Reviews from the Kitchener-Waterloo Record from the past month.
Summer brain in full effect.
Divine Brown – The Love Chronicles (Warner)
Kreesha Turner – Passion (EMI)
Two new Canadian soul divas: one with years of experience, one making her debut. Both mine an old-school sound; both employ ex-members of the Philosopher Kings to produce and co-write the material. The newcomer turns heads immediately with powerful singles; the veteran shows her strength over the course of a whole album.
Kreesha Turner is a 23-year-old Edmontonian with a bold, brassy voice best suited to big beats that producer (and ex-Philosopher King) Jon Levine provides for her on tracks like the percussion-heavy title track and the boom-bap soul stomps of “Bounce With Me” and “Lady Killer.” And those are just the filler album tracks—the hit single, “Don’t Call Me Baby,” boasts a hook worthy of ABBA. Turner is obviously not above lyrical clichés, but a voice like hers renders those reservations moot—on the pop songs, anyway, where she positions herself as a reborn Shirley Bassey getting ready to rule over the likes of the comparatively timid Duffy. The ballads, on the other hand, are uniformly banal and display Turner’s youthful limitations.
Divine Brown has a voice that can do anything it damn well pleases—and on her considerably stronger sophomore album, she tackles vintage soul, straight-up disco revivalism, ’80s new wave, and even a go-go garage rock R&B number. She pulls it all off—sometimes with help from A-list guests like Nelly Furtado and Ron Sexsmith, as well as James Bryan (Prozzak, Philosopher Kings). Brown pulls it off easily on a track-by-track basis, and yet The Love Chronicles is the type of album where the nods to eclecticism sometimes feel more like gene exercises—something that served her well during her career in musical theatre.
Though both albums have their shortcomings, there’s more than enough here to extend summer for a few more months—and they’re both solid signs that Canadian R&B has room for two soul queens. (K-W Record, August 27)
Bodies of Water – A Certain Feeling (Secretly Canadian/Sonic Unyon)
At first glance, this L.A. band’s moniker seems hopelessly bland. That is, until you dive into the music heard here and find it as expansive and unpredictable as their neighbouring ocean, and not repetitive as much as it is hypnotic. The vocals are the first aspect to make themselves apparent: husband and wife David and Meredith Metcalf both sing like they’re trying to project to the back of a musical theatre; there’s more than a few whiffs of rock opera here. They also favour long, wordless vocal motifs instead of short, snappy hooks, a move reminiscent of Arcade Fire’s album Funeral, an obvious influence. Other references immediately spring to mind; David Metcalf has a few Bowie tics, while Meredith recalls Mimi Parker of Low and Toronto singer Katie Stelmanis. But Bodies of Water are very much their own band, stuffing as many ideas they can into six-minutes songs that never wear out their welcome, alternating between the anthemic and quirky twists that keep us guessing. (K-W Record, August 13)
Human Highway – Moody Motorcycle (Suicide Squeeze/Fusion III)
Adam and the Amethysts – Amethyst Amulet (Pome/Fusion III)
Jim Guthrie returns from his day job as a jingle writer with—somewhat sadly—not a new album of his on, but as one half of this new duo with Islands frontman Nick Thorburn, a sublime combination that brings out the best in both artists. And Thorburn, frankly, could use the boost after the tepid Islands album that came out earlier this year.
The funny thing about these two choosing to collaborate is that the first time I heard Thorburn sing, back when he co-fronted The Unicorns, I thought he bore a remarkable vocal resemblance to Guthrie. Hearing their voices harmonizing together, Everly-style, it’s near impossible to distinguish who is singing which part.
The low-key nature of this project allows their melodic gifts to soar; the instrumentation, while sparse, is full of bright acoustic guitars and some of Guthrie’s trademark marimbas and toy keyboards. There’s none of the pomp heard in Islands; there’s little of the quirks of Guthrie’s early work. Instead, there’s plenty of charm, a warm and welcoming bedroom recording feel, and songs that stand among the best that either artist has ever written. Though this is being billed as a side project, Human Highway is much more than a detour.
Adam and the Amethysts is another side project that deserves attention, albeit the parent projects are considerably more obscure. Adam Waito is an auxiliary player in Miracle Fortress, and also fronts a funky electro-pop band called Telefauna. As Adam and the Amethysts, Waito dons an acoustic guitar, turns up the reverb settings on his home recording equipment and unleashes thirteen lucky songs that lie somewhere between 60s folk pop and 80s new wave. Tiny synths fill in background textures, but, much like Human Highway, it’s the acoustic guitars and vocal harmonies that define the sound. Waito proves to be a deft songsmith, especially when he’s longing for his hometown of Thunder Bay on the bookend tracks, “Stupid Ocean” and “The Ocean To Me”; Kakabeka Falls features prominently in the album’s artwork, and much of the material here seems perfectly suited for a Superior road trip. (K-W Record, August 20)
John Mellencamp – Life Death Love and Freedom (Hear Music)
There's always been a folkie hiding inside John Mellencamp, starting with the agrarian subject matter of 1985's Scarecrow album and continuing with the accordions and violins that populated its follow-up, The Lonesome Jubilee—both of which remain his biggest artistic and commercial successes. He's spent two decades since exploring a mélange of R&B, pop and the rock that he built his name on, but he's now decided to strip everything down to basics with the help of noted roots producer T-Bone Burnett. The result is his most rewarding album in eons, the low-key setting highlighting his strengths as a vocalist and bringing his lyrics to the forefront. He's got mortality on his mind on titles like “If I Die Sudden” and lyrics where he warns, "This getting older ain't for cowards." As always, politics play a part with mixed results, ranging from the nuanced to the naïve to the lost opportunity; a supposedly au courant song titled “Jena” doesn't offer a deeper analysis of modern race relations other than "see how we are me and you" and a call to "take those nooses down." But unlike most of his recent output, it's the arrangements here that help gloss over Mellencamp's lesser moments as a songwriter, thanks in large part to Bennett's deft touches. These new clothes fit perfectly, and even if they're unlikely to bring Mellencamp back to stadium status, they certainly feel more comfortable than the flag-waving car commercials we heard on his last album. (K-W Record, August 7)
Jun Miyake – Stolen From Strangers (Do Right!/Outside)
What’s being stolen and who are the strangers? These aren’t the only questions posed by Jun Miyake, but they’re the only ones that he hints directly at. We’re left to guess everything else: starting with where we’re waking up this morning, be it Tokyo, New York City, Paris, Brazil or Bulgaria.
Miyake recorded this album in all those locales—except Brazil, though there’s enough of a bossa nova influence throughout this recording that he may as well have. The result conveys a dopey disembodiment combined with a sense of adventure and exploration into the unknown. Miyake isn’t out to recreate “authentic” world music, despite the presence of Bulgarian choirs and symphonies; he’s out to create a world of his own where the listener’s imagination is left to run wild—something for which his experiences writing soundtracks for Oliver Stone films and Robert Wilson theatre pieces has prepared him well.
Miyake plays a mournful flugelhorn and a lush yet delicate piano, augmented with unusual instrumental juxtapositions such as tuba, oud and alto flute. Tense string soundtracks provide ample drama, not just dressing, while vocalists such as a wistful Arto Lindsay, Air/M83 vocalist Lisa Papineau and the ragged French chanteur Arthur H welcome curious listeners in Portugese, French, English, Bulgarian and Japanese.
The journey is more mournful than madcap, though Miyake certainly has his playful side as well. There is precious little percussion here—despite what you might expect considering that is getting a Canadian release on the Do Right! label, known for its jazzy grooves, hip-hop and Afrobeat. But Stolen From Strangers is bound by neither geography nor genre; it’s instead driven by mere moods that weave an unmistakable and unique magic that finds comfort in restlessness. (K-W Record, August 27)
Randy Newman – Harps and Angels (Nonesuch/Warner)
The Awkward Stage – Slimming Mirrors, Flattering Lights (Mint/Outside)
In the nine years since his last proper album, Randy Newman has not been short of work. His Tin Pan Alley songwriting has been put to good use in countless Hollywood projects, finally landing the prolific writer an Oscar in 2002 for Monsters Inc.
But there’s no place in Disney flicks for songs like “A Few Words in Defense of Our Country,” where Newman’s narrator posits the position that, at the very least, George W. Bush doesn’t compare to the tyranny of King Leopold of Belgium and marauding Roman emperors. Over a breezy, rollicking piano number, Newman casually points out that “the end of an empire is messy at best.”
His taste for sharp satire is on full display, especially when he suggests that the title characters in “Korean Parents” are the solution for a slacker generation needing to be whipped into shape. He also takes potshots at John Mellencamp, Jackson Browne and Bono on “A Piece of the Pie,” another song with which he serenades the sinking ship that is America—an overarching theme here, which, it’s been said, is arguably a turkey shoot these days.
Newman is still a sentimentalist, however; there’s no hint of irony or unreliable narrators in straightforward songs like “Losing You” and “Feels Like Home,” which are tearjerkers worthy of Tom Waits. And for all his wry observations about societal decay, he projects a counterintuitive sincerity when he advocates blind optimism in “Laugh and Be Happy.”
Randy Newman has a rep for appealing only to lit-rock snobs, but Harps and Angels is as good a place as any to discover why his peers study his every move.
Fans of Randy Newman usually assume that his style of songwriting is the sole province of sixtysomething boomers. Vancouver’s Shane Nelken is half Newman’s age—but even though he’s only two albums deep into his own discography, Nelken shows he has an equally sharp eye for sardonic observation, rich character writing and classic pop songwriting smarts.
That was all evident on The Awkward Stage’s 2006 debut, Heaven is For Easy Girls, but everything here is ramped up: the guitars are bigger and punchier; the acoustic numbers are rich and full; the melodic hooks are meatier; the arrangements are more developed, both in terms of structure and orchestration. There are subdued songs here that rank with the best of Ron Sexsmith or Gordon Lightfoot; others, like the blistering “Anime Eyes,” take all the best parts of new wave 80s stadium rock and leave the cheese behind.
Nelken proves to be an engaging vocalist throughout, delivering his lines with equal parts empathy and biting wit. “Modern schoolgirl, your sense of innocence is cruel and naïve,” he snarls; elsewhere, he paints a vivid picture of sorrow over a major key melody when he sings, “Jennifer sits down in the shower for close to an hour/ her troubles rain down like blows to her brow.” He also turns the phrase “fear and anger, baby, that’s all I got” into a jovial singalong with acoustic guitar, piano, clarinet and a man chorus.
The Awkward Stage is the kind of artist that gets pegged with back-handed compliments like “too clever for their own good”—and yet there is nary a lyric here that is out of place or self-consciously cloying, and they manage to deliver pure pop thrills at every turn. The awkward stage is over; long live The Awkward Stage. (K-W Record, August 13)
Note: The Awkward Stage are heading east in October. Tour dates are here.
Nomo – Ghost Light (Ubiquity/Outside)
Nomo is an Afrobeat band from Chicago who, until now, was content with playing the genre fairly straight. On Ghost Light, the rhythmic template is still there but many of the sounds have moved into the realm of the magical. This is due, most likely, to the presence of producer Warn Defever, a musician from Michigan who’s played almost every genre except Afrobeat in his longstanding project His Name is Alive. Defever puts the kalimbas and the keyboards through dream-like distortion and other pedals, while giving other instrument in this octet plenty of sonic space to breathe—even something called the “electric sawblade gamelan.” The rhythm section is rooted just as much in American funk as they are Afrobeat, and each of the horn players have jazz chops to spare—otherwise they wouldn’t attempt a bass clarinet solo as classy as the one heard here. Guests include some top Chicago players Hamid Drake and Josh Abrams. In a scene where the recording studio usually sucks the life out of amazing live bands, Nomo have made an album that easily stands on its own. (K-W Record, August 20)
Conor Oberst – s/t (Merge)
"There's nothing that the road cannot heal," sings Conor Oberst on the first recorded credited solely to his name. He should know: he's been fronting and touring Bright Eyes—and other bands—since he was 12 years old. For his first so-called solo album, he decamped to Mexico with a new line-up of musicians. And though the material here is a marked improvement over the wheel-spinning we heard the last Bright Eyes album, it doesn't stray far from his other rootsy explorations. The country touches feel less self-conscious now, the quiet acoustic numbers don't act like they have a chip on their shoulder, and the new band is put to good use on the rock numbers, including the successful slapstick of “I Don't Want To Die (In the Hospital),” which sounds like it was written for a madcap comedy. The only complaint is that Oberst sounds like he's playing it a tad safe; for an artist who made his most exciting work when he pushed himself to dramatic heights, he sounds a bit neutered here—despite the fact that he sings, "I keep death at my heels like a basset hound." (K-W Record, August 7)
Xavier Rudd – Dark Shades of Blue (Universal)
Xavier Rudd is a multi-instrumentalist tree-hugger best known for his didgeridoo skills. On his new album, the Canadian/Australian decides to focus on flexing his skills on the Weissenborn slide guitar, a sound most commonly associated with Ben Harper these days—a comparison that’s hard to avoid when listening to Dark Shades of Blue. His sound is bolstered by the addition of K-W drummer Dave Tolley (Nine Mile), who lays down solid and yet sparse rock and reggae grooves for Rudd to solo over.
Rudd has billed this as a “dark” album—which it is, for a guy who goes barefoot most of the time and who can charitably be called a hippie without much argument. But it’s also his most accomplished—and, frankly, listenable—album to date. Here, he’s free of some of the more cloyingly obvious feel-good gaia-isms of his previous work, not to mention toning down the stoner surfer vibe. With Tolley’s help, he also manages a much more successful melding of rock and reggae forms than one would expect. The didgeridoos are still there, as are the aboriginal backing vocals, and Rudd’s own vocals are pitch perfect. The songs succeed more as grooves and moods, but there’s plenty here to appreciate, even for sceptics. (K-W Record, August 20)
Tagaq – Auk/Blood (Jericho Beach)
Inuit throat singing is one of the few folk traditions in the world that doesn't easily lend itself to collaboration and cross-pollination. Tanya Tagaq Gillis wants to change that. The origins of the tradition are directly social rather than musical: it's primarily an endurance game between two women, and difficult to adapt to musical structures or additional instrumentation.
Tagaq takes the call-and-response nature of throat singing and engages on true collaboration that brings the ancient tradition firmly into the modern world of the avant-garde, using its sensual beauty and raw power to play off string quartets, soundscapes and hip-hop beatboxing. Her voice is equally orgasmic, demonic and cathartic—and always captivating, especially in the juxtapositions it's placed in here.
Yet thankfully none of this comes off as an overly self-conscious Canada Council cross-cultural project. Saying that Tagaq is unique is a gross understatement; while vocalists like Meredith Monk, Paul Dutton and Mike Patton all explore the guttural depths of the human voice, nobody else sounds anything like Tagaq. Hailing from Cambridge Bay, she learned this ancient tradition second hand from cassettes she heard while at art school in Halifax; her music is married to neither modern nor traditional conventions.
