When I met Austin-transplant and Montana native, folk-rock wunderkind Fiver, at Quack’s Coffee, he stood out strangely from the hip and fashionable patrons. Seated outside next to his black lab, Fiver sipped a soda and pensively flipped through a worn book of poetry during our brief interview. His tightly-cut, almost military style hair, dark, piercing eyes, and strong nose complimented his track jacket and dickies, making him look more like a Scottish soccer hooligan than a Dylanesque troubadour. As he answered questions he avoided eye-contact and nervous ran his fingers through his hair.
“It’s difficult turning that same microscope that I maybe use in my songs back on myself. I don’t think I have as much capacity for self-examination as I’d like,” Fiver stated as he pet his dog, Hazel.
The admission seemed in many ways as if the youth was selling himself short. Equal parts literate, verbose musings on the state of the Nation, God (or lack thereof), and the working man’s dilemma, to incisive and stark confessions on personal tragedy, loss, and haunting humor, Fiver’s sparse, earthy approach to the classic singer-songwriter mold recalls Conor Oberst if he was more into Woody Guthrie than Dylan. Still, Fiver is very much the poet. He flips through a compendium of Auden excerpts, landing on “The Fall of Rome,” from which his debut LP gets its names.
“I just think that . . . and I’m not educated on this or anything like that . . . that Auden was talking about people like me here. Runaways from the system. I get a real sense of flight when I read this poem.”
Fiver, real name Tennessee Sturges hails from a small town in northeastern Montana. His father died in an oil accident in the early 90s he said and his mother kicked him out of the house at 16 for being gay.
“I don’t like to talk about my sexuality all that much. It is what it is. I’ve lost a lot of old friends because of it. Friends who are in the Army now, in the Marines, which is pretty much all you can be if you’re from that town. That or an oilman and I wasn’t going to do either of those things anyway.”
Leaving with a pickup truck, a sizable collection of books, and his trusty canine partner, Fiver left for the big city lights of New York. It was here, almost two years later, that the young man made a name for himself amongst the Occupy Wall Street movement, singing his brand of dark, confessional workingman’s songs to the huddled protestors. But it wasn’t until his sparse cover version of Bright Eyes’ “Ladder Song” began making waves across the blogosphere that listeners really began to take notice.
“That’s a devastating song. I’m not even all that familiar with his music. I like folk as much as the next guy – Dylan, Leadbelly, Singin’ Brakeman, Muddy Waters, Scruggs, etcetera – and Conor Oberst’s music definitely seems to fit that mold a lot, even if he really rejects the label. But that one song, man, really struck a chord with me. So many of my friends, whether in Montana or New York, they just kind of gave up. And I just wanted to shake them and say “there’s no point in dying!” So I recorded that song in someone’s shower in Brooklyn, which was inexplicably in their kitchen, along with all the other tracks and here I am.”
Fiver has since migrated to Austin due to what he considers “a capacity to love folk musicians – a great big musical heart.” He’s about to embark on a Winter tour of the US, traveling with little else than his dog and his guitar in his beat-up old Chevy. Oh yeah, and his impressive collection of books.
“That’s where Fiver comes from. It’s one of the rabbits in Watership Down, the prescient one who insists they travel away from their home. That was always me. The little artsy kid that no one ever liked but under that surface was deep and introspective. I love that book.”
I asked if that’s where his dog Hazel’s name comes from as well. He cracks the first smile of the day.
“No, that’s obviously Hazel Dickens my friend. Good eye though.”
Mp3s are forthcoming Cannibal Cheerleader readers. I’ll post them soon. Until then, stay hungry!
2010 was a pretty rough year. Lots of change, lots of stress, lots of new experiences. I’ve changed immensely, even though outwards I appear the same. I’ve taken some time off from the blog and my creative pursuits in general and I don’t regret it. I needed this time away to reassess my attachment to writing, to music, to “fandom” as it were. And I’ve made a lot of decisions about what I really want Cannibal Cheerleader to be.
