From Marshalltown to College Campuses.

Nearly a year ago, I made a nine hour journey from Cincinnati, Ohio to Marshalltown, Iowa by way of Mount Vernon, Iowa in order to attend what I could arguably call the most important show of my, and many of my peers’, lifetime. This show would take place within the Marshalltown Moose Lodge, nestled within the dreary town that four young men have called home throughout the course of their life with both love and hate – but most importantly with a ferocity and passion that will never be recaptured. These four men were Modern Life Is War and it would be their last hometown, and final, show – defining an entire career within a set that will be remembered with one word: epic.
However, this is not about them. Or the human stage barrier created so the MLIW set could even take place. Or the stage collapsing within the first thirty seconds of the first MLIW song. Or the amazing Holding On reunion set. Or the amount of people that fit inside of the Moose Lodge itself. Or the community that was represented by the kids in the Moose Lodge. No, this is about one man from that memorable night, three months shy of a year ago.
Many men are humble. Many men prefer their beer with a blue ribbon and a bottle of whiskey. Many men pretend to be dirt tough and honest to boot. Many men, however, are liars and cheats. Conversely, William Elliott Whitmore is all of the aforementioned and not one bit of the latter. An Iowa native himself, Whitmore took the stage that April night to a crowd of hardcore and punk rock kids with a banjo in one hand, a charming grin, a heart and soul full of something that not many people possess – sincerity, and without the slightest inclination of the fact that he seemed completely out of place in the lineup. This is a trait of Whitmore’s touring habits, however – he’s shared the stage with such acts as varied from Converge to Murder By Death, so individuals familiar with Whitmore didn’t find this the bit out of the ordinary.
However, many of the kids in the audience were unprepared for what they were about to witness; in a room filled beyond the maximum capacity with loudmouthed, War ready kids – and seconds into his first, a cappella, song, the room fell silent. William Elliott Whitmore had brought more attention the stage than any act before, or after, him aside from the hometown heroes. This act, however, was easy to understand.
With a voice more whiskey and grit than honey and silk, Whitmore commands a stage in a way that would make Bono jealous – and he doesn’t even have to move; Whitmore performs from atop a single stool for over an hour, consistently, and not a single eye leaves him the entire time. William Elliott Whitmore is a pastor, full of farm-boy charm and captivation, and his audience, ranging in age and background, form the ever-adoring congregation. And nothing has changed since that night in Marshalltown other than the congregation has gotten bigger and Whitmore even more devote.
Since that night in Marshalltown I have managed to catch Whitmore just once more (this will change in February, when I plan on seeing him twice at the Picador in Iowa City); however, this time it was from a small stage at an otherwise sleepy Midwestern college – Grinell, to be exact - and the crowd was much more primed for the set to follow. This could be due to the fact that you can bring anything and everything you wanted of the alcohol variety to consume at the show or it could be because, well, these Iowa kids love Whitmore as much as they love their booze.
And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.

(P.S.)This entry has little to do with review, really, or anything substantially, more so just an admiration for a man who lets his listeners call the shots – Whitmore doesn’t make a setlist, he lets the crowd scream out what they want to hear – and loves every single second of it.)

William Elliott Whitmore Setlist from 12/05/08 (roughy):
Dry
Porchlight
When Push Comes To Love
Black Iowa Dirt
From The Cellar Door To The Gallows
Lift My Jug (Song For Hub Cale)
Midnight
Diggin’ My Grave
The Day The End Finally Came
One Man’s Shame
The Train That Carried My Girl Away
Old Devil’s
Take It On the Chin

[Photo credit www.onmilwaukee.com]

Happy Non-Denominational Winter Holiday.

Top Ten Lists Of 2008:

I debated on how to compile this list for quite sometime; whether it would only be releases that came out in 2008 or if they would be albums that I discovered in 2008, or if I should choose the albums based upon the bands that put them out (if I thought the band deserved recognition more than the album) or if I should include bands I would otherwise detest but had put out a stellar album (I can think of a few of those). However, I finally settled on the idea of multiple lists so that I could include everything I wanted to without any squabbling about it – because God knows I have so many readers. Anyway.
Here are the lists; if you don’t agree, start you own blog and post about it.

