Today's Hotness: The Hush Now, Sir Yes Sir, Shores

>> We saw The Hush Now's final show of the year Wednesday night and the quintet continues to be among the most formidable of Boston bands. We've been holding onto the fivesome's latest holiday jam "On Holiday" because, well, we're trying to hold the line against holiday creep. But now that Thanksgiving is over and done, it is time to confront the sounds of the season. The Hush Now's aforementioned, bossa nova romp approaches irresistible, and we've had the one-song CD-R on repeat in the car for days. "On Holiday" is an uptempo confection that eschews the band's now characteristic wall of guitars in favor of a horn-driven, jingle bell-appointed chorus. We've got to hand it to the boys: anybody can write a holiday jam, but few acts write ones you want to hear over and over. Catch the stream below (and cheers to the RSL Blog for the initial upload). The Hush Now is off for the rest of the year, but we've heard whispers about new music for the new year. So be good for goodness' sake.

The Hush Now - On Holiday by rslblog.com

>> Tip the 40, if you will, for Sir Yes Sir: the London-based noise pop upstarts announced earlier this month that they are breaking up. However, fret not: it sounds like what is really being done -- after five years, one tape, one CD and one CD-R -- is that Sir Yes Sir is scrapping its name and contemplating reconfiguring a little. When we last wrote about the trio in May they were poised to release their debut full-length Reigning Over Silence, which you can stream right here. We had short correspondence with Daniel from SYS after the break-up announcement, and were told the band is considering adding a new member and perhaps changing who plays what instrument. This all sounds like a good thing to us, and as long as the new entity can continue to churn out delightfully tuneful sludge like "Not Excited," which we wrote about here in January, we'll be more than happy.

>> Fans of hardcore and pop-punk know No Idea, the Gainesville, Fl.-based label responsible for superb releases from acts including Armalite, Lifetime and J Church (RIP Lance). The label's aesthetic is well-established, but one new No Idea release from Michigan-based and un-Google-able slowcore duo Shores challenges it, and suggests that No Idea is now about more than, well, all that stuff we mentioned above. Take, for example, the track "Meanwhile" from Shores' debut Coup De Grace, issued by No Idea Oct. 31 in a limited first-run of colored vinyl with a screen-printed cover and download code. It's measured, meditative, melodic and dynamic, and it hits a strident crescendo two-thirds of a way through that recalls certain fine moments from T.W. Walsh and Codeine. No Idea has posted "Meanwhile" as a free download, and it is ripe and ready for your winter playlists. Have at it.

Shores -- "Meanwhile" -- Coup De Grace
[right click and save as]
[buy Coup De Grace from No Idea right here]

Greg Lyon with Soccermom | PA's Lounge, Somerville | 4 December

We speculated here earlier this month that Greg Lyon's debut solo set Nowhere Near Poughkeepsie was going to get lost in the end of the year shuffle. But after spending a lot of time with the record, we're of the belief that the late-year release date perfectly poises the set to settle into your conscience at a very appropriate time: during frozen, still winter days. The pervasive mood of one is wholly appropriate for the other; these are not hot summer party jams, but rather a series of reckonings approached in solitude, teeth about to chatter, hands chilled to the bone as you light your cigarette and set out walking. Even the relatively upbeat title track or the jaunty "Industrial Park"'s sunny dispositions are anchored by wintry piano. Nowhere Near Poughkeepsie will be released by Midriff, but is available now at Bandcamp (hence the stream embed below), so you've got plenty of options to score what is rapidly becoming our go-to record for this, the winter of our discontent.

YouTube Rodeo: Ringo Deathstarr's "So High"

The first single from contemporary shoegaze behemoth Ringo Deathstarr's hotly anticipated, long-awaited full length debut. "So High" will be released by Club AC30 in the UK and is due out on vinyl 7" and via digital storefronts Jan. 31. The tune is perhaps the most overtly, delightfully MBV-influenced number the Texas quartet has issued to date. If the rest of the full-length -- titled Colour Trip and slated to hit the new release bin in February -- is nearly as good it will be a formidable record indeed. The Deathstarr is currently in the UK touring, and you should get out to see them now before they are the hottest thing since sliced bread over there and it is a hassle getting into their shows. Full dates are at MySpace here. [via Sonic Masala].

