In June, I was invited to Montreal to interview Arcade Fire and write their promotional bio. This is not that bio. These are just random thoughts and observations.
Win Butler’s fortune cookie states the obvious: “You are the kind of person who will go places.” It’s mid-June 2010, and the Arcade Fire front man proudly displays this premonitory phrase for his bandmates, who are taking a dinner break while rehearsing in a Montreal warehouse the size of an airplane hangar. They are preparing the stage show that will find them going plenty of places for much of the next year, promoting their third album The Suburbs (out on Aug. 2).
In the past, Arcade Fire has always underplayed their own popularity by playing smaller venues; while touring 2007’s Neon Bible, they opted to play three shows at Toronto’s Massey Hall, when the local promoter insisted they could have sold out the Air Canada Centre. In 2010, there’s no point in modesty. The first leg of the tour, before the album was even released, found them playing European festivals where they headlined over Jay-Z. Two dates headlining Madison Square Gardens in New York City are booked for mid-August.
These days, this kind of global domination isn’t that shocking for Canadian artists, especially a band whose debut album, 2004’s Funeral, was named the No. 1 album of the past decade by Rolling Stone. What’s unusual about Arcade Fire is that they’ve achieved this while trying to maintain a maximum distance from celebrity culture, mainstream radio and mega-marketing.
Six weeks before The Suburbs arrives in stores, the band is still mastering the vinyl version of the album, proofing artwork and learning how to play the songs live. No one in the band is on Twitter. Not a single ad has appeared anywhere. Not a single journalist—nor the band’s record label—has heard the finished product. Thousands of local fans heard the new songs before anyone else, at live shows in Montreal, Sherbrooke and Toronto in the past month—including a free show on June 9 in a suburban mall parking lot in Montreal, announced on mere hours’ notice, that drew almost 10,000 people.
The outside world is clamoring for details—even ones that the band aren’t trying to keep secret. During rehearsal, the band’s management gets an email from a Rolling Stone fact-checker, asking questions about recent gigs and new songs. Among other details, the fact-checker wants to confirm that the new song “Rococo” is, in fact, “slow-burning.”
The Arcade Fire camp—most of the crew and staff consist of old friends, some dating back to high school—all appear relaxed, a welcome contrast to the anxiety that accompanied the release of Neon Bible. This time, the only real pressure the band feels is internal; no matter how many external accolades they receive—from journalists, audiences, or musical heroes—Arcade Fire have never been convinced that they’ve managed to meet their own standards. The best is always yet to come. There is always work to be done. And the only people any one of them really wants to impress are the seven other musicians on stage every night.
Guitarist and bassist Tim Kingsbury had driven me to rehearsal from his new house in Point St. Charles, a slowly gentrifying neighbourhood on the south side of Montreal’s Lachine Canal. In his dishevelled car, five CDs are stuffed into the passenger door pocket: AC/DC, Jackson 5, the Pretenders, fellow Montreal band Sunset Rubdown, and Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible. The latter, he said, is homework before the tour.
Every Arcade Fire member has bought property in Montreal in recent years. Certainly nothing ostentatious, despite the fact that the fiercely independent band is, to some degree, rolling in dough; they’re financially secure enough to announce recently that they would match up to $1 million of their fans’ contributions to Haitian relief, which has been a pet cause since well before this year’s earthquake (founding member and multi-instrumentalist Régine Chassagne is the daughter of Haitian immigrants). “Take our money, please,” Win would urge an audience in Quebec City a month later.
At the warehouse, the stage is set up in the middle of the cavernous room, surrounded by black curtains. There is everything they need for a festival gig: a full lighting truss, a video screen and stadium-size sound system. Despite the production, rehearsal is as casual as it would be in the living room of bandleaders (and married couple) Win and Régine, where some of The Suburbs was recorded. The band is unselfconscious about mucking around, pulling songs apart and trying different arrangements, even if it leaves the crew—who are supposed to be rehearsing cues—a bit befuddled.
Many of the new songs have never been performed together by the eight people in the room now. The song “Empty Room” fades out on the album; here, they decide to segue into “Modern Man” by having Régine hold a high note in F-sharp minor while they shift into the key of A. They try a choral approach for two songs: one from Neon Bible, one a sombre cover of recently deceased garage rocker Jay Reatard (“Oh It’s Such a Shame”), who was scheduled to open for Arcade Fire this year. At one point everyone drops their instruments and stands in a circle to arrange harmonies. For a band that built their name on bombast, it’s a remarkably delicate moment.
It’s not incongruous with the arguably more mature Arcade Fire that can be heard on The Suburbs. They’ve dialled down the intensity that fuelled their earlier work; Win jokes that they wanted to write some “music to do dishes to.” But even hearing them rehearse an older number such as “Neighbourhood #2 (Laika)”—a song that was once performed live with motorcycle helmets used as particularly violent percussion—it now sounds older, wiser, not as strident. There is a quieter strength at work, yet no less forceful.
Everything now has space to breathe; for all the glorious urgency of earlier material, it could also be claustrophobic. Part of what was so frustrating about seeing Arcade Fire back in 2004—both before and after the release of Funeral—was that they sounded so much bigger than they actually were. Instruments would break. The sound mix would be muddled. The band wasn’t reaching the intensity that an often visibly agitated Win wanted. Audiences didn’t always understand. They could look and sound constricted, like watching professional soccer players trying to play on a basketball court.
Now the music has found its home: less restless, less like it has something to prove, but no less eager or hungry to live up to their own high expectations. Most importantly, the new material is considerably more welcoming than the weight-of-the-world fog that marred some of Neon Bible.
And why wouldn’t it be? Despite their deadly serious reputation, the members of Arcade Fire are, understandably, quite happy. They’ve carved out considerable success on their own terms. They feel like a family. They’ve been able to shine a light on their own projects and those of their peers (drummer Jeremy Gara was a key part of recent masterpieces by Owen Pallett and Snailhouse).
Furthermore, they’ve been able to put their money where their mouth is, by helping kick-start a new Haitian foundation called Kenpe, and by funnelling one dollar from every concert ticket they sold over the past three years (and the current tour) to Partners in Health, which focuses on community partnership solutions to poverty and health-care issues in the developing world. During the 2008 U.S. election, they headlined two pro-Obama rallies in North Carolina; the Democrats took the state for the first time in over 30 years, by a thin margin. On Obama’s inauguration day, Arcade Fire played the volunteer and staff party; they met the President for a photo op, and Win gave him a copy of George Orwell’s Why I Write.
Sitting in Tim’s home-studio office the next morning, a photo of the band with Barack and Michelle Obama is one of the only clues that a member of Arcade Fire lives here. Tim sets me up with an unmastered version of The Suburbs and leaves me alone for the rest of the morning.
I actually need most of the morning to listen to The Suburbs all the way through three times—the album is 63 minutes long. This concerns multi-instrumentalist Richard Reed Parry, who confessed at rehearsal that the length is the one thing he doesn’t like about an album he’s otherwise very proud of—and the latter statement doesn’t come easily from this workaholic and perfectionist, who devotes most of his non-Arcade Fire time to his project with violinist Sarah Neufeld, Bell Orchestre.
Parry says there were many discussions about the track list and the format. Should some songs come out on an EP? As stand-alone singles not found on the album? That seemed to work for Belle and Sebastian, the Smiths and, uh, the Beatles. Ultimately they decided to throw it all on there, and, despite Parry’s reservations, the album doesn’t suffer for it. The Suburbs is dynamic and deliciously satisfying. Besides, the kids these days are going to listen to MP3s out of order anyway, right? Or at least one side of a double vinyl set at a time?
As always with Arcade Fire, “the kids” figure prominently on The Suburbs, not just because Win and Régine are writing about wasted time in the suburbs of their youth. This time out, however, there is a different tone. In the past they would rally the children, as on “Wake Up,” “Power Out” or “No Cars Go,” and now there’s a bit of a sneer: chastising “the kids with their arms folded tight” (“Month of May”) and, on “Rococo,” practically mocking: “Let’s go downtown and talk to the modern kids / They will eat right out of your hand / Using great big words that they don’t understand.”
Those aren’t the only times Win—who just turned 30—sounds a bit like a crotchety grandpa: “We Used to Wait” is a fond remembrance of antiquated days when lovelorn teenagers wrote letters while separated for summer vacations. There is no romance in texting, it’s true. Thankfully, there is no verse about how far the narrator had to walk to school, and in what adverse weather conditions.
The Suburbs is definitely a concept album: we know this because the word “suburbs” appears in almost every song. It’s a rich theme, encompassing ennui of youth, wasted time, wasted potential, technological transformation, urban planning, and dreams of escape. But after “The Suburbs,” “Suburban War,” “Sprawl 1,” “Sprawl 2” and “Wasted Hours”—some of which share not just themes, but specific lines—it’s easy to feel trapped on a cul-de-sac.
Amidst the suburban angst, there are touching laments for disappearing landscapes—which sound less grandfatherly than they do like the legitimately apocalyptic anxieties of a potential parent: “This city’s changed so much since I was a little child / Pray to God I won’t live to see the death of everything that’s wild.” The title track asks, “So can you understand / Why I want a daughter while I'm still young? / I want to hold her hand / And show her some beauty / Before all this damage is done.”
There is no resignation, however. There is a pointed call for responsibility, ala Inauguration-Day Obama: “I know it's heavy, I know it ain't light / But how you gonna lift it with your arms folded tight?” Apathy isn’t just a crutch, it’s a dishonest denial: “Some people say we’ve already lost/ but they’re afraid to pay the cost.”
The Suburbs is dense with musical majesty. It doesn’t sound like either Funeral or Neon Bible, even though it’s quite obviously the same band. The rousing anthems are largely absent (Régine’s “Empty Room” and the fuzzy punk of “Month of May” being notable exceptions); now Arcade Fire is much more selective in applying its intensity. A sense of economy—perhaps the influence of labelmates Spoon or tourmates LCD Soundsystem—is evident throughout. The Springsteen influence this time out is more “Jungleland” (sparse, epic balladry) than “Born to Run” (all-or-nothing barnburners). New wave textures colour mid-tempo pop songs with stuttered rhythms. And as a left turn right before the album closes, Régine’s “Sprawl 2” sounds like Swedish reggae—in a good way.
You can take all of this with several grains of salt, if you like: the band members are friends of mine--even if I've barely seen them in recent years--and I’ve been a huge fan, though not an uncritical one, since I first heard a cassette demo in December 2002. But The Suburbs is thoroughly satisfying, in ways that I almost don’t even expect anymore from my favourite artists.
In 2004, just before Funeral came out, Régine told me: “I’m always at zero trying to get to square one. For me, I haven’t achieved anything yet. This is a start.” As beloved as that album is now, The Suburbs trumps it on almost every level.
Later that day, after a full day of interviews, the band and crew assemble for a barbecue at a friend’s house in a lush, green neighbourhood near Parc Laurier. It’s partially a belated birthday party for Win and one of the production staff, and partially an album-wrap party before the European tour.
The Butler brothers play backyard basketball with their friend’s seven-year-old son. Tim and the band’s video director Vincent Morisset talk birdwatching. The Canadians try to explain to the Americans what proroguing Parliament entails. Rock’n’roll decadence this is not.
When the birthday cakes come out, Régine leaps to the piano, instantly intuiting the key everyone’s agreed on for "Happy Birthday." The singer of one of the most critically acclaimed bands of the last 10 years extinguishes his birthday candles by obeying chants to “suck! suck! suck!” Win then makes a brief toast, congratulating everyone on the culmination of a year’s work.
This calls for another celebratory song that everyone knows—except that no one knows what that should be. “What does everyone know?” someone mumbles. “Christmas!” comes the suggestion. “Silent Night” it is, then, even on this warm summer night, in a town with a crucifix on a mountaintop.
Of course, that doesn’t seem quite triumphant enough—so Will, a transplanted American, strikes up “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” To a rousing, laughing chorus of “glory, glory, hallelujah,” the army of Arcade Fire raise their glasses and prepare for a triumphant year.
Earlier interviews with the band on this site are (from 2004) here and here and here, as well as (from 2007) here and here and here.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Jimmy Cliff
I’ve interviewed plenty of people I consider to be legends, but I’m quite sure I’ve never interviewed someone who has sold over 20 million records. I had the pleasure of interviewing reggae legend Jimmy Cliff for Massey Hall’s Performance magazine; here are excerpts from the piece and my full conversation with Mr. Cliff.
Who knew he was a Green Day fan? Also: note his odd, rambling answer to my innocuous final question.
Jimmy Cliff plays Massey Hall in Toronto tonight, July 19.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame doesn’t reach beyond its namesake genre very often. Which is why Jimmy Cliff, inducted in March 2010, is one of only two reggae artists (so far) to be deemed worthy of inclusion alongside the likes of the Beatles, James Brown, Ray Charles, AC/DC and hundreds of other legends.
The list of international reggae superstars can be boiled down to two names: Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff. It was Jimmy Cliff who starred in the movie The Harder They Come, which introduced Jamaican reggae culture to the world. That film’s soundtrack—dominated by Cliff classics like the title track, “You Can Get It If You Really Want,” and “Many Rivers to Cross”—was the best selling reggae album ever, until the 1984 release of Bob Marley’s posthumous greatest hits album, Legend. And it was Cliff who first discovered Marley as a hungry and confident 16-year-old performer, auditioning in a rum bar in 1962.
Cliff himself was only 14 at the time, and had just scored his first local hit with a song called “Hurricane Hattie,” which reached #1 in Jamaica. Cliff grew up in the district of Somerton in rural Jamaica, where he shared a house with eight siblings, and started singing in church. His father brought him to Kingston at age 12 to attend a technical school, studying TV and radio and trying to find someone to record his songs. One day he walked in Leslie Kong’s shop, a combination ice cream parlour, cosmetics boutique, and record store. Kong wanted his shop to be stocked with exclusive product, and this young, enterprising youth convinced him to start making records—starting with Cliff’s.
In 1964, Cliff made another key connection, when young Jamaican entrepreneur Chris Blackwell invited him to take part in the Jamaican contingent of ska singers for the 1964 World Fair in New York City. This peaked the interest of American record companies, who released ska compilations following the fair; one was co-produced by Curtis Mayfield and featured a couple of Cliff numbers.
At Blackwell’s suggestion, Cliff moved to the U.K., which was the largest market for Jamaican music off the island. Four years later, Cliff would release his debut for Blackwell’s label, Island Records, and score a huge hit in Brazil, “Waterfall,” which prompted a short stay there.
After extensive touring in South America, Cliff scored an international hit with “Wonderful World, Beautiful People,” which served as his introduction to North America. Cliff then returned home to Jamaica, where he started developing younger artists, and scored another hit with a cover of Cat Stevens’ song “Wild World.”
Then came the pivotal moment in Cliff’s career, when he was tapped to star in The Harder They Come, a 1971 movie about a rural Jamaican trying to navigate the bullet-ridden, drug-infested alleys of the music business. The film became a cult hit around the world, offering many people their first glimpses of reggae culture in Jamaica. Cliff credits the film not only with the commercial height of his career—the soundtrack has sold millions of copies—but with the international reach of reggae itself.
The Harder They Come—which was transformed into a Broadway musical recently—marked Cliff’s commercial peak, but his recording career never slowed down, scoring hits in the ’80s (“Reggae Night,” with Kool and the Gang) and the ’90s (“I Can See Clearly Now, from the film Cool Runnings) and travelling the world. Now 62, he divides his time between Paris and Jamaica, where he recently built a studio and finished work on his latest album, Existence, with young Jamaican studio musicians (who will also comprise his touring band).
