This one’s a treat. Cheyenne Marie Mize was a folk singer-songwriter from Loiusville, Kentucky. I say “was” because although her first album, which you should check out if you haven’t already, was a mature collection of stripped down folk tunes showcasing Mize’s beautiful voice, her latest EP represents something of a transformation. On “We Don’t Need” Mize explores a range of new styles in just six short tracks and nails almost all of them. No need to beat around the bush with this one: this EP is almightily good.

Almightily best of all is “Going Under”, a piano driven blues tune with a clapped beat that’s frankly irresistable. I don’t envy anyone who isn’t compelled to move their feet when listening to this track. Mize is right up front as she belts out lines like “I want to take your hand… I want to have a good time with my lover” with confidence and invigorating cheek. That confidence is even greater on soulful opening track “Wishing Well” where, backed by nothing but thumping percussion, Mize’s voice is so powerful that it induces a slight buzz of distortion in an otherwise clean mix by the song’s conclusion.

From the soul and blues of the first side, “We Don’t Need” settles, briefly, on more conventional rock for its second half with “Keep It” and “It Lingers”. The first is definitely the stronger of the two, a bouncy guitar-pop tune with a cheesy organ line in the background that keeps the mood emphatically light where “It Lingers” is just a smidge more moody. The EP’s only hint of tonal consistency doesn’t last long though, as closing track “Back Around” once again sounds unlike anything else on the record. It’s a reverberating, hazy, shoe-gazey instrumental whose thundering climax provides the EP with a surprisingly fierce conclusion.

If “We Don’t Need” faulters anywhere it’s on “Call Me Beautiful”, a track whose would-be sinister message – “Don’t call me beautiful. You don’t know how ugly I can be.” – is a little spoiled by the inconsistency of Mize’s vocal delivery: she opens with the hesistant breathiness of Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino on “Your Plants Are Dead” but slips into a Winehouse like twang by song’s end. Don’t get me wrong, both are fine vocalists to emulate, but perhaps not at the same time.

Really, though, the failure of “Call Me Beautiful” speaks to what makes “We Don’t Need” successful as a whole: the genre hopping might get a little muddled on that one track, but elsewhere Mize shifts through stylistic gears without a single misstep. It’s tempting to call Cheyenne Marie Mize promising because her career is so young, but that’s underselling it: “We Don’t Need” is a compelling record, equal parts fascinating experimentation and plain fun, and as exciting as Mize’s future will no doubt be, she deserves your attention right here, right now.

Connect with Cheyenne Marie Mize: Facebook | Twitter | Bandcamp

If there is one man whose songwriting truly embodies the spirit of humanity, it’s John K. Samson. He first made his name in the activist punk-rock band Propagandhi, then started his own band, The Weakerthans, one of my personal favorites. He’s made a career writing songs that take the mundane and melancholy and turn them into beautiful, truthful statements about society and humanity in general. We’ve been waiting with bated breath for five years (that seems like such a long time now…) for the next Weakerthans album, but Samson seems to have other plans.

“Provincial” is an album firmly rooted in Manitoba, Canada, where Samson lives. The album follows him and his observations about the countryside and residents therein. He tells us stories about hockey players, college students, run-down villages, and dysfunctional electronics. When seen in the wrong light, his quiet, unassuming tales may be seen as depressing and bleak. But, upon further listening, they’re about longing and the hollowness of modern life. His narratives live where people walk to their destinations, where the ice on the lake makes for the best social hangout, and the forested hills are peppered with deteriorating wooden shacks and old trucks.

The most important (and impressive) aspect of this collection of songs is the great detail with which they are written. Samson’s stories flesh out both lyrically and sonically, though the music never threatens to overtake the words. Tales about small town desolation (like the beautiful “Heart of the Continent”) are accompanied by quiet acoustic guitars, while “When I Write My Master’s Thesis”, a song where the character imagines their life turning around after they write their master’s thesis, is accompanied by upbeat, hopeful, strumming electric guitars and a snappy drum kit.

For those familiar with The Weakerthans, I’d like to point out one thing: this is a John K. Samson album to the core. There are very few punk tendencies here; the distorted guitars of The Weakerthans have been replaced by acoustic guitars, small string arrangements, and careful vocal harmonies. While the material on “Provincial” may be suited for some of the quieter moments of a Weakerthans album, Samson seems to be doing things a little differently on this record, almost following the famous Bon Iver method of isolation and introversion.

