Submit to Ball of Wax 58: The Ball of Wax War on Christmas!

Posted on September 23, 2019 by Levi Fuller

I don’t know what this is supposed to be, but let’s call it a reindeer. Photo courtesy Francis Mariani, via Flickr

Yes, it’s true: In over 14 years of quarterly compilation-releasing, I’ve somehow never gotten it together to do a winter/holiday themed release, and I think the time has finally come.

I don’t particularly want or need this to be a “christmas comp”; I’m looking for music about any and all winterish holidays or celebrations, or just wintry songs in general. And they don’t have to be celebratory, either. Previously released is fine, but newish material is preferred!

Deadline: October 13th (or so – sooner is great too, if you’ve got something ready to go)
Guidelines: here
Questions: here

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: Green Light Cameras – “Weather Balloon”

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Lattney B. Jones

I hadn’t realized until listening to Green Light Cameras’ gorgeous “Weather Balloon” what a soft spot I have in my heart for drum machines and keyboards. And a softer spot for pop music executed properly. How’s that, you say? For starters, wholly accepting of the terrific shittiness that life can be. Embracing the abyss and then seeking to escape it, living with one foot in the grave—wanting to just be an eagle, for chrissakes! Not this “party all the time because we’re all young and beautiful social media influencers” bullcrap. Sure, it’s fun to hear a stomping four-on-the-floor and clap your hands and sing along with the crowd, but it’s an empty, transitory joy. Sing those pop lyrics later, home alone in your bed, and see how fun they are.

Phil Chamberlin knows better. As Green Light Cameras, he takes the essential elements of pop and crafts works of art. On “Weather Balloon,” he begins by imagining himself the aforementioned eagle and proceeds to deliver some of the most visual poetry you’re likely to hear in his all-but-beaten baritone. The straight-eight pulse of the drum machine serves as a metronome, a time-keeper for the few points at which the regal keyboards have a break to gather themselves for the next round of the song’s simple-but-stately progression. Throughout the song, the avian metaphor is released in favor of grounded truths, pained longings, and morbid realizations, but all of these lead to the song’s essential refrain. It’s the question we have all asked ourselves at one point or another in our lives: “How the fuck am I gonna get my drunk ass home tonight?”

Okay, maybe you’ve never actually been drunk or even had a peet of the moloko plus. But that’s a bit of the beauty in good pop music: metaphors abound. Have you never been so depressed, anxious, or miserable that you did something crazy like go out and run around with people known for making bad decisions? Or pressed the accelerator to the floor on an open road with tears streaming down your cheeks to see how fast you can really go? Or eaten an entire tub of ice cream, a jar of peanut butter, and a box of thin mints in a single sitting? In any (or all) of those cases, did you not once suddenly realize how out of control you were? Did you not realize that you had traveled to the brink of oblivion and then had to ask yourself how you got to this point? And how you were going to get back to where you began?

There, you’re getting it. Now, listen to “Weather Balloon” again and let yourself be taken to whichever place the music of Green Light Cameras takes you.

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: Pampa – “Una de Cal y una de Arena”

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Jon Rooney

Seattle via Buenos Aires band Pampa returns to Ball of Wax with “Una de Cal y una de Arena” and it’s an outstanding example of the band’s elegant-yet-naturalistic guitar-driven sound. Singer-songwriter-guitarist Moon Baillie (a better band name than Pampa? methinks so) has developed a lush, flowing sound with the band, a bit like the War on Drugs sans the reverb bath or the great, unheralded Spanish band Migala with a sunnier disposition. The guitars sound crisp and the organ swirls tastefully around Baillie’s dynamic vocals, which are sung entirely in Spanish(Google translate tells me the title means “One of Cal and one of Arena” which doesn’t help me out a whole lot to grasp any lyrical content). The song cleverly builds and shimmies to a bit of a full-throat-ed crescendo in the last minute (are those horns? I think they’re horns! Horns are great, people), capping off a dreamy, flowing vibe perfect for both lazy afternoon listening and friend-filled get-together sound-tracking. Expect to hear a lot more from Pampa.

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: The Laughing Group – “The New Meritocracy”

Posted on September 13, 2019 by Lattney B. Jones

In an all-too-brief (yet perfectly succinct) lumbering sway of a rocker in 6/8, The Laughing Group call out “The New Meritocracy” in modern life (society and politics, I’m sure, but more the latter) by painting a picture of entitlement, cronyism, and carelessness, and then coloring the whole thing over with very gray F# minor tones that serve as a warning for the eventual doomsday to come if we fail to remember the lessons we’ve learned as we’ve journeyed to this particular moment in time. By the close of the song, we’ve learned several things: The Laughing Group are a tight rhythmic unit, they can pull off strong vocal harmonies, and they’re well-read (all three of which make for some of the best music out there).

