In a recent interview with Exclaim, White Lung frontwoman Mish Way says their new record Sorry is a more melodic venture for the Vancouver weird-punk foursome, and that there are distinct possibilities of fan alienation. Having wowed audiences across the country and beyond with their 2010 full length debut, It’s The Evil, there has certainly been some anticipation building for the next chapter. That said, if there are any self-professed White Lung fans out there that can’t get behind this latest output, they may need their hearing and/or attitudes checked.

  Sorry definitely has a few more melodic parts and the band’s creative growth can be heard, but on the whole it is still a freight train of an album, blistering through ten tracks in less than twenty minutes. The heart-rate scarcely has time to drop for the duration of the record as one ripper blends into the next, from the opening charge of “I Take the Mirror,” to the heavy dead stop of closer, “Dead Beat.”

  The aforementioned melody doesn’t seem at all out of place within the chaos around it, and is easily heard in the almost Bif Naked harmonies on “Bag,” and Kenny McCorkell’s shimmering, creepy breakdown on “St. Dad.” Aside from these slight ventures outside their normal repertoire, it is business as usual for White Lung. Way yells and wails over McCorkell’s frantically strummed chords and the rock solid rhythm section of Grady Mackintosh on bass and Anne-Marie Vassilou on drums.

  Perhaps contributing to the overall speed and intensity of the record was the triple-session process by which it was recorded. But even if the songs were rushed in studio, they don’t sound rushed; rather, they sound focused. There is not an ounce of fat on this record. And if there is any alienation caused by the melodic inclusions, I’m sure Sorry’s producer and former d.b.s. member Jesse Gander would agree: expectations are for the old. White Lung is back. Get into it Vancouver!

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  Vancouver-bred three-piece Nü Sensae with Daniel Pitout on his locomotive drum set, Andrea Lukic on bass and vocals and Brody McKnight crushing his guitar strings, took the stage and revved up the growing audience with some heavy percussion and thunderous distortion. Lukic led the trio through rugged tracks “Whispering Rule” and “Curdle Ale Cream” on the strength of her demon scream. If you haven’t yet heard these guys live yet, you should. And practice your elbow throw; you’ll need it.

  Following Nü Sensae was a tall order. The impressive thing about LA’s White Fence – beyond the guitarist’s mustache – was their ability to seamlessly weave grungy and progressive guitar swells in amongst their poppy surf punk sound. The music was melodic and easily accessible. “Swagger Vets and Double Moon” started with a promising atmosphere of bouncy distorted guitar lines atop centrepiece Tim Presley’s slack drawl, then dissolved into a Queens of the Stone Age-esque noise-swell, which energized the otherwise chill jam and kept the audience moshing.

  Headliner Ty Segall’s blend of ‘70s guitar and California garage rock is legendary. There’s no question as to why this guy has over six other projects on the go throughout the San Francisco Bay area. He’s got classic shreddy fingertips that bands such as the Perverts and White Fence want – and have – their hands on. Segall’s prowess was best showcased when they played “Girlfriend,” where his sweet choppy ‘70s guitar swagger and old school yelp sent the crowd to surf, and even Segall floated atop the mosh pit while ripping his final solo before the encore. He was the show to end the audience’s hunger and his set stood out amongst the rest of the acts. He may have even covered “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath, better than Black Sabbath could play it themselves.

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“And when he looks down, a sparrow is nesting as if in the crook of a tree…Its high, sweet trilling goes out among the sleeping passengers, drawing each breath into its praise. My father knows he is as much this song as anything else in his life.” So begins Rodney DeCroo’s dreamlike journey into the spoken word genre, surely one of the more challenging styles of music for a wide audience to appreciate. DeCroo however, a prolific Vancouver-based musician and writer, foregoes any doubt and throws himself into the abyss, notebook in hand.

  Allegheny, his sixth album, and first foray into the realm of spoken word, recounts a deeply existential and personal path through DeCroo’s grey and green-toned youth, which he spent growing up in rural Pennsylvania along the apparently putrid cavity of the Allegheny River.