Most importantly though I read the stories about Esme. For those not in Austin, Esme Barrera was a local music lover, Waterloo Records employee, mixtape maker, teacher, Girls Rock Camp Austin instructor, and all-around Austin weirdo. More importantly though, she was a wonderful friend to the people that surrounded her and a passionate, thrilling individual in her own right. I did not have the pleasure of ever meeting her, but we certainly seemed to have traveled in the same circles. It would come as no surprise to me if our paths crossed multiple times, whether attending some loud, dingy, punk rock house party, or rocking out to some new riot grrrl band at Emo’s, or snarfing pumpkin pancakes at Kerbey Lane Cafe, my old gig. Sadly, Esme was callously murdered on the morning of January 1, 2012 by an unknown assailant in her home, and I’ll never get the chance to be her friend. That opportunity has been stolen from me and so many other people by some evil person, still walking the Austin streets.
I think that’s why this affects me so much, and Austin more generally. Esme is everyone in this city and everything we’ve grown to love about Austin. Crazy, bizarre, wild, fun, and wistful, but equal parts thoughtful, intelligent, creative, deep, and passionate. It could just as easily have been one of my close friends injured or killed in this bizarre attack. As an aside, it’s despicable that the women of Austin should feel threatened by violence in such a progressive town.
I have also been astounded at the outpouring of support and grief over Esme’s passing. How can one Austinite so deeply affect so many people, including those she’s never met? Was it because she was a rock music fan? A cool chick that liked to go to parties? That can’t be right. Such a shallow perspective wouldn’t do justice to a person like Esme. Instead, I think we all see the creative energy that Austin lives and breathes coalescing in Esme. A messy creativity that’s confusing and inspired; consumed with fandom but erupting with volatile independent energy all the same. It’s not stilted, it’s not haughty, but Austin-style creativity is clumsy and immediate and fiery and all-too-quickly extinguished. That’s why Austin is such a singular place and Esme, as it’s picture-perfect representative was so special to us all.
So as I sat in my studio apartment on the edge of Hyde Park over the Christmas break, I began to think about how best I could react to Esme’s passing. I have and do encourage everyone to donate to Esme’s family. But what could I change in my personal life to better reflect the sort of person Esme was? I looked back on the last few semesters in law school. The parts of me that were so married to the idea of attending law school and becoming a better writer and a champion for the needy have now become entangled with the desire to work at a prestigious, big-wig law firm, inexplicably defending the same giant corporations that I hate with every fiber of my being. And for what? To maintain my appearance as a smart individual? As a go-getter?
What if it had been me that night? What would people be saying about me? Would they be trading my mixtapes, reading my old blog posts, watching my old videos, or eating my favorites at Kerbey Lane (fish tacos!)? Or would they remember me best as the guy who always trying too hard to be the smartest guy in the room? The careerist? The big-shot lawyer who cared more about the prestige and the big paycheck than art, Austin, or his friends?
This is what we all have to consider. The former option to me is so romantic and achingly beautiful, personal and heartfelt in all the right ways. It reminds me that I don’t have to succeed — ever. At least, not in the shallow, materialistic sense. I don’t have to write the next great American novel, or even have the best blog in town. I don’t have to get the big promotion or the top job at the top firm.
I just have to try. Try to be a creative, independent, singular, weird individual, the likes of which Austin spits out so regularly. People like the much-missed but never forgotten Esme.
And that’s my challenge to myself. To keep writing. To keep creating. To restart my blog. Write for pleasure. Make art. Make waves. Consider the process. Reject the big outcomes. Reject superficial results. Have strong opinions. Create. Create. Create.
Just try for a second. Try to recapture what I’ve taken for granted for so long. Just how much I love Austin. But more importantly, how much I love the people in it. I’ll be posting here on the regular. Doesn’t matter what. Doesn’t matter how. But I’ll be doing it.
And that I think is the best way for everyone to remember Esme. Dedicate yourself to creativity. To inspiration. To not following the norm. Donate your time to helping those less fortunate. Volunteer with local organizations. Make art furiously. Teach. Be a good friend. Be happy. But never ever forget to live each day like it could be your last. Leave behind a legacy of ideas and opinions and loves and bad poetry and awesome mixtapes. That’s the easiest path to immortality. Live like Esme did — everyday.
