Category: Antifolk


The Music Spectrum Notebook Series digs into my handwritten notes and reviews on older releases still getting my attention as 2010 comes to a close.

Jeff Klein
Jeff Klein may object, but I’m going to call him Antifolk for the ways he turns the singer/songwriter sound on its head. His “I Just Want My *&!@ Life Back” sounds like Ryan Adams in a tender moment—more tender than you might imagine from such a title. String sounds make the track take on an empty house loneliness that’s painfully palapable meaning the title lyric comes across much more hurt than angry.

His 2010 EP, Death of the Fox, opens with the Joseph Arthur-esque “Like Leads to Lonely,” a sound which returns later on “Give Up.” It’s beats and atmosphere swirling around the singer/songwriter concoction. Then there’s a rockabilly feel to “Let’s Be Enemies,” a folk punk approach to a smashing track. Shouts and sneers accompany “Kiss and Tell” recalling the distorted vocals of Peter DiStefano.

My Jerusalem
Jeff Klein also is working with the collective My Jerusalem which released Gone for Good this year. Featuring Klein’s Joseph Arthur-esque vocals, the band revolves there in that Britrock world where it’s as easy to be ethereal as it is to smash down a rocker. Gone for Good, then, moves in those worlds—sweeping strings, crunching guitars, anthemic structures, and blues rock swagger thrown in on tracks like “Sweet Chariot”—which really hits a tremendous stride at the percussive end.

My Jerusalem

Playing guitars of all sorts, Lauris Vidal wields an anti-folk that seems like Hamell on Trial turned down just a notch. Just a notch. Because on Vidal’s release from this past fall, Better Part EP, he can still crank out the punk folk. Making sounds on those guitars that are like glimmers of Keller Williams, he wryly looks at the world, picks up the joy, while throwing back a few lines of derision at the way the world is. “Better Part” comes on like a Jam Band swagger and sway. “Freed” is a blues rocker that calls the listener to join in, and provides plenty of divine food for thought with the shouted out chorus: “I need my spirit freed.” “Killing Fields” is the Hamell on Trial sound. “Movin In” works like the Hard Lessons. The EP closes out with the dirty electric blues of “Would You.”

Lauris Vidal
P is for Panda Records

heligoats' goodness graciousWhile the Heligoats’ Chris Otepka has an antifolk warble in his vocals, I love the way the band fills in behind the acoustic guitar line. It’s an entire band approach to a solo kind of sound which isn’t surprising since the Heligoats has been Otepka’s vehicle for his solo writing. Think Lach and Hamell on Trial. And what this means is that folk indie vibe plays out in a number of different ways.

“A Mercury” has an AltCountry ballad sway, like a Brown Shoe shoegazer jam. There’s a relaxed groove for “Water Towers on Fire,” while “Reasonable Doubt” has a 6/8 driving groove. “Rubber Stopper” is an urgent groove with multi-layer guitar sounds picking up the groove with the percussion providing the urgency when hitting fills and breaks before going back into a dance beat groove. “Heatvents” has a pow wow/drum circle driving beat in the acoustic rock. Finally, the title track, “Goodness Gracious,” is a relaxed stroll that ends with what sounds like a nod to the Counting Crows’ “Goodnight Elisabeth.”

The Heligoats
Greyday Records

The Music Spectrum Notebook Series digs into my handwritten notes and reviews on older releases still getting my attention.

If I say Lach sounds like Adam Green, Hamell on Trial, John Wesley Harding, and Pat McCurdy, that’s backwards. While far less well-known, Lach is actually the founder of the antifolk movement which then shows up in the music of those who followed in his footsteps, like Ed Hamell. Folky music that approaches a punkness through a quirkiness like an inside joke ending up questioning folk’s zealousness and the Pantheon altar of rock ‘n’ roll. It’s electrified punk ferocity through melody, beat poet, coffee house charm sped up instead of through one minute of thrash amp voltage.

Listening to 2008’s The Calm Before, you hear Lach’s flair for songwriting and arranging. “Egg” has a dirty sax employed for a pop-like line much like how the Nails used the saxophone. There’s the lyricism built around storytelling that’s built on word association in weird worlds like the tales of Robyn Hitchcock, the introspective humor of John Wesley Harding, and the way Andy Ditzler (see review) follows the whole lyric/story.

