Best of 2000, 20 years later

My friend Aaron Brophy likes to revisit his year-end lists from at least a decade back, and alternately either boast about his amazing, timeless taste, or wonder what the heck he was thinking.

20 years ago I was hired by Philip Bast at the Kitchener-Waterloo Record to write a weekly CD review column. I did that until 2019, reviewing three to six albums a week.

In 2000, I was living in Guelph, working at Exclaim, writing for Eye Weekly, and working on a book called Have Not Been the Same. 

In 2020, I'm writing a book about events 20 years ago, so I've been living in a bit of a time warp.

Here’s the 10 albums I submitted to Eye Weekly’s year-end poll in 2000. Commentary is new.


1. Sarah Harmer – You Were Here (Cold Snap)
A classic record, to this day. I knew that the day I heard it, after buying a copy from her after a show at Ted’s Wrecking Yard on College Street, a copy that was a CD-R with a hand-drawn cover. I was a huge Weeping Tile fan and was thrilled that Harmer finally got her due. Is it the best album of 2000? It’s one of my favourite albums of all time, so there’s that. Will have a lot more to say about this in the book.


2. The Weakerthans – Left and Leaving (G7). O hell yes. I first saw this band a couple of months before this album came out, at Exclaim’s anniversary party, and these songs blew me away. So did songs from 1997’s Fallow, which everyone in the room but me seemed to know by heart. I bought a copy from Soundscapes before my own band played a show at… Ted’s Wrecking Yard. The year 2000 was very much about Ted’s Wrecking Yard for me. I wrote an essay about this album’s anniversary here.


3. Yo La Tengo – And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out (Matador). I listened to this album more in 2020 than I had since the year it came out. That had nothing to do with its anniversary, and everything to do with therapeutic listening during enforced isolation. 

4. Bettie Serveert – Private Suit (Parasol). I have a lot to say about this, one of the most underrated rock records of the last 30 years, and one I revisit annually. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the world who feels that way. Wrote about this here.


5. Sleater-Kinney – All Hands on the Bad One (Kill Rock Stars). This isn’t even among my top three favourite S-K records now, but it sure sounded great in 2000—in part because so much other rock music was terrible. “You’re No Rock’n’Roll Fun” still gives me chills. I have never seen this video!

6. PJ Harvey – Stories From the City, Stories From The Sea (Island). I had some kind of hipster hang-up at the time about whether this was the best PJ Harvey record to date or whether it was just the PJ Harvey record you were most likely to put on when other people come over for dinner. Does it matter? Still sounds amazing, top to bottom.


7. Neko Case – Furnace Room Lullaby; Carolyn Mark – Party Girl; The Corn Sisters – The Other Women (Mint). It’s amazing to me that these three albums came out the same year as New Pornographers’ Mass Romantic. I still know every lyric to each of these songs. In the political climate of 2020, I re-latched on to Neko’s “Mood to Burn Bridges.” Feeling disconnected, I found solace in “someone singing my life back to me” in “Guided by Wire.” For 20 years leading up to my midlife crisis, I’ve had a Corn Sisters lyric by Mark in my head: “Is it a groove? Or is it a rut?” In April, I watched an online hootenanny hosted in isolation by the incredibly social Carolyn Mark, during which she played Party Girl’s “Don’t Come Over, Baby.” It was perfect.


8. Crooked Fingers – s/t (Sonic Unyon). Much like Sleater-Kinney, this is nowhere near my favourite album by one of my favourite artists of all time. But again, like Yo La Tengo, this one sounded particularly good in 2020: “Crowned in Chrome,” “New Drink for the Old Drunk,” “Broken Man,” “Black Black Ocean,” “Under Sad Stars”—because it was just that kind of year.

9. Jess Klein – Draw Them Near (Slow River/Ryko). This is the one album on this list where I thought: really? I remember liking it, but I don’t remember loving it and I definitely haven’t listened to it in 20 years. But guess what? It’s pretty great. Really solid songs, great voice, great band. In the same vein as Harmer, but American. 2000 might have been the last year I listened to a lot of roots rock, which is why Klein would have fallen off my radar. She’s still active, and new stuff sounds pretty good.


