The 12th Polaris Music Prize gala is being held on Sept. 18, at the Carlu in Toronto, where 11 jurors locked in a room will decide which one of 10 shortlisted artists will get $50,000. All other nominees receive $3,000.
Every day this week I’ll look at two of the shortlisted albums, assess their chances, and celebrate two albums that didn’t make the shortlist—or, in some cases, even the long list.
On day one I discussed A Tribe Called Red, BadBadNotGood, and should've beens Phillipe B and Japandroids.
Onwards:
Leonard Cohen – You Want It Darker (Columbia)
Gord Downie – Secret Path (Arts and Crafts)
Oddly enough, both these records came out the
same week. I reviewed them together on Oct. 27. This is that review.
Happy Hallowe’en! Feliz Dia de los Muertos! Two of Canada’s
greatest poets would like to talk to you about death.
One is 82 years old: his body is failing him and he’s made a
meditation on mortality that’s easily one of the finest records he’s ever made.
[ed: he died a month after the album came out.] The other is 52 with a
diagnosis of terminal brain cancer: he’s processing his own death by atoning
for the death of another, a 12-year-old boy who died trying to escape abuse at
a government-sanctioned institution.
Cohen’s record is a revelation. He’s been this dark before, he’s
made records this sparse before, his wry wit has always been in evidence. Here,
however, every moment here carries great
weight, lyrically and sonically. It’s as slick as anything he’s done in the
last 35 years, but with largely acoustic instruments in place of synths.
Great credit must go to Cohen’s son, Adam, who sat in the
producer’s chair. Adam has (justifiably) taken a lot of flak for his own
records, but it turns out he’s an excellent producer, judiciously employing only
the most appropriate window dressing for the skeletons of blues and country
songs his father wrote this time out. There’s the rumbling bass and choir of
Jewish cantors on the devastating title track; the twangy, Twin-Peaks-ish guitar on “Leaving the Table”; the familiar sound of
female backing singers on “Traveling Light” (one of only two tracks where that
classic Cohenesque embellishment appears); the weeping violins.
Both of Cohen’s recent comeback records—2012’s Old Ideas, 2014’s Popular Problems—have proven him to be as powerful as he is
prolific in his third act, but this one is on a whole other plain. He claims
he’s still writing and has more music he wants to finish. As insatiable as
Cohen fans are, one can’t help but secretly—and, morbidly—hope that this is his
final will and testament. [ed: it was]
[My Leonard Cohen obit in Maclean's is here.]
Gord Downie told the Globe and Mail last weekend, “If Secret
Path is the last thing I ever do, I’ll be happy.”
He’s already succeeded on one level: he’s taken a long-forgotten
tragic tale, that of a 12-year-old boy, Chanie Wenjack, who died of exposure,
beside train tracks, trying to walk 600 km home from a residential school. That
was exactly 50 years ago; a Maclean’s
story was written about the case after an inquest took place—an inquest
whose recommendations, of course, went unheeded. Unless you’ve had a media
blackout, you probably already know that this album comes
with a graphic novel by Jeff Lemire (Essex County) and an animated film aired
on CBC-TV. There are several other Wenjack projects out there as well,
including a Joseph Boyden novella; Boyden also talks about the case on the new
Tribe Called Red album.
There’s a lot to unpack here: but what about the music? The
production by Broken Social Scene’s Kevin Drew and the Stills’ Dave Hamelin is
crisp and sparse, in ways that sound like nothing else Downie has ever
recorded. The result is that his voice sounds fantastic; it’s unclear if he’s
become a better singer, or if he’s just never allowed us to hear him like this,
not even during the most fragile moments of his discography both in and outside
the Tragically Hip, not even 2001’s Coke Machine Glow. [ed note: I’m a complete
idiot. Downie had upped his singing game as far back as 2006’s World Container.]
Drew and Hamelin know how to create vast soundscapes with minimal
instrumentation, the right synths and plenty of reverb, evoking the appropriate
sense of isolation and empathy necessary for the subject matter.
The lyrics are curious. Gord Downie never does anything
directly; hell, even that song about Bill Barilko is narrated by some young
punk feigning experience, a trait that’s personified in his makeshift, faux
fifty-mission cap. Secret Path does
not tell the story of Chanie Wenjack, at least not a narrative recognizable to
anyone who read the Maclean’s story
that inspired the album. Instead, it draws some elements of Wenjack’s
story—like the fact he set out on the final leg of his journey with only seven
matches in a jar and a windbreaker to provide him warmth—and extrapolates from
there. If you heard any track here out of context, you’d be hard pressed to
link it to Wenjack or, in fact, anything remotely related to issues illuminated
by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The good news: it’s not a preachy
record, not in the least. The bad news: it’s unclear how effective it is as a
teaching tool, which was the intention of Downie and his brother Mike, a
filmmaker.
But because this is Gord Downie in 2016, immediately following
one of the landmark cultural events of this generation, he has our ears. And
he’s using the moment to not necessarily tell the story, but to draw our
attention to a story mainstream Canada has not wanted to tell.
Later thoughts:
We’re now almost a year removed from the emotional weight that
accompanied these records’ release. We’ve lost Leonard, which was not a shock
to anyone, and yet the outpouring of grief was enormous, just as it was for
David Bowie and Prince the same calendar year. That he went out on such a high
note is a glorious epitaph; this record didn’t rack up Junos and a spot on this
shortlist out of sympathy—it’s a stunning work that stands with his very best.
