Johnston grew up in South Korea (as the daughter of a Julliard pianist, no less) on a diet of The Beatles and jazz. More recently, after her Stateside disembarkation in 1997, she did time in Say Hi (formerly Say Hi to Your Mom) and Mon Frere. People Eating People grew out of the necessity for a personal creative outlet.

Johnston’s voice draws fleeting inspiration from Gwen Stefani (think: Tragic Kingdom), Regina Spektor, Björk, Nina Simone, and Fiona Apple – a diverse vocal heterogeny. Some may call it chameleonic as a compliment, but it really amounts to vocal Multiple Personality Disorder. This isn’t so much an album as a cut and paste art project. Johnston slides from jazz influenced, club-ready silken delivery to outrage in the blink of an eye. You want that Tom Waits carny vibe (monkey grinder optional)? She’s got it. You want radio ready singles? There’s two: “For Now” and “Rain, Rain”. Very little of what People Eating People offers up is subpar, but it listens like a Various Artists compilation.

“Rain, Rain” opens with the tinkle of keyboard entering into irresistible hook.

Rain, Rain, wash away this gravel; it’s cluttering my thoughts.
Rain, rain, wash away these piles; they’re piling on top of all that I’ve grown up dreaming and scheming of.
Rain, rain, wash away everything.

“For Now”, on the other hand, borders on overly mawkish pandering. Compare that to the Stefani-like yells on the confessional yet apoplectically furious “I Hate All My Friends”; factor in that “For Now” follows “I Hate All My Friends”, and it’s not hard to see why volatile may be the best way to describe People Eating People thematically. While “I Hate All My Friends” capitalizes on vocal fortitude, other such tracks fare worse. “Building Armor” provides acrid pitch problems. On “For Now” Johnston tries to slide around atop the lyrics “One day, I’ll make you love me” and ends up sounding like a first round reject from American Idol trying to run scales.

People Eating People is at its most melodious when tempos slow (on such tracks as “Let’s Rage” and “Straight Lines”). Where Johnston’s voice breaches the speakers raw and ungoverned on toe tappers like “Building Armor”, “Straight Lines” displays vocal proficiency. What’s startling is that lyrically, “Straight Lines” and “Let’s Rage” are arguably the bleakest tracks on the album. If “Reason to Believe” was the prayer at the end of Springsteen’s gloomy Nebraska, “Let’s Rage” is the nihilistic, heavenward fist shake (sweetly sung, of course) to close People Eating People. The opening line: “I’m nobody special, you’re nobody special; let’s rage.” The closing line: “What is life, then wasting time anyway?” In her piano playing (and worldview), she draws on the iconoclasm of Tori Amos. While it isn’t fair to compare Johnston’s apples to Amos’ oranges in terms of lyrical structure, both are unflinching, unflappable, and uncompromising in their lyrical content.

People Eating People is scattershot and unrepentant for it, a Sunday buffet in album form. As you travel through the buffet queue, you’ll notice some dishes were overcooked or hurried. The quality is variable, but there’s a whole lot of tastiness to gorge yourself on, too.

Check Out:

“I Hate All My Friends”

I_Hate_All_My_Friends1.mp3

“All The Hospitals”

02-All-The-Hospitals.mp3

A converted home and shop, it’s no wonder The Milestone feels more like a big living room, a graffitied, beat-to-hell living room, than a music venue. It’s rumored Kurt Cobain once signed his name on the walls, one of many who have scribbled a note to future generations. It’s almost a right of Charlotte music scene passage to add your name to the list. The main room holds scarcely 100, and the adjacent bar holds a fraction of that. If you are drinking anything other than PBR, you’re in the wrong place.

The Milestone is located near the heart of Charlotte. Since its inception, the neighborhood has been — how to say this nicely? — rundown. During its heyday in the ’80s and ’90s, it didn’t quite matter. Fans came for the bands; however, now that Charlotte has dramatically changed since banking has taken over the Uptown area, there seems to be a white collar push to gentrify hot spots in Charlotte. The North Davidson Street area (called NoDa), for instance, has been safe for yuppie consumption for several years now. It also boasts two of the best small musical venues in Charlotte: The Evening Muse and The Neighborhood Theatre. It’s no secret that all this good PR for NoDa has hurt The Milestone. Most likely in an effort to create it’s own niche, The Milestone has almost exclusively been booking metal, hardcore, and punk shows, most of the acts regional and local.

