It’s not clear what the titular North American tree has to do
with any of the songs on the new Tami Neilson album, unless she’s a big fan of
traditional root beer or Indigenous medicine. More than likely, it’s a fun way
of saying, “Sassy!” Which Ms. Neilson most definitely is.
Neilson is a Canadian expat living in New Zealand,
where she’s become a country music star with her decidedly retro vibe à la
Patsy Cline or Wanda Jackson, but with the vocal pipes of a gospel singer—one
track here, “Miss Jones,” pays direct tribute to the recently departed R&B
singer Sharon Jones. She must be truly seen to be believed (she’s playing this
year’s Mariposa Festival, on the July 6 weekend, along with Nick Lowe, Bahamas
and Buffy Sainte-Marie). But her records aren’t too shabby either.
Neilson’s last record, Don’t Be Afraid, was her most personal, and her most bluesy. Here,
she gets topical: “Kitty Cat” and particularly “Smoking Gun” appear to be
written after the #MeToo movement broke. Further feminism appears in a song
with the chorus, “This whole world turns on a woman’s pain.”
Musically, Sassafrass
is also her most diverse: there are plenty of almost campy rockabilly rave-ups,
several nods to soul music, and dramatic ballads guaranteed to be
heartbreakers, notably “Manitoba Sunrise at Motel 6,” a song that should be
loaned out to k.d. lang—although she’d have her work cut out for her after
Neilson’s version. (June 8)
The 12th Polaris Music Prize gala is being held on Sept. 18, at the Carlu in Toronto, where 11 jurors locked in a room will decide which one of 10 shortlisted artists will get $50,000. All other nominees receive $3,000.
Every day this week I’ll look at two of the shortlisted albums, assess their chances, and celebrate two albums that didn’t make theshortlist—or, in some cases, even thelong list.
On day one I discussed A Tribe Called Red, BadBadNotGood, and should've beens Phillipe B and Japandroids.
Onwards:
Leonard Cohen – You Want It Darker (Columbia)
Gord Downie – Secret Path (Arts and Crafts)
Oddly enough, both these records came out the
same week. I reviewed them together on Oct. 27. This is that review.
Happy Hallowe’en! Feliz Dia de los Muertos! Two of Canada’s
greatest poets would like to talk to you about death.
One is 82 years old: his body is failing him and he’s made a
meditation on mortality that’s easily one of the finest records he’s ever made.
[ed: he died a month after the album came out.] The other is 52 with a
diagnosis of terminal brain cancer: he’s processing his own death by atoning
for the death of another, a 12-year-old boy who died trying to escape abuse at
a government-sanctioned institution.
Cohen’s record is a revelation. He’s been this dark before, he’s
made records this sparse before, his wry wit has always been in evidence. Here,
however, every moment here carries great
weight, lyrically and sonically. It’s as slick as anything he’s done in the
last 35 years, but with largely acoustic instruments in place of synths.
Great credit must go to Cohen’s son, Adam, who sat in the
producer’s chair. Adam has (justifiably) taken a lot of flak for his own
records, but it turns out he’s an excellent producer, judiciously employing only
the most appropriate window dressing for the skeletons of blues and country
songs his father wrote this time out. There’s the rumbling bass and choir of
Jewish cantors on the devastating title track; the twangy, Twin-Peaks-ish guitar on “Leaving the Table”; the familiar sound of
female backing singers on “Traveling Light” (one of only two tracks where that
classic Cohenesque embellishment appears); the weeping violins.
Both of Cohen’s recent comeback records—2012’s Old Ideas, 2014’s Popular Problems—have proven him to be as powerful as he is
prolific in his third act, but this one is on a whole other plain. He claims
he’s still writing and has more music he wants to finish. As insatiable as
Cohen fans are, one can’t help but secretly—and, morbidly—hope that this is his
final will and testament. [ed: it was]
Gord Downie told the Globe and Mail last weekend, “If Secret
Path is the last thing I ever do, I’ll be happy.”
