Some albums make me think of cinema while still others remind me of loosely edited anthology collections. To follow this cultural artifact metaphorical trend, the latest effort by Madison, Wisconsin’sHis and Her Vanities is a novella, a picture pretty work of hopeless anxiety. Trim as can be, The Mighty Lunge gets a lot of angst-inducing uncertainty into its 29 1/2 minutes, a testament as much to the coherent and singular thematic focus of the album as to band principals (and married duo) Ricky and Terrin Reimer’s handiness with crafting compact, to-the-point-and-no-further songs.

This atmosphere of frustrated and even fearful directionless is particularly noticeable in songs like evident in songs like “Hits Like Hail,” “Wait It Out,” and “New Designs.” In “Hits Like Hail,” Reimer plaintively croons over a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah-esque background about fruitlessness and apparent impending doom, while on “Wait It Out” the narrator appears to be some sort of metaphysical refugee with no clear path down which to trod.

Lest all this sound like so much overwrought emo nonsense, the genius of the record is found in the dissonant pairing between the lyrics and the music. While Ricky Reimer’s lead vocals belt out the downtrodden narratives in a way that is slightly more upbeat than you’d expect from the message being evoked, the instumental accompaniment is positively giddy. A relaxed and somewhat poppy post-punk, Mr.Reimer and bandmate Matt Ablanalp wield guitars in a manner you’d expect from on a Pixies release recorded midway through a low-grade treatment of zoloft. Simultaneously, Mrs. Reimer and drummer Sara Quigle anchor a rhythm section that brings to mind a more disciplined Sonic Youth. By and large, the album sounds upbeat even as it speaks of morose notions, though on tracks like “What it is,” “Agenda,” and “Fuses” (and, to a lesser extent ,”Fragments”) find the rock about as dark as the rhetoric. Though, in the final analysis, not quite.

- Justin, Citizen Dick

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Best Local CDs
#1 His & Her Vanities, “The Mighty Lunge”(Science of Sound) — From the nervous caffeination and slicing beats of “Hits Like Hail” to Ricky and Terrin Reimer’s silvery harmonizing on “Wake Up This Day,” this is fully developed and cathartic post-punk.

- Katjusa Cisar, 77 Square

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The Top 10 Madison Albums of 2009, "The Mighty Lunge" at #6

- The Isthmus

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Ok, so maybe His and Her Vanities aren't the most prolific artists, they've had 3 albums in the past 8 years or so and have been around for even longer, but they make catchy crunchy pop music laced with elements of the NYC garage band scene from so many moons ago and Talking Headsesque New Wave style (especially on their earlier stuff). It's hard not to get excited hearing something so refreshingly...well...retro (is early to mid 2000s retro already?) in a non-ironic way.

- Some Lost, Some Found

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"Pop to be experienced through headphones, obsessively, and with the blinds half-drawn."

- Jacob Price, Delusions of Adequacy

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His & Her Vanities: "Wait It Out" / Daily Ops @ Cokemachineglow.com
"His & Her Vanities: the Madison quartet with a John & Yoko temperament, minus the flashbulbs and body hair. These husband-and-wife fronted rockers steal weirdo-wedlock designs from Jack White, though Ricky and Terrin Riemer have a style of their own to flaunt, adding a crest of personalised hell to their billowing pop-rock throwovers."

- George Bass, CokeMachineGlow

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His and Her Vanities: The Mighty Lunge
Madison, WI quartet, His and Her Vanities release their third album, The Mighty Lunge via the Science of Sound record label. Generally Science of Sound's bands are artsy rock bands, but His and Her Vanities break the mold. Their variety of raw, energetic pop is reminiscent of bands like the Pixies or the Apples in Stereo. The giddiness of the band can be explained by the band's core, married couple Ricky and Terrin Riemer. Married bands like Mates of State and the Rosebuds have proven that married couples make some of the most joyous music possible. His and Her Vanities is no different. The album's opening track "Hits Like Hail" is an extremely danceable track featuring Interpol-esque guitar work, if Interpol wrote in major keys. The vocals of Ricky Riemer are a combination of yowls and clumsily sung tunes similar to Doug Martsch of Built to Spill or Michael Pace from Oxford Collapse. While some tracks go more into the wall-of-sound territory, the songs never lose their pop base. That base really makes this one of the best Wisconsin albums I have heard since Boris the Sprinkler broke up.

- Adam Morgan, Surviving the Golden Age

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"So what's it SOUND like on the Wisconsin scene?" I hear the guy ask the girl, and not a cymbal beat passes before she says "Wilco." Not meant as an insult, and not wrong either. Like a lot of indie music these days, Milwaukee and Madison "sound" like alt country, and damn great and diverse alt country at that: the manic gutterpunk madness of Rocksposure friends Sleeping in the Aviary; the Championship's robust backwoods rock; the folksy, homespun beauty of Wisconsin's most famous musical export of late, Bon Iver. There are plenty of noteworthy exceptions to this sweeping generality (Decibully and Brief Candles among them), but admit it: the girl's got a point ( click here and prove her wrong, you upstart Spanish techno cheesehead troubadours), and sometimes you want to shake to something other than the yankee hotel foxtrot.

Here's your palate-cleanser: His and Her Vanities, which started circa 2001 in Ricky and Terrin Riemer's Madison basement as a late-night side project to their married with children gig. A year later the Riemers founded Science of Sound to release their music, and since then their label has attracted an impressive line-up of local indie artists, including Sleeping in the Aviary. Call H&HV's third album, "The Mighty Lunge," a punk record I guess, but the Riemers, drummer Sara Quigle, and rhythm guitarist Matt Abplanalp decorate their bouncy staccato sound with melodic new wave flourishes, like the rubber band guitars bending around driving, Thermals-esque opener "Hits Like Hail." Far-off pianos chime like glimmers of hope against lead singer Ricky's cries of "When will this cyclone ever end?" on "Wait It Out," a frustrated, hair-pulling pep talk that gets drowned out in the drums and guitars tumbling downhill. It's all coming apart on "The Mighty Lunge," and while H&HV don't arrive at any world-saving epiphanies in the album's brisk 30 minutes, what you do hear hits your weary heart like a booster shot.

This is music to cope by. Ricky dodges crumbling walls and shattered windows on "What It Is," ducking behind a wall of Julian Casablancas distortion to ruminate that "there's nothing left to contemplate -- cuz here it is." On the similarly Strokesy "Fuses" all the lights go out, and Ricky can't find a good reason to change the bulbs or buy new candles, setting up the album's moodier Act III. Without really slowing down or losing focus, H&HV open up their sound in subtle ways, like Ricky's vocals resisting the lullaby guitars on "New Designs," refusing to fall back into old patterns, pressing forward on his own, mixing with the music instead of racing after it. And then, the Lunge: "This is the end of the connection," Ricky sings on "Agenda," cutting his last lifeline, dropping through the cracks towards the sire songs of his bandmates' harmonies. On the other side of the chasm is the lovely, damn near orchestral "Wake Up This Day," which finds Ricky at peaceful slumber, dreaming of a new life, but not quite ready to roll out of bed and make it happen. I imagine that in the early days of H&HV and Science of Sound, the Riemers dragged themselves through a few early mornings and late nights like this, sleepwalking down to their basement once the kids were finally tucked in, fighting the urge to crash on the couch. They're on the other side now, living the dream, and Wisconsin music is richer for it.

- Joey Tayler, Rocksposure.com

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MadTracks: 'Hits Like Hail' by His & Her Vanities

Many parents of infants are ready to pass out -- and understandably so -- after tending to their kid all day. But when Terrin and Ricky Riemer put their baby in his crib for the evening, they didn't pass out: They started to rock out.

What began as an idea for a band around 1999 grew into a full-fledged project; His & Her Vanities, which released their first album in 2002, as well as the labelScience of Sound, which is now home to Sleeping in the Aviary, Pale Young Gentlemen, Whatfor, The Hussy, Icarus Himself and several others in addition to His & Hers.

And the left-field lo-fi they came up with wasn't the stuff of most lullabies: It was an angular post-punk soundtrack that lured plenty of local folks into the world of indie rock. Perhaps it makes sense to look to the Riemers for the next evolution of pop-music culture as well. Their song "Hits Like Hail," off of their brand-new album The Mighty Lunge, presents at least one path for musicians who want to keep the D.I.Y. ethic that built the indie movement but ditch the cliches that accompany it.

The song's "personality" emerges from themes of devastation and doubt -- and that frantic scramble to keep things from changing, even if it's time for some old walls to crumble. As the guitar loops through an addictive set of chords over and over again, making you crave the melody more rather than getting it out of your system, it reminds you of being thrown for a loop by a shocking life event, with a certain set of pictures, sounds and other memories on constant rewind-and-repeat in your head.

Despite the weighty themes the song bites into, it started simply as a simple sonic experiment, according to the Riemers. However, the addition of vocals gave it an entirely new layer of meaning.

"I began playing a couple of simple bass parts to a simple beat on a drum machine, and then Ricky went nuts layering guitars, real drums and vocals over it," says Terrin. "In general, it's about something devastating that happens, and it's eating you up inside. You're trying to keep yourself together while going through it, also becoming suspicious of other things throughout the process."

"Hail" nails the nervous energy that fuels this gnawing suspicion and uses it to create something that's both beautiful and slightly disturbing.

The song kicks off with an energetic beat suited for both jumping jacks and inspired head-bobbing, layered with a ringing guitar that slides from one octave to another with rhythmic precision. The vocals, almost shouted, pack the power of a scream but keep a lid on it as well, bottling that emotion for a few bars, then letting it rip when the chorus reaches its apex with "You can't set fire to get rid of the desire / And if you break there won't be anything to save."

It's a moment that indeed hits like hail, blasting you with shards of sound that seem icy-cool but leave a welt that burns like hell -- and keeps you coming back for more.

- Jessica Steinoff, MadTracks

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A.V. Club Madison Interview w/ Ricky and Terrin

An old press photo of His And Her Vanities shows the Madison band leaping into the air, arms flailing, faces grinning, and bassist Terrin Riemer and drummer Sara Quigle sporting obvious wigs. That matched up well with the Devo-inspired spazz-outs Riemer and husband Ricky crafted before recording the band's self-titled first album. But in the five years since 2004's A Thought Process came out, HHV has laid pretty low. Between gradual spurts of writing and the occasional show, the Riemers have been busy raising their kids and building up their Science Of Sound label (which has released albums by younger local bands like Sleeping In The Aviary and Pale Young Gentlemen) and a recording studio in their basement. They're not even headlining the CD-release show this Saturday at The Frequency for their new third album, The Mighty Lunge. What Lungegives up in noisy guitar and synth squiggles, it replaces with sympathy and urgency. The second track, "Wait It Out," sums up not just the album's emotional pull, but also the overloaded, frustrating transitions of adult life: It goes for straight-up catharsis as Ricky Riemer's guitar chords scratch into Quigle's appropriately tossing-and-turning drums. Already working on more new songs and promising "no more of this five-year shit," the Riemers sat down withThe A.V. Club.

