New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Category: free download

A Playful Change of Pace for New Orleans Chanteuse Carsie Blanton

On one hand, for Carsie Blanton to put out a record of Lynchian retro rock is kind of like the Squirrel Nut Zippers making a heavy metal album. But the Zippers are great musicians – who knows, maybe they’d pull it off. Turns out Blanton is just as adept at allusive, nocturnal early 60s Nashville pop as the oldtimey swing she made her mark in. Her latest album, So Ferocious, is streaming at her webpage and available as a name-your-price download, the best advertising she could possibly want for her upcoming show at 7 PM on Feb 21 at the Mercury. Cover is $10.

Although it’s a switch for her, Blanton is just as badass and funny as she is out in front of a swing band. She sings and plays uke here, backed by guitarist Pete Donnelly, keyboardist Pat Firth, bassist Joe Plowman and drummer Jano Rix. One of the funniest tracks is Fat and Happy, a return to Blanton’s oldtimey days: the theme is “just wait and see,” and the way it turns out is too LMAO to give away.

Fever Dream builds a surreal New Orleans after-the-storm scenario, darkly spare bass paired against sepulchral toy piano. Hot Night offers a bouncy, energetic contrast, spiced with a distant brass chart; if Springsteen really wanted to write an oldschool soul song, he would have done it like this. Another nocturnal soul ballad, Lovin Is Easy pairs a spare string section against similarly low-key electric piano and Blanton’s unselfconsciously matter-of-fact, tender vocals.

Ravenous, a chirpy look back at adolescent friskiness, has a roller-rink charm that brings to mind both the Kinks and the Cucumbers, a mashup that Blanton revisits on the understatedly biting title track.. She turns the clock back anothe twenty years in Scoundrel, a coy Phil Spector pop tale about a couple of troublemakers.

Musically speaking, the album’s best track is probably The Animal I Am, a defiant individualist’s anthem set to artsy Jeff Lynne-style Nashville gothic pop. The album’s darkest track is To Be Known, part brooding Jimmy Webb chamber pop, part early BeeeGees existentialist lament. “Isn’t it al you ever wanted, to be alone?” Blanton ponders. Or is it “To be known?”. There’s also Vim and Vigor, a funnier take on what Amy Winehouse was up to before she self-destructed. Download this irrepressibly fun, dynamic mix and get to know one of the real genuine individualists in retro rock and many other styles as well.

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Raptly Tuneful Middle Eastern-Flavored Pastorales From Surface to Air

It would have been fun to see Surface to Air at Barbes last night. The trio – guitarist Jonathan Goldberger, who rarely plays acoustic, alongside bassist Jonti Siman and tabla player Rohin Khemani – also doesn’t play out much either. Their sparse, warmly tuneful, hypnotically intriguing album is available as a name-your-price download from Bandcamp.

The opening track is aptly titled Simple: built on an elegantly catchy rainy-day minor-key theme played with meticulous touch by Goldberger, it centers around a kinetic tabla rhythm. Heysatan is even more spare, Goldberger’s gentle, purposeful, catchy tune again centered around the rhythm section’s steady anchor. Siman’s similarly easygoing bass intro is a clever fake: as the briskly saturnine, Palestinian-tinged theme unwinds, it sounds like an acoustic sketch for a David Lynch soundtrack set in the most war-torn territory in Gaza. Siman’s drone anchors a suspenseful interlude that Goldberger spins and spirals out of with hints of Django Reinhardt.

The slow, somber Odalisque is sort of a bolero counterpart to a Trio Joubran-style Middle Eastern dirge. Matanzas is Goldberger’s platform for using a catchy, melancholy flamenco-inflected theme to set up a swoopy, morose bass solo. With its steady sway, Arcana follows a steadily crescendoing folk noir tangent that brightens as it goes along.

The Sleep in Your Eyes opens with a dusky, sepulchral improvisation, builds to a spare, galloping pulse and then recedes back to spacious, pensive solo guitar. The final track is the ballad Waltz for Celia, the closest thing to postbop here, spiced with the occasional levantine or south Asian riff over rather ominous low-end percussion, with a gracefully uneasy bass solo.

