The Channel

Any A&R people who have only just heard the Flaming Lips and are looking around for something similar to sign should be chasing The Channel. Having been creating their own sound in Austin, Texas since August 2001 this isn’t for D4 fans, but is an altogether gentler vibe. Quite Beatlesy and psychedelic, but with a charming feel like a faster Belle and Sebastian, this is sumptuous, sunny music, all Pet Sounds harmonies and production but with odd lo-fi sounds wandering in an out like friends at a BBQ. A great voice, singing simple songs with strange but beautiful lyrics like “I left all my happiness in the lagoon” it’s the sound of contemplation in the back of a faded pick up truck. Only the occasional self-indulgence over-doing the sound effects mars a brilliant album. - SoundsXP

In a little over the half-hour timeslot of a typical television show, The Channel has created a whole new station. Its part MTV, part History Channel, part Food Network, part Lifetime but its all good, bordering on impeccable.

How, exactly, does this conglomeration work? Personalized, The Channels second LP, is a swirling mix of ingredients from musics past and present. A family affair from Austin, Texas, the Pennington siblings and their bandmates stir in The Beach Boys plush harmonies, The Beatles aggressive pursuit of originality and a pinch of The Flaming Lips slow buildups and electronic vibe. Mastered by Jeff Saltzman (Stephen Malkmus, Robert Pollard, Death Cab for Cutie), the sound is layer upon layer of rich flavor mandolin, steel guitar, trumpet and fiddle are all added to the psychedelic rock mix. Each song flows into the other seamlessly; think a stretched-out medley from the end of Abbey Road. These ten tracks are familiar but fresh, smooth but surprising.

At the same time, Personalized is a love story, or a post-love story. The liner notes contain no lyrics only a letter from Colby Pennington debating the benefits of depersonalizing himself from the she-monster to which he attributes the albums style. Shes in those swirling harmonies around your head, he writes. Addressing his former lady, he notes that The Channel has finally captured your essence, channeled you into a wave of sound.

He adds that the band has done an effective job at making Depersonalization Background Music with this album, an experience he describes as seeing life through a hazy lens, distancing oneself from people and conversations in order to allow the tank to remain intact. This may explain the first track, Depersonalized, a brief, computerized monologue that ends with heavy footsteps approaching and climbing into a car. Perhaps this is Pennington trying to objectify his situation, but ultimately giving up on trying to maintain this cold viewpoint.

Appropriately, next song is the title track, where the band officially launches into its perky, muscular sound. You know I dont like being personalized/everyones always asking what they should know, Pennington complains over the oohing sympathies of his brothers and sisters that fill out every song on the album. The band also takes leaps Inhibition, for example, is given a country twang with an off-key but somehow fitting string section. Throughout the album, listeners will be astounded by The Channels confidence and the dead-on correctness of almost every decision this group has made. One exception may be the fine but not fantastic cover of Will Oldhams Black. But, when the one less-than-perfect part isnt even the bands work, it only adds to the wonder that is the rest of this album. Turn off the TV and tune in to The Channel. - Left Off the Dial

