Nick Whetro is not the real Icarus; let’s get that straight. He was never a Crete captive, his dad wasn’t Daedalus, and he certainly didn’t drown in the North Aegean Sea as a result of some heated aerobatics. He has, though, lived something of a similarly colourful life (or at least knows how to eavesdrop on killers, etc.) and has done a natty job of confessing all onCoffins, one of the more out-there hyperfolk debuts to emerge from the clamour of Madison wannabes. So out-there, in fact, that he actually went ahead and self-released it before Science of Sound came knocking, keen to give him space to comfortably reinvent himself. Yes, Whetro’s quaint hooks are already familiar to fans of his National Beekeepers Society mother project, and his intentions as Icarus Himself are to go to an even quainter place, combining lo-fi guitar warblings with some fucked-in-the-head narration. He’s also taken other ex-National Beekeepers Society guy Karl Christenson with him, just in case his ideas get so lo-fi the studio only loans him one Dictaphone. What any of this has got to do with the plush sycamore booths we all get one day lowered into I’m not sure, but Coffins is a cool-enough debut; a nice druggy half-light between the Pink Panther bass.

If you want to get Coffins in a single sound bite, try “lost Bowie demo tape overdubbed with acid confessions.” That should warm you up for Whetro’s eleven-track, half-hour romp and prepare you for what first feels like alt-country experiments with a lunatic wailing at the back. But wait out and you’ll be rewarded with a private aura: “Pigg” might start like any other busker template that’s been dipped in Will Oldham horrors, but on second listen (or 1.5 in my case) I realised that Whetro is trying to paint something a little grander than the stuff you half-hear in a bar. “Run through the house on your knees / Oh oh oh oh oh, it hurts”...yes, get used to it; you’ll be humming that badboy by sundown.

There’re country sunsets and skunk solos abound on Coffins, as well as some real headscratchers that will probably click in ten months or so. Why the punk stomp of “Flatwoods, WV” gets cut short at the height of the stride is a question that only Whetro’s dealer can answer, but there’s plenty to sway you from some of the more bizarre edits. “35 To Life” is the clear standout for me: punchy psychedelia where the lyrics become ether, wiping your head out for one self-actualising second. “Stuck on a word as hard as start / Pickin’ pockets in the dark / Times are tough for stupid lines / I hate so much I should be feelin’ fine.” My guess is it’s a coke ode, but who’s to say what deep peculiarities Coffinswill fish from your own noggin.

Between the carefree fuzzbox, harp-speckled swamp, digs at W (“Lessons From The Flood,” I’m guessing—those organ chords just scream St. Louis Cathedral Choir) and psychiatric couch prattle (“I’ve had wet dreams about kid-eating beans” [hyphen inserted to protect decency]), Whetro goes pleasantly ballistic, ingratiating himself with your darker crannies while his guitar gently cackles. That might only make up, say, 76% of your overall listening tastes, but it’s definitely a ride worth taking. Twice possibly if need be. Coffins could easily double as a springboard to something a gnat’s more immediate, and with a little less heroin/self-harm between recording slots, I’d say Icarus Himself might soar.

- George Bass, CokeMachineGlow

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Creating a snarky, ironic and sometimes rather noisy set of music, Icarus Himself is the project of Nick Whetro, with the help of Karl Christenson. A playful side of life, sliced in a crisp half-hour, Coffins is an even-tempered, jovial, rollicking affair. And although each song may recall one of Whetro’s great indie rock bands, its cohesive wrapping never comes undone.

Without a doubt, the idiosyncratic lyrics work wonders for Whetro because it gives the music the sense of laid-back air. On “Scars,” Whetro tackles the topic of self-destruction in only the way he can. With a guitar that sounds like Chris Isaak himself is playing, Christenson’s baritone guitar back-drops Whetro’s sharp, disdained delivery.

The album’s chief highlight is “Sometimes I Can’t Stand You, but That Doesn’t Mean I Don’t Want You Around.” A whirling keyboard is felt shuffling in the background, while the muffled deliveries of the guitars echo with reverberations. And all the while, Whetro repeats the song title to close everything out. On “Coffins,” the ensuing placidity is something out of Spoon’s book and with those spectral vocals and odd piano-line, it only supports the cause.

Whetro’s singing could certainly benefit from some more rehearsing but you can’t help taking it at face value: he isn’t necessarily trying to sing sweet nothings into your ear. The despair and gloom is everything onCoffins and it comes in the shape of blunt and upfront lyrics. Whether it’s the pessimistic complaining, paired with stabbing guitars and thumping drums on “This Means Nothing” or the Fastball-channeling loser on “35 to Life,” which finds Whetro singing, “Only mother knows…” the conveyance of depression is done in a light-hearted manner with the latter’s cheery guitar interplay.

All in all, it’s a promising debut in a surprising manner. “January (Tennessee)” is the album’s best song and as the music progresses into an angry retort on a broken relationship, Whetro channels said emotion to create the album’s best music. Everything comes crashing down and, fractured and bitten, he sings “As we lie on the mattress we abused, her mouth spits truth.” It’s because of this budding potential that one can look forward to the next album by Whetro, I just wonder if his tongue will remain firmly set in cheek.

- Bryan Sanchez, Delusions of Adequacy

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Okay, so there’s this guy, Nick Whetro, right? And he was in this band called National Beekeepers Society. Maybe you’ve heard of them. Anyway, he decides he’s gonna, like, spread his wings and go solo but instead of calling himself Mr. Whetro, he calls himself Icarus Himself, which of course is doubly ironic because (a) he’s not Icarus and (b) when Icaraus spread his wings, he burned and plummeted. Also, it’s not just Mr. Whetro; he’s helped out (significantly) by Karl Christenson.

Anyway, don’t let the pretention keep you away. This is a smooth, albeit somewhat nerdy, collection of well-crafted tunes that fall somewhere between indie rock and mood rock and (ocassionally) folk.

For fans of: Beirut, Bright Eyes, Nick Drake, and maybe even Syd Barrett. I hear a lot of old Floyd in here . . . Good stuff.

- Ekko, Berkeley Place

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Icarus Himself started out as a side project for the solo cravings of National Beekeepers Society frontman Nick Whetro. Mostly acoustic spiced with loops and samples and the indispensable aid of Karl Christenson Coffins is an album that feels comfortable in the vicinity of the output of Robyn Hitchcock and Syd Barrett. Hints of early seventies Bowie (Flatwoods, WV)) and dark country a la Johnny Dowd (35 To Life) this album sounds muffled and lo-fi, which is fitting for songs dealing with ennui.

Coffins can be labeled as neo-pyschedlic freak folk music. Musicians can have fun figuring out the tunings, mere mortals may have trouble digesting it and should start with a a song like Precedents, where Icarus Himself sounds like the Everly Brothers from Hell.

- Here Comes The Flood

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I was in a very short lived band in High School. We would meet at my friend Max’s house when his musician parents would play out and we would record with whatever equipment they didn’t load into the van, which usually meant we would lay down vocals using the receiver end of a pair of headphones, use one of Max’s mom’s bass guitars, and an out of tune piano. The result of our piecemeal band left something to be desired. The point in regaling you with a pointless story of my yesteryear is this: If we had any talent or vision I would have liked to sound like Icarus Himself.

On “Coffins”, the latest record under Nick Whetro and Karl Christenson’s moniker Icarus Himself, the band picks up where they left off with their self titled EP but add a healthy dose of additional texture to their lo-fi sound. One need not look any further than the stand-out track, “Scars,” which begins with minimal acoustic guitar before picking up with dusty sweeping chords a minute later. A tale of a girl driven by popular culture trends who harbors something deeper, “Scars” is as heartbreaking as it is beautiful.

