Nicomo - "Other Line"

By Charley Ruddell

There’s a sweet sadness beholden to relationships that slowly dissolve and meander apart. Like clinging to a severed piece of driftwood at sea, the last legs of the most deteriorated partnerships often arrive after having already drifted so far from happiness, the only real sense of comfort found is in the connection of not being alone. This is “Other Line,” off Nicomo’s 2019 EP Views.

When Nico Osborne sings “I saw you look away like, ‘What’s that over there?’”, the magnitude of distance behind that observation feels overwhelming. It’s a subtlety marked by a David Longsteth-ian vocal chorale that brings a taciturn action to the forefront of a greater issue. On a macro scale, “Other Line” does this with a range of despondence; an aching set of three chords and a cascading guitar line move under sedation, feet dragging, while Osborne’s weighty voice hums with a soft regret. The song’s cathartic chorus—drums anchoring the downbeat, soaring falsetto harmonies, a devastating minor chord at the turn—crashes in strong waves, like grief, or clarity. It’s a song that feels entirely born from an emotional experience, like it formed in one stoic stream of tears, ambivalent, but willing enough to embrace the coldness of singularity.

Will Roane’s accompanying video punctuates the theme with a precious vision. Loosely inspired by the stories of his grandparents’ inextricably woven lives, the concept of doubt shifting to hope (and vice versa) plays out in a narrative of two adults who, despite their aged and profound connection, are still searching for something. Through walks in the woods and the tranquility of a waterside cabin (beautifully shot by Bucky Illingworth), there’s an underlying sense of distance, portrayed both delicately and playfully by Cynthia Babak and Sid Ross. It manifests microscopically, almost telepathically, through passing glances and furrowed brows. And while ultimately the pair are united by a photograph, the lingering emotion of “Other Line” recalls Roane’s theme that hope and doubt are always vacillating. Interchangeable, in a sense—complex, but necessary for change. 

Grimm Grimm - Ginormous

By Phillipe Roberts

Back under his longtime alias Grimm Grimm, Koichi Yamanoha gets a little sappy on his new single, “Ginormous,” the title track from his third solo album dropping on February 28. The song blends a glimmering organ riff with harmonized vocals from guest singer Paz Maddio for a soothing midnight waltz, accompanied by a video that brings out its dime-store kitsch elements in a lo-fi green screen romp through long-distance love.

Much like her work in the criminally underrated London trio Value Void, Paz Maddio’s hushed vocals strike a haunting presence in the mix. Kept at a chilly dry tone devoid of reverb to emphasize the gradually building intimacy at the heart of this long-distance confession, her voice creaks and trembles through every syllable as she outlines her own nervous truth–“I want to get in trouble with you.” When this climatic line hits, it’s delivered with all the strength of a bashful whisper, steeped in the tension of admitting that the uncertainty–the unforeseen danger ahead–is part of what she’s fallen in love with. 

Maddio’s voice works incredibly well in this universe of fragile nostalgia, and Yamanoha, working with Italian producer Marta Salogni, brings a lovingly-crafted batch of retro sonics to sweeten the deal. The aforementioned organ does most of the heavy lifting with its slightly muffled, gloomy tone. But the delicate strums of guitar, the shuffling drums and–as any good doo-wop revival song should include–the weeping string arrangement in the coda, suggest an intentionally rough-cut DIY innocence that perfectly compliments its dreamy, bleeding heart adolescent romanticism.

Directors Seth Pimlott and Pearl Doughty-White construct the video’s loose narrative from the fragmented lyrics of “Ginormous,” sending a woman off into the wilderness in search of her lost love, played by Yamanoha. Gliding through a series of black and white backdrops, she gazes lovingly at his picture and dodges shimmering spirits in a forest past a singing mountain. But when the time comes for their long-awaited reunion, and her cautious wave in his direction fails to catch his eye, she returns to the ghosts and dances instead. It’s a remarkably effective video–just one look, and you won’t be able to listen to “Ginormous” again without summoning up your own ghost choir to dance along with.

Slow Dakota - Creation of the World

By Abigail Clyne

Don’t let the joyful nature of the track fool you–Slow Dakota’s new single, “Creation of the World,” is asking the big questions. The title alone hints to this track being more than meets the eye. PJ Sauerteig (Slow Dakota) is joined by Margaux Bouchegnies on vocals and Corey Dansereau on trumpet. Throughout the song, the duo ponders where their urge for expression comes from. “I can’t decide if I write from some Great hole inside,” they sing, and compare their way of creation to that of Christ, “If Christ spoke Mountain Ice all because His Life was flat and dry.”