Jimmy Cliff
April 22, 2010
To my knowledge, you haven’t played a full show in Toronto in eight years.
That’s one of the reasons I’m looking forward to it. They are great fans of Jamaican music, but also my brand of Jamaican music. Toronto has always been interesting and important place for music in general, and for reggae music. I remember on my first North American tour, when my movie had just made a big impact all over the world, what the media said in Canada kind of filtered through to the rest of North America. That makes Canada particularly Toronto, very important.
Did you know any of the reggae music coming out of Toronto at the time? Or people like Jackie Mittoo or Leroy Sibbles or Willie Williams, who all moved to Toronto?
I knew all of those artists before they moved to Toronto. We have always known that Toronto is a very important place.
It’s also one of the first places that The Harder They Come musical opened. Was it not the first place it opened after London?
Yes, it was. I came not for the opening of the musical, but I did some promotion before the musical opened there.
How did you feel about the musical? Was it something you ever envisioned happening?
I didn’t really envision it as a musical, so I was pleasantly surprised at the way it turns out. I saw the opening in London. I was surprised because I did the movie and I had not really aware that much about the power of the music. So having seen it in a musical, I see it in another dimension.
A lot has happened since the last time you toured. Along with the musical, you received a doctorate, an order of merit, and last month an induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Obviously that means a lot, but does it mean as much to you as the fact that you’ve sold millions of albums that are in people’s homes?
I’ve always wanted to touch the world with my art. It’s what I do. I have achieved a good portion of that. I’m an established artist internationally, but I have not done all that I have set out to do. I’m quite happy with what I’ve achieved so far.
What are your goals yet to be fulfilled?
I have not made any #1 albums on the Billboard Charts. I have not made any #1 singles on the Billboard Charts. I am playing halls like Massey Hall and theatres, but I am not playing arenas and stadiums. (laughs) So I still have goals!
You don’t want to rest on your laurels.
Not at all! Those things I just named out there are really things that I still intend to achieve.
And you have a new album to help you do that.
I’m very happy with this album. There are two albums that I’ve put out that I feel I’ve been chasing over the years. I feel like now I have caught up with those two albums and surpassed them with this album. Those two albums I’m talking about are of course the soundtrack to the movie and the album Wonderful World Beautiful People.
So this is your best record in 30 years?
I’m feeling like that, yes. It’s difficult to say concretely. Every new album I make, I aim to make it better than the last one. Songs are like a woman giving birth to children: you love all your children, but the last one gets the most attention.
Usually because it’s the loudest!
Yes! (laughs)
Do you still live in France or are you back in Jamaica?
I used to be based in England, and after I left there Jamaica became my base. Having said that, there are places where I’ve spent a lot of time like here in France. I spend maybe three quarters of the time in Jamaica—not straight—and another quarter of the time in France, but on and off.
What appeals to you about France?
It’s a good music city. You get creativity from all over the continent of Africa and Asia. There is a mixture of cultures here that makes it interesting.
When did you first get the sense that reggae became and international music, that it wasn’t just Jamaican music anymore? It was embraced around the world—not just England or the U.S.—and lots of local cultures had their own takes on it. When did you notice that happening?
I think it was when The Harder They Come came out. Prior to that, there were people like myself, Desmond Dekker and quite a few others who had hits in Europe, particularly in England, and also in North America. But people had not seen it as a new music form. It was like novelty hits. When The Harder They Come came out, people said, ‘Oh, here is a new culture, a new music making a big impact on the world.’ That was the turning point.
Reggae is so indelibly part of the culture—when I think of Jamaican culture the first thing I think of is reggae music—and yet the way the music has travelled around the world, it’s become very independent of Jamaican culture, the way people use reggae in their own music.
I think it has become like a lot of other popular music forms, like rock’n’roll, or jazz, R&B and country. Whatever part of the world people adopted it to their own culture, they put their own experiences in it and it turns out a little different from what the authentic ones are, and it’s great.
I notice you’re playing some theatres on this tour, but you’re also playing Lollapalooza and Bonnaroo, diverse festivals with a lot of young audiences.
Oh, how exciting, huh? I’m really looking forward to that. One of the festivals I’ve been doing in Europe, people who have seen the movie brought their children, so when I look into the audience I see different generations. Some people say, ‘My parents listened to this music and that’s how I became a fan.’ But I have not really had that experience in North America. Every generation got their own take on it, and why they like it.
You’ve always been about the uplift and about the positive and you want your music to reflect that. What do you say to people who find it hard to be positive in times like this?
Even more in times like this do people need this kind of music. We want to be able to appreciate our own lives, to appreciate living in this time of so much uncertainty: psychologically, spiritually, economically. People do need this kind of music. No matter how difficult you may find it to be positive, you always want something to make you feel good, to not stay in that state of mind all the time.
At the same time, The Harder They Come is not a happy story, and that’s what you’re best known for.
Not at all a happy story, no. However, it gives one hope even though my character didn’t fare so well toward the end. At the same time, it’s still a story with a national universal theme. You still find a young boy from Quebec or wherever coming to Toronto, the big city, and saying, ‘I want to make my fortune here.’ The choice my character took led him down a road where it was a dead end.
The new album is called Existence. That seems like a broad theme.
It’s a big heavy title! It is our existence on this planet at this time: ecologically, economically, spiritually, socially, all the aspects of our lives of living on this planet and beyond. People are starting to doubt religion and looking for the reality of life and people are not finding it in organized religion. All of these aspects on the planet and beyond, people are really concerned about them.
What role do you think music plays in a culture that is turning away from religion?
It depends again on what the artist is putting out there for the people. I am still putting out music with a positive twist, because the reality is that we always have these two choices in life. The positive and the negative do exist, and it’s how we balance it that gives us some sanity. I try to do that in my music. I’m coming out of a situation where I could have taken any road, and I managed to see the other way and choose that way and balance it with the disagreeable way I could have taken. And if I bring that to the lives of people, hopefully they will find some comfort in it, some direction.
You’ve collaborated with many people over the years. Who are you working with on this new record?
I am working with a young set of Jamaican musicians, who are very creative. They grew up listening to my music, and now they say they have something they can contribute to me. That made it special to me. I am going on tour with them. Who would I like to work with? For me, the way I look at it is if the vibe is right. On my last album I did some things like Sting and Annie Lennox and Wyclef Jean and a few other people. It just happened—we were talking and said ‘let’s do something.’ It’s a mutual feeling. I think it works better that way.
These young people, are they artists in their own right, are they studio musicians?
They are studio musicians who have their own band in Jamaica. I picked three from that band and two from that band and one from that band and put all their creative energies together and take them on the road.
What do you see of yourself in these young musicians? You had your first hit at 14, and you were quite bold in stepping up and starting a record label. You were very active very young.
What I see in these young musicians is that they have a lot to offer. They want to offer it to the world internationally. They see me as someone who established myself out there but still very viable and current in this time.
Is there anyone you greatly admire right now in terms of young artists, carrying that kind of positivity and openness that defined your career?
There are a few people in Jamaica. There is this female artist, Queen Ifrica, she is touching on subjects that most artists wouldn’t touch, like incest. She is really empowering young girls, about education and those kind of things. She makes some love songs too, but she really touches social and cultural subjects and empowers young girls to try to make the best of themselves. I appreciate that. [Queen Ifrica plays a free show at Toronto’s Harbourfront on Saturday, July 31, as part of Caribana.] Then there is Tarrus Riley; he is also touching on those kind of subjects. That’s on a local basis. Internationally, there are some rappers that I like. Some R&B people I like. Some rock people; I like the band Green Day. I like Jay-Z because as a rapper he’s been out there and staying on one level of consciousness that I really appreciate. R&B people: Mary J. Blige.
I’m sure you’ll see a lot of younger artists when you play these large festivals with different artists, too.
Definitely, yes.
How old are your youngest kids right now?
I like to make that subject very clear. The subject of children: I look at it from a perspective of the African way. Every mother is a mother; every father is a father.
The way I grew up in my village in Summertown, Jamaica, if I’m on my way to school or on the street out there, and I do something out of order, any mother or any father could catch me and scold me. When I went home, I dared not say anything or I’d get another scolding on top of it. Or, if I need something to take me on to school, a kind word or bus fare—well, we didn’t have buses at that time—or lunch money, the community takes care of everyone. So having grown up with nine of us in one household, and not all of us were from the same mother and father. But we look at each other as brothers and sisters.
So in that sense, I think this is the right concept and I think this is what is missing today, why families are breaking down. Because if I say ‘these are my two children, and these are your two children’ and we look at it that way, it’s not covering the whole situation. I think the old African way where the village takes care of the children, I prefer it that way. I wouldn’t look at my own biological children and say ‘these are my only children.’ I see all the children as my children.
Who knew he was a Green Day fan? Also: note his odd, rambling answer to my innocuous final question.
Jimmy Cliff plays Massey Hall in Toronto tonight, July 19.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame doesn’t reach beyond its namesake genre very often. Which is why Jimmy Cliff, inducted in March 2010, is one of only two reggae artists (so far) to be deemed worthy of inclusion alongside the likes of the Beatles, James Brown, Ray Charles, AC/DC and hundreds of other legends.
The list of international reggae superstars can be boiled down to two names: Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff. It was Jimmy Cliff who starred in the movie The Harder They Come, which introduced Jamaican reggae culture to the world. That film’s soundtrack—dominated by Cliff classics like the title track, “You Can Get It If You Really Want,” and “Many Rivers to Cross”—was the best selling reggae album ever, until the 1984 release of Bob Marley’s posthumous greatest hits album, Legend. And it was Cliff who first discovered Marley as a hungry and confident 16-year-old performer, auditioning in a rum bar in 1962.
Cliff himself was only 14 at the time, and had just scored his first local hit with a song called “Hurricane Hattie,” which reached #1 in Jamaica. Cliff grew up in the district of Somerton in rural Jamaica, where he shared a house with eight siblings, and started singing in church. His father brought him to Kingston at age 12 to attend a technical school, studying TV and radio and trying to find someone to record his songs. One day he walked in Leslie Kong’s shop, a combination ice cream parlour, cosmetics boutique, and record store. Kong wanted his shop to be stocked with exclusive product, and this young, enterprising youth convinced him to start making records—starting with Cliff’s.
In 1964, Cliff made another key connection, when young Jamaican entrepreneur Chris Blackwell invited him to take part in the Jamaican contingent of ska singers for the 1964 World Fair in New York City. This peaked the interest of American record companies, who released ska compilations following the fair; one was co-produced by Curtis Mayfield and featured a couple of Cliff numbers.
At Blackwell’s suggestion, Cliff moved to the U.K., which was the largest market for Jamaican music off the island. Four years later, Cliff would release his debut for Blackwell’s label, Island Records, and score a huge hit in Brazil, “Waterfall,” which prompted a short stay there.
After extensive touring in South America, Cliff scored an international hit with “Wonderful World, Beautiful People,” which served as his introduction to North America. Cliff then returned home to Jamaica, where he started developing younger artists, and scored another hit with a cover of Cat Stevens’ song “Wild World.”
Then came the pivotal moment in Cliff’s career, when he was tapped to star in The Harder They Come, a 1971 movie about a rural Jamaican trying to navigate the bullet-ridden, drug-infested alleys of the music business. The film became a cult hit around the world, offering many people their first glimpses of reggae culture in Jamaica. Cliff credits the film not only with the commercial height of his career—the soundtrack has sold millions of copies—but with the international reach of reggae itself.
The Harder They Come—which was transformed into a Broadway musical recently—marked Cliff’s commercial peak, but his recording career never slowed down, scoring hits in the ’80s (“Reggae Night,” with Kool and the Gang) and the ’90s (“I Can See Clearly Now, from the film Cool Runnings) and travelling the world. Now 62, he divides his time between Paris and Jamaica, where he recently built a studio and finished work on his latest album, Existence, with young Jamaican studio musicians (who will also comprise his touring band).
Jimmy Cliff
April 22, 2010
To my knowledge, you haven’t played a full show in Toronto in eight years.
That’s one of the reasons I’m looking forward to it. They are great fans of Jamaican music, but also my brand of Jamaican music. Toronto has always been interesting and important place for music in general, and for reggae music. I remember on my first North American tour, when my movie had just made a big impact all over the world, what the media said in Canada kind of filtered through to the rest of North America. That makes Canada particularly Toronto, very important.
Did you know any of the reggae music coming out of Toronto at the time? Or people like Jackie Mittoo or Leroy Sibbles or Willie Williams, who all moved to Toronto?
I knew all of those artists before they moved to Toronto. We have always known that Toronto is a very important place.
It’s also one of the first places that The Harder They Come musical opened. Was it not the first place it opened after London?
Yes, it was. I came not for the opening of the musical, but I did some promotion before the musical opened there.
How did you feel about the musical? Was it something you ever envisioned happening?
I didn’t really envision it as a musical, so I was pleasantly surprised at the way it turns out. I saw the opening in London. I was surprised because I did the movie and I had not really aware that much about the power of the music. So having seen it in a musical, I see it in another dimension.
A lot has happened since the last time you toured. Along with the musical, you received a doctorate, an order of merit, and last month an induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Obviously that means a lot, but does it mean as much to you as the fact that you’ve sold millions of albums that are in people’s homes?
I’ve always wanted to touch the world with my art. It’s what I do. I have achieved a good portion of that. I’m an established artist internationally, but I have not done all that I have set out to do. I’m quite happy with what I’ve achieved so far.
What are your goals yet to be fulfilled?
I have not made any #1 albums on the Billboard Charts. I have not made any #1 singles on the Billboard Charts. I am playing halls like Massey Hall and theatres, but I am not playing arenas and stadiums. (laughs) So I still have goals!
You don’t want to rest on your laurels.
Not at all! Those things I just named out there are really things that I still intend to achieve.
And you have a new album to help you do that.
I’m very happy with this album. There are two albums that I’ve put out that I feel I’ve been chasing over the years. I feel like now I have caught up with those two albums and surpassed them with this album. Those two albums I’m talking about are of course the soundtrack to the movie and the album Wonderful World Beautiful People.
So this is your best record in 30 years?
I’m feeling like that, yes. It’s difficult to say concretely. Every new album I make, I aim to make it better than the last one. Songs are like a woman giving birth to children: you love all your children, but the last one gets the most attention.
Usually because it’s the loudest!
Yes! (laughs)
Do you still live in France or are you back in Jamaica?
I used to be based in England, and after I left there Jamaica became my base. Having said that, there are places where I’ve spent a lot of time like here in France. I spend maybe three quarters of the time in Jamaica—not straight—and another quarter of the time in France, but on and off.
What appeals to you about France?
It’s a good music city. You get creativity from all over the continent of Africa and Asia. There is a mixture of cultures here that makes it interesting.
When did you first get the sense that reggae became and international music, that it wasn’t just Jamaican music anymore? It was embraced around the world—not just England or the U.S.—and lots of local cultures had their own takes on it. When did you notice that happening?
I think it was when The Harder They Come came out. Prior to that, there were people like myself, Desmond Dekker and quite a few others who had hits in Europe, particularly in England, and also in North America. But people had not seen it as a new music form. It was like novelty hits. When The Harder They Come came out, people said, ‘Oh, here is a new culture, a new music making a big impact on the world.’ That was the turning point.
Reggae is so indelibly part of the culture—when I think of Jamaican culture the first thing I think of is reggae music—and yet the way the music has travelled around the world, it’s become very independent of Jamaican culture, the way people use reggae in their own music.
I think it has become like a lot of other popular music forms, like rock’n’roll, or jazz, R&B and country. Whatever part of the world people adopted it to their own culture, they put their own experiences in it and it turns out a little different from what the authentic ones are, and it’s great.