I never cease to be amazed with the layers I uncover with each listen of “Coffins." I hate making comparisons but Icarus Himself do at times remind me of Neutral Milk Hotel in both sound and lyrical delivery, but those similarities wash away with repeated play when you realize the creative breadth within the band. That isn’t to say NMH weren’t talented but I think Whetro and Christenson are playing on a different plane. I can’t sing this band’s praises enough. They embody everything I enjoy about music; originality, solid songwriting, and being willing to take risks. Despite any comparisons I make, Icarus Himself have carved out their niche in the Madison music scene and they are here to keep us on our toes.

- Joshua James, Dane101

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ICARUS HIMSELF HAS FOUND HIM VOICE
This is a plea to all of you in Madison, WI who keep flooding my mailbox with some wonderful music – keep it up. Cause now I’m going to start gushing about the latest arrival from Icarus Himself. Coffins, a fitting title by the way, comes quickly off the heels of Nick Whetro’s other project, National Beekeeper’s Society, and their scruffy basement blast, Pawn Shop Etiquette. Whetro is a much darker figure than his “band” would suggest, and it’s nice that he can manifest it within Coffins’ starched stark folds. On Coffins there’s a lot of talk about January, there’s a lot of pianos wallowing (I used this adjective last time) and weeping, there’s a lot of abuse, both physical and mental, that would suggest that Wisconsin is a tough place to live and an easy place to fall down some blackened, but baroque, staircases. This is especially true on the title track, where Whetro chronicles Midwestern spousal disputes from the perspective of the beaten. It’s rough stuff, but hopeful as it untangles into a lushly arranged end.

Listening to “Scars,” a beautifully re-worked version from his debut EP, I can hear the rustic surrealism of Twin Peaks (those bellowed Badalamenti tones) matched with a twinkling music box three doors down. The sandpaper n’ skin contrast shows Whetron finding his voice and his sound. Where many have compared the guy to Beirut and Neutral Milk Hotel (I’ll give you the lite-psych of “This Means Nothing”) but to these ears it’s more Spoon-noir shuffling. The methodical, eloquent cadence he’s found as a wordsmith, see “Flatwoods, WV,” is a perfect foil for the highly evolved musicianship most of these Madison folkies are spending their sunless days and bleak nights mining freely.

So I have to ask, what’s the main drag in Madison? This stuff needs its own column now.

- World of Wumme

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Icarus Himself is the solo venture of National Beekeepers Society's Nick Whetro. With this project Whetro takes the refined distortion of the National Beekeepers and combines it with his wry and quirky vocals to make what I can only categorize as basement tape beauty.

It is the minimal nature of Icarus Himself that makes them so appealing; with a few guitars, a drum machine, and a whole lot of dissonance, Whetro has masterfully done with a couple albums what many agonize to accomplish with endless releases--which is to create something uniquely his own."

- Joshua James, Dane 101

The Hussy Side:
Bobby (The Hussy) also sent me their first single, 'One Time' from the Science of Sound... the Fistful one and this came out at nearly the same time, but technically this was conceived of earlier so it'll go down in the books as the first. Science of Sound records based in Madison, The Hussy and Sleeping the Aviary's hometown, released this black and white glossy sleeve split between the two bands. Bobby told me how he'd beena huge fan of Sleeping in the Aviary and it was pretty amazing to not only appear on this split but actually sit in on guitar for them once.

The first track on the Hussy side, 'One Time', is a more abrasive Hussy than the previously reviewed single...dirtier and raw. It practically sounds recorded live in a huge room sound, Heather and Bobby have tons more attitude here supporting each others verses and the whole thing is in danger of flying apart the entire time...completely off the rails. I think the vocals back and forth supports this great garage punk pop sound...making it even bigger, even more fun...singing along with themselves...good naturedly yelling at each other. The solo towards the end is just ridiculous, clean gated overdrive...where in between notes there's just a hint of feedback, low crunchy feedback. At the end there's all kinds of radio static, flipping around channels with lonely piano chords.... nice segue to 'I Got Soul' where the dirty guitar is still on 11, full of their sludgy distortion. The huge sound is even more cavernous, the drums heavy hitting with tons of low end. Lots of reverb...even on Bobby's vocals, when he's singing 'Yea I've got soul...yea I do.' They're referencing that electric blues history...well, at least I think they definitely have that influence poking through with pieces like the backwards blues scale on 'Snakes'. Heather takes main vocal duties while Bobby frantically keeps up this up the guitar line which breaks up in stuttered off beats when Heather bashes the snare and kick at the same time. No....We don't / we don't / even care.

Yes you do Hussy.

I have to say on this effort... that does it, I'm hooked...this dirtier sound is right on the edge of being completely in the red, it's more blown out and completely fits the garage punk sound even better.

Bobby graciously agreed to provide the track 'One Time' from this single to download. I'm also playing a bunch of stuff behind the podcast interview so you get a sense of their stuff.

The Sleeping in the Aviary side:
'Automatic'. Right away I'm getting like an At the Drive In energy, it blows up right out of the gate with up front distorted vocals. They combine that manic energy with little weezer-like distortion harmonics. The vocals 'oooooo' in harmony that match the high distorted guitar, which keeps building layers of higher and higher notes that almost become synth. There's a lot of great changes, it's impossible to keep up with the vocal pace and the constant guitar bursting into new chords and time changes. Extremely tight and catchy...there's no chorus, just an ever changing melodic assault.

'Radio Waves', the second one, begins with distorted bassline and vocals, written by Phil, who plays and sings on this one. I haven't heard someone go all out in this minimal direction since the Pixies...it's really got that energy when it blasts into the chorus. The same high hat tempo...catchy and taking chances...it all ends in unintelligible screaming with the entire thing collapsing, drum sticks and coughing like less than two minutes later.

This split is available from the Science of Sound for $5...easy on the wallet...pick one up...great pummeling tracks from both bands that will increase your heart rate.

For the podcast this week, Episode 56 (14mb-15min), Bobby and I ended up talking on the phone about Hussy's local tour, he and Heathers earlier projects, both of their singles out now, how it was working with the labels... and how Jeff Novak ended up in a picture holding a copy of their 7".

- Jason, 7 Inches

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The Hussy's Army of Two
The Hussy’s two-person garage-punk army is ready to seek and destroy eardrums. The ammo? Drums and guitar. And vocals.

Bobby Wegner (guitar, vocals) and Heather Sawyer (drums, vocals) have gained recognition in Madison (their hometown) and Milwaukee through their raucous live performances as well as in Europe, through the release of their latest 7″ Winter Daze (title track, below) on the Netherlands’ a Fistful of Records. The six-song EP 7″ was released on Fistful back in March and in April in Madison/Milwaukee. Short blasts of songs make for one speedy and thoroughly enjoyable, energetic freak-out.

Recorded by Kyle Motor/Urban (side A) at MotorCo Studios in Madison and Ricky Riemer (side B) and mastered by Justin Perkins, Winter Dazes is slightly messy (but not sloppy), Wegner and Sawyer’s shout/snarl-ed lyrics ear-blasting the trials and tribulations of drinking, loud music, summer and turkeys, sub-three-minute-style.

The band’s split with Madison’s Sleeping in the Aviary is a satisfying spin of both, but the Hussy dominates the wax on their side, kicking and screaming out riffage, crashing drums and those confident, alternating vocals that demand attention, right now. Snakes? Snakes! That’s right. Everything gets punctuated to the utmost, and then some.

