Thursday, April 03, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

The Black Keys

Thickfreakness

If you are drooling over the White Stripes' new album this week, next week you must seek out the latest disc from the Black Keys. Because if you think the Stripes are the pinnacle of lo-fi blues-inspired rock, you need the Keys to give you a history lesson. Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney, hailing from Akron, Ohio, which appears to be the new Austin/Athens/Seattle, sound like they were born in the sweat-soaked hinterlands of the Mississippi Delta, birthed by a devil's union of Robert Johnson and Son House. Their first album, last year's The Big Come Up, received critical raves. The new one, on Fat Possum Records, matches and in some ways exceeds it.

Unless you did a little Net research like I did, you'd never believe the Black Keys are two nerdy-looking white boys in their 20s. Auerbach's voice is soulful, aged and raw--what Kiraly would call a Voice of a Thousand Camels. The title track launches the disc on the proper note with a raunchy midtempo riff that is equals parts Howlin' Wolf and Jimmy Page. There are no adornments here, just Auerbach's visceral guitar turned up to 11 and Carney's reserved but relentless drumming. "Set You Free," the disc's best song, echoes Muddy Waters and Bad Company--100-proof blues rawk. "Everywhere I Go" slows down the pace, setting a contemplative mood, with Auerbach's guitar explorations keeping the music moving forward.

The Black Keys are all about influences. Surely they wouldn't, they couldn't argue that they have happened upon something original--except to say that their brand of Delta/Chicago blues is informed by everything that has come since, from Hendrix to Zeppelin to punk to metal. They know from where their music springs--and they are fine with it. And so are we.--Geoff Schumacher

Venus Hum

Big Beautiful Sky

If you consider electronica an unfeeling form of music more focused on moving bodies than moving emotion, electroclash might be your ticket off the crowded dance floor. The name's pizzazz is misleading. It's electro, all right, but there's little clash about it; rather, this offshoot of dance club music attempts to marry synths and soul, with an emphasis on vocals, traditionally structured songs, and all the slick, contained drama of a Mercedes ad. Big Beautiful Sky meets muster on all those fronts; this polished major-label debut by the Nashville-based trio Venus Hum is rich with tech-savviness, sophistication and feeling. Think a bolder Bjork, or Portishead with a pulse; like them, Venus Hum wears its heart proudly on its robot sleeve.

Okay, some of it sounds like 'Til Tuesday and Erasure mixed their mousse to form a supergroup (take the somewhat overreaching "Wordless May"). But most of Big Beautiful Sky conjures the vibe of its namesake, whether it's the richly textured electro-sprint "Beautiful Spain" or "Montana," a straightahead diva-meets-DJ number that's as catchy as it is irrepressible. The common thread running through these songs is vocalist Annette Strean, who looks like a librarian but pipes like a pro. Her voice is versatile and strong; on the radio-friendly "Soul Sloshing," for instance, she both sings and word-plays with equal ease, while "Springtime #2" (which snaps, pops and burbles along wonderfully) has Strean singing in an achingly cute extended sigh. But Strean isn't all sweetness. On "Sonic Boom," she vamps in full diva glory, her voice sporting a vixenish edge. Her power and versatility just might be the thing that launches Venus Hum into permanent orbit.--Andrew Kiraly

The Stratford 4

Love and Distortion

The album's name says it all. Love and Distortion, the second album by Bay Area indie rock outfit the Stratford 4, is fuzzbox romanticism to the hilt. It strongly recalls early 1990s dream pop acts like Ride and Adorable, who helped popularize shoegazer rock in Britain (also see Lush, Slowdive and My Bloody Valentine) and were best known for their forlorn melodies and euphoric guitar swells. The Stratford 4 make good on their legacies, just as fellow NoCal act Black Rebel Motorcycle Club--whose musicians used to play in a band with Stratford's guitarist/vocalist Chris Streng--did by building upon the foundation laid by the Jesus and Mary Chain, a shoegazer prototype itself.

Like BRMC--and NYC's Interpol, for that matter--the Stratford 4 thrive on nostalgia for Anglo post-punk psychedelica. This counters any claim of stylistic discovery; the quartet actually partakes in an unabashed reinvention. Far more compelling, however, is the strength of the songwriting and the affectation of the performance. "Telephone," for example, is a wistful ode to youth and a roll call of the band's inspirations (Spacemen 3, T-Rex, Belle & Sebastian, to name a few). The lyrical sentimentality is appealing on its own, but it's enhanced by Streng's deft and soothing chord handling. On top of that, his vocal evocation is direct and empowered, a near-hybrid of Paul Westerberg's harmonious rasp and Conor Oberst's articulate emotionalism.

The Stratford 4 distinguishes itself from the rest of the dream-pop pack by rarely letting the six-string tsunamis overcome the songs. Twelve years ago, bands were tempted to let the effect pedals drown out other elements, sonic chaos often ensuing. There's little meandering or hallucinating here; Streng and company have the reins held tight, giving their compositions a welcome (but never stringent) focus. You, on the other hand, will have your head in the clouds, trying to remember if it felt this good the first time around--Mike Prevatt