Relive the late 80s

Remember the late 80s?

When bands as diverse as Throwing Muses, R.E.M., the Pixies and the Replacements were all stashed in the same corner of the record store because they weren’t Skid Row, Milli Vanili, Whitney Houston or Guns N’ Roses? When labels didn’t think achieving post-punk credibility meant signing every band or artist that sounded like Pearl Jam, Sarah McLachlan or Matchbox Twenty?

Listening to Japanese band Fleming Pie brings back that feeling, that particular giddiness when no one in the mainstream music business knew what to make of the Camper Van Beethovens, Dead Milkmens and Melvins of the world.

At the same time, Fleming Pie doesn’t quite resemble any of the bands that experienced their creative peak in the last half of the second to final decade of the previous millenium.

Fleming Pie’s eponymous debut album starts off with “Sunday Morning,” a track worthy of XTC during its Skylarking/Oranges and Lemons era. From there, it moves to more conventional alternative pop on the level of Green/Out of Time-era R.E.M. with “1,000,000 Men” and “The Man in the Moon” (not to be confused with the Automatic for the People-era song of the afformentioned comparrison group.)

Along the way, Fleming Pie’s incredibly polished songcraft yields anthemic ballads (“Need”), bluesy ruminations (“Primary”), a number of funky rockers (“Yume”, “Ai to Uso”), a John Lennon-esque piano song (“Fossil”) and even a grungy, Love and Rockets closer (“No More Fantasy”).

The album’s pinnacle is “So Ra So (Nashville Mix)”, and the band really does try to play up the “Nashville” part of this mix. Guitars slide and twang on a song that was originally released as a straight-forward alternative pop single.

Singer Nakashima Tomoko’s voice could be construed as helium-inflected to anyone who hasn’t spent a lot of time with Shiina Ringo albums. In reality, she has a vaguely soulful voice acustomed to songwriter Segawa Eishi’s heavily American music.

Fleming Pie is an accomplished band with an album’s worth of very good songs. So why haven’t they dominated the Oricon charts?

It’s perhaps because Fleming Pie’s music is incredibly competent but not particularly flashy or extreme. Plus, the band looks like your next door neighbor. “Visual” just isn’t in this quartet’s vocabulary.

Which is a shame. Fleming Pie deserve a chance in its homeland. They certainly deserve this much coverage.

Bottom’s up

Don’t let the opening track of Rock Bottom fool you.

If you’re expecting those blasts of distortion the Kiss Offs deliver as a matter of course, you won’t find them all that much on “Let Me Find the Good in You.”

And unfortunately, it leaves the impression that the Kiss Offs have gotten bored with what they do. Far from it.

Rock Bottom continues the dischordant but melodic pop-punk the Kiss Offs wonderfully birthed on 1999’s Goodbye Private Life. “Let Me Find the Good in You” somehow doesn’t channel the energy of subsequent tracks, even though it probably could have.

But after that initial hump, the nine-track album hits the stride of its thoroughly enjoyable predecessor, and it feels good. Damn good.

“Broken Fingers for Talented Singers” is an sweet ode to rock music that’s both obtuse and hook-y. “We Can Work It Out” gets a thorough high-speed workout, while “Mmm Mmm Mmm” sounds as good as its title implies.

Those 1 1/2-minute ditties on Goodbye Private Life have matured into three-minute confections on Rock Bottom. The album even concludes with “Pleather Pantz,” a seven-minute epic divided into four parts (not like its apparent in the song itself).

Katey Jones and Philip Niemeyer provide their trademark vocal interplay, but with the songs’ lyrics moving away from matters of the groin, the pair aren’t given as much opportunity to play with each other, so to speak.

Regardless, the Kiss Offs’ growly, buzzing guitars still growl and buzz, and Rock Bottom is a nice conclusion to the band’s literally fiery career.

Jazz-rock or rock-jazz?

It’s hard to really criticize Do As Infinity.

The band’s individual influences, ranging from Led Zeppelin to Natalie Imbruglia, is reflected in a sound that rocks as hard as it swings. On DAI’s debut album, Break of Dawn, the Japanese trio crafted pop music that’s sophisticated while catchy, challenging but simple.