- Erin Wolf, Fan-Belt

What dewy tenderfeet get from Bon Iver's Justin Vernon, the weathered gimp who writes this column gets from Vernon's fellow Wisconsinite Elliott Kozel. Kozel leads actual band members, second fiddle though their bass-drums-accordion/saw may play, and sings like a 14-year-old freaked out by the frog in his throat rather than an angel choking his monkey. Informed by two untimely deaths as well as a Kanye-like combo of ailing mother and fractured romance, Kozel is feeling his mortality more concretely than the average young guy struck by the fact that 25 years equals a quarter of a century. Over a bereft, sardonic, punky power strum, he spins out songs that evoke the nearness of death and the fragility of romance all the more suggestively for not being quite literal about either, which is rarely how it works with tenderfoot image-slingers these days. First he's running around with his girl in the ground, then he's helping his mom with her shot. Both ways he feels terribly alone but knows he isn't.

- MSN Inside Music: Consumer Guide

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Sleeping in the Aviary found a follower in me with a sound on their 2006 debut, Oh, This Old Thing?, that reminded me of the fun, careless nature of Thermals-esque, lo-fi power-pop. Granted, the record hasn't gotten much replay out of me since I reviewed it, but my memories remain fond. While the "lo-fi" aesthetic is still here, Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel is another whole beast.

Rather than try and improve upon that aforementioned formula, SITA has just about completely abandoned it, opting for a heavily acoustic-based, playful indie folk affair that sounds like Jeff Mangum listening to a shitload of Bob Dylan before recording In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Of course, Vomit barely even brushes the greatness of Neutral Milk Hotel's classic, but the feel is quite similar. I mean, look at the instruments used: piano; ukulele; tea kettle; accordion; saw; and "noise."

A dude named Elliott in the liner notes seems to be the main songwriter here (the Mangum of the whole thing, you could say). His voice more accurately hits notes than Mangum's, though, and never cracks in pleasingly cringeworthy fashions. Rather, it's delivered with a slight strain but still clean and free -- sort of like Conor Oberst in his more lively offerings, and when it lets loose in coarse yelping (which isn't terribly often) it makes for a fine dynamic.

It's hard to highlight standouts, but as far as that carefree nature goes, "Girl in the Ground" has it in spades. This is something SITA hasn't lost at all since This Old Thing, and that's the pure sense of absolute joy in songwriting and performing. Vomit sounds like a bunch of loosely assembled tracks recorded on the first or second take, and a band having a shitload of fun doing it. It's hard not to get some enjoyment out of hearing their enjoyment.

Sleeping in the Aviary has released another superbly solid full-length, and consequently deserve way more notice than they seem to receive. Get on it, people.

- PunkNews.org

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Sleeping in the Aviary are seemingly of no danger of running out of song fodder. They made their debut last year with the lively, ramshackle Oh, This Old Thing? Frontman Elliott Kozel released a solo album of bedroom recordings as She Is So Beautiful / She Is So Blonde, and drummer Michael Sienkowski put out a winsome collection of pop songs under the name Whatfor. SITA played some shows during this time, too, and amidst all of this, they managed to put together their attempt to evade the sophomore slump. Ladies and gentlemen, behold Expensive Vomit In A Cheap Hotel.

The album solidifies SITA’s position as a band to watch – and there’s no need to qualify that statement with “young band” or “Midwestern band”. Kozel is a versatile songwriter who has an unmistakable knack for pop melodies and an equally unmistakable aversion to pop overproduction. He likes to keep things loose and lo-fi, which suits the material well, and he has an adventurous and sometimes abrasive streak that keeps SITA’s path unpredictable.

They begin with an accordion-backed folk-rocker, “Write On,” that explodes into a full rock gallop on the second verse as a frustrated Kozel tries to write an ex-lover out of his heart. His similes don’t always connect on the opener – “Like an empty spot in a parking lot, I get jealous thoughts wherever you are” – but his lyrics throughout the album are mostly strong. The overriding time of day that his songs convey is about 4am; the forecast is still a little hazy and a little rambunctious, but there are also clouds of regret and moments of clarity moving through.

“I got friends: some of their lives seem over!” he shouts on “Things Look Good.” Seconds later, he amends that thought: “I got friends: some of their lives are over.” “I’m Old” breaks out some twang to accurately tell a tale of feeling old in your twenties (“Tried to meet some girls but I just drank all their wine / Went out to see a doctor and he just told me I was fine”).

Thoughts of mortality prove pesky. Sometimes relationships die but the people live. Sometimes people die but the relationship lives. Two of the best songs are ruminations on death and its effects: the shambling rocker “Everybody’s Different, Everybody Dies” and the lively sing-along “Girl in the Ground.” The highlights of their debut tended to be short blasts – the propulsion of the aptly titled “Pop Song” or the manic falsetto punk of “Only Son” (each under ninety seconds). Expensive Vomit is more cohesive and fully formed – but still plenty of loose fun. It’s also a key release in an impressive year for tiny Madison label Science of Sound, which also put out the fine second album from Pale Young Gentlemen.

- Adam McKibbin, The Red Alert

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"Their debut full-length...was a controlled chaos of warbled vocals, fast riffing, and sentiments of abjection. This year's Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel comes up with a similar thesis - but this time around, it's been filtered down to a level somewhere between post-psychotic folk music and a pre-apocalyptic drug addiction. For my money, this is a pure coclear joy."

- PRICK Magazine

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SLEEPING IN THE AVIARY
What’s the Deal: You might recognize these guys from Austinist’s recent post on the best overlooked albums of 2008. You might also recognize these guys if you were at their Trophy’s a month or so back with The Murdocks and Watch Out For Rockets. If you don’t, then you missed a truly inspiring show. The band overcame some dodgy sound issues and impressed the crowd with their enthusiasm, and by the end of it, the singer had danced and thrashed and rocked so hard that his pants fell down around his knees. Their invigorating brand of art-folk is equally poppy and chaotic. Their most recent album, Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel, is catchier and more acoustic than their previous, Oh, This Old Thing?, which features some pretty inciting tunes leaning a little more toward a garagey punk sound.

“Pop Song” from Oh, This Old Thing? has a vintage pop sound with its simplistic, infectious nature, but it’s beaming with all the energy of a punk anthem. There are some definite That Thing You Do! moments in between the distortion and loud vocals. Then, when you discover the newer “Write On”, you’ll likely be blow away by the no-cheese, rambunctious folk-pop that you’ll be humming for the next few days.

- Austinist

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Austinist's Dark Horses: The Best Overlooked Albums of 2008
Sleeping in the Aviary - Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel (Science of Sound)
They're a chaotic art-folk band that manages to pack the right amount of punk and the right amount of pop in their bag of tricks to keep things forever interesting and engaging. The group - Phil, Elliott, Michael and Celeste - are excellent at making the transition between pop acoustic songs and rowdy electric ones feel natural. Although, they don't get as much into the high-octane stuff on this one as with their previous, Oh, This Old Thing.

But honestly, if for no other reason, the very first song of the album is so strong, that it guarantees this album a spot on this year's best overlooked albums. It's called "Write On," and it's catchy, rambunctious and totally inspiring. It's full of furiously strummed acoustic guitar, an electric buzz and a chorus begging to be sung along to as you bounce around with the poppy rhythm. Mix this one with others like the echoing, somber piano tune, "You're a Party," and the Western acoustic number "Gas Mask Blues" and you've got a strong recording full of emotion, harmony and high energy. They flood their live show with even more intensity than the recordings, making that the best way to discover their music. They're also not too bad at creating lyrics that stick, like "If you have my daughter I don't know what I will do, cause I'm gonna want to hit her when she looks like you" from "Gas Mask Blues."

