Tuesday, May 20, 2014

May 2014 reviews, part one


Highly recommended: Rodrigo Y Gabriela, Death Vessel
Worth your while: TuneYards, Chad Van Gaalen, Lykke Li, Dolly Parton


These reviews ran, as always, in the Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury.



Damon Albarn – Everyday Robots (Parlaphone/EMI)


It took me a long time to come around to Damon Albarn: never being a Blur fan, and being attracted more to the idea of Gorillaz—and that band’s undeniably great collection of collaborators—than any particular record. But I have to respect Albarn for the music he puts out on his Honest Jon’s label, everything from calypso to avant-garde eccentric Moondog to the Hypnotic Brass Band, as well as his role as a catalyst in records like soul legend Bobby Womack’s The Bravest Man in the Universe. He’s a man of impeccable taste. I even liked Monkey, his Chinese opera. No one else seemed to.


Most Blur fans—and there are still millions of them waiting for an album to accompany the reunion gigs of recent years—don’t really care about any of that. Which is why this Albarn solo album arrives with great anticipation—and proceeds to bum everyone out. That it’s a generally downcast record is not its downfall; it’s that it’s so dull, stuck in one programmed drum groove, and Albarn appears to be mumbling his way through it. The chipper ditty about an orphaned baby elephant, "Mr. Tembo," is out of place here—or anywhere, really. It's certainly not going to make anyone revisit their prejudices regarding songs about baby elephants.


Lyrically, Everyday Robots is partially a concept album about alienation in a society suffering from too much technology. Mostly it just makes me want to pull the plug. I suppose I like everything about Albarn’s taste in music… except his own music. (May 8)


Download: “Everyday Robots,” “Lonely Press Play,” “Hostiles”



Jeff Bird – Rhythm and Entertainment: Recordings 1983-2009 (independent)


If you’ve seen live music in Guelph, K-W or Elora in the past 35 years, you’ve most likely seen Jeff Bird. Hundreds of thousands of people around the world have seen him with the Cowboy Junkies since 1988. Before that band’s success and whenever he’s had free time since, Bird has been a very, very busy man. He was a founder of Canadian folk group Tamarack, does regular jazz gigs and had a long-standing collaboration with fiddler Riki Gee, some of Bird’s many sides that appear on this career retrospective of sorts.


On his own, however, Bird gets up to all kinds of experimental weirdness: improv with shakuhachi and drums, cinematic ambience, some straight-up country shuffles, experimental dub reggae, francophone folklore, spoken-word dream recollections set to music, and gorgeous harmonica and harmonium duets. You know, the usual. The stunner is “Little Hooves,” a piano ballad from his 1997 album featuring vocalist Nick Craine, followed closely by a take on Hank Williams’s "Rambling Man," featuring Tony Quarrington on vocals.


In the background of "Mu Blues," you can hear a dinner audience blithely ignoring Bird’s jazz combo, gabbing away despite the fiery fingerwork of pianist Witold Grabowiecki. The track is indicative of Bird: always around, politely ignored, inconspicuous, and indifferent as to how he might be blowing the minds of anyone who cares to listen. (May 8)


Download: “Souvenir Flutes,” “Six Legs,” “Little Hooves”



Death Vessel – Island Intervals (Sub Pop)


Joel Thibodeau, a eunuch-voiced singer/songwriter from New England, sums up the ever-elusive and mysterious creative process better than most: “I don’t know what to do when the universe is in my room.” Clearly, however, he figured it out on this, his third album, for which he travelled to Iceland. Sure enough, Jonsi from Sigur Ros—a man with an almost identical range and timbre as Thibodeau—shows up. Arrangements of Thibodeau’s wonderfully wistful, melodic folk songs are adorned with marimbas, glockenspiels, fuzzed-out bass, pump organs, accordions and other instruments that seem to be always lying around Icelandic studios (see also: Bjork, Mum, Nico Muhly). On first impression, Thibodeau is too fey by half, with lines like, “I have an unbridled ideation / jumping over every moon with indignation.” He also enjoys employing words like “derring-do” and “looky-loo” with a straight face. He’s nothing if not earnest, and it wouldn’t be surprising to discover that he spent the six years since his last album in a seaside cabin with a library of pre-Victorian literature. (He didn’t—to my knowledge, anyway.) No matter your take on the lyrics, however, the melodies and arrangements are consistently and almost undeniably gorgeous. (May 1)


