Last week in the mail I received the second full-length from Queens’ The American Dollar, a duo comprised of multi-instrumentalists Richard Cupolo and John Emanuele. The band specializes in what I refer to as “climax” music: that critical sequence in a film when each plot point intersects, characters begin moving in slow-mo, and that all-encompassing “epic” music cue takes over. Maximizing an array of various keyboards, pianos, guitars, and live drums, The Technicolour Sleep (2007) is a cohesive assortment of instrumental mini-epics to soundtrack your next rainy-day moment of introspective meditation. Comparisons to French retro-futurists M83 aren’t entirely unjustified, although The American Dollar are notably more conservative in nature, taking fewer chances sonically to focus on their sole mission: aiming for the most direct route in reaching those delicate, prized heartstrings.

While not exactly pushing any envelopes, it’s pleasant stuff, to be sure. Most of the tracks on The Technicolour Sleep are built organically from the ground up, usually centering around a piano motif, and slowly expanded into minor-keyed symphonies of electronic sound. Predictable soft/loud dynamics are eschewed in favor of color and texture, with nebulous string pads, touches of eBow’ed guitar (always a good thing), and subtle electronic rhythms blended into the mix on occasion. Sure, Moby was peppering his albums with this sort of thing ten years ago, but where his efforts tended to translate as forced and contrived, The American Dollar sound like they’ve been playing this music for years. My biggest reservation with The Technicolour Sleep, and the chief reason preventing a two-thumbs-up blessing is one that I don’t use very often, but it’s a doozy.

These guys are in serious, dire need of a bass player.

And I don’t mean some four-stringed atomaton content to simply plug away at the root notes while Cupolo and Emanuele attempt the stratosphere. This band needs a fully-fledged member who does nothing but construct solid, well-defined lines with a warm and rounded tone; nothing too complicated, but it would make a world of difference here. Imagine a hot air balloon that has run out of gas, lingering passively in the sky, waiting for an air current to carry it to its inevitable descent. Without the bass, these songs drift along aimlessly, lacking any sort of gravity or substance, and Emanuele’s drum parts become nothing more than decorated click-tracks, sorely lacking a necessary musical complement. Intead of fully concentrating on the music itself, I spent the entire duration of the album thinking up basslines, humming them to myself, desperately wanting something to be there. Put simply, The Technicolour Sleep sounds incomplete.

Perhaps as a bass player I’m being a bit overdramatic, but the whole idea of bass-as-afterthought has always peeved me. There are nevertheless some fine tracks to be found here, “Time” being my personal highlight; a frozen, crystal blue landscape crafted around a simple piano theme, with augmented layers of guitars and keyboards folding it into a sparkling kaleidoscope of sound.

“Time” – The American Dollar 5:13 (The Technicolour Sleep, self-released 2007)

“Supernova Landslide” opens with a muffled swarm of static (in fact, one wishes for more experimental touches like this on the record) before blossoming into a chiming duet for guitar and piano. At 2:22 the track’s title suddenly occurs, exploding particles of sound into the mix as Emanuele crashes behind his kit and the wall of guitars pulses steadily. This track is just begging for its use as the cue for that key sequence in the next trendy indie sleeper film of confused twentysomethings.

“Supernova Landslide” – The American Dollar 4:38 (The Technicolour Sleep, self-released 2007)

My prediction is that The American Dollar’s cinematic taste for unabashed sentimentality will yield plenty of soundtrack opportunities, yet will prevent them from shedding their “studio band” status and rising to wider public acknowledgement. Should they modify their lineup to include the requisite bass player and perhaps another guitarist, they should certainly be a band to watch for.

Piero Umiliani “Lady Magnolia” To-Day’s Sound Omnicron 1971

Ah, those crazy times of the late ’60s. A time when one could write the score to a softcore porn documentary, go on to have a successful career as a film soundtrack and pop composer, and have his music featured on The Muppets. I’m referring, of course, to Italian musical craftsman Piero Umiliani, whose song “Mah Ná Mah Ná” for the early adult fim Sweden: Heaven and Hell (1968) found its way through appearances on everything from Sesame Street and The Benny Hill Show to Jim Henson’s famous puppet troupe, eventually becoming a number one hit in the UK in the late ’70s. Although Umiliani is one of Italy’s premier film composers, just shy of reaching the echelon of giants like Rota and Morricone, he was also well-versed in campy instrumental pop, the double-LP To-Day’s Sound (1971) arguably standing as his finest example. The record is 21 tracks of quality “library music,” meaning it was intended for license to film and television producers, commercials and advertisements, and essentially anyone else who was willing to pay for it.