One of my favorite moments on the album is the all-too-short (length being the album’s largest flaw) “Stop Error”, which relates computer programming and errors to the lonely narrator himself. He is trapped in technology and digital entertainment; the world continues around him, while he sits in his room forgetting it. Perhaps it is a bit depressing, but the objective honesty with which Samson presents the subject points out the familiarity we all have with it. This narrator has fallen into a state of dejection, where the grief of past mistakes has overwhelmed him. I’m sure the story rings true, to some extent, in all of us. Samson’s songwriting allows us to observe the narrator and make comments on his life, and it seems to be something that we’re allowed to observe in vivid detail. When you look past the troubling nature of the subject matter, you can see the humanity and beauty within.

Samson’s work seems to be designed for overanalysis. Every song has such strong emotions attached to it that speak directly to you, and you want to break them apart and savor each lyric. Of this I am certain: “Provincial” is a beautiful piece of art and stunning lyricism. It observes humanity with all its imperfections. One can’t help but picture the small-town residents and locales this album was written about, each with their detailed histories. There’s so much more I could write about (and I’d love to ramble on), but I’d prefer that you just pick up a copy and experience it yourself.

Connect with John K. Samson: Official Website | Facebook | Twitter

I like to imagine that if Fleet Foxes had two younger sisters who spent summers in the country with their Auntie Neko Case, they would sound like First Aid Kit.  Of course, no such familial ties exist, but musical ties certainly do.

Most obviously: harmony. Johanna and Klara Söderberg spend much of “The Lion’s Roar” harmonizing wonderfully through verse, chorus and bridge.  The bright tonality and rich quality of their vocals are the true backbone of this album.  Though any of the ten songs on “The Lion’s Roar” could back this point up, “To a Poet”, a track punctuated by sporadic and particularly beautiful harmonies, really shows Johanna and Klara’s cohesion as vocalists, while “New Year’s Eve” sees them at their echoing, raging best.

Even though “The Lion’s Roar” is framed by hints of classic American country music, the Swedish duo manages to evade any hokeyness.  “Emmylou”, a track that directly references June Carter, Johnny Cash, Graham Parsons, and Emmylou Harris, becomes a sweet love-song about innocently falling in love.  I find it slightly funny to hear the lyrics, “Stockholm’s cold/But I’ve been told/I was born to endure this kind of weather,” in a song that would sound at home on a Classic Country radio station.  However, First Aid Kit never feels unauthentic about their music.  “King of the World” sounds like a hoe-down with accompanying handclaps, participation from Bright Eye’s Connor Oberst,  and a wailing fiddle.  First Aid Kit displays an obvious interest in writing country music but only within the confines of the sound they’ve spent the last few years establishing.

Also, First Aid Kit touches on a few thematic elements that actually resonate throughout the album. It’s always easier to get enveloped in an album when the songs work together or have some continuing thread, and that’s the case on “The Lion’s Roar”. First Aid Kit has a few love songs, both positive (“Emmylou”) and negative (“Blue”) experiences, and even a range in between: “This Old Routine” tells the story of a loved one going to war. Even if First Aid Kit come off sounding a little young at times, these tunes carry universal messages that should transcend age.

Clearly this album is worth the time of any fan of alternative country, but this beautiful songwriting really needs to be heard by fans of all genres.  The lyrics are thoughtful without excess, and they’re refreshingly memorable and clear at a time when fuzzy lo-fi bands let their words sink into the mix. “The Lion’s Roar” is a uniquely warm and well developed album, and you should definitely check it out. Stream the album below.

Connect with First Aid Kit: Facebook | Twitter | Website

Just when I’d given up on the female vocalists of the current decades, after I’d spent years decrying the unending slew of pop-infused, sickly, sexualized women musicians, I found Gillian Welch. Although Welch has been releasing albums since the late 90s, my first encounter with her old timey, smooth vocals and loved-and-left lyrics was on the album she released last summer, “The Harrow & The Harvest”. Welch is the horsewoman of modern music, wrangling her way into hearts, and this record is proof that the old country blood of the deep south and pioneer spirit of the west still lurks somewhere in the veins of its descendants.

