With background textures that rival Boards of Canada in pastoral, tree-lined opacity and an obvious predilection for boggy atmospherics, Clouddead handily distances themselves from the rest of their hip-hop brethren. Indeed, this is something more considered and sinister — less about wayward braggadocio than it is about keeping your doors deadbolted at all hours of the night. Even their less-is-more approach to vocalism eventually starts playing tricks on your mind; when lyricists Dose and Why? emerge, it’s usually to puncture the pleasant fog of some dulcet, wavering sample.

The whole album reads like that; the sonic equivalent of your first legitimate drug trip as narrated by two jittery but triumphant kids who can’t bear to keep their choice hiding place a secret any longer. While it’s perhaps a tad overlong, Clouddead doesn’t suffer from any shortage of great ideas. It’s menacing, it’s enthralling, and it’s one of few modern-day records (hip-hop or otherwise) that honestly doesn’t sound like anything — or anyone — else.

Atlanta five-piece Deerhunter, who hailed Cooper as a primary influence in a recent Dusted feature, show their guts admirably on this vast, visceral second album. Arranged in chronological sequence from two distinct recording sessions, Cryptograms is alternately murky and ethereal, amorphous and incisive, shot through with Sonic Youth guitar squall, Spacemen 3’s blissful hymns, the morbidly introspective drum sounds of early Factory Records productions, and the abstract sonic richness of Harold Budd’s collaborations with Brian Eno.

The album’s willfully cryptic first half opens with a psych-out, both musically and mentally. Out of a nature scene’s tranquility, a foreboding bassline and bird-calling keyboards summon singer Bradford Cox, who kicks off the galvanizing title track with a declaration of regret: “My greatest fear/ I fantasized/ The days were long/ The weeks flew by/ Before I knew/ I was awake/ My days were through/ It was too… late.” As the song careens toward an increasingly chaotic climax, Cox finds his senses deteriorating until the final, indefinite repetition of the closing mantra: “There was no sound.” Underpinned by Josh Fauver’s primal bass and Moses Archuleta’s paranoid drums, the similarly bleak “Lake Somerset” is a scream-saturated stomper with largely obscured lyrics about murder and pissing. No wonder Cox endured daily panic attacks throughout its recording.

“The skinniest man on the face of the Earth,” claim the MySpacers. “He suffers from Marfan syndrome, try not to insult him,” others retort. The 1 in 5,000 Americans affected are typically tall, thin, and at risk of heart problems. Source(s): MySpace, March of Dimes.

Deerhunter aren’t content just to put their least welcoming side forward. Cryptograms also intersperses its loosely structured songs with a handful of extended, largely instrumental ambient passages. Guitarists Colin Mee and Lockett Pundt know their delay pedals– the drifting chords on “White Ink” ring with the same washed-out analog shimmer that made Flying Saucer Attack’s Further so powerfully nostalgic, gradually filling in with low end as keyboards and vocal effects add layers of texture off in the distance. The dream-like “Providence”, written on a Rhode Island tour stop with Lightning Bolt, sounds at once radiant and terrified. “Octet” finds Cox’s cries muffled behind the maelstrom, until the drums and bass lock together in the second half, erupting in a static-drenched propulsion that doesn’t let up until a busy-signal organ tone segues into the droning, bell-swathed “Red Ink”. The album’s first half concludes with the tape to which the band recorded literally spinning off its reel.

“She said, ‘Dream dreams the dreamer’/ I said it’s not my fault.” An earlier recording session was scrapped for, among other reasons, a poorly calibrated tape machine. At least one song here was written after several Ambien. Deerhunter’s original bass player died in a tragic skateboarding accident; he’d just gotten clean. Source(s): Television, Bradford Cox.

That first 30 minutes of Cryptograms is a slow but steady build towards the vastly more accessible latter half, recorded several months after the first. Opening with the perpetual climax of “Spring Hall Convert”, these songs depict a Deerhunter reborn– if not happy, then at least comfortably numb. Here, all that brooding sludge-psych and those airy backgrounds give way to swooning dream-pop and comparatively lucid songwriting: “Strange Lights” is the first track on Cryptograms with clearly decipherable lyrics, Cox waxing childlike about “walking to the sun,” bathed in bright, lambent guitars. The gauzy growing-up reminiscence “Hazel St.” asks for protection in pop-glorified sunlight; portentous finale “Heatherwood”, with its ramshackle percussion, promises another reincarnation. “Was not seen again,” several voices repeat, ending not with a bang but with an enigmatic whistle.

The Deer Hunter is a movie. “Deer Hunter” is a game. Deerhunter are a band that sometimes gets called Deer Hunter. Deerhoof are somebody else. Source(s): Twenty-five years on Earth, Google.

Of course, even the second recording session’s highly melodic space-outs aren’t fully coherent. As Cox laments in “Hazel St.”, “The subject is always just out of frame.” At this point, with an album called Cryptograms, you’re weird if you haven’t been wondering what, exactly, the encoded message might be– if, in fact, there is one at all. I like to think it’s that Deerhunter are a pop band.