Her choice of collaborators here is inspired: Kronos Quartet, perhaps the most open-minded and eclectic string quartet in the world; Mike Patton, the equally eclectic vocalist know for everything from metal to pop to morbid soundtrack music (and who is releasing this album on his own label in the U.S.); versatile Vancouver violinist Jesse Zubot; beatbox artist Shamik; and hip-hop storyteller Buck 65. Only the latter intersection stumbles somewhat; while one of their two tracks together is truly inspired, the other finds Tagaq near-inaudible and/or indistinguishable from legions of breathy, faceless new age singers reduced to window dressing status. It's all the more shocking considering how much the rest of the material is driven by the force of her formidable musical personality.
This is all a considerable contrast to Tagaq's 2006 debut, Sinaa, which was an interior, almost insular album where she was still developing her own approach to solo throat singing and toying with composition; the one collaboration there, with her former employer Bjork, sounded like neither woman was even listening to each other. Working with these new collaborators, Tagaq finds herself fitting into ever-so-slightly more conventional song structures, while sacrificing none of the majestic mystery that makes her so compelling in the first place. (K-W Record, August 7)
John Zorn’s Bar Kokhba – Book of Angels Volume Ten: Lucifer (Tzadik/Koch)
This year’s Guelph Jazz Festival boasts the same level of quality and adventure that they’ve built their reputation on, but the presence of one artist in particular provides the festival with a major coup.
John Zorn is one of the most eclectic, prolific and profoundly gifted voices in modern jazz—not to mention about a dozen other genres as well. He’s bringing his Electric Masada and Dreamers projects to Guelph, featuring some of the most creative minds working in new music today: guitarist Marc Ribot, pianist Jamie Saft, bassist Trevor Dunn, electronic manipulator Ikue Mori, and more.
Though Bar Kokhba is not one of Zorn’s projects appearing at the festival—its membership does include Marc Ribot, who will be here—it is perhaps his most accessible outlet and, by extension, his most popular. It’s certainly his most polite, considering some of the more abrasive and squawking sounds that Zorn initially built his reputation on. Bar Kokhba is perhaps the only Zorn project you’d put on as dinner music; but that doesn’t diminish its beauty, its subtlety, or its wonder.
Bar Kokhba combines the Masada String Trio—featuring violinist Mark Feldman, who wowed audiences at the 2006 festival with pianist Sylvie Courvoisier—with the core Masada band, as well as percussionist Cyro Baptista. Zorn himself puts down his saxophone, content to compose and conduct the proceedings, which as always allow for ample improvisation within a stately chamber music setting. The strings make the klezmer melodies sing; Ribot’s guitar work is lyrical and evocative at every turn. The main difference this time out is that the rhythm section engages in some Latin swing—sometimes overtly, sometimes with just a slight and deft touch.
The result is not just essential listening for anyone looking to ease their way into the Zorn oeuvre; it’s a lush and beautiful album with haunting melodies and impeccable musicianship, placing it near the top of an illustrious discography that refuses to slow down in both output and quality.
Zorn’s three Guelph Jazz Festival performances on Sunday, September 7 will mark only his third Southern Ontario appearance in at least 15 years; consider it a can’t-miss event. (K-W Record, August 27)
More info on the Guelph Jazz Festival here.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
July 08 reviews pt 2
More July reviews from the K-W Record.
Ratatat – LP3 (XL)
Even the most maligned musical choices of previous eras can be re-assimilated into exciting new music, given enough distance from the source material. And it’s hard to imagine a particular corner of pop culture that’s more maligned than TV themes from the late '80s and early '90s, full of harmonized electric guitar leads over electronic beats, usually serving no purpose other than to make '70s studio musicians sound somewhat contemporary at the time.
And yet that’s the first thing that comes to mind when listening to Ratatat, a Brooklyn duo who hunker down with an assortment of modern gadgetry and their unabashedly cheesy guitars. There are occasional ironic winks, like when they pull out the Peter Frampton-esque talkboxes. Though unlike their earlier amped-up, adrenaline-fuelled techno-rock jams, Ratatat have matured enough to know when they’re in danger of gratuity.
Here, they make spaced-out soundtrack music that draws from California pop, German electronics, Spanish and Jamaican rhythms and Italian soundtracks. These influences are imitated as much as they are fully absorbed into an original new vision, making their evocative instrumentals ideal 21st century bachelor pad music. (K-W Record, July 10)
Ron Sexsmith – Exit Strategy For the Soul (Warner)
Let’s start with the title: why does one’s soul need an exit strategy? Exit from where? From this life to the next? From hell into heaven? Does the soul have a will of its own and is it in charge of its own destiny, or is that judged by a higher power?
Ron Sexsmith doesn’t address any of these issues directly, of course, and nowhere here do we get to the heart of this seemingly mixed metaphor. His lyrics on his recent records have not been immune to apocalyptic tension; Sexsmith sees the role of the singer/songwriter as reflecting that zeitgeist while offering a comforting dose of optimism, no matter how world-weary his trademark laconic delivery might sound. Even “One Last Round,” a song about drawing from dry wells and the oblivious intoxication that accompanies environmental exploitation, Sexsmith paints his picture with major keys and a jazzy arrangement.
The producer here is Martin Terefe, the man who, four years ago, finally broke the radio barrier that Sexsmith had sought his entire career. He did so then by giving Sexsmith a slightly Europop sheen that worked surprisingly well; here, Terefe takes him to Cuba and adds earthy horns and comparatively unoriginal arrangements that don’t do Sexsmith any favours. Terefe seems to go for the counterintuitive every time: some of these could stand to be punched up considerably; others, like “Brandy Alexander”—co-written by Feist and first heard on her album The Reminder—deserve a much lighter, folkier touch.
Sexsmith himself offers a mixed bag. With a songwriter of his talent, there’s plenty of worthy material here—particularly his subtle, poignant political nods (“Impossible World,” “One Last Round”). Sadly, however, at this point in his discography, he’s often content to rely on a clichéd turn of phrase and milk it for both a chorus and a title: “Ghost of a Chance,” “Thoughts and Prayers,” “Hard Time," "Music To My Ears.”
Sexsmith bookends the album with two instrumental piano vignettes that feature some of the loveliest melodies here. Maybe he should take a cue from his fellow Feist collaborator Gonzales and see what happens when he strips everything down to the bare essentials, devoid of all other distractions. (K-W Record, July 10)
Sigur Ros – Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust (XL)
Even at their most uplifting, Icelandic band Sigur Ros have always been steeped in sadness. If you ever heard a crack of light coming through the clouds in their music, it was drenched in so much melancholy and melodrama that it was as much of a relief as it was a moment of pure beauty. To their credit, Sigur Ros have woven many magical moments out of that formula for their decade of existence.
Immediately off the top of Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust, a flutter of la-la-la's and handclaps give way to acoustic guitar chords bouncing from side to side—and you know that this is not the Sigur Ros that your anaesthesiologist told you about. Now, the gnomes that always seemed to be singing while stuck inside ancient glaciers have now been thawed out and are cavorting naked through the forest. (That's not just a perverse image from my own imagination—check out the video in all of its naturalist splendour.)
The remainder of the album is still populated by epic songs where haunting strings, bold brass, bowed guitars and piano ballads provide a backdrop for vocalist Jonsi Birgisson's achingly beautiful vocals.
But the difference is that there is much more optimism all around, even when tempos slink to a crawl and the band barely plays above a hush. It's evident in the melodies, in the use of soft acoustic guitars, and in the delivery of Birgisson, who is no longer hiding behind his own imaginary language ("Hopelandic") to mask any trace of lyrical intent; now, he sings in straight-up Icelandic (or so we're told) and there's even one song in English. The band is also more comfortable condensing their strengths into four-minute frameworks, though this could barely be considered a concession to pop format.
Such an idiosyncratic act as Sigur Ros will always exist in their own world; this time, the fog has lifted and the sun is shining through. (K-W Record, July 3)
Violet Archers – Sunshine at Night (Zunior)
As a founding member of the Rheostatics, one can't really blame Tim Vesely for pulling the plug on the band after 27 years; they had begun to drift apart in irreparable ways, and the new material felt like spinning wheels. And yet when he struck out on his own, on the Violet Archers' 2005 debut album, it sounded like a regression rather than a liberation. There, Vesely—part of one of the most wonderfully creative bands to ever come out of Canada—seemed stuck in a monotonous groove, with little distinguishing one mid-tempo number from another.
All of this points to why Sunshine at Night is such a welcome statement of renewal for Vesely as a songwriter, and a proper launch for his new band. For starters, the tempos are considerably more varied than last time out, and his live band—featuring ex-Weeping Tile drummer Cam Giroux and Vancouver keyboardist Ida Nilsen—show their teeth when necessary. Marked by Vesely's characteristically low-key delivery, the mood and the colours of Sunshine at Night are consistent—arguably to a fault, much like last time. The difference now is that Vesely has assembled an album's worth of songs that stands with his finest, particularly the beautiful bookends (“You and I,” “Listening”) and the title track.
Vesely sings, "I'm so tired of beating myself at my own game/ it's so lame!" But with Sunshine At Night, he proves to be very much still in the game—and it's certainly not lame. (K-W Record, July 3)
Wolf Parade – At Mount Zoomer (Sub Pop/Outside)
When the first album by this Montreal band came out in 2005, many headline writers were quick to come up with cheesy tag lines such as "Hungry Like the Wolf." Cringey as that may have been, there was an unmistakable hunger and drive behind the anthems that populated Wolf Parade's repertoire, where prog rock keyboards collided with classic rock guitars, thundering drums and sci-fi sound effects in the background. This was a band that had something to prove: perhaps to stake their own place in the overload of hype for Montreal bands at that time; perhaps out of frustration from the false starts that saw earlier projects fizzle; perhaps because they were piss-poor underdogs whose gear was held together by duct tape.
Now, each member has devoted considerable time to various other projects—two of which, Spencer Krug's Sunset Rubdown and Dan Boeckner's Handsome Furs, are almost as popular as Wolf Parade itself. Reunited here, their initial sense of urgency is noticeably missing—which is not necessarily a bad thing, as earlier material often displayed a bulldozer's approach to subtlety. Yet though the anthemic quality has been toned down, Wolf Parade has yet to find a suitable substitute as a raison d'etre.
At Mount Zoomer sounds decidedly more introverted than the brash boys of the debut—not just in tempo and texture or the fact that this time out they produced the album themselves, but in the immediate impact of the songs themselves, with only “The Grey Estates” and “Bang Your Drum” as stand-out tracks.
Judging by this material, both songwriters are doing more creative work in their own respective bands—albeit here they’re aided by the drive provided by drummer Arlen Thompson. As a unit, Wolf Parade are now more comfortable breaking out of carefully composed rock songs to ride out longer grooves. Closing track “Kissing the Beehive” pushes the ten-minute mark—though not to great effect, and judging by the messy wash of guitar effects wafting over the entire track, only keyboardist and sound scientist Hadji Bakara should be entitled to take solos.
"All this work here, just to tear it down," sings Boeckner on a track called “Language City.” While Wolf Parade are hardly tearing down their original sound, they are pulling back the reins and plotting their next move—making Mount Zoomer not an actual destination, but a rest stop en route to hopefully greater heights. (K-W Record, July 17)
Ratatat – LP3 (XL)
Even the most maligned musical choices of previous eras can be re-assimilated into exciting new music, given enough distance from the source material. And it’s hard to imagine a particular corner of pop culture that’s more maligned than TV themes from the late '80s and early '90s, full of harmonized electric guitar leads over electronic beats, usually serving no purpose other than to make '70s studio musicians sound somewhat contemporary at the time.
And yet that’s the first thing that comes to mind when listening to Ratatat, a Brooklyn duo who hunker down with an assortment of modern gadgetry and their unabashedly cheesy guitars. There are occasional ironic winks, like when they pull out the Peter Frampton-esque talkboxes. Though unlike their earlier amped-up, adrenaline-fuelled techno-rock jams, Ratatat have matured enough to know when they’re in danger of gratuity.
Here, they make spaced-out soundtrack music that draws from California pop, German electronics, Spanish and Jamaican rhythms and Italian soundtracks. These influences are imitated as much as they are fully absorbed into an original new vision, making their evocative instrumentals ideal 21st century bachelor pad music. (K-W Record, July 10)
Ron Sexsmith – Exit Strategy For the Soul (Warner)
Let’s start with the title: why does one’s soul need an exit strategy? Exit from where? From this life to the next? From hell into heaven? Does the soul have a will of its own and is it in charge of its own destiny, or is that judged by a higher power?
Ron Sexsmith doesn’t address any of these issues directly, of course, and nowhere here do we get to the heart of this seemingly mixed metaphor. His lyrics on his recent records have not been immune to apocalyptic tension; Sexsmith sees the role of the singer/songwriter as reflecting that zeitgeist while offering a comforting dose of optimism, no matter how world-weary his trademark laconic delivery might sound. Even “One Last Round,” a song about drawing from dry wells and the oblivious intoxication that accompanies environmental exploitation, Sexsmith paints his picture with major keys and a jazzy arrangement.
The producer here is Martin Terefe, the man who, four years ago, finally broke the radio barrier that Sexsmith had sought his entire career. He did so then by giving Sexsmith a slightly Europop sheen that worked surprisingly well; here, Terefe takes him to Cuba and adds earthy horns and comparatively unoriginal arrangements that don’t do Sexsmith any favours. Terefe seems to go for the counterintuitive every time: some of these could stand to be punched up considerably; others, like “Brandy Alexander”—co-written by Feist and first heard on her album The Reminder—deserve a much lighter, folkier touch.
Sexsmith himself offers a mixed bag. With a songwriter of his talent, there’s plenty of worthy material here—particularly his subtle, poignant political nods (“Impossible World,” “One Last Round”). Sadly, however, at this point in his discography, he’s often content to rely on a clichéd turn of phrase and milk it for both a chorus and a title: “Ghost of a Chance,” “Thoughts and Prayers,” “Hard Time," "Music To My Ears.”
Sexsmith bookends the album with two instrumental piano vignettes that feature some of the loveliest melodies here. Maybe he should take a cue from his fellow Feist collaborator Gonzales and see what happens when he strips everything down to the bare essentials, devoid of all other distractions. (K-W Record, July 10)
Sigur Ros – Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust (XL)
Even at their most uplifting, Icelandic band Sigur Ros have always been steeped in sadness. If you ever heard a crack of light coming through the clouds in their music, it was drenched in so much melancholy and melodrama that it was as much of a relief as it was a moment of pure beauty. To their credit, Sigur Ros have woven many magical moments out of that formula for their decade of existence.
Immediately off the top of Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust, a flutter of la-la-la's and handclaps give way to acoustic guitar chords bouncing from side to side—and you know that this is not the Sigur Ros that your anaesthesiologist told you about. Now, the gnomes that always seemed to be singing while stuck inside ancient glaciers have now been thawed out and are cavorting naked through the forest. (That's not just a perverse image from my own imagination—check out the video in all of its naturalist splendour.)
The remainder of the album is still populated by epic songs where haunting strings, bold brass, bowed guitars and piano ballads provide a backdrop for vocalist Jonsi Birgisson's achingly beautiful vocals.
But the difference is that there is much more optimism all around, even when tempos slink to a crawl and the band barely plays above a hush. It's evident in the melodies, in the use of soft acoustic guitars, and in the delivery of Birgisson, who is no longer hiding behind his own imaginary language ("Hopelandic") to mask any trace of lyrical intent; now, he sings in straight-up Icelandic (or so we're told) and there's even one song in English. The band is also more comfortable condensing their strengths into four-minute frameworks, though this could barely be considered a concession to pop format.
