Last year, Harris Pittman, bassist for the now-disbanded L.A. group Henry Clay People, took part in the I Used to Love H.E.R. series to declare his affinity for Deltron 3030’s self-titled debut, released in 2000.
With the group’s follow-up finally released - 13 years later - Pittman has kindly returned to offer his take on Event II.
Deltron 3030 – which consists of Del the Funky Homosapien, Dan the Automator, and Kid Koala – live in the future.
Maybe not the year 3040 as the their second full length, Event II, suggests, but it’s got a good 15 years ahead of anything going on right now in hip-hop. Before you start listing off the members of Odd Future or A$AP Mob, remember Dan the Automator did that 17 years ago with Dr. Octagon.
Event II, has our protagonist, Deltron, living in a world where technology is so far advanced that society has imploded. His rhymes transcend time and remind us that power can, and will, corrupt. Del takes the high road and informs the listener of a greater goal for the future instead of quarreling with tangible enemies – maybe his peers that live above the underground in 2013 should take a listen.
Like 2000’s self-titled Deltron 3030, Event II embraces one of the most important elements of hip-hop: the DJ. Koala’s cuts remind us that scratching is an art form – one that can provide hooks. It may be the 31st century, but Koala refuses to see the art of scratching vinyl go the way of the rewind button.
Though the future is bleak, Automator provides a soundscape that recalls Maurice Jarre scores and samples from David Axelrod’s Urizen, from 1968’s Song of Innocence. The track “Nobody Can” slaps you with a bass line reminiscence of Prince Paul’s “Steady Slobbin” from Prince of Thieves, mixed with a Syd Barret-esque guitar that any Black Angels fan will envy. The bass lines on Event II are thick and nasty; we can thank Merlo Podlewski (aka J. Radio) for lending his wisdom.
Casual shares a track with Blur/Gorillaz frontman Damon Albarn, “What is This Loneliness.” Del and Casual, both founding members of Oakland’s Hieroglyphics, rhyme over spaghetti western guitar until Albarn drops, “It’s all in your head, this loneliness I’m feeling,” a haunting chorus that seems to invoke that hope is soon to be lost.
“Look Across the Sea” features the hopeful vocals of actress Mary Elizabeth Winstead (who played main love interest Ramona Flowers in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World) – perhaps a surprise at first, but after listening to this countless times, it’s becoming a standout track. While Deltron 3030 is often referenced as “underground hip-hop,” “Looks Across the Sea” could top any mainstream hip-hop station and maybe it should.
On “Do You Remember,” the vocals of English jazz/pop singer/songwriter Jamie Cullum seem to float over Del’s insight. It’s the perfect complement to the aforementioned Albarn track, but this time with a dash of optimism.
This volume of the Deltron saga features many guest appearances, from Mike Patton’s hook on debut single, “City from the Rising Ashes,” to insights on a foodie culture – or lack thereof? – by David Cross and chef David Chang.
Successfully following up a phenomenal debut record 13 years later is always a task that very rarely, if ever, accomplished. Event II defies those odds. Perhaps musician/producer Eric Bachmann was right with his comment that “the underground is overcrowded” – so maybe it’s time for Deltron 3030 to destroy mainstream hip-hop.
If you’ve been paying attention over the years, you’ve probably already heard/collected a good portion of the new Meanest Man Contest album, Everything Worth Mentioning, coming out Oct. 29 on Gold Robot Records.
Yes, the album marks the first since 2003’s acclaimed Merit for the Bay Area duo of Noah Blumberg (aka Quarterbar) and Eric Steuer (aka Eriksolo). But in the years that followed, MMC released a series of singles, EPs, remixes – and the best of those songs (along with a new one, “In the Dark,” and some other unreleased demos and such) make up the collection on Everything Worth Mentioning.
Steuer told me: “The idea was to take a look at the dozens of songs we’d done since our first (and only) album, throw out everything that didn’t hold up, and remix, remaster, and in some cases re-record the stuff we liked the best.”
