November 13-19, 2003

music

Home Records

Music by people who lock their bikes up next to yours.

The Broken Hipsters

Original Cast Recording

(self-released)

If you missed it, you missed out. The Broken Hipsters, last weekend's "indie rock opera" -- written by Marc and Jay Sand (of The Sand Family), and starring a cast of local musicians and singers ripped right from a Khyber schedule -- was tight, smart and really, really funny. Sadly, this CD is just a five-song sampler from the show's 25 mostly on-target musical numbers. Like Moving Insects' Todd Starlin (who plays Curtis) lends his earthy, dramatic voice to "Chinchillas," a heartfelt and bestial plea for a softer, gentler world ("The jackets puffier! The pillows fluffier! And if you snooze, you don't have to lose!"). She-Haw's Amy Pickard (as Officer Dusty Bowers) delivers the smart and earnest "Ain't it a Shame" with such aplomb, you might not know it's about being raised by dogs after babies killed her mom. Part of what made The Broken Hipsters so unforgettable was its knack for simultaneously poking fun at the conventions of musical theater while adhering to enough of them to keep the whole thing rooted in its version of reality. On "La La La La La La La Tennis," The Method and Result's Megan Wendell (as Liza) delivers hilariously over-cooked tennis puns ("We served each other well/ There was so much love") in a crystalline voice, while Marc Sand (as Tugger) counters with shaky attempts to keep up, mostly name-checking Jennifer Capriati and Pete Sampras. There is hushed talk going around about reviving The Broken Hipsters since both shows sold out. That would be great, but I'd settle for a complete double-disc soundtrack so I can listen to "Urinate" and "Guy Screaming Fuck" in my den.--Patrick Rapa

Check www.brokenhipsters.com for more info.

Kid Dynamite

Cheap Shots, Youth Anthems

(Jade Tree)

Like a grenade going off in your hand, Kid Dynamite imploded prematurely, leaving a grisly mess in its wake. "I was pretty disillusioned, I was pretty upset, I was at a loss for words," says drummer David Wagenschutz on the DVD portion of Cheap Shots, Youth Anthems. His frustration and furrowed brow come with good reason. Kid Dynamite split before its potential could be fully realized, ending quicker than one of its endorphin-pumping punk anthems. Rather than squeeze a greatest hits collection from its condensed catalog, they give us two discs of demos, lo-fi radio sessions, covers and classics. Guitarist Dan Yemin (now balancing child psychology with his Minor Threat love letter, Paint It Black) contributes most of the liner notes, supplying warts-and-all anecdotes (Jade Tree co-founder Darren Walters once auditioned for the vocalist position and failed? Saucy!). Songs race to the point, cramming 29 fist-raisers into 48 minutes. It's a loving reminder of how blissful bare-bones punk can be, and the lack of such needed restraint today.--Andrew Parks

The Dead Milkmen

Now We Are 20 Philadelphia in Love DVD

(Restless/Ryko)

Smirk if you wish, but name another Philadelphia rock band with the Dead Milkmen's long and varied career. Now We Are 20, a slightly expanded version of the Now We Are 10 anniversary comp, mostly collects live performances from the pre-Bucky Fellini era, including a boisterous on-air set from the days when WXPN could spare more than a few minutes for local acts. Reflections from the band and fans -- including Mojo Nixon, Wil Wheaton and "that Jonny Wurster kid" -- round out a charming if inessential keepsake. The Philadelphia in Love DVD scoops up all seven of the Milkmen's videos (most from their less-inspired later years) and adds live footage, miscellany and hilariously disorganized audio commentary.--Sam Adams

Eltro

Past and Present Futurists

(Absolutely Kosher)

