The following reviews appeared in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury in April 2010.
Erykah Badu – New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh (Universal)
In 2008, Erykah Badu dropped one of the most mindbending, exciting slabs of soul music of the last decade with this album’s predecessor. But where New Amerykah Part One was subtitled 4th World War and filled with paranoid tension, Return of the Ankh sounds like a huge sigh of relief, with Badu returning to the seductive neo-soul sound that first launched her career in the late ’90s, yet no less psychedelic than her more recent forays.
Lead single "Window Seat" is the breeziest Badu has been in years, and easily the most accessible. But she’s still deliciously weird, such as when guest producer Madlib creates a hazy gauze on "Incense," offering her only a trippy bass line, simple drums, and a florid harp to decorate an already sparse melody. The rest of Ankh lies somewhere between those extremes, with some subtle but serious funk ensuring that Badu doesn’t drift away entirely. As with 4th World War, Ankh is a producer’s album, with some of the most outré names in neo-soul enlisted to provide tiny details that make all the difference in the world. (April 8)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Window Seat," "Incense," "Turn Me Away"
Bettie Serveert – Pharmacy of Love (Sound of Pop)
Dutch band Bettie Serveert put out three albums of loud, grungy and melodic albums in the mid-’90s that made a small dent on this continent’s indie rock scene—and then seemingly disappeared. They didn’t, of course: they continued to play for faithful fans and refine their sound to reflect their age (i.e. less grunge, more space), and, in the case of 2000’s Private Suit, released some of the most underrated pop of the past decade.
Pharmacy of Love—despite the terrible title—might be the album to put them back on the radar. Not only because it’s their finest collection of songs since Private Suit, but because they’ve decided to turn up their amps again and revisit the raucous elements of their ’90s sound, without eschewing the keyboards and delicacy they’ve acquired over time. As a result—with the possible exception of the barn-burning opening track, "Deny All"—it doesn’t sound like an obvious ploy to their ’90s fans who gave up on them a long time ago (or would only cheer older songs at live shows).
In other words, Pharmacy of Love is everything that Bettie Serveert has ever done well. Peter Visser is an astounding guitarist who alternates between squalls of feedback, crushing guitar chords and emotionally charged countermelodies and solos—all played with tasteful restraint. Carol Van Dijk’s slacker drawl has matured into a wise yet world-weary confidence, and her subtly complex and catchy melodies fall somewhere between Neil Young and Burt Bacharach. The rhythm section rarely falls back on the obvious, whether they’re driving a 6/8 ballad or a straight-up rock song.
“I hope you never change for me,” sings Van Dijk. And though her band has definitely evolved, they haven’t lost a bit of their original spark. (April 29)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): "Deny All," "Mossie," "Souls Travel"
Bjork – Voltaic (Warner)
Six years ago, Bjork opened up her vaults and released live albums representing every major tour she’d done. Now we have a document of the 2007-2008 Volta tour—though it’s a “live” album only in the sense that it was recorded live, in a studio, as a rehearsal before her set at the U.K.’s Glastonbury Festival.
So there are no exhilarating crowd noises, no sign that the unflappable Bjork is letting loose at all. But worst of all—for a performer known to radically reinvent her recorded work for various live set-ups—these are incredibly faithful renderings, making this all but redundant; even the most acute listener would be hard pressed to hear any difference between the studio and “live” version of Volta’s Timbaland-produced single, Innocence.
Perhaps that’s a mixed blessing: Volta was Bjork’s most wildly uneven album, balancing some of her most joyous work in years with tedium that didn’t even qualify as interesting failures. Voltaic cherrypicks the album’s top five tracks and pads it out with some older staples—which still makes it a curiosity at best, and one that even diehard fans will probably skip. (April 15)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): "All is Full of Love," "Wanderlust," "Declare Independence"
V V Brown – Travelling Like the Light (Universal)
V V Brown may dress like it’s the mid-’80s, but there’s no telling which era she’s plucked from. While the sound of her debut album is decidedly modern, there are direct links to an eclectic list of influences from the past 55 years of pop music. One minute she’s Buddy Holly, the next she’s Pat Benatar; some songs sound like ELO, some like Rihanna; many channel ’60s girl group exuberance. There’s very little original here—one song even cops the beginner-piano standard "Heart and Soul"—except for the way Brown mashes it all up with glee. She’s already scored hits writing for other people, and there are more than a few worthy chart-toppers here; don’t be surprised if she’s penning Broadway musicals sometime in the next 10 years. Combine that with her charisma as a performer and her fashion sense—and, compared to Amy Winehouse, her stability—and you have Britain’s next soul sensation. (April 8)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Game Over," "Leave," "Everybody"
David Byrne and Fatboy Slim – Here Lies Love (Nonesuch/Warner)
There is no précis paragraph that could make David Byrne’s new album sound like a good idea. And yet it’s easily his finest achievement since his days in the Talking Heads.
Here’s the gist: Here Lies Love is a two-CD, 22-song pop opera about former Filipino first lady Imelda Marcos, set primarily to a disco pulse, and in collaboration with big-beat electronica producer Fatboy Slim (Norman Cook), who arguably passed his prime 10 years ago. About the only thing to stop most people from fleeing in terror is the guest list of female vocalists, which range from almost forgotten ’80s icons (the B-52’s Kate Pierson, Cyndi Lauper, Natalie Merchant) to current artists (Santigold, Martha Wainwright, Sharon Jones) to complete unknowns to, uh, Steve Earle (whom, it should be said, performs admirably in such vocally superior company).
When writing a modern musical, most writers forget about the music, hoping the concept will sell itself. In Byrne’s case, every track is first and foremost a perfectly composed pop song, with a melody that maintains independence from the narrative theme. His seamless amalgam of classic Broadway elegance, funk, disco and bossa nova is telegraphed in the opening title track, where Florence Welch (of new act Florence + the Machine) reaches for the rafters. There are few stylistic variations—a couple of ’70s soft rock tracks slow the tempo slightly, and only four tracks would stop the dance floor entirely. Most importantly, there is no sense of repetition, no sign that Byrne and Cook treated any of this material lightly.
That extends to the lyrics, which take the tale of someone who many people know only as a shoe-obsessed dictator’s wife and transforms it into a rags-to-riches, princess-to-pariah story by using some of Imelda Marcos’s actual quotes. She was born in poverty, became a beauty queen, and charmed not one but two rising politicians: one became president, the other the opposition leader; the latter is eventually assassinated, and years later his widow ousts the Marcoses from power. She was raised by a nanny, Estrella Cumpas, not much older than herself, whom she abandons when she becomes successful. She jets around the world practising “handbag diplomacy,” enjoying the ear of world leaders while her ailing husband stayed home and tightened his clench on power. And, most curious to Byrne, Imelda kept a residence in Manhattan where she built a disco on the sixth floor; hence, Here Lies Love is the imaginary soundtrack to a very private party.
Here Lies Love succeeds on a level that all great musicals do: each song is tailored with specifics of the story, and yet functions universally as well. The one incongruity—"American Troglodyte," sung by Byrne, which uses pop culture references well outside the time frame of the story—works well enough on its own. Besides, unless you’re reading the detailed and incredibly fascinating liner notes while listening (recommended: springing for the deluxe edition), you’re unlikely to appreciate the narrative.
But it’s all there if you want it: the charming beauty who betrays her oldest friend; the philanthropist who steals from her countrymen; the jet-setting star who made the Philippines glamorous and then became the country’s biggest disgrace. Here Lies Love ends with Cyndi Lauper and Tori Amos duetting on "Why Don’t You Love Me?," sung by Cumpas to Marcos, and Marcos to her country. Byrne doesn’t ask you to love Marcos, but he ensures she’s more than just a punchline. (April 15)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): "Here Lies Love," "Eleven Days," "Dancing Together"
Caribou – Swim (Merge)
What once was small became big; and now what once was big is small again. Caribou’s Dan Snaith was once a bedroom producer making subtle, melodic and slightly jazzy electronic records; he soon evolved into thundering psychedelia that took 15 people to reproduce on stage (the Caribou Vibration Ensemble, which featured Four Tet and members of Junior Boys, Born Ruffians, and K-W’s Pick a Piper), including an avalanche of drummers. While never short of stunning, much of Caribou’s music in recent years has been a tad overwhelming.
On Swim, Snaith scales back to his more minimal beginnings, but with all the lessons learned from his excursions into ’60s pop still on full display. Opening track "Odessa" is driven by an aquatic and hypnotic bass line, which sits underneath one of Snaith’s finest melodies, while cowbells and what sounds like wild monkeys frolic around in the background. Throughout Swim, he’s judicious with his electronic trickery and psychedelic palette, setting up deep grooves and then brushing them lightly with vivid yet minimal colours, including his fragile Arthur Russell-like vocals.
With the exception of "Odessa," he doesn’t score any big pop songs like he did on 2008’s Polaris Prize-winning album Andorra ("Melody Day," "Andorra"), but that’s not the point. Swim aims for transcendence in repetition—either on the dance floor, or (as on the drumless track "Kaili") entirely in your headphones—but that doesn’t mean Snaith is treading water. (April 22)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): "Odessa," "Leave House," "Bowls"
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings – I Learned the Hard Way (Daptone)
In retro soul circles, Sharon Jones is queen. While the likes of Erykah Badu were reaching back to soul music’s roots and retrofitting it for the digital era, Jones was going back to the source and staying there. On her fourth album, Jones is singing less like she has something to prove—the 52-year-old singer struggled in obscurity for decades before becoming a word-of-mouth sensation in the last five years. Here, she sinks her teeth in at slower tempos, and gives the songs more space to breathe. A string section and backing vocalists enhance the Dap-Kings’ impeccable arrangements, which once again supersede the actual songs—but whereas before the songwriting was the Dap-Kings’ Achilles heel, this time out it matters less because Jones owns every note. (April 8)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): "I Learned the Hard Way," "She Ain’t a Child No More," "Window Shopping"
Jónsi – Go (XL)
Jónsi Birgisson has spent more than 10 years fronting the Icelandic band Sigur Rós while warbling incoherently—on purpose, to great effect, in an invented dialect. Now he’s launching his solo career by singing in English for the first time. Not that it makes a bit of difference: this eunuch’s enunciation isn’t much better. That’s never been the point, of course, but he sounds best here when he steers closest to Sigur Rós territory: sparse yet grandiose, cinematic opera that is as mysterious as it is magical. That band’s template can be understandably suffocating, yet its developments on recent albums into sunnier territory aren’t that much different than what Jónsi is doing here—so instead of being a liberating revelation, Go sounds unmistakably like a Sigur Rós album, with or without Jónsi’s instantly identifable vocals. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, and with the band on indefinite hiatus, Jónsi is shooting for bigger and brighter things. (April 15)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, eMusic, puretracks.com): "Go Do," "Around Us," "Boy Lilikoi"
Andy Kim – Happen Again (Koch)
Barenaked Ladies – All in Good Time (EMI)
In 1995, the Barenaked Ladies appeared at the Molson Ampitheatre in Toronto, and invited a very special guest, a Canadian legend, to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, Andy Kim!” It’s safe to say that most of the audience had no idea who Andy Kim was, even though he had written a long series of hits in the ’60s and ’70s, notably "Rock Me Gently" and the Archies’ "Sugar Sugar. "In 2004, the Ladies’ Ed Robertson co-wrote a new Andy Kim single, "I Forgot to Mention," which was a Top 10 hit in Canada, even though there was no accompanying album—until now, where the single leads off Kim’s comeback bid.
Andy Kim is well steeped in classic pop songwriting of the Brill Building variety, but he’s by no means stuck in the past. Happen Again doesn’t go for a retro vibe, but rather shoots for stadium status, rich with stirring, sweet anthems that would give Coldplay a run for their money. Kim surrounds himself with L.A. studio pros, and puts his Neil Diamond-ish voice to work asking all of life’s important questions, i.e. “Do you believe in love?”
Because this album has been so long in the making (it’s Kim’s first album in 20 years), every song could easily be a hit and there isn’t a single wasted moment—except perhaps "Without You," a dated synth-heavy ballad that, for all we know, may well back date to the ’80s itself. Otherwise, when Kim and his backup singers promise “We’re going to make it happen again,” you’d better believe them.
While it may look like Ed Robertson did Kim a favour by co-writing "I Forgot to Mention," one wishes that they teamed up again to co-write the Barenaked Ladies’ new album, their first without founding songwriter Steven Page. To say that there’s a lot of pressure on Robertson and the remaining Ladies is a gross understatement. There are some fine moments here where they appear to step up to the challenge—but then you realize that’s just because Robertson was always the underrated member of the songwriting duo; he’s always carried half of a Barenaked Ladies album. The question is whether he can carry an album on his own.
Opening track "You Run Away" is a promising start; it stands among the Ladies’ finest singles, even if it’s a thinly veiled dig at Page. The hot-jazz freestyle romp "Four Seconds" is the lone light moment, and succeeds even if it seems strained in the overall context. Keyboardist Kevin Hearn steps up with a couple of gems that don’t sound that different from his underrated solo work; Robertson would do well to cede him more space, even if Hearn’s low-key, fragile vocals are nowhere near a substitute for Page’s bluster.
Or they could just invite Andy Kim to join the band. (April 8)
For Andy Kim, download (iTunes): "I Forgot to Mention," "Love Is," "Happen Again"
For Barenaked Ladies, download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "You Run Away," "Another Heartbreak," "Four Seconds"
Natalie Merchant – Leave Your Sleep (Nonesuch/Warner)
The former 10,000 Maniacs vocalist and Lilith Fair-era solo artist hasn’t had a major label release in almost 10 years (she put out a low-profile indie release in 2003), which is likely why she’s bouncing back with an ambitious double album.
Perhaps part of Merchant’s absence was a lyrical writer’s block; the concept here was to set some of her favourite poets’ work to music, from Ogden Nash and e.e. cummings to contemporary writers and anonymous nursery rhymes. With the pressure off to write lyrics, Merchant threw herself into an ambitious musical journey, where she effortlessly touches on not just the rich history of American music—gospel, jazz, folk songs, Cajun country, Aboriginal music—but also the sounds of cultures that have been at the centre of the American immigrant experience: Chinese, Celtic, Yiddish, Jamaican, European chamber music and others.
