I can’t tell if I’m in love or just swayed by the hype, but Those Dancing Days is on heavy rotation lately. Is it a bad thing that I can’t differentiate between emotion and persuasion, or more specifically, is it about refusing either? Does it even matter at all? Should I embrace this, gulp, liminality? (Will this be the first and last use of “liminal” on HJ?)

There’s the pitchiness of the singer, inflected with R&B sensibilities jutting up against tried-and-true indie pop model — even in its flimsy state. The Farfisa’s synthetic beyond belief and the lyrics are, well, a bit cliched. With the odds are totally stacked against them TDD knock it out of the park, exuding a breathless energy that pricks my ears. I guess it doesn’t hurt that the video is cute enough to induce an acute, life-threatening toothache, too.

Rest assured, I have not gone soft: when I heard the news about Polvo reuniting, I freaked out like a schoolgirl. Better news there could not be. But this post is not about Polvo, sort of. As many of you know (or maybe you don’t so here’s a lesson), Dave and Steve from the band also play in Black Taj. They put out a pretty solid self-titled release a couple years ago (and were the final band to play PP). In between all the reuniting, Black Taj are releasing a new record, Beyonder, next month on NYC’s Amish Records. Yup, for those who like to keep score, that title comes from a song on their first release.

I don’t want to say this is the perfect substitute for another Polvo album, because that would be downplaying Black Taj as a band. (It’s like if you dated someone and even though you broke up with said person, people would always use the ex as a point of reference. If it’s not kosher in our romantic lives, why is it acceptable to make similar comparisons when we’re talking about bands?)

But I digress. One of the strengths of Black Taj, I think, has been moving beyond what Polvo offered. Instead of western-tinged structures (which got super-indulgent and downright boring by Shapes), Black Taj shifts those trademark guitar riffs to classic rock. It winds up invoking the same fiery spark that put their previous band on the map in the first place. It’s not a throwback or a comeback, but rather staking out territory of its own.

Black Taj, “Fresh Air Traverse” (from Beyonder)
Pre-order the album here!

While I appear to be in the small, small camp that enjoys most, if not all, of Chris Leo’s creative output, this performance of [what I argue to be one of] the Greatest Songs Written By A New Jersey Band In The Past Fifteen-ish Years fits the clingy, damp sensations of today.

Because it’s that kind of day, here’s “His Saxophone Is My Guitar” from The Van Pelt’s 1996 release, Stealing From Our Favorite Thieves. Those paying close attention might recognize a WPRB show with a similar name.

Saturday I traveled to D.C. to interview Marc Masters for my new program, and took in the release party for No Wave. The bands were great (Dark Sea Dream, Vapour Theories & Kohoutek), as well as the DJ — Mark C of Live Skull, who brought every no wave release in existence, and them some none of had even heard of.

Two “hilarious” incidents occurred during my trip to our nation’s capitol that are worth relaying: first, being evacuated from Union Station due to a fire. I had time to spare, so I took in some retail therapy thanks to Union Station’s built-in mall. While I was trying on a pair of pants at Express (mea culpa: I was just curious!), the dressing room attendant knocked on my door to let me know the building was being evacuated. Not unlike a scene in a sitcom, trying to get back into my street clothes and collect my belongings was a comedy of errors. I stood outside the station for an hour of uneventfulness before I decided to find the nearest Metro station and get on with the day. Secondly, I lost my voice that evening (it started to go almost as soon as I was done with my interview, wouldn’tyaknow), so if I seemed absolutely anti-social, it was due to my throat feeling like a million needles were lodged in it.

Sunday night I returned to Philadelphia and caught No Age at the Queen of Sheeba II. (Liars cancelled due to illness, so they moved it west.) I don’t know if it’s the sheer proximity to my apartment, or the abundance of injera, but QoSII is shaping up to be one of my favorite spots to see a show lately. It was a great show up until the guitarist broke into the audience, parted us like the Red Sea and stood right next to me. Totally awkward, especially when I think about how I’m probably in everyone’s Flickr photostream today.

Tonight I am off to sunny Newark, NJ to attend the Spice Girls concert, Posh or no Posh. I’ll be the one in the No Age t-shirt, because once all this gallivanting is done, I need to do some top serious laundry. I’ll be Twittering from it whenever I can, so feel free to check it out.