“This Ain’t a Song” is a bluegrass jig for a barroom sing-along with the Pogues, perhaps, or Newfoundland’s A Fine Crowd. It has the nudge-nudge, wink-wink in the style of Pat McCurdy’s rousing chorus, drinking game-like shows so popular here in Wisconsin. In the air of Adam Green (without the amount of adult themes), The vaudevillian “A Quiet Distance” shuffles off to Buffalo in a soft shoe carried away by Lydia Ooghe’s beautiful cameo and backing vocals.

Many lyrics are hard to follow in any linear way, but there are couplets that certainly speak volumes. On “Egg,” with its musical theater splash of horns, Lach sings, “I wandered into Disneyland, a chip still on my shoulder.” For me, I think I do this too often in this world and life created by God. I wander into God’s wondrously beautiful, amazingly glorious, graciously hopeful world, wander into all of these blessings God has given me—and I still have a chip on my shoulder. It doesn’t work when going to Disneyland’s Magical Kingdom, and it doesn’t work when going before God. The chip doesn’t just fall away, but at least it makes me realize that the chip doesn’t really belong there. God made me without that chip.

Lach
Fortified Records


“Hmmm, is that what good singers do? Yeaah,” are the Billy O’Neill’s opening words as Dan Wean strums an already earnest acoustic guitar on the duo’s You Are Beautiful EP. It’s the kind of self-conscious humor that could be coming from Jason Mraz, but with O’Neill and Wean you’re really just at the small club watching these two guys jam out some grooving folk rock. Watch the video available at their Webpage, and you’ll see what I mean.

O’Neill (Oh! My God) and Dan Wean (Easy Tiger) create something that’s a cross between’s Mraz’s singer/songwriter humor funk, Hamell on Trial’s punk folk, David Bazan’s frontal lobe attack, and Jason Anderson’s community folk. Wean bends the strings of an acoustic guitar on “Breakdown” that unleashes more sonic energy than the lone guitar instrumentation would suggest.

“Mona” is layered with electric guitars and percussion with a hard rocking drive, but that’s just a response to where the real drive that comes from O’Neill’s vocals that reach for Lenny Kravitz funk and Wean’s acoustic guitar that does a city pounding beat. Meanwhile, O’Neill’s plays the bar idiot picking up Mona while showing that he cares nothing about her—even having trouble remembering her name.

Contrary to what O’Neill and Wean might expect, I really appreciate “Son of God.” If I assume that Jesus Himself is singing the song, it is difficult to imagine the Son of God using vulgar language. However, the sentiment that the song expresses in phrases like “I am the Son of the God/But nobody buys it,” seems to capture reality of what Jesus faced as He preached. The song carries frustration—a frustration seen in God back even in the Old Testament as His people didn’t believe and follow Him. With its intensity, the song also shakes off the doubters, just as Jesus didn’t let His detractors alter His mission.

While I wouldn’t use it in certain settings, the song’s certainly an example of how even those who appear to be counter what the Church preaches can actually stumble onto ways of explaining the truth.

If you’re ready to take another step in seeing O’Neill and Wean speak these truths that have spiritual weight, take the last track—a slow, darker, brooding tune called “Human Condition.”

I say the right things because I know the human condition
Said I feel the wrong things because I am the human condition
I am compensating all the time
I am compensating all the time

I want to love you because I know that you need me
But I’m afraid of you because I know I need you
I am suiciding all the time
I am suiciding all the time

I think twice before I talk because I know that I’m a fool
Sometimes I’m fool for fearing what I might say
I am deviating all the time
I am deviating all the time

I am cold because I don’t come to your door
But you are cold because you don’t demand my warmth
I could love me so completely if I were someone else
You could love me completely if I was just myself.

Yes, it works more as a love song between two people, but if you interpret it as being addressed to God, it yields quite a lot of heartfelt questions about a relationship with the Lord. We fake our words, because we know the human condition of being sinful, but because of our sin, the truth is we feel the wrong things on the inside. In front of God, we’re compensating all the time, pretending to be something we’re not.

We want to love God, because we know He wants to take us into His kingdom. Yet, we’re scared of Him when we’re aware of how much we need God. We kill our souls by running away from Him.

While it is important to watch what we say, we end up never saying anything to God, afraid our prayers might be wrong. Instead, we deviate, let ourselves be distracted from our conversations with the Lord.