It might as well be a soundtrack to one of Ken Burns’s sweeping PBS miniseries—not that there’s anything wrong with that. There are certainly times—mostly on the uptempo material—when Merchant sounds like a dispassionate librarian, but she’s largely successful as a chameleon bringing a consistency to all the material, while working with all-star collaborators such as Wynton Marsalis, Medeski Martin and Wood, and the Klezmatics. No matter what he genre she’s plundering, it’s obvious she’s invested all the energy she saved by not writing lyrics into a strong set of songs that’s almost an embarrassment of riches. The main fault with this album is that it’s too long, though it rarely dips in quality; Merchant could easily have strung this concept into a series of releases. (April 22)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): "It Makes a Change," "Topsyturvey World," "The King of China’s Daughter"
Plants and Animals – La La Land (Secret City)
The phrase “la-la land,” according to the Canadian Oxford Dictionary, refers to “a fanciful state or dream world”—a descriptor that could apply any number of boundary-busting, exploratory and mind-bending musical works. Unfortunately, this is not one of them.
Montreal’s Plants and Animals announced their arrival on the international stage with their 2008 album Parc Avenue, a curious blend of anthemic indie rock, jam-band looseness, prog twists, a bit of Neil Young’s Crazy Horse, and even some West African guitar stylings. Here, they still sound suitably restless—but without any kind of anchor. They’re all fine players, yet the songwriting is limp and they seem incapable of conjuring any chemistry—which is downright shocking considering the highs of Parc Avenue. By the time a Vocoder voice starts intoning the title of the barely-there song "Future From the ’80s," it’s safe to say that this once-promising band has completely run out of ideas. (April 22)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes, amazon.com): "Kon Tiki," "The Mama Papa," "Fake It"
Poirier – Running High (Ninja Tune)
Slowly but surely, all the great global dance music has gone digital: there is digital dub, digital cumbia, digital Brazilian baile funk, and digital dancehall. Ghislain Poirier is determined to bring Caribbean soca into the mix. It’s part of a natural evolution for the Montreal producer, whose distinctive brand of electro hip-hop has been voraciously absorbing all sorts of cross-cultural influences over the past five years. Because of the diversity of his work—heard on 2007’s underrated No Ground Under and 2005’s Breakupdown—Running High could stand to include some more eclecticism, even though he’s included a second disc of remixes to sweeten the package. Much of this material is better absorbed in small doses—like on the EPs that he quietly released leading up to Running High— but with both discs being sold at a bargain price, there’s no point complaining about an embarrassment of riches—and it’s a worthy introduction to an artist charting new courses for Canadian dance music and bringing it to the world. (April 29)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, eMusic): "Immigrant Visa" (featuring MC Zulu), "Marathon," "Que Viva" (featuring Boogat)
The Runaways OST – Various Artists (Warner)
The legendary mid-’70s all-girl glam punk band were more famous for what they were—one of the first all-female rock bands, and the only good one before the Go-Go’s—than their recorded legacy. The soundtrack to their eponymous biopic sticks to the essential tracks, and rounds it out with pitch-perfect period pieces like the epochal David Bowie single "Rebel Rebel," the Sex Pistols’ "Pretty Vacant," Canadian classic "Roxy Roller," and tracks by Suzi Quatro, the Stooges and the MC5.
Most soundtracks to rock’n’roll biopics either feature the original tracks or the actors’ renditions; usually the latter are pale imitations of the former. Yet The Runaways does both. And it’s to the credit of stars Dakota Fanning and Kristen Stewart that they hold their own competing with the rock’n’roll swagger of Cherie Currie and Joan Jett (respectively) on the original tracks, especially the ultra-campy teens-gone-bad epic "Dead End Justice." Much like the movie itself, their tracks capture the time and place and teenage abandon perfectly.
This is the rock’n’roll—the sex and drugs and depressing downfall stay on the screen, of course. (April 1)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): "Where the Boys Are," "Dead End Justice," "Cherry Bomb"
Elizabeth Shepherd – Heavy Falls the Night (Do Right)
This Toronto jazz singer and keyboardist comes into her own on her third album, and as producer and sole songwriter this time out, she deserves every inch of credit. (The one cover, of Anne Murray’s "Danny’s Song," is virtually unrecognizable, as Shepherd takes complete ownership of the song.) Shepherd is no longer content to write sketches of songs to showcase her piano skills, and with vocals as an afterthought: here, she sinks her teeth into the lyrics and melodies, still has time to let loose on the piano, and allows bassist Scott Kemp to drive most of the material. The vocals are always front and centre—and side to side, as Shepherd toys with layering her own voice to great effect. Her forays onto the dance floor flow much more naturally ("Seven Bucks"), even when she slips into tricky time signatures ("The Taking," "It’s Coming"), while her melancholy moods (the title track) have greater depth than every before. (April 29)
Download (Zunior.com, iTunes, eMusic, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Numbers," "Seven Bucks," "High"
Souljazz Orchestra – Rising Sun (Strut)
Tony Allen – Secret Agent (World Circuit)
Ottawa’s Souljazz Orchestra made their name on Canadian stages as an Afrobeat band—an average one at that, not particularly in the league of other Afrobeat revivalists that have surfaced in the last 10 years—but here, on their third full-length, they live up to their name by delving in deeper to funk and jazz, with extended solos that show off what formidable players they’ve become—particularly keyboardist Pierre Chretien and tenor saxophonist Steve Patterson. While the African rhythms are still a large part of their sound, they’re not the only part, making Rising Sun a diverse album that doesn’t wear out its welcome by sticking to one groove.
Tony Allen is one of the greatest names in Afrobeat history: as Fela Kuti’s drummer, he is the anchor of many recordings that defined the genre; his own solo work over the last 30 years is often stellar as well. For his first major label release in North America, sadly, he offers up a merely average slice of African pop that, while admirable, doesn’t measure up to his past glories. The vocalists employed are part of the problem; they’re often distractions spouting cheesy platitudes instructing you to “celebrate your life,” while the tracks easily could work well enough on their own. Any fan of this genre should own a Tony Allen record—just not necessarily this one. (April 22)
Download Souljazz Orchestra: (iTunes, amazon.com): "Agbura," "Negus Nagast," "Serenity"
Download Tony Allen: (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): "Secret Agent," "Busybody," "Celebrate"
Rufus Wainwright – All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu (Universal)
For the last 12 years, Rufus Wainwright has made over-the-top, orchestral studio albums full of show-stopping numbers that he’s always been able to communicate as a solo performer. Now, on his first album of original material in three years, he finds himself alone at the piano, singing sombre songs and sonnets and an excerpt from his first opera (which gets its North American debut in Toronto in June).
And yet the powerful performer appears unable to pull it off: his melodies are uninspiring and often turgid, his piano playing sounds clumsy at times ("True Loves"), and—though he’s written explicitly and expertly about his fabled family in the past—the track "Martha" is embarrassing in its naked exposition that it sounds like one of Alanis Morissette’s lesser moments.
With one or two exceptions, it all sounds like a mere off day in an otherwise excellent discography, except that Wainwright is taking this album very seriously: apparently he’s playing the entire album in sequence at solo shows, insisting the audience not clap between songs as if they were movements in a larger piece. Maybe his hubris has finally caught up to him, but he probably won’t have to worry about that not clapping bit. (April 1)
Download (iTunes): "The Dream," "Give Me What I Want and Give It To Me Now!," "Sonnet 43"
The White Stripes – Under Great White Northern Lights (Warner)
Despite having only two people in their rock band, the White Stripes don’t do anything halfway. That’s why when they decided to tour Canada to celebrate their tenth anniversary as a band, they not only hit every major city, but also three dates in the territories, a bowling alley in the Prairies, a theatre on Cape Breton Island, and a boat in the Charlottetown harbour—all with a film crew following them around to make a documentary concert film. Now you can buy the CD; you can buy the DVD; you can buy both together. You can buy the vinyl. Or you can spend a small fortune on a box set that includes all of the above with a poster, a bonus seven-inch single, a bonus live disc of the entire Cape Breton show, and a 208-page hardcover book of photographs.
Why buy it all? Well, it could possibly be the last thing the band ever does; drummer Meg White has withdrawn from the stage due to anxiety issues, and Jack White has two other bands and numerous production duties to keep him busy.
More importantly, both the album and film capture the duo at their white-hot best. Huge rock riffs, lurching blues, churning organs, mandolin hoedowns, folkie singalongs, and a scorching cover of Dolly Parton’s "Jolene" all pay testament to the odd chemistry between the frantic, overachieving Jack and the perfect foil provided by the laid-back, understated power of Meg’s drumming. Though the studio recordings have always been raw, this live document is obviously even more so, and much of the joy is hearing how unhinged and spontaneous this seemingly tightly scripted band can be. It’s not a greatest hits, either; several key singles are missing, and "Fell in Love With a Girl" is subject to reinvention. Instead, it’s a worthy snapshot of a typical set list that dips into their discography on various whims.
The film doesn’t offer much as a documentary: though there are some illuminating interview sequences, there’s nothing terribly probing; much more is revealed in moments of quiet contemplation, especially the awkward yet loving relationship between the hyperactive Jack and the silent Meg (the filmmaker actually subtitles her inaudible speaking voice). Some of the “interacting with the locals” sequences are a bit staid; Jack’s apparent Nova Scotian ancestry is unexplored, even though it was supposed to be one of the reasons they chose Canada for their tenth anniversary trip.
Needless to say, the film comes alive on the stage, watching Jack peel off the squealing solo on "Icky Thump," leap from his guitar pedals to his strategically misplaced organ on the other side of the stage, or stand facing Meg and singing to her like they’re two kids practising in a basement and still in love with every note of musical connection—not an iconic, internationally successful band in front of thousands of rowdy, chanting Canucks. (April 1)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Fell In Love With a Girl," "Jolene," "Blue Orchid"
Showing posts with label Ghislain Poirier. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghislain Poirier. Show all posts
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, June 04, 2009
May reviews 09
Reviews from my weekly column in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury.
Mulatu Astatke and the Heliocentrics – Inspiration Information (Strut)
Mulatu Astatke is considered the godfather of Ethiopian jazz, with a history that includes a Western musical education—he was the first African student at the Berklee College of Music—and playing with Duke Ellington in the ’70s. Here, he teams up with young British group the Heliocentrics, whose brand of psychedelic and cinematic jazz mixes perfectly with Astatke’s compositions; their last high-profile gig was as DJ Shadow’s backing band, and their versatility was audible on their debut album, 2007’s Out There. Ethiopiques fans will find much to love here, although this doesn’t aim to recreate Astatke’s vintage recordings and it’s not a one-way cultural exchange; this sounds as much like the Heliocentrics as it does the 66-year-old jazzman, and he’s happy to hop on board whatever futuristic, cosmic journey they want to take him on. Considering that he built his career on cross-cultural hybrids, this simply sounds like Astatke taking the logical next step. Unlike most long-lost stars with a new lease on life through vintage reissues, he’s definitely not a museum act. (K-W Record, May 21)
Booker T. – Potato Hole (Anti)
Sometimes an old friend will re-appear in your life, a friend with whom you once shared plenty of good times, who imparted great wisdom along the way. He shows up at your door looking great, just as nimble as he was in his prime. And while it’s great to see him again, you quickly realize that he has nothing to say; conversation evaporates almost instantly.
So it is with Booker T. Jones, the legendary keyboardist who led the MGs and was part of the house band at soul music powerhouse Stax Records. After years as part of one of Neil Young’s rotating backing bands, he surfaces here with Southern rock group the Drive-by Truckers—with Young dropping by as well—for his first solo album in 31 years. Soul fans might be shocked to hear him with such a meat-and-potatoes rock band behind him—incidentally, the same one who failed to ignite any sparks with soul singer Bettye Lavette on one of her recent comeback albums—but more importantly, they’re likely to be disappointed by just how little happens over the course of these 10 tracks, regardless of genre.
There’s nothing terrible here—Booker T. is far too tasteful to make any serious missteps, although covering Outkast’s “Hey Ya” goes nowhere fast. Instead, Potato Hole amounts to little more than a shrug. Nice to see you old friend—now what were we talking about again? (K-W Record, May 7)
Jim Bryson – Live at the First Baptist Church (Kelp)
Everybody, including his new employers the Tragically Hip, loves Jim Bryson. Yet no one seems to love his records. Fans seem to have quibbles with every one of his three studio albums: they’re overproduced; they’re underproduced; they don’t sound like his live shows. None of those concerns could be raised with this live album, which of course not only features Bryson’s finest songs, but boasts an all-star Ottawa band that can be sweet when they want to be, with keyboard textures and rich backing vocals, or as raucous and raw as Bryson’s punk rock roots. Bryson, who is best known as a sideman for Kathleen Edwards, the Weakerthans, and now the Hip, shines as a singer and storyteller in ways that—for whatever reason—he never has on his studio albums. And while there are occasional moments heard here that could have easily been edited out and left in the moment, they don’t diminish the impact of hearing one of our finest songwriters giving one of his finest performances. (K-W Record, May 28)
Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career (4AD/Beggars Banquet)
Strings can do so many things—like pour the syrup on a sappy, melancholy melody so that even the harshest heartbreak sings a beautiful song. Glaswegian quintet Camera Obscura brought a Swedish string section into their sound on their breakthrough 2006 album Let’s Get Out of This Country, where they moved their twee take on the ’60s into the more amped-up AM radio rock of the ’70s. They use the same team this time out, only now the strings sound like “Snowbird” and other countrypolitan hits of the period. There’s no twang or roots-rock revisionism here, but the ever-so-slightly country-ish backdrop serves the sad longing of Traceyanne Campbell’s lyrics perfectly.
She starts the album with the buoyant single “French Navy,” by spending “a week in a dusty library/ waiting for some words to jump at me”; she spends the rest of the album travelling the world (including a reference to a frozen river in Toronto) trying to navigate a toxic and tortured love affair with someone of whom the best she can say is, “When you’re lucid, you’re the sweetest thing.” Like any fine country music songwriter, Campbell has a keen eye for the smallest self-aware details; she details an early infatuation by asking, “Were my pupils dilated? Could you tell that I liked you?”