The A.V. Club: These songs seem much more emotionally direct than your previous stuff. Why do you think that is?
Ricky Riemer: It wasn't deliberate. That's what we were feeling at the time, as cheesy as it sounds. We just kind of go back and forth with the angular, more noisy stuff, I guess. We still write stuff like that, too, but we just couldn't fit it on the record. These songs are more straightforward.
Terrin Riemer: I think we just got away from quirky for a while. I don't think they're straightforward, but we're definitely less quirky, at least this time around.
AVC: Did the process of having a family make it more serious?
TR: There's lots of personal stuff in there, but I think all the songs come from a place of frustration. A lot of times that's what we get stuck on for so long, is the lyrics. Our lyrics might not make sense to other people at all, but we don't want to call a song finished just to throw words in there and finish it. It has to make sense to us. That took a long time this time.
AVC: How has running the label affected how you approach your own music?
RR: From my standpoint, I think it makes it better. Just recording people, you get to see how they play—not that I'm stealing their ideas—and different songwriting process.
TR: It's interesting how different they are, especially Sleeping In The Aviary. Those guys are really collaborative. Sometimes they get too many opinions just trying to run things past their friends, having people come over and record with them. We lock ourselves in this little cell. We don't share anything until it's completely done.
AVC: Yeah, up until now you've seemed a bit skittish about sharing new stuff.
RR: It's such a contrast between us and them, because they share everything. Which is cool. I wish I could do that. There's a benefit and a curse in having a studio, too. You can take as much time as you want. You can take too long, too
AVC: Did you find yourself revising and fussing over things a lot?
RR: "What It Is" and "Wake Up This Day" are basically the demo versions. We tried re-recording them, and the vibe changed. We always do this full-circle, loop thing. You do it, you question yourself, then you're like, "Ah, maybe we should redo it," then you come back to the beginning and it's okay.
TR: We don't do anything without a complete loop.
AVC: It seems like there's a lot about your first record that you've left behind.
RR: That record's kind of funny. That's when we first started. Terrin basically learned how to play bass on that record—
TR: While we were writing. He'd just be like, "Play something," so I'd start to play something.
RR: And I'd play drums and say, "Okay, that's gonna be a song." But the mistake was, we got really keyboard-happy. We were kind of new to the keyboards in our basement. But it is what it is.
AVC: Do you think your writing process is tighter now?
TR: I think it's just that we wrote all of these songs while completely sober. [Both laugh.]

- Scott Gordon, A.V. Club, Madison

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His & Her Vanities: A seven layer cake of post-punk goodness His & Her Vanities are a Madison music staple. Even more so are the core members of the band, husband and wife Ricky and Terrin Riemer, and their basement studio/record label, Science of Sound, where the Riemer’s have recorded local bands such as Icarus Himself, Pale Young Gentlemen, Sleeping in the Aviary, United Sons of Toil, and Charlemagne. The Riemer's recording experience is on full display with their third album, The Mighty Lunge.

On their 2002 self-titled debut album His & Her Vanities were more experimental, creating a record of beautiful, sonic chaos. Two years later they returned with A Thought Process, which had a more stripped down, post-rock sound in comparison to the debut but never skimped on production. The Mighty Lunge is a perfect marriage of those two albums. At times it can be a seven layered cake of post-punk goodness and the next moment you’re attacked with a jagged guitar and bass beat down. With the album clocking in at just under thirty minutes it can prove to be one hell of a ride.

The album’s opener, "Hits Like Hail," has a jabbing lyrical delivery that is difficult to warm up to, but His & Her Vanities aren’t here to hand out hugs. That being said, this is their most personal and balanced work to date. With the song "Wait it Out" and especially on the album closer "Wake Up This Day" the band show their softer, gentler side. His & Her Vanities often garner comparisons to the Pixies, Wire, and Magazine, but on The Mighty Lunge they seem to be channeling their inner garage rocker. And while they stay true to their influences, it is a bit of a departure.

His & Her Vanities aren’t trailblazers but they are damn good at what they do. As a reviewer I try to find one bit of constructive criticism for every four positive things and vice versa but with this album it proved to be impossible. It’s not perfect, I’ll give you that, but I couldn’t help but listen to this record as a fan. A fan of not only His & Her Vanities, but of Science of Sound and their work to move the Madison music scene forward. It’s bands like His & Her Vanities and people like Ricky and Terrin Riemer that keep Madison vibrant and fresh.

- Joshua James, Dane101

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His & Her Vanities cross the finish line

Ricky and Terrin Riemer had never met when they each moved from Milwaukee to Madison in 1994. They eventually came to have something in common — O'Cayz Corral.

Ricky played gigs at the now-defunct music venue on East Wilson Street with his band, Transformer Lootbag. Terrin came to see his shows. A few years later, they were married and had a baby together.

Then they moved into a house northeast of Madison, in Columbus. "Our son was always a good sleeper," says Terrin. "So we would go down to the basement at night with some wine and just play music together."

Terrin played bass. At the time, Ricky would accompany her on drums. "The songs we made down there became our first record," says Ricky.

After a while, he adds, "We had enough songs to play out." His & Her Vanities was born.

This Saturday, Oct. 17, His & Her Vanities will release their third album, The Mighty Lunge, with a show at the Frequency. The CD, five years in the making, is a collection of eight well-honed indie-pop songs that showcase the Riemers' perfectionist approach to making music. "At the end it was like, 'We've got to get it done this year or it's never going to come out,'" says Terrin.

The Riemers' influence on the Madison music scene this decade has been greater than the output of their band. Ricky maintains a recording studio, Science of Sound, in the basement of their home. Science of Sound is also the name of the couple's upstart indie-rock label.

It's an enterprise they've kept small, focusing energy on a handful of their favorite local bands. For the fortunate few the Riemers embrace — bands like Sleeping in the Aviary, Pale Young Gentlemen, Whatfor and Icarus Himself — their support is extensive.

"That's the fun part of the label," says Terrin. "We've become really close friends with Sleeping in the Aviary. Booking tours and putting out records for a band that is touring — it's not living vicariously through them, but it's exciting to help somebody do what you always wondered it would be like to do."

The Riemers' band is a hobby, says Terrin. "Where we are in our lives with kids, we can't hit the road anytime soon. But it's something we can't let die. It's something we love to do."

His & Her Vanities is a quartet that also includes Sara Quigle and Matt Abplanalp. Quigle was part of an all-girl band, Sailor Harlette. Abplanalp played in Transformer Lootbag with Ricky. He also moved here from Milwaukee in the '90s. "Part of the reason we came here was to be part of the Madison music scene," says Ricky.

The new disc is 30 minutes of catchy indie-pop built on extended guitar riffs that create an impressionistic vibe. The vocals add to the ambience by frequently bleeding into the music without distinction. Single words are often spread across more than one musical bar.

The album sometimes addresses the subject of one's place in the body politic. The song "New Designs," says Terrin, "is basically saying that the only thing you can attempt to have control over in the world is your own mind."

Now that the Riemers have finished their Mighty Lunge, they're already looking forward to the next one. "We really want to have another record out within a year and a half," says Ricky. "We already have some new songs for it."

- Rich Albertoni, The Isthmus

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When Ricky and Terrin Riemer had their second child in 2004, the music of His & Her Vanities was put on hold. But they and their studio/label Science of Sound barely took a break, as they began to take bands such as Sleeping in the Aviary (and their various incarnations) and Pale Young Gentlemen under their wings. They must have had some opportunity, however, to take a good look around, internalizing all the events taking place in the world at large. The Mighty Lunge is a huge welcome-back for the band, although it contains onlyeight tracks and clocks in at just under thirty minutes. But that’s enough time to make plenty of observations and, if you could sum up what’s going on lyrically in one statement, it might be this: This place is a mess. Even the CD’s cover is unsettling; with its nightmarish image of the world giving way as we try to cling to survival.

Ricky’s angular, interlocking guitar lines are still the main musical feature here. There are no keyboards and, with the addition of Transformer Lootbag drummer Matt Abplanalp (Abplanalp plays guitar with H&HV in performance only), what you hear is pretty much what you’ll get live. That’s not to say that there isn’t any savvy production going on. His & Her Vanities, and Ricky in particular, are quite sonically sophisticated, adding layers of instrumentation and vocals and building the tunes into glorious cacophony. Guitars relentlessly down-stroke in quarter-notes while the vocal lines are drawn out over the top. Though the band has been compared to Devo in the past, The Mighty Lunge sounds much more like the Strokes or Flaming Lips.

One song in particular illustrates the themes of psychological warfare, circular moods, paralysis and confusion that are reinforced throughout. “Fragments” churns along in the band’s familiar, self-described post-punk/pop-rock style. It’s hard to swallow everything / Without it taking over me” is typical of the observations made throughout the album. Everywhere I turn there’s something / With broken parts underneath… / And if I lose my sense / I will be left in fragments. These words could apply to the warrior on the battlefield as well as the civilian at home, trying to make sense of what’s going down.

“Hits Like Hail” is another highlight: It hits like hail / Driven farther than a nail / Devoured.. / You can’t cut strings / When you know you’re gonna sink.

“What it Is” brings the Flaming Lips to mind most strikingly, building to a rousing climax. Here, There is nothing left to contemplate / Nothing left to shatter. It’s not devolution, but the feeling that we’re getting the constant runaround, so, why change fuses? as the band sings in “Fuses.” Or consider the confusion portrayed in “New Designs: The weight that hides behind the brace / It keeps us all in place / Misleads and makes you think that it’s alright… / But no it’s not. The band has really ratcheted up the lyrical content here and it pays off big time.