Download: “Velvet Antlers,” “Mercury Dime,” “We Agreed”



Brian Eno and Karl Hyde – Someday World (Warp)


Brian Eno can work with anyone in the world. The legendary producer often does, whether it’s Coldplay or a totally obscure musician in Mali (see the excellent 2013 Africa Express album). Eno’s last pop album was a collaboration with David Byrne. Here, he joins Karl Hyde of ’90s electronica act Underworld, a man whose vocals aren’t that different from Eno’s, and who doesn’t appear to enhance any of the musical sketches Eno had kicking around since the ’90s—or earlier, as the tinny synth horns would suggest. (There are also, however, real horns to be found on the peppiest song here, “Daddy’s Car.”) Eno credits Hyde with bringing life to long-dormant material he’d had lying around; yet it’s the basic rhythm tracks here that are most fascinating, steeped in African polyrhythms. The more elements Eno and Hyde layer on top—particularly Hyde’s vocals—the less interesting it is. (May 8)


Download: “When I Built This World,” “Daddy’s Car,” “Witness”



Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott – What Have We Become (Universal)


The Beautiful South are a long-forgotten artifact of early ’90s British pop, one that arose from an only slightly better-remembered band, the Housemartins. Like most North Americans, I didn’t realize The Beautiful South lasted until 2007, when they finally parted ways, citing “musical similarities”—admitting that most of their albums sounded the same. (They were always witty lads.) Founder Paul Heaton has been largely in the musical wilderness ever since, but this album reuniting him with his old band’s female vocalist Abbott, perhaps the only two people on Earth who could create a peppy chorus out of the line: “The revolution won’t be televised, and neither will your death.” Abbott hadn’t sung for anyone but her own family in 14 years, but you’d never know it; Heaton is clearly—and quite understandably—inspired in her presence. (May 15)


Download: “Moulding of a Fool,” “D.I.Y.,” “If He Don’t”



Lykke Li – I Never Learn (Warner)


Swedish singer Lykke Li is about to enter the world of fashion this fall, releasing her own line of clothing through a subsidiary of H&M. According to London newspaper The Independent, one can “expect black, black and more black.”


No wonder. Check the titles on this, her third album: “Sleeping Alone.” “Never Gonna Love Again.” “Heart of Steel.” It sounds like Li wrote this with a broken heart in a hamlet set atop a wet, wind-swept cliff. Despite the rich, full-band arrangements with choirs, this is the loneliest pop album you’re likely to hear this year. Gone are the synths and layers of percussion that defined her earlier work; in their place are 12-string acoustic guitars, pianos and barely any drums at all. This is all about Li’s voice, which has all the command of Stevie Nicks at her prime, and her songs, which are minor-key grandiose ballads worthy of, well, ABBA—and I’m not just saying that because of their shared nationality. “Heart of Steel” features a guitar riff lifted from Roxy Music’s “More Than This,” from Avalon: an album with an equally luxurious melancholy at its core. That said, Li excels when she strips everything right down: “Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone” could pass for an old Everly Brothers ballad. (May 15)


Download: “No Rest for the Wicked,” “Gunshot,” “Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone”



Dolly Parton – Blue Smoke (Sony)


