The following reviews ran in the K-W Record and Guelph Mercury.
Air – Love 2 (EMI)
Love 2 is not actually a sequel to anything, but it’s certainly the strongest album by French band Air since their 1998 classic Moon Safari, which almost single-handedly ushered in a new era of Moog synthesizers playing a parade of planetarium pop and easy-listening sci-fi lounge music. They’ve found some muscle and backbone, making this a rare Air album that actually makes you want to get off the couch. The album opens with fuzzy, distorted guitar playing a serpentine riff, and from their Air moves through spy movie soundtracks, reggae rhythms, sunbaked latter-day Sly Stone soul music, bossa nova, and psychedelic pop, all filtered through a French sensibility that makes everything that much more lush and lascivious. A breath of fresh Air, indeed. (Oct. 15)
Michael Bublé – Crazy Love (Warner)
I don’t remember "Cry Me A River" sounding like a James Bond theme, but that’s what Michael Bublé does to it here to open his new album—and it totally works. As he gets older, Bublé is getting better at being an interpreter rather than just singing old songs in a new suit; it doesn’t take much to pull off a widely covered standard like "All of Me," but it does take serious cojones to pull off "Georgia on My Mind" and battle the ghost of Ray Charles. His jokey side is still present, of course: a big band arrangement of the Eagles’ "Heartache Tonight" is nothing if not campy.
Bublé would also like to be known as a songwriter; he only ever offers a couple per album, but they have been his biggest hits ("Home," "Everything"). That’s unlikely to happen here; neither "All I Do Is Dream of You" nor "Hold On" hold a candle to his earlier hits—and juxtaposed next to some of the strongest songs of the last century, they sound even weaker.
What’s most revealing is to hear Bublé and producer Bob Rock visit the eight-track studio of Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings in Brooklyn; there, they leave the album’s co-producer David Foster home in Vancouver and let their hair down with some gritty Southern soul. Bublé and Jones sing a playful duet on "Baby You’ve Got What It Takes," and for three short minutes, we hear what it would sound like if Bublé were to follow in Amy Winehouse’s musical footsteps. (Oct. 22)
Champion – Resistance (Saboteur/Maple)
DJ Champion struck gold with his 2005 single “No Heaven,” driven by a soaring vocal from Betty Bonifassi (Beast) and grinding bluesy guitars over a techno beat. He returns with a male vocalist replacing Bonifassi, less intense beats, and plenty of guitars that owe as much of a debt to metal as they do blues—all of which often ends up sounding like late-’80s period ZZ Top (remember "Sleeping Bag"?) with a gothier edge.
Singer Pierre-Philippe Côté tackles most of the lead vocals, and he doesn’t have half the personality of Bonifassi; though it’s not entirely his fault that every song here with vocals is incredibly annoying. No matter who’s singing it’s impossible to spin a gold chorus out of the lyrics: “I like it so much! Yes, I like it so much!”
Champion may have made his mark with a huge anthem, but he’s much more successful with the moodier, instrumental pieces here ("Plastiques et Metaux," "L6"), which could give Moby a run for his money. (Oct. 1)
The Clientele – Bonfires on the Heath (Merge)
How much you like The Clientele depends entirely on how much you can stand wispy British men singing autumnal odes over languid dream-pop with sparkling guitars, tinkly keyboards, brushed drums, and a melodic bass player who ties it all together. If that works for you, then Bonfires on the Heath will sweep the clouds away from your rainiest days.
Most of the references here date back to ’60s British folk-pop; at times it sounds like Nick Drake fronting The Velvet Underground; there are shades of the Zombies and hints of Pink Floyd (especially the Dark Side-ish pedal steel on the title track). The sunny optimism of their game-changing 2006 album God Save the Clientele surfaces only on a couple of tracks; here, they’re back to being their mopey selves, only now they sound a lot more muscular doing it, and relatively recent fourth member Mel Draisey fleshes out the arrangements beautifully with violin and a variety of keyboards.
Singer/guitarist Alisdair MacLean has threatened that this will be The Clientele’s final album. And after the excellence of both this and the previous album, he might just be spinning his wheels from now on anyway—it’s hard to imagine The Clientele capturing their essence any better than this. (Oct. 8)
Hugh Dillon – Works Well With Others (Warner)
One of the most tired clichés of criticism is complaining about actors who embark on a new career as a musician—as if artists are somehow supposed to be locked into one discipline for the rest of their lives. Hugh Dillon started out as a rock’n’roll frontman, slowly built a respectable acting career that now finds him with two leading roles on acclaimed TV series, Flashpoint and Durham County. He now returns with a solo album that is much more sombre and reflective than his days fronting the Headstones in the ’90s.
Dillon always had an eye for lyrical detail, even if it was all too often wrapped up in his own taste for self-mythologizing rock’n’roll. Now that he’s escaped most of the demons that accompanied his days of excess, he’s taking stock of life and translating the personal into the universal. “I’ve not the strength to fade away,” he sings—these are obviously tales he felt he had to tell, and there’s no questioning his conviction on tracks like "Friends of Mine," "Well on Your Way" and "Lucky."
He doesn’t surrender to rock’n’roll abandon often—Reel to Reel being the rollicking exception—and he’s more likely to slip into a Leonard Cohen croon on these largely mid-tempo pop songs, produced by longtime friend Paul Langlois of The Tragically Hip. It all suits his voice-of-authority persona well—he may have mellowed, but still sounds like a man you don’t want to mess with. (Oct. 29)
The Flaming Lips – Embryonic (Warner)
Less bubblegum, more brown acid.
The Flaming Lips have never been anyone’s idea of normality, but this is easily the freakiest and flipped out they’ve been in more than 15 years. And back then they were grungy novices still recovering from their first acid trip: now they’re serious about it, and capable of concocting chilling soundscapes, truly psychedelic sensory overload, and ways to melt your mind that music alone shouldn’t be able to do.
Gone are the sunny, uplifting pop songs that buoyed their fantastical live show of the past 10 years, and made fans out of everyone from Beck to Justin Timberlake—and scored the occasional TV ad. Now they’re diving deep into the heaviest Black Sabbath grooves, the trippiest side of early Pink Floyd, and the wide-open experimentation of Germany’s Can. And yet the melodic sense they honed on recent albums still lurks in the background, which means more recent converts have some kind of road map for this strange journey.
Even the biggest Lips fans had their patience tested by the patently ridiculous and long-delayed film Christmas on Mars, which was finally released last year to a collective shrug after nearly a decade of anticipation. Yet if anything good came of that, it was the eerie and sparse sci-fi soundtrack; Embryonic takes all the lessons learned there and reins them into to only a somewhat more conventional rock band format. Lyrically, there’s some sort of astrology motif going on ("Virgo Self-Esteem Broadcast," "Aquarius Sabotage," "Scorpio Sword")—but it’s best not to ask, really.
Just when the Flaming Lips risked becoming a parody of themselves, Embryonic is a sign of a whole new life. (Oct. 15)
Flight of the Conchords – I Told You I Was Freaky (Sub Pop)
Being freaky is one thing—being freakin’ hilarious is another. And being both fearless and peerless musical mimics is yet another thing altogether, which makes this deadpan duo all the more impressive for creating a comedy album of songs you’ll want to hear much more than once.
