Album Review: “A Dream Is All We Know” by The Lemon Twigs
Bodhi Says, “Check It Out:” “Church Bells,” “If You and I Are Not Wise,” “How Can I Love Her More?” and “Rock On (Over and Over)”
Helmed by Hicksville, Long Island brothers Michael and Brian D’Addario, The Lemon Twigs pull saccharine 60s pop melodies off the shelf, dust them off, charge them with potent 70s jukebox chords and release their somehow nostalgic yet fresh rock upon the masses.
In layman’s terms, Power Pop.
With four albums under their belt, the band introduced a fifth into their canon in May of 2024, the jangly and jubilant “A Dream Is All We Know.”
However, don’t let the numbers get to you; the album is easily one of their cleanest releases to date, leaning further into more Brian Wilson-esque charms rather than the Badfinger-adjacent, guitar-driven rock of their earlier albums.
More pop than rock, “A Dream Is All We Know” takes the impermanent, liminal unreality of day-to-day life and embraces the dream we all know with open arms.
The sonic scenery is hazy and ephemeral, with the listless possibility of a summer day spent by the record player, the dust from the stacks filtering through the sunlight; Tom Petty, NRBQ, Todd Rundgren, Big Star and Cheap Trick make heavy rotation that day.
“A Dream Is All We Know” is falling asleep with the window open, a little sunburnt and a little sweaty, letting the cool breeze brush your sun-kissed shoulders as the sheets pool around your feet while a Wings song plays from the next room.
Only a day ago, a friend texted me, “Have you ever listened to Jenny Mae?”
I hadn’t. He sent me the link to her album “What’s Wrong With Me?” via youtube, and I listened to the whole thing through, once, twice and then a third time.
It was strange, soft, sweet and deeply Ohio-ian, somewhat like a mix between the artists Broadcast and Kimya Dawson and Vashti Bunyan. Each of the songs felt deeply personal, deeply intimate, as if you were sitting on the bedroom floor of a close childhood pal listening to them play for you.
Jenny Mae’s “What’s Wrong With Me?”
The compilation album of Jenny Mae’s works called “What’s Wrong With Me?”
I needed to know more, and there was not much information to work with. What information I did find, however, painted a portrait of a deeply troubled and deeply fascinating artist that deserves far more recognition than she received during her lifetime.
Jenny Mae, born Jenny Mae Leffel, was raised in a five sibling household in South Vienna, Ohio. She was the life of the party, the ringleader, a popular tomboy who won awards for her trumpet playing at a young age.
Her high school boyfriend and long-time advocate, Bela Koe-Krompecher, recalls Leffel’s magnetic laugh and that she won the yearbook accolade of Funniest Girl. When it was time for the two to go to college, he followed her to Ohio State.
The two immediately immersed themselves in the music scene, becoming regulars at local bars and house shows, and Leffel playing in the OSU marching band.
Leffel soon began performing with her band Vibralux, thrifting three or four dollar gowns to wear up on stage, with her early performances being described as “gauzy and delicate.” Her major influences included artists such as the Beach Boys and the Beatles.
In a time where the Ohio musical landscape was loud and brash, Leffel’s music was dark, understated, and airy. Even though Vibralux broke up in 1993, Leffel continued to work on her own, notably releasing a single with the acclaimed band “Guided by Voices.”
Leffel’s song with “Guided by Voices,”
From then, Leffel made the decision to suspend her education and work on her solo career. Koe-Krompecher and Leffel had broken up, but he still helped her produce her first album called “There’s a Bar Around the Corner… Assh–s.”
It was a local critical success, marking an important achievement for Lefell. However, it was here that her troubles with addiction truly began.
She was a burgeoning alcoholic, getting drunk privately and in public. “I have a bad drinking problem,” Lefell said, even recognizing the issue. “I was drunk when we recorded, drunk when I did the credits, and drunk right now.”
Despite this, she continued to record, releasing her sophomore album “Don’t Wait Up For Me,” to recognition from magazines such as Spin. She did a small tour with artists Cat Power and Neko Case.
However, afterwards, Lefell continued to drink and began dabbling with cocaine. Her relationships with men became more erratic and family and friends reported signs of her decreasing mental health. She would hallucinate and experience troubling panic attacks.
By 2005 she was unhoused, living in Ohio and sleeping outside the OSU music building so that she could play the piano at night.
