Polaris preview 2010 pt 1

It's Polaris Prize season again, which means that music critics across the nation are reaching fever pitch trying to hide the fact that they actually care quite a bit about who ends up with a $20,000 cheque at the end of Monday night. As they should--ultimately, they're collectively responsible for the shortlist, from which the winner will be chosen by 10 selected jurors.

Polaris season inevitably means many incoherent rants about what the prize is and what it isn't and whatever Writer X thinks it should be and whether or not anyone even listens to albums anymore. Some people like to complain about the shortlist and then admit that they like at least half of the artists on it. Some people think the prize only awards safe, predictable choices--and then almost everyone is surprised at the final result, every single goddam year. Which really means that most of the snipers are just upset that they weren't able to predict anything at all.

With the exception of the first year, I've been wrong every single year. I don't see why this year will be any different.

That said, today and tomorrow I'll post my annual charge to the jury, along with 10 other albums I would have loved to have seen on the shortlist--many of which made the long list of 40, so I can't really complain.

---

And the first five nominees are:

The Besnard Lakes – The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night (Outside)

The album: I feel like I was one of three rock critics in all of Canada who was bored to tears by the Besnard Lakes; the universal praise for their last album, the Polaris-shortlisted The Besnard Lakes Are the Dark Horse, left me completely mystified. Then again, I’ve never been a part of the cult of either My Bloody Valentine or the Beach Boys, and this band is a wet dream for people in love with both. Yes, the singing is lovely, and yes, Jace Lacek is a great producer with an ear for big guitar tones—you should hire him today. And thank god that bassist Olga Goreas is taking more control of the lead vocals, as Lacek’s falsetto can be a bit strained. But I clearly don’t take enough drugs to be entranced by the plodding rhythms here, which seem scared of any semblance of syncopation, and I spend most of my time while listening to this record simply nodding my head and counting out the beats: one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and one and two and zzzzzzz …. Zzzzz … zzzz

The chances: Fair. The people who love this band love them to bits. And Roaring Night is a definite improvement over Dark Horse—which in turn was leaps and bounds above their debut, so on the other hand this is a band that continues to improve. Their masterpiece is most likely ahead of them. Considering the competition, this is probably not their year.

Broken Social Scene – Forgiveness Rock Record
(Arts and Crafts)

The album: Broken Social Scene and I are fair-weather friends. That is to say, I love 2002’s You Forgot It In People as much as anyone, and I can take or leave pretty much everything else they’ve ever done. Having said that, I love this album: it’s full of pop hooks, sonic experimentation, a surprising Krautrock influence, a star turn by new singer Lisa Lobsinger, stellar production, and Justin Peroff delivers the best performance by a drummer I’ve heard this year. String sections, horn sections and multiple guitar lines bob and weave around each other yet never distract from the unity of purpose. I don’t know nor do I care what “Texico Bitches” are (though I can guarantee it’s not the prescient political statement some lugheads thought it was when the BP oil spill hit), but the lyrics on “World Sick” give me chills, as does the melody on “Sweetest Kill.” Forgiveness Rock Record is diverse, daring, and deserves all absolution for past sins, perceived or real.

The chances: Good. The last time they were on a Polaris shortlist, it was for their divisive self-titled album, which—according to Stuart Berman’s book This Book is Broken—even the band itself was divided on. Forgiveness Rock Record has brought old fans back into the fold, but it’s unclear whether the unconvinced are on board. Jury members might be either sick of this band or never cared in the first place; with the kind of baggage this band carries around, hopefully objective ears will prevail. “It’s the year 2010,” goes a line in the triumphant “Water in Hell”—a year that could well belong to Broken Social Scene.

Caribou – Swim (Merge)

The album: Caribou picked up a Polaris two years ago for Andorra, an album that saw him shifting away from his electronic and psych-rock beginnings toward a ’60s-tinged pop sound. Swim sees Dan Snaith moving forward yet again, retaining the melodic sense of Andorra with an intriguing mix of acoustic and electronic sounds that sounds worlds away from anything else he’s ever done. “Odessa” was a perfect summer dance single; “Found Out” does his peers the Junior Boys better than they do themselves; likewise, “Bowls” betters Caribou’s one-time mentor Four Tet. But mostly, Swim sounds like no one other than Snaith himself, an eclectician and sound scientist giddy with endless possibilities. Surely that’s him we hear cackling like a monkey on “Odessa,” delirious with joy about the wonder he’s created.

The chances: Merely fair. Because no matter how good Swim may be—and it’s Snaith’s best work in an already impressive discography—the fact that he’s a previous winner in the short history of this prize may work against his chances in the jurors’ minds, subliminally or otherwise.

Karkwa – Les Chemins de Verre (Audiogram)

The album: This Quebecois band has been around for 12 years, this is their fourth album, and yet it’s safe to say precious few in TROC have ever heard of them, despite their popularity in their native province. Listening to Les Chemins de Verre, it’s easy to understand the cultural gap: there is an entirely different vernacular at work here. Never mind the language difference; this music sounds entirely foreign, in ways that bands like Sigur Ros or Dungen or, I don’t know, even Tinariwen doesn’t. The previous Polaris franco contender, Malajube, came from prog and punk reference points that translated universally. All of this is a long-winded way of saying that I simply don’t get it. Thankfully, Ben Rayner does.