I notice you’re playing some theatres on this tour, but you’re also playing Lollapalooza and Bonnaroo, diverse festivals with a lot of young audiences.
Oh, how exciting, huh? I’m really looking forward to that. One of the festivals I’ve been doing in Europe, people who have seen the movie brought their children, so when I look into the audience I see different generations. Some people say, ‘My parents listened to this music and that’s how I became a fan.’ But I have not really had that experience in North America. Every generation got their own take on it, and why they like it.
You’ve always been about the uplift and about the positive and you want your music to reflect that. What do you say to people who find it hard to be positive in times like this?
Even more in times like this do people need this kind of music. We want to be able to appreciate our own lives, to appreciate living in this time of so much uncertainty: psychologically, spiritually, economically. People do need this kind of music. No matter how difficult you may find it to be positive, you always want something to make you feel good, to not stay in that state of mind all the time.
At the same time, The Harder They Come is not a happy story, and that’s what you’re best known for.
Not at all a happy story, no. However, it gives one hope even though my character didn’t fare so well toward the end. At the same time, it’s still a story with a national universal theme. You still find a young boy from Quebec or wherever coming to Toronto, the big city, and saying, ‘I want to make my fortune here.’ The choice my character took led him down a road where it was a dead end.
The new album is called Existence. That seems like a broad theme.
It’s a big heavy title! It is our existence on this planet at this time: ecologically, economically, spiritually, socially, all the aspects of our lives of living on this planet and beyond. People are starting to doubt religion and looking for the reality of life and people are not finding it in organized religion. All of these aspects on the planet and beyond, people are really concerned about them.
What role do you think music plays in a culture that is turning away from religion?
It depends again on what the artist is putting out there for the people. I am still putting out music with a positive twist, because the reality is that we always have these two choices in life. The positive and the negative do exist, and it’s how we balance it that gives us some sanity. I try to do that in my music. I’m coming out of a situation where I could have taken any road, and I managed to see the other way and choose that way and balance it with the disagreeable way I could have taken. And if I bring that to the lives of people, hopefully they will find some comfort in it, some direction.
You’ve collaborated with many people over the years. Who are you working with on this new record?
I am working with a young set of Jamaican musicians, who are very creative. They grew up listening to my music, and now they say they have something they can contribute to me. That made it special to me. I am going on tour with them. Who would I like to work with? For me, the way I look at it is if the vibe is right. On my last album I did some things like Sting and Annie Lennox and Wyclef Jean and a few other people. It just happened—we were talking and said ‘let’s do something.’ It’s a mutual feeling. I think it works better that way.
These young people, are they artists in their own right, are they studio musicians?
They are studio musicians who have their own band in Jamaica. I picked three from that band and two from that band and one from that band and put all their creative energies together and take them on the road.
What do you see of yourself in these young musicians? You had your first hit at 14, and you were quite bold in stepping up and starting a record label. You were very active very young.
What I see in these young musicians is that they have a lot to offer. They want to offer it to the world internationally. They see me as someone who established myself out there but still very viable and current in this time.
Is there anyone you greatly admire right now in terms of young artists, carrying that kind of positivity and openness that defined your career?
There are a few people in Jamaica. There is this female artist, Queen Ifrica, she is touching on subjects that most artists wouldn’t touch, like incest. She is really empowering young girls, about education and those kind of things. She makes some love songs too, but she really touches social and cultural subjects and empowers young girls to try to make the best of themselves. I appreciate that. [Queen Ifrica plays a free show at Toronto’s Harbourfront on Saturday, July 31, as part of Caribana.] Then there is Tarrus Riley; he is also touching on those kind of subjects. That’s on a local basis. Internationally, there are some rappers that I like. Some R&B people I like. Some rock people; I like the band Green Day. I like Jay-Z because as a rapper he’s been out there and staying on one level of consciousness that I really appreciate. R&B people: Mary J. Blige.
I’m sure you’ll see a lot of younger artists when you play these large festivals with different artists, too.
Definitely, yes.
How old are your youngest kids right now?
I like to make that subject very clear. The subject of children: I look at it from a perspective of the African way. Every mother is a mother; every father is a father.
The way I grew up in my village in Summertown, Jamaica, if I’m on my way to school or on the street out there, and I do something out of order, any mother or any father could catch me and scold me. When I went home, I dared not say anything or I’d get another scolding on top of it. Or, if I need something to take me on to school, a kind word or bus fare—well, we didn’t have buses at that time—or lunch money, the community takes care of everyone. So having grown up with nine of us in one household, and not all of us were from the same mother and father. But we look at each other as brothers and sisters.
So in that sense, I think this is the right concept and I think this is what is missing today, why families are breaking down. Because if I say ‘these are my two children, and these are your two children’ and we look at it that way, it’s not covering the whole situation. I think the old African way where the village takes care of the children, I prefer it that way. I wouldn’t look at my own biological children and say ‘these are my only children.’ I see all the children as my children.
Friday, July 09, 2010
Flaming Lips
The Flaming Lips
July 8, 2010
Molson Ampitheatre, Toronto
I thought I was done with the Flaming Lips. I'd seen them three times in five years; the last was their show at Metropolis in Montreal in 2004, one of the best shows I’d ever seen in my life, the kind that leaves you on a high for at least a week afterward. I thought there was no way I could return and not be comparing it to that experience.
Plus, by then I felt like I'd had enough of the balloons, the confetti, the jaunty space-age pop, Wayne Coyne’s reedy voice, the interminable wait and large letdown that was their sci-fi film project Christmas on Mars, and that supremely annoying “Yeah Yeah Yeah Song” on the disappointing 2006 album At War With the Mystics.
And yet there I was, at the corporate beer barn by the lake last night, weeping with tears of joy in my eyes as they encored with “Do You Realize?” amidst a flurry of confetti, visual overload, and the glorious orgy of ridiculousness that has been their calling card for the last decade.
Oddly enough, after returning to their more experimental tendencies on the 2009 album Embryonic—an album that avoids happy pop songs entirely—the Flaming Lips had finally graduated from worst-kept-secret status to full-on stadium rock. Seeing them play for their largest Toronto audience ever, promoting their weirdest album in over a decade, was an opportunity that couldn’t be passed up. Stacking the bill with Spoon made it that much more irresistible.
[I was torn on the Spoon show: I love this band and much of their recorded output, but they’re often stiff on stage. That said, some clever rearrangements and a solid set list drawing mainly from Kill the Moonlight and Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga—with added five-piece horn section—did not disappoint.]
The Flaming Lips meant a lot to me between 1999 and 2004. Initially I wasn’t as taken with the 1999 breakthrough The Soft Bulletin as many were at the time—for whatever reason (I think it was lyrical), I preferred its limp sister album, Mercury Rev’s Deserter’s Songs. Nonetheless, I embarked on a road trip to Detroit to see the show with a couple of friends. Though I was expecting some kind of spectacle, I really had no idea what I was in for.
When my friend Tristan and I saw the stagehands wheel out a gong on stage, we placed bets on how many times it would be used: once? five times? Opening with “Race for the Prize,” Wayne Coyne hammered on that gong six times per bar in between verses, triggering flashes of light every time, and foreshadowing the avalanche of lo-fi awesome that was to follow. Coyne was one of the most engaging frontmen I’d ever seen, personable and devoid of any mystique, an idealistic hippie in a white suit who smeared himself in blood and spoke frankly of near-death experiences and the dark demons that haunt us all—and would then sing the next song using a finger-puppet of a nun, its image amplified by a tiny camera placed on the microphone. He was the same performer he is today, although much chattier, and sharing in the same sense of wide-eyed wonder the audience was at the time: “Holy shit, is this actually working? Can a rock show actually be this much fun?”
But fun is only half of it. If the Flaming Lips were simply all smiles and good times, they’d be the Barenaked Ladies—or Bananas in Pyjamas. While Coyne is an undeniably upbeat person, he’s not immune to the shit of the world—whether it’s political forces beyond your control, or personal tragedy that’s in your face every day (sometimes in your own band, in the case of Steven Drozd’s heroin addiction). And so while a song like “Do You Realize?” may sound saccharine sweet, it’s actually about eventually losing everyone and everything you know and coming to terms with that, not by mourning or with denial or self-pity, but by embracing everyday beauty. Both simple beauty—your lover’s eyes—or the extravagance that the Flaming Lips put on for you for two hours, two hours that feel like a magnified memory of your most-treasured childhood birthday party.
The jaded will jeer that all the gimmicky props are somehow infantilizing, a Romper Room for adults. That’s not entirely inaccurate—but so what? It’s a lot more entertaining and imaginative than other rote clichés of rock performance. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I had giant hands that shot laser beams at the mirror balls? And it’s not all love and flowers; the dream states they conjure can be just as dystopian as they are utopian. Anyone who grew up in the ’70s—by which point the counterculturalists had taken control of children’s television programming—can’t help but be thrilled by large-scale psychedelia brought to life, to see surrealism set to stadium rock.
Also: shouldn’t every rock show should begin with the band members emerging from a giant projection of a vagina, with the singer in an amniotic bubble walking over the crowd?
For all the effort they put into projecting their own show outward, the Lips’ message is always about bringing the audience in. Coyne is constantly reminding us, directly and indirectly, that this show is only going to be as fun as we all make it: crossed arms don’t cut it. There are times when his come-hither hand gestures and induced applause could be egotistical; more likely that he wants us to hear ourselves screaming and having a fantastic time.
Watching the Flaming Lips in 2010, it’s a potent reminder of how cathartic this band was earlier this decade—when there was an utter incompetent at the helm, the world was going to shit and little hope in sight. Watching Wayne Coyne’s boundless enthusiasm was so incredibly affirming; long before “yes we can” became a campaign slogan, Coyne’s mission was to put positive energy back into a cynical, despondent world. Every time he raised his arms it was like he was encouraging us to take the power back, that we—the freaks, the lovers, the dreamers—could turn things around. We could win. If this band of underdogs could pull off this spectacle, we could all go home and pull off something equally amazing on our own scale.
The world is still going to shit, of course, even with a smart man in the White House. Maybe that’s why the Lips don’t feel like being so directly inspirational—hence the largely instrumental and freakier, darker abstractions on Embryonic (which added welcome, if dissonant, diversity to the set list).
But they have that impossibly rare quality as performers that leaves you not just excited about the music or about the experience, but about possibilities for you, your lover, your children, your friends, for strangers, for—well, you know, the universe and all that. Dream on, indeed.
July 8, 2010
Molson Ampitheatre, Toronto
I thought I was done with the Flaming Lips. I'd seen them three times in five years; the last was their show at Metropolis in Montreal in 2004, one of the best shows I’d ever seen in my life, the kind that leaves you on a high for at least a week afterward. I thought there was no way I could return and not be comparing it to that experience.
Plus, by then I felt like I'd had enough of the balloons, the confetti, the jaunty space-age pop, Wayne Coyne’s reedy voice, the interminable wait and large letdown that was their sci-fi film project Christmas on Mars, and that supremely annoying “Yeah Yeah Yeah Song” on the disappointing 2006 album At War With the Mystics.
And yet there I was, at the corporate beer barn by the lake last night, weeping with tears of joy in my eyes as they encored with “Do You Realize?” amidst a flurry of confetti, visual overload, and the glorious orgy of ridiculousness that has been their calling card for the last decade.
Oddly enough, after returning to their more experimental tendencies on the 2009 album Embryonic—an album that avoids happy pop songs entirely—the Flaming Lips had finally graduated from worst-kept-secret status to full-on stadium rock. Seeing them play for their largest Toronto audience ever, promoting their weirdest album in over a decade, was an opportunity that couldn’t be passed up. Stacking the bill with Spoon made it that much more irresistible.
[I was torn on the Spoon show: I love this band and much of their recorded output, but they’re often stiff on stage. That said, some clever rearrangements and a solid set list drawing mainly from Kill the Moonlight and Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga—with added five-piece horn section—did not disappoint.]
The Flaming Lips meant a lot to me between 1999 and 2004. Initially I wasn’t as taken with the 1999 breakthrough The Soft Bulletin as many were at the time—for whatever reason (I think it was lyrical), I preferred its limp sister album, Mercury Rev’s Deserter’s Songs. Nonetheless, I embarked on a road trip to Detroit to see the show with a couple of friends. Though I was expecting some kind of spectacle, I really had no idea what I was in for.
When my friend Tristan and I saw the stagehands wheel out a gong on stage, we placed bets on how many times it would be used: once? five times? Opening with “Race for the Prize,” Wayne Coyne hammered on that gong six times per bar in between verses, triggering flashes of light every time, and foreshadowing the avalanche of lo-fi awesome that was to follow. Coyne was one of the most engaging frontmen I’d ever seen, personable and devoid of any mystique, an idealistic hippie in a white suit who smeared himself in blood and spoke frankly of near-death experiences and the dark demons that haunt us all—and would then sing the next song using a finger-puppet of a nun, its image amplified by a tiny camera placed on the microphone. He was the same performer he is today, although much chattier, and sharing in the same sense of wide-eyed wonder the audience was at the time: “Holy shit, is this actually working? Can a rock show actually be this much fun?”
But fun is only half of it. If the Flaming Lips were simply all smiles and good times, they’d be the Barenaked Ladies—or Bananas in Pyjamas. While Coyne is an undeniably upbeat person, he’s not immune to the shit of the world—whether it’s political forces beyond your control, or personal tragedy that’s in your face every day (sometimes in your own band, in the case of Steven Drozd’s heroin addiction). And so while a song like “Do You Realize?” may sound saccharine sweet, it’s actually about eventually losing everyone and everything you know and coming to terms with that, not by mourning or with denial or self-pity, but by embracing everyday beauty. Both simple beauty—your lover’s eyes—or the extravagance that the Flaming Lips put on for you for two hours, two hours that feel like a magnified memory of your most-treasured childhood birthday party.
The jaded will jeer that all the gimmicky props are somehow infantilizing, a Romper Room for adults. That’s not entirely inaccurate—but so what? It’s a lot more entertaining and imaginative than other rote clichés of rock performance. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I had giant hands that shot laser beams at the mirror balls? And it’s not all love and flowers; the dream states they conjure can be just as dystopian as they are utopian. Anyone who grew up in the ’70s—by which point the counterculturalists had taken control of children’s television programming—can’t help but be thrilled by large-scale psychedelia brought to life, to see surrealism set to stadium rock.
Also: shouldn’t every rock show should begin with the band members emerging from a giant projection of a vagina, with the singer in an amniotic bubble walking over the crowd?
For all the effort they put into projecting their own show outward, the Lips’ message is always about bringing the audience in. Coyne is constantly reminding us, directly and indirectly, that this show is only going to be as fun as we all make it: crossed arms don’t cut it. There are times when his come-hither hand gestures and induced applause could be egotistical; more likely that he wants us to hear ourselves screaming and having a fantastic time.
Watching the Flaming Lips in 2010, it’s a potent reminder of how cathartic this band was earlier this decade—when there was an utter incompetent at the helm, the world was going to shit and little hope in sight. Watching Wayne Coyne’s boundless enthusiasm was so incredibly affirming; long before “yes we can” became a campaign slogan, Coyne’s mission was to put positive energy back into a cynical, despondent world. Every time he raised his arms it was like he was encouraging us to take the power back, that we—the freaks, the lovers, the dreamers—could turn things around. We could win. If this band of underdogs could pull off this spectacle, we could all go home and pull off something equally amazing on our own scale.
The world is still going to shit, of course, even with a smart man in the White House. Maybe that’s why the Lips don’t feel like being so directly inspirational—hence the largely instrumental and freakier, darker abstractions on Embryonic (which added welcome, if dissonant, diversity to the set list).