After all, while Cryptograms presents its own obstacles, it’s easily enjoyed as a whole. Memorable melodies and an awkward, charismatic narrator are often peeking from behind the dissonance-laden mists that self-consciously choke them. From The Velvet Underground & Nico to Sid and Nancy, the sweetest romance of the rock underground’s life was always death. And the tragic beauty of Cryptograms, as to an extent with Cooper’s novels, is the way something as innocent as pop can be so mercilessly corrupted– and due to the ensuing tension, emerge as better art for it.

From the road weary hook of “Tall Trees” to the towering title track, Terminal Romance offers eleven songs that merge thought and sound. Tales of a life where the days are just fading introductions to the night, each track strives to outdo the previous with a more over the top approach and delivery. The end result is a classic rock album honed through roots rock sensibilities.

MM&ET consists of Matt Mays (guitar, vocals), Jay Smith (guitar, vocals), Andy Patil (bass, vocals), and Tim Jim Baker (drums). Since forming in 2003 to perform shows in support of May’s self-titled JUNO nominated debut, the band has toured Canada countless times as well as performed numerous dates in the US and the UK.

The band’s self-titled album was released in Canada on Sonic Records in 2005 and a year later in the US on the 00.02.59 imprint. The debut was co-produced by the band and Grammy Award-winner Don Smith (Tom Petty, Keith Richards). The first single “Cocaine Cowgirl” was a massive hit and the album went on to win four East Coast Music Awards in 2006 (Album of the Year, Group of the Year, Rock Recording of the Year, Single of the Year).

Based out of Fredericton, KoAk has been the moniker for Ian Wilson’s bedroom recordings since his early teens. Stockpiling track after track, he would sporadically perform a collection of the material and then disappear again for months at a time. After the completion of Morningtime Stumble though, Wilson’s girlfriend and drummer Meg Folkins decided to send the album to fellow New Brunswick artist, Shotgun Jimmie.

Upon receiving the paper-clad album, which bore nothing more than a potato stamp that read “KoAk,” Jim was somewhat skeptical. This quickly faded after hearing music contained on the CD-R though. He soon sent the tracks to his label, Delorean Recordings. A month later, plans were in the works for the album to be re-released on the Halifax based label.

Morningtime Stumble’s ten tracks range from the seaside dirge of “Foggycoast” to the longing notes of “There is a Lion.” Holding onto the influences of lo-fi figureheads The Microphones and Eric’s Trip, Wilson’s songs thrive with the lack of studio polish. Using this aesthetic as a tool, the album’s sound never betrays the lyrical content, making for a cohesive and incredibly powerful collection of music.

Bradford is everything with Atlas Sound and what you hear is a complex, expansive bedroom recording. Totally absorbed and working at a prolific rate, he channels a stream of consciousness, leaving the scorched beauty of his vocals raw and untreated. Bradford cites the “ideas that I can’t make work with a five piece rock band,” as the basis of his solo work and unrestricted, he makes a currently unparalleled meld of garage rock and ambient electronics. ’Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel’ is a serious body of work that manages to combine seemingly incongruous sound elements to make a wonderfully cohesive pop narrative. It is also undoubtedly one of the year’s first truly great albums.

The dark and droning “They Removed All Trace That Anything Had Ever Happened Here” is a beautiful shuffle that begins the disc with an urgency that plays off of the band’s natural melancholy. “This Is What We Do to Sell Out(s)” is a manic, ambitious collection of beats that contains some of the most depressed vocals this side of Codeine. But Hood’s unique burps and skips are at their best on “The River Curls Around the Town,” where everything stutters and stops without warning, parts of the song just start to go backwards, and the guitar part jumps from channel to channel while horns play in the background.

Drummer Stephen Royle is the hidden weapon on this album; the music revolves around his phenomenal pounding in a graceful battle of rhythm and atmosphere. Although Hood sounded like this long before Radiohead experimented with electronica, Cold House is the next step toward the icy-cold future of alternative rock that Kid A forecasted. Like any good experimental rock album, this may take time to grow on a casual listener. But it’s a rewarding experience to hear bands like this break and bend the boundaries of modern pop and twist it into their own glitch-filled vision.

Dog Day began as a recording project for Seth Smith’s frail folk songs. Soon after, he was joined by Nancy Urich, who had performed alongside Smith in Halifax indie rock outfit The Burdocks and Casey Spidle and Crystal Thili of hardcore act The Hold. The new line-up led Smith’s songs down a more punk influenced path of skeletal power-chords and one-note leads, building to something reminiscent of The Vaselines and Joy Division. Their first effort, Thank You debuted at #8 in Canada on College Radio Charts.