On its face, meritocracy should be a good thing—achievement of jobs, positions, and callings based on skill and talent. But Michael Young, the man who coined the term in his 1958 satire, The Rise of the Meritocracy (NOT a Star Wars film), came out against Tony Blair’s use of the word 40 years later and said, “It is good sense to appoint individual people to jobs on their merit. It is the opposite when those who are judged to have merit of a particular kind harden into a new social class without room in it for others.” And this is where The Laughing Group shows that they understand what Britain’s former PM didn’t: no system works exactly the way it was designed when there is power to be had, however moral or beneficent the intents of the powerful seem to be—less so when money is involved and the intents don’t even seem moral or beneficent.

The great trick of “The New Meritocracy” is within its half-minute intro: crashing drums outline physical collapse over a bassline that attempts several melodic ascents only to find itself rooted to a descending chord progression driven by the rhythm guitar, all of which neatly foreshadow the only course possible for a society or government operating under misguided ideals, summed up in the song’s final lyrics: everything’s gonna sink.

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Ball of Wax 57: Bundy – “LOA”

Posted on September 13, 2019 by Levi Fuller

Seems like Ball of Wax 57 is the volume for new music from drummer side projects we haven’t heard from in way too long. In addition to blouseusa’s “Sisters,” we have this beauty from Bundy – aka Mike Bundy, who’s played with many Ball of Wax-adjacent bands over the years, showed up a Bundy on Ball of Wax 24, and was a part of our delightful Ball of WAX 40 Harry Candy project. Unlike the energetic, drum-forward indie rock of his previous submission, “Col. Capt. Boss Man,” “LOA” is a relaxed, dreamy track, perfect for the wistful, waning days of summer. Mike shows here that – like most drummers I’ve known – he can actually do it all: singing, playing keys and guitar, and, most importantly, writing a damn fine song that manages to turn the Pacific Northwest pastime of complaining about the weather into an exercise in simplicity and beauty.

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: Doug Haire – “Holocene #5”

Posted on September 12, 2019 by Levi Fuller

Doug Haire is a master musician and composer whose instruments are usually field recording devices, tape machines, and digital audio workstations. He has engineered and produced ten billion albums for other artists over the years, and has a deep catalog of field-recording- and found-sound-based works that I strongly encourage you to dive into. Sometimes he goes out into the world and gathers his own recordings, which he uses as raw materials for his – often place-based – compositions (see Vol. 51’s “Ilwaco“), and sometimes he finds recordings made for other purposes and turns them into new works.

“Holocene #5” is from the latter category – although there may be some Haire-generated field recordings involved as well. The primary voices are a solo organist – possibly a church recording from somewhere/somewhen? – and a letter-by-tape, which mainly seems to consist of the woman who created it talking about the fact of its existence. (Which makes me wonder, when people first started sending letters did they often write about the phenomenon of putting pen to paper, sending it through the mail, etc.? I’m sure a lot of early emails [my own included] were mostly about how cool it was to be sending an electronic message! Through the wires!) These elements complement each other well. The bed of inspirational organ music provides some playful gravitas (is that a thing?) to the speaker’s words, and her voice gives us something to latch onto while the music blurs by. A little over a minute in, another voice starts to sneak in, crickets in the night singing their crickety song. Gradually the voice fades away, then the organ drops out; all human-generated sound has disappeared and we’re left outside, staring up at the stars, listening to our own breath. I sincerely hope the title of this piece indicates that it’s one of a series, because if it is I want them all.

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: Russell Duke – “Misophonia”

Posted on September 12, 2019 by Lattney B. Jones

From the first tympanum-tapping moments to the fadeout of the celestial rattlesnake that winds its way through Russell Duke’s “Misophonia,” I find myself struggling to identify exactly what I’m hearing. At more than twice the length of the standard pop song (or is that now a non-standard metric?) and moving along on rumbling bass tones and rapid chuffing, “Misophonia” allows plenty of time to act, react, and attempt to make sense of one’s surroundings. Before I can say, “several models of small shiny mecha gathered together in a god factory and moving with the clicks,” the bass tone has dropped away (or moved into a register lower than my ability to discern) and I can say that I’m feeling some dread . . .

. . . which is fitting: the word “misophonia” is a compound of the Greek words for “hate” and “voice.” Google it and you’ll see that it’s consider an anxiety-related disorder by WebMD but is not recognized as such in the DSM-IV, that there are no solid causes or proven treatments, and that there have been no studies to investigate its prevalence by age, ethnicity, or gender. That’s all well and good, but the more pressing questions in this context would be, “is it music? And, if so, is it good?”

Answering questions like that is what I’m here for. Short version: yes and yes. Long version: what is music? What is good? Duke’s “Misophonia,” audibly disorienting as it is at times, is evocative of mood and emotion. Though scattered in structure, it possesses a continual meter, if you will, and has tones arranged to approximate a melody or motif after its halfway point. It’s more musical than most machinery I’ve operated or worked near in my lifetime, and I would attest that the sounds and rhythms produced by said equipment have, at times, been some of my favorite music.