  Blended with deeply brooding music produced by Robert Malowany, the album is somehow sparse and bleak, yet rich and warm. DeCroo’s eloquent but stark prose is lyrical, and serves as the linchpin that holds the whole escapade together, flowing in angular but lucid passages and backed by the constant ominous pounding of synths, guitars and distorted horns.

  Allegheny’s drama unfolds in scenes set under overcast skies and within the murky flow of the river itself, as DeCroo manipulates the mood with his haunting narrative, expounding events occurring either in the past or as imagined outcomes. The sentiments are frequently dark, but quickly become touching near the end of the album, at the drop of a mayonnaise jar filled with fireflies on “The Lightning Catcher,” simultaneously releasing much of the steadily building tension.

  The even, nasal timbre of DeCroo’s voice complements the moods of the album beautifully, and the instruments twist around his gnarled landscapes as he presents a bleak vision of his past that serves as, “An uneasy reminder of the river’s phlegmy, dark green clutch.”

  Allegheny is a gorgeously lush and intensely captivating piece of work.

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Folk. Indie. Pop. Psych. Those four words pretty much sum up Twin River, a band formed in the summer of 2009. Core members Courtney Ewan and Andy Bishop have chemistry that they’ve developed playing in a few local bands that seem to prefer nature-themed names, like Red Cedar and White Ash Falls.

  The first two songs on Rough Gold, “Can’t Keep This Alive” and “Feather,” have (at times) beautifully intertwining melodies, while the closing track, “Family Tree,” is lyrically deep and vivid. These are fairly mature songwriters, and the sound Twin River is going for is nostalgic, as if looking back to the golden age of psych-folk. Yet somehow it still sounds totally modern.

  The EP’s downfall is the sound levels. Bishop’s endlessly noodling guitar is too far in the foreground. It would be listenable, even enjoyable, if it wasn’t all you heard. The sound levels, and to a lesser extent  the arrangements, make the ideas here seem like they’re not fully realized.

  Hopefully Ewan and Bishop’s next work will have their lovely lyrics and melodies presented in the best way possible. There is serious potential here.

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Toronto artists Sebastian Fleet and Count Oak team up for a 7” release on Vancouver label, Kingfisher Bluez. The two singer/songwriters tout a similar bleak and mournful vibe with their respective solo projects. Together the sound is no different, as they create an ambitious mélange of folk and ambient music.

  “Drowning” instantly grabs the listener with its blunt juxtaposition of folky acoustic guitars against weirdo sci-fi filters and effects. The odd mixture feels both surreal and earthy which caters to the song’s sometimes dystopic lyrics. Lines like, “Chocolate drops and rainbow candies are falling from the sky/ All you want is blood,” paint an image of a backwards and disintegrating world. Sebastian Fleet lends his soft vocals but avoids a generic indie-folk tone by delivering interesting phrasing and memorable lyrics. The haunting outro with the chanting lyrics, “You’ve been infected now,” is creepily catchy and, indeed, infectious.

  The B-side, “Fishing” is less experimental and opens with an intricate and jazzy acoustic riff that’s close to something in the likes of José González. Again, the lyrics are bleak and abstract but help create the song’s haunting and calming quality. There is another dose of the experimental with the use of an echo-y stomp that sounds like a door slamming.

  The psych-folk tendencies on Sebastian Fleet + Count Oak’s first 7” display the band’s already unique and distinctive sound, something difficult to claim in a day and age of pastiche and revivals. A full-length album is slated for release later this year and it will be interesting to see if Sebastian Fleet + Count Oak can retain their much-acclaimed originality. With the official album title, O Sun of Muddled Mind and Distant Space, it seems like they will.