The chances: Fair. Its difference could work in its favour, especially since most jurors probably feel like they’ve heard enough of the other nominees, and their respective genres, already.

Dan Mangan – Nice Nice Very Nice (File Under: Music)

The album: There’s nothing I can say about this album that the title doesn’t. I will say, however, that I met Dan Mangan at last year’s Polaris. He is, in fact, very nice.

The chances: Depends on how many CBC Radio programmers are on the jury. Or twentysomething university students. Or both. Either way, it will answer the eternal question: do nice guys finish last?

---

The could've beens:

Bahamas – Pink Strat (Nevado)

The album: A lovely, low-key debut from Feist’s guitarist, sung in a morning-after voice—although judging by the longing in the lyrics, there was no loving to be had: “In the morning I woke up, and the whole thing was in my head.” Afie Jurvanen makes tasty guitar licks sound effortless, which combined with the fact that he sounds like he’s singing in a reclining chair, makes listening to Pink Strat as easy as relaxing on a beach in, uh, the Bahamas. Though it’s a promising debut, its one downfall is that every time it comes up on my shuffle, I think it’s M. Ward.

Why it didn’t make the short list: Despite his famous friends, not many people heard this album in time for it to make an impression; it likely scraped onto the long list on the strength of two or three extremely enthusiastic supporters in the jury. Expect his forthcoming album, recorded with the Weakerthans’ Jason Tait, to make big waves.

Billy Talent – III (Warner)

The album: I’ll admit I fell in love with this via Stockholm syndrome, because my teenage stepkiddo plays it relentlessly and mastered every bass line on it. As a result, I probably heard this more than any other Canadian album released in the qualifying period. Thankfully, it’s really good: though they started out as a slightly screamo, Buzzcocks-influenced melodic mall punk band, Billy Talent have come a long way, and producer Brendan O’Brien (Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam) brings out subtle nods to R.E.M. and The Police inside the huge riff rock that they’ve now mastered. Ben Kowalewicz is not only less cartoonish now that he’s on the other side of 30, but he’s an increasingly impressive singer. “Saint Veronika” not only gave the stepkiddo an excuse to read Paulo Coehlo, but it was one of my favourite melodies of 2009; “Turn Your Back” is the rare song that makes me feel 16 again. Billy Talent are a teenage rock fantasy that this adult doesn’t feel guilty about at all.

(P.S.: Ben, Ian, Aaron and Jon: if I could get your autograph, I’d score major points at home and would be eternally grateful.)

Why it didn’t make the short list: Billy Talent do it for the kids, not the critics. And sadly, headlining the Air Canada Centre doesn’t mean they’re taken seriously. No matter—surely they’re laughing all the way to the bank.

Frog Eyes – Paul’s Tomb: A Triumph
(Dead Oceans)

The album: I’ve had many musician I admire tell me for years that Carey Mercer is a genius. I never bought it. Until now. While I found early Frog Eyes albums somewhat intriguing, they seemed stuck in a rut and Mercer’s Beefheart strut got wearisome quickly. Here, however, there are far more dynamics at play, and his usual maelstrom of madness is tempered with majesty and melody. The guitars sound fantastic, and drummer Melanie Campbell steers the ship that’s always in danger of capsizing completely. Paul’s Tomb is certainly an exhausting listening experience—as is everything Mercer is involved with—but it’s also utterly fascinating.

Why it didn’t make the short list: Frankly, because most people hate this band— if they’ve heard of it at all. The fact they made the long list was a minor miracle. Carey Mercer frightens most, and infuriates others. It’s too bad that some who wrote him off ages ago might not give this album a chance.

Lee Harvey Osmond – A Quiet Evil (Latent)

The album: A bunch of CanRock survivors—Tom Wilson (Junkhouse, Blackie and the Rodeo Kings), Michael Timmins (Cowboy Junkies), Josh Finlayson (Skydiggers, Country of Miracles), Colin Cripps (Crash Vegas, Kathleen Edwards) and elder statesman Brent Titcomb (Three’s a Crowd)—unite to play some spooky blues and Velvet Underground jams in the wee hours of the night. It’s not unlike the magical mystery of the first two Cowboy Junkies albums, even if it’s more muscular and in clearer focus. Indeed, it seems to have sparked something in Timmins, who also just released the finest Cowboy Junkies album in 15 years, Remnin Park. And it’s hands down the best album Tom Wilson has ever been at the centre of—whether or not you consider that faint praise.

Why it didn’t make the short list: Too old and taken for granted. Polaris is a young man’s game, though they did squeak on to the long list. Also, it’s too weird for folkies and too folkie for weirdos, plus some critics thought the whole thing was too slapdash—though I’d argue that’s why it worked.

