-=- SHGZ -=- * Shoegaze * Indie * Post-Rock * Grunge * Dream Pop * Psych-Rock * Ethereal * ARTIST..: The Caribbean ALBUM...: Discontinued Perfume GENRE...: Indie STYLE...: Indie Pop, Experimental Rock, Indie Rock, Dream Pop, Alternative Rock YEAR....: 2011 LABEL...: Hometapes COUNTRY.: USA PLACE...: Washington, DC FORMED..: 2000 ENCODER.: LAME 3.100 -V0 BITRATE.: 250 kbps avg QUALITY.: 44.1kHz / Joint Stereo SOURCE..: CD TRACKS..: 11 SIZE....: 62.19 MB URL..: https://wiki2.org/en/The_Caribbean_(band) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Caribbean_(band) https://thecaribbeandc.bandcamp.com/album/discontinued-perfume https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/the_caribbean/discontinued_perfume.p https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/15143-discontinued-perfume https://www.tinymixtapes.com/music-review/caribbean-discontinued-perfume https://washingtoncitypaper.com/article/220284/the-caribbeans-discontinued-perfume-reviewed - TRACKLIST 1 Lands And Grooves 2:43 2 Mr. Let's Find Out 2:44 3 The Clock Tower 2:46 4 Collapsitarians 3:02 5 Thank You For Talking To Me About Israel 2:52 6 Outskirts 2:15 7 Supply Lines 2:36 8 Artists In Exile 4:56 9 Municipal Stadium 3:56 10 Discontinued Perfume 2:44 11 The Declarative 3:57 Total Playtime: 34:31 The Caribbean is an American experimental pop group from Washington, D.C., primarily composed of Michael Kentoff, Matthew Byars and Dave Jones. The band has been critically acclaimed for its deconstructionist approach to pop music, its wry, literary lyrics, and its eclectic sound, which incorporates elements of American pop, indie rock and experimental rock, cool jazz, folk music, lounge music, and even Brazilian music. * The Caribbean are not only the owners of one of the most arbitrary and google-proof band names in existence but are also one of the flagship bands on the fabulous label which I call, er, home: Hometapes out of lovely Portland, Oregon. Their new CD, Discontinued Perfume, a stunning batch of thoroughly adept experimental pop songs with startlingly conversational lyrics (best song title ever: Thank You for Talking To Me About Israel), is released on February 22nd and available for pre-order today. But wait, there's more ! Here is a song entitled Outskirts from said album featuring your not-so-humble bloggist pitching in harmony vocals, tinkly piano and a possibly wildly inappropriate guitar solo. Like a nosy neighbor stepping into a conversation he doesn't quite understand, in The Caribbean's world where disparate elements make for striking art it actually works. Have a listen. * PopMatters named Discontinued Perfume the Best Indie Pop Record of 2011 -The Washington Post called Discontinued Perfume a "subtle masterpiece" in naming it to their "Best of 2011" list -Washington City Paper Arts Editor Jonathan Fischer named the title track from Discontinued Perfume to his "10 Best DC Tracks of 2011" list -Washington City Paper's Ryan Little named "Mr. Let's Find Out" from Discontinued Perfume to his "10 Best DC Tracks of 2011" list -The Denver Post's John Wenzel names Discontinued Perfume to his"Best of 2011" list -DCist's Benjamin Freed names Discontinued Perfume to his "Best of 2011" list -KCRW DJ Eric J. Lawrence puts Discontinued Perfume in the "Honorable Mention" section of his "Best of 2011" list Who are The Caribbean? You can search Pitchfork and find reviews (good ones) of every one of their records. You can time travel back three years and read about their day jobs on Stereogum; a civil litigation attorney, an English teacher, and a US Dept. of Transportation librarian have been writing, recording, and performing music together for over a decade in Washington, DC. They've been on Hometapes since 2004, helping plow the land that grows bands you've heard of. If indie rock is a high school, The Caribbean -- Michael Kentoff, Matthew Byars, and Dave Jones -- sit at the lunch table with Daniel Higgs, Wayne Coyne, and John Darnielle. But since their inception in 2000, they've always hidden behind something: lyrics, unorthodox chord progressions, slithering melodies, iconic-but-abstract visual art, humor and satire, a nearly un-Google-able band name, and even their own normal-guy appearance. Discontinued Perfume, their first album in three years, began no differently: it was born Municipal Stadium, in the tradition of ambiguous album names like Plastic Explosives and Populations. But then the compass arrow turned. On the suggestion of friend and album co-producer Chad Clark, the song "Discontinued Perfume"-- a reference to the mysteriously doomed Teresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake -- surfaced as the namesake. This change in direction, with a name so open to interpretation and edging on sounding pretty, was no subtle shift. For The Caribbean, and specifically frontman Michael Kentoff, this was a revelation. "In February, I was completely non-functional -- for days I didn't remember how to play guitar. I went with Maureen to the Whole Foods and wandered around -- I didn't know what