Indieball Post: Department of Eagles

The indie duo known as Department of Eagles was first formed when two freshman were assigned the same dorm room at New York University. What started as a way to fill boring college nights turned into an epic musical collaboration. Daniel Rossen (also lead singer/songwriter for Grizzly Bear) and Fred Nicolaus have been a strong force in indie music since the 2003 release of their debut album, The Cold Nose. Their new album, In Ear Park, has managed to consistently blow my mind and evolve every time I listen to it. With haunting harmonies and swelling, dream-like instrumentation, Department of Eagles has fused experimental music with easy-listening pop. This is a contradiction, I know, but just listen to the title track, “In Ear Park,” and you’ll understand. The result of this unique combination is an ethereal listening experience that you won’t be able to get enough of.
Check out Department of Eagles here

Indieball Post:: Voxhaul Broadcast

Voxhaul Broadcast, hailing from Los Angeles, is redefining what pop culture considers “Soul” music in their latest album “Rotten Apples.” The four promising fellows of Voxhaul define the band’s sound as “Our own version of soul” and I have to say, being four white guys from Southern California, they pull it off quite respectably. With wailing guitar riffs (The Echo), danceable rhythms (Rotten Apples), crackling vocals (The Backrooms), and pleading lyrics (Why not), a listener is definitely justified to place these dudes into the Soul category. The boys of Voxhaul Broadcast, currently signed with Retone Records, have produced a well established and consistent sound with “Rotten Apples.” Their unique style fuses current progressive and alternative music with old-school soul and classic rock; definitely a worthwhile and note-worthy listen.

check out Voxhaul for yourself

Album Review: Whitley's "The Submarine"

Australian singer/songwriter, Whitley, has recently secured a permanent spot in my heart. In his latest album, The Submarine, Whitley blends country-sounding acoustics, dream-like electronic overtones, and lyrics that are simply poetic. The end result is a sound that will have listeners thinking Elliot Smith came back from the dead and started playing folk music with Bright eyes; all with an Australian accent. With songs recorded around the swells of the Australian surf, Whitley’s sound is comfortable and cool- appropriate for any time or place.
The album starts off slow with a love song called “Cheap Clothes.” The combination of classical strings and twanging banjo plucks sets the tone for the rest of the record. Whitley’s sweet but simple vocals are easy on the ears, the lyrics heartfelt and charming.
The second track, “Lost in Time,” is a faster tune with more complex instrumentation while still maintaining those simple vocals. We hear more of the electronic undertones in this track, which compliment the more traditional melody nicely, establishing Whitley’s unique sound for the listener.
Next is my personal favorite, “A Shot to the Stars.” This short toe-tapper is super-catchy and enjoyable. With a female counterpart in the hook harmonies, abstract sound-clips in the intro, and smile-inducing vocals, this track is a small gem to be overplayed by listeners of all backgrounds.
“I Remember” is a track that encapsulates Whitley’s solo style. The lyrics tell a story of falling in a kind of love that can “last forever”; a sweet love song that showcases Whitley’s writing talents.
Next we have the album’s title track, “The Submarine.” The name of this song came from the radar-sounding effect in the background of the song that makes the listener think they’re watching a sonar screen in, appropriately, a Submarine. We hear more of the female vocalist in this song, as well as a more prominent “rock band” sound with stronger electric guitar and drums.
The sixth track is a more experimental-sounding tune called “White Feathers, Strange Sights.” In this song we hear less of the traditional instrumentation we’ve been hearing through out the album and more electronic and interesting instrumentation.
The next tune is a folky and darker number called “Mojo Pin.” This track is primarily vocals and guitar/banjo. “Mojo” is, while still enjoyable, a little repetitive; definitely not a favorite of the album.
“More Than Life” is another favorite off The Submarine. The sincerity of Whitley’s lyrics and swooning vocals of this track are so genuine, making the listener truly stop and listen to what he has to say. This was the track that initially sparked my interest in Whitley, convincing me to listen to the rest of the album.
“All is Whole” is a more ominous track with lyrics like “You can’t save your soul if you can’t believe” and interjections of snare drum accents, as well as a full choral bridge and clincher. Overall, “All is Whole” is a very intriguing and complex side of Whitley’s, The Submarine.