New Pornographers – Together (Last Gang)

The album: Together indeed, as every member of this uncommonly talented band brings their A-game to their fifth album. Kathryn Calder has fully grown into her role, and she and Neko Case play off each other perfectly. Carl Newman coughs up his best set of songs since at least 2005’s Twin Cinema, perhaps even since the New Pornographers’ 2000 debut Mass Romantic. Everyone else provides the muscle and ornamentation that make this band the dense delight it is. At this point, their biggest problem is that people take them for granted.

Why it didn’t make the short list: Fucked if I know.

March '10 reviews

The following reviews ran in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury in March.

Beach House – Teen Dream (Sub Pop)
Besnard Lakes – Are the Roaring Night (Outside)
jj – No. 3 (Jagjaguwar)

Dream states know no borders, and in another plane of consciousness, these three acts could well be neighbours, instead of solitary silos residing in Baltimore, Montreal and Gothenburg, Sweden, respectively. The Besnard Lakes try to aim for transcendence through swirling layers of guitars; jj eschew guitars almost entirely; Beach House use whatever combination gets them to their hazy destination the quickest.

“Quick” is not a word associated with anything Beach House has ever done. But for this, their first album for a larger indie label and consequently their first conscious bid for a larger audience, they’ve stepped out of the somnambulant shadows and into the sunlight. In doing so, they sound suspiciously like their new Sub Pop peers Fleet Foxes, Low and Band of Horses—and yet even though you’ve heard this sound plenty in recent years, Teen Dream captures it beautifully with a Brian Wilson touch that utilizes vocal harmony textures and elevates lo-fi innovation to illusions of high-tech gloss.

It also underscores how apt their band name is: every cymbal here sounds like a crashing wave, and there’s a woozy, almost seasick element in the way the guitars and organs bend in and out of tune on a track like “Norway.” It all adds up to a lovely spring thaw album.

The Besnard Lakes also make dreamy, languid music—though they like to do so with their amps cranked to punishing levels. Soaring harmonies, big guitar riffs and a lurching rhythm section are obviously reaching for a Big Statement—and occasionally they succeed, at least more than they have on earlier albums; Roaring Night is easily their catchiest, most accessible work to date, made with the help of their equally epic Montreal neighbours in Stars and the Dears.

And yet much of it sounds stuck in a similar groove, one where everyone in the band chugs along on plodding eighth-note rhythms that stubbornly refuse to build any tension: everything, no matter how lovely, just sits there, waiting for something to happen. When it breaks out of the lethargy—as on the appropriately titled “And This is What We Call Progress”—the Besnard Lakes finally begin to roar. There are delicate moments as well—like “Chicago Train” with its shades of Sigur Ros, but that’s when Jace Lacek’s falsetto stretches toward the ridiculous rather than the rapturous.

Swedish duo jj are as light as the Besnard Lakes are heavy; there are many moments here where pillowy synths and featherweight vocals veer too close to new age pop, or where the lead female vocalist sounds like she’s taken her own metaphor seriously: “Take me away like I’ve overdosed on heroin.”

The ESL lyrics are by far the biggest distraction on this otherwise perfectly pleasant new wave desert island fantasy; thankfully, that’s not true on the powerful, sombre opening track “My Life,” where the narrator is a survivor—not of her own struggles, but of the death that surrounds her. Maybe it’s drugs, maybe it’s a plague, maybe it’s a natural disaster—whatever it is, she’s still standing, alone, and bewildered by her fortune, if in fact surviving is good fortune at all. No wonder the rest of the album sounds like twee escapism; there’s a serious sadness at the core of every song here, no matter how sweet it may sound. (K-W Record, March 25)

For Beach House, download (iTunes, amazon.com): “Zebra,” “Norway,” “Lover of Mine”

For Besnard Lakes, download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Like the Ocean Like the Innocent Pt. 2,” “And This is What We Call Progress,” “Albatross”

For jj, download (iTunes, eMusic): “My Life,” “Let Go,” “Into the Light”

---

Jully Black – The Black Book (Universal)

Canada’s ballsy, brash soul diva is back bursting with inspiration—or at least inspirational slogans, which are peppered throughout the CD booklet (i.e. “What you project is what you’ll reflect”). That confidence bursts through every track here, where Black once again proves her mettle: part Tina Turner, part Mary J. Blige, and ready to straddle the worlds of pop, rock and R&B by putting her own stamp on each. When she promises “I’ll Rock It,” she certainly does, with heavy ’80s electric guitar riffs that recall vintage Michael Jackson; on “Recalculate,” she takes aim at the Killers’ anthemic rock territory. There are times when her motivational-speaker tendencies get distracting (“The Time of Your Life,” “Glass Ceiling”), but perhaps we shouldn’t expect anything less from such a larger-than-life personality. (K-W Record, March 4)

Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Running,” “Share My World,” “She’s Out There”

---

Johnny Cash – American VI: Ain’t No Grave (Universal)

Johnny Cash has been dead for seven years now. What we thought was the final installment of his pivotal American Recordings series came out four years ago. Here, of course, we hear him teamed up once again—at this point, one would hesitate to say for the last time—with producer Rick Rubin and a small cast of sympathetic players. The first words we hear him sing are “there ain’t no grave can hold my body down.”