In the meantime, enjoy “Boy Void” from Weirdo Rippers, one of my favorite releases from 2007. Not only does the title just sounds like the apt term to describe my romantic life (srsly, don’t pity me ’cause I like it this way), the song’s strum-und-clang seems to translate the frustration of being an outsider nicely. You can buy the whole thing here.

Dear New York Times, I think you may need to check your photo file. Are these guys really in the New England Patriots, or some metal band being hyped on Pitchfork?

In other news, ahem. Hello. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I took the final bits of my winter break (I don’t recall it ever being that long as an undergrad) to do things like perfect my soup stock making skills, become obsessed with PBS and other leisurely free-time activities. School’s back in session, thankfully, and I’m working on a project that I’ll be able to tell you a bit more in the future. I think it’s going to be a good one.

I caught Tyvek at the Queen Sheba II on Sunday; I’d seen ‘em once prior at Herbie’s house, about a year ago. They were great, but definitely not playing at the breakneck speeds found on their new 7″. “Frustration Rock” is my song of the moment, with its relentless beat and guitar riffs plucked straight out of the Count Five’s messy breakdowns. (It should be noted that this particular song comes from Flowers, their collection of demos & live recordings — pick up the 7″ on What’s Your Rupture? for an even faster version.)

In the process of cleaning up some of my record collection last week, I stumbled upon the self-titled Sea Saw album — Trevor Kampmann’s keyboard-rich, lo-fi-laden pop project from the 1990’s. My mind wandered, late-night Googling ensued; now here I am with HollAND’s new album, Love Fluxus (Teenbeat), blasting out of the stereo.

Several cousins removed from the explicit nature of 1997’s Your Orgasm (the 2 Live Crew of indiepop, if such a thing can be said), and working in a similar tangent as the political The Paris Hilton Mujihadeen (released earlier this year), Love Fluxus is an infecting mixture of love’s many-splendored refractive nature.

Love and war are problematic, but it’s the flaws which make both of them so damn arresting and worthy of revisitation. With “Anorexic Colt Herd” Kampmann collapses the two on top of each other, bouncing fragmented lyrics against equally barbed guitars. (Close listens revealed the slight creak of hands running over the strings, especially in the opening riffs; it’s the kind of small moment which makes me hit repeat. And repeat. And repeat.) At the choruses there’s a remarked airiness, juxtaposed with the song’s characters fleeing from bombs, leading back to that arresting, visceral sensation.

Buy: Teenbeat or iTunes
(Hey TB, you should release this on LP!)

In lieu of asking the age-old question, “Why?”, here is what they call “content”:

» Mission:300 was awesome, I managed to bowl one decent game, and then someone committed a serious party foul. Not the first time for this particular dude, either. Y’know, I happen to like a lot of graffiti and find the subculture fascinating. But that’s besides the point. Was this particular instance really worth it? Think back through the past 10 years of Philly hipster/indie rock nightlife, where a lot of cultural organizations opened up their halls to a bunch of strangers (RUBA, UACA, Polish National, etc). Now they don’t — and I can’t help but wonder if the selfish impulses and lame stunts are to blame (even in some small part). I guess we might as well start counting St. Monica’s among the dead, and make funeral preparations for the Society of Free Letts, because you know someone is going to ruin that place too. Like a Botoxed Main Line mom would hiss: this is why we can’t have nice things.

» I swear I’m not getting all my info from BCO these days — though the hundreds upon hundreds of pages I have to read for class certainly prevent me from being more, um, one with the world: Espers’ enchantress Meg Baird is on tour with the Sea & Cake right now; her tour manager Steven Ward James (a fine musician in his own right) is updating the world on this particular post. The random professional musician-themed signage in the South is worth checking in every couple of days.

» I’ve got mixed feelings about Gossip Girl. The first seven minutes were genius — the Peter, Bjorn & John opening, the bitchy yogurt commentary — but the rest of it was a little meh. Not the dramatic, bitchy splash I’d been hoping for. Could it be that working for a college has me a bit jaded when it comes to the world of the Young, Privileged & Restless? I mean, I didn’t even roll my eyes when I saw the nontroversy over Ben Kweller in the school paper. Maybe I’ve come down with an acute case of tired-of-shooting-fish-in-barrel-itis.