On this, the soundtrack to the second season of their HBO series, they’ve stepped up the songwriting to exist separately from their scripts (in fact, the second season’s scripts were arguably weaker than the debut). At times they’re certainly shooting fish in a barrel by satirizing R. Kelly/Usher duets ("We’re Both In Love With a Sexy Lady"), pointless folkie ’70s singer/songwriters ("Rambling Through the Avenues of Time") and Vocoderized techno pop (potential lesbian club anthem "Too Many Dicks on the Dance Floor"). But they do so with such precision (the Prince/Beck backbeat of the title track), lyrical zingers (the boast in "Sugalumps" about how “the ladies they hustle to ruffle my truffles”) and actual pop hooks, that they transcend the novelty genre entirely. Especially when some of their main targets are almost as unintentionally hilarious in their own right.
Best of all—and rare among both musicians and comedians—they know when to stop milking the joke; nearly every song here is under three minutes. All killer, no filler. (Oct. 29)
Gossip – Music for Men (Sony)
Most people who know of Beth Ditto don’t even know she has a band—never mind know that she’s one of the most powerful singers of her generation.
In the three years since The Gossip’s last album, Standing in the Way of Control, Ditto has become a celebrity—primarily in the U.K.—for her fashion sense and her brash, articulate views on feminism, queer rights, and the fallacy of a fashion industry focused on impossible beauty standards—and ironically, she’s been widely embraced and courted by that same fashion industry. That this has happened with minimal discussion of her music is a shame, and something that this major label debut might rectify.
Beth Ditto grew up in a small town in Arkansas full of rednecks; she and her band moved to Olympia, Washington, a small town of artsy punk rockers. Her vocal style is steeped in blues and country music, and until now was delivered with the screaming and exhilarating abandon of riot grrrl punk rock—all unmistakably the sound of a small-town girl dreaming of escape.
Here, under the eye of producer Rick Rubin, those blues and country debts have been erased, and many—some would argue all—of The Gossip’s rough edges have been smoothed over in favour of a slick combination of modern pop, electro R&B, and trace elements of post-punk disco, all of which are the soundtrack for that small-town girl’s new life under bright lights in the big city. “Pop goes the world,” sings Ditto here, echoing Men Without Hats. “New salvation … new translation … new relation … new sensation.”
For those with pre-existing expectations of The Gossip, Music for Men is at times a radically different record—although no more unusual a transformation than Ditto’s peer Karen O, whose celebrity outshone her band, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, as she led them from noisy punks to pop stars. While previous Gossip albums didn’t stray from their live line-up—voice, guitar, drums—Rick Rubin encourages the band to throw everything into the mix, starting with bass guitar to drive the dance floor, followed by every kind of keyboard and even a few timbales for that extra Studio 54 touch.
But if this is a pop sell-out, it’s one that works. As a vocalist, Ditto can sell you anything; previously, her appeal was the raw power of her voice and the liberation she shared with the audience about shaking off shackles of expectation. Now that she’s grown and evolved in the spotlight, she dials it down a bit and focuses on the pop hooks, with the inspiration and optimism she’s always espoused finding an easy home amidst the synths and electronic percussion of disco deliverance.
Her bandmates Brace Paine and Hannah Blilie are by no means lost in the shuffle, however; they’ve also stepped up their game while still keeping things raw and raucous—although there are more than a few tracks here where they’re all but invisible ("Love and Let Love," "Four Letter Word") on what could be Ditto solo tracks.
Beth Ditto is already the star she deserves to be, but Music for Men proves that she’s much more than just a celebrity of the week. She was an artist first, and here she embraces the oldest adage of American show biz: go big or go home. (Oct. 22)
Hidden Cameras – Origin: Orphan (Arts and Crafts)
The Hidden Cameras have always aspired to make epic music with mostly amateur musicians, with leader Joel Gibb writing deceptively simple four-chord pop songs that were a canvas for as much or as little ornamentation for the revolving door of musicians to provide. On his fourth album, Gibb aims much higher: the orchestrations are more grandiose and bombastic, and three songs here—including the Arabic-influenced opening track "Ratify the New" and the anguished pseudo-industrial angst of the title track—are the most dark and brooding Gibb has ever been, with low brass adding considerable gravitas. He’s always excelled at melancholy, but on these songs he sounds downright ominous.
The sunny side of the Cameras is still present; songs like "He Falls to Me" and "The Little Bit" could easily have been culled from any Cameras release; the characteristically provocative "Underage" (“Let’s do it like we’re underage”) sets African backing vocals to cheezeball ’80s programming that conjures memories of the Culture Club, of all people. (Oct. 22)
Islands – Vapours (Anti)
Nick Thorburn just created one of the biggest bands to ever come out of Guelph, by reshuffling the Islands line-up. Thorburn himself is from Vancouver Island, started the band in Montreal, and has lived in New York and L.A. But for the third Islands album, he brought back founding drummer and Guelph native Jamie Thompson, as well as the Gordon brothers, Evan and Geordie, who have been a huge part of Guelph’s music scene in the last ten years with The Magic, the Barmitzvah Brothers, the Sad Clowns, the Salt Lick Kids, and backing up their father James. And all this Guelphness comes on the heels of Thorburn’s 2008 collaboration with Jim Guthrie, Human Highway.
This new line-up creates the most cohesive Islands line-up to date; gone is the breezy orch-pop of the debut, and the overwrought prog rock of Arm’s Way. The Gordon brothers bring their army of synthesizers, and Thompson sounds like he spent most of his time programming his drum machine (to great effect—these are largely atypical and surprising beats), yet Vapours is for the most part very much a rock album, informed as it is by pop music of the ’80s and the ’50s, hints of reggae, disco, and plenty of the post-9/11 dichotomy of wartime dread and stubborn optimism. Thorburn has always been good at forging his own musical vision, but not until now has it sounded so natural and rewarding.
Too bad that Thorburn’s gain is our loss; hopefully Islands’ extensive international touring schedule won’t put off that long-delayed Magic album any longer. (Oct. 8)
Corb Lund – Losin’ Lately Gambler (New West)
Corb Lund calls his band the Hurtin’ Albertans and this album title alludes to a string of bad luck. But there’s no self-deprecating flagellation necessary, because not only does this prairie poet continue to improve, but his popularity continues to rise around the world, and this is his first album with a new American record deal (with one track recorded in front of hundreds of rowdy Australians). And so if you’re not already familiar with Lund’s mix of powerful prose and traditional country music—there’s nothing urban about this cowboy—this album is as good a place to start as any.
Part of Lund’s charm is the specificity and regionalism of his writing: he’s an Albertan cowboy, and most of his songs are about horses, prairie life, horses, gambling, and a few more about horses. Although he’s most intriguing when writing unconventional narratives about veterinarians’ pharmaceuticals or bull riding, he’s also charming and entertaining on mundane topics like keeping a white shirt clean, or when he’s tugging heartstrings of even the most hardened easterner with a ballad like "Alberta Says Hello." If the tales of military history that peppered his 2008 release (and arguably his masterpiece) Horse Soldier! Horse Soldier! were too ambitious for mainstream listeners, the tales here strike much closer to home—especially the rollicking anthem "Long Gone to Saskatchewan."
