Look for Eleven Issue 7.5 on the streets early next week.

Closed-circuit camera got me circling round where Newton strung me up, I sunk in drunken confound, guiding knife-sliced orange like paranormal profound: pulpific moments will surely astound those readers and seekers of all things wound around the sound. Did you come here for grounding in some wholly unbound expounding of all things drowned in the founding of some composer’s resounding? We got ourselves surrounded in the future tense. Hung out to dry on some apocalypse fence, picket painted, pullin’ down stars, now weeping and creeping at the local dive bars for our defense of intoxication, thickly tainted town czars and coffee-break wars incense our cocked nation till we’re spillin’ out with oil just to feel the decimation, till we’re fillin’ beds with quarters just to reel in hot vibration. Call the reporters on this steel violation!

Raze the bourbon bound blood hounds here to fire you up, till the patron saint open taint comes in your cup. Where are we going, where are we going, we who here dwell, in the shadows of the scraping sky that quite nearly fell like the swollen-breast birds and those fish washed ashore, we have come here to die as we’ve all done before. As the vector repeats the nectar is sweet-calling dimension-falling, stalked-stalling till our time has come, hung over, strummin’ in the analogue sun.

And now, my bitches, here’s the turn. Who’ll do the dishes? Watered logs can’t burn! Oughtta find bright lights on a Loop-lust night, oughtta heal squeaky brakes, keep loose chains tight. Might confide in our local pride beer and wine here to cheer and bind fear of coming back to strum the strings, designing divine confessional kings. Peaked pews fill around me. I will sing and We will Be. Or I will hush and churn, sinking in to learn and listen, aging thin concern to glisten, holding winds high, rhythm liners as flight: deeper miners, heed sight. Metronome drinkin’ clicks of your fright and frost, from melodies lost as we come around to retire our gate on the crossed-wire confound we call fate.

Now we’re wretchin’ and stretchin’ our longing like it’s hushed in the ground, knotted, belonging to rotted roots, now blooming the fruits of fine grime’s plain song, yearning, strung and strained, as grey grain’s ferment lay slain like hay hung, retching for unsung rain. We campaign from the net now, spewing champagne. All blue-toothed to touch, can’t love booze too much. Ring it up cause the money and the time’s all the same: our mimosas in the morning will string out our fame. Our stocks locked in ticking tricks is all we could claim when the final chord was cut to give our listener a name.

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[[Eleven Issue 7.2 is out today! As a bonus feature for you Eleven devotees out there: a fourth editorial piece, penned by staff superhero Nelda Kerr.  Enjoy!  »- JP]]

HYPE: Round Four

The first time I heard of Nietszche, I was a drunk high school girl getting hit on by a college guy at a house party. He was so cute, he sounded sounded so deep: I was sold. The fourth time I was wooed by existential angst, I found Zarathustra and read it for myself, wherein I realized that none of my Romeos really got it, and I was certainly the biggest fool of all.

During these escapades, the cool-factor was promoting a work of unparalleled cultural and artistic value, but this is not always the case. On more than a few occasions, I’ve been bombarded by enthusiastic praise for a work I found to be devoid of content, authenticity or devotion to craft. This leaves one wondering, who owns the hype mill?

This year, globally-acclaimed street artist Banksy released Exit Through The Gift Shop. Though much conversation that followed the artist’s first film questioned the authenticity of the documentary’s content, another equally important theme emerged. In the film, the eccentric and obsessive Thierry Guetta climbs the ranks of the underground art world and, among other antics, opens a show in Los Angeles. Every hipster and socialite artie flocked to praise and buy art that was all but devoid of artistic inspiration and merit; the public was duped.

Though the puppetmaster remains elusive (possibly non-existent), Exit presented a fairly convincing argument that any neurotic fool could Warren Buffet our most trusted social networks with a simple set of successful hype tactics.

Commercial media may monopolize many communication methods, but independent media remains a critical force in the rise of social figures, ideas and creative work. Still, the most potent form of promotion remains word of mouth. I, for one, am taking my power of recommendation more seriously than ever, committing my endorsement to those who might nourish our yearn for creative depth and sincerity in these hungry times. I am also more cautious about whose hype I give credibility, though my discerning eye is still directly related to my level of intoxication.

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Chaz Bundick weaves spacey-funk yet beat driven soundscapes under the moniker Toro y Moi.  He fills Eleven in on the dividing line between musical hobbies and work and how to get crowds dancing.

Toro y Moi – Low Shoulders

[Audio clip: view full post to listen]

You are from Columbia, South Carolina, but avidly participate in the open, global music exchange that is the internet. What do you have to say about the geography of music in our generation? Is there a “local” mentality that we should work to maintain everywhere (not just in Brooklyn and Austin)?

