The following reviews ran in the K-W Record and Guelph Mercury.
Air – Love 2 (EMI)
Love 2 is not actually a sequel to anything, but it’s certainly the strongest album by French band Air since their 1998 classic Moon Safari, which almost single-handedly ushered in a new era of Moog synthesizers playing a parade of planetarium pop and easy-listening sci-fi lounge music. They’ve found some muscle and backbone, making this a rare Air album that actually makes you want to get off the couch. The album opens with fuzzy, distorted guitar playing a serpentine riff, and from their Air moves through spy movie soundtracks, reggae rhythms, sunbaked latter-day Sly Stone soul music, bossa nova, and psychedelic pop, all filtered through a French sensibility that makes everything that much more lush and lascivious. A breath of fresh Air, indeed. (Oct. 15)
Michael Bublé – Crazy Love (Warner)
I don’t remember "Cry Me A River" sounding like a James Bond theme, but that’s what Michael Bublé does to it here to open his new album—and it totally works. As he gets older, Bublé is getting better at being an interpreter rather than just singing old songs in a new suit; it doesn’t take much to pull off a widely covered standard like "All of Me," but it does take serious cojones to pull off "Georgia on My Mind" and battle the ghost of Ray Charles. His jokey side is still present, of course: a big band arrangement of the Eagles’ "Heartache Tonight" is nothing if not campy.
Bublé would also like to be known as a songwriter; he only ever offers a couple per album, but they have been his biggest hits ("Home," "Everything"). That’s unlikely to happen here; neither "All I Do Is Dream of You" nor "Hold On" hold a candle to his earlier hits—and juxtaposed next to some of the strongest songs of the last century, they sound even weaker.
What’s most revealing is to hear Bublé and producer Bob Rock visit the eight-track studio of Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings in Brooklyn; there, they leave the album’s co-producer David Foster home in Vancouver and let their hair down with some gritty Southern soul. Bublé and Jones sing a playful duet on "Baby You’ve Got What It Takes," and for three short minutes, we hear what it would sound like if Bublé were to follow in Amy Winehouse’s musical footsteps. (Oct. 22)
Champion – Resistance (Saboteur/Maple)
DJ Champion struck gold with his 2005 single “No Heaven,” driven by a soaring vocal from Betty Bonifassi (Beast) and grinding bluesy guitars over a techno beat. He returns with a male vocalist replacing Bonifassi, less intense beats, and plenty of guitars that owe as much of a debt to metal as they do blues—all of which often ends up sounding like late-’80s period ZZ Top (remember "Sleeping Bag"?) with a gothier edge.
Singer Pierre-Philippe Côté tackles most of the lead vocals, and he doesn’t have half the personality of Bonifassi; though it’s not entirely his fault that every song here with vocals is incredibly annoying. No matter who’s singing it’s impossible to spin a gold chorus out of the lyrics: “I like it so much! Yes, I like it so much!”
Champion may have made his mark with a huge anthem, but he’s much more successful with the moodier, instrumental pieces here ("Plastiques et Metaux," "L6"), which could give Moby a run for his money. (Oct. 1)
The Clientele – Bonfires on the Heath (Merge)
How much you like The Clientele depends entirely on how much you can stand wispy British men singing autumnal odes over languid dream-pop with sparkling guitars, tinkly keyboards, brushed drums, and a melodic bass player who ties it all together. If that works for you, then Bonfires on the Heath will sweep the clouds away from your rainiest days.
Most of the references here date back to ’60s British folk-pop; at times it sounds like Nick Drake fronting The Velvet Underground; there are shades of the Zombies and hints of Pink Floyd (especially the Dark Side-ish pedal steel on the title track). The sunny optimism of their game-changing 2006 album God Save the Clientele surfaces only on a couple of tracks; here, they’re back to being their mopey selves, only now they sound a lot more muscular doing it, and relatively recent fourth member Mel Draisey fleshes out the arrangements beautifully with violin and a variety of keyboards.
Singer/guitarist Alisdair MacLean has threatened that this will be The Clientele’s final album. And after the excellence of both this and the previous album, he might just be spinning his wheels from now on anyway—it’s hard to imagine The Clientele capturing their essence any better than this. (Oct. 8)
Hugh Dillon – Works Well With Others (Warner)
One of the most tired clichés of criticism is complaining about actors who embark on a new career as a musician—as if artists are somehow supposed to be locked into one discipline for the rest of their lives. Hugh Dillon started out as a rock’n’roll frontman, slowly built a respectable acting career that now finds him with two leading roles on acclaimed TV series, Flashpoint and Durham County. He now returns with a solo album that is much more sombre and reflective than his days fronting the Headstones in the ’90s.
Dillon always had an eye for lyrical detail, even if it was all too often wrapped up in his own taste for self-mythologizing rock’n’roll. Now that he’s escaped most of the demons that accompanied his days of excess, he’s taking stock of life and translating the personal into the universal. “I’ve not the strength to fade away,” he sings—these are obviously tales he felt he had to tell, and there’s no questioning his conviction on tracks like "Friends of Mine," "Well on Your Way" and "Lucky."
He doesn’t surrender to rock’n’roll abandon often—Reel to Reel being the rollicking exception—and he’s more likely to slip into a Leonard Cohen croon on these largely mid-tempo pop songs, produced by longtime friend Paul Langlois of The Tragically Hip. It all suits his voice-of-authority persona well—he may have mellowed, but still sounds like a man you don’t want to mess with. (Oct. 29)
The Flaming Lips – Embryonic (Warner)
Less bubblegum, more brown acid.
The Flaming Lips have never been anyone’s idea of normality, but this is easily the freakiest and flipped out they’ve been in more than 15 years. And back then they were grungy novices still recovering from their first acid trip: now they’re serious about it, and capable of concocting chilling soundscapes, truly psychedelic sensory overload, and ways to melt your mind that music alone shouldn’t be able to do.
Gone are the sunny, uplifting pop songs that buoyed their fantastical live show of the past 10 years, and made fans out of everyone from Beck to Justin Timberlake—and scored the occasional TV ad. Now they’re diving deep into the heaviest Black Sabbath grooves, the trippiest side of early Pink Floyd, and the wide-open experimentation of Germany’s Can. And yet the melodic sense they honed on recent albums still lurks in the background, which means more recent converts have some kind of road map for this strange journey.
Even the biggest Lips fans had their patience tested by the patently ridiculous and long-delayed film Christmas on Mars, which was finally released last year to a collective shrug after nearly a decade of anticipation. Yet if anything good came of that, it was the eerie and sparse sci-fi soundtrack; Embryonic takes all the lessons learned there and reins them into to only a somewhat more conventional rock band format. Lyrically, there’s some sort of astrology motif going on ("Virgo Self-Esteem Broadcast," "Aquarius Sabotage," "Scorpio Sword")—but it’s best not to ask, really.
Just when the Flaming Lips risked becoming a parody of themselves, Embryonic is a sign of a whole new life. (Oct. 15)
Flight of the Conchords – I Told You I Was Freaky (Sub Pop)
Being freaky is one thing—being freakin’ hilarious is another. And being both fearless and peerless musical mimics is yet another thing altogether, which makes this deadpan duo all the more impressive for creating a comedy album of songs you’ll want to hear much more than once.
On this, the soundtrack to the second season of their HBO series, they’ve stepped up the songwriting to exist separately from their scripts (in fact, the second season’s scripts were arguably weaker than the debut). At times they’re certainly shooting fish in a barrel by satirizing R. Kelly/Usher duets ("We’re Both In Love With a Sexy Lady"), pointless folkie ’70s singer/songwriters ("Rambling Through the Avenues of Time") and Vocoderized techno pop (potential lesbian club anthem "Too Many Dicks on the Dance Floor"). But they do so with such precision (the Prince/Beck backbeat of the title track), lyrical zingers (the boast in "Sugalumps" about how “the ladies they hustle to ruffle my truffles”) and actual pop hooks, that they transcend the novelty genre entirely. Especially when some of their main targets are almost as unintentionally hilarious in their own right.
Best of all—and rare among both musicians and comedians—they know when to stop milking the joke; nearly every song here is under three minutes. All killer, no filler. (Oct. 29)
Gossip – Music for Men (Sony)
Most people who know of Beth Ditto don’t even know she has a band—never mind know that she’s one of the most powerful singers of her generation.
In the three years since The Gossip’s last album, Standing in the Way of Control, Ditto has become a celebrity—primarily in the U.K.—for her fashion sense and her brash, articulate views on feminism, queer rights, and the fallacy of a fashion industry focused on impossible beauty standards—and ironically, she’s been widely embraced and courted by that same fashion industry. That this has happened with minimal discussion of her music is a shame, and something that this major label debut might rectify.
Beth Ditto grew up in a small town in Arkansas full of rednecks; she and her band moved to Olympia, Washington, a small town of artsy punk rockers. Her vocal style is steeped in blues and country music, and until now was delivered with the screaming and exhilarating abandon of riot grrrl punk rock—all unmistakably the sound of a small-town girl dreaming of escape.
Here, under the eye of producer Rick Rubin, those blues and country debts have been erased, and many—some would argue all—of The Gossip’s rough edges have been smoothed over in favour of a slick combination of modern pop, electro R&B, and trace elements of post-punk disco, all of which are the soundtrack for that small-town girl’s new life under bright lights in the big city. “Pop goes the world,” sings Ditto here, echoing Men Without Hats. “New salvation … new translation … new relation … new sensation.”
For those with pre-existing expectations of The Gossip, Music for Men is at times a radically different record—although no more unusual a transformation than Ditto’s peer Karen O, whose celebrity outshone her band, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, as she led them from noisy punks to pop stars. While previous Gossip albums didn’t stray from their live line-up—voice, guitar, drums—Rick Rubin encourages the band to throw everything into the mix, starting with bass guitar to drive the dance floor, followed by every kind of keyboard and even a few timbales for that extra Studio 54 touch.
But if this is a pop sell-out, it’s one that works. As a vocalist, Ditto can sell you anything; previously, her appeal was the raw power of her voice and the liberation she shared with the audience about shaking off shackles of expectation. Now that she’s grown and evolved in the spotlight, she dials it down a bit and focuses on the pop hooks, with the inspiration and optimism she’s always espoused finding an easy home amidst the synths and electronic percussion of disco deliverance.
Her bandmates Brace Paine and Hannah Blilie are by no means lost in the shuffle, however; they’ve also stepped up their game while still keeping things raw and raucous—although there are more than a few tracks here where they’re all but invisible ("Love and Let Love," "Four Letter Word") on what could be Ditto solo tracks.
Beth Ditto is already the star she deserves to be, but Music for Men proves that she’s much more than just a celebrity of the week. She was an artist first, and here she embraces the oldest adage of American show biz: go big or go home. (Oct. 22)
Hidden Cameras – Origin: Orphan (Arts and Crafts)
The Hidden Cameras have always aspired to make epic music with mostly amateur musicians, with leader Joel Gibb writing deceptively simple four-chord pop songs that were a canvas for as much or as little ornamentation for the revolving door of musicians to provide. On his fourth album, Gibb aims much higher: the orchestrations are more grandiose and bombastic, and three songs here—including the Arabic-influenced opening track "Ratify the New" and the anguished pseudo-industrial angst of the title track—are the most dark and brooding Gibb has ever been, with low brass adding considerable gravitas. He’s always excelled at melancholy, but on these songs he sounds downright ominous.
The sunny side of the Cameras is still present; songs like "He Falls to Me" and "The Little Bit" could easily have been culled from any Cameras release; the characteristically provocative "Underage" (“Let’s do it like we’re underage”) sets African backing vocals to cheezeball ’80s programming that conjures memories of the Culture Club, of all people. (Oct. 22)
Islands – Vapours (Anti)
Nick Thorburn just created one of the biggest bands to ever come out of Guelph, by reshuffling the Islands line-up. Thorburn himself is from Vancouver Island, started the band in Montreal, and has lived in New York and L.A. But for the third Islands album, he brought back founding drummer and Guelph native Jamie Thompson, as well as the Gordon brothers, Evan and Geordie, who have been a huge part of Guelph’s music scene in the last ten years with The Magic, the Barmitzvah Brothers, the Sad Clowns, the Salt Lick Kids, and backing up their father James. And all this Guelphness comes on the heels of Thorburn’s 2008 collaboration with Jim Guthrie, Human Highway.
This new line-up creates the most cohesive Islands line-up to date; gone is the breezy orch-pop of the debut, and the overwrought prog rock of Arm’s Way. The Gordon brothers bring their army of synthesizers, and Thompson sounds like he spent most of his time programming his drum machine (to great effect—these are largely atypical and surprising beats), yet Vapours is for the most part very much a rock album, informed as it is by pop music of the ’80s and the ’50s, hints of reggae, disco, and plenty of the post-9/11 dichotomy of wartime dread and stubborn optimism. Thorburn has always been good at forging his own musical vision, but not until now has it sounded so natural and rewarding.
Too bad that Thorburn’s gain is our loss; hopefully Islands’ extensive international touring schedule won’t put off that long-delayed Magic album any longer. (Oct. 8)
Corb Lund – Losin’ Lately Gambler (New West)
Corb Lund calls his band the Hurtin’ Albertans and this album title alludes to a string of bad luck. But there’s no self-deprecating flagellation necessary, because not only does this prairie poet continue to improve, but his popularity continues to rise around the world, and this is his first album with a new American record deal (with one track recorded in front of hundreds of rowdy Australians). And so if you’re not already familiar with Lund’s mix of powerful prose and traditional country music—there’s nothing urban about this cowboy—this album is as good a place to start as any.
Part of Lund’s charm is the specificity and regionalism of his writing: he’s an Albertan cowboy, and most of his songs are about horses, prairie life, horses, gambling, and a few more about horses. Although he’s most intriguing when writing unconventional narratives about veterinarians’ pharmaceuticals or bull riding, he’s also charming and entertaining on mundane topics like keeping a white shirt clean, or when he’s tugging heartstrings of even the most hardened easterner with a ballad like "Alberta Says Hello." If the tales of military history that peppered his 2008 release (and arguably his masterpiece) Horse Soldier! Horse Soldier! were too ambitious for mainstream listeners, the tales here strike much closer to home—especially the rollicking anthem "Long Gone to Saskatchewan."
If Lund’s lexicon sets him apart from almost everyone else in country music, his ace band would fit in anywhere that appreciates a twangy guitar picker, an upright bass with jazz chops, and a rock’n’roll drummer. Simply put, country music doesn’t get any better than this, in Canada or anywhere else—America is now his for the taking, and this Losin’ Lately Gambler is about to land Lund a big score. (Oct. 8)
Carolyn Mark and NQ Arbuckle – Let’s Just Stay Here (Mint)
This is supposed to be Carolyn Mark’s rock album, so you’ll forgive an old fan for being disappointed in the fact that it clearly does not rock. It does have electric guitars, making it in some ways the opposite of her last album, the all-acoustic Nothing is Free. But there is none of the blood or the sweat and only a few of the tears that one would expect from such a normally gutsy songwriter and performer to shed on a self-professed rock’n’roll album.
