Continuing the trend of downsizing their sound for a more intimate approach (yes, even more than The Trials of Van Occupanther), Midlake’s third and latest opus, The Courage of Others, is a largely acoustic guitar and hushed vocal affair, save for the interwoven flute or percussion here and there. As low-key as the album is, it’s about as notable that The Courage of Others sounds almost like a timepiece; it has a very early seventies folk air to it, yet with a modernized feel. The problem is that The Courage of Others is not particularly original or even memorable.

Great, now I'm tripping AND depressed. Damn you Midlake

What The Courage of Others really lacks is compelling melodies. There are of course a few exceptions, like the opening Acts of Man, but immediately after it starts dragging on, bathing in its own gloom, and not going anywhere. The guitar picking and other instrumentation really is quite good, even clever in how the random flute or clean electric parts are placed, but none of it is exactly of virtuoso status either, and without good hooks or melodies, there isn’t a whole lot to keep one’s interest. Midlake has excelled with establishing a mood, but little more. There are moments that catch the ear, but just that – moments. In the Ground begins with promise, then crumbles within seconds. Then it begins building up and starting to sound good, until it fizzles out AGAIN and returns to sounding exactly like the rest of the record.

On the rare occasion that the melodies aren’t run of the mill, they’re bombastic and overdramatic. Bring Down sounds a lot like Radiohead’s Exit Music (For a Film), except with such excess that the song sounds too overwrought to be very enjoyable, or even relatable. Then, after that comes The Horn, which climaxes so prematurely (eep) that it not only feels like an extension of the previous song, but could well be Bring Down’s sequel! The intro also sounds much like Exit Music’s outro, which explains why the two go together so well. And for all the music’s melodrama, vocalist Tim Smith’s monotonous drawl couldn’t possibly sound more bored and detached. Many singers have used this type of understated vocal to spectacular effect; Nick Drake, Lou Barlow, Mark Kozelek, Elliott Smith… but here, it’s just not happening.

Keep in mind that none of this is intended to put down the band. Their earlier work suffered from the same contrivances, but the music they wrote was good enough to make them negligible. The influences are incredibly obvious on their full length debut, Bamnan and Silvercork, as well as Trials, but the songs were very well put together, and more importantly, Tim Smith’s downhearted vocals actually sounded good. After taking four years to follow up Trials, they release twelve run of the mill indie folk songs, that instrumentation withstanding, show a fraction of the heart that their previous albums did.

Taking time from chaining themselves to trees for a publicity shot

Midlake is not a bad band by any stretch of the imagination, but they just don’t stand out. After showing minimal progression over a rather unprolific decade, it’s difficult to see them as essentially anything but “not bad.” The fact is that Midlake, particularly on The Courage of Others, aren’t doing anything new. Their sound been done better, and it will be done better again. In an era where the indie folk genre is flourishing with the likes of Bon Iver, Great Lake Swimmers, Fleet Foxes, and so on and so forth, being average is just not enough.

The duo of The Swell Season (Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová) gained their fame partly from starring in the 2007 film Once, but even more for impressively snagging an Academy Award for best original song (Falling Slowly) in said film. The romance ultimately didn’t last, but rather than ending their recording partnership as well, they wrote and recorded a new album. What’s so amazing about the result, Strict Joy, is not that it’s another breakup album; in fact, it’s the opposite. Imagine the approach the they take: After their romantic relationship dissolves, they actually document the split musically, applying each perspective in conjunction. It certainly is a fresh angle on the already tried and true turning-heartbreak-into-art formula, and they really make it work wonderfully.

Crap, we have letters in our hair

Kicking things off is Low Rising, a distinctly Van Morrison flavored number that sets the tone quite well; Hansard begins plainly with “I want to sit you down and talk, I want to pull back the veils and find out what it is I’ve done wrong” backed by a rich, soulful folk sound. Feeling the Pull has even more energy to it, but it quickly succumbs to the deeply melancholic In These Arms, which finds Hansard lost in bittersweet longing. The sad desperation in how he sings “Maybe I was born to hold you in these arms” is crushing, especially when you stop to consider that the very woman he is singing this for is there with him, singing along. Up next is The Rain, in which his desperation has grown even more, as evident with the chorus of “I know we’re not where I promised you we’d be by now” and its variations throughout the song. The climbing and dropping strings grow in power as the track continues, adding an incredibly intensity to the already powerful content.