Such an idiosyncratic act as Sigur Ros will always exist in their own world; this time, the fog has lifted and the sun is shining through. (K-W Record, July 3)
Violet Archers – Sunshine at Night (Zunior)
As a founding member of the Rheostatics, one can't really blame Tim Vesely for pulling the plug on the band after 27 years; they had begun to drift apart in irreparable ways, and the new material felt like spinning wheels. And yet when he struck out on his own, on the Violet Archers' 2005 debut album, it sounded like a regression rather than a liberation. There, Vesely—part of one of the most wonderfully creative bands to ever come out of Canada—seemed stuck in a monotonous groove, with little distinguishing one mid-tempo number from another.
All of this points to why Sunshine at Night is such a welcome statement of renewal for Vesely as a songwriter, and a proper launch for his new band. For starters, the tempos are considerably more varied than last time out, and his live band—featuring ex-Weeping Tile drummer Cam Giroux and Vancouver keyboardist Ida Nilsen—show their teeth when necessary. Marked by Vesely's characteristically low-key delivery, the mood and the colours of Sunshine at Night are consistent—arguably to a fault, much like last time. The difference now is that Vesely has assembled an album's worth of songs that stands with his finest, particularly the beautiful bookends (“You and I,” “Listening”) and the title track.
Vesely sings, "I'm so tired of beating myself at my own game/ it's so lame!" But with Sunshine At Night, he proves to be very much still in the game—and it's certainly not lame. (K-W Record, July 3)
Wolf Parade – At Mount Zoomer (Sub Pop/Outside)
When the first album by this Montreal band came out in 2005, many headline writers were quick to come up with cheesy tag lines such as "Hungry Like the Wolf." Cringey as that may have been, there was an unmistakable hunger and drive behind the anthems that populated Wolf Parade's repertoire, where prog rock keyboards collided with classic rock guitars, thundering drums and sci-fi sound effects in the background. This was a band that had something to prove: perhaps to stake their own place in the overload of hype for Montreal bands at that time; perhaps out of frustration from the false starts that saw earlier projects fizzle; perhaps because they were piss-poor underdogs whose gear was held together by duct tape.
Now, each member has devoted considerable time to various other projects—two of which, Spencer Krug's Sunset Rubdown and Dan Boeckner's Handsome Furs, are almost as popular as Wolf Parade itself. Reunited here, their initial sense of urgency is noticeably missing—which is not necessarily a bad thing, as earlier material often displayed a bulldozer's approach to subtlety. Yet though the anthemic quality has been toned down, Wolf Parade has yet to find a suitable substitute as a raison d'etre.
At Mount Zoomer sounds decidedly more introverted than the brash boys of the debut—not just in tempo and texture or the fact that this time out they produced the album themselves, but in the immediate impact of the songs themselves, with only “The Grey Estates” and “Bang Your Drum” as stand-out tracks.
Judging by this material, both songwriters are doing more creative work in their own respective bands—albeit here they’re aided by the drive provided by drummer Arlen Thompson. As a unit, Wolf Parade are now more comfortable breaking out of carefully composed rock songs to ride out longer grooves. Closing track “Kissing the Beehive” pushes the ten-minute mark—though not to great effect, and judging by the messy wash of guitar effects wafting over the entire track, only keyboardist and sound scientist Hadji Bakara should be entitled to take solos.
"All this work here, just to tear it down," sings Boeckner on a track called “Language City.” While Wolf Parade are hardly tearing down their original sound, they are pulling back the reins and plotting their next move—making Mount Zoomer not an actual destination, but a rest stop en route to hopefully greater heights. (K-W Record, July 17)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Magnet-ic Yields, July 08
Three reviews from the current issue of Magnet, which I'm looking forward to reading on the beach this weekend.
Sam Amidon - All is Well (Bedroom Community)
Sam Amidon gets the star billing on this album, but he has little to do with it. It's certainly not a sign of creative bankruptcy to reinterpret an album's worth of antique folk songs, but to do so in such a detached, opiated and nonchalant manner makes you wonder what Amidon finds interesting about these songs in the first place. When he sings, “Got my money in my pocket and my pistol in my hand,” he sounds like he’s genuinely befuddled as to how either ended up on his person, and more than a bit puzzled about what he might possibly do next. His valerian vocals don't commit to the lyrics in the least, not even when trying to resurrect "O Death." “You’ll never go to heaven when you die, little girl,” he cautions, but it sounds entirely inconsequential. That's not to say that the appropriately titled All is Well doesn't have its copacetic charms: it does, all of which stem from producer Valgeir Sigurðsson and orchestrator Nico Muhly. Both are recent Björk confidantes and were behind the scenes of Bonnie Prince Billy’s The Letting Go. Sigurðsson and Muhly treat Amidon as a tabula rasa where they can project their brass and string fantasies onto these folk songs, with occasional electronics situating everything in the 21st century. “Little Johnny Brown” stands out here, primarily due to Muhly’s piano, which provides an ominous pulse underneath, worthy of a John Carpenter soundtrack; Eyvind Kang’s droning viola is equally creepy and Sigurðsson’s subtle electronic shadings provide further disorientation. Amidon sounds like he’s trying his best to maintain calm while surrounded by these ghostly figures; it would be a lot more interesting for everyone if he put up a bit of a fight.
Plants and Animals - Parc Avenue (Secret City)
"It takes a good friend to say you've got your head up your ass," sings guitarist/singer Warren Spicer. Looking at the freaky friends they've assembled for the album's cover shoot—not unlike Devendra Banhart's Cripple Crow—Spicer and his colleagues (drummer Matthew Woodley and multi-instrumentalist Nicolas Basque) were likely egged on to push the boundaries of their freaky folk rock wherever their wandering muse desires. That means grabbing any instrument they can wrap their fingers around, inviting rousing brass sections and swirling strings along for the ride, and navigating carefully between African grooves, Harvest backbeats and jam band territory. By the time the album is halfway done, it's not surprisingly at all when they stop a song cold with a piano coda featuring a seven-year-old boy singing in French, or a choral round accompanied by medieval flutes. For a trio who had never played outside of Montreal for the first six years of its existence, Plants and Animals sound like they're ready to stop noodling around and take on the world. It begins on a bombastic note, with a huge choir leaping out of the speakers a mere ten bars into the opening track; soon enough, Spicer starts straining and distorting his high notes much in the same way Win Butler does on Arcade Fire's "Wake Up." (Butler's bandmate Sarah Neufeld provides string arrangements here.) Yet though Parc Avenue is undeniably epic and was two years in the making, Plants and Animals take a refreshingly casual approach to the expansive scope of their sound, stuffing their songs with structural shifts rather than browbeating us with grandiose statements. Lyrically, however, Spicer could stand to make a statement or two—much of his lightweight, rambling narratives don't survive the spontaneity of the moment he scribbled them down. It's a tad shocking, considering the meticulous attention paid to detail elsewhere on the album; it's also the only real indicator that P&A are still emerging from their incubatory period, evolving slowly from the trippy, abstract instrumental band they originated as. As intriguing as it is, Parc Avenue is obviously only a small indication of what this band can do.
Vetiver - Thing of the Past (Gnomonsong)
Releasing a covers album only three albums deep into your discography can be a dicey notion. Yet Vetiver doesn’t have much to lose; they’re a band known more for its associations with others than their own material, having backed up Devendra Banhart, Vashti Bunyan and Gary Louris in recent years (or in the case of Louris’s latest solo tour, recent months). Here, they further confirm their rep as record collector geeks by opening the album with Canadian psych-folk obscurity Elyse Weinberg (ed. note: she's emerging from the woods for this year’s Pop Montreal!), and then proceeding to dip deep into the songbooks of her fellow 60s songwriters such as Garland Jeffreys, Norman Greenbaum and Townes Van Zandt, inviting folkie fogies like Bunyan and Michael Hurley to join them. It’s saying a lot that the most recognizable song here is “The Swimming Song” (written by Loudon Wainwright III for Kate and Anna McGarrigle), and it’s this curatorial taste of the obscure that makes Thing of the Past more than just a romp through campfire favourites you’ve heard a thousand times before. It’s all pleasant enough, especially when producer Thom Monahan bathes everything in analogue tape so that even your MP3 player manages to sounds as warm and fuzzy as those old vinyl records. As tasteful as it all is, one still wonders what it is that Vetiver themselves are bringing to this material other than reverence. Not that it matters when they close things out with Bobby Charles’ “I Must Be In a Good Place Now,” a song that—unlike some of this album’s more inconsequential material—deserves the kind of loving resurrection it receives here.
Sam Amidon - All is Well (Bedroom Community)
Sam Amidon gets the star billing on this album, but he has little to do with it. It's certainly not a sign of creative bankruptcy to reinterpret an album's worth of antique folk songs, but to do so in such a detached, opiated and nonchalant manner makes you wonder what Amidon finds interesting about these songs in the first place. When he sings, “Got my money in my pocket and my pistol in my hand,” he sounds like he’s genuinely befuddled as to how either ended up on his person, and more than a bit puzzled about what he might possibly do next. His valerian vocals don't commit to the lyrics in the least, not even when trying to resurrect "O Death." “You’ll never go to heaven when you die, little girl,” he cautions, but it sounds entirely inconsequential. That's not to say that the appropriately titled All is Well doesn't have its copacetic charms: it does, all of which stem from producer Valgeir Sigurðsson and orchestrator Nico Muhly. Both are recent Björk confidantes and were behind the scenes of Bonnie Prince Billy’s The Letting Go. Sigurðsson and Muhly treat Amidon as a tabula rasa where they can project their brass and string fantasies onto these folk songs, with occasional electronics situating everything in the 21st century. “Little Johnny Brown” stands out here, primarily due to Muhly’s piano, which provides an ominous pulse underneath, worthy of a John Carpenter soundtrack; Eyvind Kang’s droning viola is equally creepy and Sigurðsson’s subtle electronic shadings provide further disorientation. Amidon sounds like he’s trying his best to maintain calm while surrounded by these ghostly figures; it would be a lot more interesting for everyone if he put up a bit of a fight.
Plants and Animals - Parc Avenue (Secret City)
"It takes a good friend to say you've got your head up your ass," sings guitarist/singer Warren Spicer. Looking at the freaky friends they've assembled for the album's cover shoot—not unlike Devendra Banhart's Cripple Crow—Spicer and his colleagues (drummer Matthew Woodley and multi-instrumentalist Nicolas Basque) were likely egged on to push the boundaries of their freaky folk rock wherever their wandering muse desires. That means grabbing any instrument they can wrap their fingers around, inviting rousing brass sections and swirling strings along for the ride, and navigating carefully between African grooves, Harvest backbeats and jam band territory. By the time the album is halfway done, it's not surprisingly at all when they stop a song cold with a piano coda featuring a seven-year-old boy singing in French, or a choral round accompanied by medieval flutes. For a trio who had never played outside of Montreal for the first six years of its existence, Plants and Animals sound like they're ready to stop noodling around and take on the world. It begins on a bombastic note, with a huge choir leaping out of the speakers a mere ten bars into the opening track; soon enough, Spicer starts straining and distorting his high notes much in the same way Win Butler does on Arcade Fire's "Wake Up." (Butler's bandmate Sarah Neufeld provides string arrangements here.) Yet though Parc Avenue is undeniably epic and was two years in the making, Plants and Animals take a refreshingly casual approach to the expansive scope of their sound, stuffing their songs with structural shifts rather than browbeating us with grandiose statements. Lyrically, however, Spicer could stand to make a statement or two—much of his lightweight, rambling narratives don't survive the spontaneity of the moment he scribbled them down. It's a tad shocking, considering the meticulous attention paid to detail elsewhere on the album; it's also the only real indicator that P&A are still emerging from their incubatory period, evolving slowly from the trippy, abstract instrumental band they originated as. As intriguing as it is, Parc Avenue is obviously only a small indication of what this band can do.
Vetiver - Thing of the Past (Gnomonsong)
Releasing a covers album only three albums deep into your discography can be a dicey notion. Yet Vetiver doesn’t have much to lose; they’re a band known more for its associations with others than their own material, having backed up Devendra Banhart, Vashti Bunyan and Gary Louris in recent years (or in the case of Louris’s latest solo tour, recent months). Here, they further confirm their rep as record collector geeks by opening the album with Canadian psych-folk obscurity Elyse Weinberg (ed. note: she's emerging from the woods for this year’s Pop Montreal!), and then proceeding to dip deep into the songbooks of her fellow 60s songwriters such as Garland Jeffreys, Norman Greenbaum and Townes Van Zandt, inviting folkie fogies like Bunyan and Michael Hurley to join them. It’s saying a lot that the most recognizable song here is “The Swimming Song” (written by Loudon Wainwright III for Kate and Anna McGarrigle), and it’s this curatorial taste of the obscure that makes Thing of the Past more than just a romp through campfire favourites you’ve heard a thousand times before. It’s all pleasant enough, especially when producer Thom Monahan bathes everything in analogue tape so that even your MP3 player manages to sounds as warm and fuzzy as those old vinyl records. As tasteful as it all is, one still wonders what it is that Vetiver themselves are bringing to this material other than reverence. Not that it matters when they close things out with Bobby Charles’ “I Must Be In a Good Place Now,” a song that—unlike some of this album’s more inconsequential material—deserves the kind of loving resurrection it receives here.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
July 08 reviews
More housecleaning. These are July reviews from the K-W Record in alphabetical order; more to come tomorrow.
The Abrams Brothers – Blue On Brown (theabramsbrothers.ca)
Not many teenagers know the songbooks of Bob Dylan and Arlo Guthrie with any degree of intimacy; fewer still are capable of playing and singing them in high lonesome harmonies and with serious skills as bluegrass instrumentalists. And yet the Abrams Brothers appear to have emerged from the woods near Kingston, Ontario as freeze-dried artifacts from an earlier time; I’m guessing that they probably don't spend their spare time playing Grand Theft Auto on the tour bus. Instead, there will always be new licks to learn, old songs to soak up—and probably a bit of homework to tend to as well, seeing how the oldest of the two brothers (and one cousin) is 18.
For their debut album, the Brothers formed a fortuitous relationship with keyboardist/producer Chris Brown—whose extensive rolodex helps him call in favours from both sides of the border: Canadian icons like Bruce Cockburn, Sarah Harmer, Colin Linden and Amy Millan (Stars), as well as all-star American session musicians like Tony Scherr (Bill Frisell, Norah Jones) and Mickey Raphael (Willie Nelson).
As tasteful a tribute as Blue on Brown is, however, one has to wonder why—on their debut album—they tackle the songs of one of the most-covered songwriters of the latter 20th century; hearing “Mr. Tambourine Man” or “The Times They Are A-Changin'” for the umpteenth time doesn't do much to establish the identity of such a young act. Thankfully, the material by Guthrie—both Woody and Arlo—helps break it up, as does a version of Steve Goodman's “City of New Orleans.” But they'd be much better off steering clear of obvious iconography and casting their net much wider for source material. (K-W Record, July 24)
Note: They announced during their rousing Hillside Festival set that they are, in fact, working on a new album of original material.