The real trick is how they make all of this bleakness so toe-tappingly fun. The music percolates and the melodies impart an uplifting optimism. The inside sleeve is adorned with innocuous drawings of a dragon and robot (courtesy of each of the Riemers’ two kids) and there is a sense of innocence that somehow pokes through the giant mess of a situation that we’ve so obviously gotten into. Maybe it’s summed up best in “Wait it Out.”Underneath the sunlight there is darkness / Underneath the darkness there is sunlight. If we’re hostages to the world’s authoritarian whims and systematic cycles, maybe we can wait it out until the next glimmer of sunshine gives us that slim feeling of hope. By pointing out the futility in the status quo, The Mighty Lunge makes a strong case for resolving that the cycle must be broken.

- Rick Tvedt, Local Sounds Magazine

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His And Her Vanities tumbles and screeches into cleverly bent-up pop that shows a clear love for the jarring sounds of Brainiac and Enon. Most of HHV’s tunes, though, keep it a bit more sweet and catchy, not getting overly caught up in mechanical new-wave weirdness. That's especially true of the band's new third album,The Mighty Lunge. It took five years of on-and-off work to complete, mostly because band founders Ricky and Terrin Riemer were busy raising their kids and putting out other Madison artists' work through their Science Of Sound label. The wait pays off emotionally in some of the band's most direct, accessible, and warm songs to date.

- The Onion A.V. Club, Madison, WI

Review of "Coffins" on Rocksposure

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Unlike the hothead they take their name from, it is almost impossible to get Icarus Himself riled up. In the course of the eleven songs on their sophomore record, only “Flatwoods, WV” even breaks a sweat, and that’s only in the last thirty seconds. Even though there is plenty to get upset about in the first two minutes—like the narrator’s grandfather forcing his mother to give his older brother up for adoption and not being told about it for nearly twenty years—Nick Whetro’s voice remains deadpan over the quick strum of the guitar and click of the drums. That is “until they put pennies on her eyes” and her death breaks the hold of “nineteen years of deception, a hundred tears for a lie” and the song ends with a squawk of feedback.

Heck, that little bit of heat wouldn’t even melt off more than a couple of feathers. Throughout Coffins, Whetro and Karl Christenson, who is also a partner in crime in the National Beekeepers Society, play it cool, sounding like Jeff Magnum (of acknowledged influence Neutral Milk Hotel) might if his nervous breakdown had been treated with lithium and electroshock. Even songs that start off sounding angry (“There were words spoken, those words hurt like hell”) and build (“I’m trying to be patient, but only time will tell”) eventually diffuse with the admission, “Sometimes I can’t stand you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you around” (which is also the title).

Even though Icarus Himself is essentially Whetro’s solo project, he gets plenty of help from his friends. Christenson also joins him in the live incarnation of the band, which seldom runs as smoothly as the songs on this disc, playing baritone guitar and handling the sampler and looping pedal. Fellow Beekeepers Brad Motl and Kris Hansen also contributed, as well as Elliott Kozel and Michael Sienkowski of Sleeping in the Aviary. The lyrics to “January (Tennessee)” are attributed to Whetro and Kozel, and it took me more than a minute to puzzle out why they were so familiar. The repeated lines “On the floor in Tennessee, you married me/You were bored in New Orleans, you married me,” also show up in Aviary’s “Pop Song,” though in their case they are yelped instead of intoned, an actual pop song instead of a requiem.

It’s not that Coffins is boring, not at all. It just prefers to take things easy, and that’s really OK. It’s a well-crafted and intriguing record that lends itself to multiple listens despite the similarity of the songs (just try telling the title track and “Precedents” apart in the first ten seconds) and the thirty minute run time. While some musicians have a hard time deciding which compositions go to the band and which to their solo venture, in Whetro’s case the songs seem to sort themselves: excitable Pavement-esque rockers, Beekeepers pile; don’t want to (or just can’t) get that worked up, that’s an Icarus. Though it appears the occasional song can go either way.

“Scars” was the standout track on the Beekeepers ambitious debut. It reappears here with its heroine Mary and her “very discerning hates in the clothes she wears and who she dates” slowed down just a bit and seeming right at home. Of course, that record came before Whetro’s personality split, so it’s possible she was an Icarus girl all along. If forced to choose, I guess I am too.

- Kiki Schueler, Local Sounds Magazine

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Madison rocker Nick Whetro is best known as the frontman of theNational Beekeepers Society, but he's working on forging a new identity -- Icarus Himself. Whetro released Icarus's first LP, "Coffins," in April with the help of Beekeepers guitarist Karl Christenson.

Fans of the Beekeepers will recognize Whetro’s dark, quirky lyrics on “Coffins,” but the album showcases an entirely different musical style. Gone is the Beekeepers’ messy, impulsive garage rock. “Coffins” references cleaner, more ethereal indie rock instead, emulating bands who layer acoustic guitar over electric loops and ghostly vocal harmonies. Tracks like “Pigg” and “This Means Nothing” are clear nods to Neutral Milk Hotel, kicking off with rhythmic guitar and lonely vocals, then adding sustained electric reverb and finishing with uninterrupted noisy instrumentals.

There are a few tracks that feel suspiciously like previously released National Beekeepers Society songs, however. “Scars” was, in fact, released in 2006 on the Beekeepers’ self-titled debut—but this slower, more plaintive version adds new desperation to a song about a young woman struggling with self-image and societal pressure. Additionally, “Lessons from the Flood” and “Sometimes I Can’t Stand You, but That Doesn’t Mean I Don’t Want You Around” are almost exactly like two tracks off the Beekeepers’ 2008 album, “Pawn Shop Etiquette.”

Despite borrowing material from his other band, Whetro produced a solid album as Icarus Himself. The tracks form a cohesive unit and maintain the wispy indie-rock style without becoming tired or formulaic.

Icarus Himself will perform at High Noon Saloon at 8:00 on August 3 before leaving Madison for a Midwest tour.

- Jacquelyn Askins, Examiner.com

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Anyone familiar with the small-but-worthy music scene of Wisconsin's liberal and educational capital, Madison, likely knows Nick Whetro or at least his band, National Beekeepers Society. That particular outfit – an energetic quartet that channels Pavement's take on garage aesthetic and pairs it with Whetro's generally charming vocal delivery – certainly sounds familiar to Whetro’s Icarus Himself, but its definitely not an identical project with a fresh name. Pairing with NBS guitarist Karl Christenson to create IH, Coffins is mellower, softer, and all together more rewarding than NBS in an album format – but will remind fans of Whetro's other work that he's really best heard live.

In tune with Whetro's consistent taste for garage-pop and a comfortably disheveled sound, Coffinsdoesn't require steely concentration or avid fandom, but it does feature a welcome splash of textural focus and thematic cohesion. No, this album isn't an overly simple affair. Rather, Whetro takes what he does best – freewheeling pop songs flavored with a splash of sonic whiskey – and gives them more dynamism and a wider pallet of sounds than some of his other work. Instead of just a thrusting tempo and distorted fuzz, the title-track approaches energetic rock with pastoral washes of guitar and ethereal background vocals. The more growling Flatwoods, WV drapes noise over an early-Bowie guitar lick, but gives it folky structure a-la-Neutral Milk Hotel. And the Coffins incarnation of Scars slows the song’s tempo to a brooding pace, allowing delicate piano and groaning strings to highlight each moving lyric. Even better, IH’s songs aren’t just more varied; they also fit together cleanly and don’t feel disjointed like NBS’s somtimes explosive yet unmanageable tracks.

Coffins only falters briefly during its wisely succinct half-hour playtime, finding the shortest songs to be its best. But its weakest moments are not the product of overwriting or cumbersome ideas, but rather overt imitation. This Means Nothing is catchy but apes Neutral Milk Hotel so strongly its hard not to wish for In the Aeroplane Over the Sea instead. Sometimes I Can’t Stand You seems suspiciously similar to NBS's People’s Temple (though it is catchy), and Precedents takes too many unsuccessful liberties with its Spoon-like rhythmic production.

But even those critiques are nitpicky – Coffins is generally short, sweet, and easy to spin to a finish. On more jovial tracks like the aforementioned Precedents its easy to see why Madison loves NBS so much, though Whetro’s stage-charm would make Icarus Himself at its most upbeat even easier to love. And the slower tracks on Coffins, twangy and succinct, make this disc a worthy buy even without that live flavor. Icarus Himself might not be treading any new ground not already explored by Whetro or his influences, but Coffins does this playful retreating almost perfectly.

- Michael Merline, No Ripcord

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Believe it or not, the Madison, Wisc., area is a hotbed for low-fi and creative pop music. Charlemagne, Bon Iver, The Daredevil Christopher Wright and now Icarus Himself. There's nothing too flashy about the noir Western sound on "Coffins," but the instrumentation is solid, the lyrics are provocative and the arrangements are just experimental enough to keep the band one step ahead of the curve. The record grows on you, gets better each time. And with several songs under two minutes, it's easy as pie to listen to a couple times in one sitting. Mmmmm, pie.

- Jeremy Martin, WIDR's Top 5 (Kalamazoo)

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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 is pretty damn good! No shit! "One Time" is teeth-baring and mean, tempered by the guy-girl vox, but the guitar slinging is really commendable and it's a shithouse stomper. "I Got Soul" sounds like a vintage Statics cut (pared down by a member of course) and "Snakes" maybe ventures into half-assed Drags turf (sans the bombast). An unexpectedly good side worth of Nineties-inflected two-piece garage. I like the nastier approach The Hussy take on this record than I do the poppier stuff on their 7". While that stuff wasn't bad, it sounds a little blander after listening to them kick out the jams on this.

- Terminal Boredom, Late July 2009

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The Hussy and Their Unique Friends Split a 7" The Hussy, a 7 Inch Atlanta favorite from Madison, made their vinyl debut with this split with hometown oddballs Sleeping in the Aviary.

A second Madison band, Sleeping in the Aviary, is a nice suprise here, as they play cooky guitar rock for the internet humor generation. Their side of vinyl begins with "Automatic (For Krol)," which builds tension until its explosive "It's all in the boat you row" end. The second song, "Radio Wave," has a Pixies vibe to it, and it apparently tells the story of the mangled bride on the cover. Speaking of the cover, does it not look like a standard Derek Lyn Plastic cut, paste and catch a ride to Kinko's concert poster?

This Sleeping in the Aviary crew has some free songs on theirwebsite, if you do not mind navigating past lots of nightmare-inducing photos of Teri Hatcher, dogs, and puppets. They are also coming to town August to play 529 with It's Elephants.

The Hussy offered three songs from their first batch of demos I reviewed recently for their side of vinyl. "One Time", "I Got Soul", and "Snakes" sound even better on vinyl.