With Night Group, Dog Day launches themselves into new territory. Each track is built with splintering rhythms carrying the song’s cathartic lyrics at a blinding pace. From the searing attack of “Lydia” to the more humble notes of “Bright Light,” this is a brave and expertly crafted collection of songs.

“This is a more modern Halifax sound, though, punctuated by effortless gems like “End of the World” which echoes like Eric’s Trip covering Interpol. The title track is a keyboard-laden pogo dream, while “Sleeping, Waiting” feels like Lou Barlow smiling.”
– Spin.com

“…and the album seems to get better with each song, with “Oh Dead Life” sparkling as if it was to be included on a tribute album to the Cure. Even when Dog Day slows things down with the lighter, dance-rock, synth-tinged ditty “Know Who You Are” it still easily shines….”
– Billboard.com

“This is an amusing, breathless, melodic as hell debut that definitely is worth whatever attention this band will whip up by keeping
those cool kids dancing.”
– Exclaim!

“…The Canadian band opens its debut with “Lydia,” which begins like a dirge, then explodes into a startlingly catchy verse that opens space for singers Seth Smith and Nancy Urich to lace together their glassy voices”
– A.V. Club

Sonically, Snailhouse songs can seem deceptively straightforward. Though it is no secret Feuerstack is an accomplished musician. His guitar playing is elegantly understated; he never wastes a single note. Lyrically, too, the songs are pared down like a poem or a Raymond Carver story: all that is there is all that you need. From that first listen, you can enjoy a Snailhouse song as nothing less than a great pop song; it is only later, after another listen, after a few listens, that the layers start peeling away, and the song opens up in an almost surprising way. And you can then maybe catch a glimpse of how the pieces have fit together so seamlessly to form a cohesive gem.

The 12 songs chosen here by the contributors move from the first Snailhouse release, Fine (1994), through The Radio Dances (1998), A New Tradition, 2001 and The Opposite is Also True (both 2001), and finally, The Silence Show (2005). The amazing and disparate interpretations show us how an accomplished song moves out of the songwriter’s home and into the world, creating a life of its own. Winter is coming. Snow will be falling soon, if it hasn’t already. These are beautiful songs, beautifully rendered and made new, again.

Praise for Do You Want To Talk All Night:

“…in the end, the success of this project is how everyone treated this as a gift to a friend. A shared moment, a conversation on the road or one of those glimpses of inspiration or admiration we all share with those we respect the most.” - Herohill.com

The group met in 2003 with a common aim, to gig and gig and then to gig some more. In the past 3 years they’ve played over one hundred and fifty shows all over Europe. The band have just about had time to set up home in London in 2005 and send shock waves of anticipation through Europe’s gigging circuit. They continue to infiltrate the UK and Europe, executing tight live shows with a subtly which collides beautifully with their torrential sound. The trio were approached by a number of record labels in 2006 but finally signed to One Little Indian Records which released their ferocious amazing debut album Twisted Trees in June 2007 in Europe.

After two UK tours and a European tour in early 2007, Underground Railroad was then invited in July 2007 to open for Dinosaur Jr. in Europe in prestigious venues such as the Amsterdam Paradisio, The Berlin Fritz club at Postbahnhof, Effenar in Eindhoven or Frisson in Fribourg.

Ungerground Railroad are leaving for Seattle in February 2008 to record their second album with producer John Goodmanson ( Death cab for cutie, Blonde redhead…) which is due out Autumn 2008.

Levy had a quick rise up NYC music scene elite, playing gigs with national bands - Athlete, Razorlight, Adam Green, Regina Spektor, Gene Dreamy, Gary Sincere and The Zutons. Levy’s buzz spread across the city and they became darlings of the hipster clubs. This street cred landed them local press and interest soon spread across the bridges and out of town. Levy’s music was tipped on internet-blog Podcaster playlists: from NYC, up to Canada, back down to Texas, over in Japan, on web radio in France, making personal “best” lists or artists of the month. They were all over the bespoke internet like hand-done embroidery. Podcasters around The States – Chicago now, then LA, San Diego catching up - were podcasting Levy’s music before podcasters became the in thing. That started back in January, at the same time as “Relevant” magazine selected Levy in its music edition as a “band to watch” for in 2005. Levy’s track “On the Dance Floor” can be heard in Scottie Marshall’s feature film “Lucky 13” and “Rivka” can be heard in the French Canadian young adult drama “Love 15”, which airs in France, Canada and Quebec.

Praise for Levy:

“Levy follows in the great tradition of turning heartbreak into perfect two-minute pop songs.” - Tripwire

“Anyone who has a soft spot (possibly hidden under a cardigan) for orange juice or The Fieldmice will be charmed by their C86-like lo- fi pop sweetness and everybody else will just love their catchy-but-nasty combination of gorgeous tunes and bitter lyrics. Tasty” - Lauren Laverne, XFM Radio UK

“James Levy is an intriguing songwriter’- Time Out “They can easily play in the backyard with the stalwarts of New York’s vitalized post punk scene’- The New York Post