Despite the album title, Camera Obscura are much less maudlin as they mature as a band; though Campbell still thinks the saddest songs say so much, her love of big pop music never steers her into a sad-sack rut. These lovable, bookish softies have been hardened by years as a touring band, and can now flex their muscles even in their quietest moments. Though earlier releases all boasted crushworthy mixtape favourites, My Maudlin Career is their finest album, beginning to end—no wonder the title sounds like a greatest hits package. (K-W Record, May 7)
Leonard Cohen – Live in London (Sony)
“What a great honour to play for you,” intones the immortal baritone of Leonard Cohen at the beginning of this two-disc, 150-minute document of his 2008 world tour. Here is a 73-year-old man who, despite decades of success and reverential acclaim, remains remarkably modest, deferential to every one of his bandmates, and grateful for every moment on stage. And yet the honour is all ours.
I’ll be frank: I wept continuously when I saw this tour’s Toronto stop. I wept with tears of joy to hear the author of such magnificent prose sound so alive and appreciated, wept with tears of sadness knowing that he won’t be doing this for much longer and it’s hard to imagine anyone taking his place. Live in London is a perfect souvenir, and a helpful reminder that no, I wasn’t just drunk on the emotion of the moment.
Cohen is crooning with conviction and strength; even his detractors will have to admit that he’s singing in tune. The band is impeccable and tasteful; anyone put off by Cohen’s questionable studio choices discover that these songs sound better than they ever have, even schmaltz like “Ain’t No Cure For Love.” Perhaps most importantly, he finally reclaims “Hallelujah” for himself, after 25 years of his original version perplexing even the most rapturous fans of the song’s many cover versions.
It’s impossible to express just how cathartic it was, in the summer of 2008, to hear Cohen sing about how “democracy is coming to the U.S.A.” It’s a song that sounded quaint and funny when it was first released in 1992, but such a song can only achieve true resonance after one’s spirit has been bruised and battered and been forced to seek light through the smallest of cracks; suddenly, when given a glimpse of sunshine and the possibility of freedom, Cohen sounds like the first man to tell you the truth after (eight) years of lies.
He’s not always that heavy, of course—in fact, he’s often hilarious. All his best banter—which was routine at every tour stop—is included here, which hardly seems fair to those who have yet to witness the ongoing tour. Live in London is more than a document of Cohen’s comeback; it may well be—objectively speaking, outside the context and time when his earlier classics were released—the finest recording of his 40-year career. (K-W Record, May 14)
Steve Earle – Townes (New West)
Steve Earle named his son after Townes Van Zant, a Texan singer/songwriter who was an unheralded and haunting songwriter in the ’70s, one who was as troubled and as gifted as Hank Williams—and just as tragic, passing on well before his time came. Van Zant has had many champions, both before and after his death—Willie Nelson and Cowboy Junkies among the most vocal—but Steve Earle has never wasted a chance to wax poetic on what an inspiration Van Zant was to him, both as a songwriter and as a peer. So here Earle tackles 15 Townes Van Zant songs, as the ultimate tribute to the man.
And yet most Steve Earle fans will at least have heard of Townes Van Zant before, and unfortunately Earle doesn’t do these songs many favours. The arrangements here—ranging from straight-up bluegrass to string-adorned balladry to the more modern drum-machine-and-acoustic-guitar aesthetic of Earle’s last album, Washington Square Serenade—don’t compare to the moonlit, ghostly and unforgettable sound of Van Zant’s originals. Which is not a crime, and it might work with a different vocalist; but at this stage in his career, Steve Earle’s voice is suited only to singing Steve Earle songs—an interpreter he’s not.
A great performer singing the songs of a great writer—what could go wrong? Surely that’s not the question Earle was hoping to answer. (K-W Record, May 21)
Grand Duchy – Petits Four (Cooking Vinyl)
Whether or not the Pixies ever make a new record, fans of Frank Black were wondering if would ever return to the wonderfully weird vibe of his early solo recordings, after over a decade of a shift to respectable roots rock. The answer lies with his new project Grand Duchy, a duo with Violet Clark. When asked what appealed to him about working with Clark, Black says: “She was innocent. I hadn’t felt innocent in years. She digs the ’80s. I had spent the latter part of the ’80s doing my part to destroy the ’80s.”
And so here, Black can be heard over drum machines and synths, adding his proto-grunge guitar and acoustic textures, as well as unleashing his long-lost screaming technique as a counter-balance to Clark’s soft and subtle vocals. “Break the Angels” has a bass line with a striking resemblance to the Pixies’ “Debaser,” and much of the material here sounds as gleefully unconventional as Black’s earliest work—not that fans should be looking for a Pixies substitute, because they won’t find it. But anyone who was getting bored with Black would be advised to visit Grand Duchy. (K-W Record, May 21)
Green Day – 21st Century Breakdown (Warner)
21st Century Breakdown returns to the American Idiot formula: an extremely loose (arguably non-existent) narrative set in a politically polarized U.S. and loaded with signpost symbolism and rhetoric. One of the characters is actually born on the fourth of July, another is “the last of the American girls” who “puts her makeup on like graffiti on the walls of the heartland.”
The lyrics are ridiculous, aimed squarely at that moment of teenage life when you realize that life is going to suck and there are powers beyond your control: not surprisingly, Armstrong talks about the “class of ’13”—in other words, 14-year-olds about to enter high school, because they’re likely the only ones who will find any semblance of depth in his lyrics.
But who cares? The guitars are engineered to sound like a white-knuckle roller coaster ride. Drummer Tre Cool is probably the best punk drummer since Dave Grohl picked up a guitar. Armstrong manages to string suites of songs together effortlessly, and his melodic skills set him far apart from the pack.
And yet 21st Century Breakdown doesn’t hold a candle to the highs of American Idiot—an album where even the power ballads were exciting—and it doesn’t help matters that Armstrong saves all his best songs for the “third act,” as it’s notated. “Horseshoes and Handgrenades” arrives 14 songs in, with Armstrong bellowing, “I’m not f---ing around!” Good thing, because we were beginning to wonder. He rides out that rejuvenation through to the album’s conclusion, even managing pull a decent pop song out of a piece of bloated balladry called “21 Guns.”
Green Day may still be miles ahead of their mall-punk peers, but they can do better than this. It will be more interesting to see where they go once they get tired of rock operas. (K-W Record, May 28)
Gypsophilia – Sa-ba-da-ow! (gypsophilia.org)
Neither the band name nor the album title inspire much confidence, yet this Haligonian septet quickly silence any skeptics with a rousing take on gypsy jazz of the Django Reinhardt era. It’s not aiming to be some kind of historical re-enactment, and nor is it full of obvious nods to modernity. There’s an all-too-rare tastefully played wah pedal on some of the guitar solos, and pianist Sageev Oore breaks out his synthesizer in the most subtle of ways—that is, when he’s not sprinting around his piano like a silent film soundtracker. Leads are shared between trumpet, violin and the three guitarists, each of whom could be leading a band of their own. Recorded live off the floor, Sa-ba-da-ow! is inventive and melodic and guaranteed to be a sensation on the summer jazz festival circuit. (K-W Record, May 28)
Ben Harper and Relentless7 – White Lies for Dark Times (EMI)
It’s not like Ben Harper has been in a slump lately; his 2006 album Both Sides of the Gun may well be the best thing he’s ever done. But by putting his Innocent Criminals on hold and hooking up with an all-new backing band, a Texas trio incongruously called Relentless7, he’s being pushed to play some the most electrifying guitar work of his career. Drummer Jordan Robinson in particular lights a fire underneath him, and there’s no mistaking the live energy generated in these sessions of fuzzed-out, slightly psychedelic Texas boogie rock. Harper must have been having so much fun that he didn’t bother to edit some of his lyrics, such as: “I feel like an underpaid concubine who’s overstayed her welcome.” That’s a minor slip on an otherwise worthy rock’n’roll rebirth. (K-W Record, May 28)
Hotcha! – Dust Bowl Roots: Songs for the New Depression (hotcha.ca)
Hotcha are a Toronto duo that dress up in Depression-era garb for the artwork of their debut CD. But unlike hundreds of old-timey acoustic acts who are little more than a costume party, Hotcha bring something new to the table—namely, original songs that actually stand up to the likes of Irving Berlin and Louis Armstrong, both of whom they cover here, along with classics like “Walkin’ After Midnight” and “Jesus on the Mainline.” Beverly Kreller and Howard Druckman jump between hot jazz and bluegrass with help from producer/percussionist Don Kerr and banjo whiz Chris Quinn, and while the arrangements rarely stray from the traditional, they sound vivid and fresh—thanks in part to Kerr’s production. Music got us through the last Depression, and maybe a return to informal living room music like the kind Toronto duo Hotcha! makes will get us through the next one. (K-W Record, May 28)
Pink Mountaintops – Outside Love (Jagjaguwar/Sonic Unyon)
For better or worse, the Stephen McBean always makes it easy to describe his music with easy reference points. His brand of record collector rock is splintered into two projects: the Black Sabbath/Pink Floyd amalgam of Black Mountain, and his somewhat more subdued personal project, Pink Mountaintops, which on this—their third album—sounds like Phil Spector and the Jesus and Mary Chain taking turns producing one of Neil Young’s folk albums. And in ways he hasn’t done since the first Black Mountain album, McBean manages to transcend the obvious reference points and helps us forget that we may have heard this a thousand times before—because we haven’t often heard it done this well.
Sunbaked, fuzzed-out guitars blend with distorted violin and tinny organs colour simple three-chord anthems designed for massive group singalongs on joyous but admittedly cliché lyrics such as “how deep is your love” and “everyone I love deserves a holiday in the sun.” McBean isn’t always “in love with all the lovers” and singing about “The Gayest of Sunbeams,” however; there are darker skies that also loom over several spooky songs here, most effectively on “While We Were Dreaming,” which McBean hands over to vocalist Ashley Webber (twin sister of Black Mountain’s Amber).
Pink Mountaintops used to be an excuse for McBean to be lazy and fool around on his four-track. Outside Love marks the moment when the project blossoms into a full band, starring members of Destroyer, Carolyn Mark’s Roommates, Superconductor, The Organ and Godspeed You Black Emperor. But more importantly, by regaining the control and focus that he surrendered on the last Black Mountain album—which got lost in a swamp of riffs, repetition, atmospheres and apocalypse—McBean also conjures his best collection of songs in years. It helps that he lets the sunlight peek through the storm clouds and allows himself to have some fun. It sounds like he invited half of Vancouver along to the party; you might as well join them. (K-W Record, May 14)
Ghislain Poirier – Soca Sound System EP (Ninja Tune/Outside)
Montreal’s Ghislain Poirier has helped bring Brazilian, dancehall and other equatorial rhythms into electronic dance music, invigorating a tired techno scene with genuine energy. But here, Poirier sets his own course with soca music, which is a natural fit for his club nights: the galloping, stuttering staccato beats are relentless, and Poirier’s futurist flavour sounds fantastically askew. MC Zulu shines on the track “Immigrant Visa”; no surprise there, as he was also the stand-out guest on Poirier’s 2007 dancehall-infused album No Ground Under, to which this is a worthy companion. (K-W Record, May 7)
Slim Twig – Contempt! (Paper Bag)
Listening to Contempt!, one would expect to find Slim Twig in dark corner of Coney Island, long after the rest of the freaks and carnies have vacated for the season. He would be sitting in a corner of the haunted house, with a decrepit organ at his command, and a series of wires hooked into dubious amplification systems and god-knows-what. He would be oblivious to any gathering audience, twiddling knobs and occasionally slicking back his pompadour, while he recounted hallucinations and delirious tales of infatuation in his best Elvis impersonation, bathed in heavy reverb for maximum spook effect.
In reality, Slim Twig is an artist from Toronto’s east end, who records various odd sounds in his basement before taking a ferry to Toronto Island to have them doctored by kindred spirit Dale Morningstar, who made similar mad scientist sounds as Dinner Is Ruined in the ’90s.
That Slim Twig is unique and compelling, there’s no question. Whether Contempt! succeeds as an album you’d want to hear any earlier in the day than 2 a.m. or outside of a Guy Maddin soundtrack is another question. (K-W Record, May 7)
The Western States – Bye and Bye (Dollartone)
Winnipeg roots band the Western States claim that they recorded this, their second album, live to tape. I don’t believe them. Either they’re as smooth and professional as a band with five albums and a decade of touring under their belt, or they somehow lucked into note-perfect vocal performances, piano and guitar solos. Or maybe they jammed and sang all the way down the interstate on their way to Texas, where they recorded the album. Bye and Bye doesn’t sound at all like a live album—arguably to its benefit, although it would be nice to hear this band loosen up a bit.
No point griping about what it isn’t, however, because Bye and Bye has lots to love. Trumpet, plenty of keyboards and stellar five-part harmony enhance Sean Buchanan’s solid songwriting, which has more than a few traces of early Wilco. Closing track “I’ll Be Free” is a candidate for a campfire classic, and many other tracks here hint that this band is one small step away from greatness. Added bonus: it all sounds spectacular, with an audiophile’s dedication to detail that’s extremely rare in an under-the-radar indie release. (K-W Record, May 21)
Score!: 20 Years of Merge Records – Various Artists (Merge)
One of the most reliable indie labels in the U.S. celebrates its 20th anniversary by inviting friends and fans of the label to cover their favourite tracks in the Merge catalogue, and the results are mixed. Perhaps it says something about the quality of Merge releases that even the likes of Death Cab For Cutie, Ryan Adams and Broken Social Scene have trouble improving on the originals. Highlights include two stellar covers of underrated songwriter Chris Lopez, of Tenement Halls and the Rock*A*Teens, who gets star treatment here from the Shins and the New Pornographers. Another grossly underrated songwriter, Eric Bachmann of Crooked Fingers, is served well by a duet from The National and St. Vincent, and the reclusive East River Pipe is resuscitated by both Okkervil River and the Mountain Goats. Those tracks are all worth downloading individually; otherwise, you’re better off tracking down the originals or waiting for this compilation’s companion piece, featuring remixes of Merge material by an all-star line-up. (K-W Record, May 7)
Mulatu Astatke and the Heliocentrics – Inspiration Information (Strut)
Mulatu Astatke is considered the godfather of Ethiopian jazz, with a history that includes a Western musical education—he was the first African student at the Berklee College of Music—and playing with Duke Ellington in the ’70s. Here, he teams up with young British group the Heliocentrics, whose brand of psychedelic and cinematic jazz mixes perfectly with Astatke’s compositions; their last high-profile gig was as DJ Shadow’s backing band, and their versatility was audible on their debut album, 2007’s Out There. Ethiopiques fans will find much to love here, although this doesn’t aim to recreate Astatke’s vintage recordings and it’s not a one-way cultural exchange; this sounds as much like the Heliocentrics as it does the 66-year-old jazzman, and he’s happy to hop on board whatever futuristic, cosmic journey they want to take him on. Considering that he built his career on cross-cultural hybrids, this simply sounds like Astatke taking the logical next step. Unlike most long-lost stars with a new lease on life through vintage reissues, he’s definitely not a museum act. (K-W Record, May 21)
Booker T. – Potato Hole (Anti)
Sometimes an old friend will re-appear in your life, a friend with whom you once shared plenty of good times, who imparted great wisdom along the way. He shows up at your door looking great, just as nimble as he was in his prime. And while it’s great to see him again, you quickly realize that he has nothing to say; conversation evaporates almost instantly.
