Thus, it is with a strangely happy heart that I have decided to close the door and shutter the windows of Dryvetyme Onlyne once and for all, but I do so while seeking out another aperture or two. It really boils down to this – since a 7-month hiatus is quite a long time in Internet “years,” I felt that making a return to this specific website wouldn’t be very interesting or worth my time. Sure, I might have over 5 years of fantastic content stored here, but if I were to attempt any sort of return to regular writing (whether it be music review, short stories, or anything else), I wanted it to be new, fresh, and as free from stress as possible.

Thus, I’m going to start penning record reviews again, but I will be posting them instead to my personal Tumblr site – aptly named Dryvetyme Onlyne. Simply put, the relaxed and whimsical feel of that platform greatly suits my attitude about the music review these days, and along with my Twitter feed, it presents a picture of my personality and worldview that is much more holistic in nature. I probably won’t post 4-6 reviews a week like I did in the good ol’ days; I think 1 a week or so will probably do the trick.

As usual, I also have several different ideas for books brewing, and maybe I’ll finally work up the courage and momentum to pursue one of those ideas to its proper conclusion. If I can succeed with If This Parking Lot Could Speak, I should feel confident enough to finish another book or two in my lifetime. Thus, I can’t chase down other literary dreams if all I’m doing is writing record reviews about whatever hip buzzbands happen to be occupying space in my inbox this week.

All in all, I’ve enjoyed my time operating this site. I might have not become the next well-known music critic, but I’ve met some great people and listened to some fantastic records. In the long run, that’s what I enjoy most about music as an art form – it has this curious ability to provide both the backing soundtrack and the driving impetus for an amazing time with your friends and family.

Thanks to everyone who has ever read a review, left a comment, or given me any sort of encouragement about Dryvetyme Onlyne. If you do happen to visit this site and are interested in submitting music for a potential review, please visit me at the “other” Dryvetyme Onlyne or follow me on Twitter – I’m much more interesting there.

Peace.

I’ve put a great deal of hard work into this site over the past few years, as I haven’t wanted to skimp on actual, incisive content and critical reflection upon music, as opposed to racking up blog hits and street cred by focusing on the most minute and fleeting flavors of the nanosecond. On one hand, the decision to go on hiatus been rather easy to make, as I’m excited to see what lies on the other side of operating a D-List music blog on my own on a nearly full-time basis. On the other hand, I know that I will miss writing about music on a regular basis, as I have loved everything I’ve done for the past five years.

And it’s been a great five years. The first two years of this site were filled with the occasional review, pictures of my time working at Boy Scout Summer Camp, half-assed poetry, and my random thoughts and ramblings about life, religion, and politics – much in the vein of a traditional, classically styled blog. For the past three years, I’ve made this site exclusively music-oriented, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it – from writing record reviews across the musical spectrum (stylistically and in terms of origin) to covering various festivals to posting all sorts of free mp3′s for you to download.

Many of you might be wondering exactly I have planned for the next several months. First of all, I will continue to push and talk about my recently published collection of short stories – If This Parking Lot Could Speak. Second, I have a couple of really great book ideas (both fiction and non-fiction) that I really want to pursue, and I feel that it will be difficult to make any sort of headway on these projects while both working a full-time job and maintaining this blog at a level I feel is worth my energies. Furthermore, there’s a distinct part of me that wants to seek out ways in which I can employ my writing talents and knowledge of various aspects of the music scene along a totally different tangent than that of just critiquing music, and I’m already making mild strides along that path. And lastly, I simply want to write more short stories, and hopefully, I can get some of those published.

I do want to thank all of you for reading and following along over these last five years. Specifically, I want to extend my sincerest thanks to all my friends who’ve served as occasional guest contributors over the last few years, most notably the inestimable Michael Dallas Miller and the effervescent Jenn Broadwell. And, I would be remiss in mentioning my lovely wife Jennifer, as she’s endured all sorts of music permeating our vehicles and apartment over the last three years – whether good, bad, weird, or intriguing – but she’s never failed to support my dreams of becoming a writer on my terms.

If/When I do choose to start writing music reviews again (whether on this blog or at another outlet), you will certainly be the first to know. It’s been a great experience, and I’m glad that you’ve been here with me. If you’re interested, I’d encourage you to keep following me further online at Twitter and Tumblr. Thanks so much – you’ve all been great. Peace.

