TUESDAY MAR 24, 2020
Corridor
Corridor are a group from Montreal and their Sub Pop debut, Junior, was made just yesterday. The rock'n'roll band had barely inked their record deal when they surfed into studio, racing against time to make the most dazzling, immediate and inventive album of their young career: 39 minutes of darting and dodging guitars, spiraling vocal harmonies, and the complicated, goldenrod nostalgia of a Sunday mid-afternoon.
This ain't Corridor's first rodeo. Junior is the band's third full-length and their third recorded with their friend, producer (and occasionally roommate) Emmanuel Ethier. However 2015's Le Voyage Éternel and 2017's Supermercado were made languorously, their songs taking shape across whole seasons. This time Dominic Berthiaume (vocals/bass), Julian Perreault (guitar), Jonathan Robert (vocals/guitar/synths), and Julien Bakvis (drums) permitted themselves no such indulgence. The band were committed to releasing an album every two years, and for Junior it required a blitz. "If you want to release something this fall, we need the masters by the 10th of May," the label had warned them. Winter was already in its last throes: on March 1, Corridor went into studio; in mid-April, Corridor came out. They had somehow created Junior and it was, if we may be so bold, spectacular.
Singers, two guitars, bass, drums: the timelessness of the setup underpins the timelessness of the sound, a rock'n'roll borrowing from each of the past six decades—punk and pop, psych and jangle, daydream and swoon. This is music that's muscular, exciting and full of love, its riffs a kind of medicine. Whereas Corridor's past work could sometimes seem overstuffed, twenty ideas to the same song, the new work is hypnotic, distilled. "Part of the beauty of the thing is that we didn't have time to think about it," says Berthiaume. Six of Junior's 10 tracks were conceived during a single weekend. The words to "Bang" were written on the eve of the sessions, as Robert began to panic: "Je payerai tôt ou tard," he sings: I'll pay, sooner or later. Fewer jams, fewer overdubs—no fortnight in the countryside, secluding themselves in a chalet. Even the artwork came in the nick of time: in spite of other, meticulous, masterpieces, Robert's "shitty last-minute collage" (of an egg saying hello) was the one his bandmates went for.
That might be Corridor's best trick—their mixture of seriousness and whimsy. Songs like "Miscroscopie" and the standout "Domino" are purposeful, full of songcraft, even as they let loose, slip their collar. "Topographe"'s all call and answer, like rival Cupids shooting arrows at each other across a ravine. "Pow" and "Goldie" are like hurtling racecars, or teams of horses, accelerating towards a memory. And Junior's title track—by turns twitchy and anthemic—is in fact a tribute to Perreault, their "joueur étoile," star player: in spite of his disappointed parents ("parents déçus"), he's Corridor's VIP. Junior's ten tracks are filled with tributes like this, impressionistic portraits of characters in the band-members' lives. Their tone is affectionate, the meaning hazy—even if you speak French.
Sub Pop have never before, in their 33-year history, signed a Francophone act. Maybe the band's magic springs from their ingenious hooks, their topaz-tinted vision. Maybe it's the panache of Québec's insurgent underground scene, or the camaraderie of Robert and Berthiaume, who have played together since they were 14. Maybe it's their name—a hallway crossed with a toreador. Probably it's all of these, and none of them: Junior is a joy, a hasty miracle, because it's so much damn fun to listen to. This album is 39 minutes; each day has 24 hours; you can listen 36 times before tomorrow.
Corridor are a group from Montreal and their Sub Pop debut, Junior, was made just yesterday. The rock'n'roll band had barely inked their record deal when they surfed into studio, racing against time to make the most dazzling, immediate and inventive album of their young career: 39 minutes of darting and dodging guitars, spiraling vocal harmonies, and the complicated, goldenrod nostalgia of a Sunday mid-afternoon.