10. The Gruesomes – Cave In (Tyrant). This might have been the first of my favourite bands from my high school years to reunite and not suck, and so the surprise element no doubt vaulted this onto my top 10. Listening to it now for likely the first time in 20 years, it is a great record, and probably even the Gruesomes’ best. The songs and performances are all killer (and there’s finally a studio version of “You Were Not Using Your Head”). I just don’t listen to garage rock anymore; I barely did in 2000, either. But if you do, and/or if you were ever a Gruesomes fan and have somehow never heard this, I highly recommend it.



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Other favourites I wrote about in my year-end column for the K-W Record:


Asian Dub Foundation – Community Music (London/Polygram). I’d totally forgot this band until two years ago when I wrote a book about the Tragically Hip—which is a weird connection, but I read an article where drummer Johnny Fay talks about rocking this record on the tour bus. It also came to mind when I dug the Melt Yourself Down record this year. In many ways this record sounds either of the moment or incredibly dated, depending on your POV. I still think it sounds great. I had no idea they were still active; they put out a new record this year, and haven’t changed a bit. If Rage Against the Machine can have a revival, this band sure as hell can—and should. It’s not like what they were singing about has improved one iota. 

 

 

Bjork – Selmasongs (Warner). I was in a deep Bjork period of my life. Does this oft-forgotten soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark hold up? Probably much better than the movie, I’m guessing. After hearing about the antagonistic working relationship she had with notorious sadist Lars Von Trier, I reconsidered all portrayals of extreme suffering on film (not the first or last time in my life Bjork changed my worldview). The production is a delightful blend of the digital clicks and cuts she’d soon dive into and the orchestration heard on much of Post. I often forget that in the same year Kid A came out, Thom Yorke duetted with both PJ Harvey and Bjork on their albums, both of which are better than Kid A.

Blue Rodeo – The Days in Between (Warner). I loved this band for about 10 years of my life (1987-97), but have followed only from a respectful distance since. This album was probably the last one I enjoyed—or listened to more than thrice—and revisiting now I can see why. Was this the last time Keelor and Cuddy brought their best work to the band instead of their solo records? Trina Shoemaker’s production brings just the right amount of atmospherics. It sounds great today. Still: best of 2020? This was a nostalgia vote for me.


Deltron 3030 – s/t (75 Ark). The sound of the future? Nope, but definitely the sound of 2000, when Dan the Automator seemed to be everywhere (Gorillaz, Primal Scream, Handsome Boy Modeling School). Del the Funky Homosapien has great flow as always, though I don’t know about this as a concept album: the main appeal for me, then and now, is the music. (And yet: I’ve never listened to the accompanying instrumental album.) Kid Koala features prominently. His own Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is not on this list; it baffled me at the time. Now it’s clear he was charting his own path. I don’t think I’ve listened to a new Dan the Automator record since 2001, though I had a soft spot for his 2006 Mike Patton collab Peeping Tom (which I haven’t listened to since).


DJ Serious – Dim Sum (Sound King). This was a Toronto DJ whose debut featured MCs Brass Munk, D-Sisive, Arcee, Asicks and Lil Jaz. This being Canada, with a woeful hip-hop infrastructure, it came out on the same label that put out rock bands Danko Jones and Bionic and promptly got lost. Musically, it’s on the same wavelength as California’s Quannum crew, a mix of ’80s electro funk and early ’90s jazz-influenced tracks. It was definitely out of step with the Choclair and Kardinal crowd, and is now out of print and unavailable to stream except on this YouTube rip. I’m sure I haven’t listened to this in 20 years; it totally holds up. DJ Serious released a follow-up, Cold Tea, in 2005; I’ve never heard it. His studio output has been silent since.


Steve Earle – Transcendental Blues (Artemis). I don’t think Steve Earle gets enough credit for his five-album run between 1995-2000: Train a Comin’, I Feel Alright, El Corazon, The Mountain and finally this one. It’s flawless. Dozens of killer songs in that run. Where’s the box set? It should be mentioned in the same breath as the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Stevie Wonder, Prince, you name it. He’s released at least nine albums of original material since, but I’ve only paid sporadic attention—maybe because it’s hard to measure up to this, which still sounds fabulous, especially loud. “All of My Life”—what a goddam anthem. “Another Town” is the greatest song the Pogues never wrote (see also: “The Galway Girl”). There’s too many more here to list. I’m not sure Earle’s production skills have ever sounded better. No idea why this wasn’t in my top 10.