Jon Rauhouse is a master of all things stringed - from the pedal-steel guitar to the banjo to everything in between. Besides being a card-carrying member of Neko Case’s band, Rauhouse has offered his extensive talents to tours/recordings with Calexico, Billy Bob Thornton, Jakob Dylan and so many more.
What’s more, we’re proud to call him an Arizonan - a true native and an influential figure in the local scene.
Jon was kind enough to spend a good chunk of time on the phone with me ahead of Thursday’s Neko Case show in Phoenix - a homecoming for Rauhouse that will include his own opening set.
So how has the tour been?
We’re having a blast. Total great crowds – Chicago was awesome and we got to see a bunch of people we know. And Mavis (Staples) was on and I’d never seen her before and it just blew me away.
How long have you played with Neko?
It’s been 13 years, I think. Well, the first thing I did with her - I think it was ‘99 and it came out in 2000, but I’m not good with dates. I met her before that and sat in with her a couple times when I was with the Grievous Angels, and we did that recording of “Favorite” that was on the five-year Bloodshot compilation. I think that came out in 2000, but we recorded it in ‘99. And then early in 2000 she asked me to tour with her, and I’ve been touring with her ever since.
That leads into what I was going to ask about how you two met.
We were on the same label and I was touring with Sally Timms - her and Sally were friends and we would hang out. I was playing with Calexico in Austin for a bunch of shows. And I was in a hotel in Austin, and it was crazy, I think that year I sat in and did 14 shows during South by Southwest. Neko was in the hotel room and she’d come by and hang out with me and (wife) Jennifer and she just offered me the gig.
She said, “Would you go out on tour with me?” I said yeah. And she said, “I can only pay you 15 bucks a day.” And I said, “Let’s do it.”
15 bucks a day - you probably had to get a little creative.
Well, it was 10 more bucks than what Grievous was paying me (laughs).
Well, now look at ya.
Exactly. I’m glad I hung in there.
Looking at Neko’s career arc - and I think I saw her the first time years ago at the old Nita’s Hideaway - are you at all surprised by her success?
Not as much because it’s been 14 years. We did years of driving the van ourselves and playing in sports bars to people watching ballgames. A lot of people remember that, but a lot of people don’t because they hear about her and when you get bigger more people hear about you and they weren’t there for that. They can hear me tell this story and all that, but they just can’t picture it. We literally slept in the van. When you tour like that, it’s like, OK, you draw straws to see who guards the gear and sleep in the van.
It’s been gradual, but it’s been really nice for me because it’s just gone slowly upper and upper and better and better.
What’s it like recording and arranging records with her? Is it kind of a democratic process or is she arranging everything and you guys are following her lead?
She writes all the stuff, definitely all the lyrics. The stuff I’ve done with her I’ve gotten credit for was because she just couldn’t figure where to take a section - you know, she knew what she wanted to do vocally but couldn’t figure out what would match underneath it. I would go, “How about this or how about this?” and you find something that works.
But she definitely has an idea of what she wants in her head about how the song is going to go. She’ll hear something in the studio that somebody does and be like, “Oh, we’re using that.” For me, anyway, she never tells me what to play or whatever. I just go in and do my stuff and if she doesn’t like it, she’ll say, “No, that doesn’t fit,” but usually she just sits and if she doesn’t say anything, then it’s all fine.
Plus, I’d rather have direction when I’m doing work on other people’s records because it’s their record and I want ‘em to be happy.
So what about your record? What’s the plan for your next release?
Well, I’m almost done and I’m trying not to jinx it. I’m hoping I can get it out sometime next year - early next year maybe. It’s really close. I gotta get a couple more days in Wavelab.
So the last one (Steel Guitar Heart Attack on Bloodshot Records) came out in ‘07 …
Yeeeah, goddamn it (laughs).
You’e obviously an in-demand guy, is it hard for you to concentrate on getting your own stuff out?
It is for two reasons. One is that I’m bound and determined to use really good people, like Kevin O’Donnell on drums and Will (Lovell) on bass and Tommy Connell as the main bunch of people.
But everybody is crazy busy, so like right now I’m trying to maneuver a day because we got two weeks off in between the end of major touring and the beginning of going to Europe for three weeks.