But they have that impossibly rare quality as performers that leaves you not just excited about the music or about the experience, but about possibilities for you, your lover, your children, your friends, for strangers, for—well, you know, the universe and all that. Dream on, indeed.
Monday, June 28, 2010
June '10 reviews
The following reviews appeared in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury in June.
Bei Bei and Shawn Lee – Into the Wind (Ubiquity)
Chinese-Western musical match-ups are all too rare; successful ones rarer still. The pairing of Bei Bei Zheng and Shawn Lee is nothing short of perfect: she is a master of the gu zheng, or a Chinese zither, and he is an extremely adaptable funk instrumentalist and film composer. The gu zheng is most familiar to Western audiences from martial arts films; hearing it paired with Shaft-worthy instrumentation is evocative splendour—it’s amazing Quentin Tarantino didn’t think of it first. (He was too busy recycling old soundtracks, apparently.) Though Bei Bei comes from an obviously classical tradition—she’s a teacher and has even written a textbook about the instrument—she’s more than willing to bend the instrument’s capabilities to whatever cinematic mood Lee conjures up, from sparse, smoky jazz to bossa nova to action-sequence soundtracks. The gu zheng’s harp-like qualities at times recall Alice Coltrane’s enchanting jazz records, though Bei Bei is much more playful than spiritual. (June 17)
Download (eMusic, amazon.com): “Hot Thursday,” “East,” “The Master Room”
Cowboy Junkies – Renmin Park: The Nomad Series Volume One (Latent)
Michael Timmins is having a mid-life creative renaissance. After 10 years of Cowboy Junkies albums that only the most diehard of the band’s fans heard, the guitarist and songwriter bounced back in 2009 with a new band, Lee Harvey Osmond (with Blackie and the Rodeo Kings’ Tom Wilson and Skydiggers’ Josh Finlayson), that tapped into the sparse and spooky nature of the Junkies’ best recordings.
Now back with the Junkies, Timmins launches the first of four albums they intend to put out in the next 18 months, a schedule that sounds ridiculously ambitious for a band well past their prime—until you hear how strong this album is.
Renmin Park was written after Timmins and his family (not his siblings in the band) lived in China for three months, an experience that shapes the setting of Timmins’s short stories in the lyrics, but more importantly seeps into the music as well. Ehru and pipa solos fit perfectly into the Junkies’ sound, and Chinese singer Zuoxiao Zuzhou takes lead vocals on “A Walk in the Park,” co-written with bassist Alan Anton and guest keyboardist Joby Baker; two other tracks (“My Fall,” “I Cannot Sit Sadly By Your Side”) are written by Chinese writers and translated into English, sung by Margo Timmins.
If the Junkies have been in a rut recently, Renmin Park widens their scope considerably, while remaining as intimate as their finest moments. Michael Timmins appears to have asserted more control here than ever—he also introduces his own, scraggly voice for the first time in the band’s 25-year history—yet it’s actually bassist Alan Anton who rises from the background to glue all these new elements together, especially on the handful of tracks where he adopts a dub reggae backbeat while Michael and keyboardist Baker provide textural touches that tap into the band’s psychedelic, Velvet Underground beginnings.
The sound is captivating enough; Michael Timmins has also written some of his strongest songs in years. Longtime Junkies fans will be ecstatic; fair-weather fans are more than encouraged to check in and help this Canadian institution celebrate their 25th anniversary on a high note. (June 17)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): “(You’ve Got to Get) A Good Heart,” “My Fall,” “Stranger Here”
Crystal Castles – II (Last Gang)
If notoriety is any measure of success, Crystal Castles are one of the biggest Canadian acts internationally. Listening to their second album, however, it’s near impossible to imagine why.
The first album, which featured a demo recording that became a MySpace sensation, was a decent electro album that was equal parts abrasive aggression and goth gloom with melancholic melodies buried beneath the bleeps and blurps.
Yet none of that promise is heard here, which—for a band that induces riot-like behaviour at live gigs—sounds remarkably muzzled. Singer Alice Glass is rarely let loose to squeal bloody murder; her most effective moments come when she’s at her most detached and robotic (notably on a cover of Platinum Blonde’s "Not In Love"). Ethan Kath’s production dips into cheesy ’90s rave territory and rote ’80s electro fetishism; even at it’s most aggressive here (which isn’t that often) it still sounds like it would fade into the background on a fashion runway.
For all their adoring crowds, Crystal Castles attract a large amount of venom, due to their prickly and prank-ridden public personas. But this time the venom may well come from fans wondering why Crystal Castles sound like they’re made of sand. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Celestica,” “Baptism,” “Not in Love”
Gord Downie and the Country of Miracles – The Grand Bounce (Universal)
The best and worst thing about Gord Downie’s solo records is their sloppy, unproduced nature. Outside the confines of The Tragically Hip—confines that applied much less to their last album, the creative comeback We Are the Same—Downie has hired musicians that embrace scrappy first takes, wrestle with wrong notes until they sound right, colour outside the lines when possible and settle into a punk-country shuffle when necessary.
They still do all of those things on The Grand Bounce, Downie’s third solo album with this group of players, though this time everything is brought into brighter focus, in large part due to the influence of producer Chris Walla (Decemberists, Tegan and Sara). Thankfully, it’s not as polished as most of Walla’s work, like his own far-too-polite band Death Cab for Cutie and its spin-off project The Postal Service; Walla respects the raw nature of the Country of Miracles while also bringing out their best. As a result, Downie sounds more in control here—as he naturally does with The Hip, where he remains one of the most captivating frontmen in rock’n’roll—as opposed to surrendering to the spontaneity of his bandmates.
The songwriting stands out this time as well; Downie is writing to his band’s strengths, particularly guitarist Dale Morningstar and vocalist Julie Doiron, while some songs (“The Drowning Machine”) sound like a younger, hungry Hip, minus the bluesy riffs that defined many of their earlier classics. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com): “The East Wind,” “Yellow Days,” “As a Mover”
Drake – Thank Me Later (Universal)
He was Canada’s biggest hip-hop superstar ever, even before his debut album came out. So why, now that we’re all paying attention, does he do nothing on said debut but whine about how empty and meaningless the life of a rich and famous rap star is? What a way to squander a wave of goodwill for the upstart underdog—imagine an Academy Award winner making an acceptance speech about how much the win will ruin their life.
Drake grew up as a child TV star, so he’d already experienced a small level of fame before he was being wined and dined by U.S. rap royalty. So on some level, his love/hate relationship with fame comes naturally, and on the album’s first single, “Over,” he sums up his discomfort in his new mega-celebrity status, unsure whether he’s still playing a role or whether it’s his real life: “What am I doing? Oh, that’s right, I’m doing me.”
That might be tolerable for a single—and yet Drake spends the vast majority of his debut album deconstructing the jetset life, how easy it is to get laid, how hard it is to have so much money, and wondering if it’s all worth it.
Cry me a river. Isn’t there a recession going on? Isn’t the world going to hell? Are we supposed to feel sorry for him? Or is he trying to comfort the rest of us lowly listeners by explaining how success is not all that? Is this some self-deprecating Canadian complex, ill at ease in the belly of American celebrity culture?
No matter which, it’s indulgent emo rap that rings hollow on almost every level—even the music is limp, without even a single escapist track that might make it on the dance floor—and it’s entirely unclear what exactly we’re supposed to be thanking him for. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Over,” “Fireworks,” “Karaoke”
Fred Eaglesmith – Cha Cha Cha (Lonesome Day/E1)
After 15 albums in a 30-year career, Brantford, Ontario’s Fred Eaglesmith is currently enjoying his biggest mainstream success, with the likes of Miranda Lambert, Alan Jackson and even Toby Keith recording his material. When it comes to his own albums, however, Eaglesmith is content to get weirder.
On Cha Cha Cha, it sounds like Tom Waits got Leonard Cohen’s back-up singers hammered with Los Lobos, getting David Lynch to film the whole thing. The Ginn sisters provide backing vocals that are alternately elegant and creepy, a perfect complement to Eaglesmith’s increasingly raspy voice—which is put to work singing songs of romantically devastated men who think their lover is “being careless with my love,” is “playing tricks on me,” has been “gone too long,” and who spend their days hallucinating said lover’s appearance all around town.
As one might expect, Cha Cha Cha has a slight Latin vibe, mixed with twangy guitar, Farfisa organs and ’50s rock’n’roll. Because Eaglesmith recorded it at home—though still employing long-time collaborator Scott Merritt to mix the album—it has a decidedly more raw sound. Obviously, Eaglesmith is fine letting others make radio-friendly versions of his songs; left to his own devices, he likes to dwell in the shadows, where attention to sonic detail is as important as lyrical narratives. In fact, on their own, most of these songs are merely average: it’s Eaglesmith’s eerie delivery and morbid mood that really makes them shine. (June 17)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, zunior.com, eMusic): “Careless,” “Sliver of the Moon,” “Dynamite and Whiskey”
Minotaurs – The Thing (Static Clang)
Once a drummer, always a drummer. Though Nathan Lawr (Royal City, King Cobb Steelie) moved from behind the skins to become an acclaimed singer/songwriter in his own right, he is once again slave to the rhythm in his new project, Minotaurs. Lawr isn’t drumming here—he leaves that to CanRock veteran Don Kerr (Ron Sexsmith, Rheostatics)—but has written a set of songs that rely almost entirely on rhythm. (That, and a killer horn section.) Opening track “Caught in the Light” sets the pace, easily falling into the type of Afrobeat groove that’s driven so many recent reissues of ’70s African obscurities. Several other tracks follow a similar template, but this is not Lawr’s Afrobeat record—even if perhaps it should be, seeing how those are the standout tracks. His tendencies toward traditional Western songcraft still shine through—though often it sounds like he’s trying to tame these wild Minotaurs, when really, he should be letting them loose to follow wherever the beat takes them. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, zunior.com): “Caught in the Light,” “Get Down,” “Pink Floyd”
Janelle Monae – The Archandroid (Bad Boy/Warner)
“Am I a freak?” asks Janelle Monae, “Or just another weirdo? / Call me weak / Or just call me your hero.”
Hero it is, then. Her haircut and style might be the first thing you notice—like on her explosive performance on David Letterman’s show a couple of weeks back—but Monae’s myriad talents are what make her a star, not just the fact that she can out-glam Gaga if she wants to.
Vocally, she can be Grace Jones one moment, Lena Horne the next, and then sound as giddy as a young Michael Jackson, dropping huge pop songs, soul revue rave-ups, wigged-out hip-hop like her friends in Outkast and dancing like James Brown in the process. Then, just for the hell of it, she’s slice off some British psychedelic folk music or Broadway-style show tune—because she can. That she is capable of doing anything is obvious. Should she?
The Archandroid contains 18 tracks, including a couple of pseudo-classical instrumental interludes that have something to do with the fact that Monae has somehow envisioned this album as parts two and three of a soundtrack to the silent film classic Metropolis—which I don’t believe for a second. She doesn’t need that kind of backstory to sell herself as an enigmatic, multi-talented tour-de-force—it’s all there in the music itself.
But if The Archandroid is a tad show-offy and a bit too long, it never entirely wears out its welcome, thanks to at least four or five killer tracks and Monae’s seemingly endless charisma. Prince is undoubtedly also high on her list of influences, though unfortunately The Archandroid is more like Diamonds and Pearls-era Prince—past his prime but before the total decline. Monae is on her way up, of course, and there’s no doubt she’ll be bathing in the purple rain soon enough. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Tightrope,” “Cold War,” “Dance or Die”
Parallels – Visionaries (E1)
Cameron Findlay was the live drummer in Crystal Castles before striking out to form Parallels; if CC has ’80s presets in their keyboards, Findlay likes to take it back further, mining warm analog synth sounds as if music stopped progressing after Kraftwerk’s Man Machine album.
Findlay teamed up with singer Holly Dodson (whose father spent the ’70s avoiding synths in the colossal CanRock band the Stampeders), who plays the part of ice princess effectively—warmer than, say, the faceless Sally Shapiro, but not as charismatic as Lykke Li or Annie. Parallels are very much a genre band and a promising one at that, but Visionaries suffers from a sameness that gets wearying after more than a couple of tracks at a time. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): “Nightmares,” “Ultralight,” “Needless to Say”
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers – Mojo (Warner)
Don’t do drugs, kids. If you do, you’ll wind up 60 years old and playing boring blues rock—no matter how good you were a mere 20 years ago, or 20 years before that.
Tom Petty is not a man who should be singing the blues—nor, for that matter, at his age, should he be paying women backhanded compliments like: “She was kinda cute/ if a little past her prime.”
His nasal voice is perfect for snarling rockers, tiny perfect pop songs and laid-back country rock; singing the blues simply brings out his worst, laziest tendencies. He doesn’t have the curmudgeonly character or evasive wordplay that his friend Bob Dylan does in order to pull this off; instead, he sounds like an old bore singing about partying with motel maids (which he does on “The Trip to Pirate’s Cove”) or his first acid trip (which he does on “First Flash of Freedom”).
The Heartbreakers do their best—in particular stalwarts Mike Campbell on guitar and Benmont Tench on keyboards—and several tracks would be fine without Petty involved, like the lite reggae “Don’t Pull Me Over” or the shuffle of “Running Man’s Bible.” But the world is full of great bands backing up lacklustre songwriters—it’s just sad that fate has befallen the Heartbreakers. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): "High In the Morning," "Something Good Coming," "Don’t Pull Me Over"
Sean Nicholas Savage – Movin Up in Society (Arbutus)
Plenty of artists adopt a retro sound; few sound like actual artifacts from times gone by. Sean Nicholas Savage, an Edmonton expatriate now living in Montreal, sounds like he hasn’t heard any new music since Bob Dylan went electric; Savage’s sound is very much rooted in the early ’60s Greenwich Village folk scene, with his warbly, slightly nasal tenor imbued with all the wide-eyed idealism and naivete of a Prairie boy suddenly “sleeping in a car in New York City.” His lyrics may not be terribly deep (“giant brain up in the sky/ tell me what is on your mind”)—he’s no Ian Tyson—yet his voice is entirely captivating, and the lo-fi, acoustic recording is enchanting, especially the contributions from the soprano backing vocalists and violinist. At times it recalls a more wistful and romantic Ray Condo—another Westerner who moved to Montreal to make country music—or a rural take on the sweet simplicity of Swedish songwriter Jens Lekman. Hopefully his new city life inspires some lyrics to match his musical vision. (June 10)
Download: the entire album is available for free here.
South Rakkas Crew – The Stimulus Package (Mad Decent)
With the lone exception of Kardinal Offishall’s 2008 pop hit “Dangerous”—which unfortunately overshadowed the criminally underrated album it appeared on, Not 4 Sale—the tiny but vital group of Canadians making Caribbean-influenced dancehall pop has rarely made international waves. South Rakkas Crew might be the ones to change that.
South Rakkas Crew grew up in Mississauga and Brampton, worked in Toronto briefly (including on Barenaked Ladies tracks), and then fled to Orlando where they found work with ’N Sync, of all people, and even Michael Jackson, while maintaining links to club culture, in particular Jamaican dancehall. That dichotomy has made fans out of Thom Yorke and Tricky as well as Beyoncé and Justin Timberlake, and, most importantly, Diplo—the Baltimore DJ who helped give birth to M.I.A.’s career, as well as Santigold’s, and who is one-half of the electro-dancehall-pop duo Major Lazer. Diplo has put out South Rakkas Crew mix tapes and albums on his Mad Decent label, where they’re right at home alongside other artists under heavy Jamaican, Brazilian and hip-hop influences.