While we mourn Cohen, there’s also the relief that Downie is
still with us to see his message taken to heart, to receive an Order of Canada,
to see this album get shortlisted for Polaris—something no other Tragically Hip
record or Downie solo project has done. Most important, he’s been able to see
his primary goal achieved, to see Secret Path being used in schools to educate
children about a part of Canadian history that we’ve all been happy to ignore
for a century, either willfully or out of genuine ignorance. Despite my own
doubts about the directness of the lyrics, the context is everything: no one
stumbles upon this record not knowing what it is. Maybe no one will ever put
this on as background music, but children’s choirs are singing these songs. The
art will endure. The message will resonate further than anything else Downie
has ever written. Mission accomplished.
If cynics need further evidence, watch this short doc.
The chances:
You Want
It Darker won a Juno, as well it should have. But Polaris? Not likely. Buffy
Sainte-Marie notwithstanding, Polaris usually skews young, and is unlikely to
give the equivalent of a posthumous lifetime achievement award, even to one of
the greatest songwriters ever born on this soil. Naturally, the Cohen record is
musically conservative. The guy was 82. Comparing it to Weaves or Lido Pimienta
is, frankly, ridiculous—but that’s inherent in the Polaris mandate to break
down all genre divisions. This is an album prize, plain and simple—and this is
as cohesive a collection of songs as you’ll ever find, by a master of the form.
By that measure, it deserves to win. It’s a great record; I voted for it and
I’m glad it’s on the shortlist. But I don’t think it should win the Polaris.
Likewise
with Downie. His record is nowhere near as strong as Cohen’s—few are. Again,
even comparing these two poets is ridiculous, exposing the fallacies of all
awards anywhere, anytime. Their presence on this shortlist must be humbling to
everyone else on it. But, to paraphrase Downie’s vision of this country, Polaris
should be the prize of the next 150 years, not the Canada of the past. And in a
year fraught with discussion of cultural appropriation, it would be downright
weird to weigh Secret Path over Halluci Nation. If for some reason Secret Path
wins, you can be sure that Downie is going to turn around and give it directly
to A Tribe Called Red. Coz he’s a helluva guy.
No
matter what happens, I’m really looking forward to the winner’s speech this
year.
The could’ve, should’ve beens:
Loscil – Monument
Builders (Kranky)
The album: (reviewed Dec. 1, 2016)
Why Vancouver composer Scott Morgan, a.k.a. Loscil,
has not been tapped for any Oscar-bait assignments is anyone’s guess. (He has,
however, scored the 2006 Genie winner for Best Documentary: Scared Sacred.)
He’s been creating fascinating minimalist ambient music for more than a decade,
and his 11th album could well become a calling card. Inspired
directly by Philip Glass’s stunning score for the 1982 film Koyaanisqatsi,
as well as the photographs of devastated landscapes by Edward Burtynsky,
Monument Builders is sparse, expansive and evocative. French horns and
percussion permeate the occasionally pulsing synths and layered atmospherics;
melodies and movements are glacial yet hardly obscured.
In these past few months, if not the past year, we’ve
all had plenty of reasons to shut off the noise of the world and mourn the
losses that pile up seemingly every week. In addition to everything else 2016
has handed us, between this record, Johan Johansson’s Arrival soundtrack and
Colin Stetson’s reimagining of Gorecki’s “Sorrow” symphony, it’s also given us
an antidote.
Later thoughts: There are few ambient albums I go back and
play somewhat regularly; this is one of them. Tense and meditative at the same
time, Loscil’s music never fades into the background.
Why it didn’t even make the long list: Ambient music doesn’t make it on Polaris
lists, even if it shares qualities with longtime favourites Godspeed You Black
Emperor or Tim Hecker (oddly, Hecker’s latest didn’t make the cut last year;
previous Polaris winners Godspeed has requested that nothing they do be
considered for Polaris ever again). There have been experimental records shortlisted before, but nothing as minimal as this tends to cut through in the age of distraction.
Tami Neilson – Don’t Be Afraid (Outside)
The
album: (reviewed Sept. 22, 2016)
This Canadian is a star in her adopted nation of New
Zealand, where she’s racked up plenty of country music awards and songwriting
accolades. Don’t Be Afraid is only her second album to be released in her
motherland, and we’d be fools to ignore this powerhouse voice any longer—a
voice that could front an amplified band without the use of a microphone.
Her last album, Dynamite!, was cut from the Patsy
Cline mould, very much rooted in country music from the late ’50s, early ’60s.
This time out the vibe is still decidedly old school, but Neilson gets bluesier
and bolder, touching on torch songs and rockabilly and soul. Informed by the
death of her beloved father—with whom she was in a family band when she was a
kid—Don’t Be Afraid is considerably darker in tone, which gives her vocals even
more of a chance to dig in deep. On the title track, she goes for full-out
gospel-style projection over a slow blues, sounding more like Aretha Franklin
that one would ever expect from this country belter.
Later thoughts: Neilson is one of the most exhilarating
vocalists I’ve ever seen in my life—and I’m not saying that just to be
hyperbolic. But credit should also go to her ace band, including brother Jay on guitar—one of the few people who can conjure the ghost of the late Pops
Staples.
Why it didn’t even make the long list: I missed Neilson’s last show in Toronto, but
my lady and a friend went—and were apparently the youngest people in the
audience by about 20 years. Hip baby boomers have got her number, but I’m not
sure anyone under 35 gives a shit about roots music at all anymore, especially
artists with such old-school chops as Neilson and her band. Okay, gramps out.
Tomorrow:
Feist, Lisa LeBlanc
