November '11 reviews

These reviews appeared this month in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and the Guelph Mercury.


Rich Aucoin – We’re All Dying to Live (Sonic/Warner)

Who made the most exuberant, life-affirming, triumphant and anthemic stadium rock record to come out this year? Woah, Coldplay, take a seat—you’re not even close. The answer is a guy who has yet to play a stadium, although Rich Aucoin deserves to reach Freddie Mercury status in no time.

Like Queen, Aucoin is much more than a rock act: his exuberance works best when he goes four on the floor and builds a disco dance party one layer at a time, inevitably erupting in gang vocals and synchronized fireworks. He’s at his best when he’s being everything to everyone, like on the single “It,” with the don’t-think-do chorus, “We won’t leave it all in our heads.” The entire song sounds like the rousing, climactic conclusion of Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion” on a loop, as sung by hundreds of your closest friends.

Actually, this Halifax musician probably knows at least a few of your closest friends: this album features over 500 guests (all photographed in the liner notes, as proof) culled from every corner of Canada’s indie music scene. If you’re a musician and you’re not on here, frankly, I’d feel left out if I were you. It’s not enough that Aucoin employs several choirs (children’s and otherwise) over the course of the album; the epic journey concludes with all the album’s voices forming one massive choir (in what was surely a mixing nightmare), singing the title phrase repeatedly.

This isn’t all a buoyant disco rock party with choral accompaniment—thankfully—even though those songs are certainly the highlights. Over the course of 22 tracks (in an economical 55 minutes), Aucoin maintains dynamics and flow, at times dialling the intensity back entirely for cinematic instrumental passages driven by malletted percussion. He knows when to aim for the jugular, and when to sit back and take a breather, and this is a stronger album because of that.

Rich Aucoin is not some overachieving indie kid; he’s made a widescreen, kaleidoscopic pop record that is thoroughly satisfying and deserves to be heard by as many people as possible. And I say that as someone unbiased by his live show—which I have somehow missed, despite many opportunities—which is apparently nothing short of mindblowing. (Nov. 3)

Download: “It,” “Brian Wilson is ALIVE,” “Living to Die”

Bruce Peninsula – Open Flame (Hand Drawn Dracula)

Everyone loves a choir. Bands of every genre like to gather all their friends together to holler in harmony as a sign of solidarity, of community, of celebration or defiance. Toronto’s Bruce Peninsula is one of the only bands to fully integrate choral vocals into their sound, an aesthetic based in folk and blues but that sounds decidedly modern, drawing influences from the likes of the Rheostatics, West African guitar music, and Chicago so-called “post-rock,” jazz-influenced prog bands like Tortoise. Assembling those disparate factions together, Bruce Peninsula forge a unique sound and scene they have entirely to themselves. The material here is even more intent on incorporating the choral parts into the songwriting, as well as boosting the profile of husky lead female vocalist Micha Bower as a counterpoint to gruff guitarist Neil Haverty, who dominated earlier material.

And yet rather than sounding like the fruition of a journey, this still sounds like a band in a state of transition. Their earliest material drew heavily from Alan Lomax-era folk recordings; their excellent debut, 2009’s A Mountain is a Mouth, moved into more modern directions, while retaining the bluesy base. This band is full of impeccable musicians, and although they can make every counterintuitive rhythmic twist sound entirely natural, many of these songs could stand to surrender to simplicity. Even then, the band’s refusal to take an easy way out is more often than not rewarding than it is frustrating.

But just because Bruce Peninsula are difficult to pin down and make it hard for writers to summarize easily doesn’t mean they’re not still one of the most original and exciting bands in Canada today. (Nov. 10)

Download: “As Long As I Live,” “Pull Me Under,” “Open Flame”

Florence and the Machine – Ceremonials (Universal)

What a voice—and what a waste. Few would argue that Florence Welch has an astounding voice, the kind that could not only fill stadiums, but entire mountain ranges. She has the soul of Adele, the depth of PJ Harvey, the prettiness of Sarah McLachlan, the star power of Bono. And yet here on her second album, she fails to come up with tunes to match her talent. It’s like watching Robert DeNiro in a low-rent comedy full of fart jokes: too much of Ceremonials falls back into breast-beating histrionics more suited to Celine Dion. When she does come up with a spine-tingling, showstopping anthem, it merely casts the rest of the material into sharp relief. (Nov. 10)

Download: “Breaking Down,” “Let Me Go,” “Lover to Lover”

Gonzales – The Unspeakable Chilly Gonzales (Arts and Crafts)

Love the new Feist record? Then you should check out her longtime friend, producer and collaborator Chilly Gonzales—and quickly discover that his solo work is far removed from the world of socially acceptable singer/songwriters.

Gonzales is a high-concept prankster and “entertainist” who’s never shied away from boasting about his musical genius—which he does here on a musical concept album setting his self-obsessed raps to entirely orchestral arrangements, with nary an electronic instrument to be found. It’s as ridiculous as it sounds; it’s also amazing.

Here’s a guy who launched his current stage persona with obnoxious, unfunny rap records and then released a straight-up Satie homage of solo piano music that made him a star in France. On Unspeakable, he marries his high- and low-brow loves brilliantly. The orchestrations are bold, majestic, and often lovely, making those once-ballyhooed collaborations between Jon Brion and Kanye West sound like child’s play. Meanwhile, the rhymes and the delivery are downright hilarious, a crude tour-de-force that is alternately self-loathing (“Who Wants To Hear This?” and “Shut Up and Play the Piano”) and braggadocious, best summed up with the line, “Here’s a melody to lubricate your tearducts / you’re about to be earf---ed.” It helps to know a bit about Gonzales’ bizarre career trajectory, but even if you don’t, there’s plenty to laugh at—and with: “It’s like hearing my dad rap / abstract / like porn with a laugh track.” (Nov. 3)

Download: “Supervillain Music,” “Self-Portrait,” “Beans”

High Places – Original Colors (Thrill Jockey)

High Places vocalist Mary Pearson has a wisp of a voice, one that sounds like she’s daydreaming while singing. And for most of this duo’s brief history, High Places’ music sounded just as abstract and amorphous, with unconventional electronics and household instrumentation (bowls, bells, plastic bags, etc.) manipulated into unique beats and soundscapes by Pearson and musical partner Rob Barber. Here, the sound has toughened up considerably without changing the initial aesthetic: there’s more bottom end, more definition in the mix, and more of a pulse. In other words, what at first sounded like an uncertain, flirtatious courtship now feels like things have moved to the bedroom and started to get real serious. Original Colors is sensual and immersive, the kind of record that feels like a luxurious, aromatherapeutic hot bath. Just in time for winter. (Nov. 3)

Download: “Year Off,” “Banksia,” “Dry Lake”

Amai Kuda – Sand From the Sea (independent)

The debut album from this Toronto artist opens with just her voice and handclaps: it’s all she needs to instantly establish herself as a captivating presence. The instant the fully fleshed out instrumental arrangements appear, it’s obvious those are just gravy. Kuda herself is the whole package.

Indeed, one of the biggest strengths of Sand From the Sea is that Kuda’s voice is always front and centre; the arrangements never clutter her space, and even on the modern-day R&B tracks she often strips everything to their essence, and more than a few tracks could be blues hollers or traditional African songs. Kuda draws from diverse black diaspora traditions—central African music, blues, hip-hop, reggae and soul—immersing herself in whatever sounds are surrounding her at the moment. She also has the songwriting chops to pull it all off. For all its eclecticism, Sand From the Sea doesn’t sound like a hodgepodge; it’s a consistently strong debut that instantly marks Kuda as the brightest new Canadian talent this year.

And yet for Kuda—who is painfully modest in her blog postings on her website—it’s obvious that music is a means to an end for her: almost every track carries a message of social justice. Sometimes it’s extremely effective, sometimes it sounds like every activist musician you ever saw play a benefit show in the ’90s. Even at her preachiest, however, Kuda is still compelling, her voice recalling the best work of Tracy Chapman, Michelle Shocked, Alicia Keys and Lauryn Hill. She’s definitely her own woman, however: smart, sensual, and righteous—and with one hell of a debut behind her. (Nov. 17)

Download: “Woman,” “All My Fine Shoes,” “Dance Chaka”

David Lynch – Crazy Clown Time (Sunday Best)

If you’ve ever heard David Lynch’s oddball, nasal, Southern deadpan drawl of a speaking voice, you’d be hard pressed to imagine him as a singer. After listening to Crazy Clown Time, that’s still the case.

