PWRHAUS

After a long period of unusual inactivity, Portland singer/songwriter Tonality*Star is back at it, this time working under the guise of a full-fledged band called PWRHAUS. In every way, this is his biggest, most produced, most ambitious work to date.

The direction that PWRHAUS takes was previewed on the Down at the Roller Rink track 'I Fell In Love' — and indeed, some of the same musicians that showed up on that album are now listed members of PWRHAUS.  There is still an air of anonymity surrounding the main force behind the band, as all of the musicians are listed, but their instruments are not and the album's final credit simply states "All songs written and produced by Tonality*Star" (this is the only credit he receives). But it's that by now familiar and unmistakable soprano whisper singing all the words, now atop a musical backing that's fleshed out by live drums, guitars, pianos and even a saxophone.

The album consists of twelve concise sad pop tunes. I was also gifted an extra four song EP —which is, get this, a cassette packaged in a cassingle slipbox— so that's sixteen songs in total, running a little over fourty minutes, making this easily the longest project in Tonality*Star's catalogue to date. Not a second is wasted — when most of the songs clock in at two or two and a half minutes, you'd expect as much. From the shambling marching band on acid sounds of 'You Could Be Mine' and 'What Do You Say' to the straight ahead anthemic rockers 'Go to Hell' and 'The Game of Love' (easily the EP's highlight) all the way through the hindsight-obsessed, regret-filled dream pop that I've come to expect on 'Broken Man' and 'Shooting Star' (arguably the highlight of the entire package), this is territory that shouldn't be unfamiliar to a seasoned Tonality*Star listener. But for those who are getting their first taste with this project, it will be a magical discovery.

The topics addressed are as world-weary and as bitter about love as ever before, but there seems to be a sense about these new songs that has a bit more maturity about the topic. This is no more evident than on 'Shooting Star' where, after a whole album spent pondering the life that could have been with the love of his life, Tonality*Star finally admits that indeed, "I'm gone, baby, I've moved on." With the same sort of childlike nursery rhyme melody that's coming to be his trademark —the sort that seems so obvious and catchy that you have to marvel at the fact that you're just now hearing someone whip it out for the first time— it's a bittersweet end to another emotionally hefty album.

If I have to compare this album to anything, I'd say it most closely resembles a more mature To My: Long Lost Love in its tone, while musically taking on a sound mildly akin to Belle & Sebastian's more contemplative moments. But, more than that, it's just wondrous to hear a songwriter grow so significantly and so unabashedly personally right before his burgeoning audience. PWRHAUS finds Tonality*Star at the peak of his powers to tug at the listener's heartstrings while simultaneously knocking out some fantastically catchy melodies. If this album represents him firing his strongest shots at all of his strongest points, it certainly bodes well for the future. As is, not only is PWRHAUS the best example of all of Tonality*Star's strengths, it's also his so-far best overall album.

~Austin

PS— PWRHAUS was released at the band's New Year's Eve show, but sending an email to tonalitystar at gmail dot com certainly won't hurt your chances of getting a copy. In the meantime, keep an eye on this for more info.

Down at the Roller Rink and Tonality*Star

My unnamed friend responsible for last year's To My: Long Lost Love album is back about, creating more melancholy bedroom pop.  He's been busy, as in the last few months, he's released not one, but two new albums.  The puzzle is closer to completion, with these two works seemingly finalizing a trilogy.