He’s already succeeded on one level: he’s taken a long-forgotten
tragic tale, that of a 12-year-old boy, Chanie Wenjack, who died of exposure,
beside train tracks, trying to walk 600 km home from a residential school. That
was exactly 50 years ago; a Maclean’s
story was written about the case after an inquest took place—an inquest
whose recommendations, of course, went unheeded. Unless you’ve had a media
blackout, you probably already know that this album comes
with a graphic novel by Jeff Lemire (Essex County) and an animated film aired
on CBC-TV. There are several other Wenjack projects out there as well,
including a Joseph Boyden novella; Boyden also talks about the case on the new
Tribe Called Red album.
There’s a lot to unpack here: but what about the music? The
production by Broken Social Scene’s Kevin Drew and the Stills’ Dave Hamelin is
crisp and sparse, in ways that sound like nothing else Downie has ever
recorded. The result is that his voice sounds fantastic; it’s unclear if he’s
become a better singer, or if he’s just never allowed us to hear him like this,
not even during the most fragile moments of his discography both in and outside
the Tragically Hip, not even 2001’s Coke Machine Glow. [ed note: I’m a complete
idiot. Downie had upped his singing game as far back as 2006’s World Container.]
Drew and Hamelin know how to create vast soundscapes with minimal
instrumentation, the right synths and plenty of reverb, evoking the appropriate
sense of isolation and empathy necessary for the subject matter.
The lyrics are curious. Gord Downie never does anything
directly; hell, even that song about Bill Barilko is narrated by some young
punk feigning experience, a trait that’s personified in his makeshift, faux
fifty-mission cap. Secret Path does
not tell the story of Chanie Wenjack, at least not a narrative recognizable to
anyone who read the Maclean’s story
that inspired the album. Instead, it draws some elements of Wenjack’s
story—like the fact he set out on the final leg of his journey with only seven
matches in a jar and a windbreaker to provide him warmth—and extrapolates from
there. If you heard any track here out of context, you’d be hard pressed to
link it to Wenjack or, in fact, anything remotely related to issues illuminated
by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The good news: it’s not a preachy
record, not in the least. The bad news: it’s unclear how effective it is as a
teaching tool, which was the intention of Downie and his brother Mike, a
filmmaker.
But because this is Gord Downie in 2016, immediately following
one of the landmark cultural events of this generation, he has our ears. And
he’s using the moment to not necessarily tell the story, but to draw our
attention to a story mainstream Canada has not wanted to tell.
Later thoughts:
We’re now almost a year removed from the emotional weight that
accompanied these records’ release. We’ve lost Leonard, which was not a shock
to anyone, and yet the outpouring of grief was enormous, just as it was for
David Bowie and Prince the same calendar year. That he went out on such a high
note is a glorious epitaph; this record didn’t rack up Junos and a spot on this
shortlist out of sympathy—it’s a stunning work that stands with his very best.
While we mourn Cohen, there’s also the relief that Downie is
still with us to see his message taken to heart, to receive an Order of Canada,
to see this album get shortlisted for Polaris—something no other Tragically Hip
record or Downie solo project has done. Most important, he’s been able to see
his primary goal achieved, to see Secret Path being used in schools to educate
children about a part of Canadian history that we’ve all been happy to ignore
for a century, either willfully or out of genuine ignorance. Despite my own
doubts about the directness of the lyrics, the context is everything: no one
stumbles upon this record not knowing what it is. Maybe no one will ever put
this on as background music, but children’s choirs are singing these songs. The
art will endure. The message will resonate further than anything else Downie
has ever written. Mission accomplished.
If cynics need further evidence, watch this short doc.
The chances:
You Want
It Darker won a Juno, as well it should have. But Polaris? Not likely. Buffy
Sainte-Marie notwithstanding, Polaris usually skews young, and is unlikely to
give the equivalent of a posthumous lifetime achievement award, even to one of
the greatest songwriters ever born on this soil. Naturally, the Cohen record is
musically conservative. The guy was 82. Comparing it to Weaves or Lido Pimienta
is, frankly, ridiculous—but that’s inherent in the Polaris mandate to break
down all genre divisions. This is an album prize, plain and simple—and this is
as cohesive a collection of songs as you’ll ever find, by a master of the form.
By that measure, it deserves to win. It’s a great record; I voted for it and
I’m glad it’s on the shortlist. But I don’t think it should win the Polaris.
