Matthew Friedberger - Winter Women

This reminds me of the Auteurs in a few ways. Way #1 is that it's somebody singing in a style that is not their own (Luke Haines sounds like David Bowie and here Matt sounds like his sister (there being more of a laconic lily lilt in his vox here than on his other more whispered contributions to FF stuFF)). Way #2 is that things are a lot more homophonic seeming. Homophonic is a music word that means there aren't a lot of melodies going on at once, just one melody and chords below it. Homophony is the sound of a lot of solo albums, you'll pick up the new Andrew Carl Newman joint for example and say 'something's missing... is it the bass? yeah... oh, hey, so that's what those other band members are for'. Because, A.C., you can't just do C major to F major.*

What Winter Women misses is that other band member sound. Wait, he's singing like his sister. Maybe its missing that other band member input. Being in a sibling band myself, a lot of what this sounds like is the other sibling telling you that your songs are no good and that mom loves them best and that they are a musician and you are a joke, and you change one seemingly miniscule thing and to them it makes a world of difference. And then when you are playing it for somebody else they say 'yeah (that part) is my favorite part of the song' and then your sibling smiles at you some evil smile that you hadn't seen since you were eight and the cranberry juice stain was blamed on you wrongfully, this smile means that you owe them a coke.

And Matt doesn't owe Eleanor any Cokes, but apparently he does owe her a break- it feels like the boss is holding down the office and doesn't have his sassy assistant to make small talk with all the clients and she's really the reason why they call anyway- and in some small way he pitches his voice to sound like her when he answers the phone.

The melodies are much more frequent here and generally stronger. I remember the first night I heard this, my roommate Dylan and I sang along to "Up the River" even though I didn't know we knew the melody - but there in the last repetition we were, right along with it. "Ruth Versus Rachel" has on the other hand a really great chord in the chorus. They both push forward in this way that exists in your heart for coming to terms with bands you were recommended to after you'd heard all of the Kinks albums. Yeah, you paid money for this, and no, it isn't as good as the Kinks and yeah, you've heard those chords and stuff before but, come on, fewer people have heard this and its YOURS.

"Big Bill Crib and his Ladies of the Desert" has a great chords and rhythm pattern that I love and the singing is mostly the same melody throughout but it seems genius. I dig the lyrics also, "it was the rifle brigade, the rifle brigade, with their famous one-armed colonel". "Theme from Never Going Home Again" kind of flings open some European looking windows and stares you into the face threatening you to run for the hills - those ones that are alive with the sound of music. All wet with the dew of the tears you swore you didn't cry last night. It was raining, after all.

"Hileah" is some wreck-you-romantic plaintalking song that just bothers my heart, and it is a stellar addition to the Furnaces catalogue. There are a number of very good songs, and maybe one or two great songs (I'm not going to stick by anything unless there's some sort of online poll) but there's mostly a bunch of bleh-I'll write something kind of songs. I end up not wanting to spend too much time with this album because I feel like it will grow thinner with each listen. The last review I wrote of a Fiery Furnaces album talked about me whittling down the tracklist from my favorite songs to my least favorite, with the least favorite songs getting the most attention- but with this album I felt like if I had done that it would have gone mostly downhill.

So, and pardon me if you aren't familiar with The Auteurs (a band whom I think of whenever I need a comparison for music I almost love,) there's a fair share of 'I like to listen to this because it sounds good' and 'I'm only listening to this because I'm imagining it as better'. Of course, rather than writing about Baader-Meinhof and being stiffed for Mercury Prizes he writes about shit he makes up about going to Benghazi (which I know you haven't been to-MATT YOU LIAR!) and the more typical running away from home/having a lot of jobs in one month stuff that we love because its the fantastic truth - and not just about you, Matt. We've all been there and haven't. B-/10

*The Slow Wonder is an album by Andrew Carl Newman that I heard briefly once and wrote off as 'another one of those solo albums'. Having not heard it since, I feel the exact same way.

