When most people hear the name Michael Lee mentioned in the music industry, they first think of the legendary drummer whom played for such greats as The Cult, Echo & the Bunnymen and most notably Robert Plant’s and Jimmy Page’s answer to a finally fallen Led Zepplin.  This is not that Michael Lee, may he rest in peace, but a new artist from Buckinghamshire (both hailing from the United Kingdom, respectively) with a new record, Face Forward, a fierce alternative rock album with ambient sensibility and star quality performances.

Every song on Face Forward is remarkably consistent, an impeccable studio album with Michael Lee himself playing 10 instruments including vocals.  All of the artists in Lee’s entourage have an incredible sense of dynamic control perhaps best displayed in the album’s namesake song “Face Forward,” – an instrumental, of all things!  Progressive layers of sound build with Lee –also on drums- into something more on par with rock opera. Imagine a much more mellow, chill Queen and you have Michael Lee’s epic album, yet they are multi-inspired and definitely developing their own unique style.  The guitar and vocals are unmistakably some sort of alien homage to Jeff Buckley, though Michael Lee is more consistent perhaps and less on the experimental side.  Their inspiration is as though they were picking up right where Jeff tragically left off.  Hopefully there is room in live performances to seek out such innovative music, but there is almost something too neat and clean about Face Forward, that has more pop sensibility then alternative creativity.  While well suited to the production studio and the radio, one must question the playability live.

“Despite” has a nice bluesy sound, but Lee fails to fully resolute many of the minor notes, usually nice and dirty, occasionally turns pitchy when the verse builds; by the chorus everything is perfect again.  One desires to hear the pain and struggle in those notes more, reaching more into an alternative soul that understands these songs shouldn’t only be about personal suffering, but the resonance of that pattern where ever one might travel this world with music.  The musician is essentially lucky in that they are only singing about the pain, and usually not directly experiencing it, though Face Forward has its moments of real empathic caring, it is questionable how much of this is metaphor and how much has really been lived through by the artist(s).

Face Forward is a powerful album with plenty of songs that are all at once comforting to the soul, refreshing to one’s musical senses, and full of glorious alternative fuzzy guitar goodness.   There are multiple tracks here that deserve to be singles, such as “Trust” or “In The Picture” having choruses good enough to stick in your mind and cheer up your day, or ease that aching heart; whereas the instrumentals and verses are complex enough to listen to the album many times through, discovering little guitar echoes fading to trippy keys or wonderful chorus harmonies that perfectly support Michael Lee.  This is what producers are talking about when a musician can both perform and cut a perfect studio album:  Michael Lee has “starpower” or that “wow-factor,” if you will, as a producer and the ability to back it up with a full-blown live concert tour.  But in order to do so he will have to be humble, and surround himself with many talented artists in order to compensate for the massive about of studio work he now takes on mostly single-handedly.  This American writer will be hoping they get enough homeland support to cross the pond and give our bars, clubs and stadiums a go!  The only real negative critique one can think of is confidence:  they have all the right ingredients to be super-stars, now they just have to want it and show the fans that they need it.  See a little of the world, write some more songs about why the love ballads like “Distant Future” are important.  What love is worth protecting from all these problems we face?  Perhaps even a name change would be appropriate, or a side-project where Lee’s creative energy is forced to synergize more with other artists whom have experiences that would add to Michael Lee’s lyrical perspective and instrumental experimentation.   Face Forward is technically impeccable, but so perfectionist and self-indulgent that one misses the grunge or perhaps punk aspects inherent in the lyrics and verging on strange guitar solos, but not necessarily clearly vocalized or expressed.  The only remedy for this is life: traveling, touring and really trying to understand the ethnicity of each exotic land you are blessed enough to travel through, otherwise the refrain in “Never Enough Time” could destroy anyone’s fame with simple worry and ego.  Michael Lee is strong enough to go out into the world and help solve some major issues with his music, and maintain the confidence and charisma needed to truly become an international recording artist, but it will take lots of hard work and understanding only gained helping others.

Review by Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Face Forward, Michael Lee

The human is a very complex animal.  Aside from the usual cliché tool using metaphors, let’s speak of commonality for a change.  All animals share attributes, but two of the most profound are song and dreams.  Everything that lives, surely resonates with sound, one way or another, be it of the minutest fashion, say the scraping of a squirming worm, or the most magnificent, booming whale song.  Then even the most insomniac amidst us slip into dreams, no matter what the animal.  What is pertinent about contrasting the two is just how mysterious they still are to our culture.  Human Brother walks the edge of scientific mystery and folklore mythology with transcendental lyrics and electrofunkadelic sound.  By creating new musical synergies with synthesizers colliding into classical instrumentals, natural, sometimes howling, vocals sing from the essence of humanity; raw yet focused, wild with purpose, blending harmonies reminiscent of a vibrant rainforest canopy.  Vision Days on the Life Ride is the essence currently missing from what’s left of alternative rock:  natural ­experiential truth.  “Wake up. You’re not sleeping, but you’re dreaming.”

