The Post-Rockist

Electro Quarterstaff - Neckwrecker
Electro Quarterstaff - Titanium Overlords
(from Gretzky)

When the average music fan thinks of heavy metal, in either its traditional Maiden/Priest theatricality or in one of its numerous violent subgenres, there is usually one constant in its approach: a sense of misplaced seriousness.  This is a practice as old as metal itself, as lines like Judas Priest’s “Grinder / Looking for meat / Grinder / Wants you to eat!” and Slayer’s classic “How long can you last in this frozen water burial?” were delivered without a hint of irony or self-referential humor.  Death metal has a similarly straight-faced delivery much of the time, even with the ridiculous B-movie horror themes or that old standby Satan as inspiration.  Modern instrumental metal bands are serious in a different way, creating heavy but somber music that sounds like the score to a very dramatic scene in a film in which a character contemplates suicide or cries about something.  I saw the band Pelican (the Explosions in the Sky of metal) live a while back, and not only did they stare at their instruments and not move the whole performance, but they specifically requested that only blue and red lighting be used to illuminate such a boring spectacle.

Canadian quartet Electro Quarterstaff creates exciting, vital instrumental metal without falling into the dreaded trap of seriousness.  They are certainly serious about writing riffs, but they refuse to forget that metal should be fun and slightly goofy.  “We act silly on stage,” guitarist Andrew Dickens wrote to me, “because we’re all silly in person.  We have a great time playing these songs and express that through a stage show filled with funny faces, hip-swinging and foot-stomping good times.  We aren’t going to put on a show acting like we hate the world.”  From their song titles (“Something’s Awry in the Hetfield of Dreams”) to the cover art to their debut album (a bizarre pastel-colored painting of a one-antlered creature in the ocean with a boat sailing through the hole in its torso), the band is winking at the metal establishment.  And unlike many other instrumental metal-ish bands, like Red Sparowes or the aforementioned Pelican, Electro Quarterstaff aren’t here to uplift your heart – they play fast and the riffs never stop.  Ever.  “The goal of this band has always been to embrace the power of the Riff, or in the case of our songs, many riffs working together to resolve themselves into some kind of cohesive musical speech that’s both sonically fulfilling and challenging to play,” says guitarist Drew Johnston.  “There’s such an abundance of boring, tepid, predictable catshit out there that passes for ‘music’ that we try to create something that can be heard as majestic sonic weaponry puncturing the shield of mediocrity… or at least making a dent.”

If you like riffs, then Electro Quarterstaff’s debut album Gretzky is for you.  It’s a buffet of tasty licks courtesy of the triple-axe assault of Dickens, Johnston, and Josh Bedry.  Dan Ryckman pounds the drums and somehow keeps up with the hyperactive harmonic shred squad without veering into the tasteless unrelenting blast territory of brutal death metal.  Three guitars and drums – no vocals, no bass.  “I don’t think of our unorthodox lineup as a defining characteristic of the band.  In fact, I hope riff lovers from around the world relate to our sound for the same reason we do, the ‘feels good sounds good’ approach.  I guess the whole triple guitar instrumental band thing might spark some interest for the uninformed, but to ride that as what defines Electro Quarterstaff would be selling us short in my opinion,” says Dickens.  Johnston adds, “I find that instrumental music is like reading a book. The listener is enabled to use their imagination to really focus and zero-in on the interplay between the instruments as opposed to having the pictures painted for them by a vocalist or singer yattering on and on, gurgling ad nauseum; which, in the case of extreme metal, can sometimes trivialize or belittle otherwise brilliant music…It’s literally impossible for us to get away with something that sounds half-hearted or half-baked as there are no vocals to ‘carry it’ or to ‘masquerade’ a presumably mediocre or temperate section.” 

Their music is rooted in metal traditions, but just because you think you don’t like metal doesn’t mean you can’t get down to this.  “We’ve never been too concerned about being considered a part of the metal world.  Our roots are clearly in metal and the high-gain riff-intensive songs are that of metal, but I would hate to limit ourselves solely to one genre…I think we have enough to offer to allow some interest from outside the genre, as well as to alienate some of the narrow-minded metalheads out there.”  The songs are meticulously-planned (Johnston compares the arranging process to “the molecular Tetris match from hell”) modern compositions that the composer decided to orchestrate within the sound of a specific genre.  There’s very little repetition in these songs, and considering only one of the eight songs on Gretzky is under five minutes long and one is nearly eleven, that’s a lot of riffs.  Johnston says, “The instrumental aspect of the band is liberating in that we’re totally unencumbered by conventional structure, so it’s been interesting for us to experiment with idiosyncratic accent placement, mutating syncopation, and mathematical patterns embedded between multiple, overlapping and intersecting riffs.”  Riffs are serious business, but that’s pretty much the band’s only statement.  “We don’t have any message or political ideal we’re trying to get across,” says Dickens.  “We’re just a few guys having a good time playing songs we love and that’s how we’ll always keep it.”

