Easter tunes - Tilman and Cymbals

I've been neglecting this blog somewhat, and for that, apologies dear brethren, but my music radar has been in mothballs for some weeks now. I've had little time or inclination for discovering new tunage, besides just a couple of albums added to the collection last week and the odd aural dip into All Songs Considered podcasts while on the treadly at the gym. In terms of the latter you could do worse than check out their recent post-SXSW analysis and the sterling interview/special with Mr Bonnie Prince Billy. His new album - Beware - sounds like it could be a corker, so I reckon I'll get the greedy mits on it quick smart once it hits stores...

In the meantime I'm trying to emerse myself in a couple of great new albums from the US of A which i procured from eMusic...



Cymbals Eat Guitars (above) make classic indie rock. Not the bland stadium-indie peddled by so many lego-haired british silver spooners. But the down-home yankee-college indie rock that drips forth from albums like Crooked Rain Crooked Rain or Lonesome Crowded West or more aptly Perfect From Now On. Slack guitars ring out like cymbals and cymbals crash like guitars. I guess the name works on that level. Sometimes its shouty too, and sometimes shuffly, broody or urgent while still being loose. They love Pavement and I love them. It's an easy, no frills equation.

In all honesty I don't know much else about the band though so thats all i have to share. The album is called "Why There are Mountains" and they are from Staten Island, NYC. Like the Wu Tang Clan. You can hear Cymbals Eat Guitars on their myspace page, as if you didn't know you could, hey?


photo by kjten22 from flickr

J. Tillman (above) has also been in my stereo (aka the iPod) with his new album "Vacilando Territory Blues". You should listen online. I have blogged about him before. He drums for Fleet Foxes but is a capable, inventive songwriter and performer in his own right. His ragged, intimate vocals sit across strummy acoustic folk-ballads and occasional lush rushes of strings, steel and brushy drums. The songs weave a kind of magic that isn't completely full of surprises but still offers solace from the other nonsense offered up by modern noisemakers or the half-rate songsmiths that radio cling to and champion.

I wish he'd played shows in Australia when the Foxes toured recently. I think people would have reacted well. Nevermind. Its Easter Saturday and I have him and the cymbals to keep me company as the sun casts treacle across the trees and through my dusty window.