If Lund’s lexicon sets him apart from almost everyone else in country music, his ace band would fit in anywhere that appreciates a twangy guitar picker, an upright bass with jazz chops, and a rock’n’roll drummer. Simply put, country music doesn’t get any better than this, in Canada or anywhere else—America is now his for the taking, and this Losin’ Lately Gambler is about to land Lund a big score. (Oct. 8)
Carolyn Mark and NQ Arbuckle – Let’s Just Stay Here (Mint)
This is supposed to be Carolyn Mark’s rock album, so you’ll forgive an old fan for being disappointed in the fact that it clearly does not rock. It does have electric guitars, making it in some ways the opposite of her last album, the all-acoustic Nothing is Free. But there is none of the blood or the sweat and only a few of the tears that one would expect from such a normally gutsy songwriter and performer to shed on a self-professed rock’n’roll album.
By any other standard—say, that of her collaborators here NQ Arbuckle—this wouldn’t matter, and Let’s Just Stay Here would be a pleasant enough slab of mid-tempo CanRock that goes down well with a few pints at the local watering hole. Much of it is mid-tempo and mournful, with little of the larger-than-life personality that Ms. Mark brings to all her other recordings. The one song with any fire in it, "Canada Day Off," is one of her weakest; and the one song that deserves a raucous run-through, a cover of Edmonton cowpunk legends Jr. Gone Wild, could use a serious sense of urgency.
Mark’s finest moments here are on the haunting opening "All Time Low" and the lonely lilt of "Sunday Morning" (not a Velvet Underground cover). The album closes with the title track, one of her loveliest tunes, where Mark—who titled her 2004 album The Pros and Cons of Collaboration—asks the ironic question: “Do compromises all feel one-sided?” In sharing the billing on this album, Mark sounds like she’s been submersed into the NQ Arbuckle band rather than taking charge.
The always-productive Mark already has a new album in the can, a tour-only release with her longtime guitarist Tolan McNeil made at home in Victoria; maybe that contains the magic we’re missing here. (Oct. 29)
Amy Millan – Masters of the Burial (Arts and Crafts)
Perhaps the true strength of a duo is how much their solo work pales in comparison (see: Blue Rodeo). Amy Millan charismatically co-fronts the band Stars with Torquil Campbell; Campbell’s two albums with side project Memphis sounds flaccid in comparison, and now Millan’s second solo album suggests she’s no better on her own.
But at least she carves out a different sound than her main project; in her solo work, she’s much more sombre and dips her toes into traditional sounds, albeit mixed with her decidedly modern sensibilities. And so banjos and mandolins take solos over treated guitars and various electronics, with her femme fatale voice front and centre. The best song here, in fact, is "Day To Day," featuring just Millan’s lullaby voice and a drum beat.
But aesthetics only take her so far; the songs are forgettable, and even the covers of Sarah Harmer and Death Cab For Cutie—though they boast considerably more memorable melodies—fail to leave any impression.
Millan sounds like she’s in bad need of some creative friction to get her juices flowing. (Oct. 1)
Karen O and the Kids – Where the Wild Things Are OST (Universal)
Are you sure Karen’s O doesn’t stand for Orff? In taking on the daunting task of scoring a highly anticipated film version of one of the most beloved children’s books of all time, the singer of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs—whose surname is actually Orzolek—sounds like she enlisted a public school music class to help her out, one where Carl Orff’s approach to music-making is encouraged by empowering every child with a glockenspiel.
There are children involved—how could there not be?—and their role is restricted to helium choirs, with Karen O getting adult help from the rest of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs as well as members of the Dead Weather and Deerhunter. The resultant music evokes the childlike sense of wonder you would expect, one that at once aspires to the epic while being anchored in folkie chords and primitive rock’n’roll. Karen O’s voice is perfectly cast; behind the bravado of her gusto-grabbing role as glammed-up, shrieking punk rock frontwoman has always been a strong singer just as capable of tender acoustic ballads, the likes of which comprise almost half of this album. In its more stirring moments, the album shares similarities with Arcade Fire (whose “Wake Up” was used to great effect in the film’s trailer, although does not appear here) and a more even-keeled version of Danielson’s Broadway-meets-marching-band-meets-art-rock weirdness.
It’s a perfect match for Spike Jonze’s vision of Maurice Sendak’s novel, but what’s even more intriguing is to see what else she’s capable of outside of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. (Oct. 15)
Ohbijou – Beacons (Last Gang)
Forlorn cellos, melancholy moods and autumnal atmospheres combine to create Canadiana folkie art-pop—sound familiar? There is no shortage of great bands mining this territory lately, including Ohbijou’s comrades and collaborators The Acorn, Forest City Lovers, and seemingly dozens of others, compiled on two excellent compilations called Friends in Bellwoods—the bulk of material on which was recorded at Ohbijou’s live/work space. So as hubs of the scene, expectations are high for this, their second album and first to get international distribution.
And they stick to their formula: tasteful and stately string sections, melodic bass, subtle shadings from keyboards, mandolins and drums that all add up to what could be a soundtrack to a wintry NFB documentary. Singer Casey Mecija attempts to stray outside her comfort zone on a couple of tracks, straining to reach for a big emotional moment while the band almost rocks out—but she’s much better off cooing softly with her sister Jenny on harmonies; a belter she’s not. Mecija’s real strength here is her imagistic lyrics; they capture tiny details of gothic Canadiana: thunder and lightning and very, very frightening things like cities and maps aflame, wicked mysteries, black ice, and dying underneath heavy snow.
But although she sings “Bring back wickedness/ bring back temperaments,” the music never really breaks a sweat or suggests anything remotely sinister. Not that it has to, though a few cracks in the ice would go a long way to inject some life into an album that could use some wickedness in its polite, reserved temperament.
Ohbijou and The Acorn play Dublin St. United Church in Guelph this Saturday, October 17. (Oct. 15)
Hope Sandoval & the Warm Inventions – Through the Devil Softly (Nettwerk)
It’s been eight years since Hope Sandoval’s last album, her first solo project. Before that it was another five years since the last album by the lazy, hazy duo Mazzy Starr. The reason for all the long delays? By the sound of this record, it’s because Sandoval has trouble getting out of bed.
No one expects Sandoval to transform into a rip-roarin’ rocker, but Through the Devil Softly not only trudges along at a snail’s pace, but Sandoval sounds as bored as we are. The songs aren’t very strong and the arrangements are drab—with the lone exception of "For the Rest of Your Life," with its sliding bass line, 6/4 time and luminous vibraphone; here, Sandoval bends her notes in bewitching ways, the one and only time she sounds invested in the material.
Otherwise, no matter how lovely and opiated her voice may be, there are plenty of other acts who do this far better (Brightblack Morning Light being the most recent example), often by tapping into the psychedelic mystery that was Mazzy Starr’s specialty. Whoever these Warm Inventions are, they leave Sandoval shivering cold. (Oct. 1)
Spirits – s/t (Sonic Unyon)
Singer/songwriter/guitarist Ian Smith and drummer Nick Skalkos of the Miniatures and new friend Brad Germain of The Marble Index on vocals to indulge in some mid-’80s British new wave circa The Cure or Echo and the Bunnymen, with plenty of acoustic guitars, subtle synths that never steal the spotlight, and soaring vocals courtesy of Germain, who puts his guitar down to focus on full-on singing. Such is the strength of the latter that Germain successfully reaches Bono’s heights on several tracks; early U2 is an admitted influence. The Anglophilia gets a bit much at times, however, especially when Germain adopts a drab Brit accent that becomes downright comical on the track "Cold War." When he plays it straight, as on the surefire pop songs like "When the Sun Gets in My Eyes" or "Heart Pump," Spirits start to forge their own sound, independent of their formidable influences. (Oct. 1)
Two Hours Traffic – Territory (Bumstead)
This Charlottetown power-pop band is known to traffic in summertime singalongs, but Territory is a much more mature and autumnal album, one that exchanges teenage exuberance for more measured reflection. This doesn’t mean a turn down darker corners, necessarily, but their jubilance is now balanced with gravitas, making Territory the most rewarding album of their brief career.