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Movieland | | photo by Audrey Alexandrescu

Chung Antique | | photo by Audrey Alexandrescu

  It’s not often that I’m blown away at a show: usually, I go into things well-informed and get pretty close to what I was expecting, but Chung Antique’s out-of-left-field performance blew me out of the water. The meek three-piece, who hail from Seattle, didn’t say much before launching into a furiously catchy instrumental performance held together by metronome-tight drum fills and amazingly groovy math-rock riffs. Guitarist Charlie Zaillian was profoundly humble, taking the time between tracks to profusely thank the crowd for gathering. By the time their last jam finished, there wasn’t a head in the cramped room that wasn’t moving/headbanging in time to the rhythm. Pay particular attention to Chung Antique if you’re a fan of local math bands like Man Your Horse or Polarhorse. I couldn’t get the grin from this performance off my face for the rest of the weekend.

Hermetic | | photo by Audrey Alexandrescu

  Eric Axen creates the kind of rich lyrical fodder that punk and emo bands for the last 20 years have been trying to master, from Jawbreaker to Rites Of Spring. Behind the reins of Hermetic, Axen and drummer Bart Newman have a catchy, sing-along-friendly monster in their hands. At the Artbank the duo were surprisingly loud, and the extra helping of grit on Axen’s baritone guitar helped fill out each song, a difficult challenge without a bassist. Fitting, because it was their party to begin with, but Hermetic outdid all of their past performances with terrific sound and an attitude that made it obvious they were having fun. Newman is a seriously entertaining drummer to watch, and he played his drum kit with the same carefree abandon that a kid might have playing with his new bike. Although Hermetic ended at the stroke of 11 p.m., cheers for more kept on well after the mics were cut.

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photo by Daniel Thomas Williams

Standing inside River Vintage during the seventh edition of the singer/songwriter event For the Sake of the Song Sundays (FSSS), I whisper to my friend until the crowd’s stirring settles and heavy silence stares me down. In the upper right-hand corner of the room, above the little stage, a picture of wild horses resembling those on Bob Seger’s “Against the Wind” is stuck to the wall. With a plastic sheen and uneven wooden frame, the image hangs like an enlarged postage stamp.

And, as Rich Hope sits humbly on stage, he sincerely delivers blues tunes to the audience. Prior to Hope, local talent Katelyn Molgard addressed the audience; her head occassionally falling forward, catching on hanging cords, her voice wonderfully riveted and chipped. Molgard’s sharp blues were then followed by a sunnier second act as Vancouver musicians, Shawn Hall and Matthew Rogers of the Harpoonist & The Axe Murderer effectively coordinate harmonica and guitar notes into dynamic and dance-worthy roots beats. Both performances are appropriately punctuated by friendly chatter.

Indeed, the evening was a mixture of vibrancy and silent respect; a night of cheap beer, dancing, singing and strumming in a room caught ramblin’, Jack Elliott style. And it continued ramblin’ until a noise complaint forced a folk fan exodus two songs into Hope’s set. As the audience scattered, it seemed like this interruption was significant, like there was suddenly a danger in this safe place. The dreamy living room awoke, once again a venue.

illustration by Dana Kearley

A week later, I meet Bob Sumner and Elliot Way, the duo that started FSSS, at Roundel Café. Sumner, a musician from White Rock, contributes both his last name and musical talents (guitar/vocals) to country/folk band The Sumner Brothers, while Way is a local musician, music organizer and owner of The River Vintage Clothing and Musical Instruments on Commercial Drive. Aware of their individual endeavours, I am about to be inspired by their collaboration.

Born out of The Classic, a similar event held by Way in Langley, FSSS first began in August 2011. From the beginning the shows were designed to be heartbreaking, held on what Way describes as the dreary “decline of the weekend.” Named after the Townes Van Zandt song, FSSS is a reminder of the honest reverence owed to music. And this reverence is a monthly ritual, as local and visiting roots inspired singers/songwriters perform for attentive fans at The River Vintage.

It might be ambitious to describe FSSS as Vancouver’s version of the Jester or the Cafe Wha? but that’s the shape Sumner and Way would like the event to take. Sumner explains, “There’s nowhere in town that we know of, where people can sing songs, like just good songs with just an acoustic guitar and 50 to 80 people sit cross-legged and listen.”

“There is no escaping the power of these songs,” and Sumner points out that for the performers, “it’ll be the best night on their tour,” Way says.

