I’ve made my feelings known in regards to the first track so kindly given to us by Peter Wolf Crier, from their upcoming Garden of Arms, but I tell you what, kids, this (newer) new track is hitting all the right notes with us here at Folk Hive.
{Look at these fucking dudes, standing on a weird piano step thingy. Is it just your grandma’s keys upended? Who gives a shit, it’s awesome.}
In attempting to come up with words to explain this to you, provided that you’re the type of person who actually wishes to read about this as opposed to just fucking listening to it, I’m sort of at a loss. I think now, having heard this and the first track, I’ve got a better feel for the album and ‘Right Away’ makes a shit ton more sense to me. This particular jam is reminescent of the Peter Wolf Crier of Inter-Be and yet, it’s incredibly forward moving. That’s something I fucking heart: A band staying the same and changing all at once, remaining totally badass all the while. And, as usual, I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that Moen’s drum is fucking slaying me.
Upon hearing this I will admit that I’m all the more excited for this album. Get that way too, vagrant queen.
Dudes, obviously we love Peter Wolf Crier over here (#8 album on our Most Revered of 2010, thank you very much). So, the out-of-the-blue news yesterday of a new album, Garden of Arms due September 6, via Jagjaguwar, was happily accepted up in this piece.
While, admittedly, I’m a fan of the drums (B. Moen crush still going on over here), I’m not sure how I feel about this jam as a whole. Perhaps I’ll need to sit on it and let it infect my brain for a bit before declaring it not my favorite. I’m gonna do that. In the meantime, you should dig on the jam below…
[2010’s Most Revered is The Hive’s version of a year-end list. Right about now (or meow, if you will) we will highlight the albums, EPs (yes, EPs), and what-have-yous, that made us sit up and listen over the past 365 days.]
Dudes, let me clue you in. This here is a music blog. Yes, I ramble about personal shit and then throw some semi-related tunes at you but in my defense, this is what I know how to do. I can journal; I cannot write a music review. That requires like, college and shit. But because this is a music blog there will be a year-end list. There HAS to be. However, I won’t pretend to be smart enough to analyze what jams and beats and albums were the best across the board in this Year of our Lord, 2010. Again, college. But I can tell you the albums that were most revered in this house over the past year. I will say this: this series will be the most awesome and yet fucked year-end list you’ll find on the internetz. Also, no #10. Get over it.
All that said, we present Folk Hive’s Most Revered of 2010: The only year-end list on the internet that features intelligent input from a five-year old. Let’s hop to it, shall we?
****
[Number NINE :: The War On Drugs Future Weather EP]
I’ve mentioned that ‘Taking the Farm’ was an important song in this house. First, I had a simple love affair with this band’s chosen moniker (oddly enough, I was reading this when I got into War) and then, there was the music. Wagonwheel Blues is still an album that is on consistent rotation around here and though Future Weather is an EP, it is so colossal that it defies that classification. As much as I loved the previous, the new blew that shit right out of the water. It was beautiful and expansive and it burned. In a way, The War On Drugs remind me of the greatness of Petty in his heyday — it’s something that feels like maybe you could put it together with your friends in the garage after a lager or two because it’s that simple but then you really listen and your ass knows better. There’s no way you could insert that emotion into an organ chord and there’s no way you could write and then sing out like Kurt Vile. I mean, shit. He’s Kurt fucking Vile, dudes.
Perhaps one of the most disappointing moments to me in this past year was learning that the GAYNGS show I had tickets to in Nashville had been canceled. I was not saddened by my inability to see a supergroup in N’ville, per say, but by the fact that not being in that town on that night meant that I would not be in that town for the Peter Wolf Crier show the night prior. “Crutch and Cane” reeled me in early this year and since that time, I have been enamoured with this band. I have spoken of my love for these two men previously and considering that they’re members of the un-bearded sect of society, this is massive in Hive Land. Inter-Be rocked my 2010 and expanded the musical horizons of this avowed folkie. I suspect this album will get considerable play in the new year. And to remedy this year’s sadness, I’ll be seeing them in live in 2011. Also, Moen induces lady boners. LADY BONERS.
All Those I Know hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. Unexpected, storied, and unprecedented in that such a wonderful album was simply given away, it stayed in rotation for weeks. When it was occasionally relegated to the back burner by the Blackbird, Blackbird’s and Arcade Fire’s of the indie world, it was immediately brought to the forefront again with a singular listen. To say that the opening track (after which the album is titled) is massive and fan-fucking-tastic x 10 is an understatement. The rest of the album follows that song’s lead and every tune is an eye-opener.
