Bruce Springsteen's Wrecking Ball

Bruce Springsteen – Wrecking Ball (Sony)

2012 demanded a big-moment, cultural watershed album from one of America’s working-class heroes. The U.S. is in the middle of not only an economic crisis, but an existential one—and it’s an election year partisans paint as a battle between good and evil. What better time for a Bruce Springsteen album? And not just any Springsteen album (the less said about 2009’s Working on a Dream, the better), but one where he’s firing on all cylinders, playing to the back seats, waving the tattered flag and standing up for the common man in one rousing anthem after another.

Ideally, said album will also be at least pretty good—and Wrecking Ball is, more often than not, pretty fantastic.

Springsteen has done this twice before in the last decade: once, on 2007’s knockout Magic, when he saw upstart young disciples like Arcade Fire stealing his mojo, and once in 2002 when he channelled the energy of the reunited E Street Band to help heal America in the wake of 9/11 on (the arguably less successful) The Rising. In 2012, he sees his beloved country dissolving into a bubbling cauldron of bitterness and defeatism: “the road of good intentions has gone dry as a bone.”

Springsteen easily taps into that anger on one banker-bashing number after another. By comfortably numb pop music standards, he comes off like a raving, Fox-baiting Marxist, even though the themes here are perfectly in keeping with the folk classics he reinterpreted on 2006’s We Shall Overcome—an album with which Wrecking Ball not only shares sentiments, but most of its backing band. (Very few E Streeters appear here—oddly enough, no-longer-touring member Max Weinberg is one of them).

Springsteen is not just channelling old protest songs, however. He’s pissed, and so are his protagonists. The angriest song here is “Death to My Hometown,” and it’s far from the lament of a similar name that closed Born in the U.S.A.: it decries the “robber barons” and “greedy thieves” who “ate the flesh of everything they found.” Furthermore, it’s set to a rousing, militaristic Celtic march, like it’s being sung by bloodthirsty barbarians crossing bridges into Manhattan, looking for heads to roll.

Even a seemingly more reassuring song—"Jack of All Trades," in which a handyman narrator assures his family that they’ll be self-sufficient amidst the current storm—concludes with the same narrator expressing a need to “find the bastards and shoot ’em on sight.” This isn’t about fairness or victimhood: it’s about vengeance.

Meanwhile, whereas Springsteen’s narrators on 1975’s “Meeting Across the River” or 1982’s “Atlantic City” have trepidations about doing some shady business to get by, the man in 2012’s “Easy Money” is swinging with a new-country swagger, boasting about strapping a pistol, hitting the town and looking for, yep, easy money. Springsteen doesn’t sing it with any shame or regret; this character sounds joyously entitled. And in the context of this album, why shouldn’t he? The corporate cannibals who profited from the bank bailouts are rolling in it—why should the average schmuck bother working for his windfall?

Lead single “We Take Care of Our Own” sets itself up to be another “Born in the U.S.A.”: a song with a feel-good anthemic chorus that is actually about what a pile of shit America has stepped in. Springsteen mourns the death of empathy, charity and civil society: “From the shotgun shack to the Super Dome / there ain’t no help / the cavalry stayed home.” He sings the titular chorus with a straight face, simultaneously mocking the sentiment while wishing it was still true.

On the title track, Springsteen taunts the forces that are tearing his community apart, inviting them to “bring on your wrecking ball / c’mon and take your best shot.” The bridge of the song urges: “hold tight to you anger / and don’t fall to your fears.” The song is Springsteen at his stadium best, with a wordless chorus, dynamic swells and ebbs, a horn section, Max Weinberg driving the ship, and the lyric’s ability to turn desolation into delirious release.

The rest of the album isn’t always as musically successful. Producer Ron Aniello is an odd choice: his biggest clients to date appear to be Jars of Clay, Barenaked Ladies and late-period Candlebox, and some of the production choices are a bit Pete Seeger-meets-Nickelback. The first rap to ever appear on a Springsteen album is performed by Michelle Moore on an uninspired gospel song, “Rocky Ground.” More than a few tracks sound good only because they’re in Springsteen’s hands; if anyone else—say, uh, Bon Jovi, for example—attempted the exact same material, it would be laughable. And finally, why does Springsteen hire Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello to play bloated and bad guitar solos on the ballads? Ultimately, however, these are all forgivable crimes, and Wrecking Ball is far more consistent than we’ve come to expect from late-period Springsteen.

It’s fitting, then, that Wrecking Ball is also the first Springsteen album since the death of his iconic sidekick, saxophonist Clarence Clemons in 2011; an excerpt from Springsteen’s eulogy for him appears in the liner notes, and Clemons appears on two tracks. (It’s not clear if they were recorded before or after his spot on Lady Gaga’s 2011 album Born This Way. For history’s sake, let’s hope it’s after.) Clemons’s solo on the 12-year-old live staple “Land of Hope and Dreams” (appearing for the first time on a Springsteen studio album only now) is undoubtedly affecting—but only really because it sounds like the last gasp of a once-great powerhouse. As sax solos go, it’s rather innocuous—nothing like the Clemons who would have once stolen the song out from under Springsteen and carried it to a whole other emotional level. It’s sad but beautiful, undeniably poignant, hearing him give all he had left, on a song about travelling to the afterlife.