“Stars Are Ours to Name” is far and away my favorite.  It deserves the two versions on the album, one studio cut and another live performance dedicated to Joe Strummer (of The Clash and shortly of The Pogues) “Who’s alive in all of us” evokes JD Shultz, a.k.a. Human Brother.  The song has an incredible retro feel that infuses more postmodern alternative drive.  The harmonies in the chorus are especially powerful, and this is one of the few albums one finds himself singing along to (while writing, in my case).  For the most part, the alterna-rock scene these days is missing the heart and soul of those whom cleared the way through the musical jungle, cutting away at the disco-machines and doo-wop boy/girl bands.  Vision Days on the Life Ride is homage to the trailblazers, and even going beyond exploring musical wilderness where some of the best bands of all time left off.  Surely, Human Brother deserves all the comparisons and praise they are currently receiving and then some.  The variety of both instrumental style, and vocal range is technically impressive and somehow always pleasing to the ear, always funky yet with all the new electro beeps and hums one would expect from ambience, bass and synthesizer provide a beautiful canvas for the seemingly never-ending creativity of Shultz’s vocals and instrumentals so they have lots of room for expression.

One can’t say enough about the harmonic sensibility.  Sometimes Human Brother gets very intricate. At one point in “Behind You Now”, the vocals split in three parts, a synth lies on top of it, a wah-wah pedal bends up into perfect resolution, and that’s not even counting the ethnic instrumentals, drums, bass, and possibly more synth layers!  This sort of complexity is woven in with such care that it may progress a measure or two, and then we’re back to a more simplistic (yet no less pleasing) verse.  It is overwhelming to try and discuss the level of production going on here.  Not only is JD Shultz an impeccable artist, but and unbelievable producer.  Shultz has enough experience growing up with musical legends, on stage with the pulse of the Hollywood music scene, and now a phenomenal fusion album dubbed a new genre, “Hu-manilectro,” that the up-and-coming artist may be a performing producer capable of greater things still, such as organizing a record label.  Similar beginnings that come to mind, though cross-genre, are like the careers of Dr. Dre going from N.W.A. to forming Aftermath, or perhaps like DJ Tiesto going from producer to DJ to forming Black Hole Records in the Netherlands.  It seems that the biggest problem for musicians these days in the wake of the collapse of the record industry is cooperation.  We are in need of great humble minds that can organize artists in a meaningful way.  As Human Brother says in “Step to the Side”, “It’s what you’re dreamin’ of, it’s what I’m afraid of… if we don’t pave the way, prepare us for the fall.”  Vision Days of the Life Ride is a spectacular remembrance of what was important about the musical past, but dually and intrepidly, a divine interpretation as history mimics itself this age.  Will we have time to step to the side?  Will we be able to ride the transcendental?  It is only possible if we embrace the natural animalistic, Hu-manilectro, if you will, origins of music and dreams.  Creativity for the sake of preserving the beauty of earth; these songs are prophetic and speak in dreams.  Human Brother’s poetry has insight that most artists are missing: tribal visionary clarity.

Review by Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Human Brother, Vision Days on the Life Ride

Benny Paul has mixed classical guitar mastery, alternative-punk style of vocals, folk poetry with a heart of bluesy country, and somehow produced a solid rock album.  I hope that is adequate, there are so many styles going on here it is difficult to discern any single influence.  The album My Kind of Normal stretches the fabric of the time-space continuum by synergizing so many great influences, that a style unique to Benny Paul is distinguished by range and ability. From raw screeching guitar solos to subtle classical melodies, his music is an exciting still undefined indie worthy of tearing up college radio around the world, and beyond.  The song Are You Happy especially hits home as a sure-fire hit on that scene.  The punk guitar and vocals conjure the spirit of the Sex Pistols, if Paul is a bit less vulgar and gives more sensible advice lyrically.  This kind of album is incredible for the massive extent and reach of artistic expression; one track your imagining moshpits and the next song it’s more like a folk jam-fest.  This is not normal.  This is Benny Paul’s normal, and life just wouldn’t be as interesting without such estranged perspectives.

Lyrically the subjects can range from love and misfortune, to striking juxtaposed comedy, when Paul sings “All I want for Christmas is a cardboard box,” it is humorous with stinging irony.  The song itself sounds funny, playful, but the message is poignant.  As cities around the world feel the depression, inner tent-cities have sprung up as my grandparents described the depression.  This is the kind of writing we usually find in Elvis Costello or Eric Clapton, great empathy for the common class, a message to help the poor and an incredible way of introducing painful subjects so that they do not offend, but grab the listener by the heart strings and tug gently to get the message across more effectively.

One must listen closely to Benny Paul’s singing.  His lyrics are brilliant, but his diction is muddy.  This is not a bad thing.  Honestly, it reminds me of a more lackadaisical Michael Stipe, who is -I must confess, a personal favorite- the lead singer of possibly the greatest band of all time, R.E.M.  One can hear the potential bursting from Paul’s voice; however he struggles with note resolution on occasion and has a tendency to mumble that takes a bit of power away from the impeccable guitar.  This may be a similarity between the two vocally.  There are two versions of Just a Touch by R.E.M.; one the familiar release on Life’s Rich Pageant, the other a live studio cut from And I Feel Fine.  The latter version is soft and mostly weaker then the album cut.  The difference is almost shocking, and all it took was a little more power, yet calm relaxed vocals on Life’s Rich Pageant, to boost the song into sensation.  I am highly biased, but this is a good musical example of where Paul’s voice also needs courage.  Sometimes I’m waiting for him to really build the vocals, only to have a soft song all the way through.  But this is a minor critique, the same way I would say I couldn’t understand early Stipe at first.  To put that into perspective, Murmur is still my favorite album, diction be damned.

