Wednesday, May 04, 2011

album review: Hal Dolls

Being easily confused by science, I’ve always been fascinated by special effects. How do they do it? As an obsessive music nerd, I hear a lot of new releases, and I’m always impressed when I hear someone today making a record that sounds like it was recorded a long time ago. I know it has something to do with science stuff like amplifiers and tubes and getting “warm” sounds.



Point being: Hal Dolls is a band of veteran Louisville punks, and their new release sounds like the best record to skate to in 1982. Fans of early-’80s melodic and snotty punks like the Circle Jerks will thrill to the throwback sounds of Bipolaroid. Song titles like “Drunk Phone Blues,” “Asshole” and “What If Barbie Got Fat” should give you an idea of the biting social satire employed here; it’s an entertaining form of expression that never should have faded away. Welcome back to the future, Dolls.

c. 2011 LEO Weekly

album review: Fleet Foxes

Ah, the dreaded curse of the sophomore album. When Fleet Foxes emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, in 2008 with a stunning EP and an instant-classic full-length album, they set a high bar for themselves and for their fans’ expectations. After a wait, they have returned with a follow-up that’s basically more of the same, which is both reassuring and disappointing. Part of what made their first, self-titled album so beloved was the element of surprise they were able to enjoy with their gorgeous, multi-tiered vocal harmonies and inventive song structures.



Helplessness Blues suffers from a lack of inventiveness, a complacent reliance on the basics of their formula. There are few surprises. The only notable experimentation comes in “The Shrine/An Argument,” an eight-minute song whose last two minutes are tarnished by a free-jazz burst that sounds like a duck-bludgeoning. This is a perfect example of a band that might paint their masterpiece on their third album, having learned what works and what fails.

c. 2011 LEO Weekly

Vandervelde and friends’ raw vibe

David Vandervelde has been playing music since he was 14 and gained notice for collaborations with the late Jay Bennett of Wilco. Today, the Michigan native is winning over listeners with his classic-rock attitude, delivered on an indie budget. LEO caught up with him as he neared town for a not-so-traditional Derby weekend bill with fellow rock traditionalists Buffalo Killers.



LEO: You can be a hard act to pin down. You’re on an artsy indie label, collaborate with Nashville’s Bobby Bare Jr., get compared to T. Rex and arena rock... what’s it sound like to you?
Vandervelde: I guess I do get compared to a lot of classic rock bands — Big Star, Tom Petty, Neil Young, even ELO and Fleetwood Mac on occasion. I think these are all good comparisons. I like good songs. I’m influenced mainly by ’70s rock ’n’ roll and pop music, but don’t really sound like just one specific thing. I always feel honored, in a way, to be compared to good music I’m into.

LEO: You’re a one-man band when it comes to instruments you can play. Do you find it hard to employ others to recreate your sounds for you?
V: My last full-length, Waiting for the Sunrise, was largely recorded as a band, either completely or mostly live in the studio playing in the same room. I wanted to capture more of a live kinda vibe on that record, to do something new for me. My first record, The Moonstation House Band, was recorded almost completely alone.
On my full-length work in progress, to be called Vandervelde, it’s mostly live, with the band in my basement, recorded in the analog world — no computers. I find it most enjoyable, right now, to be recording with my best friends (my band) rather than alone. Their involvement in the recording process makes everything feel more raw and real, and of course, easier to make work well live.

LEO: Downloading — good or evil?
V: No way around it, so it doesn’t really matter to me. I like buying records and tapes personally, they sound cooler and are better to look at. I have a single called “More Than You Can Feel” available for free download at www.rcrdlbl.com. It’s actually a rough mix of a song that will end up on the record this fall. I guess downloading is not evil? ... But maybe I’m an evil kinda dude sometimes.