Is this Middle Eastern music? Sure. Indian music? Rhythmically, yes. Jazz? Why not? Download this delicious disc and decide for yourself. Thanks to Barbes for booking this fantastic band, who otherwise would have flown under the radar here. Goldberger is in constant demand in New York as a sideman and plays with a ton of groups, notably violinist Dana Lyn’s psychedelic, ecologically themed Mother Octopus outfit.

Los Disolados Blast Into the Latino Punk Festival at Don Pedro’s This Weekend

Punk rock has been balkanized and co-opted so much over the years that it’s a wonder there are any bands left who are true to the fearless, funny, politically-fueled spirit that made punk so much fun and so relevant in the first place. But there are. Sometimes you have to look for them. One good place to find a bunch of them this weekend is Don Pedro’s, where there’s a latino punk festival happening this Friday and Saturday. The Friday night lineup starts at around midnight and includes shorts sets by AtruthNamatay sa ingay, Boston’s Los Disolados and Chicago’s Autonomy.

Los Disolados’ new album, sarcastically titled Bonus Trax, is up at Bandcamp as a name-your-price download. The power trio includes guitarist Ghandi G, guitarist/drummer Roberspierre and bassist Mateo W. Everybody in the band contributes vocals; lyrics are in Spanish and as gleefully grim as you would expect. The first track, Atentado Terrorista opens with a blare of sampled martial brass-band music and then the band kicks in with a chromatically-charged menace. The vocals blast back and forth; you can imagine the crowd at a show roaring “terrorista” back at them. Then there’s a icy, echoey guitar solo.

The band gives Profecia Malparida a hard-hitting midtempo minor-key intro and then hits a machinegunning sprint, then goes back again. No Humano is another slow-then-lickety-split number with a blend of watery and gritty guitars. Dusted is noisy and really short, as is the band’s signature song, Disolados. The cut before that, Maquina de Guerra is the most oldschool.

On one hand, songs about terrorist attacks, drug damage, inhumanity, war machines and inscecapable solitude have all been done before: you might be able to find one of each on a random UK Subs album from the 80s. On the other hand, Los Disolados put a lot of imagination into their songs and have a sound that doesn’t rip off a thousand older bands. And their music reflects the state of the world we live in. If you’re not comfortable in that world, you’re not alone. If that’s not punk rock, nothing is. Bring your friends and make new ones at Don Pedro’s this weekend.

Funk Pterodactyl Air Out Their Trippy, Danceable New Album at One of Brooklyn’s Best Outdoor Concert Series

There’s an awesome free monthly concert series this summer at the People’s Garden at the corner of Broadway and Greene in Bushwick, run by the folks behind deliciously slinky psychedelic cumbia band Consumata Sonidera. This month’s installment kicks off at around 3 or so this Saturday afternoon, July 23 and features both salsa dura band Grupo Descarrilao and the psychedelically cinematic Funk Pterodactyl. It’s not clear who’s playing first, but both bands are good.The closest train is the J to Kosciusko St., there’ll be food trucks and delicious vegetarian tamales available, and all-you-can-drink keg beer for $10. What a party, right?

Funk Pterodactyl have a brand-new album, Heights, streaming at Bandcamp and available as a name-your-price download. The opening cut, Starlit, kicks off a distantly uneasy, airconditioned Mulholland Drive noir nocturne, the theme moving to the background with Wesley Maples’ sax airy and calm behind frontman/lyricist Yahzeed Divine’s positivity-charged rap. When the lyrics drop out, Maples keeps the enigmatic, misty ambience going. By contrast, Super Funky is true to its title, with a tightly wound, pouncing oldschool groove from Alejandro Chapa’s bass and Ian Barnet’s drums, Eitan Akman’s chicken-scratch guitar contrasting with Cale Hawkins’ bubbly keys.

Without Dreaming is a psychedelic blend of the first two tracks’ styles, with pillowy vocals from Sarah Mount – listen real close to the bassline and you’ll hear a classic Ian Dury party anthem. Yahzeed Divine’s rapidfire Raekwon-ish wordplay adds a devious element to Glowing Eyes, a mashup of twinkling boudoir soul and straight-up, no-nonsense funk. As far as the final cut, Icarus, you know what that one’s about, right? The band builds it artfully, slowly shifting out of a simple, atmospheric, trickily rhythmic theme and then back, a soft landing for a high flyer. There will be plenty of highs like that at Saturday’s show in the park. 