Chaz Bundick:

I think that because of the internet more music fans and musicians are able to influence their musical taste. I feel that Columbia’s music scene has not been fully recognized, there are a lot of great bands here. So, with the success I’ve been getting lately I’d like to show as much support to the local scene as possible.

On a similar tangent, do you think this rapidly expanding musical exchange is blurring our concept of genre ? (your music draws from so many varied influences…)

CB:

Thats one way to view it, but it’s not necessarily ‘the internet’ that is responsible for expanding one’s musical knowledge. I think the fact that we are able to access more at a much faster rate, it’s easier to become familiar and jaded with many genres of music. So, inevitably musicians push themselves further.

How are you translating Causers of This to the stage?

CB:

Right now, I’m trying to focus on how i can make my set more organic and not rely on using back-up tracks as much. So, some songs may sound different; some emptier, some more up-beat… I don’t really know yet.

Lo-Fi electronica has been a staple for me this year, but only from my laptop, in my room. I don’t really know how one could dance to this without looking silly. Maybe a strobe-light? How are the kids swinging their hips at your shows?

CB:

That’s one thing that confuses me myself. I approach a lot of my songs from a pretty basic starting point, either piano or guitar. Some people like to listen to the lyrics and some like to listen to the music and dance. For me, when i watch a band i usually like to watch for chemistry between the players which is what i’d like to include into my shows soon.

Causers of This unfolds in a dreamy haze. What of your personal dreams are communicated on this album?

CB:

There aren’t any dreams conveyed really at all. it’s mostly true events that have happened in a past relationship.

You share so many sentiments about personal relationships on this album. Would you say that commitment to truth/vulnerability is your central theme? If not, then what?

CB:

I’d say that’s about right. Once the meaning behind the lyrics become routine and dull it’s lost true emotion.

So many of us twenty-somethings are bumming around, more focused on creativity than “career.” We are even skeptical about the money-making possibilities in art spoiling our creative processes. Has your practice changed, now that you’re making music as “work?”

CB:

That’s a good question, I think it’s hard to do what you like as a career and still maintain the motivation to do it. Before it was work, it was just a hobby. I think the best way to keep your art as pure as possible, you have to constantly put yourself into positions that got you to the point of ‘hobbies turn to work.’ Whether it was depression or happiness, that’s the only thing that’s going to make interesting to you and that is the most important thing.

It is as if this time in our lives has become a dreamy haze between care-free childhood and responsibility-burdened adulthood. Is this your experience? When do we “grow up?” How do you think Causers of This flows out of this mentality?

CB:

I think we grow up when you mentally try to make things simpler but on the outside things become more cluttered. I’d like to think Causers of This has similar attributes, simple meanings with complicated structuring.

Who were you listening to while writing this album?

CB:

I did reference back to Daft Punk’s Discovery a few times, but I mostly had the sounds in my head already – which were influenced by J Dilla and My Bloody Valentine.

Do you have a title or date for the next album?

CB:

Not yet, we’re shooting for August.

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Sometimes you’ll hear a track, and your toes start tapping (think “September” by Earth, Wind and Fire). Perhaps the glossy mystique of an artist is so attractive you can’t look away (David Bowie). Maybe it’s so jarring you feel physical pain (Paula Abdul?).  In rare cases, you’ll be drawn in by the sheer authenticity of the sound: to listen is to know the creator, and crave to learn more.

These types of albums require you to invest in a relationship: to listen again and again, studying the music until it integrates with your own experience. Good albums work their way into the framework of your life… captured in a falling-type love at first discovery, then mellowing out into a sustained affection over the years.

When the music is young, say, the first album of a new group, it asks you to stick around, and see how they grow as people and artists. Invest in their potential, and trust that it will pay off. HUMDRUM is a newer project, and you get the impression that this combination of creative energy synchronizes so well, it will only ripen with time.

On the St. Louis band’s first full-length album, Individual Man, the members set out to explore and create as one cohesive entity. Phil Strangman’s keys (an early 70′s Fender Rhodes Mark I) already sink masterfully into the temper of Mic Boshan’s percussion. Genre borders don’t seem to contain the foursome, as they frequently incorporate elements of jazz (“I’m In Love With A Mermaid”) and pop harmonies (“Kaleidoscope”).

Though HUMDRUM’s moniker is new, the band members are not new to their disciplines, or to each other.

Mic Boshans:

Dan and I have been playing music together for over 10 years now, so as a rhythm section we’re pretty well synchronized. We know how to communicate and how to bring the best out of each other when it comes to writing and performing music… the other half of this project was Paul and Phil writing and recording songs together.

When Boshans became a member of both groups, it occurred to him that the two projects would “mesh remarkably well…and HUMDRUM was born.”

