The first real hot day of this year melted my brain and made me wander around aimlessly in a daze. The streets were full of zombies like myself, staggering around sun-drunk and with poor judgment. After a dude narrowly missed hitting me at an intersection, a looker-on commented that “it was too bad you didn’t have a gun so you could’a shot ‘im!” Put these people in a room with some cold brews and Maniac Meat and you’ve got a heat-stroke hallucination puke party a.k.a. the best party of the year.

Like his work in Black Moth Super Rainbow, Tobacco is heavy on vocoder and analog synth, but the difference between overall sound is yin and yang. Tobacco’s is dark, dank, heavy and pounding where BMSR creeping psych pop.  Maniac Meat is like drinking radioactive slushies on a hot day in 2012 and slowly mutating while watching b-movies VHS. Actually, in an interview with Kotori Magazine in 2008, Tom Fec described the influence of old vhs as such: “they make me feel awful, but really good and curious at the same time. With this Tobacco stuff, I’m trying to translate that feeling.” Two years later, that feeling has only gotten grimier and farther tripped out. The dizzying bass and crashing percussion introduced on Tobacco’s first album Fucked Up Friends seems almost wimpy in comparison to his new effort. 80′s space documentary synth drips and melts over hip hop breaks. Two songs feature Beck’s surrealistic scientologist drawl (Fresh Hex and Grape Aerosmith) meandering in and out like a transmission from the 90′s. “Lick the Witch” is a futuristic haunted house hypnotizer. “Heavy Make-up” is a sluggish and pervy fist pump anthem that stumbles like a prom queen.  “Sweatmother” is like taking basement chemist diet-pills, and has a chopped Jane Fonda workout music viddy (youtube it). Get into it this oil spill summer.

I’ve got to admit that I got a giddy little rush when I saw this promo resting on the stack when I came into work. Hopefully Happy Birthday are already mildly familiar to you, as they hail from our very own town of Brattleboro. You may have caught them at either their first show at The Monkey or opening for Devendra Banhart at Higher Ground. I alas,  narrowly missed them both times and have been thoroughly bummed about it. They kind of popped up out of nowhere. According to the Sub Pop website, they started playing together because member Kyle Thomas (aka King Tuff aka member of  Witch) was too scared to play his newly written pop songs by himself and asked Chris and Ruth to join him. After meeting Kyle by way of an “obsession” with his 2008 release Was Dead under the nom-de-plume King Tuff, Sub Pop was dying to get either some more tracks out of him. The result is Happy Birthday, a self titled album produced by local Ryan Power.

The best way I can describe this album is to describe the kind of birthday party Happy Birthday would play. It would be in honor of the well liked but eccentric (maybe even crazy) kid at school. They have this party in their parent’s backyard with kitschy decorations and bowls of chips and someone’s older brother spiked the punch so everyone runs around with party hats on playing tag with confetti poppers, and no one feels embarrassed. When it’s time for the band to play, the kid’s dad gets on the mic and makes a few jokes because he’s a little sloshed, and announces them all official-like. Then the band members just walk onto stage from where they were standing in the crowd and play with their party hats on. The crowd of misfits bop around to the grimy pop of “Girls FM” and “Zit” and slow dance and sway to “Subliminal Message” and “Eyes Music.” This is the alternate reality Adventures of Pete and Pete Polaris soundtrack set in Vermont. This is the band playing in a garage that you hear on your way to school and they get stuck in your head all day in a good way. This is AWESHUM, and on sale, so come buy it.

So this album is exciting for me. Not only have I been anticipating it for months, but it finally comes out on today, my birthday. (I am writing you from the past dear readers.) More exciting than blowing out a few candles is that there’s always one last glorious snowfall for the year before my birthday week, and after that it’s smooth sailing to spring. This new Ruby Suns could be a soundtrack for the upcoming season of blissful, organic melting, teeming with new life.

It’s more mature, wiser even, than their darling field recording laced kiwi pop earlier releases on Lil’ Chief Records. Fight Softly keeps the field recordings, utilizes that afro beat, tropicalia two-step and washed-out synth that critics are salivating over and psychs it out over contemplative dance beats and bass. I’m positive that this album will top year end lists, even in the sea of chill-wave that it surfs in upon. There’s real maturity and consideration behind this album, maybe it’s world weary. After all, this is the sound of globalization, with knowledge of its downfalls.