By any other standard—say, that of her collaborators here NQ Arbuckle—this wouldn’t matter, and Let’s Just Stay Here would be a pleasant enough slab of mid-tempo CanRock that goes down well with a few pints at the local watering hole. Much of it is mid-tempo and mournful, with little of the larger-than-life personality that Ms. Mark brings to all her other recordings. The one song with any fire in it, "Canada Day Off," is one of her weakest; and the one song that deserves a raucous run-through, a cover of Edmonton cowpunk legends Jr. Gone Wild, could use a serious sense of urgency.
Mark’s finest moments here are on the haunting opening "All Time Low" and the lonely lilt of "Sunday Morning" (not a Velvet Underground cover). The album closes with the title track, one of her loveliest tunes, where Mark—who titled her 2004 album The Pros and Cons of Collaboration—asks the ironic question: “Do compromises all feel one-sided?” In sharing the billing on this album, Mark sounds like she’s been submersed into the NQ Arbuckle band rather than taking charge.
The always-productive Mark already has a new album in the can, a tour-only release with her longtime guitarist Tolan McNeil made at home in Victoria; maybe that contains the magic we’re missing here. (Oct. 29)
Amy Millan – Masters of the Burial (Arts and Crafts)
Perhaps the true strength of a duo is how much their solo work pales in comparison (see: Blue Rodeo). Amy Millan charismatically co-fronts the band Stars with Torquil Campbell; Campbell’s two albums with side project Memphis sounds flaccid in comparison, and now Millan’s second solo album suggests she’s no better on her own.
But at least she carves out a different sound than her main project; in her solo work, she’s much more sombre and dips her toes into traditional sounds, albeit mixed with her decidedly modern sensibilities. And so banjos and mandolins take solos over treated guitars and various electronics, with her femme fatale voice front and centre. The best song here, in fact, is "Day To Day," featuring just Millan’s lullaby voice and a drum beat.
But aesthetics only take her so far; the songs are forgettable, and even the covers of Sarah Harmer and Death Cab For Cutie—though they boast considerably more memorable melodies—fail to leave any impression.
Millan sounds like she’s in bad need of some creative friction to get her juices flowing. (Oct. 1)
Karen O and the Kids – Where the Wild Things Are OST (Universal)
Are you sure Karen’s O doesn’t stand for Orff? In taking on the daunting task of scoring a highly anticipated film version of one of the most beloved children’s books of all time, the singer of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs—whose surname is actually Orzolek—sounds like she enlisted a public school music class to help her out, one where Carl Orff’s approach to music-making is encouraged by empowering every child with a glockenspiel.
There are children involved—how could there not be?—and their role is restricted to helium choirs, with Karen O getting adult help from the rest of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs as well as members of the Dead Weather and Deerhunter. The resultant music evokes the childlike sense of wonder you would expect, one that at once aspires to the epic while being anchored in folkie chords and primitive rock’n’roll. Karen O’s voice is perfectly cast; behind the bravado of her gusto-grabbing role as glammed-up, shrieking punk rock frontwoman has always been a strong singer just as capable of tender acoustic ballads, the likes of which comprise almost half of this album. In its more stirring moments, the album shares similarities with Arcade Fire (whose “Wake Up” was used to great effect in the film’s trailer, although does not appear here) and a more even-keeled version of Danielson’s Broadway-meets-marching-band-meets-art-rock weirdness.
It’s a perfect match for Spike Jonze’s vision of Maurice Sendak’s novel, but what’s even more intriguing is to see what else she’s capable of outside of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. (Oct. 15)
Ohbijou – Beacons (Last Gang)
Forlorn cellos, melancholy moods and autumnal atmospheres combine to create Canadiana folkie art-pop—sound familiar? There is no shortage of great bands mining this territory lately, including Ohbijou’s comrades and collaborators The Acorn, Forest City Lovers, and seemingly dozens of others, compiled on two excellent compilations called Friends in Bellwoods—the bulk of material on which was recorded at Ohbijou’s live/work space. So as hubs of the scene, expectations are high for this, their second album and first to get international distribution.
And they stick to their formula: tasteful and stately string sections, melodic bass, subtle shadings from keyboards, mandolins and drums that all add up to what could be a soundtrack to a wintry NFB documentary. Singer Casey Mecija attempts to stray outside her comfort zone on a couple of tracks, straining to reach for a big emotional moment while the band almost rocks out—but she’s much better off cooing softly with her sister Jenny on harmonies; a belter she’s not. Mecija’s real strength here is her imagistic lyrics; they capture tiny details of gothic Canadiana: thunder and lightning and very, very frightening things like cities and maps aflame, wicked mysteries, black ice, and dying underneath heavy snow.
But although she sings “Bring back wickedness/ bring back temperaments,” the music never really breaks a sweat or suggests anything remotely sinister. Not that it has to, though a few cracks in the ice would go a long way to inject some life into an album that could use some wickedness in its polite, reserved temperament.
Ohbijou and The Acorn play Dublin St. United Church in Guelph this Saturday, October 17. (Oct. 15)
Hope Sandoval & the Warm Inventions – Through the Devil Softly (Nettwerk)
It’s been eight years since Hope Sandoval’s last album, her first solo project. Before that it was another five years since the last album by the lazy, hazy duo Mazzy Starr. The reason for all the long delays? By the sound of this record, it’s because Sandoval has trouble getting out of bed.
No one expects Sandoval to transform into a rip-roarin’ rocker, but Through the Devil Softly not only trudges along at a snail’s pace, but Sandoval sounds as bored as we are. The songs aren’t very strong and the arrangements are drab—with the lone exception of "For the Rest of Your Life," with its sliding bass line, 6/4 time and luminous vibraphone; here, Sandoval bends her notes in bewitching ways, the one and only time she sounds invested in the material.
Otherwise, no matter how lovely and opiated her voice may be, there are plenty of other acts who do this far better (Brightblack Morning Light being the most recent example), often by tapping into the psychedelic mystery that was Mazzy Starr’s specialty. Whoever these Warm Inventions are, they leave Sandoval shivering cold. (Oct. 1)
Spirits – s/t (Sonic Unyon)
Singer/songwriter/guitarist Ian Smith and drummer Nick Skalkos of the Miniatures and new friend Brad Germain of The Marble Index on vocals to indulge in some mid-’80s British new wave circa The Cure or Echo and the Bunnymen, with plenty of acoustic guitars, subtle synths that never steal the spotlight, and soaring vocals courtesy of Germain, who puts his guitar down to focus on full-on singing. Such is the strength of the latter that Germain successfully reaches Bono’s heights on several tracks; early U2 is an admitted influence. The Anglophilia gets a bit much at times, however, especially when Germain adopts a drab Brit accent that becomes downright comical on the track "Cold War." When he plays it straight, as on the surefire pop songs like "When the Sun Gets in My Eyes" or "Heart Pump," Spirits start to forge their own sound, independent of their formidable influences. (Oct. 1)
Two Hours Traffic – Territory (Bumstead)
This Charlottetown power-pop band is known to traffic in summertime singalongs, but Territory is a much more mature and autumnal album, one that exchanges teenage exuberance for more measured reflection. This doesn’t mean a turn down darker corners, necessarily, but their jubilance is now balanced with gravitas, making Territory the most rewarding album of their brief career.
Once again produced by Joel Plaskett, this time out instrumentalist Alec O’Hanley puts down his guitar to focus on keyboards, while singer Liam Corcoran sharpens his songwriting skills and pushes himself vocally, especially when the intensity relents. Which is often—of these 11 tracks, there are really only three that move along at any kind of clip. Much of Territory rides a mid-tempo groove, focuses on melody, and chooses instrumentation carefully; in some respects, Two Hours Traffic are where Spoon where around the time of their early masterpiece Girls Can Tell, when they stopped being the kind of rock band they thought people wanted them to be and just focused on being themselves.
Territory is the kind of album that elevates a promising band to a strong one, with signs of true greatness within easy reach. (Oct. 1)
You Say Party! We Say Die! – XXXX (Paper Bag)
This Vancouver band sing of a love that dare not speak its name. Or print its name, anyway; the track listing and lyric sheet—and the album title itself—routinely replace the word love with XXXX. For a band that started out shouting and shrieking and filled with childish punk naïvete, perhaps speaking the word “love” without irony is still too emotionally raw. And when singer Becky Ninkovic writes lines like “I love your love light,” you might wish she still had her earlier reservations.
But largely, XXXX finds YSPWSD continuing to mature and move beyond their obvious influences—early ’80s post-punk pop, and more recent progenitors like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or Metric—and develop their own voice, one that is just as comfortable with mid-tempo brooding rock as it is upbeat herky-jerky new wave. The rhythm section is a big part of this, but Ninkovic has also developed considerably as a singer, not just a shouter.
Unlike their early contemporaries The Organ or Controller Controller or Hot Hot Heat, this is a band that, though spawned by a trend at the time, will continue to grow and evolve—partying and death are no longer their only options. (Oct. 8)
Showing posts with label Ohbijou. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ohbijou. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Nov/Dec 08 reviews
Final batch of 08 reviews from the Kitchener-Waterloo Record/Guelph Mercury. Year-end picks to follow shortly--and from what I've read elsewhere so far, I'm on an entirely different planet than most of the critical consensus (other than my love of Fleet Foxes--sorry, Dave Morris). Which is fine with me.
Amadou and Mariam – Welcome to Mali (Warner)
After decades of obscurity, this duo became international stars on their last album, Dimanche a Bamako, with the help of co-producer Manu Chao. He brought his own otherworldly sense of cross-cultural displacement to their already-rich Malian stew of influences. Chao isn’t around this time, but Welcome to Mali continues to bridge the traditional instruments and motifs of their homeland with a broad approach to international pop—with mixed success.
The album opens with "Sabali," a track produced by the Gorillaz’ Damon Albarn, which suggests the duo are going to leave not only ill-defined world music behind, but the world itself; Mariam sounds like she’s broadcasting from an alien space station atop oscillating synthesizers. Albarn sticks around for the next track, playing keyboards that imitate a balafon (the Malian marimba). But from there on in, Welcome to Mali plays it relatively safe. It sounds much like any other West African recording helmed by French pop producers: a slick, funky pop record that succeeds best when it lays back, and threatens to fail when it goes for the grand gestures—both musical and lyrical, as on the middling track "Africa," featuring Toronto MC K’naan.
As expected, the harmonies here, between Amadou and Mariam as well as backing vocals by the Barry Sisters, are exquisite. But it’s Amadou’s guitar work that shines through here much more than on Dimanche a Bamako; "Masiteladi" and "Sekebe" show off his fiery fretboard skills.
The latter track, a driving dance number, also features punchy horns and Daft Punk-ish synthesizers, and a rousing call-and-response vocals. It closes the album on a high point; coupled with the opening track, it’s the bookends here that reveal the world of possibilities Amadou and Mariam are capable of. (November 27, 2008)
The Bicycles – Oh No, It's Love (Fuzzy Logic/Outside)
The problem with most pop songs is that they flog a dead horse; "don't bore us, get to the chorus," goes the old refrain. But once you get to the chorus, you should really get right back out again; a weak chorus doesn't get better with repetition.
The Bicycles are all about the economy, stupid. And they know your time is precious, which is why Oh No, It's Love packs 18 songs into 40 minutes. Much like their mentors Sloan, whose 2006 album Never Hear the End of It segued a series of short songs together, the Bicycles prefer to keep things moving along; unlike Sloan, the Bicycles never seem to run out of good ideas as they traipse through 70s pop, garage rock, 60s British Invasion, shades of country and even bits of glam. Every member is a multi-instrumentalist, and lead vocals are shared between them; this is one variety show where there's no time nor talent shortage to stay in one spot for too long. (November 6, 2008)
Tracy Chapman – Our Bright Future (Warner)
The morning after Barack Obama’s presidential victory, I scanned my vinyl collection for the appropriate soundtrack to usher in a new era. For whatever reason, the first record that jumped off the shelf was Tracy Chapman’s remarkable debut album from 20 years ago; that collection of songs articulates so much of the racial, class and gender lines that still divide America, detailing aspirations of transcendence and heartbreaking realities. “Finally the tables are starting to turn,” she sang back then, “talkin’ bout a revolution.” In 1988, that was only wishful thinking.
Lo and behold, one week after Obama’s win, Tracy Chapman has an album called Our Bright Future. While obviously there’s no direct link, surely it’s a sign of something that this is not only her finest collection of songs in a very long time, but it’s also her most optimistic. She sings of days “like the first day of spring” and looks forward to a time when “our bright future is in the past.” Her character writing is in fine form, the love songs are sweet but never saccharine, and Chapman’s luxurious voice is front and centre, backed up by transparent and tasteful arrangements by a who’s-who of L.A. studio musicians.
Sign her up for the inaugural ball. (November 13, 2008)
Castanets – City of Refuge (Asthmatic Kitty/ Sonic Unyon)
Tom Petty once told us that "you don't have to live like a refugee." But listening to Castanets' City of Refuge suggests that displacement and despair can spawn sparse yet captivating creations. Raymond Raposa is the one-man band that is Castanets, and he apparently recorded these 15 songs by himself in a motel room in the middle of nowhere. That story sounds a bit too good to be true—for starters, it doesn't explain some of the drowsy turntablism that shows up as an occasional texture here—but it does paint a picture of loneliness and desolation. Coloured primarly by dusty desert electric guitar lines, City of Refuge owes more than a few debts to Ry Cooder's evocative soundtrack work, with some spacey electronics and subtle Latin influences in the mix. There's no question that Raposa is in a bleak place; he sings, "As long as I've lived, I've wanted to die." Yet the theme of refuge prevails; he does find solace and safety in the long, empty spaces between notes here. The most optimistic he gets is when he covers the gospel standard "I'll Fly Away," which is a natural thematic fit; he doesn't dwell on it, however, placing it halfway through the song cycle, and only for 90 seconds at that. For Raposa, the City of Refuge is still a mirage that threatens to evaporate before his eyes; hopefully once he finally gets to walk those gilded streets, his music will be just as evocative. (November 27, 2008)
Dungen – 4 (Kemado)
Swedish psychedelic rock with flutes, glockenspiels and jazzy piano riffs might not be your cup of tea—until you hear Dungen. And even if you’ve heard them before, 4 is a major step up for bandleader Gustav Estes’s ability to seamlessly weave pastoral pop music, fuzzed-out guitar rock and jazz together; think of a bizarre cross between Black Sabbath and Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, only sung in Swedish. Special credit goes to Dungen’s new drummer, Johan Holmegard, for channelling the spirit of the recently deceased Mitch Mitchell of the Jimi Hendrix Experience; like Mitchell, Holmegard possesses both a deft and delicate touch that morphs into the monstrous when necessary. Everyone else here is equally tasteful; the guitarists definitely love their solos, but they come more from the Santana school of sensitive noodling, rather than the all-out wankfests that too many psych bands indulge in. (November 20, 2008)
Fembots – Calling Out (weewerk/Outside)
The Fembots are two Torontonian men who reside in a studio they call the Junkshop. Their earliest recordings found them playing around with all sorts of odd noisemakers that sounded like the creation of a mad inventor. This time out, they actually do have a mad inventor in the band: Iner Souster, who makes beautiful and unique instruments from recycled and reused detritus. These creations also double as sculpture; you can preview some of them here.