Here’s what did hit me though: when Kristen Bell’s voiceovers began, I suddenly realized that Veronica Mars was never coming back. Never ever ever ever ever ever. Never ever ever ever ever ever. Never ever ever ever ever ever. Not even an inside glimpse of Henri Bendel could cheer me up.

» After Paul F Tompkins’ show at Helium a couple weeks back, I picked up Scrawl’s Travel On, Rider for a buck, thanks to the keen eye of Jon Solomon. I can’t believe I’ve made this a glaring omission in my Scrawl discography! It’s jarring, angry and sad in the way that I want a Scrawl release to be.

Scrawl, “I’m Not Stuck” (Buy)

» Sue Harshe’s (of Scrawl) Myspace
» Surly Girl Saloon (Columbus, OH); owned by Marcy Mays

Guv’ner, “Almond Roca” (From Hard For Measy For You)

There’s a fine line between being an asshole and a smart aleck, though I’m never sure how to exactly make the distinction. Songs like this aren’t much help, either. Yet, this is what I liked best about Guv’ner. Through the course of three records (one for Ecstatic Peace, two for Merge) and a slew of singles, the band managed to simultaneously define the 90’s indie aesthetic and push it out of its safety zone. Bands like Pavement got all the fame and glory, but was there a more indier-than-thou band than Guv’ner? The privileged stab of their name, the famous friends with famous names — Thurston, Kim, Julia and so on — even their post-band careers paved the way for everyone who’s ever turned sewing ipod covers into a lucrative business. (Even the ice skating album cover of Hard… reeks of upper-class elitism in a way only indie rockers can provide.)

Unlike a majority of indie rock, Guv’ner’s orbit revolved around sex, which isn’t a surprise since the band comprised of two married folks. When Pumpkin busts out lines like “I’m not like the rest / I’m better / You can’t fake me”, then spends the rest of the song being completely indecisive about her affections toward another and patting herself on the back for this behavior, you can’t help but wonder what’s going on between these two. Don’t even get me started on the part where she compares her goods to Almond Roca. Would a couple’s therapist think its OK to act this way?

Amidst the predicated metaphors for sex and desire, the band never fully answers the topic at hand. In the hands of Guv’ner, “Almond Roca” winds up being less gray area and empty sentiment, more penumbra. Each verse is built upon questions and effrontery, knocked down by basic human desire — Charles’ and Pumpkin’s guitars fumble and take turns with each other, plodding bass lines brushing up against a trebly guitar, eventually finding their way, albeit briefly.

Help Ecstatic Peace keep a clean and tidy stockroom — buy this record now!

I feel bad giving these releases the short end of the critical stick, but I’d rather share ‘em with you now rather than wait for my lazy ass to get around to them later.

Hail Social, “Heaven” (from _Modern Love and Death_)
A pretty heavy Hall & Oates vibe going on here, which begs me to ask: who gets to wear the John Oates moustache in the band, or do they take turns with each show? It’s hard to figure out where the band ends and the influence begins here — but glad to see this band finally releasing something after a couple quiet years.

The Buddyrevelles, “Steely Duran” (from _Don’t Quit_)
If the news of Rainier Maria’s breakup left you pining for some good ol’ 90’s style emo-midwestern-heart-on-your-sleeve rock, look no further. Most of the time, these sort of bands do not have actually good, very very technically proficient singers (and I’ll go out on a limb here to say the majority of indie rock is guilty of this too). The ‘revelles Aaron Grant never takes this knowledge for granted once throughout the course of their third and newest album. I am very amused by the title of this song, hence the pick.

The Rosebuds, “In The Backyard” (J Yu Remix)

While the Rosebuds are getting their next record ready, they were kind enough to give us fans a Halloween treat. This year they’re going as a New Order tribute band! That is, if New Order sang about something other than Ian Curtis and floppy disks, like, say Ouija boards. If the _Working Holiday_ series ever decided to ressurect itself from the dead, this should among the first things included on it.

Give the Rosebuds a good scare by checking out their website and buying a record or two. Don’t make me come back from the grave and haunt you, OK? I mean, if I was already dead.