I’ve Come Home Too Fast (Tapes 'n Tapes/Detachment Kit, Pianos)

It takes a while to thaw out, in Minnesota.

That’s a good thing.  In an age when Internet hype can take a group that doesn’t yet have a record and hand them Webster Hall, bands seem to still be finding their sound as you download it.  It inspires IKEA-level craftsmanship, disposable listening.  Product

Recently, though, the land of 10,000 frozen lakes has let loose a trickle of thoughtfully-formed, well-marinated acts.  Cloud Cult, a decade-old formation, released the best CD of 2005 – its fourth full-length – and finally played its first New York-area shows.  The Plastic Constellations – who linked up as fourteen year-olds, and have survived high school and college – moved up the indie label ladder and suddenly find some anticipation surrounding their upcoming third CD.  Now relative newcomers, three-year-old Tapes ‘n Tapes, have their second self-released recording getting some love on the web.

The Tapes seem to have been blog-broken a couple months ago:  One day in November Music for Robots posted an mp3 and raved; Gorilla vs. Bear quickly followed suit (a bit odd there’s nothing from Twin Cities’ More Cowbell, especially asthe band has a song called... “Cowbell”(mp3)).  Of course, you should always be suspicious of blog-hype.  Other things to make one wary?  The band’s name has a fairly calculated acronym, band members annoyingly bill themselves as “Tapes,” “‘n,” and “Tapes,” and their site features the sort of hideously overwritten bio that hints of idle hands and empty insides.

But all the question marks go right out the window as soon as you hear this:

Tapes ‘n Tapes - Insistor(mp3)

My first reaction was:  Thank God it’s not dance music.  My second was:  It’s a long-lost Violent Femmes song.  I love the twang, the ominous spoken-word bit in the middle, that the lyrics “Mickey the ol’ lisper” are thung with a lithp.  I love the way that, during the chorus, the percussive on-beat singing is cut off by the snare’s backbeat.  Fight-for-lover’s-rights.  I love that.

The band’s first full-length, The Loon, deserves all the kudos and toptenlistings going its way.  It’s a solid piece of work, displaying a variety and a confidence that’s a bit scary.  Its songs had me scratching the back of my skull, though:  They’re new, but I swore I’d heard bits of them before.  And couldn’t quite place where.

I’m not the only one having this trouble:  A quick look at some of their early press provided such wrong-headed nuggets as “resembles Low fighting it out with My Bloody Valentine,” and “what might happen if the Strokes suddenly started listening exclusively to Captain Beefheart.”  The comparison I’ve seen tossed around, recently, is Wolf Parade – presumably because they’re also dark, and eccentric, and fresh in memory; it doesn’t help that “Manitoba” starts off exactly the same way as Parade’s “Same Ghost Every Night,” and that they both indulge in a waltz.  But they don’t share Wolf Parade’s carny new-wave bent, and if there’s a punk angle to TnT it’s a sparer one.  With all that, how does something as simple and pretty as Omaha(mp3) happen?

My puzzler was sore, and a head cold has my already suspect where’d-they-get-that-frommer on the fritz.  So, why not ask the band?

For the first time since October of ’04, the Tapes were taking Manhattan, and they’re doing so in somewhat aggressive style:  Four nights, four venues, over the course of a week.  Modest opening slots at small clubs, sure, but – hell, by the time they get to their Thursday night show at Rothko, they’ll be just another New York band.

*

“I’ve heard that before,” says Josh Grier – Thing #1, he’s their lead vocalist and guitar player, “but I’ve never heard the Violent Femmes before.”  So what has he heard?  He laughs, “Oh, lots of stuff.  Wire.  The Pixies.  I don’t know. The Beach Boys.”

Whether or not it finds its way into their music, it makes sense he’d mention The Pixies.  Like them, the songcraft is strong, and is flavored with onomatopoeic wordplay and joyous nonsense (there’s a number called “10-gallon Ascots”).  Occasionally they’ll employ the ol’ loud-soft-loud, but more often there’s an irresistible build, a layering, a momentum.

On stage, there are four:  Red-headed, pasty Grier, adora-dweeb drummer Jeremy Hanson (Thing #2), bassist Shawn Neary (“‘n”), and secret weapon Matt Kretzman – who, I suppose, could represent the missing apostrophe in “Tapes ‘n Tapes.”  Shaking sleigh bells, laying heavy on his keys, occasionally whipping out a euphonium (marching band geeks of the world, rejoice), it’s Kretzman who’ll punctuate an explosion by staggering off-kilter into his bandmates, who’ll underline the quiet moments by resting a tambourine, crown-style, on his head.  Though expressive beyond that – Grier looks like he’s howling, whenever he sings, and Hanson looks downright ebullient any time he’s hitting something – the live version of Tapes n’ Tapes works best when they fall back into the steady stomp of their songs’ momentum.  Occasionally the sound grows wan, or something is unservingly sloppy.  I’m sure a few more years freezing away in Minneapolis would make everything perfect.

But the songs are ready now, and the band could get by just standing around playing ‘em.  The stage show doesn’t have to be revelatory.  The proof isn’t in a week full of buzz-building concerts; the proof is on The Loon.  If you can go – tonight to the Mercury Lounge, or on Thursday to Rothko, or one of their other dates  -- go, and buy the CD.  If you can’t, it doesn’t really matter:  Buy the CD.

*

Coverage 'n' Coverage:

Brooklyn Vegan got better pics than I did last night; i rock i roll was also there.

At Saturday’s Delancey show:  BV, Jerry Yeti, Fresh Bread, Underrated, and Central Village (who did his bit at Gothamist)

UPDATE:  Monday's Merc Show:  Brooklyn Vegan (againagain), Underrated (again), Ear Farm, Indie Don't Dance and Music for Robots - who has the band's last song on video.

And:  *Sixeyes recently interviewed Grier.

*

Tapes ‘n Tapes may have been the buzz band, but they weren’t the headliner; that honor belonged to Siren vets Detachment Kit, a mathpunk outfit forced onstage a few beads short of a full abacus.

“Our drummer got his face broken like a little bitch,” explained lead singer/guitarist Ian Menard while thanking a substitute skins-man.

I’m not familiar with their material, it didn’t sound like they were suffering rhythmically; but no matter how complex the beat, the Chicagoans – whose music seems most often compared to Les Savy Fav (as if that represents a constant) – were only intermittently engaging.  Though there was plenty of energy, they were at their best when they settled into something (somewhat) straightforward and melodic – like “Skyscrapers”(mp3) (from their latest CD Of This Blood).

There was some frustration in their short set, but also a healthy sense of humor.  “Charlie, go ahead, tell them about your book club,” Menard told the other guitarist while he retuned.  “We’re, um, reading The Kite Runner .”  So, there, there’s that.

*

I’ve been thinking a little about bad music writing, lately – including my own.  Hey, it happens.

When people come up to me and say, “Hey, I want to deprive myself of the will to live; do you know anything I could run my eyes over that would give my soul cancer?” I gesture emphatically towards Nick Sylvester.  Whenever I read his stuff, I feel like I’ve been gang-raped by lepers.  Like this (2nd item)?  Why does it hurt so much to read that?

But then – THEN – along comes this shit nugget.  Stare, gape-jawed as Jay McIerney works his tongue up the Strokes’ asses (collectively, then individually).  The capper’s on the cover, where the perpetually-overrated group is called “The New Yorkiest Band.”

Man, I wish Joey Ramone were alive.  So he could pee on that.

tags: detachment kit  tapes n tapes  

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