Maybe more than the state of the nation, more than the election year anxiety, Springsteen knew that the best tribute he could pay his friend was to frame his final recorded moments inside a rousing rock’n’roll record that ranks with Springsteen’s best since he put the E Street band back together.

Download: “We Take Care of Our Own,” “Wrecking Ball,” “Land of Hope and Dreams”

February '12 reviews

These reviews ran in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury in February.

Bahamas – Barchords (Brushfire)

Bahamas’ main man Afie Jurvanen is a guitar hero: not in the classic rock sense of showboating, and most certainly not in the video game world that co-opted the term. No, Jurvanen is the kind of guitar player that sounds like an entire R&B/soul band (or, alternately, Neil Young’s Crazy Horse) with the help of only a drummer—in this case, the Weakerthans’ Jason Tait. Together, they communicate volumes with negative space: the notes they don’t play are as important as they ones they do. Both men have long histories of being sidemen (Jurvanen has toured with Feist and Jason Collett; Tait’s resumé outside the Weakerthans is long and varied), so subtle inflection comes naturally to them.

Barchords is not a minimalist album aimed only at guitar geeks, however. Rather, you barely notice anything missing, largely because of the strength of Jurvanen’s songwriting, the subtle extra touches—including glorious backing vocals by Carleigh Aikins and Felicity Williams—and Jurvanen’s relaxed yet compelling approach to both his vocals and his guitar leads. There are straight-up pop songs ala Nick Lowe, atmospheric ballads ala M. Ward, and jammed-out rock songs ala My Morning Jacket, though the only time Jurvanen takes an actual guitar solo is on “Your Sweet Touch.” Though he constantly wears his heart on his sleeve, this is not a confessional sad-sack heartbreak record, and never does he sound as syrupy as Jack Johnson, the smooth surf-folk dude who became a big Bahamas fan after their 2009 debut Pink Strat and put out this record on his own label.

Slow, steady and subtle sometimes win the race; now that Barchords is finally out, the rest of 2012 will be a series of victory laps for Bahamas. (Feb. 16)

Download: “Lost in the Light,” “Caught Me Thinking,” “Your Sweet Touch”

Fred Eaglesmith - 6 Volts (E1)

Fred Eaglesmith has earned the right to do whatever he wants, after 16 albums, endless kilometres, mainstream covers, and finally landing on Letterman’s show last year. The southern Ontario country songwriter has always done things on a DIY scale—from running his own record label to putting on an annual charity picnic near his hometown of Brantford—but 6 Volts is one of the most raw recordings in his long discography.

Working again with Guelph engineer Scott Merritt—the two have been collaborating for over two decades now—Eaglesmith records his band live in the studio around a single microphone, where the banjo and the Neil Young-ish electric guitar compete for sonic space. The result is more of a garage rock record than anything else in Eaglesmith’s discography.

But no one listens to Fred Eaglesmith for the sonic landscape. The man is a master storyteller; one of the finest working in country or any genre, of any generation, and 6 Volts does not disappoint. His cast of characters includes loners, murderers, musicians, truckers, and the kind of guys who boast: “I been so lonesome, I made Hank Williams look like a party of five.” And only a true industry outsider like Eaglesmith can sound so convincing calling out fairweather Johnny Cash fans who jumped on the legend’s bandwagon late in his life: “Where were you in 1989, when it looked like Johnny was on the decline?”

Eaglesmith is a legend in his own time—and on his own terms—and 6 Volts is yet another reason why. (Feb. 9)

Download: “Betty Oshawa,” “Trucker Speed,” “Cigarette Machine”

First Aid Kit - The Lion's Roar (Wichita)

The story of the Swedish Soderberg sisters has all the makings of a flash in the pan: teenage hippie siblings in a woodland setting sing an acoustic cover of an American hit (well, an underground hit—Fleet Foxes’ “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song”) and it becomes a viral YouTube sensation (2.7 million hits and counting).

The Lion’s Roar is their first major album, but it sure doesn’t sound like it. This young band already has plenty of experience: they have another full-length, an EP, and extensive touring behind their belt, along with nods from the likes of Jack White, Lykke Li, The Knife, and now Bright Eyes: Conor Oberst sings on rousing album closer "King of the World," and Oberst’s wizard behind the curtain, producer and multi-instrumentalist Mike Mogis, is behind the boards for the entire record.

All that buzz and celebrity approval wouldn’t mean anything if the Soderberg sisters didn’t have the goods—which they do. Lead singer Klara has an astounding voice, as rich and resonant as Neko Case, and, needless to say, her keyboardist sister Johanna complements her perfectly. But it’s the songwriting that sets them apart from other ingénues; though there’s nothing fresh or original here, neither do they fall into tired clichés, and there are slight traces of psychedelia that pull them away from straightforward verse-chorus structures. They’re well steeped in Americana country and folk traditions, so that even when they write a tribute to the genre’s musical heroes (“I’ll be your Emmylou [Harris] / I’ll be your June [Carter] / you’ll be my Gram [Parsons] and my Johnny [Cash] too”), it comes off as innocent and charming rather than cloying.