Just because My Kind of Normal isn’t any sort of pop album doesn’t mean that it won’t be a treasure in your music collection to appreciate in value over time.  The album is indeed a work of art to be studied and enjoyed as the songs grow on you.  Benny Paul’s sense of alternative sound is only strange at first because it is at once, respectful of the past and groundbreaking.  If this is normal, this critic can’t wait to see Paul’s kind of supernormal.

Reviewed by Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Benny Paul, My Kind of Normal

Fusion is always exciting, be it a bit strange at first.  At the turn of an age, the scene of all creative expression goes through a symbiosis that ultimately, by deconstructing everything that came before it, reassembles itself into something that seems completely new.  Terrence McKenna coined this sort of change as the “Archaic Revival,” a way of taking all old or broken ideas and remixing them with modern failures to fix them, a sort of pastiche.  Thus every experience, especially failures, is of vital importance to new philosophical concepts.  This also means that the truth is never pretty.  For someone who has went to hell and back again, the truth is a road full of twists and turns, deception and temptation that destroys dreams, takes lives and hinders cultural progress.  The promise of Return from Broken is revitalization, the ability to see the worst of your insides and survive to become stronger.  Matt Soren has composed a fierce, clever culmination of mechanical industrial electro with a progressive sensibility and initiative to fight for survival against his greatest enemy: himself.

Don’t get me wrong and think that this music is masochistic, it is not.  It does however deal with subject matter on that level.  Anyone who hasn’t abused intoxicants or been close to taking their own life might find the album depressing.  On the other hand, those who have been addicted, abused and considered taking their own lives should find this sort of truth refreshing.  Soren’s ability to see through the pain and dream of ways to defeat the inner critic, though very glib in subject matter, are conceptually positive in outlook.  That being said, Matt is not yet fully recovered from his treacherous past, perhaps in a more vulnerable place then before.  Taking such a risk to share these thoughts is honorable.  Many of the songs deal with the moment we virtually all get stuck in, perhaps the moment of creation, or right before.  It is that place where you begin to make something wonderful, be it art, music, or anything creative, where the inner critic decides that everything is wrong, that the world is ending, that we’re worthless and every old problem starts to eat at the soul.  Songs like Broken start out in an intellectual quagmire, as Matt despairs “I still can’t let go, even though it’s the one thing holding me down.”  But by the end, he is talking sense, explaining the problems, asking for help and more importantly, planning a future that isn’t desolation for its own sake.

Much of the album is depressing; reaching to the interpersonal depravity that is familiar in early Nine Inch Nails, both is musical form and lyrical subjectivity.  However, the majority of it is too personal.  A perspective so inside one’s own life experience is a bit egomaniacal.  After a while, I simple have to tune out all the “I”s and “you”s simply for sanity and utilitarian use in everyday life.  The advice Soren offers is actually quite good when applied objectively and externally.  When his ideas are inwardly projected, it is quite easy to feel a sort of pseudo-sadness that is the illusion of caring, but honestly more like self-pity, loathing, and a sort of distrust of self that always comes with poetry too inwardly driven.  The poems are quite good applied to others who are in need.  It will be refreshing to here Matt move beyond the self-obsessed problems to some of the real issues we face as a society.  Until then, I am sorry to say, that most of these are love songs!  They may be detached, unromantic, technically difficult love songs, but initially most of the writing is centered on whomever the special “you” he is singing about, actually is.  Many times this magical romance solves the darker problems.  Drug addicts often refer to their substance of choice with such regard, and that is where one can identify just how intense of a problem dependency is.  The illusion that a substance can solve problems is a message that billions of people are in denial of and need to hear.  This is a difficult message to deliver, harder to create, and we have lost many great artists to it.  Even though the truth hurts sometimes, this is fighting the good fight.  Those whom have never experienced what he is talking about, take something you do all day everyday and simply stop; for instance, stop eating gluten or watching TV for the rest of your life and let Matt know how easy it was.  Then let us assure you, the unnamed substances he is referencing are even more difficult to refuse.  It almost always takes a complete lifestyle change, and Return from Broken is a multimedia journal of that sort of resolution to health.

Striking piano parts provide moments of unexpected warmth.  The song Surrender gradually wells up with subtle synthesis supporting the piano that builds until small chimes and mellifluous strings.  As the lyrics relinquish, “You know how desperately I tried, and it never was enough,” one wants to stay in the beauty of the moment, forever listening to more and more of this building symphonic beauty, but it’s impossible.  Vocally Matt Soren is very interesting, as some sort of cross between Trent Reznor (NIN) and Maynard Keenan (Tool) but less polished and with far less vocal breath support.  Soren’s raspy sort of whispers couldn’t be better, but the strong sustained power-house wailing of the aforementioned artists is rarely found.  Some meditation, voice lessons or whatever could go a long way for improving the ferocity of his sound.  A couple of the slides between notes do not resolute as quickly as they should either.  However, when Soren does get off it is only for seconds and then he is right back in his comfort zone again, a sort of droning baritone.  A higher technical difficulty in the vocals would breath even more life into these songs.  But you have to hand it to the guy, as he is the only band member and doing many times the work of a standard vocalist with a band supporting them.  In that light, his singing is already better then most front-men.  The impeccability of the instrumentals indicates that Soren doesn’t have much work to do to get everything fine tuned.  He just needs to hold our a few notes longer and really belt his voice (safely) on a few of the harder songs.  It is really cool when his voice is going through the effect processor and hits choruses like an electric guitar, favoring more of an alternative singing style.