Although there is a certain awkward rigidity to the some of the grooves here (hardly surprising, as many of the musicians were classically-trained studio drones), it tends to become part of the record’s charm after a few listens. “Lady Magnolia” is a slice of mild, Sunday-afternoon funk, riding a pimped-out mid-tempo groove with subtle touches of organ, Latin percussion, and the then-revolutionary Moog synthesizer, operated by Umiliani himself. Despite the fact that the whole “retro-lounge funk” movement was officially played-out years ago, run into the ground by hipster DJ’s and films like Ocean’s Eleven (2001), To-Day’s Sound still holds up well, likely due to the stylistic variety of selections contained on it. It tends to fetch inflated import prices in new condition, but used copies can occasionally be found for less than $20, and I’ve noticed that eMusic has it available for download as well.

“Lady Magnolia” – Piero Umiliani 3:26 (To-Day’s Sound, Omnicron 1971)

Ice Cube’s undisputed classic Death Certificate (1991) is still regarded as one of the most controversial statements by any artist in hip hop history; indeed, few albums in the canon encapsulate the anger and frustration of the young black male in America as effectively. Divided into two sides, “Life” and “Death,” the first half of the record depicted the current state of the black community, while the second encompassed Cube’s vision of where it needed to progress. The sheer intensity of the album has never been matched before or since, as Cube directed a conduit of seething rage and venomous criticism at a laundry list of targets: a corrupt and racist government, his former groupmates in N.W.A., and most famously, Korean grocery store owners, to name just a few. Buried into the second half of Death Certificate is the sleeper track “Color Blind,” a posse cut usually given only a passing mention in discussions of the album, but what I feel is one of the record’s strongest and most potent selections, at least musically, if not lyrically.

“Color Blind” was produced by Ice Cube and production crew The Boogiemen, and is a quintessential example of the deconstructive art of sampling: a handful of disparate musical snippets interlocked together to produce a sound-world entirely alien and unique. In this case, the result was a menacing yet seductive groove that struts along slowly and purposefully (about 90 bpm), perfectly conjuring the ambience of the shadowy streets of South Central Los Angeles at night. The track opens with a truncated organ sample (Fig. 1) and a haunting drone that auto-pans across the stereo field, intensifying the claustrophobic atmosphere. After four bars, a female chant of “ooh-wah” cues the bass and drum loop, appropriated from The Meters‘ “Pungee” (Fig. 2).

As the drum track stumbles forward, a gruff “yeah” can be detected on occasion, smothered under the dark colors of the organ and drone. Otherwise, that’s it as far as samples are concerned; these few elements are then added and subtracted in the mix to complement each emcee and prevent unnecessary repetition in the backing track.

It is telling that instead of a rowdy posse cut detailing various misogynistic tales of sexual prowess or run-of-the-mill microphone skills, Cube intended “Color Blind” to be a sobering and matter-of-fact discourse on gang violence. Lyrically, what makes the track so remarkable are the six different perspectives on the subject, each offering a separate and distinctive facet of Los Angeles’ gang culture. As the track starts, Cube begins his verse immediately:

Here’s another day at the stoplight.
I’m looking in my mirror so I can see who can see me.
South Central is putting Ice Cube to the test with four brothers in the SS.
Now I can’t go around and can’t back up, so I gotta peep game laying in the cut.
Is this a jack, or a kidnap?
Since I’m never, ever slippin’, I’m fully strapped.
I grab my gat out the glove.
Do these fools got a problem with me, or do they got love?
And when the light turn green, I don’t bone out,
I wanna see what these black men are all about.
‘Cause if it’s my time, I’m just short; if not, I’m pluggin’ they Super Sport.
First they get behind my ride, then they switch lanes to the left side.
I’m scoping out the one smoking Indo, coming up fast, rolling down his window.
He threw up a sign, I put away my nine, fool, ’cause I’m color-blind.