Broken Social Scene Presents: Brendan Canning – Something For All of Us (Arts and Crafts/EMI)
There are about a dozen acts that comprise Broken Social Scene (Feist, Stars, Jason Collett, etc.), but only two members at the core. Kevin Drew released his underrated solo album last fall, full of fragments and anthems that encapsulated the dichotomy that has always been the band's strength. By not putting it out directly under the name Broken Social Scene, he successfully sidestepped expectations for the band to make another epic like the 2003 classic You Forgot It In People, leaving him to be as wonderfully weird as he wants to be.
Thank god for lowered expectations, because his cohort Brendan Canning’s similarly billed album offers even less immediate thrills than Drew’s creatively confounding solo effort—and arguably contains no thrills at all.
Something For All of Us ironically contains very little for anyone: the attempts at rousing rockers are mostly muted, while the quieter pieces don’t relish in the abstractions that defined the early, nebulous and ambient stage of the band’s existence. Canning is the least charismatic vocalist in the Scene, and the songs meant to showcase female compatriots Liz Powell and Lisa Lobsinger don’t give them much to play with.
Other than first single “Hit the Wall,” the only time Canning hits a clear target here is on “Love Is Now,” which owes a large debt to the Talking Heads’ mid-period, when they were at their funkiest. The track is entirely incongruous in the context of this album, which otherwise opts for different shades of grey in lieu of painting with stark colours. Canning’s talent is better served mediating the mountains and valleys of a creative mind like Drew. Now that the solo records are out of the way, it’s time to see what they can accomplish together. (K-W Record, July 24)
Note: Kevin Drew teased me mercilessly about this review all weekend at the Hillside Festival, pointing out that—among other things—it’s divisive and a cheap shot to compare the two solo albums. Which it is. But I’d argue that most people who aren’t critics for a living are going to do exactly that, much in the same way they will evaluate the Wolf Parade album (see below). Does that excuse lazy writing? No. But personal relations and a mutual extended circle of friends aside, the fact is that--sadly--this album left me cold.
The Dutchess & the Duke – s/t (Hardly Art/Outside)
Twenty-five years after punk rockers discovered the virtues of roots music, the genre of alt-country is more than played out at this stage of its history. Any sense of subversion has long since been neutered into clichéd arrangements that are indistinguishable from your average rock band. Which is why The Dutchess & the Duke sound so refreshingly raw. Male vocalist Jesse Lortz has a satisfying snarl that lies somewhere between Iggy Pop and Lee Hazlewood, while his female foil Kimberly Morrison counterbalances with haunting harmonies worthy of any psychedelic 60s chanteuse. Flutes, fuzzy electric leads, maracas and tambourines dance around big bare-bones acoustic guitar chords that all sound like they were recorded in one take in a living room. Aesthetics aren't everything, of course; the songwriting is simple, straightforward and made for profane campfire singalongs. With ten songs in half an hour, this is a lean operation that spares nary a note nor a minute. All skills, no frills. (K-W Record, July 31)
Alejandro Escovedo – Real Animal (Blue Note/EMI)
Bouncing back from a near-fatal bout with Hepatitis C, this is the sound of Escovedo's life flashing before his eyes. The renowned Texan songwriter dips deep into the varied stages of his discography for inspiration, starting with his punk years in New York and San Francisco through to his rootsier melancholy material. These two worlds sit comfortably side to side on these largely autobiographical songs, united by some of Escovedo's most soulful vocal performances to date, as well as sympathetic production by Tony Visconti—the man responsible for some of David Bowie and Lou Reed's greatest 70s albums, sonic traces of which can be heard here. Escovedo seamlessly incorporates the string section he's been working with for the past decade into the raw punk songs, which—despite the cheezy cover image—don't feel in the least like an old man trying to fit into old clothes. The size and scope of Escovedo's discography has always seemed daunting for newcomers hungry to learn more about this rock'n'roll legend; Real Animal is the ideal place to start. (K-W Record, July 31)
Fleet Foxes – s/t (Sub Pop/Outside)
When an album opens with four men singing harmony at the top of their register, a debt to the Beach Boys is obvious—and it’s not one that Fleet Foxes singer/songwriter Robin Peckingold shies away from in the liner notes of the band’s debut album. And because they hail from Seattle, it’s also easy to imagine this as a perfect soundtrack to drive through the Pacific Northwest down to California: it’s lush, spacious music drawing from 60s psychedelic pop and more modern takes on acoustic folk music, including a notable resemblance to early My Morning Jacket albums, before that band dropped their quiet intimacies for the temptations of stadium rock.
Despite these easy references, Fleet Foxes have mysteries of their own that are a delight to discover. The vocals all sound like they were recorded in an empty church, haunted by ghostly reverb; the finger-picked guitars and often orchestral percussion provide further warmth to the sound. But what really sets Fleet Foxes apart is that they’re not just about aesthetics: every song here is the work of a seasoned band who don’t feel trapped in verse/chorus structures, yet they always deliver masterful melodicism that puts them in the same league as their heroes. (K-W Record, July 10)
Feuermusik – No Contest (Standard Form/Outside)
Most jazz albums are about capturing a live performance—after all, what kind of a jazz player are you if you aren't in the moment? In the case of Toronto duo Feuermusik, the recording studio is a composition tool where elaborate harmonies are constructed to accomplish what one lone saxophone and Gus Weinkauf's set of percussive paint buckets cannot. Wind player Jeremy Strachan constructs layers of sax, flute and guitars into increasingly elaborate arrangements, compared to the more straightforward melodic compositions heard on Feuermusik's acclaimed 2006 album Goodbye, Lucille, a debut which vaulted this obscure group outside of both jazz circles and the Toronto experimental rock underground where they were born. No Contest is a more abstract work, focusing more on long tones and less frantic melody lines—though still with ample room for improvisation. How they present this material as a duo on stage will be the greatest challenge. (K-W Record, July 17)
Seun Kuti + Fela's Egypt 80 – s/t (Mr. Bongo/Fusion III)
When Fela Kuti passed away in 1997, two sons were poised to carry on his legacy. The eldest, Femi, formed his own band and updated Fela's pioneering Afrobeat sound by working with European and North American collaborators including The Roots. Femi didn't stray too far from his father's formula of politically charged and jazz-infused Afrobeat. Ironically, it's Fela's youngest son, Seun, who has debuted with a more traditional sounding album that is firmly rooted in vintage sounds, due in large part by powerful performances by the veteran players from his father's second band, Egypt 80.
Seun—who started playing with Egpyt 80 when he was 9, and is now a mere 25—is brimming with political piss and vinegar, decrying "all the shitty shit" that plagues Africa: corruption, murder, environmental exploitation and disease. Surrounded by injustice, there's little time for poetry; at times he resorts to simply shouting "bad, bad, bad, bad, bad." No matter, because his political fire feeds into the urgency of the music, especially on the malaria-themed “Mosquito Song,” where the piercing sounds of squealing trumpets soar over the most relentless rhythm on the album.
While Seun is a compelling performer and capable singer, it's Egpyt 80 that is the real star here, with their bold brass section and interlocking polyrhythmic guitar and drum patterns that never wear thin over eight-minute grooves. Time has not diluted their power in the least; these veterans still have plenty of lessons to teach, as does the relative youngster who now leads them. (K-W Record, July 31)
My Brightest Diamond – A Thousand Shark's Teeth (Asthmatic Kitty/Sonic Unyon)
Operatic ladies who mix their classical influences with rock instrumentation don't usually walk away from the clash with their dignity intact. Shara Worden is not one of those ladies. That she has the operatic chops is unquestionable; she has a degree in classical vocal performance, and it's the crystal purity of her voice that sells almost every moment on this, her second album as My Brightest Diamond. Compared to her 2006 debut, she's left much of her earlier bombast behind and brought out the bassoons, bowed percussion, harps, marimbas and carefully arranged string sections. In doing so, she shares some minor similarities with her sometimes-employer Sufjan Stevens, but Worden strays far from the straightforward and the folkie at every given opportunity. She might be channeling vintage Kate Bush at her most wonderfully whacked, or crooning atop chilled out jazzy beats, or sounding like a windswept chanteuse locked in a Scandanavian lighthouse with violins and some percussion. The songwriting takes a bit of a backseat to the overall aesthetic, but with such a compelling personality and voice as Worden's, there's little to gripe about. This diamond may well be your new best friend. (K-W Record, July 3)
The Abrams Brothers – Blue On Brown (theabramsbrothers.ca)
Not many teenagers know the songbooks of Bob Dylan and Arlo Guthrie with any degree of intimacy; fewer still are capable of playing and singing them in high lonesome harmonies and with serious skills as bluegrass instrumentalists. And yet the Abrams Brothers appear to have emerged from the woods near Kingston, Ontario as freeze-dried artifacts from an earlier time; I’m guessing that they probably don't spend their spare time playing Grand Theft Auto on the tour bus. Instead, there will always be new licks to learn, old songs to soak up—and probably a bit of homework to tend to as well, seeing how the oldest of the two brothers (and one cousin) is 18.
For their debut album, the Brothers formed a fortuitous relationship with keyboardist/producer Chris Brown—whose extensive rolodex helps him call in favours from both sides of the border: Canadian icons like Bruce Cockburn, Sarah Harmer, Colin Linden and Amy Millan (Stars), as well as all-star American session musicians like Tony Scherr (Bill Frisell, Norah Jones) and Mickey Raphael (Willie Nelson).
As tasteful a tribute as Blue on Brown is, however, one has to wonder why—on their debut album—they tackle the songs of one of the most-covered songwriters of the latter 20th century; hearing “Mr. Tambourine Man” or “The Times They Are A-Changin'” for the umpteenth time doesn't do much to establish the identity of such a young act. Thankfully, the material by Guthrie—both Woody and Arlo—helps break it up, as does a version of Steve Goodman's “City of New Orleans.” But they'd be much better off steering clear of obvious iconography and casting their net much wider for source material. (K-W Record, July 24)
Note: They announced during their rousing Hillside Festival set that they are, in fact, working on a new album of original material.
Broken Social Scene Presents: Brendan Canning – Something For All of Us (Arts and Crafts/EMI)
There are about a dozen acts that comprise Broken Social Scene (Feist, Stars, Jason Collett, etc.), but only two members at the core. Kevin Drew released his underrated solo album last fall, full of fragments and anthems that encapsulated the dichotomy that has always been the band's strength. By not putting it out directly under the name Broken Social Scene, he successfully sidestepped expectations for the band to make another epic like the 2003 classic You Forgot It In People, leaving him to be as wonderfully weird as he wants to be.
Thank god for lowered expectations, because his cohort Brendan Canning’s similarly billed album offers even less immediate thrills than Drew’s creatively confounding solo effort—and arguably contains no thrills at all.
Something For All of Us ironically contains very little for anyone: the attempts at rousing rockers are mostly muted, while the quieter pieces don’t relish in the abstractions that defined the early, nebulous and ambient stage of the band’s existence. Canning is the least charismatic vocalist in the Scene, and the songs meant to showcase female compatriots Liz Powell and Lisa Lobsinger don’t give them much to play with.
Other than first single “Hit the Wall,” the only time Canning hits a clear target here is on “Love Is Now,” which owes a large debt to the Talking Heads’ mid-period, when they were at their funkiest. The track is entirely incongruous in the context of this album, which otherwise opts for different shades of grey in lieu of painting with stark colours. Canning’s talent is better served mediating the mountains and valleys of a creative mind like Drew. Now that the solo records are out of the way, it’s time to see what they can accomplish together. (K-W Record, July 24)
Note: Kevin Drew teased me mercilessly about this review all weekend at the Hillside Festival, pointing out that—among other things—it’s divisive and a cheap shot to compare the two solo albums. Which it is. But I’d argue that most people who aren’t critics for a living are going to do exactly that, much in the same way they will evaluate the Wolf Parade album (see below). Does that excuse lazy writing? No. But personal relations and a mutual extended circle of friends aside, the fact is that--sadly--this album left me cold.
The Dutchess & the Duke – s/t (Hardly Art/Outside)
Twenty-five years after punk rockers discovered the virtues of roots music, the genre of alt-country is more than played out at this stage of its history. Any sense of subversion has long since been neutered into clichéd arrangements that are indistinguishable from your average rock band. Which is why The Dutchess & the Duke sound so refreshingly raw. Male vocalist Jesse Lortz has a satisfying snarl that lies somewhere between Iggy Pop and Lee Hazlewood, while his female foil Kimberly Morrison counterbalances with haunting harmonies worthy of any psychedelic 60s chanteuse. Flutes, fuzzy electric leads, maracas and tambourines dance around big bare-bones acoustic guitar chords that all sound like they were recorded in one take in a living room. Aesthetics aren't everything, of course; the songwriting is simple, straightforward and made for profane campfire singalongs. With ten songs in half an hour, this is a lean operation that spares nary a note nor a minute. All skills, no frills. (K-W Record, July 31)
Alejandro Escovedo – Real Animal (Blue Note/EMI)
Bouncing back from a near-fatal bout with Hepatitis C, this is the sound of Escovedo's life flashing before his eyes. The renowned Texan songwriter dips deep into the varied stages of his discography for inspiration, starting with his punk years in New York and San Francisco through to his rootsier melancholy material. These two worlds sit comfortably side to side on these largely autobiographical songs, united by some of Escovedo's most soulful vocal performances to date, as well as sympathetic production by Tony Visconti—the man responsible for some of David Bowie and Lou Reed's greatest 70s albums, sonic traces of which can be heard here. Escovedo seamlessly incorporates the string section he's been working with for the past decade into the raw punk songs, which—despite the cheezy cover image—don't feel in the least like an old man trying to fit into old clothes. The size and scope of Escovedo's discography has always seemed daunting for newcomers hungry to learn more about this rock'n'roll legend; Real Animal is the ideal place to start. (K-W Record, July 31)
Fleet Foxes – s/t (Sub Pop/Outside)
When an album opens with four men singing harmony at the top of their register, a debt to the Beach Boys is obvious—and it’s not one that Fleet Foxes singer/songwriter Robin Peckingold shies away from in the liner notes of the band’s debut album. And because they hail from Seattle, it’s also easy to imagine this as a perfect soundtrack to drive through the Pacific Northwest down to California: it’s lush, spacious music drawing from 60s psychedelic pop and more modern takes on acoustic folk music, including a notable resemblance to early My Morning Jacket albums, before that band dropped their quiet intimacies for the temptations of stadium rock.