And another thing is the cost. It’s flying Kevin someplace or trying to get somebody and I’m trying to get Robin Vining now to do some piano stuff and now he’s out with Jimmy Eat World. It’s good for everybody that everybody’s working.
And you’re OK being patient with that and waiting it out?
I am, yeah, because I want the guys to play. … I want to use good musicians and guys I love. I like how it’s turning out and the stuff we’re doing. It’s hard for me - there’s so many things I wanna do, like TV themes (“Perry Mason” interpretation) and I’ve written a bunch of my own stuff and I’ve written a bunch of stuff with Rachel Flotard.
But it’s hard. In this day and age it’s hard to put out an 18-song record when you’re only gonna get paid for 11.
Are you less inclined to push yourself to get an album done when that’s the case?
I think so because if I end up spending a ton of money, you never recoup it. I put ‘em out anyway, and I’m gonna just because it’s what I do and it’s the kind of stuff I like and nobody else does it and I just hope somebody else will hear that kind of stuff and choose that path.
Are pedal-steel players considered a rare breed these days?
Yeah, they are. I’ve been talking to a lot of people about that recently, and right now I can think of me, Greg Leisz and Eric Heywood are guys that actually go out and tour and play with people and do other people’s records. There are guys in bands that double up, like I do, too, with Neko.
It’s a complicated, hard thing to play and it takes time to learn it. And I’m not slagging everybody, but the attention span of a lot of people is to not spend that much time with something. So you’ll see a guy that dabbles with it and he’ll play it on a record, but they’re not known as that kind of a guy.
And I go to the steel guitar conventions just to see the old guys, and most of them are gone. I’m usually one of the youngest guys there, which is really frightening - I’m 55.
For the non-guitar players among us, what makes that instrument so unique and so complicated?
Well, with the pedals and the knee levers, you can change the pitch of strings. You can do that while you’re playing it. It gives you more of a vocal sound - like how you can move a voice without it segmenting up. You can find some of that on a guitar, but you can’t do it like you can on a pedal steel.
It always struck me as an emotional instrument. Like you said, you can really pull some things out of it.
Yeah, and that’s the reason I ended up playing it. I was in Phoenix 35 years ago when I got my first one. But I’d been listening to a guy, his name is Mike Hardwick - he lives in Austin and he still plays, he’s awesome - but I was just blown away by what was coming out of that thing. You know, I’d heard it in recordings, but actually then seeing someone do it and how it was going on - that’s what I was going to end up doing.
“I feel an obligation to pass it on and hope somebody picks up on it because the pedal-steel guitar has treated me very well in my life and I hope other people pick it up because it is a dying thing.”
Can you remember practicing and how much you were practicing when you first started?
I was young, so I was 19. And I drank a lot (laughs). I practiced a lot. And the dumb thing I did was practice barefoot. And so when I started bringing it into clubs and playing it out, I had to relearn how to play it with shoes on.
But I’d get up in the morning and start playing it - I’m sure I was driving my neighbors crazy.
So you didn’t start playing it until you were 19?
Yeah, I started playing banjo and steel guitar - I think banjo first and then I got a steel guitar and was playing them at the same time.
That’s interesting that you picked it up - I don’t want to say 19 is old - but at a later age.
It’s older than most people pick up musical instruments. There was a banjo at my house and I ran into a guy who was a killer player. I didn’t play, but my brother bought the banjo and he passed away. So it was just at the house. And I asked this guy if I could get banjo lessons and come to find out he lives like six houses away from me.
That was the banjo and I taught myself how to play steel guitar. There was no real teaching material. I had a guy show me how to tune it. You just had to figure out what people were doing on records. And that was the hard part. Because if you go with famous guys like Ralph Mooney, who did all the early, early Merle Haggard stuff - most of those guys were like mad scientists. Nobody was really making them; they were making them themselves. Bud Isaacs also had a weird pedal setup. There’s still some things I can’t copy because the pedal setup and knee lever setup is different on a lot of different steel guitars.
So I did end up teaching myself. There was nobody to go to.
