MP3 Lownote - No Place For Romance
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11 MP3 Songs in this album (42:06) !
Related styles: AVANT GARDE: Modern Composition, ROCK: Post-Rock/Experimental
People who are interested in Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds The Dresden Dolls DeVotchKa should consider this download.
A relatively new genre of music coined by the Canadian band Lownote in 2008 in order to describe their hard to define sound. Defined as music incorporating similar themes and traits of the cinematic genre âfilm noirâ. The term could be applicable to many alternative, gothic, punk and cabaret style bands within the rock subgenres that play music with a particularly dark and cinematic tone, accompanied by moody lyrical subjects.
In defining what could be called music noir, one could follow a few suggested guidelines, which are inspired by but not related to the general identifying traits of the film noir genre.
1. The overall tone is dark. Not necessarily negative or pessimistic, but exhibits a gothic influence and/or romantic overtones.
2. The music is cinematic in feel. An album listens like a movie.
3. The instrumentation and arrangements are unusual and not the standard guitar bass and drums format. May include piano and stringed instruments. An emphasis on incorporating old or traditional styles of music with contemporary underground movements like punk, metal and alternative.
4. A clear connection or influence to punk and metal genres of rock music. Typically manifested in the rhythm sections intensity and dynamics, with drum beats and bass lines similar to or influenced by stoner rock, doom metal, punk rock, and related underground genres.
Live review from The Skinny Magazine
"...Not to be outdone at their own CD release party, Lownote confidently took the stage in Vialka's wake and continued the renewed (ie. ultra-competent) spirit of the evening with a punchy and powerfull set of imaginative hard rock that sets them miles apart from most local acts.
Don Mann attacked his electric piano and howled away his inner angst - the punk rock Ben Folds (or Billy Joel re-channelling the Attila album). The rythm section chopped and bashed away behind Mann and held their own against a guy who rocks harder sitting down than most Vancouver frontpeople do standing up. Mann's very real outsurgings of clenched fist emotion drew the crowd into an attentive, huddled mass crammed up against the stage, where they stayed for the whole set.
Any band featuring the unparalleded virtuosity of the breathtaking Kytami is usually a force to be reckoned with, and Lownote certainly were that - Kytami's melding of eastern gypsy melodies and the punk-rock ballsiness adds an exotic flavour to Lownote's thoughtfull music.
This is one of the more compelling bands currently operating in the local scene, and one worth watching. The happy, sweaty faces at Pub 340 were all the proof in that particular pudding."
Exclaim!'s review of Lownote's first album "The World Won't Turn"
The World Wonât Turn
By Liz Worth
This Vancouver band have created a highly unusual sound that claims a range of influences from punk to gypsy music, and incorporates piano and violin into the mix. Although it sounds like a recipe for disaster, the result is breathless, halting, and ultimately artistic. Each song is an epic whirlwind of relentlessly heartfelt vocals set against a backdrop of mournful sounds. The opening track âBulletâ ruptures at an angular pace and creates a tapestry of dark, moving sequences while Don Mann lays out an entirely compelling vocal style. âThe Guts and the Bowellsâ plays out in fervent speeds, knotting itself up in fits and starts that mark its urgency, while âBeware the Worldâ enters on a pulsing bass line and hushed violin, setting the tone for a more subdued but still dramatic performance. The only unfortunate part here is that Mannâs vocals arenât as up front as they could be, and throughout the album it sounds as if the massive and maniacal sounds around him are swallowing him whole. This quartet warn that their music is difficult to define, and this is truly genre defying and smacks of originality.
The Mis-Adventures of Lownote
One foul night in east van, some skinny bought a piano, having decided once and for all to drop the guitar that tortured him for so long. Making the switch from guitar to piano is no easy task, and requires some thick skin and a lot of sticks and stones, but nevertheless, it proved to be a good choice for this middle of the road guitar player. Soon recalling memories of horrific abuse at the hands of his childhood piano teacher (musical abuse, not the other kind), the skinny kid decided to scorn all that he had learned from that regrettable and unpleasant period of life (Scarborough Fair and Greensleeves), and teach himself how to play in a way that wasn't so lame.
At first it was just smashing the low notes of a piano in order to make rumbling intros to some silly and pretentious pseudo avante garde noise projects, but soon led to some actual, if not childish songwriting. At around this time some strange ideas began to shape about a certain type of sound, one that would form the basis of the band that would soon begin to take shape.
Meanwhile, another musical conspirator from the bottom of Vancouverâs dirty underbelly was at work developing the sound of what was soon be the towns most hated, and heaviest bunch of no talent scumbag sludge vagrants, Goatsblood. Dividing his time between bass in the aforementioned pub clearers and leading the equally crowd clearing and slightly less interesting Musikill, this pessimistic bastard made the jump to drums to experiment some more with the skinny pianist kid (musically, not the other kind).