Suns’ singer-song writer Ryan McPhun explained in a brief interview with Pitchfork that the title Fight Softly was “a kind of joke; it’s a way of saying ‘don’t fight.’” Good advice Ryan. ‘Tis the season to space out, so come grab a copy and get ready to dance like it’s your birthday.

I’ve been having this recurring day-dream lately. It’s the first warm day of the year, the sun is beaming down on me as I cruise around on my purdy blue bicycle. The birds are chirping away on telephone wires like I’m in some sort of suburban snow white student film. I don’t have to worry about riding my bike home drunk and every night out is observed by fireflies. Then my feet lose feeling and I remember that I’m waiting for the bus and spring is teasingly out of reach.

Laura Veirs grew up in Colorado, and I have a feeling she is as intimate with summerlust fantasies as I am. Her latest album, released on her own boutique label Raven Marching Band Records, is a loving sentiment towards warmer days. The mix of oddly tuned nylon guitar, banjo and piano is as sweet and brightly mellow as the strain of peaches Veirs named the album and title track after.

If you caught Veirs opening for The Decemberists this past fall, you already know that she gives an excellent performance. Be sure to catch her this time around this Friday the 12th at Higher Ground.

And people, pick this up for your folky special friend for Valentine’s Day and reap the benefits like a bountiful summer garden.

Let’s face it. Most of us know by now that our country, no, make that every country in the world is run by men of science. These men of science seem to have the most fun by creating all sorts of new ways of global destruction that not even Roland Emmerich could fathom, just ‘cuz they can. Now, we modern day folks put a great deal of faith in these men of science. We trust them to know what’s best for us, and to only use their death rays on bad dudes and terrorists. Just like how we trust God to send bad guys and terrorists to hell!

Kurt Vonnegut‘s 1963 novel Cat’s Cradle is a tale that follows an everyman named John, who finds himself becoming a destined participant in a series of events regarding the faith we put in science and religion. While researching the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, John discovers the legacy of  Dr. Hoenikker, the (fictional) co-creator of the atomic bond and a substance called ice-nine. Further investigation into ice-nine leads John to the Island of San Lorenzo, where the substance is in the possession of Hoenikker’s children. John learns more about the the peculiar island culture through a guide given to him by the newly appointed US ambassador. This guide glides over the local landmarks and institutions and devotes most of its information to the island’s peculiar history. This history revolves mostly around the tension between an aging and bloodthirsty dictator with a hook of death and the eccentric prophet of the religion of Bokonon with his books and kinky foot fetish ritual.

Cat’s Cradle is a testament to Vonnegut’s strong convictions towards humanism, free thought and skepticism of conventional religious beliefs. This is black comedy at its finest. If you still need a reason to pick this classic up, let it be to honor the legacy of Vonnegut’s brilliant and prolific career.

This one’s for you, Kurt.

Dear Readers, as the depth of winter approaches, I’m sure you’re either dreading the onset of maddening cabin fever or a vitamin D deficiency or weeks of freezing morning bathroom floors. My favorite remedy for the icy blues is reading, and now that Pure Pop has begun to stock books I’ll be prescribing a couple to you over the next week. Best taken with a cup of St. John’s Wort tea as you you sit under your S.A.D. “happy lamp”.

Your first dose is Tom Robbins‘ offbeat classic Still Life With Woodpecker. You know how at the end of Reading Rainbow they had those kids giving book reviews and they always started them off with the classic rhetorical question intro? I’ve always wanted to do that, so here goes.

Do you like exiled, tree-hugging princesses? How about outlaws with loads of dynamite and a penchant for domestic terrorism?

What about sex without a condom? If you do, you’ll love this book. Still Life is the quixotic adventure of Princess Leigh-Cheri, red-headed princess of an family of royals exiled by democratic revolt in their home country. After an unfortunate knock-up and miscarriage, Leigh Cheri embarks on a quest for the ultimate form of natural birth control. When she collides with career outlaw Bernard Mickey Wrangle aka “The Woodpecker” she learns how to communicate through a pack of Camel’s, and the purpose of the moon.

