Dallas Clayton, Author Extraordinaire.

The Greatest Writer Alive from Dallas Clayton on Vimeo.

Jinglin and-a janglin.

The past two weeks have been unfathomly (overwhelming)(busy)(exciting) so I haven't had much time to post, much less share all the (amazing) (wonderful) changes that my life has suddenly made. More on this subject will appear soon, pinky swear.

For now, I'll share my recent music review for the company with which I'm now writing editorials. I was very happy to recieve this particular assignment, since it was one of my favorite albums last year.


Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros,
Up From Below


The debut release from Los Angeles based Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Up From Below, was a sure fire top 10 of ‘09 pick for any hardcore hippie loving indie fan. For the virgin listener, this album poses an assorted collection of sounds, never defining which turn they’ll take next, but rousing a sense of enchantment and unquestionable confidence that it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

Starting off with a bang, the album’s opener, “40 Day Dream” evokes memories of Arcade Fire’s dynamic debut album Funeral; complete with clapping, steady rhythms, strings and compelling lyrics, “She’s got jumper cable lips, she got sunset on her breath now, I inhaled just a little bit, now I got no fear of death now.” Slightly seasoned with the flavor of the 1960’s and backed by a group of roughly 12 musicians, it’s an engulfing kick start that inspires curiosity of what’s to follow.

Ala the immortal style of Polyphonic Spree, “Janglin” opens with a childlike chorus of “mms” and “pops” that eventually intertwine with the song’s refrain, yet somehow each vocal manages to maintain their own anomalous quality of sound. A playful beat only adds to the enjoy ability of the song while impressively balancing heavy piano chords and strong horn interludes. “Janglin” takes a room that’s stacked full of vocals and instruments, then spits out a sound that’s perfectly clear; each element standing on it’s own to build an absolutely encompassing sensation.

The fifth track, “Home,” is undeniably the album’s Ace of Spades. An old-timey folk jam that connects co-ed vocals, horns, acoustic guitars, slap-happy beats, whistles, hoots & hollers with drippingly sweet lyrics like, ‘Home is where I’m with you.' “Home” carries a sense of happiness and simplicity that simply can’t be matched.

It’s tempting to peg this album as falling into indie-folk or alt-country, but let’s not forget the album’s esoteric magic carpet ride, “Desert Song” or “Black Water” in which Ebert’s haunting vocals at times seem to channel the late, great Elvis; or even the Spanish sung “Kisses over Babylon” or “Om Nashi Me,” a Sanskrit chant song. With so many twists and turns, it’s impossible to nail the endless depth of this album to any particular pseudo-genre.

Consistently throughout the progression of Up From Below, each track sustains an air of magic and mystery, and maintains a dizzying sense of wonder, even at it’s darkest moments. With each song acting as a chapter of it’s own, Up From Below is less of a collection of songs, and more of an adventurous storybook that keeps you turning the page, eager to discover where it will take you next.

Album Review - Copyright © Caroline Bolter, 2010.

Lately.

It's not much, but it's all mine.

I recently was asked to write a review for an online music community that focuses on independent artists and labels. As excited as I am, I'm already feeling the pressure of writing something that I exchange for actual non-Monopoly money. I am completely aware that I have a long way to go in terms of skill, as music reviews are really an art in themselves, with a specific style and nuance different from straightforward editorials.

I've been instructed that ordinarily I will be seeking out indie artists to review on my own, but this time I was given the specific assignment of reviewing Tokyo Police Club's latest LP, Champ. As I close my eyes and jump blindly into a world I'm unsure of, I offer to you, my first review :


"It's good to be back..."

A well anticipated follow-up to their 2008 LP, Elephant Shell, Tokyo Police Club's latest release, Champ, has already proven itself to be a title-worthy winner.

Opening track "Favourite Food," sets the album's tone, but sneakily not until the second half of the song. There's a detectable hint of growth right off the bat as it transforms from a simple intro track into a delicious up tempo pop tune. Even though the formula seems recognizable (gradually building rhythms and upbeat tempos) it's easy to anticipate that each song to follow will be a step away from the TPC we're already so familiar with.

It's hard not to play along once the toe-tapping beat strikes up in "Bambi," an electro-pop mix that combines impressive guitar melodies, clever hooks and start-stop rhythms into a well-blended dance anthem. Don't be surprised when you find yourself clapping along in triplicate form before even finishing the first go-round.

"Your only souvenir is a suitcase full of sand...But when you feel like you're a million, then I feel like I'm a grand," Monks croons in the crush worthy "Hands Reversed." The album's most ballad-esque track is as devastatingly gentle as a warm summer breeze, carrying a sound reminiscent of days spent blowing dandelions into the wind, while drowning subtly in the words of a heartbreaking childhood romance.