International Noise Conspiracy – Survival Sickness (Epitaph). I put “Smash It Up” on so many mix CDs for years, but did I ever like this whole record? None of these other songs sound remotely familiar—although the title track certainly hits home these days. Garage rock was not my thing; I was posing, craving a political rock band so much that I imagined this was this one for me. It wasn’t. Little did I know at the time that this band’s predecessor, Refused, would prove to be so influential on a lot of the aughts’ aggressive music. 

Jurassic 5 – Quality Control (Interscope). I saw this band open for Femi Kuti’s North American debut at the Roxy in New York City in 1999: one of the most unforgettable nights of music in my life. This band was maligned at the time, considered some kind of retro hip-hop Sha Na Na or some bullshit, at the time of Timbaland and Jay-Z, but I loved it. Still do: I’m a sucker for genuine interplay between MCs, which is all but unheard of in this day of one-off collabs. (Quick: try to name one modern rap act with more than two MCs and not named Migos.) Related: Cut Chemist put out a good record a couple of years ago that I only just discovered.


King Cobb Steelie – Mayday (Ryko). One of my favourite bands of the ’90s, for both musical and personal reasons. This was a final bid for glory on Rykodisc, with pop songs and guest vocalists (Michelle McAdorey, Tamara Williamson), before they resurfaced four years later with an indie instrumental album before fading away. Produced by Laika’s Guy Fixsen, Mayday sounds amazing—though definitely dated. There’s something textbook turn-of-the-millenium in the drum machine sounds here, as heard on the title track; it’s a post-triphop groove that was ubiquitous for a while with the KCRW crowd and then vanished. There’s an entirely unnecessary scratch solo (by DJ Serious! see above) on “Below the Stars”—remember when rock bands felt they needed turntable solos to be somehow relevant? “Home” is still a great single, with a synth bass squiggle that now reminds me of Charanjit Singh’s Ten Ragas to a Disco Beat. Weirder moments like “Fast Money Blessing” have aged very well. This is an album ripe for rediscovery—or at least half of it. This band’s discography would be served well by a collection of greatest non-hits. And there have been rumours of a reunion.


Paul Macleod – Close and Play (independent). This one hurts. Paul Macleod was one of the most brilliant performers and songwriters I’ve ever known; he was a staple in the Kitchener-Waterloo and Guelph area, where he was never short a weekly gig. He performed often with Danny Michel, collaborated with the Rheostatics, and joined the Skydiggers as a sideman (at a time when he was writing better songs than they were). He always seemed poised for great things, which never materialized—a common story for hometown heroes everywhere, but I truly believe Macleod was exceptional. This was his first of only three proper studio records that I’m aware of (2007’s Bright Eyes Fade came out on Busted Flat; I’ve never heard 2014’s Gauge). He made it with Hawksley Workman, and it’s full of the same energy Workman brought to his own material as well as early records by John Southworth, Serena Ryder and Tegan and Sara. The songs are perfect Beatle-y pop. Macleod was an amazing singer. But no one heard this record unless you bought it from Macleod at a show. That’s not as big a tragedy as the fact that the Macleod I knew is no longer with us. I only knew him as an acquaintance and have very fond memories; I didn’t know his demons, which eventually took hold of him, hurt someone else, and landed him in court shortly before he died by suicide in 2016. It’s an awful story. I wish I could listen to his music now without thinking about it. I can’t. Hopefully someone can.

Listen to “Cruelty.” I mean, holy shit, what a song. 

 

Or “Giants.” 




New Pornographers – Mass Romantic (Mint). Kind of shocked this didn’t make my top 10, though it was released in November so maybe hadn’t fully sunk in. I was definitely in love with “Letter From an Occupant,” because who wasn’t? I wrote about this anniversary here.

Outkast – Stankonia (BMG). 2000 might have been the last year I felt remotely connected to mainstream hip-hop. I do love Outkast because they’re genre-busters, game-changers and genuinely odd. I also can’t love Outkast because I’m too much of a white Toronto prude. But this album is bloated: way too long, populated by skits, and dragged down by tracks like “We Luv Deez Hoez.” And as much as “B.O.B.” still slams (musically), the chorus is downright gross: “bombs over Baghdad” is not a great metaphor in any context, least of all as a pre-9/11 sentiment for not finishing a fight or not following through on a challenge.