There were no YouTube instructional videos when you were learning.
Nope. No, there weren’t. There was one book that was good that had the floppy record in it and that had like four songs you could play to and it had the musical tablature and you’d have to figure that out. So I learned those four songs and just had to go from there.
That’s incredible. And it’s great because I guess you learn your own style, right?
Yeah, a lot of people tell me when they hear me play on stuff they know it’s me. And that’s a huge compliment. But I think it’s because I wasn’t around anybody to learn from directly.
You said there’s a pedal-steel convention. Is that a yearly thing?
There’s several around the country. The big one is in St. Louis every year. There’s one in Phoenix in January. It’s awfully awesome. They bring out all these crazy steel players that come in and just rip it up. It’s something to see at least once in your life.
You said you go and there are some guys who just aren’t there anymore. Do you feel some sort of obligation to soak up what the older guys know and can teach you?
Oh, definitely. I wrote an article for Fretboard Journal about Bud Isaacs. He’s the first guy to ever use pedals in motion during a song, in 1953 or 1954. … He’s been doing it for decades and he’s in his mid-80s. He’s awesome and just talking to him … I think that’s the thing that a lot of younger people don’t understand is all the older musicians who have all this knowledge. The older musicians, there was a brotherhood to it. They shared a lot of stuff. I don’t know if that’s going on anymore.
But I do feel an obligation. And I feel an obligation to pass it on and hope somebody picks up on it because the pedal-steel guitar has treated me very well in my life and I hope other people pick it up because it is a dying thing.
Do you see many younger players or people asking you about it?
I get a lot of requests to do stuff that I can’t do; I can’t just teach because I’m always on the fly. … There are younger people, but I think a lot of people are so intimidated by the thing that they are afraid to play it out. …
The hard thing is it’s such a lug. I gotta lug so much crap around. A lot of people just don’t wanna do that. They will for a while, and then they’re like, “This isn’t getting me anywhere, I’m not making any money,” and they don’t do it. To a lot of people’s credit, too, when I was doing it, I could check eight things at the airport and not get charged for it, back in the ’90s. I literally would check an amp in a seat. Now I have to check five things when I travel now and it’s over $400 in overages. You can’t do that if you’re in a band that’s not making money.
What would you do if you were not a musician?
I have no idea, and I didn’t know I was going to do this. I graduated high school in ‘76, and in Phoenix at that time there were not very many jobs and not much going on. I almost joined the Army just to get paid. I’m glad I didn’t. I just started playing music. I got real lucky. We just started doing it and people liked it. We did work a lot. Back then you could work more and you’d actually get paid - not a lot, but you would get paid. I swear to God, you get paid less now than you did back then. All the people I love in Phoenix right now that are doing gigs, they’re making less money on those gigs than I made on those gigs back in, you know, 1980.
Tell me about the Phoenix scene. Where were you playing? What was it like then?
Well, back when I was playing the drinking age was 19. … There were all these clubs that had what people now call Americana music. It was bluegrass stuff, country stuff and rock stuff. It was very fun, but you had to play four sets a night and you had to bring your own PA.
You’re an Arizona native, and more impressive is that you’ve stayed here. You’re a guy that could have easily moved to Nashville.
The hard thing about that is if you’re a musician - I’m what you would call a successful musician but I do not make a ton of money. I do fine, but I work a lot. If you go to Austin and you go to Nashville - like I saw Ian McLagan playing happy hour in Austin for, like, beer money. There’s so many people there and so many good people in those places that to get in and to get in that level, somebody has to die. Yeah, you can come and you can be really good, unless you wanna do it for nothing, then you’re screwed.
I stayed in Phoenix, and every time I wanted to leave - and I almost left a couple times - my situation changed and I started playing music because I was here. So I stayed because that’s what I wanted to do. It has worked out for me and actually there is a scene in Phoenix, where you can play and people can get gigs in Phoenix. There’s a lot of towns you can’t. And seven or eight years ago in Phoenix, not so much. Not so much as there is now.
It’s amazing to see the growth of musicians and fans here. Shows are selling out all the time now. Like you said, seven or eight years ago you could be sure to just walk up to a show and get a ticket, no problem.
