The
concept of record-label samplers is to introduce a listener to the sound
and artists that a label offers. But too often, these compilations
are nothing more than a hodge-podge of material tied together by a
company name: Either everything sounds the same, making it difficult
to tell one artist from the next, or the compilation is so disparate
that it's impossible to settle in and sit through all of the songs.
Future Appletree's 2007 Spring Compilation serves not only as a great introduction to the Quad Cities label's growing catalog, but is a solid offering itself. The laid-back slowcore sounds of Track a Tiger set up the high-octane frenzy unleashed by Driver of the Year. Tenki's epic Southwestern flavor matches the Americana rock of The Marlboro Chorus' "Bleeding." There's enough variety to keep things from becoming monotonous, and just the right amount of resemblance to hold it together.
Adding to its appeal, five of the 15 songs on this comp are previously unreleased, including "All These Accidents" by Track a Tiger (http://www.trackatiger.com). Like mellow rockers American Analog Set and Yo la Tengo, Track a Tiger favors mid-tempo rhythms, the sensual interplay between male and female voices, and undulating bass lines. The song opens slowly with a guitar melody and bass drum that massage, caress, and lull you until the vocals and keyboards draw the curtain aside, exposing a warm, creamy center. "All These Accidents" is an excellent song and works perfectly as an opener to this compilation: It's neither too strange nor too sterile, too abrasive nor too melancholy. Its familiar touch welcomes visitors into the Future Appletree home.
Next up is a new track from Driver of the Year (http://www.dotymusic.com), which is also available on the band's latest release, Driver of the Year Will Destroy You. While "All These Accidents" is a great song for getting to your destination, "Barely Legal" is what you want the place to sound like upon arriving. A party anthem decked out in highly fuzzed guitars and brash keyboards that recall like-minded rockers The Make-Up, LCD Soundsystem, and Six Finger Satellite, the song has off-the-cuff lyrics that are provocative but never incendiary: "That's right! We get high almost every single night / On things that we know aren't right / Do I have to confess every drug I use?" And they make no apology for their behavior, as the band passionately responds, "No! You don't, you don't, you don't."
The Marlboro Chorus (http://www.marlborochorus.com) has two offerings, the first ("Who's the Liar?") from their latest release, American Dreamers (reviewed in Reader issue # 630). The other, an unreleased track, is a self-proclaimed "rough mix." Frontman and producer Pat Stolley normally adds mores nuances to his vocals, while here it is little more than his voice and a microphone. Without the additional effects, Stolley's voice sounds warm, which is refreshing in this digital age in which music is often clinical to the point of sterility. As the song has a decidedly youthful Americana feel to it - similar in style and sound to The Shins or Calexico, but less cautious - the lack of flair given to the vocal production, guitars, and mix provides a level of authenticity. The song sounds less indie and more classic rock.
Tenki
(http://www.tenkimusic.com) also contributes two songs: "Blue Face
Arizona" is available on We're
Not Talking About the Universe Are We (#2)
(reviewed in Reader issue #629), and "Jesus Loved Juliet" is another previously
unreleased offering. While not in the same class as "Blue Face
Arizona," "Jesus Loved Juliet" is still worthwhile. A low
guitar rumble opens the song up, but suddenly gives way to bright
trumpet blasts and a heavily phased keyboard. Ninety seconds in, the
song takes off like a jet plane soaring into the atmosphere. And
while the song seems to abruptly stop at the three-minute mark, it's
only a brief pause before it switches into a jam session that sounds
more like a train barreling down than a jet engine. This serves as a
segue as the band slowly builds up steam, before rocketing off into
the skies again.
Also featured on this compilation is Future Appletree's latest signing, The Parish Festival (http://www.myspace.com/parishfestival). The band supplies two tracks of its own: "Handshakes & Heartaches" from its debut album of the same name and "Banjo #1," an unreleased track. While banjo features prominently on Handshakes & Heartaches, it's used more as a substitute for a lead guitar than as an actual banjo. Here, that's not the case. In full-on old-timey and bluegrass flavor, "Banjo #1" is a foot-stomping romp, complete with a fiddle and what could be a garbage can posing as a drum. Lead singer and banjo player Jamey Cummins' high-pitched vocals whine and squeal with impetuous ferocity. Relentless and unforgiving, "Banjo #1" will have you passed out on the dance floor long before it lets you catch your breath.
Other artists featured here include Grogshow, The Mulitple Cat, Struggle in the Hive, and Chrash. Each contribute one song, with the exception of Chrash, who also toss in an unreleased track, "The Office (the American Version)." While the title itself is a clever take on the "alternate version" label, the song is a bit of a clunker. It sounds thrown together and almost an afterthought, but the inclusion of "Ouija Steering Wheel" makes up for it. From last year's Audio Feng Shui, "Ouija Steering Wheel" definitely has the mystical feel its title suggests. The chord progressions and percussive approach to the guitar are more in step with Spanish styles of music such as flamenco, though decidedly more playful. It's a perfect choice to match the aforementioned "Banjo #1."
The 2007 Spring Compilation is available for free (while supplies last) at (http://www.futureappletree.com). And the entire Future Appletree catalog, including many releases by the artists featured on this compilation, is available for purchase at the label's Web site, CDBaby.com, and iTunes.
Culley Smith is a writer and runs a blog (http://www.theairstrange.com) devoted to promoting the local music scene.
