The Matthew Show: Story in Song, Song in Story

Have you tuned in yet to the Texas-based art-pop collective the matthew show?  Their amazing new record, february, is out this morning.

Sardonic yet compassionate, this tuneful, idiosyncratic disc lands at the intersection of documentary and classic pop.  And that works for us.  Songwriter and producer Matthew Broyles, moved by the uncertain state of his and his friends’ lives, examines hope, regret, and fickle truth, leading lively interviews in pursuit of George Orwell’s “power of facing unpleasant facts.”

And that’s just cool.

What emerges is a deft portrait of five adults on the cusp of middle age, each asking, “Is this all there is?”  In reply, Broyles explores and exposes their lives in a patchwork of word and song. Calling on the support of a stellar cast, he cajoles and enlightens, crafting a vivid and jarringly universal portrayal of contemporary life.

Mastered by Arthur Winer at Canaveral Skies, february joins a Wampus Multimedia roster that includes new and imminent releases from tvfordogs, The Crowd Scene, Venus Flytrap, Kowtow Popof, and Arms of Kismet, as well as Hurry Home Early: the Songs of Warren Zevon, to which the matthew show contributed a version of Zevon’s “Mohammed’s Radio.”

Spin the free CD stream.

Joel Plaskett: Dig this Concept

Last year Wampus artist Kowtow Popof introduced us to a record called Ashtray Rock by Canadian songwriter Joel Plaskett and his band the Joel Plaskett Emergency.  This under-the-radar disc wasn’t just good.  It wasn’t even merely great, as such a tag would imply it was no better than many other albums.  No — this was one of the best rock records we had heard in 20 years, a stunning, flawless amalgam of passion, craftsmanship, and pure, contrarian brilliance.  So yeah, you might say we kinda liked it.

And the odd part?  We haven’t stopped listening to it since, haven’t gotten to the point where it no longer engages us.  We’re still cranking it loud in the car, still pushing it on everyone we know.

Over the years, bands have made rancid concept albums, giving a perfectly fine genre — album as novel, what’s not to like? — a bad name.  With Ashtray Rock, Plaskett reminds us it was lousy art, not music as narrative, that killed the concept album.  The songs on Ashtray Rock are wise but not clever, impassioned but not treacly.  They are personal and universal.  And absolutely real.

You’ve got a picture of her that you carry around, Plaskett croons in his best falsetto, but China’s not the same as Chinatown.

Makes us long for Halifax.