Jaunty album opener “Scarlet Town” finds Welch in a nightmare old country town, and she concludes with the chilling line “I’ll be looking through a telescope/ From hell to Scarlet Town”. Revealing a more vulnerable side in “Dark Turn of Mind” she effectively dismisses cheerful and carefree women with another of her infamous zingers “Some girls are bright as the morning / Some are blessed with a dark turn of mind” lazily taking the despair of heartbreak and turning it from a character flaw into a blessing.

Building upon the guitar showmanship of her musical partner David Rawlings, Welch’s voice is right out of another century and is both down home and velvet luxury. Dangling high notes throughout her songs like decorations, Welch really shines in the lower register she sticks to for the majority of the album. “Tennessee” is an epic tale of debauchery and deflowering as Welch accuses her unnamed ex-lover “Your affront to my virtue/ Was a touch too much / But you left a little twinkle in my eye”. True to form, she acknowledges both the sin, the heartbreak, the suffering, and her enjoyment of the sinful activities despite their consequences.

The record winds its way through ballads and tales as if down an old country road, and with the same determination that pioneer women plowed through the wilderness to settle America, Gillian Welch carves herself out a place in modern music by bravely carrying on. Her lyrics reveal a women of steely strength and a tender heart, her topics carry an ancient weight that is both fresh and infinite. The album is steeped in resigned heartbreak that infuses every note with sorrowful satisfaction, a sure-fire winner for anyone who craves the saloon saturated days of the wild west.

Connect with Gillian Welch: Twitter | Facebook | Website

Being a sucker for three part harmonies and any music that is conscientiously layered, I kind of expected to love Quilt, a band whose layered but homely sound is right there in the name. The drifting, languid tunes that populate their eponymous debut were formed in a series of long jams, with the band riffing on established chord sequences until concrete songs emerged that sound unlike anything you’ve heard… recently.

You see, just as the name Quilt is completely on the money as a description of the band’s sound, so “Quilt” the album is completely on the nose with its influences: by the time album opener “Young Gold” is done, Quilt’s likeness to The Mamas And The Papas, Jefferson Airplaine and the like is unavoidable, and much as I wish that the rest of the album would demonstrate some imagination that proves those comparisons lazy, it just doesn’t.

Still, while I might prefer to go straight to the source with my 60′s psych-folk and just give “Surrealistic Pillow” another spin, “Quilt” is far from a bad album, as genre tributes go. Shane Butler does his best “Village Green Preservation Society” era Ray Davies on “Penobska Oakwalk”, a track that pushes its throwback buttons with just enough camp that you can’t help but love it. I mean just look at these lyrics: “I’ve been packing bombs for a man in an idle tower / Who traded this land for an open hand of flowers … Language deflated the zeppelin of the conscience”. “Cowboys In The Void” achieves the same effect musically rather than lyrically, with its uplifting, chantlike harmonies evoking the happiest of hippy dance circles.

Unfortunately there are places where Quilt’s retro act falters and the band’s jam-ethic comes through to the detriment of their song-writing, with more than one track feeling aimless and unjustifiably long. I’m glad to have Quilt around – who else can provide a live fix for the sort of music they’re emulating? – and some of the tracks on here are great, but I can’t see “Quilt” keeping anyone away from “California Dreamin’” for all that long.

Connect with Quilt: Bandcamp | Last.fm | Myspace

Are your ears itching to discover something different? Then have I got a treat for you. I’m willing to bet that the music of  Morning Teleportation is like nothing you’ve heard before. I certainly hadn’t. They classify themselves as Psychedelic/Electro/Roots but they are so much more than that. Achieving musical alchemy, they successfully combine more genres than I can count, creating these fabulous journeys of song. They have taken the rulebook of song writing and thrown it out the window. They’re doing things their way.

The band formed in Bowling Green, Kentucky in 2005, when childhood friends, Tres Coker (drums), Travis Goodwin (keyboards) and Paul Wilkerson (bass) had the good fortune to meet Chicago native, Tiger Merritt (vocals/guitar), who had just moved to town to start college. The rest, as they say, is history. For a band that’s been together for 6 years, there is surprisingly little information about them on the world wide web, but here is what I do know. They apparently moved to Austin, Texas after forming, and while living on food stamps and playing the circuit, worked towards perfecting their craft. They currently call Portland, Oregon home and as of  three weeks ago, they are mysteriously down a bass player (one of those ‘surprisingly little information’ things). Oh, and the name? “Because, we wake up in a place that we were not the night before“. Pretty consciously aware dudes.