Top Ten Bands Of 2008/To Watch In 2009
01. City and Colour
02. Fucked Up
03. Bon Iver
04. William Elliott Whitmore
05. Kings Of Leon
06. Lydia
07. Fleet Foxes
08. Have Heart
09. Crime In Stereo
10. The Kooks

Top Ten Singles:
01. “Viva La Vida” - Coldplay
02. “Electric Feel” – MGMT
03. “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here” – She & Him
04. “Sex On Fire” – Kings Of Leon
05. “Whatever You Like” – T.I.
06. “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You” – The Black Kids
07. “Always Where I Need To Be” – The Kooks
08. “I Don’t Care” – Fall Out Boy
09. “American Boy” – Estelle feat. Kanye West
10. “Poppin’ Champagne” – All Time Low

Top Ten Albums:
01. Bring Me Your Love – City and Colour
02. April – Sun Kil Moon
03. Alopecia – Why?
04. Folie à Deux – Fall Out Boy
05. The Chemistry Of Common Life – Fucked Up
06. Only By The Night – Kings Of Leon
07. Songs To Scream At The Sun – Have Heart
08. Agony & Irony – Alkaline Trio
09. In The Ever – Mason Jennings
10. Sometimes Things Just Disappear – Polar Bear Club

Sleepercar - West Texas

It would be impossible to put context to Sleepercar’s debut album West Texas without mentioning At The Drive-In. Regardless of how much lead singer Jim Ward would probably like his new project to viewed as something entirely separate from his past endeavors, he will forever live in the shadow of the mess the world has come to regard as “ATDI.” This inability to step out from underneath the shadow that his former band has cast upon his career is truly a shame; Sleepercar is something completely separate and all together sonically different, from At The Drive In, who in this writer’s humble opinion, have become quite the overrated band. (This review, however, is not the place for this analysis.) In fact, Sleepercar carries little traces of Ward’s more recent effort, Sparta, and stands entirely on its own. In fact, the only song on the album that sounds close to anything recorded on Wiretap Scars is “Sound the Alarm” due to guitar structure and not to the song as a whole. However, without both At The Drive-In and Sparta, Sleepercar would not have come to be.
West Texas consists of songs written by Ward as early as his days in At The Drive-In and became a more focused project of his during Sparta’s final tour but never a part of Sparta; with one listen to album’s opener, “A Broken Promise,” and it is easy to understand why. The opening chords chug like a train out of your speakers, or headphones if you prefer, and the drums beat in order to tap your feet.
Sleepercar is, all things considered, a country band, in the same vein as Lucero and the Old 97’s. And unlike the numerous “alt-country” acts who have sprung up recently, Sleepercar doesn’t wink their eye at the crowd as if to say, “Hey, we know it’s not cool to play real country music, that’s why we’re alternative country.” No, West Texas is what country music has become like to a generation who seems to think that “country” music is a bunch of red-necks with too many beers in their stomach and not enough sense in their heads. In fact, country music isn’t country music any more; it has gone the way of other once credible genres and become filled with over the top “artists” who forgot a main component of making music, at least to most people, was songwriting. I’m looking at you, Toby Keith and Taylor Swift.
However, none of this is to say that Sleepercar is going to save country music, or that West Texas is the record that could bring credibility back to country music to those cynical individuals who think country is unhip (and nobody finds things “unhip” unless they are, self-decidedly, hip themselves). In fact, the album is somewhat unimpressive coming from a man who once was in a band that is now worshipped by thousands of skinny boys who weren’t even around to experience the band when it existed. What I am trying to say is that Sleepercar could be something quite impressive with a bit more fine-tuning and a better marketing strategy. Opening for such mammoth acts as Coldplay could have been a shoe-in for Jim Ward to skyrocket into real stardom but with a lackluster stage show and a couple of stellar songs surrounded by a handful that leave something to be desired, the band remains within its quiet niche of Midwestern college radio rather than a national success.
Perhaps Jim Ward should take some lessons from Chris Martin, who in St Paul, Minnesota, as I’m sure he did everywhere his multi-platinum band preformed, made the stage his playground to accompany the kingdom he built by his ability to write songs that make you fucking weep like a baby. Maybe then Sleepercar would become a household name, but probably not.

