The Ocean Blue — Ultramarine

It should come as absolutely no surprise whatsoever that I've been anticipating this album for at least three years (probably longer, if we're being completely honest).  And the fact that it's rumored to have been in the works for at least twice that long should be an instant recipe for disappointment.

But no.

The Ocean Blue has always been a band where I get exactly what I expect from them and, somehow, they still manage to throw in a few surprises.  Surprises that, confusingly, make absolute perfect sense after hearing them.

Sure, there's vintage slow layered strummers like 'Whatever You Say, It Breaks My Heart,' 'Blow My Mind' and 'A Rose is a Rose.'  But the band seems to have developed a new maturity along with its classic twee sensibilities, even since last time out.  Songs like the surprisingly dancey (and undeniably catchy) lead single 'Sad Night, Where is Morning?', the melancholy hindsight of 'Ground Gives Way' or the majestic and ambitious mini-epic 'New York 6AM' are all things that the band pulls off extremely well, but given their previous output, were completely unforeseen.

But it's when they consider their past is when the album really unfolds and reveals itself.  Following the tried and true tradition of sequencing the album so the highlight is smack dab in the middle, 'Fast Forward Reverse' is destined to be a monument in the band's catalogue.  I first heard the tune and I went, "Wait, I know this!"  And, sure enough, on the band's previous release, it appears as an ambient instrumental.  But, even without that connection to their now distant past, it's still a right brilliant pop tune that manages to blend the layered dreaminess of the band's past with their now maturely streamlined jangle.  Top gear, all the way.

It's hard to call this sort of thing a revival for a couple reasons: this sort of jangly dream pop is almost woefully unfashionable at this point and, most importantly, the fact that it's next to impossible for one of the key bands of a style to revive it — how can one of the building blocks now be a revivalist?  It's only now, after seeing them survive this long and letting the world come to terms with their records on its collective own, that the Ocean Blue can be asserted the status as one of the defining bands of their initial era.  And now that that era has passed, here they are again, in case you forgot — or if you missed them the first time around.

Through a discography that can be described as "inconsistent" at best and a band history that can only be dubbed "fragmented", Ultramarine makes the grand statement that the band has seemed poised to make ever since Beneath the Rhythm and Sound. 

And it's easily their best since that album.

~Austin

PS— There's already been one b-side released, as well.  It's a sad piano-y thing.  Decent and a wonderful compliment to the album.

My top five most underrated and overlooked Jangle masterpieces.

I find that, as a fan of primarily new wave based rock music, the jangle scene is the one that has become the most rewarding to me. Excellent, but sparse, guitar playing and singers who are more interested in the overall vibe of the song, as opposed to stealing the show with their vocal performance. The bottom line though is: all of these bands were inspired chiefly by good melodies and, when you get down to it, writing the best pop song they could.

From the late 80's, into the early 90's, the scene was huge. Bands were intermingling and somebody would be Madchester for a few things, trip hop the next and then just a plain old hard rock act in the long run (hi, Stones Roses), all the while retaining somewhat of a jangly backdrop. So, I guess what I should say right off the bat here is that to describe any music as 'jangle' proposes an undefined thing right away.

So, for my definition, I'd say that, to me, 'jangle' means very little distortion, if any. And, if there is some, it's in that My Bloody Valentine/Slowdive/Shoegaze way that, while noisy, it's still pretty. And, ultimately, there's nothing more to the music than to just write a classic resonating pop song. Just, pure, guitar based accessibility.

And, let's just say right now, I do not make this list with any pretense of being a guru. Although I do fancy myself somewhat of a jangle nerd, I also realize I have a lot to learn. I would love your own list or any recommendations.

And, one more bit: all of these albums are incredibly good. I would at least consider all of them for a spot in my favorites of all time. They're all five star albums, easily. It was genuinely hard for me to pick their ranking order (outside of my #1 pick, which was a no-brainer) and I still have a bit of an issue with the running order. But it's the best I could do with a tough decision.

Finally, one last prologue: the influence of the Smiths over all of this music cannot be overstated.

So, countdown style, let's get into it.

