Eric Matthews
Years Of Operation 1995-present
Fits Between Colin Blunstone and Colin Hay
Personal Correspondence I wrote some about Eric Matthews a month ago, regarding his participation in the cult indie-rock band Cardinal, but Matthews' solo career is his real legacy. He released two albums in quick succession in 1995 and '97—It's Heavy In Here and The Lateness Of The Hour—and at the time it seemed like Matthews' moody, heavily orchestrated pop was going to make him an underground icon, a la Jeff Buckley, Elliott Smith or Sean O'Hagan of The High Llamas. (Yes, people cared about The High Llamas back then… people like me, anyway.) But then Matthews dropped of sight for nearly seven years, preferring to play trumpet on his friends' records rather than record anything of his own. He made a tentative return with a more stripped-down EP in 2005, and then released the teeming LP Foundation Sounds in 2006, which prompted me to write: "The songs aren't as long as the ones on the EP, but they're just as conversational, and they all rely on simple arrangements with very few instruments. They're built around the fundamentals—the 'foundation'—of composition. And yet the new Matthews can be as exhausting as the old Matthews. He doesn't vary his melodies much, and the bursts of molten-lava guitar or Chuck Mangione-style horn solos in any given song sound, frankly, interchangeable. Still, even when it flags as music, Foundation Sounds remains bracing as a manifesto. At first, following Matthews' musical logic, as he clips pop back to its skin, is counterintuitive, like listening to a florist explain why stems are more beautiful than petals. Listen closely enough though, and it almost starts to makes sense."
Enduring presence? I haven't heard Matthews' 2008 album—though I was sent a copy in late '07, and have shelved it to play when this project is over—but while I've liked everything he's done during this comeback phase, Matthews' has never really solved the problem of how to make his breathy voice and similar-sounding songs entertaining for a whole LP. That said, rarely does a Matthews song come up on my iPod when I don't brighten a little bit. He's such an original.
"Our House" by Eric Matthews
The Fall
Years Of Operation 1976-present
Fits Between Can and Art Brut
Personal Correspondence I doubt even the most devoted Fall fan has the band's complete discography—heck, I bet even Fall founder Mark E. Smith doesn't—but in a way, that's always been what's made The Fall such a unique and endearing bunch. I think the first Fall song I heard was their cover of "Mr. Pharmacist," which prompted a friend of mine to buy (and loan to me) Doomsday Pay-Off (Triad Plus), the bastardized U.S. version of Bend Sinister. It's a much catchier record than anything else in the Fall catalog, which meant I was in for a rude—but not entirely unpleasant—shock when I found a cheap cassette copy of the much wilder Escape Route From The Wonderful And Frightening World Of The Fall in my university bookstore's bargain bin a couple of years later. At some point, I need to write about the many odd places that I've found great records in my life, and how for a time I used to have recurring dreams about discovering amazing new record stores. (Then I'd be mad when I woke up and realized that they didn't really exist).
Those dreams were prompted in part by stumbling across The Wonderful And Frightening World, which I'd assumed by the title would be an anthology, but was instead a nightmarish (but oddly hooky) vision of violence and pestilence that stuck me as pretty awesome at age 18. Now I know that the original album (expanded on the tape I bought) is considered a Fall staple, but back then, just as it is now, a trip through The Fall section of a local record store was utterly confounding. They have so many albums with strange titles and little info—and so much overlap from album to album—that it's hard for a novice to get his bearings. Luckily for my budding Fall fandom, they were relatively easy to keep up with in the years that followed, because they were on a mini-major label, putting out good records like The Frenz Experiement, I Am Curious Oranj and Extricate. And thanks to the then-popular Manchester scene and the rise of Pavement, The Fall were on the radio some and even on MTV. (Fun fact: I had a friend who initially hated Pavement because he was huge Fall fan, and couldn't stand the idea of a Fall-inspired band becoming successful while The Fall languished in obscurity. He later relented, because he realized, quite rightly, that if he really liked The Fall then he should like bands that sound like The Fall. After all, there aren't that many.) But in the post-MTV days, The Fall's discography has been such a mess of live albums, compilations and reissues that when they put out an actual new album a couple of years ago, they called it The Real New Fall LP. And so the knot gets knottier.
