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					Sound clips and more from CDNOW AMFM Also this issue: Here We Are Now -Patrick Rapa The Hangman James Lewes is documenting a very perishable part of the local rock scene. -Patrick Rapa Where They Were Then From Studio to salon to saloon, old-heads recall the scene they can¹t exactly remember. -A.D. Amorosi Punk Calling Diary of a man in a local band (or two) in the early 䢔s. -179Frank Blank² Moriarty Getting to the point the bryn mawr club knows where it¹s going, and where it¹s been. -Mary Armstrong Those were the frickin¹ days Rolling stone¹s david fricke remembers the main point -Patrick Rapa The Lowdown Peaks, valleys and what finally put a fork in The Low Road. -Lori Hill Deep Thoughts with The Low Road

October 17-23, 2002

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AMFM

The Sky Is The New Ground

by Patrick Rapa, Helen H. Thompson, P.R, John Vettese, Brian Howard, J.V, N.C, B.H and Nate Chinen

Astronauts have always made good pop-song fodder. Thoughts of men cooped up, rendered tiny by vastness, certainly inspire emotion, if not empathy, among us huddled masses. On The Sky Is The New Ground, AMFM's third release on Polyvinyl, Brian Sokel and Michael Parsell play space prodigies, offering four songs meditating on the inherent pain of departure for the metaphorical unknown. As we learned from Gloria Gaynor, outer space serves as a nifty metaphor for relationship exile, and the songs here do a nice job blurring the distinction. On the down-tempo, Jay Laughlin-co-written "Gone In Three" -- starting off with a blast-off countdown -- Sokel sings "Close your eyes; lay down by my side tonight/ Say those prayers that you know won't help you decide," while guitars and synthesizers swirl and you wonder what's on the other side of the door the singer is walking through.

This new quartet is one of Philadelphia's many underground heavy metal acts. We could stop the review right there and most readers would have a decent idea weather or not Bleed is worth their time, but a few points beg that I continue. First, although the band looks like Thrill Kill Kult circa 1991, the For You EP is surprisingly fresh. "Lost" could be Glenn Danzig appropriating mall metal's melodic sensibilities and checking the parental neglect whining at the door. But the CD's compelling cover art -- an über-low budget rendering of a model crying tears of Photoshop blood -- probably has about as much to say as the music itself.

With a wink and a nod, John Terlesky, a.k.a. Brother JT, offers a collection of spirituals and would-be spirituals rendered in his strummy, quasi-psychedelic image. Having long mixed the sacred and the profane as leader of The Original Sins, Brother JT delivers nine tracks -- including two traditionals -- examining the darker side of godliness. From the haunting, free-form "Praise Be," backed with electronic squiggles and meandering guitar, to the fuzzed-out, hand-clappy "Lord You Are The Wine," Terlesky makes for an oddly convincing testifier, reprising the post-apocalypticpreacher role he often embraces on stage. Ably mixing acoustic guitars and near-pop with existential whimsy and spacey morass has long been JT's calling card, and the addition of spirituality ups the ante. Listening to the original "Be With Us" ("Oh mighty death/ where is thy sting? When I hear the spirits sing/ they sing ŒWe want you to be with us'") it's easy to imagine him as head psalm-writer for the church of the damned.

When your fastest, most rockin' song is called "Buttercups," you know you're not exactly a tough band. Confident in his self-doubt and introspection, The Escargo-gos' main man Jayme Guokas (whose resumé includes two of Philly's most feathery pop bands, The Snow Fairies and Rabbit in Red) embraces the gentler side of life and love on Si vous. With a delicate acoustic guitar and a downy, soft voice, he delivers insightful lyrics about flowers, memories and girls, girls, girls (he likes but won't ever tell). Occasionally things stray into the cutesy -- lines like "Daydream and doodle the day away" -- but mostly this is the kind of lo-fi powerless pop you'll find yourself singing in the shower.

Sometimes it seems that Germantown's Orrin Evans has always been here, hovering just above obscurity, a heartbeat away from a household name. That may change with this album, which makes the most eloquent case yet for the pianist's maturity as a composer and leader. Evans' new repertoire showcases more than his known penchant for burnout improvisation (although, with tracks like "Don't Write No Shit About Me," that's here in abundance). There's also burnished romanticism ("Dawn Marie"), wandering lyricism ("Commitment") and sly sentiment ("Meant to Shine"). Aiding and abetting Evans are some of modern jazz's better-kept secrets: saxophonists Ralph Bowen and Sam Newsome, bassist Eric Revis, and drummer Gene Jackson. Everybody plays admirably, and nobody more so than the leader -- his solos are crisp and colorful, counterbalancing ramble with restraint. It remains to be seen whether this is the statement that pushes Evans into the jazz frontline, but it's clearly a step in the right direction.