The band completed their first tour in the spring of 2006, which included a stop at the highly-regarded Maryland Deathfest.  “[The tour] was one of the greatest experiences of my life,” says Dickens.  “We had an awesome response, made lots of new friends, introduced Electro Quarterstaff to quite a few new faces, and even came home without having to get a second job to pay the bills.”  Gretzky was released on Willowtip Records last fall, and the band has been back in Winnipeg since the tour, going to school or working a job and playing the occasional show.   They hope to tour again soon, which would once again bring the riffs to the masses, as well as the most outrageous guitar faces you’ll ever see.  “I liken the faces and antics to a profoundly cherished David Lee Roth quote: ‘You gotta make it look like it sounds!’” says Johnston.  “Since I sing with my guitar instead of my voice, it’s fun for me to kind of mime the riffs using my face and body. As soon as you climb onstage, you immediately become a performer or entertainer whether you want to admit it or not, so why not relish in that for a minute? I have a lot of fun playing this wild music and I think that unbridled enthusiasm comes across to people when we play live and is effective in establishing a rapport between us and the audience, regardless of how sophisticated their musical tastes may or may not be. At any rate, I certainly hope our band can at the very least be a catalyst or buffer in raising ‘riff awareness’ and turning people on to more progressive, challenging music they wouldn’t otherwise be exposed to or interested in.”

-Posted by Andrew

I’d like to take this time and this space to write about a new phenomenon I’ve recently noticed at shows of interesting, sophisticated artists such as Andrew Bird. The phenomenon can be described thusly:

At the very beginning of the set and throughout, young, often short, hip-looking girls, usually in a group of three or four, begin dancing (some might call it “grinding”) to the music, no matter how slow, morose, mundane, or waltzy. Often with one hand raised to the air (the other holding a water or coke bottle, some with a beer since they scored a full-proof fake ID), shaking their heads to the beat, no matter how slow, morose, mundane, or waltzy, Cheshire cat smiles, butts wiggling, they prance through and around the crowd, until they find a spot in the middle front so that they can further rub behinds, twirl, and sing along.

Of course they sing along: they know all of the words. They often know the artists’ entire catalogs. They’re fans. But they dance, carefree, joyous, while the older crowd, who have studied the artists’ work with equal rigor but with a different kind of vigor, squirm and shrug and make sidelong glances at their fellows as if to say “What the fuck?” Sometimes they even say “What the fuck?”

I declare here and now that I shant be a “What the fuck?”er anymore. Why? Post-Rockism, that’s why.

It’s good that lots of different people of lots of different ages attend these shows to support our favorite artists. Yes, the artists puts forth a certain kind of aura during a show that makes such behavior a bit unseemly, but the concert is for the fans and, as I stated early, these kids are fans. They knew just as many lyrics as I, only they sang them Kelly Clarkston-style instead of mouthing them like the rest of us standstillers or silentswayers.

Yes, they “grinded” to “The Naming of Things.” Yes, they kept moving around and bumping into people. We should all wish we could act that way without a few drinks in us. But they were fans. They enjoyed the show. They paid their allowance money to support Andrew Bird. Sure, they may have let out a couple of yelps during silences meant by the artist to be silent or even reflective, but they milked everything out of the show that their dear, young hearts could. They are too young to know how to act cool. Theirs was a pure enjoyment, although some of the finer points of the show may have been lost on them.

So I say, bless you, my young ones. Sadly, you’ll learn soon enough how to stand in one place and be cool. Until then, grind like coffee grounds.

–Posted by Scotter

The Twilight Sad - Walking For Two Hours
(from Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters)

Rumor has it, when Scottish band the Twilight Sad went down to Brighton, UK to meet with their label reps at Fat Cat Records, they took the piss out of everyone’s southern accent. It’s hard to believe they meant it maliciously. The affective souls responsible for Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters wouldn’t offend, would they? Of course not. But, at the same time, don’t take these lads as creampuffs just because their band name suggests a night in with red wine and Morrissey on the hi-fi accompanied by more than a few tears. The Twilight Sad can run with any crowd, and they will surely please people all over the indie spectrum. They’ve certainly pleased this Post-Rockist contributor.