Irglová’s lead vocal tracks provide her perspective, first with Fantasy Man, a piano and strings driven song that sadly addresses the state of affairs. “Go on now, just leave it,” Irglová sings, “the timing wasn’t right, and the force that swept us both away was too strong for us to fight.” On her second, I Have Loved You Wrong, she is essentially asking forgiveness for letting go so much sooner than her lover, and expresses that she wants to help him do the same. Her tender vocal is piercing enough, but even more haunting is the song’s conclusion, with the two harmonizing “on my mind” repeatedly. Especially coming after The Verb, in which Hansard sings brokenly (as he seems to do more and more as the album progresses)  about the sharp loneliness that immediately follows a split.

On Two Tongues Hansard lets slight bitterness through with his pleas for a direct response from an ambivalent partner, and Back Broke serves as the story’s conclusion, with Hansard still his former lover’s friend, but still sadly clinging to that last shred of hope that she may one day change her mind. His heartbreaking delivery is what makes this possibly the saddest song on the album; just the way he sings “back broke, and happy” is able to tell the whole story nearly on its own.

And now, let's do a song about Jesus!

Strict Joy is a breakup album, plain and simple. It’s the idea of the two exes writing and performing it together that gives it most of its allure, not to mention the clever instrumentation throughout. Not every song works as well as it should, or contribute much to the story that the disc presents, but in the end the flaws are entirely forgivable, as the songs that do work are outstanding. Fifty minutes very well spent.

Mazzy Star fans have been waiting a long, long time for a new album.  The next best thing came along in 2001, when Hope Sandoval put out Bavarian Fruit Bread, her solo debut with the Warm Inventions (which is, for all intents and purposes, My Bloody Valentine drummer Colm Ó Cíosóig). It had some impressive moments, but for the most part it sounded like little more than her trademark dream pop sound with a few sparse ideas thrown in to try and mix things up. Eight years later, She and Ó Cíosóig resurface, and with a much more fully realized follow up. Amazingly, Sandoval’s rich and sensual voice shows no signs of wear, and she sounds almost exactly as she did sixteen years ago on Mazzy Star’s breakout single, Fade Into You. Ó Cíosóig’s playing has grown significantly as well, and the instrumentation throughout this effort sounds far more thought out and lush than that on its predecessor.

This reminds me of that scene in the first X-Men movie with the little ball of fire.. she's like, "here's mine, BITCH"

Blanchard, the album’s single, sets the stage quite appropriately for Through the Devil Softly with its dreamy half blues, half folk demeanor and Hope Sandoval’s sultry vocals; and for the most part, the album’s dark, almost hazy air is carried on extremely well. For the Rest of Your Life is reminiscent of early Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds with its almost sinister instrumentation, and the strikingly Leonard Cohen-esque Lady Jessica and Sam and Thinking Like That are as deeply arresting as they are melancholic. Trouble is perhaps the most fleshed out track, and consequently the most mnemonic of Mazzy Star. Driven almost as much by the bluesy guitar as Sandoval’s hypnotic vocals (not to mention the beautiful harmonizing), it plays very much like a somehow bleaker version of a highlight from 1996’s Among My Swan, the gorgeously lugubrious Roseblood. The duo never sound more eerie, though, than on the album’s dark closer, the Portishead suggesting Satellite.

Where the atmosphere succeeds, however, the songwriting falls slightly short. Sets the Blaze, for example, fails to sound like anything beyond an interlude trying to keep the mood going, and the album would have been better off without it. The gentle Wild Roses doesn’t work as well as it should either, held back by a guitar that sounds a bit too plain, and harmonica that fails to enrich it. The stumbles are indeed few, however, and they aren’t enough to detract from the rest of the album, least of all the spellbinding stand out tracks Trouble and Blue Bird.

