sábado, 25 de septiembre de 2010
ICELAND AIRWAVES FESTIVAL
Despite the ominous day the volcanoes in Iceland started erupting, ‘every (ash) cloud has a silver lining’, and with them, they bring: Iceland Airwaves. The world’s only truly unique festival brings us daytime lagoon parties in hot springs whilst live bands and DJs play at night in Reykjavik’s finest venues.
Electronic acts Robyn, Moderat, Silver Columns and Factory Floor will be joining the likes of Mount Kimbie, Everything Everything, Hurts, Joy Formidable, Hercules & Love Affair, and Alex Metric under the Northern Lights this October. With Germany’s ambient electronic trio Moderat and South Carolina multi-instrumentalist Toro Y Moi. UK's synth-pop Silver Columns and Factory Floor. Finally from FInland, the three-piece, boy baiting female electro-pop band Le Corps Mince De Francoise. Whilst Iceland's own Rökurró, authentic Reykjavik hip hop act Diddi Fel and melodic post-rock from For A Minor Reflection make their highly anticipated appearances. Full line-up here.
Dazed have paired up with the Festival to give readers a once in a lifetime chance to fly over to Iceland courtesy of IcelandAir with a friend, accommodation catered for, plus a pair of tickets for the Festival. To enter, simply e-mail airwaves@dazedgroup.com before 1st October 2010.
INTERNATIONAL LINEUP:
Alex Metric plus special guest Charlie XCX (UK), Basia Bulat (CA), Bombay Bicycle Club (UK), Efterklang (DK), Everything Everything (UK), Factory Floor (UK), Hercules and Love Affair (USA), Hundreds (DE), Hurts (UK), Jaakko and Jay (FI), JJ (SE), Joy Formidable (UK), Junip (SE), Le Corps Mince De Francoise (FI), Moderat (DE), Mount Kimbie (UK), Oh No Ono (DK), Robyn (SE), Silver Columns (UK), Slagsmålsklubben (SE), Snailhouse (CA), The Amplifetes (SE), The Antlers (USA), Think About Life (CA), Toro Y Moi (USA), Tunng (UK)
Electronic acts Robyn, Moderat, Silver Columns and Factory Floor will be joining the likes of Mount Kimbie, Everything Everything, Hurts, Joy Formidable, Hercules & Love Affair, and Alex Metric under the Northern Lights this October. With Germany’s ambient electronic trio Moderat and South Carolina multi-instrumentalist Toro Y Moi. UK's synth-pop Silver Columns and Factory Floor. Finally from FInland, the three-piece, boy baiting female electro-pop band Le Corps Mince De Francoise. Whilst Iceland's own Rökurró, authentic Reykjavik hip hop act Diddi Fel and melodic post-rock from For A Minor Reflection make their highly anticipated appearances. Full line-up here.
Dazed have paired up with the Festival to give readers a once in a lifetime chance to fly over to Iceland courtesy of IcelandAir with a friend, accommodation catered for, plus a pair of tickets for the Festival. To enter, simply e-mail airwaves@dazedgroup.com before 1st October 2010.
INTERNATIONAL LINEUP:
Alex Metric plus special guest Charlie XCX (UK), Basia Bulat (CA), Bombay Bicycle Club (UK), Efterklang (DK), Everything Everything (UK), Factory Floor (UK), Hercules and Love Affair (USA), Hundreds (DE), Hurts (UK), Jaakko and Jay (FI), JJ (SE), Joy Formidable (UK), Junip (SE), Le Corps Mince De Francoise (FI), Moderat (DE), Mount Kimbie (UK), Oh No Ono (DK), Robyn (SE), Silver Columns (UK), Slagsmålsklubben (SE), Snailhouse (CA), The Amplifetes (SE), The Antlers (USA), Think About Life (CA), Toro Y Moi (USA), Tunng (UK)
viernes, 24 de septiembre de 2010
Arcade Fire: The 411 On Indie's Biggest Band
Respect for the Game
It's 5:45 on a flawless summer afternoon at Montreal's Osheaga Music Festival, just under three hours before Arcade Fire are scheduled to play in front of a capacity crowd of over 50,000 -- by far their biggest ever show in their hometown -- but the gig is the last thing on anyone's mind. A more epic reckoning is at hand: a table-tennis throwdown with Pavement.