Unlike their like-minded peer Poirier in Montreal, South Rakkas Crew come from a decidedly more pop background, meaning the hooks are huge and the beats much bigger than most people from the underground who came to the dance floor late in the game. That doesn’t mean they play it safe, however: one of the most engaging tracks on The Stimulus Package is their remix of sorts involving oddball art-punk band Deerhoof, and their 2008 pop song “+81”; stripped of its signature guitar riff, the Crew pull apart the other hooks embedded in the track and cut the tempo in half.
They may be globetrotters now, but it’s not hard to hear the new sound of the suburbs—the culturally rich, cross-pollinating suburbs, not the sleepy enclaves of yore—in South Rakkas’ polyglot pop. (June 10)
Download: the entire album is available for free here.
Tracy Thorn – Love and its Opposites (Merge)
Everything But the Girl always seemed like one of those ridiculous British names for disposable pop bands of the ’80s (see: Pop Will Eat Itself, Wet Wet Wet). But that band’s singer, Tracy Thorn, is definitely not making music for girls and boys anymore: this, her second album, is for mature audiences only. And by mature, I mean anyone with enough life experience to be in a long-term relationship that either fractures after years of slowly developing cracks, or somehow survives despite years of disappointments. Mature in a way that will no longer accept a tired cliché like “I miss you like deserts miss the rain.”
Thorn let’s you know exactly what you’re in for right off the top: “Oh! The Divorces” is a devastating song about watching friends fall apart, lost idealism, the fallacy of romantic pop songwriting, and the fall from passionate beginnings to mundane custody obligations—the latter is done during the song’s bridge in a mere 11 words: “the honeymoon/ the wedding rings/ the afternoon handovers by the swings.” Ominously, the song both opens and closes with the question: “Who’s next?”
Love and its Opposites is not a breakup album—after all, Thorn is still married to her former EBTG bandmate and father of her children, Ben Watt. Rather, it’s full of well-crafted observations of middle age in general: parenting teenagers (“you worry about growing up/ I worry about letting go”), singles bars (“Can you tell how long I’ve been here? / Can you smell the fear?”) and family ghosts in the old hometown.
The lyrics are the real selling point; on first listen, the music is merely pleasant and, well, adult. Thorn’s melancholy, empathetic voice is nothing if not subtle, but understatement serves her well; the arrangements here are often sparse, but always spot-on, and there are enough colours and tempos to rescue it from being a middle-aged mope. Much like the quiet, unseen daily dramas that she documents, there is far more going on here than first meets the eye. (June 10)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Oh! The Divorces,” “Kentish Town,” “Singles Bar”
Andre Williams – That’s All I Need (Bloodshot)
This 73-year-old bluesman isn’t up to any new tricks on his latest album, other than that he’s digging into more of a late-night psychedelic blues trip than he has in the past, thanks to a group of Detroit players, most of whom—with the notable exception of Motown session legend Dennis Coffey—are from much younger generations. Williams is an oddly compelling vocalist, equally sexy and sinister, cool and creepy, even when he’s just chanting the word “tricks!” over a minimalist blues backdrop, or squeezing every bit of pathos out of a song titled “When Love Shoots You in the Foot.” Williams sounds a bit spent: he doesn’t seem capable of belting it out, but nor does he have to, and his calm command of the feisty youngsters behind him lends him even greater authority. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “There Ain’t No Such Thing as Good Dope,” “Tricks,” “Cigarettes and My Old Lady”
Bei Bei and Shawn Lee – Into the Wind (Ubiquity)
Chinese-Western musical match-ups are all too rare; successful ones rarer still. The pairing of Bei Bei Zheng and Shawn Lee is nothing short of perfect: she is a master of the gu zheng, or a Chinese zither, and he is an extremely adaptable funk instrumentalist and film composer. The gu zheng is most familiar to Western audiences from martial arts films; hearing it paired with Shaft-worthy instrumentation is evocative splendour—it’s amazing Quentin Tarantino didn’t think of it first. (He was too busy recycling old soundtracks, apparently.) Though Bei Bei comes from an obviously classical tradition—she’s a teacher and has even written a textbook about the instrument—she’s more than willing to bend the instrument’s capabilities to whatever cinematic mood Lee conjures up, from sparse, smoky jazz to bossa nova to action-sequence soundtracks. The gu zheng’s harp-like qualities at times recall Alice Coltrane’s enchanting jazz records, though Bei Bei is much more playful than spiritual. (June 17)
Download (eMusic, amazon.com): “Hot Thursday,” “East,” “The Master Room”
Cowboy Junkies – Renmin Park: The Nomad Series Volume One (Latent)
Michael Timmins is having a mid-life creative renaissance. After 10 years of Cowboy Junkies albums that only the most diehard of the band’s fans heard, the guitarist and songwriter bounced back in 2009 with a new band, Lee Harvey Osmond (with Blackie and the Rodeo Kings’ Tom Wilson and Skydiggers’ Josh Finlayson), that tapped into the sparse and spooky nature of the Junkies’ best recordings.
Now back with the Junkies, Timmins launches the first of four albums they intend to put out in the next 18 months, a schedule that sounds ridiculously ambitious for a band well past their prime—until you hear how strong this album is.
Renmin Park was written after Timmins and his family (not his siblings in the band) lived in China for three months, an experience that shapes the setting of Timmins’s short stories in the lyrics, but more importantly seeps into the music as well. Ehru and pipa solos fit perfectly into the Junkies’ sound, and Chinese singer Zuoxiao Zuzhou takes lead vocals on “A Walk in the Park,” co-written with bassist Alan Anton and guest keyboardist Joby Baker; two other tracks (“My Fall,” “I Cannot Sit Sadly By Your Side”) are written by Chinese writers and translated into English, sung by Margo Timmins.
If the Junkies have been in a rut recently, Renmin Park widens their scope considerably, while remaining as intimate as their finest moments. Michael Timmins appears to have asserted more control here than ever—he also introduces his own, scraggly voice for the first time in the band’s 25-year history—yet it’s actually bassist Alan Anton who rises from the background to glue all these new elements together, especially on the handful of tracks where he adopts a dub reggae backbeat while Michael and keyboardist Baker provide textural touches that tap into the band’s psychedelic, Velvet Underground beginnings.
The sound is captivating enough; Michael Timmins has also written some of his strongest songs in years. Longtime Junkies fans will be ecstatic; fair-weather fans are more than encouraged to check in and help this Canadian institution celebrate their 25th anniversary on a high note. (June 17)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): “(You’ve Got to Get) A Good Heart,” “My Fall,” “Stranger Here”
Crystal Castles – II (Last Gang)
If notoriety is any measure of success, Crystal Castles are one of the biggest Canadian acts internationally. Listening to their second album, however, it’s near impossible to imagine why.
The first album, which featured a demo recording that became a MySpace sensation, was a decent electro album that was equal parts abrasive aggression and goth gloom with melancholic melodies buried beneath the bleeps and blurps.
Yet none of that promise is heard here, which—for a band that induces riot-like behaviour at live gigs—sounds remarkably muzzled. Singer Alice Glass is rarely let loose to squeal bloody murder; her most effective moments come when she’s at her most detached and robotic (notably on a cover of Platinum Blonde’s "Not In Love"). Ethan Kath’s production dips into cheesy ’90s rave territory and rote ’80s electro fetishism; even at it’s most aggressive here (which isn’t that often) it still sounds like it would fade into the background on a fashion runway.
For all their adoring crowds, Crystal Castles attract a large amount of venom, due to their prickly and prank-ridden public personas. But this time the venom may well come from fans wondering why Crystal Castles sound like they’re made of sand. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Celestica,” “Baptism,” “Not in Love”
Gord Downie and the Country of Miracles – The Grand Bounce (Universal)
The best and worst thing about Gord Downie’s solo records is their sloppy, unproduced nature. Outside the confines of The Tragically Hip—confines that applied much less to their last album, the creative comeback We Are the Same—Downie has hired musicians that embrace scrappy first takes, wrestle with wrong notes until they sound right, colour outside the lines when possible and settle into a punk-country shuffle when necessary.
They still do all of those things on The Grand Bounce, Downie’s third solo album with this group of players, though this time everything is brought into brighter focus, in large part due to the influence of producer Chris Walla (Decemberists, Tegan and Sara). Thankfully, it’s not as polished as most of Walla’s work, like his own far-too-polite band Death Cab for Cutie and its spin-off project The Postal Service; Walla respects the raw nature of the Country of Miracles while also bringing out their best. As a result, Downie sounds more in control here—as he naturally does with The Hip, where he remains one of the most captivating frontmen in rock’n’roll—as opposed to surrendering to the spontaneity of his bandmates.
The songwriting stands out this time as well; Downie is writing to his band’s strengths, particularly guitarist Dale Morningstar and vocalist Julie Doiron, while some songs (“The Drowning Machine”) sound like a younger, hungry Hip, minus the bluesy riffs that defined many of their earlier classics. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com): “The East Wind,” “Yellow Days,” “As a Mover”
Drake – Thank Me Later (Universal)
He was Canada’s biggest hip-hop superstar ever, even before his debut album came out. So why, now that we’re all paying attention, does he do nothing on said debut but whine about how empty and meaningless the life of a rich and famous rap star is? What a way to squander a wave of goodwill for the upstart underdog—imagine an Academy Award winner making an acceptance speech about how much the win will ruin their life.
Drake grew up as a child TV star, so he’d already experienced a small level of fame before he was being wined and dined by U.S. rap royalty. So on some level, his love/hate relationship with fame comes naturally, and on the album’s first single, “Over,” he sums up his discomfort in his new mega-celebrity status, unsure whether he’s still playing a role or whether it’s his real life: “What am I doing? Oh, that’s right, I’m doing me.”
That might be tolerable for a single—and yet Drake spends the vast majority of his debut album deconstructing the jetset life, how easy it is to get laid, how hard it is to have so much money, and wondering if it’s all worth it.
Cry me a river. Isn’t there a recession going on? Isn’t the world going to hell? Are we supposed to feel sorry for him? Or is he trying to comfort the rest of us lowly listeners by explaining how success is not all that? Is this some self-deprecating Canadian complex, ill at ease in the belly of American celebrity culture?
No matter which, it’s indulgent emo rap that rings hollow on almost every level—even the music is limp, without even a single escapist track that might make it on the dance floor—and it’s entirely unclear what exactly we’re supposed to be thanking him for. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Over,” “Fireworks,” “Karaoke”
Fred Eaglesmith – Cha Cha Cha (Lonesome Day/E1)
After 15 albums in a 30-year career, Brantford, Ontario’s Fred Eaglesmith is currently enjoying his biggest mainstream success, with the likes of Miranda Lambert, Alan Jackson and even Toby Keith recording his material. When it comes to his own albums, however, Eaglesmith is content to get weirder.
On Cha Cha Cha, it sounds like Tom Waits got Leonard Cohen’s back-up singers hammered with Los Lobos, getting David Lynch to film the whole thing. The Ginn sisters provide backing vocals that are alternately elegant and creepy, a perfect complement to Eaglesmith’s increasingly raspy voice—which is put to work singing songs of romantically devastated men who think their lover is “being careless with my love,” is “playing tricks on me,” has been “gone too long,” and who spend their days hallucinating said lover’s appearance all around town.
As one might expect, Cha Cha Cha has a slight Latin vibe, mixed with twangy guitar, Farfisa organs and ’50s rock’n’roll. Because Eaglesmith recorded it at home—though still employing long-time collaborator Scott Merritt to mix the album—it has a decidedly more raw sound. Obviously, Eaglesmith is fine letting others make radio-friendly versions of his songs; left to his own devices, he likes to dwell in the shadows, where attention to sonic detail is as important as lyrical narratives. In fact, on their own, most of these songs are merely average: it’s Eaglesmith’s eerie delivery and morbid mood that really makes them shine. (June 17)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, zunior.com, eMusic): “Careless,” “Sliver of the Moon,” “Dynamite and Whiskey”
Minotaurs – The Thing (Static Clang)
Once a drummer, always a drummer. Though Nathan Lawr (Royal City, King Cobb Steelie) moved from behind the skins to become an acclaimed singer/songwriter in his own right, he is once again slave to the rhythm in his new project, Minotaurs. Lawr isn’t drumming here—he leaves that to CanRock veteran Don Kerr (Ron Sexsmith, Rheostatics)—but has written a set of songs that rely almost entirely on rhythm. (That, and a killer horn section.) Opening track “Caught in the Light” sets the pace, easily falling into the type of Afrobeat groove that’s driven so many recent reissues of ’70s African obscurities. Several other tracks follow a similar template, but this is not Lawr’s Afrobeat record—even if perhaps it should be, seeing how those are the standout tracks. His tendencies toward traditional Western songcraft still shine through—though often it sounds like he’s trying to tame these wild Minotaurs, when really, he should be letting them loose to follow wherever the beat takes them. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, zunior.com): “Caught in the Light,” “Get Down,” “Pink Floyd”
Janelle Monae – The Archandroid (Bad Boy/Warner)
“Am I a freak?” asks Janelle Monae, “Or just another weirdo? / Call me weak / Or just call me your hero.”
Hero it is, then. Her haircut and style might be the first thing you notice—like on her explosive performance on David Letterman’s show a couple of weeks back—but Monae’s myriad talents are what make her a star, not just the fact that she can out-glam Gaga if she wants to.
Vocally, she can be Grace Jones one moment, Lena Horne the next, and then sound as giddy as a young Michael Jackson, dropping huge pop songs, soul revue rave-ups, wigged-out hip-hop like her friends in Outkast and dancing like James Brown in the process. Then, just for the hell of it, she’s slice off some British psychedelic folk music or Broadway-style show tune—because she can. That she is capable of doing anything is obvious. Should she?
The Archandroid contains 18 tracks, including a couple of pseudo-classical instrumental interludes that have something to do with the fact that Monae has somehow envisioned this album as parts two and three of a soundtrack to the silent film classic Metropolis—which I don’t believe for a second. She doesn’t need that kind of backstory to sell herself as an enigmatic, multi-talented tour-de-force—it’s all there in the music itself.
But if The Archandroid is a tad show-offy and a bit too long, it never entirely wears out its welcome, thanks to at least four or five killer tracks and Monae’s seemingly endless charisma. Prince is undoubtedly also high on her list of influences, though unfortunately The Archandroid is more like Diamonds and Pearls-era Prince—past his prime but before the total decline. Monae is on her way up, of course, and there’s no doubt she’ll be bathing in the purple rain soon enough. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Tightrope,” “Cold War,” “Dance or Die”
Parallels – Visionaries (E1)
Cameron Findlay was the live drummer in Crystal Castles before striking out to form Parallels; if CC has ’80s presets in their keyboards, Findlay likes to take it back further, mining warm analog synth sounds as if music stopped progressing after Kraftwerk’s Man Machine album.
Findlay teamed up with singer Holly Dodson (whose father spent the ’70s avoiding synths in the colossal CanRock band the Stampeders), who plays the part of ice princess effectively—warmer than, say, the faceless Sally Shapiro, but not as charismatic as Lykke Li or Annie. Parallels are very much a genre band and a promising one at that, but Visionaries suffers from a sameness that gets wearying after more than a couple of tracks at a time. (June 3)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com): “Nightmares,” “Ultralight,” “Needless to Say”
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers – Mojo (Warner)
Don’t do drugs, kids. If you do, you’ll wind up 60 years old and playing boring blues rock—no matter how good you were a mere 20 years ago, or 20 years before that.