Likewise
with Downie. His record is nowhere near as strong as Cohen’s—few are. Again,
even comparing these two poets is ridiculous, exposing the fallacies of all
awards anywhere, anytime. Their presence on this shortlist must be humbling to
everyone else on it. But, to paraphrase Downie’s vision of this country, Polaris
should be the prize of the next 150 years, not the Canada of the past. And in a
year fraught with discussion of cultural appropriation, it would be downright
weird to weigh Secret Path over Halluci Nation. If for some reason Secret Path
wins, you can be sure that Downie is going to turn around and give it directly
to A Tribe Called Red. Coz he’s a helluva guy.
No
matter what happens, I’m really looking forward to the winner’s speech this
year.
The could’ve, should’ve beens:
Loscil – Monument
Builders (Kranky)
The album: (reviewed Dec. 1, 2016)
Why Vancouver composer Scott Morgan, a.k.a. Loscil,
has not been tapped for any Oscar-bait assignments is anyone’s guess. (He has,
however, scored the 2006 Genie winner for Best Documentary: Scared Sacred.)
He’s been creating fascinating minimalist ambient music for more than a decade,
and his 11th album could well become a calling card. Inspired
directly by Philip Glass’s stunning score for the 1982 film Koyaanisqatsi,
as well as the photographs of devastated landscapes by Edward Burtynsky,
Monument Builders is sparse, expansive and evocative. French horns and
percussion permeate the occasionally pulsing synths and layered atmospherics;
melodies and movements are glacial yet hardly obscured.
In these past few months, if not the past year, we’ve
all had plenty of reasons to shut off the noise of the world and mourn the
losses that pile up seemingly every week. In addition to everything else 2016
has handed us, between this record, Johan Johansson’s Arrival soundtrack and
Colin Stetson’s reimagining of Gorecki’s “Sorrow” symphony, it’s also given us
an antidote.
Later thoughts: There are few ambient albums I go back and
play somewhat regularly; this is one of them. Tense and meditative at the same
time, Loscil’s music never fades into the background.
Why it didn’t even make the long list: Ambient music doesn’t make it on Polaris
lists, even if it shares qualities with longtime favourites Godspeed You Black
Emperor or Tim Hecker (oddly, Hecker’s latest didn’t make the cut last year;
previous Polaris winners Godspeed has requested that nothing they do be
considered for Polaris ever again). There have been experimental records shortlisted before, but nothing as minimal as this tends to cut through in the age of distraction.
Tami Neilson – Don’t Be Afraid (Outside)
The
album: (reviewed Sept. 22, 2016)
This Canadian is a star in her adopted nation of New
Zealand, where she’s racked up plenty of country music awards and songwriting
accolades. Don’t Be Afraid is only her second album to be released in her
motherland, and we’d be fools to ignore this powerhouse voice any longer—a
voice that could front an amplified band without the use of a microphone.
Her last album, Dynamite!, was cut from the Patsy
Cline mould, very much rooted in country music from the late ’50s, early ’60s.
This time out the vibe is still decidedly old school, but Neilson gets bluesier
and bolder, touching on torch songs and rockabilly and soul. Informed by the
death of her beloved father—with whom she was in a family band when she was a
kid—Don’t Be Afraid is considerably darker in tone, which gives her vocals even
more of a chance to dig in deep. On the title track, she goes for full-out
gospel-style projection over a slow blues, sounding more like Aretha Franklin
that one would ever expect from this country belter.
Later thoughts: Neilson is one of the most exhilarating
vocalists I’ve ever seen in my life—and I’m not saying that just to be
hyperbolic. But credit should also go to her ace band, including brother Jay on guitar—one of the few people who can conjure the ghost of the late Pops
Staples.
Why it didn’t even make the long list: I missed Neilson’s last show in Toronto, but
my lady and a friend went—and were apparently the youngest people in the
audience by about 20 years. Hip baby boomers have got her number, but I’m not
sure anyone under 35 gives a shit about roots music at all anymore, especially
artists with such old-school chops as Neilson and her band. Okay, gramps out.
From what I can tell, this list is not like many others (#1 pick notwithstanding). I'd love to have seen more people talking about Veda Hille, Michael Kiwanuka, Eric Bachmann, Tami Neilson, The Comet is Coming, Black Mountain, Nels Cline, Glauco Venier, Paul Simon, Lizzo, Hidden Cameras and Jim Bryson, as well as many more great records found at the bottom of the main list. 2016 gave me panic attacks and made me think more about my mortality than at any time in my life, but at least there was no shortage of great music.