This ain't Corridor's first rodeo. Junior is the band's third full-length and their third recorded with their friend, producer (and occasionally roommate) Emmanuel Ethier. However 2015's Le Voyage Éternel and 2017's Supermercado were made languorously, their songs taking shape across whole seasons. This time Dominic Berthiaume (vocals/bass), Julian Perreault (guitar), Jonathan Robert (vocals/guitar/synths), and Julien Bakvis (drums) permitted themselves no such indulgence. The band were committed to releasing an album every two years, and for Junior it required a blitz. "If you want to release something this fall, we need the masters by the 10th of May," the label had warned them. Winter was already in its last throes: on March 1, Corridor went into studio; in mid-April, Corridor came out. They had somehow created Junior and it was, if we may be so bold, spectacular.
Singers, two guitars, bass, drums: the timelessness of the setup underpins the timelessness of the sound, a rock'n'roll borrowing from each of the past six decades—punk and pop, psych and jangle, daydream and swoon. This is music that's muscular, exciting and full of love, its riffs a kind of medicine. Whereas Corridor's past work could sometimes seem overstuffed, twenty ideas to the same song, the new work is hypnotic, distilled. "Part of the beauty of the thing is that we didn't have time to think about it," says Berthiaume. Six of Junior's 10 tracks were conceived during a single weekend. The words to "Bang" were written on the eve of the sessions, as Robert began to panic: "Je payerai tôt ou tard," he sings: I'll pay, sooner or later. Fewer jams, fewer overdubs—no fortnight in the countryside, secluding themselves in a chalet. Even the artwork came in the nick of time: in spite of other, meticulous, masterpieces, Robert's "shitty last-minute collage" (of an egg saying hello) was the one his bandmates went for.
That might be Corridor's best trick—their mixture of seriousness and whimsy. Songs like "Miscroscopie" and the standout "Domino" are purposeful, full of songcraft, even as they let loose, slip their collar. "Topographe"'s all call and answer, like rival Cupids shooting arrows at each other across a ravine. "Pow" and "Goldie" are like hurtling racecars, or teams of horses, accelerating towards a memory. And Junior's title track—by turns twitchy and anthemic—is in fact a tribute to Perreault, their "joueur étoile," star player: in spite of his disappointed parents ("parents déçus"), he's Corridor's VIP. Junior's ten tracks are filled with tributes like this, impressionistic portraits of characters in the band-members' lives. Their tone is affectionate, the meaning hazy—even if you speak French.
Sub Pop have never before, in their 33-year history, signed a Francophone act. Maybe the band's magic springs from their ingenious hooks, their topaz-tinted vision. Maybe it's the panache of Québec's insurgent underground scene, or the camaraderie of Robert and Berthiaume, who have played together since they were 14. Maybe it's their name—a hallway crossed with a toreador. Probably it's all of these, and none of them: Junior is a joy, a hasty miracle, because it's so much damn fun to listen to. This album is 39 minutes; each day has 24 hours; you can listen 36 times before tomorrow.
Deeper
‘Auto-Pain’ is the Sophomore album from Deeper, a record that finds the band embracing open space, using synths to create shadows where bricks of guitars once would’ve blocked out the sun. The group – singer and guitarist Nic Gohl, guitarist Drew McBride, drummer Shiraz Bhatti, and bassist Kevin Fairbairn – were all graduates of Chicago’s rich DIY scene who came together around their love of Wire, Devo, Gang of Four, and Television.
While the new record is still within the Great Lakes post-punk tradition of their debut, the album isn’t as insular as its predecessor; it’s less interested in pile-driving and more willing to dwell in liminal spaces. Guitars enter the picture precisely, locked bass grooves propel things forward. Bhatti, who is half-Pakistani and half-Native American, embraced the drumming patterns he’d heard growing up at pow-wows, channeling the anxieties of his heritage into his playing and keeping the group grounded when they switch into all-out percussive attack. The result is an album both more nuanced and catchy.