The band’s follow-up album, New World, takes the extremes of Do As Infinity’s unique jazz-pop-rock sound even further. On the whole, the results are terrific, but specific moments almost undermine that work.

Songs such as “Eien,” “Desire,” “Rumble Fish” and the title track exemplify Do As Infinity’s core muse — hook-filled pop with beefy guitars and smart harmonic rhythms.

While the band’s jazzier influences certainly make their songs more complex than the usual J-pop fare, at times the mood is just forced. “Holiday” is a decent enough swing number, but alongside the kinetic fireworks of “135,” the song sticks out quite sorely.

“We Are” is thoroughly bouncy tune reminiscent of Swing Out Sister’s post-debut work, but it pales in comparrison to DAI’s rockier moments.

And that’s the area where Do As Infinity have stronger moments. With a double guitar arsenal of Owatari Ryo and Nagao Dai, tracks such as the greasy “Snail” and the headbanging “Summer Days” give the two axeslingers plenty of room to show off.

Still, singer Van Tomiko has a powerful and appealing alto that suits all aspects of Do As Infinity’s aesthetic. The band makes good use of that talent, regardless of whether they’re leaning to one side of their musical equation or the other.

Thankfully, all the more awkward moments are limited to just a few tracks. The rest of the album is gloriously filler-free, each tune nicely balancing hard, driving rock with infectous hooks.

New World continues the excellent work Do As Infinity has already begun with its first album. The band’s unique sound can withstand any number of repeat listenings. They know their stuff.

Not a guilty pleasure

Big ass disclaimer in first-person perspective (you hate reading ’em, and I hate writing ’em, so let’s get it out of the way):

If I were forced to listen to rap-rock, I’d like it to be more heavy on the rock than the rap. But that’s just me.

I don’t channel hip-hop culture, so that portion of a rap-rock equation will be lost on me no matter how good the artist is. Which means I’ll take uninformed potshots at Limp Bizkit and Korn while practicing a double standard idolizing Rage Against the Machine and Missile Girl Scoot.

Now that you know from where I’m coming, I can now safely proceed to give RIZE a favorable review.

This Japanese trio is a rock band first. The guitar riffs are pure metal. Bassist TOKIE delivers some Zeppelin-worthy lines, even busting out an electric upright to give her part something subtle and special. Nobuaki Kaneko, meanwhile, grounds everything with drumming that’s both solid and all-over-the-place.

Even though vocalist/guitarist Jesse spends most of the recording rapping in a raspy, bleach-drenched holler, he does at least to attempt to sing — and I use that term somewhat loosely — some choruses.

The results aren’t too bad on such tracks as “Music”, “Why I’m Me” and “Rocks.” Then again, with riffs as big as these, the last thing RIZE needs is a Really Good Singer. In short, Jesse does his job pretty damn well.

RIZE’s debut album, Rookey, is the kind of recording you either really dig ‘cos you’re into rap-rock, or you hate yourself for liking ‘cos it is rap-rock.

But don’t let rough-hewned rap delivery hang you up — RIZE knows how to rock out. It’s all there in the guitars.

Beautiful thing

Okay, okay. The cliché-writing critic in me has to get the following sentence out of the way. I won’t rest easy if I don’t. Ahem:

If you like Mazzy Star, you’ll love AJICO.

There. I said it. And right away, I’m shaking my head at the inaccuracy of the remark.

Granted, AJICO does share with Mazzy Star some crucial similarities: a slow, haunted, atomspheric sound; a compelling lead singer; great songs.

But singer UA is not Hope Sandoval.

UA’s rich, husky voice immediately calls to mind Patti Smith or Marianne Faithful. When layered over Asai Kenichi’s reverb-drenched guitar work, AJICO resembles more closely the psychedelic influences that inform both groups.

On the opening title track of Fukamidori, UA delivers one of the most bluesy melodies in her career, stamping it with a distinct emotional charge. “Lake” has the quiet intensity that gave Erik Satie a permanent place in the western music repetoire. The eight-minute “Hadou” builds with a “White Rabbit” sense of proportion, only to conclude with Doors-like improvisation.