(Note: Yes, I do find Coldplay to be the only major label, multi-platinum super-group to be credible despite their associate with frat-boys and sorority girls. They write inexplicably beautiful songs that I would have played at my wedding if I were straight and thought marriage was a good idea.)

Release Date: April 22nd, 2008
Record Label: Doghouse
Stand Out Tracks: A Broken Promise, Wednesday Nights, Stumble In

A Letter

(I feel as if this entry requires an explanation and a thorough one that that. Up until recently, I have been able to maintain my rock-solid effort to remain neutral in the pop-culture craze that the world has come to know as Twilight – ignoring the barrage of posters adorning local movie theatres, obnoxious placed cardboard cut-outs in stores, and giant displays in major bookstores proved to be quite the task. However, it seems as if the so-called cultural phenomenon has come to head; after conquering the shelves of thousands of Borders and Barnes and Nobles, the vampire-love story has taken on the next great frontier: the big screen.
This attempt at mass marketing and money-making barely lead for me, and surely many others, to bat an eyelash. The list of novels turned movies is lengthy and without much relevance; the bad (most of Stephen King’s novels) outweighs the good (The Shining, Fight Club, and most of Brett Easton Ellis’ translations) with little mediocrity in between. However, a very important things happened concerning the release of Twilight, the potential Hollywood blockbuster; the release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was delayed due to the competition that would have risen had the two been in theatres at the same time.
Now, I am not one to deny the wretchedness of the majority of the Harry Potter films; you will hear no argument from me in regards to how terrible the first two films were nor will you hear me give much praise to the third. BUT I must admit to not only be a sucker for the books themselves but also for the films; despite just how dreadful I found “The Sorcerer’s Stone” and “The Chamber Of Secrets” as films, I happened to find “The Goblet Of Fire” and “The Order Of The Phoenix” to be fine motion pictures when taken out of context that they butcher the actual books. Due to this blatant attempt to hold onto my childhood – I was in the fifth grade when I read the first book in the series – I found myself wondering what all of this Twilight hubbub was about.
Of course, rather than put a considerable amount of effort into this research, I choose to the easy way – perching myself in the middle of a quaint Cedar Rapids, Iowa theatre at Fake Vampire Fest ’08, more commonly known as the opening weekend of Twilight, the major motion picture. While I am aware that I could probably have finished the entire novel in the time in took me to watch the piece of garbage that I subjected myself to, I have only two excuses in my defense: a theatre is dark and my face is hidden, whereas it takes light to read and when it’s light I can be easily recognized, and, more importantly, the actual trailer for Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince ran between I was succumbed to a mind-numbing amount of cheesy lines, bad vampire lore, and, for fuck’s sake, the worst acting I have ever seen. These two reasons were enough for me.
Not to my surprise at all, the movie was vile and the plotline recycle – though, how much can you really get out of a teenage vampire romance that wasn’t covered in Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Initially, not a single thing explained to me why people go ape-shit over this book. Then, it dawned on me; the entire fan-base for Twilight is female and there is only one factor that can explain this (other than the misogynistic belief that women are stupid) and that factor has a name: Edward Cullen.
Women of all ages have fallen in love with Edward Cullen, the “I’m-Shiny-In-The-Sun!,” I-Have-A-Heart-Of-Gold-And-A-Stare-With-The-Intensity-Of-A-Crackhead-Eyeing-His-Next-Fix vampire. (Ironically enough, the actor who plays Edward Cullen also appears in the Harry Potter films as Cedric, tear, Diggory.) And I cannot happen but be beside myself with this idea that yet another fictional character has stolen the hearts of more girls than I, or anyone I know, will ever come in contact with in real life; this realization has come to a head in the proceeding letter to a boy who does not exist. I hereby apologize for my previous long-windedness and, even more so, for what it is come.)