The woes for The Milestone started in the late ’90s and early ’00s when Charlotte booking became lean. Bands were starting to hop over Charlotte entirely for trendy locales such as Chapel Hill and Asheville where indie and underground sold. Twenty-somethings, Neal Harper and Philip Shive took over ownership several years ago, and while things may not be what they used to, they’ve held The Milestone together. They’ve capitalized on the intimacy The Milestone has to offer, and bands that are looking to make a name for themselves appreciate playing the venue because of the ease of interaction with the audience. Bands regularly abandon the stage to play a bit out into the floor for a track or two. All house music played before and after concerts is played from a record player. It’s little touches like this that give the place an authentic and original atmosphere. The XX and Dirty Projectors won’t be playing The Milestone, but for a small venue with a lot of character, you can’t go wrong picking up a show on a whim any night of the week.

Below is a must-watch video. The audio is from a show Nirvana played at The Milestone in 1990. Cobain alters some of the lyrics to “Love Buzz”. Unfortunately, there isn’t a video feed, just some publicity photos. Regardless, it’s a nice little piece of history.

The Milestone
3400 Tuckaseegee Road
Charlotte, NC 28208

For booking email Philip and Neal.

To view a complete schedule of upcoming events, click here.

On the opener, “Breaking Locks”, “I’ve been too awful to ever be thoughtful, to ever be nice” sounds like a confession rather than deadpan sarcasm, and the song title “What Makes Him Act So Bad” could signal self-reflection; however, all of this newfound depth and character are unavoidably awkward coming from the mouth of Green. What would happen if all of a sudden Hugh Hefner sold the Playboy mansion and took to televangelism? It’d probably take him a while to get the altar calls down and the comb over just right. Green seems to be suffering from such a change of scenery.

Green, planted firmly in the culture of anti-folk, relies heavily on pop music from bygone eras, mostly the ’60s. Minor Love showcases this even more than previous records. “Give Them a Token” presents the proper orchestration, bell clinks, and sing-song refrain that appear on a Petula Clark record circa “Downtown”. “Breaking Locks”, complete with mournful organ and 7^th chords, recalls early-’70s Tom Waits. Musically, the homage is pretty spot on, in the same way Scorsese borrows from Hitchcock rather than trying to remake him. Minor Love‘s first couple of tracks will remind you why all those 30-year-old pop records are worth digging up, but unlike Scorsese, Green doesn’t have the chops to stick the landing of the record. About halfway through, it’s like watching Gus Van Sant remake Psycho: Everything falls apart. Nowhere is this more obvious than on the track “Oh Shucks” – a garage-rock bust. The lyrics are akin to a middle-school love letter. Did Green even try? Fuzzed, repetitive guitar lines nearly drown out the vocals – which actually works somewhat in the song’s favor. No one wants to hear Green sing, “You’re a scumbag, and I’m sad about that. Oh shucks.” Intentionally ridiculous lyrics are still ridiculous here. It’s as if halfway through the album Green realizes his foray into authenticity is yielding only slightly above-average results and decides to scuttle the album.

The real shame is that had Green followed through on the promise of the first couple of tracks, he could have moved away from past albums and grown a bit in the process. Yeah, the album would have been mostly average, but it could have laid the groundwork for something more the next time around. This isn’t to say that everything Green has done in the past isn’t worth listening to. Some of it is quite good – see the song “Jessica” if you aren’t convinced; however, Green’s clear pride in being obtuse and difficult hasn’t always been equated with misunderstood genius.

When the Juno soundtrack single “Anyone Else But You” saw the light of day, the general population had never heard of Adam Green’s former band, The Moldy Peaches. All of a sudden, Ellen Page as a sassy pregnant teen was winning over the masses. Minivan speakers everywhere buzzed with indie patriotism. Green talked to Whoopi Goldberg on The View. For a brief moment, Green capitalized. If we face facts, Juno is likely the only reason anyone knows who Adam Green is at this juncture in his career. The first couple of above-average tracks of Minor Love sound like a compromise to the soccer moms of the world; the second half of the album is lackluster and tedious but without the unfocused vitriol of Green’s earlier work. It’s enough to almost wish Green had gone back to his fascination with non sequiturs and body parts.

Two has taken its sweet time getting across the Atlantic. It was originally released on March 3rd, 2008, and wasn’t released in North America until earlier this summer. Nettwerk came to the rescue, allowing right-side drivers everywhere to partake. The wait is worth it for tracks such as “Innocent When You Dream”. If the title seems familiar, it might be because it was originally penned by none other than Tom Waits. Williams and MacColl do the track justice. The waltz is held in time by an acoustic guitar and nothing more.