‘Auto-Pain’ represents the constant wave of depression felt by many in everyday life. During the writing of the record, the band was forced to reckon with the loss of their former bandmate Mike Clawson. The album artwork features the now-demolished Prentice Women’s Hospital, capturing the band’s rounded-off brutalism, and the album title appears in Urdu, a nod to Bhatti’s Pakistani heritage. The record was recorded and mixed by Chicago scene luminary Dave Vettraino (Makaya McCraven, Dehd) and mastered by Greg Obis (Ne-Hi, Melkbelly).
‘Auto-Pain’ is the Sophomore album from Deeper, a record that finds the band embracing open space, using synths to create shadows where bricks of guitars once would’ve blocked out the sun. The group – singer and guitarist Nic Gohl, guitarist Drew McBride, drummer Shiraz Bhatti, and bassist Kevin Fairbairn – were all graduates of Chicago’s rich DIY scene who came together around their love of Wire, Devo, Gang of Four, and Television.
While the new record is still within the Great Lakes post-punk tradition of their debut, the album isn’t as insular as its predecessor; it’s less interested in pile-driving and more willing to dwell in liminal spaces. Guitars enter the picture precisely, locked bass grooves propel things forward. Bhatti, who is half-Pakistani and half-Native American, embraced the drumming patterns he’d heard growing up at pow-wows, channeling the anxieties of his heritage into his playing and keeping the group grounded when they switch into all-out percussive attack. The result is an album both more nuanced and catchy.
‘Auto-Pain’ represents the constant wave of depression felt by many in everyday life. During the writing of the record, the band was forced to reckon with the loss of their former bandmate Mike Clawson. The album artwork features the now-demolished Prentice Women’s Hospital, capturing the band’s rounded-off brutalism, and the album title appears in Urdu, a nod to Bhatti’s Pakistani heritage. The record was recorded and mixed by Chicago scene luminary Dave Vettraino (Makaya McCraven, Dehd) and mastered by Greg Obis (Ne-Hi, Melkbelly).
Small Reactions
Small Reactions play nerve pop. Their music has tinges of new wave and post punk; it’s often angular, sometimes surfy, and generally quick. They are a band of four guys who pull from various literary, geometric, and culinary influences in order to create and perform. They’ve played somewhere in the vicinity of 114 shows. With an average of 45 minutes on stage per show, they have amassed roughly 5, 130 minutes of playing music to an audience. They continue to add to those minutes, so this bio has to be updated often… with a calculator. Clinton, Scotty, Sam, and Sean, our respective singers and instrumentalists, never play anything the same way twice. They attempt to make shows more akin to movements than a simple collection of songs. Songs, in turn, maintain a sense of careful spontaneity. As ever present elements, levels, dynamics, voices, instrumentation, and sounds all shift and intertwine. Setlists, like the songs which comprise them, are, similarly, always different. Forever moving forward, they strive for perpetual motion. Scientists say it isn’t possible, but it is. Their concerts do, however, wrap up in a timely and orderly fashion.
Small Reactions play nerve pop. Their music has tinges of new wave and post punk; it’s often angular, sometimes surfy, and generally quick. They are a band of four guys who pull from various literary, geometric, and culinary influences in order to create and perform. They’ve played somewhere in the vicinity of 114 shows. With an average of 45 minutes on stage per show, they have amassed roughly 5, 130 minutes of playing music to an audience. They continue to add to those minutes, so this bio has to be updated often… with a calculator. Clinton, Scotty, Sam, and Sean, our respective singers and instrumentalists, never play anything the same way twice. They attempt to make shows more akin to movements than a simple collection of songs. Songs, in turn, maintain a sense of careful spontaneity. As ever present elements, levels, dynamics, voices, instrumentation, and sounds all shift and intertwine. Setlists, like the songs which comprise them, are, similarly, always different. Forever moving forward, they strive for perpetual motion. Scientists say it isn’t possible, but it is. Their concerts do, however, wrap up in a timely and orderly fashion.