Cube’s introductory verse sets the tone for the track by describing an everyday scenario on the streets of South Central: the intentions of an oncoming vehicle while waiting at a stoplight. He spots the car in question (in this case a Chevrolet Super Sport) through his rearview mirror and wonders if he is about to get jacked for his own ride or worse, become the victim of a kidnapping. Cautious, but accustomed to situations like this, he grabs his gun out of his glove compartment and advances through the intersection as the light turns green, still carefully eyeing the car as it begins to pass him. One of the men in particular – the one smoking a joint – has him worried, and Cube is prepared for the worst. Suddenly, as the vehicle cruises by, a gang sign is flashed in his direction and a wave of relief settles over him as he puts his gun away. Yet Cube admits himself that his intense paranoia could have been averted had he been a gang member instead of a “color-blind” party of neutrality; this sets up the pattern for the last line of each subsequent verse. Deadly Threat is the first guest on the mic at 0:58:

Killa Cali, the state where they kill over colors ’cause brothers don’t know the deal.
And they’ll cap you, not if they have to,
But if they want to, first they might confront you.
But every nigga on my block can’t stop, and he won’t stop, and he don’t stop.
Not to the “bang bang boogie,” but they like to gangbang,
And rookies ain’t the only ones that drop.
Some say the little locs is getting a little too loc’ed,
And when it comes to dust, they kick up the most.
Say the wrong words then whistle down the street to your homies like a bird,
Bust a U-turn, come back and get served, nigga.
For the women, it don’t matter how loud they blouse get.
For men, the wrong color outfit can get your mouth split.
It’s a shame, but it ain’t no thang to me, ’cause I slang these thangs like a G.
It’s on, is anybody killing for the summertime?
I gotta get another nine, even though I’m color-blind.

In contrast to Cube’s suspenseful narrative, Threat’s verse is in the vein of the observant “ghetto reporter,” describing the grim realities of his surroundings with detached candor. He comments that one can get shot not out of necessity but simply out of a savage and whimsical desire for entertainment, and notices that each one of his neighbors has become a gang member, including the younger ones, who in turn are the most dangerous. Words must be chosen carefully in this environment, he warns; say the wrong thing and it could cost you your life. Threat concludes that despite his exclusion from any particular gang affiliation, he needs to acquire another gun for protection, and asks mockingly, “Is anybody killing for the summertime?” Kam begins his exposition next at 1:50:

I’m fresh out the County on bail, and no sooner do I get out,
Seems like I’m right back in jail for some gang-related activity,
‘Cause everyday different fools try to get with me,
For no more than a color, or territory; can’t rehabilitate ‘em, that’s the sheriff’s story.
So what’s left? The judge goes deaf,
When you try and tell your side and you ain’t blue-eyed.
Boy, you’d better duck, ’cause the book is coming.
So just hand your car keys over to your woman.
Because it ain’t no sunshine where you headed,
And the shit’ll drive you crazy if you let it.
But now I’ve got time to think,
Because they hit me with everything but the kitchen sink.
And I ain’t even shed a tear, ’cause believe it or not, they got more love for me here.
Now picture that, but on a black-and-white photograph,
‘Cause brothers, you don’t know the half.
On the streets I was damn near out of my mind,
But ever since I’ve been down, I’m color-blind.

Kam’s verse is the most personal here, told from the persective of a nihilistic and seasoned gang leader caught between incarceration and his former lifestyle. It’s an endless cycle, he explains, with a justice system that is hopelessly askewed and a rehabilitation program that is all but useless to anyone formerly involved in gang violence. By the middle of the verse, Kam’s words seem to be channeled through the receiver of a prison phone during visitor hours; he is essentially describing his frame of mind after receiving a life sentence. He is also quick to add that he commands more respect from his fellow inmates than his associates on the street. By the end of the verse, Kam ultimately chooses “color-blindess” over any gang connection, reasoning that he could be more psychologically stable that way during the remainder of his time in prison. The next verse features alternating lines between WC and pre-”Fantastic Voyage” and Maad Circle member Coolio, beginning at 2:48:

Now here’s the game plan: yo, at a quarter to nine,
I was told to peel a cap on the other side, yo.
Young and dumb and full of come, I’m a baby loc,
I’ve gotta put in work for the hood and that ain’t no joke.
Stable and able, but I’m not ready and willing,
‘Cause I’m only thirteen and I ain’t never did a killing.
Grabbed the AK and jumped in the G ride,
Started up the bucket and headed for the other side.
Yo, spotted the enemies, now I’m on the creep tip.
Hit the five-dollar stick and I put in my clip.
So I jumped out the car and no matter what the cost,
I had my mind set on sending niggas to Harrison-Ross.
Caught one from the back and I looked in his eyes, thinking,
“Should I peel his cap, or should I let him survive?”
Yo, I’m trapped in the plan designed by the other kind.
I ain’t contributing to genocide (Why?), ’cause sucker’s color-blind.