Every 7 Inch Atlanta favorite should do a split with a band I'm not familiar with, as that makes finding unique, new music hassle-free. If Sleeping in the Aviary is anything, it's unique. They have a barroom singalong tune called "Dick Gere," for crying out loud.

- 7 Inch Atlanta

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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

Despite its title—2008’s Expensive Vomit In A Cheap Hotel—the second album fromSleeping In The Aviary opens up the band’s tender side amid its lo-fi scars and unruly freak-outs. As always, the band deliberately leaves a lot of loose ends, as random bits of chatter and noise make their way onto the tracks—though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Earlier this year, Sleeping In The Aviary released a 7-inch with Madison garage-rock duo The Hussy featuring the blasting “Automatic,” a frantic return to the Buzzcocks- and Thermals-style pop-punk of the band’s 2007 album Oh, This Old Thing?

- The Onion A.V. Club, Decider, Milwaukee

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The second album by Sleeping in the Aviary is a balancing act: The band has perfected the art of teetering between the frenzy of an unpolished living-room performance and the coherence of an intricately composed folk-pop song played by a group of skilled musicians. The disc revolves around the quivering vocals of Elliott Kozel, whose voice and sense of melody recall Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes at some points and an old West Band blues musician at others. In fact, the whole band sounds like they could be from another time, with instruments like the accordion, saw, and ukulele adding to the organic, porch-swinging feel.

Their sound isn't completely derivative of old-timey folk, though. Kozel shines as a folk songwriter on slower songs such as "Maybe You're the Same," but just when it seems as though the band could be pigeonholed as another folk revival project, they ramp up the intensity and add the reverberation of a heavy electric guitar chord and the feedback of a bass guitar. "Gas Mask Blues" is the most extreme example of this genre-bending, which builds from an acoustic guitar and a shaker to a full-band, driving, screaming freak-out.

- Andrea Swensson, City Pages (St. Paul/Minneapolis)

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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 their album art and band photos suggest the tip of naivety. Not by any stretch does that mean some of the pics included in the package aren't downright beautiful, they just don't mesh well with the fanciful escapades found here. Sienkowski exhibits a remorseful misogyny (notice the juxtaposition) throughout (and especially in this song), without exactly hunting his prey. Instead he's crooning into the blood purple Wisconsin darkness (much like a hetero Rufus Wainwright on the prowl) with a competent band behind him well versed in Kinks, Beatles, and surviving soul-draining winters. He seems satisfied with the echoes. This debut is rife with the raucous but rooted in more sublime territory. In a time when I'm longing for the E6 model of color-rich psych to counter the black and white lo-fi and gutter punk, this will suffice nicely. Please keep me on the mind when the next egg hatches.

World of Wumme Album Review

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Previously: Sleeping in the Aviary drummer Michael Sienkowski stored up some songs that didn’t quite fit with the band’s raggedy aesthetic, and the trio found some time last year to start arranging and recording them under the name Whatfor.

New: The songs on Whatfor’s debut, Sooner Late Than Never, were written to work in a basic rock-trio format, driven mostly by Sienkowski’s vocal melodies, which are meandering and catchy at once. At times he also slips in bits of strings, horns, and harpsichord, not to mention harmonies that teeter and swoon like a drunken barbershop quartet. Label Science of Sound will release Sooner on May 20.

Standout Track: The verses of “Home” recall a bouncing mid-tempo swagger that bands often forget about when they’re reaching back to early kinds for inspiration. The chorus opens up to flutters of banjo and a sweetness that’s usually there, but sometimes easy to miss, if only because Whatfor’s throwbacks to ‘60s Brit-pop are so nervously clever and busy.

- Scott Gordon, The Onion A.V. Club 03/12/08

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madison, wisconsin musician michael sienkowski (sleeping in the aviary) will next month release his first solo album, called sooner late than never, under the stage name whatfor. the album has a loose, rollicking feel to it, and only one of the twelve tracks present clock in over three minutes, which both salts the fun with a sense of urgency - wait, we're almost through? already? - and effectively guards against an over-stayed welcome.

sienkowski's delivery at times evokes john mcrea of cake; his listed influences include the kinks and, well, that's it, that's the whole list. and in some ways whatfor does have a similar kind of energy & sensibility, irreverent humor. but that's a lofty comparison to start off with. let's say for now that what whatfor's done is put together a quick, fun, impressive debut album.

- Anyone's Guess Blogspot

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Whatfor (not to be confused with THIS Whatfor) was described to me as "sort of like The Kinks collaborating with Rufus Wainwright". I wasn't sure what to think of that description, but the debut album Sooner Late Than Never will be released on May 20th through Science of Sound records. I'm generally a sucker for anything Science of Sound releases-- Sleeping In The Aviary, His & Her Vanities, She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde...so even if I wasn't down with The Kinks and Rufus Wainwright getting down, I was still excited to hear this album.

"Call That Girl" was an immediate standout track, possibly because I am in love with short songs. Other possibilities? It's a fucking amazing pop song. It's amazing to the degree that it makes me want to compare Whatfor to The Beatles. And you know what? I hate when bloggers compare things to The Beatles, because the 1964 Beatles are almost indistinguishable from the 1970 Beatles. But I don't know enough about The Beatles (yeah I said it!) to make that distinction. Hell, maybe this isn't like The Beatles at all*. Maybe YOU are The Beatles.

And maybe this delightful indie-pop-rock album is made for summer. Listening to it makes me feel like this, except with more volleyball. And I'd actually be good at volleyball so I'd singlehandedly kick the other team's ass. And then sharks would eat all the people I don't like. You know?

It's The Money Shot

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MadTracks--'I'm A Disgrace' by Whatfor

Maybe I'm doing Whatfor a disservice by reviewing their song “I’m A Disgrace.” After all, the brooding guitar and dissonant cello that define these two minutes of music are a marked departure from the rest of its debut album, Sooner Late Than Never.

I could have rewound this disc by two mere tracks and presented you with "I Want A Girl," a song that perfectly encapsulates the kind of '60s piano pop that dominates this album. You would have heard bright choral harmonies, charming piano melodies and plenty of percussion breaks -- those pregnant pauses that inflected the dawn of pop with bittersweet angst.

But enough about the track that isn't here. I picked "I'm A Disgrace" because more than any other song on the album from the local label Science of Sound, it exposes the quirky talents of Whatfor.

It opens with downtempo guitar and cold, distant vocals akin to Billy Corgan at the height of his Smashing Pumpkins glory.

Eight bars in, light percussion and splashes of piano chords kick in, steering the song away from melancholy and infinite sadness. Over the next 12 bars, the song hangs in an emotional balance, perched to lift off into brightness.

"I'm a Disgrace" never quite makes it to the sky of happiness.

By the chorus, Beth Morgan of Pale Young Gentlemen uses her cello to spread dreamy sadness, the kind Elliott Smith used to make, all over this song.

For the next minute, the verse-chorus pattern repeats. Gently hopeful verses pull the song toward lightness. A cathartic chorus envelopes the listener in comforting darkness.

It's the last thirty seconds of this track that make it memorable. Vocalist Michael Sienkowski starts repeating the mantra, "I'm A Disgrace" in dissonant, anguished tones, while Morgan's cello slowly but surely morphs into a siren. At its crescendo, the song rapidly disintegrates in a fit of emotional distress.

Whatfor is a Sleeping in the Aviary side project, another showcase for the Sienkowski's formidable talent.

Trust me, neither the track nor the album are anything close to a disgrace.

- Rich Albertoni, MadTracks

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WHATFOR - Sooner Late Than Never

Score: 8/10

What is it with Wisconsin this year? Not content with producing the most acclaimed record of the year in Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago, the state seems to be developing quite the fertile independent music scene. And it’s Madison rather than the much larger Milwaukee that has captured my attention.

Science of Sound is one of those close-knit community type of record labels, where all the bands seem to consist of varying combinations of the same seven or eight musicians. This isn’t a criticism, it’s actually quite charming, and the music speaks for itself: these guys are all pretty talented songwriters and players.

Whatfor is the brainchild of Michael Sienkowski, drummer for fellow SoS artists Sleeping In The Aviary by day, lo-fi singer-songwriter with a penchant for 60’s influenced pop songs by night. To further confuse matters, Sienkowski is joined here by his SITA bandmates Elliott Kozel (guitar) and Phil Mahlstadt (bass) to flesh out his compositions, and the result is a remarkably accomplished debut that combines the classic songwriting of Ray Davies with the inventiveness of early Of Montreal.

One of Sooner Late Than Never’s strengths is Sienkowski’s willingness to deviate from the classic bass/drums/guitar format. Perhaps it’s because he’s a drummer by trade, but some of the best songs here feel like they weren’t written by a guy with a battered up acoustic guitar, which is a breath of fresh air. There are flashes of cello, trombone, even harpsichord, and some of the compositions that rely most heavily on these instruments are the eventual standouts; Fast Asleep, with its longing vocal and jaunty cello riff for example, is a classic spin on the baroque-pop style. I’m Not Fooling Around probably was composed on guitar, but it deserves special mention for its beautiful harmonies and tinkling xylophone flourishes. It’s probably my favourite thing here and on a debut this strong that’s really saying something.

Please visit the Science of Sound website, check out Whatfor’s music and support this great independent label.

David Coleman, No Ripcord

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Bloody Good Question

Whatfor is a side project of Michael Sienkowski the drummer from Sleeping in the Aviary (the Devil's blog 29 May 2007) and founding member of the much lamented Eyebeams. Michael ropes in SITA bandmates Elliott Kozel (guitar) and Phil Mahlstadt (bass) and Beth Morgan of Madison's Pale Young Gentlemen on cello to help him realise his carefully crafted pop vision.

The bands debut album 'Sooner Late Than Never' was released at the end of last month and a finer set of late 60s Kinkssian tunes you'll struggle to find this side of the latest Ray Davies album. But don't for a minute think this is a retro trip down memory lane. Whatfor give their late 60s pop a thoroughly modern sheen with The Strokes like title track and 'Call That Girl' while the baroque chamber pop of 'Fast Asleep' recalls Owen Pallett 's Arcade Fire side project Final Fantasy covering Radiohead.

- The Devil Has The Best Tuna Blogspot

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A Good Band You've (Probably) Never Heard Of: Whatfor

I get a lot of godawful CDs in the mail.

A lot of dudes who are in the same boat either immediately dump the discs or shamefully hock 'em to whichever used dealer will buy back promos (the number of which might be growing thanks to certain recent rulings), but I make an effort to listen to as much of the unsolicited, unknown music as I can.