In a moving article, Koe-Krompecher details trying his best to look after her during this time, visiting her frequently while also caring for his young family. He attempted to place her in temporary housing only for her to continuously get kicked out. In his own career path, he had become a social worker.
“The system just failed her,” Koe-Krompecher said. “I did a lot of stuff from my end…trying to get her in the right place…But she never really realized she was homeless.”
Lefell’s health and addiction only kept getting worse. In 2017, she died of liver failure. According to Koe-Krompecher, she was still cracking jokes up until the moment she died, retaining her vivacious laughter.
Reading through all this, I was shocked that such a captivating life had faded to such obscurity. Koe-Krompecher remains Lefell’s greatest champion, publishing a book about their relationship and Ohio in the 90s called “Love, Death, and Photosynthesis.”
Exploring her discography, the music of Jenny Mae Lefell remains pop perfection to this day. Her songs are indeed gauzy and delicate, but also dark, tinged with sweetness and a brutal honesty.
She does not shy away from reflecting on her mental state. On “Ho B—,” she sings, “Why am I so moody / Oh no / How did I get unhappy.”
These lyrics are not phrased as questions, but flat statements. She doesn’t know, but she’s not asking. It’s just the truth.
Her deep sorrow is cushioned with a catchy, classic pop chorus of “La la la la,” which almost works to offset the whole thing with an air of carefree acceptance.
This song, I think, captures how Koe-Krompecher remembers Lefell’s personality, her larger-than-life disposition juxtaposed with the crippling struggle within her own mind.
Reading about Lefell, one story that struck me came from her early childhood. She convinced her younger sister to climb to the very top of a tall pine tree, toting burlap sacks fit with pillows that they would supposedly float down in.
Unlike Winnie the Pooh, however, who accomplished a similar trick with a red balloon, Lefell and her sister crashed into the dirt. Fortunately, neither of them were hurt.
Lefell’s career is the pine tree: she reached as high as she possibly could, nearing the top, before falling to the cold, hard ground.
Even so, her music is as euphoric and full of whimsy as arriving at a great height, akin to the rush one gets from the peak of a ferris wheel or scurrying up an oak as a kid, knees skinned from the bark and twigs. Listening to Lefell’s voice is like capturing a bit of that magic for yourself, a magic that will live on forever.
MIKE performs at Cat's Cradle on May 22. Image by Juno Palacios
In my preview for this concert, I wrote very briefly about my relationship with a more poetic style of song, the kind of style that MIKE employs in his work. It’s a type of sentiment that I share with a couple of my close friends who also enjoy a more mellow style of rapping. I mention this again because I never exactly realized the exact degree to which an artist could make me feel connected with their words (and their beats). I could continue on about this, but for now, I should probably discuss what the actual show was like.
I had initially planned on attending this show with a couple friends of mine, one of which was very familar with MIKE and the openers and another who wasn’t at all. In my opinion, if you plan on attending a concert with a pair, this is the exact dynamic you should go with. In my case, I was only really versed with MIKE, only being vaguely aware of the openers. Unfortunately, conflicting schedules let to my friends being unable to come along, so I was forced to go alone.
I arrived at the venue a little late, but still before any of the performances began, I still wish I could’ve gotten a better spot in the crowd though.
Prior to the performances starting, the venue staff had some quite enjoyable house tracks playing with R&B elements, which I may or may not have attempted to ID at certain points. Usually I feel like time is dragging on during the pre-show of a concert while my anticipation builds, but that wasn’t the case here.
In the midst of me vibing out to somebody’s house playlist, the lights go red and the first opener comes out, El Cousteau. The sound of loud trap drums was overwhelming, but the energy that El Cousteau delivered was arguably the most unique out of all the performers that would follow him. He didn’t exact fit the mold of a more “mellow” rapper, instead showcasing a more upbeat and excited mood, typical of the rage style. His set was fairly short, only about twenty minutes, but definitely did the job of hyping the crowd up some.
The next opener to come out was Niontay, who on the contrary did fit the mold of a “mellow” rapper. His voice was a lot more calm as compared to El Cousteau, and his lyricism felt more poetic, leading to a drop in the overall energy. This isn’t to say he or any of the other performers weren’t energetic, but more that they all brought a very different spirit with them, which I appreciate. My favorite aspect of this set would definitely lie in the beats, which were pretty similar to that of MIKE’s. They had a hint of some vaporwave elements to them which is probably one of the biggest things that drew me to MIKE’s music in the first place. I plan on looking more into Niontay’s music for myself, hopefully adding a few more songs to the playlist.