Dolly Parton is 68. This is her 42nd album. It proves, for the umpteenth time, that Dolly Parton can do whatever the heck she wants. The title track is blistering bluegrass. The duet with Kenny Rogers, “You Can’t Make Old Friends,” is ripe old cheese and better for it. A cover of the traditional murder ballad “Banks of the Ohio” is all the more disturbing because Parton delivers it so beautifully. A cover of Bon Jovi’s “Lay Your Hands On Me” completely—and thankfully—obliterates any memory of the original. Speaking of originals, the woman whose songwriting talent has always been her most underrated asset shows that she’s still on top of her game and capable of writing modern classics. I had to double check to make sure “If I Had Wings” wasn’t a new take on an earlier Parton track—perhaps one suspected to date from a period I would naively consider her prime—because the fact is, Parton never left her prime. Her contemporaries might be more than willing to coast and cave in to low expectations; Parton’s still pumping out new material with the same pride and purpose she’s had her entire career. (May 15)


Download: “Blue Smoke,” “Don’t Think Twice,” “If I Had Wings”



Pixies - Indie Cindy (Pias)


There is no way the Pixies could have won this round. The legendary alt-rock game-changers broke up acrimoniously in 1993; they reformed in 2002 and have been touring large venues, playing all their classic non-hits, ever since. In 2013, beloved bassist Kim Deal announced she was finally quitting days before new material was to be recorded. For many fans, expectations were low—and most reviews of the two EPs questioned why this material even had to exist other than to sabotage a near-perfect discography.


But come on: if you’ve been touring for the last decade cashing in on your rep, wouldn’t you want to make new music? Bandleader Frank Black has probably put out at least 20 non-Pixies albums in the last 20 years; why wouldn’t he employ the musicians who helped make some of his best work?


Of course (the admittedly terribly titled) Indie Cindy is nowhere near as powerful as Surfer Rosa or Doolittle. Whatever could be? But it hardly defecates on the band’s reputation; most of this material wouldn’t have been out of place on the 1991 swan song Trompe le Monde. Guitarist Joey Santiago has a distinct style that, when paired with Black’s absurdist lyrics (“I’m the burgermeister of burgatory!”) and unhinged howl (which is in fine form here, despite the passing of time), sounds undeniably like the Pixies. Returning producer Gil Norton no doubt helps as well.


Indie Cindy could easily shed a few of the more ham-fisted rockers (“Blue-Eyed Hexe”) that sound like third-generation copies of vintage Pixies, but it’s nowhere near the disaster Pixie purists expect it to be. (May 1)



Download: “Greens and Blues,” “Andro Queen,” “Magdelena 318”



Rodrigo y Gabriela - 9 Dead Alive (ATO)


This Mexican duo, who were discovered while busking on the streets of Dublin, made a name for themselves for playing traditional Spanish and Roma guitar music, having come from a background of heavy metal: they’ve covered Metallica and Led Zeppelin, and their last album, 2009’s breakthrough 11:11, featured a guest spot from Testament’s Alex Skolnick.


Here, however, on their fourth album, the novelty has worn off. Not that Rodrigo y Gabriela were ever just a novelty: they are serious shredders and songwriters, possessed with an ability to amaze any music fan. They’re not attempting to fit into flamenco mode, nor cater to rock or jazz or “world music” audiences or anything else. You can still hear the metal influence in the riffing and chord progressions on songs like “Torito” and “Somnium,” but that’s only for trainspotters. Such is the power of the playing and the songwriting that there isn’t much time while listening to ponder much else.


The title references the idea that each of these nine songs was inspired by a historical figure: psychiatrists, luthiers, poets, nuns, slave liberators, Nobel laureates and Russian novelists. This duo is not dense. They’re not just hot-shot showoffs; they’re clearly inspired by much more than Malmsteenian fretwork. And the music they make here could easily bring the dead back to life. (May 1)


Download: “The Soundmaker,” “Misty Moses,” “Megalopolis”


TuneYards – Nikki Nack (4AD)


TuneYards is currently opening some dates on Arcade Fire’s Reflektor tour. It makes a lot of sense. Both travelled to Haiti for inspiration recently. Both started making music in Montreal in the first half of the 2000s. Both take great care to make every corner of their career part of a larger art project. And sadly, the most recent albums by both are bisected into moments of thrilling brilliance and head-scratching bewilderment.