"I sent an e-mail to [Pavement's] Bob Nastanovich, saying I'd heard they were the best on the circuit," Jeremy Gara, Arcade Fire's drummer-shouter-guitarist, tells me. "He wrote me back a two-line answer: 'Pavement thanks you for your gracious invitation. Your ass is grass.' "
As he says this, Gara's eyes widen slightly, and he looks, even more than usual, like a mischievous and slightly startled little boy. "I hear [Stephen] Malkmus is good," he tells Tim Kingsbury, Arcade Fire's guitarist-bassist-keyboardist. (Note: Elaborate hyphenates are unavoidable when identifying the seven, at least, members of Arcade Fire.) Kingsbury nods his mop-topped head serenely.
"Win's good, too," Kingsbury, 33, says of his own band's singer-guitarist-bassist-keyboardist, Win Butler. "And he doesn't like to lose."
A small crowd starts to gather around the blue table. "I don't even play Ping-Pong," Gara, 32, murmurs. "What in God's name have I started?"
The men of Pavement arrive a few minutes later, dressed in polo shirts and shorts and tennis shoes, appearing in the ring of catering trailers with a certain low-key dignity, as befits their status as elder statesmen of the indie grind. (Not that the setup in Osheaga feels "indie," if that word has any currency left these days: Guitar techs, personal assistants, photographers, photographer's assistants, security, on-call masseuses, and God knows what else swarm around like so many aphids, and the food -- always the best barometer of a festival's fiscal health -- ranges from smoothies to jerk Alaskan king crab. There's an oyster bar, for Christ's sake. Did I mention the on-call masseuses?) Nastanovich, Pavement's tom-slapper, screamer, and all-purpose mascot, claims rustiness, then trounces Kingsbury, 36--15. Pavement guitarist Scott Kannberg and drummer Steve West opt out of the fray, leaving Malkmus and Win Butler, who've seemed a bit shy around each other so far, to get on with the afternoon's marquee event. As they step to the table, Butler tells Malkmus that he really enjoyed a show Pavement put on more than ten years ago. Malkmus shrugs affably. And so it begins.
For all that Malkmus and Butler have in common -- white boys from cushy backgrounds who front indie-rock outfits with rabid followings -- they couldn't seem more different from one another. Malkmus is a patrician and preppy well-to-do dad on vacation, while Butler, 30, with his vaguely paramilitary outfit and his lanky jock's body topped by a sandy brown quasi-mohawk, looks like Steve Nash channeling Joe Strummer. For a backstage hangout, especially one centered on a competitive sporting event, things feel pleasantly hierarchy-free, but even Arcade Fire's well-known commitment to collectivity has its limits. During a pause in the Butler-Malkmus face-off, two friends of the band tie up the table for a little too long. "C'mon, guys," Butler mutters impatiently. "Show a little respect for the game."
Butler and Malkmus resume their play with studied nonchalance, but the match is fast and fierce and nearly silent. Heckling is kept to a respectful minimum as members of the National rank among the looky-loos. The score, after two games, is a perfect draw: 21--16, 16--21. Butler wants to go best out of three, but there's the little matter of the aforementioned 50,000 fans, so the gentlemen of Pavement climb into a convoy of chauffeured golf carts and putter smoothly off into the sunset. I ask Gara if it feels as though a torch of some kind has been passed. Being a well-mannered young man (and a Canadian, to boot), he actually considers this question.
"I dunno," he says. "If Win had won, maybe?"
Three Hours Later
I'm standing on the right side of Osheaga's enormous main stage, observing a large crowd in the process of having their brains defibrillated. Subtlety is the first casualty of the festival circuit, and -- although precise, painstaking details abound on all Arcade Fire recordings, including their third album, The Suburbs, which will be released three days from now -- the band's live incarnation has all the nuance of a North Korean air show. At no point does any member of the band seem anything less than ecstatic: Richard Reed Parry and Will Butler, Win's younger brother, and Régine Chassagne, his wife, dash from one side of the stage to the other, switching from guitar to drums to keys to instruments I barely know the name of, sometimes mid-song; Kingsbury and Sarah Neufeld, on violin, thrash and sway and shudder gracefully; Gara bashes at the kit with his eyes and mouth wide open; and at the center of all this expertly stage-managed hysteria, Win lurches around like a heartbroken Frankenstein's monster. In the brief snatch of silence after "Month of May," The Suburbs' most blistering number, a starstruck hipster behind me turns to his googly-eyed girlfriend. "They're, like, six or seven bands all packed together," he murmurs.