With their frenetic, harried sound and Tigers’ unique vocal stylings, it’s no surprise that Isaac Brock, front man of Modest Mouse, gravitated to these guys. He produced their debut album, “Expanding Anyway”, and released it under his own label, Glacial Pace Recordings, back in March. A word to the wise, there is nothing glacially paced about this band’s music (nor their success, I hope). It sounds like a garage jam session, where anything goes and they play what they want, how they want, with passion and reckless abandon. Kudos to their drummer, Tres, who keeps the whole thing from spiraling out of control with his consistently controlled beats.

“Expanding Anyway” is expansive in scope and kaleidoscopic in nature, where the turn of a chord can take you in any direction imaginable. They can be fast and hard and in your face, channeling ’70s rock gods on a song intro (“Boom Puma”, “Foreign Planes”), then… flip, they transition into folk or disco, surf or jazz (I could go on and on and on). Or, they start off with this campy(“Snow Frog Vs. Motor Cobra”), ’60s “Batman”- like theme that mutates into this bluesy-jazzy piece, while Tiger repeats the title through a talk-box, over and over again.  Sounds impossible, but it works very well, and the transitions are seamless.  The genius of their music is in the delivery. These guys really are great musicians. Their staggering talent and the level of passion and trust that they play with translates through to the listener, and you become an active participant, in more ways than one.

Upon first listen, you’re running just to keep up with the changes in music styles, they happen so frequently and sometimes, drastically. Once you have that down, you’re then able to notice that Tiger’s voice will occasionally  remind you of … someone. By the time you figure out it’s David Byrne, he’s leaning towards Robert Smith, and by the time you catch up to that, he’s moved on again, to The Police or Isaac Brock himself. It’s the  musical equivalent of  “Where’s Waldo?”; the creative pool they draw from is so vast and deep. There is so much going on, all the time, I think it would be very hard to get bored with this album. I’ve been listening to it every day for the last two weeks and I still can’t get enough!

And while there are lyrics (some quite indiscernible), they are not the core of the songs. Tiger treats his voice as just another instrument, skipping over the top of the melodies, from a lofty folk falsetto (“Daydream Electric Storm”, “Crystalline”) to auctioneer-like vocals (“Expanding Anyway”, ” Treble Chair”), adding a unique texture to the music. Not to mention the yelps, shrieks and hollers peppered throughout the tracks. And just when you think you’ve got them all figured out, they throw “Cold Weather Sunshine” at you. Close your eyes; you’ll swear you’re back in the ’6os, and it’s open-mic night in some smokey, beatnik, coffee house.

“Expanding Anyway” is upbeat and uplifting, and it always takes me to my happy place. I only discovered them two weeks ago, but it’s safe to say that this is, hands down, my favorite album of 2011 and I’m already anticipating their next body of work. Where so many musicians keep using the same formulas over and over again, and every band sounds the same, Morning Teleportation have turned music on its ear and I hope it’s never the same again. By playing so far outside of the box, they’ve captured lightening in a bottle. Even if you’re not a fan of the genres that have influenced them, or their playing style for that matter, you still have to respect the risks they’ve taken and the talent they possess. You can watch the wicked-brilliant video for their first single, “Expanding Anyway” or listen below and feel free to prove me wrong. They also have two free downloads available, if you follow their label link.

(If there is one negative thing that I can say about the band, it’s this. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of teleporting, and now, they make me wish that I really could. I’d kill to see them live, I bet they put on one hell of a show.)

Connect with Morning Teleportation - Facebook | Label | Grooveshark

Bill Callahan sounds more like the omniscient narrator of The Big Lebowski than a standard singer songwriter on his latest album. Deceptively dubbed “Apocalypse”, the steadiness of the album narrated by warm-voiced Callahan strikes slowly, but with the strength of an end-times prophecy.