Cute teenage hippie Swedish siblings may make for a good meme, but The Lion’s Roar speaks volumes about this duo’s staying power. (Feb. 9)

Download: “The Lion’s Roar,” “Emmylou,” “Blue”

Galactic - Carnivale Electricos (Anti)

Did you miss Mardi Gras? Then you need to hear Galactic, a one-stop-shop on the history of New Orleans funk, who celebrate Mardi Gras every day. They’ve worked with everyone from Irma Thomas to the Neville Brothers to Trombone Shorty to Big Freedia, and here they set out specifically to make a Mardi Gras carnival record—complete with brass bands, hip-hop, zydeco, jazz and funk—with traditions from Brazilian carnivals. They cover the 1960 Mardi Gras anthem “Carnival Time” with original vocalist Al Johnson (now age 72) and invite ’90s hip-hop icons Mannie Fresh and Mystikal to the party, along with up-and-comers from Brazil and local high school marching bands. Unlike a lot of cross-genre party bands who bring the house down wherever they play, Galactic also make fine records, and this may be their best. (Feb. 23)

Download: “Hey Na Na,” “Voyage Ton Flag,” “Ha Di Ka”

Grimes - Visions (Arbutus/4AD)

Who would dare earnestly embrace Mariah Carey and Animal Collective? Meet the deliriously confounding 23-year-old Montreal musician Clare Boucher, aka Grimes.

On her third album—but first for a larger indie label, and the first to be written up in glossy international magazines—Boucher’s girlish and acrobatic voice is delivered rich with reverb, layered with towers of her own harmonies and electronically pitched into the stratosphere. No matter how strange she makes herself sound, she is almost always singing bubblegum melodies. Her sonic backdrop owes as much to Robyn as it does to Aphex Twin or to The Weeknd—or, given the ’80s sheen of Visions, she conjures sonic images of the Cocteau Twins singing Debbie Gibson songs with Men Without Hats as the backing band.

Like Braids—her fellow weird Western Canadian transplants, Montreal neighbours and Arbutus label mates—her love of sound supersedes all else. So even if Visions boasts big beats here designed for dance floors, even if she’s writing sing-song melodies, the ecstasy of Grimes’s music comes from the opaque luxuriousness of the sonic landscape, a world as stimulating, disorienting and brightly lit as Tokyo at night, a trip through a psychedelic children’s cartoon, an abstract collision of sounds that perhaps only an ADD-addled, self-taught musician could stumble upon and decide to assemble together.

It’s entirely possible that Boucher may be a lucky musical naïf—a listen to her nebulous, earlier recordings would suggest this—but Visions displays a bold sophistication and originality, not to mention confidence and drive (she recorded this in a three-week stint, locked in her bedroom with blacked-out windows). As good as it is, Visions also suggests a dozen different directions she could go from here. An intensely creative and restless spirit, Boucher may find herself in Bjork’s company sooner than later. (Feb. 23)

Download: “Genesis,” “Vowels=Space and Time,” “Oblivion”

The Little Willies - For the Good Times (EMI)

Norah Jones, whose excellent last album veered away from jazz toward pop music, announced recently that her next solo album, due in the spring, will be produced by Danger Mouse (The Black Keys, Gorillaz). It’s safe to say that her days as a jazz artist are numbered. So if you want to hear Jones wrap her velvet tones around traditional material, she’s still hanging onto The Little Willies, her country side project, where she and acoustic guitarist Richard Julian sing songs by Willie Nelson (their namesake), Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, and others.

Much like Jones’s massively successful debut, Come Away With Me, the Little Willies offer tasteful but bloodless performances, with the advantage of mining vintage tunes. They’re all excellent musicians, the music is perfectly pleasant, and some of the cover choices are inspired (“Diesel Smoke, Dangerous Curves,” “Foul Owl on the Prowl”). But largely it sounds like little more than a sedate living room jam (literally: the band started at a Manhattan songwriters’ club called The Living Room). Jones lets her honky-tonk piano skills loose on the instrumental “Tommy Rockwood,” but there’s little here to raise anyone’s temperature—not even versions of Loretta Lynn’s fiery “Fist City” or Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” (Feb. 9)

Download: “Diesel Smoke, Dangerous Curves,” “Tommy Rockwood,” “Foul Owl on the Prowl”

Sinead O'Connor - How About I Be Me and You Be You (Universal)

Sinead O’Connor has been pilloried by the press for the past 25 years, for any number of reasons: her politics, her personal life, her religion, her genre excursions, her inability to produce a pop hit since her 1990 breakthrough I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got.