Lynch spends most of this album speaking or singing through various voice modulators, affectations and effects, which are suitably disorienting and set to eerie tracks that sound like, well, like David Lynch soundtracks (or a more unhinged Timber Timbre). There are times when it’s mysterious and magical, like the slide-guitar instrumental “The Night Bell With Lightning” or “Noah’s Ark,” although more often than not Lynch sounds like an outsider artist/idiot savant croaking non-sequiturs. On the confounding and appropriately titled track “Strange and Unproductive Thinking,” Lynch rambles on breathlessly in a Vocoder monotone about all sorts of pseudo-philosophy before he ends with a rant about dentistry and “negative distortion of the mouth.”

If Julee Cruise’s Floating Into the Night album—which featured the Twin Peaks theme, “Falling”—was the product of the David Lynch who made Blue Velvet, Crazy Clown Time is the work of the David Lynch who made Inland Empire. If you managed to sit through that film, then there are times when this album makes perfect sense. Mulholland Drive is a Disney movie in comparison. (Nov. 10)

Download: “The Night Bell with Lightning,” “Good Day Today,” “Noah’s Ark”

Bry Webb – Provider (Idee Fixe)

Most CanRock fans first heard Bry Webb sing on the Constantines’ 2001 debut album; he sounded hoarse, hungry, like a rock’n’roll veteran seeking redemption. He sounded a lot older than the twentysomething he was at the time. Here on his debut solo album, Webb sounds considerably softer and, well, younger. His voice has a tenderness that has never been present on record before—not even on the Constantines’ quietest moments—and Provider is a fascinating album because of it.

The entire album is low-key and subdued, consisting of little other than electric guitar and the subtlest shades of slide guitar, marimba, ukulele, a droning horn section and occasional female backing vocals—all of which is practically invisible. There’s a weightlessness to this material, a delicacy that draws you closer and demands your attention. It’s not bedtime background music; it’s meditative and focused while Webb paints vivid character portraits in his lyrics.

No matter what you think you know about Bry Webb’s music, Provider is a most pleasant surprise. (Nov. 17)

Download: “Ex-Punks,” “Zebra,” “Get You Up in Peace”

Lugheads and Lothario

Drake – Take Care (Universal)

Nickelback – Here and Now (Universal)

Two of Canada’s biggest stars—and two of the most loathsome characters in modern music. This month, their new records came out within a week of each other, allowing the world to compare and contrast the lugheads and the Lothario, two acts who do more damage to this country’s international reputation than the tar sands.

Nickelback haters are legion; look no further than Detroit, where there was a popular petition to stop the band from performing at that city’s Thanksgiving football game. But what’s so loathsome about Drake, you ask? Why, wasn’t he that charming young man who hosted the Junos? Isn’t he a well-adjusted TV star from a tony Toronto neighbourhood? Isn’t Stevie Wonder on this new album? Isn’t his new single with Nicki Minaj, called "Make Me Proud," supposed to be an empowering ode to the fairer sex?

Drake can play the sensitive guy all he wants, but his lyrical output is nothing short of vile, a portrait of a guy who is “addicted to naked pictures and sittin’ talking ’bout bitches,” and who loves breast-implanted strippers even more than Chad Kroeger does. It’s not like he hides this part of his personality: on the first track, "Over My Dead Body" (with music by Chantal Kreviazuk), Drake goes on about his six-figure salary, white women, and gives a bizarre “shout out to Asian girls / let the lights dim sum.” As an opening salvo, it doesn’t bode well. It’s actually one of the better tracks here.

“I don’t make music for niggers that don’t get pussy,” he claims, a throwaway line that would be more offensive if it wasn’t so ridiculous—especially over decidedly unsexy beats. What’s actually offensive is how much insipid whining he does about his broken heart, like a crybaby emo teenager instead of the supposedly macho playa that he pretends to be on 80 per cent of the tracks here. His defenders claim that dichotomy is part of his appeal; mostly he sounds like a two-faced hypocrite. “I know you’ve been hurt by someone else,” he pays his ex-girlfriend Rihanna to croon to him on the title track. I’m sure it wasn’t her idea.

Take Care is one of the most anticipated albums of the year. It’s also by far the dullest: 17 songs of Drake discussing his fame and sexual conquests over hook-less music that’s just as tedious as his so-called rhymes. It’s one thing to make a terrible album; it’s another to make a terrible album that’s interminable.

Drake’s dry delivery throughout—when either singing or rapping—is deadpan, devoid of charisma and impossible to take seriously. That doesn’t stop him from aiming for maximum gravitas at every available opportunity, especially on the eight-minute drunk-dialling epic "Marvin’s Room." It’s ostensibly a Marvin Gaye homage (?) about a jilted lover cursing his ex’s new partner. But the lyrics are downright laughable—he croons softly, R. Kelly style, in the chorus, “fuck that nigger that you love so bad,” calls his lover only after he’s been left alone by all the bitches he invited over to party, and he boasts about having sex four times that week to help him get over his pain and adjust to fame. It’s all made worse by Drake’s earnest, AutoTuned vocals, which shamelessly try to ape his protégé The Weeknd—an artist who, on his own records, nails the fine line between distasteful decadence and self-loathing better than Drake could ever dream of doing. (Plus, Abel Tesfaye of The Weeknd can actually sing.)

So why does Drake get such a free ride, not just from his audience but from respectable mainstream media? Is his million-dollar smile really so blinding that we can overlook his countless shortcomings? Speaking of millions of dollars, listening to Take Care—what a condescending title, by the way—is like enduring 70 minutes listening to Marie Antoinette blather on at the precipice of the French Revolution. After we’re done occupying Wall Street, let’s occupy Drake’s condo: he is the soundtrack of the filthy-rich-and-loving-it “one per cent,” rapping about “me, myself and all my millions”—and precious little else other than what Twitter refers to as #firstworldproblems. Do regular schmoes listen to Drake for the same deluded and self-defeating reason that poor people vote Republican?

Even worse—Drake doesn’t make it sound like his life is any fun at all. Say what you will about Nickelback, they’re having an amazing time being kings of the world and don’t care what you think. What’s shocking on their new album, and to their credit, is that even Nickelback itself is now a bit weary of the tried-and-true formula that’s made so much of their wretched catalogue interchangeable.

Here and Now is ever so slightly more diverse—and even listenable. Granted, it’s certainly hard to take Chad Kroeger seriously as he plays jaunty pseudo-ska on the single "When We Stand Together," singing, “We could feed a starving world with what we throw away / but all we serve are empty words that all taste the same.” Who does he think he is, Sting?

Stephen Harper’s favourite rock band still revel in babes, boobs and beer, extolling the virtues of ladies who are “like a scene from a Baywatch rerun,” who “lick my pistol clean” and who “walk like a model and talk like a trucker.” As far as skeezeball anthems go, "Midnight Queen" is pretty good at sounding like ZZ Top on meth. Meanwhile, piss-up party anthem "Bottoms Up" induces projectile vomiting rather than good cheer.

Nickelback’s popularity should not be a mystery. Kroeger wins those Best Songwriter Junos for a reason: he knows how to write a pop hook, set it to grungy metal riffs, and squeeze every ounce of subtlety out of the result. The 14-year-old AC/DC fan in me is somewhat impressed—by both that and some of the guitar sounds on this record. (Guitarist Ryan Peake has been studying those lightning-fast eight-bar hair-metal solos of the ’80s, and pulls it off.)

As painful as it is to admit, Here and Now is packed with 12 future hits and is probably the best album Nickelback has ever made. Which means you won’t be able to avoid it for at least the next year, if not the rest of your life. You’ve been warned.