Despite these easy references, Fleet Foxes have mysteries of their own that are a delight to discover. The vocals all sound like they were recorded in an empty church, haunted by ghostly reverb; the finger-picked guitars and often orchestral percussion provide further warmth to the sound. But what really sets Fleet Foxes apart is that they’re not just about aesthetics: every song here is the work of a seasoned band who don’t feel trapped in verse/chorus structures, yet they always deliver masterful melodicism that puts them in the same league as their heroes. (K-W Record, July 10)
Feuermusik – No Contest (Standard Form/Outside)
Most jazz albums are about capturing a live performance—after all, what kind of a jazz player are you if you aren't in the moment? In the case of Toronto duo Feuermusik, the recording studio is a composition tool where elaborate harmonies are constructed to accomplish what one lone saxophone and Gus Weinkauf's set of percussive paint buckets cannot. Wind player Jeremy Strachan constructs layers of sax, flute and guitars into increasingly elaborate arrangements, compared to the more straightforward melodic compositions heard on Feuermusik's acclaimed 2006 album Goodbye, Lucille, a debut which vaulted this obscure group outside of both jazz circles and the Toronto experimental rock underground where they were born. No Contest is a more abstract work, focusing more on long tones and less frantic melody lines—though still with ample room for improvisation. How they present this material as a duo on stage will be the greatest challenge. (K-W Record, July 17)
Seun Kuti + Fela's Egypt 80 – s/t (Mr. Bongo/Fusion III)
When Fela Kuti passed away in 1997, two sons were poised to carry on his legacy. The eldest, Femi, formed his own band and updated Fela's pioneering Afrobeat sound by working with European and North American collaborators including The Roots. Femi didn't stray too far from his father's formula of politically charged and jazz-infused Afrobeat. Ironically, it's Fela's youngest son, Seun, who has debuted with a more traditional sounding album that is firmly rooted in vintage sounds, due in large part by powerful performances by the veteran players from his father's second band, Egypt 80.
Seun—who started playing with Egpyt 80 when he was 9, and is now a mere 25—is brimming with political piss and vinegar, decrying "all the shitty shit" that plagues Africa: corruption, murder, environmental exploitation and disease. Surrounded by injustice, there's little time for poetry; at times he resorts to simply shouting "bad, bad, bad, bad, bad." No matter, because his political fire feeds into the urgency of the music, especially on the malaria-themed “Mosquito Song,” where the piercing sounds of squealing trumpets soar over the most relentless rhythm on the album.
While Seun is a compelling performer and capable singer, it's Egpyt 80 that is the real star here, with their bold brass section and interlocking polyrhythmic guitar and drum patterns that never wear thin over eight-minute grooves. Time has not diluted their power in the least; these veterans still have plenty of lessons to teach, as does the relative youngster who now leads them. (K-W Record, July 31)
My Brightest Diamond – A Thousand Shark's Teeth (Asthmatic Kitty/Sonic Unyon)
Operatic ladies who mix their classical influences with rock instrumentation don't usually walk away from the clash with their dignity intact. Shara Worden is not one of those ladies. That she has the operatic chops is unquestionable; she has a degree in classical vocal performance, and it's the crystal purity of her voice that sells almost every moment on this, her second album as My Brightest Diamond. Compared to her 2006 debut, she's left much of her earlier bombast behind and brought out the bassoons, bowed percussion, harps, marimbas and carefully arranged string sections. In doing so, she shares some minor similarities with her sometimes-employer Sufjan Stevens, but Worden strays far from the straightforward and the folkie at every given opportunity. She might be channeling vintage Kate Bush at her most wonderfully whacked, or crooning atop chilled out jazzy beats, or sounding like a windswept chanteuse locked in a Scandanavian lighthouse with violins and some percussion. The songwriting takes a bit of a backseat to the overall aesthetic, but with such a compelling personality and voice as Worden's, there's little to gripe about. This diamond may well be your new best friend. (K-W Record, July 3)
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
June reviews 08
So much housecleaning to be done, and apologies for the delay. Much of July for me has been a build-up to the Hillside Festival last weekend--about which I'll have plenty to say very shortly--and only now does my schedule seem like it's returning to a semblance of normality.
In the meantime, I've been meaning to post these June reviews for... oh, about a month now--aka five years in the blogosphere. For whatever reason, June was fogey month... in a good way.
Don Brownrigg – Wander Songs (Weewerk/Outside)
More than any other provincial Canadian population, Newfoundlanders can be found in every corner of the country; they know what it means to leave home, they know what it means to have your life packed in a suitcase, and they know the pull that the motherland has on their cultural consciousness.
This Newfoundland songwriter opens his astounding debut album by advising the listener: “Don’t be afraid of the world if you ain’t out there in it.” Halfway through, he covers a song written by two of his uncles, who impart similar worldly wisdom: "Remember, fights and people's wives are to be left alone/ and if all else should fail you/ please remember home." Throughout Wander Songs, Brownrigg sings about leaving home for a transient life of “bags and boxes.” He does so in an old soul’s voice that’s perfectly suited for what he calls “these A.M. times.”
Befitting a child of such a strong oral culture, Brownrigg writes melodies that barely need any ornamentation at all—and yet the expert production work of mandolin player Donald McKay allows space for subtle shadings of banjo, lap steel, spoken word interludes, guest guitar from Jim Bryson and backing vocals by Jenn Grant. Between McKay’s sonic touches and Brownrigg’s haunting voice, there’s an enchanting sense of mystery heard on every one of these 11 songs, which fall somewhere between the sparse atmospheric beauty of Daniel Lanois and the masterful storytelling of Newfoundland songwriting legend Ron Hynes.
Wander Songs was released quietly in Brownrigg’s adopted hometown of Halifax late last year; it’s now being brought to wider attention by Weewerk, the label converted the world to the Great Lake Swimmers—whose fans will find plenty to love here. (K-W Record, June 26)
Solomon Burke – Like a Fire (Shout Factory/Warner)
On his last album, the soul survivor Solomon Burke headed to Nashville, where his towering voice was welcomed by a group of players more rustic than R&B. The experience wasn’t a one-off, it seems, as Burke is still carrying a bit of a twangover— a strong country influence can be heard loud and clear on Like A Fire, along with the blues, gospel and soul that have been his trademarks for the last 40 years. Producer/drummer Steve Jordan hooks him up with Eric Clapton, Keb’ Mo’, Jesse Harris and other guests who provide material worthy of Burke’s booming vocals, though none of them are as excellent a match as Ben Harper’s song "A Minute To Rest And A Second To Pray"; Harper’s own backing vocals and dobro playing are the one time any of the studio musicians here dare to compete with Burke’s presence. Even when Burke decamps to the hotel bar to croon "If I Gave My Heart to You," he maintains the dignity and class that he exudes in every other setting. Like a Fire is another worthy chapter in his productive comeback. (K-W Record, June 26)
Elvis Costello and the Imposters – Momofuku (Lost Highway/Universal)
So far 2008 has been a good year for the fogies, not just Al Green. Witness R.E.M.’s miraculous resurrection to relevance, the bold comebacks from Erykah Badu and Portishead, and decent albums by James, Joe Jackson, Sheryl Crow—hell, these days even Def Leppard sound better than they have in decades.
When word got out that the ultra prolific Elvis Costello was recording a stripped-down album in six days, there were hopes that a sense of immediacy might override his tendency to overwrite and overcook, which usually leaves listeners feeling more exhausted than entertained or enriched. Sadly, that’s exactly what happens here yet again.
For a guy who normally spends too much time on his band arrangements, here he doesn’t spend enough. If he was writing three-chord rock’n’roll songs, this approach would be fine, but simplicity doesn’t come easy to Elvis. These are songs that need more than a couple of takes for even the finest studio musicians to wrap their heads around. Many of them would be better served by stripping down them even more, like the Loretta Lynn co-write "Pardon Me Adam, My Name is Eve."
Elements of Costello’s finest work are in place—namely the keyboards of Steve Nieve and Costello’s own vocals, which retain their gritty edge when he’s fronting a rock band. He’s also bolstered by female vocal harmonies courtesy of Rilo Kiley’s Jenny Lewis. The occasional song stands a slim chance of holding its own against his best work ("Drum & Bone," "Turpentine"). But for an artist of Costello’s calibre, this just doesn’t cut the mustard. (K-W Record, June 5)
Al Green – Lay It Down (Blue Note/EMI)
Five years ago, soul fans were ecstatic to learn that the Rev. Al Green had reunited with Willie Mitchell, the producer and architect of Green’s early 70s work. And yet the two albums that resulted from that reunion (2003’s I Can’t Stop and 2005’s Everything’s OK) were little more than aesthetic pleasures: Mitchell didn’t have the material—or the willpower, it seems—to push Green to the kind of powerhouse performances he’s capable of.
Enter the new school: drummer/producer Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson of the Roots and keyboardist/producer James Poyser were put in charge of Green’s latest project, and it turns out that the young musicians who were probably conceived to Green’s music know him better than his old bandmates do.
Lay It Down stands as a high point in Green’s entire discography, full of the lush strings, smooth guitar licks and deep grooves that cushion his buttery bedroom vocals, which haven’t aged an iota. It opens with the slow and stately title track, but soon kicks into high gear with "You’ve Got the Love I Need," where Philly soul singer Anthony Hamilton and the Dap Kings Horns (Sharon Jones, Amy Winehouse) provide the punch that helps propel Green to one of his greatest vocal performances since "Let’s Stay Together."
Despite Thompson’s hip-hop background and Poyser’s career building the neo-soul movement through his work with Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill and Common, they don’t attempt to modernize Green or pair him up with incongruous duet partners (although the Corinne Bailey Rae track is suitably sleepy). They do, however, provide him with more of a backbeat than even most of his vintage work had, as the big funk drums on "I’m Wild About You" illustrate. They’re also responsible for the strength of the material: they and the rest of the backing band co-write every song here with Green. (K-W Record, June 5)
Emmylou Harris – All I Intended To Be (Nonesuch/Warner)
The album title suggests autobiography, as if this was a work of a veteran artist reflecting on her life. Quite the contrary—throughout her storied career, Emmylou Harris has been a conduit for other people’s stories, acting best as an interpreter of other songwriters and as a harmony vocalist and duet partner. Until recent years, her own songwriting has taken a back seat; this album, however, is the first where her own compositions stand tall beside the work of masters such as Tracy Chapman, Billie Joe Shaver, Merle Haggard, and the McGarrigle sisters (she co-writes several songs with the latter).
All I Intended To Be is a classic storyteller’s album, filled with rich character narratives of love, loss, resilience and disappointment. As always, Harris’s warm vocals bring her characters to vivid life, but such is the songwriting standard here that she barely has to—even an atonal mumbler could communicate the crushing heartbreak heard in her song "Gold." In Harris’s hands, however—along with Dolly Parton and Vince Gill on backing vocals—the effect is devastating.
Musically, Harris strikes a balance between the Daniel Lanois-influenced work of her past decade and her more traditional country roots, making the aptly titled All I Intended To Be a summation of everything she’s accomplished in the past 40 years. (K-W Record, June 19)
The Notwist – The Devil, You And Me (Domino/Outside)
This German pop group made a minor North American splash in 2002 with an understated gem called Neon Golden, wherein they merged the icy world of digital bleeps and blurps with bluesy electric guitars and melancholy pop. Part of its artistic success was the fact that The Notwist never sounded like they were trying to prove anything—unlike more ambitious albums by the likes of Radiohead and others. If anything, The Notwist were too subtle for their own good, starting with the narcoleptic vocals of singer Markus Acher.
Acher still sings like he’s sleepwalking, but that’s part of his charm—especially when delivering defeatist witticisms like, “Remember, the good lies win.” Here, over harsh guitars that sound like sirens and an avalanche of tumbling drums, Acher promises, “I won’t sing you algebra.” And yet The Devil, You And Me finds The Notwist becoming considerably more complex.
They improve considerably on Neon Golden’s template, upping the abstract beats that populated their side project 13 And God, relying less on the once-novel juxtaposition of acoustic guitars and electronic percussion, and becoming simultaneously more traditional and more experimental—maintaining the kind of admirable consistency at the core that few other acts can accomplish.
Songs like the title track and "Gone Gone Gone" are one step away from straightforward Coldplay balladry, though elsewhere they toy with textures and rhythms that draw from dreampop spawned in bedroom electronics; "On Planet Off" harkens back to the dubbed-out dropped beats of late 90s trip-hop, without sounding dated in the least.
The Notwist will never be a band that makes a huge first impression; their pleasures are best discovered slowly, if not secretly—and six years after Neon Golden, it sounds like they wouldn’t want it any other way. (K-W Record, June 26)
James Pants – Welcome (Stones Throw/Koch)
When a man called Mr. Pants welcomes you to his party, you have every right to be suspicious. But this debut album delivers a non-stop thrill ride of electro funk that touches on hip-hop, garage rock, disco and all stops in between, with live drums and subsonic bass synthesizers giving it a low-down, raw and dirty feel that guarantees a full dance floor.
Mr. Pants keeps the vocals to a minimum, but he doesn’t need vocal hooks to keep your interest. He pulls off some impressive jazz keyboard noodling and funky drumming throughout, boasting some serious chops, the kind not normally found from basement dabblers—from Spokane, Washington, no less.
If Herbie Hancock’s Headhunters backed up Kraftwerk, it might sound something like this, although this isn’t entirely a retro ride; Pants has also clearly studied the slice-and-dice approach to electronics spawned in the last decade. And for someone who’s obviously a huge music geek and record collector, none of this sounds studied or self-conscious, no matter how much stylistic ground he covers. There’s a party in these Pants; consider yourself invited. (K-W Record, June 5)
The Wet Secrets – Rock Fantasy (Rodeo Peanut/ Six Shooter)
Plenty of artists have proved that you do not need electric guitars to be a great rock band; few do it as well as The Wet Secrets. Singer Lyle Bell boasts a meaty bass guitar, fuzzed out to the maximum, and he's bolstered by tubas and trombones to boost the bottom end. This is the third ongoing project for this prolific Edmontonian: he also fronts the dense rock duo Whitey Houston, and is part of the Shout Out Out Out Out electro-dance army. The Wet Secrets take lessons that he learned in both bands and amps them up into a fist-pumping fury of ecstatic profanity packed into pop songs with kiss-off titles like "Get Your Own Apartment" and "Grown Your F---ing Moustache, A---hole." With their marching band uniforms and background in burlesque troupes, it's not surprising that the lyrics are little more than juvenile jokes—but that doesn't distract from the powerful arrangements, the huge hooks or the way that engineer Diego Medina brings it all to vivid life. This was released locally in Alberta a while back; the national re-release features remixes from Cadence Weapon and Nik Kozub from the Shout Outs. The Wet Secrets don’t just dream about a Rock Fantasy; they’re ready to start living it. (K-W Record, June 12)
Note: They were also the best thing I saw at this year's NXNE festival, where Bell's vocals proved to be even stronger than on the album and superceded the schtick of the outfits.
In the meantime, I've been meaning to post these June reviews for... oh, about a month now--aka five years in the blogosphere. For whatever reason, June was fogey month... in a good way.
Don Brownrigg – Wander Songs (Weewerk/Outside)
More than any other provincial Canadian population, Newfoundlanders can be found in every corner of the country; they know what it means to leave home, they know what it means to have your life packed in a suitcase, and they know the pull that the motherland has on their cultural consciousness.
This Newfoundland songwriter opens his astounding debut album by advising the listener: “Don’t be afraid of the world if you ain’t out there in it.” Halfway through, he covers a song written by two of his uncles, who impart similar worldly wisdom: "Remember, fights and people's wives are to be left alone/ and if all else should fail you/ please remember home." Throughout Wander Songs, Brownrigg sings about leaving home for a transient life of “bags and boxes.” He does so in an old soul’s voice that’s perfectly suited for what he calls “these A.M. times.”