The first of the two is titled Down at the Roller Rink.  Judging from the cover photo above and the album's contents, it's based on a romance that was berthed and solidified at the old Oaks Park Roller Rink in Portland.  Being that I have my own fond, yet blurry, childhood memories of visiting the skating rink as a child, it figures that this album is an automatic emotional connection for me.  Where To My: Long Lost Love was a stark, borderline bitter, in-the-moment capturing of pure feeling, Down at the Roller Rink is more reflective, more appreciative of the past.  It has just as much of a feeling to it of one guy sitting alone with his thoughts, but there's just more of a brightness to some of the material here.  The title track, which awesomely features the narrator playing the rink's vintage Wurlizter organ, is a floating waltz homage to both the previously mentioned lost love and the overall youthful atmosphere that burgeoning love produces (and that places like roller rinks facilitate).  This album is just as unified as To My: Long Lost Love, but it is a lot stronger in the diversity department, as a handful of the album's tracks feature a full band backing.  The best of which, and also the album's highlight, is the mildly 'Boys Don't Cry'-ish 'I Fell in Love.'  Sure, it's just as lo-fi as anything else on here, but it's so good, to say it sounds like a Belle and Sebastian demo feels like it would be unfair to both sides.  'The Star' seems to be intended as the album's centerpiece and it definitely feels like the most soul-wrenching thing this musician has yet recorded.  A building synth symphony that finds our narrator practically screaming "You are the star, yes you are" in the middle portion only to invite his muse in the conclusion to, "Shine your light on me, make me believe."  It's so venerable and bare, I have hard time not, at the very least, admiring the earnestness of the whole thing.  Just so happens there's catchy tunes going on as well.  For all the more fleshed out, more produced moments on tunes like 'How Lonely' and the nearly arena-worthy 'What's it's Worth', I have to admit that I prefer the more sparse material that recalls To My: Long Lost Love.  Side one piano ballad closer 'Woman of Wonder' wobbles along dreamily like a reflection on disrupted pond water, while 'Just Like Ghosts' closes out the album much the way 'What Do I Do With You' did on To My: Long Lost Love, with a slightly folky, mildly bouncy little strummer.  Like To My: Long Lost Love, the album clocks in at around twenty five minutes, but also like its predecessor, it feels like a world unto itself.  A small, dimly lit corridor whose walls contain intriguing bookshelves of countless unfamiliar volumes and large intricate paintings that we, as the visitors, are only allowed to scan briefly before being urged to move on.  It's a wondrous album that doesn't demand repeat listens as much as it does romance the listener into them.  Charmingly naive and fascinatingly catchy, I dare to say it's even better than To My: Long Lost Love.

It's pressed on gorgeously heavy, 45rpm crimson/purple/magenta/maroon splatter vinyl:


Try shooting an email off to this address if you would like to buy one:

The revelation inside the album's notes is information this time, besides titles.  Not only are there lyrics printed on an insert, but actual musician credits.  Granted, these might be all pseudonyms, but the one big reveal here is that the album is credited to have been "produced and written" by the handle Tonality*Star.

And now we have something!

The self-titled album by Tonality*Star is a drastic change in direction, musically speaking.  The heavier reliance on keyboards and the likeable melodramatic tone on Down at the Roller Rink (exemplified on songs like 'How Lonely') is explored for eleven songs and our narrator's so-far longest endeavor to date.  The booming drum machines, programmed MIDI-synths and lush, dreamy atmospheres conjured up here are nothing short of a musician truly finding peace at the end of an emotionally taxing journey.  Granted, the songs here are just as yearning, just as lovelorn and just as gorgeously melancholy as before.  But there's a sense of finality and inner peace here that is downright redemptive and rewarding as hell.  'I See You' is most representative of either of his two previous albums, while the rest of the album strikes an optimistically revisionary chord like on 'Be Happy With Me.'  Throughout the whole thing, I'm reminded very much —in the best possible way, thank you very much— of stuff like the Postal Service, for a more recent example.  But truly, the whole thing has a technology-obsessed mission to create lo-fi heartbroken synth-anthems.  The best of New Order's deep album cuts, Depeche Mode's Vince Clarke-less second album, and mostly, the Cure's incredible 1982 and '83 b-sides are a very clear inspiration here.  'Over and Over' is such a wonderfully longing piece of modern synth pop.  And, let's get this out of the way right now: I'm a guitar fan, plain and simple.  And yet, following this story and getting to this album as an evolution, I can't help but feel the pure connection here between listener and creator.  Whether it's the surreal 'Dreams and Fantasies' or the Bowie-aping highlight 'Heart and Soul,' everything here feels very much like an author tying up all the loose ends in their blockbuster series.  The tunes are perhaps Tonality*Star's best crafted thus far, as even though they are presented in a very much synth-pop revival fashion, there's a sad, but genuine and danceably relateable aspect to them that recalls the best pop music from generations past, without being sentimental.

