irah, like Kill Rock Stars Records, and her supporting label, K, is from that hotbed of liberalism named Olympia, Washington. Near mythological figure Phil Elvrum of The Microphones, yanked Mirah from her bar mitzvahs, birthday parties, and small clubs and enlisted her to sing on a few of his releases. Years later her solo debut You Think It's Like This But Really It's Like This arrived on K to good reviews, but it was 2002’s Advisory Committee that slapped most listeners to cognizance. Brimming with beautiful melodies, confident lyrics, Elvrum’s always idiosyncratic instrumentation, and of course, that sexy, jazzy, straight-guy-and-gay-girl-melting-in-their-chair voice the album made an appearance in my personal top ten for the year. The other name on the heading next to hers you’ve probably never heard of- unless you really like book mobiles or independent queer ‘zines. Takahashi is one of the creators of LTTR, a D.I.Y. journal type project for “trans folks, anti-capitalists, and queer rebels of numerous stripes” and also heads up the Mobilivre-Bookmobile project.


So, Songs from the Black Mountain Music Project. Three months into their friendship, Mirah and Takahashi thought of a brilliant idea: “Let’s throw some instruments in a trailer, live in a quaint North Carolinian house in the tiny city of Black Mountain, and make music -- and have the proceeds go towards an inner-city garden in Philadelphia and the Rock 'n' Roll Camp for Girls.”


This “document” of their September sojourn is hardly awe-inspiring, however. The album is composed of eight interludes, ten songs, (six with vocals) and 29 minutes of Mirah, Takahashi and their friends f’ing around in a cottage. It’s self indulgence, masked as altruism- “it’s all for the kids!”- and begs the question, “When will people learn that recording a train whistle or birds chirping is a cheap cop-out attempt at transporting a listener to the artist’s recording habitat?” Probably never, which will force me to continue to pound the point home – it only ends up being a failure to transport the listener through the actual music.


The only tracks worth mentioning are those with vocals. Notably “The Knife Thrower” with its melodica heavy melody, French/Amélie feel, and Mirah giving a succinct, articulate, AAAB rhyme scheme vocal. “Life You Love” has Mirah singing about that long thing called life, and how it should be appreciated over country-tinged instrumentation. But the best song is “Pure,” a tune that Mirah’s sister Emily wrote and sings on. Crickets and other insects chirping in the background provide the backdrop, while a simple Roland Juno-60 synth melody and music box beat underneath -- and it’s absolutely gorgeous. “And I’ve stopped drinking / And smoking / And eating / And breathing / So I should be pure by now” this mysterious sister moans in a not entirely beautiful voice, but one that perfectly suits the song.


The short 30 second bursts of random instrumentation called “Interludes” aren’t worth mentioning. If the album proceeds weren’t going towards charities, I would feel the need to slap a giant PRETENTIOUS-IN-ITS-UNPRETENTIOUSNESS WANK sticker on the wallpaper album cover. The thought that people would actually want to hear their private mucking beats out George Costanza’s girlfriend, who pronounced paper mache as pap-ee-ay mah-shay and addressed everyone by their full name, in pretentiousness. Alas, for some reason they didn’t call me up to do the cover art. This review will have to do.