Mmm.. I mean uh, just look at that talent! Er.. skill! Um.. damn.

Even with news becoming more and more hopeful that Mazzy Star’s fourth full length is coming sooner than later, Through the Devil Softly is so elegant and sophisticated that it’s not merely something to tide us fans over in the meantime; it’s a record that can truly be enjoyed on its own merit alone. At some times haunting and at others seductive, Hope Sandoval & the Warm Inventions’ latest will grow on you relentlessly.

The Ruminant Band, the Fruit Bats’ first album in four years (as well as the first since songwriter Eric Johnson joined former Sub Pop labelmates the Shins a couple years back), is definitely a departure of sorts. Perhaps working with James Mercer has given Johnson more of an inclination toward sunny 60’s and 70’s pop, or maybe it was his work with the like-minded Vetiver. Or possibly his stepping out of the spotlight a bit to let his band take over the lion’s share of the actual performance is responsible. Of course, there’s the notion that the man himself opted for such a move – in an interview with Reverb Magazine, Johnson said,  “I shouldn’t say I had any strong ideas about how I wanted [The Ruminant Band] to differ from our other records, but I knew that I definitely wanted it to.” Whatever the case, the band’s trademark lo-fi  indie folk sound has definitely diminished in favor of a more Americana approach.

Look honey, the Magical Traveling Ruminant Band is playing in our town! Amazing! No that's okay, you go on ahead. I'll be in the strip club.

The Ruminant Band, the Fruit Bats’ fourth record, is unapologetically rife with 70’s references; the introductory guitar, choral harmonization, and even semi-storytelling in the title track scream Allman Brothers; Being On Your Own suggests a John Lennon-esque take on alt-country (Johnson even sounds a little like Lennon on the closer Flamingos); Led Zeppelin’s lighter side comes across quite strong in the opener Primitive Man, and so on.

This isn’t to call the Fruit Bats’ latest effort uninspired; while the style is somewhat trite, the execution is outstanding. Eric Johnson is a very sharp songwriter, and his talented band provides top-knotch support. Beautiful Morning Light is a delightful slice of alt-country, with sublimely minimal background layering and sweet, convincing lyrics. My Unusual Friend and Singing Joy to the World cover more familiar territory, with the former’s upbeat juxtaposed guitar and piano along with the latter’s sad story of a Three Dog Night concert (they didn’t play Old Fashioned Love Song, the bastards) carried across a lonesome acoustic guitar and emotive vocals.

While well constructed and very ably performed, the songs here are missing a certain something; in the moment, they sound wonderful and engaging, but they don’t stick, and after listening to them exact chord changes and vocal patterns fade from memory. The most damning quality is that there is simply nothing here as deeply affecting as Spelled In Bones’ The Earthquake of ‘73, or Rainbow Sign and Slipping Through the Sensors from Mouthfuls. The Ruminant Band lacks any truly striking highlights, but that is not to say that it isn’t a decidedly solid effort. Eric Johnson and co. are paying tribute to their favorite artists of the era, and ultimately experimenting rather than just cranking out more of the same. Artistically speaking, this might be the better move for a ten year old band, but it doesn’t make for listening as satisfying as their earlier work has yielded.

When Peter Silberman self-released the Antlers’ second long-player back in March, the last thing he expected was for the first print to sell out as quickly as it did. On top of that, before the second print was even finished, he found his band signed to Frenchkiss Records, and Hospice was promptly remastered and re-released in August. The album recieved rave reviews, particularly from Pitchfork (imagine that, Pitchfork raving about an indie act! How UNUSUAL) and NPR Music, who placed the effort at the top of their “Best of 2009″ list. And frankly, the runaway success could not possibly be more deserved.

Jesus, I'm already depressed..

Hospice is a concept album about, depending on how you look at it, a woman named Sylvia who is terminally ill with bone cancer and her spouse reeling in pain as he watches her die, or a generalized simile for collapsing relationships and the helplessness it spawns. Many different interpretations have been applied to this album, but what is clear is that it’s addressing intense sorrow, despondency, and loss with an achingly beautiful flair.