- William Mills, Austinist.com

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Interview w/ Elliott on Free Houston Press

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Interview with Elliott on The Capital Times

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Album Review on Three Imaginary Girls

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Despite lyrically heavy content -- and the fact that this album was written the very same week frontman Elliott Kozel experienced the deaths of two close friends -- Expensive is nonetheless full of blithely charming up-tempo songs. At nearly 45 minutes long, the band's second album provides a pleasantly tailored listen throughout. While songs like "Write On" are incredibly infectious, other tunes, like "You're A Party," crescendo with polished nonchalance and delicacy. Then "Things Look Good" has a Dylan-esque vibe to it with a friendly harmonica, nostalgic gritty vocals and catchy guitar chords. Alternately somber, poignant, lively or even a bit waltzy, Expensive Vomit in A Cheap Hotel will leave you neither nauseous nor drowsy.

- CMJ New Music Report 10/20/08

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Sleeping in the Aviary, "Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel" (Science of Sound)

My guess is that the titular vomit is "expensive" because these guys gorged on the sophisticated delicacies of pop songcraft while partying in the "cheap hotel" of indie noise-punk. Don't let these guys, or their album's title, fool you. On their sophomore album, Madison-based Sleeping in the Aviary has moved beyond the headlong punk abandon of their debut, crafting an impressive set of refined pop-rock songs -- replete with "la, la, la's" and "oooh-wee's!" -- even if they're still dressing them with indie noise trappings.

Kicking in with the catchy strum and catchier melody of the opener, "Write On," the band sets the tone for an album of off-kilter sing-alongs in which timeless but original melodies and chord progressions are filtered through a bleary wash of folky guitar, haunting organ and accordion, and songwriter Elliott Kozel's nasally straining whine (all necessitating the comparisons to Neutral Milk Hotel). The band proceeds to effuse this sonic wash over forms as diverse as the cluttered, seasick folk of Blonde on Blonde-era Dylan ("Things Look Good"), and the pulsing molten blues of the White Stripes ("Gas Mask Blues").

Invariably creeping through these variable soundscapes are Kozel's festering obsessions with death and decay, radium-soaked lips and people "sick to their skin." This imagery, inspired by several tragedies Kozel endured while writing the album, gives these songs a fitting, unique edge. Indeed, it takes a unique type of twenty-something to sincerely title one of his catchiest tunes "I'm Old," and to make the song entitled "You're a Party" the most depressing one on the album. Depression aside, this band has succeeded in crafting a melodic, listenable album that still retains a unique sonic and lyrical personality. Here's to hoping Elliott Kozel can resolve his issues as well as he resolves his melodies.

- John Kuroski, Elmore Magazine

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"Expensive Vomit begins like Gordon Gano of the Violent Femmes leading an unplugged Arcade Fire, but it swiftly blasts into an unbridled rock rave-up worthy of the Pixies back when Black Francis was delivering demon-exercising howls."

- The Charlotte Observer

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With a killer band name and an album title that not only catches your attention but is certain to elicit a chuckles every time it's spoken aloud, all Sleeping in the Aviary needed to land a spot on my current list of bands to keep an eye on was a really good follow-up to their underrated debut "Oh, This Old Thing?" Well, I'm happy to report that the Madison, Wis.-based collective has outdone themselves on "Expensive Vomit," a fantastic record that is in the running for inclusion on my year-end list of favorites.

Frontman Elliott Kozel is a witty, talented songwriter who mixes things up with the blues stomp of "Gas Mask Blues" (a tune the White Stripes wish they had written), the Replacements-leaning "Write On" and Bright Eyes-ish "Ladybug Death Song." Additional keepers include "Things Look Good," "Everybody's Different, Everybody Dies" and the sprawling (if slightly overwrought) disc closer "Windshield." I can't wait to hear what these guys come up with next.

-Jeffrey Sisk, The Daily News (McKeesport, PA)

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Let it not be said that Sleeping in the Aviary doesn't know how to party.

Brutal truth: As much as you like listening to folk bands, most of those guys aren't the sort of band you'd want playing your birthday party. Earnest and meaningful and Bob Dylan-worshipping just doesn't really translate into a good-time band. They can't all be party acts, though, so fair enough.

Sleeping in the Aviary's twisted spin on folk would be the exception. The band drops its crazy, lo-fi pop mania from its debut, Oh, This Old Thing?, and settles into a folk groove for its sophomore record. Settling in isn't the same thing as settling down. The band's still as in love with mischief, big pop hooks and defying the laws of good sense, tradition and self-importance that are usually the tripod on which folk bands sit.

The raw and immediate approach that garnered the band comparisons to The Thermals is still around. It's toned down a tad, though, as SITA tackles a broader base of influences, drawing on everything from late-'90s indie pop to that sort of singer/songwriter folk that's been around forever without changing one bit. Just take it as a whiskey and speed party at the folk festival and leave it there.

Watching SITA vandalize folk pop is a good time. "Everybody's Different, Everybody Dies" tangles with the same morbid issues of mortality as a young Conor Oberst, but the act's rambunctious lo-fi production hints more at Sebadoh's role in its upbringing. Roots guitar forms the basis for "Things Look Good" and "Gas Mask Blues," but instead of twang guitar, Sleeping in the Aviary turns to shrill, in-the-red guitars that are violent and edgy in a punk sense. Anyone who remembers the band's mile-wide pop streak from Oh, This Old Thing? won't be disappointed, though pure-pop songs like "I'm Old," "Write On" and "Ladybug Death Song" hone the band's craft, as it writes longer, more intricate and all-around more mature tunes.

Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel isn't folk, per se, but it's mostly made up of bits and pieces of the genre. Sleeping in the Aviary just knows how to bang them up, bend them out of shape and make a lot of weird noise in the process. And it has a lot of fun in the process.

-Mark Morrison, Aversion

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Sleeping In The Aviary wears its heart on its sleeve, combining wry, yet heartfelt lyrics with an acoustic punk aesthetic. The Madison quartet has much to lament on its sophomore effort, Expensive Vomit In A Cheap Hotel (Science Of Sound). Recording on the heels of a friend's drug overdose, a co-worker's brain aneurysm, and the hospitalization of vocalist Elliott Kozel's mother, the band faces mortality on the clanging, busker tune "Everybody's Different, Everybody Dies." Listing the circumstances under which people will meet their demise borders on morbid, but in Kozel's hands, the song becomes a meditation.

- Illinois Entertainer

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Searching for a lo-fi Violent Femmes? Look no further than Sleeping in the Aviary, and their 2008 release, the charmingly titled Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel. Hailing from Madison, WI, Sleeping in the Aviary certainly possesses the same snotty charm as the aforementioned Femmes (circa their early era), especially in the vocal stylings of singer/guitarist Elliott Kozel, which can be heard clearly on the album opening "Write On." Elsewhere, you'll also find a Pixies-esque ditty ("Gas Mask Blues") and a haunting album closing ditty ("Windshield"). The trio keeps it bare-bones sounding throughout, as Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel sounds like it could have been recorded in your living room, with just a few mikes strewn around. And that is exactly the charm of Sleeping in the Aviary.