By in large, the two share vocals; however, over the swoon and buzz of “Grey Goes”, Williams alone handles the track. The slide of the guitar and the pluck of the upright bass (not to mention the bluster of the trumpet) would have spelled disaster for a duet. MacColl does butt in intermittently on the chorus to fill out a line or two. The instrumentation, lightly cacophonous, could be mistaken for the early work of Robert Deeble (back when he had Victoria Williams guesting).

Two will most likely garner a yawn at one point or another throughout the runtime, but when Williams and MacColl click, as on the highlight “Armchair”, sit up and take note. Like any good folk song of yore, there’s a catch or twist to the lyrics, something to switch on a smile or pull a nod. “Armchair” comes through in this regard, starting innocently with “Love me like an armchair” before coming later to the punchline of “I’ll sweeten you like sugar / When the world has been fucking with you.” The intermingling of the mundane: “armchair”, the overused: “sugar”, and the crass: “fuck”, makes the wit of “Armchair” worthy of quotes on blogs, on binders, and on notes left after a hard day at work.

While there aren’t enough tracks like “Armchair” to make Two a must have, it does add to the weighty catalogue of Williams. We’ll see if the pairing holds. If history holds true, don’t hold your breath: Williams has made a career of changing and developing her sound. Don’t expect her to keep doing the same thing over and over again. Two may be a one off, but it stands on its own as such rather well.

Check Out:

Buy:
Two

In this spirit, let’s continue the history lesson, shall we? Back in the late ’70s and early ’80s, if you were a Kiwi and a punker, you needed no introduction to The Clean. More The Clash, than say, The Sex Pistols in sound, The Clean had the definite article in its name and the equally ubiquitous New Wave calling card of frenetic organ. (Remember “Radio Radio”?) Their first major single, “Tally Ho”, to this day remains a staple of punk name-dropping when making necessary comparisons; a couple of years later, The Clean was no more — at least for the time being. And while The Clean has come back here and there to scatter a couple more songs our way, the band starts to resemble The Sex Pistols, come to think of it, in their place in history: a band of the moment rather than an era.

So nearly a decade since their last release, The Clean gives us Mister Pop in 2009, and it comes as no surprise that Mister Pop sounds like a reunion record rather than an album from a band (like R.E.M.) that has consistently toured and played together over the years. Coincidentally, Mister Pop sounds a bit like R.E.M. circa 1989-1992 — just as Alternative Rock and the lighter AAA were starting to be called just that, Alternative Rock, rather than being lumped in with New Wave as part of the “punk family tree.” Close your eyes while listening to tracks like “Factory Man” on Mister Pop, and you may hear Automatic for the People: Vol. 2. Other bands of that era, Miracle Legion for example, could also lay claim to several of the tracks on the album.

Mister Pop is not a one-to-one comparison, however, with the above. “Tensile” and the instrumental “Moonjumper” include overlapping fuzz, noise, and tone due to everything from modulated vocals to violin, all of it being invigorating. “All Those Notes” sways in flange and reverb (minus the wall of distortion) of Shoegaze. With the resurgence of My Bloody Valentine, such songstering is as cogent as ever.

While the album may sound like it’s from a different era at times, it isn’t a slipshod effort — something thrown together by over-the-hill musicians to make a buck. A keen eye will note that both tracks one and six are instrumentals, and if one were to be listening to Mister Pop on vinyl, that would mean both the A-side and B-side would start with an instrumental. (Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that Merge will currently be releasing Mister Pop on vinyl.) This would also be a good spot at which to note that The Clean has made it a point on the album to showcase the musicianship rather than the vocals. Much of the runtime goes without lyrics, and this calculated move benefits the album. Mister Pop is a mood piece, and overly chatty songs could have rendered the album FUBAR.

Mister Pop won’t gather any new fans into the fold for The Clean, but it will continue the mostly admirable legacy of a band that pops up on the musical radar from time to time. This isn’t an embarrassing album that breeds sympathy for a band long since past its expiration date, and let’s collectively breathe a sigh of relief for that; sadly, neither does Mister Pop feel like a breath of fresh air.

Check Out:
“In the Dreamlife You Need A Rubber Soul”

Buy:
Mister Pop

Bondy rested in the lull and emerged in 2007 as A.A. Bondy with American Hearts. Hailing from Alabama, it may seem foregone that a rootsier digression was in the cards for Bondy. Here was a Dylan-esque, Sourthern Gothic salvation and damnation record, however, press for the album noted that the subject matter bordered on caricature. Entertainment Weekly thought it “slipped into cliché,” and Pitchfork, noting its lyrical fascination with religion, thought it “difficult to tell whether or not Bondy is sincere about his theological obsessions or if he’s just playing them out as musical device”. Such are the pitfalls of making a record drawing from the Appalachian Mountains across to the Mississippi Delta. To speak of belief credibly, you must be a justified believer yourself — or at least one of the tragically damned.

