)

Breaking through in the early 2000s as part of the third wave of post-rock, Toronto's mostly instrumental outfit Do Make Say Think have become a crown jewel of Canadian alternative rock and one of the most popular post-rock bands today.

DMST take self-titling to a whole new level on their sixth album Other Truths by naming the album’s four tracks "Do," Make," "Say" and "Think," respectively. Although Other Truths features the fewest number of songs on a Do Make album yet, brevity is not the adjective to describe this album. Other Truths is the band’s shortest album to date, but it still clocks in at approximately forty-three minutes.

Other Truths blasts off with the rocket-fueled "Do," as a gently finger-picked melody dabbed with audible fretboard-slides quickly gives way to a meteor shower of instruments. One by one, electric guitars, bass and increasingly thunderous drums plummet from the sky like space shrapnel burning up on re-entry. "Do" is gripping and overpowering; however, it essentially conforms to the false-finish/climax formula that typifies most post-rock.

The last three minutes of "Do" coast into the subtle drum-work of "Make" which may appeal to fans of the band’s earlier, more jazz-infused albums. Here, experimental folk-rockers Akron/Family reprise their role as vocalists from Do Make Say Think's previous album You, You're a History in Rust (still the only vocalists to ever appear on a DMST album), before "Make" skyrockets to uncharted territories.

"Make" concludes with a winding, horn-driven transition into "Say" where, in contrast to the epic brass battalion featured so prominently on the two previous tracks, determined drums direct a cast of doleful, climactic horns. The track’s dramatic sombreness works perfectly as a soundtrack to a band preparing for war, consciously marching in as underdogs.

As DMST enter an un-winnable situation, plaintive vocals lull the track to a quiet close, and the scene plays out in slow motion as it fades to black. From here, the quietest stretch on Other Truths begins and continues until the album ends. It is difficult to recall if DMST have ever sounded so distant, with such sparse, barely noticeable drums.

It took me a long time to like or even come to terms with Other Truths. The sudden change from torrential to introspective jarred me, and I was disappointed that the pace and mood seemed to have steadily declined after the first track. But the more I listened to Other Truths, the less the songs seemed to have been "stuck in middling positions, unsure of their courses" or "easily fade[d] into background music," as I’d had to backspace. Like a lot of other post-rock, Other Truths can be a little difficult to digest – even boring, at least upon the first few listens. But certainly as far as track and album lengths go, post-rock can get a lot worse than Other Truths.