Even the biggest Johnny Cash fan has to ask themselves: dear God, isn’t this enough already? Haven’t we been put through the emotional ringer over the past 15 years listening to Cash sing songs of mortality with what has sounded like his final breaths, to only now be subjected to him haunting us from the grave?

Yes, of course. And you’ll be forgiven if you abstain from this Cash-in. Yet Ain’t No Grave is actually one of the strongest albums of the series, primarily because of the consistency of its vision. The other albums were too often buoyed by covers of either seemingly incongruous songwriters (Trent Reznor, Depeche Mode) or tired and hokey chestnuts from both the country and pop worlds (“Danny Boy,” “Bridge Over Trouble Water”); comparatively, this one plays it straight.

Ain’t No Grave was recorded in the few months before his own passing and after the death of his beloved wife, June Carter, who pulled him out of addiction and gave him a reason to live for the last 40 years of his life.

And so there’s no room for fooling around or gimmicky stunts: the song choice is impeccable, even if it is ridden with clichés about how “I know it’s over/ but life goes on/ and this whole world will keep on turning.” Though the man was dying and his voice is weary, there isn’t a hit of resignation anywhere in these 10 songs and half-hour of music.

Johnny Cash has been gone long enough that we don’t feel obligated to champion each final album as a summation of his legacy; and God knows (even if Rick Rubin doesn’t) that there was more than a few filler tracks on those final albums. That makes Ain’t No Grave all the more powerful: what could easily (and literally) have been squeezing the last breaths out of a dead man is instead a fitting epitaph that stands alone, independent of its backstory. Johnny Cash died more than a legend; he was still an artist until the end. (K-W Record, March 4)

Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Can’t Help But Wonder Where I’m Bound,” “Cool Water,” “I Don’t Hurt Anymore”

---

Jason Collett – Rat a Tat Tat (Arts and Crafts)
Zeus – Say Us (Arts and Crafts)

It didn’t take long for the students to overtake the master—if in fact any such role-playing ever existed in the relationship between veteran Toronto songwriter Jason Collett and his young backing band, Zeus. They recorded Collett’s fourth album together, the primary strength of which is the arrangements and performances. And on their debut album, Zeus boldly announce themselves as classic rockers of the highest order, seasoned songwriters and players who exude enthusiasm for their favourite artists of decades past, audaciously managing to scale many of the same heights themselves.

Neither act would ever be accused of doing anything original; both are decidedly comfort food. Yet oddly enough, it’s Collett who reaches for lyrical clichés and musical metaphors that are usually the crutch of wide-eyed rookies; Zeus’s lyrics are inconsequential, but never distracting—their music does all the talking. Such are the band’s strengths that they overshadow Collett on his own record; even though the songs are a step up from his somewhat disappointing 2008 album Here’s to Being Here, he’s still adopting an affected drawl that’s ultimately distracting from his other charms as a performer.

Say Us, on the other hand, oozes charm—as well as almost every classic rock signifier imaginable: harmonized guitar leads, reggae drops, honky-tonk pianos, full-throated four-part harmonies, over-driven organs, sugary sweet pop songs and raging rockers. Three songwriters help ensure there’s no monotony from track to track, or even within each track itself; it’s obvious that their performing and production work outside Zeus itself has made them acute listeners and keen observers of minute detail. Say Us sounds like every one of your favourite records made between 1967 and 1977, without ever sounding like any one in particular—the one exception being the closing guitar solo on “At the Risk of Repeating,” which is far too close to The Band’s “It Makes No Difference.”

Zeus will be performing with and without Jason Collett (along with peers Bahamas) on tour across North America this month. (K-W Record, March 11)

For Jason Collett, download (iTunes, eMusic, zunior.com, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Lake Superior,” “Love is a Chain,” “Rave On Sad Songs”

For Zeus, download (iTunes, eMusic, zunior.com, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “How Does it Feel,” “The Renegade,” “I Know”

---

Four Tet – There is Love in You (Domino)
Pantha du Prince – Black Noise (Rough Trade)

There’s a track on the new Four Tet album called “Circling,” and unfortunately that’s all that Kieran Hebden seems to be doing on every track here: adrift and hesitant to lay anchor.

Admittedly, a degree of repetition is to be expected from an electronic music artist who is clearly moving toward techno forms, no matter how abstract. Except that Four Tet’s discography has always set itself apart from his peers who are content to let the beats do all the work, with any additional textures mere window dressing. Hebden, on the other hand, drew heavily on jazzy beats, found sounds, sampled folk instrumentation and delicate sonic layering that was at once experimental yet entrancing and welcoming. So while there are elements of Four Tet’s finest work here, Hebden mostly manages to sound like he’s stuck in a locked groove, his once eclectic pallet somewhat stifled.

That’s not the case for German electronic artist Pantha du Prince, aka Hendrick Weber, who definitely owes a debt to Four Tet for taking exotic acoustic sounds and rendering them unrecognizable while setting them to a chilled-out beat. Pantha du Prince comes from more of a German minimalist techno bent than Four Tet’s downtempo funk, but either way there is much breadth to be discovered on this, his third album.