While I have heard it uttered by serious, life-long Black Keys fans that this album is not their strongest and that the band has sold out (Christ, shut up.), I can tell you as a new Black Keys fan I was in love with this album from that first guitar lick. In my defense, I did not discover the band on a hyped list, I did not hear them first on a commercial and then search them out, nor did I get like, a Verizon phone accompanied by a free download of a Black Keys jam. I heard Dan Auerbach. It was over. While I have not been a fan from the beginning (forgive me Father, for I did not know of this band’s existence), I am now devoted. If Brothers is the sound of someone selling out, then more bands should get on that. Also, Jude probably spent 90% of his time pretending to be Auerbach when I first put this record in rotation.
The discovery of Megafaun in early 2010 turned this year around. It inspired me and opened my ears and heart to a brand of music I had never heard. Casual fans were interested in the association with DeYarmond Edison and Justin Vernon; devoted fans are astounded at the speed with which this band, on its own, manages to race toward the resonance of new so quickly and easily. Every album, mini-album, and live show is an exercise in family and love and the healing powers of music. Heretofore is gospel but it’s an au courant gospel.
[Number FOUR :: Nathaniel Rateliff In Memory of Loss]
My love of Nathaniel Rateliff is nearly unsurpassed. While I will admit that I prefer Rateliff in the real as opposed to in a sound booth, recording a record, I’ll take whatever I can get. I feel the same way about this music as I do your mom — both are awesome. I fucking dare you to listen to a Rateliff Daytrotter session, I dare you to observe a Rateliff wail in video or person, and not tear up. It is his ease and his seeming comfortability with what he’s saying that makes this music so close to perfection. “Early Spring Till” is a masterpiece. Yes dude, I am pressed down. Yes, I am full of that feeling. Yes dude, I like that deep v-neck tee.
Alright folk, shit is about to get real. And cuss yes, I’m serious. GAYNGS changed my life. This is not an exaggeration. I love The Rosebuds, that’s been said. I love Megafaun and that too has been discussed. I also like to get down with Solid Gold now and then and I sure as shit love Bon Iver, even more than your mother. So naturally, a group composed of those and then some gives me a slightly odd and scientifically unjustified lady chub. Along with the fact that I have to deal with these awkward boners daily is the fact that I am also affected by what is known as Undiagnosed (And Therefore Only Potential, Whatevs) Social Anxiety Disorder. This means concerts and shit of the like are typically out of the question. Hell, going to the local Walmart without my child is out of the question. So it is a testament of my love for GAYNGS (or perhaps more specifically, the parts of its sum) that planned to first travel 800 miles for a show and then when that was canceled, that I traveled 2000 fucking miles for one. Yes, I did that. I drove from the middle of Missouri to Durham, NC for a goddamn Gayngs concert. Let me bullet point this shit for you:
I left my kid for more than two days. Unprecedented.
I drove through rush hour traffic in like, 12 states. I shit myself.
Day one I was in a vehicle for more than 20 hours.
I made this trip with my sister. We almost killed each other.
We got lost in Durham. For three hours. At 3am.
I slept an hour and ventured downtown, suffering from PTSD resulting from GETTING LOST FOR THREE FUCKING HOURS AT 3AM.
I drank Sparks in a parking lot, which I think is illegal.
I met amazing and rather endearing folk. I talked to them like I didn’t have this undiagnosed Social Anxiety shit. It was good. They are my people.
I grooved down at the most badass show I wintnessed this year.
I triple-fisted beers. Dude, it was GAYNGS.
I participated in using words like “GAYNG-bang” and “GAYNG-over” and I didn’t feel like a dipshit for doing so.
I woke up the next day with a hangover. Drove 8 hours. Slept in Nashville. Drove another 8 hours. Pulled into my driveway.
I have not spoken here of the two months of anxiety that nearly crippled me before this trip. I have not spoken of the doubt and the realization that driving like, 17 states away for a concert, was just ludicrous. I have only spoken of my doing that very thing. And looking back, it was one of the sweetest trips of my younger years. I am a GAYNGS devotee for fucking life.