October '11 reviews

The following reviews ran in the Guelph Mercury and Kitchener-Waterloo record last month


Bjork – Biophilia (Warner)

Biophilia is not an album; it’s an iPad app—or rather, a series of them, one for each of the album’s 10 tracks. Only the most devoted Bjork fans are likely to fully immerse themselves in that intricate and involved experience. The rest of us are left with just the music, which involves unique instruments (a Tesla coil, a combination of a celeste and a gamelan, a “gravity harp”) employed as much for their theoretical relevance to the project—which has something to do with astrophysics, string theory, neurology and the nature of the universe, of course—as they are for their musical properties.

It’s more fascinating to read about than it is to experience. Bjork takes this all very seriously, and it shows. In the 10 years since her last great album, Vespertine, Bjork has become increasingly impenetrable, her musical output succeeding neither as pop music nor art project (a few standout tracks notwithstanding). Some would blame her hubby, the equally talented and obtuse filmmaker Matthew Barney. On Biophilia she doesn’t sound as adrift as she did on 2005’s Drawing Restraint 9 soundtrack (for a Barney film) or on the weaker tracks of 2007’s Volta, but her intellectual approach to this material is ultimately off-putting; it’s great that each track was designed to be an interactive iPad app, because there’s certainly no emotional engagement with the listener.

I say this as someone who thought she could do no wrong during the first 10 years of her solo career. It therefore pains me to say that while there is much to respect during many moments on Biophilia, there is precious little to love. (October 13)

Download: “Moon,” “Crystalline,” “Dark Matter”

Kathryn Calder - Bright and Vivid (File Under: Music)

At the end of 2010, I was convinced that Kathryn Calder’s album Are You My Mother? Was one of the finest Canadian albums of that year, behind only Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs, and that its obscurity was downright criminal—especially considering Calder’s role as a supporting player in the not-unpopular band New Pornographers. Her second album is every bit as rewarding as that debut, though more richly layered, not as easy to pin down and, for better or worse, without as many anthemic choruses. On her debut, Calder had mastered the art of the pop song, no doubt from hanging out with the Pornographers for so many years. Now she’s ready to take her songcraft somewhere deeper.

At the centre is Calder’s choirgirl voice, which is lovely without being precious, clear and confident without sacrificing emotion. And she has a stellar cast of session players to help her out, although seeing how she handles keyboards, guitars, vibraphone and percussion herself, she hardly needs any assistance at all. She creates the kind of music that the young Sarah McLachlan who debuted with Touch would have gone on to make if she hadn’t embraced easy listening. It sounds like what innovative 2011 Polaris shortlist nominees Braids would make if they knew how to make pop music instead of swimming in abstraction. It owes a small debt to fellow Vancouverite Veda Hille, of whose more accessible moments this album shares several traits (including guitar work by CanRock MVP Ford Pier). It could well be Canada’s answer to new European arthouse chanteuses like Bat For Lashes, Lykke Li and Fever Ray.

But Calder is definitely her own woman forging her own path, and no amount of facile comparisons does justice to her talent. Bright and Vivid is an album that more than lives up to its billing; let’s hope Calder doesn’t get slept on a second time. (October 27)

Download: “Turn a Light On,” “Walking in My Sleep,” “Who Are You?”

Cowboy Junkies – Sing in My Meadows: The Nomad Series Vol. 3 (Latent)

It’s safe to say that most people don’t associate Cowboy Junkies with raging electric guitars. And yet that’s been a big part of their sound for at least the last 15 years, co-existing with the quieter, folkie elements and dark pop songs they’ve built their career on. So if the loud electric moments were a distraction on some previous records, Sing in My Meadows consists of nothing but. If you think that side of the Junkies usually brings out the worst of them, then feel free to ignore this album entirely.

However, any longtime fan is advised to at least listen first to “Continental Drift,” with its Zeppelinesque drums and searing distorted harmonica work by Jeff Bird; it gives modern bands like Black Mountain and the Besnard Lakes a run for their money. And, like their recent high-water-mark album Renmin Park (the first in this four-part Nomad series), the material is strong: here it is biting, both musical—allowing plenty of room for improvisation between Bird and guitarist/songwriter Michael Timmins—and topical (“3rd Crusade” is the only song in the last 10 years I’m aware of that mentions Kandahar, which is odd considering how long Canada has been at war there).

For a band best known for its mellow moments, this band is not mellowing in their old age; this is heavier than they’ve ever been, in more ways than one. (October 20)

Download: “Continental Drift,” “Hunted,” “3rd Crusade”

Crooked Fingers – Breaks in the Armor (Merge)

Over 20 years and 12 albums, Crooked Fingers’ Eric Bachmann has nothing left to prove to anyone: especially after his slick 2008 masterpiece Forfeit/Fortune (a perfect album that’s easily one of the most underrated albums of the last five years) and this year’s triumphant reunion of his ’90s indie rock band Archers of Loaf, the legacy of which overshadowed his singer/songwriter work as Crooked Fingers for far too long.

So rather than return to past glories, Breaks in the Armor sounds like Bachmann starting fresh, alone in the studio (except for female vocal harmonies by longtime bandmate Liz Durrett) and feeling his way around a drum kit with a primal pounding that brings a refreshingly raw amateur feel to otherwise carefully constructed and arranged songs. Despite its solitary nature, Breaks in the Armor is not a quiet affair; Bachmann belts it out throughout, even when tempos dip. He plays with your expectations; the catchiest rock song on the album (“The Counterfeiters”) is played mostly on just bass and drums.

Bachmann has a rich and deep discography; newcomers will be surprised to learn that Breaks in the Armor is just the tip of the iceberg. (October 20)

Download: “The Counterfeiters,” “Went to the City,” “Your Apocalypse”

DJ Shadow – The Less You Know The Better (Universal)

A DJ’s primary job—whether it’s at a wedding, in a club, or as part of a band—is to make a perfect mix, to blend different elements into a seamless flow. It’s odd, then, that one of the greatest DJ artists of the last 20 years has made an album that, for all its various strengths, almost entirely lacks flow.

Ever since making arguably the first landmark DJ-as-artist album, 1996’s Endtroducing, Shadow’s output has been sporadic and spotty; this album is one of his most diverse and consistently strong, despite some ill-advised forays into clunky heavy metal/hip-hop hybrids (Shadow of all people should know better). “Sad and Lonely” is a beatless piano ballad, and “I’ve Been Trying” sounds like a languorous Pink Floyd song sung by a soul singer and featuring synth bass and a martial snare drum underneath it all. Closing track “Give Me Back the Nights” is an increasingly unhinged spoken-word rant set to little more than a Black Sabbath bass line an spacy keyboards. In between are pop songs, folk songs, and cinematic instrumentals akin to Endtroducing’s high points.

And yet while Shadow does it all well, it rarely works well together. This is a DJ album where the DJ can’t be trusted; hit shuffle instead. (October 13)

Download: “I’ve Been Trying,” “Redeemed,” “Stay the Course (feat. Posdnuos and Talib Kweli)”

Eccodek – Remixstasy (independent)

Ten years ago, Andrew McPherson probably didn’t envision that his world-music fusion project Eccodek would be an internationally acclaimed outfit and popular live act on the festival circuit, never mind exchanging remix favours with the likes of genre leaders Transglobal Underground. But listening to Remixstasy, it’s easy to see why: McPherson isn’t content to make massage-table music with easy synth washes and vaguely “exotic” elements scattered over limp beats. McPherson focuses on the funk first and foremost, and these remixes bring the tougher edges of Eccodek into the open. In some respects, these tracks are better the originals, and are an ideal way to mark the project’s anniversary. (October 13)

Download: “Calling the Rain (Eccodek Afrodisiac mix),” “From the Flames dub (Transglobal Underground mix),” “Red White and Mali (Adham Shaikh Wobble Tip mix)”

Feist – Metals (Arts and Crafts)

After taking on a full-on break from making music, Feist returns singing: “Makes me remember the things that I forgot / it’s as much what it is as what it is not.”