This is the album Eltro fans have been waiting for -- and not just because it was originally scheduled to come out in March. (At least they're used to waiting: 2001's Velodrome spent even longer in limbo.) Given that Eltro essentially sounds like a different band each time out, there's not much point comparing Past and Present Futurists to the band's past output. Just say that all the elements of the band's mesmerizing live shows are ably captured with Miner Street magic. Diana Prescott lures you in with a whisper, then blows your mind with words; Jorge Sandrini's guitar and basslines curl suggestively around each other; Ted Johnson drops polyrhythmic science behind the kit; and mad scientist Rick Henderson contributes sounds electronic and organic. The addition of Prescott's sister, Jenny, on harmony vocals (and occasional percussive dollar bill) adds a seductive gloss, but underneath, there be monsters: Phrases combine, separate and rejoin like atoms dancing in primordial soup. Speaking of creation, Diana Prescott and Sandrini are tending to a new release of their own -- a daughter, Lucia (who, if you think about it, came out a lot quicker than the album). So for now, the only place you can see them is in your dreams. (OK, if you're desperate, poke around the CD until you find the "Motorboat" video, which does for clown fish what Finding Nemo, uh, didn't.)--Sam Adams

The Needles

Choc Toxique

(555)

With his Fingernail, Adam DiAngelo made what Leonard Cohen would call the music of a "beautiful loser" -- analog-electro records like A Childhood in Aeden that were chilly, earthen and ethereally pastoral while maintaining a dramatic poppiness. Here, DiAngelo's dispensed with any gentleness, raised the stakes on the dark pop race and made a shimmying '80s girl-group album filled with tart, tough melody, big blocks of 808 drum-machine percussion and chunky weedy synthesized chords. While faux Farfisas bop and bounce through the shuffling dance grooves of instrumentals like "Xenophilia," it's the cool, emotionless teasing tones of his three vocalists -- Sabrina, Colleen and Lauren (quaintly uniformed in Needles crop tops) -- that take DiAngelo's Midnight-Express-meets-Dare robotics into a humanity beyond the Human League. "Ditherpop" is aptly named for its lolling grooves, but "Every Word," "Mirror Hero" and "Give Us a Chance" are aggro-electro pop with sandy, shifting pulses and sneeringly distanced, happy-girlie-girl vocals. Keep feeling fascination, indeed.--A.D. Amorosi

Grandfabric

Orphan Age

(Lark Lane Records)

This is a band of many faces. Put Grandfabric in a subdued listening space like The Point and they take on a twangy roots-rock persona, sitting on barstools and strumming acoustic guitars. Send them a few miles east to Doc Watson's or The Fire and the Philly/Jersey quartet kicks out the anthemic jams, sounding a bit too much like U2 for their own good. On Orphan Age, an even greater identity crisis is apparent; the title cut opens things on an Elephant 6 spacy pop tip, but by mid-album the effects boxes are put away and the pedal steel and Allman Brothers guitar leads are dusted off. Later still, the set slips into a block of contemplative dirges. While the album falls short in focus, it does boast some respectable songcraft. The mid-tempo "Everybody" harnesses fuzzy organ and feedback-y harmonics; singer Andrew Toy repeatedly asks, "Why do we condemn a heartfelt pride?" in a gentle tenor before a fantastic coda closes the cut. "Anomie" is lush with Americana harmonies, while megaphone-thick vocals and crunchy guitars make "Heaven's Artillery" rock like its title implies. That's not to say Orphan Age doesn't have its share of unmemorable moments; "Half Awake," for one, is particularly tedious. But when Grandfabric is on, they're on.--John Vettese

Sat., Nov. 15, 9 p.m., $17, with The Twilight Singers, The Khyber, 56 S. Second St., 215-238-5888.

Ken Townshend

Images

(Lucid Creativity)

One look at the pretty beach-scene cover and you might expect some seriously artsy-fartsy music. But South Jersey keyboardist/composer Ken Townshend's Images -- despite some seriously wordy liner notes -- soars without the weight of words. Described as "Music for Yoga/Meditation/Relaxation," the songs (which have touchy-feely titles like "Sacred Light" and "Flowing Universe") are indeed reflective, but not burdened by overdubs or synthesizers. Beautifully played and cleanly produced, this is instrumental music for even non-yoga types. Just Townshend, his electric piano and charmingly unadorned melodies that could inspire incense-burning or perhaps some other smoldering activity.--Nicole Pensiero

Available online at www.lucidcreativity.com.