Tom Petty is not a man who should be singing the blues—nor, for that matter, at his age, should he be paying women backhanded compliments like: “She was kinda cute/ if a little past her prime.”
His nasal voice is perfect for snarling rockers, tiny perfect pop songs and laid-back country rock; singing the blues simply brings out his worst, laziest tendencies. He doesn’t have the curmudgeonly character or evasive wordplay that his friend Bob Dylan does in order to pull this off; instead, he sounds like an old bore singing about partying with motel maids (which he does on “The Trip to Pirate’s Cove”) or his first acid trip (which he does on “First Flash of Freedom”).
The Heartbreakers do their best—in particular stalwarts Mike Campbell on guitar and Benmont Tench on keyboards—and several tracks would be fine without Petty involved, like the lite reggae “Don’t Pull Me Over” or the shuffle of “Running Man’s Bible.” But the world is full of great bands backing up lacklustre songwriters—it’s just sad that fate has befallen the Heartbreakers. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): "High In the Morning," "Something Good Coming," "Don’t Pull Me Over"
Sean Nicholas Savage – Movin Up in Society (Arbutus)
Plenty of artists adopt a retro sound; few sound like actual artifacts from times gone by. Sean Nicholas Savage, an Edmonton expatriate now living in Montreal, sounds like he hasn’t heard any new music since Bob Dylan went electric; Savage’s sound is very much rooted in the early ’60s Greenwich Village folk scene, with his warbly, slightly nasal tenor imbued with all the wide-eyed idealism and naivete of a Prairie boy suddenly “sleeping in a car in New York City.” His lyrics may not be terribly deep (“giant brain up in the sky/ tell me what is on your mind”)—he’s no Ian Tyson—yet his voice is entirely captivating, and the lo-fi, acoustic recording is enchanting, especially the contributions from the soprano backing vocalists and violinist. At times it recalls a more wistful and romantic Ray Condo—another Westerner who moved to Montreal to make country music—or a rural take on the sweet simplicity of Swedish songwriter Jens Lekman. Hopefully his new city life inspires some lyrics to match his musical vision. (June 10)
Download: the entire album is available for free here.
South Rakkas Crew – The Stimulus Package (Mad Decent)
With the lone exception of Kardinal Offishall’s 2008 pop hit “Dangerous”—which unfortunately overshadowed the criminally underrated album it appeared on, Not 4 Sale—the tiny but vital group of Canadians making Caribbean-influenced dancehall pop has rarely made international waves. South Rakkas Crew might be the ones to change that.
South Rakkas Crew grew up in Mississauga and Brampton, worked in Toronto briefly (including on Barenaked Ladies tracks), and then fled to Orlando where they found work with ’N Sync, of all people, and even Michael Jackson, while maintaining links to club culture, in particular Jamaican dancehall. That dichotomy has made fans out of Thom Yorke and Tricky as well as Beyoncé and Justin Timberlake, and, most importantly, Diplo—the Baltimore DJ who helped give birth to M.I.A.’s career, as well as Santigold’s, and who is one-half of the electro-dancehall-pop duo Major Lazer. Diplo has put out South Rakkas Crew mix tapes and albums on his Mad Decent label, where they’re right at home alongside other artists under heavy Jamaican, Brazilian and hip-hop influences.
Unlike their like-minded peer Poirier in Montreal, South Rakkas Crew come from a decidedly more pop background, meaning the hooks are huge and the beats much bigger than most people from the underground who came to the dance floor late in the game. That doesn’t mean they play it safe, however: one of the most engaging tracks on The Stimulus Package is their remix of sorts involving oddball art-punk band Deerhoof, and their 2008 pop song “+81”; stripped of its signature guitar riff, the Crew pull apart the other hooks embedded in the track and cut the tempo in half.
They may be globetrotters now, but it’s not hard to hear the new sound of the suburbs—the culturally rich, cross-pollinating suburbs, not the sleepy enclaves of yore—in South Rakkas’ polyglot pop. (June 10)
Download: the entire album is available for free here.
Tracy Thorn – Love and its Opposites (Merge)
Everything But the Girl always seemed like one of those ridiculous British names for disposable pop bands of the ’80s (see: Pop Will Eat Itself, Wet Wet Wet). But that band’s singer, Tracy Thorn, is definitely not making music for girls and boys anymore: this, her second album, is for mature audiences only. And by mature, I mean anyone with enough life experience to be in a long-term relationship that either fractures after years of slowly developing cracks, or somehow survives despite years of disappointments. Mature in a way that will no longer accept a tired cliché like “I miss you like deserts miss the rain.”
Thorn let’s you know exactly what you’re in for right off the top: “Oh! The Divorces” is a devastating song about watching friends fall apart, lost idealism, the fallacy of romantic pop songwriting, and the fall from passionate beginnings to mundane custody obligations—the latter is done during the song’s bridge in a mere 11 words: “the honeymoon/ the wedding rings/ the afternoon handovers by the swings.” Ominously, the song both opens and closes with the question: “Who’s next?”
Love and its Opposites is not a breakup album—after all, Thorn is still married to her former EBTG bandmate and father of her children, Ben Watt. Rather, it’s full of well-crafted observations of middle age in general: parenting teenagers (“you worry about growing up/ I worry about letting go”), singles bars (“Can you tell how long I’ve been here? / Can you smell the fear?”) and family ghosts in the old hometown.
The lyrics are the real selling point; on first listen, the music is merely pleasant and, well, adult. Thorn’s melancholy, empathetic voice is nothing if not subtle, but understatement serves her well; the arrangements here are often sparse, but always spot-on, and there are enough colours and tempos to rescue it from being a middle-aged mope. Much like the quiet, unseen daily dramas that she documents, there is far more going on here than first meets the eye. (June 10)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Oh! The Divorces,” “Kentish Town,” “Singles Bar”
Andre Williams – That’s All I Need (Bloodshot)
This 73-year-old bluesman isn’t up to any new tricks on his latest album, other than that he’s digging into more of a late-night psychedelic blues trip than he has in the past, thanks to a group of Detroit players, most of whom—with the notable exception of Motown session legend Dennis Coffey—are from much younger generations. Williams is an oddly compelling vocalist, equally sexy and sinister, cool and creepy, even when he’s just chanting the word “tricks!” over a minimalist blues backdrop, or squeezing every bit of pathos out of a song titled “When Love Shoots You in the Foot.” Williams sounds a bit spent: he doesn’t seem capable of belting it out, but nor does he have to, and his calm command of the feisty youngsters behind him lends him even greater authority. (June 24)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “There Ain’t No Such Thing as Good Dope,” “Tricks,” “Cigarettes and My Old Lady”
Friday, May 21, 2010
May '10 reviews
The following reviews appeared in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury.
Broken Social Scene – Forgiveness Rock Record (Arts and Crafts)
One of the biggest bands in the land—physically, that is, if not in terms of critical praise—asks for your forgiveness. But they don’t do so humbly or on bended knee. Instead, they do it with the biggest gesture possible: a warm, inviting album that distills all of their epic reach and subtle sonics, a work that—after several shaky years trying to live up to the grandiosity of 2002’s You Forgot It In People—delivers on every promise this band ever made.
This success likely has everything to do with the way this album was made. Although more than 30 people appear on it, the bulk of it was recorded by the seven core members in Chicago, far enough away from the many distractions—and expectations—of their Toronto lives. The result is that even the slightest of songs here have a focus that some of this band’s more meandering moments have lacked in the past: witness the delicate haze of the summery, sweet-nothing and spliced-up bossa nova of “Highway Slipper Jam,” or the undulating drums and cascading keyboards of opening track “World Sick.”
The amorphous nature of Broken Social Scene—both its membership and its musical vision—coalesces on anthemic rock (“Forced to Love”), arty balladry (“Sweetest Kill”), and psychedelic pop (“Texico Bitches”). And yet as big as Forgiveness Rock Record sounds—many instruments and vocals are pushed to barely distinguishable yet effective levels of distortion, though never as a distracting gimmick—it’s not out to grab you by the throat and make a Big Obvious Statement on first spin. It reveals itself slowly, until all those tiny moments add up to earworms that demand compulsive listening. The sonic layering here is masterful, adding breadth and depth to what are often sketches of songs—sketches, mind you, that also place melody at the forefront.
“The shuck and jive is over,” they sing triumphantly near the end of the record. By that point, they’ve worked hard to prove it: the album’s first six songs in particular are sequenced to be sure shots. Bandleader Kevin Drew is most often at the forefront, though Apostle of Hustle’s Andrew Whiteman scores with “Art House Director,” and Brendan Canning writes the best Pavement song in 15 years with “Water in Hell.”
Most promising is BSS’s relative newcomer, singer Lisa Lobsinger; she was brought on after the band’s other female singers (Feist, Emily Haines and Stars’ Amy Millan—all of whom appear here on “Sentimental X’s,” singing “what we want is off and on”) became too busy being indie superstars to tour with BSS. Lobsinger comes into her own on the somewhat Scandinavian, shimmering and pulsing “All is All,” which is surely the closest Broken Social Scene has ever come to a pop single.
Depending on how closely you follow the personal and musical dramas behind Broken Social Scene, you may wonder why they’re bothering to ask for your forgiveness. No matter: this is an album not only for anyone who ever believed in the band, but for anyone who could never quite figure out what the fuss was about. Kevin Drew is wont to proclaim on stage: “We do this for you.” This time out, it certainly sounds like it. (May 6)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “World Sick,” “All is All,” “Sweetest Kill”
The Dead Weather – Sea of Cowards (Third Man)
Real rock and roll should like sweat, sex, and shamanistic voodoo. It should not sound like work. It should sound like the Dead Weather.
Jack White’s new group formed not much more than a year ago; this is its second album, and immediacy is everything. There is a spark to every song here that sounds like a first take, a spontaneous combustion that seems to surprise the players themselves. None of the individual songs are spectacular; none of that matters. The Dead Weather is about chemistry, about blood, about guts.
It’s also about the blues. Vocalist Alison Mosshart snarls and struts her way over monstrous bottom-heavy blues, while Dean Fertita effortlessly extracts fractured, blistering leads from his guitars and organ. But this is clearly Jack White’s band: not only does he share more vocal leads with Mosshart on this album, but his drumming sets the pace and the tone of the proceedings.
Even more than the performances, the sound of Sea of Cowards is spectacular: you don’t have to be a sonic scientist or a gear geek to appreciate the rich tones, the reverb, the live room, or the way that every instrument—including Mosshart’s gripping and growling voice—stakes out its own space.
As he seeks out new challenges and new opportunities outside playing guitar in the White Stripes, Jack White is still learning how to make great rock’n’roll records. This one may well be his best studio recording yet. (May 20)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Hustle and Cuss,” “Gasoline,” “I Can’t Hear You”
Frog Eyes – Paul’s Tomb: A Triumph (Dead Oceans)
I don’t know who Paul is or how he died or why his tomb might be considered a triumph, never mind the title of the fifth album by Victoria, B.C.’s Frog Eyes—a group never known to spell anything out for the unsuspecting listener. It’s hard to discern what bandleader Carey Mercer is on about at any given moment; it certainly sounds random, although any of the well-respected musicians who have worked with him will swear on their own artistic reputations that the man is a certifiable genius. Others just think he’s certifiable.
So by saying that Paul’s Tomb is indeed a triumph and by far the most rewarding album of Mercer’s extensive discography may mean merely that it doesn’t sound like you’re being wrestled to the ground by a screaming lunatic with a cowbell and a volume of Milton’s poetry. Except that it does still sound a bit like that—only in a good way. “Everybody’s got a hole in their heart / everybody’s got a darkness in their gut,” he bellows, and you’d better believe him.
Opening track “A Flower in a Glove” features Mercer working his strangulated yodel to maximum emotional effect, sounding like he’s been bound and gagged for years, only now given the chance to defend himself to his interrogators. The majestic, stately guitars sound at times like a bizarre cross between Neil Young’s Crazy Horse and King Crimson’s Robert Fripp; Melanie Campbell’s inventive drumming ensures that nothing ever settles into a comfortable rock groove—and on the rare occasions when it does, it brings everything else into a clearer focus and provides a fleeting moment of resolution (not a common commodity in Frog Eyes songs).
Whereas Frog Eyes used to bludgeon the listener with a non-stop assault, Paul’s Tomb—and “A Flower in a Glove” in particular, which miraculously refuses to wear out its welcome after nine epic minutes—displays a much more powerful grasp of dynamics. By retreating even just a bit to create open space, the musical explosions are that much more effective, and Mercer is more than ever in command of his often unruly voice. Much of this new focus is a credit to the production, which is crisp and capable of capturing the many colours at work here.
Frog Eyes are unlikely to ever break through beyond an underground cult status, but Paul’s Tomb may well be the album that causes naysayers to reconsider, and the curious to perk up their ears. (May 13)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “A Flower in a Glove,” “Odetta’s War,” “Rebel Horns”
American Idiot: The Original Broadway Cast Recording featuring Green Day (Warner)
Flaming Lips – Dark Side of the Moon (Warner)
Cover songs are one thing. Covers of specific albums are another, especially when performed by one artist. Or, in the case of Green Day’s American Idiot album, when it’s adapted into a Broadway production.
It’s not entirely strange that American Idiot landed on Broadway—it’s neither more nor less ridiculous than The Who’s Tommy, for starters, and the music is melodic and just as catchy as anything from, say, Grease; Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong knows a lot more than three chords, and though until recently he never talked about his early background singing show tunes, he’s not coming into this completely out of left field.
But as infectious as almost all these songs are, why would anyone want to hear someone other than Green Day perform them? The arrangements—and certainly the instrumentation—rarely stray from the original album, making this one big karaoke project. Meanwhile, none of the singers are suited to the punk rock backdrop—everyone here, talented though they are, sounds like fish out of water—or the cast of Glee.
The Flaming Lips have never feared the ridiculous, a character trait usually manifested in their wonderfully imaginative stage shows, or the ill-advised homemade sci-fi film Christmas on Mars. Deciding to cover Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon isn’t the worst idea in the world—it’s actually been done before, in reggae form, by the Easy Star All-Stars—and yet the Flaming Lips have somehow managed to make a complete trainwreck out of it. Very few of their versions are faithful—which is fine and admirable—but most of them fall flat or flame out completely (especially the god-awful “Great Gig in the Sky”). Only “Brain Damage,” the closing track, emerges unscathed and somewhat consistent with the Lips’ finest moments; otherwise, this is best left in the dark. (May 20)
Download Green Day (iTunes, amazon.com): “21 Guns,” “Are We the Waiting,” “Last of the American Girls”
Download Flaming Lips (iTunes, amazon.com): “Brain Damage,” “Speak to Me,” “Any Colour You Like”
Grupo Fantasma – El Existential (NatGeo Music)
Very little of the live power exhibited by this blazing hot Latino band is diminished once they haul themselves into a studio. Scorching, often psychedelic and surf-y guitar leads are almost secondary to the heavy percussion section, which is prominently placed in the forefront of the mix. Rock, reggae, cumbia and salsa comprise the Fantasma formula, but all that really matters is that this a party from start to finish. If there’s a difference on this new album, it’s the presence of keyboards: electric pianos, Farfisa organs and accordions that add even more depth to a rich palette. Track for track it’s not as consistently strong as their breakthrough Sondidos Gold or their live album, but it’s still the work of an ace band at the peak of its powers. (May 13)
Download (iTunes): “Montanozo,” “Calor,” “Hijo”
Hole – Nobody’s Daughter (Universal)
It would be unfair to say that Nobody’s Daughter sounds like a cartoon cut-out version of Courtney Love—because Love’s public persona has never been anything less than cartoonish. Her public persona has arguably always superceded her musical acumen, notwithstanding her one bonafide classic, 1994’s Live Through This.