I may do this because I feel guilty about poor musicians burning a significant portion of their monthly ramen budget to press and ship me their music. I may do this because I enjoy the occasional trainwreck. Mostly, though, I do this because sometimes-- not frequently, but a few times a year-- I find a bright, shining diamond amongst the trash.

The debut from Whatfor is one of those diamonds.

Sooner Late Than Never sounds like someone took the bulk of my musical diet circa 2002 and threw it in the blender; one half comes off like the Strokes' attempt at recording a sequel to Rubber Soul, the other like outtakes from Rufus Wainwright's Poses.

Check out their MySpace page or click on the Amazon MP3 Clips Widget below to sample the album.

- Jeff Reguilon, Chordstrike

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Whatfor review on Wireless Bollinger

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Mad Tracks on The Daily Page
by Tom Laskin

MadTracks -- 'On the Bus' by Elliott Kozel She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde by Elliott Kozel

The Elliott Kozel of Sleeping in the Aviary and Elliott Kozel the solo artist are very different animals. With the former, Kozel careens through inspired pop tunes that are by turns ramshackle, anarchic and sweet. As a solo artist, he paints in far more muted colors.

Lo-fi alt-country-folk lopes easily toward the hazy horizon, atmospheric sonic experiments envelope Kozel's quavering voice as a few piano chords or an echoic sonic filigree blur the line between aural collage and deliberate composition. On his own, playing all the instruments and singing all the vocal parts, he's more surrealist than ash-can pop-punk. "On the Bus," one of the dreamiest pieces on his dreamy debut solo She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde, is a light psychedelic smear of wan harmonica, quavering guitar, brushed cymbals, whooshing sound effects that suggest a rolling thunder storm and, most important, Kozel's narcotized, half whispered vocals.

In some ways, the tune recalls Calexico and even Madison expat Carl Johns. But Kozel's definitely exploring personal musical mysteries, too. In fact, like a lot of the album, "On the Bus" is so hermetic it's meant to convey much more than the absurd lightness of being.

An MP3 of the track are available in the related downloads at right. More music by Kozel on She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde can be found on its MySpace page.

BiBaBiDi.com
by Nik Mercer

Way up in college town of Madison, Wisconsin resides a neat little indie label called Science of Sound. The collective could be compared to K Records or Marriage Records or something. Originally, SOS was formed by Terrin and Ricky Riemer so that they could release their own music, but it's branched out to become a "real" indie label. Very quaint and very worthwhile. You can check out some samples on the MySpace page.

Anyway, the artist that stands out most for me is this twee folk-pop singer named Elliot Kozel, although he goes by the length moniker of She Is So Beutiful/She Is So Blonde when recording. The self-titled bedroom recording comes with the usual story: it took a long time to create and produce (four years for Kozel), it features a formidable stylistic range, and the album was by no means the only project the artist was working on during the creative process (Kozel is in the "spastic-pop trio Sleeping in the Aviary, which released its debut LP in February this year, and spent several months touring).

That being said, the music is wonderful and certainly not by-the-book (if you could call any home produced pop album such!) There's a crispness to all the songs, an unusually high quality of production and crispness to the instruments and vocals. Though there's certainly a looseness to the style ... a sluggish folksy tendency shines through many songs, a more energetic and hopeful one in others ... Truly one of my favorite albums of this variety, certainly one of my top for the year, although there may be no sophomore effort ... Sleeping In the Aviary seems to consuming the bulk of Kozel's time!

Isthmus/The Daily Page
by Tom Laskin

With Sleeping in the Aviary, Elliott Kozel tumbles through garage-incubated indie rock that's by turns poppy, snotty and appealingly unhinged. It's geek-rock with guts, and it's little wonder that members of the music press and the blogosphere who actually listen to the stuff they receive from small, unheralded labels based in terra incognita like Madison, Wis., have singled out lead mouth Kozel for praise.

It's likely the same outlets will appreciate the sweet bejesus out of She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde, albeit for entirely different reasons. This is quite literally Kozel's bedroom band and disc. He wrote the songs and recorded all the instruments there over a four-year period, and it has the groggy feel of dreamland. I guess you'd say that standout cuts like the wistful, Neil Young–meets–Smog mood piece "On the Bus" and the keyboard-dappled lamentation "Piano Room Blues" are folk-rock. But this is hardly a typical singer-songwriter affair. For the most part, Kozel mumbles and keens in middle space as glockenspiel, harmonica and what sounds like echoed slide guitar tinkle and whirr around him. The result is psychedelia for people who can't stand paisley and lava lamps or references to walls dripping with candy-coated sunshine.

The Devil Has The Best Tuna Blogspot
by The Devil

I've often wondered how important time and place are in the enjoyment and appreciation of music. If I'd first heard Joy Division while lying in the sun on holiday on a hot Saturday morning rather than late at night on a tinny transistor radio followed by the dulcet tones of John Peel eulogising them would they still mean so much to me or would I have dismissed them as miserabilist doom mongerers and loaded my walkman with Duran Durans latest album with renewed relish (it's torture even to merely speculate!)?

Well this week I tested this theory and listened to the forthcoming album by the exotically monickered She is so Beautiful/She is So Blonde, the solo project of Elliott Kozel guitarist of Sleeping in the Aviary (first featured on the Devil's blog back in May 07, click here to read more.), whilst slowly sipping a Caramel Machiatto in the Starbucks in Bold Street, Liverpool. Yes I am fully aware that Starbucks are evil and my soul has been corrupted just by spending time in there but there is no coffee in the world that can match a Starbucks Caramel Macchiatto and how can the Devil's soul get any more corrupt?!!.

So anyway back to SISBSISB's self-titled album, which has been over four years in the making, and my theory on the relevance of time and place in the appreciation of music. After about half an hour spent listening to the usual Starbucks mix of plastic soul and faux authentic and self confessed deep and meaningful singer songwriters I slipped on my headphones and was immediately transported to a world where music is produced for its artistic merit rather than to adorn the walls whilst uninterested people sip their slightly bitter tasting beverages in plastic cups.

SISBSISB's album has a shambling, messy, laid back folk vibe (maaaannn!! I'm beginning to turn into a parody of myself, is this normal?) with a slightly sinister undertow, kinda like a crystal clear pond full of piranhas. One track ('Biography') is accompanied by the sounds of a female who could either be in the midst of a particularly great orgasm or being tortured by a sadistic serial killer (not being able to tell the difference possibly accounts for my lack of success with the female of the species (that and the fact that I'm happily married!!)).

Elliott has created an impressively engaging, Sunday morning album that ranges from the sparse acoustic side of Smog via the gothic dream pop of This Mortal Coil to the spacey soundscapes of Califone and The Microphones . This is one of those albums that rewards repeated listens continually surprising with subtleties easily missed on first hearing. Having time to luxuriate in this album made me appreciate it's subtle textures and intricate patterns and confirmed my long held belief that time and place do have a key part to play in the enjoyment and appreciation of music.

She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde will be released November 6, 2007 on Science of Sound so go check it out. Just don't forget that time and place have a part to play in how you'll feel about the album.

It's The Money Shot
By Joseph John Sanchez III

SHE IS SO BEAUTIFUL/SHE IS SO BLONDE is the solo project of Elliott Kozel, the guitarist of Sleeping in the Aviary. Much like Cars and Trains, this is exactly the type of music I like. But in a totally different way.

I want to call it "atmospheric" but any time I hear that word describing music, it turns me off more than a herpes-ridden vagina dentata. Which is a lot. So to save you from such trouble, let me just tell you a story about this album:

Once upon a time, I received three packages. One contained several promo mixtapes. Another contained an album by an extremely offensive white rapper with a weak flow. And then there was She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde, a self-titled album by a member of a band I already knew I liked. Given that my iPod/CD boombox had been stolen by my older sister so she could play Wonderpets for my nephew while he falls asleep, I had no way to play this disk. So I stole my shit back. Sewiously.

I suppose I could have just listened to the CD on my computer, right? Wrong. I was stuck in my basement cleaning off a shelf full of jewel cases from albums I have purchased since I was 13 years old. This process reminded me of looking through a stack of elementary school yearbooks-- reminiscing about how something so stupid meant so much to me back then, regretting my mistaken purchases, and reveling in the music that guided me through my teenage years. As I pushed aside my water-logged liner notes to Sisqo's *second* album Return of the Dragon, it suddenly occurred to me-- the music playing behind me was perfect for this moment. I savored it. And then I had to pee, so I paused it and listened to more later. THE END.

After several listening sessions of She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde, I came to a conclusion that it was an amazing album for doing things. This is incredibly vague and makes it sound as if I am accusing the album of being nothing more than fabulous background music, but no. I actually feel a need to do things while listening to this album...it's like my personal aural adderall. Is that weird?

She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde will be released November 6, 2007 on Science of Sound. Perhaps it will make you want to do things too.

The Onion A.V. Club
- Scott Gordon

"The turbo punk-pop songs of Sleeping in the Aviary can be tough to digest in their own way--is the band trying to give us a catchy good time, needling us, or both?--but singer-guitarist Elliott Kozel makes them sound positively straightforward with the self-titled debut from his solo project, She Is So Beautiful/She Is So Blonde. This collection of 11 home recordings wanders through cluttered and often fascinating brainspace, from patient folk numbers like "Played Your Guitar" to the electronic creepiness of "Crimes (Gutter Scent)." It's easier to see the personal side of Kozel's songwriting when removed from SITA's flustered spectacle, especially on 'Waiting Room Blues.'"

75 or Less
by Mark

This member of Sleeping in the Aviary presents a collection of songs far removed from his punk rock meal ticket. There's the Califone-ish "Tied to the Sound", with drugged-out whispers over acoustic guitar strums. The track "Days" is what Black Rebel Motorcycle Club desperately wanted to be when they "rediscovered" faux gritrock a few albums back. These are atmospheric sketches of mid-fi pop—vocals either buried or high pitched wails—whether it's banjo, harmonica and toy xylophone or the pounding sampled drums on "Crimes".

