Name your band after a phrase rooted in Beatles lore, and you’d goddamn well better come with some top-shelf poppy goodness — and that’s what Plasticsoul does on the L.A.-based collective’s second release, the aptly named Peacock Swagger. Like a musical Jackson Pollock painting made up of splashes of the Beatles, Michael Penn, Jellyfish, Elliott Smith, Badfinger, and Todd Rundgren, Swagger struts from psychedelia-tinged torment (“Cancer”) to countrified balladry (“You’re Not Free”) to hard-charging power pop (“Cock Rock 101″) to baroque-flavored, Jon Brion-style chamber music (“Champion Tragic Boy”) without breaking its stride. It’s the kind of album that would have been made and promoted with an enormous budget if the record industry had a brain in its head — but as Loudon Wainwright III once quipped, “the world is a terrible place,” and Plasticsoul doesn’t have a label, or even an official e-mail address not ending in “hotmail.com.”

It’s a sorry state of affairs, to be certain, but unlike the members of Plasticsoul, you aren’t cursed with a compulsive need to write and record brilliant pop music in virtual obscurity; all your lazy ass has to do is buy the stuff and listen to it, and believe me, listening to it is perilously easy. If you love pop music and you’ve never heard of Plasticsoul, one listen to Peacock Swagger should be enough to make you doubt the existence of God, because only in a cold and random universe could these guys be shucking their wares on a website that looks like it was put together with Dreamweaver and a migraine instead of trying to see the back of Wembley Arena through the blizzard of women’s underwear being hurled at the stage where they’re playing for 90,000 screaming fans.

Buying Peacock Swagger won’t make the world fair, but it will make your speakers happy. Go get some.
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It seems that at its roots, power pop is a search for the Beatlesque. Not a pure aping of the Beatles per se, but the ability to capture the mix of melody, musicianship and innovation in a more or less traditional rock form that was their hallmark. Lots of artists and albums try for this, but fall short in way or another. But I daresay that Steven Wilson, a/k/a Plasticsoul (fittingly named a McCartney phrase that inspired the titling of Rubber Soul) gets pretty much all the way there. Of course, it doesn't hurt to have a voice that sounds eerily like John Lennon either. And on Peacock Swagger, Wilson manages to capture the right mix of tunefulness, attitude and eclecticism that's found on most Beatles and Lennon albums.
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Name your band after a phrase rooted in Beatles lore, and you’d goddamn well better come with some top-shelf poppy goodness — and that’s what Plasticsoul does on the L.A.-based collective’s second release, the aptly named Peacock Swagger. Like a musical Jackson Pollock painting made up of splashes of the Beatles, Michael Penn, Jellyfish, Elliott Smith, Badfinger, and Todd Rundgren, Swagger struts from psychedelia-tinged torment (“Cancer”) to countrified balladry (“You’re Not Free”) to hard-charging power pop (“Cock Rock 101″) to baroque-flavored, Jon Brion-style chamber music (“Champion Tragic Boy”) without breaking its stride. It’s the kind of album that would have been made and promoted with an enormous budget if the record industry had a brain in its head — but as Loudon Wainwright III once quipped, “the world is a terrible place,” and Plasticsoul doesn’t have a label, or even an official e-mail address not ending in “hotmail.com.”

It’s a sorry state of affairs, to be certain, but unlike the members of Plasticsoul, you aren’t cursed with a compulsive need to write and record brilliant pop music in virtual obscurity; all your lazy ass has to do is buy the stuff and listen to it, and believe me, listening to it is perilously easy. If you love pop music and you’ve never heard of Plasticsoul, one listen to Peacock Swagger should be enough to make you doubt the existence of God, because only in a cold and random universe could these guys be shucking their wares on a website that looks like it was put together with Dreamweaver and a migraine instead of trying to see the back of Wembley Arena through the blizzard of women’s underwear being hurled at the stage where they’re playing for 90,000 screaming fans.

Buying Peacock Swagger won’t make the world fair, but it will make your speakers happy. Go get some
                            Read more...
                        

                            
Ugh, Always late to the party. This one just got by me because I did my top ten list early this year, and but it gets special consideration -- and I'd like to amend my list for it. Plasticsoul hails from L.A. and this album just blew me off my chair when I popped it in. Then Absolute Powerpop put this as his #1 album of the year. It's hard to argue against this... it's simply a work of genius. Opening with "Sentimental F**ks/ Life On Other Planets" is rich with Beatlesque guitar riffs, music hall piano and a drum break that Ringo would envy. The loud "Cock Rock 101" is exactly what you think it sounds like. The following tune "Champion Tragic Boy" channels a bit of Jellyfish, with it's catchy mid tempo harpsichord melody. A sweet pastoral "Fishwife" full of sitar and bongos follows this, and then the tragic ballad "Cancer" which double tracks lead vocalist Steven Wilson and adds backwards guitar for further effect. The aching chorus of "Cut it out/ Please cut it out. Cancer is breaking me down." is unforgettable. The album settles into a more laid back groove, with acoustics opening the next six songs, including "Shame" and the very Michael Penn like "New Town Different Day." The orchestral sweep of "San Francisco" is another easy listening winner here. A duet with Wendy Wang on the countrified "You're Not Free" has plenty of soul. The album's mood shifts perfectly into psychedelic pop on "My Three Friends" which follows a rhythm similar to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and then continues with the groovy "Rainy Season." This is the most sophisticated power pop album I've heard this year. Don't miss it.
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