And you could see somebody really good and there’d be 20 people in there - somebody that just played Los Angeles to 2,000 people. I have no idea what was going on in Phoenix at that time.
It was really weird because I was traveling so much, I would leave and come back and every time I’d come back I’d noticed there’d be like, “Oh, what’s going on down here on Roosevelt?” And then there’d be a couple places to go see somebody and somebody I know would be coming through town and play. It just kind of built from there. And you gotta thank Charlie Levy (of Stateside Presents) on a lot of that.
But there is a scene here now. And there’s even a country scene. That just couldn’t happen. When I was in Grievous Angels, there was just Nita’s Hideaway (in Tempe). That was it. And any other place we’d go play would be closed in a week.
As a guy who has been here and seen it grow, is it gratifying to see?
Yeah, because at one point it was great and then it kinda tailed off. Raising the drinking age to 21 killed everything. Because that’s where bars were making a fortune. Bars didn’t have to do anything. You just throw up a couple of barrels and a board and start selling beer and you’d have students in there like crazy. Then when they figured out, “Oh, wait a minute. That whole group is gone and now we have to do promotion and all this other stuff.” Then it just became a ghost town.
A few bands did come out of that - the Gin Blossoms, the Refreshments and all that kind of stuff - but not very many. Then it slowly built up and got better again.
I guess the key is getting people from other cities to realize that.
Yeah, and it’s one of those things where if you’re on tour and coming up on a weekend, you want to play Los Angeles or you want to play Tucson or you want to play Texas. Phoenix was out. And where would you play? If you were small, you’d play the Mason Jar. … And now Charlie’s put up the Crescent. There are places now more conducive to actually listening to music. And I think that’s why more people stop now because you can play a Thursday night in Phoenix and do Friday in L.A. But before it was like, “Man, Thursday night in Phoenix, there’s gonna be like four people there.”
And there’s a myriad of people coming through - it’s all different styles and kinds. And Cibo has got the carriage house out back and you can go see somebody really awesome in a setting that you’d never get to. It’s awesome that people are doing things. And there’s the Lost Leaf, too.
Speaking of local music, did you have local influences while you were coming up?
There was a band called Yesterday’s Wine that played and they wrote their own music, they were great. They still would be great. I found their CD the other day and put it on - it’s better than half the stuff you hear now. The guy that was playing steel in that was why I went and saw them.
There’s another band, a bluegrass band, called the Normal Brothers that were amazing. Steve Thomas was the banjo player in that band. And the steel guitar player in Yesterday’s Wine was Mike Hardwick, who plays with Jon Dee Graham and he played for years with Jimmie Dale Gilmore and he played with Jerry Jeff Walker when Walker was big. See, that’s the thing: There’s all these working-class musicians and guys who come out of Phoenix and really do stuff and still do stuff, but nobody knows who they are.
As you’re touring now, are you able to step back and really take it all in?
Yeah, you know, we just did Fallon. And then we played this killer show in New York for Pandora, and it was great. It was with a bunch of people who won a contest to get into the show, but it was all Neko fans, so it was like 400 people jammed into this place that just all loved her. It was awesome.
The thing for me is I never take it for granted and I also think it could all go away at any second. … Enjoy it while it’s happening because it can all just stop. Right now, the band’s just burning and everyone’s having fun and everybody’s glad to be here. It’s really, really fun and everyone’s enjoying it and I’m really glad.
Well, now you’ve done it. You’ve gone and pissed Open Mike Eagle off. And in a mere three minutes and seven seconds, he’s scorched every last feeble rapper on “Middling,” a track off his new Sir Rockabye EP (yep).
This feels like some serious catharsis, the most aggressive/clever of diss tracks. Not even the diss-ees will get it. Mike Eagle cuts where it hurts the most, over the piano-loop production of Quelle Chris: “You eat plain frozen yogurt / and won’t know what to do when reality shows are over / I’d like to stick your head in an empty can of Folgers / I got with your member card from your local grocer.” This is Mike at his meanest, and I love it (”Pick a thing and you’ll ruin it.”). But even he softens the blow, admitting at one point: “OK, that was kind of mean.”