Deserving of plaques and extra peyote breaks, employees of the desert psych-pop song factory The Channel went above and beyond the lo-fi collective's usual production quotas on the 23-track double album, Tales From The Two Hill Heart/Sibylline Machine. Earning employee of the year awards for exceeding management's goals on the band's first dual-disc foray are company songwriters Colby Pennington and Jamie Reaves, the former a midnight cowboy lost in the desert looking for Brian Wilson and the latter an Elephant 6 acolyte running on Elf Power and electro-pop batteries. Four out of five customers should agree that The Channel has done the impossible; they've rolled out a big SUV of a record that gets incredible mileage.
Using the business model Outkast adopted for Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, the two split songwriting duties straight down the middle on this, the group's third release, with Pennington responsible for the dreamy harmonies and hallucinogenic country tones of Tales From The Two Hill Heart and the enigmatic Reaves supervising the streamlined pop surrealism of Sibylline Machine. And while nobody's ever going to confuse the subdued pop craftsmanship of Pennington and Reaves for the hip-hop flamboyance of Big Boi and Andre 3000, truth be told The Channel outdoes Outkast by fashioning a more focused, complete effort that exudes melodic subtlety and timeless charm.
Outkast took the oft-maligned format and treated it like an overnight bag, rushing to stuff it with a lot of wildly original ideas and colorful, fancy-pants productions, not bothering to pack it in a neat and orderly fashion. Rarely did they coalesce into anything resembling compelling songs "Hey Ya" and "The Way You Move" being the glaring exceptions. By comparison, Pennington and Reaves pay attention to form and structure, staying true to classic pop archetypes like Neil Young, the Beach Boys, the Zombies, The Kinks and Neutral Milk Hotel, and making it all flow more freely than one would expect. Granted, it's not the most groundbreaking approach in the world, but it would be pure folly to ignore The Channel's soft-focus, easy-going instrumentation and bright, engaging hooks just because of an "it's been done before" hang-up. Might as well shun The Shins too if that's your beef.
For his part, Pennington lets his affection for Gram Parsons' country-flavored psychedelia and lazy, drifting melodies be known on tracks like "The Deserter" and the warped closer "Whirly Bird." Wraiths of organ and pedal steel in "The Deserter" carry lyrics comparing a soldier's going AWOL with a lover's abandonment issues through a pop haze, revealing Pennington's lyrical concerns regarding the vagaries of fate and human behavior ? subjects which crop up a lot in his writings.
Under the creamy pop frosting of "Wages Of Death" lie weighty existential issues and Pennington's sworn allegiance to the working class, expressed in the line, "They were right about my collar too/It'll always be blue." Riding a swift current of acoustic guitar, electric keyboards and racing piano, the wistful "Wages Of Death" is one of the standouts among Pennington's body of work, as is the beautiful Beach Boys-esque sigh that precedes it called "Up On The Hill" and the twinkling gem "Aching" that appears later. Waltzing on acid is the loopy, 13th Floor Elevators-like "Fired #3," while the banjo-inflected "The Man I Don't Remember" recalls George Harrison's finest solo efforts. A songwriter for almost all seasons ? but especially late summer and early fall ? Pennington's heart goes out to the almost defeated, marginalized losers barely holding on. His tribute to them is blissful pop, the kind that empathizes with you more than it tries to cheer you up. That's where Reaves comes in.
Weirder, with a sunnier, more fuzzed-out tonality and driving instrumentation, Sibylline Machine is a 10-song bottle of happy pills that includes the swinging "Bedsides/Ohio" and the delightfully off-beat "Rapture, My Captain." Reaves' quirks, directly descended from Jeff Mangum and Minus Five pop prankster Scott McCaughey, come out of the closet in the light-hearted whimsy of "The King Of Spain" and "Sneaks And Skates," and the Casio-toned playhouse "Disco For Daisies." But it's the breezy, slightly sad "Under The Carpet" that tops them all. Immersed in serene organ melancholy, dry post-rock guitar chords and understated John McEntire-inspired beats, it's the best song The Sea And Cake never wrote.
Wading through this 23-song collection is easier than it might seem from the surface, despite the muck of Pennington's droopy "Olden Days" and the sluggish title track of Sibylline Machine, penned by Reaves. Aside from that, it's hard to find substantial fault with anything here. The vocal arrangements are gorgeously woven together, as if Wilson himself were running the show, and based on them alone, this release is worth owning. And with light-fingered chops, Heather McCallister, Tom Marshall, Chris Gregory, Andy McCallister and Pennington's brother Brent provide a wonderful, impressionistic backdrop for the staging of Reaves and Colby Pennington's well-honed melodic impulses. Even without rabbit-ear antennas, this Channel comes in clear as a bell.
- Lost at Sea

Did The Channel repair to Big Pink to record their Basement Tapes? Emerge from a cocaine blizzard to unveil the sprawling indulgence of a Tusk? Squabble and meditate their way to a schizophrenic White Album? It turns out that the two-disc Tales from the Two Hill Heart/Sibylline Machine is nothing like any of those famous double albums, and is actually more of a twofer -- two separate albums in one package. The first disc, Tales from the Two Hill Heart, features the songs of mainstay Colby Pennington and exhibits the distinctive Channel sound as heard on their 2004 album, Personalized. The Channel has grown more polished and musicianly with each release, layering on harmonies like a modern Crosby, Stills & Nash while writing country-flavored songs reminiscent of the crunchy granola suites of early '70s singer-songwriters. "The Deserter," "The Man I Don't Remember," and "The Daring Eye" -- which incorporates a musical saw -- are excellent additions to their songbook and show the band in top form. The 22-minute Sibylline Machine contains the songs of Jamie Reaves (formerly of The Arthurs) and is much more recondite, with impressionistic lyrics, changing time signatures, unpredictable chord progressions and linear song structures that emphasize sonic textures over melodies. At first listen the gentle but complicated music on Sibylline Machine resembles that of Tales from the Two Hill Heart, but the similarities are superficial -- Reaves' songs are entirely different from Pennington's, and any likenesses stem from the character of the band itself rather than the songs. Comparisons to The Minders and Of Montreal are easy to make, especially since the group has named both bands in their promotional literature, but The Channel have forged their own style. With the release of this double album, however, a split personality has emerged. - All Music Guide