Titled Black Noise, there’s nothing particularly dark nor noisy about it; Weber works with vivid colours conjured from electric guitars, subtle synth sounds, gamelans and bells that coalesce in an evocative, cinematic landscape—even on the tracks that are more obviously designed for a dance floor. The one time he stumbles is when Noah Lennox of Animal Collective shows up to sing on “Stick to My Side”; in the middle of an exotic sound world devoid of signposts, Lennox is incongruously conventional and utterly disposable—which can’t be said about any other aspect of Black Noise. (K-W Record, March 11)

For Four Tet, download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Sing,” “Plastic People,” “She Just Likes to Fight”

For Pantha du Prince, download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Bohemian Forest,” “Im Bann,” “Satellite Snyper”

---

Gigi – Maintenant (Tomlab/Sonic Unyon)
Fanshaw – Dark Eyes (Mint)
Abramson Singers – s/t (White Whale)

Gigi, Fanshaw and the Abramson Singers all make Sunday morning hangover music—which couldn’t be timelier, now that the world’s eyes have turned away from their shared hometown of Vancouver after two weeks of non-stop partying. Life goes on with small everyday pleasures—like each of these low-key debut albums, each of which rallies Vancouver artists together to sing in perfect harmony.

Gigi is not a band as much as it is a studio project, one steered by producer Colin Stewart (Black Mountain, Veda Hille) after he acquired some plate reverb units that inspired him to make ’60s-style Phil Spector-ish recordings, featuring group harmonies and large bands playing live in the studio. He enlisted songwriter Nick Krgovich (P:ano, No Kids) to pen the songs, and various guest singers to both take lead turns and join the choir.

As a genre experiment and period piece, the songs are successfully charming, and even at their saddest, there’s still sunshine thanks to the ebullience of the performances. The lead vocals tend toward the fey, but everyone else in the room gives it their all. The arrangements are rich, and there’s a clearly audible difference in hearing the band play live; the room ambience is extremely effective and the reverb plates are put to good use; Stewart ensured he got his money’s worth. Fans of vintage pop revivalists like Jens Lekman and Camera Obscura—or even Amy Winehouse—will be tickled pink; there are also perhaps-not-unintended parallels to the Langley Schools Music Project, the ’70s recording of a Vancouver-area children’s choir singing the pop songs of the day, which became a cult favourite several years back.

Vancouver seems to love choirs; Olivia Fetherstonhaugh is part of an indie collective called the Choir Practice, and records solo under the name Fanshaw, which is a more solitary, insular project. There are times when she sounds dark and gothic like her Vancouver neighbours Lightning Dust; at others she recalls PJ Harvey’s more spooky and sublime moments; sometimes she crafts drowsy, languorous country music; other tracks are dead ringers for U.K. newcomer Bat for Lashes. Fetherstonhaugh has a compelling voice that could work in just about any setting, but it’s her haunting songwriting that make Dark Eyes much more than just a promising debut.

Leah Abramson decided to start a female choir after developing tendonitis and being unable to play guitar, and though her eponymous band does feature sparse and almost ghostly instrumentation, the angelic four-to-eight-part harmonies are front and centre. This is definitely a 3-a.m. album, rich with shadows and suggestion. Its all-too-brief running time, at less than half an hour, is hardly enough to sustain us until daybreak; hopefully this visitation from the Abramson Singers is more than a fleeting dream. (K-W Record, March 4)

For Gigi, download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Alone at the Pier,” “Won’t Someone Tell Me,” “Strolling Past the Old Graveyard”

For Fanshaw, download (iTunes): “Nobody,” “Strong Hips,” “Diana”

For Abramson Singers, download (zunior.com, iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Take a Camera,” “Fool’s Gold,” “Trucker’s Prayer”

---

Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba – I Speak Fula (Next Ambiance/Sub Pop)

Music from Mali has been one of the biggest African cultural exports of late, led by the hotshot guitarists in Tinariwen and Amadou Bagayoko (of Amadou and Mariam); both owe a large debt to the late Ali Farka Toure, who just released the last album recorded before his death.

Bassekou Kouyate doesn’t play guitar; he plays a hand-held lute called the ngoni, which he attacks with the virtuosity of any great guitar god, not necessarily with the delicacy associated with the ngoni’s closest cousin, the kora. Unlike most ngoni players, Kouyate plays it standing up and even occasionally through effects like a wah-pedal; he’s also designed different models for members of his group, resulting in a new string band set-up that contributes to his original sound.

Kouyate is a relentless noodler, and yet paradoxically the music is never unnecessarily busy or frenetic—even though his tempos are quicker than most of the languorous Mali music we’ve heard. Percussion is minimal but effective; the group’s harmony vocals are lovely. Guests like Vieux Farka Toure (son of Ali) and kora master Toumani Diabate are on board mainly for marquee value; Kouyate is the undisputed star of this show. (K-W Record, March 18)

Download (iTunes, amazon.com): “Musow (For Our Women),” “Torin Torin,” “Ladon”

---

Mumford and Sons – Sigh No More (Universal)
Schomberg Fair – Gospel (Hi-Hat)

The U.K. is witnessing something it hasn’t seen in at least 40 years: a group of good-looking young men playing all-acoustic instruments at foot-stomping speed and singing with sunny four-part harmonies, all of which has mysteriously attracted many screaming young women (including on these shores, even before the debut album was released here). This, of course, has led Mumford and Songs to be called “the bluegrass Beatles” by the hyperbole-hungry British press.

