By Less Lee Moore
Not sure how Blouse’s debut passed me by, but I’m certainly glad to know of them now. Their second album, Imperium, is a shoegazer’s daydream: echoey, deadpan vocals and layers upon layers of reverbed guitars and bass. From a lyrical perspective, Imperium is fixated on looking and seeing, themes that recur frequently in the band’s clever lyrics.
By Less Lee Moore
Toronto, ON
October 1, 2013
Waiting for White Lies to take the stage on Tuesday, I think I might have been trembling just a bit. If you’ve heard me raving about their recent (and third) album Big TV then it won’t surprise you (review). If you haven’t, then you need to hear the album immediately, but only if you love sweeping, mildly melancholic pop with damn-near-poetic lyrics.
Opening act In The Valley Below had a cool look and a sound to match. The male members of the band were dressed in shirts, pants, and leather suspenders, while singer Angela Gail showed off a stunning white prairie dress and a black hat. She and guitarist/singer Jeffrey Jacob had lovely, mournful harmonies and their music was just dark enough to provide a nice appetizer for White Lies.
1976 was the year of America’s 200th birthday. We walked smugly around our little town in ugly red, white, and blue shirts. We shot off fireworks while Europe rolled its eyes and told us to stay the hell of its lawn. Jingoism, patriotism, and parades were the order of the summer. Eagles and sno-cones, commemorative quarters and flags, colors that refused to run. We picnicked under the shadow of thousands of unseen missiles, our thin windbreakers and bravado enough to shield us from the chill of the Cold War.
As fall crept in and the charcoal grill fires slowly died, something insidious began to snake its way through the country. I see it now as a virus, its simplicity masking its evil intent. By the time winter rolled around, we were all infected. We wouldn’t be the same for years.
You know what 45s were, right? They were like full-length vinyl records, except they were singles. One song per side, and they had to played at a faster speed then LP’s, for reasons that I don’t know enough science to fully comprehend. The first 45 I ever bought was Mary MacGregor’s “Torn Between Two Lovers.” I was seven years old.
To bite a phrase from The Simpsons, is there a more misunderstood and underrated new wave band than the Waitresses? Those familiar with them in these post-millennial times probably only know their trio of radio hits—”I Know What Boys Like,” “Christmas Wrapping,” and the theme song from the sitcom Square Pegs. While these songs don’t misrepresent their work, their songs were weirder, complex, and more interesting than those three tracks would suggest. For many years, the only way curious listeners could hear the band’s deep tracks was to seek out The Best of the Waitresses, a remastered-for-CD compilation from 1990. Omnivore Recordings has finally given the Waitresses their Just Desserts with a two-disc collection of their recordings for Polydor.
Blitzen Trapper‘s Eric Earley has a story to tell. Loads of them, in fact. Blitzen Trapper’s seventh studio album has a seriously Southern Gothic vibe, which is pretty damn amazing for a guy from Portland, Oregon. VII is full of tantalizing, vivid details and stories that evoke dusty roads and swamplands and rusted out cars. It’s one hell of a ride.
Sunset Graves is the creative brainchild of Andy Fosberry. Their debut album is called Variant.
That’s all I know. I kind of wish I didn’t even know that much. I want it to remain this beautiful, ethereal thing, a gift we won’t be able to understand until much later.
By Paul Casey
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time… like tears in rain. Time to die.”
—Roy Batty in Blade Runner

I stole this photo from SPIN. It’s totally appropriate.
New this week on Popshifter: LabSplice says DO NOT WANT to Ulli Lommel’s Black Dahlia; Chelsea likes the way Gimme The Loot portrays a side of New York that’s normally unseen; Jeff learns about double entendres in “Midnight at the Oasis”; Paul gets to know Irish singer/songwriter Tiger Cooke; Lisa compares Daniel Jacksons in her article on Stargate; Melissa reviews lots of new releases: Tom McDermott, Allen Toussaint, Kelley Stoltz, and Headstones; I think Simon Killer is an outstanding film and encourage everyone to check out the new Blu-Ray of Two Men in Manhattan; and say a sad farewell to Pat Fear.
Canada’s Headstones are back after a long hiatus and their return is welcome. Their brand of straightforward, damn the torpedoes and hang-on-to-your-wigs-and-keys rock is refreshing in this age of . . . well, you know the state of popular music today.

Photo by Patrick Houdek
When I heard the news that Bill Bartell had died, I felt like I’d been kicked in the guts. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to a world without him in it.
I first met Bill in 1994, when White Flag played a show in New Orleans. The exact date and location escapes me (but no doubt, Bill, with his insanely proficient memory would remember). I went with a friend and we both wore Redd Kross T-shirts in an attempt to “impress” him. Haha, if only I had known.