Send "Punch Brothers " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Avclub |
 Despite its conventional string-band arrangement—guitar, banjo, fiddle, mandolin, upright bass—Punch Brothers turn out bluegrass music so unconventional that it barely merits the genre tag: The group favors meandering arrangements that hew closer to jazz or classical. But while its previous album, Punch, took that sophistication to a level bordering on esotericism, the new Antifogmatic is as warm and welcoming as the bracing 19th-century drink that gave it its name. Partial credit goes to producer Jon Brion, who injects some of his pop sensibility into the songs without stripping them of the flourishes that make them so compelling. “You Are,” for example, is anchored by a killer, rock-influenced chorus as it twists through five minutes of crescendos and tempo changes, allowing the band’s virtuosic playing to shine without becoming tedious. But ultimately, Punch Brothers’ sense of camaraderie and whiskey-soaked outlook—on fine display on the twangy album highlights “Don’t Need No” and “Rye Whiskey”—are what make the album so inviting. The occasional moments of extended instrumental noodling—particularly in the album’s back half—might frustrate listeners who aren’t enamored of mandolin pyrotechnics. But the showy displays of musicianship are backed up by solid songwriting and a willingness to simplify when called for, as on the gorgeously sparse album-closer “This Is The Song.” ...full text |
| Slantmagazine |
| What impressed most about Punch Brothers's debut, Punch, was how the band demonstrated a willingness to explore high-minded, classically inspired composition within the context of traditional acoustic music. But that album split its running time between terrific standalone tracks and a multi-song suite composed by frontman and mandolin wunderkind Chris Thile, making for an unbalanced listen. For their sophomore outing, Antifogmatic, the brothers have done a far better job of incorporating their most sophisticated aspirations into a more conventional album format. That isn't to say that the band adheres to many conventions of acoustic music. While Punch and their contributions to Dierks Bentley's fantastic Up on the Ridge may have proven their skill with traditional bluegrass arrangements, it would be a stretch to call Punch Brothers a bluegrass band. For the sheer technical virtuosity of its compositions and the fearlessness of its arrangements, Antifogmatic suggests that Punch Brothers are rapidly evolving into a string-band version of Radiohead. Even a song like "Rye Whiskey" that begins as a standard acoustic blues number takes entirely unexpected turns, like the way Thile leaves the first two refrains open-ended ("Boys, have I ever told you 'bout the time I…") and how the song slow-builds to a cacophonous, apocalyptic hoedown that ends with an improvisational, jazz-like coda. Opener "You Are" makes brilliant use of negative space, with Thile singing his impressionistic lyrics through nearly a cappella verses before exploding into a furious chorus that culminates in a full-bodied falsetto wail. Thile, as always, is a powerhouse, one of the most sickly talented artists in popular music. But producer Jon Brion gives the entire band opportunity to show off. Brion is one of pop's finest producers when it comes to creating texture, and Antifogmatic ranks among his most compelling work. Few contemporary albums have this kind of range of sound: There's a subtle, protracted crescendo by fiddler Gabe Witcher on "The Woman and the Bell" that gives the song a sense of shape, and a guiro provides a light percussion track on the relatively spare "Alex." It's those kinds of light-handed flourishes that really prove how smart the band is with their compositions and how perfectly Brion's skill set matches up with their aesthetic. Punch Brothers can pull off a song like the smoldering, boozy "Missy" just as capably as the forceful, breakneck-paced "Don't Need No." But for all their peerless technical skill, it's the gutsiness they display throughout Antifogmatic that makes the album one of the year's finest, most ambitious records....full text |
| Nytimes |
| Luke Temple could be talking to himself in a song called “Collector” on Here We Go Magic’s second album, “Pigeons” (Secretly Canadian), when he sings, “You find the Lord in repetition.” His kind of repetition is the ceaseless, clockwork patterns of New York City art-rock and 1970s Krautrock; the electric-organ tones are the direct link. In Here We Go Magic’s songs, the Minimalist patterns can be a foundation, a calm pulse, a motor, a vocal chorale, a gauzy swirl of guitars or a circusy tootle, swelling within a song or racing all around it. Mr. Temple brings his wispy, androgynous voice to lyrics full of modesty and qualifications — “It’s casual, not heartbreaking/ So casual, not mind-shaking” — but the songs are absolutely confident that every repetition is worthwhile. Punch Brothers Virtuosity leads to a temptation: to write music that’s complex enough to need every bit of skill. Led by Chris Thile on mandolin and lead vocals, Punch Brothers have the unplugged lineup of an old-fashioned string band, and they recorded their second album, “Antifogmatic” (Nonesuch), live in the studio. But their music is as radical as progressive bluegrass (or newgrass, or new acoustic music) can be, with chord progressions that can veer sideways at any moment, changeable meters and interludes that can hint at hoedowns or turn as contrapuntal and dissonant as chamber music. Luckily, there are limits. Punch Brothers tuck their instrumental prowess into songs, behind or between the arching melodies carried by Mr. Thile’s high, aching voice. And he brings something unexpected to the pickin’ party: angst, which in these songs often happens to revolve around the dangerous lure of available women: “Too hot, too sweet, too bad, too late.” Emotion still outweighs technique. Macy Gray Fashion can be cruel. The programmed, pumped-up bombast of current R&B is less flattering to Macy Gray’s voice than the human-scale instrumentation of her old retro-soul was. But her underrated 2007 album, “Big,” didn’t get far commercially. So she capitulates on her honestly titled new one, “The Sellout” (Concord): “I won’t fight you no more,” she sings in the title song. Drums go boom or use brittle, artificial tones, and arrangements come out of computers; the songs are written with more than a dozen collaborators. Her scratchy charm gets her through some of the stompers, like “Kissed It” and “Still Hurts,” and her old humor surfaces now and then. But the desperation rings all too true in “Help Me,” where the producer Rodney Jerkins reconstitutes 1960s soul as Ms. Gray wonders, “If I switch up my delivery/Will you, my love, remember me?”...full text |
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