As semi-solid as it is, the entire album bears no preparation for the second to last track, "Frankenstein," as it peels back the curtain to show the growth that TPC has undergone in the last two years. Jumping right into a startling, all-encompassing melody with deep bass undertones, hypnotic beats and synthesized instrumentation, "Frankenstein" churns out a sound that's capable of sending goose bumps right down your spine, ten seconds in. I only wish they would have saved this gem to be the final track, as it teases in anticipation for what TPC might have in store next time around...

Champ finds Tokyo Police Club crossing over into a new era; a band noticeably more comfortable in their own skin, having lengthened their songs, strengthened their construction and explored their own capabilities. This record takes you away to an indie-pop landscape filled with dreamy childhood innocence showing signs of maturity as it progresses, leaving you with a band that has begun to ripen, much like their sound.

- © Caroline Bolter

Listen to my favorite track from Champ:

...and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Beep.

Ring Ring...Ring Ring...

Never in the 10 or so years I've been using cell phones, did I ever expect them to have any major impact on deciding what path my life goes down. I've never treated them with the respect they truly deserve, but only because of my own naiveté towards the magnitude of their power.

Two weeks ago, I went through a first interview with a job that I could easily describe as a dream; a step in the right direction towards what I think I really would like to spend the rest of my life doing. My application was a shot in the dark, since it's a jump from the TV/Film industry (which I have been working in the last 7 years) to the music industry, one that I have virtually no contacts or professional experience in. Someone even asked me who my contacts were in order to land this interview in the first place, because apparently it's not the easiest battle to feat. I suppose I should reveal specifics; are you ready for it? The job is to be the assistant to the Vice-President of Music Licensing for Television and Film at Interscope-Geffen-A&R Records. Yeah. My thoughts exactly.

After 2 weeks of no follow-up from my first interview, I had pretty much written off ever hearing from them again. That was my first mistake. I often forget that in the corporate world (and being under the umbrella of Universal Music Group - this is definitely a corporate position) the hiring process can sometimes take a lengthy amount of time, depending.

Last Thursday evening, a voicemail notice popped up on my cell phone screen, which I immediately called to check. It was my friend Candace, calling from Texas to say hi, and shoot the shit. Good to hear her voice. But wait, my call didn't end; there was another message, one that was from the HR rep that I initially interviewed with at Interscope. He was calling to see if I could come in on that Friday (note : this was Thursday evening that I'm hearing this message) to meet with the hiring manager. And then the time stamp : Message recorded at 10:30am, Wednesday morning. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. I frantically called his office, even though it being after hours, left him a message explaining that I had just received word and I was completely available to come in the following day, or any day the next week.

Friday comes. No return call. I call again and leave a second message. "Hi...It's Caroline...still available this afternoon or anytime next week. Thanks much..."

Friday ends. No return call, leading me into a weekend of wrestling between the thoughts that missing this message may have entirely screwed me for life and "No, I'm sure they have just been busy and are going to get back to me first thing Monday."

Monday comes. I call for the third time, like a gal who hasn't heard from the blind date that she thought "went really well" and is just calling to "check in" (ugh), but this time the interviewer answers. "Hi...It's Caroline..." He already knew exactly who it was. I'm not sure what I said, and specifically what he said, all I heard were scattered words here and there, each one like a tiny cannonball shooting flaming metal orbs straight into my heart. "Zero-ed in on another candidate" , "coming in to finalize tomorrow", "we'll let you know if it doesn't work out"....

36 hours. I missed the message by 36 hours. It only took 36 hours for my life to jam it's foot on the brakes and slam the Interscope door in my face.

Everyone (everyone = my mom, my dad) keeps saying, "Well, nothing is completely done quite yet, so you never know..." That's really just a mom and dad's way of saying, "Shit, honey. That blows."

The only valuable lesson I've gotten out of this situation is to really acknowledge the power of communication mediums. If an email accidentally gets looked over, a phone call returned just a bit too late, you never know what weight it could hold.

What if the next time the phone rings it's your Aunt Ida calling to tell you there is a plane flying right above your house that has blown out it's last reserve engine and your future is sitting in aisle seat 12C? And that you should probably get out before it's too late?

Eh, I'll just let it go to voicemail.

Can Caroline come out and Playa?

{that's me in pdr, trick.}
I mentioned a few posts back that I've been spending quite a bit of time with a whole new crop of friends lately, which with no surprise has continued to be a wonderful investment of my time. It just so happens that the majority of this group lives in a little area of west Los Angeles called Playa del Rey, which is just a hop/skip down the road from where I currently hang my red knitted hat. (Technically, there are only 4.58 miles between my front door and the edge of the sand.) With all of the time I've been in and out of PDR lately, it's starting to feel as homey as my favorite yellow hoodie (which much to my chagrin, I recently misplaced, so if you see it, please tell it to call home.)