Radiohead – Kid A (EMI). I don’t know that I ever loved this album—but not for the reasons people hated it. I like it just fine. If anything, it wasn’t weird enough. The fact that it was remotely divisive speaks to the intense conservatism of the time. (I’m debating whether I even care enough to read Steven Hyden’s new book about it.) I probably put it on my list so that I wouldn’t seem out of touch. Total posturing on my part.

The Salteens – Short Term Memories (Endearing). This was when I still had great affection for peppy indie pop populated by handclaps, trumpets and bop-ba-da’s. Come to think of it, I was in a band not unlike this one at the time. This Vancouver band had really catchy songs, heavily influenced by Sloan, and a really strong rhythm section. This is a really good record, better than most of its peers other than the New Pornographers. Not one I’d listen to today, though given the chance I’d probably join a band like this in a heartbeat.


Amon Tobin – Supermodified (Ninja Tune). Pretty sure I was a complete poser when I put this on my year-end list. Some of it is great and totally holds up—sexy, even; some of it sounds like a dial-up connection.


Travis – The Man Who (Sony). Woof. Really? I’m glad working for Brave New Waves saved me from becoming a guy who likes Travis.



Records that should be on this list that I got into shortly afterwards:

Belle and Sebastian – Fold Your Hands…

Destroyer – Thief

Be Good Tanyas – Blue Horse

Gonzales – Uber Alles

White Stripes – De Stijl


And Royal City’s At Rush Hour the Cars, made by some good friends of mine, and which I might have left off the list for nepotistic reasons.

Albums I should have appreciated more at the time, relevant to current research:

Dears – End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story

Godspeed You Black Emperor – Lift Your Skinny Fists...

Peaches – The Teaches Of 

 
Album all my friends loved and I still don’t get: 

Blonde Redhead – Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons.

Have Not Been the Same: Some party

Downie and myself at Hillside Festival, Guelph

Later this week, Have Not Been the Same, the 10th anniversary revision/reissue, should be on bookstore shelves across the country. The launch party is Friday, June 10 at Lee’s Palace in Toronto, featuring Weeping Tile, King Cobb Steelie and Kevin Kane of the Grapes of Wrath (tickets available from Soundscapes, Rotate This and Ticketmaster).

Between now and the date of the launch party, Radio Free Canuckistan will provide a series of insights into the origin of the book, what went into the reissue, and everything you never knew you wanted to know about the project.

(photo by Carolyn Mill, taken at Hillside 2010)

I owe Gord Downie an apology.

The Tragically Hip frontman was one the most generous interview subjects in the book—once we finally got an interview with him and bassist Gord Sinclair, which wasn’t easy and took a several-pronged lobbying attempt. (Thank you, Chris Brown). Jason Schneider and I decided to tag-team the interview, even though the Hip are clearly Jason’s territory: he owned every bootleg recording and had travelled great distances to see them over the years, and he was the one writing the chapter about them.

For whatever reason, the only time we were able to get to speak to them was at a tour stop in Syracuse, New York. Downie was intrigued by the approach of the book, and that our questions seemed to be as much about his peers—the smaller acts that he had long championed and invited to open for the Hip—as it was about his own band. On stage that night, he introduced “Ahead by a Century” by calling it “Have Not Been the Same,” a reference that of course only two people in the upstate New York audience understood—and we were thrilled.

When it came time to ask someone famous to contribute a forward to a book written by three nobodies, Downie’s name was at the top of our list. Amazingly, he agreed. Much to the concern of the publisher, however, he decided to do so in the form of a poem.

A weird move, sure. But anyone who’s spent time with Downie, either verbally or in correspondence, will know that direct communication is not his strong point. He’s a poet by nature. He’s the same off-stage as he is on, in a way—those free-associative ramblings in the middle of and in between songs are really the way he thinks in everyday life. His wheels are constantly turning; his words are meticulously chosen, consciously working on several levels at once. As I got to know him—which was not much at all, really—the idea of him writing some linear essay about his experiences in Canadian music seemed ridiculous. So a poem it was, and a fine one it was that suited the occasion .

Having Downie’s name on the front cover of our book was, of course, a huge coup. And it should have been enough. But then he went and hired some of our favourite musicians for his solo band, musicians who represented the scope of our book in many ways. Wouldn’t it be great if they all played our launch party?

