Polaris Prize Nominees

AND THE NOMINEES ARE...

• 
  In The Future by Black Mountain

  Save it!

  Despite the plethora of critical plaudits thrown their way, there was something “off” about both Black Mountain’s self-titled 2005 debut and the following year’s Drugonaut EP. It was as if the Vancouver quintet had amassed all the tools and the concepts necessary to create a 21st Century update of 1970s-style prog/psych, but couldn’t quite figure out how to put the pieces together. Not this time, however. To invoke the bell-bottomed parlance of the Nixon era, In the Future is a stone mutha, a fully formed, thoroughly mind-bending opus that sounds like it flew in on the wings of those silver spaceships Neil Young used to dream about.
  
  Black Sabbath and early Pink Floyd are some of the more prominent sonic touchstones in the mix (the devastating riffs of “Stormy High” and “Tyrants” would fit right in on Sabbath Vol. 4), but there are also traces of the aforementioned Mr. Young in the prickly “Angels” and the cosmic campfire sing-along “Stay Free.” Ziggy-era Bowie briefly pops in on “Wild Wind,” which sounds too short by itself, but makes the perfect lead-in for the dizzying sixteen-minute epic “Bright Lights.” By the time the chilling “Night Walks” brings the album to a close, you realize that Black Mountain could easily conquer the Earth if they didn’t already have their sights set on other galaxies.

  more.
• 
  Andorra by Caribou

  Save it!

  Caribou’s casually majestic Andorra plays like an electronic-music simulation of all the great old psychedelic records that you happen upon when you're first starting to happen upon great old psychedelic rock. “Melody Day” may kick off with a tender charge that sounds like Elliott Smith — in both its melody and its vocals — but very quickly, Caribou mastermind Dan Snaith blasts back to the ’60s. Touchstones abound, from canonical favorites the Zombies and the Left Banke to lesser lights like the United States of America and White Noise. This is far from a literal simulation, though, thanks to Snaith's busy production hand and wily ear for texture. The swirl and bash of songs like “Sandy” and “She’s the One” traffic in the kind of strings and backward-tape effects that could have played in San Francisco back in the day, but everything (especially drums that roll with subtle yet monstrous force) is busier than what an actual band could play.
  
  Caribou tends to get lumped in with other electronic “laptop” acts who process quasi-rock sounds, but Andorra makes a strong case for completely throwing away such distinctions: they're helping to create an era in which the old can sound truly new.

  more.
• 
  Asking For Flowers by Kathleen Edwards

  Save it!

  Kathleen Edwards writes the sort of simple, earthy guitar-based songs that the genre-obsessed slot as alt-country or roots-rock, but in fact, her twang is less likely to summon up images of an Ontarian Lucinda Williams than of a female Freedy Johnston. And like that master of miniaturist character studies, Edwards has a knack for placing convincing words in the mouth of a first-person who's not herself. "Alicia Ross" is sung from the perspective of a real-life murder victim and on "Oil Man's War," a driver, fleeing across the northern border to avoid the clutches of the US military, begs his sweetie "keep your hand on my thigh tonight" so warmly that you can almost forgive Edwards overlooking the fact that there's no draft to dodge. (Not yet, anyway.)
  
  Much of her pithily phrased bitterness, however, bears the personal stamp of a woman who's spent a lot of time on the road — in particular the three best cuts here. "The Cheapest Key" is a stinging kiss-off that runs alphabetically through the musical staff from A to G ("F is my favorite letter/ As you know"), "I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory" is a rootsy revamp of "You're the Top" and the title track voices a request that no loving woman should have to make.

  more.
• 
  LP by Holy Fuck

  Save it!