The subtlety of Return from Broken is empowering and heart-breaking in the same instance. If it wasn’t for the concept of returning from this state strong, the album would be a collection of threnodies.  It is funny how much a title can matter.  If I didn’t know Soren’s ultimately positive outlook, say for example this album had been named merely Broken, it would be difficult to accept such negative observations.  But that is what is truly inspiring about Matt Soren; after seeing such despair in the world, after seeing the worst, one must go on, get stronger, and figure out some sort of solution.  Naturally then, the album starts off dismal which may throw some people off at first, but this conceptual album requires your attention start to finish to get the positivist perspective.  The ending is a very rewarding journey worth the time and emotional hardship.  Soren has done something nearly impossible that all great artists must do.  He has been to the bottom and now on the way up he is inspiring others to lift themselves out of despair and forge their own happiness.

Reviewed by Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Matt Soren, Return from Broken

What is romance?  Literally it was a form of adventure story, a hero on a quest with valiant intentions, a journey of epic proportions, but it has become so much more than that.  When stripped of words, romance can persist like a metaphysical force of nature, as though love was an element sculpting the world around us just as the forces of nature erode and evolve endlessly.  That is why we find passion in our craft, rending it from labor to art, if only we combine the love with hard work.  Dorothy Axelrod’s Somewhere in Romance is a work of sheer beauty that transcends conventional metaphor.  Despite being a collection of timeless piano pieces, her personal touch shows eminent passion for her music; near technically flawless, with just enough of her own style to make the album unique, classic, and astoundingly brilliant.

From the first few notes Somewhere in Romance grabs hold like an awe-inspiring dream that you don’t want to ever end.  Indeed, the entire album lives up to the fabulous rendition of Miss Saigon’s Sun and Moon where it begins and never lets go, gently progressing through old favorites and more modern fair, ending sweetly with an ingenious pairing of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and Somewhere from West Side Story.  The first time I put it on it got played six times in a row.  After the first four, my girlfriend got home and walked into the middle.  She remarked how beautiful it was and asked to see the song listings.  She then immediately skipped to Somewhere Over The Rainbow.  Dorothy Axelrod’s version is so marvelous that after the first couple of minutes, my girlfriend was in tears.  Not because she has some sort of abnormal sentimental attachment to it (though many do think quite fondly on it) but simply because it is played that well.  We immediately listened to the entire album through –again two more times- after that.  Each successive time, towards then end she would get sentimental and need a few good hugs.  Music rarely has such a great effect on her, or me for that matter, so it is a little personal experiential proof that Somewhere in Romance is truly a masterpiece that we will listen to for years to come.

The selection of music couldn’t have been better hand-picked or arranged.  Familiar favorites, such as Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, and even an Oscar Hammerstein II song, that all flow together well.  Axelrod’s particular flair sounds as though her fingertips have evoked the sense of a jazz scat vocal improvisation, filling the spaces between notes with nimble agility.  Her style shines through blending everything into harmonious romance, as though all of these songs were meant to be played together.  The only work I can find that even compares is some of the epic classical music being composed for fantasy, such as Kumi Tanioka’s work for Square-Enix, herself influenced by ancient stories and instruments, much of it solo piano, striking a familiar chord with Dorothy’s music.  Both have a rival like capability of impeccable timing, flawless performance, and love for epic music.  I could see Axelrod’s music working superbly well for heroic movies or maybe even fantasy gaming.  There is a surprisingly responsive audience to a sort of post-modern classical when associated with romantic literature, be it visual or virtual, which welcomes this genre with open arms.

Axelrod even managed to help me like a song I previously didn’t enjoy:  Somewhere Out There.  I know, the original song is all right, but when I was young there was always something I hated about character actors singing in high squeaky pitches, and I rarely enjoyed the romantic duets that plagued the radio of the late 80s.  Stripped of rodent vocal styling, the song takes flight with the simple power of the piano, and now I can say I love Somewhere Out There.  This version, for me, puts the old versions to shame.  It is always incredible when someone’s insight is enough to take one’s emotions from dislike to love, and Dorothy has such rare insight, beyond doubt.

Somewhere in Romance by Dorothy Axelrod is a flawless work of solo piano that when played has the passion to make any place “that special place,” and to make every moment “that special moment,” to quote the inside of her album cover.  It is appropriate for any occasion, be it a formal wedding, or simply unwinding from a stressful day and is even smooth enough to sleep to, yet is inspiring enough to use as a theme for work.  Versatile, elegant and beautiful, one would be hard pressed to find a comparable pianist in the world today.  My only single criticism is this:  I want to hear some original material, too.  Otherwise, perfection.

 Reviewed By Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews

Living in the Fast Lane is a relaxing sort of comfort.  Peter Napthine’s folk, combined with a smooth jazz sensibility, create a wonderful style akin to a postmodern James Taylor sort of vibe.  The album searches for the humble truth oft passed by in such fast-paced times.