Befitting a child of such a strong oral culture, Brownrigg writes melodies that barely need any ornamentation at all—and yet the expert production work of mandolin player Donald McKay allows space for subtle shadings of banjo, lap steel, spoken word interludes, guest guitar from Jim Bryson and backing vocals by Jenn Grant. Between McKay’s sonic touches and Brownrigg’s haunting voice, there’s an enchanting sense of mystery heard on every one of these 11 songs, which fall somewhere between the sparse atmospheric beauty of Daniel Lanois and the masterful storytelling of Newfoundland songwriting legend Ron Hynes.
Wander Songs was released quietly in Brownrigg’s adopted hometown of Halifax late last year; it’s now being brought to wider attention by Weewerk, the label converted the world to the Great Lake Swimmers—whose fans will find plenty to love here. (K-W Record, June 26)
Solomon Burke – Like a Fire (Shout Factory/Warner)
On his last album, the soul survivor Solomon Burke headed to Nashville, where his towering voice was welcomed by a group of players more rustic than R&B. The experience wasn’t a one-off, it seems, as Burke is still carrying a bit of a twangover— a strong country influence can be heard loud and clear on Like A Fire, along with the blues, gospel and soul that have been his trademarks for the last 40 years. Producer/drummer Steve Jordan hooks him up with Eric Clapton, Keb’ Mo’, Jesse Harris and other guests who provide material worthy of Burke’s booming vocals, though none of them are as excellent a match as Ben Harper’s song "A Minute To Rest And A Second To Pray"; Harper’s own backing vocals and dobro playing are the one time any of the studio musicians here dare to compete with Burke’s presence. Even when Burke decamps to the hotel bar to croon "If I Gave My Heart to You," he maintains the dignity and class that he exudes in every other setting. Like a Fire is another worthy chapter in his productive comeback. (K-W Record, June 26)
Elvis Costello and the Imposters – Momofuku (Lost Highway/Universal)
So far 2008 has been a good year for the fogies, not just Al Green. Witness R.E.M.’s miraculous resurrection to relevance, the bold comebacks from Erykah Badu and Portishead, and decent albums by James, Joe Jackson, Sheryl Crow—hell, these days even Def Leppard sound better than they have in decades.
When word got out that the ultra prolific Elvis Costello was recording a stripped-down album in six days, there were hopes that a sense of immediacy might override his tendency to overwrite and overcook, which usually leaves listeners feeling more exhausted than entertained or enriched. Sadly, that’s exactly what happens here yet again.
For a guy who normally spends too much time on his band arrangements, here he doesn’t spend enough. If he was writing three-chord rock’n’roll songs, this approach would be fine, but simplicity doesn’t come easy to Elvis. These are songs that need more than a couple of takes for even the finest studio musicians to wrap their heads around. Many of them would be better served by stripping down them even more, like the Loretta Lynn co-write "Pardon Me Adam, My Name is Eve."
Elements of Costello’s finest work are in place—namely the keyboards of Steve Nieve and Costello’s own vocals, which retain their gritty edge when he’s fronting a rock band. He’s also bolstered by female vocal harmonies courtesy of Rilo Kiley’s Jenny Lewis. The occasional song stands a slim chance of holding its own against his best work ("Drum & Bone," "Turpentine"). But for an artist of Costello’s calibre, this just doesn’t cut the mustard. (K-W Record, June 5)
Al Green – Lay It Down (Blue Note/EMI)
Five years ago, soul fans were ecstatic to learn that the Rev. Al Green had reunited with Willie Mitchell, the producer and architect of Green’s early 70s work. And yet the two albums that resulted from that reunion (2003’s I Can’t Stop and 2005’s Everything’s OK) were little more than aesthetic pleasures: Mitchell didn’t have the material—or the willpower, it seems—to push Green to the kind of powerhouse performances he’s capable of.
Enter the new school: drummer/producer Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson of the Roots and keyboardist/producer James Poyser were put in charge of Green’s latest project, and it turns out that the young musicians who were probably conceived to Green’s music know him better than his old bandmates do.
Lay It Down stands as a high point in Green’s entire discography, full of the lush strings, smooth guitar licks and deep grooves that cushion his buttery bedroom vocals, which haven’t aged an iota. It opens with the slow and stately title track, but soon kicks into high gear with "You’ve Got the Love I Need," where Philly soul singer Anthony Hamilton and the Dap Kings Horns (Sharon Jones, Amy Winehouse) provide the punch that helps propel Green to one of his greatest vocal performances since "Let’s Stay Together."
Despite Thompson’s hip-hop background and Poyser’s career building the neo-soul movement through his work with Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill and Common, they don’t attempt to modernize Green or pair him up with incongruous duet partners (although the Corinne Bailey Rae track is suitably sleepy). They do, however, provide him with more of a backbeat than even most of his vintage work had, as the big funk drums on "I’m Wild About You" illustrate. They’re also responsible for the strength of the material: they and the rest of the backing band co-write every song here with Green. (K-W Record, June 5)
Emmylou Harris – All I Intended To Be (Nonesuch/Warner)
The album title suggests autobiography, as if this was a work of a veteran artist reflecting on her life. Quite the contrary—throughout her storied career, Emmylou Harris has been a conduit for other people’s stories, acting best as an interpreter of other songwriters and as a harmony vocalist and duet partner. Until recent years, her own songwriting has taken a back seat; this album, however, is the first where her own compositions stand tall beside the work of masters such as Tracy Chapman, Billie Joe Shaver, Merle Haggard, and the McGarrigle sisters (she co-writes several songs with the latter).
All I Intended To Be is a classic storyteller’s album, filled with rich character narratives of love, loss, resilience and disappointment. As always, Harris’s warm vocals bring her characters to vivid life, but such is the songwriting standard here that she barely has to—even an atonal mumbler could communicate the crushing heartbreak heard in her song "Gold." In Harris’s hands, however—along with Dolly Parton and Vince Gill on backing vocals—the effect is devastating.
Musically, Harris strikes a balance between the Daniel Lanois-influenced work of her past decade and her more traditional country roots, making the aptly titled All I Intended To Be a summation of everything she’s accomplished in the past 40 years. (K-W Record, June 19)
The Notwist – The Devil, You And Me (Domino/Outside)
This German pop group made a minor North American splash in 2002 with an understated gem called Neon Golden, wherein they merged the icy world of digital bleeps and blurps with bluesy electric guitars and melancholy pop. Part of its artistic success was the fact that The Notwist never sounded like they were trying to prove anything—unlike more ambitious albums by the likes of Radiohead and others. If anything, The Notwist were too subtle for their own good, starting with the narcoleptic vocals of singer Markus Acher.
Acher still sings like he’s sleepwalking, but that’s part of his charm—especially when delivering defeatist witticisms like, “Remember, the good lies win.” Here, over harsh guitars that sound like sirens and an avalanche of tumbling drums, Acher promises, “I won’t sing you algebra.” And yet The Devil, You And Me finds The Notwist becoming considerably more complex.
They improve considerably on Neon Golden’s template, upping the abstract beats that populated their side project 13 And God, relying less on the once-novel juxtaposition of acoustic guitars and electronic percussion, and becoming simultaneously more traditional and more experimental—maintaining the kind of admirable consistency at the core that few other acts can accomplish.
Songs like the title track and "Gone Gone Gone" are one step away from straightforward Coldplay balladry, though elsewhere they toy with textures and rhythms that draw from dreampop spawned in bedroom electronics; "On Planet Off" harkens back to the dubbed-out dropped beats of late 90s trip-hop, without sounding dated in the least.
The Notwist will never be a band that makes a huge first impression; their pleasures are best discovered slowly, if not secretly—and six years after Neon Golden, it sounds like they wouldn’t want it any other way. (K-W Record, June 26)
James Pants – Welcome (Stones Throw/Koch)
When a man called Mr. Pants welcomes you to his party, you have every right to be suspicious. But this debut album delivers a non-stop thrill ride of electro funk that touches on hip-hop, garage rock, disco and all stops in between, with live drums and subsonic bass synthesizers giving it a low-down, raw and dirty feel that guarantees a full dance floor.
Mr. Pants keeps the vocals to a minimum, but he doesn’t need vocal hooks to keep your interest. He pulls off some impressive jazz keyboard noodling and funky drumming throughout, boasting some serious chops, the kind not normally found from basement dabblers—from Spokane, Washington, no less.
If Herbie Hancock’s Headhunters backed up Kraftwerk, it might sound something like this, although this isn’t entirely a retro ride; Pants has also clearly studied the slice-and-dice approach to electronics spawned in the last decade. And for someone who’s obviously a huge music geek and record collector, none of this sounds studied or self-conscious, no matter how much stylistic ground he covers. There’s a party in these Pants; consider yourself invited. (K-W Record, June 5)
The Wet Secrets – Rock Fantasy (Rodeo Peanut/ Six Shooter)
Plenty of artists have proved that you do not need electric guitars to be a great rock band; few do it as well as The Wet Secrets. Singer Lyle Bell boasts a meaty bass guitar, fuzzed out to the maximum, and he's bolstered by tubas and trombones to boost the bottom end. This is the third ongoing project for this prolific Edmontonian: he also fronts the dense rock duo Whitey Houston, and is part of the Shout Out Out Out Out electro-dance army. The Wet Secrets take lessons that he learned in both bands and amps them up into a fist-pumping fury of ecstatic profanity packed into pop songs with kiss-off titles like "Get Your Own Apartment" and "Grown Your F---ing Moustache, A---hole." With their marching band uniforms and background in burlesque troupes, it's not surprising that the lyrics are little more than juvenile jokes—but that doesn't distract from the powerful arrangements, the huge hooks or the way that engineer Diego Medina brings it all to vivid life. This was released locally in Alberta a while back; the national re-release features remixes from Cadence Weapon and Nik Kozub from the Shout Outs. The Wet Secrets don’t just dream about a Rock Fantasy; they’re ready to start living it. (K-W Record, June 12)
Note: They were also the best thing I saw at this year's NXNE festival, where Bell's vocals proved to be even stronger than on the album and superceded the schtick of the outfits.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
April/May 08 reviews pt 2
More remnants of spring cleaning today... some of these seem ancient already, despite the fact they're less than two months old.
In further reading, I have a live review of Blue Peter at Lee's Palace last Friday on the Eye Weekly site here. It was my first time seeing one of my favourite Toronto bands of all time; while a fine show, I think I was foolishly expecting so much more. Similarly, Toronto music historians should take note of this show as part of this weekend's Luminato festival: Parachute Club, Mary Margaret O'Hara, Mojah, Lillian Allen, Johnny and the G-Rays and the B-Girls. Congrats to whomever curated this wonderful walk down the Queen Street of 25 years ago, and here's hoping the rain holds out.
Pas Chic Chic – Au Contraire (Semprini)
French pop gets a bad rap, and often rightfully so. Ever since the glory days of 60s yéyé, it’s been populated with chipper melodies, cooing femme fatales and dated electronics that will never come back in style anywhere else in the world. It’s always held a certain appeal for elements of the rock underground, however, either simply because of Europhilic exoticism or for the way it offers a refracted reflection of English pop music.
Montreal’s Pas Chic Chic give the entire genre a swift kick in the derriere, taking Franco pop’s Farfisa organs and song structures and stripping them of any twee leanings. Instead, they install an amplified arsenal of electric guitars that swirl around the pop melodies and threaten to drench them with droning psychedelics, while the rhythm section dallies back and forth between the dance floor and pummelling their point home. Sometimes that happens in the same song, like the album’s aptly-titled centrepiece, “Vous Comprenez Pourquoi?”, where searing, screeching guitars take over a the harrowing mid-section of a dramatic and driving pop song. Imagine Sonic Youth and Black Mountain bum-rushing the stage at a Belle and Sebastian show.
The members of Pas Chic Chic all hail from noisy backgrounds: founder/guitarist/singer Roger Tellier-Craig caused eardrums to bleed in the abrasive Fly Pan Am and was also in an early version of Godspeed You Black Emperor; guitarist Radwan Moumneh was in hardcore band Cursed. Yet they have no problem creating convincing pop, and their aggression is tempered by keyboardist/vocalist Marie-Douce St. Jacques, whose synthetic strings cast an air of romance over everything.
Even at its most punishing and sinister, Pas Chic Chic manage to convey sentiments of sweetness and hope, when they’re not delivering menace, mystery and melody in equal doses. (K-W Record, April 17)
Portishead – Third (Universal)
Portishead is not the band you thought they were, and probably never were. And because it's been 11 years since their last album, this is not the time for preconceptions in the first place.
Just because they were the first band to be labeled "trip-hop" doesn't mean that, since the release of their 1994 debut Dummy, Portishead should take the rap for unleashing over a decade of imitators dealing out unadventurous easy listening that's soundtracked every luxury lifestyle ad and lame seduction attempt you've been subjected to ever since.
Portishead was never meant to make you feel comfortable. On the surface, singer Beth Gibbons has a classically beautiful voice, saddled as it is with tragedy. No matter how acute her sense of pain, she is anything but fragile: Gibbons commands a powerful strength, even when it sounds like she's at an emotional breaking point, which is almost always.
Third delves deeper into the increasingly dark territory the band entered on their underrated second album. The soulful underpinnings remain, but much of the hip-hop influence has disappeared—including the trademark turntablism—making room for some of the folkie textures that Gibbons explored in her solo career, as well as the addition of vintage Kraftwerkian synthesizers and dirty drum machines that never fall into cheap electro clichés.
The band themselves seem so eager to kickstart this next phase of their career that they cut off the opening track in mid-phrase, sounding less like a mistake than as if they just want to get on with the rest of the new material, and show off what else they have in store.
What's most remarkable about Third is how this iconic band maintains their signature sound while not repeating themselves in the least. At one point, Gibbons strips everything down to just herself, a mandolin and some doo-wop backing vocals; at another, a Spanish-sounding folk song gives way to pulsating organ drones. Accordions and hurdy-gurdys are just as otherworldly and alien as some of the synths and Theremins; the album closes with wonky cello bends and swooping detuned guitars that sound like lowing cows.
Despite the embarrassment of riches on hand, bandleader Geoff Barrow leaves plenty of sonic space around each element. Even if Gibbons wasn't so compelling, and even if the new songs weren't as strong—if not better—than their best work, this would still be an album you'd want to buy on vinyl and listen to repeatedly with headphones; once through is never enough. (K-W Record, May 8)
Proof of Ghosts – s/t (Weewerk/Outside)
The suburbs are a lonely place. Just ask singer/songwriter Steve Heyerdahl, who sounds like he strolls endless cul-de-sacs with his banjo in hand, singing laments to lost women and odes to the joys of hanging out by the Slurpee machine on a summer Saturday night.
He does so with haunting vocals that owe a large debt to another singer who pointed out that Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, but more specifically, Heyerdahl falls under the spell of more modern kindred spirits: both his new labelmates the Great Lake Swimmers and his former Oshawa neighbours in Cuff the Duke—opening track “I’m Coming Home” in particular could be an outtake from the latter’s classic album Life Stories for the Minimum Wage.
Oshawa weighs heavy on Heyerdahl throughout this song cycle, not just because he names two songs after the town, but because his brooding country-in-the-city aesthetic suits Durham County to a T: a declining manufacturing town surrounded by a Great Lake and lush farmland. In this setting, Heyerdahl figures that there’s no greater crime than wasting time, and hence “Summer’s Wasted on the Young,” “Time is a Tyrant” and—to cap it off—“Time Takes Its Time.”
