Mikey Joseph O'Connor - The Day I Stopped All This EP

Friend of Gas Lantern Media, leader of The Most Awesome Protagonist and co-host of It's A Thing! podcast, Mikey Joseph O'Connor [or MJO'C as I like to call him (rather, I've never called him that, but what the hell, I'm gonna try to start a thing and abbreviations {or abbreves} are totes in right now)] is not merely a proponent of the Ska'd for Life movement. He's also a talented singer-songwriter who generates tunes reminiscent of the sad-times Shins, The Replacements and with The Day I Stopped All This EP, a bit of almost-dub-steppy, Bon Iver-ian lamentative reflection. But beyond all the direct, sincere and vulnerable lyrics, O'Connor creates elaborate sonic tapestries that venture from subtle, folk rock beats to downright church-choral-style lovelorn-ness. Above all else this is a break-up album, and if I were to sum its sincerity and emotionalism into one word, that word would be Pinkerton. The Day I Stopped All This is fragile and angry, frustrated and nostalgic, heartfelt and seething, but it's also a sort of love letter to a bygone era. Or, failing that, a final, resigned, but sturdy, goodbye.

The EP opens with "(Not All) Pretty Blonde Girls are the God Damn Devil." It's a track that demonstrates mostly strongly, perhaps, O'Connor's signature scratchy, nearly-Westerberg-ian wail. That wail is what gives this song the extra dose of character that makes it so strong. Sung by a more "traditional" vocalist, the direct, clear, concise and vulnerable lyrics may have sounded twee or whiny, but here, O'Connor's voice feels as torn up as the lyrics would have you believe. Plus, the chorus and refrain, backed by graceful harmonies and some subtle drums, flesh out a song that could have easily been left spare and hollow. The result is that catchiness that runs through your head, and this writer's head. On "The Winter River Bridge" O'Connor paints an elaborate picture of not merely losing someone, but losing time and place in the process. And the chorus, oh em gee, the chorus, so thick with guitar, fuzz, and some vocal clouding effects, feels as catchy as that from "(Not All) Pretty Blonde..."

From that darker place, though, things pick up a bit on "The Best Last Day," a lively goodbye note or "thank you" with syncopated, jangling guitar and a chorus of backing "Oohs." It's a mature piece, really, that while still as dark as the preceding two tracks, is also something of an olive branch. It is the musical equivalent of seeing an ex months or years later, having reflected, and saying "It was fun while it lasted," while fighting the urge to hold up your middle finger. And the closer "Someone Smiling/Someone Shining" is one part Gilbert O'Sullivan, one part Leonard Cohen and one part, well... just Mikey Joseph O'Connor. It is a full, lush, pastoral track that feels like an old Polaroid of the girl you loved once, but can't any longer. The piano/keyboard work and wall-of-voices vocal complete the picture. It feels, if I may create a semi-hackneyed image from a film, like that one final look upon an old lover's photo prior to letting the wind carry it away into the ocean.

You can hear The Day I Stopped All This EP at Mikey Joseph O'Connor's reverbnation page here. Or just give it a listen here, via the streaming player below. And of course, listen to It's A Thing! and visit their website to keep up on all that world-hopping madness.

Read more ...

St. Vincent - Strange Mercy

There will be no arguments, no complaining, and definitely no temper tantrums. The only acceptable reaction is quiet distemper, with a heaping side of malicious mischief. Strange Mercy, St. Vincent's forthcoming third album, is all of those things, and because of its epic, complex, multi-layered awesomeness, you will listen to it and you will buy it. It is a commandment. And it's also in the title. Strange Mercy is an album throughout which, to her greatest ability thus far, Tulsa's Annie Clark combines the austere creepiness of noir fantasy with pure vocal and melodic beauty. On one hand, this new album is her strangest, her darkest and her most directly lamentative, but it's also her most enlightened, most sweepingly arranged and most brilliant. Strange Mercy hearkens back to some of the softer side that made 2007's Marry Me so revelatory, lightening up on the grungy guitar rasp of 2009's Actor. But where Annie Clark cuts back on the heavy sounds, she fills in with tone and mood accents that up the creepiness as necessary, and in turn, exponentially up the tension between horror and beauty, strange and merciful.

Opening with the hypnotizing, unsettling "Chloe in the Afternoon," Strange Mercy sets its psychologically weighty tone immediately. But it's with "Cruel," and its video appeared here just a short while ago, and "Cheerleader" that the beauty-horror meets best with complex harmonies, pristine vocals and themes that stagger and mystify as they entertain. On the former, Clark sings of the abuse that lies in not valuing oneself, letting oneself be taken and then taken advantage of. On the latter, easily my favorite track after two listens, she intones "I don't want to be a cheerleader any more," in haunting, gorgeous tones. The ante is upped once more with "Surgeon" and the building, energetic and boil-over-into-electronics beauty of "Northern Lights." What's clear, through the first half of Strange Mercy is that St. Vincent is no longer just an idea about making palatable indie rock that's a little unsettling. It's now about making unsettling rock that is undeniably palatable... even lovable.



"Strange Mercy" reins the chaos in a bit, with a synthy, echoing track that is half love letter, half ransom note. Even as Clark's beautiful vocals say wonderful things, there's a hint of danger, especially when she speaks of what she'll do if she ever "meet[s] the dirty police man who roughed you up." On "Neutered Fruit" a choral beginning turns quickly to a feeling of ghosts moaning in the darkness. The guitar, with some especially strong riffs, comes through most here. "Champagne Year" has a very Leonard Cohen quality, but with another point of dark self-reflection as Clark sings "I make a living, telling people what they want to hear." The rest of the song is spent qualifying that choice, slowly, sweetly, but somewhat desperately. "Dilettante" is more direct, with crunchier guitars and a stronger rock vibe. With a jaunty, wobbling beat, "Hysterical Strength" lives and dies by fuzziness and a sense that there's nearly a olde timey piano fight about to occur, in ghost town. But it's on "Year of the Tiger" that St. Vincent really knocks everything out of the park. A heavy bass drum breaks down to a very beautiful acoustic guitar strum that while spare feels powerful and complete. Moments like these, where an album diverges from most of its previous sound, make me wonder if it's a hint of things to come. It's a beautiful song.



Strange Mercy is available for a limited time through NPR's First Listen. You can also pre-order it through the official Beggars Group website. I suggest you do both.

Read more ...