The final opener to perform would be that of 454, who felt like a fusion between the prior two openers. The first thing that immediately drew me to him would be his voice. He had a cadence which I’m not really able to describe, but got me more invested in his lyricism. The energy that he brought was more in line with that of El Cousteau’s, as it was more excited and fast-paced. With that in mind, I was more ready for MIKE to come out than anything else.
Finally, it was time for MIKE to come out, and initially, I don’t think I had mentally processed everything that was going on. To me, it was just “MIKE is here, he’s rapping, that’s cool.” It wasn’t until the hypnotic instrumental of “Set the Mood” came in that I had entered into what felt like a whole different reality. I felt this kind of familiar feeling that I had felt when listening to MIKE’s other instrumentals for the first time. All of his beats share this mesmerizing mood that never fail to put me in a trance-like state, pairing perfectly with his style of rapping. It’s a little difficult to describe, but for me, I believe the reason for this lies in this kind of “artificial antiquity” that he employs with the slight vaporwave influence that I mentioned prior. It’s a combination I never would’ve imagined working before, but MIKE somehow makes it happen.
There wasn’t a certain album or project that was focused on during the performance, it was basically a mixed bag of tracks from his discography in addition to some fun unreleased tracks. I wouldn’t have minded if it was focused on one project, but nonetheless I’m happy I was still able to hear some songs from early on, especially “Hunger”.
Throughout the show, there was a pretty clear effort made to foster a connection with the crowd. While being a great performer for one, MIKE is also just genuinely entertaining and funny. There was an entire arc about him not being aware of his friend’s birthday despite knowing him for over a year. I take pride in saying that I am exactly like that friend. Aside from that, I had just one qualm about some of the people around me, who seemed a lot more invested in a basketball game than they did the actual show. Which I normally wouldn’t care about, but they were right in the center of the crowd and slightly obscuring my view. Regardless, I still felt connected with the people who were there to actually enjoy the music and the artistry, and I especially felt connected with the performers.
MIKE closed out his set with the song “Closing Credits,” appropriately. I felt that it was the perfect song to drift away to and put an end to my hypnosis as I sang away part of the chorus. Somebody take the wheel, for real.
Iglooghost is an artist that I’ve paid attention to for a long time.
His debut album, “Neō Wax Bloom,” came out in 2017 and was one of the very first EDM albums I listened to that wasn’t, like, from a video game OST. However, I didn’t really pay as much attention for his next solo album, “Lei Line Eon.” As far as I can tell, it wasn’t received nearly as well as “Neō Wax Bloom,” so I figured that I wasn’t missing much by having it on the backburner of my listening backlog.
This one I found out about from someone posting a link to the YouTube premiere, and I decided to listen to it because I saw a friend say it was really good. In my personal opinion: Iglooghost is back.
While I like to call myself an “avid reader,” I find during the nine-ish months of the school year I hardly get to read anything at all.
Well, let me rephrase: I do plenty of reading, just not reading of my choice.
But, the bright beautiful, summery light at the end of the tunnel has appeared and I’m back, baby.
So why not start off with my favorite read of last season; “Cool Town: How Athens, Georgia, Launched Alternative Music and Changed American Culture” by Grace Elizabeth Hale.
One part research, one part lived experience, and all Southern legend at it’s finest, Hale dutifully recreates the Athens of her youth and the college town that changed the game – sorry, Chapel Hill.
Whereas other music-history books err on either the side of salacious rumors or strict fact, “Cool Town” wasn’t only an easy read, it was a fun one too.
Those Summer Nights:
I picked up a hardcopy on a complete lark, and for a couple weeks it was my faithful companion between beach, pool and patio.
Looking back, it was a prescient read; My first summer coming home from school, struggling to find my footing as a weird, music kid in a Southern college town and this book fell into my lap.
Not to suggest I can even attempt to eclipse the likes of Michael Stipe or Vanessa Briscoe Hay, but it felt good to hear about “outsiders” forcefully carving out a space that ended up defining a generation.
Of course, you can’t tell the story of Athens in the 1980s without R.E.M, Pylon and the B-52s, but Hale is able to also highlight bands that were lost in the backwash like to every potent Love Tractor or her own band Cordy Lon.
