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This Week's Singles
December 11 1999
Mazarin
Wheats
(Rocket Girl)
It is customary when reviewing the singles to bitch about the dearth of decent records released that week and generally moan about the apparently woeful state of modern pop. But not this week. No, sir. In what must surely be something of a first, the singles bag has offered up at least four definite contenders for the coveted SOTW crown and Philadelphia's Mazarin snatches the prize in a nail-biting photo finish. Over a rattling martial drum motif and ringing guitars, singer Quentin Stoltzfus delivers a tale of hopeless, unrequited love in dreamy, layered harmonies and la-la-ing backing vocals. "I must have spent 30 rainy days writing this simple melody to tell you that I'm over you", he coos, "but, oh yeah, that's right I'm not over you". 'Wheats' is a marvel of simplicity, My Bloody Valentine noisy beauty crossed with Byrdsian folky elegance. And Stoltzfus' lyrics are a delight, candid and funny and charmingly honest. "All of the things you gave me when you loved me", he sighs, as the record ends, "oh yeah, that's right you never loved me at all". 'Wheats' is a slight treasure. It won't change your life, it won't change the way you dress, but it will leave you grinning helplessly, consumed by an encroaching feeling of all-engulfing loveliness. And, like Terris, My Vitriol and Peeps Into Fairyland, who share the prize for second place, Mazarin are another new band offering fresh evidence of rock's rude health. Don't worry. Everything's going to be alright. Everything's fine.
Mazarin
Watch It Happen
(Rocket Girl)
Have you ever been trampolining, bouncing happily away and looking up at the sky and wondered if it might be possible to jump a bit higher? Maybe even to reach escape velocity, slip the earth's gravitational pull and just keep on flying? It's physically impossible of course, but - hey - it's a beautiful afternoon, why not give it a try anyway? Philadelphia's Mazarin, aka Quentin Stoltzfus, would make the perfect soundtrack to those moments of graceful whimsy. And thankfully without a hairslide or a duffel bag in sight. He's a man who knows the beauty of moments, you know: dogs smiling, unexpected phone calls from ex-lovers which somehow pour oil on stormy emotional waters, that kind of thing. Piled on top of a past NME Single Of The Week 'Wheats' are ten more graceful and honest songs. The hopeless even becomes hopeful as the narrator on 'Deed To Drugs' decides to stay indoors and dedicate his life to hardcore narcotics. With breathing strings and sunny-day swoons, it sounds like the most natural thing in the world. Mazarin fly in ever-decreasing circles around 'White Album' Beatles and outer limits of Mercury Rev. These songs are precious little songbirds who, as you're walking down the street, will make you smile. And that's worth 8/10 Neil Thomson
Mazarin
London Notting Hill Arts Club
So this is what they mean by lo-fi. Unfeasibly named Mazarin mastermind Quentin Stoltzfus and his two mates - the one with the guitar is from hometown Philadelphia, the one behind the toy drumkit is from London - are hunkered down on stools somewhere around the audience's knees. It's hard enough to see anything in a venue this size, but unless you're up-front and floor-level tonight, you might as well forget it. Mazarin, sadly, come to us with only the barest of means. Had there been more abundant cash, they explain, this rag-tag trio would be accompanied by a multitude of musicians, fleshing out Stoltzfus' wispy love songs into full-grown pop masterpieces. And, presumably, standing. As it is, however, we are privy only to the stripped-down, impoverished and emaciated Mazarin. Just two guitars, one drum, and a whole lotta heartbreak. This is a very different listening experience from that afforded by Mazarin's startlingly lovely debut album 'Watch It Happen' - on which Stoltzfus' spindly voice is bolstered by all manner of ambient noises, jagged bass and forlorn piano. Tonight the songs are sketchy, thin and, let's be honest, a little out of tune. Nevertheless, their beauty is unmistakable. Between bouts of guitar readjustment and rambling stories about transportational problems, 'Chasing The Girl' is a fluttery moment of stinging grace, 'Sicily' is a Simon & Garfunkel-styled nursery rhyme, and one-time NME SOTW 'Wheats' is naggingly, hopelessly lonely. Only 'Deed To Drugs' - The Monkees' 'Last Train To Clarksville' through a shredder, essentially - suffers irredeemably, as their attempts to emulate the record's sudden time changes and chugging hooks only sound jarring and disjointed. The live spectacle may leave something to be desired, but Stoltzfus' prodigious songwriting skills (particularly impressive considering his career up until now has been drumming for other bands) remain unimpeachable. Let's hope that next time Mazarin can afford to come back in style. Expectations, if nothing else, are high. April Long