Don’t be fooled by Peter Napthine’s new album’s title, Living in the Fast lane, as it isn’t a description of the music, but rather, this album is meant to slow one down, relax the commuter spirit, and give reprieve to the stressed out, pulling you off of the freeway into a simpler, happier world.  Living in the Fast Lane is more like forty minutes spent in the carpool lane, in a relaxing sort of comfort, watching the peons speed by on their way to nothing of particular importance, Peter a humble narrator driving a tour bus full of metro-hippy folk artists on their way to a music festival where people don’t wear shoes and the audience smells funny (in a good way).  So sit back and relax, forget about the fast and the reckless masses, and start noticing what is missed in life by such an impatient pace.

The advice on the album is wonderful.  In the true style of folk mentors before him, the lyrics speak of everyday problems resolved with a unique perspective.  On a personal note, I must say I love it when artists include lyric sheets.  It’s a bit pretentious this day and age to hide what you’re saying, unless it is political or controversial.  Since these are mostly light-hearted love songs there is no need to hide anything.  Advice hits home in lines like “I just don’t know who to listen to.  Tell me who speaks the truth?  Is it the child, the man, or the mother in me?”  I would venture, all three!

While Peter may need a little vocal discipline, his poetry is spot on.  Sometimes the story goes from romance to grim reality, noting suffering in cause and effect, a mentality we could all do more with these days.  Due to the surrounding illusion of technology we oft forget the interconnectedness that may make our lives more comfortable; we strip the resources from another’s homeland, and indirectly from the children of those families.  Something Peter doesn’t forget.  The music industry could use more sustainable attitudes like this that help to support those who are struggling, instead of being hypersexual or blasé with wealth, the whole point of song was to spread the news those in charge didn’t want to fess up to.  News for the common folk!  Napthine maintains a voice for the lower-middle class whose wisdom extends far beyond social struggle, to the felt experience of the individual caught up in these circumstances.  Despite the problems, a positive outlook is always maintained and one can feel the faith exuding from the songs.

Napthine has a peculiar way of approaching note resolution.  It is obvious that he’s not pulling air from a correct posture, and a lot of notes start out from the throat and nose, slightly sharp.  This effect is almost always present at the beginning of songs, but usually by the chorus he pulls it together and sings from the soul.  Peter desperately needs to start each song with the same type of energy he finishes with.  Consistency would help more then anything at this point.

In Sickness, Peter’s formation of vowels cause the low bass notes go slightly out of tune.  His diction slurs the words about until he sounds a bit knackered on a few songs.  However, it is appropriate to the subject matter, but the S-s-s-sickness in the chorus shouldn’t make one want to p-p-p-puke; swaying effects on the consonant induce nausea in me.  Most prefer music technicality to melodramatic performance style.  However, it is appropriate, just not pleasant, like foul medicine that ultimately heals, but tastes horrid.

The back-up musicians Peter has collected are wonderful and a great compliment to his subtle, yet beautiful, guitar parts.  Alexandre Dalòia’s Flute playing is especially pleasant, adding much needed melody to Wonderful Girl and empowering Peter’s voice on Martin’s Tears.  The feeling produces a sort of laid back jazz to the folk vibe.  Smooth bass and easy-going drums add more to a sense of mutating folk when it was evolving into rock.  The choir is especially lovely on A Thousand Yesterdays.  Their addition could have really boosted a few of the quieter songs into incredible chorus crescendo.  As it is, they are like a treasure in the midst of all the simplicity.  Truly, a great group of artists support Peter’s work and accentuate it in every way.

This mesh of daft folk style, smart poetry, and unique vocals produces a sound akin to James Taylor doing an impersonation of Weird Al Yankovic playing a collection of serious songs, though Peter Napthine is usually more pleasant to listen to with a couple of exceptions.  Living in the Fast Lane is a well produced collection of songs, cohesive and well thought out.  Though perhaps it is a bit oddly titled, one might think of it as pulling over out of the fast lane and taking the scenic route.  There is nothing fast about this album, just slow relaxing folk sure to charm your overwhelmed senses, and help you forget the worries of a stressful day.  One can feel that Peter genuinely cares, such heart and soul are rare to find these days; the music echoes the passion that he exemplifies in his fast lane life that is balanced with peaceful music.

Reviewed By Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Living In The Fast Lane, Peter Napthine

Welcome Another Dimension of alternative romp.  Terracotta Pigeons has strummed a chord at the core of what made 90s rock so mesmerizing, fusing it with new frenetic style and creative exploration.  The music is seemingly constructed for the purpose of making whatever activity more intense, boundary dissolving bliss.  From paranoia to acceptance, inability morphs into the secret lessons of life disguised in front man (and drummer, that’s right) Steven Smith’s raw tripped out vocals.  The sound is so big; it is difficult to believe this is a studio album.  The roar of the bass and drums thunder like ten-thousand fans in a stadium roaring, making evident Terracotta’s experience with other great touring bands, this music is made to be turned up loud and shake the venue down to its very foundation.  This is one guy?  Surely not, it sounds like the real Terracotta Warriors are banging at the doors, fully armed in heavy Samurai chain mail, spears and katana, deceptively fast and overwhelmingly strong!