What Metals is not is obvious. It is not an album with a peppy hit single like “1234” or “Mushaboom.” It is not an album that gives away all its goods on first listen. Though it is rich in melody and harmony, it is not a pop album. Though there are many intimate moments featuring only Feist and her guitar, it is not a singer/songwriter album. Though it has supple grooves borrowed from the slowest, sexiest side of Al Green, it is not a soul album. And though it contains elements of The Reminder’s quieter moments and the majesty of her long-unavailable debut album Monarch, Metals marks new territory for Feist.

Many songs start from a bluesy base, something very simple and primal, built around a tension of delicate but forceful instrumentation; but from there, a song can easily move from a solitary guitar motif before erupting with a strident choir, electric guitars crashing in a loping waltz time, and punctuated by clanging chain percussion. Few songs here fall into a steady template; they wait to be pulled or pushed apart, to have their meter toyed with, suspended while a string section or the sound of scraping metal sneaks into the background scene.

Then of course there is Feist’s calm, steadying, pitch-perfect voice, one that’s almost devoid of emotion, conveying everything and nothing at the same time. What is she singing about? Who cares? It’s “true life in haiku,” she sings, but whatever you’re looking for in these songs—either love or loss, comfort or concern—you’ll find them.

That tabula rasa extends to the music. While Feist was the undisputed star of earlier Feist records, Metals is much more communal. The various accompanying ensembles are one reason: string sections, brass sections, and choirs all transform the most intimate moments into something larger and yet still tender. But even though Feist’s voice is front and centre, it’s just as important as every piano chord, bass drum kick, or subtle sonic shading; together, every carefully arranged element establishes the tenor of the album, which works remarkably well as a whole. The only odd duck is “A Commotion,” pushed along by pulsing cellos and a man choir shouting the chorus; it’s curious, joyous, sparse and somewhat unsettling, the closest Feist gets to rocking out here, and it’s one of the most captivating tracks she’s ever recorded.

Metals also sounds like the most honest album since her debut: if Let It Die was her role-playing as a pretty pop star, and The Reminder found her trying to reconcile several different sides of her musical personality, Metals is its own world entirely—a world where Feist roams freely, devoid of expectation or constraint, a world with plenty for all to explore. (October 6)

Download: “Bittersweet Melodies,” “A Commotion,” “The Circle Married the Line”

Peter Gabriel – New Blood (Universal)

When Peter Gabriel resurfaced last year with a covers album, Scratch My Back, it was disappointing on several levels: not just because there was no original material, but because the dirge-like tempos and his belaboured vocal delivery didn’t help matters. When he went out to tour the album with an orchestra, he decided to rearrange an hour’s worth of older material to suit the occasion.

Thank God he did, because if Scratch My Back made fans wonder if Gabriel still had any charisma left in him, New Blood finds him revisiting his back catalogue with an entirely fresh approach. Gabriel doesn’t just add strings to existing arrangements; he takes all rock instruments out of the equation altogether (except piano), but loses none of the force and rhythmic thrust of the originals—no small feat considering the polyrhythms going on in something like “Red Rain” or “The Rhythm of the Heat.” The result is an orchestral tour de force that finds Gabriel as creative as ever, despite the fact that he’s working with well-trod material. Not that this is just a greatest hits set list: many classic tracks don’t appear here, while lesser-known ones like “Darkness,” “Intruder,” and “Wallflower” provide some of the most intriguing moments. Guest vocalist Ane Brun shines on “Don’t Give Up” and “Mercy Street”; her quivering vibrato could easily be mistaken for Mary Margaret O’Hara.

At 61 years old, Gabriel’s heyday may well be behind him, but New Blood is a classy move—not just a classical one. (October 20)

Download: “Red Rain,” “Intruder,” “Mercy Street”

Mayer Hawthorne – How Do You Do (Universal)

Is Mayer Hawthorne really a 32-year-old guy from Michigan who stumbled into singing soul music after starting as a hip-hop instrumentalist? Or is this Daryl Hall in disguise, staging a covert comeback?

In fact, Hawthorne and the Hall & Oates singer have been seen in the same place at the same time (on Hall’s TV show), so that theory doesn’t hold water. But listening to “A Long Time,” the second track on Hawthorne’s major label debut, with its “Maneater” drums and Hawthorne’s butter-smooth blue-eyed soul voice, he stakes his claim as Hall’s heir apparent. (Not only does he sound great, he looks great, too—like a dorky, cuter version of Tobey Maguire—thereby guaranteeing him some mainstream success. Touring with Bruno Mars helps, too.)

Hawthorne first appeared with a decent though paint-by-numbers indie debut, but How Do You Do marks a major move into territory ruled over by Raphael Saddiq, Sharon Jones and the ghost of Amy Winehouse. The songwriting has taken several steps up, and though the lyrical content rarely strays from affairs of the heart, he does manage to pen a few zingers: on lead single “The Walk,” he sings one of the most biting kiss-offs since Cee-Lo Green’s F--- You, likewise set to a bouncy, major-key melody: “You heart is like a black piece of coal / and I doubt you ever had a soul.” (October 20)

Download: “Dreaming,” “The Walk,” “No Strings”

Mighty Popo – Gakondo (Borealis)

Ottawa’s Mighty Popo has been an integral part of Canada’s African music community for 15 years, as a solo artist and as one third of the acclaimed African Guitar Summit, known mostly for his approach to blues. On Gakondo, his first all-acoustic album, Popo explores his Rwandan roots, adapting traditional songs and exploring the inanga, a nine-stringed instrument. Though it’s largely a lilting, gentle album, it’s on the quietest moments of all that Popo sounds downright magical, singing haunting lullabies and odes to family tradition set to sparse solo arrangements.

This album came out in 2010 and was nominated for a Juno, but is deservedly getting a wider release now through one of Canada’s foremost folk music labels. (October 13)

Download: “Ngire Nte,” “Uw’lbuhoro,” “Rwatsinda”

William Shatner - Seeking Major Tom (Cleopatra)

In his liner notes for this, a pseudo-concept album about David Bowie’s Major Tom character (which is actually just a collection of almost every sci-fi space-themed pop song ever written), William Shatner admits to sitting with his producer and both of them asking themselves, “Is this absurd or is this awesome or is it absurdly awesome?”

For starters, it’s rarely, if ever, awesome. It’s certainly absurd, and intentionally so. Shatner has been in on his own joke for years; his classic debut album The Transformed Man, released in the ’60s at the height of his Star Trek fame, was funny only because Shatner seemed outright oblivious to the absurdity of his Shakespearian spoken-word delivery of hippie-dippie lyrics of the day. Now the 80-year-old (!) has decades of self-awareness behind him, which makes his deadpan delivery here of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” not funny at all, just sad. The same is true of at least half of the tracks here, from Deep Purple’s “Space Trucking” to to Steve Miller’s “Space Cowboy” to The Police’s “Walking on the Moon” to Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly.” And what is The Tea Party’s “Empty Glass” doing here? Who knows.

And yet amidst the 20 tracks on this ridiculously long double album are some real moments of beauty, albeit underscored by the perpetual strangeness that is the Shat. Elton John’s “Rocket Man,” a song Shatner has actually been performing since 1978, is oddly poignant, with Shatner sounding like a lonely, delusional raconteur at closing time in a hotel bar. U2’s latter-era ballad “In a Little While” is uncharacteristically subtle, with Lyle Lovett helping out with parts that require an actual melody (which of course the Shat is unable to sing). And when Shatner sets out to be absolutely, unabashedly ridiculous—there is no other way to describe his performance alongside Bootsy Collins on Thomas Dolby’s “She Blinded Me With Science”—it’s a giddy delight.

But most of Seeking Major Tom just sounds like bad karaoke—Shatner’s soliloquies over faithful arrangements—with one notable exception: it’s not hard to show up Simon LeBon, and so Shatner’s monotone makeover of Duran Duran’s “Planet Earth” (featuring Steve Howe of Yes) is actually an improvement on the original.

