It’s been five years since heralded progressive outfit Rishloo last graced us with an off-kilter time-shift or a soaring conclusion to an eight minute stargaze, and despite having an impervious explanation for this passage of time — they broke up; vocalist Andrew Mailloux decided to pursue other avenues whilst the remaining members carried on as the instrumental The Ghost Apparatus — there has always been a feeling that they’d cut the chord too early, that they’d not yet made the record they’d been reaching for with Eidolon and Feathergun.
Iconoclast is brazenly reticent, a ‘halt’ hand gesture with a ‘come-hither’ finger. The landscape alters with slow ceaselessness, and what is at first cloaked by a lit mist of woven synths and airy, intangible voices becomes blackened by soot and ash – but rather than recoil, you allow it.
The truth is, even in Upstate New York you’re rarely too far from somewhere, and I would sometimes go to concerts in New York City, though this proved a tricky proposition always, as I had to find under-21 shows, and they couldn’t be on weeknights, and had overall to be agreeable for my parents, who accompanied me in my early teens. Culture always felt like an exertion, and because of this a triumph.
I’ve known myself to waste considerable amounts of time getting irrationally angry at the inconsequential. I wouldn’t say I’m a pessimist, but despite best intentions my internal monologue seems stricken by the Napoleon complex, and on a near-constant basis it seethes about stuff it needn’t. Dawdling walkers, uncooperative bowling balls, impenetrable packaging – all have fallen victim to the searing heat of my unexpressed vitriol.
We often look at music with a vacuumous gaze, ignoring the artistic big picture with a gleeful, nonchalant sweep of a Macbook trackpad. But sometimes, the blurred lines created by the literature of musicians offers valuable insight that enhances the understanding of both mediums. Rob Rubsam looks at how John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats has explored empathy in both word and note.
Few announcements of a reunion have been afforded such universal backing as Mineral’s in recent years, and so Rob Rubsam took it upon himself to see if the revolutionary emo quartet have managed to maintain their spectacular, captivating aura. In short, yes, and then some.
Earlier this year, we were won over by the spirited charge of Sinai Vessel, an emo band with songs that were bold and ambitions bolder still. Differing lineups have revolved around its creator, Caleb Cordes, and given all of the changes and the charmingly humble humanity of the Profanity EP, we wanted to rummage further into the depths of his quite lovely brain.
For thousands of DIY musicians the world over, manning the mucky front-line of the musical ecosystem is as much a part of the job as picking up a knackered, sweat-covered Fender for a dimly-lit basement show in an unknown town. It’s a world where being able to use TweetDeck is as important as remembering your songs, and where anonymous Facebook fans can turn from unfamiliar avatars to willing hosts in the blink of a broken-down van. These bands and artists are the collective flag printers, the scrambling booking agents, the MailChimp press officers, the heavy lifters, the tape recorders and — buried beneath a buckling outbox — the creative forces.
In an act of salacious shamelessness, the drummer was naked less than five minutes into the set, his snare so low as to display everything, the lights at just the right angle to adequately illuminate the surprise fourth member and apparent namesake of Mister Lizard.
The singer is going on about trains and dear green fields and he tries his best to keep the folksy accent when he talks, tries his best to hide the fact these hucksters are all from Brooklyn, inexplicable folk music capital of the world. Working class heroes of America in 300-dollar Doc Martens.