So it is with Booker T. Jones, the legendary keyboardist who led the MGs and was part of the house band at soul music powerhouse Stax Records. After years as part of one of Neil Young’s rotating backing bands, he surfaces here with Southern rock group the Drive-by Truckers—with Young dropping by as well—for his first solo album in 31 years. Soul fans might be shocked to hear him with such a meat-and-potatoes rock band behind him—incidentally, the same one who failed to ignite any sparks with soul singer Bettye Lavette on one of her recent comeback albums—but more importantly, they’re likely to be disappointed by just how little happens over the course of these 10 tracks, regardless of genre.
There’s nothing terrible here—Booker T. is far too tasteful to make any serious missteps, although covering Outkast’s “Hey Ya” goes nowhere fast. Instead, Potato Hole amounts to little more than a shrug. Nice to see you old friend—now what were we talking about again? (K-W Record, May 7)
Jim Bryson – Live at the First Baptist Church (Kelp)
Everybody, including his new employers the Tragically Hip, loves Jim Bryson. Yet no one seems to love his records. Fans seem to have quibbles with every one of his three studio albums: they’re overproduced; they’re underproduced; they don’t sound like his live shows. None of those concerns could be raised with this live album, which of course not only features Bryson’s finest songs, but boasts an all-star Ottawa band that can be sweet when they want to be, with keyboard textures and rich backing vocals, or as raucous and raw as Bryson’s punk rock roots. Bryson, who is best known as a sideman for Kathleen Edwards, the Weakerthans, and now the Hip, shines as a singer and storyteller in ways that—for whatever reason—he never has on his studio albums. And while there are occasional moments heard here that could have easily been edited out and left in the moment, they don’t diminish the impact of hearing one of our finest songwriters giving one of his finest performances. (K-W Record, May 28)
Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career (4AD/Beggars Banquet)
Strings can do so many things—like pour the syrup on a sappy, melancholy melody so that even the harshest heartbreak sings a beautiful song. Glaswegian quintet Camera Obscura brought a Swedish string section into their sound on their breakthrough 2006 album Let’s Get Out of This Country, where they moved their twee take on the ’60s into the more amped-up AM radio rock of the ’70s. They use the same team this time out, only now the strings sound like “Snowbird” and other countrypolitan hits of the period. There’s no twang or roots-rock revisionism here, but the ever-so-slightly country-ish backdrop serves the sad longing of Traceyanne Campbell’s lyrics perfectly.
She starts the album with the buoyant single “French Navy,” by spending “a week in a dusty library/ waiting for some words to jump at me”; she spends the rest of the album travelling the world (including a reference to a frozen river in Toronto) trying to navigate a toxic and tortured love affair with someone of whom the best she can say is, “When you’re lucid, you’re the sweetest thing.” Like any fine country music songwriter, Campbell has a keen eye for the smallest self-aware details; she details an early infatuation by asking, “Were my pupils dilated? Could you tell that I liked you?”
Despite the album title, Camera Obscura are much less maudlin as they mature as a band; though Campbell still thinks the saddest songs say so much, her love of big pop music never steers her into a sad-sack rut. These lovable, bookish softies have been hardened by years as a touring band, and can now flex their muscles even in their quietest moments. Though earlier releases all boasted crushworthy mixtape favourites, My Maudlin Career is their finest album, beginning to end—no wonder the title sounds like a greatest hits package. (K-W Record, May 7)
Leonard Cohen – Live in London (Sony)
“What a great honour to play for you,” intones the immortal baritone of Leonard Cohen at the beginning of this two-disc, 150-minute document of his 2008 world tour. Here is a 73-year-old man who, despite decades of success and reverential acclaim, remains remarkably modest, deferential to every one of his bandmates, and grateful for every moment on stage. And yet the honour is all ours.
I’ll be frank: I wept continuously when I saw this tour’s Toronto stop. I wept with tears of joy to hear the author of such magnificent prose sound so alive and appreciated, wept with tears of sadness knowing that he won’t be doing this for much longer and it’s hard to imagine anyone taking his place. Live in London is a perfect souvenir, and a helpful reminder that no, I wasn’t just drunk on the emotion of the moment.
Cohen is crooning with conviction and strength; even his detractors will have to admit that he’s singing in tune. The band is impeccable and tasteful; anyone put off by Cohen’s questionable studio choices discover that these songs sound better than they ever have, even schmaltz like “Ain’t No Cure For Love.” Perhaps most importantly, he finally reclaims “Hallelujah” for himself, after 25 years of his original version perplexing even the most rapturous fans of the song’s many cover versions.
It’s impossible to express just how cathartic it was, in the summer of 2008, to hear Cohen sing about how “democracy is coming to the U.S.A.” It’s a song that sounded quaint and funny when it was first released in 1992, but such a song can only achieve true resonance after one’s spirit has been bruised and battered and been forced to seek light through the smallest of cracks; suddenly, when given a glimpse of sunshine and the possibility of freedom, Cohen sounds like the first man to tell you the truth after (eight) years of lies.
He’s not always that heavy, of course—in fact, he’s often hilarious. All his best banter—which was routine at every tour stop—is included here, which hardly seems fair to those who have yet to witness the ongoing tour. Live in London is more than a document of Cohen’s comeback; it may well be—objectively speaking, outside the context and time when his earlier classics were released—the finest recording of his 40-year career. (K-W Record, May 14)
Steve Earle – Townes (New West)
Steve Earle named his son after Townes Van Zant, a Texan singer/songwriter who was an unheralded and haunting songwriter in the ’70s, one who was as troubled and as gifted as Hank Williams—and just as tragic, passing on well before his time came. Van Zant has had many champions, both before and after his death—Willie Nelson and Cowboy Junkies among the most vocal—but Steve Earle has never wasted a chance to wax poetic on what an inspiration Van Zant was to him, both as a songwriter and as a peer. So here Earle tackles 15 Townes Van Zant songs, as the ultimate tribute to the man.
And yet most Steve Earle fans will at least have heard of Townes Van Zant before, and unfortunately Earle doesn’t do these songs many favours. The arrangements here—ranging from straight-up bluegrass to string-adorned balladry to the more modern drum-machine-and-acoustic-guitar aesthetic of Earle’s last album, Washington Square Serenade—don’t compare to the moonlit, ghostly and unforgettable sound of Van Zant’s originals. Which is not a crime, and it might work with a different vocalist; but at this stage in his career, Steve Earle’s voice is suited only to singing Steve Earle songs—an interpreter he’s not.
A great performer singing the songs of a great writer—what could go wrong? Surely that’s not the question Earle was hoping to answer. (K-W Record, May 21)
Grand Duchy – Petits Four (Cooking Vinyl)
Whether or not the Pixies ever make a new record, fans of Frank Black were wondering if would ever return to the wonderfully weird vibe of his early solo recordings, after over a decade of a shift to respectable roots rock. The answer lies with his new project Grand Duchy, a duo with Violet Clark. When asked what appealed to him about working with Clark, Black says: “She was innocent. I hadn’t felt innocent in years. She digs the ’80s. I had spent the latter part of the ’80s doing my part to destroy the ’80s.”
And so here, Black can be heard over drum machines and synths, adding his proto-grunge guitar and acoustic textures, as well as unleashing his long-lost screaming technique as a counter-balance to Clark’s soft and subtle vocals. “Break the Angels” has a bass line with a striking resemblance to the Pixies’ “Debaser,” and much of the material here sounds as gleefully unconventional as Black’s earliest work—not that fans should be looking for a Pixies substitute, because they won’t find it. But anyone who was getting bored with Black would be advised to visit Grand Duchy. (K-W Record, May 21)
Green Day – 21st Century Breakdown (Warner)
21st Century Breakdown returns to the American Idiot formula: an extremely loose (arguably non-existent) narrative set in a politically polarized U.S. and loaded with signpost symbolism and rhetoric. One of the characters is actually born on the fourth of July, another is “the last of the American girls” who “puts her makeup on like graffiti on the walls of the heartland.”
The lyrics are ridiculous, aimed squarely at that moment of teenage life when you realize that life is going to suck and there are powers beyond your control: not surprisingly, Armstrong talks about the “class of ’13”—in other words, 14-year-olds about to enter high school, because they’re likely the only ones who will find any semblance of depth in his lyrics.
But who cares? The guitars are engineered to sound like a white-knuckle roller coaster ride. Drummer Tre Cool is probably the best punk drummer since Dave Grohl picked up a guitar. Armstrong manages to string suites of songs together effortlessly, and his melodic skills set him far apart from the pack.
And yet 21st Century Breakdown doesn’t hold a candle to the highs of American Idiot—an album where even the power ballads were exciting—and it doesn’t help matters that Armstrong saves all his best songs for the “third act,” as it’s notated. “Horseshoes and Handgrenades” arrives 14 songs in, with Armstrong bellowing, “I’m not f---ing around!” Good thing, because we were beginning to wonder. He rides out that rejuvenation through to the album’s conclusion, even managing pull a decent pop song out of a piece of bloated balladry called “21 Guns.”
Green Day may still be miles ahead of their mall-punk peers, but they can do better than this. It will be more interesting to see where they go once they get tired of rock operas. (K-W Record, May 28)
Gypsophilia – Sa-ba-da-ow! (gypsophilia.org)
Neither the band name nor the album title inspire much confidence, yet this Haligonian septet quickly silence any skeptics with a rousing take on gypsy jazz of the Django Reinhardt era. It’s not aiming to be some kind of historical re-enactment, and nor is it full of obvious nods to modernity. There’s an all-too-rare tastefully played wah pedal on some of the guitar solos, and pianist Sageev Oore breaks out his synthesizer in the most subtle of ways—that is, when he’s not sprinting around his piano like a silent film soundtracker. Leads are shared between trumpet, violin and the three guitarists, each of whom could be leading a band of their own. Recorded live off the floor, Sa-ba-da-ow! is inventive and melodic and guaranteed to be a sensation on the summer jazz festival circuit. (K-W Record, May 28)
Ben Harper and Relentless7 – White Lies for Dark Times (EMI)
It’s not like Ben Harper has been in a slump lately; his 2006 album Both Sides of the Gun may well be the best thing he’s ever done. But by putting his Innocent Criminals on hold and hooking up with an all-new backing band, a Texas trio incongruously called Relentless7, he’s being pushed to play some the most electrifying guitar work of his career. Drummer Jordan Robinson in particular lights a fire underneath him, and there’s no mistaking the live energy generated in these sessions of fuzzed-out, slightly psychedelic Texas boogie rock. Harper must have been having so much fun that he didn’t bother to edit some of his lyrics, such as: “I feel like an underpaid concubine who’s overstayed her welcome.” That’s a minor slip on an otherwise worthy rock’n’roll rebirth. (K-W Record, May 28)
Hotcha! – Dust Bowl Roots: Songs for the New Depression (hotcha.ca)
Hotcha are a Toronto duo that dress up in Depression-era garb for the artwork of their debut CD. But unlike hundreds of old-timey acoustic acts who are little more than a costume party, Hotcha bring something new to the table—namely, original songs that actually stand up to the likes of Irving Berlin and Louis Armstrong, both of whom they cover here, along with classics like “Walkin’ After Midnight” and “Jesus on the Mainline.” Beverly Kreller and Howard Druckman jump between hot jazz and bluegrass with help from producer/percussionist Don Kerr and banjo whiz Chris Quinn, and while the arrangements rarely stray from the traditional, they sound vivid and fresh—thanks in part to Kerr’s production. Music got us through the last Depression, and maybe a return to informal living room music like the kind Toronto duo Hotcha! makes will get us through the next one. (K-W Record, May 28)
Pink Mountaintops – Outside Love (Jagjaguwar/Sonic Unyon)
For better or worse, the Stephen McBean always makes it easy to describe his music with easy reference points. His brand of record collector rock is splintered into two projects: the Black Sabbath/Pink Floyd amalgam of Black Mountain, and his somewhat more subdued personal project, Pink Mountaintops, which on this—their third album—sounds like Phil Spector and the Jesus and Mary Chain taking turns producing one of Neil Young’s folk albums. And in ways he hasn’t done since the first Black Mountain album, McBean manages to transcend the obvious reference points and helps us forget that we may have heard this a thousand times before—because we haven’t often heard it done this well.
Sunbaked, fuzzed-out guitars blend with distorted violin and tinny organs colour simple three-chord anthems designed for massive group singalongs on joyous but admittedly cliché lyrics such as “how deep is your love” and “everyone I love deserves a holiday in the sun.” McBean isn’t always “in love with all the lovers” and singing about “The Gayest of Sunbeams,” however; there are darker skies that also loom over several spooky songs here, most effectively on “While We Were Dreaming,” which McBean hands over to vocalist Ashley Webber (twin sister of Black Mountain’s Amber).