Dear Edward Cullen,
You have ruined every member of the human race’s (I choose not to discriminate on the bounds of heterosexuality as I, myself, play for a very different team) chances of ever being described as the “perfect lover” (or partner, or significant other, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is they choose to call you). You, with your piercing stare (which comes off as rather unattractive when you’re sitting next to Bella in Biology class, at least when Cedric Diggory is playing you) and your old-world gentlemanly charm (which seems a bit stalker-like when you magically appear in Seattle to save the girl who didn’t tell you where she was going) – you have become this generation’s Llyod Dobler, but rather than identifying with you, I find myself weary of your façade. This is because I have nothing in common with you.
I cannot fly. I am not a vampire. I do not own a BMW or a pair of Ray-bans. My fake brothers and sisters (who have sex) are not as disgustingly pale and gorgeous as I am. I do not SHINE IN THE FUCKING SUN. With Llyod Dobler, portrayed by someone that, had he not been famous, would not have been found attractive by more than the girl next door, it was understood that at least parts of me and my peers were represented; we did make mix-tapes, we did wear t-shirts with The Clash on them, we did fall for girls who broke our hearts, and we did have a best friend with somewhat questionable sanity. However, it might not have been after Say Anything that we stood outside someone’s bedroom window with a boom-box to win back the girl but it was something that we could do – but you, Edward Cullen, I can’t do anything that you do other than make myself look like I’m dead or dying (but I can’t even do that well due to the fact that I’m not completely Caucasian).
You see, you represent everything unobtainable in a relationship for those pursuing women and everything that women want when they have no concept of reality. Which is true about every single woman on the face of the planet, leaving everyone else’s chances of landing the girl of their dreams about as close to possible as myself winning a Pulitzer for this (fake) letter – because you, sir, carry the majority of the female population within the palm of your non-exist, pale-ass hand.
Simply, Edward Cullen, fuck you. You are what is wrong with America. Not because you are a fake character in a fake book that means absolutely nothing. But because you continue to press the idea of the perfect “man” despite the fact that you are not really a man (we’ll leave out the fact that you’re not even real). However, you lead women to believe that there existed such a perfect “man” and you are reminding them of this. Except this idea of a “perfect” man never was a reality – it was made up by other women and men who choose to dream rather than to understand that there is no such thing as “perfection” let alone perfect love.
Love’s kind of ugly, Edward. But you make it hard for that to be believed.
But I suppose if someone wants to believe in vampires it makes sense for them to believe in something as preposterous as what you represent.
Which is bullshit.

Sincerely,
Sarah D.

Kind Of Like Spitting - In The Red

American indie-rock band Kind Of Like Spitting, fronted by prolific singer-songwriter Ben Barnett, had a career that puts the argument of “quality over quantity” to test. Releasing nearly a dozen albums in the span of seven years, Kind Of Like Spitting’s discography proves that a band can produce album after album, with little changing of seasons in between each release and still deliver material that is neither lacking nor lost in direction.
2005’s In The Red is a solid work of musicianship high-lighting the strengths of Barnett and company; the simple, haunting melodies of an acoustic guitar paired with vulnerable vocals and gut-wrenchingly honest lyrics makes for a stunning effort from the Portland band’s catalogue (With lyrics like “I’m no victim; broke is different from poor. I’m still learning what my is for,” you can expect nothing less).
However, this decidedly catchy and quaint record is especially noteworthy as In The Red is a compilation of sorts consisting of songs written and recorded over a three year span and is not what most would call a cohesive album; slipped in between the staple acoustic anthems are buzzy full-band numbers, filled with guitar hooks reminiscent of The Promise Ring (ala “Per Se Wha?!” and the album’s title track) and we are kept on our toes are they are spread sparingly throughout In The Red.
None of the quirks that make up the album overshadow what it is about Kind Of Like Spitting that fans have come to love and admire: front-man Barnett has the ability to write songs that make your heart ache, smile, and sing alone with you. In the words of Barnett himself, they make a man, or woman, feel real safe.

