SVIIB

School of Seven Bells
Alpinisims
Ghostly International
10.28.08
****
Brooklyn psychedelia has fostered a new class of alchemists. School of Seven Bells, fronted by harmonious twin sister vocalists Alejandra and Claudia Deheza (On!Air!Library!), flourished upon departure of guitarist Ben Curtis from his former band of brothers, The Secret Machines. Conjuring up mysticism, SVIIB employs their debut, Alpinisms (Ghostly International) urging those who cannot see what they see to wear “designer rose-colored glasses”.

“How does someone with nothing end/ up with so much to show for it?” The disco-laden “Connjur” is backed by Curtis’ electro avant-garde licks, reminiscent of the former sibling alliance. Rest assured, however, SVIIB are not TSM. The Bells are futuristic laptop magic meets monastical choir chant. The Machines are heavily brooding and progressive. Both bands fared well by the amicable split to opposite sides of the psychedelic spectrum — light versus dark.

SVIIB generates transcending white light through cosmic sound, awakening the mind’s third eye with airy timbre and warming the soul through looping rhythm. “White Elephant Coat” conveys their surreal musical vision, as sisters Deheza endow mesmerizing accompaniment to a prowling Blonde Redhead bass line. Strapped in by sleigh bells, Claudia creates tribal percussion with maracas and tambourine while Alejandra bestows snakecharming keyboard hooks. The Deheza’s layered neo-Celtic mantra is evocative and ghostly. Echoing chords from Curtis offer a meditative mood and higher spiritual awareness. White elephants are good omens.

Good karma has kept these students ahead of the class. School of Seven Bells are “…undernodisguise”, divulging centered realist ideals and lateral thinking. “I am neither breather or speaker/ I am neither walker or sleeper/ I am neither sister, brother, son or daughter…” Influenced by the moment, these young, modern existentialists need not a school of thought. Alpinisms is a boycott of shallow hipster values and talentless electronic melody. Catchy Ladytron beats, angelic hymns and guitar wizardry make for an evolution of laptop smart-pop that has no doubt found its place in the future of music, knocking seven bells out of the BK psychedelic realm. Groovy.

"That's Kunt"

Justin Tranter of Semi Precious Weapons and DIY jewelry artist extraordinaire.

Magnetic since birth and ready for his close-up, a star was born in the suburbs of Chicago. “Kunt is my mother’s favorite word,” Justin Tranter said, clarifying the self-proclaimed catch phrase, “always has been since I was a babe.” I got up close and personal with the front man of new New York glam band, Semi Precious Weapons at Lucky 13 Saloon -- a skuzzy punk rock dive in Park Slope, Brooklyn — no doubt a fitting locale for the interview. Tranter loved me as much as he loves you (and himself) and reveals that “Magnetic Baby”, the single from the band’s debut album We Love You (Razor & Tie) is about more than just being fabulous. “If you’re a magnetic person you get all the benefits, both positive and negative.” And much like bitchin’ and phat, Tranter also found the good in kunt.

Between coordinating a taping of MTV series, Made, with an album set to drop Oct. 30, and an extensive tour in the works, how does the 28-year-old ever find the time to incorporate a jewelry business into the mix? “Its been pretty much an 18 hour a day job,” Tranter explained. The budding rock star has kept himself busy building a ton of hype for his bands’ debut, alongside a jewelry empire coined Fetty — a hybrid of ‘fucked-up’ and ‘pretty’. What’s unique about Tranter’s lucky charms, aside from being the perfect merch for his gigs and selling like hotcakes at Urban Outfitters and Hot Topic, is that he started this biz before he reached fame. Tranter has personally touched over a hundred thousand pieces in the last year alone, with a little help from his friends of course. “Too many celebrities and rock stars start putting their names on things after they get famous, just to make more money,” he said. “I’ve done it all myself”. Fetty and new line Fame paid for his record deal and even caught the eye of Kate Moss and accomplice, Princess Beatrice.

The high-end collection of diamond Braille bangles and pendants can be found at Barneys. The Princess waltzed into the 5th Ave shop in New York and asked for Fetty, as per the request of her supermodel friend. Tranter’s buzz also grabbed the attention of famed producer Tony Visconti (David Bowie and T. Rex) and publicist turned DJ, BP Fallon (Death of Disco Parties). The legends took the rocker and his band under their wing. Even Perez Hilton wants a piece of the Weapons — he’s asked them to join his upcoming CMJ music showcase.

More Velvet Goldmine than Hedgewig and the Angry Inch — the gender-bender boasts a high energy balls-to-the wall show and can carry a shrilling F-sharp soprano better than any other man. Yet even with heavy black eye-makeup and four-inch stillettos, he won’t identify as trans. Sure, Tranter digs on cock rock like AC/DC and Led Zeppelin, but as a kid of the ‘90s he can’t help but succomb to sultry lyrical gangsta rap like ‘Lil Kim. “The shit she says is so ridiculous,” he laughs, “like how she compares herself to 9/11 — she has such big balls!” FYI, Tranter’s also got a case of Rihanna-mania.

His friends call him “Precious”, and MySpace fans are already stopping him in the street. Plus, they love him in Canada. Watch out for this star-bangled bender and his dazzling chest of treasures. After all, everyone needs a little more love in their lives. “There’s no heartbreak in jewelry,” Tranter revealed. Now that’s what I call, kunt.

Top Secret Machinery

The Secret Machines
Self- titled (TSM Recordings)
10/14/08
*****
“Now you’re gone, it’s too late / the world is starting to spin”. The nostalgic lexis of Brandon Curtis’ haunting lyrical prowess in “Now You’re Gone” divulge into layers of abstract romanticism and explore the fervor often associated with time-stopping encounters. The Secret Machines have come full circle, boasting a self-titled release on their own DIY label (TSM Recordings) with new and heavily experimental lead-guitarist, Phil Karnats in tow. Guitar gap filled, the band deemed an album title unnecessary. Even sans other-brother Curtis, they’re still The Secret Machines. Benjamin Curtis left the band in early 2007 to focus on his project School of Seven Bells.

Their third album to date, the New York based trilogy seems complete -- sounding more brooding than ever. The band’s new 3rd element probes into otherworldly licks that saturate atmosphere and generate a seemingly flawless transition for the band. “He’s kind of a dark guy,” Curtis revealed about his long-time friend Karnats on a dismal and rainy Manhattan afternoon. “But that was always the direction we were headed.” Curtis may feel akin to gloomy weather but his music is intent on taking an uplifting and positive tone. “The world is in a dark place right now,” Curtis said, “so what we want is to make people more aware of it, without being cynical.”

These days, it’s hard not to be political. The space rock single, “Atomic Heels”, is fueled by electro avant-garde psychedelia and already has a video in the works. Not since David Bowie’s “Space Oddity”, have we heard the likes of “I Never Thought to Ask” transcend from sub Area 51-type counterculture to mainstream. “Last Believer, Drop Dead” launches Faust arpeggios reminiscent of the Machines debut, Now Here is Nowhere, and fuses early ‘70s West German experimental rock. “The Walls are Starting to Crack” progresses into a vast Floydian finish parallel to The Wall itself.

“The Fire is Waiting” is characteristic of TSM’s lengthy instrumental breakdowns. Running just over eleven minutes long, its hard not to succumb to renaissance drummer Josh Garza’s dance with the devil. Play the record loud and much like the band’s early Texan heydays, you’re ears will ring for hours -- but your heart will be OK. In other words, synchronize the aftershock of a My Bloody Valentine show with futuristic noise rock, and call it a close encounter of the new third kind. Houston, do you copy? Over and out.