An interview with Elliott by Adam McKibbin of The Red Alert

Three Imaginary Girls - Live Show Revue from Abbey Lounge in Boston
I biked over to the Abbey Lounge for a show I'd been waiting weeks for: Madison, Wisconsin's Sleeping in the Aviary. I loved their record, Oh, This Old Thing?. Sometimes you see a band live and they just don't live up to the expectations you have from hearing their recorded works; not so with Sleeping in the Aviary. They exceeded my expectations, delivering a fiercely energetic set that included most of the songs off the album plus a few others. They hardly took a breath between songs, much like on the album, and singer Elliott Kozel danced around in socks while bassist Phil Mahlstadt hopped up and down. Drummer Michael Sienkowski impressively kept the raucous beats while singing backup, and on one song lead. The whole thing was wicked awesome, as we say here in the Northeast. Incidentally, I asked Elliott how Maureen feels now (a reference to the song "Maureen" in which he repeatedly sings "Maureen doesn't like me anymore!"), and he says that she and Phil have patched things up. Awwww...
— Betsy Boston
Slugmag.com - April 2007
Sleeping In The Aviary = The Vines + The Strokes + Weezer + a pinch of Ima Robot
The guys in Sleeping In The Aviary are sloppy, but, it’s a good kind of sloppy. Oh This Old Thing? is 13 tracks in 23 minutes. I almost wish this was a live album to see if the band could really race through all these songs that fast. The highlight of this sloppy noise is definitely Elliot Kozel’s spastic, carefree vocals. His voice is reminiscent of the reckless abandon of Frank Black or Serj Tankian. At times it seems that Kozel might just snap before the end of the song arrives. The music is as dirty as garage power-punk can get. The band has mastered several different feelings inside of these 13 tracks-meandering slow songs (“Sign My Cast”), quick 48-second bursts of noise (“Face Lift Floats”) and bouncy pop sings (“Lanugo”). There is enough variation on the album to keep you entertained and in the quick time that it begins and ends, you wish that the time hadn’t gone by so fast.
— Jon Robertson

Strangest review yet: FLYING THE CUCKOO’S NEST: SLEEPING WITH THE AVIARY AWAKENS THE SENSES

Sleeping in the Aviary Take Flight Through the Blogosphere

Oh, This Old Thing – Sleeping In The Aviary
Hailing from the City of Madison in the great state of Wisconsin, Sleeping in the Aviary whips up stomping, stuttering indie rhythms and attitudinal garage pop over the course of 23 minutes and 13 songs. There’s not much here that you haven’t already heard done by plenty of other bands on the dive circuit but rarely have you heard it done with so much promise or unapologetic authority. There are clues to the band’s depth and intelligence amid all the raw power – “Sign My Cast” owes as much to Nick Cave as it does the mellowed-down Violent Femmes; “Lanugo” could be an outtake from the second Strokes album – thought violent, affably arrogant punk reigns supreme, especially in the Replacements-esque “Only Son” and “No Socks.” This band has more to offer than perhaps even it realizes and should it stay in the game long enough to make one more record and another after that we may all be in for a wild, fun and occasionally heartfelt ride.
— Jedd Beaudoin, Wichita City Paper, March 22, 2007

Three Imaginary Girls, Album Review March 2007
In fewer than 25 minutes, Sleeping in the Aviary's Oh, This Old Thing? establishes the band as a viable contender for the Next Big Indie Thing. The Madison, Wisconsin trio's Science of Sound debut is flat out exciting — like riding the Gravitron at the carnival (minus the subsequent urge to vomit). The sound is at times reminiscent of bands like The Libertines and The Vines, filled with driving rock 'n' roll but also offering moments of delightful pop melodies ("Gloworm") or Art Brut-style calamity ("Maureen").

The one-two punch of openers "Face Lift Floats" and "Pop Song" is brilliant. The former perfectly launches the album's raucous lo-fi pop-punk pulse, and then with hardly a breath the latter kicks in, complete with hand claps, do-dos, yeahs, etc. "Another Girl" follows, still maintaining the velocity while toning down the pop, only to be re-initiated with "Gloworm," which winds down to nicely segue into the first ballad, "Sign My Cast" — a magnificently strong song where singer/guitarist/main songwriter Elliott Kozel's gut-wrenching delivery of the lyrics, "Is it safe to touch your broken arm" make you sorta almost start to choke up a little. But then comes "Maureen," one of two songs penned by bassist, in which the only lyrics, "Maureen doesn't like me anymore!" are repeated eight times in a fast-moving high-pitched wail.

"Drug Suitcase" is great fun, with a chorus of "Oh, your body's nice but your mind is a joke" that gets stuck in your head (I mean, who can't relate?). By this point, Elliott has fully sold you on his mastery of the punk vocalist technique. Next comes "No Socks," the second track penned by Phil, the raucous "Only Son," and the poppy "Lanugo," which would serve well as a lead single thanks to its terrific versatility — as much as it is pop (with bops and ba-da-da-das), it also continues the lo-fi rock vibe. "Love Song" follows in another instance of perfect song pairing; the equal-parts pop-punk/lo-fi-rock/emo ballad is one of the album's strongest numbers due to its sheer genre-bending ingenuity. "Getting Thin" brings it all to a climactic near-finish, culminating in a crashing, screaming frenzy that reverts back to quiet-ish for a moment before loudening up again with the lyrics "I'm a doctor trust me trust me trust me!"

The untitled final track, appearing after a brief pause, is a stripped down version of "Pop Song" with only vocals and piano, with an echo as if the recording was done in a cavernous space. It's a lovely rendition that serves well as the album's tranquil signoff, like stretches after a vigorous workout.

Effects and feedback turn up here and there, giving the vocals an occasional Strokes-like muffle or jarring the guitars. Not to be outdone, drummer Michael [last name unknown] provides a solid and inspired beat throughout the stellar album, freshly placing beats and drumrolls where you don't expect them. This is one of those bands whose recorded sound is so thrilling, one can only imagine what kind of high-octane live show they're capable of pulling off. Lucky for us they're on tour throughout most of the U.S. this spring. [Um, guys, could you come to Boston please?]
— Betsy Boston, Three Imaginary Girls

Punk News:
The Thermals released The Body, The Blood, The Machine last year to devastating critical acclaim. Few had complaints regarding the band's edgy, ambitiously concocted, throwback pop-punk, but unfortunately for me I found myself in that group. To at least this reviewer the band sounded tired, drained of the spastic, unrelenting energy from 2004's perfectly titled Fuckin A. Amidst all the mouth-foaming of its reception and personal anticipation for the album It was hard to admit that I just...wasn't into it. Luckily, Sleeping In The Aviary's Oh, This Old Thing? serves as a fair substitute for my expectations.

Oh, This Old Thing? is 13 tracks of snotty, fuck-all lo-fi power-pop. "Face Lift Floats" is brief but punctual as the opener, giving what seems like a preview of the next 22 minutes to come, while "Pop Song" bounces along with effortless handclaps and "Another Girl" self-loathes atop power chords. The band spreads a similar nature over the course of these three but branches out a little more upon the trifecta's completion. "Gloworm" sounds like a drugged up Stephen Pedersen (Criteria) is fronting the band, while the lazy "Sign My Cast" is one of a few more gentle numbers. Of course, the 33-second "Maureen" starts the second 'half' in a blast of a fashion, light screams peppering the end of Elliott Kozel's lines. "Drug Suitcase" slams away silly, distorted solos and a short but sweet Jerry Lee Lewis piano 'riff' to close. "Only Son" even throws a bit of Jello Biafra-style yelps and slurs in the vocals for good measure. And then out of nowhere, tucked at the end is an untitled piano ballad; it's actually pretty pretty.

Sleeping In The Aviary's debut might be a little top-heavy but it certainly deserves points not only for style but variety, managing to capture the listener's interest for the majority of its quick duration. Familiar, sure, but it also nearly fills a void that was left sorely open for me in 2006.
– Brian, PunkNews.org

The Isthmus:
It’s easy to get down when your band plays the same rooms in the same small city to the same crowd. Some acts break up or move on when the walls begin to close in. Others hunker down in the basement or a more sophisticated purpose-built studio and start recording.

Sleeping In The Aviary, the Blueheels, Droids Attack and the hip-hop duo Horton the Irrelevant & August the Creep all embraced the latter strategy last year. Their high-quality new CDs underscore how important getting your ideas down on hard disc is to musical growth.

On Oh, This Old Thing?, Sleeping In The Aviary prove that pop pulchritude and punk frenzy are always a winning combination. Whether singer Elliott Kozel is setting the hook of the too-brief “Gloworm” with his best impression of a vaudevillian warble or the whole Aviary crew are tumbling headlong through the full-scale guitar-bass-drums freakout that is “Drug Suitcase,” the result is always irresistible.

Lots of acts have done the shabby-but-sweet, punky-but-accessible thing over the years. In fact, I can’t drop the laser on this album without recalling how, in the late ’70s, both the Swell Maps and the Only Ones wandered away from punk and New Wave to clear out a space for bands that like a full measure of melody with their madness. (More recent cognates would be Nirvana, Neutral Milk Hotel, the Strokes and clinically out-there screamer/crooner Craig Nicholls of the Vines.)

But just because Sleeping In The Aviary aren’t unique doesn’t mean they’re not outrageously gifted. They are. I can see “Gloworm,” the snotty anti-love song “Another Girl” (as in: “I’m always thinking of another girl”) and the bouncy Kinks-style dance-hall vamp “Lanugo” all being embraced by the star-making U.K. indie audience.

If you like your production artfully scratchy and your pop tunes creatively messed up, Sleeping In The Aviary should cream your burn. It’ll be interesting to see if their upcoming tours of the U.S. get the kind of press attention they deserve.
– Tom Laskin, The Isthmus

The Isthmus- MadTracks, “Another Girl”:
If you can't get behind Sleeping In The Aviary's chaotic cause by the time the youthful trio reaches the sharp, ecstatic "Wooo!" that neatly bisects "Another Girl," you're probably an irredeemable stiff. Or maybe just an envious hater. Because this is the kind of crazed, effervescent bass-drum-guitar confection that banishes the cares of a crappy day to the small, dark room where they belong.

At just under two minutes, this track from Oh, This Old Thing? is almost too short. It gets to happy land quickly, though, and layers on just enough bird-flipping insouciance to keep you guessing about whether chief mouth Elliott Kozel is "Always thinking about another girl" because he's uncertain about love or because he's certifiably ADD.