Some of these blurbs ran over two columns in the Waterloo Record, some ran on Macleans.ca.
1.
Beyoncé – Lemonade (Sony). This is the only album that drove the collective
conversation in 2016—and deservedly so. It’s the rare blockbuster pop album by
a superstar that prompts political headlines, endless think pieces and taps
directly into the zeitgeist in ways we haven’t seen in decades. It was also the
first time the seemingly untouchable goddess appeared human, vulnerable, even
vindictive, just as flawed as the rest of us. That came through not only in the
lyrics but her vocal delivery, which was far more emotionally raw than she’s
ever shown us. The cast of A-list collaborators gives the record an eclectic
yet still consistent musical vision that by no means diminishes who exactly is
in charge here: one queen to rule them all.
2.
Veda Hille – Love Waves (independent). The Vancouver art-pop songwriter writes melodies that
could sell a musical (which she’s done, to great acclaim), has the gall and the talent to
rewrite and (gasp) improve her favourite songs by David Bowie and Brian Eno,
employs many of Vancouver’s finest players, pens a plaintive ode to her young
boy and reimagines the ordeal of Orpheus and Eurydice—in German, no less. Oh, and
she’s wickedly funny when she wants to be. There’s no end to her insatiable
curiosity—or her talent. (Original review here.)
3.
Kaytranada – 99.9% (XL). The year’s weirdest success story also spawned one of the best records: 23-year-old bedroom-dwelling Haitian-Montrealer known for
SoundCloud remixes pulls in up-and-coming international collaborators
(Anderson.Paak, AlunaGeorge), almost-forgotten R&B and hip-hop artists
(Craig David, Phonte), and new Toronto beatmakers (BadBadNotGood, River Tiber)
and ends up creating the straight-up funkiest record to come out of
Canada—perhaps ever, winning the Polaris Music Prize in the process. It’s draws
from old school hip-hop, jazz fusion, Brazilian beats, Donna Summer disco,
house music, DJ Shadow deconstruction, and anything else that sounds fantastic
on the dance floor. Drake may have dominated the charts and the headlines, but
Kaytranada made the infinitely superior—and much more fun—record. (Original
review here. My take on his Polaris win here.)
4.
Leonard Cohen – You Want It Darker (Sony). Frankly, Leonard, I’m not sure we did
want it darker; 2016 turned out bleaker than we could ever have imagined (and
it’s not over yet). It was enough that Cohen left us with one final masterpiece
before he died, but his death proved to be a gift that gave us reason to
re-examine his entire catalogue in a year when we were grasping for a glimpse
of any light through the cracks. Unlike the elliptical Bowie record, You Want It Darker dealt specifically
with death, with finality—and it was also funny, characteristically so. But
there were no more chilling words sung (or spoken) this year than Cohen
intoning, “I’m ready, my Lord.” (Original review here. My obit for him in Maclean’shere. I curated some memories of him from
ordinary Canadians here.)
5.
David Bowie – Blackstar (Sony). Even before his death shocked the world, this was
already being hailed as his best album in (gulp) more than 30 years, one in
which he fully embraced the influence of his hero, Scott Walker, and joined
forces with Donny McCaslin’s powerful jazz band. Coy devil that he is, on Jan.
10 the always-innovative Bowie was also the first person to tell us that, other
than music, 2016 was going to be a steaming pile of shit. (Original review
here. My obit for him in Maclean’shere.)
6.
The Tragically Hip – Man Machine Poem (Universal). Gord Downie was a newsmaker of the year
for staring down death and delivering a series of triumphs, but least discussed
among them was the fact that the newest Tragically Hip album was alone a reason
to celebrate. Written and recorded before Downie’s diagnosis, and co-produced
by Broken Social Scene’s Kevin Drew, it was a reinvention that could well have
turned over a new leaf in the legendary band’s catalogue—and still might.
Downie claims it’s not the last we’ll hear from them. (Original review here. My story on the Hip’s farewell and
legacy for Maclean’shere. My review of the “final” show here. My year-end piece for Maclean’s Newsmakers here.)