- Greg Prato, All Music Guide

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"...engaging, dank and irreverent energy..." - Alternative Press

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The album title is fairly indicative. These are songs of caustic wit and even more corrosive loathing. The venom seems to be delivered at both the subjects of the songs and (perhaps) other band members as well. I'm not sure about that last part, but this album is tension city. Which makes for compelling listening. Sleeping in the Aviary plays a raggedy sort of rock of roll, one that dips its toe into folk and the blues before galloping back into the world of cranging guitars. Sonic tension, if you will. And like I said, it works quite well. Indeed, just about everything works here. The songs are tight, the band is just loose enough to give some room to breathe and the sound is a couple steps above demo-quality--exactly what these folks need. The easiest touchpoints would be the Brian Jonestown Massacre or the Flaming Lips (circa 1993 or so), though these folks are more anarchic and antisocial. This one sounds good from the start, and then it grows on you. Loverly, kids.

- Aiding & Abetting

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AUGUSTA, GA - A little like early emo bands, especially Bright Eyes, Sleeping in the Aviary unleash a driven emotional indie rock sound right from the start of "Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel." But, more than Bright Eyes, Sleeping in the Aviary carry the flag of early- and mid-80s college rock bands such as the Violent Femmes, the Dead Milkmen and They Might Be Giants. Maybe with a little early Against Me thrown in for good acoustic measure. Catchy, danceable, quirky and noisy; the Madison, Wis., trio of Elliot Kozel, Phil Mahlstadt and Michael Sienkowski began their sing-along, intense, stripped-down style of rock in 2003 before releasing their debut, Oh, This Old Thing? in 2007. Following up with Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel, the newly formed quartet since adding Celeste Huele, continue to release out music often thought of as comparable to early New York Punk-era Talking Heads. That early Big Apple vibe gives the band a similar energy as the Velvet Underground too. Frantic, moody and slightly weird; Sleeping in the Aviary’s second full-length album pushes the amalgam of screaming vocals and clangy guitar rock into fuzzy, spacey territory. Fans of the early American proto-punk sounds of such Detroit bands as the Stooges and the MC5 or Ohio-based rockers like Rocket from the Tombs will find an energetic little brother with Sleeping in the Aviary.

The opening track, “Write On,” kicks off the album with a catchy, fun tune that causes toes to tap along to a very college rock sound. While “Gas Mask Blues” brings out the big guns with a clash of soft singing and wild Sonic Youth-esque noise.

The way the tracks often build from a slow contemplative melodious musing to a screaming fit redolent of any pre-90s indie band, "Expensive Vomit in a Cheap Hotel" packs a punch while asking the listener to pack their lunch for one wild ride through what could quite possibly be the mind of a schizophrenic. Touchy, creative, sappy, eclectic, and fiercely energetic all at the same time; Sleeping in the Aviary bring together an array of sound most bands can only dream of accomplishing. Maybe that’s why “You’re A Party” reminds one of the Beatles, one of the few other bands in history to approach the ledge of musical creativity and step off it with confidence.

- Dino Lull, Metro Spirit

PALE YOUNG GENTLEMEN BLACK FOREST - (TRA LA LA)

I feel like this band is a good mix of everything superb “indie” has to offer. The Madison, Wisconsin band gives us sprinkles of Annuals, Beach House, and maybe even the sentimentality of Sufjan Stevens. I won’t fault them at all for compiling from such a smorgasbord, because really, the way I see it, Pale Young Gentlemen are true artists, bending materials, using them to create a truly great masterpiece. It’s their second release, and their craftsmanship seems to only grow more mature. The sound, orchestral and harmonious, is tender to the ears. The vocals, light, yet somber are precise and poignant. Really, this album is perfect for the winter, because it has the musical capacity- featuring piano, guitar and the fragile plucking of strings- to allow one to see the beauty in all the gruff and harsh snowstorms these months throw our way. (Science of Sound)

- Michelle Geslani, GhettoBlaster Magazine

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Album Review on Broken Silence

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Here's the conclusion from my review of the Pale Young Gentlemen's 2007 self-released debut: "while Pale Young Gentlemen is frontloaded and slightly naïve...there's more than enough reason to anticipate what they're capable of when they decide to get darker, older, and less gentle." I love it when bands make it easy for me: Though the concept of "growth" can border on illusory, the shady, gnarled Black Forest comes on less strong than Pale Young Gentlemen, but is ultimately a lot harder to shake than its charming, if slightly hammy predecessor.

Similar to fellow Wisconsinites Violet Femmes, PYG essentially render a normally bombastic framework in acoustic terms: For the former, it was punk; for the latter, it's orchestral pop. "We could talk for hours/ Or maybe not at all" doesn't read like much of a mission statement, but sunk within album centerpiece "Kettle Drum (I Left a Note)", it's indicative of a band learning to leave more to the imagination. Despite massive turnover amidst its ranks and less than a year removed from Pale Young Gentlemen,what distinguishes Black Forest is the patience of confident survivors, not just of their first tour, but the easy comparisons to more maudlin and forthright old world-influenced acts like Beirut.

And it's tough record to initially get a hold of with all of its novel textures-- like their self-titled, Black Forest begins with a stuttering acoustic riff suggesting hip-hop as much as folk, but "Coal/Ivory" morphs into something more expansive and majestic, replete with the keenest coal lyric this side of "Oxford Comma". Nearly every track is built off a new string instrument, from the stumbling, thumbed arpeggios that give "I Wasn't Worried" a subtle charm to the washed-out harp of "We Will Meet" to the pizzicato, agreeably bumbling chorus of "Wedding Guest". Throughout, Matthew Reisenauer's maundering vocals holds the disparate arrangements together like putty, though his lyrics are just shy of scrutability for the most part, overcast invocations of women and wine.

The light touch might still be a turnoff to some, since they're occasionally boxed in by their commitment to a sort of pop music that more archaic than Arcade-ish. "The Crook of My Good Arm" is the most obvious "rock" moment, with a vigorous tempo and a cello riff simulating the bass-- a trick also used by A.C. Newman. More surprising is how the violin jabs of "Our History" recall "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and its martial stridency: Reisenauer's cry "I was like a child/ You can't touch me!" is more of a well-earned moment of release than a cheap joke. Which is not to call these guys prudes-- it's a testament to their mastery of subtle suggestion that a line like "Bodies twist and hips crash/ Kissing thighs in between" can blend in without triggering a gag reflex.

- Ian Cohen, Pitchfork, Score 7.3

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Not one lick of praise, low current hype or press release blabber readied me for the surprise I found in Pale Young Gentlemen’s Black Forest (Tra La La). All the obvious aesthetics about the band’s hype painted a solid-but-borrowed sound that I was already sick of (and why to this date I have yet to hear Pale Young Gentlemen’s self-titled debut). And with another Andrew Bird on the horizon, well, this town ain’t big enough.

For two months now I’ve mulled over Black Forest (Tra La La) with an unexpected depth. The first listen proved my initial speculation founded, dark, deliberately paced baroque pop guided by a velvety-smooth wordsmith. It was great then too, a little gem lost in the year-end scramble, but I never forgot it. I pulled it out, compiled it through mixes, slowly fell in love with each track as their own entity and, in short order, their full form. On repeat listens, Black Forest (Tra La La)does many things but never all at once, and is only a “grower” by default; you’ll love it all at once but won’t know why for a while.

Singer Mike Reisenauer is the most obvious stronghold of the band, so effortlessly does he slide into the orchestration that it’s hard to imagine the guy fronting anything else. He’s dramatic and takes this stuff seriously, but his ability to glide from gruff baritone to falsetto gives the surprisingly poetic and powerful Black Forest (Tra La La) a considerable amount of depth. But Reisenauer is not carrying anything and this isn’t his album, and the Wisconsin-bred songwriters make the best of their sophomore effort, turning in a surefooted piece of 19th century European folk meets 21st century indie pop.