Pink Mountaintops used to be an excuse for McBean to be lazy and fool around on his four-track. Outside Love marks the moment when the project blossoms into a full band, starring members of Destroyer, Carolyn Mark’s Roommates, Superconductor, The Organ and Godspeed You Black Emperor. But more importantly, by regaining the control and focus that he surrendered on the last Black Mountain album—which got lost in a swamp of riffs, repetition, atmospheres and apocalypse—McBean also conjures his best collection of songs in years. It helps that he lets the sunlight peek through the storm clouds and allows himself to have some fun. It sounds like he invited half of Vancouver along to the party; you might as well join them. (K-W Record, May 14)
Ghislain Poirier – Soca Sound System EP (Ninja Tune/Outside)
Montreal’s Ghislain Poirier has helped bring Brazilian, dancehall and other equatorial rhythms into electronic dance music, invigorating a tired techno scene with genuine energy. But here, Poirier sets his own course with soca music, which is a natural fit for his club nights: the galloping, stuttering staccato beats are relentless, and Poirier’s futurist flavour sounds fantastically askew. MC Zulu shines on the track “Immigrant Visa”; no surprise there, as he was also the stand-out guest on Poirier’s 2007 dancehall-infused album No Ground Under, to which this is a worthy companion. (K-W Record, May 7)
Slim Twig – Contempt! (Paper Bag)
Listening to Contempt!, one would expect to find Slim Twig in dark corner of Coney Island, long after the rest of the freaks and carnies have vacated for the season. He would be sitting in a corner of the haunted house, with a decrepit organ at his command, and a series of wires hooked into dubious amplification systems and god-knows-what. He would be oblivious to any gathering audience, twiddling knobs and occasionally slicking back his pompadour, while he recounted hallucinations and delirious tales of infatuation in his best Elvis impersonation, bathed in heavy reverb for maximum spook effect.
In reality, Slim Twig is an artist from Toronto’s east end, who records various odd sounds in his basement before taking a ferry to Toronto Island to have them doctored by kindred spirit Dale Morningstar, who made similar mad scientist sounds as Dinner Is Ruined in the ’90s.
That Slim Twig is unique and compelling, there’s no question. Whether Contempt! succeeds as an album you’d want to hear any earlier in the day than 2 a.m. or outside of a Guy Maddin soundtrack is another question. (K-W Record, May 7)
The Western States – Bye and Bye (Dollartone)
Winnipeg roots band the Western States claim that they recorded this, their second album, live to tape. I don’t believe them. Either they’re as smooth and professional as a band with five albums and a decade of touring under their belt, or they somehow lucked into note-perfect vocal performances, piano and guitar solos. Or maybe they jammed and sang all the way down the interstate on their way to Texas, where they recorded the album. Bye and Bye doesn’t sound at all like a live album—arguably to its benefit, although it would be nice to hear this band loosen up a bit.
No point griping about what it isn’t, however, because Bye and Bye has lots to love. Trumpet, plenty of keyboards and stellar five-part harmony enhance Sean Buchanan’s solid songwriting, which has more than a few traces of early Wilco. Closing track “I’ll Be Free” is a candidate for a campfire classic, and many other tracks here hint that this band is one small step away from greatness. Added bonus: it all sounds spectacular, with an audiophile’s dedication to detail that’s extremely rare in an under-the-radar indie release. (K-W Record, May 21)
Score!: 20 Years of Merge Records – Various Artists (Merge)
One of the most reliable indie labels in the U.S. celebrates its 20th anniversary by inviting friends and fans of the label to cover their favourite tracks in the Merge catalogue, and the results are mixed. Perhaps it says something about the quality of Merge releases that even the likes of Death Cab For Cutie, Ryan Adams and Broken Social Scene have trouble improving on the originals. Highlights include two stellar covers of underrated songwriter Chris Lopez, of Tenement Halls and the Rock*A*Teens, who gets star treatment here from the Shins and the New Pornographers. Another grossly underrated songwriter, Eric Bachmann of Crooked Fingers, is served well by a duet from The National and St. Vincent, and the reclusive East River Pipe is resuscitated by both Okkervil River and the Mountain Goats. Those tracks are all worth downloading individually; otherwise, you’re better off tracking down the originals or waiting for this compilation’s companion piece, featuring remixes of Merge material by an all-star line-up. (K-W Record, May 7)
Friday, September 26, 2008
Polaris: Two Hours Traffic, Weakerthans
Final pre-Polaris post today. The prize winner will be announced on Monday night.
The nominees:
Two Hours Traffic – Little Jabs (Bumstead).
The album: Little Jabs is a decent pop rock record with tasteful arrangements, but while there’s little to criticize, there’s precious little to celebrate either. Pleasant, but entirely innocuous. Admittedly, my musical taste these days means I’m less impressed these days with anything featuring four boys playing two guitars, bass and drums, unless the songwriting is truly outstanding or something else separates them from the crowd (hello, Weakerthans). “Oooh-hoo, you got a fiery soul,” goes one song. If only these boys did. No blood was spilled during the recording of this album.
The chances: Surprisingly strong, with bonus points for coming from Canada’s smallest province. Even though the judges aren’t supposed to think about such matters as underdogs, precedents and geography, this is a) obscure in its profile, and b) totally mainstream in its orientation. Picking this band would silence some of the anti-Polaris charges that the jury is a bunch of latte-sipping, sushi-eating Prius drivers who only listen to musicians with classical training (Final Fantasy and Patrick Watson, in case you’ve forgotten). Two Hours Traffic are the red meat choice, but giving them the prize would be like ordering a hamburger at a three-star restaurant. Maybe a Holy Fuck/ Two Hours Traffic showdown in the jury room will presage our federal election results.
Weakerthans – Reunion Tour (Anti).
The album: The Weakerthans are one of the Great Canadian Rock Bands of the last decade, in part because they don’t bother to put out an album unless they can stand behind every note. If that takes three or four years, so be it. We don’t rush our novelists; we shouldn’t rush a songwriter like John K. Samson--and he’s never written more like a novelist than he has here, creating poetic portraiture and consciously writing outside of his own experiences.
In “Civil Twilight,” the main character and his daily routine—as well as his dashed romantic hopes and dreams—are all illustrated in depth and deep visual detail, in a way that doesn’t at all feel like it’s being shoehorned into a three-minute pop song. I don’t care if it sounds like at least five other Weakerthans songs, with its textbook dynamics, arrangements and similar melodic motifs. Taken on its own, “Civil Twilight” a distillation of everything this band does so well and is doing even better now, at this stage in its career.
Fans still hold up 2000’s Left and Leaving as the Weakerthans’ masterpiece, and though that holds a dear place in my heart, it’s now more nostalgic for me than anything, a faded photograph of a man I once was. Maybe it’s once again reflective of where I am in life, but Reunion Tour is a much better—and yes, mature—album.
The changes to their signature sound are subtle (harmonies, new textures) yet extremely effective. The one black sheep of the bunch is “Elegy for Gump Worsley,” which I heard one critic decry as “banjo-driven free jazz goalie poetry”—yet it works, and shows the Weakerthans are more than capable of straying from the CanRock formulas they sometimes seem stuck in. Returning producer Ian Blurton knows how to coax the best out of this band, and Reunion Tour is the kind of record that makes me fall in love with rock’n’roll guitars all over again, without resorting to lunkhead retro riffing.
There are too many key lyrics to quote and analyze here—like all of “Civil Twilight,” for example—but I’ll stick with this one for entirely personal reasons, from “Relative Surplus Value”: “The pause feels like an extra year of high school.” That’s the one I keep coming back to--as someone who actually did do an extra year of high school, and with my own reunions of various sorts on my mind this year.
I had the immense pleasure of diving deep into Reunion Tour with Samson several months before the album’s release, in what was my favourite interview of 2007. It is here.
The chances: Fair to good. Being the oldest act on this list, it’s very easy to take the Weakerthans for granted. Though there is a lot of love for this band, reaction to this album in the press was mixed; many didn’t hear any evolution and decried it as more of the same. When it comes to the politics of the prize—which will hopefuly be kept out of the jury room—it will also be hard to ignore the fact that the band just won $25,000 by snapping the XM Verge Artist of the Year award a mere five days before Polaris night. If that wasn’t enough, John K. Samson keeps winning those CBC Canada Reads competitions. But in terms of an album that’s artistically sound on every level and that will easily stand the test of time, this could well be the choice. I’m reconsidering what I said earlier about Caribou; this would likely be my vote.
Two more should’ve beens from my ballots:
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune)
The album: This wasn’t on my initial ballot, but when some of my picks didn’t even make the long list (Forest City Lovers, D’Urbervilles, David Buchbinder) I went back and gave this another listen. I was a huge fan of Poirier’s 2005 album Breakupdown; it took me a little longer to embrace this one fully.
No Ground Under boasts huge beats, catchy hooks, and a healthy balance of the abstract and the club bangers, with some calypso mixed in with the Baltimore bass. And unlike most dancefloor doctors, he's not afraid to drop some politics in the mix (nothing terribly deep, mind you, but it's refreshing). MCs include Toronto's Abdominal, Quebec's Omnikrom and some exciting new finds (Chicago's Zulu, on album highlight “Go Ballistic”), but, as on Breakupdown, the instrumentals more than hold their own and provide a nice counterpoint to the more pop-oriented tracks.
And that's just the music. Politically speaking, this is the type of artist I'd love to see celebrated by the Polaris Prize: Poirier employs MCs from both linguistic solitudes; he has a global outlook in both his influences and his collaborators; he's had a slow, strong evolution as an artist; he pushes the boundaries of his genre; he's a cross-pollinating community-builder (what’s that?) in his hometown.
Why it struck out: It’s too Montreal. And I mean that in the best possible way.
Weakerthans – Reunion Tour (Anti). Lo and behold, one of my should’ve beens actually was.
Good luck to the jury members:
Mike Bell - Calgary Herald (Calgary)
Denise Benson - Eye Weekly (Toronto)
Evelyn Côté - Ici (Montréal)
Lana Gay - CBC Radio 3 (Vancouver)
Kevin Kelley - Newfoundland Herald (St. John's)
Joshua Ostroff - AOL Canada (Toronto)
James Stewart Reaney - London Free Press (London)
Li Robbins - CBC Radio/Globe And Mail (Toronto)
Hannah Simone - MuchMusic (Toronto)
Darryl Sterdan - Winnipeg Sun (Winnipeg)
Frank Yang - Chromewaves (Toronto)
The nominees:
Two Hours Traffic – Little Jabs (Bumstead).
The album: Little Jabs is a decent pop rock record with tasteful arrangements, but while there’s little to criticize, there’s precious little to celebrate either. Pleasant, but entirely innocuous. Admittedly, my musical taste these days means I’m less impressed these days with anything featuring four boys playing two guitars, bass and drums, unless the songwriting is truly outstanding or something else separates them from the crowd (hello, Weakerthans). “Oooh-hoo, you got a fiery soul,” goes one song. If only these boys did. No blood was spilled during the recording of this album.
The chances: Surprisingly strong, with bonus points for coming from Canada’s smallest province. Even though the judges aren’t supposed to think about such matters as underdogs, precedents and geography, this is a) obscure in its profile, and b) totally mainstream in its orientation. Picking this band would silence some of the anti-Polaris charges that the jury is a bunch of latte-sipping, sushi-eating Prius drivers who only listen to musicians with classical training (Final Fantasy and Patrick Watson, in case you’ve forgotten). Two Hours Traffic are the red meat choice, but giving them the prize would be like ordering a hamburger at a three-star restaurant. Maybe a Holy Fuck/ Two Hours Traffic showdown in the jury room will presage our federal election results.
Weakerthans – Reunion Tour (Anti).
The album: The Weakerthans are one of the Great Canadian Rock Bands of the last decade, in part because they don’t bother to put out an album unless they can stand behind every note. If that takes three or four years, so be it. We don’t rush our novelists; we shouldn’t rush a songwriter like John K. Samson--and he’s never written more like a novelist than he has here, creating poetic portraiture and consciously writing outside of his own experiences.
In “Civil Twilight,” the main character and his daily routine—as well as his dashed romantic hopes and dreams—are all illustrated in depth and deep visual detail, in a way that doesn’t at all feel like it’s being shoehorned into a three-minute pop song. I don’t care if it sounds like at least five other Weakerthans songs, with its textbook dynamics, arrangements and similar melodic motifs. Taken on its own, “Civil Twilight” a distillation of everything this band does so well and is doing even better now, at this stage in its career.
Fans still hold up 2000’s Left and Leaving as the Weakerthans’ masterpiece, and though that holds a dear place in my heart, it’s now more nostalgic for me than anything, a faded photograph of a man I once was. Maybe it’s once again reflective of where I am in life, but Reunion Tour is a much better—and yes, mature—album.
The changes to their signature sound are subtle (harmonies, new textures) yet extremely effective. The one black sheep of the bunch is “Elegy for Gump Worsley,” which I heard one critic decry as “banjo-driven free jazz goalie poetry”—yet it works, and shows the Weakerthans are more than capable of straying from the CanRock formulas they sometimes seem stuck in. Returning producer Ian Blurton knows how to coax the best out of this band, and Reunion Tour is the kind of record that makes me fall in love with rock’n’roll guitars all over again, without resorting to lunkhead retro riffing.
There are too many key lyrics to quote and analyze here—like all of “Civil Twilight,” for example—but I’ll stick with this one for entirely personal reasons, from “Relative Surplus Value”: “The pause feels like an extra year of high school.” That’s the one I keep coming back to--as someone who actually did do an extra year of high school, and with my own reunions of various sorts on my mind this year.
I had the immense pleasure of diving deep into Reunion Tour with Samson several months before the album’s release, in what was my favourite interview of 2007. It is here.
The chances: Fair to good. Being the oldest act on this list, it’s very easy to take the Weakerthans for granted. Though there is a lot of love for this band, reaction to this album in the press was mixed; many didn’t hear any evolution and decried it as more of the same. When it comes to the politics of the prize—which will hopefuly be kept out of the jury room—it will also be hard to ignore the fact that the band just won $25,000 by snapping the XM Verge Artist of the Year award a mere five days before Polaris night. If that wasn’t enough, John K. Samson keeps winning those CBC Canada Reads competitions. But in terms of an album that’s artistically sound on every level and that will easily stand the test of time, this could well be the choice. I’m reconsidering what I said earlier about Caribou; this would likely be my vote.
Two more should’ve beens from my ballots:
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune)
The album: This wasn’t on my initial ballot, but when some of my picks didn’t even make the long list (Forest City Lovers, D’Urbervilles, David Buchbinder) I went back and gave this another listen. I was a huge fan of Poirier’s 2005 album Breakupdown; it took me a little longer to embrace this one fully.