Ultimately, however, this is a 90-minute album that, at best, can hope to provide one or two Internet memes for a week or so. (October 27)

Download: “Rocket Man,” “She Blinded Me With Science,” “Planet Earth”

Yukon Blonde – Fire/Water (Nevado)

The sweetest sounding rock band from Kamloops, B.C., since the Grapes of Wrath, Yukon Blonde have been touring relentlessly since the release of their debut album—and it shows. On this four-song EP, they show how quickly they’ve progressed from one of the most promising bands in Canada to one of the best. Expertly recorded by Colin Stewart (Black Mountain), the lead track “Fire” features distant atmospheric guitars swirling around a rolling bass line, straight-up countrified acoustic guitars and rich harmonies applied to every line, including the infectious, wordless chorus. The two songs on the b-side (or last two tracks on the CD) explore their slightly more abstract side, sounding not unlike their equally luscious West Coast peers, Fleet Foxes; closing track “Choices” features an almost entirely choral opening, before the Neil Young-ish electric backing track kicks in. A full-length culled from the same recording session is expected early next year, while this tease of an EP keeps them on the road in the meantime. (October 13)

Too Cool to Live, Too Smart To Die

While revising Have Not Been the Same for the 10^th anniversary edition, it was very much on the mind of all three co-authors that the last 10 years has been incredibly fruitful in Canadian music, and left a recorded legacy even greater than the time period of 1985-1995 that we documented in the book. We also felt that it wasn’t enough to just put out a new, improved version of the book: we felt that the music we discuss had to feel alive, not out of print and hidden in a dark corner of a campus radio station’s soon-to-be-dismantled vinyl library. And so while my co-author Jason Schneider is working on Vol. 2 of this series, which will unearth out-of-print classics and make them available again—including the long-sought-after title track (!!!)—I asked current artists to pay tribute to Canadian acts that inspired them early on.


I feel blessed to know many incredible musicians personally, and so that helped narrow my scope when it came to who to invite to be a part of this. I also wanted to focus on the new, so while I could have asked some legends associated directly with the book to cover their contemporaries, I wanted people who made some of my favourite records of the last 10 years to be the first people I approached. Unbelievably, over 25 of them responded positively, and the 19 heard here managed to record a track in time. Interest was so strong that I could easily commission a second installment at a moment’s notice.


I couldn’t be happier with the end result: every single artist gave this their A-game, and it’s clearly audible what a labour of love this was all around.


All proceeds from this project will go to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, the leading such facility in the country (and right across the street from me). I feel like every musician I know—including myself—has been affected either directly or indirectly (through peers) by the issues that CAMH deals with every day. And there are more than a few tragic tales in the book about artists who lost precious time, talent, or even their lives to personal demons that plagued them. The life of creative people is as complex as it is rewarding, and sadly addiction and mental health are occupational hazards.


Without further ado, here’s the track listing:

Pop Goes the World (Men Without Hats) – The Burning Hell

In Contempt of Me (Jr. Gone Wild) – Corb Lund

What Was Going Through My Head (Grapes of Wrath) – Great Lake Swimmers

Daylight (The Nils) – Owl Mountain Radar (Jim Bryson and Chris Page)

I Will Give You Everything (Skydiggers) – Bry Webb (of the Constantines)

The Lines You Amend (Sloan) – Forest City Lovers

Happens All the Time (Eric’s Trip) – Light Fires (Gentleman Reg and Ohbijou's Jamie Bunton)

Grace, Too (The Tragically Hip) – Selina Martin with the Faceless Forces of Bigness

Too Cool to Live, Too Smart to Die (Deja Voodoo) – Mark Davis and Lorrie Matheson

Your Sunshine (Hardship Post) – Jill and Matthew Barber

North Window (The Inbreds) – Cuff the Duke

Throw Silver (Mecca Normal) – Hidden Cameras

Buddah (Al Tuck) – Snailhouse

Odette (Circle C) – Veda Hille

Teenland (Northern Pikes) – Andrew Vincent

Bound for Vegas (Art Bergmann) – Geoff Berner

Shaved Head (Rheostatics) – Neil Haverty (of Bruce Peninsula)

When You Know Why You’re Happy (Mary Margaret O’Hara) – Little Scream and Richard Reed Parry (Arcade Fire, Bell Orchestre)

We Got Time (Bob Wiseman) – Kevin Drew (Broken Social Scene)

Have Not Been the Same Vol. 1: Too Cool to Live, Too Smart To Die will be available on Zunior.com on November 15. Artwork by Nick Craine. Mastered by Andy Magoffin. Liner notes by myself and all contributing artists.

Portishead live

Portishead

Sound Academy, Toronto

Monday, October 10, 2011

I turned 40 two days before this show. It was awfully nice of Portishead—in Toronto for the first time in 14 years—to allow me to cross their name off my list of must-see acts, acts whose music has altered my life in one way or another. At this point, I’m not sure there’s anyone left on the list who is a) alive, b) still performing, and c) not in an artistically decrepit state.

Though their beloved debut album came out in 1994, Portishead are not an oldies act; their 2008 album Third found them pushing themselves into darker directions much more abrasive than anything they’d ever done, and worlds away from the trip-hop movement they helped spawn—and that they quickly grew to despise for the milquetoast yuppie sex-party soundtrack it was. In Eye Weekly’s 2008 cross-Canada critics’ poll, Third took the top spot.

That album is now three years old and apparently there’s a new one on the way. Despite defining the zeitgeist in the mid-’90s, Portishead have always existed in a timeless continuum, borrowing heavily from the past (soul, jazz, blues, hip-hop, film soundtracks) while simultaneously forging future sounds. So while there was the occasional moment at this show where Geoff Barrow’s scratching sounded gimmicky whereas it once sounded groundbreaking, Portishead still sounded as fresh as they did the first time I heard “Sour Times” in a record store and was stopped cold in my tracks.

Portishead don’t do anything half-assed; they take their time, do what they want when and how they want to do it. It’s well worth waiting for. The visuals, a mix of live editing and animation resembling early ’70s children’s TV shows (hello, fortysomethings), were stunning. The band was almost flawless; the only quibble I could make was that the keyboardist didn’t use the theremin placed right in front of him for “Mysterons.” Beth Gibbons’ voice is even more impressive live: not just for the way she injects extra intensity into every line, but for her ability to convey fragility and strength at the same time. Like Feist, she can project intensity without belting it out; unlike Feist, she sounds like she deeply feels every single word.

The set leaned heavily on Dummy and Third, almost ignoring the self-titled second album, which is my personal favourite (only “Over” and “Cowboys” made the cut). I’ve barely listened to Dummy in the past 15 years, just because it was played to death in the college town where I spent the ’90s; hearing this seasoned band dig into those grooves now was extremely satisfying.

It seems silly to criticize Portishead for being too good at what they do, but the cumulative intensity was almost overbearing. Welcome breathers came from tracks like “Magic Doors,” with its cowbell funk, and a stripped-down version of “Wandering Stars,” with Beth Gibbons singing over just two guitars and embarking on the scariest scat solo you’ll ever hear in your life.

So: amazing band, amazing show, bla bla bla. Here’s the thing: as someone who spent the better part of his 20s in love with the first two Portishead records, finally seeing them live as I turn 40 was revelatory. I’d never really fully absorbed the torturous angst in Gibbons’ lyrics, although I obviously knew they were there, and her delivery alone speaks volumes more than the words themselves. Mostly I was in love with the music. Listening closely to her now, I realize how perfect her pain sounded to an owner of a lonely heart—and how I’m no longer that person, thank God.

In my youthful naïvete, the song “Glory Box,” with the chorus “Give me a reason to be a woman,” went right over my head. Why does she need a reason to be a woman? I wondered. Now I hear the narrator as a young person slightly terrified of her own sexuality, tired of playing teasing games with childish men, and longing for deep connection with someone outside the shallow small-town dating pool she’s swimming in. She’s stuck in an arrested adolescence, longing to transform into a confident, mature adult—which most of my generation (and my small college town) did for far too long, myself included (and some are still there). What’s more, the song ends with Gibbons abbreviating the line to just “Give me a reason to be”—an existentialist demand if there ever was one.