Bob Sumner and Elliot Way | | photo by Jonathan Dy

But not just anyone is awarded the opportunity to play at FSSS. The selection process aligns with FSSS’s need for what Sumner describes as, “a strong vision,” ensuring that only the strongest folk performers, both local and out-of-town, play. This selectivity extends even to celebrity appeal. “We wouldn’t let Jack Johnson play,” says Sumner. He and Way also immediately reject John Mayer, although when asked hypothetically if they would accept $10,000 in exchange for a performance, they are undecided. If they did let him play though, Way promises he would change the name of the store for a day.

The heartfelt musicians who do perform at FSSS, step on stage to inspire and step off stage to be inspired. Sumner and Way carefully align musicians with complementary sounds, so that when the lineup is arranged, excitement builds, “thinking about each one of them hearing each other. And when this leads to friendship and collaboration, we call that community.”

Sumner emphasizes the significance of this by drawing on his own experience. After performing as a band for seven years alongside many other bands, some they liked, some they didn’t, Sumner admits that the band “always felt like an island.” He continues, explaining how Way came along and “almost overnight it feels like we’re part of a community that all care about each other and are all working towards a goal together, which is the only way a music scene can really be successful.” Way casually receives the praise by suggesting, “I just want to listen to good music and be around good people,” but Sumner quickly adds, “it’s not like Elliot has ever made a single penny from any show he’s ever promoted.” And this comment puts us back on track.

Entrance to FSSS is free and beers are served for a three dollar donation, which prompts me to ask if this cheapness articulates to the audience that FSSS is wholeheartedly about the music. Sumner and Way nod that this is the case. Way elaborates, “music fans and musicians aren’t rich people so why make it about capital?” The two are determined to keep the night free, reminding me that they’ve always made enough in beer sales and entrance donations to pay the musicians well. The space is, however, financially sustained by its day job as a vintage clothing store, prompting Sumner to explain the ugly reality that “if we wanted to charge people five bucks then we would probably have a third of the turn out.” It is the grim truth that living in the most expensive city in North America, where clubs on Granville Street thrive and Donnelly pubs are always full, “five bucks stops people from coming to see amazing music.”

Nevertheless, FSSS exists, carried on the backs of two fans who are breaking down the barriers between audience, performer, and venue, creating a community grounded in good music. And despite the darkness cast by financial burdens in a city where music venues struggle to maintain their integrity, Way reminds me that it all comes down to the honesty of a song. “That’s what it’s all about.” And before departing the café we open our fortune cookies. Way’s fortune reads, “Your kindness will lead you to success.” A welcome thought, though his passion is what I would bet on.

 
Editor’s Note: Shortly after this article went to print for the May issue of Discorder, the River Vintage had to close its doors. While it is a loss for the community, Sumner and Way will be continuing to host For The Sake of the Song Sundays at the China Cloud at 524 Main Street and other venues in the future if necessary. For the current information on the event, visit For The Sake of the Song Sundays on Facebook.

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illustration by Brennan Kelly

Late on a Thursday evening, hunkered down in a basement jam space crammed end-to-end with sparkly drum kits and vintage synthesizers and covered floor to ceiling in cheap but lush-looking Persian carpeting, Brasstronaut embody the calm in the eye of the storm. The big storm is the impending May 15 release of their second full-length album, Mean Sun, which heralds a cross-Canada tour and revving up their promotional media machine.

  But there is also a storm within a storm, a whirlwind of online debate and acrimony sparked by a contentious op-ed piece printed in the Georgia Straight that week. The article attacked bands who pursue crowdsourced funding for albums and tours through sites like Kickstarter and Indiegogo, and author Michael Mann, uses Brasstronaut as an offensive example of what he refers to as “pan-handling online.” The band is not shying away from the discussion.

  Earlier in the day before meeting, Tariq Hussain (lap steel, guitar) met with Mann in the CBC studios for a live discussion on the radio show On the Coast. Rather than fueling the fires of recrimination, Hussain left the show feeling positive. “You touch a nerve when you talk about arts funding,” he says. “This particular article [in the Georgia Straight] is a little bit acerbic, but if you look beyond that there are probably a lot of people who have the same questions, so it’s good to have a discussion about it.”