LEO: You moved to Nashville a few years ago after living in Brooklyn. How do the music scenes there compare, for you?
V: I love Nashville. More my style, I suppose. I was only in Brooklyn nine months to live with my lady friend (now my wife). It kinda bugs me when magazines like Rolling Stone and particular music blog sites refer to Nashville as having this new hip local music scene — “best in the country ’cuz we got the Black Keys and Jack White.” Truth is, they never play here. If they do, it’s maybe one or two times a year, so they’re not a part of any real local music scene at all in my mind. I like their music, but not how people make it seem like Nashville is this cool music town now that they live here. I moved here first, damn it! (laughs) I like how Nashville can seem nice and small if I want it to be.

LEO: Have you spent any quality time in Louisville? Do you have any observations about our city?
V: I’ve had really great times in Louisville — got a couple close friends there. Last time I was in town, we went to a giant thrift store that was mind-blowing! Also, your bars are open late. I would like to stay there longer than a day sometime to get more of a true feel for it. Much love for your city!

Vandervelde
with Buffalo Killers
and The Bad Reeds
Thursday, May 5
Zazoo’s Bar & Grill
102 Bauer Ave. • 894-8030
www.myspace.com/davidvandervelde
$12; 9 p.m.

c. 2011 LEO Weekly

Songs and opinions are aplenty at T. Eddie’s

“Your parking sucks, dude,” drawls the 50-something smoking outside T. Eddie’s Bar & Grill.

It’s late, but I have not yet begun to drink; my critic, however, appears to be midway through yet another Friday night at the tavern.

Germantown can be a great place if you’re looking for an unvarnished opinion from a local. The home of approximately one bar for every three households, the area is full of stiff drinks and impolite evenings out with interesting characters; one tends to lose excessive sensitivity pretty soon.

As we enter T. Eddie’s, we’re greeted by the owner, Tom Combs (the name being derived from his full name, Thomas Edward). I soon learn Combs has owned the bar for four years after working 30 years with the U.S. Postal Service. I learn this because, unlike most bars I’ve ever been to, the owner is actually standing there, drink in hand, greeting people. This is a guy who looks like he’s discovered the secret to a happy life.

He introduces me to his daughter, Angie, an equally happy woman who apparently acts as queen and CEO of the bar every Friday and Saturday night, after a week of working as a manager at UPS.

“Our drinks are the cheapest in the whole neighborhood,” brags Tom. “And the coldest, too!” blurts out Angie. She shares that she goes to a rival bar once a week for their “Thursgays” night, “With my gay boyfriend, Ray, and they always put it on ice for me. They know I’m coming!”

I recognize Ray from the local Kroger, where he works, making me feel even more at home.

Tom excuses himself to sing karaoke. His song, “Play That Funky Music, White Boy,” kicks in and Angie explains, “He sings that song all the time. He sang it at my fucking brother’s wedding with V-Groove!”

“We also have the best karaoke in town,” Angie says. “Mike has over 250,000 songs on there. He’s even got the Dead Kennedys, you name it.”

“‘Too Drunk to Fuck’?”

“Huh?” Angie replies.

“The Dead Kennedys song, ‘Too Drunk to Fuck’ — does he have that?” I can’t think of a better song to karaoke at this time.

“I don’t know, maybe,” she says as Ray grabs her. “C’mon, girl, we gotta go sing.” Her karaoke song, perhaps unsurprisingly, is the Rolling Stones’ “Angie.”

Later, as I stumble through my song, Ray is overheard saying, “I’ve been there, man!”

As Ray runs around behind the bar, lifting patient bartender Deena up by her buttocks for MySpace-style photos, I notice there are dozens of $1 bills hanging from the ceiling. The place is mostly decorated in classic dive-bar style — giant Corona parrot, inflatable NASCAR sign — but Tom points with pride to tiles in the floor spelling out the name of the bar. “I got a buddy who works at Louisville Stoneware, did that for me.”

“We’re the best-kept secret in town,” he says, a bit wistfully. Around 1 a.m., he tells me he’s going home for the night. As if on cue, a young woman filling out a white dress in all the right places walks past. He looks at me, winks and says, “I might stay for a minute.”

c. 2011 LEO Weekly