The newer material from Third is musically just as impressive as anything they’ve ever done, with the exception of “Machine Gun,” which works well enough on the recording but is interminable live, saved only by the visuals. And yet there’s something missing for me; I don’t feel it as deeply as I did when I wallowed in woe alongside Gibbons, when I felt every emotion with much more intensity than I do now. On Third, she’s still in that same emotional place—in her lyrics at least, I hope not in real life—and sings, “I’ve travelled so far but somehow feel the same / I’m so unsure.”

Now that I’m 40 and under the illusion that I’m somehow more mature and wise, I don’t expect nor want Portishead to sing about shiny, happy people. I want them to continue to do whatever the hell they want and make brilliant records and stunning stage shows. And I want to thank them for coming back into my life at this particular milestone—and not just so I can check them off on my gig scorecard.

September '11 reviews

The following reviews ran in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury during the month of September.

Active Child – You Are All I See (Vagrant)

What happens when a Philadelphia choir boy who plays the harp makes music that sounds a lost ’80s new wave classic mixed with modern dubstep like The Weeknd and James Blake?

That’s not a question anyone would ever have thought to ask, but Pat Grossi of Active Child is happy to provide the answer. In one of the most inventive debut albums of the year, Grossi drapes his Sigur Ros-esque falsetto over fluttering harp, pillowy synths, and carefully conducted electronic beats, creating songs that—were they not primarily about heartbreak—sound spiritual and devotional, despite, or perhaps because of, the otherworldly artifice of the instrumentation. Like Bon Iver’s new album, there are some decidedly unfashionable ’80s production touches, but there’s nothing in Grossi’s self-contained sonic atmosphere to suggest that he’s trying to follow any trend at all. (Sept. 1)

Download: “Hanging On,” “You Are All I See,” “High Priestess”

Atropolis – s/t (Dutty Artz)

Adam Partridge grew up in the New York City borough of Queens, but he’s been spending a lot of time in South America in the past few years, journeys that pay off on his debut as Atropolis, on the record label run by DJ Rupture, one of the leading cross-cultural curators in the U.S. Partridge recorded in Colombia with several vocalists, cumbia musicians, and local accordion legend Hugo Carlos Granados. Other tracks draw from modern Brazilian digital rhythms, not unlike Portugese/Angolan group Buraka Som Sistema, and there are trace elements of Argentinean tango as well. Though traditional elements are always in the mix, Partridge plays with them all in a decidedly 21st-century context. (Sept. 29)

Download: “Che Bo,” “Som Sista,” “NY Chero”

Blitzen Trapper - American Goldwing (Sub Pop)

The cover art looks like an 8-track tape you’d find in a truck stop in Montana. And it’s not a joke, nor is the inside photo showing the band in tattered jean jackets, trucker hats, plaid shirts and clutching cans of beer. Blitzen Trapper don’t sound a day older than 1975, playing boogie rock somewhere in that not-so-vast distance between Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Doobie Brothers. Harmonized guitar leads, slide guitars, roadhouse piano, touches of mandolin, the occasional conga: these guys have probably played more than a few cabin keg parties in their time. By their own admission, it’s music that will “make you want to shotgun a beer in the shower while listening to the Stones or Joe Walsh,” according to the self-penned bio by frontman Eric Earley.

There’s no shortage of retro ’70s bands, and excellent ones at that, such as Toronto’s Zeus, but few feel as fossilized as Blitzen Trapper. You could easily knock them for that, or you could respect how incredibly good they are at it. This is not a fashion for these guys; they wouldn’t have nailed every minor detail and vocal harmony if they were merely auditioning for a sequel to Almost Famous (a part they would get in a Hollywood minute). (Sept. 22)

Download: “Might Find It Cheap,” “The Way You Walk Away,” “Your Crying Eyes”

Ry Cooder – Pull Up Some Dust and Sit Down (Nonesuch)

It’s hard not to respect Ry Cooder as a guitarist, especially the albums where he’s acted as a Western conduit to Cuban music (Buena Vista Social Club), Mali desert blues (Ali Farka Toure) and Mexican-American culture (Chavez Ravine). Considering that he’s a vocalist of limited means, however, you have to be a big fan to sit through one of his singer/songwriter albums. Except this one.

Like many Americans, Cooder is angry. This is his State of the Union address, written as Woody Guthrie might have done and set to a backdrop of blues, reggae, gospel, TexMex, Cajun and country songs. Bankers, warmongers, racists, environmental pillagers, politicians of all stripes, religious fundamentalists—they all get an earful from Cooder, who delivers his tirades in folksy songs that are welcoming rather than alienating.

The only odd thing about this album is that it seemingly stands alone: considering the populist anger from every corner of the political spectrum in the last five years, and now that the “Occupy Wall Street” movement is gaining momentum, why isn’t more music as direct and fiery as this? It’s not like Cooder is writing from the headlines, either; a song like “No Banker Left Behind” has nothing at all to do with the 2008 crash and bailout, although it certainly carries plenty of resonance.

It’s easy to be cynical about the decline of America; it’s a skill to channel that and turn it into art filled with joy and beauty along with the bile. (Sept. 8)

Download: “No Banker Left Behind,” “Christmas Time This Year,” “Lord Tell Me Why”

Grace Jones - Hurricane (Pias)

“Who can define infinity?” Grace Jones asks on “Love You to Life.”

The answer is easy: her North American fans, who are only getting to hear Hurricane now, an interminable three years after its U.K. release. That’s an entirely inexplicable and inexcusable delay in this digital age, especially considering renewed interest in not only her legacy as a style icon (her image suddenly started appearing on t-shirts and buttons again), but also her classic early ’80s albums, which fused reggae, new wave and R&B in progressive ways rarely heard since.

Not only is Hurricane Jones’s first album of original material in 19 years (well, 22, for this continent), but it’s also one of her best. She’s once again working with the Compass Point All-Stars, the ace studio musicians assembled in Nassau, Bahamas, for her early records (as well as for Black Uhuru, Robert Palmer, and Tom Tom Club), a group that includes the legendary rhythm section of Sly & Robbie, keyboardist Wally Badarou and guitarist Barry Reynolds.

As one can imagine, Grace Jones has a lot to say now that she’s back. The first words you hear are: “This is my voice, my weapon of choice.” On the title track, co-written with and featuring Tricky, she boasts, “I can be cool, soft as a breeze / and I’ll be a hurricane, ripping up trees.” This album originally came out a mere month after the financial collapse, but she has a piercing song called “Corporate Cannibal” (“legalized criminal!”), where she snarls, “I’ll consume my consumers with no sense of humour” (there’s also an amazing video for this song, naturally).

Hurricane is also one of her most personal statements. There are several songs here with autobiographical overtones, but none more so than “Williams’ Blood,” co-written with Wendy & Lisa (of Prince and the Revolution), which tells the tale of her mother, a Jamaican girl who married a preacher at age 17, and moved the family to Syracuse, New York, when Jones was a teenager.

Musically and lyrically, this is everything Jones has ever done well. She no longer sounds cutting edge—the most modern tracks here sound like ’90s trip-hop, which is not surprising considering that Massive Attack invited her to play a festival of theirs right before she made this record, and Tricky is a guest—but she’s embraced gospel choirs and large string sections that enhance her already rich sound, making this perhaps the most lush album in her discography. Her powerful voice hasn’t diminished a bit, and for every darker trip-hop turn such as the title track or “Corporate Cannibal,” there’s a gospel-tinged pop-reggae song like “Love You to Life” or “Well Well Well.”

It only makes sense that when such an icon has been silent for so long, she should come roaring back with a comeback as successful as this one. This is one Hurricane that North Americans should welcome ashore. (Sept. 22)

Download: “Williams’ Blood,” “Love You to Life,” “This Is”

Nick Lowe - The Old Magic (Yep Roc)

When a beloved 62-year-old songwriter puts out an album called The Old Magic, fans of his early work might anticipate a return to his late ’70s power pop sound.

Instead, however, the title is more literal: it’s a magical record by an old guy who’s acting his age. Whether he’s musing about his “Checkout Time,” boasting about how well-read he is (“I read a lot / and not just magazines”), getting a new start on life (“House for Sale,” “Restless Feeling”), or reading too much into flowers (“Stoplight Roses,” “The Poisoned Rose”), Nick Lowe does it over classy, ’50s-tinged lounge arrangements that allow his well-matured voice to luxuriate over every note. Sometimes he dips into a country shuffle, sometimes a reggae backbeat, but mostly The Old Magic is rich with lush balladry that calls out for candles, a fine red wine and dark chocolate.