I was supposed to do; all I could focus on was the bizarre sounds people made as they talked to each other in the produce section (it was like tripping, without the fun). My brain said, 'You want to do lots of shit in multiple worlds, eh? How about functioning in none?'" Michael Kentoff describes, in an email, the moment he realized he was having a nervous breakdown during the making of Discontinued Perfume. At forty-six years old, he's a veteran in the independent music scene (and its DC-based epicenter). He wears a collared shirt every day and drives to Georgetown to work. He's married. He has cats. He has season tickets. He has an alarm clock. He goes to shows. He has parents. He has lunch. He attends funerals. He has Pro-Tools. He has laundry to fold. And he describes it best in the lyrics to Discontinued Perfume's "Artists in Exile": The houses are real and the garden is real and everything looks nice enough to steal. So meanwhile in the basement, secret tapes roll seven IPS. Artists in exile on your street: Yeah, they're living alright. This voyeuristic tone that Kentoff has cultivated in real time over four albums and two EPs is flat-out autobiographical. "It's pretty explicitly about living as a secret artist, wherein a person exiles themselves, in being an artist, from the straight world (workmates, neighbors, family) and, in living a straight life, from other artists," writes Kentoff. "That duality is one of the things that, I think, makes our music unique and I believe in it. I didn't realize until February that, in order to maintain that duality, I was compartmentalizing different parts of my life and that if one compartment overflowed, I'd be shoulder-deep in some bad shit. No idea. When I wrote the song, it was a celebration, a declaration of defiance." This fact opens up Discontinued Perfume like no Caribbean record before, and advocates a revisitation of every lyric booklet in their catalog. Michael Kentoff is not the first to put his truths to music. But The Caribbean, and specifically Discontinued Perfume in its honesty about modern life, are ambling toward universal truths. This band, and we as listeners, cannot be separated from the era we live in. Our waking life has expanded to embrace new dimensions of communication, experience, and measurement. Our own evolution has Google Analytics running on it. Your pocket is probably vibrating. And, all the while, there's a collective unrest among us, a zeitgeist of 21st century realization. "Discontinued Perfume seems to be about living a strong, practical, grown up life and being comfortable with leaving that world and accepting the unknowable," writes Kentoff. Brought to life on the cover of the record, this sentence defines the album, and, if you might entertain the thought, the state of mind of the generations born in and around the 70s -- or anyone in the process of reconciling their humanity with the world we've built. Though the sentence is over 140 characters long. Kentoff continues, "Many of the songs are about trying to see through closed doors. Trying to understand people who have done terrible or unfathomably disturbing things ("Lands & Grooves", "The Declarative", "Discontinued Perfume"), people who hurt you ("Collapsitarians", "Outskirts"), those with no ability to communicate or who communicate in off-putting ways ("The Clock Tower", "Municipal Stadium","Mr. Let's Find Out"), victims and/or oppressors ("Thank You For Talking To Me About Israel", "Supply Lines"), or just one's own mysterious dual life ("Artists in Exile")." The Caribbean's writing process is only matched in intensity and experimentalism by their recording process. The sonic steps taken by Discontinued Perfume illuminate the psychological strides of the album. Matthew Byars' rhythmic arrangements, from percussion to synthesis to vocals, armor Kentoff's conceptual core. Dave Jones always-otherworldly guitar has sprouted a tractor beam, transporting you from song to song without ever touching the ground. This trio, bolstered by the sonic presence of usual collaborators Tony Dennison and Don Campbell along with friends Brad Laner (Medicine), Thomas Wincek (Volcano Choir, All Tiny Creatures), Nick Butcher, Slaraffenland, and Chad Clark (Beauty Pill, Smart Went Crazy), has made their finest music to date. Discontinued Perfume is about the gray area -- where we all live. "Just breathe and try to relax: we're all alone," sings Kentoff. "There are no microphones, no cameras in the walls." The Caribbean builds up and tears down again, embracing all the magic of the world with the full knowledge and acceptance of the fact: "No matter where you end up, you'll find yourself on somebody's list." Identity is intangible and uncontainable; you do your best to stake a claim, realizing that the power to be anything is largely out of your hands. The lesson of this album is that there is no lesson. The songs of Discontinued Perfume are snow globes -- tiny dioramas to be shaken and shaken again. Like living, The Caribbean is not easy...until you put on your headphones, stop