Souster became an honorary member of the Fembots for this recording, which also features drummer/songwriter Nathan Lawr; both get co-writing credits here. Many of the songs were written with Souster’s creations providing the initial backdrop; more conventional guitars and keyboards were layered on later, which leave the odd textures to fade into the background. Which is too bad, because—as their last album proved—the Fembots simply aren’t as interesting when they play it straight. Although “straight” is an extremely relative term here; the Fembots still hail firmly from left field.
But there’s no point in dwelling on what Calling Out could have been; what it is is a lively collection of songs that once again draw from urban observations and religious reckoning. Opening track "Good Days" sets the bar high for the rest of the album, with a rousing chorus that declares: “All you Christian soldiers and all you Muslim martyrs/ you got it wrong/ life is good.” (November 20, 2008)
Flaming Lips – Christmas on Mars DVD (Warner)
Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne has spent the better part of a decade making this film in his basement and his backyard—which is incredible, considering the set design and his ability to evoke sci-fi films and Cold War paranoia from the ’50s and’60s. Unfortunately, ambition alone doesn’t make this film much more than a tedious hallucination, a disconnected dream sequence that doesn’t even succeed as lo-fi B-movie kitsch. A gallery of stills from this film is more exciting than enduring awkward, jargon-heavy dialogue. The accompanying soundtrack fares slightly better, if only because meandering instrumental sci-fi music is much easier to absorb than a meandering, plotless sci-fi movie. (December 11, 2008)
Kocani Orkestar – The Ravished Bride (Crammed/Fusion III)
When North Americans think of brass bands, they usually think of New Orleans. Apparently, so does this Macedonian brass ensemble, whose third album finds them funkier than ever; it sounds like their tuba player has been studying the syncopated likes of the Rebirth Brass Band and the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. The trombones and trumpets are as fast and furious as ever, but it’s actually the clarinetist here who steals most of the solos, with the accordion player scurrying along right behind him; there’s also a couple of surf rock guitar solos that seem to come out of nowhere. But no matter who’s in the lead, this is a non-stop thrill ride—even the boozy waltzes—guaranteed to please fans of both traditional acts like Mahala Rai Banda or Taraf de Haidouks, as well as New World acts like Beirut and Balkan Beat Box who have brought these sounds to North American ears in recent years. (November 13, 2008)
Leila – Blood, Looms and Blooms (Warp/Fusion III)
Dreams are all about distortion: of time, of sight, of sound, of context. Composer/producer Leila Arab draws heavily from dream worlds in her music, where signifiers from past eras collide with decaying futurist visions. She sets up these scenarios and then lets them disintegrate before our ears. The opening track finds her running every instrument through various levels of distortion, crafting a broken beauty that complements the descending melodic lines, and preparing us for the coming audio journey.
The cover art is also telling: a man in a crescent moon overlooks a sinister-looking tree trunk that is wrapped in a strange architectural fantasy of tubes, bells and whistles; it could be the cover of a particularly dark children's book from 50 years ago, or a still from the Caro/Jeunet film City of Lost Children.
Blood, Looms and Blooms is a rich, imaginative and evocative album that justifies every minute of Leila's eight-year absence from recording. In the interim, Leila recorded and toured with Bjork, who is an obvious kindred spirit; they are both musical omnivores with a deep love for classical music, peculiar electronics and joyous dance beats. Leila doesn't venture into clubland often here, although “Little Acorns” does boast a bouncy Brazilian hip-hop beat with tinny synth horns, a comically slippery bass line, and little girls attempting some ragga toasting.
Most of Leila's grooves are dark and ominous, like the rattling bass synth underneath the track “Mettle”; dripping tap water dictates the beat, while guitarist Andy Cox (English Beat, Fine Young Cannibals) tears into spooky guitar riffs that Leila tweaks into oblivion. For all her tendencies toward noise and dissonance, she can also play it completely straight: “Young Once” is a live recording featuring her on unadorned piano, accompanied by cello and two clarinets; the result is just as affecting as the most heavily produced material here.
The most fascinating moments are when she allows everything to collide, as she does on “Daisies, Cats and Spacement”: there, a sensual jazz vocal guides pizzicato strings playing tarantella rhythms, while manipulated harpsichords skitter over snare drums that drag the beat into dungeons of reverb. At times, these tracks recall the unrealized potential of Tricky in the mid-90s; the association is bolstered by her choice of vocalists Terry Hall (the Specials) and Martina Topley-Bird, both of whom were frequent Tricky collaborators at the time.
The only misstep here is an atrocious cover of the Beatles' “Norwegian Wood,” which not only bears no melodic resemblance to the original, but the arrangement falls flat compared to the creativity heard on every other track here.
Few artists from the late 90s electronic scene continue to push themselves forward and create albums as spellbinding as their early works, but Leila is one of them. It obviously helps to hibernate for a while; just ask Portishead. (November 6, 2008)
Ohbijou/Acorn – split 12” single (Kelp)
These two Ontario bands have toured together many times; listening to this vinyl single that they share, it’s easy to see why. They both explore an adventurous take on folk rock, with a deep appreciation for classic pop songwriting that never falls into cliché; they both share a small-town melancholy made for Canadian winters and CBC playlists; they both love their cellos and banjos as much as their electric guitars. On this 12” vinyl single, they offer up one new song each, and cover each other.
The Ohbijou side is considerably stronger; not just featuring their new song "Tender Bones," but also The Acorn’s sympathetic reading of Ohbijou’s "Steep." The new Acorn song, on the other hand, doesn’t come close to the heights they scaled on 2007’s Glory Hope Mountain, and Ohbijou turn in a rather clunky rendition of a very early Acorn track that’s barely recognizable here. Being such close friends, these two bands would never try to compete; no wonder this comes to a draw. (November 20, 2008)
Roxanne Potvin – No Love For the Poisonous (Alert)
Before Roxanne Potvin's performance at the Hillside Festival last summer, one of her biggest fans turned to me and started extolling the singer/guitarist's many virtues. After a minor avalanche of glowing adjectives, he stopped suddenly and said, "But she really has to cut out all those ballads."
That sentiment sums up Potvin’s second album—especially when, ten songs into it, she finally lets loose with a visceral and soulful wail on the gospel funk of "Dig Deeper." Knowing that she’s capable of that, it’s hard to understand why she exercises such comparatively polite restraint on the rest of this album.
That said, it’s hard to fault Potvin for being such a tasteful pop crooner on material that serves well as smooth Sunday morning soul music, on tracks such as "Paralyzed," "Who’s the Enemy" and "Laws of Nature." Key to this album’s success is the earthy production by Dave Mackinnon of the Fembots, bolstered by the veteran K-W rhythm section of bassist Mark McIntyre and drummer Roger Travassos, who push Potvin along with grooves that exercise considerable muscle even on the quietest moments (The Puzzle). (November 27, 2008)
Peter Project – s/t (Fuzzy Logic/Outside)
iNSiDEaMiND – Scatterpopia (Public Transit Recordings)
These two Toronto artists are among the few who still take turntablism as a serious artform, one that owes an obvious debt to its hip-hop origins but can mean so much more than that.
The Peter Project is a playful tour-de-force that draws heavily from obtuse dialogue samples culled from TV and children’s records, matched with jazzy flute loops, walking bass lines, spy movie themes and psychedelic keyboards—as well as a few harpsichords, for good measure. “If the music got really weird, then you’d get really weird, too,” promises one of the anonymous, disembodied voices heard here, and it’s true—though the Peter Project is careful to welcome some real live human beings into his fantastical sonic playground, namely Toronto MCs such as More or Les, the Word Burglar, Zaki Ibrahim and Masia One. There’s some scratchtastic action on the turntables as well, but that takes a backseat to the beats and the oddities sandwiched in between.
iNSiDEaMiND come from more of a sound art background than the dance floor. Somewhere between the playful sonic narratives of Kid Koala and the eerie urban landscapes conjured up by the so-called “illbient” movement of the late 90s, iNSiDEaMiND are masters of mood and manipulation of sound. Although there are moments of funk and jazz here—including one collaboration with Montreal beatmaster Ghislain Poirier, and another with Toronto jazz saxophonist Colin Fisher— iNSiDEaMiND are most captivating when they set themselves adrift on a sea of crackling vinyl, to see what they will find. (November 13, 2008)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers – Running Down a Dream DVD (Warner)
As Running Down a Dream begins, we’re introduced to Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers celebrating 30 years together, at a hometown concert in Gainsville, Florida. The performance is perfunctory and confirms suspicions that casual Petty fans might have about the man’s career: that he’s a competent and dependable songwriter, if not a bit bland and entirely predictable.
So why would you sit through a four-hour documentary about such an artist?
For starters, there’s much more to Petty than meets the eye. Anyone who only knows him from the last 20 years of his career—as the laid-back author of songs like "Free Falling" and "You Don’t Know How It Feels"—will be surprised to discover what a powerful rock band the Heartbreakers were in the early days, and how they bridged the worlds of 60s rock and 70s new wave. It was actually the UK, obsessed with punk at the time, that first embraced the all-American rocker before he ever found success at home.
Petty came of age at a time where his close circle of friends and collaborators could include members of the Beatles, the Byrds, Fleetwood Mac, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, the Eurythmics and Pearl Jam—all of whom feature prominently in this film. Yet it’s the relationships inside the Heartbreakers that are key here, especially his two right-hand men: guitarist Mike Campbell and keyboardist Benmont Tench.
Petty has a reputation as a stubborn man of principle, one that once sued his record company in the late 70s, at a time when the music business was being collapsed into an oligopoly. Years later, he would help dig his commercial grave at radio by writing a single called "The Last DJ," about the death of independent programming in an age of media conglomeration. On a less endearing note, he refused Stevie Nicks’s offer to join the Heartbreakers because “there are no girls in the Heartbreakers.”
Petty’s private life as an adult is not on display; there’s little mention of his first wife or his children. His early years, however, are well documented through interviews and copious amounts of Super-8 footage taken by his family and his early bandmates.
Directed by Peter Bogdanovich, Running Down a Dream is far more engaging than expected—especially considering that it’s basically an extended episode of Behind the Music. But despite its length, there’s nary a rambling moment, and all of the live footage informs the narrative.
Fairweather fans will find it compelling enough; anyone with a well-worn copy of Petty’s greatest hits record will be in heaven. (December 11, 2008)
Q-Tip – The Renaissance (Motown/Universal)
Though it’s been in the works almost as long as Chinese Democracy, The Renaisssance succeeds everywhere Axl Rose fails: here’s a beloved icon who comes back swinging like his former self while sounding entirely of the moment as well, oozing with charisma the entire time.
In the nine years since his last album, this legendary MC reunited with A Tribe Called Quest for a couple of tours, and recorded two solo albums that were shelved by the record company. And yet here it sounds like he never left; he doesn’t sound desperate to prove anything to anyone.
The Renaissance is full of the laid-back charm that built his rep in the first place, set atop boom-bap grooves and jazzy bass lines. There’s some starpower help from Norah Jones, D’Angelo and Raphael Saadiq, but no other MCs to distract from Tip’s flawless flow—which is especially evident on the extended a cappella intro to "Dance on Glass," where it’s almost disappointing once the beat kicks in. Live grooves drive some of the best moments here, like the sparse, squiggly bass on the disco of "ManWomanBooogie" or the guitar-driven funk trio heard on "Good Thing."
When he rattles off the names of his hip-hop heroes on "Life Is Better," it’s a potent reminder of how few of them built sustainable careers. And maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder, but there’s every sense here that Q-Tip will still be making classic records years from now. (December 4, 2008)
Serena Ryder – Is It OK? (EMI)
For a young woman with such a confident voice, that’s a rather insecure album title. But for a woman who can stun a room into silence with an a cappella performance, Ryder decides pulls out the big production courtesy of John Alagia (Dave Matthews Band, John Mayer); thankfully, it never threatens to overshadow Ryder’s formidable presence. With the exception of one or two subdued numbers here—including the closing "Dark as the Black," which is the highlight—Ryder is ready to leave her folkie beginnings behind and go for the all-out belting here (for better or worse), assuming a role in Canadian music that’s been vacant ever since Amanda Marshall went AWOL. Ryder set her sights high on her 2006 major label debut, If Your Memory Serves You Well, where she tackled the classic Canadian songbook with aplomb; this is meant to be her coming-out party as a songwriter and ... well, she’s still an amazing singer. In that sense, this is certainly OK. Just OK, though. (November 13, 2008)
Spam All-Stars – Introducing (Introducing/Fusion III)
The sound of Miami’s Spam All-Stars can be explained by the resumés of the band and their extended family, which includes James Brown, Sly and the Family Stone, Shakira, Antibalas, Phish and many more; bandleader/songwriter/DJ Andrew Yeomanson is of British/Venezuelan heritage and was raised in Montreal, Toronto, Bogota and Miami. These are top-notch Latin funk players who were first assembled 15 years ago, and whose first five albums are compiled for this, their first international release; naturally, it’s a non-stop party that allows room for subtle shadings as well as heavy funk grooves. The production is smooth, but not entirely slick; it’s likely ten times as atomic in a live setting, and now that they’re poised to make major inroads outside of the Sunshine State, it’s more likely we’ll witness that close to home soon enough. (November 6, 2008)
Rae Spoon – Superior You Are Inferior (Scratch)
Rae Spoon sings about being “off the grid and underground,” which befits a performer who bounces between Berlin, Montreal and his hometown of Calgary. It also suits a singer/songwriter who sings high lonesome folk songs with steel guitars and cellos and then switches to subtle synths and electronic percussion without missing a beat. Rae Spoon sounds like a naturalist adrift in the modern world, trying to find a way “to get the ocean on our side” on songs such as “Come On Forest Fire Burn the Disco Down,” and “We Become Our Own Wolves.” The songwriting and arrangements are uniformly strong; Spoon’s bell-clear and androgynous voice could use more variation, instead of sounding like a formal recital, but that’s a minor complaint as this worthy artist otherwise expands his sonic palette with great success. (December 4, 2008)
Stompin' Tom – The Ballad of Stompin' Tom (EMI)
In a recent Globe and Mail profile of Stompin' Tom Connors, the writer says that Tom "no longer listens to country radio. It's too homogeneous, he says, with too many people trying to do the same kind of song again and again." The irony is rich, coming from a man who is nothing if not homogenous, writing the same kind of Canadiana again and again, with little more than three chords, an acoustic guitar and a Maritimers' drawl. This album features unnecessary re-recordings of three earlier songs (including the now-ubiquitous “Hockey Song”), a cover of his idol Wilf Carter's “Take Me Back to Old Alberta,” and ten new songs that mine similar territory, as well as the sweet “Bride & Groom Waltz.” Unlike his contemporaries, this 72-year-old isn't concerned with late-career grativas or matters of mortality; he's still writing about "workin' in the bush of Buctouche" and hamming it up on songs like “Chickie Pooh,” which would even embarrass Fred Penner. Most affecting is the title track, which is rich in detail from Connors' hard-luck childhood; it's also a helpful précis in case you don't have time to read his 2000-page autobiographical tome (which, sadly, is now out of print). (November 6, 2008)
Kanye West – 808 & Heartbreak (Roc-a-fella/Universal)
Harder? Better? Faster? Stronger? Not this time. Kanye West likes to come off as invincible, both in his music and his off-stage persona, but here—his first album since the death of his mother last year—he lets his guard down to soak in melancholy, 80s pop, and self-pity. This is not a hip-hop album at all, and not a single one of these tracks is likely to be heard in a club; thankfully the timing is such that West doesn’t have to compete with the likes of 50 Cent this time out—because even a weak 50 Cent album would probably beat out a head-scratcher of a record like this one. In the words of Q-Tip, this is like “cold grits without the hot sauce.”