Like all Mike Eagle tracks, “Middling” demands your line-for-line attention. Don’t blink or you’ll miss a joke.
Musical synergy works best when you least expect it, offering a sense of surprise and inspiration all at once.
I knew the guys in Vampire Weekend were fans of hip-hop from past interviews, but I’d barely listened to the new album, let alone read the countless articles about it, before digging into Modern Vampires of the City on a vacation last week that required some road-trip material.
And that’s when “Step” stopped me dead in my tracks. The album’s third song stirred my subconscious, gently reminding me of a Souls of Mischief demo from long ago called “Step to My Girl.” The title was an obvious link, not to mention the familiar melody and chorus (you have no idea how much time I spent on the Hieroglyphics message boards back in the day). It all clicked – in one beautiful, mind-blowing moment in the car with my wife somewhere between Louisville and Cincinnati. Did Vampire Weekend really dig into Souls of Mischief demos to construct this ode 20 years after the fact? Was I really this excited about it? Yes and yes.
A Google search turned up my answer (and confirmed that I need to stay on top of music news more often). Singer Ezra Koenig told NPR in May:
“Souls Of Mischief I’ve always loved. I kind of associate them with the first time that I really started become a music fan as a young teenager. This song apparently was recorded around the time of their first album, which was called 93 ’til Infinity, but it never made the record and it floated around as a bootleg for awhile. I only discovered it five or six years ago but it always really stuck with me, especially the chorus. I didn’t know where it came from but they’re kind of like scratching somebody saying, “Every time I see you in the world, you always step to my girl.” Slowly as I listened to this song, I found myself kind of writing this alternate song based on that phrase. Later we found out that that in of itself is a sample from a rapper called YZ. We didn’t know that at the time. This was kind of the inspiration to write this other song that became ‘Step.’”
Even two months before that, in March, Koenig referred to the Souls influence on Twitter: “Who’s gonna draw out the Step family tree? Souls of Mischief (shoutout 2 those legends), of course, but then it gets a lil more complicated.”
Who's gonna draw out the Step family tree? Souls of Mischief (shoutout 2 those legends), of course, but then it gets a lil more complicated
Adding to the story line is the fact that Souls of Mischief have embarked on the “Still Infinity” tour (Aug. 14 at Club Red in Tempe) to mark the 20th anniversary of the release of 93 ’til Infinity, a favorite of mine and a downright classic. It’s clear I love when indie rock and hip-hop commingle, and twenty years later, it’s cool to see Souls’ influence at work in a most unexpected way.
But just when I’m coming to grips with this, I see this cover of “The Modern Leper” by the English folk/punk rabble-rouser Frank Turner, who tackled the song at a Record Store Day in-store performance, and I’m reminded again of just how great Midnight Organ Fight is – my favorite of 2008.
Based on name brand alone, you’d have to figure Overseas has the making of something incredible. And then all you have to do is listen to “Down Below” for confirmation that, yes, this will probably be just that.
There’s David Bazan (Pedro the Lion, Headphones, solo career). And then there’s Will Johnson (Centro-matic, South San Gabriel), who trades singing duties with Bazan. And, oh, yeah, there’s Matt and Bubba Kadane (Bedhead and the New Year, who are freaking great). Pretty soon, people will start throwing around that “supergroup” word, though it’s hardly some glamour project. These guys share a pretty rich history.
As it is, I’m reaching obsessive levels with the song “Down Below.” I’ve already pre-ordered the album, which comes with an instant download of it, but “Down Below” is currently owning me and I really don’t want to listen to anything else. Bazan’s lyrics are gut-wrenching in ways I feel like I haven’t quite figured out yet.
The Overseas album comes out in June, or you should just pre-order it and get that instant download.
If the lack of activity over the past month wasn’t a clue, I haven’t been feeling particularly inspired lately. Cue a new song from the National – just in time. I won’t even pretend to be anything other than the unobjective fanboy of the band I’ve been for the past eight years.