I Am the Wind

Last year going into summer was the weekend stupidly stretching out infinitely, and where that seemed a great thing in theory everything including myself failed me to create magic and wound up being the greatest summer letdown ever. At the beginning I pictured how James Rabbit would dress in Rolling Stone layouts - to save the tailors some time - but by the end both Conner and I were physically dead and spiritually disheveled. We had not the three books-of-revelation albums that I had hoped, but one pile of scrap metal that wound up taking us seven extra months to sew back together.

You could look back on this website's archive feature to see who I blamed, but it was really my own thing and saying that anything was anybodies fault is just refusing to admit that I couldn't come up with anything to do besides fume. I find myself in a similar place right now, having no time, and blaming my friends that I can't seem to write a decent song. But really, me sitting in my room pounding fingers uselessly against uke while outside suckas play soccer is my own idea. Life is a constant fight to keep itself interesting and sometimes un-life wins and the room is my tomb.

Thunder in the Morning

In less than two weeks I will be moved into a house with some of my favorite people in the world. Creative dynamos, they be, who will shake everythings essence to the core of itself. Jamie and Libby are Rock and Roll Alva Edison and Graham Bell, Richard is up there with John Cale and Dylan is up there with Jackson "Keith Moon" Pollack. I'm Carla Bley, the great angry arranger. My brother Conner Martin is currently living in Santa Cruz and he's also Keith Moon. Or Jaco Pastorius.

Again, there's at least three albums planned for the summer. I don't want to spill too much of the beans, lest any (unlikely) reader call me out on it later when I say that "Colossuses" is going to sound like the Jackson Five getting crushed by a pile of old audio rubbish; speakers, distortion, cords, antique keyboards. Or that the next album is going to be a more visceral smack-my-guitar-up exploitation of current complicated ennui issues. It would also be bad form to reveal that one of our most exciting and inclusive voyages will be undertaken at this time: A multimedia experience including folk songs, probability and toy instruments. It is okay to reveal to you, however, that we'll probably re-record Wendigo in the next few weeks, if its possible, while all the house stuff is getting sorted out. I'll scratch out some more songs today and the months will reveal themselves.

Live too, we'll be playing live. I'll buy a bass and we'll conjure a P.A. system out of some set of speakers or another and a guitar player will materialize out of the ether and if he doesn't, fuck him. We've got percussionists and Dylan found a violin so we're God-Damned covered. Booking is a cinch, performing is easier, practice is hard.

+/- 365 Days Ago

Like all summers it was great, though instead of driving around with Grayson and Trevor and listening to "Wish You Were Here" and searching for Hungry Howie's Pizza, it was driving around with Conner at midnight and listening to "Close to the Edge" in search of something that we never quite at any of the all-night supermarkets found but are still going strong t'words.

T'was tearing down my roomwide collage to paint my room completely baby blue while we listened to the Stampeders play "Sweet City Woman" on the radio, and for a while, she was.

La Scomoune/The Samurai

I'm working 60 hour weeks now. I'm not sure in this environment if albums can get done, even with brother and rest of band relocating to this shining city by the sea. Weekends are usually recovery from working and evenings are mostly nonexistent, a burrito and bed. Perhaps things will change and work will lighten up and my body will come to terms with six hours of sleep followed by twelve hours of being beaten up.

Maybe once I get a bass and an oversized keyboard in front of me the light will shine. My brother will start clacking and then everything will click. Changing houses on the Friday last of this month, maybe that will make a difference.

I'm listening to Judee Sill an artist whom I'm glad had a limited output because it would probably have stopped being so fantastic album number five or six into the game. She multitracks her voice and nice harmonies on interstellar cowboy songs and the lyrics aren't that great, but the sound is cosmicowboytacular. I'm also finding charm within Syd Barrett. And there's a Francois De Roubaix song that I love with all my heart that starts with the sound of springs being boinged.

Gharbzadegi