Once again produced by Joel Plaskett, this time out instrumentalist Alec O’Hanley puts down his guitar to focus on keyboards, while singer Liam Corcoran sharpens his songwriting skills and pushes himself vocally, especially when the intensity relents. Which is often—of these 11 tracks, there are really only three that move along at any kind of clip. Much of Territory rides a mid-tempo groove, focuses on melody, and chooses instrumentation carefully; in some respects, Two Hours Traffic are where Spoon where around the time of their early masterpiece Girls Can Tell, when they stopped being the kind of rock band they thought people wanted them to be and just focused on being themselves.
Territory is the kind of album that elevates a promising band to a strong one, with signs of true greatness within easy reach. (Oct. 1)
You Say Party! We Say Die! – XXXX (Paper Bag)
This Vancouver band sing of a love that dare not speak its name. Or print its name, anyway; the track listing and lyric sheet—and the album title itself—routinely replace the word love with XXXX. For a band that started out shouting and shrieking and filled with childish punk naïvete, perhaps speaking the word “love” without irony is still too emotionally raw. And when singer Becky Ninkovic writes lines like “I love your love light,” you might wish she still had her earlier reservations.
But largely, XXXX finds YSPWSD continuing to mature and move beyond their obvious influences—early ’80s post-punk pop, and more recent progenitors like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or Metric—and develop their own voice, one that is just as comfortable with mid-tempo brooding rock as it is upbeat herky-jerky new wave. The rhythm section is a big part of this, but Ninkovic has also developed considerably as a singer, not just a shouter.
Unlike their early contemporaries The Organ or Controller Controller or Hot Hot Heat, this is a band that, though spawned by a trend at the time, will continue to grow and evolve—partying and death are no longer their only options. (Oct. 8)
Showing posts with label Air. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Air. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Spring cleaning 07
Some reviews from the last three months of my column in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record, a mainstream daily paper west of Toronto. Arranged alphabetically. I'll spare you my thoughts on the John Mellencamp or Korn Unplugged records.
Air – Pocket Symphony (EMI)
Easy listening is not supposed to be difficult. Yet that’s exactly the raison d’être for French band Air. On the surface, they’re all about rays of California sunshine and lattes on the Left Banke, portraits painted with shimmering synths, delicate acoustic guitars and muted pianos. Yet nearly every track on this, their fourth proper album (excluding soundtracks), is rife with suspension and tension underneath the blissful exterior. Even in the gentlest moments, there’s still a creeping paranoia underneath that suggests something is amiss.
Though most of Pocket Symphony features vocals, Air excel when the jettison the ESL and focus on instrumentals. Night Sight and Mayfair Song would both make excellent themes for a 70s dystopian sci-fi flick, while Lost Message sounds adrift in space, the loneliest place of all—Rocket Man has nothing on this track.
Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker makes a noteworthy cameo, mumbling through a song—One Hell of a Party—that sounds like he wrote and performed it during the worst hangover of his life. Mer du Japon is the only flashback we have here of the Saturday night preceding the Sunday morning coming down that the rest of Pocket Symphony exists in.
The only major disappointment here is that this material doesn’t live up to the even more haunting songs they coughed up for Charlotte Gainsbourg to coo over on her 2006 album, or betray the depth of influence they portrayed on their an eclectic chill-out DJ mix for the Late Night Tales series, also from last year. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts/EMI)
With its dense 2004 debut Folkloric Feel, Apostle of Hustle became the most underappreciated and misunderstood offshoot of Broken Social Scene. While other branches such as Jason Collett, Stars, and Metric were considerably more pop than the parent project, Apostle of Hustle existed in its own private world, carving out a unique sound through thick layers of rhythmic complexity, guitar atmospherics, and songwriting that rarely made it simple for the listener.
But if that album failed to find an audience, National Anthem of Nowhere manages to maintain all the mystery of the debut while simultaneously taking a more direct and visceral approach that pays off pop dividends without dumbing it down. The Latin influence is more pronounced, the melodies are brought to the forefront, and bandleader Andrew Whiteman’s inventiveness as a guitarist continues to inspire awe.
National Anthem of Nowhere is a richly rewarding sonic feast, the best thing to emerge from the Arts and Crafts camp since BSS’s breakthrough You Forgot It In People. Furthermore, Whiteman’s songwriting is superior to that band’s overreliance on sonic strengths, which puts him at the front of the pack. This time you can bet he won’t be left behind. (K-W Record, February 8, 2007)
Bloc Party – A Weekend in the City (Warner)
Unknown band makes it big overnight, tour the world for a year, release a remix record, come home and take a lot of drugs, and attempt to make a bold statement about the vapidity of modern life. How many times have we heard this before?
Bloc Party get ready to stumble right off the top, by proclaiming: “I’m trying to be heroic in an age of modernity.” From there, singer Kele Okereke tries in vain to make us feel his pain. Believe it or not, these are actual lyrics from the same opening track: “I order the foie gras and I eat it with complete disdain. Bubbles rise in champagne flutes, but when we kiss I feel nothing. Feasting on sleeping pills and Marlboro reds, self-pity won’t save you.”
I’ll say. Cry me a river, rock star! There are countless more examples, all of which can be summed up when Okereke sings, “I am a martyr, I just need a motive.” Sadly, that’s from Uniform, one of the better songs here. The rest are all written from the perspective of a repentant club kid who, in a moment of clarity, realised that there are far greater political concerns than consumerism. Call me back when you’ve read a few books.
Fortunately for all involved, Bloc Party as a band is better than Okereke as a wordsmith. They’re the rare stadium rock band who try to avoid guitar clichés, much like their obvious heroes in U2—whose recent producer Jacknife Lee mans the boards here. And arguably, Bloc Party are the better band these days. Okereke has a soaring, grandiose voice to match his earnesty, but it’s drummer Matt Tong who saves the day time and again, ensuring that every song has a furious backbeat, even the songs that threaten to sink into the treacly territory of Coldplay.
Let’s wait for the remix version of this album—an instrumental one. (K-W Record, February 15, 2007)
Holly Cole – s/t (Alert/Universal)
She’s been away so long, no wonder her new self-titled seems like a re-introduction.
After two criminally ignored pop albums in the late 90s, Cole returned to her jazz roots for another overlooked album, 2003’s Shade. This release once again features material more than 50 years old, but Cole remains a sly stylist who can make any song her own, including chestnuts by Irving Berlin, Cole Porter and Henry Mancini. And she gets more than just musical inspiration from these sources; on the sole original here, she manages the Porter-esque trick of rhyming “the falls of Niagara” with “the theorem of Pythagoras.”