5. The Feelies — The Good Earth (1986)

A slow, meditative affair. Peter Buck produced and sounding downright stately on their seemingly never coming second album, the Feelies put together arguably the first non-R.E.M. album of American jangle that was truly about the album. No real big apparent singles to be found (in fact, the album's catchiest song —'Slipping (Into Something)'— was also its most radio-unfriendly at six minutes in length). If someone were to listen to Crazy Rhythms and then this album back to back, it would be a bit confusing. But then, look at the years of release and it would probably feel like the most logical and amazing progression ever. When 'On the Roof' begins, it just feels like the most natural, most awesome side/one track evolution on a second album. It just follows, nearly relentlessly, with nine tracks of acoustic based strum and, overall, what has to be the most unwilling pop albums ever created. The vocals are mixed in defiantly low and the songs avoid choruses like they'd never been invented yet, but underneath it all is a melodic urge. Like the pop in these songs had to be suppressed. Pete Buck is also to be commended for his time-defying production. Even on some R.E.M. stuff you can hear the dated drum EQ'ing. But not here. When Glen Mercer sings, "It's gonna rise and carry us home" on 'The High Road,' it sounds to me like pure propaganda to the listener, in an attempt to get the listener to take the album completely to heart and just let it burn from beginning to end and soak in every last bit until it touches your soul. If that is the case, that's some effective stuff that totally works on me. A shout for the recent reissue, as it adds some great covers (of the Beatles and Neil Young) from b-sides of the time period.

4. The Wake — Here Comes Everybody (1985)

A notorious whore for Factory and Northern bands in general, I owe it to the undeniably good LTM label for making me aware of the Wake. Admittedly, I'm a noob: I found out about the band through Caesar's involvement in the Occasional Keepers but if Bob Wratten can co-sign somebody's talent, surely they're worth delving into. And delve, I did. Indeed, the Wake was certainly a stock Factory band at the outset (in a good way), but they have slowly opened up and, thanks to LTM's downright awesome reissue campaign, I've discovered one of the greatest 'forgotten' bands of the post-punk era. Holy mother, is this album just about the biggest forgotten piece of proto-90's indie pop British greatness ever or what? This came out on freakin' Factory, too!! Sweet hey-zeus, I love this album! Ok, sorry for all of that... Now that I've calmed down, I have to say: it's awesome. It's like New Order, but without the baggage. Certainly, Barnie and the boys have an influence that looms large over this album, but it's not like Caesar and the band are just copying every move in their playbook. It feels less like sheer imitation and more like a band trying to outdo their inspirations. After 'Blue Monday', those other Factory boys surely had a big weight on their shoulders to deliver more dance-pop hits, but the Wake had next to no anticipation, so if they took the dreamy synth/jangle cue proposed on some of the second New Order album's tracks, can you really blame them? New Order released Low-Life the same year as this album and while that is definitely an album I love and admire greatly, I'd say Here Comes Everybody has it beat within the first half. By the time this thing hits 'Melancholy Man', you'll be wondering if it will ever dip in quality (the answer is no). The stark, tan-on-white color scheme of the cover art is perfectly suited to the music. It's a wash of dreamy mini epics, with synth patches taking the harmonies and awesomely understated jangly arpeggios taking the unassuming lead. Make no mistakes, there is a definite formula here, but it's so unique when you consider the context that it just doesn't matter. The big clue here that the band was not just a New Order ripoff —besides the actual coherence of the songs— is the bass. Low in the mix and simply playing the root, it's just another layer in the seemingly endless bands of dreaminess. All eight songs are pure pop greatness. Three minutes short or seven minutes long, nothing is ever squandered and not a single second is wasted. When an album kicks off with an absolute gem on the level of 'O Pamela,' you know something's up. The surprisingly dark title track really makes things clear on this album: it's completely soul-bearing in Caesar's lyrics (not that you would ever know it from the way they're mixed in so low). This album is simply godlike. Another shout for the deluxe edition being the definitive, if for nothing else than that it adds the band's essential single from 1984, 'Talk About the Past' (featuring Vini Reilly on piano, so get your copies of Another Setting out for reference).

3. The Railway Children — Reunion Wilderness (1987)

Also released on Factory, inexplicably in 1987, the Railway Children must have faced the worst NME reviews for being the biggest Smiths ripoff ever. And yeah, those first few listens into this album might find any self-respecting Morrissey/Marr fan very cynical of 'A Gentle Sound,' but just let the needle spin past that first track (which you may even like after getting to know the album) and it'll become immediately clear that there's something completely different about these Wigan boys. It's almost as if Gary Newby thinks he's Otis Redding at some points (fyi: re-contextualize that for a jangle setting and realize that he's not exactly a pseudo-soul grunting whiteboy, but he's actually got very real emotion in his timbre). After the immediate highlight of 'Another Town,' the majority of side one presents a group of downright appealing Smiths ripoffs. However, the last track on side one is 'History Burns.' A somewhat funky (??!!) and just plain old relatable pop song is an eyebrow-raiser, to say the least. Turn the record and you're greeted by a xylophone. No, seriously. It morphs into a bass-led thing that may not seem that impressive at first. But, wait. That middle eight arpeggio, what's he's hinting at? Then, the glorious chorus enters and good god DAMN. Can you say, 'highlight'? What matters? What really doesn't matter? Dude, does it matter when you write songs this good? It all becomes so vague. Quite. Another thing called 'Careful' follows it up with another similarly-misleadingly 'ok' verse and then 'OH SHIT!' amazing chorus and it doesn't even feel like a surprise at that point. Just like, 'Yeah... this album is that good.' Like you knew it all along. So much... but not enough: a telling lyric as the Children went Hollywood after this album and churned out albums of faceless, sub-Madchester corporate rock. But... whoo, is Reunion Wilderness amazing. Check that photo: somebody paid 89¢ for it. . .