"Yeah," says the girlfriend. "Inside of an aircraft carrier."
A lot of great bands -- even some Arcade Fire owe a debt to -- have built whole careers on self-doubt; not Win Butler and family. If one quality seems indivisible from the music they make, from their eponymous 2003 EP up to and including The Suburbs, it's conviction. Unabashable, indefatigable, Sherman's-March-through-Georgia righteousness, a blitzkrieg on apathy of every possible stripe comes across as clearly as a five-bell alarm on the band's recordings, but at their concerts it hits you physically, in your muscles and your rib cage and your intestines -- everywhere -- before your brain has had a chance to arm itself. The Suburbs' eighth track, "Half Light II (No Celebration)," makes this transaction plain: "Wanna wash away my sins / In the presence of my friends." If there's a more clear-cut summary of arena-rock catharsis than those two simple lines, I haven't come across it yet.
It's 5:45 on a flawless summer afternoon at Montreal's Osheaga Music Festival, just under three hours before Arcade Fire are scheduled to play in front of a capacity crowd of over 50,000 -- by far their biggest ever show in their hometown -- but the gig is the last thing on anyone's mind. A more epic reckoning is at hand: a table-tennis throwdown with Pavement.
"I sent an e-mail to [Pavement's] Bob Nastanovich, saying I'd heard they were the best on the circuit," Jeremy Gara, Arcade Fire's drummer-shouter-guitarist, tells me. "He wrote me back a two-line answer: 'Pavement thanks you for your gracious invitation. Your ass is grass.' "
As he says this, Gara's eyes widen slightly, and he looks, even more than usual, like a mischievous and slightly startled little boy. "I hear [Stephen] Malkmus is good," he tells Tim Kingsbury, Arcade Fire's guitarist-bassist-keyboardist. (Note: Elaborate hyphenates are unavoidable when identifying the seven, at least, members of Arcade Fire.) Kingsbury nods his mop-topped head serenely.
"Win's good, too," Kingsbury, 33, says of his own band's singer-guitarist-bassist-keyboardist, Win Butler. "And he doesn't like to lose."
A small crowd starts to gather around the blue table. "I don't even play Ping-Pong," Gara, 32, murmurs. "What in God's name have I started?"
The men of Pavement arrive a few minutes later, dressed in polo shirts and shorts and tennis shoes, appearing in the ring of catering trailers with a certain low-key dignity, as befits their status as elder statesmen of the indie grind. (Not that the setup in Osheaga feels "indie," if that word has any currency left these days: Guitar techs, personal assistants, photographers, photographer's assistants, security, on-call masseuses, and God knows what else swarm around like so many aphids, and the food -- always the best barometer of a festival's fiscal health -- ranges from smoothies to jerk Alaskan king crab. There's an oyster bar, for Christ's sake. Did I mention the on-call masseuses?) Nastanovich, Pavement's tom-slapper, screamer, and all-purpose mascot, claims rustiness, then trounces Kingsbury, 36--15. Pavement guitarist Scott Kannberg and drummer Steve West opt out of the fray, leaving Malkmus and Win Butler, who've seemed a bit shy around each other so far, to get on with the afternoon's marquee event. As they step to the table, Butler tells Malkmus that he really enjoyed a show Pavement put on more than ten years ago. Malkmus shrugs affably. And so it begins.
For all that Malkmus and Butler have in common -- white boys from cushy backgrounds who front indie-rock outfits with rabid followings -- they couldn't seem more different from one another. Malkmus is a patrician and preppy well-to-do dad on vacation, while Butler, 30, with his vaguely paramilitary outfit and his lanky jock's body topped by a sandy brown quasi-mohawk, looks like Steve Nash channeling Joe Strummer. For a backstage hangout, especially one centered on a competitive sporting event, things feel pleasantly hierarchy-free, but even Arcade Fire's well-known commitment to collectivity has its limits. During a pause in the Butler-Malkmus face-off, two friends of the band tie up the table for a little too long. "C'mon, guys," Butler mutters impatiently. "Show a little respect for the game."
