Austin Sound

Jack Wilson splits his time between the comfy, southern warmth of Austin and the cooler, sopping city that is Seattle. While he’s in Seattle, he’s backed by the Wife Stealers, and elsewhere, it’s pretty much just him. On his latest self-titled, Wilson zig-zags between full-on Americana rock, and solemn, poetic lullabies about places and people of timeless impact. He opens his album with the sound of footfalls on loose gravel — a sound that is immediately evocative of distance and mindful wandering — a more than appropriate prelude to an album that looks to transport the listener to the image of Americana locked away in Wilson’s head.

“Matrimony rock.” Hmmm. As a music critic, I’m down with all sorts of genre hybridizing (i.e. chamber-pop, glam-pop, jazz-rock, etc.). It’s part of our job to make up those descriptors to give music some sort of mass understanding, so I’ve seen a lot of bogus combinations, but the first time I came across the term “matrimony rock” was on the Long Tangles’ Myspace page. It seems to me that the word “matrimony” would contain certain connotations that act against the word “rock”, thus neutralizing the whole ordeal. The same way your best friend becomes a kitschy version of his former badass self after taking the plunge, the Long Tangles sound soft and comfortable on their debut LP, Silver City.

For all of the early allusions to literary figures made by the countless reviewers about The Dark Water Hymnal’s releases, one would think that the subtle and nuanced quintet would be overwrought with expert lyrical tumbling — but they’re not. Collapse the Structure is surprisingly easy to listen to and, at moments, revels in great moments of song-craft and instrumental build without flowing over, like an Arcade Fire album with the reins pulled in.

James Hyland has been bouncing around country music’s lesser-known echelon for over a decade, most notably with the South Austin Jug Band, writing modestly good tunes that fall pleasantly somewhere between alt-country and folk rock. On his debut solo effort with his band the Joint Chiefs, Hyland’s uncanny ability to produce soft-spoken, well-rounded songs is ever apparent. Celestial Navigation is a glimpse at the modern day troubadour, road-weary and broken-hearted, making his way across America with a cache of delicate and delightful country rock.

“There’s too many artists, too much hype and not enough genius.”

Those lines are taken from the bridge of the opening track on The Black and White Years’ latest release Patterns, and it seems to quantify every notion that contemporary skeptics have about today’s musical climate. Bands get hyped and they fizzle out after a descent debut only to end up swallowing Soco-lime shots at the end of the bar in the Brooklyn Bowl like Neon Indian is probably doing right now. (Just kidding NI, I love you.) The odds of success in today’s indie monsoon are bleak (is anyone really expecting a second great album out of Surfer Blood?) which is why this reviewer finds it strange that Scott Butler, lead “Year”, writer and vocalist, preludes Patterns with such a disclaimer. A jittery confidence can only get you so far in the world of 80’s inspired indie rock, and if Patterns‘ obtuse and deep synth-laden exterior didn’t gleam with such a shiny, well-produced veneer, I doubt Butler would have sounded so bold only a couple of minutes into the band’s second LP.

Brian Eno is believed to have once said that “”Only five thousand people ever bought a Velvet Underground album, but every single one of them started a band.” The same sentiment might one day apply for Austin’s The Weird Weeds as well — except that they make their listeners want to make loose concept albums based around harmonious open-field vocals, and indie-prog instrumentals.

Upon a first listen, Help Me Name Melody, the fourth LP from the Weird Weeds and second for local imprint Autobus, continues on in the same way their previous albums played (2008’s I Miss This, and 2006’s Weird Feelings) — polite jam rock that resonates somewhere near the warm fuzzy center Olivia Tremor Control managed to find among the hearts of critics. The Weird Weeds are undecided.

Thax Douglas, Austin’s notorious rock poet who has introduced pretty much every band EVER, proclaimed Megafauna “one of the best bands on the planet.” Pretty high praise considering the man has shared stages with every band from Daniel Johnston to Destroyer. Perhaps he decided to stake his claim after hearing the opening tracks from Megafauna’s much-overdue debut CD, Larger Than Human. Touring at least as much — if not more — than they record, Megafauna has built a reputation on their fusion of delicate pop idioms and their reverent love for metal pastiche. Falling somewhere between the anxious enjambed rhythms of Deerhoof, and the siren-like airy vocals of English shoegazers My Bloody Valentine, Megafauna have a rounded sound that is hypnotic while still retaining a lot of physicality. The preliminary measures of solo drum in “Hug From a Robot”, the opening track, seem to say that this is an album with considerable mass behind it—and it intends to move.

There’s not much to say after you tell the Mayor [Lee Leffingwell] that everything’s going “really ‘effing well” and he walks awkwardly away from you after a proclamation that it’s official Danny Malone Day, but Malone still manages to somehow come through. With blues-rock protégés the Steps and School of Songs in tow, Malone managed to put on a show last month at Stubb’s full of choreographed lights and dance, pomp, and his trademark folk rock worthy of a day of his own deserving. Read our interview with him here, and see photos from the show below courtesy of Will Foster.

The first words from Danny Malone’s mouth are strangely obvious as I can hear the hiss of inclement weather on the line, but he manages to give it a name, a definition as a sort of enigmatic, chance poet. It’s the kind of dry lyricism coloring the earthy tones of last year’s release, Cuddlebug, that also pervade his conversation. Not much is certain about Danny Malone — even he can attest to that. He has curious bios online, claiming he’s a number of fantastical things, but these all seem fabrications of Malone’s overactive imagination, and almost diversions from the heartfelt songwriter that listeners find in his music. What we do know is that July 29th has been officially declared Danny Malone Day here in Austin, and Malone himself remains humble and politely reticent of his local fame. Austin Sound sat down with the twenty-something songsmith to chat about his commemoration, his seemingly endless ambition as a musician, his forthcoming album, and the Parkside vs. Best Wurst controversy, about which he cares so deeply.

What Made Milwaukee Famous, aside from its cheeky name, is quietly recognized as one of the most notorious indie rock bands of the last decade to come from Austin, or anywhere for that matter. They toured with indie icons like the National, had placement on national television, and were regular and much anticipated faces on the summer festival circuit. Yet despite getting all the appropriate breaks, they still never have managed to gain significant traction. But with such a regal, indie pedigree, it makes sense that Drew Patrizi’s solo endeavor of his own stockpiled material from the last couple years — which has donned the name Trumpeter Swan — would take the power-pop, crank-the-stereo idioms that defined WMMF’s visceral and heartfelt rock to the next level. Patrizi, in his solo effort, has opted for chamber-pop and studio acrobatics to produce an emotive and lush record, comparable in emotional scope to any of his previous group’s pursuits.