I have to admit, I'm starting to think this little alcove of a neighborhood is one of the best kept secrets of L.A. Sure, the east side has it's own appeal; it has some of the best little bookstores I've found to date. However, I've never desired to live in east L.A., which could be sub-consciously attributed to my mother's impression that anything east of La Brea is "where Cheech is from", though I chock it up to my intense desire to be within running distance to the water. (Note : I did not say beach.)(Also note : I don't run.) I've always had such a strong fascination and internal drawl to the Pacific Ocean, and being more than a few miles away just wouldn't feel right.

But I digress, per usual.

Playa is a tiny beach town that for some reason or another, is actually within reasonable financial reach. (Note : Something I've heard of but am unfamiliar with.) My friends whom call it home theorize that the affordablity is attributed to it's semi-adjacent proximity to LAX's flight path. But, all the days and nights I've spent in this little gem, I don't recall hearing anything at all (which says a lot for a soundie like me.)

One of my friends is gunning for me to take my little PDR-lust-affair to the next level and officially become a local. Who knows? Maybe I'll finally take the plunge, commit and settle into a little water-side property. (Again, note, I did not say beach.) But then again, maybe certain things are more enjoyable when you're not totally immersed in them. (Okay, no more puns, I swear.) Either way, I'm really glad I've been able to find another little nook that makes me feel at home, when I'm almost two thousand miles away from my own.

-C.

PS. Check this little nugget out - I have some inside sources that claim Huell Howser will be doing a Playa del Rey episode of California's Gold within the year. Oooowee! That's GOLD!

Posthumous.

It's always Sunny in Los Angeles.

I've said it before, and I'll shout it from the rooftops again, I have a lot of really amazing friends.

Recently, one of my fantastic gal pals has been integrating me into her group of long-term co-ed besties. I can't even begin to explain how wonderful these peeps are, and how they're everything I look for in good old-fashioned partners in crime. It's one of the biggest factors in what determines the quality of my life; the people that I surround myself with. At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, it's not always the easiest thing to come by in this town, necessarily. I've invested time in people that have seemingly redeemable qualities, and yet still turn out to be self-centered sourpusses in the end. I'm not sure if it's because they're jaded or indifferent, and frankly, it doesn't matter. I just don't see the need to carry a constant air of disdain and there is certainly no need for me to expose myself to it. My latest and greatest palsies are a constant reminder of what constitutes genuine friendship. Plus, they're WAY more fun than anyone else I know.

We're kicking off the summer this weekend with a big BBQ/pool/hot tub shindig. Lucky for me, the forecast is predicting perfect conditions for mirth and merriment. In fact, I have a feeling I should get used to this weather.

Studying the art of self censorship.

Best and worst.

I finally broke down and ordered a copy of John Waters' absurd (now that's an oxymoron) cult masterpiece, Desperate Living. It arrives this week, so it goes without saying that I'll be cancelling most of my weekend plans.

What's that quote about squandering time, again?

Tonight I designed my book cover, if I ever write a book. Note : I probably won't write a book.

Reactions towards stimuli from internal chemical reactions or external environmental factors.

I'll never understand why anyone would want to do anything the way it's already been done before.
The second that my heart starts to violently pound in my chest, that's the instant that I know I'm doing something right.

Ex Machina.

I have a gigantic heart. So huge that it's almost cardiomegaly freakish. Kidding. It's way bigger than that.

Here's how I think of it : I have a tiny little machine in this one corner of my heart that makes my love. I guess you could say the creator of my machine was feeling pretty audacious the day he put my particular model together. To the naked eye, it looks like any other machine of it's kind, but there's more to it than your eyes can recognize. My machine was built with a handle on the side that cranks unusually fast (faster than almost every other version of this same machine), pumping out lots and lots and lots of love; in fact, so much love that it almost bursts the seams that hold my heart together (from being broken, of course.) The funny thing is, that no matter what kind, size or shape of love it is, it all comes from this same machine. Sometimes, anyone within it's radius finds the shape of it hard to make out, even me (the owner.) Not to mention, it's a far from perfect version; sometimes the gears get a little stiff, sometimes the footing is a little unstable, and sometimes what is cranked out that particular day belongs in the "damaged" pile. It doesn't always know when to start and it surely doesn't always know when to stop; but the one thing that's perfect about my little machine is that it sits in a little corner of in my heart, and there it will always be safe.

-C.

I guess you could say I'm kind of a fan.

http://theamazingbaby.com/

I don't believe in this.

Oracle Dice Rolled : 1 and 6.

Question : How shall I know my future life mate?

Answer : The one whom you now dislike.
Reaction : I'd expect nothing less.
After-thought : I wonder if it's a cat.

Thoughts.

What are YOU doing tonight?

Sorry, but I have plans.



http://www.shadow-puppets.com/

I sure hope you like egg salad.

Happy L'Easter.

Horo-scope.

"You've been afraid to show how vivid your imagination is for fear that others will think you're weird. Some probably will. Others will think you're a genius. So open up."

Impossible; I've already swallowed the key.