A reoccurring theme of breaking pop-culture reality screams through in gritty real scenario of lyrics.  The pounding music perfectly painting the scenes, like portraits of the homeless from Dostoevsky, nothing dumbed down or smoothed over, giving imagery that’s shaking to the core.  Inspiring for the courageous, perhaps intimidating or dangerous if one finds themselves caught up as one of Smith’s characters.  Metaphors are specific enough that they communicate a real empathy for the common person, yet loose enough that they are applicable to all walks of life. 

Terracotta has a familiar sort of grunge feel.  Nicely distorted guitar is met by warm bass throughout.  This forms a sort of musical playground for Smith’s vocals, which are quite versatile, if a bit nasal at times, are reminiscent of Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots for a verse perhaps, as on Truth, then a coarse filter warps his voice and a quick rap more like Zach de la Rocha of Rage Against the Machine.  Still other times, all together, it feels like a more precise Alice in Chains.  Smith is forging his own style by combining so many classic alternative elements, yet still paying homage to the genre.  Sometimes intensity reaches to metal and industrial, never losing the fundamentals, yet with lead guitar solos and filters that always fall pleasantly on the ears, even when the intensity crescendos into beautiful musical destruction.  Bridge is one hell of a sick drum solo that deserves to intro an amazing song live, like the title track or possibly Lips are Burning played loud and insane.

The adaptability of Terracotta Pigeons seems fit for the world.  One must wonder how well the band performs live, as it seems virtuoso Smith has his hands full producing, if the band lives up to the studio sessions these shows must be incredible.  This is a sound we’re missing on American music media and I believe the Pacific Northwest especially would appreciate this sort of heavy yet clever vibe.  Another perhaps unlikely audience is perhaps Japan, as the J-rock scene at this time is really into alternative nostalgia with a new sound twist.  This ability to create musical fusion is getting lots of attention, and it is something the pigeons have down.  With the right energy and publicity, there are few places that Terracotta Pigeons will find their sense of music goes unappreciated.  I would be most interested to know what this would imply to the Chinese culture especially, and how the name would effect the cultural perception of the music.

Ever-Forever-Never is a deep, complex delve into a brilliantly crafted studio project that rocks harder then anything out there on the airwaves. We desperately need Terracotta Pigeons ferocity in out wavering American alterna-rock music scene.  The multicultural mish-mash of the Northern Territory in Australia comes through in meaningful lyrics and soul felt instrumental.  Good things are happening Darwin.  Let’s hope it’s contagious. 

Reviewed By Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Ever Forever, Never, Terracotta Pigeons

Remember the days when you could turn on the radio and listen for new sounds, the latest techniques, and originality was the standard?  Lately the air waves are a wash of target audience pop-genre shticks that are missing realness, pnash and style.  It is clear now that what the music culture desperately needs is Another State of Mind.  The Punch Drunk Poets provide eloquent yet edgy relief from the monotony of the current music scene, with droll lyrics, multiple style infusions and a sense of adventure that keeps pushing the envelope of the creative horizon.

The fusion that these drunken poets are capable of is unreal.  One moment its core alternative, the next its blends some electronica, all with folk sensibility yet propulsive rock beats, wrap it up with a bow of eclectic individual styles within the band and a magnificent amalgamation is rend from the future, brought to present with classical style chaotically mutating.  Oddly enough, the spectrum of music is reminiscent, believe this or not, of the J-rock music scene in Japan.  This ability to seamlessly switch between genres is something international audiences really get into, going some way to explain Weezer’s popularity, and translatability despite language barriers.  Punch Drunk Poets has all the skill and power of world touring stadium rockers.  Comparable J-Rock might be Orange Range, as they emulate so many styles, yet still manage to remain true to themselves.  The Poet’s ability to change modes, build to beautiful harmonies, and then mix it up into abstract forms, but still return holding the melody, makes there tunes complex yet easy to sing-a-long with.  The alterna-rap that lead vocalist Aki manages to twist through, notably on Waiting For, is precise despite the technical difficulty, and especially reminiscent of universal class acts.  It is this sort of genre blending capability that is sure to see the Punch Drunk Poets through many different regions of cultural disparity.  Licks of guitar range from the brink of grunge-metal to Spanish guitar, with all between meshing it together.  The bass wails out where it should, provides smooth sound, but also quick slaps and funk accents.  Building up under the barrage of strings is subtle keys, other times phrases are long crescendo into trippy abstract sparkles of synth that perfectly accent the band.  All nailed together with clobbering rock drums, a clever style that is even sometimes surprising, though never abrasive, always driving the party onward. 

Most inspired is the expressive technical style of the Punch Drunk Poets.  On time, able to stop on a dime, often little side-solos or chanted words are inserted within the harmonies, giving an exalted feel to the context, musically and lyrically.  The instrumentals are unique, often diving into unfamiliar ground, but always returning to the main theme.  Refreshingly strange, yet cool enough that it never goes to far into experimental, for a musical anarchy that still hold respect for tradition, and taking the fans for a good ride.  Last Words builds especially well, with a catchy chorus that deconstructs the great dynamics of early 90s grunge, building with dexterous electro precision of the 00s.   When the lead guitar, synth and filter on the vocals all hit at once through the last chorus, the energy feels somewhere between metal mosh and trance flow paradise.  The effect is completed with a story about a murder presented in such an everyday scenario that one is easily supplanted into the interrogation room.  Profoundly building to the chorus: “I’d like to trade it all for just ten minutes with my doll.  We fought the last time we spoke.  And though I’d rather say goodbye, please just tell her when I died, I was sorry for all I broke.”   