Helping her out this time is returning producer/bassist Greg Cohen, who recorded Cole’s third album, 1993’s Don’t Smoke In Bed. Cohen has deep roots in New York City’s jazz scene—he gigs regularly with Tom Waits and John Zorn—and calls in plenty of small woodwind and brass ensemble help to flesh things out. This isn’t a big band sound contrived to compete with Cole’s vocals; instead, they help steam up the room and add some raunch to both the torchy numbers and zippity finger snappers.
Diana Krall it ain’t, and in an increasingly sterile atmosphere for loungey female vocalists, Cole manages to sound even more refreshing today than she did when she arrived 20 years ago. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Ry Cooder – My Name is Buddy (Nonesuch/Warner)
If Howard Zinn had written The Incredible Journey, it might have read like the backstory included in this Ry Cooder record, which is ostensibly about the travels of Buddy Red Cat, Lefty Mouse and Reverend Tom Toad through dustbowl America with a copy of Marx’s Das Kapital in hand.
Despite the oddball animal narrative, Cooder pens plenty of potent and raw folk songs, like the soul stomper Sundown Town and Three Chords And The Truth, the latter an ode to Pete Seeger, Paul Robeson and Joe Hill. But because the bandleader doesn’t surrender vocal duties more often, it’s hard to stick with a 70-minute album when you don’t care for the narrator.
Much like Cooder’s most recent album Chavez Ravine, this is a dense narrative that relies more on concept than it does individual songs, and shines largely on the presence of guests: accordionist Flaco Jiménez, fiddler Mike Seeger, the Chieftains’ Paddy Moloney and Cooder’s favourite soul duo of Terry Evans and Bobby King. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity (Kill Rock Stars)
If Yoko Ono had all the Beatles on her side and put them together with the The Who's rhythm section, she would likely twist and turn pop and rock conventions into barely recognizable fragments. Pieced back together, it would sound something like Deerhoof. This San Francisco trio have a deserved rep as musicians’ musicians—which is why they get opening slots for Wilco, Radiohead and the Flaming Lips—but their new material finds them getting simultaneously weirder and more accessible. They’re not interested in being difficult for its own sake—after all, this is Friend Opportunity.
Deerhoof are proof positive that experimental rock doesn’t have to be bloated and boring. It’s more than Satomi Matzusaki’s girlish voice that give this a sense of innocent play, though that certainly lends it a wistful naïveté. Instead, the entire band pushes and pulls the rhythm in obtuse directions while not being afraid of power chords or sing-song melodies. Blips, blurps and crazy keyboards frequently fight for space alongside the band’s rock instrumentation, and yet only a band like Deerhoof could make any sense of this. Hopefully plenty of new fans can, too. (K-W Record, February 1, 2007)
Endless Highway: The Music of The Band – Various Artists (429/Koch)
The Band remain one of the great enigmas of rock history. How did these out-of-time hosers—and their Arkansas drummer— channel the spirit of music from the Southern states into their own unique musical voice, a sound that has yet to be duplicated?
Plenty of musicians have looked to The Band for inspiration, so it’s a wonder that no has assembled a tribute before now; conversely, it’s small wonder that hardly anyone here manages to capture the mystique so central to The Band’s sound.
Part of the problem is that The Band are hard to cover, although it can certainly be done: witness Serena Ryder’s recent take on This Wheel’s On Fire, or Chicago chanteuse Kelly Hogan’s stunning take on Whispering Pines (neither versions appear here).
But My Morning Jacket should know better than to pummell the life out of It Makes No Difference; instead they rob this heartbreaking song of its frailty and beauty. Only the core of the song itself saves it from becoming a soulless modern rock ballad. They’re the worst offenders here, though the painfully pasty northerners in Death Cab for Cutie fail miserably when singing about “ol’ Virginie” on Rocking Chair.
The rest of the line-up is equally uninspiring: Jack Johnson, Gomez, Guster, Blues Traveler, Lee Ann Womack, all of whom merely run through the songs in faint homage to the originals. Others shine merely by paying proper reverance, such as Rosanne Cash on Unfaithful Servant, and the Roches on Acadian Driftwood.
Oddly enough, it’s the lone Canadian here—Vancouver’s Steve Reynolds—who chooses to put his own stamp on the material, by slowing down Stage Fright and making it an acoustic lament in tune with the lyric, rather than the carnivalesque rock of the original.
This was released to commemorate the 30th anniversary of The Last Waltz. Here in Canada, the CBC put together its own tribute with Colin Linden, Tom Wilson, Luke Doucet, Oh Susanna, Great Lake Swimmers and others, broadcast on the day of the actual anniversary, and it outclasses this affair in every aspect. Hopefully that will get its own CD release sooner than later. (K-W Record, February 1, 2007)
Friends in Bellwoods – Various Artists (Out of This Spark)
When people write about the Toronto music scene, names like Broken Social Scene, Final Fantasy, K-OS and others usually dominate the discussion. Of course, there’s plenty more going on underground, but perhaps the most shocking thing about this Friends of Bellwoods compilation—other than the fact that it’s overflowing with amazing music, spread over 36 tracks on two discs—is that so much of it is new to even the most dedicated follower of indie fashion.
Local showgoers will likely know Guelph’s D’Urbervilles and We’re Marching On, Ottawa’s The Acorn, Toronto’s Ohbijou and Brampton’s Meligrove Band. This will also introduce you to the plaintive country of Friday Morning’s Regret, the morning-after folk of Jonas Bonnetta, the electro gay dance party of Kids on TV, the 90s indie rock of Germans, the synth pop of Montreal’s Telefauna, and one-off projects like Water Colour and The Dinghies. Throw in relatively more established names like Snailhouse, Gentleman Reg, Barzin and the Constantines’ Bry Webb, and you have a perfect time capsule of Ontario music for 2007. (K-W Record, February 8, 2007)
Kyp Harness – Fugitives (maplemusic.com)
Kyp Harness is a Canadian writer whose work deserves a place in the nation’s official songbooks, even though most of his discography has flown underneath all radar. His latest is a limited-run, self-released collection once again produced by Dale Morningstar (of Gord Downie’s band) and full of dense wordplay illuminating corners of hope in a desert of desolation and moral corruption.
In the past, Harness would usually detail the woes of the world in a verse and find redemption in love by the time he hit the chorus. This time, Harness finds all his answers in God: a God, he says in the liner notes, that is “far from being a mascot for war, for stealing from the poor to give to the rich, for anti-choice and sexual discrimination.” This God is perfectly in line with Harness’s lyrical mission from the beginning: compassion, forgiveness, justice and truth.
Because of this, Fugitives doesn’t sound like Harness’s “Jesus record,” even if he doesn’t make any attempt to mask his inspiration. Instead, like Harness’s best work, it’s a rock album recorded live in a room, with subtle gospel overtones to match the lyrical message, and a singer set on exploring the moral sphere of his world—only this time with a guiding hand leading him out of the darkness. (K-W Record, March 1, 2007)
Peter, Bjorn and John – Writers’ Block (Red Ink/Sony BMG)
Their name suggests a Scandanavian coffee house folk trio; their acronym implies reliable comfort food. This PB&J use loping lo-fi hip-hop beats with whistling melodies to augment familiar elements of underground British 80s pop, such as jangly guitars, soft keyboards, and earnest portraits of romantic minutiae. At first glance, PB&J sound like a summit between the Housemartins and New Order, with ESL-accented vocals that conjure unlikely comparisons: early Costello, Sloan’s Chris Murphy, 54.40’s vocal harmonies.