808 & Heartbreak finds West singing more often than not, albeit with copious help from an auto-tuner. With the kind of artists he has on his speed dial, there must be a good reason why he didn’t ask for vocal help; instead, we’re stuck with what sounds like second-rate Akon and/or T-Pain. What could have been a serious artistic left turn—not unlike Beck’s Sea Change or Mutations albums—instead falls prey to a simple production gimmick.
It doesn’t help that his musings on fame are increasingly nauseating, on "Welcome to the Heartbreak" and a horrendous solo piano bonus track with a bizarre Pinocchio analogy—he just wants to be a real boy, you see. It makes matters worse that the track sounds like it was recorded on a cellphone at the back of a stadium. And it’s not like he hasn’t been successfully reflective before—even on the subject of his mother, as he was on Late Registration’s “Hey Mama.”
This is all a shame, because West’s increased infatuation with 20-year-old synthesizers elevates some of the sub-standard pop songs here, and the Roland 808 drum machine of the title is used to maximum effect. He has plenty of fine production scattered throughout here, but it would be much more interesting to hear him apply it to a young, impressionable artist—maybe even one who can sing—rather than his own insufferable self-absorption. (December 4, 2008)
Amadou and Mariam – Welcome to Mali (Warner)After decades of obscurity, this duo became international stars on their last album, Dimanche a Bamako, with the help of co-producer Manu Chao. He brought his own otherworldly sense of cross-cultural displacement to their already-rich Malian stew of influences. Chao isn’t around this time, but Welcome to Mali continues to bridge the traditional instruments and motifs of their homeland with a broad approach to international pop—with mixed success.
The album opens with "Sabali," a track produced by the Gorillaz’ Damon Albarn, which suggests the duo are going to leave not only ill-defined world music behind, but the world itself; Mariam sounds like she’s broadcasting from an alien space station atop oscillating synthesizers. Albarn sticks around for the next track, playing keyboards that imitate a balafon (the Malian marimba). But from there on in, Welcome to Mali plays it relatively safe. It sounds much like any other West African recording helmed by French pop producers: a slick, funky pop record that succeeds best when it lays back, and threatens to fail when it goes for the grand gestures—both musical and lyrical, as on the middling track "Africa," featuring Toronto MC K’naan.
As expected, the harmonies here, between Amadou and Mariam as well as backing vocals by the Barry Sisters, are exquisite. But it’s Amadou’s guitar work that shines through here much more than on Dimanche a Bamako; "Masiteladi" and "Sekebe" show off his fiery fretboard skills.
The latter track, a driving dance number, also features punchy horns and Daft Punk-ish synthesizers, and a rousing call-and-response vocals. It closes the album on a high point; coupled with the opening track, it’s the bookends here that reveal the world of possibilities Amadou and Mariam are capable of. (November 27, 2008)
The Bicycles – Oh No, It's Love (Fuzzy Logic/Outside)The problem with most pop songs is that they flog a dead horse; "don't bore us, get to the chorus," goes the old refrain. But once you get to the chorus, you should really get right back out again; a weak chorus doesn't get better with repetition.
The Bicycles are all about the economy, stupid. And they know your time is precious, which is why Oh No, It's Love packs 18 songs into 40 minutes. Much like their mentors Sloan, whose 2006 album Never Hear the End of It segued a series of short songs together, the Bicycles prefer to keep things moving along; unlike Sloan, the Bicycles never seem to run out of good ideas as they traipse through 70s pop, garage rock, 60s British Invasion, shades of country and even bits of glam. Every member is a multi-instrumentalist, and lead vocals are shared between them; this is one variety show where there's no time nor talent shortage to stay in one spot for too long. (November 6, 2008)
Tracy Chapman – Our Bright Future (Warner)The morning after Barack Obama’s presidential victory, I scanned my vinyl collection for the appropriate soundtrack to usher in a new era. For whatever reason, the first record that jumped off the shelf was Tracy Chapman’s remarkable debut album from 20 years ago; that collection of songs articulates so much of the racial, class and gender lines that still divide America, detailing aspirations of transcendence and heartbreaking realities. “Finally the tables are starting to turn,” she sang back then, “talkin’ bout a revolution.” In 1988, that was only wishful thinking.
Lo and behold, one week after Obama’s win, Tracy Chapman has an album called Our Bright Future. While obviously there’s no direct link, surely it’s a sign of something that this is not only her finest collection of songs in a very long time, but it’s also her most optimistic. She sings of days “like the first day of spring” and looks forward to a time when “our bright future is in the past.” Her character writing is in fine form, the love songs are sweet but never saccharine, and Chapman’s luxurious voice is front and centre, backed up by transparent and tasteful arrangements by a who’s-who of L.A. studio musicians.
Sign her up for the inaugural ball. (November 13, 2008)
Castanets – City of Refuge (Asthmatic Kitty/ Sonic Unyon)Tom Petty once told us that "you don't have to live like a refugee." But listening to Castanets' City of Refuge suggests that displacement and despair can spawn sparse yet captivating creations. Raymond Raposa is the one-man band that is Castanets, and he apparently recorded these 15 songs by himself in a motel room in the middle of nowhere. That story sounds a bit too good to be true—for starters, it doesn't explain some of the drowsy turntablism that shows up as an occasional texture here—but it does paint a picture of loneliness and desolation. Coloured primarly by dusty desert electric guitar lines, City of Refuge owes more than a few debts to Ry Cooder's evocative soundtrack work, with some spacey electronics and subtle Latin influences in the mix. There's no question that Raposa is in a bleak place; he sings, "As long as I've lived, I've wanted to die." Yet the theme of refuge prevails; he does find solace and safety in the long, empty spaces between notes here. The most optimistic he gets is when he covers the gospel standard "I'll Fly Away," which is a natural thematic fit; he doesn't dwell on it, however, placing it halfway through the song cycle, and only for 90 seconds at that. For Raposa, the City of Refuge is still a mirage that threatens to evaporate before his eyes; hopefully once he finally gets to walk those gilded streets, his music will be just as evocative. (November 27, 2008)
Dungen – 4 (Kemado)Swedish psychedelic rock with flutes, glockenspiels and jazzy piano riffs might not be your cup of tea—until you hear Dungen. And even if you’ve heard them before, 4 is a major step up for bandleader Gustav Estes’s ability to seamlessly weave pastoral pop music, fuzzed-out guitar rock and jazz together; think of a bizarre cross between Black Sabbath and Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, only sung in Swedish. Special credit goes to Dungen’s new drummer, Johan Holmegard, for channelling the spirit of the recently deceased Mitch Mitchell of the Jimi Hendrix Experience; like Mitchell, Holmegard possesses both a deft and delicate touch that morphs into the monstrous when necessary. Everyone else here is equally tasteful; the guitarists definitely love their solos, but they come more from the Santana school of sensitive noodling, rather than the all-out wankfests that too many psych bands indulge in. (November 20, 2008)
Fembots – Calling Out (weewerk/Outside) The Fembots are two Torontonian men who reside in a studio they call the Junkshop. Their earliest recordings found them playing around with all sorts of odd noisemakers that sounded like the creation of a mad inventor. This time out, they actually do have a mad inventor in the band: Iner Souster, who makes beautiful and unique instruments from recycled and reused detritus. These creations also double as sculpture; you can preview some of them here.
Souster became an honorary member of the Fembots for this recording, which also features drummer/songwriter Nathan Lawr; both get co-writing credits here. Many of the songs were written with Souster’s creations providing the initial backdrop; more conventional guitars and keyboards were layered on later, which leave the odd textures to fade into the background. Which is too bad, because—as their last album proved—the Fembots simply aren’t as interesting when they play it straight. Although “straight” is an extremely relative term here; the Fembots still hail firmly from left field.
But there’s no point in dwelling on what Calling Out could have been; what it is is a lively collection of songs that once again draw from urban observations and religious reckoning. Opening track "Good Days" sets the bar high for the rest of the album, with a rousing chorus that declares: “All you Christian soldiers and all you Muslim martyrs/ you got it wrong/ life is good.” (November 20, 2008)
Flaming Lips – Christmas on Mars DVD (Warner)Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne has spent the better part of a decade making this film in his basement and his backyard—which is incredible, considering the set design and his ability to evoke sci-fi films and Cold War paranoia from the ’50s and’60s. Unfortunately, ambition alone doesn’t make this film much more than a tedious hallucination, a disconnected dream sequence that doesn’t even succeed as lo-fi B-movie kitsch. A gallery of stills from this film is more exciting than enduring awkward, jargon-heavy dialogue. The accompanying soundtrack fares slightly better, if only because meandering instrumental sci-fi music is much easier to absorb than a meandering, plotless sci-fi movie. (December 11, 2008)
Kocani Orkestar – The Ravished Bride (Crammed/Fusion III)When North Americans think of brass bands, they usually think of New Orleans. Apparently, so does this Macedonian brass ensemble, whose third album finds them funkier than ever; it sounds like their tuba player has been studying the syncopated likes of the Rebirth Brass Band and the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. The trombones and trumpets are as fast and furious as ever, but it’s actually the clarinetist here who steals most of the solos, with the accordion player scurrying along right behind him; there’s also a couple of surf rock guitar solos that seem to come out of nowhere. But no matter who’s in the lead, this is a non-stop thrill ride—even the boozy waltzes—guaranteed to please fans of both traditional acts like Mahala Rai Banda or Taraf de Haidouks, as well as New World acts like Beirut and Balkan Beat Box who have brought these sounds to North American ears in recent years. (November 13, 2008)
Leila – Blood, Looms and Blooms (Warp/Fusion III)Dreams are all about distortion: of time, of sight, of sound, of context. Composer/producer Leila Arab draws heavily from dream worlds in her music, where signifiers from past eras collide with decaying futurist visions. She sets up these scenarios and then lets them disintegrate before our ears. The opening track finds her running every instrument through various levels of distortion, crafting a broken beauty that complements the descending melodic lines, and preparing us for the coming audio journey.
The cover art is also telling: a man in a crescent moon overlooks a sinister-looking tree trunk that is wrapped in a strange architectural fantasy of tubes, bells and whistles; it could be the cover of a particularly dark children's book from 50 years ago, or a still from the Caro/Jeunet film City of Lost Children.
Blood, Looms and Blooms is a rich, imaginative and evocative album that justifies every minute of Leila's eight-year absence from recording. In the interim, Leila recorded and toured with Bjork, who is an obvious kindred spirit; they are both musical omnivores with a deep love for classical music, peculiar electronics and joyous dance beats. Leila doesn't venture into clubland often here, although “Little Acorns” does boast a bouncy Brazilian hip-hop beat with tinny synth horns, a comically slippery bass line, and little girls attempting some ragga toasting.
Most of Leila's grooves are dark and ominous, like the rattling bass synth underneath the track “Mettle”; dripping tap water dictates the beat, while guitarist Andy Cox (English Beat, Fine Young Cannibals) tears into spooky guitar riffs that Leila tweaks into oblivion. For all her tendencies toward noise and dissonance, she can also play it completely straight: “Young Once” is a live recording featuring her on unadorned piano, accompanied by cello and two clarinets; the result is just as affecting as the most heavily produced material here.
The most fascinating moments are when she allows everything to collide, as she does on “Daisies, Cats and Spacement”: there, a sensual jazz vocal guides pizzicato strings playing tarantella rhythms, while manipulated harpsichords skitter over snare drums that drag the beat into dungeons of reverb. At times, these tracks recall the unrealized potential of Tricky in the mid-90s; the association is bolstered by her choice of vocalists Terry Hall (the Specials) and Martina Topley-Bird, both of whom were frequent Tricky collaborators at the time.
The only misstep here is an atrocious cover of the Beatles' “Norwegian Wood,” which not only bears no melodic resemblance to the original, but the arrangement falls flat compared to the creativity heard on every other track here.
Few artists from the late 90s electronic scene continue to push themselves forward and create albums as spellbinding as their early works, but Leila is one of them. It obviously helps to hibernate for a while; just ask Portishead. (November 6, 2008)
Ohbijou/Acorn – split 12” single (Kelp)These two Ontario bands have toured together many times; listening to this vinyl single that they share, it’s easy to see why. They both explore an adventurous take on folk rock, with a deep appreciation for classic pop songwriting that never falls into cliché; they both share a small-town melancholy made for Canadian winters and CBC playlists; they both love their cellos and banjos as much as their electric guitars. On this 12” vinyl single, they offer up one new song each, and cover each other.