Walter Ego Brings His Hilarious, Edgy Marathon Recording Project to a Saturday Night Show

Walter Ego could be characterized as Elliott Smith with a better sense of humor and command of a more diverse number of styles. Bass is Walter Ego’s main axe, but he also plays pretty much every other instrument you’d want in a rock band. Last year, he challenged himself to record two songs a month. The result is his 24 in 2015 playlist, streaming at his site and available as a free download. He’s playing his dozen favorite tracks from the project this Saturday night, March 26 at 7 PM at Sidewalk.

Much as a lot of these songs are very funny, they’re also relevant. Walter Ego doesn’t suffer fools gladly, he abhors gun violence and blind obedience. The project’s first songs are typically just a single instrument and vocals; as it goes on, the songs get more fleshed out, Walter Ego as a one-man orchestra. The first number, Triangle Player, is a characteristically tragicomic one. See, Walter Ego is also a classical music fan. This elegant piano waltz contemplates the job of an orchestral triangle player, who doesn’t have a very hard job…yet it has some unique frustrations. The second January tune, Why Can’t It Stay Exactly Like This Forever is guitar and vocals, a subtly sarcastic look at how change might not be such a bad thing after all:

Dylan goes electric
John Henry is replaced
She loves you not, she doesn’t care
Dylan stays acoustic
John Henry keeps his job
She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah

The punchline after that, like a lot of them here, is too good to spoil.

February’s first song is a darkly chromatic noir cabaret piano number, We’re Going In the Wrong Direction, with another metaphorically-charged lyric and one of the album’s more vividly icy vocals. Be My Enemy also has a noir cabaret feel, an irresistibly amusing reference to an iconic Pink Floyd song, and the kind of subtly savage political message that will recur many times throughout these songs.

March’s first song is In Threes, an art-rock piano ballad, Walter Ego having fun with numbers and celebrity death myths. The second one is The Banishment Button, a swinging phaser-guitar rocker that seems like it’s going to be punk rock but has a lot more depth than that. April’s recordings include the darkly catchy art-rock anthem Everything’s Captured, weighing the “pros” and cons of the surveillance state, and Do Over, a sardonic new wave vignette weighing the dilemmas of ontogeny recapitulating philogeny.

The diptych Difficult Street is a slinky, sarcastic organ-and-drums number told from the point of view of a spoiled one-tenth-of-one-percenter. After that, the Moody Blues-esque folk-rock anthem Making Money – a droll counterfeiter’s tale – makes a good segue. June is represented by This Is What Happens, a coy right-brain-versus-left-brain scenario, and the absolutely brilliant I Woke Up In the Modern World, a vintage Springsteenesque sendup to paleoconservatives.

Set to swinging parlor piano pop, My Manifesto offers a subtly creepy look inside the head of a Unabomber type. If You Could See Inside My Head continues the theme – as goofy as this shuffle is, in a way it’s even creepier: “I guess that you think that amatuer brain surgery is fun,” the narrator taunts.

The surrealistically bouncy Radio Backwards is a twistedly hilarious counterpart to Elvis Costello’s Radio Radio. Say What’s On Your Mind take a snidely slinkys slap upside the head of a passive-aggressive type, one of the few songs here where Walter Ego really cuts loose on the bass.

Who Says I Have to Be Consistent is one of the funniest and most spot-on tracks here: as usual, it’s the song’s implication that’s funniest. The punchy psych-pop tune What Was I Thinking About? introduces horns for the first time; it’s one of the most poignant numbers here, bringing to mind Lee Feldman‘s recent work. By contrast, the swaying paisley underground-tinged White Bones offers a cruelly accurate answer to anyone who might dispute the science that establishes Africa as the birthplace of humankind.

Electric lead guitar makes its entramce in The Red Mercury Blues. a salute to a dangerous element that’s not easily labeled. I Am Here Now is the most surreal number here, a vamping Velvets-ish look at a post-Facebook world, with a trick ending.

The playlist winds up with three of its strongest tracks. With its jungly drums, blippy organ and synth brass, Welcome to Us blends elements of Afrobeat and psychedelia: finally, twenty tracks into the album, Walter Ego takes a guitar solo, and it’s good! Give Me a Gun For Christmas is just plain hilarious as a spoof of Xmas songs in general. And Martin Luther King Zombie Killer is just about as amusing, imagining a secret life for the civil rights leader, who “had a dream but also had a nightmare.” As usual, the subtext is murderously funny, and cruelly accurate. If the best album of the year is measured in terms of both quality and quantity, it’s going to be next to impossible for anyone to top this in 2016.