No Ground Under boasts huge beats, catchy hooks, and a healthy balance of the abstract and the club bangers, with some calypso mixed in with the Baltimore bass. And unlike most dancefloor doctors, he's not afraid to drop some politics in the mix (nothing terribly deep, mind you, but it's refreshing). MCs include Toronto's Abdominal, Quebec's Omnikrom and some exciting new finds (Chicago's Zulu, on album highlight “Go Ballistic”), but, as on Breakupdown, the instrumentals more than hold their own and provide a nice counterpoint to the more pop-oriented tracks.
And that's just the music. Politically speaking, this is the type of artist I'd love to see celebrated by the Polaris Prize: Poirier employs MCs from both linguistic solitudes; he has a global outlook in both his influences and his collaborators; he's had a slow, strong evolution as an artist; he pushes the boundaries of his genre; he's a cross-pollinating community-builder (what’s that?) in his hometown.
Why it struck out: It’s too Montreal. And I mean that in the best possible way.
Weakerthans – Reunion Tour (Anti). Lo and behold, one of my should’ve beens actually was.
Good luck to the jury members:
Mike Bell - Calgary Herald (Calgary)
Denise Benson - Eye Weekly (Toronto)
Evelyn Côté - Ici (Montréal)
Lana Gay - CBC Radio 3 (Vancouver)
Kevin Kelley - Newfoundland Herald (St. John's)
Joshua Ostroff - AOL Canada (Toronto)
James Stewart Reaney - London Free Press (London)
Li Robbins - CBC Radio/Globe And Mail (Toronto)
Hannah Simone - MuchMusic (Toronto)
Darryl Sterdan - Winnipeg Sun (Winnipeg)
Frank Yang - Chromewaves (Toronto)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
2007 Year-End
The last of the 2007 lists are being released this week: Eye Weekly’s Cross-Canada critics’ poll and Idolator. I found that this year I really had nothing to say to sum up the year when it came to trends and whatnot; as I get older, I care less and less about what’s supposed to be cool and why.
Which is part of the reason why I’ve already whipped through two readings of Carl Wilson’s absolutely brilliant Let’s Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste, which simultaneously convinces me that all other music writing is futile, and that quality music writing and criticism—at least the kind that Wilson aspires to and achieves in his book—is all the more important in a culture that is fine with simply declaring “it’s all good.”
But if I’m disillusioned by music writing, the music itself rarely let me down. Picking a Top 40 was easy, and half of that list are records that either I or everyone else wrote about excessively--check the uniformity between the Eye and Idolator polls, excepting the noble Canadian slant of the former--so much so that I don’t want to do so again here. My most predictable 20 favourites of 2007 are as follows, in alphabetical order:
The Acorn, Arcade Fire, Battles, Common, Julie Doiron, Feist, Handsome Furs, Iron and Wine, LCD Soundsystem, Miracle Fortress, Joel Plaskett Emergency, Radiohead, Rihanna, Spoon, Bruce Springsteen, Mavis Staples, Linda Thompson, Tinariwen, Amon Tobin, Weakerthans.
You know those album titles, you’ve probably already bought those records, and you love them as well you should. If you haven’t, just like Humphrey Kadaner’s Springsteen marketing campaign, I’ll give you a money-back guarantee.
But, as always, there were plenty of others that were either right off the radar and/or otherwise grossly underrated. So this is my other top 20, once again in alphabetical order:
Antibalas – Security (Anti). Where one of the greatest live bands working today stopped being a retro tribute band to 70s African funk—not that there’s anything wrong with that—and entered the 21st century with their most varied album yet.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts). I quite like the rambling mess that was Kevin Drew’s solo album (much, much better than the rambling mess that was the last Broken Social Scene album), and of course Ms. Feist finally conquered the world like we all knew she would. But this was the most satisfying album from the BSS camp this year. Sadly, it’s also the one that seemed to get the least attention. But that's merely comparative, and unfairly at that; now they can fill Lee's Palace, and for anyone who could consistently count the audience members on one hand at Andrew Whiteman gigs in the late 90s, his success is all the more sweet.
Devendra Banhart – Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon (XL). Don’t write him off just because he’s crackers; this was tons of fun and gorgeous when he let it be. Review here.
Mark Berube – What the River Gave the Boat (Kwalu). Rainy days and Mondays don’t get this Vancouver piano boho balladeer down; hopefully the indifference of audiences outside his hometown won’t either. If Hawksley Workman weren’t such a drama queen. Review here.
Bishop Allen – The Broken String (Dead Oceans). America’s most underrated pop band, reviewed here.
Bonde Do Role – With Lasers (Domino). The most fun you could have in 2007 with your pants on. Or not. Next year: Thunderheist.
Buck 65 – Situation (Warner). The most fun this underrated master has had in a long time; apparently it was a laborious birth process with midwife/DJ Skratch Bastid, but you’d never know it. Review here.
Budos Band – II (Daptone). Some of Amy Winehouse’s headlines pointed people towards Sharon Jones and her Daptones, and hopefully those Sharon Jones fans dig even deeper to discover this powerhouse Afro-funk band from the same New York scene.
Mark Davis – Don’t You Think We Should Be Closer?/ Mistakes I Meant to Make (Saved by Radio). This is the singular most baffling obscurity of 2007: these songs sunk deep under my skin the second I heard them, and Davis’s deep, lonesome baritone has been haunting me ever since. This would even give Nick Cave the chills. Five-star reviews here... (except that Eye Weekly's site is still broken).
Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity (Kill Rock Stars). “+81” was the single of the year—all year. Seriously, since this came out in January 2007, I’ve been singing various hooks from just that one song constantly around the house, and the rest of the album is just as solid. Reviewed somewhere on the broken Eye Weekly site.
Friends in Bellwoods – Various Artists (Out of This Spark). I hate most compilations, especially scene-based compilations, and yet nearly every track on this two-disc set makes me feel ecstatic to be alive in Toronto in 2007. Focusing mostly on melancholy pop but including plenty of oddball electronics and weirdness, it’s padded with equally strong acts from Montreal, Ottawa and small town Ontario—but this is one for Toronto history books. Kudos to everyone in Ohbijou and nascent label impresario Stuart Duncan for pulling this together. Interview here. Stuart Berman’s Eye cover story is here.
Heliocentrics – Out There (Stones Throw). Why go cratedigging for obscure reissues of 70s jazz/funk/soul, when this album by DJ Shadow’s backing band bring together the best of that decade with the least embarrassing elements of 90s acid jazz and trip-hop—and please understand that my fingers are quivering as I type those terms.
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – Living With the Living (Touch and Go). The living embodiment of the not-so-missing link between Strummer and Springsteen, and unlike those two, Leo is getting better as he gets older.
Lightning Dust – s/t (Jagjaguwar). After you get over the mass disappointment of the new Black Mountain (due out on January 22/08), go back and listen to Josh Wells and Amber Webber’s sparse and ghostly side project, where Webber is given full space to shine. Review somewhere in the gaping abyss of the Eye Weekly site.
Corb Lund – Horse Soldier! Horse Soldier! (Stony Plain). Full disclosure: I was paid to write Lund’s bio, but if even if I wasn’t I still would have gushed excessively about this record. His last album was on autopilot—it really did sound like he’d rather be playing cards—but every song here sounds like a brilliant short story set to folk melodies that have survived centuries, played by a kick-ass Albertan traditional country band. Howard Druckman gave it five stars in Eye; I would have done the same, and I’m shocked that I haven’t seen this get more press.
Paul Macleod – Bright Eyes Fade (Busted Flat). Next to Mark Davis, this is the other great mystery of Canadian pop in 2007. Paul Macleod has been one of my favourite songwriters for the last 15 years, and this is his finest studio outing to date—not that there’s that much competition, with only one other CD and an EP released in that time frame. The only time I saw him live this year—because, to my knowledge, he didn’t leave his hometown of Kitchener-Waterloo to come play Toronto—was at one of the Rheostatics’ farewell gigs, where he opened the show and helped sub in for an ailing Martin Tielli. That night he said something about the Rheos being our Beatles—but he himself has no shortage of songs that can stand beside either band’s canon. Do whatever you can to hunt this down—not because this man badly needs a break, but because you deserve to hear him.
Nifty – A Sparrow! A Sparrow! (Blocks Recording Club). The album begins with the dramatic opening theme of some B&W 1940s melodrama being sliced up with Matt Schmidt’s plaintive vocals over top, and that’s one of the more predictable moments here amidst the shuffling sub-aquatic techno, Scott Walker-esque bizarro balladry, Asian strings, analog synths, Glenn Kotche/Steve Reich-ian bell compositions, finicky electro funk and all points in between. Thoroughly satisfying.
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune). On the follow-up to his masterpiece underground breakthough Breakupdown, Poirier uses his new Ninja Tune platform to invite even more MCs into his bass-heavy beats borrowed and twisted from club culture around the world, and yet his instrumentals easily stand on their own. DJ/Rupture seems to be missing in action, while MIA still mystifies me herself; Poirier is the go-to guy for beats from the global pillage.
Secret Mommy – Plays (Ache). Lots of sample-based musicians are finding that live musicians are more fun to fuck with (see: Amon Tobin; ignore: Cinematic Orchestra). Vancouver’s Andy Dixon tempers the usual giddiness of his found sound plunderphonics only a tad, and comes up with a wonderfully disorienting glitch-pop album. Interview here.
Tunng – Good Arrows (Thrill Jockey). Between this and the Linda Thompson album, it was a good year for traditional British folk music—though Tunng’s electronic textures, glitchy interludes and bouncy pop songs were more Beta Band than Incredible String Band, and all the better for it. Live review here.
-end-
Which is part of the reason why I’ve already whipped through two readings of Carl Wilson’s absolutely brilliant Let’s Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste, which simultaneously convinces me that all other music writing is futile, and that quality music writing and criticism—at least the kind that Wilson aspires to and achieves in his book—is all the more important in a culture that is fine with simply declaring “it’s all good.”
But if I’m disillusioned by music writing, the music itself rarely let me down. Picking a Top 40 was easy, and half of that list are records that either I or everyone else wrote about excessively--check the uniformity between the Eye and Idolator polls, excepting the noble Canadian slant of the former--so much so that I don’t want to do so again here. My most predictable 20 favourites of 2007 are as follows, in alphabetical order:
The Acorn, Arcade Fire, Battles, Common, Julie Doiron, Feist, Handsome Furs, Iron and Wine, LCD Soundsystem, Miracle Fortress, Joel Plaskett Emergency, Radiohead, Rihanna, Spoon, Bruce Springsteen, Mavis Staples, Linda Thompson, Tinariwen, Amon Tobin, Weakerthans.
You know those album titles, you’ve probably already bought those records, and you love them as well you should. If you haven’t, just like Humphrey Kadaner’s Springsteen marketing campaign, I’ll give you a money-back guarantee.
But, as always, there were plenty of others that were either right off the radar and/or otherwise grossly underrated. So this is my other top 20, once again in alphabetical order:
Antibalas – Security (Anti). Where one of the greatest live bands working today stopped being a retro tribute band to 70s African funk—not that there’s anything wrong with that—and entered the 21st century with their most varied album yet.
Apostle of Hustle – National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts). I quite like the rambling mess that was Kevin Drew’s solo album (much, much better than the rambling mess that was the last Broken Social Scene album), and of course Ms. Feist finally conquered the world like we all knew she would. But this was the most satisfying album from the BSS camp this year. Sadly, it’s also the one that seemed to get the least attention. But that's merely comparative, and unfairly at that; now they can fill Lee's Palace, and for anyone who could consistently count the audience members on one hand at Andrew Whiteman gigs in the late 90s, his success is all the more sweet.
Devendra Banhart – Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon (XL). Don’t write him off just because he’s crackers; this was tons of fun and gorgeous when he let it be. Review here.
Mark Berube – What the River Gave the Boat (Kwalu). Rainy days and Mondays don’t get this Vancouver piano boho balladeer down; hopefully the indifference of audiences outside his hometown won’t either. If Hawksley Workman weren’t such a drama queen. Review here.
Bishop Allen – The Broken String (Dead Oceans). America’s most underrated pop band, reviewed here.
Bonde Do Role – With Lasers (Domino). The most fun you could have in 2007 with your pants on. Or not. Next year: Thunderheist.
Buck 65 – Situation (Warner). The most fun this underrated master has had in a long time; apparently it was a laborious birth process with midwife/DJ Skratch Bastid, but you’d never know it. Review here.
Budos Band – II (Daptone). Some of Amy Winehouse’s headlines pointed people towards Sharon Jones and her Daptones, and hopefully those Sharon Jones fans dig even deeper to discover this powerhouse Afro-funk band from the same New York scene.
Mark Davis – Don’t You Think We Should Be Closer?/ Mistakes I Meant to Make (Saved by Radio). This is the singular most baffling obscurity of 2007: these songs sunk deep under my skin the second I heard them, and Davis’s deep, lonesome baritone has been haunting me ever since. This would even give Nick Cave the chills. Five-star reviews here... (except that Eye Weekly's site is still broken).
Deerhoof – Friend Opportunity (Kill Rock Stars). “+81” was the single of the year—all year. Seriously, since this came out in January 2007, I’ve been singing various hooks from just that one song constantly around the house, and the rest of the album is just as solid. Reviewed somewhere on the broken Eye Weekly site.
Friends in Bellwoods – Various Artists (Out of This Spark). I hate most compilations, especially scene-based compilations, and yet nearly every track on this two-disc set makes me feel ecstatic to be alive in Toronto in 2007. Focusing mostly on melancholy pop but including plenty of oddball electronics and weirdness, it’s padded with equally strong acts from Montreal, Ottawa and small town Ontario—but this is one for Toronto history books. Kudos to everyone in Ohbijou and nascent label impresario Stuart Duncan for pulling this together. Interview here. Stuart Berman’s Eye cover story is here.
Heliocentrics – Out There (Stones Throw). Why go cratedigging for obscure reissues of 70s jazz/funk/soul, when this album by DJ Shadow’s backing band bring together the best of that decade with the least embarrassing elements of 90s acid jazz and trip-hop—and please understand that my fingers are quivering as I type those terms.