At the core of all this incredible music is the Poets’ heart, admonishing words to the wise from experience.  Another State of Mind is a way of musical survival, as much as reaching out into dreams to try and make them a sustainable reality.  One can dream too much as easily as too little, and Punch Drunk Poets are testing the limits, refining the wild raw imagination, translating it into genre blending acumen sure to please many different types of audiences, with a little bit of something for everyone in the crowd.  One is left with a lucid psychedelic introspection that transcends current rock trends with ease.  An unbelievable first record, the sophomore release should be highly anticipated.

Reviewed By Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Another State of Mind, Punch Drunk Poets

The first thing one notices about Paul Kloschinsky is consummate creativity.  A poet, artist, photographer, singer-songwriter, and producer, to name but a few occupations, the album Woodlands is a renaissance of expression all from one illustrious performer.  For a moment at the beginning, one is thrown off a bit by the lamentation of life and the coarse vocals, but soon swept up by intensifying strings and piano welling up under the acoustic guitar, everything is in its place.  Wearin’ Blue harkens to blues and folk dirges circa 1960s style, acoustic and harmonica, but most important, lyrics that strum a chord deep down in the soul.  Paul never just writes a blues melody, or a love song, as the introspection is always considering different perspectives.  As opposed to the common stereotype of blue being depression, here we are talking about sorrow, a concept all but lost on a satiated culture.  The real definition of blue is mystic, and fits mythos made in ancient Gaelic or perhaps Hebrew lore more then anything modern.  For these ancient traditions, the color blue was multifaceted pertaining to all the aspects of life shaped by the spirit of the color.  The Blue magic, as it is becoming pop-classified, is typically animalistic, and pertains to natural common sense for survival.  They are a less spoken of class somewhere between bards, druids, and ovates in Irish lore, taking some skill from each practice and combining them with a wild style, like a wise old hermit.  Also, the blue is somewhat literal, as the tuatha Gorm (my own ancient surname, literally means blue in Gaelic, if a reference is necessary) were renowned for running into battle painted blue.  You may recognize this from Braveheart, which casually ripped off the heritage, and portrayed it completely wrong; my family ran into battle, weapons in hand, blue and naked.  So when Kloschinsky sings “And the wind blows the wasted words that were tried, down to the poets who fought as they died, wearing blue” thinking of my family, it brought me to tears.  I can see the millions, not only of my own lineage, but any natives who stood up for their beliefs in nature, and I am right there with him.  The tragedy of all the witches and forest people, decimated by the new righteous politico religioso by any name, pick an invader; pick any paranoid reason to massacre the innocent for thousands of years.  Generation after generation throwing themselves at the great evolving armies of the world, and yet they carried on saving a multitude of natural wonders merely by living side by side with their environments.  Wearin’ Blue is an epic of much sorrow, but understand it is a victory song, redemption of sorts, as the miracle is that these old poems still exist at all.  Not all the might of all the empires that ever stood could stop the bards from singing on.  Long live the Woodlands!

Especially refreshing is Kloschinsky’s ability to mix natural metaphors of the wilderness with modern cultural problems to offer elucidation.  Songs like Woodlands, In My Mind, and Whisper of the Wild Weeds give simple explication. “Take a moment, breath the air.  It’ll keep you hangin’ on.”  It may sound silly, but the worst thing anyone can do in a bad situation is to clench up and hyperventilate.  Remembering to take the moment, to actually breath fully, to think instead of panic, is perhaps one of the biggest problems we face.  Paired with simple practical advice are the more abstract metaphors of nature, specifically elementals.  How quick are we to forget how each bit of nature is required to sustain us.  Kloschinsky sees a different world then most.  It is clear from his poetry that the natural world is not only very much alive, but that it all flows through us.  This is why Paul’s folk-flow is language piercing, adding multiple definitions to each subject, always changing perspective to consider the truth, and the honest truth is unspeakable, forever changing.

Beyond the natural world is the nature of culture.  “Have you heard the tale of the princess who was jailed in a dark dirty prison where she cried a thousand sleepless nights for the many who had died but fought bravely by her side to the end?”  The epic story in the song Seven Riders seems to reach backward through time to mystic history when kingdoms were first being built, and still touches any timeline, as one could picture a new Americas being torn apart by settlers, the princess could just as easily be a cowboy’s sweetie or a native’s beloved.  The story is a Mad Libs of every “rescue the princess” type of scenario that ever took place throughout time.  It is difficult to even find stories or poetry on this level of epic odyssey.  Paul Kloschisky’s works seem to emulate the courage of Homer’s Odyssey, especially the imagery of An Anchor from the Race, yet there is something more there as crazy dreams are allowed to seep into the storyline.  A better comparison may be an emerging James Joyce right around the time Ulysses was being written.  Ulysses was the commoner’s Odyssey.  The peregrinations of the main characters in Kloschinsky’s songs are universal in application just as the affairs found throughout Joyce, or even Dostoyevsky, as the everyday hum-drum life becomes the living natural world, and that every character in life has an equal opportunity to be the hero, the villain, or anything between.  With this sort of egoless thinking, elemental understanding, and poetic elegance, Paul Kloschinsky is an amazing story teller.  Be it poem, song or art, The Woodlands has been crafted with such deftness that one might say it was grown.  The spirit of nature is accurately recorded and translated for us in a way that provides a new take on old answers to many social ills, as coming from the environment and common sense.  Not only is it a great album, but a voice that must be heard in this climate of post-modernity mechanization madness.  All the resources are gathered around us and now we simply suffer from a lack of good resolutions to our vices.  Paul’s wisdom seems to indicate that the key to life is natural and all around, if you but take the time to notice, you will survive.  Perhaps that is the secret of blue magic that earned them the title “Immortals.”  Woodlands is a timeless album, protected by the wisdom of love for nature and life, validated with the suffering of all who cleared the way before, a blue hymnus of truth.

