By J Howell

Following Peggy Sue‘s brilliant first two records, listeners may be a bit surprised by the band’s choice to (mostly) recreate the soundtrack from Kenneth Anger’s 1963 film Scorpio Rising as a next move. Somewhat predictably, though, the record is flat-out brilliant.
Modern music fans with a Phil Spector bent should take especial heed: Peggy Sue recreates, perhaps most importantly, the spirit of the original tracks while finding a sonic space for them to exist in that feels a bit more like alternate-universe versions of familiar songs than slavish imitation or heavy-handed “updating”. The band deftly walks the fine line between reproducing the original songs and making them their own, somehow managing to treat the “teenage drama” factor of many of the tracks with a respectful empathy that feels less melodramatic than urgent. Elsewhere, Scorpio Rising is just plain fun.

As much as I loathe music reviews featuring lazy equations like, “take one part [name of band] plus one part [name of other band] . . . ” in the case of Merchandise‘s Children of Desire, it does make for a good jumping off point. What separates Children of Desire from bands that are just a formulaic rehashing of previous, and far superior bands, is how they merge these styles and sounds to create something unique and bracing that doesn’t actually sound like anything else.
The album opens with “Thin Air,” a short, yet yearning piece that feels like an introduction for what’s to come. “Time” is longer, but still somewhat freeform in that it doesn’t rely on shopworn riffs or rhyming couplets. Singer Carson Cox has a rather idiosyncratic voice and delivery, ranging from falsetto to a deeper baritone; no matter how he’s singing, what registers is a sincerity and frankness that is offset by a combination of feedback, synths, processed drums, and subtle basslines that give these songs an oddly retro yet completely modern feeling.

Country music—as a genre—has been a crapshoot for the last decade or so. For every Wayne Hancock or Justin Townes Earle that wade into the deep end of true country song craft, there’s a Kenny Chesney, Carrie Underwood, or Sugarland that claim the country mantle but are merely pop acts with lap steel.
That’s why I find a group like Holly Golightly & The Brokeoffs to be such a kick in the pants; they embrace instrumentation as if they were recording with the Carter Family, and give bear hugs to tradition. Holly, an Englishwoman by birth, delivers more twang than Loretta Lynn. Two songs in, you’d swear she just walked down from The Blue Ridge Mountains with her flour sack dress on, well-worn Bible tightly in her hand. It is a respite from the everyday, manufactured “country” backwash.
Sunday Run Me Over is the perfect companion to last year’s fantastic (and my #2 album of the year behind Foo Fighters’ Wasting Light) No Help Coming (reviewed here).

Despite being astonishingly prolific, I’ve only gotten wise to Ty Segall‘s musical output recently; my album intro was June’s Slaughterhouse, performed with Segall’s touring band (reviewed here). Hearing Twins, recorded almost entirely by Segall himself, has proved he’s not a one trick pony. Twins hits the sweet spot between heavy guitar fuzz and pretty melodies and is immediately, deliriously enjoyable.
That’s not to say Twins is full of disposable pop songs. In these post-post-ironic times, it’s not uncommon for music fans to feel distrustful of something they like immediately, concerned about being manipulated by both our nostalgia and the desire for something that’s not a rip-off.

What is it like to take a time machine back to a time when I was a burgeoning sarcastic twenty-something with a tendency to sneer and a sense of humor as black as it comes? The recent Minus Times Collected, lovingly assembled for its 20th anniversary, is a portal to that time, for me at least. Is it a place I want to be, though?
When confronted with work like this—a relic full of irony for irony’s sake that creates a critical distance on purpose—it only brings out my ponderous side. By definition, isn’t nostalgia supposed to create a sense of wistfulness and yearning? Sure, I like a thumb in my eye when the humor feels earned, and I realize that this style should be different because it isn’t meant to feel cozy and warm. When I looked back at this wicked side of this particular collection it only served to make me realize that there are other and better time capsules, ones that are consistent and head and shoulders above this in quality.

If Who Needs Who dropped in the early 1990s, Dark Dark Dark would have appeared in Sassy magazine’s “One to Watch” column. This band is the real deal. Frontwoman Nona Marie Imrie has a striking voice, their songs are catchy and insightful, and their arrangements and the spare production cast a spell over the listener. This Minneapolis-based quintet has a great album in them. The band’s third long-player isn’t quite that album.
By Emily Carney

John Cale turned 70 in March; however, his music proves to be age-proof with his new album, Shifty Adventures in Nookie Wood. Don’t ask; I have no idea about the title, either. Cale does have typically inscrutable album titles.
Usually when musical artists of any sort turn 70, they do endless “farewell” or “greatest hits” tours, or they engage in embarrassing collaborations with a very 1990s-sounding Metallica (I’m looking at you, Lou Reed. Yeah, I said it). Cale is doing neither, refuses to give into age, and is turning out impressive original compositions that aren’t at all dated or misguided. He’s only gotten better and more experimental as he’s gotten older.

If you’ve discussed horror films with me for more than five minutes, you likely know my feelings about French director Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs. It’s a film that infuriated me when I saw it, but not for the reasons that you might think. Yet the potential of Martyrs to be a truly great horror movie is what made me curious about Laugier’s most recent feature, The Tall Man, out on DVD and Blu-Ray September 25.
Those who loved Martyrs for its uncompromising violence may despise The Tall Man, feeling incredibly disappointed. Martyrs 2 it is not. If you are willing to put aside expectations and embrace a beautifully crafted, wonderfully acted, suspenseful, and thought-provoking film that is heavy on subtext and light on gore, than I urge you to check out The Tall Man.

Are you one of those people that flies into a laser-eyed rage when you see grizzly misused in the place of grisly? Or are you one of those people who has no idea what the difference is between a gourmand and a gourmet; all you know is that they love their food or something? The English language is a tangly beast, easy to give the impression of mastery for any native speaker, and yet almost no one, even linguists, editors, professors of English, or journalists writing in the New York Times (ahem) will always choose the correct word, sometimes using an incorrect homonym or a related word, and only the driest (or perhaps the most frothy) pedants ever seems to notice.
By Emily Carney

American singer Timi Yuro was described as “the little girl with the big voice,” lending her legacy nicely to future blue-eyed soul singers such as the late Amy Winehouse, Duffy, and Adele. However, Yuro’s influence spread like tree roots on both sides of the ocean; artists as disparate as Elvis and Morrissey considered themselves Timi Yuro fans. Her voice was also heard all over Northern Soul dance floors during the 1970s. Her career ended in the late 1960s with her marriage, but she had some impressive celebrity fans. Excellence never goes away, though.