Every track here makes a case for Lowe getting even better with age. Score another one for the geezer. (Sept. 15)

Download: “Checkout Time,” “Shame on the Rain,” “You Don’t Know Me At All”

Mister Heavenly - Out of Love (Sub Pop)

Mister Heavenly owes a debt to ’50s pop music, filtered as it is through three guys—Nick Thorburn of Islands, Ryan Kattner of Man Man, and Modest Mouse drummer Joe Plummer—who built their careers on herky-jerky, off-kilter indie rock. It’s inventive, catchy and occasionally cartoonishly creepy; they call it “doom wop.” Mostly, it’s just a lot of fun.

Thorburn knows how to bring out the best in people with slower creative processes than himself; likewise, they’re responsible for his best albums with the Unicorns (with Alden Penner), Human Highway (with Jim Guthrie) and now this. In each of these projects there’s a tossed-off, carefree air to the recordings that keeps the songs simple, the harmonies clear, the arrangements uncluttered. There’s nothing lazy about it, however: Mister Heavenly doesn’t sound like a half-baked side project, but a fully realized unit unto itself, one that can even get away with ridiculous songs that have choruses like “cut me off a slice of reggae pie.”

The album ends on a suspended note; hopefully this is not the last we hear of Mister Heavenly. (Sept. 8)

Download: “I Am a Hologram,” “Mister Heavenly,” “Charlyne”

The Pack A.D. - Unpersons (Mint)

When you’re a young, two-piece garage band who put out four albums in four years and tour your asses off around the world, it’s a matter of time before you either a) burn out or b) make your masterpiece. And so if previous albums by this Vancouver group have been somewhat underwhelming, Unpersons finds them firing on all cylinders, crafting one of the most exciting rock records of the year.

They play with the intensity of a band determined to make the most out of every second on stage, no matter the venue, no matter the audience. And with the help of Detroit’s finest garage rock producer Jim Diamond (Dirtbombs, White Stripes), and recorded in Vancouver’s finest studio, The Hive (Black Mountain, Destroyer), The Pack A.D. are snarling, spitting and ready to knock you on your feet. Guitarist/vocalist Becky Black sings like a woman done wrong, who’s ready to exorcise any and all demons in song.

The sound is heavy, the performances are raw, and they’ve honed their songwriting for maximum riffs, hooks, and melody. What more do you want in a rock’n’roll record? (Sept. 15)

Download: “Sirens,” “Seasick,” “8”

Red Hot + Rio 2 – Various Artists (E1)

When the first Red Hot + Rio compilation came out 15 years ago, Brazilian music’s proximity to the mainstream seemed distant, notwithstanding flirtations from David Byrne and Paul Simon (the albums Rei Momo and Rhythm of the Saints, respectively). That first album, which featured Everything But the Girl, Stereolab, Maxwell, Sting, and PM Dawn, focused mainly on the bossa nova era of Brazilian music, playing into the easy listening revival of the time.

Today, Brazilian music of every stripe has taken off, whether it’s the smooth stylings of Bebel Gilberto or the aggressive favela booty bass that drives bands like Bondo do Role, and Brazilian rhythms can be heard on any number of mainstream pop singles. And so Red Hot + Rio 2 boasts 33 tracks, over two hours of music, and a lineup that includes Beirut, Devendra Banhart, Eugene Hutz of Gogol Bordello, John Legend, Madlib, and dozens more. Money Mark (best known as the Beastie Boys’ keyboardist) and Marisa Monte are the only repeat performers.

Many tracks are covers of songs from the tropicalia era of late ’60s and early ’70s Brazilian music, a psychedelic pop movement that was considered politically subversive by the country’s military regime at the time. Therefore tropicalia pioneers Os Mutantes are paired up with like-minded contemporaries Of Montreal for an inspired romp through their original “Bat Macumba,” while soul singers Alice Smith and Aloe Blacc breathe new life into “Baby,” a Caetano Veloso song of which Os Mutantes did the most recognizable cover. Brooklyn weirdo dance-pop duo Javelin team up with tropicalia’s most delightful and inventive oddball, Tom Zé, on “Ogodô Ano 2000.” And new-school Brazilian singer Seu Jorge duets with Beck on a cover of the latter’s song “Tropicalia,” which helped rekindle interest in the movement when it came out 13 years ago on Beck’s Mutations.

This is not all tropicalia all the time, however. Marina Gasolina and Secousse bring some modern favela funk to “Freak le Boom Boom,” while Los Van Van and Carlinhos Brown bring a big brass sound to more traditional rhythms. And it makes perfect sense that the group Brazilian Girls show up here, with Angelique Kidjo and Forro in the Dark in tow. Indeed, the only downfall of this compilation is that it’s exhausting: there’s too much of a good thing.

As always, this Red Hot album is a benefit for AIDS charities; the Red Hot organization was founded 22 years ago and has been responsible for 15 compilations in various genres, although there have only been three in the last decade (all of them are wonderful: the other two are 2003’s Red Hot and Riot, a tribute to Fela Kuti, and 2009’s Dark Was the Night, which was curated by The National). With the 30th anniversary of AIDS being marked this year (note the excellent cover story in the September issue of The Walrus), the disease is still the subject of misunderstandings and problematic solutions, despite the fact that being HIV-positive is no longer a death sentence. Cheers to the Red Hot folks for effectively enhancing their activism with excellent music. (Sept. 1)

Download: “Tropical Affair” – Money Mark, Thalma De Freitas & João Parahyba; “Um Girassol Da Cor Do Seu Cabelo” – Mia Doi Todd and José González; “Boa Reza” – Vanessa Da Mata, Seu Jorge & Almaz

Tasseomancy - Ulalume (Out of This Spark)

Something wicca this way comes.

Formerly known as Ghost Bees, Tasseomancy—the name refers to the art of reading tea leaves—are twin sisters from Halifax who currently tour the world as backup singers with Austra, though they sound like they ran away from a Renaissance Fair and wrote a few songs while boiling bats and casting spells. Sample chorus: “Who’s at my altar? For these beasts are not lambs for the slaughter…” You get the idea.

How out there is this duo? Their official bio compares them to Comus, a psychedelic British folk group from the ’60s—who are kind of an obscurists’ trump card, really—that sounded like your most terrifying hippie nightmare come true, chanting in the woods with hand drums, flutes and demonic lyrics. Tasseomancy do not, thankfully, sound like Comus (there can and should be only one Comus), but there is plenty of autoharp and arch vocals and an obvious influence from the darker corners of British folk.

To help them make their debut as Tasseomancy—the name Ulalume comes from an Edgar Allan Poe poem—they turned to Taylor Kirk of Timber Timbre, a guy who knows a thing or two about creeping ’round back stairs. He even takes lead vocals on a track called, of course, “The Darkness of Things.” Kirk doesn’t try to guide them into any sense of normalcy or pop tradition, like his own band. He’s happy to follow them down whatever rabbit hole they take him; his job is to make sure their dream world is as brightly lit and colourful as possible.

Hallowe’en is just around the corner, kids. Here’s your haunted house soundtrack. (Sept. 29)

Download: “Heavy Sleep,” “Diana,” “Up You Go Little Smoke”

Tinariwen – Tassili (Anti)

This band of blues musicians from the Sahara Desert formed in refugee camps 30 years ago, from which Moammar Gadhafi recruited mercenaries in exchange for promises of independence for the Tuareg tribe (needless to say, he didn’t deliver). Decades ago they put down their guns in exchange for guitars, and listening to their latest album in the wake of the overthrow of Gadhafi, it sounds like music for the morning after a revolution.

Their 2007 North American breakthrough, Aman Iman, was fiery and electric and full of call-and-response choruses and joyous ululating; it made an easy crossover to rock audiences. Its follow-up was recorded partially in the desert where the band was born, using generators to record their electric guitars around the campfire. This time out they tone things down, making a reflective and primarily acoustic album. After the gunfire—both hostile and celebratory—this sounds like a people pondering possibilities and next steps, as well as mourning the losses that brought them here.