And so after the recent dissolution of her fourth marriage (which lasted 17 days, apparently, and ended amicably) and rumours of suicide attempts, O’Connor surfaces with an album (and title) that practically dares her naysayers to take aim again. Yet surprisingly, this is getting O’Connor her best reviews in years, in part because it’s an angry rock record—for lack of a better term, if only because it isn’t reggae, religious, big band, traditional Irish, or a collection of lullabies. No doubt many long-spurned fair-weather fans feel like this is a return to form, just because O’Connor is howling once again and cursing up a storm.

That doesn’t make it a good record; in fact, much of it is downright embarrassing, even for someone who’s never been anything less than frank, singing lines that even Alanis Morissette would be ashamed to utter. Oddly enough, the most outrageous confessional wasn’t even written by O’Connor, but by American songwriter John Grant: "Queen of Denmark" has lines like, “I wanted to change the world / But I could not even change my underwear / And when the shit got really really out of hand / I had it all the way up to my hairline.” (Note to all songwriters: do not use the words “underwear” and “shit” within one line of each other, ever.) As cringe-inducing as much of the song is, it’s nonetheless powerful and written from a place of obvious pain; O’Connor throws herself completely into the vocal in a harrowing way, and the arrangement brings out the full drama of the lyric. It’s a train wreck you can’t help but be sucked into.

Her own writing, sadly, misses the mark by a mile, often not even enough to warrant a fascinating failure. She says the song "Take Off Your Shoes" is what she imagines the Holy Spirit might say to the scandal-ridden Vatican, but the song’s chorus is centred around a bizarre metaphor: “You’re running out of battery, and I don’t see no bunny around here.” Surely one of the Church’s most scathing critics could come up with a better line than that?

For anyone who wants to hear O’Connor dig her teeth into a solid pop/rock album, go back to the unjustly ignored 2000 album Faith and Courage; this one sounds more like her caving in to people who want her to do what they think she once did best. I’d rather hear Sinead O’Connor do something completely different really well—which she’s done often in the past—than sound like a parody of herself in 1990. (Feb. 23)

Download: “4^th and Vine,” “Queen of Denmark,” “Reason With Me”

Nichol Robertson – Stranger Things (independent)

This Toronto guitarist cut his teeth as a sideman to dozens of performers in the city’s country, folk and avant-garde scene (he’s an occasional member of Friendly Rich’s Lollipop People and Dave Clark’s Woodchoppers), but on his debut solo album he dives deep into instrumental country music of the early ’60s. Not just stylistically—he’s an obvious disciple of Chet Atkins, and an heir to Shadowy Men’s Brian Connelly as a brilliant player combining technique and melodic reach—but aesthetically as well, as every amplifier and pedal used here is unmistakably vintage, as is the 50-year-old long-lost convention of using wordless male backing singers in instrumental music. And yet unlike, say, the raw new Fred Eaglesmith record or the ragged psychedelics of the Sadies, Robertson’s recording is decidedly modern. He employs some of Toronto’s top players, including bassist Victor Bateman and pedal steel guitarist Burke Carroll, but Robertson is the clear star here. His music may be far out of fashion, but that doesn’t make Stranger Things anything less than a stunning debut. (Feb. 9)

Download: “Stooge Country,” “Black Mountain Rag”

Skrillex – Bangarang EP (Big Beat)

If you don’t hang around anyone under 20, you might not know that a new wave of rave is sweeping North America, with Toronto’s Deadmau5 as the tribal leader. Skrillex came out of emo, metal and hardcore scenes (and played the Warped Tour with his old band when he was 16) before shifting to high-octane, distorted ADD techno. Considering his beginnings in a scene that has disdain for any musical history before Nirvana, Skrillex is surprisingly eclectic, drawing not only from squiggly video game soundtracks, recent maximalist pop like Lady Gaga and big-beat dance acts like Justice, but early rave records and even Kraftwerk-era synthesizers. Maybe that’s why he was feted by the Grammys this year.

Nothing, however, prepares the over-30 set for the stunt casting of the Doors—yes, that Doors, the surviving members anyway—on “Breakin’ a Sweat.” And Skrillex isn’t sampling them or remixing them, either: that’s Ray Manzarek on the organ and Robbie Krieger on talk-box guitar (of all things). (Estranged bandmate John Densmore is also drumming on the track, though he wasn’t in the studio at the same time. )

Fans of envelope-pushing electronic pioneers of the last 15 years like Autechre and Venetian Snares may be baffled to hear these sounds pummelled into fist-pumping anthems for mall rats, but it’s refreshing to hear someone being so playful and inventive with what is often a lowest-common-denominator market. And unlike the joyless, sexless emo world of “scene kids” that gave birth to Skrillex, this is actually music you want to dance to—while its shrill, noisy distortions will still give parents plenty to be peeved about. (Feb. 16)

Download: “Breakin’ a Sweat,” “The Devil’s Den,” “Summit”

Van Halen – A Different Kind of Truth (Interscope)

Be careful what you wish for. Van Halen fans have been clamoring for a reunion between original lead singer David Lee Roth and the rest of the band for decades; while that happened on stage in 2007 for a full tour, they’ve only got around to releasing new music now.