Compared to Kam’s portrayal of the wisened street veteran, WC and Coolio offer a harrowing anecdote from the viewpoint of a young teen freshly recruited into the gang lifestyle. Possibly as a form of initiation, he receives the instruction one evening that he is the designated hitman for a target across town. A flurry of conflicting emotions rush through his head: he’s not ready to commit his first murder, but he understands that this is the only way to prove his loyalty, or “put in work.” He grabs his automatic rifle, starts up the car, and proceeds into enemy territory – the “other side.” When he spots his adversaries, all doubts are extinguished, replaced by only one intention: to put his victims in the mortuary. As he stands over one whom he has badly wounded, he debates whether to let him live or finish him off, and the story abruptly ends there, its ending to be left to the listener. West Coast gangsta rap pioneer King Tee enters at 3:35:

Niggas in the hood ain’t changed,
And I’ve finally figured out that we’re not in the same gang,
‘Cause I walk the alleys of Compton with nowhere to turn,
Every which way I get burned.
Baby Lou wears blue, Big Fred wears red.
Put them together, then we color them dead.
Dead, dying, getting smoked is like part of the fun,
They get smoked just to show how many come to the funeral.

The brief eight-bar verse from King Tee shares a perspective with that of Cube’s, or that of an impartial bystander, neither Blood nor Crip. Despite the persistent declarations of black unity he realizes that his race is still divided, and he is struck by his own singluar loneliness in his environment. Tee ends his contribution by commenting on the senselessness of it all, as gang members assess each other’s notoriety by the number of mourners at their own funerals. Lench Mob associate J Dee drops the final verse at 3:59:

I understand how all my homeboys feel.
‘Cause I’ve been shot and to this day, I pack my steel.
‘Cause I was born in a certain territory,
Where you don’t talk; only the streets tell stories.
With blue and red bandanas on the streets,
And if you’re slippin’, you’ll be six feet deep.
You see, me and T Bone, we pay it no mind,
And for the rest of the Mob, we stay color-blind.

J Dee speaks from the perspective of a battle-scarred survivor, fully accepting of the world around him and its dangers. J Dee’s advice is to simply mind one’s own business and keep a safe distance from the red and blue rivalry; for him, color-blindness is the most rational means of survival in the streets. An audio excerpt can be heard following his verse and appears to be from an unidentified interview with a former gang member, who explains, “I can’t, I couldn’t get into caring. If I started caring, then I would get sloppy.” It’s a chilling and effective final touch on the track.

“Color Blind” – Ice Cube feat. Deadly Threat, Kam, WC, Coolio, King Tee & J Dee 4:29 (Death Certificate, Priority 1991)

Eddie Kendricks “Goin’ Up in Smoke” Goin’ Up in Smoke Tamla 1976

From the time he departed from The Temptations in 1970 until his death, Eddie Kendricks never managed to produce a single equal in success to his #1 smash “Keep on Truckin’,” though it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Over the course of nine solo records for Motown, Kendricks and his producers (notably Frank Wilson and Norman Harris) naturally kept a watchful eye on the radio; when disco began to sweep the nation in the middle of the decade, the songwriting team couldn’t help but swim with the popular current. Although previous singles like “Girl You Need a Change of Mind” and “Boogie Down” had (somewhat unintentionally) translated surprisingly well to the dance clubs, it wasn’t until 1976’s Goin’ Up in Smoke that Kendricks made a blatant stab at the disco crowd with the environmentally-conscious title track.

Never have the impending apocalypse and the anticipation of burning in eternal hell been so joyously danceable. It is interesting to note that Kendricks’ ominous paranoia here centers more around Biblical imagery and allegories than, say, global warming statistics or other scientific data. Yet the hook, “Talked to my friend again today,” is left to open interpretation; this “friend” could either be a drinking buddy riddled with conspiracy theories or a higher, divine power speaking directly to Kendricks. Regardless, it’s hard to deny the music’s infectious funkiness: just listen to the bassline during the first chorus at 0:50, or the wah-wah flutters from the guitar in the right channel. The public’s response to the track, however, was entirely lukewarm: “Goin’ Up in Smoke” only reached #30 on the R&B charts in the fall of ‘76. It could have been due to the detectable deterioration of Kendricks’ falsetto here (the years of alcohol and cigarettes were beginning to take their toll), or perhaps guilt-inducing, eco-conscious dance anthems were falling out of vogue then.

“Goin’ up in Smoke” – Eddie Kendricks 4:34 (Goin’ Up in Smoke, Tamla 1976)

There are certain kinds of music that I’m simply unable to resist, regardless of context or mood, and well-crafted, ambient guitar rock is one of them. For the past few weeks I’ve been particularly enamoured with the debut release from Philadelphia’s own Relay titled Still Point of Turning (2006). Not since the last LP from my beloved Bright have I heard such a striking collection of expansive and textural space rock whose rewards are plentiful with repeated careful listening. Although essentially a one-man parade led by multi-instrumentalist and studio wizard Jeff Zeigler, the record reaches such a high level of dynamic group interplay that the notion of “bedroom musician” is discarded immediately, with the especially tasteful contributions from drummer Gerard Angelini holding each track together marvelously.