Thus, I’m happy to help the fine folks at Gritsy announce their magnificent and massive :5th Anniversary Party, which is set to go down this Saturday, June 25th, 2011. Houston, TX doesn’t get much love in the overall music and culture press, but we’re doing a lot of good in this town, and Suraj K and his band of bassheads deserve a LOT of credit for for spreading the dubstep love in Houston for 5 years now. This monthly event has come a long way from when I attended my first show over three years ago: there were a couple dozen male music nerds upstairs at La Strada all nodding their heads to wobbly bass lines in the dark. Now, the show regularly sells out both sides of Warehouse Live, a good-sized music venue in Houston, TX that is a regular stop for national touring acts.

Judging by headlining act alone – Mala of UK-based Digital Mystikz – this night is set to be outrageous and packed with people who love bass, love dancing, and love a great night out on the town. Not only will there be other excellent DJs (including Houston, TX’s own Suraj K and Squincy Jones) who’ll be performing that night, but there will two other stages that night ready to blur all sorts of genre lines within the dance/techno/electro communities.

So, I would like to applaud Gritsy for all of the great work they’re doing to advance the cause of dubstep and forward-thinking, bass-heavy electro music. Happy 5th Anniversary from Dryvetyme Onlyne!

Guest Contributor: Michael Dallas Miller

Get Busy Dying, the debut record from used-to-do-the-punk-thing rockers Tin Horn Prayer, could be described as something else besides a beer-soaked mashing of unlikely styles, a sloppy-mud-mashing folking good time, or a cursing swing of amplified country. But it won’t let you do so, because that is what the album truly is. It is a record that wants to kick your desk speakers in the head and transform your room, your ear-phone meanderings, and your daily commute into a Friday night at the dirtiest bar you know. Then, Tin Horn Prayer wants to destroy that bar in a flurry of fuzzed-out blues guitar, brawling vocals, half-angry riffs that lead into pure folk-punk aggression, just to leave you stumbling and wishing for one more beer and one more encore.

“Better Living” opens the record with a pure country chord, and as the band joins and the vocals come down like a gruff kick-in-the-mouth, the purpose becomes clear: take the angst of a punk-rock attitude, give it some teeth, and then make it boogie and sway with old-timey textures, themes, and instrumentation. And the purpose is reached and the purpose is good. So, if you want a little violence in a bluegrass rhythm (“Crime Scene Clean-Up Team”), a little schizophrenic vengeance in a waltz (“Devil Makes Me”), or some mid-90’s energy in a story about WWII (“1939”), then pull up a bar stool, listen up, and grab the first cold beer you find. This record is certainly for you.

Everyone who lives has bad weeks, so a good way to let loose and forget the troubles of bad days gone by is found in what Tin Horn Prayer has to offer. The band presents familiar sounds with something more and something different than riotous anger, but no less cathartic. Get Busy Dying is not some namby-pamby sing-along: this is a yell-along, drink-along, carry-on-all-night-long sort of record.

Guest Contributor: Michael Dallas Miller

Happiness is won and lost on the battlefield that can exist between roommates. This has always been true. For Toronto’s folk ensemble and up-town housemates, The Wilderness of Manitoba, this battle was fought for Happiness and Success and Really Good Music. And when the smoked cleared and the bodies were counted, the last thing standing was a debut full-length called When You Left the Fire. And its glory marches on.

Everything about this album, every intricate harmony and bit of wailing pedal steel, calmly calls for an appreciation of being together. When You Left the Fire tells the story of four men and a lovely young lady living and singing and playing music together while imagining themselves outside the confines of the Toronto city grid. The pop-folk opener “Orono Park” builds a foundation of natural sounds and riverbed rhythms, all with a unique level of depth and texture unseen in most debut LPs. Following with “November” and the waltzing lament “Hermit,” the albums continues to build a musical cabin-in-the-woods, just in time for the breaking sun.

“Harsh Acres” contains a pivotal line that almost says perfectly why this album is great. After a few hop-scotching verses, a dark cloud comes over the song and the band sings together, “We’re on fire. We’re on fire.” There is a strong sense that this band and this record are caught between two worlds—the natural world and the modern world. And it is that tension to which every listener can relate and that gives the record such a sublime texture. It is this feeling that causes the band to wish for fire even though it may hurt, simply because it comes from the earth and it can’t be controlled or captured, much less blogged about. It is this desire for fire with the addition of an urban basement studio alongside the togetherness of the group itself that makes The Wilderness Of Manitoba more than another hip folk group with a growing collection of instruments.

Meandering tunes like “Sea Song,” the banjo-led “In The Family,” and the building and crashing ballad “”White Water,” will make a person believe that thoughtful music can make the world a little bit better place to be. Melissa Dalton’s humble harmonies sound more like wind than convention and play perfectly with Scott Bowmeester’s vocals, Stefan Benjevic’s cello, banjo, and slide guitar, Wil Whitwham’s whirling keys, and Sean Lancaric’s unpredictable percussion. To perfectly illustrate the beautiful tension between Nature and Modernity, the record finishes with “Reveries En Couleurs,” a thirteen minute post-rock dance between acoustic sounds and skyscraper dreams of the world Out There.