Thanks, guys, but you shouldn’t have. No, really—you shouldn’t have. A Different Kind of Truth is a pale imitation of the band that changed the face of heavy metal and pop music in the early ’80s. Though Eddie Van Halen rips through some blistering solos that are a potent reminder of why he was a game-changer—and his brother Alex likewise shows no sign of slowing down his tempos in his advanced age—the material itself makes it clear that the soul of the band was long ago sucked out by Sammy Hagar, Roth’s replacement in the second phase of the band’s career.

Van Halen attempt to recapture the zip of the earliest material—there are no synths anywhere here, and no power ballads—but without any riffs or vocal hooks, they’re left flopping around the studio searching for any kind of direction. Roth sounds like a grumpy old man complaining about other people’s driving, and his once bawdy self is reduced to asking, “When you turn on your stereo, does it return the favour?”

Everyone knows major label acts don’t make any money from record sales; all the dough comes from touring revenue, which a Roth-led Van Halen will no doubt be rolling in. So why bother with a new album at all? (Feb. 16)

Download: “As Is,” “She’s the Woman,” “Bullethead”

Leonard Cohen's Old Ideas

Leonard Cohen – Old Ideas (Sony)

Old ideas indeed. Really, really old ideas. After all, the 77-year-old songwriter is an old man, who doesn’t write in tempos that exceed his heartrate, and whose voice has seemingly dropped yet another octave. And yet Leonard Cohen hasn’t sounded this vibrant in 20 years.

Old Ideas may refer to the fact that Cohen often takes years to complete a song. These songs sound even older than they are because, for the first time ever in Cohen’s career, he’s embraced the blues. (Blues music, that is—G-d knows he’s had the blues for a long, long time. But previously, you could count the number of Cohen blues songs on less than one hand.) Like Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison—geezers who are actually younger than Cohen—the godfather of gloom has found the simplicity of the form suits his lyrical mood of reflection, redemption, and atonement.

When he’s not falling into the blues, he’s penning songs that sound like hymns. Darkness and light, the earthy and the divine, the sacred and the profane—these dichotomies have always been Cohen’s preferred themes, but here they play themselves out musically as well as lyrically.

The most overt blues songs here are "Darkness" and "Banjo," both for their structure and the slight twang in the guitar, but four more of the 11 songs on Old Ideas adhere to loping blues rhythms, Cohen’s trademark spoken-sung cadence, and sparse instrumentation with plenty of spaces for ghosts to haunt.

That instrumentation is a key part of Old Ideas’ success. Members of his killer live band appear sparingly (except for one track, "Darkness," featuring the full band); much of the album was made in isolation by Cohen and co-producer Patrick Leonard, a mainstream pop producer best known for his work with Madonna. But acoustic guitars, violins, live drums and vintage keyboards all take precedence over the synths that Cohen has favoured for much of the last 30 years, for better and worse. “Crazy To Love You” is the first song in decades where Cohen has appeared without a band (or synths) and playing only acoustic guitar.

This is not, however, the sound of Cohen rejecting all progress to sound like an old man singing the blues with acoustic instruments. Old Ideas is very much a 2012 recording; the slick production oozes sensual textures out of every gentle tone, and all the vocals—Cohen’s as well as female vocalists Jennifer Warner, Sharon Robinson and the Webb Sisters—are luxurious and intimate in ways they’ve never been before on a Cohen album.

Of course, the music is really only about 30 per cent of the appeal of any Leonard Cohen album. Lyrically, he’s back on his game: he’s not going to return to the avalanche of imagery and insight that marked 1988’s I’m Your Man and 1992’s The Future, but he writes with much more conviction here than he did on either 2001’s Ten New Songs or 2004’s Dear Heather.

Old Ideas is very much the sound of a man taking stock of his life and his surroundings, seeking “healing of the spirit / healing of the limb.” Characteristically Cohen, sometimes he’s dark, sometimes he’s Biblical, and sometimes he’s more than able to laugh at himself—like he does on opening track “Going Home,” where the narrator expresses how “I love to talk to Leonard / he’s a sportsman and a shepherd / he’s a lazy bastard living in a suit.” Of this fictional Leonard, he sings, “He wants to write a love song / an anthem of forgiving / a manual for living with defeat”—which pretty much sums up Cohen’s entire career.

The most affecting song is “Anyhow,” a powerful plea to someone who was not just a lover—of which Cohen has had hundreds—but likely the mother of his children, or at least someone with whom he shared years of deep affection and acrimony, someone who knows all his faults intimately and has no valid reason to forgive him. And yet he persists, knowing full well he’ll never receive full absolution: “Have mercy on me baby / After all I did confess / Even though you have to hate me / Could you hate me less?” That track is followed by “Crazy to Love You,” a lyric co-written with his current flame, singer Anjani Thomas, where a former playboy settles down, somewhat unwillingly, and discovers peace of mind when he’s no longer chasing “souvenir heartache”: “I’m tired of choosing desire / been saved by a sweet fatigue.”