Reviewed By Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Paul Kloschinsky, Woodlands

If you have to choose a great musician to study as a basis for your art, who would it be?  While most connoisseurs would probably mention a Beetle or Stones member, perhaps a guitar god or a pop presence, there are still a good handful left who would choose the living legend of alien-folk blues, Bob Dylan.  There are few better to apprentice under.  With Dylan’s songs perhaps creating more fame for others then himself, he is truly a bard’s musician.  The level of greatness is so high that it is often overlooked by the common listener, and that is what makes it good enough to be great.  Dylan rode the wave of a generation where power suddenly displaced from institutions to bare-foot hippy kids on college campuses with his folk style the organic anthem of peace and understanding.  Colin Rink’s Bury Me Deep in the Ground may be riding a similar wave of time; a resonance with the potential to inspire a new generation.   Rink’s sound advice, down to earth sensibility, truthful lyrics, and heartfelt stories resonate with the maladies currently being felt by millions as they begin to cope with troubles that most of us only heard our grandparents speak of.  The picture of the earthquake rift on the back of the album, namesake of the 1^st song, “SF Earthquake of 1906”, although historical, is brought to the forefront.  Rink is hinting everywhere that history will repeat itself. He does this without ever being allegorical or some doomsayer but, rather as an honest precaution against what we should already be prepared for, although all seem to forget with time.  This album makes one uncomfortable in the best way.  The problems being examined by Rink in the song “It’s A Comin’”, stretch from the personal to the global, presenting the choice of morality on all levels at once, challenging you to find the right way without ever revealing an agenda or hidden intention, but rather a stern warning on an apocalyptic future where the survivors will be determined by the fate of their decisions.  It is neither negative nor positive.  There are references to God, though never any alignment to a specific dogma.  It is refreshing to hear such bipartisan wisdom that holds such high respect for science and spirituality alike, boiling it down to common sense.  This is the sort of down to earth reality good folk music should always have. 

I’ve got to admit, I am being easier on Colin than I would be on most singers because he’s a songwriter with a guitar and a harmonica on a neck rack.  His singing at times, is a form of folk that in its inspired unpolished truth, the soaring diphthongs slide steps sharp or flat in a sort of neo-blues, swaying to incredibly insightful brilliant lyrics, in reminiscence of artists spanning the last century –with that sort of genius goes technical forgiveness.  In fact, I never want him to sound perfectly on pitch, it just wouldn’t be right.  One wishes for more sustained power in note resolution perhaps; however  it is in the trembling moments, the bold cries, the intense visions of the future, the rambling frets over humanity, the wisdom of lifetimes he didn’t live but salvages nonetheless in song, that we see the real raw expression of a true artist.  His emphasis on historical lore and current society make these potentially legendary lyrics.  It is easy to imagine the meaning of these songs holding for decades to come, being covered by various pop-artists perhaps, all along with Rink at the core, giving truth to lyrics in an age of pseudo-texting emoticons and plastic writing.  Just like Bob Dylan in the early 60’s, it seems Colin Rink is divining the future out for those wise enough to listen.  His knowledge of the past is so vivid that the future has become clear in metaphor.  “1984 is comin,’ … at least in the movies it was so clear… Sadness is comin,’ it’s gonna make the depression of the 30s look like a picnic.  These Godly powers are gonna make you sick.”  These lyrics transcend time and culture.  Indeed, it does make me sick as thoughts of my grandparents tales of the depression coupled with the famine and genocide of other places in the world, this made me think that perhaps the perpetual war in Orwell’s classic has been here all along.  Of course, George didn’t count on telecommunication being available to the masses for creative expression and it seems he had little faith in humanity or anything otherwise in his dystopia.  Rink, on the other hand, seems the society for what it is: everything.  There are places now like 1984, there are places where these “global” ailments aren’t even noticeable and things continue on as they have for thousands of years, yet all these are rapidly becoming homogenized despite antiquity.  Rink has kept me up well past the dawn thinking about his visions of the world.  It is too early to call Colin a prophet, or anything of the sort, however I for one am grateful that striving artists such as he remind us of these epic tragedy so that some day we may live to see safer happier lives in the future and that we live in places great enough that we may freely hear such poetry.  Bury your mind deep in his lyrics so you won’t end up in the ground when the time comes, be it in natural disaster or love gone awry, this is music for the wise, ways to live and balance life. 

Reviewed By Julian Gorman

Julian Gorman, Reviews Bury Me Deep In The Ground, Colin Rink