Toothsome pop that blends equal amounts sugar of and snot? Hey, it's the best kind. More of this brand of Valentine's candy, please.
– Tom Laskin, The Isthmus, MadTracks

The Shepherd Express
Madison’s Sleeping in the Aviary calls up the sound of London, circa 1978, specifically, a high-speed collision of Wire and the Buzzcocks, with echoes of the early Kinks. Their songs are short, serrated, sonic jabs, all catchy choruses and arresting hooks, powerful guitar crescendos and Anglophile accents. Oh, This Old Thing? flows dynamically with enough down-shifts from the furious punk tempo to give the ear a rest. Oh, This Old Thing? is the debut album from a band we hope to hear more from in the future.
– David Luhrssen

Carl Johns makes the kind of power pop that takes me back to a time I'm not sure ever existed. His Charlemagne project, now two albums old, cooks up music for a breezy summer drive, stuffed with wispy male/female harmonies, strummed guitars, and airily recorded drums. It evokes the indie rock of the mid-90s in hi-er fi, and the power pop of the post-punk era with modern amenities like more deeply nuanced synthesizer tones and high-quality production on a low budget. Detour Allure rings with an abundance of sharp melodies and quick tempos, arranged with a minimum of fuss. Spare flourishes of synth and special effects guitar spice up the proceedings, offering shiny accents to sometimes workmanlike compositions. "Your Scars" trips along on a nice two-step country beat and features some unexpected chord changes for its wordless middle eight. It's followed by the album's finest track, "In the Fuselage", a weirdly catchy song that earns its place in your memory with an inventive melody delivered via mellow, introverted harmonies. "Fave Unknown" takes a crunchier route, riding fuzzy bass and buzzing keyboard hooks. Though consistency of craft is one of Charlemagne's strengths, there are a few bits that don't work, like the unfortunate rhyming of "cherries," "very," "scary," and "berries" in the otherwise catchy "Pink & Silver" and the overly ponderous closer "Hello September", which ends the album with too much whimper and not enough bang. By and large, though, Charlemagne's sophomore effort is an enjoyable, if not exactly innovative, album, best served warm with a light breeze.

- Joe Tangari, Pitchfork Media

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An engaging slice of summer, just in time for winter

As leader of NoahJohn, Carl Johns parlayed his odd, winsome country-folk music into four albums, a cult following and glowing reviews in Europe. For his first foray into sunnier territory, Johns launched the mostly solo Charlemagne, releasing a pleasant, self-titled album in the process. With Detour Allure, he’s assembled a full band—and officially begun to overshadow the project for which he’s best known. A disc of minor but immensely appealing pop confections, Detour Allure arrives awash in fizzy swirls of oohs and aahs, handclaps and boy/girl vocals. The result couldn’t be more likable, and at its best (on the warm, strummy “Your Scars”), the album sounds as enduring as it is ingratiating.

- Stephen Thompson, Paste Magazine

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Carl Johns, Charlemagne's leader, hails from Madison, WI, the home of pop wizard extraordinaire Butch Vig. Coincidence? You won't think so once you've heard the shimmering confections, shot through with ribbons of Americana, that make up Detour Allure. Johns played all the instruments on Charlemagne's self-titled debut, but he has assembled a crack team of musicians and vocalists (the group with whom he plays live) on this outing. He sings lead on most tracks, with Kaleen "Katydid" Enke and Tenaya "Ladybird" Darlington (the other members have cute noms de band, too) providing ethereal backup vocals. These add noticeable depth; they're especially magical on the loping "Your Scars", whose sweet "ba-da-da"s mix with chiming guitars. Each singer also gets a track of her own: Darlington sets one of her poems ("On Not Wanting a Child") to music on "Nematode", while "I Heard Something" displays Enke's talent. Both women have rich voices with dark edges, and Johns's own voice is interesting, as well -- alternately smooth and awkward. Nice as all this midtempo folk is, it's refreshing when the comparative rockers kick in near the album's end. "Fave Unknown" recalls the Beach Boys in the call-and-response structure of Johns's verses and the backup singers' refrains, while "Tell Me" is a straightforward two-note rock 'n' roll tune, complete with guitar solos and handclaps. "(We Are) Making Light" is one of the disc's most interesting cuts, a grungy midtempo dirge with preternaturally smooth monotone singing.

Detour Allure's uniform slickness is both an asset and a liability; it provides cohesiveness, but the polish shines the same way on every track. Still, Johns's songwriting is sparkling enough to prevent Detour Allure from fading into the background.

-Sarah Zachrich, Splendid

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Charlemagne is Carl Johns. Detour Allure, Johns' second album, is somewhat of a departure from his debut. Whereas he sang and played everything the first time around, Detour Allure finds Carl enlisting help and ideas from others. The result is...a more focused, polished, and well-rounded batch of pop tunes. Charlemagne songs are soft and direct. Carl's songs recall classic artists from the past like The Beach Boys, Harpers Bizarre, and Big Star. While there are many differences between this disc and the first album, the most noticeable difference is the quality of the songs themselves. Detour Allure is a much more straightforward adventure. The tunes are willfully catchy and upbeat and could easily be digested by the general public. Features eleven soothing tunes including "Greyhound," "Your Scars," "I Heard Something," "Tell Me," and "Hello September." Recommended for fans of Denison Witmer. (Rating: 5+)

- Babysue.com

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More than a city over which Otis Redding drew his last breaths or the location from which Butch Vig produced the crËme de la crËme of '90s super-groups like Nirvana, Madison, Wisconsin, is looking to be the home of another significant musical occurrence in the life of rock and roll. Charlemagne is a hopelessly endearing singer/songwriter who will be warming the hearts of many Madisonians through the cold Wisconsin winter.

Saturated in vibrant harmonies and driven, pop-infused sentiments, Detour Allure is destined to move Charlemagne to a larger audience. Springsteen apparently clutched onto him and held fast, featuring Charlemagneís work as intermission music for his latest tour. One can see why the Boss might bite, as the album bespeaks of a humble troubadour, but not quite the working class hero figure. Any such self-induced rambling man romanticism is discarded in favor of cynicism-stripping approachability that acts as a frank serotonin-producing slap to the soul.

- Redding Dantes, Junk Media

the isthmus
by Al Ritchie
A Thought Process
(Science of Sound)
www.hisandhervanities.com

When last we heard from the Vanities, the Madison now-wavers were warming up the Barrymore Theatre for the red-hot Yeah Yeah Yeahs (and let me tell ya, the kids up front were diggin' 'em). They've been pretty quiet in the six months since, though, with Ricky and Terrin Riemer (the eponymous power-couple at the core of HHV) taking time off to add both another tiny Riemer to their household and a second CD to their discography.

This 10-song disc marks a confident step forward for HHV, as the band's driving, danceable rhythms and angular, Devo-esque melodies are brought into even sharper focus. In particular, Ricky's guitar leads chime, clang and roar like a symphony of metal-stamping tools, while the whole band infuse the catchy "Notapartablurb" with an extra steroid boost. And for a welcome twist, splashes of early-Pink Floyd psychedelia color the soft-toned "Field Fire".

More so than on their debut, there's a discernible sense of warmth coursing through this album. It's a subtle, largely indefinable quality, but one that strongly suggests the Vanities have come into their own.

Emmie Magazine
“…A Thought Process, marks a new His and Her Vanities; a less experimental, more comfortable song-writing entity, one that’s begun to place the raw power of guitar, bass, and drums at the foreground, and glitchy electronics at the back. Every arrangement is so creative, every song a work of surprising ingenuity…” – Jared Harvey

Rick's Cafe
by Patrick Stutz
The release of His & Her Vanities' second CD, A Thought Process, should indicate to critics that the title given to them at the Madison Area Music Awards as "Best Punk Band" last March was not taken for granted.

The musical team of Ricky and Terrin Riemer returned to their basement recording studio, Science of Sound, two years ago to begin toying around with the new project. With the help of Mike Zirkel at Smart Studios and musicians Matt Abplanalp and Sara Winkelman, the couple emerged with a CD that sounds as impressive as their first release, but with more of an edge.

A Thought Process still has Vanities' post-punk feel and the quirkiness of an indie band, but the drumming and bass on this disc are much more dominant than on their previous release. From the beginning of the album, it is not difficult to hear the band's musical influences, such as vintage Devo and the Pixies, come through.

"Moving Forward", the first song on the disc, is driven by heavy drumming. The guitar is simple and extemely repetitive, and Ricky's vocal paralleling of the melody at first seems a bit annoying, but then the song really comes together. Towards the end, as the drums' intensity increases, it actually drowns out the majority of the repetition. This annoyance does not occur on any other track of the CD. From the first song, the new wave sound governs the rest of the disc, but the Vanities bring an unexpected treat missing from their first album. Beginning mid-disc, the band starts to incorporate a strong '60s psychedelic tone.

"Field Fire", for example, is the slowest song on the disc and lacks the drumming that is consistent throughout the rest of the tracks. This song maintains a very mellow vibe reminiscent of the Beatles during their drug-infused, Eastern culture phase.

The song "Auto Pilot", while not as soothing as "Field Fire", remains truer to the Vanties' sound and incorporates vocal reverbs that perpetuate the psychedelic tone. This track is actually one of the best songs on the recording and combines most of the elements the band has to offer. The weighty drumming is still present and the guitar retains its quirky patterning enough to be considered new wave.

The band's lyrics are another story. Althoguh Ricky's vocals nicely accompany the band's style, it is challenging to find anything in the lyrics that could be construed as deep or meaningful. Terrin describes the lyric-writing process as a collage of images that are written out line by line. But the lyrics are almost too puzzling to produce any underlying message. The band's real strength lies in their music-writing ability and the sense they convey that they are truly having fun producing an album together.

Even though A Thought Process is a bit hard to take the first time through, it has nothing to do with the band's talent or ability. Mainstream radio so rarely airs anything different these days that when a band that is willing to experiment and try new things does appear, it takes awhile to recognize the brilliance behind their work.

His and Her Vantiies will probably never make mainstream radio, but receive support only from independent or college stations-outlets that are usually more willing to take risks with innovative music.

core weekly
by Evan Rytlewski
Especially in the local music scene, there's something to be said for quality control. All too often, even the best local artists fall into the trap of releasing countless, indistinguishable albums, flooding an already oversaturated market and scaring away outside listeners looking to explore the local scene.

His & Her Vanities, however, are a local act that shows some restraint. Their catalogue - two full-lenths released two years apart - epitomizes a "quality over quantity" mentality, and they limit the number of shows they perform to just a few every couple of months.

Despite the band's intentionally low profile, the Vanities have cemented a dedicated local and national following, largely through word of mouth. Their self-titled debut album is widely circulated around the internet by fans of quirky rock, and the group furthered their profile with a well-received show at 2003's South by Southwest festival. Although the Vanities have few plans to promote their recently released second album, A Thought Process, the record will likely win them new listeners and create more buzz around them.