Sometimes the best and brightest comes from the most unlikeliest of places. Only by happenstance did we at Cannibal Cheerleader stumble upon Costa Rica’s The Great Wilderness but we quickly came to realize that the searing, flashing power and heartfelt, engaging musicality put them in a position to be among our favorites of the year. To listen to the Great Wilderness is to be welcomed into their rich, haunting, illusive, and fiery dreamworld. And with the release of 2010’s second EP Tiny Monsters, this femme-foursome has achieved our top artist of 2010 award, operating on a level so far and away from everyone else that it’s like discovering guitar-rock all over again with a simple spin of their dual-releases. Hearing the Great Wilderness is akin to joining alongside these women in their jangly, haunting journey of indie-rock artistry; it feels as if every song is ingrained within the listener’s brain with each piercing riff, pedal-stomped wail, or shimmering production. These ladies write the soundtracks to our subconscious.
If there’s a word to describe Tiny Monsters it’s snarling. Snarling not in the sense of some bombastic sprawling wonderwork like their first EP or tight and economical like a speedy punk record, but frothy and mean, all growling and surrounding like a pack of wolves, calculating and direct but nonetheless ravenous and fierce. The guitar-lines are piercing and wiry, articulate and sharp before careening into a flurry of pummeling riffs and splashing intensity. At times jangly and haunting, with a vivid dreamlike quality, Tiny Monsters sounds like a band nonetheless singular in method and direction, cascading tracks sliding effortlessly into one another, echoing from a stereo into the night. Standout tracks include the pummeling “Nicholas Cage” and crushing, lonely, and ultimately unforgettable “When In June”. A testament to art and originality in an era of musical clones and well-worn sounds, Tiny Monsters can only be described as a gift, a cool drink of water in a parched musical landscape, captured from an unlikely locale and sailing through space to land in our Austin, Texas soundscape.
If there’s a word to describe Afterimages of Glowing Visions it’s swirling. If Tiny Wilderness is taut and piercing like a pack of wolves AoGV is a cloud of smoke burning across the sky, massive and billowing, churning with lightning and crashing with thunder. The smoky sense of each track, wafting and bursting into each other like some burgeoning flame instantly sucks in the listener, intent to sift through and examine each explosive layer in the wall of fiery sound. Propelled by the sultry and thoughtful growl of Paola Rogue, the group wails and sears through equal parts strikingly riotous cataclysms of sound and intelligent, well-wrought moments of smoldering fury. Sure to draw comparisons to the Joy Formidable in their shattering delivery, the Great Wilderness distinguish with their tear-jerking propensity for emotion in the form of carnage, as each song is belted with such fervor as to seem after each track the instruments will be dashed to the floor with reckless abandon and the musicians will drift away, blood-soaked and grinning, never to return. Combine this record with Tiny Monsters and you have a singular, masterful discography at work from one of the most little-known and genuinely unappreciated bands on the planet.
Henry Rollins once said, “Will you do it when it’s not fun anymore?” referencing scores of artists who create music for something other than the sheer joy of creation, for the sake of art, whether that be for the money, the fame, the fun, or what have you. The Great Wilderness craft art and make music from nothing but their sheer will to create. Living in a third-world country where government-assistance for burgeoning artists is virtually non-existent these ladies have struggled and forged what combines to be the best release of 2010 by far. From hardship springs creativity, from creativity will undoubtedly spring success for the Great Wilderness. Expecting big things from this group in 2011 but even if they were never to release another piece of music again they’ve left us with the Afterimages of Glowing Visions/Tiny Monsters combo that will surely be appreciated for years to come. Happy 2011 gang!