Bondy may have taken the criticism to heart, or it may be that he’s feeling more comfortable as a Southern songwriter; either way, When the Devil’s Loose (regardless of what the album title leads you to believe) doesn’t repeat the mistakes of its predecessor. Bondy diffuses religious imagery warily and judiciously allows for a larger palette to pull from lyrically. There are vampires now. And Bondy uses inventive phrasing to continue to ask the big questions, notably on “Mightiest of Guns”, and also on said track Bondy reveals, “You take the world and burn it in a spoon”: a creative way of explaining life’s weight driving a man to substances. When the Devil’s Loose harbors its greatest strength in its lyrics. Daytrotter noted this back in 2008, obsessing over Bondy’s use of the color crimson, when they offered some of the first recorded versions of the songs that became When the Devil’s Loose.

Vocally, this new record is smooth (and eerily similar to the timbre of newbie Andy Shauf). Musically, the album is damn languorous, taking its sweet time to mosey through ten tracks. Played with a full band, some songs seem out of place. It certainly isn’t the fault of the songs which ring melodious, but in spots, this should have been a sparser record. It’s not hard to imagine Bondy under a large shade tree, barefoot, working a tune from his acoustic, taking time to tighten strings between songs. There’s just a bit too much spit-shine on tracks like “The Mercy Wheel”. A.A. Bondy sounds most earnest when it’s him and a guitar (or piano) and sleepy drumming. The exception to the rule is the closer “The Coal Hits the Fire”, a train song. It’s not clear who it is exactly in the song that’s bringing their dreams from far away to take a train ride (though this may be a reference to the mass immigration to the US at the turn of the century that saw tens of thousands gather at stations to migrate west), but the word choices and simplicity of the story are archetypal. As the song progresses, the volume swells and ferries the song to its conclusion as Bondy sings, “You’re going ‘round the sun, don’t you know?”

A.A. Bondy has found his voice on When the Devil’s Loose. He sounds comfortable as he drawls his way through one track after another. He hasn’t learned to tell a story as outlandishly as Dylan, as mournfully as Williams, or as empathetically as Cash, but he’s clearly growing in leaps and bounds. Walker Percy might’ve donned headphones for such an album as this.

* * * * *

I had been hearing for months of the Red Collar live show, the fact that they’d play willingly for five in a bar, or kick out the walls in Carrboro, NC to a packed crowd in their adopted hometown. I had heard all this, but I had not partaken. The buzz of this blue collar band was of the shorthand they go by -– whether they like it or not -– Fugazi meets Springsteen.

For a sparse crowd in Charlotte, NC of 40 to 50 tops, Kutchma and co. blasted through seven songs without coming up for air. Stage banter was kept to a minimum, energy was kept to a maximum. There was nary a moment that a member of Red Collar stopped moving. Even drummer Jonathan Truesdale shifted and swayed as much as possible, head bobbing in time. Sweat beaded early on the band, and it rolled profusely. Even as Jackson had intermittent problems with his equipment, the band played on. It never dampened the moment; they wouldn’t let it.

Earlier this year, Red Collar released their first record, Pilgrim. Already, they’re trying out new material. Both “Choices”, the track they chose to open the show with, and “Prove Our Fathers Wrong” are currently unreleased. “Prove Our Fathers Wrong” particularly seemed like a band testing the waters and trying new avenues: It pulled from a bluesy bag of tricks yet still continued the kinesis of the night. “Radio On”, while not a new track, did bear an intro teaser ripped from The Mountain Goats.

The show ended with two fan favorites: “Pilgrim” and “Used Guitars”. Those who knew the words sang along. On “Pilgrim”, Jason Kutchma repeated again and again, “My name is Pilgrim, and I’m going home!” before the band toppled a wall of sound into the audience. Red Collar played a scant seven songs, held short by time; however, the curse may have been a blessing: I saw no one leave over the course of the set. By the end, the audience would have eaten up another seven tracks. That hunger may bring many back next time Red Collar rumbles through town.

* * * * *

Red Collar is a bar band in the best sense of the word, but as Justin Gerber noted in his review of Red Collar’s recent album, it hasn’t always been a magnanimous title to bestow:

In the not-too-distant past, the term “bar band” had been equated to local townies that got together at their favorite watering hole, had a few drinks, then hit the stage at 9pm to cover Eddie & the Cruisers once or twice a week. We’d go see them because they’re friends of ours, or maybe they just happened to play at the only place that would serve those who were under-aged.