The Channel's debut album, Tones Are Falling, was one of 2003's overlooked gems. The music, a mixture of psychedelia, country, and guitar-based indie pop, didn't seem rooted in any particular era or scene -- it could have originated with dB Records in the '80s or more recently with the Elephant 6 collective along the lines of the Minders. The Channel's second album, Personalized (a title that appears nowhere on the package), moves the group further toward the Minders' end of the spectrum, with full harmony vocal arrangements that make prominent use of one of the group's newest members, Heather Pennington. Intentionally or not, much of the ramshackle quality of the first album remains, creating an endearing style resembling a homespun version of Friends-era Beach Boys. Personalized is, in many ways, an extension of Tones Are Falling -- both albums lead off with weird instrumentals, and the title track of Personalized is a remake of a song from the previous album. The group's vocal and instrumental arrangements have become more sophisticated, while their songs remain substantial and memorable. The album concludes with a fleshed-out cover of Will Oldham's "Black" from Bonnie "Prince" Billy's I See a Darkness. Personalized is an accomplished album and its fans are encouraged to seek out the equally rewarding Tones Are Falling. - All Music Guide

When Tales from the Two Tale Heart / Sibylline Machine arrived - I knew it was going to take some time to absorb > digest > reflect. To make matters even more complex, the double LP came the same day C-Side Records placed Golden Bear at my flip-flop'd feet. Goodness gracious, what is a young man with but 2 faulty ears to do with all of this extremely fantastic music? "Listen". So listen I did.

The follow-up to 2004's Personalized - and their third [and fourth] LP to date - Two Hill / Sibylline could have very well fit on one cd [TH totaling 37 minutes / SM running 22; add > subtract sum from 74 {+/- a few}]... Yet! - after complete listens to both albums you will/may/should realize that these 2 albums indeed do need their very own little space to grow. Sunlight optional, water once weekly [weakly].

Where some may find Tales from the Two Hill Heart leaning slightly towards the fractured heart side ("The Deserter", "Wages Of Death"), Sibylline Machine is the dawn of a new day - sprinkled with a pleasant dose of serotonin enhancing pharmaceuticals as glistening dew ("Disco for Daisies").

If you cried yourself to sleep silently repeating "[Like] I can't believe you're not sorry and I can't go back to town / and I can't go on like this much longer - can't get any lower down" ["The Deserter"], you will awaken on a crisp linen pillowcase as "Deep Silent Seas" pulls the Sun up from the blue hills: "if you slipped you'd be stuck under deep, silent seas for days or weeks".

Fittingly (lovingly), what we end up with are two albums that generously balance one another out - both waltzing that fine line between albums that instantly awe while presenting themselves to near perfection.

These albums represent those few things that are better/bigger in Texas. - Slightly Confusing to a Stranger

The Channel are driving across the country in an RV, high on sunshine - are you ready for them? Like an Elephant 6 collective that's been hiding out in the desert, The Channel play bright, larger-than-life pop-rock songs flavored with hints of country and psychedelia. They're psychedelic in the "lingering over melodies with blissful smiles on their faces", not in the spaced-out and silent sort of way. On their self-titled second album, The Channel deliver melodies and harmonies galore, along with a certain ramshackle, circus-like feeling of freedom and joy. They sound at times quite like a bunch of different California dreamers: Beulah, Grandaddy, Irving, the Beach Boys. Yet as far as I can tell they're not from California, and they definitely establish their own identity. There's more weight in The Channel's songs than their cotton-candy tunes sometimes suggest, right down to a fine closing cover of Bonnie "Prince" Billy's "Black." - Erasing Clouds