Really, it is the underdogs and ancillary acts that make “Cool Town” and Athens of a certain time sing; young, broke and hungry for more people on the fringes determined a revolution in how we see and hear the South.
The most memorable and beautiful moments form the book are recollections of seemingly insignificant moments of DIY debauchery: a church-turned-crash-pad housing a still unnamed R.E.M’s first gig, the B-52s nearly caving the floor during a house party after raiding every thrift store within driving distance for costumes or Matthew Sweet being bullied by his pen-pals to join the fight and leave New York City for the college rock hamlet.
Before it became music for the masses, the Athens sound was queer, feminist, cartoony at times and achingly raw depictions of the chaos that surrounded their stomping grounds; an active folk archival of bohemia as it blossomed and withered.
Build a Better South:
Beyond my own need to feel seen and heard by people who (most likely) would have understood how I felt moving to NC State, I am acutely aware that what we do at WKNC wouldn’t really look the same without what happened in Georgia – and bled into Chapel Hill/Carrboro – nearly fifty years ago.
College kids across the nation, but especiallyin the Southeast glommed onto this new driven, jangly music through shared tapes and party bands.
The cretins (like myself) who found their way into the DJ booth then proliferated the new sound across the air, offering respite from the crude and careless old guard – looking at you, Howard Stern.
For the first time in a long time, the radio was fresh and new…and from a current DJs perspective, we’re still riding that high today; most of the listeners who reach out first found us through that eighties boom.
At universities across the South, armed with college rock/jangle rock/power pop/whatever you want to call it, DJs and musicians have been redefining what it means to be Southern in radical ways.
Simply put, y’all means all at WKNC and I will proudly stake part of that in the work coming from Athens some 45 years ago.
Do you want more college rock beamed to your brain?
Fear not good readers, I’ve got the best of the best for your listening pleasure all inspired by the cool sounds of “Cool Town.”
Album cover for Harry Nilsson’s “Everybody’s Talkin’” from the movie “Midnight Cowboy,”
One of my favorite movies of all time is “Midnight Cowboy.” It’s not a comforting movie, but it’s one of my comfort movies.
The story follows an unlikely friendship between a wannabe male prostitute with a dark past from Texas, played by Jon Voight, and sickly hustler with a limp, played by Dustin Hofman. The movie was highly controversial at the time, as it has deep and undeniable queer undertones, and it was given an X rating. Still, the movie took home a host of prizes, including three Academy Awards: one for best picture, one for best director, and one for best writing.
Throughout the entire movie one song persists, and that song is “Everybody’s Talkin’”. From the very first moment it plays, encompassing the entire universe of the film, the longing, the desire, the loneliness and aimlessness.
The year was 1974, and the good old sport of the Great North was bloodier than ever.
From semi-pro to the NHL, fists swung with the same if not more force than the mighty stick.
And no one more personified small-time, minor league Old Time Hockey quite like the Johnstown Jets.
Where We Started From
Based in Johnstown, PA, the Jets were known to be some of the nastiest players to take the ice.
Tough but talented, they beat the opposition into submission just as frequently as they out-scored them.
However, amongst their ranks are four men who would help take the Jets from NAHL darlings to legends of the silver screen: Ned Dowd and the Carlson Brothers, Jeff, Jack and Steve.
While Ned Dowd and the Carlson brothers were the origin of so many hockey-hijinks that made it on film, it was his sister Nancy Dowd who put pen to paper and crafted what we would all come to know and love as “Slap Shot.”
“Slap Shot” (Hill, 1977) trailer from YouTube.
Written by Dowd and directed by George Roy Hill, the 1977 film “Slap Shot” follows minor league underdogs the Charlestown Chiefs in a bid to go out with an end-of-season blaze of glory, the failing team resorting to dirty plays to win the affections of their fans.
It’s simple math; a fist to the face puts butts in seats.
The aforementioned Ned would appear in the film alongside two of the three Carlson brothers, Jeff and Steve, as two-thirds of the fictitious “Hanson Brothers.”
Jack, was unable to participate in filming due to contractual obligations with the Edmonton Oilers.
Instead, he was replaced with Dave Hanson who played the fictional counterpart to Jack.
While all three “Hanson Brothers” would have respectable pro careers, Jack Carlson became a legend in his own right upon the ice, totaling 1111 penalty minutes across 508 combined professional games within the WHA and NHL.