Here in Canada, the sounds of Mumford and Sons’ debut album, Sigh No More, are far less impressive. We have Great Big Sea on our pop charts; we have Elliott Brood tearing up nightclub stages across the country. What’s the big deal? Mumford and Sons do, to their credit, write catchy songs—some of which could be very traditional, some of which aspire to rock epics without really having the weight behind them. And when they try to delve into darker material, as on “Dust Bowl Dance,” they simply sound lost.

Much more exciting is young Toronto band Schomberg Fair, who, it’s very safe to say, could kick the asses of Mumford and Sons. The opening track on Gospel, their second album, is a slow ominous build of banjos and tumbling percussion, a small breather before the next four tracks burst forth at breakneck speed.

If you thought the Sadies were shitkickers, Schomberg Fair delivers double the intensity, without getting cartoonish or losing sight of solid songs and performances that would be as powerful even at half their current tempos. Schomberg Fair do for electric Canadian folk music what the Pogues did to Celtic music in the ’80s: write booze-soaked songs plumbing spiritual angst and delivered soulfully with more energy than punk bands who use electric guitars as a cheap crutch.

They’re more than a one-trick pony, too. The album stops cold in the middle for a curiosity called “Motown Break,” which could be a Beastie Boys’ b-side. And from there, both lead vocalist Matt Bahen and the sub-baritone growl of bassist Nathan Sidon deliver emotional performances on slower but equally intense tracks like “Strange Kind of Grace” and “Satan Your Kingdom Must Come Down.”

Playing punk arrangements with folk instruments is old hat by now, a schtick that’s far too easy to succumb to cliché. And yet when Schomberg Fair preach their Gospel, you’ll be a believer in no time. (K-W Record, March 18)

For Mumford and Sons, download (iTunes, eMusic): “Little Lion Man,” “The Cave,” “Roll Away Your Stone”

For Schomberg Fair, download (iTunes, zunior.com): “Drunkard’s Prayer,” “Pretty Bird,” “Wayfaring Stranger”

---

Shearwater – The Golden Archipelago (Matador)
Dead Letter Chorus – The August Magnificent (Bumstead)

Last month, Peter Gabriel came crawling out of semi-retirement, only to underwhelm his fans with an all-covers album set to mostly solo piano accompaniment. But what if someone had kidnapped the legendary innovator from his comfortable British home, stranded him in the middle of Texas, and told him to write a concept album about threatened civilizations on remote island communities around the world? It still probably wouldn’t sound as glorious as The Golden Archipelago by Shearwater, a band that’s hitting its stride.

This Austin band has always created delicate epics worthy of early Gabriel or rainy-day favourites Talk Talk (or, at times, Elton John’s now-long-forgotten prog rock moments of the ’70s), with the confident, clear voice of Jonathan Meiburg leading a sympathetic backing band that would be as comfortable playing a Steve Reich composition as they would accompanying an adventurous singer/songwriter. Though they’ve always been a formidable live act, this is the first time they’ve fully gelled in the studio, reining in the bombast and spinning a beginning-to-end masterpiece. And to exemplify their economy, they do so in 11 songs and less than 40 minutes, making a journey to The Golden Archipelago much less daunting yet entirely immersive.

Shearwater play Lee’s Palace in Toronto with the equally excellent Wye Oak on April 1.

Dead Letter Chorus also aim for the epic, although with shared male-female lead vocals. If you took British art rock, dragged it through Chicago’s alt-country scene, and eventually wound up half a world away in Australia, you’d have Dead Letter Chorus. Opening track “The Peaceful Sleep of Death” sounds suspiciously like The Tragically Hip’s “Nautical Disaster,” which is surely unintentional. Sadly, the same can’t be said for the ’50s-style waltz “The Long Goodnight,” where the chorus is shamelessly stolen (uncredited) directly from Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You”—the lyrics are “I will hold on to you.” Outside of their obvious influences, Dead Letter Chorus is a promising band in their own right. (K-W Record, March 25)

For Shearwater, download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Black Eyes,” “Corridors,” “Landscape at Speed”

For Dead Letter Chorus, download (iTunes, eMusic): “The Peaceful Sleep of Death,” “Fight the Morning,” “11th Dream About Aeroplanes”

Post-Polaris hangover

It’s the morning after the Polaris Prize ceremonies. Helen Spitzer was a presenter, introducing Miracle Fortress; I was in the peanut gallery. We both talked ourselves hoarse at the Drake after-party and are in full recovery mode at the moment.