Like the Arcade Fire’s modern day classic Funeral, Hospice makes brilliant use of instrumentation to express every nuance of grief, with Silberman’s heartbreaking voice wavering over it all. The gloomy yet undeniably rich atmosphere would be suitable for an ambitious post-rock effort, and the simple yet outrageously successful layering is prevalent as well, carrying slow burning tracks like the single Two, and raising comparisons to another iconic album, Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.

Prologue sets Hospice’s mood with a brief instrumental, leading into the entrancingly bleak Kettering. When the listener first hears Silberman’s voice as he sings, “I wish that I had known in that first minute we met, the unpayable debt that I owed you,” his hurt comes across in such a big, genuine way, completely free of pretension.  Sylvia and Bear, perhaps the most accessible (apart from the aforementioned Two, of course) tracks here, sandwich Atrophy, which is possibly the most painfully poetic song of the lot. This is not because lines like “with the bite of the teeth of that ring on my finger, I’m bound to your bedside, your eulogy singer” are bad, of course; they just feel too authentic for comfort. The former boasts a simple, almost throbbing intro and verse before a shattering chorus with Silberman’s suprisingly powerful vocal, shouting, “Sylvia, get your head out of the oven.”

The latter paints a barely abstract picture of a couple fractured by an abortion, and features a strangely upbeat chorus which almost resembles the one in Peter Bjorn and John’s Young Folks. Despite the scant lyrics in Thirteen, Sharon Van Etten’s vocals make them devastatingly effective; her threadbare pleads of “pull me out” and “can’t you stop this all from happening? Close the doors and keep them out” are astonishingly moving, complimented by the piano and the smartly applied echo.

The album closes masterfully, pairing the darkly melancholic Shiva with the sweepingly uplifting Wake, which offers us Hospice’s first moments of hope and determination, ending with the soothing Epilogue, decorated with Silberman’s excellent falsetto.

The Antlers have truly produced something special here. Seldom is such intense reflection delivered with this kind of simultaneous exuberance and vulnerability; Hospice isn’t just one of the best records of the year, it may well join the ranks of the great albums that helped influence it.

Had I been alive in the 1930s, I’m pretty sure everything would have sounded like this album by Old Californio. Westering Again is the soundtrack to the outdoorsy adventurous life that I’m sure I would have led back then. The Pasadena-area band has crafted a groovy album whose songs repeatedly creep back into my head every now and then. I also like them because they love California as much as I do, apparently. Yay.

Mother Road, which kicks off the record, is a rollicking (I don’t even like the word ‘rollicking’, but this song really is just that), bouncy tune with lazy vocals and a gritty little guitar lick.

Listening to the songs on this album takes me into almost a different realm of consciousness, one where I’m a rugged frontiersman sifting for gold in a river or strolling around some dusty trails with my trusty dog at my side.

Riparian High, which follows Mother Road, has a smooth horn section to complement the folk-ish vibe that carries out the rest of the song. That’s something I really like about Old Californio – they’re not just your typical folksy indie band; the songs have their own style, as the horns almost give the song somewhat of a Mariachi vibe, without being as frenetic as Mariachi songs tend to be.

City Lines has a country twang to it that the first two songs don’t really have. Its overall feel is pretty country-ish, and it works for me, even though I despise country music. The verses almost remind me of a countrified version of a Sister Hazel song (and that’s a compliment, as I’m a fan of Sister Hazel as well).

Westering Again was recorded very well, as the guitars are crisp, the instrumentation tight, and the vocals as smooth as they could be for this type of music. I haven’t seen Old Californio in concert, but I assume they throw some jamming into the set, as the songs on this record indicate to me the possiblity that they would be able to jam out on some slick country-folk-guitar licks for a while. I bet their shows are really fun.

Just Like Joseph Campbell is a highlight, with another upbeat rhythm propelled by a solid bass line. I’ve heard the phrase “let’s take that bass for a walk” before, and while I’m not entirely sure what that means exactly, it sounds like it applies to this song, as the bass line in this tune is constant and driving.