The sound of “sweet fatigue” was taken a bit too far on his last two albums, but here Cohen sounds alive and engaged, as playful as he was on stage in recent years. This is still not an album likely to be played during daylight hours—or even before 1 a.m. But it stands as Cohen’s most consistent set of songs in 24 years, one of his best-sounding albums ever, and a perfect capper to his recent comeback.

But as much as Old Ideas sounds like a Final Statement from Cohen’s tower of song, don’t start thinking that he’s done. Apparently he’s already halfway through his next album—and another tour is in the works.

You can read my lengthy timeline of Cohen's career at Exclaim this month.

January '12 reviews

These reviews ran in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury this month.

Jim Cuddy – Skyscraper Soul (Warner)

I had low expectations for a Jim Cuddy solo record in 2011, expectations that plummeted when I heard that the first single was about—wait for it—the royal wedding. And yet without realizing that I was listening to “Everyone Watched the Wedding,” I was quickly sucked into a somewhat sappy, straightforward, tough-times family narrative before the chorus clued me in.

It’s tricky, but effective; Cuddy’s argues the wedding was a small moment of hope and perfection for two people, a moment that millions were more than happy to experience vicariously if only as a respite from the downer of daily drama at home. And if he could pull that off—which he does—I figured that boded well for the rest of his third solo record.

Jim Cuddy has always been comfort food, and he rarely changes his recipe, either inside or outside Blue Rodeo. For whatever reason, this is his finest collection of songs in over a decade, songs of survival, resilience and faith—both lost and regained. The title track is about staying true to the town that’s in your blood, no matter how bad things seem—a sentiment many artists are pondering in Mayor Rob Ford’s Toronto. Cuddy is no master of imagery (“why do I need you so / like a drunk needs wine”), but he’s effective at nailing simple sentiments and concise storytelling, as any solid country songwriter should.

Blue Rodeo bassist Basil Donovan is here again, as always, and Cuddy’s longtime guitarist Colin Cripps recently signed on as a member of that band. So the real discovery here is keyboardist Steve O’Connor, who shines both in solo moments and just hovering in the background; Bryden Baird provides some lead trumpet lines that shake up the sound a bit. Cuddy also leaves room for a brief cinematic cello-laden instrumental, and a tiny acoustic song that sounds like Elliot Smith.

The biggest knock on Cuddy’s solo records is that they sound exactly like Blue Rodeo, devoid of the creative tension he has with Greg Keelor. While it would be nice to hear him step outside his comfort zone, he also knows what works best for him—and Skyscraper Soul is Cuddy at his best. (Jan. 5)

Download: “Everyone Watched the Wedding,” “Skyscraper Soul,” “Watch Yourself Go Down”

Ani DiFranco – Which Side Are You On? (Righteous Babe)

There’s no mistaking which side DiFranco is on; she’s not going to be appearing on Fox News any time soon. Which is why, in this American election year, she sounds more powerful than she has in years on the title track here, an interpolation of the 1931 protest song with new lyrics and a children’s chorus, a marching band and—of course—Pete Seeger on banjo.

We expect political fire from DiFranco. After 17 albums, what we don’t expect, necessarily, is subtlety, orchestral production and economical editing, which she delivers here. It’s her first album in four years, which for the ultra-prolific DiFranco is an unheard-of gap (though easily explained by her five-year-old daughter); the extra care in the songwriting is evident.

Producer/partner Mike Napolitano gives her music more bottom end than ever—not just the work of longtime bassist Todd Sickafoose, but every bass drum hit, every baritone saxophone punch, every low note on DiFranco’s distorted electric guitar. Bells, vibraphone, harps and tympani all provide small but effective shading. DiFranco’s voice improves with age, and she’s long ago stopped showing off as a guitarist, and serves each song instead.

The album’s only weak points are when she sets her most political poetry to music (“J,” “Promiscuity,” “Amendment”). On the page, as part of typically lovely album design, the poems are powerful; as music, they’re little more than a speech.

Overall, DiFranco is older, wiser and happier, and it shows. As she herself sings, “If you’re not getting happier as you get older / then you’re f---ing up.” (Jan. 19)

Download: “Which Side Are You On?”, “Hearse,” “Mariachi”

Kathleen Edwards – Voyageur (Maple)

In the advance hype leading up to Voyageur, much has been made of Kathleen Edwards’ creative and romantic partnership with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, the indie sensation whose 2010 album topped many year-end lists and garnered several Grammy nominations. On the surface, it’s a strange combination: Edwards has rarely strayed from the Canadiana roots rock template of her peers Sarah Harmer, Jim Bryson and Blue Rodeo; Vernon makes sensitive, mellow pseudo-folk music that sounds like it’s sung by space aliens and a ’70s L.A. studio band. What would Vernon do with Edwards’ music? Hook her up to a helium tank? Demand she strip away any literal language in her lyrics? Impose a five-piece horn section on every song?