watch your head,

People are saying it’s something in the water that caused these things to grow. We’re being told by scrolling messages during my soaps and breaking news bursts at commercials that we shouldn’t do anything about this; just leave them be. Don’t touch, kick, throw or kill these multiplying, now painfully visible every-day germs.
I glare at the blonde anchorwoman who is seemingly reading the news to what looks like a spiky jello mold sliding across her fake mahogany desk.
“Researchers are still unsure as to why only some of these bacteria are ballooning in size, but scientists predict that the enlarged germs will multiply rapidly and perhaps grow even larger in size. The exact cause for this phenomenon is still being researched around the clock so the outbreak can be reversed or stopped. In the mean time, scientists at the Department of Sanitation say the residents of the Chicago-land area should go about their normal routines and ignore these harmless germs.” The anchor shuffles her headline pages and smiles forcefully at the camera, flinching slightly as a skinny purple worm falls off the desk and into her pencil-skirted lap. I’m amazed she could even sit still for so long without gagging or flicking one of those suckers off of her.
I shudder at the newscaster’s desperate show of teeth that wouldn’t pass as a smile by anyone’s standards. I turn off the TV and look around my small apartment. It’s hard to believe these things were here all along, only in microscopic form; until this morning.
I had fallen asleep on my couch last night after a long day of classes and cleaning. My apartment was spotless; every carpet shampooed and vacuumed, every surface wiped down and shined, the toilet gleaming. The sterile feel of my apartment wasn’t anything new considering I’m somewhat of a neat freak. Okay, so I’m more or less borderline obsessive when it comes to cleanliness. So the feeling of indescribable panic I experienced when I woke up to hundreds baseball-sized bugs and blobs bumbling about my living room. Foot-long worms and shapeless slimes were hanging around my apartment like residents, covering nearly every surface I could see.
I don’t think I even screamed. I just started frantically pushing the disgusting creatures off of my shaking body. Through the haze of bacterial shock I noticed I had left my TV on from the night before. I could hardly read the breaking news headline in my panicked state paired with a greenish film left by one of these horrible creatures.
“GIANT GERMS INFEST CHICAGO’S LOOP RESIDENCES”
I stare in complete disbelief as the reality of my worst nightmare hits me. Reminding myself that leaving my mouth agape probably isn’t the best idea, I run to the closet in my kitchen; I’ve been prepared for this. The closet is stocked with copious amounts of every rainbow-colored cleaning agent one could possibly imagine, as well as rubber gloves, a face mask for those harsh chemicals, and military-grade waders for occasions such as these. I pull on a new pair of yellow rubber gloves and grab two utility sized buckets from the bottom shelf. I filled my arms with several bottles of water from my backup stash and start filling the buckets; god knows what monstrosities are waiting to drip out of my sink’s faucet. I grab two bottles of antibacterial soap and empty one into each bucket, kicking a red blob away from the cupboard. I pull the mask over my nose and mouth and step into the waders; this is war.
With two cans of Lysol holstered around my waist and my super-powered vacuum at the ready, I step into the living room to fight.
I’m no stranger to extreme cleaning. My mother once grounded me for using all of her Pinesol on my Barbie dream house. But never did I think I would actually be fighting this kind of bacterial war that I had envisioned so many times. It’s time to put my skills to use. I creep into the living room, the most infected, and flick the caps off the Lysol cans with my thumbs. One by one I shoot antibacterial bullets into the bodies of the germs, which begin to fizzle and dissolve into the carpet. One of the aerosol cans runs out as a slimy brown worm slithers towards me with hostility. I shoot it with the full can and with my other hand I grab the vacuum and suck the dissolving worm into the overpriced machine; it was worth every penny.
The number of big bacteria in my apartment has diminished hugely and I’m getting really good at killing these fuckers. The room is foggy with the killing spray and my nose starts to tickle. Oh shit. I close my eyes tight to fight off the inevitable and grab onto the kitchen table to brace myself. My head bucks backwards with incredible speed as the force of the super-sized sneeze, and the hundreds giant germs it contains, makes its way to my rapidly growing sinus cavity.
BOOM.