Sound Bites
Archers loaf, Paleface grapples lyrically
All the Nations Airports
(Alias / Elektra)
Archers of Loaf is capable
of structuring wonderful pop ditties and more than capable of tearing down
the structure of the typical hard rock song into a heap of static layered
with buzz-saw guitars. These two abilities are featured prominently
throughout the major-label debut from the North Carolinian veteran
independent heroes. This band, like Sonic Youth
and Pavement in the recent past, has been hailed for quite a while by
pretentious indie rock fans as being years ahead of any band played on the
radio. The band's fans will proudly pronounce its members the saviors of
rock `n' roll and the real keepers of the punk flame. Do the psychedelic
and so-called "post-punk" rockers live up to that billing on their widest
release? Not quite, but All the Nations Airports creates enough
off-the-wall images to stand on its own.Eric Bachmann writes and
sings the lyrics like he's being held under water with few precious moments
to come up gasping for air. His often quirky and humorously sadistic songs
are probably a little too inaccessible for the mainstream rock audience,
and they provide a slightly more than skewed look at the world. The title track is enough
to make one cast second glances at any person in an airport. Bachmann makes
each and every tourist or businessman out to be a possible terrorist
threat, while every pilot was born insane or later became an alcoholic."Assignation On Christmas
Eve" opens with an electronic chime that resembles a generic Christmas song
mixed with a chillingly simple theme from a low-budget horror flick. The
song itself could very well be--and probably is--the plot to a terrible yet
laughable Christmas thriller. Teenage revolutionaries carry out a scheme to
murder jolly ol' Saint Nick under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve--the
perfect Christmas song for the psychedelic rock lover.This is followed by the
low-key and incredibly melancholy piano ballad "Chumming The Ocean."
Bachmann suddenly sounds like a clone of the Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne as
he mourns a missing diver who has most likely passed on, as the Coast Guard
insists on continuing its futile search."Scenic Pastures" and
"Vocal Shrapnel" settle into more familiar pop rhythms and will probably
please new fans who are a little put off by Bachmann's convoluted take on
life. These two songs offer straight forward lyrics that would play very
well on the radio; they are a far cry from the last couple of tracks, which
seem to drone on without any sort of lead or direction. The end of the
album is the only part where Archers' reputation as a jam band is
justified. Thankfully, however, the band gets its point across through most
of the album.All The Nations
Airports is not going to bring the band any new-found fame. On its
major-label debut, Archers of Loaf further falls into that niche between
Pavement and the Flaming Lips. However, Archers of Loaf is neither as corny
and fun as Pavement, nor as wildly cartoonish and devilishly wacky as the
Flaming Lips. B---Todd Martens /
Staff WriterPaleface
Get Off
(Elektra)
The second track on the
second album from the New York artist Paleface best acquaints us with this
indecorous city dweller. The track is called "The Tormentor" and the only
sound is that of an answering machine's beep. "The Tormentor" is simply an
answering machine message that Paleface used to leave for his friends. The
message talks about eliminating the listener's bowel movements and is the
kind of childish prank left for those with just a tad too much time on
their hands. It is at these times that Paleface seems to write his best
songs, but these times don't come often enough.On Get Off, Paleface
is the tormentor--the hopeless romantic who torments himself over what
could have been and what never will be. He is therefore able to spend
sleepless nights cursing himself and trying to convince himself that he
isn't depressed, as he does on "My Fault." The acoustic song sounds as if
it were recorded in a basement after a long night of staring either at the
wall or at the bottom of a beer glass."My Fault" is immediately
followed by "Oh, the Pain, Ouch," in which Paleface is no longer depressed
about his lost love but is ready to explode at the sight of seeing her with
another man. A deep guitar backs up Paleface's throaty voice, and a
harmonica that is not just played but wrestled with punctuates the song,
recalling the sound of New York's Fleshtones. Paleface doesn't spend all
of his time regretting and hating, though. He takes time to notice the
terrible infomercials that run in the middle of the night. Your product
isn't all that / It won't get me laid, sings Paleface with a funky
organ and hoe-down clapping that is somewhat reminiscent of his former
roommate, Beck. This song will bring a chuckle out of anyone, and it is
where Paleface excels. One wishes he would spend more of his time writing
pranks and mocking the mundane, but he doesn't, and half of the album
resembles George Thorogood's somewhat amusing but mostly dull guitar-laden
rock.On tracks like "State of
Denial," "G.G.F.U." and "Sorry That You're Lame" Paleface's voice starts to
sound like that of Sesame Street's Oscar the Grouch. "G.G.F.U." also
features lyrics that belong only in the garbage ("We're gonna go get f---ed
up" is repeated endlessly). "Smoke" can also be put right next to
"G.G.F.U.," as Paleface's choleric whining does nothing but torment the
listener. This is Paleface's first
album since being dropped by Polydor and his first recorded with a band.
The band accompanies his gruffy voice well enough, but more often than not,
it simply resembles the type of music you'd hear in a run-down biker bar on
the outskirts of the city. This atmosphere is easily created, and like any
cheap, run-down bar, it isn't long before you want to get out."My Fault" and "Your
Commercial Sucks" stand out as proof that Paleface can be a proficient
writer, but he just isn't consistent enough yet. Right now he's the kind of
writer who grapples for the perfect lyrics but only ends up tormenting
himself through the night when he can't find them. C--Todd Martens /
Staff Writer