The Ohbijou side is considerably stronger; not just featuring their new song "Tender Bones," but also The Acorn’s sympathetic reading of Ohbijou’s "Steep." The new Acorn song, on the other hand, doesn’t come close to the heights they scaled on 2007’s Glory Hope Mountain, and Ohbijou turn in a rather clunky rendition of a very early Acorn track that’s barely recognizable here. Being such close friends, these two bands would never try to compete; no wonder this comes to a draw. (November 20, 2008)
Roxanne Potvin – No Love For the Poisonous (Alert)Before Roxanne Potvin's performance at the Hillside Festival last summer, one of her biggest fans turned to me and started extolling the singer/guitarist's many virtues. After a minor avalanche of glowing adjectives, he stopped suddenly and said, "But she really has to cut out all those ballads."
That sentiment sums up Potvin’s second album—especially when, ten songs into it, she finally lets loose with a visceral and soulful wail on the gospel funk of "Dig Deeper." Knowing that she’s capable of that, it’s hard to understand why she exercises such comparatively polite restraint on the rest of this album.
That said, it’s hard to fault Potvin for being such a tasteful pop crooner on material that serves well as smooth Sunday morning soul music, on tracks such as "Paralyzed," "Who’s the Enemy" and "Laws of Nature." Key to this album’s success is the earthy production by Dave Mackinnon of the Fembots, bolstered by the veteran K-W rhythm section of bassist Mark McIntyre and drummer Roger Travassos, who push Potvin along with grooves that exercise considerable muscle even on the quietest moments (The Puzzle). (November 27, 2008)
Peter Project – s/t (Fuzzy Logic/Outside)iNSiDEaMiND – Scatterpopia (Public Transit Recordings)
These two Toronto artists are among the few who still take turntablism as a serious artform, one that owes an obvious debt to its hip-hop origins but can mean so much more than that.
The Peter Project is a playful tour-de-force that draws heavily from obtuse dialogue samples culled from TV and children’s records, matched with jazzy flute loops, walking bass lines, spy movie themes and psychedelic keyboards—as well as a few harpsichords, for good measure. “If the music got really weird, then you’d get really weird, too,” promises one of the anonymous, disembodied voices heard here, and it’s true—though the Peter Project is careful to welcome some real live human beings into his fantastical sonic playground, namely Toronto MCs such as More or Les, the Word Burglar, Zaki Ibrahim and Masia One. There’s some scratchtastic action on the turntables as well, but that takes a backseat to the beats and the oddities sandwiched in between.
iNSiDEaMiND come from more of a sound art background than the dance floor. Somewhere between the playful sonic narratives of Kid Koala and the eerie urban landscapes conjured up by the so-called “illbient” movement of the late 90s, iNSiDEaMiND are masters of mood and manipulation of sound. Although there are moments of funk and jazz here—including one collaboration with Montreal beatmaster Ghislain Poirier, and another with Toronto jazz saxophonist Colin Fisher— iNSiDEaMiND are most captivating when they set themselves adrift on a sea of crackling vinyl, to see what they will find. (November 13, 2008)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers – Running Down a Dream DVD (Warner)As Running Down a Dream begins, we’re introduced to Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers celebrating 30 years together, at a hometown concert in Gainsville, Florida. The performance is perfunctory and confirms suspicions that casual Petty fans might have about the man’s career: that he’s a competent and dependable songwriter, if not a bit bland and entirely predictable.
So why would you sit through a four-hour documentary about such an artist?
For starters, there’s much more to Petty than meets the eye. Anyone who only knows him from the last 20 years of his career—as the laid-back author of songs like "Free Falling" and "You Don’t Know How It Feels"—will be surprised to discover what a powerful rock band the Heartbreakers were in the early days, and how they bridged the worlds of 60s rock and 70s new wave. It was actually the UK, obsessed with punk at the time, that first embraced the all-American rocker before he ever found success at home.
Petty came of age at a time where his close circle of friends and collaborators could include members of the Beatles, the Byrds, Fleetwood Mac, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, the Eurythmics and Pearl Jam—all of whom feature prominently in this film. Yet it’s the relationships inside the Heartbreakers that are key here, especially his two right-hand men: guitarist Mike Campbell and keyboardist Benmont Tench.
Petty has a reputation as a stubborn man of principle, one that once sued his record company in the late 70s, at a time when the music business was being collapsed into an oligopoly. Years later, he would help dig his commercial grave at radio by writing a single called "The Last DJ," about the death of independent programming in an age of media conglomeration. On a less endearing note, he refused Stevie Nicks’s offer to join the Heartbreakers because “there are no girls in the Heartbreakers.”
Petty’s private life as an adult is not on display; there’s little mention of his first wife or his children. His early years, however, are well documented through interviews and copious amounts of Super-8 footage taken by his family and his early bandmates.
Directed by Peter Bogdanovich, Running Down a Dream is far more engaging than expected—especially considering that it’s basically an extended episode of Behind the Music. But despite its length, there’s nary a rambling moment, and all of the live footage informs the narrative.
Fairweather fans will find it compelling enough; anyone with a well-worn copy of Petty’s greatest hits record will be in heaven. (December 11, 2008)
Q-Tip – The Renaissance (Motown/Universal)Though it’s been in the works almost as long as Chinese Democracy, The Renaisssance succeeds everywhere Axl Rose fails: here’s a beloved icon who comes back swinging like his former self while sounding entirely of the moment as well, oozing with charisma the entire time.
In the nine years since his last album, this legendary MC reunited with A Tribe Called Quest for a couple of tours, and recorded two solo albums that were shelved by the record company. And yet here it sounds like he never left; he doesn’t sound desperate to prove anything to anyone.
The Renaissance is full of the laid-back charm that built his rep in the first place, set atop boom-bap grooves and jazzy bass lines. There’s some starpower help from Norah Jones, D’Angelo and Raphael Saadiq, but no other MCs to distract from Tip’s flawless flow—which is especially evident on the extended a cappella intro to "Dance on Glass," where it’s almost disappointing once the beat kicks in. Live grooves drive some of the best moments here, like the sparse, squiggly bass on the disco of "ManWomanBooogie" or the guitar-driven funk trio heard on "Good Thing."
When he rattles off the names of his hip-hop heroes on "Life Is Better," it’s a potent reminder of how few of them built sustainable careers. And maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder, but there’s every sense here that Q-Tip will still be making classic records years from now. (December 4, 2008)
Serena Ryder – Is It OK? (EMI)For a young woman with such a confident voice, that’s a rather insecure album title. But for a woman who can stun a room into silence with an a cappella performance, Ryder decides pulls out the big production courtesy of John Alagia (Dave Matthews Band, John Mayer); thankfully, it never threatens to overshadow Ryder’s formidable presence. With the exception of one or two subdued numbers here—including the closing "Dark as the Black," which is the highlight—Ryder is ready to leave her folkie beginnings behind and go for the all-out belting here (for better or worse), assuming a role in Canadian music that’s been vacant ever since Amanda Marshall went AWOL. Ryder set her sights high on her 2006 major label debut, If Your Memory Serves You Well, where she tackled the classic Canadian songbook with aplomb; this is meant to be her coming-out party as a songwriter and ... well, she’s still an amazing singer. In that sense, this is certainly OK. Just OK, though. (November 13, 2008)
Spam All-Stars – Introducing (Introducing/Fusion III)The sound of Miami’s Spam All-Stars can be explained by the resumés of the band and their extended family, which includes James Brown, Sly and the Family Stone, Shakira, Antibalas, Phish and many more; bandleader/songwriter/DJ Andrew Yeomanson is of British/Venezuelan heritage and was raised in Montreal, Toronto, Bogota and Miami. These are top-notch Latin funk players who were first assembled 15 years ago, and whose first five albums are compiled for this, their first international release; naturally, it’s a non-stop party that allows room for subtle shadings as well as heavy funk grooves. The production is smooth, but not entirely slick; it’s likely ten times as atomic in a live setting, and now that they’re poised to make major inroads outside of the Sunshine State, it’s more likely we’ll witness that close to home soon enough. (November 6, 2008)
Rae Spoon – Superior You Are Inferior (Scratch)Rae Spoon sings about being “off the grid and underground,” which befits a performer who bounces between Berlin, Montreal and his hometown of Calgary. It also suits a singer/songwriter who sings high lonesome folk songs with steel guitars and cellos and then switches to subtle synths and electronic percussion without missing a beat. Rae Spoon sounds like a naturalist adrift in the modern world, trying to find a way “to get the ocean on our side” on songs such as “Come On Forest Fire Burn the Disco Down,” and “We Become Our Own Wolves.” The songwriting and arrangements are uniformly strong; Spoon’s bell-clear and androgynous voice could use more variation, instead of sounding like a formal recital, but that’s a minor complaint as this worthy artist otherwise expands his sonic palette with great success. (December 4, 2008)
Stompin' Tom – The Ballad of Stompin' Tom (EMI)In a recent Globe and Mail profile of Stompin' Tom Connors, the writer says that Tom "no longer listens to country radio. It's too homogeneous, he says, with too many people trying to do the same kind of song again and again." The irony is rich, coming from a man who is nothing if not homogenous, writing the same kind of Canadiana again and again, with little more than three chords, an acoustic guitar and a Maritimers' drawl. This album features unnecessary re-recordings of three earlier songs (including the now-ubiquitous “Hockey Song”), a cover of his idol Wilf Carter's “Take Me Back to Old Alberta,” and ten new songs that mine similar territory, as well as the sweet “Bride & Groom Waltz.” Unlike his contemporaries, this 72-year-old isn't concerned with late-career grativas or matters of mortality; he's still writing about "workin' in the bush of Buctouche" and hamming it up on songs like “Chickie Pooh,” which would even embarrass Fred Penner. Most affecting is the title track, which is rich in detail from Connors' hard-luck childhood; it's also a helpful précis in case you don't have time to read his 2000-page autobiographical tome (which, sadly, is now out of print). (November 6, 2008)
Kanye West – 808 & Heartbreak (Roc-a-fella/Universal)Harder? Better? Faster? Stronger? Not this time. Kanye West likes to come off as invincible, both in his music and his off-stage persona, but here—his first album since the death of his mother last year—he lets his guard down to soak in melancholy, 80s pop, and self-pity. This is not a hip-hop album at all, and not a single one of these tracks is likely to be heard in a club; thankfully the timing is such that West doesn’t have to compete with the likes of 50 Cent this time out—because even a weak 50 Cent album would probably beat out a head-scratcher of a record like this one. In the words of Q-Tip, this is like “cold grits without the hot sauce.”
808 & Heartbreak finds West singing more often than not, albeit with copious help from an auto-tuner. With the kind of artists he has on his speed dial, there must be a good reason why he didn’t ask for vocal help; instead, we’re stuck with what sounds like second-rate Akon and/or T-Pain. What could have been a serious artistic left turn—not unlike Beck’s Sea Change or Mutations albums—instead falls prey to a simple production gimmick.
It doesn’t help that his musings on fame are increasingly nauseating, on "Welcome to the Heartbreak" and a horrendous solo piano bonus track with a bizarre Pinocchio analogy—he just wants to be a real boy, you see. It makes matters worse that the track sounds like it was recorded on a cellphone at the back of a stadium. And it’s not like he hasn’t been successfully reflective before—even on the subject of his mother, as he was on Late Registration’s “Hey Mama.”
This is all a shame, because West’s increased infatuation with 20-year-old synthesizers elevates some of the sub-standard pop songs here, and the Roland 808 drum machine of the title is used to maximum effect. He has plenty of fine production scattered throughout here, but it would be much more interesting to hear him apply it to a young, impressionable artist—maybe even one who can sing—rather than his own insufferable self-absorption. (December 4, 2008)
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Summer re-cap, part one
Apologies, blogosphere. Moving house took a lot more out of me than I expected.
The next few days will be devoted to some catch-up, before we get to in-depth interviews with the Weakerthans, The Acorn and Bruce Peninsula. We'll start today, though, with reviews penned for the mainstream daily newspapers Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury.
Here's what July had to offer for the Record. In alphabetical order: Editors, Roky Erikson, Legion of Green Men, Mother Mother, Ohbijou, Spoon, Two Hours Traffic, Various Artists - Healing the Divide, and Porter Wagoner.
Editors – An End Has a Start (Red Ink/Sony BMG)
With their 2005 debut The Back Room, Editors proved to be one of those rare British bands who could explain the missing connections between Joy Division and U2, with a knack for stadium pop melodies, all tarted up in gothic accessories. Their dramatic flair was part of the charm: the fact that they could pull this off without sounding like self-important blowhards was a minor miracle.
Sadly, that luck has run out. An End Has a Start gives every indication that Editors’ actual ambition is to be a slightly darker version of Coldplay, complete with utterly banal platitudes passing off as poetry. There’s actually a song called "The Weight of the World," while on another singer Tom Smith tells us, “The saddest thing I’ve ever seen is smokers outside the hospital doors.” Really? He should try watching some genocide documentaries.
Anyone pleasantly surprised by the first Editors album should be switching their allegiance to The National by now. (July 7, 2007)
Roky Erikson – You’re Gonna Miss Me OST (Palm)
Even in the ridiculous world of rock’n’roll, there are still stories that stretch the limits of credulity.
Take the case of Roky Erikson, who helped pioneer 60s psychedelic rock with his Texas band 13th Floor Elevators. His unhinged howl suggested he was already on the edge, but copious amounts of LSD pushed him further along. Arrested for marijuana possession, he pled insanity and had electroshock therapy during his incarceration. When he got out, he wrote songs about “working in the Kremlin with a two-headed dog” and vampires and aliens while his personal life collapsed into increasingly bizarre twists and turns.
This is all documented brilliantly in the film You’re Gonna Miss Me, just released on DVD, which is easily the most spellbinding and incredulous bio-doc since Terry Zwigoff’s 1994 portrait of cartoonist Robert Crumb and his dysfunctional brother.
The accompanying soundtrack is not a definitive overview of Erikson’s work—there are only two songs here by the 13th Floor Elevators—but it is a thorough biographical sketch that touches on each period of his unsung career. Throughout, Erikson proves to be much more than a nutjob with a good story behind him. At times he’s an impassioned soulman like Van Morrison, others he’s a deranged rocker whose spinetingling voice inspires genuine chills that shame his more cartoonish peers.
His sensitive side is also on display, as heard on two previously unreleased acoustic songs that are featured in the film: "For You (I’d Do Anything)" and "Goodbye Sweet Dreams." Both are incredibly poignant after witnessing the trainwreck that has been his life. But, like the rest of this soundtrack, they hold up well even outside the overwhelming context provided by the film. Like the best rock’n’roll always should, they transcend the emotional anguish that spawned them—which, considering the strength of the film, says a lot. (July 19, 2007)
Legion of Green Men – Baqontraq (Post Contemporary/Outside)
This Burlington electronic duo appear to have pulled a Rip Van Winkle, emerging with their first new album in eight years and sounding like time stood still. Picking up where 1999’s brilliant Floating In Shallow Water left off, Baqontraq recalls a time in the late 90s when underground producers were moving away from the colder strands of techno into the warm environs of dub reggae, with ambient textures floating above drum’n’bass undercurrents. This time out, there are more live horn sounds, more of a direct roots reggae influence, and one track that takes dub’s reductionist technique to an extreme by pulling out the drums altogether, with lapping waves of echo providing the rhythm.