As to why Duke’s composition should be considered “good” by every listener who encounters it: “Misophonia” delivers on its titular mission statement. For those who prefer their music poppy, trite, and easy on the intellect, there will be much to hate with these 8.5 minutes. For those who dwell in the crushingly abrasive sound-world of nu-metal and grindcore, this work may also cause strong and terrible grievance. And for everybody in between—especially those who like their tunes challenging and well off the beaten path—“Misophonia” will bring the dread, the anxiety, maybe even the full-on panic. Looks like I’ve identified what I’m hearing. What are you hearing?

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: blouseusa – “Sisters”

Posted on September 11, 2019 by Levi Fuller

If my records are correct (a big if), we haven’t had new music from Benjamin Thomas-Kennedy’s solo-experimental-mostly-electronic project blouseusa since volume 22 – a good nine years ago. This was when the project was called Blouse (u.s.a.), but after it was just called Blouse for an appearance on volume 16. BT-K’s project both pre-dated and seems to have outlived that other Blouse band, but hey, that’s life.

Anyway . . . my previous exposure to this project was as an outlet for relatively chill, low-key, occasionally whimsical experiments in electronica from a musician who happens to be a monster drummer. That was then. Things get real percussive real fast with “Sisters,” which is a buzzing whir of noise and rhythm, an extended full-kit drum solo (played on electronic drums, as far as I can tell) overlaid with frenetic synths and keys of every imaginable hue and timbre. Very little changes in the general sound of the piece throughout, but over the course of its 2-and-a-half-minute run time, something happens to your brain (or to my brain anyway), and what was aggressive and anxiety-inducing at first becomes almost calming, a warm, buzzing, musical blanket. Chord changes are discernible, melody even peeks its head out from time to time. “Sisters” is a highly enjoyable – if not toe-tappingly accessible – sonic experiment from a gifted and often-surprising musician.

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: The Vardaman Ensemble – “TG’s Hug Machine (B)”

Posted on September 11, 2019 by Patrick J Gibbs

Ball of Wax over its now 57 quarterly releases has reserved a significant amount of its bandwidth and compact discs to music outside of the norm. One of these outsider tracks is the hypnotic “TG’s Hug Machine (B)” by Portland’s Vardaman Ensemble. It has no commercial potential, and yet I cannot stop listening and exploring its many depths. A lone snap on a snare drum initiates the song. It hangs in the air like a deep inhalation before a race. This is grand and fleeting. Almost too soon cymbals and synths crash, and off we go. Over the next five minutes the Vardaman Ensemble charts a course over a syncopated soundscape full of seesawing droning horns(?), vocals (perhaps), and keys, plink plonking electronics, and synthesized tides. An atmosphere is formed like what I imagine Of Montreal would sound like if I drank too much Robitussin.  It’s dreamy, and I am not going to cough.

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Ball of Wax 57 Songs: Ken Cormier – “Kitchen Sink”

Posted on September 10, 2019 by Lattney B. Jones

Everywhere I look lately, I see these comments, posts, and tweets that let me know everybody out there is “living their best life.” Some of them even encourage me to live mine. But you know what? I can’t. Ken Cormier is living my best life. From having poetry and fiction published several times over to producing gorgeous spoken word and audioblog bits to being a Creative Writing professor who is widely loved by his students (it’s true—I checked!) to delivering a doctoral dissertation on audio technology and identity expression (the abstract itself made me cry), I’m pretty sure Ken Cormier is the man I was supposed to be when I grew up.

If that weren’t enough, he’s a damn good musician with an ear for jaunty melodies and a knack for arrangements. “Kitchen Sink” is an eccentric number that opens with a drum loop and muffled dialogue that sounds like somebody’s admiring somebody else’s ride (or, considering the quirkiness of the song, somebody showing off their Cat’s Cradle skills) before bursting into a progression that plays with key and mostly uses three notes—c, d, and f—in various melodic combinations that cleverly give the whole thing its sense of movement and whimsy. Lyrically, Cormier puts his creative writing skills to use in ways that seem to serve the rhyme scheme more than logic or storyline, yet paint a picture of a narrator with a weariness for the company of other humans beyond the companion to whom he’s singing, and with just a hair of psychedelia thrown in to keep things from being too grounded in reality.

I suspect Ken Cormier may actually be aware that there’s a guy out there that envies what he’s got and what he can do, because he works two specific components into “Kitchen Sink” as if to show me personally that there are many things I’ve yet to learn that he’s already mastered. The first is throwing a meter change into the song that is maddening in its incongruence and its easy flow and handily answers the age-old question, “Will a section set to 11/8 work in a song in 4/4?” The second is the ending: as many tomes have been written about the use of cadence to signify closure as have been written about the numerous durations a final note or chord should be allowed to ring out. Cormier dismisses all of this by ending the song abruptly after the last lyric, and it’s a perfect stop. [Just wait ’til you hear the next track, which almost works as a continuation/coda to this song. One of my prouder moments in sequencing. -ed]

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