Nobody’s Daughter is only Love’s third album since then, and it’s the first one to sound remotely like the same artist—on the surface, anyway. The grungy guitars are back, Love is singing with a Iggy Pop-esque drawl that curls the end of every phrase, and she’s skewering the sisterhood on songs like “Skinny Little Bitch” and “Loser Dust.”
And yet she is a shadow of her former self: as a singer, as a songwriter, as a charismatic personality. Nobody’s Daughter (an unfortunate title, considering her recently lost custody battle) sounds like an artist who has been out of the game for too long and trying too hard to get back in—never more so than on the cloying “How Dirty Girls Get Clean.” There are attempts, on tracks like “For Once in Your Life” and “Letter To God,” to aim for the kind of scarred, lived-in wisdom of Marianne Faithfull, but Love is far too clumsy and completely lacking in class to pull that off. As for the rockers, she has no trouble conjuring a tortured scream, but neither the songs nor her backing band do her no favours; frankly, Dakota Fanning kicks more ass on The Runaways soundtrack.
“I never wanted to be some kind of comic relief,” she pleads, “please show me who I am.” Nobody’s Daughter is not a raging return, nor is it so terrible that it will satisfy her naysayers’ need for a trainwreck. Instead, it’s innocuous, which for an attention magnet like Courtney Love is a kiss of death. (May 6)
Holy Fuck – Latin (XL)
The first thing we hear is a primitive drum machine get off to a stuttering start before it accelerates rapidly and excitedly, like it can’t wait to get off to the races. And why wouldn’t it? Though Holy Fuck has been around for half a decade now, this is the first recording made with a consistent rhythm section, one that’s been in place for over two years, and which has been yanked all over the globe to play any gig, anywhere, anytime. That means that drummer Matt Schulz and bassist Matt McQuaid are often the engines on much of the material here, allowing principal sound sculptors Brian Borcherdt and Graham Walsh to vivisect their keyboards and unleash glorious noise and textures that they somehow shape into melodies. Without the rhythm section, much of this would be curious abstraction—which it sometimes is anyway, like on the Eno-ish soundwash of “1MD”—but with such a powerhouse acting as the anchor, and with less reliance on riffs as their earlier work, Holy Fuck hit upon a winning formula that is more visceral than dance music, more liberating than rock music, and more inviting than the avant-garde circuit bending that spawned their approach to improvisation in the first place. (May 13)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Red Lights,” “Lucky,” “Stilettos”
Greg Keelor – Gunless OST (Warner)
The movie Gunless may play with clichés of Western movies, but its soundtrack embraces them fully—to great effect. Blue Rodeo’s Greg Keelor obviously marinated himself in Morricone before assembling this haunting score, which is teeming with twangy guitars ringing out whole-note chords and deep-tremolo leads, while a lone trumpet and a swelling string section emerge on the horizon. Keelor doesn’t at all sound like he’s stretching himself here; on the contrary, his melodies and arrangements (with Bryden Baird, who led Blue Rodeo’s short-lived horn section) range from the sweeping to the stark and simple—and always short, with most tracks barely beyond two minutes. (May 6)
LCD Soundsystem – This is Happening (EMI)
This is not happening. Not at all. LCD Soundsystem, one of the defining bands of the last decade in American music, is going out with a whimper. It doesn’t help that one song has a chorus admitting that “I all I want is your pity.” At one point bandleader James Murphy, who recently announced that he is retiring the band, mocks the burden of expectation, taunting: “You wanted a hit/ but that’s not what we do.”
That may be true—despite the fact that their 2005 single “Daft Punk is Playing At My House” was an anthem demarcating the crossover between rock and club music. But not only does a song like “Drunk Girls” sound like shameless pandering (for starters, it’s the only song less than five minutes long) from a band that was once refreshing and original, but This is Happening finds Murphy is exhausted and defeated, in peril of sad self-parody—which is hard to do seriously, for someone who was so self-deprecating in the first place, someone who debuted in 2002 with the lacerating hipster screed “Losing My Edge.” After achieving so much in the interim, Murphy sounds like he’s actualized his low self-esteem.
Every song sounds like the same two-chord vamp at different speeds and ever-so-slightly different keyboard patches—which, on paper, is not that different a descriptor for LCD’s finest moments. Yet far too much of this material sounds directly like inferior versions of older LCD material, and Murphy’s vocals are mostly to blame; some tracks would function fine as instrumentals (“Pow Pow,” “You Wanted a Hit”). Worst of all, it’s hard to imagine anyone who isn’t on heroin listening to all seven minutes of “Somebody’s Calling Me,” which manages to be sluggish, punishing, abrasive and dull—and more than a little bit like Iggy Pop’s “Nightclubbing” played at half speed.
It’s a sad swan song for a band that once synthesized so many of the best elements of underground dance music movements of the past 30 years. The party is definitely over. (May 27)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): Drunk Girls, Pow Pow, Dance Yourself Clean
The National – High Violet (XL)
The National’s singer Matt Berninger asks, in all earnesty, “What makes you think I enjoy being left to the flood?” Well, for starters, he seems to love it there, drowning in his mid-life crises, perpetually “stuck in New York and the rain’s coming down,” and moaning about how “I don’t want to get over you” on a song titled “Sorrow.”
That The National specialize in bummer rock is not a crime; they come from a long lineage of velvety, baritone-voiced men who cast their tales of decay in a certain elegance: Nick Cave, Interpol, Tindersticks, Black Heart Procession, even Bruce Springsteen on his darkest days (Bruce is a fan). And while the band is decent—though, with the exception of drummer Bryan Devendorf, rarely more than that—Berninger continually walks a line between the profound and the profoundly pointless, both lyrically and in his limited emotional range.
High Violet may sound nice at the end of a red-wine-soaked evening in the back of a cab driving past big-city lights, but in the bright light of day it rings more than a little hollow and a lot less glamorous. (May 27)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Anyone’s Ghost," "Little Faith," "Runaway"
New Pornographers – Together (Last Gang)
The New Pornographers have always been pop music maximalists: more harmonies, more guitars, more keyboards and, most especially, more pop hooks in three minutes than many artists muster on an entire album. What’s changed over the years is how bandleader A.C. Newman balances his sugary musical diet: when is it too much?
On Together, the fifth New Pornographers albums, Newman continues to dream big while scaling back the intensity. Lead single “Your Hands (Together)” features a heavy Black Sabbath riff and huge harmonies worthy of ABBA; “Moves” has the best rock cello section since ELO; Neko Case shines on her two lead tracks and in prominent supporting roles; newest member Kathryn Calder steps up on the jaunty “Sweet Talk, Sweet Talk”; Dan Bejar chimes in with the kind of concise pop songs he no longer writes in his ever-expansive main project, Destroyer.
Other than Bejar’s wobbly waltz “Daughters of Sorrows,” Together is a rich, rewarding Pornographic experience, a welcome bounceback from the disappointing Challengers (2007), a continuation of their previous high point Twin Cinema (2005), and not a moment too soon to assert itself as the power pop gem of summer 2010. (May 13)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes, eMusic, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Crash Years," "Your Hands (Together)," "My Shepherd"
Mike Patton – Mondo Cane (Ipecac)
Mike Patton is one of the most versatile vocalists in the world: he made his name with heavy metal in Faith No More, and has since hopped into klezmer with John Zorn, classic soundtracks, lounge lizardry, experimental noise, 20th century classical, trip-hop, hip-hop, straight up pop and—naturally, it would seem—a collaboration with Bjork. Here, on one of the few albums to bear his own name, he dives deep into Italian pop of the ’60 and ’70s, embracing its operatics and its orchestration in both their most shamelessly romantic and sinister sides—sometimes at the same time, as on the sugary sweet “Deep Down,” which concludes with a devilish chant.
For all his trickster tendencies to push the boundaries of whatever genre he’s working in, Patton is perfectly capable of playing it straight. He’s not playing this music to mess with it: this is a loving homage (and in part a personal one, as his ex-wife is Italian, and he lived in Bologna for many years). His voice is perfectly suited to this expressive material, and he nails every rolled “R” with panache. He only unleashes his heavy metal growl once, on the garage rocker “Urlo Negro”—which, true to character, is sandwiched between the two most gorgeous and lush tracks here.
Recorded live with a 40-piece orchestra, Mondo Cane is one of the most accessible discs in the Patton discography, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less deliciously rewarding or unique. (May 20)
Download (iTunes, eMusic): “Deep Down,” “Il Cielo In Una Stanza,” “L’Uomo Che Non Sapeva Amare”
Justin Rutledge – The Early Widows (Six Shooter)
Conventional wisdom has it that a songwriter standing alone with an acoustic guitar is driven to write stronger melodies, in the absence of additional ornamentation. Toronto’s Justin Rutledge defies said convention by strapping on an electric guitar, embracing a full band—including two drummers and a gospel choir—and coming up with the most compelling album of his career.
It could be the guiding hand of producer Hawksley Workman, whose stellar work here overshadows anything in his own discography recently. It could be the sympathetic arrangements by some of Toronto’s top studio musicians, including Blue Rodeo’s Bazil Donovan on bass, pedal steel whiz Burke Carroll (whose touches sound more like Pink Floyd than standard country shadings), and Vancouver violinist Jesse Zubot. If you believe what you read in the mainstream media, it might be the presence of novelist Michael Ondaatje, who co-writes one mere song here.
But ultimately, all of that is window dressing; all credit must go to Rutledge, who has stepped up his songwriting game considerably on this, his fourth album. If his previous work was pleasantly inoffensive CBC fare, The Early Widows is evocative and haunting, its melodies filling the cavernous spaces left by the sparse arrangements. Rutledge’s voice can tend toward the quavering sensitive balladeer, but for the most part he exhibits quiet strength, taking his own advice, perhaps, to “be a man about this”—especially when he holds his own with his backing gospel singers, who thankfully blend in perfectly rather than sounding like an exotic afterthought (although “Snowmen” does get into Pink Floyd’s “Great Gig in the Sky” territory). And although most of The Early Widows is drawn from dynamic, moody material, Rutledge also shines when he plays it straight on the country-ish “Miss Montgomery” and the rollicking rocker (and urban refugee anthem) “The Heart of a River.” (May 27)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes): “Be a Man,” “The Heart of a River,” “I Have Not Seen the Light”
The Sadies – Darker Circles (Outside)
It’s been three years since the extremely prolific Sadies put out a studio album, and if we are to read anything into the lyrics, there have been some dark days for the Good family. Brothers Travis and Dallas have never shied away from a good murder ballad, but Darker Circles faces different kind of demons: disappointment, decay, deference and the death of dreams. It’s not just the weighty subject matter that makes Darker Circles such a strong record. The delay between releases also suggests that they’ve spent more time living with and working on these songs; producer Gary Louris (Jayhawks) ensures nothing here is half-baked, or a mere excuse to showcase their instrumental dexterity. This time it sounds personal—and it’s a much better record because of it. (May 20)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, zunior.com, amazon.com): “Another Year Again,” “Choosing to Fly,” “Whispering Circles”
Broken Social Scene – Forgiveness Rock Record (Arts and Crafts)
One of the biggest bands in the land—physically, that is, if not in terms of critical praise—asks for your forgiveness. But they don’t do so humbly or on bended knee. Instead, they do it with the biggest gesture possible: a warm, inviting album that distills all of their epic reach and subtle sonics, a work that—after several shaky years trying to live up to the grandiosity of 2002’s You Forgot It In People—delivers on every promise this band ever made.
This success likely has everything to do with the way this album was made. Although more than 30 people appear on it, the bulk of it was recorded by the seven core members in Chicago, far enough away from the many distractions—and expectations—of their Toronto lives. The result is that even the slightest of songs here have a focus that some of this band’s more meandering moments have lacked in the past: witness the delicate haze of the summery, sweet-nothing and spliced-up bossa nova of “Highway Slipper Jam,” or the undulating drums and cascading keyboards of opening track “World Sick.”
The amorphous nature of Broken Social Scene—both its membership and its musical vision—coalesces on anthemic rock (“Forced to Love”), arty balladry (“Sweetest Kill”), and psychedelic pop (“Texico Bitches”). And yet as big as Forgiveness Rock Record sounds—many instruments and vocals are pushed to barely distinguishable yet effective levels of distortion, though never as a distracting gimmick—it’s not out to grab you by the throat and make a Big Obvious Statement on first spin. It reveals itself slowly, until all those tiny moments add up to earworms that demand compulsive listening. The sonic layering here is masterful, adding breadth and depth to what are often sketches of songs—sketches, mind you, that also place melody at the forefront.
“The shuck and jive is over,” they sing triumphantly near the end of the record. By that point, they’ve worked hard to prove it: the album’s first six songs in particular are sequenced to be sure shots. Bandleader Kevin Drew is most often at the forefront, though Apostle of Hustle’s Andrew Whiteman scores with “Art House Director,” and Brendan Canning writes the best Pavement song in 15 years with “Water in Hell.”
Most promising is BSS’s relative newcomer, singer Lisa Lobsinger; she was brought on after the band’s other female singers (Feist, Emily Haines and Stars’ Amy Millan—all of whom appear here on “Sentimental X’s,” singing “what we want is off and on”) became too busy being indie superstars to tour with BSS. Lobsinger comes into her own on the somewhat Scandinavian, shimmering and pulsing “All is All,” which is surely the closest Broken Social Scene has ever come to a pop single.
Depending on how closely you follow the personal and musical dramas behind Broken Social Scene, you may wonder why they’re bothering to ask for your forgiveness. No matter: this is an album not only for anyone who ever believed in the band, but for anyone who could never quite figure out what the fuss was about. Kevin Drew is wont to proclaim on stage: “We do this for you.” This time out, it certainly sounds like it. (May 6)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “World Sick,” “All is All,” “Sweetest Kill”
The Dead Weather – Sea of Cowards (Third Man)
Real rock and roll should like sweat, sex, and shamanistic voodoo. It should not sound like work. It should sound like the Dead Weather.
Jack White’s new group formed not much more than a year ago; this is its second album, and immediacy is everything. There is a spark to every song here that sounds like a first take, a spontaneous combustion that seems to surprise the players themselves. None of the individual songs are spectacular; none of that matters. The Dead Weather is about chemistry, about blood, about guts.
It’s also about the blues. Vocalist Alison Mosshart snarls and struts her way over monstrous bottom-heavy blues, while Dean Fertita effortlessly extracts fractured, blistering leads from his guitars and organ. But this is clearly Jack White’s band: not only does he share more vocal leads with Mosshart on this album, but his drumming sets the pace and the tone of the proceedings.
Even more than the performances, the sound of Sea of Cowards is spectacular: you don’t have to be a sonic scientist or a gear geek to appreciate the rich tones, the reverb, the live room, or the way that every instrument—including Mosshart’s gripping and growling voice—stakes out its own space.
As he seeks out new challenges and new opportunities outside playing guitar in the White Stripes, Jack White is still learning how to make great rock’n’roll records. This one may well be his best studio recording yet. (May 20)
Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Hustle and Cuss,” “Gasoline,” “I Can’t Hear You”
Frog Eyes – Paul’s Tomb: A Triumph (Dead Oceans)
I don’t know who Paul is or how he died or why his tomb might be considered a triumph, never mind the title of the fifth album by Victoria, B.C.’s Frog Eyes—a group never known to spell anything out for the unsuspecting listener. It’s hard to discern what bandleader Carey Mercer is on about at any given moment; it certainly sounds random, although any of the well-respected musicians who have worked with him will swear on their own artistic reputations that the man is a certifiable genius. Others just think he’s certifiable.