Tassili is also the first Tinariwen album to feature Western guests, although in each case there’s no awkward culture collision; everyone fits seamlessly into the background. Wilco guitarist Nels Cline creates atmospheres behind the opening track “Imidiwan Ma Tennam,” while TV on the Radio vocalists Kyp Malone and Tunde Adebimpe weave themselves into “Tenere Taqhim Tossam” so effectively that you barely notice someone has started singing in English.

Though Tinariwen’s popularity has ushered in many other desert blues purveyors, Tassili displays plenty of intangible, magic moments that illustrate why this group was the first to make an international breakthrough. (Sept. 1)

Download: “Imidiwan Ma Tennam,” “Tenere Taqhim Tossam,” “Walla Illa”

The Weeknd - Thursday (independent)

It’s an axiom that you have your whole life to write your first album, and a few months to write your second. In the age of instant Internet availability, that time has been ostensibly been whittled down to a few weeks.

The Weeknd released their debut, House of Balloons, as a free download in March; word of mouth spread quickly, helped in part by mystique that kept any details about the dark, mysterious R&B project top secret, except for the name of the singer, 21-year-old Torontonian Abel Tesfaye. Fast forward mere months later, and that album has snuck on to the Polaris Prize shortlist and The Weeknd’s debut live show in Toronto was one of the biggest international music stories to come out of that city this year.

With good reason: House of Balloons sounded like a game-changer in modern R&B, a goth-y update on ’90s trip-hop like Tricky, filtered through production advances in hip-hop and electronic music of the last 10 years, both mainstream and underground, with Tesfaye’s smooth vocals and lurid, Lothario persona tying it all together.

Now comes Thursday, another free download album, and concerns about a sophomore slump are inevitable—and valid. The Weeknd sounds—weakened, you could say.

It’s not just that the mystique has been lifted somewhat and therefore the music sounds less opaque. Thursday is like an awkward second date with a guy that seemed so intriguing and charming, albeit a bit weird, the first time out. Now his flaws are magnified and his come-ons less alluring (especially the one—as always, delivered in a smooth, sensitive croon—about how he closes his eyes and imagines making love to someone else when he’s with you).

There is still that voice, an angelic, slippery instrument that can do almost anything—including the use of AutoTune for effect, not necessity, and bridging the natural and digital divide with uncanny ease. But, as with House of Balloons, he’s more often than not applying it to cringe-worth lyrics; in somehow keeping with the “theme” of the album title, the way he keeps rattling off the days of the week sounds like a certain SCTV soap opera parody sketch.

When Tesfaye made his live debut, he had a rock band behind him with electric guitars adding extra crunch; they appear here to pull his forward-thinking hip-hop back to forgettable rock/industrial acts of the ’90s, making much of Thursday sound dated rather than next level. He flirts with reggae on “Life of the Party” and “Heaven or Las Vegas” (not a Cocteau Twins cover—though I wouldn’t put that past him), although in each case it sounds like something Trent Reznor would do with reggae, rather than an Ethiopian-Canadian R&B singer from Toronto.

Tesfaye hasn’t entirely shit the bed, of course; high expectations shouldn’t diminish the gems that appear here. Individual tracks usually rotate around a single sound: the martial drums on “The Birds Part 1,” the acoustic guitar that provides the sole backdrop to "Rolling Stone," the rubbery dub and disembodied R&B of “The Zone.”

This is one of three Weeknd albums of 2011; the third is expected shortly. “Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us alone,” he sings. But he’s the one who sounds in a hurry here; maybe if he slows down and takes his time, he’ll once again knock our socks off—and a few other items of clothing, by the sounds of it. (Sept. 8)

Download: the entire album is available for free at the-weeknd.com

Wilco – The Whole Love (dBpm/Anti)

If Wilco fans were wondering when relatively new guitarist Nels Cline was finally going to be allowed to shed, you get your answer five minutes into the title track that opens this album. There, the veteran guitar slinger—who joined Wilco just in time for the band to make two of their more subdued, conservative albums in years—lets loose a torrent of noodly pyrotechnics over a song that could otherwise be a Radiohead outtake.

That doesn’t mean the rest of the album follows suit, however. The only thing anyone can expect from Wilco is that they’re going to do whatever they want, and The Whole Love finds them touching on every stage of their career: concise pop songs, heartbreaking acoustic country ballads, weirdo art rock, and some glockenspiels and bird whistling just for the hell of it.

“The night’s so young,” sings Jeff Tweedy, “but I still say we’re too old for clichés.” Now that they’re finally putting out their own records, on their own label, there’s even less expectation for them to bend to anyone’s will. Listening to The Whole Love, you can almost hear them breathing sighs of relief.

Unfortunately, what you don’t hear is them breaking a sweat. While this is a good record by a great band—and better than, say, 2004’s A Ghost is Born or 2007’s Sky Blue Sky—it’s not a particularly satisfying one. Its charms are subtle—in both the uptempo rockers and the spacey, sparse ballads—but unlikely to engage anyone who isn’t already a big fan. Perhaps that’s all we should expect from such a well-oiled machine at this stage of their career.

But if the rest of the album is merely good enough, it’s the closing track, “One Sunday Morning,” that’s the most compelling track here. Tweedy starts it off singing, “This is how I tell him / oh, how it’s long,” and from there embarks on a 12-minute, intensely personal meditation about his deceased father and their torrid relationship, set to little more than three chords and a mid-tempo, subdued acoustic backing. That the band can provide ever-evolving shades and textures to sustain the minimal narrative over such a long period of time is a testament to their many strengths. (Sept. 29)

Download: “I Might,” “Open Mind,” “One Sunday Morning”

Wild Flag – s/t (Merge)

“I’m a race horse / you put your money on me,” sings Carrie Brownstein. With good reason: though Wild Flag are a new band and this their debut album, they have a pedigree that has already got the indie rock geek squad frothing at the mouth.

Brownstein and drummer Janet Weiss are reuniting for the first time since their band Sleater-Kinney—perhaps the most powerful and successful band to emerge from the riot grrrl scene of the early ’90s—announced a hiatus in 2006. (In the meantime, Brownstein became an NPR arts journalist and starred in the comedy series Portlandia; Weiss backed up Pavement’s Stephen Malkmus.) Here they’re joined by the always intriguing Mary Timony, who performed solo and fronted the band Helium, which means two of the finest guitarists of the ’90s American underground are now in the same band together. (Rebecca Cole of the Minders rounds out the lineup on bass and keyboards.)

Though they are all veterans, they play with the enthusiasm of a new band, combining huge classic rock riffs with arty twists and turns, and songs that break down to exuberant handclaps and chanted vocals. Like any young band, several songs are about the love of music itself; the joy of writing and performing is not something these ladies take for granted. “Sound is the blood between me and you,” they sing on opening track “Romance,” and that’s obvious not only in their years of experience, but in their years of friendship together. (Brownstein and Timony actually had a short-lived side project in the ’90s called the Spells, an underwhelming distraction that didn’t prepare their fans for the rock onslaught of Wild Flag.)

And yet though Brownstein and Timony clearly work well together, they don’t yet share the same intuitive and explosive chemistry Brownstein shared with Sleater-Kinney’s other singer/guitarist, Corin Tucker (who released her own low-key solo project earlier this year). And so while Wild Flag’s main selling point to Sleater-Kinney fans may be the return of Brownstein and Weiss, what this band really signals is a creative return for Timony, whose last couple of records dulled the edges off the unique sound she crafted in Helium and her first two solo albums; here, her recognizable guitar tone, particular scales and approach to melody contrast is coaxed into new territory by Brownstein.

All of that nitpicking is really only relevant to those who grew up worshipping these women; any and all newcomers are likely to wave the Wild Flag loud and proud right from the opening notes. They play Lee’s Palace in Toronto on October 11. (Sept. 15)

Download: “Romance,” “Glass Tambourine,” “Electric Band”