Above the Moon Bring Their Edgy Intensity to a Jersey City Triplebill Friday Night

This Friday, March 11 starting at 8 there’s a solid bill of three female-fronted acts at the Citizen, 332 2nd St. in Jersey City, about six blocks from the Grove St. Path station. The opening band, Pepperwine, works a sassy saloon blues vibe. Headliner Debra Devi, one of the most exhilarating and bluesily purist lead guitarists in psychedelic rock, plays a rare solo set.. In between there’s Above the Moon. who have an edgy, very 90s sound, blending noisy indie rock and propulsive powerpop in the same vein as Versus. Frontwoman/guitarist Kate Griffin has an edge in her voice that brings to mind Fontaine Toups and Ursa Minor‘s Michelle Casillas, although Above the Moon have a heavier sound, with their two guitars.

Their debut ep is up at Bandcamp as a free download. The opening track, Coat, has Griffin and lead player James Harrison’s guitars punching at each other up to the big, catchy chorus where they join forces. It’s an escape anthem of sorts: “It’s so warm I’ll leave my coat behind, for someone else to find, I won’t need it anymore,” Griffin asserts.

Bassist Shawn Murphy and drummer John Gramuglia give Easy a brisk groove that anchors it rather than letting it drift into skittish Strokes territory. Out of the Woods,with its burning, multitracked downstroke guitars and Griffin’s calmly warm vocals, is the closest thing to Versus here;  The final cut is a kiss-off number, Loving & Leaving, Griffin clear and resolute over a web of stabbing, bellicose minor-key guitar.

These songs have a sense of defiance and optimism despite it all. Blast this on your way home from work or school and feel good about yourself again. Discovering bands like Above the Moon makes all the drudge work of a music blog worth the effort.

A Smartly Enigmatic New Album From the Shapeshifting Parlor Walls

Parlor Walls – part of the Famous Swords art collective – call themselves trash jazz. It’s a modest handle for their ferociously kinetic, shapeshifting, noisy songs. Much as their sound is distinctly teens, their esthetic looks back to the no wave era of James Chance & the Contortions and Lydia Lunch’s various projects, if with a lot more focus and emphasis on melody and memorable hooks. In music-school terms, their songs are pretty much through-composed. Not only do verses and choruses tend not to repeat: the music just flows, or leaps and bounds, rather than following a distinct progression. Tempos and meters shift in a split-second.

Onstage they’re a lot of fun to watch. Drummer Chris Mulligan anchors the music with a mighty rumble and crash while playing organ, ambitiously, with his left hand. Frontwoman/guitarist Alyse Lamb spins and pounces and fires off shards of noise one second, then evilly lingering, noirish phrases the next. Alto saxophonist Kate Mohanty provides a calm yet similarly brooding presence with her resonant, minimalist lines and astringent, boxcutter tone. Parlor Walls also find a way to join a lot of really good lineups onstage. This Thursday, January 14 they’re at Aviv at 496 Morgan Ave. (Division/Beadel) in Williamsburg starting at 8 with the restlessly noisy, hypnotic, surprisingly groove-driven, bitingly lyrical Pill, then the more assaultive, noisier Guardian Alien, Parlor Walls at around 10, darkly psychedelic art-rock legend Martin Bisi and finally guitarist Arian Shafiee of dance-punks Guerilla Toss at the top of the bill. Cover is $10.

Parlor Walls’ latest album, Cut is up as a name-your-price download at Bandcamp. It opens with Bloodsport, a maze of guitar loops quickly giving way to a mashup of circling indie classical riffs and what sounds like wry faux urban corporate pop. The Key, clocking in at just a little over two minutes, sets haphazardly lingering guitar, warping organ and sax over a drum stampede.

Mulligan and Mohanty work a creepy/jaunty contrast for all it’s worth on Me Me My, Lamb adding a similar dichotomy with her menacing guitar flares and enigmatically playful vocals: “Push me out,” is the mantra. The build up to bell-like hypnotic ambience over Mulligan’s tersely dancing drums as the surprisingly dreampop-influenced Sundress reaches toward escape velocity is a lot of fun. Likewise, the final track, Birthday, which rings and clangs as it follows an unexpectedly warm, Afrobeat-tinged triplet groove before a tempo change, Lamb and Mohanty throwing off sparks over Mulligan’s pulsing syncopation. Get this album, crank it and revel in the fact that we live in such uneasy, interesting times.