Today's Hotness: New Years Evil, Misra Lemonheads, Annabel

>> Some things just sound classic. A forthcoming split single from Plymouth and Portsmouth, England-based Art Is Hard Records touts music that could just have easily have been produced by indie acts in 1992 as 2010, right down to production values, big guitars and general attitude (confusion, disappointment, heartache). This is a good thing. The A-side of the single features Exeter, England trio New Years Evil's squalling and enchanted anthem to disaffection "Shame," and the flip touts Falmouth, England's The Black Tambourines' decidedly surfy, definitely Slumberland-y "Tommy." Certainly The Black Tambourines must be aware of the seminal D.C. indie shoegaze pop act Black Tambourine, as "Tommy" is awash in the latter band's reverb, distortion and pep. "Shame" b/w "Tommy" will be released by Art Is Hard Nov. 29 on 7" vinyl. The single comes packaged with a 5-track digital EP, 'zine and photo print. The digital EP contains the aforementioned tracks as well as The Black Tambourines' "Youth" and "Let You Down (Reworked)" as well as New Years Evil's "Echo Canyon (home demo)." We don't imagine they are making a ton of these, so you'd best pre-order right here. The stream of New Years Evil's "Shame" awaits your attention below.

New Years Evil's "Shame"

>> [EDIT 2: Hold on, don't get too excited -- it seems the email in question may not have meant what we thought it meant. -- Ed.] The recently resuscitated Misra Records will release a compilation of old material next year, which old material will be selected by certain bands, including Lemonheads, which we presume to mean Evan Dando. The end. Since we rarely write about the band outside of the context of our beloved Varsity Drag, you probably aren't aware that Lemonheads are among our top 10 favorite bands, all time. We don't follow what the modern day Lemonheads and Mr. Dando do that closely, but we were very excited by an email we received today that states Lemonheads will cover a Mendoza Line song for a forthcoming compilation entitled, somewhat clunkily, Misra Records Presents: An Artist-Curated Misra Legacy Compilation. The Mendoza Line are another top Clicky Clicky fave, so the prospect of the defunct indie rock concern's music being recorded by another revered artist is most welcome. We have no idea which song Dando takes on, but here are five Mendoza Line tunes we'd love to hear him record:

1. "I Hope That You Remember To Forget"
2. "Road To Insolvency"
3. "Rats Alley"
4. "Dollars To Donuts"
5. "We'll Never Make The Final Reel"

The compilation is slotted to hit sales racks just prior to an early March release by recently resuscitated Misra's Southeast Engine. Curiously, among other cover combinations that will apparently appear on the comp is one in which one-hit-wonders Black Kids cover supremely under-appreciated and now-defunct Mobius Band. Wild, man, wild.

>> The more we listen to Annabel's "The Forgetting Of Names And Faces," the more we can't get enough. The tune is the lead track of the Kent, Ohio quartet's forthcoming 7" EP Here We Are Tomorrow. The EP is packed with hook-filled, sing-along-able lo-fi indie punk. It will be released Dec. 14 by Tiny Engines -- the label responsible for Everyone Everywhere's self-titled, best-of-2010 emo tour de force -- in a limited edition of 500 (300 on blue vinyl and 200 on maroon vinyl packed with hand-screened and hand-numbered inserts). Pre-order Here We Are Tomorrow right here. It's the right move. Speaking of Everyone Everywhere, the band and Annabel play a show in Philadelphia Friday night at ZAK House. We don't know where that is, but we bet you could figure it out in the event you need to be rocked tomorrow.

Annabel by Ben Hendricks

Weekend | Young Prism | Young Adults | O'Brien's | Nov. 22

This will be a barn-burner. And barring any unforeseen circumstances we'll be there, finally seeing Young Adults for the first time. Very excited. This will sell out. Buy tickets here.

YouTube Rodeo: Johnny Foreigner's "The Coast Was Always Clear"

Still epic. In fact, perhaps more epic than ever. Live at Plug n' Play, Reading, Nov. 18, 2010.

Essay: The Club Is Open

[Mitch Mitchell of Guided by Voices at The Paradise, Boston, MA, 11/5/2010. Photo by Michael Piantigini. More here. || We are pleased to welcome to these digital pages the writing of friend Cathy Piantigini, whose last name should look very familiar to regular readers. We've been dying to have Ms. Piantigini write for the publication since we read this terrific essay about seeing Bill Janovitz at Toad in Cambridge, Mass. We look forward to more well-ordered words from her. -- Ed. ]

Buzzards and dreadful crows
A necessary evil, I suppose
There’s something in this deal for everyone
Did you really think that you were the only one?

-Bob Pollard

+++

My husband closes the door on the residuals of our Friday night dinner at home: dishes drying on the rack, spent bottle of wine in the recycle bin, homemade walnut basil pesto with sausage lingering in the kitchen.