You can stream or purchase —which I highly recommend— the Tonality*Star album here.

Unarguably strong and heartfelt pop music.

The more I play it, the better it gets.

Not a whole lot you can say that about these days.

~Austin

To My: Long Lost Love

This is the type of thing that can be equally frustrating as it is compelling as a music fan.

Yes, I’m here because Robin Pecknold put this on his list of albums of the year for 2011.

The bandcamp page lists the artist as either “anonymous”, “to my long lost love”, “heart and soul” or “junior cloud apprentice.”  It’s only been released on vinyl and I had to send an email off to a nondescript Gmail address to open a correspondence with its creator and purchase it.

This can be fun in a romanticized way where things simply boil down to the music and judging that simply on its own merits.  However, a bit of internet sleuthing and some keen Googling will reveal (most likely) the creator’s name.  My common sense tells me that it’s someone who is affiliated with the Fleet Foxes circle, as the record was released in September of last year and Fleet Foxes had been on tour for several weeks previous at that point (and, as has been expressed to me, the album’s creator has no intentions to release it digitally — which raises the obvious question as to how Robin Pecknold heard it).  All of this I must admit, as much as I hate to remove the discussion from the actual music, is darn good fun.

I just wish I knew who exactly I had sent money to in order to receive the record, so I could properly give them credit.  Oh well, I suppose.  Maybe one day I’ll know.  For the time being, I’ll just say that I like the songs that somebody whose name I don’t know wrote.

But I’m not about to overlook the actual music to speculate on someone’s identity.

I guess if I were to sum it up shortly, I'd say its sound hearkens back to the lo-fi, slow/sadcore sound of the early and mid-90's.  It's got the sparse, low and scratchy electric guitar strum of the quieter moments of Slint, mixed with the flourishing psychedelic atmospheres of early Mazzy Star.  Add a whispery, soprano-ranged singer on top of the lush musical concoctions and you get a downright pleasant album.

It's actually pretty direct, musically — which is the last thing you'd expect when considering its presentation.  A lot of the songs clock in at around two minutes and consist solely of guitar and multi-tracked vocals.  Some drum loops here, a synth harmony there, sad and sparse piano chords for good measure; nothing that revelatory, really.

The things that make it rise above and become a listenable —and, indeed, rather enjoyable— little lo-fi pop album are the catchiness and sincerity of the songs.  The recollections of an intense bedroom conversation on 'What You Said' or the analogy of one lover pushing the other off a cliff on 'The Mountain' make for lovely little slices heartbroken pop, much akin to the twee generation.  'If You Say So' is the most impressive thing here, conjuring up a sort of Stereolab meets the Cocteau Twins vibe.

It definitely has the feeling to it of one person, sitting in a room with their guitar and tiny practice amp, working out the songs in the space of three or four days.  All signs point to the lyrics documenting a pretty grueling breakup — there's practically nothing else addressed here except the past.  The sequencing is great; not exactly telling a complete story, but finding proper bookends in 'It Comes in Waves' and the loss-accepting 'What Do I Do With You' (the opener and closer, respectively).  It sounds pretty darned complete for a twenty four minute affair.

There's no information anywhere on the record jacket besides titles.  So, to the person in Portland, Oregon that created this music: job well done.  A word of advice though: next time, maybe take at least partial credit for your accomplishment.

If you don't reside in Portland, you can purchase this album (vinyl only) by shooting an email off to the address here.

~Austin