But not all is moody and grey, mean and restless. The grungey “Utsukushii Koto” (“Beautiful Thing”) approximates what the Velvet Undergroud might have sounded like if they wrote conventional rock songs. “Freedom” breaks the general solemnity of the album with a bouncy, sugary hook. “Garage Drive” thump-whacks along with a “Pretty Woman”-esque bass line.

When the mood does lighten up, Asai takes over vocal duties with a rough, nasal tenor that suites the group’s classic rock tendencies as well as UA’s deep alto. When the two voices join on “Utsukushii Koto,” the combination is astounding.

Fukamidori is a terrific debut, and with UA at the mic, listeners can rarely go wrong.

Hero worship in the best sense

The ’60s have been over for what? 30 years now?

But as the recent chart-topping success of The Beatles #1 demonstrates, the third to the last decade of the previous millenium refuses to go into that good night.

So what to make of Love Psychedelico?

This duo from Japan are so enamoured of their Jefferson Airplane, Rolling Stones and Revolver-era Beatles records, lead singer KUMI even affects a British accent in her Japanese. They’ve even titled their debut album, The Greatest Hits.

Love Psychedelico so faithfully recreate a vintage sound, right down to wheezy organs, clanging klaviers and jangly, twangy guitars, it’s amazing to think anyone in the world would go so retro so hardcore. (Only the drum machines give them away as a modern band.)

Under unskilled hands, this kind of sound could result in true evil, but Love Psychedelico not only manage to avoid nostalgic gimmickery — they make their sound totally work.

Credit that to the group’s incredibly strong songwriting and KUMI’s soaring vocals. Tracks such as “Your Song”, “Lady Madonna”, “Moonly” and “Nostalgia ’69” never tire with repeated listenings.

Even when shades of the past get a bit too familiar — the chorus of “I miss you” is almost a note-for-note quote of “Ruby Tuesday” — Love Psychedelico never fall into the trap of blind hero worship.

If anything, the group has done the miraculous achievement of honoring the past by creating new works in that same idiom. Sort of like folk singers who aren’t afraid to set traditional Gaelic waulking songs to techno beats.

Brings new meaning to the term “idol pop.”

Without a net

Jon Crosby does something remarkable on Music for People.

He’s managed to take music from a whole lot of influences and turned them into a cohesive work.

Critics have already been wetting themselves over VAST’s Music for People for good reason. This album jumps from anthemic rock to metallic thunder to lush string arrangements to everything in between, without a single two-second pause between tracks.

The opening strains of “The Last One Alive” call to mind Starfish-era Church, but when that opener segues into the album’s first single, “Free,” Crosby turns into a throat-bursting powerhouse, proclaiming his freedom at full volume. Afterward, Crosby retreats and almost turns into Boy-era Bono during the majestic bridge of “I Don’t Have Anything.”

And that’s just the first three tracks. As the album progresses, Crosby processes even more diverse sources. There’s a sliver of an Engima reference with a Gregorian chant-like sample on “What Else Do I Need.” “Blue” features an etheral piano and string arrangement that’s equal parts Lou Reed and Paul McCartney. “Land of Shame” even moves along on a shuffle beat.

Music for People is a sonic rollercoaster ride never on the verge of flying apart, even when your eyes tell you it should.

The only criticism that can be levied on the album is it’s relatively indescript mix. With such a work with a broad range of dynamics, it almost seems a shame that the guitars don’t buzz louder or the strings sweep more broadly.

But hey — that’s what volume knobs were made for.

Bono vox

There’s a moment on Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea that erases any doubts that a listener made a right purchase.

It happens toward the end of “The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore.” Polly Jean Harvey hits a stratospheric note with blood-curdling precision, and yet her husky voice gives that wail-like tone a ruddy color.

And that pretty much speaks volumes to what Harvey does with her voice throughout this album.

Within a single track, Harvey can move from gutteral chant to sweet croon, from quiet deadpan to soaring falsetto, from introspective whisper to forceful directness.

And the songs on Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea provide ample opportunity for Harvey to flex her remarkable control.

The album starts off with Harvey practically bellowing at her audience on “Big Exit,” but when the chorus hits, she delivers a pristine soprano. Later, she draws in on “One Line,” layering her voice in an ethereal choir.