Upon its release back in October, the knee-jerk reaction from critics has been to paint Still Point of Turning with the overused shoegaze tag, but such a conclusion is half-assed and somewhat deceptive. Relay’s music is much more direct and organic, hardly the druggy psychedelia associated with the shoegaze sound but rather displaying a conscious, exploratory nature to the songwriting and the beautiful mass of textures contained within each track. Opener “New Domestic Landscape” wraps an Andy Gill-like guitar line into a caffeinated Kraut beat, then escalates into an atmosphere of noisy ecstasy that is absolutely breathtaking; the track is only four minutes in length, but it could easily be justified at twenty. “Prill,” on the other hand, is an exercise in meditative drone, as low peals of feedback drift slowly across a frozen landscape comprised of a stuttering delay loop. I paired Still Point of Turning with Everything Wrong Is Imaginary (2006) (review here) onto one CDR and the disc hasn’t left my car stereo in weeks. Both have my highest recommendation.

Zeigler took a few minutes from preparing for Relay’s upcoming tour (with an upcoming slot at SXSW in May) for a brief chat.

FWM: What are your plans for the next week or so before you and the band head up the east coast?

Jeff Zeigler: I’ll be wrapping up a bunch of recording work that I’ve been doing for the past few months with other bands here in my studio, Uniform Recording, and frantically sorting out all the little odds and ends that need to be resolved before we leave (van repairs, t-shirt orders, last minute tour changes, etc.), and also working a few shows as the house sound engineer at Johnny Brenda’s in Philadelphia.

FWM: Will this be your first time touring with Lymbyc Systym?

JZ: We played with them and The Album Leaf in DC a while back when they were touring together. I also got a chance to hang out with them at their Philly show at Johnny Brenda’s (I was the house sound engineer), and again in Chicago, as we were both playing there within a day of each other. They’re great guys and an awesome band. We’re really looking forward to touring with them. As for Relay, this will be our third tour and our second since our LP was released.

FWM: The response to Still Point of Turning has been overwhelmingly positive (and deservedly so), but every write-up seems to include the word “shoegaze” in it somewhere. Did you anticipate this when recording the album?

JZ: I’m okay with the shoegaze tag, but it’s definitely a bit narrow in scope. I certainly consider myself a fan of MBV, Swirlies, early Lilys, and our friends Mahogany, though I’d be hesitant to call them shoegaze either.

FWM: How do you feel about the endless comparisons to Loveless (1991)?

JZ: At first it seemed a bit odd to me, since the majority of our influences aren’t particularly shoegaze-related, and the record doesn’t sound all that much like Loveless. Trying to copy such a unique-sounding record seems like a recipe for disaster. I’m a much bigger fan of Faust, This Heat/Camberwell Now, Hood, Crescent, and Unwound than any of the shoegaze heavy hitters, as well as some newer bands like Dirty Projectors and Battles.

FWM: Besides the overall texture of the record, one of the things I love most about it is your approach to guitar. I’m not sure if it’s just overdubbing, but the chords you’re playing are incredibly dense and nebulous, at least in a harmonic sense. How conscious are you of avoiding “traditional” chord fingerings and changes? Do you use alternate tunings?

JZ: A lot of our songs are in one of three alternate tunings that I use pretty regularly. “Context,” “Ode to Guesswork,” and “Several Circles” are all in standard tuning. I don’t make too much of a conscious effort to avoid traditional changes; songs like “Context,” for instance, have quite a few traditional progressions going on, at least in terms of the root notes, but the chording is a bit different than say, power chords or something. I don’t have much of a traditional musical background, so even if I wanted the avoidance to be totally conscious, I probably wouldn’t know how to go about it.

“Context” – Relay 4:38 (Still Point of Turning, Bubble Core 2006)

FWM: What is the most critical element to your guitar sound in your effects arsenal?

JZ: Probably my Space Echo.

FWM: Jeff, congratulations on the new record and I look forward to seeing Relay at T.T. the Bears on the 19th; I couldn’t imagine a better venue in Boston for hearing the band.

JZ: Thanks. Please say hello after our set if you can!

“New Domestic Landscape” – Relay 4:05 (Still Point of Turning, Bubble Core 2006)