2. The Ocean Blue — Beneath the Rhythm and Sound (1993)

My love of this album has already been well documented on this blog. If anything, writing that post rekindled my love of the album after a period of kind of forgetting about it. In the past year, it's only grown ever larger in stature for me. The uber-pop of 'Sublime' and the pièce de résistance 'Bliss is Unaware' (I'm now convinced this is one of the greatest songs ever written) melting in with the partly shoegazey elements of 'Either/Or' and 'Don't Believe Everything You Hear' and the sincerely great ballads 'Crash' and 'Emotions Ring' all makes for one of the most nostalgically awesome 90's albums ever recorded. Truly one of the best of the 90's decade and easily in my top albums of all time. If the Wake is godlike, then this has to be equated with time-traveling levels of unknown, omnipotent awesomeness. If not awesomer.

1. Riverside — One (1993)
And it's fitting that not only was this album produced by then Ocean Blue-ist Steve Lau, but it's title is actually One. I don't even know where to start. Being that this is a list of underrated and overlooked albums, I couldn't do anything except put this at the top spot. There was nothing at the time that sounded like it because everyone had gone grunge and the rock (and even indie) landscape was not concerned with Britain any longer. Also hailing from Pennsylvania (like the Ocean Blue), the band was fronted by brothers Glen and Keith Kochanowicz (now shortened to Kochan) and it should make sense that the band kicked ass because Glen was the bassist and lead singer (are any of them not awesome?). I guess a quick description of this album would be the Ocean Blue with a bit more of a shoegaze influence. I mean, listen to the screeching feedback and hushed vocals of 'General Nature' and that would seem just fine. But there's something else at play here. Look at those guys on the cover photo. Do they not look like a prototype Backstreet Boys? What the hell is going on here?! 'Cinnamon Eyes' sounds vaguely Happy Mondays-ish, no? But what's with all these incredible hooks? Are these guys serious? The answer is yes. They are that good and they are more than ready to create one of the best albums ever. Amidst every single killer track and unbelievable chord change is that reverby, echoey wonderful jangle. If Beneath the Rhythm and Sound is very nostalgically 90's sounding, then One is the quintessential early 90's non-grunge guitar album. It's like it takes everything great about American and British jangle and summarizes it all into one ten-song, fourty minute album that perfectly encapsulates and simultaneously trumps all of it, in one magnificently gorgeous swoop.

~Austin

Old music: The Ocean Blue's Beneath the Rhythm and Sound (1993)

This one is about as classic as they come.

Speaking, of course, in terms of ‘cult’ or perhaps ‘fan favorite’ classic status.

The Ocean Blue drew immediate comparisons to the Smiths when they first emerged; in fact, some outlets even referred to them as America’s answer to the Manchester foursome. The comparisons, I’ve always felt, are a compliment to both sides of the equation as the Ocean Blue rarely wrote songs as resonating and the Smiths rarely wrote songs as outright beautiful. But, through both groups’ love of likeable guitar pop, a croony, introspective lead singer and concise, dreamy melodies that seem deceptively obvious and simultaneously effortless, they both successfully transcended and achieved longevity.

After two unimpeachably strong albums —1989’s self-titled album and 1991’s gorgeously dreamy Cerulean— on which the band blended its textured and heavily effected guitars with keyboard and saxophone harmonies from kitchen sink man Steve Lau, they seemed to focus for their third album on a more guitar-centric, pop-oriented direction that both retained the integrity of their early releases and squeezed them down into a bite size morsel of unbelievably good and heartfelt music.



I must stress that when this following term is applied to this music, it is a very exact interpretation of what the band created and one of the finest examples of the term ever conjured up: the album is, quite literally, jangle pop.

The band is credited as having self-produced the album, but with multiple engineering and mixing credits, the sound of the record is varied and never one-dimensional. To be completely honest, it’s one of the warmest albums I ever heard.

(A very insightful interview places where the band was at around when this album came out.)