There are no typical “hits” on When You Left the Fire, but that’s the beauty of the music created by The Wilderness Of Manitoba. As grand as these songs can be, their majesty and intrigue are as simple and self-contained as the rocks and streams about which the band sings.

Guest Contributor: Michael Dallas Miller

There is a noise from the balcony. It is soft at first, but it gains confidence and it starts to get louder as the intermission music bounces off the bright-colored walls.

“Daaaady. Goooo daddy!”

As the concert-goers drink their beer from plastic cups, they look around for the source of the sound and see a small child, a bull-cut boy, leaning over the balcony railing, trying to get noticed by the tall man on stage who is tuning his guitar.

“Daaaaaddy!”

The music starts to fade and the squeaky voice from the balcony gets louder. Redwood Son’s biological son does not understand the subtle gesture of a finger against a mouth. Shhhhhhhh, the man tries to say.

“Gooooo Daddy!”

Josh Malm, lead singer and songwriter for the Portland collaboration known as Redwood Son, stands in the center of the Aladdin Theater stage and addresses the crowd and his son at the same time. Instruments–electric organs, cellos, a funk bass, a violin, a short drum set, a glockenspiel–begin to be plugged in behind him.

“I’m going to play one song and then little guy up there needs to go bed. It is way past his bedtime.” Malm says this with a slight drawl that doesn’t appear to be native to anywhere. “It is a song about being a kid and staying up way past your bedtime. Malm plays “Good to be a Kid” with precise guitar playing, focusing on a bouncy rhythm that suits his Anglo-Soul vocals. And while little Malm is taken from the balcony and to somewhere to fall asleep, the rest in the Aladdin Theater of Northeast Portland help celebrate the release of Redwood Son’s new double-disc, The Lion’s Inside.

It is difficult to say if Josh Malm is indecisive or simply a lover of all things. It is most likely the latter. The parts that make up this show scream “folk-rock snooze fest,” but the actualization of all those instruments – that funked-up bass and the haggard young man playing it, the soulful accompaniment of the lovely ladies, the fiddle player with her denim skirt and high black boots – all combine to make something that is beyond any easy classification. Malm tries calling it country-funk, and soft-rock-abilly. But songs like “Early Bird” with its ZZ Top riff-happy grind, and “Take For Granted” which sounds like a college jam-band tune, and “To Someone Else,” a near-blues ode to doing good things for other people, move so effortlessly between genres and at the same time transcend them.

Redwood Son doesn’t just play roots music, or funk music, or Americana, or some Northwest invention that comes out of adding unnecessary instruments. More than anything else, Redwood Son plays fun music. They have fun playing it. Their fans have fun hearing it. That is the connection. And that connection, that Great Vibration, is greater than possible disruption.

For instance: after the second-to-last number by country singer and intensely sweaty Jordan Harris, a small group of thirty-something finds seats in the front two rows. There are two couples and one fifth wheel. These are people are not interested in hearing music. They make it obvious from the first time one of the high-hipped women starts yelling inane comments as loud as she can to the man right next to her. And no matter how loud these people get, no matter how many times they are warned by security to quiet down, no matter how times they all decide to dance and leave the odd man out to sit by himself, the show goes on with a special kind of groove, a particular brand of positive energy, a funky groove of countrified soul.

At the end of the show, Malm still thanks the distracting crowd of Unawares for coming out to the show. And he gives them a free copy of The Lion’s Inside.

Go, daddy. Go.

Guest Contribtor: Jenn Broadwell

Maybe “Retrograde” is an expression of honesty. Is admitting to being a liar supposed to make us trust her? “Some lies we have to rehearse/ a pleasure to please and to serve”. This defines the small lies the singer likes to cook up to spare herself and others those harsh feelings, meanwhile assuring herself that doing such a thing is not wrong. I think she wants to relate to her audience. Especially because she also goes on about “inverted flaws” with the idea that we cannot be at fault for some of the things we might do or say.

The white liar behind the moniker Calm Paradox is Michelle Kennedy, a young woman who just happens to be a law student by day. She recently self-released her debut EP entitled How to Mind, and the result is that Kennedy has been compared to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Strokes, Regina Spektor, and Rilo Kiley, among others.