A Thought Process fine tunes the sound the Vanities mastered on their self-titled debut. Traces of Devo, Wire and Gang of Four are still tied together by pop sensibilities reminiscent of the Pixies' and the Dismemberment Plan's most accessible work, but this album has a rawer feel to it than their last one. Missing are the layered keyboards and electronics that were a strong presence on the debut, scrapped in favor of a down-to-basics guitar, drum and bass sound.

The change works well. Without the keyboards, their sound is less cluttered and more urgent, and none of the playfulness that made the first album so endearing has been sacrificed.

Like their deubt, A Thought Process was self-recorded in Science of Sound, the basement studio of guitarist/singer Ricky Riemer. Riemer primarily uses the studio to record with the Vanities and his other band, Transformer Lootbag, but the studio could become a real powerhouse in Madison's music scene. Three of the year's best local releases - the latest Vanities album, the self-titled debut of Carl Johns' pop outfit Charlemagne and alt-country sweetheart MaeRae's YesPlease - were recorded there and more should be on the way.

"I'm still reconfiguring some stuff down there now but soon I want to open up the door to more people," Riemer said.

The Vanities will celebrate the offical release of A Thought Process with a show at the High Noon Saloon Saturday, Sept. 4. Catch them now or your might have to wait a couple months before they play again.

KFJC 89.7 FM
On-Line Reviews
Thurston Hunger
Debut from Madison, Wisconsin trio on the guitarist’s (Ricky Riemer’s) label. Punchy guitarwork carmelizes this sugar crunchy pop. I hear XTC, Bob Mould, Pixies, Woozy Helmet, Kaito. Shouty vocals are very condensed, (with effects) Riemer and bassist Steven Riches trade duties, often firing lyrics that overlap each other. That helps give this music an insistent feel, along w/ Matt Abplanalp’s racy drums. Actually what Abplanalp does well is to drop out a beat or two sometimes and let Riemer’s guitar whiplash a bit. That’s especially vivid on the last track, which has some sort of nice whammy on that guitar too…and then the faux runout groove to boot. Shake your Lootbag.

The Austin Chronicle
Greg Beets
Madison, Wis.'s Transformer Lootbag sounds like a dangerously unbalanced Ferris wheel translated into pop music. The dexterous trio's proclivity for rapid-fire, herky-jerk dynamics conjures visions of Fugazi coupled with Akron-era Devo. They just released their eponymous debut on Science of Sound.

all music guide
by Gregory McIntosh
While the arty His & Her Vanities owes a great deal of its canon to post-punkers Devo, the spirited recklessness of the Pixies, and even the pre-punk innovators the Monks (via drummer Sara Winkelman's aggressive and tribal tom-heavy approach to percussion), it would be severely unfair to dub the group as a carbon copy of anything. On its energetic self-titled debut, the group dives right into said thumping drums along with droning keyboard under the stoic, almost robotic vocals of bassist/keyboardist Terrin Riemer and pushes through the entire album with enthusiasm and innovative, contrasting workouts. "52 Pickup" summons sharp and elliptical guitar work, layered intelligently by Ricky Riemer, and catchy vocal tradeoffs between Terrin and Ricky Riemer, while "Back 2 Square 1" forsakes some of the tension for a more summery (a dirty summer, make no mistake) melodic approach, which could easily be plugged into one of the many hipster, feel-good Volkswagen advertisements, provided Volkswagen were looking for a gritty image. At times the fidelity is purposely gross (gro-fi, perhaps?), but His & Her Vanities has the ultimate knack for feeding off this to build layers of clever depth that are slowly unveiled over several listens. Whether or not Madison, WI, has realized what an intriguing group it has in the difficult to pin down His & Her Vanities is a question that begs to be asked; however, one hopes the answer is yes and implores the rest of the world to take a minute to listen to an infectious, fun, and refreshing group that simultaneously stands far out from and somehow fits into the scene of the numerous punk and post-punk revivalist bands that dominated indie culture during the early 2000s.

too much rock
His & Her Vanities s/t
Science of Sound CD 2003 - 12 tracks 34:55:00
I'll let you in on a little secret: If you want to be sure I listen to your album, tell me how you've been compared to Gang of Four, Wire, Pixies and Mission of Burma. I used to spend hours on mp3.com or rollingstone.com just searching for bands that listed the above foursome as influences or "similar artists." Why is it, then, that I haven't heard of Madison Wisconsin's His & Her Vanities before?

Now I'll let you in on another little secret: If you trick me into listening to your album by mentioning the above bands, you are, of course, destined to disappoint me. After all, critics generally refer back to those progenitors of quirky post-punk when they're unfamiliar with the more modern similarities that exist between the band in question, and its generally well- established (and derivative) peers.

His and Her Vanities, naturally, fits into the above category. They are reminiscent of any number of recent, post-punk and art-punk bands. Luckily for all (especially me), this self-titled release is far from disappointing.

The creative force of H&HV is the married duo of multi-instrumentalists Ricky and Terrin Riemer. And aside from the more-than-occasional assistance of drummer Sara Winkelman, all songs are written, realized and recorded by the couple. The sound components are simple: angular guitar, bounding (and occasionally, distorted to be abusive) bass, and snapping drums are augmented by whirring synthesizers and trading or overlapping male/female vocals. The band hasn't discovered new sounds, only ingenious ways to combine them.

Jagged vocal and instrumental lines drift in and out of phase in organic accidents, creating songs so thick that the listener has to experience the music rather than digest its parts. Climbing and falling guitar lines howl beside vocal melodies until one or both drop out to reveal the steady roll of a snare. In fact, throughout the album any instrument is likely to vanish leaving a noticeable hole. That moment of exposed winding guitar or bouncing bass serves as an introduction, forcing the listener into a different segment of the song.

It is true that in the darkest moments, such as the Ricky Riemer sung "Alfonzo," the band is truly reminiscent of Magazine and their ilk, but more often than not the distorted hectic cadence of Terrin Riemer's voice backed by disjointed electronic trickery is much more reminiscent of Le Tigre. Furthermore, in the craziest, silliest, poppiest moments, such those in "In a Culture," the band speaks more to Stereo Total.

The band's engaging musical elements are, unfortunately, seldom combined into complete songs – truly the genius of The Pixies or Mission of Burma. And because of this missing structure, their hooks and choruses aren't nearly as memorable. The band, however, chooses not to think in those terms. "Dispatch Elevation," for example, builds nicely to an expected chorus; however, the song quickly becomes vague and shifty, loosing any structured momentum that may have been built. I believe H&HV prefers its songs to be lessons in audience concentration until ultimately forcing the audience to surrender to the chaos that swirls about. My advice: trust the band to take you on their ride.

the isthmus
by Al Ritchie
Obviously, "new wave" isn't so new anymore. In fact, it's now old enough to watch itself play in a bar. But that doesn't mean its punky spirit of invention isn't still rearing its begoggled head in new and intriguing places.

One of those places is the east-side home of Madison indie-couple Ricky and Terrin Riemer, the basement of which is where His & Her Vanities was conceived and its debut CD recorded. The album traipses through everything from Sonic Youth guitars to B-52's vox to the angular rhythms of Wire. Occasionally augmented by playfully loping synthesizers, HHV's left-of-center labcoat rock immediately recalls the quirk 'n' jerk sound of '80s post-punk, yet largely maintains a modern freshness by embracing that vivifying pomo spirit of fun-fun-fun generally reserved for cutesy/spazzy Japanese bands like Cibo Matto and Buffalo Daughter.

A few of the tunes get lost in the candy-like swirl of sonic bells and whistles, but the buzzing, bratpunky "Slowage" and improbably joyful robot-rocker "52 Pickup" are among those that nail the perfect balance of melody and weirdness. And, it seems to me, that's what the best new wave music was always all about.

a common sense
by Jaques Bluett
The eponymous self-titled debut album from the Madison based quartet His and Her Vanities hit the shelves of the finest fringe record stores in the greater Midwest earlier this summer, but the full effect of this band’s angular tunes has yet to be felt by the rock intelligentsia.

People use words like “punk” and “indie”, “no wave” and “no core” to describe this band. I could reverse name drop similar bands like Sonic Youth, Devo, the Pixies, and the Strokes to try to persuade you to listen to the Vanities. But if you were to put all of this data into a computer and spit out all of the permutations of sounds, I don’t think that the Vanities would emerge as one of the “similar artists” in the categories lovingly offered by your favorite media player. However, I could say that I like the aforementioned bands and also like the Vanities, for what that’s worth. But to do so would sell this band short.

The Vanities have put their best foot forward with the first several tracks on the album. At once sexy and mechanical, “Alfonzo” starts up with rave-up beats and a loving robotic voice that tells us about “the processed king". The songs are artistic and evoke fine images, but the songs never veer toward a statement of human apocalypse, which would spoil all of the fun. Instead, the human element of the enigmatic Alfonzo (“looks on fire/with suave attire/and no strings attached/just look at the man”) invites us to party. It’s a confusing party – a game of Twister with Mark Mothersbaugh in a microwave – you struggle to take the keys out of your pockets, but the music invites you to stay with its beatbox that seems to be in a race to the finish with drummer Sara Winkelman. Guitarist Ricky Riemer throws musical confetti while trying to hold you down to fit you with a party hat. At the heart is Terrin Riemer’s just-in-time bass explosions and many-octave vocal interplay with Ricky, which could be the revamped soundtrack to an Atari sponsored “boys against girls” dodgeball match.

“Slowage” has a much more graceful ascent, an eighteen-wheeler in low gear climbing up a steep mountain, humming with efficient engines. The tension wrought in Ricky’s guitar unwinds violently in the chorus as Terrin screams out in red-shifted tones. This is a song of the celestial sphere, something too beautiful to be born from the earth. Too few songs are crafted with the appreciation for built tension and release that this song evinces.

Too nervous to stop in any one place, the songs keep changing cars, putting on fake moustaches, trying to keep a low profile. “The Shocking Truth” is a noise parade with post-punk guitar riffs screaming over the beat from a drum major that demands that you keep in step. The next songs tend to evoke more traditional indie rock tropes that are sure to keep the kids moving. If there’s a complaint to be issued by this reviewer (I know you won’t believe me if I just keep gushing about this band), it’s that we are promised too much in the early part of the album. The tracks that follow are great pop songs with some unconventional hooks, but they can’t match the intensity established in the early going. At the risk of sounding too harsh, I contend that the later tracks fall short only because of the high water mark that this band has already established.

But don’t take my word for it. Check out the band’s website to check for upcoming shows in your area, listen to sound clips, and purchase the album.