One thing is obvious: lead single “Water in the Fountain” is a lip-smacking, finger-popping good time that’s been compared more than once to a digital take on the Dixie Cups’ “Iko Iko.” It illustrates Merrill Garbus’s exuberant vocals, love of percussion and melodic hooks thrown into a dense sonic delicacy. She mines similar territory in “Sink-O” and “Real Thing,” diving deep into hip-hop influences like never before; her 2011 masterpiece, Whokill, was largely infused with West African rhythms. The gorgeous “Wait For a Minute,” a comparatively low-key R&B track, provides a welcome respite from the general hustle and bustle.


As captivating as Garbus usually is, Nikki Nack is the first time she sounds adrift. She tapped into a certain energy on Whokill and is clearly trying to move beyond it and expand her range; more than admirable, but Nikki Nack sinks as often as it soars. Not unlike, say, Reflektor. (May 8)


Download: “Water in the Fountain,” “Wait for a Minute,” “Sink-O”



Chad Van Gaalen - Shrink Dust (Flemish Eye/Sub Pop)


Plenty of artists in the last 50 years have claimed to make psychedelic country music. They’re all posers. (Okay, not the Sadies.) Chad Van Gaalen qualifies to be a truly interstellar cowboy, a “cosmic destroyer”—his term. For this Calgary singer/songwriter, the phrase “high lonesome sound” works on several levels.


The country signposts are certainly here: pedal steel guitar, country rhythms, rich harmony, as well as the fact that Van Gaalen has never sounded more like Neil Young than he does here. But this is the perpetually unconventional landscape that Van Gaalen has always inhabited, one as bizarre and unsettling as it is glorious in its fractured beauty.


His voice is drenched in ghostly reverb, his drums sound like they were recorded in a bedroom (they most likely were), the guitars sound like they’re falling apart, and in between the spaces are evocative sounds of indeterminate origin—never more so than when Van Gaalen sings a song called “Where Are You,” seemingly from the middle of a tornado, as droning synths and Echoplex guitars swirl around him. As always, Van Gaalen’s lyrics find him keeping it surreal: “All the blues and greens rise up and out of us now”; “Last night I weighed my sins”; “Come on, let’s get high on other people’s dreams.”


The prolific Van Gaalen can sometimes come off as too carefree and ramshackle; certainly, much of Shrink Dust seems held together by a thread. Though it’s often beautiful, it’s not a pretty album—most of it will scare CBC to death. (Good.)  But it’s as weird and wild as Van Gaalen has ever been, without diving right off the deep end. (May 1)


Download: “Cut Off My Hands,” “Frozen Paradise,” “Weighed Sin”



Wye Oak - Shriek (Merge)


Chances are good that you’ve never heard of this Baltimore duo, so you probably don’t care that singer Jenn Wasner has abdicated her crown as a roaring guitar hero, in order to take up bass and surround herself in synths. In more ways than one, Wye Oak is a brand new band for most people—including the band themselves. Drummer Andy Stack was already accustomed to juggling drums and keyboards; now the division of labour between both musicians is harder to decipher.


Perhaps not coincidentally, this new material also lacks some of the tension at which Wye Oak always excelled; without the roaring guitar, and with a now-necessary dependence on consistent tempos, much of this material explores a trippy weightlessness that is both the best and worst thing about it. Wasner’s vocals occasionally drift into the stratosphere, recalling ’80s 4AD acts like the Cocteau Twins; speaking of that decade, “Despicable Animal” nods to Tears For Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” There’s no known precedent, however, to the inverted reggae of “The Tower.”