  Polaris Prize-nominated, hyper-kinetic sophomore outing
  Holy Fuck is best known for the quality of their live show, so it's no surprise that on LP they aim to capture that same spur-of-the-moment vitality. None of the tracks were "composed," per se, but instead they were shaped organically, on stage, and then recorded in-studio. Fortunately, Holy Fuck's naturally gritty and cluttered sound blurs the distinction between those two extremes. Only on a close reading of "Super Intuit" does one discover that the studio recording is just a little bit more polished. "Royal Gregory" rides a bass-heavy groove, an indecipherable vocal sample adding odd flavor. Every track possesses an incredible sense of spontaneity, full of mountainous peaks and irresistible energy. It's all of these elements — the propulsion, the energy, the sense of possibility — that make it easier to imagine a crowd right there, in your head. They also help you to feel less foolish when the beat picks up and you find yourself dancing along.

  more.
• 
  Parc Avenue by Plants and Animals

  Save it!

  Conventional wisdom holds that jam bands write ten-minute songs with yawning solos in place of enormous choruses and the blank goodwill of a Have a Nice Day button. Plants & Animals are most certainly a jam band — the limber structures of their songs betray a fondness for improvisation — but they also understand the importance of economy. The songs on their first full-length dally only as long as they need to, a few of them stumbling into big finales, most of them just ducking out as humbly as they ducked in.
  
  Like the Band — an ensemble they frequently evoke — Plants & Animals are Canadian. Their songwriting is terrifically incidental, the result of long hours taking slow tours of the same chord progressions, filling in the spaces with stray licks and conversational melodies. With the exception of triumphant opener "Bye Bye Bye" — the one time P&A choose the exclamation point over the ellipses — Parc Avenue proceeds at a hobo's amble. The guitars spill out like a babbling brook, a series of rippling notes that glide over stone-smooth percussion. The players follow each other's lead. A little organ waggle begets a curlicue of acoustic guitar, that acoustic guitar tips off a grizzled electric.
  
  Lead singer Warren Spicer's timbre is reedy and weedy, falling into the tiny crevice that separates Bob Dylan from Mark Knopfler. He wheezes out his lyrics, changing volume more than he changes pitch. He leans hard into arbitrary words, turning his verse into a series of freewheeling tone poems. "I saw a woman and a maaaaan/ become a huzz-band and a wiiiiiiife," goes "Mercy," but you get the sense that those itals could have ended up anywhere. It all depends on how the mood strikes him.
  
  Their chief lyrical concerns are mostly pragmatic. In "A L'oree De Bois" they worry the din from rowdy soccer fans in the street will screw up their album, but it sounds like it's gonna be alright, man; just close the window and keep on chooglin'. They even manage a bit of slacker profundity; Spicer at one point sighs, "It takes an enemy to help you get out of bed." The sentiment is profound, but a little hard to buy. After all, who could hate such good-natured loafers?

  more.
• 
  In Our Bedroom After the War by Stars

  Save it!

  Mid-2007 turned out to be a bountiful time for Stars fans. The collective remix project Do You Trust Your Friends? arrived in May, and two months later — well in advance of its CD version — came the follow-up to 2005’s indie-pop feast Set Yourself On Fire.
  
  For much of In Our Bedroom After the War, vocalists Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan appear to be channelling the liberated, emotional excess of the Romantic poets, invoking a sense of willful abandon which tinges the record with glee. Even as keyboards ring sadly and voices tell of relationships on the brink, it still feels as though someone, somewhere is getting their carefree kicks — as if our Canadian wordsmiths are waltzing at a lakeside retreat, revelling in the sensations they’ve unleashed.
  
  When they’re not rushing headlong at tragic lovers, surging choruses goad the group towards the barricades, into the rioting fray. Lines of conflict, both escalating and resolved, contribute to the central conceit of dizzying highs and lows. Even the gentle, horn-flecked sway of “My Favourite Book” hints at this duality — driven by devotion, but also invigorated by the wider knowledge that heartbreak could be just a page away.
  