Proof of Ghosts is nothing if not consistent: it nails a feeling of torrential ennui that can be crushing and claustrophobic when the album stretches to almost an hour. This recording is mostly a one-man band; no doubt Heyerdahl will make a few more friends and broaden his horizons by the time he heads back into the studio. (K-W Record, April 24)
R.E.M. – Accelerate (Warner)
A mid-life crisis doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s easy to dissect this new R.E.M. album, coming it does after the 25th anniversary of their first EP, a year after they were inducted into the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame, and about ten years after they made an album worth listening to. Last year’s live album found them trying to remember what it was to be a rock band—and clearly, lessons have been learned in the time being.
Now, gone are the lush yet bland Beach Boy-wannabe ballads that they’ve been wallowing in lately. Every song here draws upon the guitar tones that Peter Buck staked his career on in the mid-80s—a signature sound that R.E.M. somehow lost along the way. Also back are the unmistakable backing vocals of bassist Mike Mills, brought to the forefront in ways not heard since 1987’s Life’s Rich Pageant. Singer Michael Stipe has finally got his balls back, both on the fiery rockers and the slower, politically charged tracks; he’s got some grit, and even the most ridiculous lyrics here—found on the apocalyptic party rocker “I’m Gonna DJ”—are considerably more palatable than the parade of shiny happy goof-offs that have snuck on to every R.E.M. album since Green.
It’s hard to say whether our lowered expectations of new R.E.M. material makes Accelerate such an ultimately satisfying listen. While their vintage guitar sound makes a big difference, it’s not necessary—there was plenty of great material dominated by drum machines and keyboards on the underrated 1998 album Up. Back then, losing founding member Bill Berry made them question their future; nowadays, it’s the shadow of irrelevance that has them running scared, in this case back to their roots rather than forging a future. Regardless, it sounds like something is actually at stake for these veterans, and it’s lit a fire behind them to make an album that won’t be littering the second hand store racks a month after its release.
Maybe that Hall of Fame ceremony reminded them that they were always first and foremost a rock band, but when a new R.E.M. record sounds as good as this one it’s best to simply reach for the volume knob and not ponder the reasons why. (K-W Record, April 3)
Sam Roberts – Love at the End of the World (Maple/Universal)
As you can discern from the title, Sam Roberts’ contribution to your long hot summer soundtrack is a feel-good record about the apocalypse. He claims he’s been “too afraid to read a newspaper,” but clearly the man has a lot on his mind. “There’s blood on these hands” and “the heat is rising,” sings Roberts, on titles like “Stripmall Religion” and “End of the Empire,” not to mention the title track. Yet he’s an optimist at heart, or at least he wants to be: “Life is for the taking,” he insists, adding later, “Just give me a reason for carrying on.”
If he’s feeling the weight of the world, Roberts doesn’t let it bring his music down. Love At the End of the World shows off what years of touring have done for his band, who are moving well beyond their pedestrian beginnings to give Roberts’ songs the colours and dynamics they deserve—to a point, as their aspirations are no more artsy than to be Canada’s finest bar band, which they may well be by now. There’s plenty of the seemingly effortless melodic rock’n’roll that Roberts perfected on his debut EP, without any of the meandering monotonous guitar jams that he sometimes slips into to pad out his lesser songs.
The first single is a bemusing barnburner about how “the kids don’t know how to dance to rock’n’roll,” which manages to be more than just a grumpy old man song; Roberts actually broadens the topic to ask larger questions about the role of artists in general, all set to a boogie-woogie backbeat. Elsewhere, he brings in some subtly psychedelic guitar textures, some stripped down country songs and plenty of rich vocal harmonies to flesh out what is already his strongest set of songs to date.
After all, if the good times are coming to an end, there’s no point settling for less. (K-W Record, May 29)
She & Him – Volume One (Merge)
Actress Zooey Deschanel is the She in question; renowned guitarist and singer/songwriter M. Ward is the Him. Yet despite his larger profile as a musician, Ward is on hand only to lend instrumental support and arrange Deschanel’s country-tinged songs into 70s pop symphonies worthy of Carly Simon or Carole King. Cast outside of his own hushed folkie material, Ward proves adept at painting with all sorts of sonic colours for these catchy songs. Who knows how long Deschanel has been secretly writing, but she has nine classics here that have a better shot a sliding onto oldies radio than any modern playlist.
The only serious fault here is her voice, which, though pretty enough, is more often than not sounds totally disinterested and devoid of personality—shocking, really, considering her day job in drama. If she’s both actress and screenwriter here, Ward proves to be a great cinematographer; maybe he should be more of a director next time. (K-W Record, April 10)
In further reading, I have a live review of Blue Peter at Lee's Palace last Friday on the Eye Weekly site here. It was my first time seeing one of my favourite Toronto bands of all time; while a fine show, I think I was foolishly expecting so much more. Similarly, Toronto music historians should take note of this show as part of this weekend's Luminato festival: Parachute Club, Mary Margaret O'Hara, Mojah, Lillian Allen, Johnny and the G-Rays and the B-Girls. Congrats to whomever curated this wonderful walk down the Queen Street of 25 years ago, and here's hoping the rain holds out.
Pas Chic Chic – Au Contraire (Semprini)French pop gets a bad rap, and often rightfully so. Ever since the glory days of 60s yéyé, it’s been populated with chipper melodies, cooing femme fatales and dated electronics that will never come back in style anywhere else in the world. It’s always held a certain appeal for elements of the rock underground, however, either simply because of Europhilic exoticism or for the way it offers a refracted reflection of English pop music.
Montreal’s Pas Chic Chic give the entire genre a swift kick in the derriere, taking Franco pop’s Farfisa organs and song structures and stripping them of any twee leanings. Instead, they install an amplified arsenal of electric guitars that swirl around the pop melodies and threaten to drench them with droning psychedelics, while the rhythm section dallies back and forth between the dance floor and pummelling their point home. Sometimes that happens in the same song, like the album’s aptly-titled centrepiece, “Vous Comprenez Pourquoi?”, where searing, screeching guitars take over a the harrowing mid-section of a dramatic and driving pop song. Imagine Sonic Youth and Black Mountain bum-rushing the stage at a Belle and Sebastian show.
The members of Pas Chic Chic all hail from noisy backgrounds: founder/guitarist/singer Roger Tellier-Craig caused eardrums to bleed in the abrasive Fly Pan Am and was also in an early version of Godspeed You Black Emperor; guitarist Radwan Moumneh was in hardcore band Cursed. Yet they have no problem creating convincing pop, and their aggression is tempered by keyboardist/vocalist Marie-Douce St. Jacques, whose synthetic strings cast an air of romance over everything.
Even at its most punishing and sinister, Pas Chic Chic manage to convey sentiments of sweetness and hope, when they’re not delivering menace, mystery and melody in equal doses. (K-W Record, April 17)
Portishead – Third (Universal)Portishead is not the band you thought they were, and probably never were. And because it's been 11 years since their last album, this is not the time for preconceptions in the first place.
Just because they were the first band to be labeled "trip-hop" doesn't mean that, since the release of their 1994 debut Dummy, Portishead should take the rap for unleashing over a decade of imitators dealing out unadventurous easy listening that's soundtracked every luxury lifestyle ad and lame seduction attempt you've been subjected to ever since.
Portishead was never meant to make you feel comfortable. On the surface, singer Beth Gibbons has a classically beautiful voice, saddled as it is with tragedy. No matter how acute her sense of pain, she is anything but fragile: Gibbons commands a powerful strength, even when it sounds like she's at an emotional breaking point, which is almost always.
Third delves deeper into the increasingly dark territory the band entered on their underrated second album. The soulful underpinnings remain, but much of the hip-hop influence has disappeared—including the trademark turntablism—making room for some of the folkie textures that Gibbons explored in her solo career, as well as the addition of vintage Kraftwerkian synthesizers and dirty drum machines that never fall into cheap electro clichés.
The band themselves seem so eager to kickstart this next phase of their career that they cut off the opening track in mid-phrase, sounding less like a mistake than as if they just want to get on with the rest of the new material, and show off what else they have in store.
What's most remarkable about Third is how this iconic band maintains their signature sound while not repeating themselves in the least. At one point, Gibbons strips everything down to just herself, a mandolin and some doo-wop backing vocals; at another, a Spanish-sounding folk song gives way to pulsating organ drones. Accordions and hurdy-gurdys are just as otherworldly and alien as some of the synths and Theremins; the album closes with wonky cello bends and swooping detuned guitars that sound like lowing cows.
Despite the embarrassment of riches on hand, bandleader Geoff Barrow leaves plenty of sonic space around each element. Even if Gibbons wasn't so compelling, and even if the new songs weren't as strong—if not better—than their best work, this would still be an album you'd want to buy on vinyl and listen to repeatedly with headphones; once through is never enough. (K-W Record, May 8)
Proof of Ghosts – s/t (Weewerk/Outside)The suburbs are a lonely place. Just ask singer/songwriter Steve Heyerdahl, who sounds like he strolls endless cul-de-sacs with his banjo in hand, singing laments to lost women and odes to the joys of hanging out by the Slurpee machine on a summer Saturday night.
He does so with haunting vocals that owe a large debt to another singer who pointed out that Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, but more specifically, Heyerdahl falls under the spell of more modern kindred spirits: both his new labelmates the Great Lake Swimmers and his former Oshawa neighbours in Cuff the Duke—opening track “I’m Coming Home” in particular could be an outtake from the latter’s classic album Life Stories for the Minimum Wage.
Oshawa weighs heavy on Heyerdahl throughout this song cycle, not just because he names two songs after the town, but because his brooding country-in-the-city aesthetic suits Durham County to a T: a declining manufacturing town surrounded by a Great Lake and lush farmland. In this setting, Heyerdahl figures that there’s no greater crime than wasting time, and hence “Summer’s Wasted on the Young,” “Time is a Tyrant” and—to cap it off—“Time Takes Its Time.”
Proof of Ghosts is nothing if not consistent: it nails a feeling of torrential ennui that can be crushing and claustrophobic when the album stretches to almost an hour. This recording is mostly a one-man band; no doubt Heyerdahl will make a few more friends and broaden his horizons by the time he heads back into the studio. (K-W Record, April 24)
R.E.M. – Accelerate (Warner)A mid-life crisis doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s easy to dissect this new R.E.M. album, coming it does after the 25th anniversary of their first EP, a year after they were inducted into the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame, and about ten years after they made an album worth listening to. Last year’s live album found them trying to remember what it was to be a rock band—and clearly, lessons have been learned in the time being.
Now, gone are the lush yet bland Beach Boy-wannabe ballads that they’ve been wallowing in lately. Every song here draws upon the guitar tones that Peter Buck staked his career on in the mid-80s—a signature sound that R.E.M. somehow lost along the way. Also back are the unmistakable backing vocals of bassist Mike Mills, brought to the forefront in ways not heard since 1987’s Life’s Rich Pageant. Singer Michael Stipe has finally got his balls back, both on the fiery rockers and the slower, politically charged tracks; he’s got some grit, and even the most ridiculous lyrics here—found on the apocalyptic party rocker “I’m Gonna DJ”—are considerably more palatable than the parade of shiny happy goof-offs that have snuck on to every R.E.M. album since Green.
It’s hard to say whether our lowered expectations of new R.E.M. material makes Accelerate such an ultimately satisfying listen. While their vintage guitar sound makes a big difference, it’s not necessary—there was plenty of great material dominated by drum machines and keyboards on the underrated 1998 album Up. Back then, losing founding member Bill Berry made them question their future; nowadays, it’s the shadow of irrelevance that has them running scared, in this case back to their roots rather than forging a future. Regardless, it sounds like something is actually at stake for these veterans, and it’s lit a fire behind them to make an album that won’t be littering the second hand store racks a month after its release.
Maybe that Hall of Fame ceremony reminded them that they were always first and foremost a rock band, but when a new R.E.M. record sounds as good as this one it’s best to simply reach for the volume knob and not ponder the reasons why. (K-W Record, April 3)
Sam Roberts – Love at the End of the World (Maple/Universal)As you can discern from the title, Sam Roberts’ contribution to your long hot summer soundtrack is a feel-good record about the apocalypse. He claims he’s been “too afraid to read a newspaper,” but clearly the man has a lot on his mind. “There’s blood on these hands” and “the heat is rising,” sings Roberts, on titles like “Stripmall Religion” and “End of the Empire,” not to mention the title track. Yet he’s an optimist at heart, or at least he wants to be: “Life is for the taking,” he insists, adding later, “Just give me a reason for carrying on.”
If he’s feeling the weight of the world, Roberts doesn’t let it bring his music down. Love At the End of the World shows off what years of touring have done for his band, who are moving well beyond their pedestrian beginnings to give Roberts’ songs the colours and dynamics they deserve—to a point, as their aspirations are no more artsy than to be Canada’s finest bar band, which they may well be by now. There’s plenty of the seemingly effortless melodic rock’n’roll that Roberts perfected on his debut EP, without any of the meandering monotonous guitar jams that he sometimes slips into to pad out his lesser songs.
The first single is a bemusing barnburner about how “the kids don’t know how to dance to rock’n’roll,” which manages to be more than just a grumpy old man song; Roberts actually broadens the topic to ask larger questions about the role of artists in general, all set to a boogie-woogie backbeat. Elsewhere, he brings in some subtly psychedelic guitar textures, some stripped down country songs and plenty of rich vocal harmonies to flesh out what is already his strongest set of songs to date.
After all, if the good times are coming to an end, there’s no point settling for less. (K-W Record, May 29)
She & Him – Volume One (Merge)Actress Zooey Deschanel is the She in question; renowned guitarist and singer/songwriter M. Ward is the Him. Yet despite his larger profile as a musician, Ward is on hand only to lend instrumental support and arrange Deschanel’s country-tinged songs into 70s pop symphonies worthy of Carly Simon or Carole King. Cast outside of his own hushed folkie material, Ward proves adept at painting with all sorts of sonic colours for these catchy songs. Who knows how long Deschanel has been secretly writing, but she has nine classics here that have a better shot a sliding onto oldies radio than any modern playlist.
The only serious fault here is her voice, which, though pretty enough, is more often than not sounds totally disinterested and devoid of personality—shocking, really, considering her day job in drama. If she’s both actress and screenwriter here, Ward proves to be a great cinematographer; maybe he should be more of a director next time. (K-W Record, April 10)
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
April/May 08 reviews
This and the next post will wrap up reviews penned for the Kitchener-Waterloo Record/Guelph Mercury in the past two months. Please take discouraging note of my increasing tendency to use song titles as a substitute for actual critical observation. Also, I wasn't really this grumpy all spring; tomorrow's post will have much more positive reviews!
The Breeders – Mountain Battles (4AD/Beggars Banquet)
Kim Deal might have gone for the cash grab when her old band the Pixies reunited, but there’s nothing on her latest album as The Breeders’ bandleader to suggest that she’s looking for easy ways out.