A piano and drums band will always suck until they can play a basic rock beat and the Chariots of Fire theme. That day never came, but they at least learned to play a little bit and soon after their skill level began to exponentially increase, they began to talk of enlisting a couple of co-conspirators.
Enter Bryan Somerville on bass. Former collaborator with the two wannabe musical revolutionaries in their defunct band Plague Bearer, and founder of local grindcore heroes hurt. The 2 pioneers where overjoyed, the bottom was complete and songs had taken shape.
END OF PART ONE
The orchestra pit is a foul, dank place, ruled by pretentious conductors frantically waving their whips to 200 year old romantic sonatas. Some musicians were born for this life of slavery and sight-reading, but not master violinist Kytami. After a long sentence she fled to the mountains, seeking redemption and inspiration among the peaks and valleys of this great earths bosom. Her long exile over, she re-emerged to the taverns and alleys of the metropolis, with a bow as her weapon, protection and provider.
It may have been chance, fate, or any number of supernatural phenomenons that brought Kytami into the fold of Lownote. All that is known is that she arrived one evening and never left. She has brought sight to the blind, pride to the meek, and blood to the muscle. She brought life from the mountains.
This was truly a historic and momentous period in time. Some might say that this was the musical equivalent of the Big Bang, or the tipping point in music akin to the cold Russian winter in which the Nazis failed in victory on their march to Leningrad. Regardless, a band had been created, the likes of which have never been heard before.
END OF PART TWO
Alas, the pull of enlightenment was not strong enough for the bass player Bryan. His faith corrupted by the seduction of the left hand path of metal. The path of wickedness too dark to resist for his weak soul. His betrayal was mourned, but ultimately forgiven in the spirit of the good word. âHonour and Mutual Respect Among Musicians".
But all was not well. Subsequent bassist Masa Anzaii also succumbed to this metal disease. And he left as well, suffering from an un-curable case of Bison, to which he has never recovered.
Such obstacles weighed heavily on the backs of this unwilling trio. And they began to question their faith in themselves more than their faith the world. It was clear this was no easy fight. âThese mountain are too tall, their cliffs too steep, and I am not sure what is on the other side.â proclaimed Mann. âWe have marched 5 years and the horizon has not changed, as if we have not moved. How can we continue when we starve? How can I climb when my fingers bleed and my muscles burn!?â
Indeed, it looked hopeless. This was a great burden that they could not lift themselves. But in all great stories, the end is not the end. And this one is no different. They could of just as easily given up, they could have simply let go. The easiest thing in the world is release. To return to a state of rest. To stop agitating.
And it was to be, until Tyler Bell, cartographer and accomplished mountaineer happened upon the tired party. âYou quit at the first obstacle!? You run from adversity?! Is this is the Lownote that I have heard others speak of? Are these the great explorers that that defy classification, who renounced the genres of the populists and dared question the formulas of our alchemists? I see before me three tired and weary travelers, weakened by the elements and buried by the terrain. I will join with them, and assist their noble journey, because this range is no place for musicians.â
âI have told this story a million times have never once exaggerated!â Mann told me one evening. âWe where North of Wilsonâs Pass and rounding a bend no wider than a piano bench. A blizzard had caught us almost immediately after we had set out. And by the time we had started to sweat Mike had succumbed to vertigo and was panicking, clinging to the face and almost in tears. Kytami was trying to calm him down. I was trying to hold on myself, but at least I could see the drop to my left. I could not see the bottom, but I could see the drop. And I could feel the wind trying to lift me like a sail and toss us away like dirty rags. This was no place for musicians! We must turn back, I cannot risk the lives of my band for the sake of music!â He smiled as he talked and so did I as I already knew what he was going to say next, for he had told me this story several times before.
âI had given up and was already dead. I remember writing a letter to my friends and family in my head, and I signed it âDied Tryingâ. It was then I felt the rumbling start. The mountain was moving, trying to shake us off. I could hear it coming, racing towards us like a stampede of Sunn amplifiers all turned to eleven. An instant later debris rained down on our heads and we where overcome.â
âThe silence that followed was incredible. I had lived a life of noise and the lack of it was shocking. Never had I not had someone yelling in my ear, pounding on my head or screaming at my decisions. I could usually drown out this unwanted orchestra, but this silence was something else. This silence was loud! Louder than any amp, and any jet engine. I could not write music over this! It was then that I felt a hand grasp my own, and I was pulled back into the noise. Back to the journey that had so brutally struck us down. Only this time we where stronger, and the storm had passed, for now.â
TO BE CONTINUED
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