I moved to Minneapolis from Lincoln, Nebraska in August, 1998. My only regret at the time was leaving behind what I considered to be a vital, diverse, and exciting local music scene. Despite many trips to all the usual clubs, I saw and heard nothing local that truly thrilled me — no bands that I would even consider braving below-zero wind-chills and/or paying $5-$7 to see more than once. After a year of disappointment, the ennui had set it in to the degree that I tried bribing Omaha's indie-rock darlings Cursive with a place to stay and a home-cooked meal to play in the Twin Cities so I could get my rock on. All of this negativity changed, however, the first time I saw Astronaut Wife in concert.
I believe it was the year 2000, during one of the monthly After Hours parties at the Walker Art Center. Astronaut Wife was getting a lot of hype on Radio K (the University of Minnesota's radio station) for a little song called Cape Canaveral that they had released as an MP3. Yes, it was catchy, but I went to the party primarily so I could wander around the galleries whilst sucking down martinis. Then Astronaut Wife took to the stage and changed my life. From that point forward, I could no longer say things like "I hate pop music" with a straight face.
For those who are not "in the know", AW is the Twin Cities' intelligent and seductive answer to more prominent bands like LAIKA or STEREOLAB: Synth-driven Spaced-out Minimalist Electronica-pop. That's probably not a category you'll find at your record store of choice, but it's an apt description of AW and their music. AW is the brain-child of Christian Erickson, who gets help from Tim Ritter (on bass), and whose real genius lies not only in song-craft, but in the decision to bring aboard Angela Orluck and Janey Winterbauer as vocalists. I would be lying if I said that AW's over-all effectiveness has not decreased since their original third vocalist, Amy Turany (who was on-board for AW's first EP, Now That 1999 Is Gone), left the group to pursue other work. Nontheless, the two-part harmonies produced by Janey and Angela are nothing short of haunting. Flying Saucer captures (nearly) everything great about this group, and leaves you wanting more. Back to my story:
The first song AW played that night at the Walker was Snake Charmer, Track #5 on this CD and perhaps the best song they've written. It's a refreshing departure from what generally passes for a love song — songs that are either too sugary-sweet that you'd like the artist to shut the hell up and get a room, or the all-too-familiar "She/He Left Me, and I'm Depressed" claptrap that has somehow become very popular in indie-rock circles. AW's take is more honest and true to life insofar as love and emotions more often leave us in a simple state of confusion: "I don't know why I see you and you draw me in/If only I remembered what I said to you then/I think I told you I would never see you again/Now I'm not so sure that was really what I meant." Exhilarating! The rest of the album is no different.
Included among such brave, newer songs like the title-track Flying Saucer (there's that outer-space motif again, "Flying Saucer in the sky, where will you take me tonight?"), and Late Now are some older, previously unrecorded favorites like Anywhere In the Universe (a slower, ballad-esque musing on disappointing relationships — "I don't think I've seen such a godforsaken place/Nothing around but rocks and mud."), Dolphin Language Translator (environmentalism doesn't get in the way of pretty poetry — "The planet that we live on has been cut in two/One side for me/One side for you."), and Windshield (what it might feel like to fall for a nihilist). Die-hard fans will also appreciate a newly recorded rendition of Cape Canaveral — almost three years old now, and the song still hasn't lost any of its appeal: "And if you look down at me from the sky/I'll be standing alone waiving goodbye/Blowing kisses at the sun/Ignoring everyone/I never even stopped to ask you why."
All told, Astronaut Wife have crafted a gorgeous album that goes down great with a bottle of wine and a cold, cloudless night. Dim the lights and have a glass.
"A sinister cabal of superior writers."
Article comments