Originally released in 1985, I’m sure that this release raised some eyebrows back then.  Tooth & Nail Records was still years away, and the Christian music scene was starting to realize that you could create music that could sound “secular” and yet still be “spiritual”.  So I’m sure that Philadelphia raised the ire of some Christian parents, convinced that their good little youth group-attending kids were listening to the Devil’s music, a musical “wolf in sheep’s clothing” if you will.

Listening to the radio spots tagged onto the end of this “Limited Edition Series”, you can hear how hard the band was trying to reach two audiences; the first being the “headbangers” worshipping at the throne of all that was metal and the second being the Christian kids wanting so desperately to rock out but not at the expense of their souls.

“Christian” and “metal” are 2 words that, when put together, raise eyebrows, elicit groans, or bring out derision, based upon who you talk to.  And “Tell The Truth” will definitely bring out one of those reactions.  I’m sure that the majority of people who listen to the music this fine publication normally covers will just laugh at the guitar licks, the black and white morality of the lyrics, and the wailing vocals.  But I admit I was surprised by the punk attitude of “No Time For Honey” and the New Wave flourishes of the pro-life “The Life Inside” (a song I’m sure made many an 80s Church mom blush).  And yes, I found myself playing the air guitar on a few occasions.  But I also found myself groaning at the sheer overwhelming metal-ness of it all; the guitar solos, the over-emotional vocals, the lyrics that often reduced spirituality to a quick and easy rhyme.

If anything, I found this release interesting as a reminder of how far Christian music has come, with the likes of MxPx and POD getting serious coverage and acclaim from the non-Christian scene.  It’s nothing I would ever have gone out of my way to buy, but “Tell The Truth” does have it’s moments where it “rocks” - if only in the “hot lick/power ballad” sort of way.  If you’re the kind of person who orders those “Guitar Heroes” CDs, you’ll probably like this one.  However, the sad thing is that the message Philadelphia was trying to say, the message they so obviously wanted to spread to people who needed to hear it, will probably get laughed at along with the music.

Franco-phonics has never been a staple of the American pop charts.  But the French duo Air’s first two US releases hit the airwaves with a vengeance, taking their hipster hi-fi from the Astralwerks label all the way to a Clairol TV ad.  Armed with an arsenal of vintage effects wizardry and geek computer precision, Air’s mix on these two albums was a crisp whirl of playful, yet serene auditory hallucinations.

Their latest release is the score for “The Virgin Suicides”, Sophia Coppola’s first foray into the world of filmmaking. A significant departure from the surround sound ear candy of their earlier work, the album is structured with the instrumentation of ‘70s psychedelia, adding drums, horns, and effected guitar to Air’s usual analog synthesizers.

Appropriate to the tone of a film depicting four beautiful and depressed teenage sisters, the music is dark and dreamlike, with indulgent empty spaces.  A campy, naive melodrama resonates throughout the melodies—like a junior high production of “The Glass Menagerie”.  And in an effective soundtrack touch, a recurring synth cascade punctuates the tracks with a melancholy air.

Pink Floyd is obviously a major influence for Air, and their use of a signature hook is reminiscent of a Floydian theme album (think of the ringing pig squeal guitar from “Animals”).  Although the drums leave Air sounding hollower than they did with the thick electronic pulse from their first two albums, it fits with the retro mood of the album.  The eerie, bending envelopes of sound wrap around live drums in a style that could pass for Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, while the tinkling effects give it a “music box on mushrooms” feel.

“Virgin Suicides” may disappoint fans of the simplistic, yet lush electro mix of the band’s earlier work.  The score is less penetratingly surreal, but the dark dreaminess of their keyboard explorations remains strong, without the cheesy song resolution that the band has resorted to in the past.  Challenging while still entertaining, Air’s latest work should go over well with those looking for a late-night mood album.

Written by Paul Fain.

A few months ago, when I learned of Ronnie Martin’s “unplugged” album, I was hesitant.  I remained skeptical up until the day I actually heard an excerpt of “Monosynth” on the Internet.  Suddenly, I was no longer skeptical, but impatient for its release.  That small excerpt of “Monosynth” was enough to whet my appetite for the rest of the album, which, as it turns out, isn’t “unelectric”.  Instead, it consists of lovely, hushed versions of Ronnie’s joyous pop songs.  There are acoustics and piano, but the synth is still evident, creating a wispy, calming effect.

After I recovered from my shock at the difference of this album compared to past (though Five Stars For Failure comes close), I noticed the distinctive elements that separated Unelectric from previous releases.  The fills Martin uses on the piano (“Monosynth”, “Disco for a Ride”, “Candy Cane Carriage”); the hovering, oceanic keys that lavish each track; and Martin’s deeper vocals (“True Harmony”, “Sugar Rush”) all take place in a matter of minutes.  It’s as if Nick Cave decided to cover a group of Joy Electric songs (Editor: If you can believe that!).  This is probably the reason why a few of my fellow Joy Electric fans had mixed feelings concerning the new LP.