worrying, and let it be. * The Caribbean's building-block, artisanal approach to pop music has matured at every step since the band's first EP was released in 1999. At least since 2004's William of Orange EP, each recording has felt like a leap forward at first. Then you go back and listen to the record before it, and realize the template was all there, that they never leap as much as grow. On their fifth LP Discontinued Perfume this is true again. They're not doing anything all that differently, yet it seems like a giant step forward, and their best album yet. Again they set up an environment filled with sonic details, where listeners can bask in everything going on or train their ears on a specific component, either way inevitably getting surprised at what's lurking in the shadows. The credits give a sense of the myriad tricks up their sleeves; listed along with more conventional instruments are field recordings, tape filtering, processing, tape loops, "email drums", and a meow. Singer Michael Kentoff sings in a uniquely conversational way. His voice has a hushed quality, like he's whispering us a secret. With each album, the Caribbean have been getting more out of the elemental form of a song, while still experimenting. The Caribbean's songs keep poking at our emotions more, in the way you want pop music to do, while the band continues to counter expectations and build a vivid, strange world of its own. Their lyrics present anecdotes, stories, and fragments that portray contemporary life as a mystery that can never be solved. The songs are puzzles, but also narratives. They tend to reference systems-business, architecture, science - and where people fit into them. Across their discography are references to board meetings, business conventions, customer care reps. This is a band that once turned its website into a fake company site, and has presented news releases in the anonymous voice of a corporation. Their perspective might make the everyday creepy, but it also makes the songs feel like they have something in common with our humdrum everyday lives, even when the specific goings-on within them are awash in espionage and intrigue. The building on the cover of Discontinued Perfume seems a typical suburban home. Juxtaposed across it are quotes from an email that vocalist/guitarist Michael Kentoff wrote to the band's record label Hometapes, trying to explain what the album is about. For a band that thrives on secrecy, putting it all out there like that seems a change. The cover also dovetails nicely with the album's theme of trying to figure out other people-"To see through closed doors," as Kentoff puts it. The normalcy of the house brings to mind the album's song "Artists in Exile". In it, successful, blue-collar workers head home, go into the basement, and work on experimental films and other weird art projects. The album's most straightforward song, it can't help but remind us of the band's own story. This is a lawyer, a librarian and a teacher who often appear on stage in dress clothes, looking like they just left the office. In the song, artists who live "normal" lives end up feeling uncomfortable in both settings: "True / We live a counter life in any universe." The music in the song is dreamy, even eerie, with a bittersweet keyboard (I think) part that repeats, and keeps haunting me when the album isn't on. The song ends, with guitar at front, on a note that feels like contentment. "Artists in Exile" offers a resonant base for listeners to hook onto; some of us certainly identify with the problem of balancing things we love to do, of sorting out how to pursue our divergent impulses. Discontinued Perfume keeps touching on the idea of private lives and public lives-on seeing people and trying to understand what their lives are all about. And the flipside of that are people who are wary about what happens when they enter the public sphere. "Collapsitarians" is populated with pessimists worried about the future, our narrator wondering who will worry about those who worry all the time. In "Thank You for Talking to Me About Israel", our narrator reassures his conversation partner they're in a safe place to talk freely about a controversial topic: "There are no microphones, no cameras in the walls, so please feel free to shed light." Echoing that, the final "The Declarative", a love song of sorts, seems to exist in a dystopia where people are test cases for experiments: "They forced all my people into thought camps." Wars and political shenanigans pop up all around the album. In "The Clock Tower", a dying creature (an alien?) is kept trapped, used as a prop by politicians. People's lives are getting messed about, and the album's heart is clearly with them. "Mr. Let's Find Out" might be the best illustration of the way these songs carry societal anguish, fascination with other people's lives, private worry-and combine them in ways both funny and sad. The song casually strings together observations and thoughts. It seems the protagonist is counting down the minutes until a business meeting