And so we invited Julie Doiron and Dinner is Ruined, who were four-fifths of Gord Downie's Country of Miracles, to play our party at Lee’s Palace on September 29, 2001. We had other reasons to invite them: I was a big fan of Dinner is Ruined, featuring my favourite drummer in the world, Dave Clark; Doiron, of the late, great Eric’s Trip, represented the East Coast for the evening. Chris Brown and Kate Fenner—dear friends of mine, who Downie had asked to join the Hip on their most recent tour—had already volunteered to drive up from New York City just for the occasion. One of Downie’s personal heroes, Ian Blurton of Change of Heart, was also playing that night with his new band Blurtonia. How could he refuse?

Downie didn’t show, it turns out. I can’t blame him; I’m sure most people expected him to be there, and the very private rock star probably preferred to stay home with his family and avoid being mobbed.

And so I’d like to now publicly apologize to him for indirectly trying to trick him into playing our book launch.

As it turns out, we did have a secret special guest that night.

I discovered that my friend Carolyn Mark from Victoria happened to be in Toronto that week, and she agreed to play. (Her 2000 album Party Girl was one of my favourites at the time, and which featured plenty of CanRock Renaissance heroes like Sarah Harmer, Ian Blurton and Shadowy Men’s Brian Connelly). Mark pointed out that her good friend Neko Case was also going to be in Toronto the night of our launch, before a tour stop at the Horseshoe.

All I had to do was ask: Neko instantly agreed to be on the bill as well, as long as her name wasn’t advertised (so as not to take away from her Horseshoe show). It was a perfect fit: Neko not only got her start on Mint Records, which is discussed in the book, but she had just released an EP of Canadian covers of people like the Inbreds’ Mike O’Neill, Neil Young and Lisa Marr of Cub. Of course, she was amazing and generous and funny, onstage and off, as she always is, and I got to introduce her to my dad (who was a bit star-struck; he’s a huge fan of her 1997 debut, The Virginian).

At the time, there were actually some people upset that the secret guest was Neko Case, and not someone more famous, I suppose. Hopefully they’ve bought a few of her records since and realize how lucky they were to see her, especially when she covered Destroyer’s “No Ceasefires.” (Why she—or the New Pornographers—has yet to record that is beyond me.)

The surprise star of the night for many (not for me, an old fan) was Chris Brown and Kate Fenner. I’ve seen them probably a hundred times in almost every situation (from a tiny bar to Massey Hall), but that night they were electrifying. Their lyrics, which I had always found inspiring, took on extra resonance in those weeks after 9/11. They covered The Band’s “Tears of Rage” and The Tragically Hip’s “Scared.” They had the entire unruly, talkative audience suddenly captive. I’ve felt eternally in debt to them for their performance that evening.

The rest of the bill? Blurtonia was loud and proud and the ideal act to rile up a bill that consisted mostly of singer/songwriters. Carolyn Mark played what I think is one of the best Canadian songs of the 2000s, her own “Edmonton.” Dinner is Ruined provided some comic relief when they started riffing on my favourite negative review of the book, which had run in that week’s Now Magazine: “Ho-fucking-hum” (as it turns out, that makes a great chorus of a song). Michele Gould of Lava Hay introduced a new project. John Critchley of 13 Engines delivered what I believe was one of his last high-profile solo shows before he became an in-demand producer. Groovy Religion brought the spirit of Elvis Mondays to the event, and that band’s bassist John Borra represented the Handsome Ned tradition of Queen St. country music with his own band, featuring original Blue Rodeo drummer Cleave Anderson. (I also owe John Borra a public apology for scheduling the two acts he plays in as the evening’s bookends, making it a marathon for him.)

In many ways, it was a perfect bill, with many of our heroes from Victoria to Moncton sharing a stage together, from mid-’80s Queen St. lifers to late-’90s West Coast women who would help shape the coming decade. I don’t know what Downie was doing that night, but he could rest easy knowing that his peers were carrying the weight, that neither somebody’s book launch—nor the country’s culture in general—needs to depend on any one superstar to show up in order to be a success.

Oct 09 reviews

The following reviews ran in the K-W Record and Guelph Mercury.

