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March 11, 2007
Pennsylvania is a quilt of forests and mountains
So, the mystery of what happened to Racecar has finally been solved. The band is once again active, they've been playing some shows over the past 6 months, and they're about to (re-)release "10 Songs" on Tillie Records some time this spring. Great news all around, because this band is not only ridiculously talented but also still very young. The kind people at Tillie sent me a promo of the album, and I was able to finally listen to the band's debut LP, which is, unsurprisingly, fantastic. Racecar write music that falls within the standard framework of indie rock, but the songs, individually, are very interesting and diverse on a fine-grain level; I mean, almost no two songs on this album sound exactly alike (but there are some underlying elements that make the whole thing pretty cohesive), which I think is pretty impressive for a debut album to demonstrate that kind of overall variety and wealth of ideas.
[This is what I wrote about this song before, and I don't think I can say it any better]:
It's like going over a waterfall in a barrel- 'Out Tonight' starts off as a leisurely, delicate thing: guitars chiming and commiserating over the "stale cigarette breath", the "hands made with Teflon". Then it starts to pick up a little- static hissing small whirlpools of turbulence that flank the chorus, "you and me/ we'll go out tonight", and suddenly the song switches gears entirely, and it's a freefall through wild torrents of bass, drums, yelling, and foamy siren-sounds. And, subsequently, a return to the calmness of the first part of the track. 'Out Tonight' reminds me of Ted Leo's 'Timorous Me' (one of his best songs ever, by far), just in the way it delivers such a joyful blast of melody and energy in the middle of the song- and like Ted Leo, Racecar know enough to exercise some restraint and leave it at that (just once), which just makes you want to play the song over and over again (not a bad indulgence, really). Plus, for whatever reason (and also like 'Timorous Me'), this song makes me think of a huge party, like a wedding reception or something similar, where everyone's smiling and dancing and happy either in their own right or in reflection of the atmosphere.
'D is the New C', on the other hand, is straight-up kinetic, with a strong, thick guitar line, and wild, jogging drums. There's a sort of mewling keyboard accompaniment as well, which makes the song sound even more agitated and urgent. The lyrics (more on those later) in the verses are delivered at a breakneck pace in a throttled falsetto, and then in the chorus, the band mixes in a lower, distorted voice to whisper "I don't know where/we are going". The subject of the song (as elaborated on by the band here) seems to be the alienating side-effects of modern forms of communication and the attendant withering of true, expressive intimacy; one of the best aspects of 'D is the New C' is the way the band gets their point across via the production and esp. the way they modulate the vocals (around the 2:00 min. mark, when that sweet, chirpy guitar phrase enters, the two vocal lines mix and slur into a messy, high-pitched tangle) to effectively blur the lyrics (in a form-follows-function way) and make it difficult to clearly discern exactly what it is they're saying.
There's one other song from the album that I want to talk about, and that's 'Bill the Inanimate Object' (which you can listen to over at the band's website), which is a devastating and pretty work of intense desolation. What it reminds me of, more than anything else, is an illustration from an old Dr. Seuss book (I wish I could remember which one, but I have no idea), in which a coat hanger is shown suspended on a thin wire above an isolated canyon. When I saw this picture as a kid, it terrified me, since (sympathizing with the coat hanger) I could think of almost nothing worse than being abandoned and forgotten and relegated to an existence of blank, unwavering loneliness. As far as I can tell, that's pretty much what this song is about- someone's (or something's) concentrated feelings of abandonment. What makes it hit home so hard are those soft, deep, curvy synth patches that prop up the chorus (I don't know what it is about that particular sound, but like Boards of Canada's music, it makes me think of empty, well-lit parking lots and things that are remotely decayed or left in disrepair).
"10 Songs" isn't yet available to purchase, but if you're interested in hearing more from the album, leave a comment or send me an email (address is over on the sidebar), and I'll put you in touch with someone from the label.
P.S. Do people no longer enjoy free CDs? There are exactly zero entries so far for the new Sunny Day in Glasgow contest. The rules aren't too complex, I swear.
Posted by Kevin at March 11, 2007 07:36 AM