  As might be expected, the strongest hook in the Stars orbit remains the vocal interplay between Campbell and Millan. Whether exchanging quips on the none-more-lonely skit “Personal” or jostling for territory on “The Ghost of Genova Heights,” their contrasting tones complete the rich instrumentation, like the silk lining of a debonair garment. As the closing title track breaks into a stately piano-stride, Campbell softly intones “It’s us / Yes, we’re back again / here to see you through / ‘til the day’s end.” He’s right — but what his comforting message can’t quite convey is the breathless nature of a typical Stars day; twenty-four hours devoted to the terrible, brilliant cost of love.

  more.
• 
  Little Jabs by Two Hours Traffic

  Save it!

  Two Hours Traffic are like that guy who can get a crowded room to listen, even if his voice is barely above a whisper, and he never, ever yells to prove a point. Even with their hushed, mellow vocals, they create a sound that's surprisingly large. Unafraid to experiment with boyish vocal harmonies and soaring group choruses ("No Advances," "Stuck for the Summer"), Little Jabs recalls the carefree sunshine of high school summer break. Life and relationships seem simpler and sweeter with lead singer Liam Corcoran crooning "Jezebel, I've got to see you when that sun goes down again" while an ooh-ing chorus of Beach Boys background singers support him.
  
  This same careful restraint is also demonstrated in the instrumentals. Each song starts with a slow build and each echoing guitar and drum beat seems to serve its own particular, planned-out purpose. This carefully measured sound doesn't detract from the laid-back, carefree vibe that binds the album as a whole -- and ultimately makes it a success.

  more.
• 
  Oh, My Darling by Basia Bulat

  Save it!

  Toronto singer-songwriter makes a joyful noise
  Toronto-born songstress Basia Balut was weaned on Sam Cooke and after-school piano lessons and her debut LP, Oh, My Darling, offers a mix of ragtime riffs and exuberant, soul-inspired melodies. Produced and engineered by Howard Bilerman (who’s worked with British Sea Power and Godspeed! You Black Emperor), Oh, My Darling is an undeniably infectious romp.
  
  Balut’s voice is loose and rich — it’s Big Mama Thornton’s guttural yowls tempered by Regina Spektor’s self-conscious quirkiness — and she sounds so happy when she sings that it’s tough to notice much else. Even in its darkest moments, Oh, My Darling still feels bright and joyful, and tracks like “In the Night,” with its autoharp strums and twinkling piano, are fail-safe mood-lifters (accordingly, the song’s charming video features shimmying bears and a choreographed dance performed by people in skeleton pajamas). Fleeting opener “Before I Knew” pairs ukulele with hand claps, and sees Balut admitting her (obvious) affinity for singing: “The first time I fell in love/ The first time I felt my heart/ Was the first time I sang out loud/ All through the night,” she bellows — telling listeners something we would have known even if she had never bothered to spell it out.

  more.
• 
  The Old Prince by Shad

  Save it!

  Shad breaks it down for you early: "My life is like a magazine/ got so many issues." There's a lot the Kenyan-born, Canadian-dwelling rapper wants to get off his chest here. "Brother (Watching)" is a set of zigzagging observations about the (still-very-real) challenges of growing up black; the religious-themed "I Heard You Had a Voice Like an Angel/Psalm 137" bemoans an industry that "Kill[s] the true artists/ martyr[s] the rebels." This isn't to say that everything on Shad's mind is heady, though.
  
  Over a steady barrage of '90s throwback boom-bap production, Shad makes great use of an excited, Phife Dawg-esque voice and easygoing flow. "The Old Prince Still Lives at Home" sounds like the best of the fun-loving rap era (think the bounciest of Pharcyde tracks) — it's a cheeky, self-deprecating ride as Shad talks about "his mom mak[ing] most meals," only getting "crappy jobs" and finally asking "what's wrong with my Mach 3/ you gotta be macho and mock more?" Throughout, The Old Prince is a punchy, consistently entertaining listen.

  more.