As the semester begins anew Cannibal Cheerleader will be once again going on hiatus. We had to come out of hiding for a bit to pledge our support to some of 2010’s best artists (kudos again to Giant Drag, the Mynabirds, Holly Miranda, Now Now, and especially the Great Wilderness for great years!). Look out for the new Cannibal Cheerleader zine coming out this Spring! Details forthcoming, talk to everyone soon, keep the faith, and as always, stay hungry.
What is it to rebuild as an artist? What mechanisms have to be in place to build oneself back up? More pointedly, what constitutes artistic failure to the extent an artist has to rebuild? In the case of Now Now, formerly Now Now, Every Children, the band members over the past few years have found themselves at the business end of a music industry beating; bad record deals, bad touring experiences, and bad blood abound. In the artistic landscape of rock music too often is one’s work judged on the basis of units shifted, success in dollar form, shamefully so in the case of NNEC whose album Cars still stands the test of time as a fantastically intricate and woefully underrated indie record. Whatever the reason, the members of NNEC were stuck, forced to start from scratch, to lower their bucket into the same well that produced their previous works and hope they found water even in the driest of times.
Beginning with the track “Rebuild” it becomes starkly clear that Neighbors has awoken something deep and radiant inside these young musicians. Perhaps pushed forward by some dark frustration or inspired by a ‘nothing left to lose’ attitude Now Now have crafted their finest, most cohesive work to date, a staggering glimpse into inner turmoil and haunting despair conveyed by means of sharp, jangly indie rock and crooning, searing vocals care of Cacie Dalager. In five tracks (one of which is instrumental) the trio manages to convey all the artistic fervor that some musicians fail to convey in an entire discography. Having dropped the ‘Every Children’ moniker from their namesake, Now Now have indeed in every way grown into a new artistic persona that both rewards the listener upon repeat listens and presents a fresh new image of young rock and roll. With feelings so tight and crisp conveyed so well we can only hope that this group continues to churn out great records like this one. One of the best releases of 2011 by far.
Holly Miranda is a singular talent and to not celebrate this remarkable album would be a notorious crime. The Magician’s Private Library combines Miranda’s individual songwriting prowess and shimmering guitarwork with brilliantly layered production-work care of TV on the Radio’s David Sitek. While the combination may seem initially odd, especially so considering Miranda’s work with the blues and stomp-rock group the Jealous Girlfriends, but the singer’s sultry growl belies a tender lyrical catalog, hushed and particular with nuance and character. When churned through the syrupy Sitek hopper Miranda’s haunting tracks take on a whole new life, flitting across the speakers like ghostly apparitions, bouncing off the many effects pedals like weightless spirits. Truly a remarkable record that combines a blues rock motif with a many-layered production for a truly one of a kind product. Easily one of our favorites of the year.
The Mynabirds seemingly burst onto the scene this year with their dancehall-cum-chamber pop record What We Lose In The Fire, We Gain In The Flood, but frontwoman Laura Burhenn, formerly of the woefully underrated act Georgie James, has been at the rock game for quite some time now. Thus it’s no surprise to understand how quickly the singer-songwriter got back into her dancing shoes after the demise of her former group, and it’s in her new western folk rock group that she seems more sure-footed than ever. Equal parts a subtle, syrupy, choir-tune folk record and a boot-stomping, Nashville barn-burner, What We Lose… fills the gap that normally a Cat Power or Neko Case release would occupy. However, 2010 that space belonged exclusively to the Mynabirds and who knows, maybe after a few more records they’re be right up there with the big boys as well.
This week Cannibal Cheerleader is going to be highlighting our favorite releases of 2010 with an emphasis on artists we haven’t seen on many (or sometimes any) of the major music blogs’ lists. While these bands may not have the hype, resources, cash, or fanbase of Kanye or the Arcade Fire, they have all crafted music of an equivalent mastery in their own right and without a big budget. We begin with one of our favorite acts from the beginning of 2010, Giant Drag.