When we don’t come to knock at the door, we stand outside cold, because we’re not with Jesus. Yet, it feels like Jesus is cold—emotionless—in the way He can exist without me. We have trouble accepting ourselves knowing our own faults, but if we are just honest with God—even honest about our human condition of sin—God will completely love us.

Thanks to O’Neill and Wean for the review CD. Lyrics © 2006 O’Neill & Wean Songs (ASCAP).

When the Sun’s Gone Down
When we turn on Dan Zanes’ children’s album, Rocket Ship Beach, our one year-old son, Samuel, stands by his bookcase, bouncing, dancing to the mountain-infected children’s songs. When I turn on Langhorne Slim’s When the Sun’s Gone Down, I kind of get the same itch—to stand, bouncing, dancing to the mountain music, acoustic punk, grown up children’s sing-along songs. There’s no sitting still when the album kicks off with “In the Midnight” and “Set Em Up.” You know there’s a banjo-bluegrass thing happening, but you find your body is doing a jump-stomp, funk dance.

While in tourist traps like Gatlinburg, Tennessee, people grab up CDs of mountain music thinking it quaint to hear some banjo played boringly on a couple of traditional tunes, those same people would probably refer to Langhorne Slim as that “weird guy who plays a banjo.” You see, the sound comes from the mountains, the instruments are from the hillbillies, the tunes are almost traditional, Slim’s using the same tools as Zanes to invoke the front porch singing, but this ain’t quaint. Slim’s completely serious. Some of the old blues standard have lost their murderous intent because they’re standards. In that same way, some of the sounds of mountain music have lost their languid passion, but there’s no such loss in Slim’s music. It’s more than a quaint gift shop can handle.

Slim’s vocals have been compared to Gordon Gano (Violent Femmes) with its adolescent crack, but more than voice, Slim’s lyrics also talk about love and sex, passion and sin in the way the Violent Femmes have always done in that off-kilter honesty. “I Ain’t Proud” confesses to the Lord with prideful humility. “Mary” takes the love of a woman to a nearly impossible height (“Mary, are you the mother of my God?”). “The Electric Love Letter” tells us too much information while saying something we probably understand (“She tastes just like pumpkin pie”).

The acoustic punk sound definitely recalls Hamell on Trial’s punishment of an acoustic instrument in order to extract all of the sonic energy of an entire electric band. “I Will” is a stomp dance that sends everyone spinning on the red barn floor—which is exactly what this world needs: Langhorne Slim leading the bouncing and dancing and singing for all of us uptight adults who forgot how to dance like children a long time ago.

Thanks to Langhorne Slim and Narnack Records for their help.

Tough Love

“Don’t Kill” by Hamell on Trial is the perfect song for teaching the Fifth Commandment in Confirmation class. However, play the song for your seventh graders, and you’ll probably have a long line of parents and elders at your door. “Just what are letting our kids listen to?”

Given that danger, I only use this most perfect song for teaching the catechism with our older confirmands, what I call AltConfirmation (students in high school needing more individualized discipleship). The song really catches the attention of students who are on the verge of throwing in the towel on this whole church thing.

Hamell on Trial is Ed Hamell. Crazed, acoustic punk that pulls no punches, just like what you expect from punk music. Think the wide range of styles from the Violent Femmes. Think the attitude of the Clash. And actually, think the aggressive folk, the speedwood of Lost & Found.

Hamell’s 2003 album, Tough Love, opens up with an electrified, acoustic, throw down blues punk song from God Himself. When you think of God’s reaction to murders and wars, do you ever really realize just how frustrated God must be? Hamell does. On “Don’t Kill,” he puts outrage, sarcasm, frustration, and judgment on the lips of God.

Sure the song is tongue in cheek at times, but it certainly drives home the point that God doesn’t condone killing. With all of our hand-wringing over violence in TV shows, movies, music, and video games, “Don’t Kill” is the kind of song that we need to say it forcefully, repeatedly, unabashedly, passionately, and with a little dose of sarcastic humor, that God said, “Thou shalt not kill.”

