Austin Sound

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.

It’s difficult to decipher exactly what Agent Ribbons wants to be. Recently transplanted to Austin via Sacramento, the trio’s sophomore album ranges broadly in sound and ambition, and while individually the tunes are deployed with both an enchanting and edgy aplomb, as a whole the LP feels somewhat at odds with itself. There’s gritty garage riffs, swooning ballads, and an array of musical stylings that the female troupe manages to brush through in under 40 minutes, all wrapped in a kind of gypsy atmosphere that bobs and weaves to various degrees throughout. But that conflicting sound may also be taken as appropriate and intentional, as Chateau Crone could be understood as an exposition on an increasingly developing madness, a kind of musical take on “The Yellow Wallpaper” or the more directly cited “Grey Gardens.” From the emphatic opening of “I’m Alright” through to the closing carnivalesque yelp and swirl of “Wood, Lead, Rubber,” there is an overall progression into a hideous ecstasy of abandon.

“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.

That Hard Proof – formerly and/or still alternately known as Hardproof Afrobeat – exists, much less released an album, is simply amazing. Consider it: in Austin, most bands with just three or four members probably average single digit gigs for the duration of their careers (if you will). Schedules, lives, outside interests, personal and musical differences — all common and valid reasons for promising bands to splinter. So, what were the odds of a band of nine (credited!) musicians sticking around long enough to record an album of fifteen original funky afrobeat tunes? These guys play in bands as wide ranging as The Calm Blue Sea, the Bruce James Soultet and 100 Flowers and as well traveled as Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears, yet they somehow found time for Hard Proof. Beyond amazing.

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.

The Black’s second album, Sun In The Day Moon At Night, breathes cool. It exudes it. Blasts it like a runaway air conditioner. Their debut – 2005’s Tanglewood – was a solid romping album that showed glimpses of this seminal coolness, but never came even close to what this long awaited followup accomplishes. Ten songs that sound like Bob Dylan and Jimmy Reed via Carl Perkins and The Stones. A band photo showing four unassuming guys, slouching like the Paul Butterfield Blues Band in black suits. The vintage Ampeg. It’s all there; Cool.

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.

Good southern rock comes across like gospel, the kind of thing that envelopes the listener with its own kind of special aura. And like gospel music, it may move you on record, but it’s best realized as a live experience that feeds on its own vibes. Which is what makes Deadman’s Live at the Saxon Pub such a thing of beauty. From the opening swell of guitars and swirling Hammond B3, “Brother John” sets a scene and a tone that overflows the humble settings of the Saxon. “Well I remember seeing you at the show, and what seemed like yesterday turned out to be a long time ago,” croons Steven Collins at the outset, and that timeless quality of the sound explodes the tunes, accented by the chorus of backing vocals that elevates the song into a classic mold.

Distortionist, the Murdocks’ first full-length album in half a decade, is a testament to the perseverance of frontman Franklin Morris and his cohorts. Labels (and label offers) came and went, bandmates came, went and stayed, songs and shows changed like the seasons - but Morris never got tired of sharpening his razored songwriter chops or buzzing guitar riffs. As a result, the Murdocks wound up creating an album that justified the overlong gestation and that many fans of mid 90s rock and roll will absolutely love.

Distortionist might actually be two separate albums disguised as one; or, at least it seems like two separate listening experiences and the band appears to have recognized this. Released on a single CD with a Side A and a Side B clearly labeled, the sixteen tracks are neatly split into two eight song halves – and those halves, while sharing a relative continuity – are definitely different beasts.

Kansan-turned-Austinite Pink Nasty (aka Sara Beck) offers her third album, Pink Nasty, after taking a nearly half-decade hiatus. Part re-birth and part reset, this album is her most contoured work yet, revealing an affinity for — or consent of — strong, clean sound, which at times begets a too-smooth production. This record captures her progress as an artist, and could be considered a milestone in her growing discography. No doubt the learning curve was steep throughout this process, but The Pink and Black Nasty team surely has something to be proud of, and tighter constraints within which to work.