As one of the more creative American rock bands of the last five years, Wye Oak’s makeover doesn’t entirely suit them—yet. That doesn’t make it a mistake. It just sets them up for even greater adventures. (May 15)


Download: “Shriek,” “Glory,” “Sick Talk”

Thursday, May 08, 2014

Owen Pallett vs. Toronto


The first Owen Pallett album, in 2005, was called Has a Good Home. Fact is, the man is now homeless. One of the key Torontopians of the early 2000s, he decamped to Montreal last year—but has barely been there, either, since he signed up for Arcade Fire’s Reflektor tour, which has kept him on the road for the last six months and likely will for the next six as well. Owen’s fourth album, In Conflict, comes out May 27. I think he’s topped himself yet again. It says a lot that Brian Eno’s presence is one of the least interesting things about the record. I’ll have a lot more to say about it, both in this space and for Maclean’s, in the coming weeks.

In the meantime, however, Owen Pallett is coming home to Toronto this weekend: for less than 24 hours. He plays the Danforth Music Hall on Saturday, May 10.


Owen Pallett
March 18, 2014
From a Philadelphia hotel room


You’ve been in Montreal since when?

It’s been a gradual drift. I lived there for four months in the winter, and stopped paying rent in Toronto in April 2013. But I was away since the end of 2012.


Do you feel at home there now or are you not even there enough?

100 per cent. I even feel like a bit of a Torontophobe (laughs). I come back to Toronto and think, “Oh, noooooooo. More Toronto!”


That didn’t take long.


It had been happening already, getting off tour and coming home to Toronto. It used to be that I would get off tour, and it was a bit of a joke because often I’d get home on a Sunday. I would immediately throw my shit in my room and go down to Wavelength. Like clockwork. I’d see all my friends, I’d wear something stupid, it was great. But it was becoming the opposite. I’d be taking the Gardiner in and have this sinking feeling. “Not Toronto again!” I don’t blame the city. I think it’s having my great 20s there; had I not enjoyed my 20s so much it might be different.


Well, you left your 20s in the most Torontocentric way possible. What was your 30th birthday party about again? A show with 30 acts in 30 hours at Lula Lounge?


30 acts in 10 hours. Everyone had a 20-minute set.


How do you now view what happened in Toronto between roughly 2000-05 now?


I don’t know if it was special, or if it was something that happens to a lot of cities and a lot of crews. I’ve been thinking about it a little bit, because a lot of what we’re told is bad is actually good. One of those things is what people refer to as arrested development, or naivete, or wide-eyed wonder. There is something magical and amazing about being in a scene that has that excitement. The root of sexual impulse is in all these things: arrested development, naivete. I think they’re linked: this joyousness that is linked with a bit of ignorance. Part of that ignorance is saying, “It doesn’t matter if your band is not 100 per cent the best band, but is maybe a 9/10 band.” That’s pretty much every band in Toronto at that time, was a 9/10 band. And the 10/10 bands are the ones we hate now. I don’t know what it was. It was situational, but I think it could happen in any city. That’s what is so beautiful looking back on it, is that it wasn’t Toronto-specific, even though it happened to have happened in Toronto. It was more tied into this moment of non-cynicism.


It’s like falling in love and not thinking about getting old and having Alzheimer’s. It’s the immediate rush, the wide-open headfirst plunge.


Yes, and I don’t know if it’s possible now. Reading the Twitter feed after the Arcade Fire show in Philadelphia last night, one in three comments said something like, “Well, no black people at this show!” I thought, “What?” The implication is that the onus is on Arcade Fire to specifically get that 15 per cent of the American population out to their shows, whereas I believe the onus is on the American people to create a situation where these people can perhaps afford to maybe come to these shows! Oh wait, [boyfriend/manager] Patrick’s telling me not to talk about class in an interview. But what I’m trying to say is that I tend not to place the burden on artists; I place it on socio-economic structures and politics.