While in the United States we’ve been quick to condemn Islamic fundamentalists for killing in the name of Allah, Hamell actually calls Christians to remember that killing in our God’s Name would be wrong as well. Even though God gives the power of the sword to the government, “Don’t Kill” reminds us to watch our rhetoric. Are we turning the war in Iraq into “divinely sanctioned murders”? Hamell combines the role of both folk singer and punker, protesting society’s ills. Here he cautions us from assuming God is on our side of the killing; God’s desire is that there would be no killing. That seems so apparent (“What part of ‘thou shalt’ don’t you understand?”), but we need reminders like this song.

The problem is that this song uses one cuss word (see lyrics below). That’s where you’ve got to be careful and know your situation before using this song in class. However, I think the judicial use of a cuss word actually helps drive home the point of this song, since that is how we show our frustration. If God can call our sins “menstrual rags” in the prophets, it doesn’t seem that far of a step to think that He would use a cuss word to get our attention today.

Now Hamell also uses “Jesus Christ” in a double entendre in the last stanza. Here God could be addressing Jesus, but it also looks like God is using His Son’s Name in vain as many people do today. It’s clever, but of course, breaks the second commandment even while trying to call us back to following the fifth.

Finally, you may have trouble at first, because the song addresses Christians, Muslims, and Jews, equating all three religions. However, used in the context of a conversation with your students, here’s room for a side discussion about how people view the differences between religions and why someone might conclude that these three religions specifically are all worshipping the same God.

If you can set all of this aside, then definitely use Hamell on Trial for teaching. After “Don’t Kill,” the album only continues to take on edgy subjects, using questionable lyrics. However, much like “Don’t Kill,” those other songs with their rude language, drug references, etc., actually point towards positive decisions and even Christ-like living.

“Downs” is grooving jam about Hamell’s life-changing, near death car accident. After having gotten sober before the accident, the doctor prescribed pain killers which tempted Hamell into being addicted again. The song really deals well with the difficulty of staying clean and the contradictions addicts face.

The rocker “Halfway” uses the f-word as the main part of the chorus, but the song is about being a sell out. It ultimately teaches that you shouldn’t give up your morals, integrity, body, etc. Hamell even derides a band that uses the image of the crucifixion as a publicity stunt.

If you’re ready, use “Hail” to begin a discussion of homosexuality. The song finds Hamell in a tender mood stylistically as he imagines the homosexual victims of hate crimes in heaven. Tina Brandon (subject of the excellent movie, Boys Don’t Cry), Brian Deneke, and Matthew Shepherd discuss life while looking down on the earth, spitting over the rail. Here we see that Hamell’s idea of redemption is “we can be who we want to be.” Not only does this song challenge us to think again how we approach the subject of the sin of homosexuality, but it leads to a discussion of the unscriptural idea that heaven will be whatever we want it to be, an idea which leaves out God’s will for His creation.

Finally, when you’re not planning a Bible study or hot topic discussion, just listen to Tough Love. The album rocks in a way that some full electric albums never do. Hamell uses all of his energy to lay havoc on the strings of his acoustic guitar, banging around, looking to protest like a prophet calling attention to our sins.

For more on punks as prophets, see Andrew Careaga’s site who is working on an upcoming book on the subject.

Thank you to Ani DiFranco’s Righteous Babe Records for the review CD and to Ed Hamell for the permission to reprint his lyrics.

“Don’t Kill” by Hamell on Trial

1. God called down from the mountain,

God called down from the sky.

He said, “I told you, I told you, I told you.

Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill.

2. Don’t Kill for lovin’, please don’t kill for hate.

Don’t Kill in My name,

Don’t Kill for heaven’s sake.

Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill.

3. Once again you didn’t understand Me,

Or you disobeyed from all I can detect.

From what I remember I did more than ask you,

I commanded it, from what I recollect.

Thou Shalt, Thou Shalt—what part of ‘Thou Shalt’ don’t you understand?

4. Was it the ‘Thou’ part that threw you?

Thou means you.

Was it the ‘Shalt Not’ part that confused you?

Shalt Not means DON’T.

Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill.

5. There are no divinely sanctioned murders.

Who’d know better than Me?

I’m God, why don’t you hear Me?

I’ve been saying the same sh*t for centuries.

You say it’s Me that you worship.

All you Christians, all you Muslims, all you Jews.

I’m going to say it one more time, DON’T KILL YOUR NEIGHBOR.

Jesus Christ, this shouldn’t be news.

Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill, Don’t Kill—I thought I etched this in stone!”

By Ed Hamell, © 2003 Trial Size Publishing/ASCAP. Used by permission.

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