So yes, fit all your comfortably snug comparisons here; they’re all probably founded. Pale Young Gentlemen never court the idea that what they’re making is different and the confidence glows from the album’s opening moments, where we stumble to keep pace as three-chords speed out of the speakers. With a flourish of strings, Pale Young Gentlemen are seemingly quick to play their hand, and Reisenauer is bellowing before the first verse pulls away.

Just as quickly though, the song gives us a moment to pause, breathe, and it’s a neat trick, one they use sparingly and effectively. These song-specific quirks, little moments that turn every good song great, are an integral part of Black Forest (Tra La La) and what make it special, which is a tough act to sell considering Pale Young Gentleme regularly saddle into a waltz of Eastern European dance hall and modern indie rock, touching upon cabaret ballads and Victorian era folk-punk (or something) in the process. Or, rather simply: good music that works, effortlessly, and is even easier to love.

- Lewis, SputnikMusic

Album Review on Into the Hill

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Album review on Dane101.com

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Madison, Wisconsin’s Pale Young Gentlemen caused a minor stir among pop sophisticates with a classy self-titled debut album that evoked comparisons to Andrew Bird, The Dears, and Rufus Wainwright, as well as Tin Pan Alley and Cole Porter. On Black Forest (tra la la), the Pale Young Gentlemen (and ladies, complexion and age unknown) stick to a game plan that is both similar to and different from its predecessor. On one hand, the dramatic feel of Michael Reisenauer’s lyrics and vocals hang over every song; on the other, the band’s approach to its sound has changed considerably. This album hits more somber notes, uses strings more, and shies away from relying on the jaunty, piano-led compositions that dominated their debut. On “Coal/Ivory,” Pale Young Gentlemen seem to be drinking from the same fountain that The Arcade Fire taps from time to time; it is highly emphatic and highly enjoyable. From this we depart from overwrought Can-rock and drift all over the map. “Marvelous Design” and “The Crook of My Good Arm” are expertly composed and skip along stylishly in a Kinks vein (I cannot get over how much Reisenauer’s voice reminds me of Ray Davies’ at times). Black Forest (tra la la) is an understated gem full of warm but striking chamber pop that actually out-distances the debut album in just about any category you would care to name.

- David Nadelle, Skyscraper Magazine

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Album Review on PunkNews.org

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Boasting a moniker that could easily be used to describe the majority of the No Ripcord staff, Madison, Wisconsin's Pale Young Gentlemen is an indie band very much on the up.

When Alan Shulman reviewed its self-titled début a mere sixteen months ago, PYG was just another unsigned indie band, albeit it one with a pretty cool name and a cellist. Now, with a clutch of enthusiastic reviews and modest sales under its belt, PYG is back with a polished follow-up, an extended line-up and, crucially, the backing of Madison's hottest independent label, Science of Sound.

Like many second albums, Black Forest (Tra La La) immediately sounds like a more grown up record than its predecessor. The off-kilter indie sound remains, as do the Eastern European folk influences, but the band's sound is much richer now; alongside the distinctive cello, we are treated to violins, violas, glockenspiels, harps and horns. And mostly it pays off.

The frantic riffing of Coal/Ivory hints at a heightened sense of urgency; it’s as if PYG knows that this is its moment and, accordingly, there is an audible determination not to screw it up. More established contemporaries at the quirkier end of the indie-rock canon (Tapes ‘N Tapes, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!) have publicly stumbled at this stage in their careers, with costly results; a smaller band PYG might not have survived such a slip.

Fortunately, PYG remembered to write some great tunes: Marvellous Design, The Crook of My Good Arm and Kettle Drum (I Left a Note) are all worlds apart from anything on the aforementioned bands' sluggish sophomore efforts. In fact, in terms of indie-rock music based chiefly around orchestral string instruments, there’s absolutely nothing in the same class as Pale Young Gentlemen in 2008.

Black Forest (Tra La La) is proof that growing up on record doesn’t have to sound boring. Those looking for a sombre accompaniment for the wintry evenings ahead could do a hell of a lot worse than pick up this superb record.

-David Coleman, No Ripcord

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Armed with a complete string section of cello, viola, and violin, you might assume that this orchestral pop band from Madison, WI has a slumberous, sedate sound. But beneath the sophisticated contrapuntal arrangements is a jittery rock ensemble that deftly balances restraint with raucous energy, creating a magic kind of tension. Try imagining, if you can, the early 3-piece version of Talking Heads performing with the Brodsky Quartet. Like fellow Midwesterner Andrew Bird, Pale Young Gentlemen deliver their oft-cynical lyrics in a wry vocal tone. With a sound that melds frantic momentum with minimalist understatement, melancholy with a marvelous exuberance, these folks really know how to make world-weariness fun again.

- Chris, CDBaby.com,
"Black Forest (Tra La La)" featured on CDBaby front page 12.08.08

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Interview with Mike on The Red Alert

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Album Review on Chromewaves

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After their critically underrated, self-titled 2006 debut, the Pale Young Gentlemen have returned with a lovely vengeance. The gents perfect the wistful woes of love forlorn over a swell of violins, cementing their indie cred and making one of the most impressive bids for fame of recent memory. Led by Michael Reisenauer, you might be shocked to hear that PYG call Madison, Wisconsin "home." Reisenauer's vocals are a curious blend of Thom Yorke meets Nick Cave inflections paired with understated European-American folk-infusions. These expertly arranged bucolic concertinos balanced with a flawless amalgam of rougher eclectic influences have a sound all their own that should earn the band more than the ubiquitous one month in the blog spotlight.

- LAC, CMJ New Music Report, October 6, 2008

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Album Review on HearYa

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Perhaps one of the best Britrock records of 2008, a year which has seen releases from UK giants like Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Keane and Travis, comes to us special delivery from Madison, Wisconsin and the band Pale Young Gentlemen.

Why give such a geographically-confusing label to the four pale young gentlemen and three pale young ladies who crafted these 12 lush tunes? The answer lies in the group’s union of endearing, melancholy melodies and gentle, pastoral soundscapes; in their sound, Pale Young Gentlemen capture the feelings that Great Britain’s overcast skies and bucolic countryside tend to evoke with more clarity and certainty than any band in recent memory.

Black Forest (Tra La La) is an album that is modest in its aims, yet nearly cinematic in its execution; the band never shoots for the atmospheric hooks or spectacular crescendos produced by their contemporaries. The album is, however, gently stirring and thoroughly stunning. While each song is simple in structure and approached with a certain degree of minimalism, the group understands how to adorn their work with an unpretentious beauty.

Pale Young Gentlemen give you a sense of where they’re headed musically from track one, “Coal/Ivory.” The tune commences with active, rootsy guitars, fluid strings and a pulsing drum beat. Vocalist Michael Reisenauer delivers a quirky and commanding vocal turn; at times, Reisenauer’s baritone approaches a quality not unlike that of Coldplay leader Chris Martin. The band’s tendency toward British stylings increase exponentially in the moments Reisenauer sounds most like Martin.

“Coal/Ivory” introduces the skill and sensitivity of the three string players in the album’s lineup; their playing makes the musical colors provided by violin, viola and cello a constant and often comforting presence. Whether tracks prove hearty and up-tempo or soft and sincere, the group’s string arrangements are adapted to ensure the instruments prove a welcome addition to every track and never a distraction.