Enduring presence? It's not easy to be a Fall fan, and it's sure not easy to make other people into Fall fans. (I gave up trying to convert my wife long ago.) I wouldn't even call myself any more than a dabbler, even though I've probably bought (or received from publicists, or duped from friends) over a dozen Fall albums in my life. I check in and out, which in some ways seems to be what Mark E. Smith has in mind.
"Slang King" by The Fall
The Feelies
Years Of Operation 1977-92
Fits Between The Velvet Underground and Dire Straits
Personal Correspondence Any time anyone dismisses the necessity of canons in popular culture, I think about The Feelies, and I push back. Thanks to a 1987 Rolling Stone list of the best rock albums from '67-'87, I became aware of The Feelies' Crazy Rhythms, which at the time was out of print. But right before I left for college in the fall of '88, I found a used copy of the band's 1986 album The Good Earth at a thrift store, and was immediately infatuated. Two guitars, two drummers—it was like everything good about rock 'n' roll, doubled. Soon after I arrived in Athens, GA, The Feelies released their major label debut, Only Life, a more muscular record (but no less insinuating), and then they followed with the more eclectic and vastly underrated Time For A Witness, followed by the long-awaited reissue of Crazy Rhythms. (Lengthy aside: Because I lived in Athens while the members of R.E.M. were still in residence, I'd often see Peter Buck or Michael Stipe out at shows or in record stores, and I promised myself that if I ever had the chance to talk with Buck, my conversation-opener wasn't going to be, "I'm a big fan," it was going to be, "Do you have any idea where I can find a copy of The Feelies' Crazy Rhythms?" I guess I hoped he'd offer to loan me his copy or something. Instead, what happened was that I made the mistake of mentioning this plan to my then-girlfriend's crazily extroverted half-sister, who happened to be with me when I did see Buck at Wuxtry Records, and literally pushed me over to him, shouting, "Hey Peter, this guy has something to ask you!" Absolutely mortifying. As I recall, Buck mumbled something about an Atlanta record store that might have an import, and I thanked him and fled.) Anyway, if it hadn't been for a list in an establishment rock mag, I might not have had the hours upon hours of pleasure that listening to The Feelies' mush-mouthed vocals and intricate playing have brought me. So hooray for canons!
Enduring presence? Whenever The A.V. Club has given me the chance, I've advocated for one of my favorite bands of all time, be it in this feature we wrote on the underrated, or an apparently-gone-from-the-archives blog post I wrote about memorable live shows. But you know what would really help The Feelies take their rightful place in the alt-rock canon? If someone would get their goddamn albums back into print! What's the hold-up? Lack of interest? Some crazy rights issue? (Actually, according to rumor, the trouble is that co-bandleader Bill Million is dickering over whether the reissues should contain bonus tracks, but that's such a mundane excuse that for romantic reasons, I refuse to believe it.) In the meantime, I treasure my CD copies of the core four, which I still turn people onto now and then. Drop by my house anytime, and I'll gladly loan them to you.
"The High Road" by The Feelies
Feist
Years Of Operation 1999-present (solo)
Fits Between Rickie Lee Jones and Edith Piaf
Personal Correspondence It may be too early to count Feist among the musicians who've helped form my taste, but I have been pretty knocked out by each of her last two albums, and by the music-making philosophy behind them. I dig their eclecticism—from lite-disco to Euro-folk to Nina Simone—and the way every song sounds like it was created on a rainy afternoon in the empty great room of some country manse. Feist is like a musical version of Michel Gondry, plucking the pieces of popular culture she loves so that she can use them to make crafty miniatures. She's a "wake up late, have coffee and croissants on the porch, go inside and make art" kind of gal. I don't know if I want to listen to her or be her.
Enduring presence? I trust that the Feist backlash is on, yes? Anytime an indie or quasi-indie artist gets too popular, those who weren't that wild about her in the first place develop a dislike way out of proportion to the actual quality and/or cultural pervasiveness of the music. I should probably go ahead and preemptively add Feist to my growing list of "New Guilty Pleasures."