Weighed down by a week spent catching busses, buying bananas and toilet paper, running miles on wet sidewalks made slick with falling leaves, and putting a combined 70 hours of our lives toward pensions, we lumber to our Civic. Not even out of our driveway, we're already hoping Commonwealth Avenue will take pity on two aging indie rock fans and offer up a parking spot so that we don't spend twenty minutes looking for one.

We're going to see Guided By Voices on their Classic Lineup Reunion Tour, which means everyone present will be a little older, a littler grayer, a little wistful. The show is at the beloved Paradise Rock Club, recently renovated, much to the dismay of my husband and I, and we duly note each other's complaints as we grumble our way to the bar.

The last song of the opening band sounds slick and boring, and is immediately followed with chants of GBV! GBV! GBV! when it ends. At the bar, we start catching up with friends we’ve grown accustom to standing shoulder-to-shoulder with these past two decades. They, too left creature comforts -- children, sofas, DVRs -– reckoning the value gained in getting lost in sound.

We spend the time between bands talking about buying and refinancing homes, the not-so-impossibility of running marathons, budget cuts, and some random shows we were luckily just old enough to get into at The Channel, may it rest in peace.

The club is as packed as it ever will be for a show.

I take the earplugs my husband hands me, not that I have a choice; he has a habit of checking to make sure they're in and will pinch me repeatedly if I'm caught without. A friend will see this, lean in and say something like, “Yeah, it's a good to...these days...hearing...,” but I can't hear him that well because I’m wearing earplugs.

"He's relentless," I shout, thumbing at my husband, and we look over to watch him, oblivious of our exchange, talking to another friend and sipping his beer.

Finally the band’s signature neon sign hanging on the stage comes to life: The Club is Open. The band takes the stage and instantly beer bottles are thrust skyward, along with fists. The moment of collective love and escape has arrived. The people pressed around me, jittery and anxious only moments before, suddenly seem to melt into each other as they slap one another on the back, clinking bottles and such. Someone, somewhere, is smoking pot. A pal from college comes up behind me, slings her arm over my shoulder, and I remember the quarter barrels ushered into her dorm room that I, the slack resident assistant, chose to ignore.

By the second song my earplugs are out and I am falling for the guitar player, Mitch Mitchell. Doused in cigarette smoke and tattoos, he makes me swoon with every windmill he strums off a guitar that is truly an extension of his body. He smokes through the night, this creased, leathery strip of a man, jumping up and down with an agility that ignores his paunch; cigarette dangling from his lips the entire time, it was occasionally necessary to put it back in his mouth by a guy whose only job seemed to be having the next cigarette lit and at the ready.

At some point Mr. Mitchell acknowledges, “the fine looking pussy in the audience.” All 8 out of 840 of us. I feel my cheeks flush, and can't even pretend to be offended, even when he goes on to tell us all where he wants that pussy. I watch him having the time of his life, glad to be back on a stage he hasn't stood on in 14 years, leaving the band that long ago.

Fanning myself, I turn to my husband, fortunately not beside me, as he notices my lack of earplugs, and I mouth to him, “Can you believe this?!?” and turn back to my highlight of the week, while he shakes his head, bemused. Later I grab his shoulder and exclaim, “Michael, I'm dying!” forever grateful for his tolerance of my stage crushes.

The night is like an express train I was relieved to already be aboard because it is nonstop. Passengers are driven through 39 anthems, most barely two minutes in length, and the conductor pauses just long enough to take a swig of beer before introducing the title of the next song. At times veering on wrecking, it makes the ride even more thrilling.

Near the end of the night, the singer, Bob Pollard, tells us he just turned 53 and, “So fucking what.”

Indeed.

He is drunk and telling us that it was Guided By Voices who single handedly saved rock and roll from the shoe-gazing bands of the 90s, and there isn't a single person in the audience who will argue with him, rabid My Bloody Valentine fans, like myself, included.

I think about Pollard and my swoon-worthy guitar player and how these shows are probably the only times they are given free reign. After the tour, I imagine they go back home to significant others who keep close eyes on how many drained bottles of beer sit atop kitchen counters. Maybe no one's keeping count and they're drinking alone.

The next day my husband gets a text from another friend at the show who I remember looking over at a few times during the night, as he stood there stoically, like a gargoyle protecting his patch of floor, and wondering if he was having a good time:

Man, how fucking awesome was that show? If we had to go to war against other countries using only rock shows as the weapon, I'd make GBV the main show in our arsenal. So glad I went.

It has been four years since Bob Pollard decided to put Guided By Voices to pasture. We had been missing him and his band for four years and they had been missing us: the audience in every city that welcomes their vices. He calls us kids, and as my husband pointed out, he's like our drunk uncle, if that drunk uncle is in a band that has really amazing songs. -- Cathy Piantigini