7.
A Tribe Called Quest – We Got It From Here… Thank You 4 Your Service
(Sony). It wasn’t just Baby
Boomers dying off; Phife Dawg was a mere 45 years old when he succumbed to
diabetes, just after completing Tribe’s first album in 18 years. Both he and
Q-Tip, neither of whom had prolific solo careers, proved they’d lost none of
their potency and elevated their already-strong status as legends, not by
emulating their glory days but by looking forward. Also: what a glorious thing it was to hear an actual rap group play off each other, as opposed to random guest verses on a superstar's record. It's a lost art. (Original review here.)
8.
Michael Kiwanuka – Love and Hate (Universal). This British soul singer transformed
his unassuming, folkie take on soul into the realm of the psychedelic, crafting
a devastatingly beautiful respite in troubled times. The sound is undeniably
retro—Nick Drake fronting Pink Floyd, or Marvin Gaye fronting Funkadelic—but
never goes out of style. Nor should it. (Original review here.)
9.
Eric Bachmann – s/t (Merge).Bachmann has been one of my favourite writers for more than 20 years
(Archers of Loaf, Crooked Fingers), but it was his 2016 song “Mercy”—haunted by
personal loss, impending apocalypse, and intense political divisions—that might
well be his crowning moment, and was the one song I played more than any other in 2016, for obvious reasons. The rest this self-titled album is just as strong
and heartbreaking (starting with “Modern Drugs”), a collection of perfectly
crafted songs that pick up pieces of a shattered psyche. (Original review here.)
10.
Anderson.Paak – Malibu (Steel Wool). This late bloomer (okay, he’s 30) is a studio veteran
and multi-instrumentalist whose second album easily staked his claim in a
crowded field of R&B reinventors. Malibu owes musical debts to D’Angelo,
Erykah Badu and Kendrick Lamar, but with a considerably more joyous vibe—it’s
no surprise that he also shows up on Kaytranada’s record. Miguel should watch
his back. (Original review here.)
11.
Tami Neilson – Don’t Be Afraid (Outside). No, really, one more record about
death: this one by a Canadian expat in New Zealand, writing about her late
father, the patriarch of a family band that toured Canada in her youth. Don’t
Be Afraid is emotionally deeper than anything Neilson has done to date,
which was well-executed but decidedly retro, bordering on kitsch. Not this
time. The deeper she goes into the blues, the better she gets. Neilson’s voice
has few equals in this country—k.d. lang? Serena Ryder?—and has to be heard to
be believed, when she’s either hollering gospel (“Holy Moses”) or delivering a
gorgeous country ballad (“Lonely”). (Original review here. Live review for Maclean’shere.)
12.
The Comet is Coming – Channel
the Spirits (Leaf).Led by saxophonist
Shabaka Hutchings, this London trio’s debut is a synth-heavy, percussive,
interplanetary psychedelic journey that lives up to titles like “Cosmic Dust”
and “Slam Dunk in a Black Hole.” The New Musical Express dubbed the band “the
Mercury Prize’s least-known nominee”—they were shortlisted alongside Bowie,
Radiohead, Kiwanuka and other heavy hitters (and lost to Skepta). There’s
nothing obscurist about them; this would go over like gangbusters in a Canadian
rock club on a bill with Holy F--k and BadBadNotGood. (Original review here.)
13.
Black Mountain – IV. If any rock record in the history of this country has a more powerful
opening track than “Mothers of the Sun,” I’m not sure what that would be. A
pulsing synth, a droning organ, a monster guitar riff, and the chilling vocals
of Amber Webber and Stephen McBean keep us in suspense for more than three
minutes before drummer Josh Wells kicks in to kick things into overdrive on
what is an incredibly satisfying psychedelic rock record that never fizzles
into pointless jam territory. McBean’s guitar solos are lyrical and evocative
of Funkadelic great Eddie Hazel, but it’s Jeremy Schmidt’s keyboards that steal
this show. (Original review here.)
14.