It is obvious to the listener that the project didn’t evolve out of vanity, or in an attempt to create an image for themselves. These four people love to make music, and want nothing more than the chance to do it well.

Boshans:

One thing I’ve learned from playing in bands for so long, especially from Dan, is that amazing things can happen when you check your ego at the door and try to bring the best out of each other. Phil and Paul also exemplify this attitude and approach to collaboration, but that’s not to say that any one of us are passive about presenting our ideas. I think the best way to put it, is that we trust each other a lot.

Paul Maguire:

We’d all like to be musicians. We all have our days jobs, but they’re not satisfying. Music seems like the most fulfilling thing that I could do.

Formerly known as Hunger Artist, HUMDRUM dwells as much in their philosophic as they do in their musical influence. Many of their songs explore the relationship between the physicality of living in a space/time confined body and the ethereal experience of  explorative meta-consciousness (see: Jill Bolte Taylor’s TED Talk). A person attempting to grasp the interconnectivity of everything can simultaneously feel infinitely epic and ridiculously futile. Perhaps this struggle is addressed most directly on “The Abyss.”

Maguire:

The Abyss” was written while I was riding in an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean.  I didn’t have any instruments, so naturally it came out in poem form.  Look out from a plane at night over the Atlantic Ocean.  If you ignore what’s going on in the plane, you might feel as though you are floating out into nothingness.  This feeling spawned “The Abyss.”  It also deals with purpose.  If one’s conscious self, quite possibly, does not last forever, then what about that person is passed on after his/her death?  That is what “The Abyss” wants to know.

The rest of the album takes this central dichotomy and fleshes it out across the spectrum of daily experience. There are moments when it feels like your mind has stretched out in an attempt to grasp the infinite nature of the universe (just try, TRY to REALLY THINK about a black hole). There are others when a person you love is standing in front of you (maybe you “only want to know if they feel the way you do”), and that single physical feature of your reality overwhelms all others. Experience can dwell in multiple layers of consciousness, but this kind of intentional exploration can be exhausting. Don’t forget to breathe.

Dan Meehan:

I know of a lot of my thoughts when it comes to writing a song focus on these types of impossibilities.  The infinite nature of the universe, the possibility that this is a God, or no God.  The insanity of existence (why are we here? what are we — just a bunch of charged atoms stuck together?) The human legacy…personal legacy, etc. We are one of those groups that have commited to exploring the unknowns of the universe.

In the midst of these existential crises, HUMDRUM doesn’t want to completely lose themselves. They recognize that in this type of progressive artistry, the deeper the creator is willing to go, the more they abandon a sense of mainstream accessibility. The listener has to conduct their own exploring to have any relation to what the artist trying to capture. But they strive to retain some simpler, relational themes. Songs like “Individual Man” and “For Everything Bad” capture this balance well.

Paul Maguire:

I know that some of the stuff we have done is considered weird by many, but hopefully, we will aid in the explorations of others.  Ultimately, all we ask for is an open mind.

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Bring in your floor toms, glass beer bottles, and fiery angst. Loosen your guitar strings until they’re an echo of an empty sound. Find someone primo to record you (in St. Louis, it’s Ryan Wasoba), and borrow a few friends for the band. Blend these ingredients on “liquefy” for 30 seconds (adding your own spices, of course), and you’ve got the base for a great EP.

Cold Bear Scout – Some Other Dirty Things

[Audio clip: view full post to listen]

Cold Bear Scout’s Let’s Meet the Sun and Moon is one such confection. The project is a product of Steven Colbert’s creative vision, and several musicians from Exercise/Berlin Whale and So Many Dynamos make appearances. The EP showcases the innovation and manipulation of instruments and sound that have become the trademark of the St. Louis independent music scene. Rolling, war-like drums on “Bad Parts” are foiled by almost whimsical, carnival-like melodies on “From Time to Time.” CBS draws from the polarities of human experience, twisting them into darker reflections of life.

The album shows that everything from the gleeful to the staid can be dirtied and hollowed, though these sentiments are occasionally over-exposed in Steven Colbert’s lyricism. Sometimes the severity of the lyrics on songs like “Porcelain Honey” (“I’m one of those really fucked up people/stay out drinking so I never feel a thing”) have pangs of exaggeration. CBS is strongest when these intensities are communicated in the instrumentals. At points the drum kit is dismantled so that each part can be utilized (“Some Other Dirty Things” does it best), and all Colbert’s friends are invited to join in.

The larger group of musicians adds skill to each layer of the sound, maintaining an impressive attention to detail. The dual electric guitars on “Bad Parts” dance and shadow each other with such a refined precision. In the vein of Nick Zinner, they can tend to the melodic particulars without losing a sense of improvisation. Pick up this EP. Celebrate that friends in our neighborhood are working hard to give us great music.

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