The Hippodrome

Fraulein Download

The Pale Young Gentlemen cite classical music and champagne as their biggest influences. In actuality, the orch-pop quintet from Madison, Wisconsin churns out an infectious stream of malady considerably more befitting of a smoke-filled, turn-of-the-century booze can, complete with heavy red curtains and bowler hats galore. Upbeat, jaunty piano and cello arrangements complimented by appropriately affected vocals make for a theatrical and pleasantly gritty sound. When lead singer, song-writer, and keyboardist Mike Reisenauer commands “let’s tear the lid off this thing” on the debonair track “Clap Your Hands,” you’re compelled to do just that.

PYG humbly formed in late 2004, when Matt Reisenauer finally sat down and banged on a phone book and a cribbage board while Brett Randall was playing along on guitar. “We played our first show a year later as a three-piece and continued to gain members,” says Reisenauer. With the line-up solidified at five members, the band boasts sophisticated arrangements for a group of musicians who, Reisenauer mentions, are “largely self-taught.” Thanks in large part to fastidious production and a dose of cellist Liz Weamer’s classical chops, the band’s lack of classical training remains elusive.

In the spring of 2007, the Pale Young Gentlemen released their self-titled debut album and made quite a splash in the Madison scene, recently opening for indie pop giants like The Clientele and Beach House. Reisenauer is currently working on the band’s follow-up record, the songs on which, he reveals, are “all guitar based – no piano on the next one. We are rehearsing with a string quartet now… but I shouldn’t say anymore… everything could change, and probably will.”

Special Rider Blues Download

In a world where fancy home studios and software plugins reign supreme, the sound of Zak & His Unhappy Guitar is a breath of fresh vacuum-tube analog air. When he’s not the resident electric guitar virtuoso for the gleefully perverted rockabilly band The Alley Dukes or tremolo picking in the surf-rock group The Treblemakers, Zak conjures up the voodoo magic of prewar blues with just his voice and an acoustic guitar.

Zak generates his raw analog sound by capturing his live performances with authentic vintage instruments and recording gear, just like they did in the days when the idea of “multitracking” was decades away from invention. “I see this as no-frills music,” he says, “and I feel that it should be recorded live, the way it is intended to be performed.” All of Zak’s gear is much older than he is, often by over 50 years. His main axe is a National Duolian acoustic guitar from 1931, but some of the other guitars in his arsenal date to the 20s or even earlier. Zak finds vintage instruments incredibly inspiring to play because “these old guitars have a soul and there is so much music in ‘em waiting to be unlocked.”

Performing as a solo artist presents Zak with unique challenges. “With a band it’s easy to make people pay attention; sometimes all you need is volume and an outrageous stage act, but as a solo acoustic act it is definitely a different world, especially when faced with an audience that is completely unfamiliar with the pre-WWII blues idiom,” he says. However, Zak relishes the chance to display the kind of music he loves to people who might not have encountered it before. “If I manage to turn just one person on to Fred McDowell or Bukka White or Charley Patton or whatever, I’m happy.”

Such reverence for his musical forefathers is characteristic for Zak & His Unhappy Guitar: “Humility would stop me from comparing myself to any of my influences. I don’t pretend to be the torchbearer of some extinct tradition,” he states when asked to compare himself to other artists. Listening to a tune like “Special Rider Blues,” you hear that veneration for history committed to tape. The brash, metallic tones of the guitar and Zak’s soulful growl of a voice conspire to create a timeless sound that could have been recorded any time between the 1920s and yesterday.

Be on the lookout for a full-length solo CD with accompanying shows from Zak & His Unhappy Guitar in the near future.

One Mile Download
Mighty Spruce Download
Bitter Passage Download

My introduction to Trevor Wilson was less than glamorous. From a message he sent me regarding a show in Burlington, VT, I popped over to his MySpace, and took a listen. After a few weeks, when I had become a little more familiar with Wilson’s persona, I found myself stuck in a categorical dilemma. I’ve come to divide breakthrough artists into two categories: the boisterous intellectual, and the quiet mastermind who shoulders the internal plight of the world. Wilson, however, seemed to be neither.

Only recently have I fully realized what kind of artist Wilson really is. The songwriting agnostic is described by friends, like one time tour mate Tom Tierney, as “one of those quiet geniuses . . . shy as he is brilliant. What puts him apart from most of those types is that he doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously.”

