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new-noise.net wrote:This is instrumental music at its weakest... blah blah blah, as posted above

Chris Herbert said on June 20th 2007 [report abuse]

Mogwai? Shame on her lazy head. This is a wonderful album, deft, beguiling and beautifully recorded. It breaks my heart to think of such thrilling and engaging music being so casually dismissed via a voguish distaste for a genre of music this album clearly elevates itself out of. A classic case of a reviewer sleepwalking through her duties. This album rocks multilayered bells.

Scum and Villainy said on June 20th 2007 [report abuse]

Music Journalism stops here...

Michael S. said on June 20th 2007 [report abuse]

Wow! She really doesn't like this album, does she? It's quite possible she doesn't think too highly of herself either, judging by this stream of incoherent ranting disguised as an album review. She clearly has no interest in music and I get the impression that she only writes these things to be nasty. Maybe she would like it more if Souvaris were sullen, pretentious and po-faced, just like she appears to be. They are a fine band and this is a great album.

simmo wrote:

gjhardwick wrote:I've edited down the review so that you can now use it in press quotes;

simmo wrote:"The album ... after listening to it several times ...imagine how the musicians involved ... remember ... your teeth. The songs... entirely; a situation when you’d crave this kind of music. This is ... music."

LOLZ

Gloria Gonzalez, Go Mag, February 2004 wrote:"The only danger that this trio is exposed to on their debut "The Pomegranate" is that, as they vigorously shake their cocktail of easy-listening choruses and interwoven poppy vocals and bluesy rock and they set about going through each and every one of their registers and retro sounds (from the cold and distant feel of Stereolab through to the irreverence and cheekiness of Elephant 6 and a Jim O'Rourke-style "anything goes...as long as its ironic or weird"); how they obstinate in weaving Caroline Nutley's warbles in and out of the masculine falsettos; their way of adding avalanches of keyboards and tolerating that John Goodwin changes rhythm whenever he fancies - as if the fact that they come from Chicago makes drummers do whatever they want when they want, then the only real danger is that this formula, which initially promises so much for its freshness, originality and playfulness, ends up blowing up in their hands. Handle sensibly."

"...they vigorously shake their cocktail of easy-listening choruses and interwoven poppy vocals and bluesy rock...from the cold and distant feel of Stereolab through to the irreverence and cheekiness of Elephant 6 and...Jim O'Rourke-style "anything goes"
...in weaving Caroline Nutley...in and out of the masculine falsettos; their way of
adding avalanches of keyboards...promises so much for its freshness, originality and playfulness,... Handle sensibly."

and tolerating that John Goodwin changes rhythm whenever he fancies - as if the fact that they come from Chicago makes drummers do whatever they want when they want,

kerble wrote:

simmo wrote:

gjhardwick wrote:I've edited down the review so that you can now use it in press quotes;

simmo wrote:"The album ... after listening to it several times ...imagine how the musicians involved ... remember ... your teeth. The songs... entirely; a situation when you’d crave this kind of music. This is ... music."

LOLZ

haha.

I've done that.


the review was translated from spanish, so make of that what you will:

Gloria Gonzalez, Go Mag, February 2004 wrote:"The only danger that this trio is exposed to on their debut "The Pomegranate" is that, as they vigorously shake their cocktail of easy-listening choruses and interwoven poppy vocals and bluesy rock and they set about going through each and every one of their registers and retro sounds (from the cold and distant feel of Stereolab through to the irreverence and cheekiness of Elephant 6 and a Jim O'Rourke-style "anything goes...as long as its ironic or weird"); how they obstinate in weaving Caroline Nutley's warbles in and out of the masculine falsettos; their way of adding avalanches of keyboards and tolerating that John Goodwin changes rhythm whenever he fancies - as if the fact that they come from Chicago makes drummers do whatever they want when they want, then the only real danger is that this formula, which initially promises so much for its freshness, originality and playfulness, ends up blowing up in their hands. Handle sensibly."

and the version that was always in our press kit for three years following:

"...they vigorously shake their cocktail of easy-listening choruses and interwoven poppy vocals and bluesy rock...from the cold and distant feel of Stereolab through to the irreverence and cheekiness of Elephant 6 and...Jim O'Rourke-style "anything goes"
...in weaving Caroline Nutley...in and out of the masculine falsettos; their way of
adding avalanches of keyboards...promises so much for its freshness, originality and playfulness,... Handle sensibly."

Even when a song lost my attention the keyboard player had me captivated. His movement reminded me of a mushroom trip or mild autism. Whatever it was, it was fascinating.

a pink-shirted brian wilson lookalike with his guitar strung high.

No matter what their press kit says, this is all about as intelligent and avant-garde as Steve Vai. In short, it’s the sound of a bunch of exceptionally talented high-schoolers jamming in their garage and taking pleasure in fucking with people’s minds. Bogged down with self-important notions of intelligence and “art,” Gateway to Dignity may have chops to spare, but unfortunately that doesn’t add up to anything you’d necessarily want to listen to.

In 1994, the Village Voice wrote: If Pearl Jam is alternative rock's Styx, Five-Eight is Pablo Cruise.

I waited a few days and then played the album again.

To say it wasn't quite the same is putting it mildly. Everything that I thought I liked from the first couple of listens I now disliked intently. INTENTLY. What I used to think was at the very least a good background album to wash dishes or do my pilates to now drove me batshit to the point of distress. All the symptoms were there: the clammy hands, the flushed cheeks, and the shortness of breath. I sat there, with my allegorical pants around my ankles, waiting for the aural spoo that never came (pun intended). I was incensed and appalled (with a side order of relief that I had a bad review to write as the good ones tend to be boring as shit).

Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against ambience. But it's really hard to pull it off without it sounding like self-indulgent bullshit. These assholes didn't even try to hide their narcissism. It's the only emo-instrumental album I can lay claim to hearing that makes me just as frustrated as lyrical emo. They let their guitars cry for them. Pussies. Yeah, yeah, I'm sure their mothers love them but I bet they hate the album. I'd track them down to confirm this, but they didn't have the sack to include their last names, possibly sensing such repercussions.

Their album's in a store somewhere, but don't buy it. They're on Myspace, but don't be their friend. They're probably hungry, but for the love of God don't feed them or they'll never go away.

Postscript: This album came out last year and I'm still pissed.

It’s that time of the night: the prerequisite post-whatever band takes the floor. Drowned Out spurt such faux-angst Slint-rock that I’m wondering whether this 5pm-start gig has a naptime scheduled.