Butler and Malkmus resume their play with studied nonchalance, but the match is fast and fierce and nearly silent. Heckling is kept to a respectful minimum as members of the National rank among the looky-loos. The score, after two games, is a perfect draw: 21--16, 16--21. Butler wants to go best out of three, but there's the little matter of the aforementioned 50,000 fans, so the gentlemen of Pavement climb into a convoy of chauffeured golf carts and putter smoothly off into the sunset. I ask Gara if it feels as though a torch of some kind has been passed. Being a well-mannered young man (and a Canadian, to boot), he actually considers this question.
"I dunno," he says. "If Win had won, maybe?"
Three Hours Later
I'm standing on the right side of Osheaga's enormous main stage, observing a large crowd in the process of having their brains defibrillated. Subtlety is the first casualty of the festival circuit, and -- although precise, painstaking details abound on all Arcade Fire recordings, including their third album, The Suburbs, which will be released three days from now -- the band's live incarnation has all the nuance of a North Korean air show. At no point does any member of the band seem anything less than ecstatic: Richard Reed Parry and Will Butler, Win's younger brother, and Régine Chassagne, his wife, dash from one side of the stage to the other, switching from guitar to drums to keys to instruments I barely know the name of, sometimes mid-song; Kingsbury and Sarah Neufeld, on violin, thrash and sway and shudder gracefully; Gara bashes at the kit with his eyes and mouth wide open; and at the center of all this expertly stage-managed hysteria, Win lurches around like a heartbroken Frankenstein's monster. In the brief snatch of silence after "Month of May," The Suburbs' most blistering number, a starstruck hipster behind me turns to his googly-eyed girlfriend. "They're, like, six or seven bands all packed together," he murmurs.
"Yeah," says the girlfriend. "Inside of an aircraft carrier."
A lot of great bands -- even some Arcade Fire owe a debt to -- have built whole careers on self-doubt; not Win Butler and family. If one quality seems indivisible from the music they make, from their eponymous 2003 EP up to and including The Suburbs, it's conviction. Unabashable, indefatigable, Sherman's-March-through-Georgia righteousness, a blitzkrieg on apathy of every possible stripe comes across as clearly as a five-bell alarm on the band's recordings, but at their concerts it hits you physically, in your muscles and your rib cage and your intestines -- everywhere -- before your brain has had a chance to arm itself. The Suburbs' eighth track, "Half Light II (No Celebration)," makes this transaction plain: "Wanna wash away my sins / In the presence of my friends." If there's a more clear-cut summary of arena-rock catharsis than those two simple lines, I haven't come across it yet.
EXCLUSIVE: At Home with Brandon Flowers
When we recently visited Brandon Flowers in his Las Vegas home, we discovered one of the most awesome items we've ever seen on our monthly visits to musicians' cribs, for SPIN's "In My Room" feature: A grand piano, given to Flowers by Elton John.
No big deal, right?
Flowers, 29, also showed off less glamorous but equally cherished goodies, like a tea cup that Morrissey used at a Vegas hotel — nicked by a pre-fame Flowers, who was an employee of the hotel.
Take a video tour of Flowers' pad below, and click at right to see the full spread from this month's issue of SPIN.
To hear a preview of Flowers' just-released solo debut, Flamingo, click here.
http://www.spin.com/articles/exclusive-home-brandon-flowers
No big deal, right?
Flowers, 29, also showed off less glamorous but equally cherished goodies, like a tea cup that Morrissey used at a Vegas hotel — nicked by a pre-fame Flowers, who was an employee of the hotel.
Take a video tour of Flowers' pad below, and click at right to see the full spread from this month's issue of SPIN.
To hear a preview of Flowers' just-released solo debut, Flamingo, click here.
http://www.spin.com/articles/exclusive-home-brandon-flowers
Kid Cudi: How He Made It in America
Kid Cudi twirls a neon-red, Darth Maul--style, double-bladed lightsaber skyward, and then catches it, mid-spin.
"I need this on tour, so when motherfuckers run up, I can just be, like, 'Breach!' " He twists his head around and shoots me a devilish look.