Baqontraq sounds like it could easily have been made ten years ago, but that’s not a slag, as LOGM were always two of the better producers in this field. Whether they’ll still be able to capture the imagination of an electronic scene obsessed with the new is beside the point, as this marks a welcome return for a pioneering group in Canadian electronica. (July 5, 2007)
Mother Mother – Touch Up (Last Gang/Universal)
The first thing you notice about Mother Mother is their vocals—every clipped and chipper note of the three-part harmony between brother and sister Ryan and Molly Guldemond and Debra-Jean Creelman. Their sound is initially a hard sell, if not downright grating. But as the 13 tracks on their debut album unfold, it’s those unusual, almost alien vocals that become the band’s calling card, employed in a variety of original ways.
The accompanying music is similarly skewered, and is impossible to describe without making it sound awful: funky acoustic pop that draws from country and punk rhythms as well as percussive folk ala Ani DiFranco. I’m cringing just writing that, and yet such are Mother Mother’s charms that their music quickly overcomes first impressions, deserving as much praise its singular sound as for surviving the myriad pitfalls that come with this territory. As a recording, however, Touch Up is a bit too, well, touched-up. (July 26, 2007)
Ohbijou – Swift Feet For Troubled Times (Outside)
The two sisters at the core of Ohbijou, Casey and Jenn Mecija, grew up in Brantford—a ghost of a town where everyone leaves eventually, driving through fields of farmland towards a bigger city full of social uncertainties, where the bustle of urban life clashes with the idyllic childhood that small towns provide.
Whether or not that actually sums up the Mecijas’ childhood is entirely conjecture, but the music of Toronto’s Ohbijou captures that melancholic feeling perfectly, both in lyrics and in arrangements. Raccoons sing ballads while tumbleweeds roam the small town streets. Love feels like espionage in the big city. The sisters’ harmonies are front and centre, but every player in this ensemble plays with exquisite taste and invention. Plaintive cello lines frame an acoustic arsenal of ukuleles, banjos, mandolins and pianos that rarely ever fall into folk clichés. The undeniably pretty surface makes them instantly loveable, yet just underneath are extremely subtle subversions that illuminate the sadness at the core of many of these songs.
They’ve been one of Toronto’s loveliest secrets for the past two years, but that’s about to change. This is a newly remastered version of their 2006 debut album, which now has national distribution to coincide with their recent western tour. (July 26, 2007)
Ohbijou open for the Akron Family on September 26 at Barrymore's in Otttawa, and play an impossible-to-miss show at the River Run Centre in Guelph with Great Lake Swimmers and Final Fantasy. They'll also be at Pop Montreal on October 4, and headline Lee's Palace in Toronto on November 9 with Bruce Peninsula.
Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (Merge)
Don’t let the year’s goofiest album title throw you off. However stupid it may be, it actually does say something about Spoon’s skill at distilling the best rock, R&B and pop songwriting to its bare bones. There’s nary an extraneous note to be found on a Spoon album, and on this, their sixth, they may well have perfected their formula.
Spoon does this by approaching pop music the same way any expert reggae or soul band would: have the guitars play only on the accented beats, use the piano to provide most of the colour, never let the drummer play a fill, and let the bass enter the dance only at the most effective moments. In doing so, Spoon is one of the only rock bands since The Clash to truly utilise the simplicity of soul music, able to surrender all show-off rocker poses to slide into a groove—best heard on the horn-driven acoustic R&B song "The Underdog," which could easily have slipped on to London Calling.
Not that Spoon necessarily make dance music. "You Got Yr Cherry Bomb" might swing with the best of the Motown greats, but it’s preceded by the sparse and spooky "The Ghost of You Lingers," where the drums disappear and eerie synths loom over a piano pounding out eighth notes.
What makes Spoon such a magnet for music geeks is their production style, which sounds straight out of Abbey Road studios in the late 60s, with total stereo separation that appeals to headphone listeners everywhere.
It’s easy to intellectualize and analyze the studio technique, but it’s the punchy pop songs hit you straight in the gut—and, as the album title implies, the lyrics don’t get in the way. Singer Britt Daniel slaps non-sequiturs together in the best Beck fashion, but despite this and the fact that he still seems to be suffering from a massive head cold, the nasal singer sounds dead cool wrenching emotion from a song that’s actually called "My Little Japanese Cigarette Case."
More than anything, Spoon know that by leaving wide open spaces in their songs, every little nuance is illuminated. And despite the simple appearance of these disposable pop songs, there’s plenty to chew here on that continually rewards listeners of every stripe. This is one for the ages. (July 12, 2007)
Spoon play the Kool Haus in Toronto on October 15.
Two Hours Traffic – Little Jabs (Bumstead)
Two Hours Traffic’s brand of likeable guitar pop—big harmonies, chiming guitars, songs about sidewalks, summers and backseat sweethearts—never goes out of style, and the 11 songs on this debut are a promising start. They enlisted the help of Joel Plaskett as producer, and while he doesn’t take them along for the same sonic rides he does on Ashtray Rock, he does know how to dress up a bare-bones rock band with just the right touches. The songwriting is catchy, though their best days are obviously still ahead of them. (July 26, 2007)
Healing the Divide: A Concert For Peace and Reconciliation – Various Artists (Anti/Epitaph)
What better way to embark on a Buddhist reflection on peace than with a soundtrack by Tibetan monks, sitar master Anoushka Shankar, the native American flautist R. Carlos Nakai, Philip Glass with Gambian kora player Foday Musa Suso… and Tom Waits?
After opening with a speech by the Dalai Lama, this 2003 Lincoln Centre concert proceeds in a meditative mood—highlighted by Glass and Suso—until Waits comes out to break the ice by singing songs of damnation and spiritual redemption, accompanied by typically inventive arrangements by the Kronos Quartet, a first-time collaboration that makes this worthwhile for any Waits fan.
While he provides some thunderclouds to contrast the calm of the opening acts, he’s also the most cathartic act of the evening—as evidenced by the rapturous audience response. Perhaps instead of meditating for peace, what we really need is a visceral release where we confront the confusion and realise that—in Waits’ own words—"God’s Away On Business," and it’s up to us to keep the devil "Way Down In the Hole." (July 12, 2007)
Porter Wagoner – Wagonmaster (Anti/Epitaph)
On only his second album in 25 years, Grand Ole Opry legend Porter Wagoner doesn’t opt for any modern ornamentation or novelty pop covers, and neither is this a stark recording along the lines of Johnny Cash’s comeback records. Rather, this is a very old school Nashville album, with seasoned session players fleshing out a balance of originals and covers, recorded in three days.
The 79-year old’s new material is mostly written from a widower’s perspective, but this is not a morbid album by any stretch: check out the oddly cheery song about ghostly visitations, called "Be a Little Quieter (If You Can)." Wagoner is not out to make a big deal about his reappearance; rather, this simply picks up where his golden period left off, which is as good an entry point as any for new fans. (July 7, 2007)
Also reviewed, but not reprinted here: Beastie Boys, The Besnard Lakes, Blackie and the Rodeo Kings, Los Campesinos!, The National, Xavier Rudd, Smashing Pumpkins, Socalled, T.I. If you work for any of these people in any capacity and want a clipping, drop me a line.
The next few days will be devoted to some catch-up, before we get to in-depth interviews with the Weakerthans, The Acorn and Bruce Peninsula. We'll start today, though, with reviews penned for the mainstream daily newspapers Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury.
Here's what July had to offer for the Record. In alphabetical order: Editors, Roky Erikson, Legion of Green Men, Mother Mother, Ohbijou, Spoon, Two Hours Traffic, Various Artists - Healing the Divide, and Porter Wagoner.
Editors – An End Has a Start (Red Ink/Sony BMG)
With their 2005 debut The Back Room, Editors proved to be one of those rare British bands who could explain the missing connections between Joy Division and U2, with a knack for stadium pop melodies, all tarted up in gothic accessories. Their dramatic flair was part of the charm: the fact that they could pull this off without sounding like self-important blowhards was a minor miracle.
Sadly, that luck has run out. An End Has a Start gives every indication that Editors’ actual ambition is to be a slightly darker version of Coldplay, complete with utterly banal platitudes passing off as poetry. There’s actually a song called "The Weight of the World," while on another singer Tom Smith tells us, “The saddest thing I’ve ever seen is smokers outside the hospital doors.” Really? He should try watching some genocide documentaries.
Anyone pleasantly surprised by the first Editors album should be switching their allegiance to The National by now. (July 7, 2007)
Roky Erikson – You’re Gonna Miss Me OST (Palm)
Even in the ridiculous world of rock’n’roll, there are still stories that stretch the limits of credulity.
Take the case of Roky Erikson, who helped pioneer 60s psychedelic rock with his Texas band 13th Floor Elevators. His unhinged howl suggested he was already on the edge, but copious amounts of LSD pushed him further along. Arrested for marijuana possession, he pled insanity and had electroshock therapy during his incarceration. When he got out, he wrote songs about “working in the Kremlin with a two-headed dog” and vampires and aliens while his personal life collapsed into increasingly bizarre twists and turns.
This is all documented brilliantly in the film You’re Gonna Miss Me, just released on DVD, which is easily the most spellbinding and incredulous bio-doc since Terry Zwigoff’s 1994 portrait of cartoonist Robert Crumb and his dysfunctional brother.
The accompanying soundtrack is not a definitive overview of Erikson’s work—there are only two songs here by the 13th Floor Elevators—but it is a thorough biographical sketch that touches on each period of his unsung career. Throughout, Erikson proves to be much more than a nutjob with a good story behind him. At times he’s an impassioned soulman like Van Morrison, others he’s a deranged rocker whose spinetingling voice inspires genuine chills that shame his more cartoonish peers.
His sensitive side is also on display, as heard on two previously unreleased acoustic songs that are featured in the film: "For You (I’d Do Anything)" and "Goodbye Sweet Dreams." Both are incredibly poignant after witnessing the trainwreck that has been his life. But, like the rest of this soundtrack, they hold up well even outside the overwhelming context provided by the film. Like the best rock’n’roll always should, they transcend the emotional anguish that spawned them—which, considering the strength of the film, says a lot. (July 19, 2007)
Legion of Green Men – Baqontraq (Post Contemporary/Outside)
This Burlington electronic duo appear to have pulled a Rip Van Winkle, emerging with their first new album in eight years and sounding like time stood still. Picking up where 1999’s brilliant Floating In Shallow Water left off, Baqontraq recalls a time in the late 90s when underground producers were moving away from the colder strands of techno into the warm environs of dub reggae, with ambient textures floating above drum’n’bass undercurrents. This time out, there are more live horn sounds, more of a direct roots reggae influence, and one track that takes dub’s reductionist technique to an extreme by pulling out the drums altogether, with lapping waves of echo providing the rhythm.
Baqontraq sounds like it could easily have been made ten years ago, but that’s not a slag, as LOGM were always two of the better producers in this field. Whether they’ll still be able to capture the imagination of an electronic scene obsessed with the new is beside the point, as this marks a welcome return for a pioneering group in Canadian electronica. (July 5, 2007)
Mother Mother – Touch Up (Last Gang/Universal)
The first thing you notice about Mother Mother is their vocals—every clipped and chipper note of the three-part harmony between brother and sister Ryan and Molly Guldemond and Debra-Jean Creelman. Their sound is initially a hard sell, if not downright grating. But as the 13 tracks on their debut album unfold, it’s those unusual, almost alien vocals that become the band’s calling card, employed in a variety of original ways.
The accompanying music is similarly skewered, and is impossible to describe without making it sound awful: funky acoustic pop that draws from country and punk rhythms as well as percussive folk ala Ani DiFranco. I’m cringing just writing that, and yet such are Mother Mother’s charms that their music quickly overcomes first impressions, deserving as much praise its singular sound as for surviving the myriad pitfalls that come with this territory. As a recording, however, Touch Up is a bit too, well, touched-up. (July 26, 2007)
Ohbijou – Swift Feet For Troubled Times (Outside)
The two sisters at the core of Ohbijou, Casey and Jenn Mecija, grew up in Brantford—a ghost of a town where everyone leaves eventually, driving through fields of farmland towards a bigger city full of social uncertainties, where the bustle of urban life clashes with the idyllic childhood that small towns provide.
Whether or not that actually sums up the Mecijas’ childhood is entirely conjecture, but the music of Toronto’s Ohbijou captures that melancholic feeling perfectly, both in lyrics and in arrangements. Raccoons sing ballads while tumbleweeds roam the small town streets. Love feels like espionage in the big city. The sisters’ harmonies are front and centre, but every player in this ensemble plays with exquisite taste and invention. Plaintive cello lines frame an acoustic arsenal of ukuleles, banjos, mandolins and pianos that rarely ever fall into folk clichés. The undeniably pretty surface makes them instantly loveable, yet just underneath are extremely subtle subversions that illuminate the sadness at the core of many of these songs.
They’ve been one of Toronto’s loveliest secrets for the past two years, but that’s about to change. This is a newly remastered version of their 2006 debut album, which now has national distribution to coincide with their recent western tour. (July 26, 2007)
Ohbijou open for the Akron Family on September 26 at Barrymore's in Otttawa, and play an impossible-to-miss show at the River Run Centre in Guelph with Great Lake Swimmers and Final Fantasy. They'll also be at Pop Montreal on October 4, and headline Lee's Palace in Toronto on November 9 with Bruce Peninsula.
Spoon – Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (Merge)
Don’t let the year’s goofiest album title throw you off. However stupid it may be, it actually does say something about Spoon’s skill at distilling the best rock, R&B and pop songwriting to its bare bones. There’s nary an extraneous note to be found on a Spoon album, and on this, their sixth, they may well have perfected their formula.
Spoon does this by approaching pop music the same way any expert reggae or soul band would: have the guitars play only on the accented beats, use the piano to provide most of the colour, never let the drummer play a fill, and let the bass enter the dance only at the most effective moments. In doing so, Spoon is one of the only rock bands since The Clash to truly utilise the simplicity of soul music, able to surrender all show-off rocker poses to slide into a groove—best heard on the horn-driven acoustic R&B song "The Underdog," which could easily have slipped on to London Calling.
Not that Spoon necessarily make dance music. "You Got Yr Cherry Bomb" might swing with the best of the Motown greats, but it’s preceded by the sparse and spooky "The Ghost of You Lingers," where the drums disappear and eerie synths loom over a piano pounding out eighth notes.