Vernon is all about the opaque; Edwards is never anything but blunt and direct. Using their lyrics, let’s imagine a typical conversation between them. Edwards: “I know your heart is a sacred thing. You’re a comedian hiding behind your funny face.” Vernon: “In a mother, out a moth, furling forests for the soft, gotta know been lead aloft.” Edwards: “Out of the shadows, out of the cameras and the lights, you’re a chameleon and you hide behind your darker side.” Vernon: “I’m ridding all your stories. What I know is, what it is, is pouring—wire it up!”

Thankfully, Vernon doesn’t impose himself on Edwards’ music; the production is crisp and clean, and there’s little here to distinguish it from any other Edwards album, other than her continuing maturity as a writer—although 2008’s Asking For Flowers was the real sea change, where she expanded her writing voice, constructing strong narratives that were clearly not autobiographical, setting short stories to songs. Here she’s back to writing what could easily be seen as personal stories; in the last year she divorced previous collaborator Colin Cripps before taking up with Vernon, and much of the album is about beginnings and endings of relationships. She and Vernon have very little in common, musically, although her “House Full of Empty Rooms” shares chords and sounds somewhat like Bon Iver’s “Beth/Rest,” only without a Mike and the Mechanics backdrop and with about 1/20^th the amount of reverb.

And yet if enough potential fans who would never give Kathleen Edwards the time of day before are suddenly interested because of the Bon Iver connection, more power to her. Edwards has yet to make a weak record, and Voyageur finds her more than ready for her close-up. (Jan. 19)

Download: “Change the Sheets,” “Empty Threat,” “House Full of Empty Rooms”

Elliott Brood – Days Into Years (Paper Bag)

Schomberg Fair – Mercy (independent)

In iTunes, the band Elliott Brood (or someone in their camp) categorizes the previously acoustic act as “punk,” proof that the now-pointless term really can apply to any band that uses electric guitars, as the Brood do for the first time here. One would be hard pressed to find anything punk about the 10 largely innocuous songs heard here with choruses like, “If I get old I’m living easy, find a nice old country home.”

Trivial semantic genre discussions aside, Elliott Brood—which boasts fiercely loyal, rabid fans—has been treading water for a while, with no sign that the songwriting is improving, Juno nominations and Polaris Prize shortlists notwithstanding. So much of their work is based on trying to get an A for effort: singer Mark Sasso does his best to channel passion, almost always sounding strained instead, and there’s no denying the band’s energy. Here, the electric guitars crackle and crunch fantastically and are a welcome addition to the band’s sonic palette; the production by John Critchley (13 Engines, Dan Mangan) is vivid, rich, and results in one of the better-sounding Canadian rock records of the last six months.

And yet it rarely adds up to anything memorable, other than hazy memories of raising a glass at a live show with their adoring audience. The songwriting is stuck in a rut, and not even the band’s apparent inspiration of visiting WWI memorials in Europe manages to spark much inspiration here.

The Schomberg Fair, on the other hand, who are Elliott Brood’s neighbours in Toronto’s quick-pickin’ roots rock community, are just as punk as Fucked Up. Schomberg Fair may have titled their last album Gospel, but they’re heavier than most metal bands. And right from the blistering banjo opening of the title track of their new EP, they throttle every song to the floor and pound it into submission, and yet still employing dynamics that give the willing victim time to breathe. Nate Sidon’s distorted electric bass is a rumbling melodic force riding the thunder of Pete Garthside’s tom rolls, while frontman Matt Bahen sings like a man who’s lived through tougher times than you’ll ever see and will kick the ass of anyone who wants to send him back there.

This EP is a bit of a stopgap before an upcoming full-length; 2010’s Gospel was a near-perfect barnburner that managed to have songs just as powerful as the performances, and one of my favourite records of that year. The EP doesn’t quite match that standard, but does pump up the production values, leave some more room for the songs to breathe while ratcheting up the intensity elsewhere, and often puts Sidon’s supporting vocals—he has a register about an octave lower than Johnny Cash—on par with Bahen’s lead.

The Schomberg Fair are too good to ignore anymore, and 2012 promises to be their breakout year. (Jan. 12)

Download Elliott Brood: “Hold You,” “West End Sky,” “Lines”

Download Schomberg Fair: “Oh Mercy,” “Orphan Bones,” “Black Train”

Nicolas Jaar – Space is Only Noise (Clown and Sunset)

This album is almost a year old, but is getting a new lease on life with strong showings on many year-end lists. And rightly so. Jaar creates luxurious, minimal techno—the kind that a mere 12 months ago was still being called dubstep, before that term got hijacked to mean electronic remixes of bad teen metal bands. Jaar keeps his tempos low, his vocals discombobulated and alien, and a variety of acoustic instruments—in particular Satie-style piano—offsetting the warm electronic bass and percussion. There are shades of Kraftwerk and even ’80s easy listening, like when a saxophone comes blazing in out of nowhere for a solo. Jaar in clearly love with sonic possibilities, and his strength as a producer outweighs any songwriting or particular beats found here. While it’s great that he’s being recognized as one of the leading lights of 2011—and several steps above the much-hyped James Blake, who mines similar territory—this fascinating but imperfect debut album is clearly just the beginning. (Jan. 5)