Release Date: November 1st, 2005
Record Label: Hush
Stand Out Tracks: Worker Bee #7438-F87904, Bubble Congress, Line and Sinker

Have Heart - Songs To Scream At The Sun

Boston, Massachusetts’ favored sons, Have Heart have found themselves in an usual position for such a young band; in a life-span that is comparable to that of a child, they have been able to build a following that is nothing short of fanatical. It seems that in a post-Champion world, individuals in the hardcore scene have found something that they can pump their fists to once again without shame or worry.
With enough passion and fury as an anti-war protest, Have Heart are a band that encompasses everything about the scene that individuals fell in love with when they became too angry for weepy shoegazing and too smart for ironic metalcore gimmicks. Because Have Heart is irrevocably pissed off and they make no qualms or excuses for it. However, unlike other bands plaguing both the backwaters and mainstreams of music, they aren’t about to let it get the best of them. From their Think Fast! Records debut EP to their debut full-length They Things We Carry on Bridge Nine, Have Heart have maintained a sound and image that is increasingly imitated by never quite emulated.
Songs To Scream At The Sun is a stunning sophomore effort exceeding their previous releases, both in musicianship and impact. Taking a slightly different approach to their signature sound, Have Heart come into their own with this album. Like a lion, the record opens with minute-long “The Same Son,” and barrels straight into what can, arguably, be said to be their crowning achievement. Based upon lead singer Pat Flynn’s realization that his grandfather (who was previously commended highly in the band’s song “The Unbreakable”) was not the man he believed him to be, “Bostons” is an epic song of praise and promise. Flynn is able to express his love for both his hometown and his father while simultaneously revoking the admiration he once felt for his grandfather in a single song containing such lyrics as, “And in this city you once knew as hell is a garden where I enjoy myself. And in this father I hardly know was a son who took back what the bottle stole.”
However, Songs To Scream At Sun does not give way to any easy outs– rather it builds upon the momentum its second track provides the record with and steamrolls on, covering subjects such as touring (“Pave Paradise”), desperation (“The Taste Of the Floor”), and, surprisingly, love (“On The Bird In The Cage”). While none of these topics are strangers to the hardcore community, Have Heart delivers them in a manner that allows them to appear, and appeal, fresh, and furiously, to the ears. It could be for these reasons that have Heart has become something of a phenomenon to behold; they are the same as the rest of us: angry and beaten down but not about to let the world get the best of them. No, there just aren’t enough bands like them around today.

Release Date: July 8th, 2008
Record Label: Bridge Nine
Stand Out Tracks: Bostons, On The Bird In The Cage, Hard Bark On The Family Tree

An Introduction: The Measurement Of A Soul.

I have often wondered why it is people have chosen the internet to vocalize their beliefs upon rather than a page or from a stage; however, it has recently come to my attention that the accessibility of the internet is much more convenient than that of the tried-and-true methods of printing, copying, and distributing a zine or writing, recording, and touring for an album. This realization, I believe, is a perfect example of how the music scene has evolved and, quite possibly, degraded itself: despite my young age, I am well aware of the blood, sweat, tears, time, energy, and dedication that individuals have put into building the underground and independent music into what it is today - little of which is still around, most of which is hanging out in the back of clubs or staying away from the "scene" all together.
Of course, coming from someone who is plugging away at a keyboard rather than standing inside of Kinkos, xeroxing page after page until my eyes can't focus, this holds little to no merit. However, I am not one to let the recognition of this irony be lost upon myself; it is this irony that has lead to the birth of this blog.
What used to take months worth of searching for demo tapes, seven inches, and shows so far spread out that friendships spanned states and years now takes a few clicks of a mouse to obtain - the scene has gotten so much smaller and yet so much bigger. In what can be called a mixed blessing, kids from all-around the world can access bands and labels that would otherwise go unheard of in their community. However, this easy accessibility has also caused for a lack of effort among those participating in the underground and independent scene; the amount of zines, independent record labels, and distros has dropped noticeably in the last ten years.
Maybe it is nostalgia, maybe it's just complaining for the sake of complaining, but coming into a scene at the naive and tender age of twelve, zines, labels, and distros were something that pulled you in, made you feel like a part of the community, something that has gone the way of girl jeans, shoe-string belts, and Saucony running shoes.
Therefore, this blog is the beginning of an attempt to create something. What this something is, I'm quite unsure of at this point. An education on the history of various music scenes? A compilation of album reviews, old and new, to spark some sort of discussion among listeners? A place to bitch and moan about the minute details of an otherwise well-oiled machine known as the music industry? It remains to be seen. Until then, read on.

(Photo credit: Jim Rassol, Sun Sentinel)