So by saying that Paul’s Tomb is indeed a triumph and by far the most rewarding album of Mercer’s extensive discography may mean merely that it doesn’t sound like you’re being wrestled to the ground by a screaming lunatic with a cowbell and a volume of Milton’s poetry. Except that it does still sound a bit like that—only in a good way. “Everybody’s got a hole in their heart / everybody’s got a darkness in their gut,” he bellows, and you’d better believe him.
Opening track “A Flower in a Glove” features Mercer working his strangulated yodel to maximum emotional effect, sounding like he’s been bound and gagged for years, only now given the chance to defend himself to his interrogators. The majestic, stately guitars sound at times like a bizarre cross between Neil Young’s Crazy Horse and King Crimson’s Robert Fripp; Melanie Campbell’s inventive drumming ensures that nothing ever settles into a comfortable rock groove—and on the rare occasions when it does, it brings everything else into a clearer focus and provides a fleeting moment of resolution (not a common commodity in Frog Eyes songs).
Whereas Frog Eyes used to bludgeon the listener with a non-stop assault, Paul’s Tomb—and “A Flower in a Glove” in particular, which miraculously refuses to wear out its welcome after nine epic minutes—displays a much more powerful grasp of dynamics. By retreating even just a bit to create open space, the musical explosions are that much more effective, and Mercer is more than ever in command of his often unruly voice. Much of this new focus is a credit to the production, which is crisp and capable of capturing the many colours at work here.
Frog Eyes are unlikely to ever break through beyond an underground cult status, but Paul’s Tomb may well be the album that causes naysayers to reconsider, and the curious to perk up their ears. (May 13)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “A Flower in a Glove,” “Odetta’s War,” “Rebel Horns”
American Idiot: The Original Broadway Cast Recording featuring Green Day (Warner)
Flaming Lips – Dark Side of the Moon (Warner)
Cover songs are one thing. Covers of specific albums are another, especially when performed by one artist. Or, in the case of Green Day’s American Idiot album, when it’s adapted into a Broadway production.
It’s not entirely strange that American Idiot landed on Broadway—it’s neither more nor less ridiculous than The Who’s Tommy, for starters, and the music is melodic and just as catchy as anything from, say, Grease; Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong knows a lot more than three chords, and though until recently he never talked about his early background singing show tunes, he’s not coming into this completely out of left field.
But as infectious as almost all these songs are, why would anyone want to hear someone other than Green Day perform them? The arrangements—and certainly the instrumentation—rarely stray from the original album, making this one big karaoke project. Meanwhile, none of the singers are suited to the punk rock backdrop—everyone here, talented though they are, sounds like fish out of water—or the cast of Glee.
The Flaming Lips have never feared the ridiculous, a character trait usually manifested in their wonderfully imaginative stage shows, or the ill-advised homemade sci-fi film Christmas on Mars. Deciding to cover Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon isn’t the worst idea in the world—it’s actually been done before, in reggae form, by the Easy Star All-Stars—and yet the Flaming Lips have somehow managed to make a complete trainwreck out of it. Very few of their versions are faithful—which is fine and admirable—but most of them fall flat or flame out completely (especially the god-awful “Great Gig in the Sky”). Only “Brain Damage,” the closing track, emerges unscathed and somewhat consistent with the Lips’ finest moments; otherwise, this is best left in the dark. (May 20)
Download Green Day (iTunes, amazon.com): “21 Guns,” “Are We the Waiting,” “Last of the American Girls”
Download Flaming Lips (iTunes, amazon.com): “Brain Damage,” “Speak to Me,” “Any Colour You Like”
Grupo Fantasma – El Existential (NatGeo Music)
Very little of the live power exhibited by this blazing hot Latino band is diminished once they haul themselves into a studio. Scorching, often psychedelic and surf-y guitar leads are almost secondary to the heavy percussion section, which is prominently placed in the forefront of the mix. Rock, reggae, cumbia and salsa comprise the Fantasma formula, but all that really matters is that this a party from start to finish. If there’s a difference on this new album, it’s the presence of keyboards: electric pianos, Farfisa organs and accordions that add even more depth to a rich palette. Track for track it’s not as consistently strong as their breakthrough Sondidos Gold or their live album, but it’s still the work of an ace band at the peak of its powers. (May 13)
Download (iTunes): “Montanozo,” “Calor,” “Hijo”
Hole – Nobody’s Daughter (Universal)
It would be unfair to say that Nobody’s Daughter sounds like a cartoon cut-out version of Courtney Love—because Love’s public persona has never been anything less than cartoonish. Her public persona has arguably always superceded her musical acumen, notwithstanding her one bonafide classic, 1994’s Live Through This.
Nobody’s Daughter is only Love’s third album since then, and it’s the first one to sound remotely like the same artist—on the surface, anyway. The grungy guitars are back, Love is singing with a Iggy Pop-esque drawl that curls the end of every phrase, and she’s skewering the sisterhood on songs like “Skinny Little Bitch” and “Loser Dust.”
And yet she is a shadow of her former self: as a singer, as a songwriter, as a charismatic personality. Nobody’s Daughter (an unfortunate title, considering her recently lost custody battle) sounds like an artist who has been out of the game for too long and trying too hard to get back in—never more so than on the cloying “How Dirty Girls Get Clean.” There are attempts, on tracks like “For Once in Your Life” and “Letter To God,” to aim for the kind of scarred, lived-in wisdom of Marianne Faithfull, but Love is far too clumsy and completely lacking in class to pull that off. As for the rockers, she has no trouble conjuring a tortured scream, but neither the songs nor her backing band do her no favours; frankly, Dakota Fanning kicks more ass on The Runaways soundtrack.
“I never wanted to be some kind of comic relief,” she pleads, “please show me who I am.” Nobody’s Daughter is not a raging return, nor is it so terrible that it will satisfy her naysayers’ need for a trainwreck. Instead, it’s innocuous, which for an attention magnet like Courtney Love is a kiss of death. (May 6)
Holy Fuck – Latin (XL)
The first thing we hear is a primitive drum machine get off to a stuttering start before it accelerates rapidly and excitedly, like it can’t wait to get off to the races. And why wouldn’t it? Though Holy Fuck has been around for half a decade now, this is the first recording made with a consistent rhythm section, one that’s been in place for over two years, and which has been yanked all over the globe to play any gig, anywhere, anytime. That means that drummer Matt Schulz and bassist Matt McQuaid are often the engines on much of the material here, allowing principal sound sculptors Brian Borcherdt and Graham Walsh to vivisect their keyboards and unleash glorious noise and textures that they somehow shape into melodies. Without the rhythm section, much of this would be curious abstraction—which it sometimes is anyway, like on the Eno-ish soundwash of “1MD”—but with such a powerhouse acting as the anchor, and with less reliance on riffs as their earlier work, Holy Fuck hit upon a winning formula that is more visceral than dance music, more liberating than rock music, and more inviting than the avant-garde circuit bending that spawned their approach to improvisation in the first place. (May 13)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Red Lights,” “Lucky,” “Stilettos”
Greg Keelor – Gunless OST (Warner)
The movie Gunless may play with clichés of Western movies, but its soundtrack embraces them fully—to great effect. Blue Rodeo’s Greg Keelor obviously marinated himself in Morricone before assembling this haunting score, which is teeming with twangy guitars ringing out whole-note chords and deep-tremolo leads, while a lone trumpet and a swelling string section emerge on the horizon. Keelor doesn’t at all sound like he’s stretching himself here; on the contrary, his melodies and arrangements (with Bryden Baird, who led Blue Rodeo’s short-lived horn section) range from the sweeping to the stark and simple—and always short, with most tracks barely beyond two minutes. (May 6)
LCD Soundsystem – This is Happening (EMI)
This is not happening. Not at all. LCD Soundsystem, one of the defining bands of the last decade in American music, is going out with a whimper. It doesn’t help that one song has a chorus admitting that “I all I want is your pity.” At one point bandleader James Murphy, who recently announced that he is retiring the band, mocks the burden of expectation, taunting: “You wanted a hit/ but that’s not what we do.”
That may be true—despite the fact that their 2005 single “Daft Punk is Playing At My House” was an anthem demarcating the crossover between rock and club music. But not only does a song like “Drunk Girls” sound like shameless pandering (for starters, it’s the only song less than five minutes long) from a band that was once refreshing and original, but This is Happening finds Murphy is exhausted and defeated, in peril of sad self-parody—which is hard to do seriously, for someone who was so self-deprecating in the first place, someone who debuted in 2002 with the lacerating hipster screed “Losing My Edge.” After achieving so much in the interim, Murphy sounds like he’s actualized his low self-esteem.
Every song sounds like the same two-chord vamp at different speeds and ever-so-slightly different keyboard patches—which, on paper, is not that different a descriptor for LCD’s finest moments. Yet far too much of this material sounds directly like inferior versions of older LCD material, and Murphy’s vocals are mostly to blame; some tracks would function fine as instrumentals (“Pow Pow,” “You Wanted a Hit”). Worst of all, it’s hard to imagine anyone who isn’t on heroin listening to all seven minutes of “Somebody’s Calling Me,” which manages to be sluggish, punishing, abrasive and dull—and more than a little bit like Iggy Pop’s “Nightclubbing” played at half speed.
It’s a sad swan song for a band that once synthesized so many of the best elements of underground dance music movements of the past 30 years. The party is definitely over. (May 27)
Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): Drunk Girls, Pow Pow, Dance Yourself Clean
The National – High Violet (XL)
The National’s singer Matt Berninger asks, in all earnesty, “What makes you think I enjoy being left to the flood?” Well, for starters, he seems to love it there, drowning in his mid-life crises, perpetually “stuck in New York and the rain’s coming down,” and moaning about how “I don’t want to get over you” on a song titled “Sorrow.”
That The National specialize in bummer rock is not a crime; they come from a long lineage of velvety, baritone-voiced men who cast their tales of decay in a certain elegance: Nick Cave, Interpol, Tindersticks, Black Heart Procession, even Bruce Springsteen on his darkest days (Bruce is a fan). And while the band is decent—though, with the exception of drummer Bryan Devendorf, rarely more than that—Berninger continually walks a line between the profound and the profoundly pointless, both lyrically and in his limited emotional range.
High Violet may sound nice at the end of a red-wine-soaked evening in the back of a cab driving past big-city lights, but in the bright light of day it rings more than a little hollow and a lot less glamorous. (May 27)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Anyone’s Ghost," "Little Faith," "Runaway"
New Pornographers – Together (Last Gang)
The New Pornographers have always been pop music maximalists: more harmonies, more guitars, more keyboards and, most especially, more pop hooks in three minutes than many artists muster on an entire album. What’s changed over the years is how bandleader A.C. Newman balances his sugary musical diet: when is it too much?
On Together, the fifth New Pornographers albums, Newman continues to dream big while scaling back the intensity. Lead single “Your Hands (Together)” features a heavy Black Sabbath riff and huge harmonies worthy of ABBA; “Moves” has the best rock cello section since ELO; Neko Case shines on her two lead tracks and in prominent supporting roles; newest member Kathryn Calder steps up on the jaunty “Sweet Talk, Sweet Talk”; Dan Bejar chimes in with the kind of concise pop songs he no longer writes in his ever-expansive main project, Destroyer.
Other than Bejar’s wobbly waltz “Daughters of Sorrows,” Together is a rich, rewarding Pornographic experience, a welcome bounceback from the disappointing Challengers (2007), a continuation of their previous high point Twin Cinema (2005), and not a moment too soon to assert itself as the power pop gem of summer 2010. (May 13)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes, eMusic, puretracks.com, amazon.com): "Crash Years," "Your Hands (Together)," "My Shepherd"
Mike Patton – Mondo Cane (Ipecac)
Mike Patton is one of the most versatile vocalists in the world: he made his name with heavy metal in Faith No More, and has since hopped into klezmer with John Zorn, classic soundtracks, lounge lizardry, experimental noise, 20th century classical, trip-hop, hip-hop, straight up pop and—naturally, it would seem—a collaboration with Bjork. Here, on one of the few albums to bear his own name, he dives deep into Italian pop of the ’60 and ’70s, embracing its operatics and its orchestration in both their most shamelessly romantic and sinister sides—sometimes at the same time, as on the sugary sweet “Deep Down,” which concludes with a devilish chant.
For all his trickster tendencies to push the boundaries of whatever genre he’s working in, Patton is perfectly capable of playing it straight. He’s not playing this music to mess with it: this is a loving homage (and in part a personal one, as his ex-wife is Italian, and he lived in Bologna for many years). His voice is perfectly suited to this expressive material, and he nails every rolled “R” with panache. He only unleashes his heavy metal growl once, on the garage rocker “Urlo Negro”—which, true to character, is sandwiched between the two most gorgeous and lush tracks here.
Recorded live with a 40-piece orchestra, Mondo Cane is one of the most accessible discs in the Patton discography, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less deliciously rewarding or unique. (May 20)
Download (iTunes, eMusic): “Deep Down,” “Il Cielo In Una Stanza,” “L’Uomo Che Non Sapeva Amare”
Justin Rutledge – The Early Widows (Six Shooter)
Conventional wisdom has it that a songwriter standing alone with an acoustic guitar is driven to write stronger melodies, in the absence of additional ornamentation. Toronto’s Justin Rutledge defies said convention by strapping on an electric guitar, embracing a full band—including two drummers and a gospel choir—and coming up with the most compelling album of his career.
It could be the guiding hand of producer Hawksley Workman, whose stellar work here overshadows anything in his own discography recently. It could be the sympathetic arrangements by some of Toronto’s top studio musicians, including Blue Rodeo’s Bazil Donovan on bass, pedal steel whiz Burke Carroll (whose touches sound more like Pink Floyd than standard country shadings), and Vancouver violinist Jesse Zubot. If you believe what you read in the mainstream media, it might be the presence of novelist Michael Ondaatje, who co-writes one mere song here.
But ultimately, all of that is window dressing; all credit must go to Rutledge, who has stepped up his songwriting game considerably on this, his fourth album. If his previous work was pleasantly inoffensive CBC fare, The Early Widows is evocative and haunting, its melodies filling the cavernous spaces left by the sparse arrangements. Rutledge’s voice can tend toward the quavering sensitive balladeer, but for the most part he exhibits quiet strength, taking his own advice, perhaps, to “be a man about this”—especially when he holds his own with his backing gospel singers, who thankfully blend in perfectly rather than sounding like an exotic afterthought (although “Snowmen” does get into Pink Floyd’s “Great Gig in the Sky” territory). And although most of The Early Widows is drawn from dynamic, moody material, Rutledge also shines when he plays it straight on the country-ish “Miss Montgomery” and the rollicking rocker (and urban refugee anthem) “The Heart of a River.” (May 27)
Download (zunior.com, iTunes): “Be a Man,” “The Heart of a River,” “I Have Not Seen the Light”
The Sadies – Darker Circles (Outside)
It’s been three years since the extremely prolific Sadies put out a studio album, and if we are to read anything into the lyrics, there have been some dark days for the Good family. Brothers Travis and Dallas have never shied away from a good murder ballad, but Darker Circles faces different kind of demons: disappointment, decay, deference and the death of dreams. It’s not just the weighty subject matter that makes Darker Circles such a strong record. The delay between releases also suggests that they’ve spent more time living with and working on these songs; producer Gary Louris (Jayhawks) ensures nothing here is half-baked, or a mere excuse to showcase their instrumental dexterity. This time it sounds personal—and it’s a much better record because of it. (May 20)
Download (iTunes, eMusic, zunior.com, amazon.com): “Another Year Again,” “Choosing to Fly,” “Whispering Circles”
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