In true Canadian fashion, I just made a fried egg sandwich with old cheddar and maple-smoked bacon on whole wheat bread with tomato, washed down with coffee. I’m going on four hours sleep. I also walked the kiddo to school. Helen Spitzer caught a few more winks than I, but she’s currently holding a wet cloth to her head, groaning, recoiling at the sight of my greasy breakfast, and cursing the name of Eye Weekly editor Dave Morris for buying her the final glass of wine at the Drake.

M: Good morning, Ms. Spitzer.

H: Oh.

M: I figured this would be easier—and more entertaining—than actually conversing at the breakfast table this morning.

H: I must thank you for deciding in favour of writing over speech. You are a wise man.

M: I tried to find the Patrick Watson album this morning, to no avail. I don’t think I’ve listened to it in a year—but don’t tell [Secret City Records’] Andrew Rose that. I’m pretty sure it’s in one of these five dozen boxes of CDs we have here. Do you have any desire to hear it?

H: Patrick is the first person I encountered walking up to the Phoenix earlier in the evening, funnily enough. I don’t have any desire to hear any music right now, although that is a reflection of my state and not Patrick’s record. Though perhaps listening to something louder than the fridge at this moment might be good for us.

M: Rumour has it he was downright tanked before the ceremony even began. I’m surprised he managed to make a halfway-decent speech at the end.

H: Rumours, huh? Hey, perhaps that’s what you should put on the turntable. Timex Social Club …oh, good man. [Barclay has just put on Destroyer’s Thief] This record I blame for inadvertently turning me into a rock critic. Is this the vinyl?

M: No, CD. [Helen is currently stalking around the kitchen clutching her stomach and reaching for more bacon.] I know you had planned to take the stage last night [she introduced Miracle Fortress] to “The Sublimation Hour,” but I didn’t hear it. In fact, I didn’t hear any of the presenter’s entrance music—or, for that matter, most of what any of them said. The podium mics didn’t seem to be functioning properly for most of the evening. But there’s no mistaking that Grant Lawrence did a fine job as host—even though I know there’s a lot more he wanted to jab at.

H: I want the gentle reader to know that I declined the bacon. Yes, Grant was certainly in fine form last night, though NOTHING quite outshines Bookman’s singing intro to Julie Doiron. Especially the moment he said, over the roaring cheers, “there’s one more verse.” Carl Wilson was having giggle fits next to me. He might have fallen off his chair just a little bit.

M: I love Dave Bookman to bits. For those that weren’t there, Bookman introduced the New Pornographers at last year’s ceremonies but singing “California Girls” with lyrics changed to pay tribute to Carl Newman and company. This year he did the same thing for Julie—though the really weird thing is that, despite obviously being a huge fan, the guy still doesn’t know how to pronounce her francophone name. Attention Mr. Bookman: it’s “dwa-ron,” not “door-ee-on.” But speaking of Ms. Doiron, she and her Eric’s Trip bandmates delivered one of the more discussed performances of the evening. I loved it: I thought it was raw, inspiring and slightly dangerous, and she seemed a bit loopy (I don’t mean in the Final Fantasy sense) and unpredictable, which I really appreciated. You, on the other hand, hated it, yes?

H: I think hate is a really strong word, Barclay. I just felt that arrangement (raw, dirty, double guitar attack) didn’t serve her in that venue. I don’t know that her voice works at that volume. But maybe I was just thinking about the TV audience. [picking up the Polaris commemorative CD thing] “Pianos are the new turntables?” [from the Patrick Watson blurb] What could he possibly mean? I’m reading the write-up for what we know now is the Polaris prize-winning CD, Close To Paradise, and I find it amusing that fully half of Brendan Murphy’s blurb is actually about Brendan Murphy.

[conversation moves to the bedroom, so Helen can lie down. In our bedroom after the war, if you will.]

M: I guess I liked the incongruity of the Doiron performance in that space. Regarding the Watson quote, yeah—that’s totally ridiculous. I think most people in the room were shocked if not baffled when Watson snapped the prize. It simply didn’t seem to be on anyone’s lips, not in the initial lead-up to the shortlist, and not in the months since the nominations were announced. I think he’s an incredibly talented guy, and watching the band live I was reminded how amazing each of them are individually. But the whole thing just doesn’t gel for me; I get no emotional connection to any of the material. In fact, last night it looked downright masturbatory.

H: It was a very baffling win. I do think my jaw actually dropped. And you’re right in that his album wasn’t being discussed by critics during the lead up to this as a serious contender. Which makes me wonder if it didn’t win by being everyone’s number two. Hey, Joe Jackson wrote a song about that. But I do believe that the process in the jury room was slightly different this year.

M: You were saying something last night, when we were talking about acts that we didn’t want to win it. Neither of us are fans of the Besnard Lakes, and yet you said that if they won it would at least make sense: there’s a near-consensus regarding that band.

H: Because people who love that record really loooooooove that record. And I respect that, even though I’m befuddled. I have a strong sense that there are very passionate feelings about that album, I have a strong sense that people also feel passionately about Junior Boys. But this was sort of like The Dears winning.