Robbins’ work is outsider brilliance in the same renegade realm as the words of Hunter S. Thompson and Kurt Vonnegut. The man crafts a story that brings you to the brink of what would commonly be considered mental illness and then convinces you that the experience is completely normal. He is prolific and philosophical, and considers humanity’s moments of being “playful, rebellious and immature” as it’s best. Still Life is an unmasterpiece that illustrates the beautiful absurdity of the world we live in.

Come pick it up at the store, and while you’re at it, special order your next read for 20% off the regular price. (aweshum)

Muddy Waters has always been my favorite rainy day reading spot in town. The comfort it’s hobbit hole interior and yummy drinks provide sum up a lot of what I like so much about downtown Burlington. You can walk in there off the street any day and feel immediately like you belong. I had been aware of their live music experiment for some time, but never none of the acts had peaked my interest until I saw the bill for the Burlington return of the keyboard and drums duo Slingshot Dakota. I had caught them this past summer at The Monkey Bar and was blown away by their infectious positivity and songs about the importance of take care of those around you. This time, they were set to be playing with the locals Spirit Animal (members of In Memory of Pluto) and Plattsburgh’s Yo! Adrian.

As the chilly drizzle persisted outside, I settled myself into a booth with a pot of tea and my companions to kick back and enjoy the music. The Muddy’s folks had cleared out the sunken area near the window to serve as the stage. There was room to stand in front of the band in the lower level, while those in the back had the comfort of a raised level so they could still see. No only did this work out efficiently, but performing in front of a Main St. window proved to provide an unexpected extra element of entertainment.

Yo! Adrian brought the same fun as the last time they opened for Slingshot, and Spirit Animal gave us more of that Don Cabellero meets American Football that those Jandl brothers deliver so well.

As Carly, the keyboardist of Slingshot Dakota, waited for her partner on drums to set up his kit, she started playing theme songs for each group of people to pass by the window, hoping that they would stop and listen. Everyone walking down Main Street in Burlington seemed to be well amused by this game. As I remember, the most people  stopped while Carly played the windmill theme from Super Mario 64. But despite the recognizable ditties Carly warmed up with, it was Slingshot’s original songs that drew the biggest crowds to the window. They blasted through their set with such joy and energy, that they turned everyone’s rainy day frown upside down, even the fire marshall’s! Their debut album “Their Dreams are Dead But Ours is the Golden Ghost” was out last time they were in town, so there were a healthy number of sing-alongs this time around. The infamous cover of Fugazi’s “In the Waiting Room” was requested at the peak of the fervor to everyone’s delight. Throughout this spectacle, our fishbowl was tapped on, stared through blankly, waved at, and breathed upon.

It would be easy to brush Slingshot Dakota off because of the seemingly similar aesthetic of that other keys and drums pair Mates of State, but Slingshot hits a couple of my sweet spots that the Mates miss. One of these spots is musicians with a humble devotion to a message. Their songs are about sharing some serious friend love. Before playing one of their new tracks, entitled “Micheal Jordan Saved My Life,” the pair always take a moment to talk about the importance of being supportive of friends that have been subjected to sex crimes, and dedicate it to one of their pals. Plus, everything about these two is absolutely adorable and infectiously cute in a not even slightly nauseating way, and that’s rare to come by. Carly promised they’d be back in the next year, so don’t miss it.

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of riding down to Allston for a day of adventure and an evening of melancholy acoustic sets. The primary objective and cause for our trek was to catch the charming Mike Kinsella, performing as Owen on tour for his latest album New Leaves. My companions and I had seen Owen around this time last year at one of my favorite New England venues, The Middle East Upstairs. Not only am I a sucker for any remnant of the 90′s Midwestern music scene, Kinsella’s nonchalant manner and witty banter were enough to make the chance of seeing him again irresistible. To make my Sunday all the better, my roommate and sad girl songstress Jess McDermott (www.myspace.com/thenewandverywelcome) scheduled an acoustic appearance before the show in an Allston basement around the block from our destined venue, Great Scott.

And so, after a day of vegan restaurant sampling, romping around the greater Boston area during Harvard’s Octoberfest, and briefly playing audience to a basement stage of fine young minds with guitars, it was time to walk over to Great Scott to hear what Owen had in store for us this year. We showed up towards the end of the Finnish opening band Rubik’s set. They struck me as a Nordic version of The Format with a horn section and a bit of multitasking between floor toms and keyboards. The singer actually bore a striking resemblance to The Format front man, down to his hand claps and swagger.