Thankfully, PB&J have enough oddball tricks up their twee sleeves—dulcimers, flamenco guitars, clarinets, and choruses catchy enough to pass as nursery rhyme—to set them apart from their hodgepodge of influences. Songs like the jaunty break-up number Let’s Call It Off, the tourist jingle Amsterdam, and The Chills—the latter driven by tumbling percussion and hissing castanets—give their closest competitors The Shins a run for their money. (K-W Record, March 15, 2007)
The Stooges – The Weirdness (Virgin/EMI)
How can you go wrong? One of the greatest rock’n’roll bands ever, progenitors of punk rock, not only get back together to play ecstatically received live shows, but they recruit a powerhouse bassist from the generation after them (Mike Watt of the Minutemen) and the best raw rock’n’roll producer from the generation after that (Steve Albini of Nirvana and thousands of others). Guitarist Ron Asheton sounds like he hasn’t missed a beat since the band split up in the 70s, and even Fun House saxophonist Steve McKay is back in the fold.
Trouble is, the iconic Iggy Pop sounds like he wrote this entire album in about ten minutes and five beers. In between puerile push-button rants about ATMs and Greedy Awful People, the fleeting moment of wit is when Iggy manages to rhyme “Obama” with “baby mama” and “intifadah.”
In retrospect, anyone who had high hopes for this has likely not listened to an Iggy Pop album in decades. If they had, they’d realise that he’s an embarrassing old fart who’s only successful when he’s chest-deep in self-parody (see: Kick It, his duet with Peaches).
Weirdness, indeed. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Lucinda Williams – West (Lost Highway/Universal)
Earlier in her career Lucinda Wiliams excelled at character narratives. This album, however, is either written about one severely heartbroken and messed up character, or the artist herself at a painfully emotional low. The narrator here is struggling to overcome loss, sinking deep into depression, and dissecting the dark dissolution of a relationship’s dying days.
And those are the happy songs. Williams’ southern drawl milks the material for every ounce of pathos—she sounds like she’s bleeding all over the microphone, which with material like this makes it all the more effective. The lyrics are much more than blubbering and blather, however. Williams’ eye for sharp poetic detail and her gift for phrasing make up for the fact that she’s wallowing in woe.
While her lyrics stand among her best, there are few musical moments here to match their power. Melody is often sacrificed for poetic cadence, and her backing band is content to leave gaping holes in her opiated, loping two-chord songs. Sometimes that works: Unsuffer Me is a few power chords short of becoming a Black Sabbath tune, where an ominous, heavy bass progression underscores Williams’ plea for someone to “undo my logic/ undo my fear.”
If your Valentine’s Day went swimmingly well, avoid this album at all costs. But if you need a good bawl, Lucinda Williams is your new best friend. (K-W Record, February 22, 2007)
Amy Winehouse – Back to Black (Island/Universal)
Winehouse became a platinum success in her native UK with her debut album of hip-hop inflected jazz pop, but here she comes out swinging with a sassy set of soul that draws equally from Motown and Phil Spector girl groups of the 60s. Producer Mark Ronson, who helmed some of Christina Aguilera’s recent comeback, gives her a punchy, vintage sound courtesy of a brassy horn section and members of Sharon Jones’s Daptones and Antibalas—you’d be hard to find two modern acts better at reproducing old school soul and funk. And the 22-year old Winehouse has the pipes to belt out bangers dedicated to dissing rehab and deadbeat dudes; her lyrics betray a bit too much of her bratty youth, but that barely matters when she’s got the sound down. (K-W Record, January 11 2007)
You Say Party! We Say Die! – Lose All the Time (Paper Bag/Universal)
Death and loss might be themes in this Vancouver band's moniker and album title, but you'd never infer that from the joyous racket they stir up on their first proper full-length.
This is more than just a racket, however. Vocalist Becky Ninkovic kick off the record by yelling "This is a test! This is a test!" Except that they already got their test out of the way, on 2005's debut EP, which landed them plenty of live dates across Canada and in Europe. The EP suggested a flash-in-the-pan one-trick-pony, not unlike Toronto's Controller Controller or Vancouver's The Organ, who also tapped the darker side of early 80s post-punk pop before hitting a creative glass ceiling and calling it quits.
What separates YSP!WSD! from a crowded field of compatriots is their versatility, amply displayed on these 12 tracks, an early contender for best Canadian debut of 2007. Ninkovic easily moves between yelping punk ingénue ala the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O, to a brooding crooner like late period PJ Harvey. Meanwhile, the band behind her don't depend on mere disco beats to ensure danceability, and have enough sense of dynamics to pull off a sparse piano ballad.
They close the album by advising, "Don't say goodbye: say, 'good journey.'" They have a long, promising and productive one ahead of them. (K-W Record, March 15, 2007)
Air – Pocket Symphony (EMI)
Easy listening is not supposed to be difficult. Yet that’s exactly the raison d’être for French band Air. On the surface, they’re all about rays of California sunshine and lattes on the Left Banke, portraits painted with shimmering synths, delicate acoustic guitars and muted pianos. Yet nearly every track on this, their fourth proper album (excluding soundtracks), is rife with suspension and tension underneath the blissful exterior. Even in the gentlest moments, there’s still a creeping paranoia underneath that suggests something is amiss.
Though most of Pocket Symphony features vocals, Air excel when the jettison the ESL and focus on instrumentals. Night Sight and Mayfair Song would both make excellent themes for a 70s dystopian sci-fi flick, while Lost Message sounds adrift in space, the loneliest place of all—Rocket Man has nothing on this track.
Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker makes a noteworthy cameo, mumbling through a song—One Hell of a Party—that sounds like he wrote and performed it during the worst hangover of his life. Mer du Japon is the only flashback we have here of the Saturday night preceding the Sunday morning coming down that the rest of Pocket Symphony exists in.
The only major disappointment here is that this material doesn’t live up to the even more haunting songs they coughed up for Charlotte Gainsbourg to coo over on her 2006 album, or betray the depth of influence they portrayed on their an eclectic chill-out DJ mix for the Late Night Tales series, also from last year. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts/EMI)
With its dense 2004 debut Folkloric Feel, Apostle of Hustle became the most underappreciated and misunderstood offshoot of Broken Social Scene. While other branches such as Jason Collett, Stars, and Metric were considerably more pop than the parent project, Apostle of Hustle existed in its own private world, carving out a unique sound through thick layers of rhythmic complexity, guitar atmospherics, and songwriting that rarely made it simple for the listener.
But if that album failed to find an audience, National Anthem of Nowhere manages to maintain all the mystery of the debut while simultaneously taking a more direct and visceral approach that pays off pop dividends without dumbing it down. The Latin influence is more pronounced, the melodies are brought to the forefront, and bandleader Andrew Whiteman’s inventiveness as a guitarist continues to inspire awe.