Dressed this August afternoon as casually as one can be wearing black leather pants and a gold Jesus piece pendant, Cudi, 26, is hanging at home, a sparse, high-ceiling loft in Manhattan's tony TriBeCa neighborhood. But the reference to defending himself is not quite a joke. Last December, onstage in Vancouver, Cudi picked up a wallet, thrown from the crowd, that he claimed had struck him square in the face. Irritated, he pointed out who he thought was the wallet's owner, a fan named Michael Sharpe, and tossed it to him. But the billfold didn't belong to Sharpe, so he tossed it back onstage. Cudi then leaped over a barricade and confronted Sharpe, who was smiling, thrilled to be face-to-face with an artist he admired. Misinterpreting the smile, Cudi popped the fan in the right eye. A frenzy ensued, bouncers lunged, and moments later Cudi dropped the mic and left. It's all on YouTube, for posterity.
Then, something unexpected happened. Sharpe told TMZ the next day: "I'm not upset, I'm not going to be that person. I just want to meet him and be like, 'I'm the guy you punched.' I'm not going to press charges."
Five months after the incident, a regretful Cudi brought Sharpe onstage at Seattle's Sasquatch Festival during the song "Pursuit of Happiness." Afterward, the two had pizza at Cudi's hotel. "We're good friends [now]," he says.
Typical Cudi. He's a star in the traditional sense--handsome, styled just so, a bit of a prima donna. But he carries a tidal wave of insecurity and empathy with him. It's a vulnerability, uncommon in the preening world of hip-hop, that has made him an avatar for young, plainspoken dysfunction. And despite, or in part because of, these genuinely distressed emotional flare-ups, Kid Cudi has exceptionally loyal fans.
"At least 104,000," he says, leaning against a Bape pillow on a sectional couch and taking a pull on his third weed-filled Swisher of the day. The number becomes a sort of mantra during our interview. Actually, it's the number of copies sold (104,419 exactly) of his debut album, Man on the Moon: The End of Day, in its first week of 2009 release, good for a No. 4 debut on the Billboard chart. Most of the sales were propelled by breakout single "Day 'N' Nite." Even now, nearly three years since it was recorded and four since it was written, the song sounds like an alien outlier. It's all bloops, astral synths, and a remarkable half-sung melody--"The lonely stoner seems to free his mind at night." Like some evolutionary strand of new-age rap, it became a rallying cry for the disaffected and depressed. When the Italian duo Crookers' electro-house remix hit in late 2008, a swarm of antic, active fans--many in Europe--bought in. Jim Jones, Trey Songz, Pitbull, and many others recorded their own versions. The song has sold an astonishing 2.3 million digital singles.
Despite concern from his co-managers--Patrick "Plain Pat" Reynolds, a longtime Kanye West affiliate, and producer Emile Haynie, the rapper's primary musical collaborator--Cudi hasn't been haunted by the shadow of "Day 'N' Nite." "I think he knows he's a star now," Haynie says. "But before we put out the first album, to a lot of people he was just the 'Day 'N' Nite' guy."
In fact, the first thing Cudi wants to do when we sit down is play a song he's just recorded with "Day 'N' Nite" producer Dot Da Genius that he's hoping to squeeze onto his new album, Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager, before deadline. It might be called "Not That Bad," but it's unfinished. As the swaying, sunken beat begins, Cudi taps his retro Air Jordan IV Pure Money $ sneakers on the floor.
The chorus is simple, but considered: "I'm not that bad at all / When you think of the world / It's not that bad at all."
Anyone who has followed the problematic aspects of Cudi's life to this point--his struggle with drugs, his violent outbursts, a recent arrest--will understand why he's giving himself (and everyone, really) a pass. He has to. It's the only way to keep the doubts from consuming him.
"I need this on tour, so when motherfuckers run up, I can just be, like, 'Breach!' " He twists his head around and shoots me a devilish look.
Dressed this August afternoon as casually as one can be wearing black leather pants and a gold Jesus piece pendant, Cudi, 26, is hanging at home, a sparse, high-ceiling loft in Manhattan's tony TriBeCa neighborhood. But the reference to defending himself is not quite a joke. Last December, onstage in Vancouver, Cudi picked up a wallet, thrown from the crowd, that he claimed had struck him square in the face. Irritated, he pointed out who he thought was the wallet's owner, a fan named Michael Sharpe, and tossed it to him. But the billfold didn't belong to Sharpe, so he tossed it back onstage. Cudi then leaped over a barricade and confronted Sharpe, who was smiling, thrilled to be face-to-face with an artist he admired. Misinterpreting the smile, Cudi popped the fan in the right eye. A frenzy ensued, bouncers lunged, and moments later Cudi dropped the mic and left. It's all on YouTube, for posterity.