The mountainous ballad “Driver” opens the album, a song dedicated to the country that Callahan sings about often on this record, that of America. This song invokes scenery from “No Country For Old Men” or other brutality-based western films in the same vein. There is something very theatrical in Callahan’s writing and delivery, which is perhaps what is conjuring all these cinematic references. This track is rife with flutes, tribal drums, and Irish influences, marking it as the perfect introduction to a folk-infused walk through what seems to be an ancient and thoughtful mind. He sings “One thing about this wild, wild country / it takes a strong strong it breaks a strong strong mind”, and I get the feeling he is speaking from personal experience.

Following up the marching feel of the album opener, “One Fine Morning” is much slower and less insistent. If “Driver” possesses the brutality of the old western wild country, this track has the air of the final, sad scene of those old films, somehow maintaining sonically the solemnity that these films capture cinematically. Callahan speaks some of the lyrics more than he really sings the, but whatever mode he adopts is equally compelling, equally unique.

The sounds of the album are wonderfully varied: flutes, strings, excellent guitar work, splashes of cymbal, and even a vocal imitation of a flare gun by Callahan at one point. The highlight has to be “America!”, a track so punchy it’s as if Callahan is pronouncing the exclamation mark. “You are so grand and golden” he belts out, but such folksy lyrics are backed by a wall of electronic sound that is decidedly rock.

Callahan sutures self-references and lyrical allusions into his songs with deftness that few songwriters can pull off anymore. “Universal Applicant” is chock full of Biblical allusions that are pulled off so nonchalantly you mightn’t even notice the references if you’re not alert to them. If nothing else, the allusions Callahan includes, both literary and cultural, suggest he’s taking his work pretty seriously, and we have every reason to take him seriously too on the strength of this performance.

Connect: Facebook | Last.fm | Drag City (Label)

As a fan of alt-country-folk-rock in almost any manifestation, I was beyond pleased upon discovering Dawes. My first encounter with this band was their latest release “Nothing Is Wrong” and though nothing at all is wrong with the record, the title seems a bit ironic, as the record reveal a deep sadness and discussion of what is indeed wrong with the world today.

This discussion manifests itself through a myriad of themes, but centers largely around a love that lets down, by no means a new topic in this genre. There is something specifically brutal about the heartbreak Dawes describe though, as it weaves in and out of almost every track in some form. Perhaps the greatest strength of the record is that such an age-worn topic sounds new through the unique lens that Dawes addresses it with.

The album opener “Time In Los Angeles” immediately drew me in. I spent the last five years living there and I have never heard a song that sums up the effects of that city in a better way: “You got that special kind of sadness/ You got that tragic set of charms/ That only comes from time spent in Los Angeles/  Makes me want to wrap you in my arms.” That line will probably send the same chill through the heart of anyone who has spent time in this eerie city.

Songs like  “Coming Back To A Man” and “If I Wanted Someone” addresses issues of the heart through a jaded and cynical lens. The former unfolds a dream-like confrontation with a long-lost betraying ex, in which the speaker finally gets to explain to the betrayer “You broke the quick, giving heart of a kid/ But you’re now coming back to a man”. In the latter Goldsmith croons “I want you to make the days move easy” which sounds sweet, but in contrast to the list of things he doesn’t want from her, almost sounds a bit dismissive. Even “How Far We’ve Come”, a raucous celebratory song, still manages to get a dig in at the girl that broke his heart, as frontman Taylor Goldsmith urges that girl who broke his heart to “See how far I’ve come”.

It is the heartbreak, after all, that always keeps us coming back for more. At times, Dawes sound a bit like they are channeling Ryan Adams, especially on the track “So Well” with achy-breaky guitar licks and sorrowful harmonies, however the equally ambitious “Fire Away” ends with a build-up and electric guitar solo so rock-esque that it erases any memory of Adams comparisons.

Lyrically, the emphasis of this album centers on personal recollection, strongly tinted with emotion. Musically the album is backed by prominent guitars, plenty of organ, guitar twang and well-balanced percussion; but even the familiar sounding ballad-like tracks are still slightly tipped on their head. “Moon In The Water”, for example, isn’t about a love-laced evening, but instead about how love is as unattainable as moonlit watery surfaces.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you shoul be prepared to get a little sad during this Dawes album. The lyrics are checked with loneliness, misfortune and heartbreak, but the accompanying music is uplifting enough to make you believe in love – even while the words decry it. If you like what you hear, check them out on Conan O’Brien this Thursday, December 15. Stream a live version of the whole album [don't worry, you can break it up track by track too] right here.