Red Collar is rebuilding (building?) the idea that a band that doesn’t have lights, costumes, synth, Macbooks, bad haircuts, or gimmicks of any kind can be engaging and exciting. To paraphrase one reviewer, it’s refreshing that Red Collar isn’t post-anything. They are three voices, two guitars, one bass, one set of drums and an indefatigable work ethic.

Setlist:
Choices*
Radio On (w/ Mountain Goats teaser)
Rust Belt Heart
Prove Our Fathers Wrong*
Commuter
Pilgrim
Used Guitars

*unreleased

If the title Coconut Rock doesn’t divulge much concerning its contents, knowing the album gushes like a hydrant from the streets of New York City — refreshing as the hydrant, diverse as NYC — should give some inkling. (It should be noted, however, that Martin Perna and Adrian Quesada, the two ringleaders of the outfit, met in Austin, Texas.) Here en masse is afrobeat, tastes of Brazil, funk, jazz, electronic a la carte, etc. stirred well.

That “stirred well” part shouldn’t be glossed over. Quesada and Perna are old hands at this. Both have been around the block a time or two, and the construction of Coconut Rock bears those marks. An album with this many ingredients is won or lost in the mixing, not in the writing of the songs — especially considering much of Coconut Rock is wordless. Note “El Diablo Y El Ñau Ñau”. Opening with keys and percussion from a 70s Santana record, it changes gears slightly when the drums come in, settling into a laid-back, funk sweet spot. Vocals float miles away. Did I mention it also incorporates 80s synth? “Vampires” borrows from the Tom Waits playbook and singes with its social commentary. It may be the most straightforward song on the record, and that’s saying something when Waits is your muse.

Coconut Rock does have its missteps, however, and “Tu Fin, Mi Comienzo” is the most glaring. On an album of diversity, it’s monocultural. The repeated hook from the organ isn’t captivating, and by the end, it’s nails on a chalkboard. Intermittent fuzzed guitar doesn’t add enough value to save the song. Such are the pitfalls of making mood music.

Speaking of Santana, Adrian Quesada is no Santana; however, he covers what appears to be a lack of mastery with taste. Quesada’s gift is adding a solo here or there that doesn’t raise eyebrows and scream for attention. He’s a team player, and it makes for a better listening experience. On tracks like “Vendendo Saude E Fé”, which features vocals from Tita Lima, Quesada’s guitar acts as a second voice that serves its partner.

Coconut Rock is a folding chair in the sand, the coconut tree overhead. Grab a beer. Add a lime wedge. Coconut Rock is the soundtrack for the summer of 2009.

Check Out:

Buy:
Coconut Rock

What’s a bit troubling, however, is that not all 11 tracks from the digital and disc releases will be carried over to vinyl, the reason for the truncation being runtime. Red Collar is promising free digital downloads with vinyl purchase and also to rework the tracklisting of Pilgrim for “more of a Side A/Side B flow.” Phew.

Along with the vinyl release, the band continues to tour the southeast and is planning on heading out to the Midwest at the end of the month. The band has said it would play for (and enjoy) a crowd of less than ten. You’ve got to love the pluck of a band like that. Regardless, Red Collar continues to build a reputation on sing-a-long choruses, ripe for the picking, coupled with sweat-spilling shows.

Tour Dates:
08/14 – Tuscaloosa, AL @ Egan’s
08/15 – Jackson, MS @ Ole Tavern on George Street
08/17 – Oxford, MS @ Parrish’s
08/18 – Little Rock, AR @ The White Water Taven

But what’s that? The video includes a man dressed as a zebra and puppets? Wait, that sounds a bit more like Ear Pwr. With the help of Showbeast, factor in that there are more non sequiturs in the “Super Animal Bros. III” video than a season of Family Guy, and you have a recipe for fascinating theatre. (Although, if you watch closely, nearly every gag is tied into the existential.) Is it a train wreck that bids your eyes to participate or a work of staggering genius? We’re going with genius.

Showbeast is the collective creativity of Benjamin Franklin Beast and Erin Gleeson. The two met in college while working on degrees in Video Art and Narrative Filmmaking (respectively). Somewhere along the line puppets got involved, and well, the stuff they’re doing now is the Muppet version of Homestar Runner in its kid-friendliness.

In true “Thriller” fashion, the “Super Animal Bros. III” video spends its first five minutes in exposition (that’d be the Showbeast part) before the music portion picks up. Two puppets bicker over whether one of them is “a figment of the other’s imagination”. How to solve the disagreement? The only logical way possible – with “the item”! The music finally kicks in, and dancing in front of a green screen with puppets never looked like so much fun!

And let’s not forget that the Showbeast blog has it that the show will be working with Dan Deacon soon. Nice.