Later, the pair wonders if their inspiration perhaps comes from a more positive place, “Or do I sing from some Great abundance, bubbling high.” In the end, much like the different expressions of God shown in the Old and New Testaments, it seems a balance has been struck. Creation, and therefore expression, comes out of both desperation and love. The constant plucking of the guitar and later addition of the trumpet allows for this self analysis to never become dour. We all need a helping hand to guide us through the weighty questions, and Slow Dakota makes it both easy and profound all at once.

REVIEW: Twin Oaks - Living Rooms

Laura Kerry

Sometimes, doing less is harder than doing more. In quiet acts with one or two people, no one can hide; every sound, every word, every breath is exposed.

Twin Oaks thrives in this kind of exposure. A Los Angeles duo comprised of Aaron Domingo and Lauren Brown, they've released several albums worth of atmospheric folk and rock tinged with dream pop and shoegaze. On their latest EP, Living Rooms, the band adds another layer to their raw formula: they recorded the album live “in various open spaces using minimal equipment,” and the result is surprisingly precise and unsurprisingly beautiful.

Returning to their origins as a bedroom pop group, Twin Oaks has pared down. The songs primarily revolve around the dynamic between Domingo’s guitar—sometimes in tightly picked folk melodies and other times in a slow march of strummed chords—and Brown’s singing. With the exception of the eerie final song “Felt Like Dying,” Living Rooms leaves the singer vulnerable, full of reverb but without much instrumental cover. Armed with an evocative voice that sometimes resembles The xx’s Romy Madley Croft or Mazzy Star’s Hope Sandoval, Brown is up to the task. She sings patiently and deliberately, milking each sparse syllable for all of its emotional worth.

Considering the words they form, those syllables are worth a lot. The lyrics on Living Rooms are intimate, pretty, and, for the most part, sad. In some songs, Twin Oaks conjure small but vivid fragments of imagery, creating a mood more than a story. “I'll watch them walk away / Light the flame and throw it down / Watch a kingdom burn,” Brown sings on “Collapse,” suggesting the outline of ruin without filling in the details.

In other songs, Twin Oaks writes in a more confessional and prosaic mode. In both “Rumors” and “Felt Like Dying,” they present their lyrics in paragraph form, each comprised of short, full sentences. In the former, Brown sings as if reading out of a journal: “I'll make sure to map out the ways from this old fucking town and I can't recognize myself. I don't see myself in any of the things I have,” she croons. Later, she adds, “Maybe I'm lying. ... Okay, I'm lying.” Evoking the feeling that she has reached this realization in the act of performing the song, the admission emphasizes the album’s sense of immediacy and vulnerability, already heightened by its live recording. With moments like these, Twin Oaks brings their listeners in close, inviting us into the room where they—and in turn, we—are exposed.

VIDEO PREMIERE: LUKA - You Can Tell Me Everything

It's rare that we find ourselves genuinely laughing out loud at a music video, and rarer still for that video to be as endearing as LUKA's latest, "You Can Tell Me Everything." It's a slow burn, spending nearly a minute and a half voyeuristically watching its protagonist mope around a sparsely-furnished room, play with his cat, and regard himself uncertainly in the mirror as a wistful acoustic guitar tune plays over the scene. If you didn't stick around, it'd be easy to think this was just another self-indulgently boring indie video.

And then, without warning, the man onscreen breaks into an understated, goofy, vaguely Napoleon Dynamite-esque dance routine. It's so far out of left field that we couldn't help but giggle, and while we could imagine that same scene playing out with some palpable pretension, something about its performance is utterly, irresistibly likable. The song itself is charming, and lends an air of earnest believability to the video—take a watch for yourself and try not to fall in love.

Catch LUKA On Tour

08.19 Kingston, ON | Musiiki Cafe w/ Konig
08.20 Peterborough, ON | Peterborough Folk Fest (Solar Stage: 2:45)
08.26 Toronto, ON | Electric Fetus - Rooftop Show w/ Julie Doiron + Nick Ferrio
09.09 Montreal, QC | Mothlight (House Show)
09.14 Peterborough, ON | The Garnet w/ Ada Lea