Seven BPM.

September 11, 2008 by Tim Karan

Seven BPM.

I don't often get too excited.

 
Up until about four months ago, Jason Pettigrew could routinely be heard saying that I have about four heartbeats per minute.
 
 
But I think I might have upped the BPM to about seven today.
 
 
It was an exceptionally good mail day for me.
 
 
As I said earlier, all the editors at AP get inundated with a flood of plastic and broken dreams called "promos."
 
 
But I was pretty stoked with my haul this day.
 
 
Here's why:
 
 
Thursday/Envy
Split
I wasn't too sure what to expect from this seven-track split between everybody's favorite post-hardcore outfit named for the best night of TV (depending on where they decide to put Lost this year) and the only Japanese screamo outfit I wish I could understand. But 11 hours later, this is pretty much the only CD I can even imagine myself listening to for the foreseeable future. The Thursday tracks are the best things I've heard since Heisel pulled me into his office to listen to the new Norma Jean. Two of the tracks are instrumentals and sound like a combination of Mono and the first two EPs of The Alchemy Index. If you know anything about me, you know that's kind of like saying, it's like a combination of Jenna Fischer and Cotton Candy Blizzards. It's almost too much for me to comprehend right now and I have to stop thinking about it. Buy this the nanosecond you can.
 

 
The Subways
All Or Nothing
I felt the same about the Subways' first album, Young For Eternity, as I do about Hugh Grant. ("Yeah, I guess the accent's charming and all, but I'd still rather watch Benny Hill.") I remember seeing the Subways on TV and just thinking that I would bet 300 pounds that the frontman was in love with the cute female bassist. (Lo and behold, she was the Emma Watson to his red-headed wizard kid.) I think I like this new album so much because the pair split during the making of it and--even though some of the songs make me uncomfortable in that "Don't Speak"-era No Doubt kinda way ("Strawberry Blonde," I'm looking in your direction) I've always believed that love kills more bands than black tar heroin. And these guys are just heartbroken enough to be interesting to me.
 
 
 
Frank Turner
Love Ire & Song
While we're talking about lovelorn British peoples...bloody hell do I love the new Frank Turner full-length. Imagine if Damien Rice was a little more pissed (I mean that in the "drunk" way and not so much in the way that I'm pissed that the weird commercial with Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Gates is on every single commercial break) and a thousand times less refined. Yeah, I know that some of Rice's lyrics are downright obscene, but there's something way more inherently filthy and perfect about this record.

 
 
My Xbox 360
Yes. Apparently just like everyone else who purchased an Xbox 360 and played it sparingly over the course of two months, mine needed to get sent back in for repairs. (Maybe, Bill Gates, you coulda spent a little more time making sure these things don't shit their respective beds instead of making incomprehensible, largely unfunny commercials.) During peak Madden season. After three weeks, it has returned to me with a clean bill of health and a renewed respect for the fragility of life. (Mostly because they just gave me a new one.)
 
Consider The Thief
Soldiers & Saints EP
This is an unsigned band that I actually scouted out for our AP&R section a few issues back. I knew I liked them then, but now that I've heard their full EP, I'm feeling a lot more prophetic than I have in a while. If you refer back to my thoughts on the Thursday split, you know that I have a (yeah, I'm gonna say it, Rachel) preternatural love of Thrice. And this EP basically picks up right in the middle of Vheissu and I'm pretty sure this will be the last time I mention them as an unsigned band. I deserve a raise.

 
 
Trenches
The Tide Will Swallow Us Whole
Whoa. This is the dark horse of today's mail. And I mean that almost literally (if this CD were a horse). I kinda tossed it and thought I'd be able to enjoy my spicy Italian Subway footlong. But that was simply not meant to be. It's sludgy. It's hyper-melodic. It's impossible to digest to. It's rare that I truly endorse anything this heavy, but it's also rare that I actually use this blog to write about music. So apparently anything can happen today.

 
 
There. I just blew five issues' worth of Listening Station picks in one fell swoop.

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