M: Which we all knew wouldn’t happen. What a terrible record. I really wish I could have heard what Aaron Brophy was saying in his introduction, because I desperately want someone to articulate to me what’s actually good about that record. I should point out that this morning, the first Polaris-related email I got was from Jon Bartlett, gloating about the fact that he totally called a Patrick Watson win. I think he pegs it on Laurie Brown being on the jury.

H: I think a more entertaining evening could have been had if, instead of calling on random critics to introduce acts, we could have called up jury members to defend their pick.

M: And then what, face heckles from the crowd? Or like a cross-examination?

H: Yes, exactly. Don’t you think Grant would make a good Crown Prosecutor?

M: Isn’t that what he does for a living when he interviews indie bands? “Is it not correct, sir, to say that in the fall of 2006…”

H: No, that’s Nardwuar.

M: We should talk about Chad VanGaalen.

H: Oh!!! Performance of the evening, by far. There was something just so beautifully pure about the ramshackle joy of his playing - it just blew the television artifice to smithereens. For that brief interval anyway.

M: Television artifice? I didn’t really get that from any other performers.

H: No, I meant the room itself. It reeked of television.

M: I wonder what Chad would have done had he won, seeing as how vocal he’s been, publicly and privately, about how he doesn’t really like Skelliconnection much himself. I also thought it was great how Patrick Watson was rooting for him, as were other artists.

H: I don’t love the album, but fuck, I love Chad.

[end of part one. Helen continues groaning and clutching her head. We’ll talk about Miracle Fortress, Joel Plaskett and others shortly.]

Polaris predictions

Polaris Prize ceremonies are tonight, and host Grant Lawrence is trying his best to prepare jokes that won’t offend the corporate sponsors, the artists, or last year’s host Jian Ghomeshi. It’s a thankless job. Buns will be thrown.

It's no secret I'm rooting for Miracle Fortress, the one and only album on the list that I find consistently rewarding. The rest of the list, for me, consists of either of great artists with several weak tracks, or of people I never would have considered in the first place. Five Roses is a gem from beginning to end, no qualifying statements necessary. Read my review here.

Because I can't resist, this is how I would argue it in the jury room:

Arcade Fire: When it's good, it's great, and the best material here will outlast most other records released in the past year. But though successful on many levels, there are still a couple of tracks here (namely the first two) that are mediocre at best. See interviews starting here. See review here.

Besnard Lakes: I realise that there's a "critical consensus" about how great this band is (according to Brad Wheeler in today's Metacritic-combing Globe and Mail article), but other than the opening track I don't hear anything but sludgy shoegazey guitars, pretty vocals singing no melodies, monotonous and soulless rhythm, and repetitively dull lyrics. I know they're nice people. I know Jace Lacek is a great producer. But this band leaves me stone cold.

Dears: I've always found this band hot and cold, but even this skeptic thought No Cities Left was a grand achievement. This, on the other hand, had me pressing 'skip' halfway through every plodding track. I'm glad Mr. Lightburn claims to be feeling more optimistic these days, but you'd never guess that from the tepid music found here.

Julie Doiron: Great record, her best since Love Tara. See interview here.

Feist: Lots of great songs, but there's a reserve here that keeps me at a distance. Plus, a couple of weaker tracks derail the album's overall strengths. Hear my pre-Reminder interview here.

Joel Plaskett Emergency: Musically, this is the most fun album on the list, and is tailor-made for anyone who grew up loving rock'n'roll on AM radio. "Fashionable People" is a candidate for single of the year, and elsewhere Plaskett covers all his favourite genre bases easily. Lyrically, however, he doesn't always hit his mark, and it's the only thing that stops me from loving this album outright. See interview here.

Junior Boys: Occasionally they have great songs, but have never struck me as a great band and this is by no means a great album. At least half of it puts me to sleep. Which is too bad--seeing as how they're the only act on the list to break the indie rock hegemony.

Miracle Fortress: Practically flawless. See Helen Spitzer's interview here.

Chad VanGaalen: A truly great artist, but this is not his best work--and apparently he doesn't think so either, judging by reports of comments he's made at live shows. I think he got this nod because it took a long time for most jurists to discover the far superior debut Infiniheart.

Patrick Watson: There's no question that the guy--and his band--is infinitely talented, but his music occupies the muddy ground between songwriting and soundscape experimentalism, often failing at the former while the more abstract moments are the ones that succeed. Either way, it doesn't add up to a coherent record. Watson is still stuck in the "most promising" department rather than deserving this prize. Read my Eye piece here.

Who will take it? Looking at the final jury, I haven’t the slightest idea. That’s a decidedly mixed bag of people—hell, we might even have a hung jury. One thing is for sure, however: unlike last year’s Toronto-heavy jury selecting a Toronto artist from a list dominated by Torontonians, there won’t be any of the usual catty Canadian behaviour calling out the winner’s geography as a principal political factor in the prize. Still, it’s always a challenge to keep politics out of a decision like that: let’s hope the best album (on that list) wins.

Which, of course, is Miracle Fortress.

And if you want an award you can vote on yourself, head over to SOCAN's Echo Songwriting Prize and vote for either Nathan, Feuermusik, Abdominal, Besnard Lakes or Chad VanGaalen. Winner gets 5000 clams.