Download: “Too Many Kids Finding Rain in the Dust,” “Keep Me There,” “Space is Only Noise if You Can See”

The Roofhoppers – s/t (Fedora Upside Down)

The Boxcar Boys – Don’t Be Blue (Fedora Upside Down)

The record label’s name should give away what you can expect here: old-timey music that sounds the sweetest on a street corner where hats are passed to solicit audience appreciation. Both acts features lyrical clarinetist John David Williams, both acts are reverent traditionalists, both offer simple pleasures with excellent execution and devoid of cliché. The Roofhoppers are a klezmer-ish trio of acoustic guitar, upright bass and clarinet, with occasional female vocals; the Boxcar Boys are a five-piece New Orleans outfit that also delve into anything they feel like, be it Balkan melodies or haunting Hank Williams songs. Both offer much more than passing busker fancy; not only are the original compositions as much of a draw as the performances, but both recordings are perfect portraits of compelling live acts. (Jan. 19)

Download the Roofhoppers: “A Sleuth on a Park Bench,” “Church Street Khosidl,” “Roof Union”

Download the Boxcar Boys: “The Crumb Brothers,” “Paco Junior,” “Waltz for Rotman”

The Weeknd – Echoes of Silence (independent)

The final mixtape in The Weeknd’s 2011 trilogy restores the promise of the debut, House of Balloons—the second release, Thursday, was a disappointing sidestep into industrial/rock/reggae—while expanding the sound to be even more sparse at times, simultaneously more mainstream and more left-field, and thankfully no dark dips into the roofy-romance narratives that made him famous.

The real eyeopener is the opening track, a cover of Michael Jackson’s “Dirty Diana” (listed here as merely "D.D."), an odd amalgam of bad (and Bad) ’80s production sounds mixed with cheap early ’90s industrial and modern R&B—all elements that Tesfaye has toyed with before, but they didn’t sound as cheesy as they do here. Vocally, however, he absolutely nails the song; his range is equal to Jackson’s (no small feat), and the song’s subject matter fits in perfectly with his oeuvre (one of the stronger songs here has a chorus about how “you just want me coz I’m next”). As odd and reclusive as The Weeknd has appeared so far, listening to him cover the King of Pop makes you realize there’s really no reason why he couldn’t be the biggest R&B star of the next 10 years. (Jan. 12)

Download: The entire album is available for free at the-weeknd.com.

Jah Youssouf and Bintou Coulibaly – Sababou (Tall Corn Music)

Jah Youssouf is a musician from rural Mali who rarely leaves West Africa, although southern Ontario audiences got to know him when he recorded and toured with Dave Clark and Lewis Melville of the Woodchoppers Association, including regular gigs at Toronto’s Tranzac club and an appearance at Guelph’s Hillside Festival in 2009.

That same year, Chicago fan Brad Loving travelled to Mali to seek Youssouf out, and, thanks to Melville, found him at home outside Bamako with his wife, Bintou Coulibaly, in a house with no running water and electricity only from a car battery. Loving recorded the two of them—on ngoni, acoustic guitar and calabash—on a portable Zoom recorder, and released the recordings only last fall.

The unplugged intimacy—like a West African version of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings—is only the first of this album’s many charms. Youssouf is a powerful rhythm player, subtly conveying the strength of an entire band on a single stringed instrument, with Coulibaly providing minimal but effective percussion.

Most African music that we hear here involves big bands, big production, or both. Sababou may have been recorded in a living room by two people, but it’s every bit as gripping. (Jan. 5)

Download: "Faco," "Kahlan," "Folkan"

Youth Lagoon – The Year of Hibernation (Fat Possum)

If you didn’t know anything about the singer/songwriter who records as Youth Lagoon, you might think he’s a 23-year-old Midwesterner who suffers from the occasional anxiety attack. Turns out you’d be right: Trevor Powers quietly recorded this collection of fragile, dreamlike songs, and in a few whirlwind months after posting them online he found himself with a record deal, a world tour, and slots on several year-end lists. So he dropped out of the Boise State University, quit his retail job, and went on tour.

It’s hard to imagine Powers performing this material in public, however. The Year of Hibernation is music tailor-made for winter shut-ins, the distant vocals drenched in reverb, a lo-fi haze hovering over every instrument, Powers’s voice often slipping into a breaking falsetto, and crackling drum machines punctuating electric piano sounds—not unlike Beach House’s Teen Dream if someone dragged the master tapes through the mud and then threw them in a washing machine. Though much of it sounds tentative and shy, Powers is actually a great singer when he finally opens up and writes a chorus that allows his voice to soar.

Fans of fellow bedroom recorder East River Pipe will find plenty to love here; everyone else need only find themselves driving out of town on a starlit light, preferably in the midst of an existential crisis, to be ready to dive deep into Youth Lagoon. (Jan. 5)

Download: "17," "Daydream," "The Hunt"