I feel as if the environment [now] is quite the opposite of joyous. It’s become a statement of acumen to be a cynic. So Toronto 2000-05, I’d be embarrassed to play show-and-tell with now, because people would either find it dated or problematic. I have trouble even identifying myself as a gay man at this point. A lot of what was going on in Toronto was intrinsically tied to LGBTQ emancipation. Not emancipation, but—now when I hang out with my Toronto friends, especially my straight ones, it’s like, “Oh right, you really get me.” In the rest of the world, you can’t make jokes about poo dick or whatever and have people laugh. They’re like, “That’s disgusting. I’m leaving the room.”


But there was that moment in Toronto with Will Munro and Hidden Cameras that provided a freedom for the whole music community to be themselves, to be less conservative. It was also a time when the concept of gay marriage went mainstream.


I think of gay marriage and Will Munro to be polar opposites. The attitude in Toronto was very anti-institutional. If there was one thing that straights and queers all learned was that there was this new idea of beauty, which was rooted more in positivity and participation. You can even see it in Margaux Williamson’s films, with Carl Wilson with his shirt off, like no fucking problem. I watch that movie and I think, this is it, this is the whole idea of 2000-05, trying to get everyone to take their shirts off. Gay marriage is not the opposite, but on a different track. Pretty much most queer people will agree that marriage isn’t for them, but it’s a symbolic gesture for acceptance of the lifestyle as equal. That’s different than taking your shirt off.


There are two characters on this record—in “I’m Not Afraid” and “The Riverbed”—who reach a point in their life where they realize they’ll never have any children. It shocked me to hear that—only because I can’t think of any song, ever, that deals with this topic, this transformative moment in the lives of everyone: either having a child, or deciding not to, or having that decision made for you. It’s a huge moment in someone’s 30s or 40s, yet it’s not common song fodder compared to divorce or death or other life events.


Me, I want kids. But I’ve never thought about it, because a large part of my desire for children is not wrapped up in the disgusting biological need to see one’s face on a young person. I mean, disgusting theoretically—I’m sure it’s very nice. The thing that is not available to most homosexuals is the thrilling sex story. Paraphrasing a friend of mine: “Oh, we had broken up and then she flew down to New York and came to the show and put on some makeup and we got wasted and had sloppy sex in a hotel room—and then nine months later so-and-so was born.” The romance of having it as an extension of your romantic life doesn’t exist for gay men. Usually it’s an extension of administrative activity—which is so disappointing!


Were somebody to come along and deposit a child in my lap, I’d be the best dad. But the whole administrative process makes me wonder: do I actually want this? I didn’t know that I wanted one, I thought it wasn’t for me. Then a lesbian couple, friends of mine, asked me if I would father a child for them. I was asked via text message. My heart completely exploded. I’d never felt this feeling before. I remember using one hand to respond to her text, and thinking, how can I continue to text her while phoning my mom? It turns out she was joking! [pauses] And we’re not friends anymore. [laughs] “Thank you for showing me that I am a bag of meat with procreative desires. Never speak to me again.”


I love how the line is delivered in “I’m Not Afraid”: “I’ll never have any children” is set to a lovely, major-key melody.


Yeah, well, there’s nothing weird about it. In a way there’s a delicious irony, in that some people are celebrating the Macklemores of the world for a song like “Same Love,” and I’m like, “Oooh! I can’t wait to get all y’all into the reality of queer life! Are you really going to be celebrating a song like ‘Same Love’ when you understand the full extent of what we’re talking about here?” I’ve always felt very much in the middle in regards to gay rights arguments. I don’t know if it was you who said it, that I never met a dichotomy I didn’t like—that was you, wasn’t it?


Yes, it was the lede of the first Exclaim story.


That might have been true eight years ago, but I don’t really feel that way. I’m much more in this weird grey area where I’m having trouble believing in anything. Not in a nihilist sort of way, but in this, “Wow, it’s so confusing!” I’ve been singing about this since my first record, which ends with me saying, “Confusion is why I sing.” This is really meant to be the topic that comes to the forefront on this record. Pretty much every assertion I make on this record is like I also believe the opposite. Like desire portrayed in a negative light. Or that I’d personally love to have children—except the reality is that I wouldn’t.