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – Living With the Living (Touch and Go). The living embodiment of the not-so-missing link between Strummer and Springsteen, and unlike those two, Leo is getting better as he gets older.
Lightning Dust – s/t (Jagjaguwar). After you get over the mass disappointment of the new Black Mountain (due out on January 22/08), go back and listen to Josh Wells and Amber Webber’s sparse and ghostly side project, where Webber is given full space to shine. Review somewhere in the gaping abyss of the Eye Weekly site.
Corb Lund – Horse Soldier! Horse Soldier! (Stony Plain). Full disclosure: I was paid to write Lund’s bio, but if even if I wasn’t I still would have gushed excessively about this record. His last album was on autopilot—it really did sound like he’d rather be playing cards—but every song here sounds like a brilliant short story set to folk melodies that have survived centuries, played by a kick-ass Albertan traditional country band. Howard Druckman gave it five stars in Eye; I would have done the same, and I’m shocked that I haven’t seen this get more press.
Paul Macleod – Bright Eyes Fade (Busted Flat). Next to Mark Davis, this is the other great mystery of Canadian pop in 2007. Paul Macleod has been one of my favourite songwriters for the last 15 years, and this is his finest studio outing to date—not that there’s that much competition, with only one other CD and an EP released in that time frame. The only time I saw him live this year—because, to my knowledge, he didn’t leave his hometown of Kitchener-Waterloo to come play Toronto—was at one of the Rheostatics’ farewell gigs, where he opened the show and helped sub in for an ailing Martin Tielli. That night he said something about the Rheos being our Beatles—but he himself has no shortage of songs that can stand beside either band’s canon. Do whatever you can to hunt this down—not because this man badly needs a break, but because you deserve to hear him.
Nifty – A Sparrow! A Sparrow! (Blocks Recording Club). The album begins with the dramatic opening theme of some B&W 1940s melodrama being sliced up with Matt Schmidt’s plaintive vocals over top, and that’s one of the more predictable moments here amidst the shuffling sub-aquatic techno, Scott Walker-esque bizarro balladry, Asian strings, analog synths, Glenn Kotche/Steve Reich-ian bell compositions, finicky electro funk and all points in between. Thoroughly satisfying.
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune). On the follow-up to his masterpiece underground breakthough Breakupdown, Poirier uses his new Ninja Tune platform to invite even more MCs into his bass-heavy beats borrowed and twisted from club culture around the world, and yet his instrumentals easily stand on their own. DJ/Rupture seems to be missing in action, while MIA still mystifies me herself; Poirier is the go-to guy for beats from the global pillage.
Secret Mommy – Plays (Ache). Lots of sample-based musicians are finding that live musicians are more fun to fuck with (see: Amon Tobin; ignore: Cinematic Orchestra). Vancouver’s Andy Dixon tempers the usual giddiness of his found sound plunderphonics only a tad, and comes up with a wonderfully disorienting glitch-pop album. Interview here.
Tunng – Good Arrows (Thrill Jockey). Between this and the Linda Thompson album, it was a good year for traditional British folk music—though Tunng’s electronic textures, glitchy interludes and bouncy pop songs were more Beta Band than Incredible String Band, and all the better for it. Live review here.
-end-
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
November 07 review round-up
Reviews today from the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury, mainstream daily newspapers where I do a weekly consumer guide review column.
In alphabetical order, we have: Federation, Jay-Z, Kevin Michaels, Ghislain Poirier, Prefuse 73, Seal, Sigur Ros, Spiral Beach, Wintersleep, Neil Young.
Not appearing here, but that ran in the paper are: Band of Horses, Bishop Allen, Buck 65, Duran Duran, the Inhabitants, the Most Serene Republic, Sadies, Shaggy, Siouxie, and Peanut Butter Wolf. Different reviews of Buck 65, Bishop Allen, Duran Duran and Siouxie ran in either Eye Weekly or Magnet; those will be posted here shortly. If you work with any of these artists and need a clipping, let me know.
Federation – It’s Whateva (Reprise/Warner)
Now that Timbaland, the Neptunes and Kanye West are all firmly entrenched in the mainstream—where they walk a fine line between gleeful subversion and tired old tricks for the highest pop bidder—there’s a void waiting to be filled by the next great American hip-hop producer who can take things to the next level. So far the safe money should be on Rick Rock, the architect of San Francisco’s hyphy scene and the puppetmaster behind Federation.
The three MCs here are entirely disposable jokers who are too stupid to be offensive; thankfully, that also means they’re easy to ignore, leaving the listener to instead focus on the fat synths, rubbery bass and ominous beats that signify the hyphy sound. Rock only stumbles when he tries to be commercial, like on the sappy Snoop Dogg track “Happy I Met You”; he does, however, pull off some solid electro soul balladry on “When I Was Your Man” and even some shockingly convincing metal crossover on “Black Roses,” featuring Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker.
Rock is the true star here; as for the Federation themselves—well, whateva. (November 1, 2007)
Jay-Z – American Gangster (Roc-a-fella/Universal)
Now that he’s the richest man in hip-hop—as well as president and CEO of DefJam Records—Jay-Z is nothing if not a shrewd marketer. Linking himself to the streetwise story of Harlem heroin kingpin Frank Lucas is undoubtedly a bid to bolster the gangster persona of this now-respectable mainstream MC. This is not the soundtrack to the new star-studded Lucas biopic of the same title, though Jay-Z claims that each song is based on a scene from the film; snippets of dialogue can be heard throughout.
The story of Lucas—much like most of the less cartoonish aspects of gangsta rap—argues that criminal culture is one of the only options for impoverished African-Americans to buy into the American dream. Whether this is still relevant 50 years after the beginning of desegregation is subject for debate. But in an era when corporate cronyism and outright deception are government policy, the glorification of gangster culture as a metaphor for American life—found everywhere from The Sopranos and The Wire to The Clipse and 50 Cent—is more timely than ever.
In returning to this subject matter, Jay-Z pens some of his more memorable lines in years, particularly when he gets into the “genesis of the nemesis,” recalling his broken home and Brooklyn youth. But he also embodies the nihilism inherent in Bush-era America, where every criminal is quick to absolve himself of responsibility. Everything can be rationalized as being a product of the environment.
For starters, Jay-Z is not ready to be a scapegoat in the ghetto language debates sparked by the Don Imus incident earlier this year. He’s unrepentant for the self-loathing that his language reflects back to his own community—and others, as the Imus confusion pointed out. “I missed that part/ Where it stopped being about Imus/ What do my lyrics got to do with this sh*t?” he asks, like an innocent bystander, not the cultural icon he is. “Are you saying what I’m spittin’/ is worse than these celebutantes showing they kitten? You kiddin’… / Let’s stop the bullsh*tting/ ‘til we all without sin/ let’s quit the pulpit-ing.”
Right—so unless everyone is without sin, we all might as well go on sinning. It’s a thought echoed by MC David Banner, who has openly attacked America’s black leadership—especially Al Sharpton—for not solving every problem that faces black youth today, essentially arguing that the persistence of racism in America is the fault of the previous generation. Banner wrote in a statement: “This life we are continuing to live was handed to us by the people before us who didn’t do much to clean it up.” Ghetto life is what it is—it’s not the kids’ fault. Blame it on the parents.
Jay-Z takes this and runs with it: “We ain’t thugs for the sake of being thugs/ nobody do that where we grew up, nigga, duh… / You ain’t gimme forty acres and a mule/ so I got my Glock 40, now I’m cool/ And if Al Sharpton is speakin’ for me/ somebody get him the word/ and tell him I remove the curses/ if he can tell me our schools gon’ be perfect/ When Jena Six don’t exist/ tell him that’s when I’ll stop sayin’ ‘bitch.’”
When trying to tie in his own story with that of Lucas, Jay-Z backfires a bit when he goes on an anti-snitching screed on “No Hook”; after all, Lucas only served 12 years of his 70-year sentence—many believe it’s because Lucas himself started talking to police. Just like any gangster, Jay-Z doesn’t have any trouble stretching the truth to his own ends. (November 8, 2007)
Kevin Michaels – s/t (Downtown/Warner)
This might sound familiar: a cocksure Italian/African-American who plays a mean guitar and wants to mix up his rock and R&B with a spine-tingling falsetto. For young Philadelphia singer Kevin Michael, the comparisons with Prince stop there: instead of being a one-man show, he employs a small army of co-writers and collaborators, and much of this debut album doesn’t rise above pedestrian songs along the lines of “Liquid Lava Love” and “Hood Buzzin’,” despite guests such as Q-Tip and Lupe Fiasco. Michaels’ lyrics are at times downright embarrassing: “Rent is racked up and my toilet is backed up/ Damn, wish I could flush the drama away.”
Yet he does show plenty of promise, mainly because of his elastic voice, which shows all of the range of his labelmate Cee-Lo of Gnarls Barkley. And he also boasts two great singles, “We All Want the Same Thing” and “It Don’t Make Any Difference To Me”; each of them appears here twice, once in highly produced pop version with a guest MC, and then again as a low-key acoustic number. It’s too bad all his talent goes into those two songs. Next time out we’ll be expecting a lot more. (November 1, 2007)
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune/Outside)
The term “urban music” has always been a bizarre, unnecessary code word for hip-hop and R&B. Other than the weird racial politics behind this, it’s a waste of a perfectly good descriptor. Montreal’s Ghislain Poirier makes music that speaks directly to the multicultural urban experience, where harsh electronics punctuate the daily rhythm, where speaker-rattling bass is the one sound that unites all. Poirier’s vision of urban paradise is where Brazilian baile funk meets UK “grime” hip-hop meets Jamaican dancehall with Arabic and East Asian melodies on top.
Poirier has never had a problem concocting compelling instrumental narratives, but as a safeguard here he lines up a wealth of obscure MCs to toast on top, including Toronto’s nerdcore Abdominal, Quebec’s joual jokers Omnikrom and Chicago dancehall king Zulu.
No Ground Under is his first release on a reputable international label—a chance for him to give back to the globalized beats he borrows. Soon enough, however, the world will be borrowing from him. (November 15, 2007)
Prefuse 73 – Preparations (Warp/Fusion 3)
In his work as Prefuse 73, Guillermo Scott Herren always came across like an ADD kid who took meticulous delight in splicing up hip-hop and jazz samples, re-arranging them into itchy and glitchy compositions that gave you the jitters. In his considerably more pastoral alterego of Savath + Savalas, Herren makes ambient Spanish folk music that fades into the background all too easily.
On Preparations, however, Herren happily marries the lush arrangements of his other project onto the sliced and diced beats that are the trademark of Prefuse 73. This results in a captivating tension, where beauty proves eternally elusive as Herren continually pulls a bait-and-swith with the rhythm, yanking the carpet out from underneath. It’s no coincidence that tracks are given titles like “Aborted Hug” and “Spaced + Dissonant.” There are times when it sounds like someone turning a radio dial in rhythm—is that necessarily a bad thing?
While his earlier recordings were certainly innovative, this is the first time Herren sounds like he’s finding his own voice as a composer.
And as a bonus to fans, instead of recycling the leftovers into separately sold EPs—as he usually does—they’re included here on a bonus disc devoid of any beats at all, which is a lovely, light dessert after such a dense main course. (November 15, 2007)
Seal – System (Warner)
This suave Grammy magnet clings to the 90s formula that made him a global superstar: Euro pop with techno underpinnings elevated by the occasional folk flourish and Seal’s soulful voice, which promises assurance and salvation in a cold, heartless world. You can’t argue with his System, which even at its most maudlin still stands tall over anything else you’re going to hear in the drugstore aisles. Celebrity watchers will delight in the “Wedding Day” duet with his supermodel wife Heidi Klum, but nothing here tops the opening track, “If It’s In My Mind It’s On My Face,” where the eternally glum and scarfaced singer takes the weight of the world off Bono’s back and carries it himself. It’s overwrought and heavy-handed and has the cheap disco pulse of a World Cup anthem, but only a singer of Seal’s depth could begin to pull it off. (November 22, 2007)
Sigur Ros – Hvarf/Heim (XL)
Icelandic band Sigur Ros never do things normally—like sing in a language they didn’t make up themselves, for starters. Chock it up to their contrarian nature that these two EPs are not the soundtrack to their new concert film, which bears the similar title Heima. The movie was shot during their first-ever full tour of Iceland, where every show was free: from a crowd of 25,000 in Reykjavik to small community halls in remote outposts. During that tour, Sigur Ros played acoustically for the first time ever, which led to the decision to release an EP of that material, accompanied by an electric EP of b-sides and re-recordings of early material.
While the film sounds fascinating, the not-quite-a-soundtrack isn’t exactly essential for anyone but hardcore fans. Sigur Ros music is already sparse, haunting and gorgeous—playing it acoustically doesn’t prove to be revelatory. Likewise, the b-sides—which date from 1995 to 2002—slipped through the quality filter of their full-length albums for a reason; some of this is the most heavy-handed material the normally delicate band has ever made. Save your money for a movie ticket. (November 22, 2007)
Spiral Beach – Ball (Sparks Music)
As we all know, graduating from adolescence is daunting and scary. Toronto’s Spiral Beach hadn’t finished high school when they recorded the exuberant pop of their first album; now that they’re a bit older, the world isn’t as colourful and joyous as it first appeared. The carefree, almost cartoonish nature of early material is replaced with ghosts, black eyes and beasts; the sci-fi vibe remains, and each member’s instrumental prowess gives even the weaker material inventive twists. Despite their talent, Ball falls short of their considerable potential. No worries, though—there’s lots of time. (November 15, 2007)
Wintersleep – Welcome to the Night Sky (Labwork/Sonic Unyon)
Are the 90s over yet? Wintersleep don’t seem to think so. Thankfully, the Halifax quintet have moved on from being moodier Pearl Jam disciples and have started to mine Radiohead’s The Bends—while vocalist Paul Murphy is bearing a remarkable resemblance to Adam Duritz of Counting Crows, with shades of Peter Gabriel on the slightly Celtic alt-rock of “Weighty Ghost.” Thankfully, Wintersleep are more melodic than other crass imitators, and the rhythm section of Loel Campbell and Mike Bigelow—both can often be found moonlighting in Holy Fuck—are several steps above many of their peers. There’s a great band in here somewhere with a voice of its own, though that’s still at least one album away. (November 8, 2007)
Neil Young – Chrome Dreams II (Warner)
It’s hard to believe that someone as prolific as Neil Young still has hours of unreleased material in his vaults—especially considering the dubious quality of many of his official releases. This album is somewhere in between.
