Austin Sound

After what seems like an eternity, Mr. Lewis and the Funeral 5 released their first album, Murder and the Art of Dance. Greg’s (Mr. Lewis) perfectionist zeal combined with the ever-present issues of band-member coordination delayed the release, but with some last minute help of Chicken Ranch Records, the album is finally in my covetous little hands. While I did not weep in a public place from my delight, I have played this 40 minute phantasmagoric album on perpetual repeat through cycles of whiskey, coffee, and listening to my neighbor’s daily 4 a.m. tirades about her husband’s drinking and subsequent inability to sexually satisfy her. In the midst of those events, Murder illuminates the reality that a dose of self-ruin can be enchantingly cathartic.

A Hug can be a dangerous thing - whether you attend a show or just listen to the CD, inevitably you find yourself at a destination that you never imagined�and not entirely sure how in the hell you got there. If you saw a warning sign that said, “a collection of heavily drug infected music…that reflects a severely messed up state of mind…AKA Sexland,”* you could have asked yourself several questions such as “what exactly is the difference between anal sex and a prostate exam? maybe they’re kinda the same, let’s go see” or “will being seen at one of their shows ruin any chances that I have for running for a political office? Maybe - sounds a little too dangerous to me.” They’re fair questions because in the world of Hug, things like a pee fetus, geriatric sex, and smoking pot for Allah make sense.

There’s a fine line between cheeky and cheesy and AUX’s debut EP walks that line. The five-man outfit works well together to create 25 minutes of soaring 80’s rocker-ballad singing with musical backing that ranges from 100% bouncy pop to guitar solos that any air guitarist would love. At first listen it seems just another mediocre album, but upon further inspection songs like “Mulatto” make it more than worth your while.

“Lighthouse” undoubtedly wins the contest for album favorite. The sleepy and smoky vocals transform into higher octaves whose allure is increased by the steadfastness of the accompaniment. It’s not the song with the highest aspirations but the catchiest of the bunch. God knows I sang it for days with few regrets. “Coward In Me” is a painfully fun song. (No, we’re not talking about that kind of fun, Dr. Robbins). “Coward” epitomizes the apparent intent of AUX: to get you moving and then change the direction. While the track and the band always start off on solid footing, the deviations result in each track having its own little personality disorder. Maybe good, maybe bad but since the transitions are neither gradual nor abrupt, it just feels lazy, like no one was willing to make a decision one way or another. Perhaps for this same reason the album is cluttered with droning repetitions.

The latest release from LaLaLand, the MumboJumbo EP is the best damn 19 minutes of pop that I’ve heard in a long time - and pop and I are like a penguin to aerial flight. Thomas Mazzi, Ruby Painter, and relative newbie Steve Sanders should be commended for their work. The five tracks range from standard pop rock (“Monkey See Monkey Do”) to sweeping gestures (“Phase Out”) all the way to a three-minute evolution in sound (“Ripple to Wave”). In an interview with the Chronicle, LLL said that they wanted the album to be “like early Spoon” – (just in case you’re wondering, Spoon relies heavily on electronic effect & memorable melody) - but truth be told, MumboJumbo exceeds in content anything Spoon has released.

The Faceless Werewolves’ album Medium Freaky gets one ball of acrylic yarn in the newly devised “36th Chamber Kung-Fu Knitting Scale.” The reason is simple: While the Faceless Werewolves have all the right tools, they have not offered listeners 1) anything novel or 2) anything old done in an exceptional way. However, albums are crossroads for bands and there is significant value in talking about why they should seriously consider gettin’ nekkid.

First, meet the band: Erica Barton, drums and vocals; Kelsey Wickliffe, guitar and vocals; and Baldomero Valdez, guitar and vocals. The band transplanted from Denton in 2005, but have been working together since 2001. Medium Freaky is their sophomore effort, assuming you count a 2003 self-titled release from the Already Gone label. Medium Freaky has been lovingly described as “full of garage-pop nuggets exploding into crunchy noise” in the Statemen and “maximum rock & roll,” by the Chronicle. I also hear that they’re an exceptionally nice group of folks. That being said, this is where we get Down To Business. If you’re scared, feel free to hold hands with someone nearby.

True Business: The Blue-Collar Blues-Punk of Ghostwriter
by Zoe Nicol

Local musician Steve Schecter, stage name Ghostwriter, is the best blue-collar blues-punk performer who hasn’t been snagged by a mid-sized label. If you haven’t seen him yet, you should. His newest album, Darkest Hour, and recent tour with the Legendary Shack Shakers are bold testaments to his authenticity and craftsmanship amid the explosion of blue-collar genre musicians. By combining the instruments of blues and the unrelenting observations that characterize punk, his work bends and blends the two genres into an uncompromising and sometimes unsettling reflection of inner turmoil and cultural expectations. Performances are raw with passion, focused on discontent with work, relationship anxiety, personal flaws and failings, and yes, even a song or two about drugs. Although sometimes described as a man who’s music lends justification for heavy drinking and personal annihilation, Steve’s actually an incredibly easygoing guy who was perfectly happy to sit down with me over a cup of coffee and share a few stories about his journey to Austin, touring, and his recent albums.

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Sunday September 30th was a good day to live in Austin. Not that most days go by without some small reminder of why this is our city of choice�just some days are more Austin-y than others.

From mid-afternoon to early evening the annual Pecan Street Festival took over 6th street with scads of vendors, bands, and my personal favorite: children wearing those hats made from balloons. Yet the shutting down of the festival gave way to the beginning of a night of musical menagerie, with Fishboy, Brothers and Sisters and Spoon taking the stage at one of the few mid-sized Austin venues, Emo’s.

For almost a decade I traveled from one place to another with all my worldly possessions packed into the cab of my truck, seeking some elusive new understanding driving from state to state. When the skies turned black, speckled with stars, and the gas stations were few and far between, I’d put on Richard Buckner and find contemplative companionship. That bias being stated, Buckner’s newest album, Meadow, won’t be coming with me next time.

Over the years, Buckner’s singer-songwriter style (as opposed to the alt.country labels) utilized his deep and searching voice in combination with limited accompaniment. The result was pieces of poetry sung, a bumpy stream of consciousness where words wandered, exploring the crevices of emotional walls and fragmentation. Minimal supplements held each track together while the anchor, his literal and figurative voice, created something from nothing or something from everything, depending on listener perspective. It was an existential exploration given the bare minimum of tools. Songs and albums suggested the possibility of clarity through the process of self-evaluation in the dark. After all, remove the glare and babble and one gets a chance to see what lies within.