Full show list/s on the LIVE page…
There’s a nod to the illusory tangles that we all allow ourselves to get mixed up in, with every song from the New York group Bear Ceuse. There’s a belief that there’s something out there that we’re missing. We’re trying to woo it. Swooning and charming though we are, it remains at arm’s length, or just on the other side of a thick glass or plasma screen. It’s not so much elusive as it is foggy and only half there. It could be that we should stop looking or we could just squint and grab a better picture, but there’s something that keeps us looking and yearning. They wonder where the magic went, where it might have returned to, in the song, “All Out Of A Hat.” Right there in the title, we understand where it came from, though that’s a bit of a tricky distinction as it is too – this thought that the magic resides in a hat, with hare and a deck of cards, ready to be beckoned with a wand and a few choice, nonsensical words. If this is the only place the magic can be found, that’s a problem. If it can all arise out of a hat and drop back into one, there’s little reasoning to be done.
The four men of Bear Ceuse take us through these bleak wonders, mostly when they’re less bleak than they otherwise should be. They take us to a seat on the couch, in a pair of hand-me-down pajamas, where a story of a childhood is recounted – one in which, a little boy felt he was unremarkable, screaming out at the television set to entertain him. There’s not much complication in the song, but it’s a perfect set-up for these stories of minimal or workaday magic – the practical kind that can be seen through, that can be roughed up and abused. It’s not to be marveled at. It will evaporate. There’s nothing all that special about it, for it lives in a hat.
They post these feelings along with a raw-fingered and sweet-tongued approach that occasionally reminds us of the pastures and woods that Denton’s Midlake, or Seattle’s Fleet Foxes. These are basic odysseys, that anyone can experience. There are plenty of hum-drum parts, made to look favorable, made to feel desirable – even that part with the TV screen. They sing, “There you go, you run away, into the streets of something good,” trying to make that splash.
Great photo set from the band’s recent gig at The Schoolhouse by Kassy Balli here (© Kassy Balli) – http://kassyballi.com/?p=1720
DISCLAIMER – Medical Records accepts no responsibility for the dog pooping incident
Medical Records is delighted to welcome The Can’t Tells to the roster. A young 3-piece from Bushwick, New York, via Berklee, the closest comparisons are to Pavement, Sebadoh and The Walkmen.
Mike Rea, Medical’s Chief Musical Officer on the first, chance meeting: “It’s rare that you’re blown away by a support, but, from the time they came on stage – there was this 6’5″ guy, great looking but with his back to the audience, a bass player with this semi-acoustic bass – and they just nailed it. Half way through the set and the drummer’s shirt was off. I haven’t seen that kind of intensity, and heard that kind of grown-up, thoughtful rock, well, since Pavement were killing it…”
Front men Blaze McKenzie and Michael DiSanto swap bass and guitar and singing duties in front of a drummer who can combine jazz, punk and driving rock, even in the same song.
“With this band, we’re really hoping to regain that spirit of the 90s, when SubPop was strong, or maybe even the Beatles of the late 60s, when releases happened sporadically, and the band wrote and recorded what they wanted, even if they happened to change style along the way. We’re looking to enjoy the fruits of a band with an intense creativity, Berklee education and freedom to manoeuvre.”