I could easily go into lengthy descriptions of each track and how he has arranged them differently, but it would take away from the initial reaction.  The essentials are all that is needed to prepare for Unelectric.  Ironically, the vocals are the most notable aspect of Unelectric.  My reaction was similar to my very first listen Joy Electric, when I actually thought the singer was female.  I was taken aback at first listen of “True Harmony” and nearly thought it was a different vocalist.  Martin’s meloncholy voice was so distant from the near chirpy vocals on tracks like “Children Of The Lord” that I almost didn’t recognize it.  The difference pops up again on “Sugar Rush”, of all tracks.  It sounds like the rush has become a downer and the lethargy is setting in.  Without the lyrics, it would be unrecognizable.

The piano is the primary instrument that captures your ear and draws it to the beauty of each song, with the exception of “Sugar Rush”.  Whether dark and in the minor key (“The North Sea”), or played in an uplifting fashion (“The Girl From Rosewood Lane”), Martin’s talent shines through and takes full advantage of the instrument’s splendor.  I find myself wishing nothing else had been added.

Martin has also added a couple of unreleased compositions, “These Should Be The Good Times” and “Losing Touch With Everyone”.  “These Should Be The Good Times” is comparable to “Old Wives Tales”, while the latter compares to the more mysterious “Five Stars For Failure”.  Both are written sublimely, and I wonder if he will turn them “electric” on the upcoming release.  If anything, the elegance of Unelectric is the one aspect it does share with Martin’s past releases, and the future album should prove no different.

Written by Nolan Shigley.

Ann Coulter and Tucker Carlson be damned, but we Americans really do have a lot to thank our Canadian brethren for.  That’s doubly, perhaps even triply so should you be a music listener.  Over the past 5 years or so, Canada has emerged as one of the more essential music scenes, especially if you’re into that whole post-rock thing, thanks in large part to the seemingly endless number of incestuous music communes that have sprung up around labels such as Constellation and Alien8.

Although their names might not be as well known as others, Kevin Drew and Charles Spearin have proved to be fairly instrumental to this scene.  Both have been/are members of the celebrated psych-rock/space-jazz instrumental outfit Do Make Say Think, as well as the equally celebrated Broken Social Scene, whose 10+ members released the lauded You Forgot It In People.  It shouldn’t come as any surprise then, that the duo’s K.C. Accidental project perfectly straddles the line between their other projects.

Like Do Make Say Think, there are long, drawn out compositions, speckled with dreamy jazz arrangements and intricate percussion.  The disc’s “opening” track (actually, the first 6 tracks of the disc are dead air), the cheekily-titled “Instrumental Died In The Bathtub And Took The Daydreams With It”, takes several minutes to really get going.  It’s as if the song is slowly rousing itself from a long winter slumber, each of the instruments taking their time to stretch and limber up and get reacquainted with eachother.  Occasionally, an instrument juts out a bit too much, but soon, everything seems to find its rhythm and begins to coalesce in a fascinating and enthralling process.

However, like Broken Social Scene, K.C. Accidental’s music also contains a certain starry-eyed quality about it.  The aforementioned track is immediately followed by the considerably more sprightly “Residential Love Song”, which is driven just as much by a banjo and accordion duet as it is by the shuffling drums and churning guitars.

“Ruined In 84” is the album’s most concise and uptempo track, with watery guitars and synths doing a shimmery dance over stuttering drums.  Every so often, the song seems like it might wobble too much and lose its balance—the guitars get a little more shivery, the drums begin to thrash about a bit more—but it always rights itself, picking up new speed along the way.

“Them (Pop Song #3333)” also ventures close to Broken Social Scene territory, due in large part to both Emily Haines’ vocal contribution as well as Jessica Moss’ lovely violin arrangement.  And the rambling bassline, which seems to be doing its own thing and yet perfectly accents everything else, adds a certain infectious quality to the track.

The disc moves back into the same wide-open spaces that Do Make Say Think occupies with its final track, “Is And Of The”.  In some ways, it’s the exact opposite of the album’s opening track; here, it’s as if the instruments never wake up but play out in their dreaming.  Eventually, a guitar rings out from amidst the hazily shifting tones and wheezy horns, accompanied by a sparse drumbeat, but they seem to be sleepwalking, still lost in a torpor.

And it remains that way, even as more instruments join in, for a glorious 13 minutes or so.  It’s the complete inverse of a crescendo.  The song seems fully intent on circling back into itself rather than exploding outwards, on drawing the listener into its intimate little world gently and assuredly rather than simply trying to overwhelm and lay them out flat on their back.