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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)

September 07 review round-up

Today's Eye Weekly has an article I did on Tinariwen; transcript will arrive in the coming days. Note that their website has a spiffy new design. That's the good news. The bad news is that none of the links to older stories work anymore, so I'll do my best to update this here site to ensure everything is copacetic.

Because I moved house in September, I forgot to post some reviews that ran in the mainstream daily newspapers Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury. October's will follow shortly, as will material from Eye Weekly as soon as the links work.

Reviewed here in alphabetical order: Baby Elephant, Blue Rodeo, 50 Cent, Hot Hot Heat, Lyle Lovett, Madlib, Carolyn Mark, Sixtoo, Weakerthans, Kanye West.

Not appearing here, but ran in the paper in September: Polaris Prize compilation, Manu Chao,
Ben Harper, Exploding Star Orchestra, Paul Anka. If you work for any of these artists and need a clipping, let me know.

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Baby Elephant – Turn My Teeth Up! (GFM/Sonic Unyon)

When Prince Paul sampled Parliament on the classic De La Soul album 3 Ft. High and Risin’, he knew as well as anyone else that keyboardist Bernie Worrell was responsible for the way we have heard synths and keyboards in pop, funk and rock music since the mid-70s.

Here, Prince Paul and Worrell team up with some of the latter’s former collaborators—including George Clinton, David Byrne and Nona Hendryx—to make a pop album that’s considerably more focused than Worrell’s jam-based band the Woo Warriors. The “teeth” of the title refer to his arsenal of keyboards, which colour every corner of this futuristic funk with nary a guitar in sight. He’s just as freaky as ever, as are some of the other guests that Paul lines up—including original dancehall MC Yellowman, who sounds about 90 years old.

Worrell, on the other hand, is totally timeless, which is to be expected for such a sci-fi freak. In an era where synths are too often used as crutches for the lazy, Worrell reminds us what a difference it makes when they’re in the hands of a master. (September 13, 2007)

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Blue Rodeo – Small Miracles (Warner)

Nearly every song here finds Blue Rodeo acting exactly their age, approaching failed relationships with regret and enduring occasional bad times for the greater good. These lyrical themes are exactly what you might expect from a band that has endured a series of line-up changes and solo albums from the two main songwriters. But what we really expect is a collection of songs that could hold a candle to their best work—which we don’t get here. Jim Cuddy scores the only knockout here with the small-town-small-minds ballad “This Town,” but otherwise both he and Greg Keelor seem stuck in first gear. Eleven albums and 22 years later, it might be a small miracle that Blue Rodeo are still together, but this certainly sounds like they’re phoning it in. (September 27, 2007)

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50 Cent – Curtis (Aftermath/Universal)

On the laundry list of crimes against modern culture that 50 Cent is guilty of, nothing is more galling than the fact that he cops to his con and openly laughs at his own audience. “I ain’t even gotta rap now, life is made … I’m laughin’ straight to the bank with this/ ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Not that he cares about anyone but himself: not the bitches he’s bangin’ (“bring ‘em in/ kick ‘em out”), not the suckas he’s clockin’ (“I’ll Still Kill”), not any poor sod that doesn’t serve as a means to an end. Furthermore, he continually wants it both ways: to be the respected king of the ’hood while kickin’ back in the south of France and shopping for shoes in Milan.

“If I give you all of me, what you gonna give me back?” asks Mary J. Blige during a vocal cameo. It’s a fair question. What do we get out of this beyond a verbal beatdown in every single verse by this “stanky rich” gangsta narcissist?

50 Cent splits his time evenly between checking his bank account (“I Get Money”), checking his back for any perceived indignation (“Fully Loaded Clip”), and finding new ways to be the most misogynist seduction artist in the history of pop music. That is, until Eminem shows him up on the loathsome “Peep Show,” offering to defecate on the object of his affection. Good thing such harmless juvenilia is being marketed to kids. Even Justin Timberlake and Timbaland can’t sex up the lifeless “Ayo Technology.”

None of the other high profile guests, on-and-off-mic, fare much better. 50 Cent has coasted by with lame lyrics before, but this time his biggest problems are the boring beats, muddy production and lack of any serious pop hooks—a blessing in disguise for those wishing he’d just wither up and go away.