With most of the on-screen antics pulled from real-life incidents on the ice, the film has garnered a somewhat checkered reputation within hockey circles.
The official NHL company line suggests that’s not what hockey is about and never has been, but, player commentary suggests it’s a mainstay on busses and charters.
Do with that what you will.
On the other hand, within the minors the film has garnered the singular reputation as “the bible.”
Once again, do with that what you will.
A Legacy Worth Leaving
But beyond goons, the film is funny and crass and violent and most definitely a product of its time.
I’m almost tempted to place it on the list of “films that couldn’t be made today” but beautiful blue-eyed Canuck Jared Keeso sought to prove that thought wrong.
In modern comparisons, you wouldn’t have the TV show “Shoresy” without “Slap Shot,” but as I said before, it’s simple math: fist + face = butt in seat.
Bawdy and brawny, yes, but really at the core of both pieces is the love of a good old hometown hero; something for people of a failing town to fall behind when times are tough.
Much like the fictional Charlestown of the film, the real Johnstown was troubled from the turn of the century by flooding.
Nicknamed “the flood city,” Johnstown saw the flood of 1977 bring about the demise of the Jets during the off season, coinciding with the inevitable fold of the NAHL.
Yet, their story lives on decades further than I would bet any player ever thought a rinky dink minor could all because a sister took stock in her brother’s stories.
Now, that being said…here’s some songs to start a fight to, in the name of Old Time hockey, of course.
Bodhi’s Best:
“The Stripper” by David Rose Orchestra
Big, Bawdy and indisputably raunchy, “The Stripper” is a mainstay on burlesque stages across the globe, but Michael Ontkean brings the lascivious display of the stage to the ice in protest to the so-called goon-like antics of his team.
Beyond violence, “Slap Shot” is without a doubt a film about sex. The players are hounded by (and hounding) groupies, a housewife is turned into chirp-material for experimenting with other women while her husband is away on the road, and a couple’s marital tensions underscore Ontkean’s Ned Braden’s real emotional strife throughout the film.
In the final knock-down drag out against the fictional Syracuse Bulldogs, Braden makes a show of his own with a striptease worthy of even Ms. Gypsy Rose Lee.
While blood spilt rips the crowd into a frenzy, it’s the playful sensuality of the strip that shocks the masses.
It’s not until a high school marching band in the stands launches into a ramshackle rendition of “The Stripper” that the crowd finds their feet once again.
But then again, I’ve always thought there were two “f-words” in the English language…but I’ll leave you to figure out what those are.
“The Stripper” by David Rose Orchestra from YouTube
“Trampled Under Foot” by Led Zeppelin
In a movie that’s equal parts sexual as it is violent (at least by 1970s standards), what’s better than a song that serves up both in equal doses; you can woo your woman and win a fistfight all in one fell swoop.
“Trampled Under Foot” is the fifth track off Led Zeppelin’s 1975 album, “Physical Graffiti.”
A play on Robert Johnson’s 1936 song, “Terraplane Blues,” “Trampled Under Foot” uses cars as a metaphor for you guessed it, sex.
But, that’s not to say it is also one of what I would consider one of the band’s toughest tracks throughout their discography.
It’s one those songs that comes right out from the stereo, grabs you by the throat and refuses to let up.
From Jimmy Page’s absolutely ripping chords to Robert Plant’s screeching wail it’s breakneck in every sense of the word.
In Bodhi’s words, a real romper stomper.
“Trampled Under Foot” by Led Zeppelin from YouTube.
“The Hockey Song” by Stompin’ Tom Connors
Speaking of stomping, what good is a hockey set if I don’t have at least one song directly referencing the game?
Because for all the fighting and the…other f-word I’m not legally allowed to say, I deeply love this sport and I especially love the smaller teams.
From NC State’s Icepack to the Winston Salem Thunderbirds all the way up the the Carolina Hurricanes, I think there’s something so absolutely beautiful about this rough-n-tumble, raggedy damn sport.
Maybe it’s the fans, maybe it’s the on ice celebrations, maybe it’s because I’ve got a weak spot in my heart for scarred and toothless men, I don’t know.
But what I do know is the collective energy of being in the old barn or the stadium is only paralleled to the most energetic concerts and even then, it doesn’t always match up.
Simply put, it brings people together in a way I’ve never quite seen before, and I think that togetherness is something we as human beings need more than ever.
“The Hockey Song” by Stompin’ Tom Connors from YouTube.