The album starts on a random and unexpected note: a busy solo bass riff from Bobby Mittan. From there, ‘Peace of Mind’ introduces the album when the rest of the band swoops in and the song just builds layers upon layers; David Schelzel’s guitar never content to just play one chord progression or arpeggio for more than a few bars. It’s something to marvel at… and the fact that it’s kind of a second-tier track on the album is even more impressive.

The follow-up, the album’s first single —and the song that contained the lyrics from which the album took its title— was the appropriately named ‘Sublime.’ Alternating acoustic chords and electric arpeggios provide the base for what can only be described as power jangle pop. Not a dirty hint of distortion or dissonance is to be found, and though it did crack the pop charts a bit, it was the group’s only —and very brief— flirtation with commercial success.

After a mournfully melancholy ballad (‘Listen, It’s Gone’) and a would be near-rocker were it not for the lowly mixed vocals (‘Either/Or’), the album’s amazing centerpiece is up.

‘Bliss is Unaware’ is nearly perfection. Holy christ, is it amazing. With the inclusion of Steve Lau’s sax and perfect keyboard accents, you’d think it would be the most reminiscent of the band’s previous material, but that seems like an insult. I usually consider myself not a fan of the blatantly over the top pop songs, but in cases like this, the song is so good, so well-executed and so universal that it would be denying my basic human rights to not enjoy the heck out of it. A simple, catchy riff, a maddeningly addictive chorus, topped off with some perfectly understated congas and one of the single weirdest pseudo-funky middle eight breaks in recorded music and you get easily the album’s highlight, the Blue’s best song and one of the true injustices in the annals of pop music singles that should have been massively popular. I can listen to it on repeat for extended periods of time and still love it as much as the first listen. Two and a half minutes of absolute heaven.

At which point, the album’s bar —which, in preceding moments, seemed to be collectively raised as each track passed— coolly maintains its level like nothing all that special is happening.

‘Ice Skating At Night’ is slow and dreamy and sounds like something from Cerulean while ‘Don’t Believe Everything You Hear’ is about as rockin’ as the album gets. The near-shoegaze of ‘Cathedral Bells’ and the unfolding melodicism of ‘The Relatives’ keep things peppy while ‘Crash’ and ‘Emotions Ring’ illustrate perfectly why the band was favorably compared to the Smiths in the first place and, at the same time, put up a fine argument for their skills as cohesive and resonating balladeers.

This was the final full-length the original lineup of the band made. And even though the recent releases by a revamped lineup are quite good and rewarding, Beneath the Rhythm and Sound remains the apex of those first three albums.

It seems strange. Bands used to be given several years and multiple albums to grow and mature into this sort of record. And the Ocean Blue took advantage of that scenario. And that’s not to discount those first two albums; they are both roughly four to four-and-a-half star albums in their own right. Beneath the Rhythm and Sound, however, is the perfect third album: a concise restatement of what earned the band a following in the first place and a colorful, eye-opening expansion of every aspect of the palette from which they were drawing their initial inspiration.

Where the band’s previous singles (like ‘Drifting, Falling’ and ‘Ballerina Out of Control’) had been pop without the intention of being so, with their third album, the Ocean Blue created Between the Rhythm and Sound as a seeming intentional masterwork of likeable songs aimed directly at a wider audience. The charge of sellout seems a rather inappropriate one — on the contrary, the songs on this album are just that good. If they were to gain the band new fans by the stadium load, so be it.

But they didn’t. And the band’s fan base remained respectable, but modest.

I was in eighth grade when it was released and I remember briefly hearing ‘Sublime’ and maybe seeing the clip for it on 120 Minutes, but besides that, this was something I didn’t truly discover until I was a senior in high school — a full six years after the fact. At the time, it sounded timeless. Like something that had just existed my entire life and was just sitting there waiting for me to discover it. I can say, in one of the truest statements you’ll ever see from me, that in the ten or so years since I first soaked this album in, it has slowly but surely grown in stature with me every single time I listen to it.

It was the first album I listened to while driving in my car by myself the afternoon after I passed my driver’s test and officially had my license to drive. I had nowhere to go; I just wanted to hear this album outside of my bedroom. And it sounded fantastic. It still does.

It can now be listened to with a nostalgic ear and it’s a wonderfully happy reminder for me. One of the few things outside of hip hop that I enjoyed in high school, it is a pleasant reminder of that carefree Clinton-era of the mid-90’s when things were serious, but not outright bad.

Truly, for me, it stands right there with Loveless, Wish, Pygmalion, OK Computer and Your Arsenal as one of the best rock albums of the 1990’s.

Thirty-seven minutes of pure magnificence.

I’d be dumb if it didn’t get the seal of approval.



~Austin