Leslie Low
Worm
[Universal]

by DJ Ung

Does sound occupy a space? Is it a “here and now”, transcendent from its intangible domain? Or does it merely constitute of metaphysical ruminations, perhaps a Foucauldian “heterotopia” within and between planes, but reflective of physical and imagined landscapes? What then is the “Singapore” sound? Does it – can it – even exist?

The contemporary reflection of this Singaporean sound hinges upon a singular contextualized premise and theme. The “City” and all its associations are stylized and highly romanticized in all its urban sublimity – the fluorescent night lights, the tall skyscrapers, the disjunction between beauty and cold hard concrete. While nothing wrong in itself (for it does present an accurate depiction of the Singaporean landscape that, when plied skillfully, provides a perfect frame for, particularly in this case, works of music), it does bear certain cliched overtones even in a global context, let alone a Singaporean one.

But Leslie Low (www.leslielow.com)’s Worm opposes all this. It is an imperfect album – there are barely audible hisses, irregular guitar noises, off-key vocals in places. It is also a simple album – no complicated programmed beats, no otherwordly guitar effects, no vocoder synth-like vocals, just a man, his guitar and his voice. Yet there is something that cannot be dragged and dropped, something that no amount of compression or computer wizardry can achieve – charm.

There is a whimsical slant on Worm, from Leslie’s plaintive and haunting vocals, like lonely musings for a rainy day, to his melancholic lyrics. There is a sense of understated angst within the lines as Leslie sings “Old party / Old tricks / Stale now beyond belief” on ‘The Years Of A Silent Sea’, and this thread follows throughout the whole album, never departing from its comfortable aesthetic. Even as ‘Along The Way Down’ seems to impart a sense of urgency to the listener in its almost-psych-folk breakdown, it still treads softly and never threatens to overwhelm Leslie’s passive rhetoric.

It is this heartfelt, down-to-earth approach, with scatterings of Vivian Wang’s beautiful meandering piano lines, that culminates in this elusive local sound. More rose-tinted HDB suburbia than sleek, luminous cityscape, WormWorm exudes this Singaporean peculiarity – of decrepit shophouses being torn down, of deserted, misused heartland playgrounds in disrepair, of a suffering-in-silence populace – and it does so with immense earnestness and honesty.

Certainly, this makes for a compelling and introspective listen, one where the onus is on the listener to lean in, rather than the converse, where the musician has to reach out. But such is the power and grace of this album, that where, indeed, the “worm takes care of all of you”.

Camera Obscura
Let's Get Out Of This Country
[Fruit Records]

by Lounge Lizard

Twee pop: Either you really hate it or you love it. For those who cannot stand the sugarcoated melodies and whimsical and snotty lyrics, stay far from this album.

The Glasgow sextet churns out catchy melancholic-tinged guitar pop. Similar to their more famous Scottish counterparts Belle & Sebastian, Camera Obscura (www.camera-obscura.net) mines the very same pop music history.

Personally, the standout tracks are ‘Lloyd, I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken’, the title track, ‘If Looks Can Kill’ and ‘I Need All The Friends I Can Get’.

Frontwoman Tracyanne Campbell leads her merry men (and woman) in this outing. The entire affair has a raw vibe to it, akin to the classic pop records from the 60’s. The sextet draws you with its clever song arrangements and instrumentations, employing horns, strings and a choir to create a lush scoundscape for Tracyanne to deliver her poignant lyrics. ‘Razzle Dazzle Rose’ employs this to great effect with jangly guitars and swirling trumpet as she croons “I tried to be happy/ but it wasn’t easy.”

It’s not always depressing in the Camera Obscura camp. Unlike current ska-pop princess Lily Allen, Tracyanne masks her contempt for ex-lovers in much subtler ways. That’s not saying that there’d be lesser spite on songs like ‘The False Contender’ and ‘If Looks Could Kill’.

Sing-along songs. Morose and witty lyrics. Lush instrumentations. What more can a pop music fan ask for? Oh yeah, the Fruit Records edition has 2 bonus songs.

the embryo
Fragments
[self-released]

by Lounge Lizard

Named after an obscure Pink Floyd song, the embryo (www.embryosongs.com) has an outlet for full-time musician Randolf Arriola to explore his love of ambient music. The 5-track demo EP features his mastery of live guitar loops and soundscapes. The opener ‘I Will Never Leave You’ is a paean to his infant son, complete with cascading swirls and soothing drones. It probably doubles as a lullaby for the child as well. Smart move, dude. Heh.

Incorporating elements of Massive Attack’s ‘Teardrop’, the 2 nd track ‘Ambient Teardrop’ is a live rendition where classical guitars are layered intensively over each other. Unfortunately, this track works the least for me. Live guitar looping involves the performer building up tracks over each other. Therefore, it requires certain patience from the listener as the melodic ideas are slowly fleshed out and added upon each other.

Thus, the rocker ‘There’s No More Time’ provides a refreshing counterpoint to the first 2 dirges with its buoyant and uptempo rhythms. Bassist Wendy Phua and drummer Mervyn Asher round the live incarnation of the act. Primarily an 80’s style rock number in the veins of U2 and Tears For Fears, Randolf bemoans the sacrifices what our Singaporean musicians make and how there’s the lack of time for musical pursuits.

The EP closes with the epic ‘Shadows’ which is split into 2 parts. While Randolf builds up the piece slowly, the emotional payoff is far greater than ‘Ambient Teardrop’. The guitar melodies weave in and out of each other while Randolf channels Robert Smith in his impassioned vocal delivery.

Interestingly, the tune offers a similar riff to Singapore experimental electronic act Phorous’ ‘Shadowgraphs’.

Ferns
On Botany
[Fruit Records]

by Billywill

I suppose the danger with naming your band something as nondescript as Ferns(www.myspace.com/fernfrens) is the inevitable comparisons to said plant. It doesn't help when on first listen, On Botany is the aural equivalent of things like wallpaper, milk, or more appropriately, bushes and hedges. The music does take off eventually though, probably on the fourth or fifth listen. At the risk of botanical metaphor, I'd say the band's debut release is a grower.

The album mostly chugs along serenely on an even keel, all pretty, slightly fuzzed melodies. The biggest problem, if you can call it that, is singer Warren Chan's whispered hush, which never raises above the brushed drums and clean guitars. While not really a twee album, Warren's voice is kind of 'I'm so twee it hurts', which unfortunately just skirts the edge of being irritating. Ferns seem determined to play music as pleasant and sweet as possible, so laconic as to almost cross over from saccharine to boredom.

Not to say there aren't standout songs though - for example, ' Wistful Thinking' with its lovely backup "oh oh ohs" and the bluesy ' Death Of A Lifetime' which immediately brought to Ron Sexsmith to mind.

There's even an almost post-rock coda in final track, ' When We Die' that picks up the pulse quite a fair bit, but only if you're not already drifting in dreamland by mid-album. On the whole, I'd say I like On Botany but probably only when I'm in the mood for sleeping on the astroturf with a flower in my hair.