As tiresome as this is, what’s particularly hilarious is “Man Down (Censored),” where the blanked out vocals make you wonder what 50 could be possibly saying that’s worse than the cursing, cocksuckin’ and motherfuckin’ going on in the rest of the track, with 50 repeatedly boasting “I’ll murder ‘em” in the chorus.

Even funnier is his recent off-stage show of being publicly offended by a video game called Shoot the Rapper, featuring an animated character physically modeled after him. It seems that the tough guy can’t take a taste of his own medicine—even though that very recipe is what made this dumb-ass douchebag famous in the first place.

Hopefully he’s man enough to keep his rap retirement pledge should Kanye West wind up on the top of the charts this week. (September 13, 2007)

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Hot Hot Heat – Happiness Ltd. (Warner)

The bombastic and theatrical title track here concludes with a lighter-in-the-air power ballad ending repeating, “It’s all over now.”

Which it could have been: after their tepid sophomore album Elevator, many were ready to write off this Victoria, BC power pop band—including founding guitarist Dante DeCaro, who defected to the much more promising Wolf Parade shortly after Elevator was released.

Noting that Hot Hot Heat have unnecessarily resurrected a track here from an earlier EP (“5 Times Out Of 100”) isn’t a good indicator of new ideas, either.

And yet Happiness Ltd. finds them rediscovering exuberant the pop hooks that they used to excel at, while maintaining a variety of moods. Singer Steve Bays has toned down some of his more annoying vocal tics without entirely surrendering his personality as a singer. The rest of the band continue to be inspired by the 80s, but this time there is less influence from the skinny tie post-punk crowd than by the stadium/radio pop that the Killers are trying to resurrect—and there at least three or four anthemic tracks here that would put the latter jokers to shame, especially with drummer Paul Hawley and bassist Dustin Hawthorne injecting some badly needed vitality into this type of material. (September 20, 2007)

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Lyle Lovett – It’s Not Big, It’s Large (Lost Highway/ Universal)

If the album title sounds a bit defensive, it’s because Lovett is still crawling back into the third phase of his career, following a seven-year lapse that found one of the most refreshing songwriting voices of the 80s oddly silent.

His last album, 2004’s My Baby Don’t Tolerate, was his most conventional Nashville album, with little of the sardonic storytelling that always set him apart. This time out he’s still playing it straight, but he welcomes back some of the R&B and gospel influences that were his trademark in the early 90s.

Sadly, it’s a trade-off for the fact that his songs were more engaging the last time out. The best material here is the stuff that sounds like Lovett and his Large Band fooling around, like the playful “Make It Happy” and “Up in Indiana.” The strength of his band and the gospel backing singers elevate the weaker material, and Lovett himself is in fine voice.

On one chorus here he sings: “Life’s been good to me… It could be all downhill from here.” Doubtful, of course. Yet still, this is far from his finest hour. (September 20, 2007)

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Madlib – Beat Konducta Vol 3-4: India (Stones Throw/Koch)

Now that all the vintage soul samples appear to have been snapped up, hip-hop producers are starting to look elsewhere. Kanye West can be heard sampling Ethiopian and German records these days, but hot underground hip-hop producer Madlib has bigger fish to fry: India, home to the biggest music and film industry outside of the U.S.

Here he has his way with hundreds of Bollywood soundtracks, slicing them into tiny two-minute hip-hop instrumentals: 34 tracks in 61 minutes. There’s plenty of funk to be found on the subcontinent, and many of the minor key string samples from this rich source material fit in perfectly with Madlib’s hazy, lazy signature sound.

For a man whose prolific output has more than its share of quality dips, he sounds genuinely inspired here. And who knows—maybe some of it will creep into the work he’s doing right now with Ghostface Killah and Erykah Badu. (September 27, 2007)

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Carolyn Mark – Nothing is Free (Mint/Outside)

As anyone who has been there will tell you, Saltspring Island in B.C. is overflowing with beauty and splendour, characteristics that have always attracted a large artistic community. Carolyn Mark doesn’t live there—she hails from Victoria—but by recording her sixth album on Saltspring, the songwriter has emerged with her prettiest collection to date.

She’s always been a strong singer—after all, she holds her own with Neko Case in their duo The Corn Sisters—but she’s never sounded better than she does here. The natural reverb helps, courtesy of the community hall where this was recorded mostly live with virtuoso violinist Diona Davies (Geoff Berner, Po’Girl) and guitarists Paul Pigat and Paul Rigby. Without a drummer present, Mark doesn’t have to project at rock-band levels and every player exudes elegance on both the ballads and the bluegrass-tinged numbers.