Sweet Soubrette Release One of 2015’s Best Concerts As a Live Album

It’s a hot indian summer night outside Joe’s Pub, the shadows from the dark tower a block away just beginning to suck the light from the streets to the east of Astor Place. Inside, the man in the long black coat stretches out his legs underneath a table about twenty feet from the stage. With the back of his hand, he wipes his brow: he’s overdressed for this time of year. Across the table a couple beam and whoop it up. Somebody in the band – the drummer, as it turns out -is a friend, and they’re there to make sure he gets props.

Sweet Soubrette take the stage to what will be the most rousing applause of the night (Kotorino will play a ferocious, lustrously latin-tinged set of artsy, noir rock afterward). The man in the long black coat pulls his recorder from his pocket, presses a button and glances at it quizzically. As the lights dim, he pulls out his phone, illuminating the gadget’s digital display. Exhaling, dismayed, he clicks off both devices, pockets them in his coat and leans back to watch the show.

Frontwoman/ukulele player Ellia Bisker opens the set with a bouncy number, All That Glitters, her voice more weary than brassy as she channels the cynicism of a gold-digger working her latest mark. With NYU – where a thousand undergrad women have signed up as employees of an online prostitution ring in order to pay their tuition – a few blocks away, the song resonates in a new context. Next is Sweet Time, a soul ballad recast as oldtimey Americana on the wings of Heather Cole’s violin. “The song kind of undermines the message…just so you know,” Bisker tells the crowd coyly.

The man in the long black coat is restless, but Bisker is on a roll with her banter. “We have songs about a lot of normal things…like most bands,” she explains, deadpan and serious. “But we also have songs about books – a lot of books.” She explains that this one was inspired by Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, then launches into a propulsive take of the moody Burning City, the horn section – John Waters on trumpet, Cecil Scheib on trombone and Erin Rogers on alto sax- bobbing and weaving.

“So you have all these experiences…but you retain nothing, and you learn nothing, and nothing helps you,” the bandleader tells the audience, and then begins the achingly waltzing, saturnine Wake Up When, a chronicle of missed chances and lost hopes. By now the man in the long black coat is on the edge of his seat, watching as the lush wash of strings and horns rises.

“You come to a moment in your life, a crossroads…decisions, and you know what whatever you choose, you’re going to regret it,” Bisker continues – at this point, a pattern is clear, this concert has a theme and a trajectory:

The ghost ship of the life you didn’t choose
Is the one you know will never carry you
There are moments you get a glimpse
From the corner of your eye
And all you can do is watch it sail on by

Bisker misses a downstroke on her uke at one point; crushing poignancy, all the more so for not being part of the plan.

The show takes a turn into less harrowing territory with a sardonically pouting new soul ballad, (You Don’t) Talk to Me, awash in oldschool Memphis-style horns. Then drummer Darrell Smith hits a trip-hop beat as the group make their way through Big Celebrity and its sarcastic John Waters-esque allusions.

“We’re coming to the end, not just the end of our time here, but the end of our time at all, really. I’m just a truth sayer,” Bisker relates before Night Owls, another waltz. “Blow out the candle, we see in the dark,” she intones with a quiet defiance over the wash of orchestration. The concert ends with the Anais Nin-inspired anthem What’s My Desire: “She made the unspeakable speakable, and we admire her for that,” Bisker tells everyone.

Months later, the man in the long black coat reaches to his Macbook and types in Sweet Soubrette’s webpage. What might they be up to? As it turns out, Bisker is busy this month. Sweet Soubrette are at Rock Shop on January 14 at 10 PM for a $10 cover, with hauntingly anthemic folk noir/janglerock bandleader Jessie Kilguss opening the night at 8. Kotorino, to which Bisker lends her torchy harmonies, are at Barbes the previous night, the 13th, at 8. And her murderously entertaining parlor-pop murder ballad duo Charming Disaster, with Kotorino’s Jeff Morris are at Pete’s on the 9th, also at 8.