Rubik’s rowdiness was fitting for the mixed climate of quiet music fans and bar goers alike, but by the time they exited the stage it was becoming apparent that even on a Sunday, a bar in Boston is a bold venue for the nature of the next two acts on the bill. I was becoming a bit nervous over how The One AM Radio would fare over the chatter in the back. The project composer Hrishikesh Hirway and his accompanying trio set up their minimal equipment up quickly, and were sitting behind their respective accordion, guitars and computer in no time. They twinkled through a beautiful set,  harmonies only slightly marred by the mob at the bar. I was especially impressed by clean and catchy folk influence of the songs they offered off their latest release “Here Anonymous.”

After a brief pause, Mike Kinsella took the stage, posing his characteristic question, “is there anything you want to talk about tonight?” The response was sheepish, so he dove humbly into the title track from New Leaves. The next time he posed the question of what to talk about though, the topic of his baby girl came up. When asked what she was going as for Halloween, Kinsella proudly explained that even though they would never pull it off in public, his daughter has a Hitler-esque mop of hair when combed over, and that he and his wife were planning on having a baby Hitler photo shoot. He also spoke about wanting to dress her up like baby Jesus to go trick or treating, but his wife already bought her a monkey costume.

Other questions posed by concert goers:

cg: What kind of shoes are you wearing?

mk: Brown.

cg: What kind of dog do you have?

mk: Brown.

cg: Is this your last tour?

mk: This isn’t really a tour, this is just hanging out.

As Mike played the rest of his painfully relatable tunes about the struggles and triumphs of average twenty somethings, it began to feel more and more like we were back in that comfortable basement around the corner. Most of the audience murmured along, snickering when the lyric “I’m tired of speaking up and speaking clearly so the idiots in the back can hear me” came along. In all, it was an enjoyable night and Mike was as charming and talented as ever. My only disappointment is that although New Leaves was recorded with a full band, the band only played at the release party. When the texture represented on the album was lost, there wasn’t much more than lyrical content to distinguish the new songs from old. It was just a guy, his guitar, and his songs. It wasn’t a tour, it was just hanging out. And although that may have disappointed my expectations of some sort of added grandeur to Owen’s performance of the year before, I wish more musicians wanted to just hang out with me.

Some of you may have caught the interview we ran with Nesey Gallons in July. While that interview focused mainly on Nesey’s influences for his new solo album Eyes & Eyes & Eyes ago, it briefly mentioned the comeback of the Elephant Six Collective. This comeback is marked with tours from the Music Tapes and last year’s Holiday Surprise Tour, but mostly by the September 8th release of the new Circulatory System album, Signal Morning. E6 is known for the way its members shuffle themselves into different line-ups within the collective, each with a unique sound, but all adhering to the characteristic E6 psych rock aesthetic.  Signal Morning is a collaborative project featuring members of The Olivia Tremor Control and Neutral Milk Hotel.

In Nesey’s interview, he mentioned “the idea of songs and sound world coming together.” From the start of the album, the Circulatory System starts to neatly stitch together the chaos and unpredictability of their subconscious soundscapes with the psych pop song structure. Signal Morning is split into two sides. The first side is a dreamlike flow between catchy riffs and pleasantly disorienting, distorted experimentation. Where side one leans toward classic psych-rock influence with a bit of an aversion to clean production, side two floats farther away from reality on a cloud of bells, tape manipulation, rhodes piano, and a chorus of spaced out voices. The lyrical themes of the album are appropriately of escapism and contemplation of universal oneness. The Breathing Universe asks “why not try breathing along with the universe?” and follows up the question with the supposition that “if enough want to move on/ this world will lift us up/ untangled from the trees.”

While the Circulatory System aren’t exactly doing anything new on Signal Morning, E6 fans will be pleased to hear a continuation of the collective’s experimentation in developing and expressing the sound land they know and love. Although the disc dropped on the 8th, fans will have to wait until October for the vinyl. It may be well worth it though, the first 300 shipped will be accompained by a bonus LP full of demo versions and alternative mixes.