What makes Spoon such a magnet for music geeks is their production style, which sounds straight out of Abbey Road studios in the late 60s, with total stereo separation that appeals to headphone listeners everywhere.
It’s easy to intellectualize and analyze the studio technique, but it’s the punchy pop songs hit you straight in the gut—and, as the album title implies, the lyrics don’t get in the way. Singer Britt Daniel slaps non-sequiturs together in the best Beck fashion, but despite this and the fact that he still seems to be suffering from a massive head cold, the nasal singer sounds dead cool wrenching emotion from a song that’s actually called "My Little Japanese Cigarette Case."
More than anything, Spoon know that by leaving wide open spaces in their songs, every little nuance is illuminated. And despite the simple appearance of these disposable pop songs, there’s plenty to chew here on that continually rewards listeners of every stripe. This is one for the ages. (July 12, 2007)
Spoon play the Kool Haus in Toronto on October 15.
Two Hours Traffic – Little Jabs (Bumstead)
Two Hours Traffic’s brand of likeable guitar pop—big harmonies, chiming guitars, songs about sidewalks, summers and backseat sweethearts—never goes out of style, and the 11 songs on this debut are a promising start. They enlisted the help of Joel Plaskett as producer, and while he doesn’t take them along for the same sonic rides he does on Ashtray Rock, he does know how to dress up a bare-bones rock band with just the right touches. The songwriting is catchy, though their best days are obviously still ahead of them. (July 26, 2007)
Healing the Divide: A Concert For Peace and Reconciliation – Various Artists (Anti/Epitaph)
What better way to embark on a Buddhist reflection on peace than with a soundtrack by Tibetan monks, sitar master Anoushka Shankar, the native American flautist R. Carlos Nakai, Philip Glass with Gambian kora player Foday Musa Suso… and Tom Waits?
After opening with a speech by the Dalai Lama, this 2003 Lincoln Centre concert proceeds in a meditative mood—highlighted by Glass and Suso—until Waits comes out to break the ice by singing songs of damnation and spiritual redemption, accompanied by typically inventive arrangements by the Kronos Quartet, a first-time collaboration that makes this worthwhile for any Waits fan.
While he provides some thunderclouds to contrast the calm of the opening acts, he’s also the most cathartic act of the evening—as evidenced by the rapturous audience response. Perhaps instead of meditating for peace, what we really need is a visceral release where we confront the confusion and realise that—in Waits’ own words—"God’s Away On Business," and it’s up to us to keep the devil "Way Down In the Hole." (July 12, 2007)
Porter Wagoner – Wagonmaster (Anti/Epitaph)
On only his second album in 25 years, Grand Ole Opry legend Porter Wagoner doesn’t opt for any modern ornamentation or novelty pop covers, and neither is this a stark recording along the lines of Johnny Cash’s comeback records. Rather, this is a very old school Nashville album, with seasoned session players fleshing out a balance of originals and covers, recorded in three days.
The 79-year old’s new material is mostly written from a widower’s perspective, but this is not a morbid album by any stretch: check out the oddly cheery song about ghostly visitations, called "Be a Little Quieter (If You Can)." Wagoner is not out to make a big deal about his reappearance; rather, this simply picks up where his golden period left off, which is as good an entry point as any for new fans. (July 7, 2007)
Also reviewed, but not reprinted here: Beastie Boys, The Besnard Lakes, Blackie and the Rodeo Kings, Los Campesinos!, The National, Xavier Rudd, Smashing Pumpkins, Socalled, T.I. If you work for any of these people in any capacity and want a clipping, drop me a line.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Hillside 2007
Apologies for the absence: I’ve been in the Kawartha woods, homeless and housesitting in Toronto, driving to Delaware, camping in the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania, juggling various deadlines and planning trips to Wolfe Island and Ottawa before I move house in September. Am I excused?
This year marked my 15th year at the Hillside festival (July 27-29), as a musician, a volunteer, as media, and as an MC. During that time I’ve only missed two days of programming.
Hillside is like a weekend-long New Year’s Party for Guelph residents past and present, where the entire community rallies to make this non-profit festival come together. Out of 6000 people allowed on to the peninsula where it takes place, 1000 of them are volunteers—and likely most of those are dishwashers, as there’s nary a disposable plate or container to be found anywhere on the site. And—though this is hard to believe for outsiders—the musical line-up almost doesn’t really matter. Hillside is a party you don’t want to miss. The fact that many of my favourite musical memories happened there is simply an added bonus background.
I’ve had intensely personal experiences there. One incident this year, however, was simply intense (if you're looking for an actual review of the festival, scroll down).
For the second time in my years of being an MC, the role took on a much more serious tone than expected. The first time was introducing the Arcade Fire’s mainstage set in 2005, where security had to be sent into the crowd to rescue people fainting from the crowd surge.
This year, I was assigned to introduce Shout Out Out Out Out’s closing Saturday night set in the Island Tent at 10pm. No matter who plays that slot, the 1600-strong crowd is drunk and ready to party, and usually the MC doesn’t have to do much more than say “Please pick up your garbage. OK, now, are… you… READY??!!!” before handing it off to the main act. No such luck this time.
It seems that someone in the Shout Out Out Out Out camp forgot their sampler at the hotel room on the other side of Guelph (about a 20 minute drive from the outskirts of the site). Not only did they discover this at about 9.30, but apparently said sampler is the single most important piece of equipment amidst the two drum sets, two basses and arsenal of keyboards that took over half an hour to set up properly anyway.
My first reaction, of course, was: what kind of band shows up at a former folk festival and refuses to play without their g-damn SAMPLER? Where is the DIY spirit? Where is the improvisation? And what on earth can that sampler do that the DI-ed cowbell and the vocoder can’t?
Keep in mind that the festival has a strict curfew of 11pm—anything past that, and the Grand River Conservation Authority, who run the site, have every right to levy massive fines to the Hillside organization.
10.05 rolls around, which is 20 minutes after Apostle of Hustle scurried off. I go on stage and announce that we’re experiencing delays, because this band obviously has a lot of equipment and we want everything to be just right. Mild boo-ing.
10.10. I’m informed by security that we have a missing child in the audience: Lara, seven years old, shoulder-length blonde hair, black pants, white t-shirt with a guitar design on the sleeve. If found, direct her to the carousel at the back of the tent. I get up and make the announcement. Oh, and by the way, the band will be on in ten minutes.
10.15 Shauna from Six Shooter tells me that realistically the band won’t be on for 15 or 20 minutes. She’s getting regular cell calls from the reconnaissance crew, while stage manager Dave Withers is trying to get a Hillside board member on the walkie-talkie to try and push the curfew of the tent, fearing things will get ugly if the band are only allowed to play for 20 minutes. Security tells me that we’ve actually found the child. I get on stage and make a good-news-bad-news announcement: we found the child (cheers), but the band won’t be on for another 15 minutes (boos), so take a break, go to the bathroom, get a drink. Many people start leaving the tent.
10.20 A shame-faced security officer tells me that, in fact, broken telephone meant that messages got crossed and—gulp—the missing girl has NOT been found and her mother is more than pissed that I announced otherwise. Whoops. I make the announcement. Boos.
10.25 Even though the stage is entirely set up, Withers tells his stage crew to go up and make it look like they’re tinkering with things, just so the crowd thinks that the band is still fine-tuning. Nik from Shout Out confesses to the audience that the delay is entirely his fault, that he forgot the sampler in the hotel room and that’s why there’s a hold-up. My friend Heather comes to the stage to tell me that no one at the back can hear a word I’m saying, because the P.A. music isn’t being turned down when I make missing child announcements.
10.30. The sampler has arrived on the island. Curfew extension has been granted to 11.15. The crowd is more than anxious. Those that left earlier have returned after facing the prospect of enduring The Dears. I get official word that the child has been found. I make sure I clarify this with someone who talked to the mother herself. I make the announcement, and it’s the one time I get to announce bonafide good news.
10.35 Shout Out Out Out take the stage and—obviously—don’t wait for an official introduction. I’ll admit now that I’ve never been a fan. I saw them three years ago in Montreal and left half way through: perhaps it was too bludgeoningly buoyant for my lonely Montreal self, perhaps it was the vocoder overdose, perhaps it was the mug-faces of the second drummer. I felt the same way when I heard the album (minus the mugging). But on this night, they know they have something to prove and they take charge immediately. The intensely packed tent is instantly forgiving, and the band hit their stride within seconds, no doubt fuelled by an adrenaline overdose. The set was fiery, fun and funky and even the most hardened skeptics were screaming in ecstasy by the end. If I wasn’t still so tense, I would have been too.
11.15 The band jettison the idea of an encore and play for 40 minutes straight, which means they leave the stage at exactly 11.15, after a ridiculously climatic conclusion. That means I have to face 1600 drunk and dancing people and tell them that the party is over—now. The trick? Let them scream a bit. Repeat the band’s name. Keep looking at the back of the stage as if you, too, are expecting them to return. Let the crowd continue screaming. Then announce that the band is putting their clothes back on and that the show is, in fact, over. Plenty of booing, along with resigned acceptance.
It reminds me of my favourite joke:
“How do you get 100 drunk Canadians out of your swimming pool?”
“You say: ‘Okay, everyone out of the pool.’”
The most unusual exchange of the weekend was sidestage during Shout Out Out Out Out, with a veteran Hillside performer, the kind who dwells mostly in the folk and improv worlds and usually doesn't go near anything overly pop or electronic. He was rather baffled by the band and the audience reaction. "So, uh, I'm not sure, but is this some kind of gay thing?" he asked. I chuckled. He continued, totally serious and earnest and non-judgemental, just curious: "No, really, because I don't know and it kind of seems like it might be." Not knowing how to respond, I say simply, "No, it's an Edmonton thing." I paused. "Which I suppose, in Alberta, might as well be a gay thing."
Some lowlights before we get to the good stuff:
- For some reason I was stuck watching Dragonette, the new UK project for Torontonians Martina Sorbara (ex-folkie) and Dan Kurtz (ex-New Deal). Even those who liked it considered it sub-Metric; those who loathed it thought it was one step away from Hilary Duff. Either way, it was shrill, annoying, and didn’t even cut it as bubblegum.
- On the flip side, American singer/songwriter Elvis Perkins failed to engage on any level, and one had to think that there were scores of other similar American artists who could have fit this bill much better. I’m guessing he shares a booking agent with someone else the festival wanted.
- I didn’t know the Rankin Family were here—oh wait, that’s Chumbawumba!
More importantly, some Hillside highlights:
- The final show by Habitat, a Guelph synth pop duo with only an EP to their name. Yet those five songs burrowed into the hearts of everyone who heard it, and their send-off was met with an outpouring of love from both local fans and those who stumbled upon the set. I only got to see a few songs, as I had to be MCing another stage, but “Mess It Up” gave me chills. Word has it there were plenty of tears by the time they closed with “Next Year.” John O'Regan will be busy with the D'Urbervilles; the big question is what Sylvie Smith will do next.
- A workshop titled Monsoon Melodies, which matched the subcontinental sounds of Sikh band Dya Singh with powerhouse blues singer Ndidi Onukwulu (the only person on site brave enough to rock high heels on a damp and muddy night). These east/west fusion workshops can be a hit and miss affair, but this one raised the roof of the Island Stage tent, and set the bar for the rest of the weekend—at 7PM on Friday night. And Onukwulu was ambushed by new fans for the rest of the weekend; her mainstage set (with guitarist Madagascar Slim) was just as inspiring.
- Gorilla My Love are a group of Guelph high school students who snuck on the bill as a selection from the festival’s Youth Committee. Barely a few shows old, they already employ a taste for the unconventional: a modified drum kit, vintage keyboards, the requisite glockenspiel, and one guy who plays a bunch of dimmer switches—definitely the most original light show I’ve seen in a while.
- The look of pride on the face of Mike Sharp, a Guelph singer/songwriter who used his Hillside slot to launch his first album after 30 years of writing and performing, with the help of Nick Craine and a band of Guelph all-stars.
- Rock Plaza Central were the best I’d ever seen them, due largely to the fact that the sound was crystal clear and gave the backing vocals the prominence they deserve (even more impressive considering the quick 15-minute change-over and minimal sound check that the tireless stage hands have to cobble together on the hour, which is considerably more difficult with a band the size of RPC). They had some big fans in the audience—the kind who cheered at the sound of a few recognizable chords during a line check. Singer/songwriter Chris Eaton was so genuinely moved by the standing ovation; he had a look of incredulity and took a minute to soak it up while his band quickly packed up behind him.
- Eaton wasn’t the only performer deservedly moved to tears. Over on the main stage, Toronto hip-hop/soul performer Zaki Ibrahim not only had one of the best-dressed bands of the weekend behind her, but her charisma and positivity easily had the dancing crowd in the palm of her hand—somewhere right above that Latoya Jackson-style one glove she was rocking. I don’t know what Ibrahim expected to get out of her festival appearance, but she was visibly overwhelmed by the reaction.
- A workshop with Elvis Perkins, a deer-in-headlights Mother Mother (who, backstage rumour has it, were uncomfortable with the idea of playing with others; their workshop with Born Ruffians was made easier when that band didn’t show up for that slot), Angela Desveaux and Zaki Ibrahim. Nothing much was happening until Ibrahim took her turn and announced that instead of playing her own song, she wanted to build something together. So she started singing rhythms, bass lines, and melodies, getting each of the performers to take on a part before she built the next one, and a wave of relief was evident from both the performers and the audience alike—this was the kind of Hillside moment that more workshops should be about. (I must admit I missed the annual 12-lane highway workshop, an inspired and interactive improv spectacle conducted by Dave Clark.)
- the D’Urbervilles, featuring Forest City Lover Mika Posen on violin and Immaculate Machine’s Brooke Gallupe on third guitar, as well as a visibly ill John O’Regan with a more deadpan delivery than usual—which made for an interesting contrast with the powerhouse rock band behind him
- Ohbijou, who had the misfortune of competing with Ron Sexsmith, though they nonetheless had a full tent hanging on every note. They also discovered that bassist/banjo player Heather Kirby is the sex symbol of the band, judging by audience reaction
- Solid sets from Apostle of Hustle (despite a bizarre Bush/Harper bashing interlude), Angela Desveaux (whose guitarist Mike Feuerstack was being flashed by a freeballin’ Rolf Klausener of The Acorn during the set), Plants and Animals (who sound completely different every time I see them), Vieux Farka Toure (who flew in from WOMAD in the UK just for this show), Ani DiFranco (mellowed in all the right ways, and still a fiery and engaging performer), and Ron Sexsmith (whose “Secret Heart” still stops me dead in my tracks and suspends me in time—so much so that I had no idea it was his last song, and I had to sprint from the middle of the field where I was watching to get back and leap on the stage to do an MC extro).