  The “it” in general is the growing practice of bands raising money by asking for direct contributions from their fans, which has become increasingly common since the launch of websites like Kickstarter. Specifically, the “it” that got them entangled in the debate is the Indiegogo campaign that the band set up early in April. Having been turned down for a FACTOR recording grant twice, and without the backing of a record label to pay for Mean Sun, Brasstronaut went ahead and recorded it anyway.

Brasstronaut | | Mean Sun

  “The campaign’s been such a positive experience in a lot of ways,” agrees Samuel Davidson (EWI, clarinet). “It’s an innovative way of fundraising. It’s not total charity. We’re offering limited edition, autographed copies of albums. You know, we’re making it special. People are really encouraging and really happy to help out, and it seems like we’re building an identity with our fans more through it.”
 

 
  Fans and finances aside, writing and recording their sophomore album precipitated some new experiences for the band internally as well. The process they underwent making 2010’s Mt Chimaera, their first full-length album, was protracted and fragmented; new band members—Hussain and Davidson, whom the rest of the band met during their residency at the Banff Centre in 2009—joined partway through the initial recordings, which were later torn apart and reworked back in Vancouver over several months. Mean Sun, on the other hand, was birthed rather seamlessly. “It was written within a month, basically,” recounts Van Breeman, “and then we went into the studio weeks later.”

 
“In a way, it feels like our first record,” Walsh says. Everyone present nods in agreement.

“I think this is the first truly collective work the band has put out,” adds Brennan Saul (percussion). “It’s our first full-blown collective sound.”

 
  That sound is a spacious, soft, whooshing kind of pop music, a sound that is inviting and intimate, a little bit tripped out, and saturated with melancholy. The title track on Mean Sun, exemplary if not a little more down-tempo than most songs on the album, is the sound of a break-up in outer space, of Le Petite Prince wandering his barren asteroid after his rose has lied to him. The rest of the album takes that sound and applies it to varying degrees, dialing up the pulse of optimism here, like on opener “Bounce,” and blanketing you with stars there; cue the heavily filtered horns and distorted synths on “The Grove.” Overall, the greater cohesion of the band shines through on this effort and fosters its rather polished sound.

 
  In the past, Brasstronaut has been somewhat at odds with the labels the press has given it. At least a handful of articles from the last couple of years quote Van Breeman’s protest that “we’re not a jazz band,” a term easily reached for perhaps due to their employment of Davidson’s clarinet and Bryan Davies (not present at the interview) trumpet. When asked how they are resolving the gap between the music they think they’re making and the way it is communicated by journalists and critics, the band is almost blasé.

  “It’s resolving itself by us not caring anymore,” asserts Davidson. “People call it whatever they call it, and we just make whatever music we make.”

  Noting some groups that spring to mind, Van Breeman discusses the ever more common reality of bands having a myriad of contrasting influences, resulting in genre-blending sounds that defy categorization. “Like Grimes,” he says. “What’s Grimes?” (According to Pitchfork she’s “airy post-Internet cyber-pop.” Obviously.)

 
  Unconcerned with the “this band meets this band meets this band” comparisons on the horizon, Brasstronaut are in rolled-up sleeves work-mode, preparing for a busy year of touring and figuring out how to get the attention of as many fans and potential fans as possible. The band recently launched a new website with a blog designed to keep listeners informed of their activities and whereabouts, and they are making forays into the usual social media suspects.

  “We’ve been, uh, ‘twitting’,” admits Van Breeman. “[We realized] that if people really love the music, how do you reach them?” he says of their commitment to connecting to and communicating with their audience. “How do you keep reaching them?”

  To a man, the band seems preoccupied with finding a way forward, a way to keep going despite the hurdles facing independent bands these days, such as a lack of label support, dwindling public funds, and all that free mp3 downloading people do.

  “We have fun playing. Thank God,” says Davidson.

  Besides $15,000, what more could you ask for?

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