In lieu of a full-length album at their recent album release show, Gainesville’s Paxico via Mexico released a short four song EP, Ground from the Rind. In light of this, I will give a short review and save a full-length write-up for when the album finally comes to us.

Part of the magic of this band is the diversity of its vocalists: Ricky’s voice combines the smoothness of Damien Rice with the soul of Van Morrison. It is hard to avoid referencing the scratchiness of Ray Lamontagne when discussing John’s vocals, and for the good of society, Stacie’s backing voice allows for the abounding harmonies—struck at perfect intervals among the EP

The music is absurdly tasteful, mixing in a perfect amount of  elusive twang—that ethereal element that makes music wildly amusing. It is well balanced and rounded into a pleasurable funnel through which a nearly flawless lyrical delivery is flows with appropriate prosody.

The melodies summon forth a nostalgic beautifulness–like epic poems depicting Norse kings of old or childhood memories of playing in the grass with the scent of spring in the air.

Though the EP is great, I was expecting more—perhaps an expectation born by seeing PVM live many times. I wanted more drums, more layers, more songs…I suppose I’ll have to wait for the full-length.

Central Florida based sibling trio, ramondale and The Family Band, released its debut album, Consider the Birds earlier this year. SP got a hold of a copy of the album, and I briefly review it here for your immediate reading pleasure.

Firstly, rd&TFB is the one of the few bands I’ve come across that list Danielson Famile as an influence. I’ve listened extensively to Danielson—perhaps not out of sheer enjoyment, but for the novelty of their “marching band from hell” stylings. So, I was expectantly curious to hear Consider the Birds.

The album opens with a snare tapping out a march, then trumpet and piano slide in; at the vocals’ entrance, they begin to discuss kings and queens being over thrown or thrown in the back of a cop car. rd&TFB seems to embody a bit of the “marching band” element of Danielson, but they leave the “from hell” part soothingly behind (i.e. the lack of Daniel Smith’s maniacal voice).

The albums instrumentation is consistent: vocally driven with piano accompaniment—light drums, tasteful trumpet, occasional miscellaneous percussion.  The songs are strongly lyrical and–with words well written and delivered in an nostalgic lilting manner (think English folk bards) for which the term “family band“ seems perfectly appropriate.  Many of the songs are emotionally attached narratives weaving up and down, in and out of an overreaching tapestry—reminiscent of the characters and story lines of Colin Meloy’s (of The Decemberists) lyrics.

Overall, the album reminds me of what an early, very young Sufjan Stephens would do. The music is quite non-repackaged, unique, soothing at times, and certainly enjoyable, but underdeveloped. While there were a few moments that did impress, I couldn’t help thinking how great a 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th release would be—the musicality would develop and fill-out, and the diction would become more robust and diverse, and melodies would solidify. With the release of Consider the Birds, raymondale & The Family Band strikes out upon a path that is wild and adventurous.

This time, the aforementioned bestower of hope in film is The Fantastic Mr. Fox, Wes Anderson’s latest. Firstly, I can’t say enough about how beautifully made this movie is. Mr Fox is nothing less than a visual feast, filled with crisp colors and lush textures. Anderson and his crew use puppets and stop motion animation and use them brilliantly. The characters are fun to watch and the scenes are so filled with detail that I’m sure that I’ll be noticing new things every time I watch.

Based on the children’s book by Roald Dahl and voiced by George Clooney, the titular Mr. Fox’s yearning for upward mobility and the thrill of the hunt clashes with his familial responsibilities and creates a conflict with three farmers: “Boggis and Bunce and Bean, one fat, one short, one lean. These horrible crooks, so different in looks, are nonetheless equally mean.” This clash of man and fox threaten the lives of not just the Fox family but all of the droll, furry inhabitants of this particular patch of British countryside.

But, in the end, the beautiful visuals and straightforward narrative serves simply as a vehicle to showcase the clever and understated character interaction and development that is an Anderson staple. In The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, we are given a tale of jaguar sharks, pregnant journos, too-tight wetsuits, and neon crayon pony-fish, but we are drawn in by the father-son-girlfriend love triangle and the internal struggle of a middle-aged man in a little red hat grappling with his own mortality. The Royal Tenenbaums twists and turns and doubles back again, but connecting all the dots is less important than enjoying and appreciating the quirky moments of doubt and self discovery of this family of disillusioned misanthropes.

In Mr Fox, we meet several memorable charaters: badgers, foxes, beavers and mice who chew on existential questions of life and love one minute and break the necks of chickens with one savage bite the next, all while walking upright, wearing suits and ties, and behaving more like the cast of “Friends” than the inhabitants of the local zoo.

Fox struggles with the course of his life: “Why a fox?” Mr. Fox asks building attendant Kylie, an opossum with an odd case of occasional ADD, “Why not a horse, or a beetle, or a bald eagle? I’m saying this more as, like, existentialism, you know? Who am I?”

Mrs. Fox tries to hold the family together while wondering if she married the wrong man..urrr…mammal and Ash struggles with pre-teen inadequacy issues while wearing a bath towel as a cape and demanding to be called “athletic.”

A cast of seasoned actors voices these fuzzy reflections of ourselves, Clooney, Meryl Streep as Mrs. Fox, Bill Murray as Mr. Fox’s lawyer Badger and Willem Dafoe as security guard Rat.

Check it out. I think it might be Anderson’s best and wouldn’t be surprised if he sticks with animation a bit longer…it’s, well, fantastic. (ok, I hate myself a little bit for ending with such a goofy cliche.)