- Eliza Gilkyson, a Texas songwriter who is the one in a million political songwriters who can write with such empathy, conviction and passion that she can have me weeping almost instantly. “Man of God” is the song that hooked me, though she has plenty more. Seriously, Billy Bragg is a braying toddler compared to this woman’s skill and finesse. Her classy and stoic stage performance lets the songs speak for themselves; her reserve makes them even more powerful. I ended up eating lunch beside her backstage, and was actually dumbstruck, mumbling not much more than inarticulations like, "Uh, I really like your songs. They say what I feel. They make me cry. Um, yeah."
- A early morning Sunday workshop that brought together Forest City Lovers (whose Kat Burns is the classiest dresser in Ontario indie rock), Ohbijou, Basia Bulat and her band, and two-thirds of Immaculate Machine (minus Kathryn Calder, who had to play the Rogers Picnic with the New Pornographers). All musicians were on stage the entire time, and unlike those boring workshops where one act after another plays a song devoid of interaction with other performers, this young crew were not only all excited to play together, but they all have excellent ears and understand that it’s not about ego. That meant that despite the 18 people on stage, it never sounded busy—and the ad hoc string section came up with instant arrangements that worked perfectly. The choice of covers was impeccable and surprisingly diverse: Swedish pop star Annie’s “Heartbeat,” the Constantines’ “Insectivora,” Magnetic Fields’ “I Think I Need a New Heart,” a Sam Cooke song, the Zombies’ “Time of the Season” and a take on “Stand By Me” that almost had me bawling. Why? Because this crew know that music means so much more when you make spiritual connections with your peers, when it’s about much more than individual units competing for the same small piece of pie, when you have Friends in Bellwoods, when you listen to one another, when you can say to your musical comrades without a single wink of irony: “whenever you’re in trouble you can stand by me.” And that’s something that, for this crew especially, doesn’t just happen on a Hillside stage once a year.
This year marked my 15th year at the Hillside festival (July 27-29), as a musician, a volunteer, as media, and as an MC. During that time I’ve only missed two days of programming.
Hillside is like a weekend-long New Year’s Party for Guelph residents past and present, where the entire community rallies to make this non-profit festival come together. Out of 6000 people allowed on to the peninsula where it takes place, 1000 of them are volunteers—and likely most of those are dishwashers, as there’s nary a disposable plate or container to be found anywhere on the site. And—though this is hard to believe for outsiders—the musical line-up almost doesn’t really matter. Hillside is a party you don’t want to miss. The fact that many of my favourite musical memories happened there is simply an added bonus background.
I’ve had intensely personal experiences there. One incident this year, however, was simply intense (if you're looking for an actual review of the festival, scroll down).
For the second time in my years of being an MC, the role took on a much more serious tone than expected. The first time was introducing the Arcade Fire’s mainstage set in 2005, where security had to be sent into the crowd to rescue people fainting from the crowd surge.
This year, I was assigned to introduce Shout Out Out Out Out’s closing Saturday night set in the Island Tent at 10pm. No matter who plays that slot, the 1600-strong crowd is drunk and ready to party, and usually the MC doesn’t have to do much more than say “Please pick up your garbage. OK, now, are… you… READY??!!!” before handing it off to the main act. No such luck this time.
It seems that someone in the Shout Out Out Out Out camp forgot their sampler at the hotel room on the other side of Guelph (about a 20 minute drive from the outskirts of the site). Not only did they discover this at about 9.30, but apparently said sampler is the single most important piece of equipment amidst the two drum sets, two basses and arsenal of keyboards that took over half an hour to set up properly anyway.
My first reaction, of course, was: what kind of band shows up at a former folk festival and refuses to play without their g-damn SAMPLER? Where is the DIY spirit? Where is the improvisation? And what on earth can that sampler do that the DI-ed cowbell and the vocoder can’t?
Keep in mind that the festival has a strict curfew of 11pm—anything past that, and the Grand River Conservation Authority, who run the site, have every right to levy massive fines to the Hillside organization.
10.05 rolls around, which is 20 minutes after Apostle of Hustle scurried off. I go on stage and announce that we’re experiencing delays, because this band obviously has a lot of equipment and we want everything to be just right. Mild boo-ing.
10.10. I’m informed by security that we have a missing child in the audience: Lara, seven years old, shoulder-length blonde hair, black pants, white t-shirt with a guitar design on the sleeve. If found, direct her to the carousel at the back of the tent. I get up and make the announcement. Oh, and by the way, the band will be on in ten minutes.
10.15 Shauna from Six Shooter tells me that realistically the band won’t be on for 15 or 20 minutes. She’s getting regular cell calls from the reconnaissance crew, while stage manager Dave Withers is trying to get a Hillside board member on the walkie-talkie to try and push the curfew of the tent, fearing things will get ugly if the band are only allowed to play for 20 minutes. Security tells me that we’ve actually found the child. I get on stage and make a good-news-bad-news announcement: we found the child (cheers), but the band won’t be on for another 15 minutes (boos), so take a break, go to the bathroom, get a drink. Many people start leaving the tent.
10.20 A shame-faced security officer tells me that, in fact, broken telephone meant that messages got crossed and—gulp—the missing girl has NOT been found and her mother is more than pissed that I announced otherwise. Whoops. I make the announcement. Boos.
10.25 Even though the stage is entirely set up, Withers tells his stage crew to go up and make it look like they’re tinkering with things, just so the crowd thinks that the band is still fine-tuning. Nik from Shout Out confesses to the audience that the delay is entirely his fault, that he forgot the sampler in the hotel room and that’s why there’s a hold-up. My friend Heather comes to the stage to tell me that no one at the back can hear a word I’m saying, because the P.A. music isn’t being turned down when I make missing child announcements.
10.30. The sampler has arrived on the island. Curfew extension has been granted to 11.15. The crowd is more than anxious. Those that left earlier have returned after facing the prospect of enduring The Dears. I get official word that the child has been found. I make sure I clarify this with someone who talked to the mother herself. I make the announcement, and it’s the one time I get to announce bonafide good news.
10.35 Shout Out Out Out take the stage and—obviously—don’t wait for an official introduction. I’ll admit now that I’ve never been a fan. I saw them three years ago in Montreal and left half way through: perhaps it was too bludgeoningly buoyant for my lonely Montreal self, perhaps it was the vocoder overdose, perhaps it was the mug-faces of the second drummer. I felt the same way when I heard the album (minus the mugging). But on this night, they know they have something to prove and they take charge immediately. The intensely packed tent is instantly forgiving, and the band hit their stride within seconds, no doubt fuelled by an adrenaline overdose. The set was fiery, fun and funky and even the most hardened skeptics were screaming in ecstasy by the end. If I wasn’t still so tense, I would have been too.
11.15 The band jettison the idea of an encore and play for 40 minutes straight, which means they leave the stage at exactly 11.15, after a ridiculously climatic conclusion. That means I have to face 1600 drunk and dancing people and tell them that the party is over—now. The trick? Let them scream a bit. Repeat the band’s name. Keep looking at the back of the stage as if you, too, are expecting them to return. Let the crowd continue screaming. Then announce that the band is putting their clothes back on and that the show is, in fact, over. Plenty of booing, along with resigned acceptance.
It reminds me of my favourite joke:
“How do you get 100 drunk Canadians out of your swimming pool?”
“You say: ‘Okay, everyone out of the pool.’”
The most unusual exchange of the weekend was sidestage during Shout Out Out Out Out, with a veteran Hillside performer, the kind who dwells mostly in the folk and improv worlds and usually doesn't go near anything overly pop or electronic. He was rather baffled by the band and the audience reaction. "So, uh, I'm not sure, but is this some kind of gay thing?" he asked. I chuckled. He continued, totally serious and earnest and non-judgemental, just curious: "No, really, because I don't know and it kind of seems like it might be." Not knowing how to respond, I say simply, "No, it's an Edmonton thing." I paused. "Which I suppose, in Alberta, might as well be a gay thing."
Some lowlights before we get to the good stuff:
- For some reason I was stuck watching Dragonette, the new UK project for Torontonians Martina Sorbara (ex-folkie) and Dan Kurtz (ex-New Deal). Even those who liked it considered it sub-Metric; those who loathed it thought it was one step away from Hilary Duff. Either way, it was shrill, annoying, and didn’t even cut it as bubblegum.
- On the flip side, American singer/songwriter Elvis Perkins failed to engage on any level, and one had to think that there were scores of other similar American artists who could have fit this bill much better. I’m guessing he shares a booking agent with someone else the festival wanted.
- I didn’t know the Rankin Family were here—oh wait, that’s Chumbawumba!
More importantly, some Hillside highlights:
- The final show by Habitat, a Guelph synth pop duo with only an EP to their name. Yet those five songs burrowed into the hearts of everyone who heard it, and their send-off was met with an outpouring of love from both local fans and those who stumbled upon the set. I only got to see a few songs, as I had to be MCing another stage, but “Mess It Up” gave me chills. Word has it there were plenty of tears by the time they closed with “Next Year.” John O'Regan will be busy with the D'Urbervilles; the big question is what Sylvie Smith will do next.
- A workshop titled Monsoon Melodies, which matched the subcontinental sounds of Sikh band Dya Singh with powerhouse blues singer Ndidi Onukwulu (the only person on site brave enough to rock high heels on a damp and muddy night). These east/west fusion workshops can be a hit and miss affair, but this one raised the roof of the Island Stage tent, and set the bar for the rest of the weekend—at 7PM on Friday night. And Onukwulu was ambushed by new fans for the rest of the weekend; her mainstage set (with guitarist Madagascar Slim) was just as inspiring.
- Gorilla My Love are a group of Guelph high school students who snuck on the bill as a selection from the festival’s Youth Committee. Barely a few shows old, they already employ a taste for the unconventional: a modified drum kit, vintage keyboards, the requisite glockenspiel, and one guy who plays a bunch of dimmer switches—definitely the most original light show I’ve seen in a while.
- The look of pride on the face of Mike Sharp, a Guelph singer/songwriter who used his Hillside slot to launch his first album after 30 years of writing and performing, with the help of Nick Craine and a band of Guelph all-stars.
- Rock Plaza Central were the best I’d ever seen them, due largely to the fact that the sound was crystal clear and gave the backing vocals the prominence they deserve (even more impressive considering the quick 15-minute change-over and minimal sound check that the tireless stage hands have to cobble together on the hour, which is considerably more difficult with a band the size of RPC). They had some big fans in the audience—the kind who cheered at the sound of a few recognizable chords during a line check. Singer/songwriter Chris Eaton was so genuinely moved by the standing ovation; he had a look of incredulity and took a minute to soak it up while his band quickly packed up behind him.
- Eaton wasn’t the only performer deservedly moved to tears. Over on the main stage, Toronto hip-hop/soul performer Zaki Ibrahim not only had one of the best-dressed bands of the weekend behind her, but her charisma and positivity easily had the dancing crowd in the palm of her hand—somewhere right above that Latoya Jackson-style one glove she was rocking. I don’t know what Ibrahim expected to get out of her festival appearance, but she was visibly overwhelmed by the reaction.
- A workshop with Elvis Perkins, a deer-in-headlights Mother Mother (who, backstage rumour has it, were uncomfortable with the idea of playing with others; their workshop with Born Ruffians was made easier when that band didn’t show up for that slot), Angela Desveaux and Zaki Ibrahim. Nothing much was happening until Ibrahim took her turn and announced that instead of playing her own song, she wanted to build something together. So she started singing rhythms, bass lines, and melodies, getting each of the performers to take on a part before she built the next one, and a wave of relief was evident from both the performers and the audience alike—this was the kind of Hillside moment that more workshops should be about. (I must admit I missed the annual 12-lane highway workshop, an inspired and interactive improv spectacle conducted by Dave Clark.)
- the D’Urbervilles, featuring Forest City Lover Mika Posen on violin and Immaculate Machine’s Brooke Gallupe on third guitar, as well as a visibly ill John O’Regan with a more deadpan delivery than usual—which made for an interesting contrast with the powerhouse rock band behind him
- Ohbijou, who had the misfortune of competing with Ron Sexsmith, though they nonetheless had a full tent hanging on every note. They also discovered that bassist/banjo player Heather Kirby is the sex symbol of the band, judging by audience reaction
- Solid sets from Apostle of Hustle (despite a bizarre Bush/Harper bashing interlude), Angela Desveaux (whose guitarist Mike Feuerstack was being flashed by a freeballin’ Rolf Klausener of The Acorn during the set), Plants and Animals (who sound completely different every time I see them), Vieux Farka Toure (who flew in from WOMAD in the UK just for this show), Ani DiFranco (mellowed in all the right ways, and still a fiery and engaging performer), and Ron Sexsmith (whose “Secret Heart” still stops me dead in my tracks and suspends me in time—so much so that I had no idea it was his last song, and I had to sprint from the middle of the field where I was watching to get back and leap on the stage to do an MC extro).
- Eliza Gilkyson, a Texas songwriter who is the one in a million political songwriters who can write with such empathy, conviction and passion that she can have me weeping almost instantly. “Man of God” is the song that hooked me, though she has plenty more. Seriously, Billy Bragg is a braying toddler compared to this woman’s skill and finesse. Her classy and stoic stage performance lets the songs speak for themselves; her reserve makes them even more powerful. I ended up eating lunch beside her backstage, and was actually dumbstruck, mumbling not much more than inarticulations like, "Uh, I really like your songs. They say what I feel. They make me cry. Um, yeah."
- A early morning Sunday workshop that brought together Forest City Lovers (whose Kat Burns is the classiest dresser in Ontario indie rock), Ohbijou, Basia Bulat and her band, and two-thirds of Immaculate Machine (minus Kathryn Calder, who had to play the Rogers Picnic with the New Pornographers). All musicians were on stage the entire time, and unlike those boring workshops where one act after another plays a song devoid of interaction with other performers, this young crew were not only all excited to play together, but they all have excellent ears and understand that it’s not about ego. That meant that despite the 18 people on stage, it never sounded busy—and the ad hoc string section came up with instant arrangements that worked perfectly. The choice of covers was impeccable and surprisingly diverse: Swedish pop star Annie’s “Heartbeat,” the Constantines’ “Insectivora,” Magnetic Fields’ “I Think I Need a New Heart,” a Sam Cooke song, the Zombies’ “Time of the Season” and a take on “Stand By Me” that almost had me bawling. Why? Because this crew know that music means so much more when you make spiritual connections with your peers, when it’s about much more than individual units competing for the same small piece of pie, when you have Friends in Bellwoods, when you listen to one another, when you can say to your musical comrades without a single wink of irony: “whenever you’re in trouble you can stand by me.” And that’s something that, for this crew especially, doesn’t just happen on a Hillside stage once a year.
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