National Anthem of Nowhere is a richly rewarding sonic feast, the best thing to emerge from the Arts and Crafts camp since BSS’s breakthrough You Forgot It In People. Furthermore, Whiteman’s songwriting is superior to that band’s overreliance on sonic strengths, which puts him at the front of the pack. This time you can bet he won’t be left behind. (K-W Record, February 8, 2007)
Bloc Party – A Weekend in the City (Warner)
Unknown band makes it big overnight, tour the world for a year, release a remix record, come home and take a lot of drugs, and attempt to make a bold statement about the vapidity of modern life. How many times have we heard this before?
Bloc Party get ready to stumble right off the top, by proclaiming: “I’m trying to be heroic in an age of modernity.” From there, singer Kele Okereke tries in vain to make us feel his pain. Believe it or not, these are actual lyrics from the same opening track: “I order the foie gras and I eat it with complete disdain. Bubbles rise in champagne flutes, but when we kiss I feel nothing. Feasting on sleeping pills and Marlboro reds, self-pity won’t save you.”
I’ll say. Cry me a river, rock star! There are countless more examples, all of which can be summed up when Okereke sings, “I am a martyr, I just need a motive.” Sadly, that’s from Uniform, one of the better songs here. The rest are all written from the perspective of a repentant club kid who, in a moment of clarity, realised that there are far greater political concerns than consumerism. Call me back when you’ve read a few books.
Fortunately for all involved, Bloc Party as a band is better than Okereke as a wordsmith. They’re the rare stadium rock band who try to avoid guitar clichés, much like their obvious heroes in U2—whose recent producer Jacknife Lee mans the boards here. And arguably, Bloc Party are the better band these days. Okereke has a soaring, grandiose voice to match his earnesty, but it’s drummer Matt Tong who saves the day time and again, ensuring that every song has a furious backbeat, even the songs that threaten to sink into the treacly territory of Coldplay.
Let’s wait for the remix version of this album—an instrumental one. (K-W Record, February 15, 2007)
Holly Cole – s/t (Alert/Universal)
She’s been away so long, no wonder her new self-titled seems like a re-introduction.
After two criminally ignored pop albums in the late 90s, Cole returned to her jazz roots for another overlooked album, 2003’s Shade. This release once again features material more than 50 years old, but Cole remains a sly stylist who can make any song her own, including chestnuts by Irving Berlin, Cole Porter and Henry Mancini. And she gets more than just musical inspiration from these sources; on the sole original here, she manages the Porter-esque trick of rhyming “the falls of Niagara” with “the theorem of Pythagoras.”
Helping her out this time is returning producer/bassist Greg Cohen, who recorded Cole’s third album, 1993’s Don’t Smoke In Bed. Cohen has deep roots in New York City’s jazz scene—he gigs regularly with Tom Waits and John Zorn—and calls in plenty of small woodwind and brass ensemble help to flesh things out. This isn’t a big band sound contrived to compete with Cole’s vocals; instead, they help steam up the room and add some raunch to both the torchy numbers and zippity finger snappers.
Diana Krall it ain’t, and in an increasingly sterile atmosphere for loungey female vocalists, Cole manages to sound even more refreshing today than she did when she arrived 20 years ago. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Ry Cooder – My Name is Buddy (Nonesuch/Warner)
If Howard Zinn had written The Incredible Journey, it might have read like the backstory included in this Ry Cooder record, which is ostensibly about the travels of Buddy Red Cat, Lefty Mouse and Reverend Tom Toad through dustbowl America with a copy of Marx’s Das Kapital in hand.
Despite the oddball animal narrative, Cooder pens plenty of potent and raw folk songs, like the soul stomper Sundown Town and Three Chords And The Truth, the latter an ode to Pete Seeger, Paul Robeson and Joe Hill. But because the bandleader doesn’t surrender vocal duties more often, it’s hard to stick with a 70-minute album when you don’t care for the narrator.
Much like Cooder’s most recent album Chavez Ravine, this is a dense narrative that relies more on concept than it does individual songs, and shines largely on the presence of guests: accordionist Flaco Jiménez, fiddler Mike Seeger, the Chieftains’ Paddy Moloney and Cooder’s favourite soul duo of Terry Evans and Bobby King. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity (Kill Rock Stars)
If Yoko Ono had all the Beatles on her side and put them together with the The Who's rhythm section, she would likely twist and turn pop and rock conventions into barely recognizable fragments. Pieced back together, it would sound something like Deerhoof. This San Francisco trio have a deserved rep as musicians’ musicians—which is why they get opening slots for Wilco, Radiohead and the Flaming Lips—but their new material finds them getting simultaneously weirder and more accessible. They’re not interested in being difficult for its own sake—after all, this is Friend Opportunity.
Deerhoof are proof positive that experimental rock doesn’t have to be bloated and boring. It’s more than Satomi Matzusaki’s girlish voice that give this a sense of innocent play, though that certainly lends it a wistful naïveté. Instead, the entire band pushes and pulls the rhythm in obtuse directions while not being afraid of power chords or sing-song melodies. Blips, blurps and crazy keyboards frequently fight for space alongside the band’s rock instrumentation, and yet only a band like Deerhoof could make any sense of this. Hopefully plenty of new fans can, too. (K-W Record, February 1, 2007)
Endless Highway: The Music of The Band – Various Artists (429/Koch)
The Band remain one of the great enigmas of rock history. How did these out-of-time hosers—and their Arkansas drummer— channel the spirit of music from the Southern states into their own unique musical voice, a sound that has yet to be duplicated?
Plenty of musicians have looked to The Band for inspiration, so it’s a wonder that no has assembled a tribute before now; conversely, it’s small wonder that hardly anyone here manages to capture the mystique so central to The Band’s sound.
Part of the problem is that The Band are hard to cover, although it can certainly be done: witness Serena Ryder’s recent take on This Wheel’s On Fire, or Chicago chanteuse Kelly Hogan’s stunning take on Whispering Pines (neither versions appear here).
But My Morning Jacket should know better than to pummell the life out of It Makes No Difference; instead they rob this heartbreaking song of its frailty and beauty. Only the core of the song itself saves it from becoming a soulless modern rock ballad. They’re the worst offenders here, though the painfully pasty northerners in Death Cab for Cutie fail miserably when singing about “ol’ Virginie” on Rocking Chair.
The rest of the line-up is equally uninspiring: Jack Johnson, Gomez, Guster, Blues Traveler, Lee Ann Womack, all of whom merely run through the songs in faint homage to the originals. Others shine merely by paying proper reverance, such as Rosanne Cash on Unfaithful Servant, and the Roches on Acadian Driftwood.
Oddly enough, it’s the lone Canadian here—Vancouver’s Steve Reynolds—who chooses to put his own stamp on the material, by slowing down Stage Fright and making it an acoustic lament in tune with the lyric, rather than the carnivalesque rock of the original.
This was released to commemorate the 30th anniversary of The Last Waltz. Here in Canada, the CBC put together its own tribute with Colin Linden, Tom Wilson, Luke Doucet, Oh Susanna, Great Lake Swimmers and others, broadcast on the day of the actual anniversary, and it outclasses this affair in every aspect. Hopefully that will get its own CD release sooner than later. (K-W Record, February 1, 2007)
Friends in Bellwoods – Various Artists (Out of This Spark)
When people write about the Toronto music scene, names like Broken Social Scene, Final Fantasy, K-OS and others usually dominate the discussion. Of course, there’s plenty more going on underground, but perhaps the most shocking thing about this Friends of Bellwoods compilation—other than the fact that it’s overflowing with amazing music, spread over 36 tracks on two discs—is that so much of it is new to even the most dedicated follower of indie fashion.