Like steel-toed boot thudding down into an ankle-high puddle of blood, the Swan Song EP splashes and thunders with a joyous clamor that was well worth the five-year wait between releases from this blasting LA-based duo. Frontwoman Annie Hardy’s lilting voice belies a raucous fury and each of this release’s four tracks flies off the speaker cones when her shriek peaks or a riff careens spinning off the frets. Even when not belting away her haunting croons, Hardy’s pedal-stomping, masterful guitarwork takes the form of a snarling Doberman lending a growling edge to even the sweetest of lyrics. These are love songs with teeth, crunchy breakup tracks with gore and guts abound. The whole EP is over as quickly as it begins, a maelstrom of layered guitars and a walk along the razor’s edge between heartfelt and eat-your-heart-out. Even the closer, the acoustic “Heart Carl” burns like forgetten Zippo, unfettered by the wind and batting back the darkness of some squalid, awesome, rocking night club. We can’t wait for this group’s new album, hopefully out in 2011!
Cannibal Cheerleader is taking a break while it’s lead writer John B. is in law school. However stay tuned for some frightening revelations as the holidays draw near…
That’s right Cannibal Cheerleader faithful, we’re relaunching our ZINE – it’s time for volume 2 of the much missed Cannibal Cheerleader zine and we’re packing it full of rip-roaring bloody stuff. The CC crew are all in agreement that the reactionary nature of the blogosphere runs antithetical to our more nuanced reviews of current and past music so we’re shifting our focus to the zine entirely. However, let it be known that through cannibalcheerleader.com you’ll be able to find out news about the zine, when it will be coming out, and how you can get your hands on it. Until then, stay hungry faithful followers and shoot us an email if you’re interested in finding out more – cannibalcheerleader@gmail.com. Au revoir, for now…
You’ll have to forgive the Cannibal Cheerleader crew for being a bit behind on this one (we are law students after all). Still, it would be disengenuous to say we haven’t heard of this NYC duo whose firestorm of hype swept up the blogosphere with such fury as to drown out all but their brand of rap-via-smashing-guitars sound – we’re of course talking about the inimitable Sleigh Bells.
And while we can only claim that they hype was what drove us away originally, we’re kicking ourselves now that we haven’t been on this smoking bandwagon all along. Sleigh Bells are, in a word, phenomenal. A furious face-melting teeth-shattering wholly jarring smorgasbord of throat-punch noise rock wrapped around a devastatingly horrific flow that’s as indebted to Alice Glass as Outkast. An amalgamation of LOUD LOUD LOUD and more of the same with enough room for catchy melodies despite that. Suffice to say, both literally and figuratively Sleigh Bells has knocked us off our feet (we have the stitches to prove it).
The simple formula seizes with boldness and accomplishes a degree of arresting complexity within its limited confines. Blown speaker cones and nonsensical splattered lyrics from the likes of producer Derek Miller and emcee Alexis Krauss respectively create a singular experience completely unlike anything else we’re experiencing now in punk rock. This duo has taken disparate elements and smashed them together to create a highly volatile mix of crunk and carnage. Probably our favorite album of the year so far! Can’t wait to see them when they swing through Austin on Oct. 9th!
Seems like just yesterday we were reviewing the masterfully woven Stuart Murdoch solo project God Help the Girl, and now, fresh off that welcome musical breather, the band’s all back together, releasing the first proper Belle and Sebastian album since 2006’s The Life Pursuit. To say that Write About Love (or more specifically Belle & Sebastian Write About Love) is a refreshing followup would be an understatement, as would a ‘return to form’ writeup. This is the group at some of their best, combining the lyrical density from their Sinister yesteryear, the pop hooks from their Catastrophic days, and the lush production they’ve recently Pursued.
The group have been saddled with the crown of indie-rock superstars for well over a decade now, growing and morphing with each subsequent album. What may distinguish this latest release is its penchant for slow-burning romanticism, bouncing happy romanticism, all around lovely, hypnotizing, enthralling, intoxicating romance; from songs like “Come on Sister” to obvious standout, Murdoch’s duet with Norah Jones “Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John”. A fantastic collection of B&S tracks that stand up to some of their best work ever. If the band needed a 5 year break to return to the mindset of making music this fantastic again, so be it. Well worth the wait.