Nels Cline – Lovers (Blue Note). The lead guitarist in Wilco appears on more than 200 records by others; his
solo work, until now, has largely been experimental and skronky. On Lovers,
his debut for the prestigious Blue Note label, however, he delivers a double
album of love songs by composers ranging from Richard Rodgers and Henry Mancini
to Arto Lindsay and Sonic Youth, along with original compositions. Lovers
is lushly orchestrated, utilizing some of New York City’s most renowned
avant-garde players, yet allows for plenty of abstraction and colouring far
outside the lines, alongside more straightforward, classically beautiful
performances. Though it never gets loud, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get
deliciously weird. (Original
review here.)
15.
Glauco Venier – Miniatures: Music for Piano and Percussion (ECM). Many were the days when headlines made me
want to bury my head in the sand. For those days, this prolific
Italian pianist—who normally performs in a trio format, studied Italian
Renaissance music, and has recorded albums covering Tom Waits and Frank
Zappa—offers sparse compositions and improvisations augmented by gongs, bells
and other metallic instruments. Only two of the 14 tracks are uptempo; the
majority are meditative yet melodic, not sparse enough to be ambient music, but
played with a delicacy and somewhat cautious deliberation. (Original review here.)
16. Paul Simon – Stranger to Stranger (Universal). "The fact is, most obits are mixed reviews." When his day comes, that's going to be as true of Paul Simon as anyone else, but at least he's still here, even if he's strongly hinting this will be his last album. He sounds far from spent. He's still borrowing from wherever he can, including a young Italian DJ, but, as always, there's no sense he's trying to shoehorn himself into something he can't turn around and make his own. He can write circles around his peers or descendents, even if no one seems to care anymore; the man can't even get a Grammy nomination these days, even though those seem to get handed out like participation stickers. Stranger to Stranger, indeed. (Original review here.)
17.
Badbadnotgood – IV. Space-age bachelor pad music from a jazz band steeped in hip-hop and
joined by guest singers, including Future Islands’ Sam Herring, Chicago MC Mick Jenkins and Toronto
newcomer Charlotte Day Wilson (Kaytranada and Colin Stetson stop by as well).
This band gets better with each record, and the permanent addition of
saxophonist Leland Whittly pushes them even further. Also—for the love of God, don't judge this album by its cover. (Original review here.)
18. Lizzo – Coconut Oil EP (Universal). “I’m lit / don’t mess with it,” says Lizzo, on a track where she demands
that you “worship me.” She doesn’t need to ask twice. Lizzo is as strong a
rapper as she is a singer—and she’s one hell of a singer, which puts her on the
level with Lauryn Hill, Queen Latifah and Nicki Minaj right off the top. One of
the last new artists to be taken under Prince’s wing before his death, Lizzo is
equally political and playful, a feminist who rolls with an all-female crew, a
plus-size woman pushing body positivity, and whose music fuses old-school
hip-hop with modern trap, with Latino elements and nods to James Brown
interspersed throughout. After two promising independent records, this is her
major-label debut, six songs with producer Ricky Reed (Pitbull, Meghan Trainor)
that strip everything down to the pop basics and set her on a path to stardom:
expect to see her everywhere, starting with her own MTV show (Wonderland). (Original review here.)
19.
Hidden Cameras – Home on Native Land. Joel Gibb’s Hidden Cameras inspired Arcade Fire’s
debut album, brought a queer aesthetic into a straight-laced indie scene, and
went full-on electro on their last album. Here, however, Gibb goes full-on
country, which suits both his songwriting and his voice. He throws in a few
covers—including a take on “Dark End of the Street” that places the classic soul song
in a closeted context, and a joyous romp through “Log Driver’s Waltz” with Feist, Rufus Wainwright and Mary
Margaret O’Hara—but it’s his originals that serve as a reminder of his unique
talent. (Original review here.)
20.
Jim Bryson – Somewhere We Will Find Our Place. On the surface, this Ottawa
singer-songwriter (and sideman to Kathleen Edwards, the Weakerthans and
Tragically Hip) writes pleasant, sad-sack Ontario folk-rock (one of my default
favourite genres). But his interest in synths and experience doing production
work on the side—as well as bringing in Broken Social Scene’s Charles Spearin
as a collaborator, and Shawn Everett (Grammy-winning Alabama Shakes
engineer)—informs the expanded sonic palette heard here, which provide vivid colours
to his tales of disconnection and ennui. (Original review here.)