The Insides

Endangered Young'uns

(Harlan)

If everybody in a band sings but nobody really harmonizes, there tends to be chaos -- cacophony! -- especially when the vibe is lo-fi. That atonal howl syndrome is about the only drawback on The Insides' Endangered Young'uns, an otherwise solid set of peppy indie-pop cuts. The guitar is fast, the Moog is warm and the swift beats necessitate dancing; drummer Pete Leonard's speedy disco riffing makes "Do it in the Graveyard" sound classic, driving on adorable vocal swaps between keyboardist Hannah Lew and guitar player Dustin Clark. A similar approach is taken on "You're Dead," with handclaps underlying Lew's soft melodious humming before the guitar riffs get louder and the boys in the band shriek sadistically. The Insides, who just left Philly for Little Rock, can handle slow too, evidenced on "Violet T-shirt," which on the one hand is great with a xylophone solo and angular riffs, but on the other hand is the album's most odious example of grating vocals. Thing is, even when they sound sloppy, they possess a certain charm, cute as hell but ready to kick some ass.--John Vettese

The Vexers

Gangland Ballads & The Death Sex Set

(Ace Fu)

The Vexers' Wharton Tiers-produced EP loses some of the concentrated intensity of their February debut album; with five songs versus the album's 10 (don't let the fact that "t.k.o." is split in two fool you), Gangland Ballads clocks in just five minutes under the full-length. No reason a band with chops this evident shouldn't take themselves seriously, but when a 19-minute EP wears you out, it might be time to lighten up a bit. Singer Jennifer Taylor starts off sneering, "They'll never play Vexers on the radio," but there's hardly anything uncommercial about the band's DNA-meets-Chrissie Hynde sound, unless you count the off-putting smarminess of essentially being dared not to like them. (The Vexers are well inside the boundaries they're pretending to push.) None of the missteps on Gangland Ballads are fatal, but it's a disappointing sequel to a fairly thrilling debut.--Sam Adams

Wed., Nov. 19, 9 p.m., $8, with The Secret Machines and The Situation, The North Star, 27th and Poplar sts., 215-684-0808.

Bunnydrums

PKD Simulacra

(Metropolis)

From a Philadelphia circa 1980, defined by labels like Meta Meta and Red and warehouses like Funk Dungeon, sprung the oddly Anglicized, streamlined no-wave of Bunnydrums. Made of Autistics drummer Joe Ankenbrand and several Boneheads (who brought with them a unique arrangement of sax and trombone) the Bunnys became notorious for a sound that paired guitars both aggressively angular and whooshingly webbed to go with its wheezingly sinister Korg-synths and Caucasoid flat-lined funk. Add to that the fake British vocals of David Goerk and his snide, gloomy lyricism and you got slapped-hard, white-avant funk akin to Gang of Four and The Contortions (see the bubbling "Ugh" and the sharded "Shiver") without either the socialist politics or the obsession with self-immolation. Rather, their disaffected lyrics come clean, thanks to Joe Nicolo's shockingly airy production sound. That clarity made the looming "Closed Eyes," puckered "YBB" and metronomic dance-dirges "Holy Moly" and "Little Room" anthemic -- so much so, they were nearly hits among the Rock-America/Mudd Club set. So what happened to Bunnydrums? You ask them.--A.D. Amorosi

P!nk

Try This

(Arista)

And this, and maybe some of that. On her difficult third album, the Doylestown diva dips her wick in all manner of styles, from Linda Perry power ballads to a handful of horn-driven hip-shakers overseen by Rancid's Tim Armstrong. Undeniably great as "Get the Party Started" was, it proved a misleading appetizer for the generally dour M!issundaztood. With good-time duties fulfilled by "Feel Good Time" (off the Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle soundtrack), Try This bares P!nk's fondness for all things oversize. "God Is a DJ," with its unacknowledged debt to Tom Cochrane's "Life Is a Highway," shoves you onto the metaphysical dancefloor with the subtlety of a Mack truck, while "Oh My God" turns on the come-on full blast. (You know you're in trouble when Peaches' guest rap feels like the subtle part.) Block out her bad-girl image, and you'll see P!nk bucking to be the next Pat Benatar.--Sam Adams