Somewhere between the poppy tightness of The Get Up Kids and the chaotic ferocity of At the Drive-In, you'll find local kids Little League carving out a small corner of punk for themselves. Amid metal-ish guitar noise and complex rhythms, singer Wes Lieberher shouts lyrics that are sharp and a little crazy: "I hate the way you jump in place to the rhythm of that phony shit you are." It's seven songs worth of good stuff -- fierce one minute, fun the next and smart all the time. Some moments are actually a little warm (in a way), like the rock-not-emo anthem "Smile and Wave." "The sun will set and you will fly away," yells Lieberher as the guitars settle to a strum at song's end, "we'll have a drink, sit back and watch our tattoos fade and wither." We're late getting to this EP (it was released way back in March), but it's all we have to go on until they give us a full-length.

Although this is assuredly a local debut, Quite Sane has its origins in London, where it won Capital Radio's Best New Band award nearly a decade ago. Bassist/leader Anthony Tidd went transatlantic in the late-90s, settling in Philly and landing a seat in Steve Coleman's Five Elements. Tidd calls his music "Ab-Groove," and it's not a bad characterization; the group has clear affinities for Colemanesque logarithms and slippery meters (the saxophonist even guests on two tracks). What distinguishes The Child is its narrative framework; hip-hop verses (by Sebela and Mpho Skeef) and R&B vocals (by Eska Mtungwazi) paint portraits of inner-city turmoil and the consequence of compromise. It's an effective mixture -- "Stop," with its modified "Giant Steps" progression and tricky time cycle, is a highlight -- but given the context, there's a sense of preaching to the converted. Fortunately the playing is tight enough to carry even the weaker moments of lyric and flow.

The long-awaited new CD from these Philly mainstays is a great album that could have been so much better. Of the 12 cuts on The Lift & the Drag, an alarming seven are merely re-recorded versions of old tunes from 2000's That's Okay, I Can Sleep at Work and the 1999 set (back when they were called Cory) Pixie-Led. To be fair, the revisits are well-chosen and vastly superior to the originals. "Discotheque" delves deeper into its dancehall influences, "Explode" rocks like hell and a proper studio version of "Train Song" is nice indeed. The new selections don't disappoint, either. Steph Hayes gets all Amy Ray on the standout "Middle America" and proves herself to be the band's stronger (albeit understated) vocal force. At the same time, Sue Rosetti shows she's more than just a cutesy, squeaky voice on the positively poppy "Can't Handle It." But as any fan of Stargazer's relentless live shows could tell you, these four kids have no shortage of songs. Why are they dwelling in the past?

The first offering from Lansdale's young postmodern bards is full of surprises. That the female pianist-vocalist combination invites comparisons to Tori Amos and Kate Bush is not one of them -- but wait, there's more. There's two of them, both putting their classical training to its ultimate expression: rocking out like a finely tuned automobile. Behind the melodic engine, driven by Temple sophomores Nina Prendergast and Chrissy Loftus, is a rhythm section that shifts tempos and time signatures seamlessly. And, purring in the background, are saxophones and violins that tie everything together in a breathtaking attempt to defy any and all categorization. Strong tracks include the anthemic "Fire Under Ice," the breakbeat-driven murmurs of "Small World," and the political ballad "Candidate of Mind." There's room to grow here; the lyrics are intelligent but obscure, and not every track takes you to the vertigo-inspiring heights of "Ivory Shores," which opens the disc. But Trace Fury is as prolific as they are talented; if recent live shows are any indication, they are already raising the bar with material for the next album, due out next year.

There's no hint of a twang or drawl in Denison Witmer's sound, but you can't help but feel like these are cowboy songs. Sparse and lonely but also expansive and free, Philadelphia Songs is modern sleeping-under-the-stars music. Although each track mentions his hometown, the lyrics are wisely distant enough to express a universality of their themes and stories. With acoustic guitar strings sliding and chiming in the background, Witmer's voice moves with wistful grace and gravity. But that's stuff you already know if you've been following his career so far. A couple of standout tracks show us a songwriter more willing to write a catchy hook or melody once in a while without sacrificing his distinctly non-pop ideals. "24 Turned 25" is a short little rock song you'll hit repeat for and "Chestnut Hill" is at once ethereal and earthy. But track seven, "Do I Really Have To?" is pure Witmer -- nostalgic, pleading, moving. Philadelphia Songs is the finest disc from an artist who keeps topping himself.