begins, feeling like PowerPoint = death, and thinking about his next-door neighbor who takes in stray dogs. That's the part that stays with you. "It seemed endearing 'cuz at first she's like 'Let's save some lives' / Then she's online for days / Buying heat lamps, cardboard boxes / A sea of puppies in an endless maze / It feels like we failed." It's that "it feels like we failed" part that hits you in the gut, and stands in for a general feeling of disappointment across the album. There are lines that jump out like that all across the album, like in "The Declarative", when he sings, "everything I've accomplished is lost," his words trailing off. I've never noticed if the Caribbean have always published their songs under the name "You have that lost look again", but I keep thinking about it in relation to lines like that, and to Discontinued Perfume. It seems representative of both the drifting feeling of the music and that private sense of failure or loss. Another great poetic description of disappointment appears on "Mr. Let's Find Out": "The skyline hunches over / Losing heart." There's a general public and personal malaise you can feel in pretty much all of these songs, whether it's a description of a stadium being built ("Municipal Stadium"), a narrative of taking the long route to avoid someone you know has passed away ("Outskirts"), or stories about people out of step with the world. The title track focuses on the latter. Kentoff has mentioned it's about the real-life suicides of the artist couple Jeremy Blake and Theresa Duncan. You don't need to know that to appreciate the song, but knowing it has made me even more fascinated with it, made it resonate with me even more as they take their description of disaffected people shutting themselves off from the world and play it off soft, pretty guitars. The lyric that stills me each time: "I was unhappy for 17 years when I met you." Listening to the song, I keep thinking about my encounters with Blake's art, especially of the first piece of his that I saw, part of his Winchester trilogy. I was watching an image of a house mutate, knowing the house itself contained its own share of tragedies. I think about the swirling colors he used, there and in general (even in his segues for the film Punch-Drunk Love, another bittersweet look at the extremities of human behavior), and with them the many color/light references across the Caribbean's discography. I think about the song's line "our pursuers will stop at nothing to win," in the context of Discontinued Perfume's other paranoid people, and in the context of Blake and Duncan's apparent certainty that Scientologists were after them (which I then can't help but put in the context of The New Yorker's recent lengthy article on filmmaker Paul Haggis' experiences with Scientology). I think about how surprised I was to read news articles about Blake and Duncan, surprised because I knew nothing of their lives, only of Blake's art. That gets me thinking about other moments like that: of learning of Spalding Gray jumping off the Staten Island Ferry; of the time I heard an Elliott Smith song on the radio and thought "Wow, they're playing Elliott Smith," and then they played another, and another, and I thought "Oh no", and my heart sank. I think of Vic Chesnutt, releasing a song declaring that he wasn't ready to die, and then killing himself later the same year. I think of people I actually knew, who I learned had died, sometimes years after the fact-classmates, co-workers, neighbors. Discontinued Perfume ties together this whole idea of the album being about seeing into other people's lives, about how little we know. The people in the songs are like secrets trying to understand other secrets. Meanwhile, the band, in its focused attention on strange sounds, operates like that too-like they're trying to understand how music works, to unlock that secret. The Caribbean itself is like a secret. Their music almost doesn't exist, as far as the larger culture is concerned. They are not flashy enough to become the next hot thing. Their music doesn't hit the right high-energy buttons to immediately blow people away. They walk out of step with prevailing pop-culture trends and fashions. Yet they're making some of the most interesting and multi-faceted music that exists right now. Operating on the fringes, they're nonetheless capturing essential dilemmas of our time, and doing so through the musical equivalents of quandaries, rumors, and whispers. To the band, the listener, the songs' characters, and the instruments themselves, Discontinued Perfume is an exciting exercise in unlocking the puzzle that is the world around us. -=- SHGZ -=- -=-=-==-=-=- Dream Pop is a subgenre of alternative rock and neo-psychedelia that emphasizes atmosphere and sonic texture as much as pop melody. Common characteristics include breathy vocals, dense productions, and effects such as reverb, echo, tremolo, and chorus. It often overlaps with the related genre of shoegaze, and the two genre terms have at times been used interchangeably. ---==--==---