Connect with Dawes: Facebook | Twitter | Website

Canadian crooners Deep Dark Woods offer harmonies that are delivered with such an enchanting seriousness that upon hearing their brand of folk rock I simply fell head over heels.

The first track to catch my attention is “Sugar Mama” - a song about growing older, taking chances and rekindling old flames. “Come on sugar mama take a chance with me/ I’m a lot older than I used to be” is enough to charm me; I’d head out with Deep Dark Woods frontman Ryan Boldt any day.

The rest of the album strikes a balance between bluesy ballads and feel-good folk jams celebrating time-worn values like loyalty and the importance of home. Another highlight is the closing track, “West Side Street” which features organ solos that would make even Dylan feel one-upped.

Small town drama, wilderness woes and more fill this rockabilly record with enough imagery to satiate a hungry ear for a thousand years. These songs feel like stories told around the fire, or on a ship traveling far through foreign seas. They are old tales that explain life through a lens of moralism and fate that seems to have slowly seeped out of society. Deep Dark Woods bring this rare quality back out into the spotlight on tracks like “The Banks Of The Leopold Canal”, its touches of banjo and mandolin reminds an attuned ear of Chris Thile and Nickel Creek.

Boldt’s slow drawl is relaxation in sonic form, as he covers topics from death to lost loves, or just the plain old-fashioned blues, as in one of my favorite songs on the record “Back Alley Blues”. As a listener, I was carried out of even the most metropolitan areas of New York City, deep into the back country by his languid, compelling vocals.

Keep an eye on these guys, after listening to their latest record, I went back into their discography and found their old, unknown albums to be equally well-crafted. I am positive their future work will continue in this same vein, bringing a taste of old-fashioned blues, bluegrass, and folk music to our ears.

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The Deep Dark Woods – West Side Street by Sugar Hill Records

Carousels aren’t exactly known for a strong association with great music, unless of course you’re a fan of barrel organs playing waltzes. I’m not. Other than kinetosis, they conjure up thoughts of Logan’s Run and American Gods - not bad, but again not necessarily all that relevant to auditory joy. Carrousel (sic - they spell it French-style) do at times lapse into a touch of “Oom-Pah-Pah” 6/8, but it’s done with folky charm rather than fairground shtick.

Based out of Tallahassee, Florida, the two-piece (Joel Piedt and Brad Harris Fant) describe their sound as dream-pop/folk. I didn’t buy the label at first, but I’m coming around to it. This Mortal Coil they are not, but there is a slight slow-and-spacey bent to their music; you could pick it out as dream-pop songs played with folk instrumentation. Well, there’s a caveat: the title(-ish) track, “Darling, You’re So Mean To Me”, of their debut EP, “Darling”, is straight up not dream-pop. There might only be two of them in the band, but it sounds like they roped in half the town to sing along and bang pots and whatnot for it. Maybe they just overdubbed it a lot, but I doubt it.

The other two tracks, rather enigmatically titled “14″ and “(15)”, fit the label a little better. They sit somewhere between whimsy and wistfulness, and are pitched perfectly to bring out the excellent vocals. The swooping verse melody of “14″ is especially good; one of the best I’ve heard in a while. My only real complaint about the EP is that at just three tracks, I was very much left wanting more (Where, out of interest, are “1″ to “13″?). Considering the brevity, though, they cram in an impressive amount of development in tempo and style – you get a good sense of their potential, and it’s the sort of potential that makes you very excited for an LP.

And wouldn’t you know it, they have one in the works; keeping with the French theme, it’s provisionally titled “27 Rue De Mi’chelle”. You can download the whole of “Darling” below, which should serve as ample evidence that you really need to keep your eyes out for that when it drops. You can also check out the video to “14″ – it might not seem impressive at first, but about a third in you might find yourself feeling a little trippy. I guess Carrousel live up to their name after all.

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Carrousel – ”14”
Carrousel – ”(15)”
Carrousel – ”Darling, You’re So Mean to Me”