Another tidbit: My father, a truck driver who frequently pointed out how juvenile and potentially irresponsible I was in making this trip, says, “So, what does this…GAYNGS? Is that what they’re called? GAYNGS?! Jesus, so what do they sound like?”. “Well dad, they’re like a bunch of folk dudes I guess, maybe. Anyway, they make…fuck jams. Fuck jams, dad.” Dad: “WHAT?! So, like Foreigner?”. No dad, not like Foreigner…
No band brought me to more tears this year than Breathe Owl Breathe. Good tears. Tears of happiness and tears that were the sum parts of beautiful music and a sense of humor and seeing my child flabbergasted. I wrote about it. And it was probably the most fulfilling and yet gut-wrenching thing I’ve written about this year. My child and I are involved in a love affair with this band. Magic Central is the first vinyl that he ever owned (it is also the ONLY vinyl he currently owns). Breathe Owl Breathe inspired my five year old to pick up a banjo. And I wouldn’t be all facetious about this next statement but Breathe Owl Breathe made us both better people. The urge to tattoo their lyrics all over my body is strong. Magic Central has the most fitting title of any album this year.
[Number ONE :: Cotton Jones Tall Hours In The Glowstream]
To understand my love for Cotton Jones and this album is to understand me. I cannot say that I was captivated by this band from Paranoid Cocoon or even prior, the Page France days, as I was simply unaware of their existence. What sadness. But when I discovered Cotton Jones first album (under that moniker) early this year, I was stunned. I was even further flabbergasted when they turned out to be so much more than just a one track band and that’s saying quite a bit considering how great each track is on its own. Cotton Jones soundtracked the aforementioned journey to North Carolina — all 17,020 hours of it. Cotton Jones is my fall back band when I’m in need of a musical bump. “Somehow To Keep It Going” is probably our most loved jam this year. Cotton Jones was my 2010.
I suppose by titling the blog “Folk Hive” I might have left out the option to speak of my serious love affair with that glorious thing known as ROCK but we can always amend when we realize we’ve drawn ourselves into a box, right? Right. My current and massive obsession with all things Black Keys should assure all readers that I love more than just the combination of a banjo and mandolin and fiddle.
And if THAT doesn’t do it, then my love of Peter Wolf Crier should have my ass covered. I was previously aware of one Mr Brian Moen via his most badass interactions with Justin Vernon and the small (and one-off?) band they’re both part of: The Shouting Matches. Typically, one is not drawn to the drummer — his typical X on the seating chart is at the back of the stage and gone are the days of John Bonham 7-minute (and life-altering, quite frankly) drum solos so drummers are typically unseen. Even more than that, drummers sitting behind the man behind Bon Iver would typically be hard to so much as glance at. BUT. Moen has crushed the mold of the oft-overlooked drummer, in my humble opinion, and when I saw that he was associated with Peter Wolf Crier (indeed, he is one full half of the band, a formula that seems to work for him), I was pretty confident the band would get some serious rotation on all upcoming playlists. And for the record, Peter Pisano ain’t no slub, either.
In fact, if the band’s album released in March doesn’t make at least 800 Best Of Lists at the end of the quarter, I’m leaving America.
There’s something that can be said for a gritty (and yet somehow very polished in that grittiness) band that can make us sit up and pay real fucking attention. They are more than a fleeting MP3 on the Jagjaguwar website and here’s to hoping they are more than a one album band.
While songs like “Crutch and Cane”, a pretty and sweet ditty that romps through quite the folkish drum pattern and hazy vocals that seem to be so damn popular all over hypem, should be pretty accessible to even those all over hypem, the rest of the record certainly doesn’t lack songs that seem to be a mix of a slightly more mellow Jack White (“Hard as Nails”) and Dan Auerbach while just being himself (see “Down, Down, Down”, video below). That’s a HUGE compliment, by the way. The album is varied and fun and more than interesting enough to keep you from deleting it from your music player to make room for the next top twenty that you find on Pitchfork (oh, SNAP!).
Check out the sweet and really fucking genuine video (debuted via Stereogum this morn) for “Down, Down, Down” below. And I seriously urge you to check out whatever you can that’ll give you a feel for this band live (like the conveniently linked Daytrotter session right down there). They’re right up there at the top of my Must See This Shit Live Like, TOMORROW list.
{Look at these fucking dudes, standing on a weird piano step thingy. Is it just your grandma’s keys upended? Who gives a shit, it’s awesome.}
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