The artists—ironically, all dog lovers themselves—spent years perfecting their pieces which were meticulously accurate depictions of beasts mentioned throughout the bible. Local celebrity and artist, Josh Pusey contributed several pieces from which the highlight was a watercolor titled The Prince. The composition of The Prince, perhaps so named to reference the prince of darkness, evoked such an array of intense emotions that several elderly viewers were moved to step outside for fresh air. The figure in the piece is a dark, bearded fellow with a frightful upward-palm, fingers-half-clenched left hand visible. His face is quite indescribable do to the vast expression range (fear, anger, pity, sadness, desire, etc.) within its wrinkles.

Artists Ricky Kendall and Mike McVicar conceived their pieces during a re-introduction stay at the American embassy in Belgium where they were transported after their rescue from being stranded at sea for 10 weeks following a plane crash in which they were both involved. Their pieces, which were painted on reclaimed material (McVicar—old record album sleeves. Kendall—timber from demolished buildings), were appropriately engaging and stylistically defined. Mr. Kendall’s pieces leaned toward a classic approach (even touching on impressionistic themes) while Mr. McVicar’s approach moved toward a late modernist, almost architectural/linework-based discipline.

Owner of The Exchange and artist, Roberto Evans’s contribution was a colorfully enthralling stream of consciousness, text-based mixed-media piece on plywood.

The show was surprisingly coherent while maintaining a diversity that offered viewers an opportunity to remain attentive even to the point of developing an aesthetic attachment (with art and artists both)—a virtue that benefits patrons and artists both.

- Michael K. O’Malley

Friday afternoon I went skydiving for the first time; it was really nice. Upon landing, I dragged my foot against a rock and had to spend 5 hours in the emergency room. As a direct result, I showed up late for the Heartless Bastards, Paxico via Mexico, T.J. Masters show at the Reitz Union. It was also Gator Nights so there was popcorn there, and the popcorn got stuck in my teeth and made me very uncomfortable, especially combined with the foot pain. But I was instantly and simultaneously cheered and frustrated as I arrived after T.J. Masters had played but noticed that their show must have been earth-shattering because the ground was covered with balloons and confetti which apparently they shot into the crowd using a Flaming Lips-style confetti blower.

Paxico via Mexico spent a while plugging in things and then checking their sound. This was explained when I found out later that the HBs showed up late and hogged all available sound-check time before the show—what a bunch of HBs. The set started with what was unquestionably the most tasteful and beautiful sound made in Gainesville the entire night: a 3 part harmony sung flawlessly over some risky chromatic variation combined with a finely seasoned instrumental accompaniment—very tasty indeed. It was a new song and everyone wanted to know what it was called, but the band demanded that we hold our breaths until the album release. The music continued with PvM wistfully grabbing my hand and leading me down a gas-lantern lit tunnel and into lavender-scented gardens of deep-seated lyrics and melodies that rang so true somehow—like tasting a Smartie for the first time in 18 years and being thrown back into a joyful childhood memory of dressing like Dracula for Halloween and collecting a pillowcaseful of yummies on a cool night. The final song left a truly lasting impression as the crowd shouted along with the catchy, join-in lyrics the band described in a recent interview as being the least meaningful lyrics they have ever written: “ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.”

Heartless Bastards took the stage, and with the slightest delay, the noise of the first song smashed into us like a brick wave demolishing itself on a beach. In a town generally scarce of people over the age of 30, the band looked old, like a bunch of old rockers. Perhaps in spite of their advanced appearance, the HB’s sound was loud and vibrant. The lead vocalist weaved her hauntingly deep (deep especially for a female voice) melodies throughout an invasively solid wall of a rhythm section (the guitar joining in). Every song blending in style with the next, Heartless Bastards relentlessly and repeatedly swung their pendulum of sound and power over the crowd like wrecking ball knocking out unsuspecting international students who wandered into the room from the tamer areas of Gator Nights.

I think the RUB folks could have done a better job at matching musical styles as the evening did feel a bit disjointed; however, I am by no means complaining about seeing these great bands together.  On second thought, perhaps the disjointedness was more of an aesthetic virtue. Well done, RUB—keep ‘em coming.

- Michael K. O’Malley

Rob Bailey

rwbailey@dischordandshutter.com

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"Android" and "The Lord of the Underworld"

JC

Chelsea Carnes, Maida Vale, The Northernness, Paxico Via Mexico

1982 Bar

Friday, April 3, 2009

GAINESVILLE, Florida—Friday evening, I arrived at 1982 Bar for the evening’s concert featuring Chelsea Carnes, Maida Vale, The Northernness, and Paxico via Mexico. Overzealous, I found myself an hour early for the performance, but I sat at the bar and ordered a gin and tonic—sitting at the opposite end was Ben Hofer of The Northernness. The previous Wednesday evening Hofer performed at Flaco’s Cuban Bakery—a favorite hangout of mine—where he had announced his upcoming move from Gainesville to Washington, D.C.. Friday evening was to be his final show in Gainesville for some time. Not wanting to be one of those fans who burdens performers with declarations of “I’m your biggest fan!” I instead occupied myself with my drink.

The stage had been set, and as ten rolled around, music lovers slowly filtered in off the sidewalks and into 1982 bar. A small crowd had gathered in front of the stage, but being unfamiliar with Chelsea Carnes (and really there for the sole purpose of seeing The Northernness) I opted to remain at the bar. The performance provided a pleasant ambiance as the whimsical folk sounds of accordion wafted over the speakers. If you’re seeking to find a break from the stereotypical guitar-bass-drums music set, look no farther than Chelsea Carnes.

Madia Vale I was less impressed with—and not for lack of musical talent—as a result of almost unbearable volume levels. Early into their performance, I found myself utilizing a pair of earplugs to quell the noise. Perhaps if Madia Vale had been performing at another venue where the acoustics were of higher quality, I would have better enjoyed their performance. Conversely, this indie-rock band from Chicago did possess quite a stage presence, and under alternate circumstances I would not be averse to seeing them again.