Heard Here

The Faint
Danse Macabre

As a rule, I do not like dance music. Even more vehemently, I oppose the sort that so absurdly attempts to masquerade as rock and roll. I generally cringe when I hear a human voice muttering trite catch-phrase filtered through a slew of irritating studio effects. Indeed, that terrifying and all-too-familiar combination of chilly drum machine beats, fuzzy bass and swirl of soulless analog keyboards has been known to chase me from the ’Sco on quarter beers night. While I can concede that some dance music is of a much higher quality than the cloying low-grade trance that booms from Harkness windows, the artificial nature of the genre prevents me from enjoying it on the powerfully visceral level reserved for the best rock and roll.
Yet The Faint’s aptly titled Danse Macabre effortlessly manages to transcend my typical degree of disdain. Hailing from Nebraska, this inventive quintet synthesizes slick keyboard hooks, sharp guitar licks and pounding electronic drums within a noisy punk aesthetic to create a unique soundscape infinitely more intriguing than the comparatively banal synth pop produced by those like New Order. Unleashing a sinister barrage of spooky vocal wails, edgy cacophonic outbursts and the proper dosage of neo-gothic drama, The Faint crackle with a startling intensity on such songs as “Let the Poison Spill from Your Throat” and “Ballad of a Paralyzed Citizen.” All the tunes are quite solid. Nonetheless, I was most fond of “Agenda Suicide,” primarily for the tastefully propulsive rhythm guitar and the ferocious muffled screams at the song’s ominous conclusion.
I would like to urge Concert Board (or whoever is in charge of booking bands these days) to bring The Faint to one of Oberlin’s dazzling venues. I’ve heard they are a fantastic live experience.

-Andrew Simmons

St. Lunatics
Free City

Just four years ago, the founding members of the St. Lunatics were, like many of us here at Oberlin, a few years out of high school and uncertain about their future. Nelly worked at the post office, Kyjuan at Lambert International Airport, Murphy Lee at Office Max and City Spud at McDonald’s. The group had a promising single, “Gimme What You Got” on the local St. Louis airwaves, and not much else. Seven million albums (and a king’s ransom in platinum chains) later, the St. Lunatics are writing tunes like “Icey” and “Dis Iz Da Life.” They followed up Nelly”s solo smash Country Grammar with the equally sing-songy Free City. The album’s title refers not only to the group’s regional pride, “We got space out hur; we can ride and chief,” but to their incarcerated fifth member City Spud, who is now serving 10 years in northeast Missouri’s Boonville Correctional Facility for his involvement in a marijuana-related shooting. Spud, who produced and raps on the Billboard smash/’Sco anthem “Must Be the Money,” is collecting seven-figure royalties he can’t touch while in prison. The rest of the group, however, continues to sell-out nationwide venues with Destiny’s Child on the TRL Tour and film videos such as “Midwest Swang,” equally successful on MTV and BET.
While the Lunatics are no exception to the rap industry’s now-tiring cycle of releasing self-prophesying lyrics of grandeur and riches, which materialize for only a select few, there is an undeniable musical substance (if not formula) that is the cause of their success setting them apart from other rap acts out today. Country Grammar established Nelly as one of the smoothest, freshest MC’s in all of hip-hop, let alone the radio-friendly domain he came to inhabit. Where Jadakiss has so many bags of money that they can’t fit in the bank, the exceedingly clever Nelly went from broke to having brokers.
The tradition continues on Free City giving all of the ’Tics a chance to strut their stuff on their distinctive bass-booming yet tingy tracks. The group brings their own unique slant to the clichés of rap culture. Almost every chorus is sing-a-long worthy and verses are chock full of clever flossing and funny pop-culture reference. On “Okay” Kyjuan raps, “My whole staff love to laugh and count money, on the couch hands in our pants like Al Bundy.” Confident as any group, Lunatics do what Cash Money and No Limit do, but with more wit, flare and melody. Master P’s latest “We Bout Dat” groans to its own demise, but the ’Tics make it still fun to be gangsta. And Nelly takes his style to the next level with a flow that can only be described as “hurt so good.” When he rhymes on “Let Me in Now” it’s as if his own tightness has brought him to tears, “I’m in the White House, buck naked and iced out, with the lights out, and I’m turnin’ yo’ wife out.” If you liked Nelly, the rest of his U. City crew won’t disappoint. Split a Dutch and listen to what the STL has to offer.

-Jonah Landman

Ivy
Long Distance

Ivy’s third release, Long Distance, is a pop rarity: though the album’s overall tone is rather bleak and somber, the music is so light and charming that it’ll make you want to lie in the fading September sun and write love poems. The biggest distraction is the album’s tendency to slip too far into a remote ennui that provides lovely background music while leaving a listener bewildered in the beautiful chaos of it all.
And Ivy is all about pop. The fact that Adam Schlesinger is in the band makes this all too apparent; Schlesinger may be better known for his work with Fountains of Wayne and also for writing many of the songs for the soundtrack of That Thing You Do, including the title track. Ivy is perhaps Schlesinger’s outlet for a more deliberate sound; there’s none of the FOW goofiness here.
The 13 tracks maintain a lo-fi vibe that, while remaining true to guitar-pop ethics, throws lively horns, violin and keyboards into the mix. The most important feature of Ivy remains Dominique Durand’s leisurely vocals that slide effortlessly from one elusive melody to the next and add the emotion these songs were intended to effect. Durand sings with a subdued French accent which is perhaps the component that keeps every song’s focus on her voice, even though her delivery of the ethereal lyrics often comes across as cold and detached.
“Edge of the Ocean” is a daydream of haunting piano and guitar effects backed by an understated but groovy drum loop and harmonized sha la las. The lyrics fit the music well as Durand sings, “There’s a place I dream about/Where the sun never goes out/And the sky is deep and blue/Won’t you take me there with you?”
Pushing this theme even further is the album’s absolute best song, “While We’re in Love,” which is simultaneously mesmerizing and disturbing. “While we’re in love we’ll bleed each other dry/We’ll hold each other close/We’ll make each other cry.” It’s a hopelessly depressing song, but the keyboard effects and upbeat tempo resonate a sedate blissfulness that’ll make you want to sing along with the dark lyrics anyway.
Long Distance is not solely about depression, though. Ivy does attempt to be happy with songs like the catchy “Lucy Doesn’t Love You” and danceable “Midnight Sun”; however, these songs have a more synthetic, forced feel to them and don’t necessarily warrant a repeat listen.
When it’s all over, Long Distance is a beautiful collection of urban pop hymns. Each tune is meticulously crafted and stylistically tight. Ivy has a knack for melody that infects every song on the album, even though the mood is often less-than cheerful.

-Kari Wethington