"One Evening" by Feist
Field Music/Figurines
Years Of Operation 2004-present/2000-present
Fits Between XTC and Maxïmo Park/ Modest Mouse and Built To Spill
Personal Correspondence Both of these bands are fairly fresh onto the scene too, but both have released two really good albums each, and they became among my favorite bands of the '00s almost immediately. About Field Music's first album I wrote: "At least a dozen bands have been compared to XTC during the recent post-punk revival, but UK trio Field Music has a specific XTC fetish, stealing from the band what XTC stole from Steve Reich. Field Music's self-titled debut album delights in reducing pop songs to a few simple elements, then combining and recombining them in elaborate overlays. Between the fragments of orchestral splendor, the sprightly Beatles-esque guitar stings, and the washed-out alto harmonies of bandleader brothers David and Peter Brewis, the core of Field Music offers the most righteous deconstruction of pop pleasure since the mid-'90s heyday of Cardinal, Zumpano, and The High Llamas." About Figurines' first US album, I wrote: The Danish band's fantastic second album Skeleton is the stuff indie-rock fantasies are built on, with a gripping, theatrical sound that's like a hybrid of early Built To Spill and pre-Soft Bulletin Flaming Lips, adorned with pieces of the old Neil Young albums that inspired those bands in the first place. Figurines tap into that great reckless wow that's drawn out nearly every nerdy crank with a guitar—Skeleton's songs bounce up and down, unfussy and unhurried, changing tempos and stacking hooks, creating a feeling of honest yearning."
Both of the albums that followed by Field Music and Figurines are just as strong, in my opinion. Yet the fact that I haven't been able to get any of my A.V. Club colleagues to fall for these bands the way I have has helped me realize that I've drifted out of touch with the critical consensus. To me, Field Music and Figurines are both clearly among the best things going in rock today (along with Constantines, whom my A.V. Club colleagues also pretty roundly dismissed in their SXSW coverage this year). Why does everybody else have so much trouble hearing what I hear? Believe me: everyone would have such a happier life if they just liked what I like.
Enduring presence? "To me, Field Music and Figurines are both clearly among the best things going in rock today." –Noel Murray, 4/7/08
"You're Not Supposed To" by Field Music
"Hey, Girl" by Figurines
The Fiery Furnaces
Years Of Operation 2000-present
Fits Between The Fall and Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
Personal Correspondence I rarely get the chance to "discover" bands, but I got a copy of The Fiery Furnaces' debut Gallowsbird's Bark from my uncle (who at the time was working for Sanctuary, the US distributor for Rough Trade) about three months before it was released, and I had one of those rare "Okay, this is something I haven't heard before" moments. Writing for another publication, I said, "This is a punky, bluesy, medieval-folky take on pub rock, sounding by turns like P.J. Harvey, Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, The White Stripes, Siouxsie & The Banshees, Spoon and maybe even Jethro Tull (minus the flute). It's an insistent and confident record—the sound of traditional British folk music being systematically demolished." I wasn't as enamored of the self-indulgent follow-up Blueberry Boat as a lot of my colleagues, and I've never been able to make it all the way through the atonal oral history of Rehearsing My Choir (as much as I respect the attempt). But after Matthew Friedberger's two half-assed solo albums, The Fiery Furnaces have been a lot more on-point. No one talked much about 2006's Bitter Tea (myself included), but it's band's best record since their debut, blending actual songs with more freewheeling genre mash-ups. Last year's Widow City leans heavier on the latter, but is still cohesive more often than not. The Friedbergers seem to be on the verge of finding that place where weirdness-for-weirdness'-sake breaks through to something more rewarding. I know some folks prefer the exploration to the discovery, but that's one of the things that keeps me from being a major prog fan (to jump back to the Emerson, Lake & Palmer entry). I'm a journalist at heart: I like things to be edited and on-point.
Enduring presence? I never really listen to my Fiery Furnaces records, but I can't get rid of them either. There's too much imagination and well-intentioned tinkering charging up their music, and I feel like one day I'll catch up to it. Very few bands can deliver an experience that's completely unlike any other, but The Fiery Furnaces are among them.
"I'm Gonna Run" by The Fiery Furnaces
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