Often, her piano participates in lethargic obedience alongside its zealous musical relatives. But sometimes, it decides to rock out with the rest of the family. Similarly, Kennedy sounds sweet, until her vocal stands its ground against the chaos of overlapping narcissists. Plus, she demonstrates keen lyrical strength when she turns down an invitation to “Barcelona,” because she knows he doesn’t really want her there. Having the chance to convince him otherwise is not an idea that sounds interesting to her; yet her plan backfires when he decides to go alone without looking back.

I feel that songs like “Dystopia” and “Boots” pay direct resemblance to the apathetic energy and fearlessly direct approach of Rilo Kiley. Furthermore, “Boots” indulges in a subject that Rilo Kiley touched on in “Does He Love You” from the album More Adventurous. In these songs, both Kennedy and Jenny Lewis play the mistress. However, unlike Lewis who holds on to the bitter end despite her disloyal partner’s growing family, Kennedy recognizes the danger and foolishness early on. She reaches the point of anger before she gets hurt, which is more than I can say for Lewis. When she is done with him, she declares that he should “take of your promise ring; I think it expired”.

“Influenza Tiger” is reduced to a bit of a cappella for a brief verse. It imposes a grief-struck sensibility that is otherwise missing on the album — because again, she is better at anger than sadness. The piano waits until the second-to-last number to display its unencumbered talent in “Rites of Passage”.

The songs of the How To Mind EP are delightful, as I think Kennedy shines the most when she places emphasis on her pure vocal tone. On the other hand, her unmistakable rock advantage brings a rich edge into the overall mix. At 20 years old, the most important aspect of note in the music of Calm Paradox is the maturity present in the songwriting of Michelle Kennedy, especially in her ability to tackle uncomfortable issues with ease and confidence.

I feel it’s rather unfortunate that the experimental sides of rock and pop (not to mention prog on the whole) are denigrated by the masses and relegated to minority status. We can talk about certain albums and bands being critically acclaimed or under-appreciated by the masses, but generally such things are typically fawned over by fanatical cadres made up of mostly insular male nerds. I still fall victim to this, because as much as I claim to have wide-ranging musical tastes that have certainly expanded in the five years I’ve been reviewing records, I still prefer quirky, but classic pop to anything too left-field.

Thus, I was glad once again to have my ears and mind expanded outside their comfort zones by a group like Dead Rider. I’ve discussed the music of this Chicago outfit before, but on The Raw Dents, I’m rather taken aback by the strength and urgency of this nine-song project. Sonically, it’s a rich, frothy mix of slinky funk, creepy art-rock, and tweaked-out jazz, and it readily calls to mind an apocalyptic fusion of TV On The Radio, Nick Cave, and swampy prog.

The best part is that I can’t decide which element of the music I like best or I feel carries the burden of proof for the album. On one hand, the ridiculous syncopation of the drumming, pulsing with crisp snare cracks, is straight from the Elvin Jones school of percussion badasses (especially his work with John Coltrane). On the other hand, the synths and bass work are dirty and overdriven, portraying this very tangible snarl and edge. And then I would be remiss not to discuss the interplay between the horn bleats, the icy, sharp guitar licks, and the manic street preacher intonation of the vocals.

All of these strong parts combine to form rich, dense, almost-accessible grooves that never sit still and definitely aren’t stilted or pretentious like similarly talented art-school groups. Tunes like “Just A Little Something,” “Why I Only Take Baths,” and “Stop Motion” do more than keep my rapt attention – they snake and wind through my ears and into my toes with power and purpose.

Ultimately, what I like most about The Raw Dents is that it’s wonky and weird enough without coming across like an extra-dense assignment in a jazz composition class, and it still has the right amount of traditional rock pacing when needed. The album is apocalyptic without being apoplectic, and it’s grim without being bleak. These might not be happy, peppy pop songs (far from it, actually), but the group has a soul, and it’s one that enjoys a healthy bout of skeptical exploration around the margins of the human existence. For those traditional pop-rock fans that have delved into the spacey elements of the aforementioned TV On The Radio, I would encourage you to drift further outside your normal boundaries and dig into the sounds of Dead Rider.

Whether it’s been the icy minimalism of The xx or the sparse bedroom folk of Bon Iver, negative space has experienced a mild resurgence in certain indie circles in the past couple of years. Some might consider it an old compositional trick, while others feel it’s a natural reaction to the overly arranged and copious instrumentation of acts like Sufjan Stevens and Arcade Fire (not to mention their less than creative acolytes). Personally, I like the extra space in the music, mostly because it gives me space to comprehend what’s going on musically before the music heads into the next section.