Maybe the best way to illustrate Tierney’s point is to divulge a few of Wilson’s song titles. On Wilson’s ex-band’s LP, “Nana Nana Nana Na Na Na” (not to be confused with “Nana Nana Na Na,”) is actually one of the most lyrically poignant songs I’ve heard in years. How can this be so? Part of the reason is because Wilson isn’t afraid to use the words “fun” and “interesting” in the same sentence, a mindset of his inspired by none other than the boys from Liverpool. Wilson explains that “even today, looking at the booklet of ‘Magical Mystery Tour,’ it’s easy to come away thinking. . .wow. . .these guys were incredible – no band could top how interesting and fun these guys were.”

While Wilson was not the first to notice the Beatles’ unique combination, he was one of the most determined to produce a discography as copious as theirs. “There’s almost never a time when I don’t want to be writing music,” the songwriter says. From his early MIDI compositions in 8th up until 11th grade, Wilson finished eight albums as he composed, produced, and arranged his music. Wilson dived into the usual circuit – They Might Be Giants, Ben Folds — but perhaps the biggest turning point in Wilson’s musical career came when he discovered David Longstreth of The Dirty Projectors, the professional band in closest sonic proximity to Wilson’s work.

Like David Longstreth, Wilson finds equal solace in grainy Deerhoof guitars as he does in a well manicured Scriabin melody. Perhaps this is not such a coincidence; Wilson has a pretty similar attitude to the Yale dropout turned sonic pioneer. Both enjoy an occasional foray into the big city, but prefer the woods. While most writers would make this into a metaphor for Wilson’s music, I’ll spare you the trouble.

Despite his similarity to and influence by current experimental rock artists, Wilson, charmingly, draws his biggest influence from fellow musicians at Bennington College because “the connection is just so personal.” Last year, when he wasn’t building pianos or teaching others how to do the same, Wilson was playing with his recently broken up five piece band, Tall Ships. After an extensive tour, the band is now defunct, leaving a mesmerizing ten track LP, available now only through personal request. The cuts on this album showcase mature songwriting, coupled with unconventional time signatures (the majority are in 5/4 time), harmonies beautiful as they are eccentric, and a wonderfully integrated jazz sensibility. “The songs are so personally connected to those musicians,” Wilson explains. “It would be an insult to them to try to pull off the same songs without them.” Judging by his current output rate, Wilson hasn’t lost any of the drive he found in 8th grade. Even though Tall Ships was relatively short lived, Wilson has showed no sign of slowing down.

These three most recent tracks, exclusively available for download from The Hippodrome, show Wilson at his most focused and intricate. All of these pieces are consistent with Wilson’s writing about personal experience through analogy instead of the usual blasé ambiguity. A type of trilogy, these three tracks are a candid and multi-layered walk through Wilson’s mind. “One Mile” uses the interesting analogy of weeding along a fence to show that there are two sides to even the most seemingly uncontroversial issues, in this case a landowner selling a house without considering the imminent homelessness of the current renters. The second track, “Mighty Spruce” is another allegory centered around parenthood as planting a seed, which then transitions into a more personal section about a failed relationship. The last track, “Bitter Passage,” the most ambitious and least accessible of the three, is an elegant soliloquy about a marriage without love.

Hopefully when you listen to these tracks, you’re able to appreciate not just the ripe sense of musicality that is a staple of Wilson’s work, but also a fierce desire to reach out to the listener. If the music itself doesn’t make my point adequately, maybe Wilson’s future plans will. Next year, he plans to travel to Turkey to learn the native music and language, meet local musicians, and although he won’t admit it, scout out the babes. Here, as the most noble of indie rockers, he’ll try to persuade the locals to stay away from mainstream music and cherish their traditional styles of song and dance. “Their music is a fascinating microcosm of cultural globalization. I want to turn the mirror back on the Turks,” says Wilson. “I’d like to steer them away from American Pop and back to what’s more natural to them, if that could even be determined.”

Wilson’s sonic sense is just as genuine as his philosophy of music. Choosing to use acoustic over electronic sounds in virtually every case has not limited his sonic breadth, and is a welcome respite in an era of technologically enhanced music. So do yourself a favor, and email Wilson asking for an album. Or if you’re feeling like matching his authenticity, get out your pen and your paper, and write this piano building hippie a nice, old letter.