Then, something unexpected happened. Sharpe told TMZ the next day: "I'm not upset, I'm not going to be that person. I just want to meet him and be like, 'I'm the guy you punched.' I'm not going to press charges."
Five months after the incident, a regretful Cudi brought Sharpe onstage at Seattle's Sasquatch Festival during the song "Pursuit of Happiness." Afterward, the two had pizza at Cudi's hotel. "We're good friends [now]," he says.
Typical Cudi. He's a star in the traditional sense--handsome, styled just so, a bit of a prima donna. But he carries a tidal wave of insecurity and empathy with him. It's a vulnerability, uncommon in the preening world of hip-hop, that has made him an avatar for young, plainspoken dysfunction. And despite, or in part because of, these genuinely distressed emotional flare-ups, Kid Cudi has exceptionally loyal fans.
"At least 104,000," he says, leaning against a Bape pillow on a sectional couch and taking a pull on his third weed-filled Swisher of the day. The number becomes a sort of mantra during our interview. Actually, it's the number of copies sold (104,419 exactly) of his debut album, Man on the Moon: The End of Day, in its first week of 2009 release, good for a No. 4 debut on the Billboard chart. Most of the sales were propelled by breakout single "Day 'N' Nite." Even now, nearly three years since it was recorded and four since it was written, the song sounds like an alien outlier. It's all bloops, astral synths, and a remarkable half-sung melody--"The lonely stoner seems to free his mind at night." Like some evolutionary strand of new-age rap, it became a rallying cry for the disaffected and depressed. When the Italian duo Crookers' electro-house remix hit in late 2008, a swarm of antic, active fans--many in Europe--bought in. Jim Jones, Trey Songz, Pitbull, and many others recorded their own versions. The song has sold an astonishing 2.3 million digital singles.
Despite concern from his co-managers--Patrick "Plain Pat" Reynolds, a longtime Kanye West affiliate, and producer Emile Haynie, the rapper's primary musical collaborator--Cudi hasn't been haunted by the shadow of "Day 'N' Nite." "I think he knows he's a star now," Haynie says. "But before we put out the first album, to a lot of people he was just the 'Day 'N' Nite' guy."
In fact, the first thing Cudi wants to do when we sit down is play a song he's just recorded with "Day 'N' Nite" producer Dot Da Genius that he's hoping to squeeze onto his new album, Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager, before deadline. It might be called "Not That Bad," but it's unfinished. As the swaying, sunken beat begins, Cudi taps his retro Air Jordan IV Pure Money $ sneakers on the floor.
The chorus is simple, but considered: "I'm not that bad at all / When you think of the world / It's not that bad at all."
Anyone who has followed the problematic aspects of Cudi's life to this point--his struggle with drugs, his violent outbursts, a recent arrest--will understand why he's giving himself (and everyone, really) a pass. He has to. It's the only way to keep the doubts from consuming him.
Chris Walla Talks New Death Cab for Cutie Album
Over the last year, Chris Walla has focused on producing records for Seattle's Telekinesis, indie-pop quartet Lonely Forest, and cutting a Led Zeppelin cover of "In the Evening" for the forthcoming compilation From the Land of Ice and Snow. Now, Walla will turn his attention to his main gig: Death Cab for Cutie.
The guitarist tells SPIN that they've already been working on ideas for their seventh record, which the band began writing and recording back in June. "We're working in fits and starts," he says. "It's hard to say — we might be half done, we may not have started."
For Death Cab's last album Narrow Stairs, Walla, frontman Ben Gibbard, bassist Nick Harmer and drummer Jason McGerr took a relaxed approach to the sessions and the results were a loose, jammy collection of tunes. "With that one, it was live off the floor," says Walla.
But Death Cab are getting way more ambitious for the next record, treating it more like "a construction project." "We're in the phase where songs could be so cool with just two acoustic guitars or they could be really good with sequencers," says Walla. "We're trying on all the outfits with the songs."