Which is all a bit strange: despite the pristine environment, the lyrics suggest that the salty songwriter is doing some Sunday morning soul-searching, going through a mid-life crisis triggered by one too many tours. More so than ever, Mark’s songs concern the fallacy of fidelity—especially on the road—and being “Poisoned With Hope” when it comes to finding happiness in either life or one’s career. (September 20, 2007)

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Sixtoo – Jackals and Vipers in Envy of Man (Ninja Tune/Outside)

Few people can make a compelling album of instrumental hip-hop, but Montreal’s Robert Squire—aka Sixtoo—is certainly one of them, and this may well be his finest work. Jackals consists of 13 unnamed tracks mixing dark beats with brooding textures of piano and guitar that sound like they’re lifted from a spy movie soundtrack.

Sixtoo has long since retired as an MC, but his short attention span ensures that he can ride a steady groove while consistently shifting all the other elements of a track to maintain interest. The moody background never gets too morose before the big beats bounce everything back to the dance floor, albeit one where jazzy excursions and druggy and dubbed-out disorientation are the norm.

Montreal scene trainspotters will note that two members of Wolf Parade show up here (drummer Arlen Thompson and electronics manipulator Hadji Bakara), though this is Sixtoo’s show from beginning to end. (September 27, 2007)

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The Weakerthans – Reunion Tour (Anti/Epitaph)

Perhaps the worst writing advice ever is to “write what you know.” Because of that tired maxim, we’ve been cursed with generations upon generations of self-absorbed songwriters who think that every domestic detail is worthy of a major artistic statement.

John K. Samson of Winnipeg’s Weakerthans has proven to be a master at mapping melancholy and awkward emotions, on albums like 2000’s classic Left and Leaving—an album that announced the arrival of a major Canadian songwriter. But after battling a bad case of writer’s block in recent years, Samson returns with 11 character sketches that are far from autobiographical: a bus driver, a medical oddity, a dot-com capitalist, a legendary NHL goalie, and a guy who spotted Sasquatch. Written with his usual flair for economical prose, each song reads like a short story with maximum detail conveyed in a few short lines.

The Weakerthans’ last album, 2003’s Reconstruction Site, showed a danger of the band milking its past punk sound while offering redundant roots rock shadings as an alternative. Yet here they find inventive ways to embellish their core strengths as a 4/4 rock band, with drummer Jason Tait once again proving to be their secret weapon on vibes, percussion, keyboards and banjo. Even the track here that most recalls—or, uh, rips off—previous work (the opening anti-anthem “Civil Twilight”) sparkles with a life lacking in most of the last album.

If Left and Leaving was a perfect encapsulation of how poetic punk rockers grapple with adulthood, Reunion Tour is written with a wealth of perspective and empathy, set to a diverse musical landscape that succeeds on both the rockers and the reflective numbers.
(September 27, 2007)

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Kanye West – Graduation (Roc-a-Fella/Universal)

Having the biggest ego in hip-hop takes a lot of work. Which is part of the reason why Kanye West sounds humbled on this follow-up to 2005’s pop masterstroke Late Registration.

Lyrically, he dials down the hubris—well, as much as he can—and even ends his Graduation speeches with Big Brother, a bittersweet ode to his mentor, Jay-Z. Musically, he reaches even further than usual: samples here include sensitive 70s folkie Laura Nyro, psychedelic German rock band Can, Steely Dan, and—on the album’s hands-down highlight "Stronger"—French electro-house superstars Daft Punk. Even when his borrowing is less blatant, West still has the most catholic taste of any mainstream hip-hop artist.

Most of this material is considerably more laid back than you’d expect from this attention magnet. With the exception of "Stronger," there’s little here that’s likely to light up a club. West is in a contemplative mood, which works both for and against him: the reflective "I Wonder" and "Flashing Lights" are both striking, string-laden dramas atop heavy beats, while "Everything I Am" is a sappy sag and "Drunk And Hot Girls" sounds like a stoned, late night reflection on a life of vacuous clubhopping. A few more fireworks would have helped.
(September 13, 2007)

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