If there’s anything that Bachelorette has in spades on its new self-titled project (the group’s third), it’s room in the arrangements. This eleven-track record is a fine example of the sort of wispy, spectral electro-folk created by contemporaries like Bat For Lashes and Orenda Fink, not to mention the aforementioned Bon Iver and The xx. If I were to be extra obtuse in my comparisons, I’d make the allusion that the music comes across as a pastoral soundtrack to TRON as envisioned by Goldfrapp or M83. To get even weirder on you, some sections of this record brought to mind the sort of light, arty transition pieces composed by the likes of ‘70s prog icons Rush, Genesis, and Yes.

In other words, there’s plenty of ebb and flow to the pacing of this music, as rushes of bubbling energy split time with chilly melancholy. The vocals are doused in reverb, the synth melodies dance and twirl about, and the occasional sturdy acoustic guitar strum typically makes room for layers of strings, beats, and washes of atmospheric noise. Most notably, the best songs – “The Light Seekers,” “Digital Brain,” and “Not Entertainment” – contain strong bass roots that prevent the tunes from wholesale floating away and being ho-hum angelic, ethereal selections.

Despite the warm flourishes, the band also feels rather distant – maybe it’s longing, and maybe it’s the distance is intentional. On one hand, I want to curl up with a loved one under a blanket against the cold; on the other, I feel compelled to wander alone in that same cold environment. The resultant emotions I feel emanating from these songs are conflicted in tone, and at its worst, with cuts like “Sugarbug,” “The Last Boat’s Leaving,” and “Waveforms,” it all feels like dreamy lullabies for grown-ups with very little heft or capacity to get stuck in your memory.

On the whole, I dig the vocal treatments permeating Bachelorette, as this is the main instrument driving the record and creating the sense of negative space that I brought up at the beginning of the review. Yet for all of my praising of the idea of negative space, there are times when the album becomes too quiet and dim – what music there is isn’t strong enough to stand out on its own against the stillness. Less can certainly be more, but you can only take away so much substance before you’re left with songs that are mere shadows of what they could have been.

To be perfectly honest with you, I’ve always preferred the music of female folk and alt-country artists to that of their numerous male counterparts. Maybe it’s because I prefer dusky alto croons to plaintive tenor coos. Maybe it’s because I’m always glad to see more women involved in the music industry. Maybe it’s because I’m a closet chauvinist who’s always been enamored with the female form and feels that women as artists can strike an especially powerful image. Whatever – let’s just say that I want to see more female musicians succeed in the music world.

So, I was pleased to receive the debut full-length from Ariel Lask to review on this site, and it happily struck several familiar chords, and did so with soul. Great Escape calls to mind a healthy batch of great voices – the great triumvirate of Emmylou Harris, Lucinda Williams, and Gillian Welch come immediately to mind – but I was also pleased to hear poppier influences like Sheryl Crow, Amy Grant, Colbie Caillat, and Sara Bareilles rear their head every once in awhile. More importantly, the record doesn’t stray very far from comfortable, timeworn lyrical ideas like dealing with loss and pain, exploring one’s soul, and standing resolute in the face of trials and tribulations.

Such thoughts only enhance the strong musical components at play. First and foremost is Lask’s voice – it’s a robust alto with some excellent smoky qualities, good range when needed, and the occasional off-kilter slide in tone for emotional effect. The backing band realizes this, as no one player seeks to take over the mix, and no one ever attempts to wrest control from the singer. The guitars are clean and ever so country-fied, while the rhythm section is straight-out-of-Nashville solid, and I always love to hear a good organ player fill out the sound. When the band is capable and confident, even the oldest chord progressions sound effortless and interesting.

The record reach a rather tepid point on cuts like “Bluebird,” “All I Could Do,” and “Stranger” when rather boring radio pop concepts overwhelm good pop theories. Also, while the project as a whole could serve as a reverent homage to the women who have paved the way for ladies like Lask, Shelley Coley, and Raina Rose, it also showcases an artist who’s still trying to find her own voice and personality. The songs are good, and the arrangements are pleasant and catchy, but they’re also a bit formulaic and in need of some tweaking in terms of the formatting.

Yet, as heard on selections like “Dirt’s On Fire,” “Don’t You Know,” and “Mirrors,” the real strength of Great Escape is that Ariel Lask has learned the lessons of her forebears – the power inherent in this genre rests in the heartfelt, sincere presentation of the material. There’s no need for pomp, circumstance and bombast in the worlds of alt-country and folk-pop; if people believe that you believe in what you’re singing, then you’ve captured people’s attention, even nerdy music critics like myself who typically listen to indie-pop, punk, hip-hop, and weird electronic stuff. And maybe that’s why I prefer the feminine side of the genre – I believe these women, with their tales of woe and heartache – whereas too many guys sound like they’re content telling someone else’s story.