Walla — who will also be producing the album — adds that the band isn't in any rush to get out a new record, although Gibbard has estimated it would be out sometime in early 2011. "We've got enough time this time and we're way just into exploring these possibilities rather than going with our gut," he says. "We've ended up with some cool stuff. It's been fun so far."
The guitarist tells SPIN that they've already been working on ideas for their seventh record, which the band began writing and recording back in June. "We're working in fits and starts," he says. "It's hard to say — we might be half done, we may not have started."
For Death Cab's last album Narrow Stairs, Walla, frontman Ben Gibbard, bassist Nick Harmer and drummer Jason McGerr took a relaxed approach to the sessions and the results were a loose, jammy collection of tunes. "With that one, it was live off the floor," says Walla.
But Death Cab are getting way more ambitious for the next record, treating it more like "a construction project." "We're in the phase where songs could be so cool with just two acoustic guitars or they could be really good with sequencers," says Walla. "We're trying on all the outfits with the songs."
Walla — who will also be producing the album — adds that the band isn't in any rush to get out a new record, although Gibbard has estimated it would be out sometime in early 2011. "We've got enough time this time and we're way just into exploring these possibilities rather than going with our gut," he says. "We've ended up with some cool stuff. It's been fun so far."
martes, 21 de septiembre de 2010
RISE: HERE WE GO MAGIC The energetic Brooklyn band get remixed by Neon Indian and Warp's PVT.
Brooklyn's electro-folk five-piece Here We Go Magic are currently enjoying a great year. Their recent album 'Pigeons' was critically acclaimed and the band have recently collaborated with Neon Indian and Warp's PVT. The project was started by former folk singer Luke Temple, he released a self-titled album 'Here We Go Music' in 2009. Temple has since expanded the band. The band's next single 'Casual' is released on the 13th September through Secretly Canadian coinciding with a UK tour including appearances at Bestival and End of the Road festival. Dazed speak to guitarist and co-vocalist Michael Bloch about mullets and lo mein.
WHAT'S…
...so special about you, then?
Six invisible arms
...your worst vice?
Lo mein
…the story behind your name?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Here_We_Go_Magic
...good for breakfast?
Is this just a way to get me to say "bangers"?
...your worst fashion secret?
8th grade mullet
...your favourite website?
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vrd13cGv2GU
...a dream collaborator?
Richard Feynman
...at the top of your shit list?
Diarrhea
...are you listening to now?
Hotel lobby version of the Jurassic Park soundtrack
How would you describe your work?
40% sitting, 20% lifting, 10% youtube, 10% e-mail, 5% eating, 5% playing music, 3% dancing, 2% kissing.
Text by Lucy Bridger
WHAT'S…
...so special about you, then?
Six invisible arms
...your worst vice?
Lo mein
…the story behind your name?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Here_We_Go_Magic
...good for breakfast?
Is this just a way to get me to say "bangers"?
...your worst fashion secret?
8th grade mullet
...your favourite website?
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vrd13cGv2GU
...a dream collaborator?
Richard Feynman
...at the top of your shit list?
Diarrhea
...are you listening to now?
Hotel lobby version of the Jurassic Park soundtrack
How would you describe your work?
40% sitting, 20% lifting, 10% youtube, 10% e-mail, 5% eating, 5% playing music, 3% dancing, 2% kissing.
Text by Lucy Bridger
Radiohead Finish Recording New Songs
Looks like a new Radiohead record is on the way! Bassist Colin Greenwood has offered an update on the band's recording status. "[We've] just finished another group of songs and have begun to wonder how to release them in a digital landscape that's changed again," he wrote in an essay for the U.K. organization Index on Censorship.
While Greenwood didn’t offer any details about how or when the album will be released -- "We have yet to decide how to release our next record," he writes -- he does go in depth about the band's decision to release 2007's In Rainbows without a label's help and why he thinks discussion and distribution of music on the Internet is finally moving out of its "adolescence." Check out the essay here.
While Greenwood didn’t offer any details about how or when the album will be released -- "We have yet to decide how to release our next record," he writes -- he does go in depth about the band's decision to release 2007's In Rainbows without a label's help and why he thinks discussion and distribution of music on the Internet is finally moving out of its "adolescence." Check out the essay here.
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