The record progresses forward with two of its best songs coming back-to-back: “I Wasn’t Worried,” relies on fingerpicked acoustic guitar and a softly pleading melody from Reisenauer, taking on the dreary feel and minimal form often embraced by Radiohead. “Marvelous Design” follows, revisiting and reviving the album’s often cinematic outlook; with its interplay between rich piano chords and winding strings, the tune sounds like the accompaniment for a cold and blustery street scene, where a protagonist soldiers on, fighting both the wind and his own emotional distress.

Throughout Black Forest , the band blends in a variety of influences; with its lively string passages, gently grooving guitar/bass and percussive stomp, “Our History” feels like a Decemberists track. “We Will Meet,” arguably the album’s crowning achievement, sets a melody that’s pure McCartney against a backdrop worthy of a stately Renaissance chamber concert, giving the track the sound of a modern-day madrigal. In fact, the band’s predisposition toward structuring arrangements around acoustic guitar and strings, writing downy melodies and adding quirky accents often lends the songs on Black Forest a sort of timelessness that is refreshing in this time. That sense is most notably captured on “Goldenface, Morninglight,” a ballad which is shaped by its string figures and includes an wonderful, lilting mid-section which is reprised briefly at the song’s coda.

Progressive yet embracing the past, full of fit and flourish without ever sounding fanciful, Black Forest (Tra La La) is one of the most unique and glorious albums of the year. Pale Young Gentleman have truly captured what it means to be captivating and this record possesses the qualities nececssary to live long past the day in which it was recorded.

- Aarik Danielsen, Pop Matters

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Album review on Stereo Subversion.

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Album review on PopWreckoning.

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Album review on The Daily Cardinal.

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Album review on Venus Zine.

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Album review on Crawdaddy!

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Album review on CokeMachineGlow.

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News Alert: Pale Young Gentlemen should be wildly successful.

Loyal EF readers may remember Pale Young Gentlemen as one of our very first Band of the Week subjects almost a year ago. For that particular piece, I tried my hardest to listen to their stellar self-titled debut album without interference or persuasion from outside sources, i.e. no thumbing through others’ reviews in the vain hopes of instead arriving at a “pure” opinion. I failed, but not for lack of trying; I mean, just look at the gushing reviews that greeted this allegedly “unknown” band from Madison, WI.

And rightfully so, for that album was a breath of fresh air, an incredibly inspired way to introduce themselves to the broader world. The question on my mind was pretty simple then: what would they do next, and if it trumped their debut, would we even be able to tolerate the sheer mass of critical adulation that might trail in its wake?

Well, it’s now a year later, and we’ve gotten our hands on the sophomore album, Black Forest (Tra La La) (out tomorrow) and….

Cue ominous music and hear the cacophony of lingering questions suffocate the room….is it a case of textbook sophomore slump? A retreading of familiar ground or conversely the dreaded “weird for weird’s sake” (cough cough Some Loud Thunder) approach?

No, no, and no. What it is, quite simply, is an astonishingly assured and fully realized ALBUM. Not a collection of songs or singles or fragments, but a cohesive whole in which each successive song builds off of the one before - in mood, style, lyrical subject, and dynamic scope - to create a wildly cinematic and engrossing record. It’s a soundtrack to a masterpiece film that hasn’t been shot yet, an album that gets stronger as it progresses and with repeated listens; it’s damn well near flawless and scoffs at the shadow of its predecessor.

And though the trademark of Pale Young Gentlemen’s sound is intact - Michael Reisenauer’s instinctual croon, lush passages of strings, dulcet backing vocals - there is just something noticeably different that separates it from their debut (not to mention most anything else you’re likely to hear this year). There’s a beating heart underneath all of these songs, and it demands your attention.

So let’s revisit the question posed above. Black Forest (Tra La La) does in fact trump their debut, yet I haven’t felt trapped by the landslide of adoring reviews. And I’m wondering….why? Overwhelm us with superlatives, spackle their names on every top 10 list, please do it, please. We need to feel that the world is still just, okay? Granted, the album isn’t even out yet, but it will be interesting to see the critical reception to a band that is stretching its comfort zone, broadening their horizon, and serving up an incredible second helping.

- Ear Farm

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- Amplifier Magazine - Album Review

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- Black Forest (tra la la) Reviewed on OMH (UK)

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- An Interview with Mike from PYG on Globecat

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Madison bred Pale Young Genlemen follow up their MoB approved self-titled debut with the release of Black Forrest (Tra La La) on October 7th via Science of Sound. Listening to the new record it’s hard to believe that this is the same band that we first interviewed over a year and a half ago.

If their first record was year-end worthy and critically acclaimed, Black Forrest (Tra La La) advances them past those well-earned accolades into an entirely different level of success. This record combines all the elements of world-infused sounds that is sure to make any fan of Andrew Bird or Beirut a happy listener.

I can promise you that this band will leave on their soon departing two-month tour and come back with an army of new fans.

- Muzzle of Bees

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The "sophomore slump" does not apply to the Pale Young Gentlemen, with Black Forest (tra la la) - their follow-up to 2007's outstanding debut - hitting the shelves on October 7th. Their first album, a creative, kitschy collection of off-the-wall tracks with vintage sensibilities, accrued wide acclaim from critics and fans alike, and this second offering, Black Forest (tra la la), is equally as groundbreaking.

Stepping back from the raucous fun of the first album, Black Forest (tra la la) embraces the dreamy qualities of perfectly harmonized cello, violin, and viola, while lending itself to plucked strings on the guitar, pensive vocals, and a sweeping progression from first track to last. The maturation and development of this band is obvious and unmistakable; the members of Pale Young Gentlemen clearly have a vision for themselves. The most striking sign of this growth is the departure from really good "pop-rock" to a new type of music that is magnificently orchestrated but still sounds contemporary, the prime example being "Marvelous Design." "I Wasn't Worried" shows the most flashes of the first record, but the gorgeous harmonizing and sweet lyrics shows the band as a more refined, mellower version of themselves.

Now signed to Madison's Science of Sound label, the band, whose grassroots-like promotion of their first album led to astoundingly successful results, has an even wider range of exposure to their uniquely original style and sound. The 50-second instrumental "Shadows/Doorways" sounds like a snippet of a classical overture, and somehow, it works perfectly. "We Will Meet" incorporates even more musically diverse aspects while keeping up the common thread of songs that flow and undulate into one another seamlessly. This track, perhaps the best on the entire album, also boasts great lyrics and a relaxed mood. Once again, the Pale Young Gentlemen has crafted a singularly noteworthy record unlike anything else.

- Claire Schuster, Delusions of Adequacy

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It seems inevitable now that any band that is even the least bit theatrical will be compared to The Decemberists. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as Meloy and company are certainly a decent band. I find that my tolerance for elaborately instrumented stories is rather limited. It all sounds very nice and all, but is there really a need to be so over the top?

Which sounds like I’m setting up Pale Young Gentlemen for a fall. There is no way of getting around the fact that their music is theatrical, but they also manage to still sound like a band who isn’t fussed about that fact. The song is still the most important element, racing onwards, with just a hint of desperation in singer Mike Reisenauer’s voice. If a few extra instruments have jumped on board, the band is too busy to have noticed.

-Another Form of Relief

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Making the World Safe Again for Tra-la-la-ing

I'm still shocked that the Pale Young Gentlemen come from Wisconsin, with their eclectic Eastern European instrumentation and gypsy-like theatrics. Like how is this geographically possible? It's like the same sorts of doubts people voiced when they first learned Beirut's Zach Condon was from New Mexico and not the Balkans, but hey they took to him, so now it's PYG's turn to be embraced. Seriously Who gives two craps about authenticity when the French horn and viola are being played this melodically??