“Demons” is the first official leak from the forthcoming album Trouble Will Find Me, due out May 21. Where 2010’s “England” – and so many National songs before it - slayed me with triumphant crescendoes, “Demons” settles into a comfortable groove from the get-go. Matt Berninger, as usual, sings a tick behind the beat, giving the song an almost unnerving flow. But his talk-sing baritone keeps it together until the knockout, insecure chorus: “But I stay down, with my demons. I stay down, with my demons”
And I’ve been harping on this for years, but I think we can all agree that drummer Bryan Devendorf is the unheralded star of this and so many National songs. His drumming is a study in restrained control. As much as I love seeing a drummer become unhinged, there’s something similarly satisfying about a drummer who makes a statement by being understated, a composed level of self-control and confidence that reigns over a song. And Devendorf has done it here. Again.
Eric, who discussed Toro y Moi in his last post, is back for more, this time discussing War on Drugs bassist Dave Hartley’s solo project called Nightlands.
One album I’ve really been getting into these days is Nightlands’ sophomore release, Oak Island. Nightlands is a band I’ve only just become familiar with in a sort of Six Degrees of Separation (or Kevin Bacon) sense. I’m a big fan of Philly low-fi singer/guitarist Kurt Vile, who is, along with Adam Granduciel, one of the founding members of The War on Drugs. These days, Kurt Vile plays solo, but Granduciel is the guitarist for Vile’s band and the frontman for The War on Drugs. Nightlands is the side project of The War on Drugs bassist Dave Hartley. Got it?
Hartley seems like quite the multi-faceted musician, which is always intriguing to me. Sure, he plays in multiple bands, but that’s not that uncommon, at least within the confines of the indie-rock world. A rabid fan of the 76ers and the NBA in general, he also moonlights as a basketball writer for two different websites: Top of the Key for Philly music blog The Key, and Death Dunk for Impose Magazine. As someone who DVRs as much NBA TV as primetime television, I really appreciate both his love for his team and the honesty with which he assesses it. I also like that he’s got a special affinity for not only the star players, but also the blue-collar role players. The “lunch pail” guys. The Todd MacCullochs of the world. The Matt Bonners. The Paul Shirleys. I’ve always been someone who loves talking and reminiscing about the random minutiae of sports, and Hartley really nails that in his posts.
He’s also a hardcore sci-fi “enthusiast” (notice I went PC in favor of the more pejorative “nerd-burger”). You could be quite literal in describing Nightlands’ work thus far as either “spacey” or “dreamy.” Spacey in the sense that his his passion for sci-fi certainly pretty obviously finds his way onto Oak Island, which Pitchfork accurately described as “a big-concept, low-budget rendering of the space age sound redolent of any of the movies that came out as an immediate result of Star Wars.” It’s dreamy in the sense that he apparently wrote his debut album, Forget the Mantra, by putting a tape recorder next to his bed in an effort to gather musical ideas conceived mid-slumber.
Both of these qualities are on display in the video for the first single, “I Fell in Love With a Feeling,” a quick blend of strummy guitar and horns that reminds me a lot of Destroyer’s last album (certainly not a bad thing in my view), and Hartley’s voice morphed into a sort of one-man robot chorus.
My first instinct was to try to view Nightlands through a War on Drugs-colored lens, but that’s pretty immediately ruled out as an option as I began to listen to Oak Island. One project seems to have little, if anything to do with another, which is pretty perfect for a multi-instrumentalist/basketball blogger/sci-fi fan - a guy who’s clearly his own person and would seem to hate being or doing what you’d expect.
I ask for forgiveness – and I also ask that the band return to play Phoenix again (we have such great memories).
Let’s start my road to redemption by posting this video for “Backyard Skulls,” a song off Pedestrian Verse, which along with Light Up Gold by Parquet Courts, has so far commanded most of my attention in 2013. Here the band performs at what appears to be the remnants of some high school dance, a seemingly innocent scene set against the sort of harsh truths for adulthood to come: “Backyard skulls / deep beneath the ground / those backyard skulls / are not deep enough to never be found.”