And just when you didn’t think Harvey couldn’t do any better, along comes Radiohead’s Thom Yorke to accenuate Harvey’s more bittersweet range.

Although Harvey is an excellent songwriter in any setting, it’s the harder tracks on Stories that leave a more lasting impression.

Her wail sounds wonderfully eerie on “Kamikaze.” “Is This Love” has one of those dirty grooves that just feels way too fun, and the appropriately titled “We Float” features a chorus that does exactly that.

But PJ Harvey the songwriter isn’t the star on Stories — it’s Harvey’s incredible vox.

Britain’s would-be best

There are a few things preventing Supercar’s Futurama from being one of the best British pop albums to be released in 2000.

Supercar isn’t from Britain, and Futurama isn’t sung in English.

Of course, the same could almost be said if Supercar were based in the States and did sing in English — it doesn’t prevent Futurama from sounding like it came from a Manchester rave or a London garage.

Supercar is really from Japan, as the band’s lyrics attest, but the group’s gorgeous sonic tapestry of buzzing, industrial guitars, techno beats, and square-wave synthesizer effects is far more international.

The Sony press machine compares the band to Lush, the Cranes and Psychocandy-era Jesus and Mary Chain.

Well, it’s a better description than I can come up with, even if it’s still slightly inaccurate. Think of a more electronica-friendly, less-grungey Garbage.

Supercar achieves the kind of balance between rock and dance that major labels were so desparately trying to find back in 1997, when alternative rock really started to leave a bad, putrefying smell.

If anything, Supercar does labelmates Boom Boom Satellites one better by writing actualy tunes.

“White Surf Style 5” is like a Beach Boys song on poppers. “Baby Once More” indulges in the lyrical minimalism of the best club music while employing twangy guitars. “Flava” sports effects that call to mind space-age lounge music, while “A.O.S.A.” sounds like it could have come from Everything But the Girl’s distant garage rock cousins.

“New Young City” features some really nice string arrangements that Jon Crosby probably cosmically channeled while recording VAST’s Music for People, while “Fairway” buzzes to an incessant dance beat.

Bassist/vocalist Nakamura Koji sings like he has a British accent — although not as heavily fake as Love Psychedelico’s Kumi — and his cool croon suits Supercar’s metallic but warm sound.

Aside from being a widly diverse and original work, Futurama is also incredibly cohesive, even as it pulls in 20 directions at one time. It’s an ambitious work that’s skillfully written as it is wonderfully performed.

Louder, darker, better

It’s easy to gush over the Brilliant Green’s first two albums. The Brilliant Green and Terra 2001 are both very competent albums, sporting solid songwriting and very spirited performances.

But after a while, the shiny happy jangle pop of “BuriGuri” doesn’t allow a listener to really rock out.

The trio’s third album, Los Angeles, is quite a proverbial kick in the arse.

The band sounds alternately angry and haunted on this album, even when they attempt to retain the brightness of their first two works. But that louder, darker sound works.

“The Lucky Star” starts off quietly with a heavily distorted vocal, then bursts into a roar. “Yeah I Want You Baby” continues that outburst with some of the grungiest guitars the group has ever produced.

“Sayonara Summer is Over” and “Falling Star in Your Eye” take baby steps back to the lighter BuriGuri of the past, but other tracks such as the reverb-drenched “Hidoi Ame” and the solemn “Kuroi Tsubasa” ground the band in its beautiful blue funk.

Los Angeles concludes with “I can hold you hand, baby,” a blues-y, atmospheric track worthy of Mazzy Star.

It’s as if something happened to The Brilliant Green since it’s last album to give the world the sonic equivalent of an upraised middle finger, but they’ve wrapped that finger in a diamond-studded velvet glove.

This time around, only the song titles are in English. Singer Kawase Tomoko sings in Japanese on this album, and while the rest of band set the amplifiers to 11, Kawase maintains the sweet core that made the BuriGuri’s earlier songs such pop confections. Now, she’s the element that makes the band’s harder songs go down easier.

Los Angeles finds the Brilliant Green growing up and expanding. It’s nice to see a band that continues to top itself after achieving high after high.