One thing I really like about this album is how they don’t really ever slow down too much. Old Californio is great at the up-tempo folk jams, and so when they slow it down a little bit (From the Mouth of Babes) it doesn’t bring the album down, instead it provides a bit of a nice relaxing moment filled with more rich melodies.

Warmth of the Sun is another gem, with tambourines, layered guitar work, and a slow build that leads into a steady rhythm that will make even the most stubborn folk music-hater bob his or her head (hopefully).

California Goodness, the last track, is a gentle breeze of a tune that name drops Truckee (my favorite stop on the way to Lake Tahoe for vacation) and has a beautiful, light harmonica solo toward the end. It’s a great way to end the record.

Stone Foxes. Listen to them or else we aren't friends

At times, Old Californio reminds me of another great band called the Stone Foxes. From the Bay Area, the Stone Foxes play an irresistible hybrid of blues/rock/folk that they carry out incredibly well. I’ve seen them a couple times in LA, and they put on fantastic shows. If they ever played with Old Californio I would stop at nothing to get to the show, as I know it would be a lot of fun.

In closing, Old Californio’s record Westering Again is a solid gem of an album. I hadn’t been aware of the band before I was sent the album for review, but I’m glad I took on the task. I apparently just missed seeing them in LA this week, which is unfortunate, but I’ll be sure to check them out next time they come around. If the album is any indication, their live show should be just as memorable.

Gina Villalobos has been praised as a unique artist on the rise, acclaimed for her ability to give accessibility to roots rock and Americana with a raw, indie sound, and for the most part, the California girl doesn’t disappoint.

The bird couple whispered sweet nothings to each other, unaware of the hat-wearing bird in the distance, plotting his revenge.

With her latest release, Days On Their Side, there are equal shares of inspired brilliance and inconsistency; namely, the middle slumps when compared to the 1-2-3-4 punch of the album’s first half and the showstopping indie folk informed closing duo of Second Chance and Die Here Tonight, and just can’t grab you as well. The bookends save Days On Their Side, as they unquestionably show Gina Villalobos at her best.

Take a Beating begins with an immediate alt-country twang, but it is Villalobos who comes to the forefront in no time – her ragged, almost weathered voice easily evokes a great deal of empathy with such a heartfelt and genuine delivery. When she pleas “fix all my heartache,” you can really feel it, and the point is truly driven home by the sad but unbroken devotion in the chorus. Sun In My Eyes kicks into high gear right away, with a sudden burst of energy reminiscent of the Eagles’ Already Gone. Following is String It Out, a wonderfully progressing song that grows in power with such masterful subtlety that it doesn’t explode with a burst of emotion but rather sneaks up on you. That, and clever lines such as “like a puppet show, I’m gonna string it out” keep the song from sounding as bleak as the beginning hints it to be.

Next, and perhaps the best song on the record, is Ring Around My Room. All throughout, this track captures My Morning Jacket and early Wilco with a different approach, as if they reversed the values in their indie/country trade-off and threw in a dash of pop for good measure (sheesh, how many times have you read “a dash of (x) thrown in for good measure” in a review). Andrew Gerters‘ drumming is really what keeps it together here; he manages to keep it as upbeat as it needs to be, without injecting more vigor than is needed.

The first real stumble is Mortified; there are great hooks abound throughout the verses (notably in the vocal department) but it all falls apart in the bland, noisy, and directionless chorus, dropping the pop sensibility a bit too drastically. Falling Away suffers from the exact opposite problem; a soaring chorus without a strong song to back it.

Overall, Days On Their Side is ultimately a grower and not a shower (har har har), and while the first listen will definitely impress, it’s in repeated spins that this album shows its musical intricacy and sophistication; in particular the exquisite banjo playing by Kevin Halland, understated to just the right degree without diluting its impact in each song, especially on Second Chance. As for Villalobos herself, in spite of  any missteps, she is developing quite rapidly as a songwriter, and alt-country fans unaquainted with this young talent would do well to keep an eye out for her.