Clicking on the Sweet Soubrette music page, the man in the long black coat does a doubletake. That concert at Joe’s Pub was recorded and has been released as a live album, a name-your-price download at bandcamp! So much for not having enough memory in the recorder back in September! And the band also have a new single, Take It Easy, an ironically uneasy parlor-pop number.

Another Haunting Knockout From Marianne Dissard

Marianne Dissard is one of this era’s great cult artists. Known as a connoisseur of desert rock, she’s equally adept at new wave, but doesn’t limit herself to those two genres. Born in France, she relocated to Tucson in her teens and quickly laid the foundation for longstanding collaborations with Giant Sand and Sergio Mendoza, resulting not only in unimpeachable cred but also a deep and distinctive body of work. Perhaps ironically, for someone so tireless and endowed with so much joie de vivre, the pixieish, charismatic contralto singer’s best album to date is her most somber. Years of relentless touring eventually took their toll, and in 2013, Dissard basically crashed. The result was The Cat. Not Me, a majestically orchestrated art-rock masterpiece that, as a portrait of complete emotional depletion, ranks with anything Leonard Cohen or Ian Curtis ever wrote.

One considerably more upbeat constant throughout those years of touring has been that Dissard has always documented the various bands she’s played with. Not with live albums, but by taking whoever she had on the road with her into the studio in various cities throughout Europe, as the schedule would allow, to knock out a quick, tight snapshot of wherever her music happened to be at the moment. Her latest release in that series, available in a neat hybrid vinyl/cd format streaming at Bandcamp, is Cologne Vier Takes, an intimate, stripped-down trio set with Yan Péchin on guitars and Allyson Ezell on backing vocals, recorded in a single whirlwind afternoon between gigs earlier this year..

The opening track, Oiseau (Bird), is devastating – literally. Dissard intones her loaded images of the hapless creature hitting the window and then collapsing with a wounded understatement that permeates the quieter material from this session. Underneath, Péchin builds a richly textured web of electric and acoustic guitars, like the early Velvets if they’d been more elegant and raised on the Arizona/Mexico border. The gospel-fueled trip-hop original on The Cat. Not Me was good, but this is far more harrowing. Dissard and Péchin work the same dynamic, a little louder, on the defiant, sarcastically titled Mouton Bercail (Domestic Sheep).

Likewise, Les Confettis gets transformed from bouncy post-Blonde on Blonde Dylan into broodingly swaying, lushly echoey folk-rock, finally rising to a burning guitar crescendo after Dissard has chronicled every shard of torn paper: death by a thousand twisted little heartbreaks. The version of Les Draps Sourds (The Drunken Sheets) is Dissard at her surrealistic best, the deep-space menace of the guitar in contrast with her wry account of the kind of interruptions lovers sometimes have to deal with at the least opportune moment.

Tortured, distorted guitar underpins Dissard’s similarly tormented lyrics on the take of Election here. It has the presence of a full band, even with just the one instrument and Dissard’s typical vocal understatement – she’s as brilliant a singer as she is a lyricist, in this case in French, although she also writes fluently in English and German. The album ends with the whisperingly venomous kiss-off ballad Cayenne, another rapt blend of vocal and guitar nuance. There’s no other short album released this year that can compare with this.

Not to distract you from appreciating this album, but there’s also a free download of Dissard playing a similarly intimate trio show live on WFMU in 2009, up as a free download at the Free Music Archive, that you should grab immediately: as of today, over 3500 people have already beaten you to it. Dissard also promises a lavishly packaged best-of compilation in 2016, and hopefully a full-length memoir as well.

Comic Relief at the Expense of the Goths…If There Are Any Left

This is just too funny to leave sitting on the hard drive. Drop whatever you’re doing and grab a free download of Raleigh rocker Scott Phillips a.k.a. the Monologue Bombs‘ single Eighties Night. Hardly ever does a spoof this cruelly spot-on come over the transom here: cheesy fake Beethoven, Trenchcoat Mafia faux-angst and a perfect snapshot of what we had to endure at certain venues until the goth thing timed out and was supplanted by emo. The b-side sounds like Mellencamp at his darkest, but with keys instead of guitars. The Monologue Bombs open a good twinbill on December 29 at 6 (six) PM at Freddy’s, followed at 7:30 by iconic noir chanteuse Bliss Blood ‘s creepy torch song project with similarly dark flamenco-jazz/noir guitarist Al Street.