Part way through opener “Cold Days From The Birdhouse” their Achilles heel/ace in the hole is revealed: James Graham’s voice. More specifically, it is his accent that shocks. With one of the thicker sung Scottish accents in pop music, it’s distracting to say the very least. It may also be that one extra idiosyncrasy that launches this band to superstardom! Well…that’s not going to happen. But, there’s no denying that what lies just beneath the thick Scottish brogue is a powerful set of pipes well-equipped to belt it out, even over the frequently cacophonic guitars and equally aggressive rhythm section. But, don’t get cocky on us, Mr. Graham: your vocals aren’t that sexy. The album feels a bit sluggish when it relies too heavily on his vocals. Songs such as “Last Year’s Rain Didn’t Fall Quite So Hard,” which is built around a repeated vocal line, are a bit aimless and boring. But, in defense of The Twilight Sad, shame on any listener who expected something spine-tingling or exciting from a song titled “Last Year’s Rain Didn’t Fall Quite So Hard.”

That said, the album is a very solid debut with a lot more highs than lows. The Twilight Sad will surely draw comparisons to fellow Scots Mogwai, or, I think even more appropriately, to Texans Lift to Experience. But, unlike these classic post-rock groups, the order of the day isn’t dynamics; it’s complements. Rather than drafting every song around the quiet/loud dynamic, the Twilight Sad complement their loudest, most distorted moments with a powerful, hooky vocal line here, a humming accordion there. These little touches make the louder moments more unpredictable, the quieter moments more memorable. Even as “Walking For Two Hours” opens with guitar tones that swing back and forth, seemingly with reckless abandon, it’s all done to a melody that wouldn’t sound out of place on Ride’s Nowhere. At other times, given the urgency captured in both Graham’s howling messages and the frenzied percussion, they sound reminiscent of the urban paranoia of New Yorkers like Interpol or Longwave. But, in a very Scottish way.

And, since there is no better place to insert this comment, here’s a sidebar. Though I haven’t been able to get confirmation on this point, I am quite certain that track two, “That Summer, At Home I Had Become The Invisible Boy,” is a reference to Rob Reiner’s 1986 classic Stand By Me (or possibly Stephen King’s novella “The Body,” on which the film is based). But, instead of telling us their story about a fat kid named Vern and a dead kid name Ray Brower, the Twilight Sad deliver a tale of about the clash of everyday disappointments and affirmations. And they prove convincingly that a row of effects pedals and an accordion make for better storytellers than Richard Dreyfuss.

-Posted by E. Kula

Loretta Lynn - One’s On The Way
Loretta Lynn - The Pill
(from The Definitive Collection)

Loretta, where have you been all my life?  I’ve seen you in your whack-ass crazy dresses escorting Jack White to various events.  I heard about that Van Lear Rose album but, meh, I just brushed it off and assumed that that Jack White had just gone off the deep end of crazy.  I, too, snuffed my nose at “country.”  Well, I owe you a big fat apology because you are awesome.

I must say that I am partial to your old music from the 1970s.  I love, love, love “The Pill.”  I mean, as a feminist and a history buff, how could I not love this primary document?  The popularization of the birth control pill must have been such a monumental event for women everywhere and I love that you sing about it so unapologetically.  It must have been such an empowering time to be a woman; I can picture women all around the country feeling freed by your sassy, brass-tack songs.   On the other hand, I’m sure women from all walks of life identified with the humorous, yet poignant, Shel Silverstein-penned tune “One’s On the Way,” a song about a woman with way too many children on her hands and an unsupportive husband at the bar.

I can only imagine how women must have felt like you really understood their experiences back in the 1970s – the dichotomy between the societal pressures of what it meant to be a good woman, wife, and mother, and the newfound sexual freedoms of the pill.   The perfect example of this is the song “Rated X,” where you belt out in your best, fed-up Kentucky twang, “Well, if you’ve been a married woman and things just didn’t work out, then divorce is the key to being loose and free so you’re gonna be talked about / Everybody knows that you’ve loved once they think you’ll love again / You can’t have a male friend when you’re a has been or a woman – you’re rated X.”

Of course, you also sing some good old-fashioned country love songs like “Mississipi Man, Louisiana Woman,” not to mention the title-says-it-all classic “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ on Your Mind).”  Can I get an AMEN sistas?

Loretta Lynn is tough – I wouldn’t ever want to cross her or fool around with her man.  She would rough me up in a second.  Yet she is both fiercely independent and loyal.  She is sexy and respectable.  She walks all the fine lines that society expects women to walk.  She is completely relatable and I only wish it didn’t take me so long to discover her.

-Posted by Kim