The Pale Young Gentlemen's sophomore album Black Forest (Tra La La), out October 7th is even lusher, albeit a bit more subdued then their rollicking self-titled debut. The strings are especially gorgeous. The cello swells and violins sway in such an intricate way. Andrew Bird himself would be proud. They even manage to sing "tra la la" in a way that makes me totally forget Euro-trash phenomena Gunther exists. That ladies and gentlemen may be their biggest accomplishment yet.

Listen for yourself.

-Jess, So This Is What The Volume Knob's For

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I love the musical and lyrical drama that Pale Young Gentlemen manage to pack into not even three minutes here. We first hear only a cello, playing a jerky line with what sounds like a mysterious rhythm until we understand that it's actually just accelerating into the right tempo for the song. Kinda fun. A crisp acoustic guitar joins in, and a violin (or maybe a viola? or both?). By the time front man Mike Reisenauer sings those not-your-typical-indie-fare opening lines--"You start to worry 'bout your health/As you reach a certain age"--this song has achieved liftoff (aided by a drum that enters with exquisite timing).

And it's really only just starting; the rest of the way, "The Crook of My Good Arm" all but explodes with melodic vigor and instrumental dexterity: the strings play rascally melodies and rhythms, a cowbell clangs at precisely the right moments, and Reisenauer, his voice vaguely processed, handles the theatrical rhyme scheme (check out the spiffy A-B-C-C-B pattern in the verse, leading into the titular phrase) with the casual authority of someone who's more interested in telling a story than simply singing. Sounding nothing like rock bands that are typically associated with the word, I'd say that Pale Young Gentlemen (a seven-person outfit that includes by the way three women) possess great swagger. This isn't "Wail on the electric guitar and scream bloody murder" swagger or "Dig my blues riff and my street cred" swagger or even "Be awed by my laptop skills" swagger--it's "We know exactly what we're doing and don't really sound like anyone else" swagger. The best kind, in other words.

The Gents were previously featured on Fingertips in Nov. 2007. "The Crook of My Good Arm" is a song from the band's second CD, Black Forest (Tra La La), which will be released next month on the Madison, Wis.-based label Science of Sound. MP3 via the band.

-Jeremy, Fingertips

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Think of a small venue. You know, the kind of dimly lit place with semi-uncomfortable chairs, candles on the tables, and scattered patrons chain-smoking in between sips of their drinks. Now before you even imagine the music you’d here there, give a listen to Black Forest (Tra La La). This is the music you should be hearing in places like this, though more often than not you don’t. The Madison, WI based seven-piece Pale Young Gentlemen use cellos, violins, and pianos, among other things, to create their distinct sound. And they do what they do as good as, if not better than, anyone. RATING: FOUR STARS

-James, Tastes Like Chicken

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Last year, I posted on a new band out of Madison, Wisconsin by the name of Pale Young Gentlemen. Their self-titled debut was a highly-enjoyable but overlooked disc of cabaret-inspired, string-laden indie rock, that even made my year-end list last year. On October 7, the band will already be releasing its follow-up, Black Forest (Tra La La). If the last album was a night in a strange indie-rock cabaret, this album is the more mellow morning after spent listening to chamber pop. The tempo may be a little slower, but the arrangements are even better and more interesting than on their debut.

As the song “The Crook of My Good Arm” shows, they can write string parts as off-kilter as Danny Elfman and as energetic as Ra Ra Riot, and back it all up with a solid melody that makes you want to come back. I still feel as I did a year ago- this is one of the best DIY indie bands around, and one that definitely deserves more attention.

- Pablo, The Yellow Stereo

This probably isn’t the first time that Brett Favre has made me look like a dick. I can’t recall the other times specifically, but I’m sure I’ve hated on him at some other point in my life only to be rebuffed by his Everyman transcendence. I probably said something like, “this game’s over, Green Bay sucks” last year right before he launched that bomb with his heels touching his own end line on the first play from scrimmage in overtime on Monday Night Football. Fuckin’ Brett Favre.

I mean, literally the day after I make an off handed reference to his retirement in my track review of “Sooner Late Than Never,” this motherfucker up and unretires. That review was embarrassingly obsolete before the digital ink dried. So it was with some measure of satisfaction that I heard yesterday he’s being traded to the Jets, which makes my remark remains valid in spirit if not accurate to the exact letter.

Here’s what else remains correct about my analysis in that piece: everything. It is a great, simple little cut from a pretty great, simple little album. I’m not sure that Michael Seinkowski has all the chutzpah of Favre’s humble, rural, Wrangler-jean-sellin’ juggernaut, he does seem to have dipped his goblet in that sea of effortless talent that has characterized much of the football icon’s career.

Seinkowski sings, tickles the ivory, and man’s the drum kit himself, but he truly excels as a composer. It’s the bells, cello swells, and nervy violin ending that raise “I’m a Disgrace” above the level of a mopey confessional. And it’s the careful instrumental extras like this throughout Sooner Late Than Never that belie the initial simplicity of the songwriting. On first listen this may sound like some shit you’ve heard a million times before, but Sooner is much too thoughtfully assembled to be a glorified covers album.

Even where the veneer of originality wears a touch thin, as on the obvious Meet the Beatles! era rip “Call That Girl,” Sooner stays a good record for the same reason that it’s a good record on more independent tracks, which is, simply put, because it sounds good. Seinkowski and his cobbled collective (other than the instruments manned by Seinkowski himself, virtually every other “member” of Whatfor is on loan from another Madison band) use the structure and solidity of readily familiar influences to their advantage. The wide—hell, near universal—and fertile pop confection territory settled by your early Beatles, your Kinks, and your Zombies serves as a springboard from which Seinkowski projects his, well, I’d favor the word “interpretations” over the word “inventions.” That is to say, this is a springboard which doesn’t encourage or allow any given artist to spring very far.

Where Whatfor does branch out they do it with a shrug and a four-count. Sooner gives the impression that Seinkowski is the kind of student of music who can roll the twelve-sided dice of his influences and write dead center into whatever band comes up. “I’m a Disgrace” actually does sound like a b-side from The Bends (1995). The verses of “I’m Not Foolin’ Around” sound like good, understated early ’90s alt-rock, but when it would normally be time for the coiled-spring, Alice In Chains, cat-piss-spraying chorus, we get instead a delicate bell constellation and “ooooh, aaaaah” harmonics. Every song has clear antecedents, but every one is tweaked, personalized just enough not to upset the original, accepted balance.

So no, Seinkowski’s not inverting any paradigms, alright? He’s not turning his influences on their head or whatever the fuck else passes for revolutionary these days. It ain’t broke, he’s not fixing it. What he’s doing is playing music you recognize, and he’s kicking no small amount of ass at it. He’s sticking to basics. He’s standing in the pocket and throwing strikes, Brett Favre style, and when Brett throws a touchdown pass nobody ever asks him why it looked just like on Joe Montana threw in ’89. Well, actually, Jets fans might. New Yorkers are fucking ridiculous.

- Eric Sams, CokeMachineGlow

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And it's girls, or that particular girl "whose only dream is to live and breath" for Michael Sienkowski, that the kooky kid behind Whatfor's maudlin dream-pop is in constant search of. Sooner Late than Never is a cyanide daisy-chain swooning and soaring full of piano led chamber music. They've got quite a scene going on in Madison, WI -- maybe you've read about it here before, but Whatfor is simply the best vintage in their wine cellar. Something tells me this crew's membership has more than one sommelier, as the velvety craft they put into their albums (see Pale Young Gentlemen) hint at aged sophistication.

But they all look young, it's the beards that throw me off, and the hours they put into the mis-en-scene of