Though it features mostly new material—much of which is instantly forgettable—the title is a nod to a 1977 album that Young recorded and scrapped, releasing some salvaged tracks (“Like a Hurricane” and “Pocahontas” among them) on other albums. Don’t bother looking for any kind of thematic thread, however—the title is merely a red herring for geeky fans.
The single reason most of his disciples are excited about this is the presence of “Ordinary People,” a song that dates back to 1988. It’s notable only because it led Young out of the wilderness of much of his 80s output, acting as a bridge into the career renaissance that was 1989’s Freedom.
The 18-minute song is a by-the-numbers portrait of a crumbling consumerist American dream, but Young’s scorching guitar solos—there’s one after each of the nine verses—speak more about paranoia, collapse and frustration than anything he expresses in the actual lyrics. They also explain why he would shortly embark on a mutual love affair with Sonic Youth and the grunge generation.
But even this song is a mixed success: the structure is monotonous, the groove is plodding, and the horn section is a wasteful distraction. No wonder he kept it in the vaults; there are several similar tracks on Freedom—both lyrically and musically—that are far superior.
You have to be a major Neil Young geek to appreciate Chrome Dreams II. Anyone else with the strange urge to buy a new Neil Young album should stick with the 1971 Massey Hall concert released earlier this year. (November 1, 2007)
In alphabetical order, we have: Federation, Jay-Z, Kevin Michaels, Ghislain Poirier, Prefuse 73, Seal, Sigur Ros, Spiral Beach, Wintersleep, Neil Young.
Not appearing here, but that ran in the paper are: Band of Horses, Bishop Allen, Buck 65, Duran Duran, the Inhabitants, the Most Serene Republic, Sadies, Shaggy, Siouxie, and Peanut Butter Wolf. Different reviews of Buck 65, Bishop Allen, Duran Duran and Siouxie ran in either Eye Weekly or Magnet; those will be posted here shortly. If you work with any of these artists and need a clipping, let me know.
Federation – It’s Whateva (Reprise/Warner)
Now that Timbaland, the Neptunes and Kanye West are all firmly entrenched in the mainstream—where they walk a fine line between gleeful subversion and tired old tricks for the highest pop bidder—there’s a void waiting to be filled by the next great American hip-hop producer who can take things to the next level. So far the safe money should be on Rick Rock, the architect of San Francisco’s hyphy scene and the puppetmaster behind Federation.
The three MCs here are entirely disposable jokers who are too stupid to be offensive; thankfully, that also means they’re easy to ignore, leaving the listener to instead focus on the fat synths, rubbery bass and ominous beats that signify the hyphy sound. Rock only stumbles when he tries to be commercial, like on the sappy Snoop Dogg track “Happy I Met You”; he does, however, pull off some solid electro soul balladry on “When I Was Your Man” and even some shockingly convincing metal crossover on “Black Roses,” featuring Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker.
Rock is the true star here; as for the Federation themselves—well, whateva. (November 1, 2007)
Jay-Z – American Gangster (Roc-a-fella/Universal)
Now that he’s the richest man in hip-hop—as well as president and CEO of DefJam Records—Jay-Z is nothing if not a shrewd marketer. Linking himself to the streetwise story of Harlem heroin kingpin Frank Lucas is undoubtedly a bid to bolster the gangster persona of this now-respectable mainstream MC. This is not the soundtrack to the new star-studded Lucas biopic of the same title, though Jay-Z claims that each song is based on a scene from the film; snippets of dialogue can be heard throughout.
The story of Lucas—much like most of the less cartoonish aspects of gangsta rap—argues that criminal culture is one of the only options for impoverished African-Americans to buy into the American dream. Whether this is still relevant 50 years after the beginning of desegregation is subject for debate. But in an era when corporate cronyism and outright deception are government policy, the glorification of gangster culture as a metaphor for American life—found everywhere from The Sopranos and The Wire to The Clipse and 50 Cent—is more timely than ever.
In returning to this subject matter, Jay-Z pens some of his more memorable lines in years, particularly when he gets into the “genesis of the nemesis,” recalling his broken home and Brooklyn youth. But he also embodies the nihilism inherent in Bush-era America, where every criminal is quick to absolve himself of responsibility. Everything can be rationalized as being a product of the environment.
For starters, Jay-Z is not ready to be a scapegoat in the ghetto language debates sparked by the Don Imus incident earlier this year. He’s unrepentant for the self-loathing that his language reflects back to his own community—and others, as the Imus confusion pointed out. “I missed that part/ Where it stopped being about Imus/ What do my lyrics got to do with this sh*t?” he asks, like an innocent bystander, not the cultural icon he is. “Are you saying what I’m spittin’/ is worse than these celebutantes showing they kitten? You kiddin’… / Let’s stop the bullsh*tting/ ‘til we all without sin/ let’s quit the pulpit-ing.”
Right—so unless everyone is without sin, we all might as well go on sinning. It’s a thought echoed by MC David Banner, who has openly attacked America’s black leadership—especially Al Sharpton—for not solving every problem that faces black youth today, essentially arguing that the persistence of racism in America is the fault of the previous generation. Banner wrote in a statement: “This life we are continuing to live was handed to us by the people before us who didn’t do much to clean it up.” Ghetto life is what it is—it’s not the kids’ fault. Blame it on the parents.
Jay-Z takes this and runs with it: “We ain’t thugs for the sake of being thugs/ nobody do that where we grew up, nigga, duh… / You ain’t gimme forty acres and a mule/ so I got my Glock 40, now I’m cool/ And if Al Sharpton is speakin’ for me/ somebody get him the word/ and tell him I remove the curses/ if he can tell me our schools gon’ be perfect/ When Jena Six don’t exist/ tell him that’s when I’ll stop sayin’ ‘bitch.’”
When trying to tie in his own story with that of Lucas, Jay-Z backfires a bit when he goes on an anti-snitching screed on “No Hook”; after all, Lucas only served 12 years of his 70-year sentence—many believe it’s because Lucas himself started talking to police. Just like any gangster, Jay-Z doesn’t have any trouble stretching the truth to his own ends. (November 8, 2007)
Kevin Michaels – s/t (Downtown/Warner)
This might sound familiar: a cocksure Italian/African-American who plays a mean guitar and wants to mix up his rock and R&B with a spine-tingling falsetto. For young Philadelphia singer Kevin Michael, the comparisons with Prince stop there: instead of being a one-man show, he employs a small army of co-writers and collaborators, and much of this debut album doesn’t rise above pedestrian songs along the lines of “Liquid Lava Love” and “Hood Buzzin’,” despite guests such as Q-Tip and Lupe Fiasco. Michaels’ lyrics are at times downright embarrassing: “Rent is racked up and my toilet is backed up/ Damn, wish I could flush the drama away.”
Yet he does show plenty of promise, mainly because of his elastic voice, which shows all of the range of his labelmate Cee-Lo of Gnarls Barkley. And he also boasts two great singles, “We All Want the Same Thing” and “It Don’t Make Any Difference To Me”; each of them appears here twice, once in highly produced pop version with a guest MC, and then again as a low-key acoustic number. It’s too bad all his talent goes into those two songs. Next time out we’ll be expecting a lot more. (November 1, 2007)
Ghislain Poirier – No Ground Under (Ninja Tune/Outside)
The term “urban music” has always been a bizarre, unnecessary code word for hip-hop and R&B. Other than the weird racial politics behind this, it’s a waste of a perfectly good descriptor. Montreal’s Ghislain Poirier makes music that speaks directly to the multicultural urban experience, where harsh electronics punctuate the daily rhythm, where speaker-rattling bass is the one sound that unites all. Poirier’s vision of urban paradise is where Brazilian baile funk meets UK “grime” hip-hop meets Jamaican dancehall with Arabic and East Asian melodies on top.
Poirier has never had a problem concocting compelling instrumental narratives, but as a safeguard here he lines up a wealth of obscure MCs to toast on top, including Toronto’s nerdcore Abdominal, Quebec’s joual jokers Omnikrom and Chicago dancehall king Zulu.
No Ground Under is his first release on a reputable international label—a chance for him to give back to the globalized beats he borrows. Soon enough, however, the world will be borrowing from him. (November 15, 2007)
Prefuse 73 – Preparations (Warp/Fusion 3)
In his work as Prefuse 73, Guillermo Scott Herren always came across like an ADD kid who took meticulous delight in splicing up hip-hop and jazz samples, re-arranging them into itchy and glitchy compositions that gave you the jitters. In his considerably more pastoral alterego of Savath + Savalas, Herren makes ambient Spanish folk music that fades into the background all too easily.
On Preparations, however, Herren happily marries the lush arrangements of his other project onto the sliced and diced beats that are the trademark of Prefuse 73. This results in a captivating tension, where beauty proves eternally elusive as Herren continually pulls a bait-and-swith with the rhythm, yanking the carpet out from underneath. It’s no coincidence that tracks are given titles like “Aborted Hug” and “Spaced + Dissonant.” There are times when it sounds like someone turning a radio dial in rhythm—is that necessarily a bad thing?
While his earlier recordings were certainly innovative, this is the first time Herren sounds like he’s finding his own voice as a composer.
And as a bonus to fans, instead of recycling the leftovers into separately sold EPs—as he usually does—they’re included here on a bonus disc devoid of any beats at all, which is a lovely, light dessert after such a dense main course. (November 15, 2007)
Seal – System (Warner)
This suave Grammy magnet clings to the 90s formula that made him a global superstar: Euro pop with techno underpinnings elevated by the occasional folk flourish and Seal’s soulful voice, which promises assurance and salvation in a cold, heartless world. You can’t argue with his System, which even at its most maudlin still stands tall over anything else you’re going to hear in the drugstore aisles. Celebrity watchers will delight in the “Wedding Day” duet with his supermodel wife Heidi Klum, but nothing here tops the opening track, “If It’s In My Mind It’s On My Face,” where the eternally glum and scarfaced singer takes the weight of the world off Bono’s back and carries it himself. It’s overwrought and heavy-handed and has the cheap disco pulse of a World Cup anthem, but only a singer of Seal’s depth could begin to pull it off. (November 22, 2007)
Sigur Ros – Hvarf/Heim (XL)
Icelandic band Sigur Ros never do things normally—like sing in a language they didn’t make up themselves, for starters. Chock it up to their contrarian nature that these two EPs are not the soundtrack to their new concert film, which bears the similar title Heima. The movie was shot during their first-ever full tour of Iceland, where every show was free: from a crowd of 25,000 in Reykjavik to small community halls in remote outposts. During that tour, Sigur Ros played acoustically for the first time ever, which led to the decision to release an EP of that material, accompanied by an electric EP of b-sides and re-recordings of early material.
While the film sounds fascinating, the not-quite-a-soundtrack isn’t exactly essential for anyone but hardcore fans. Sigur Ros music is already sparse, haunting and gorgeous—playing it acoustically doesn’t prove to be revelatory. Likewise, the b-sides—which date from 1995 to 2002—slipped through the quality filter of their full-length albums for a reason; some of this is the most heavy-handed material the normally delicate band has ever made. Save your money for a movie ticket. (November 22, 2007)
Spiral Beach – Ball (Sparks Music)
As we all know, graduating from adolescence is daunting and scary. Toronto’s Spiral Beach hadn’t finished high school when they recorded the exuberant pop of their first album; now that they’re a bit older, the world isn’t as colourful and joyous as it first appeared. The carefree, almost cartoonish nature of early material is replaced with ghosts, black eyes and beasts; the sci-fi vibe remains, and each member’s instrumental prowess gives even the weaker material inventive twists. Despite their talent, Ball falls short of their considerable potential. No worries, though—there’s lots of time. (November 15, 2007)
Wintersleep – Welcome to the Night Sky (Labwork/Sonic Unyon)
Are the 90s over yet? Wintersleep don’t seem to think so. Thankfully, the Halifax quintet have moved on from being moodier Pearl Jam disciples and have started to mine Radiohead’s The Bends—while vocalist Paul Murphy is bearing a remarkable resemblance to Adam Duritz of Counting Crows, with shades of Peter Gabriel on the slightly Celtic alt-rock of “Weighty Ghost.” Thankfully, Wintersleep are more melodic than other crass imitators, and the rhythm section of Loel Campbell and Mike Bigelow—both can often be found moonlighting in Holy Fuck—are several steps above many of their peers. There’s a great band in here somewhere with a voice of its own, though that’s still at least one album away. (November 8, 2007)
Neil Young – Chrome Dreams II (Warner)
It’s hard to believe that someone as prolific as Neil Young still has hours of unreleased material in his vaults—especially considering the dubious quality of many of his official releases. This album is somewhere in between.
Though it features mostly new material—much of which is instantly forgettable—the title is a nod to a 1977 album that Young recorded and scrapped, releasing some salvaged tracks (“Like a Hurricane” and “Pocahontas” among them) on other albums. Don’t bother looking for any kind of thematic thread, however—the title is merely a red herring for geeky fans.
The single reason most of his disciples are excited about this is the presence of “Ordinary People,” a song that dates back to 1988. It’s notable only because it led Young out of the wilderness of much of his 80s output, acting as a bridge into the career renaissance that was 1989’s Freedom.
The 18-minute song is a by-the-numbers portrait of a crumbling consumerist American dream, but Young’s scorching guitar solos—there’s one after each of the nine verses—speak more about paranoia, collapse and frustration than anything he expresses in the actual lyrics. They also explain why he would shortly embark on a mutual love affair with Sonic Youth and the grunge generation.
But even this song is a mixed success: the structure is monotonous, the groove is plodding, and the horn section is a wasteful distraction. No wonder he kept it in the vaults; there are several similar tracks on Freedom—both lyrically and musically—that are far superior.
You have to be a major Neil Young geek to appreciate Chrome Dreams II. Anyone else with the strange urge to buy a new Neil Young album should stick with the 1971 Massey Hall concert released earlier this year. (November 1, 2007)
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