Local showgoers will likely know Guelph’s D’Urbervilles and We’re Marching On, Ottawa’s The Acorn, Toronto’s Ohbijou and Brampton’s Meligrove Band. This will also introduce you to the plaintive country of Friday Morning’s Regret, the morning-after folk of Jonas Bonnetta, the electro gay dance party of Kids on TV, the 90s indie rock of Germans, the synth pop of Montreal’s Telefauna, and one-off projects like Water Colour and The Dinghies. Throw in relatively more established names like Snailhouse, Gentleman Reg, Barzin and the Constantines’ Bry Webb, and you have a perfect time capsule of Ontario music for 2007. (K-W Record, February 8, 2007)
Kyp Harness – Fugitives (maplemusic.com)
Kyp Harness is a Canadian writer whose work deserves a place in the nation’s official songbooks, even though most of his discography has flown underneath all radar. His latest is a limited-run, self-released collection once again produced by Dale Morningstar (of Gord Downie’s band) and full of dense wordplay illuminating corners of hope in a desert of desolation and moral corruption.
In the past, Harness would usually detail the woes of the world in a verse and find redemption in love by the time he hit the chorus. This time, Harness finds all his answers in God: a God, he says in the liner notes, that is “far from being a mascot for war, for stealing from the poor to give to the rich, for anti-choice and sexual discrimination.” This God is perfectly in line with Harness’s lyrical mission from the beginning: compassion, forgiveness, justice and truth.
Because of this, Fugitives doesn’t sound like Harness’s “Jesus record,” even if he doesn’t make any attempt to mask his inspiration. Instead, like Harness’s best work, it’s a rock album recorded live in a room, with subtle gospel overtones to match the lyrical message, and a singer set on exploring the moral sphere of his world—only this time with a guiding hand leading him out of the darkness. (K-W Record, March 1, 2007)
Peter, Bjorn and John – Writers’ Block (Red Ink/Sony BMG)
Their name suggests a Scandanavian coffee house folk trio; their acronym implies reliable comfort food. This PB&J use loping lo-fi hip-hop beats with whistling melodies to augment familiar elements of underground British 80s pop, such as jangly guitars, soft keyboards, and earnest portraits of romantic minutiae. At first glance, PB&J sound like a summit between the Housemartins and New Order, with ESL-accented vocals that conjure unlikely comparisons: early Costello, Sloan’s Chris Murphy, 54.40’s vocal harmonies.
Thankfully, PB&J have enough oddball tricks up their twee sleeves—dulcimers, flamenco guitars, clarinets, and choruses catchy enough to pass as nursery rhyme—to set them apart from their hodgepodge of influences. Songs like the jaunty break-up number Let’s Call It Off, the tourist jingle Amsterdam, and The Chills—the latter driven by tumbling percussion and hissing castanets—give their closest competitors The Shins a run for their money. (K-W Record, March 15, 2007)
The Stooges – The Weirdness (Virgin/EMI)
How can you go wrong? One of the greatest rock’n’roll bands ever, progenitors of punk rock, not only get back together to play ecstatically received live shows, but they recruit a powerhouse bassist from the generation after them (Mike Watt of the Minutemen) and the best raw rock’n’roll producer from the generation after that (Steve Albini of Nirvana and thousands of others). Guitarist Ron Asheton sounds like he hasn’t missed a beat since the band split up in the 70s, and even Fun House saxophonist Steve McKay is back in the fold.
Trouble is, the iconic Iggy Pop sounds like he wrote this entire album in about ten minutes and five beers. In between puerile push-button rants about ATMs and Greedy Awful People, the fleeting moment of wit is when Iggy manages to rhyme “Obama” with “baby mama” and “intifadah.”
In retrospect, anyone who had high hopes for this has likely not listened to an Iggy Pop album in decades. If they had, they’d realise that he’s an embarrassing old fart who’s only successful when he’s chest-deep in self-parody (see: Kick It, his duet with Peaches).
Weirdness, indeed. (K-W Record, March 22, 2007)
Lucinda Williams – West (Lost Highway/Universal)
Earlier in her career Lucinda Wiliams excelled at character narratives. This album, however, is either written about one severely heartbroken and messed up character, or the artist herself at a painfully emotional low. The narrator here is struggling to overcome loss, sinking deep into depression, and dissecting the dark dissolution of a relationship’s dying days.
And those are the happy songs. Williams’ southern drawl milks the material for every ounce of pathos—she sounds like she’s bleeding all over the microphone, which with material like this makes it all the more effective. The lyrics are much more than blubbering and blather, however. Williams’ eye for sharp poetic detail and her gift for phrasing make up for the fact that she’s wallowing in woe.
While her lyrics stand among her best, there are few musical moments here to match their power. Melody is often sacrificed for poetic cadence, and her backing band is content to leave gaping holes in her opiated, loping two-chord songs. Sometimes that works: Unsuffer Me is a few power chords short of becoming a Black Sabbath tune, where an ominous, heavy bass progression underscores Williams’ plea for someone to “undo my logic/ undo my fear.”
If your Valentine’s Day went swimmingly well, avoid this album at all costs. But if you need a good bawl, Lucinda Williams is your new best friend. (K-W Record, February 22, 2007)
Amy Winehouse – Back to Black (Island/Universal)
Winehouse became a platinum success in her native UK with her debut album of hip-hop inflected jazz pop, but here she comes out swinging with a sassy set of soul that draws equally from Motown and Phil Spector girl groups of the 60s. Producer Mark Ronson, who helmed some of Christina Aguilera’s recent comeback, gives her a punchy, vintage sound courtesy of a brassy horn section and members of Sharon Jones’s Daptones and Antibalas—you’d be hard to find two modern acts better at reproducing old school soul and funk. And the 22-year old Winehouse has the pipes to belt out bangers dedicated to dissing rehab and deadbeat dudes; her lyrics betray a bit too much of her bratty youth, but that barely matters when she’s got the sound down. (K-W Record, January 11 2007)
You Say Party! We Say Die! – Lose All the Time (Paper Bag/Universal)
Death and loss might be themes in this Vancouver band's moniker and album title, but you'd never infer that from the joyous racket they stir up on their first proper full-length.
This is more than just a racket, however. Vocalist Becky Ninkovic kick off the record by yelling "This is a test! This is a test!" Except that they already got their test out of the way, on 2005's debut EP, which landed them plenty of live dates across Canada and in Europe. The EP suggested a flash-in-the-pan one-trick-pony, not unlike Toronto's Controller Controller or Vancouver's The Organ, who also tapped the darker side of early 80s post-punk pop before hitting a creative glass ceiling and calling it quits.
What separates YSP!WSD! from a crowded field of compatriots is their versatility, amply displayed on these 12 tracks, an early contender for best Canadian debut of 2007. Ninkovic easily moves between yelping punk ingénue ala the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O, to a brooding crooner like late period PJ Harvey. Meanwhile, the band behind her don't depend on mere disco beats to ensure danceability, and have enough sense of dynamics to pull off a sparse piano ballad.
They close the album by advising, "Don't say goodbye: say, 'good journey.'" They have a long, promising and productive one ahead of them. (K-W Record, March 15, 2007)
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