Deal has had a rough time, musically, since The Breeders soundtracked the summer of 1993 with their landmark single “Cannonball.” That song’s success overshadowed the fact that Deal was a wonderfully weird songwriter even when she wasn’t going for big pop hooks. Unlike her Pixie bandmate Frank Black, Deal decided to stick with the strange and unconventional, a decision that has led to spotty material in the last decade but serves her well in spades here.
Mountain Battles is that rare record where an indie icon manages to tap the anything-goes amateurish approach of their earlier career, long before patterns get codified cliché, before maturity sets in and commercial pressures mount. “I can feel it!” are the only words Deal sings in the opening track, “Overglazed,” and in her voice you can hear her shaking the shackles of addiction that plagued her (and her twin sister Kelley, who shares guitar/vocal duties) for much of her career.
In picking her Battles here, Deal delivers one or two bouncy pop songs, more than a few mournful waltzes and country-tinged diversions, one song sung in Spanish, and a rhythm section that sounds as deceptively lazy as the haunting harmonies between Deal and her twin sister Kelley, which remain as compelling here as they were 15 years ago.
Mountain Battles isn’t out to recreate past glories or do anything, really, other than amuse the Deal sisters and those who remember them fondly. While the same could be said of everything Deal has done outside the Pixies, the difference is that this time she no longer sounds stuck in a rut: her musical interests continue to expand while retaining the unrefined, almost naive quality that always made her unique in the first place. (K-W Record, April 17)
Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds – Dig, Lazarus Dig!!! (Anti)
The worst thing you could ever say about Nick Cave is to accuse him of being innocuous, and yet 14 albums deep into his discography with the Bad Seeds, Dig Lazarus Dig!!! is Cave-by-numbers. The album opens with a fiery title track about resurrection, and closes with Cave lamenting his own obsolescence on an eight-minute Velvet Underground blues riff called “More News From Nowhere.”
Coming off an artistic renaissance of late—with the expansive, gospel-fuelled 2004 double album Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus and 2007's howling garage punk Grinderman project—Cave crawls back to his old bag of tricks, which makes it somewhat ironic when he sings: "People often talk about being scared of change/ me, I'm scared of things staying the same/ because the game is never won by standing in any one place too long."
If Cave seems on autopilot, his Bad Seeds are in as fine form as always, with relatively new keyboardist James Johnston stepping to the forefront with organ flourishes that define many of the album's best moments.
At this point in their evolution, it would be far more interesting to hear the Bad Seeds backing up someone else while Cave takes some well-deserved time off from writing. (K-W Record, April 10)
Constantines – Kensington Heights (Arts and Crafts/EMI)
“Some people’s love is not strong enough,” sings Bry Webb on the opening track of the Constantines’ fourth album. His own love is not in question, however—even if it’s put to the test repeatedly over the course of these dozen songs, where he witnesses friends and family falling on hard times, leaving the harsh environs of the city, hitting the highway or raising children. The Constantines are lifers, and this is their statement of intent: “Kith and kin, when the ice gets thin.”
The last three years have been somewhat tough for this band. After passionate reactions to their first two albums, 2005’s Tournament of Hearts garnered a comparatively tepid response, and the band is now split between Montreal and Toronto. It’s no surprise, then, that resilience is the theme of this record: “Brother Run Them Down,” “Life or Death,” “Do What You Can Do,” “Time Can Be Overcome.”
It’s too bad, then, that they spend much of their stay in Kensington Heights stuck in a murky middle ground between their primary strengths: the fist-pumping rockers (“Hard Feelings,” “Credit River,” “Trans Canada”) and the slow-burning, slightly countrified songs that show a softer side (“New King,” “I Will Not Sing a Hateful Song”). The rhythm section seems to have taken a back seat this time out; keyboardist Will Kidman adds more traditional organ textures to the mix while both Webb and Steve Lambke are experimenting with their approach to guitars.
The kind of tension and release that characterizes their best work is largely absent. This should have been a major transitional record for the Constantines; as it is, it will inject some new life into their legendary live show, but the recording errs on the safe side. They’re ready for bolder moves than this. (K-W Record, May 1)
Hilotrons – Happymatic (Kelp/Outside)
Don’t pay any mind to the terrible album title, especially when you find out that Ottawa’s Hilotrons deliver herky-jerky new wave pop music. Yet thankfully, Happymatic is not a non-stop perky party, and are happy to shake up some vintage soul, some 80s pop, some science fiction and trace elements of African and Asian pop just to keep things interesting. They’re also one of the only bands who know how to use a vocoder judiciously and not just as a cheap prop (Shout Out Out Out Out, take note). For every fist-punching glory like the Ottawa anthem “Emergency Street,” the Hilotrons also know enough about dynamics that they can slow things down to a crawl and a hush, as they do on “I’m a Parade,” with its funereal brass section and Martin Tielli-esque vocals. (K-W Record, April 3)
Islands – Arm’s Way (Anti)
Hey Rosetta! – Into Your Lungs (Sonic/Warner)
Both of these Canadian bands have orchestral instruments as integral elements of the band, not a casual add-on in a bid for respect and maturity. In both cases, the thoughtful arrangements elevate them above the din, but in at least one of these two cases, it’s not enough to save the album in question.
Montreal's Islands have not only had a string section and a bass clarinetist on board since day one, but their songwriting on this, their second album, increasingly resembles a rock opera where verses and choruses take a back seat to longer, linear compositions—which would be fine if they were able to pull it off. The strings themselves boast much more colourful arrangements than heard on Islands' debut, but the similar-sounding songs themselves aren't strong enough to sustain interest.
Some of this is due to songwriter Nick Thorburn's limitations as a singer, but this also marks the first time that he's worked without a strong foil and/or editor: in his past life in The Unicorns, he had an often tumultuous relationship with that band's co-founder; in the first incarnation of Islands, he was collaborating with inventive Guelph drummer Jamie Thompson, who helped steer the ship through some of Thorburn's thornier twists and turns.
Now that Thompson is gone, the current line-up of Islands break up their more plodding numbers by embarking on extremely awkward Motown/Latin/calypso breakdowns—something that Thompson could segue together seamlessly—and seem to be building towards a dynamic release that never happens. By the time Thorburn starts singing about shitting in swimming pools, it seems like an apt metaphor for the entire album.
Real-life islanders, Hey Rosetta! are Newfoundland newcomers who fare far better on their first widely-distributed album. There are no shortage of orchestral flourish for vocalist Tim Baker to howl over, usually set to driving, propulsive rhythms that sound like more muscular version of Hidden Cameras—or, for those who remember, the 80s Irish group Hothouse Flowers.
It's not surprising at all to see that Into Your Lungs is produced by Hawksley Workman; both artists share a love of grandiose stadium-size gestures, and the emotive Baker shares more than a few Workman-like operatic vocal tics, though none of his sense of economy—Into Your Lungs wears out its warm welcome well before its 60 minutes are up.
Even though Workman gives Hey Rosetta! a larger-than-life radio sound, this is a band that undoubtedly sounds much more invigorating live, where their more bombastic side would truly come alive. (K-W Record, May 29)
Jamie Lidell – Jim (Warp/ Fusion 3)
Some artists go further out on a limb as they get older; some discover the joys of simple pleasures. Jamie Lidell started out in the abstract techno world before attempting a Timberlake-style millennial soul makeover on 2005’s Multiply. The transformation is now fully complete, with Lidell reaching even further back to mid-60s Stevie Wonder for inspiration.
Thankfully, Lidell comes to his new state of Wonder-ment with an undeniable set of pipes that don’t sound the least bit the product of studio trickery, which is even more obvious with his new stripped-down sound. Lidell is one of the few British soul singers whose whoops and hollers are convincing enough that he’d feel entirely natural leading a Southern gospel choir. With the help of some of Feist’s key collaborators—Gonzales, Mocky and Renaud Letang—Lidell is never short of finger snappin’, piano rockin’ soulful pop to wrap his voice around.
As good as he is, there are few instances here where one wouldn’t rather pull out some dusty vinyl from his source material and listen to that instead—especially when one song is a direct lift of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.”
Jim is the beginning of Lidell’s reinvention; next time he’ll likely dive in even deeper. (K-W Record, May 8)
Matmos – Supreme Balloon (Matador)
Matmos are, and always have been, scientists. Often dressed in lab coats on stage, their studio albums create music from found sounds in the unlikeliest sources: shuffling decks of cards, snails and lasers, spanking bottoms—even liposuction. Each album by these Bjork collaborators is tied to a specific concept, wherein the source material for their instrumental compositions is directly linked to the intended musical narrative.
This time out, however, Matmos are one step removed from the lab, and more like soundtrack artists for a 70s sci-fi film—or even an educational filmstrip, which children of that decade will remember fondly. Matmos boast that “no microphones were used on this album,” instead turning to a series of analog modular synthesizers to create what could be early synth pioneer Wendy Carlos romping through a Nintendo-generated fantasy world. If nothing else, Supreme Balloon will certainly conjure memories of that first school trip to the Ontario Science Centre.
Because they’re so associated with conceptual art, this is the first Matmos album that must be approached entirely on its own musical merits. Their playful spirit prevails, on the glitchy blips and bossa nova beat of “Rainbow Flag” or the non-sequitur quote from O Canada that appears in the middle of “Exciter Lamp And The Variable Band.” But they pop their own balloon and set themselves adrift on the 24-minute title track, which sounds like a plodding outtake from Kraftwerk’s more psychedelic period, where nothing develops over the course of its epic length to justify it taking up almost half the album’s running time. (K-W Record, May 15)
Ocote Soul Sounds and Adrian Quesada – The Alchemist Manifesto (ESL/Select)
Adrian Quesada and Martin Perna are the two men responsible for this chilled-out, trippy Latin groove album—which is not what you would expect considering their day jobs in two of the hottest live bands in the U.S.: the Latino powerhouse funk band Grupo Fantasma and the neo-Afrobeat Antibalas, respectively. But playing in those acts must be exhausting, which is why they probably start making music like this back at the hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. Some stronger grooves prevail, but this is definitely post-party music, the kind where renowned horn player Perna breaks out his alto flute far more often than his baritone saxophone. It’s also several steps above the usually tepid downtempo modern muzak that this will invariably get lumped in with; Quesada and Perna deserve much better than that. (K-W Record, May 29)
The Breeders – Mountain Battles (4AD/Beggars Banquet)Kim Deal might have gone for the cash grab when her old band the Pixies reunited, but there’s nothing on her latest album as The Breeders’ bandleader to suggest that she’s looking for easy ways out.
Deal has had a rough time, musically, since The Breeders soundtracked the summer of 1993 with their landmark single “Cannonball.” That song’s success overshadowed the fact that Deal was a wonderfully weird songwriter even when she wasn’t going for big pop hooks. Unlike her Pixie bandmate Frank Black, Deal decided to stick with the strange and unconventional, a decision that has led to spotty material in the last decade but serves her well in spades here.
Mountain Battles is that rare record where an indie icon manages to tap the anything-goes amateurish approach of their earlier career, long before patterns get codified cliché, before maturity sets in and commercial pressures mount. “I can feel it!” are the only words Deal sings in the opening track, “Overglazed,” and in her voice you can hear her shaking the shackles of addiction that plagued her (and her twin sister Kelley, who shares guitar/vocal duties) for much of her career.
In picking her Battles here, Deal delivers one or two bouncy pop songs, more than a few mournful waltzes and country-tinged diversions, one song sung in Spanish, and a rhythm section that sounds as deceptively lazy as the haunting harmonies between Deal and her twin sister Kelley, which remain as compelling here as they were 15 years ago.
Mountain Battles isn’t out to recreate past glories or do anything, really, other than amuse the Deal sisters and those who remember them fondly. While the same could be said of everything Deal has done outside the Pixies, the difference is that this time she no longer sounds stuck in a rut: her musical interests continue to expand while retaining the unrefined, almost naive quality that always made her unique in the first place. (K-W Record, April 17)
Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds – Dig, Lazarus Dig!!! (Anti)The worst thing you could ever say about Nick Cave is to accuse him of being innocuous, and yet 14 albums deep into his discography with the Bad Seeds, Dig Lazarus Dig!!! is Cave-by-numbers. The album opens with a fiery title track about resurrection, and closes with Cave lamenting his own obsolescence on an eight-minute Velvet Underground blues riff called “More News From Nowhere.”
Coming off an artistic renaissance of late—with the expansive, gospel-fuelled 2004 double album Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus and 2007's howling garage punk Grinderman project—Cave crawls back to his old bag of tricks, which makes it somewhat ironic when he sings: "People often talk about being scared of change/ me, I'm scared of things staying the same/ because the game is never won by standing in any one place too long."
If Cave seems on autopilot, his Bad Seeds are in as fine form as always, with relatively new keyboardist James Johnston stepping to the forefront with organ flourishes that define many of the album's best moments.
At this point in their evolution, it would be far more interesting to hear the Bad Seeds backing up someone else while Cave takes some well-deserved time off from writing. (K-W Record, April 10)
Constantines – Kensington Heights (Arts and Crafts/EMI)“Some people’s love is not strong enough,” sings Bry Webb on the opening track of the Constantines’ fourth album. His own love is not in question, however—even if it’s put to the test repeatedly over the course of these dozen songs, where he witnesses friends and family falling on hard times, leaving the harsh environs of the city, hitting the highway or raising children. The Constantines are lifers, and this is their statement of intent: “Kith and kin, when the ice gets thin.”
The last three years have been somewhat tough for this band. After passionate reactions to their first two albums, 2005’s Tournament of Hearts garnered a comparatively tepid response, and the band is now split between Montreal and Toronto. It’s no surprise, then, that resilience is the theme of this record: “Brother Run Them Down,” “Life or Death,” “Do What You Can Do,” “Time Can Be Overcome.”
It’s too bad, then, that they spend much of their stay in Kensington Heights stuck in a murky middle ground between their primary strengths: the fist-pumping rockers (“Hard Feelings,” “Credit River,” “Trans Canada”) and the slow-burning, slightly countrified songs that show a softer side (“New King,” “I Will Not Sing a Hateful Song”). The rhythm section seems to have taken a back seat this time out; keyboardist Will Kidman adds more traditional organ textures to the mix while both Webb and Steve Lambke are experimenting with their approach to guitars.
The kind of tension and release that characterizes their best work is largely absent. This should have been a major transitional record for the Constantines; as it is, it will inject some new life into their legendary live show, but the recording errs on the safe side. They’re ready for bolder moves than this. (K-W Record, May 1)
Hilotrons – Happymatic (Kelp/Outside) Don’t pay any mind to the terrible album title, especially when you find out that Ottawa’s Hilotrons deliver herky-jerky new wave pop music. Yet thankfully, Happymatic is not a non-stop perky party, and are happy to shake up some vintage soul, some 80s pop, some science fiction and trace elements of African and Asian pop just to keep things interesting. They’re also one of the only bands who know how to use a vocoder judiciously and not just as a cheap prop (Shout Out Out Out Out, take note). For every fist-punching glory like the Ottawa anthem “Emergency Street,” the Hilotrons also know enough about dynamics that they can slow things down to a crawl and a hush, as they do on “I’m a Parade,” with its funereal brass section and Martin Tielli-esque vocals. (K-W Record, April 3)
Islands – Arm’s Way (Anti) Hey Rosetta! – Into Your Lungs (Sonic/Warner)
Both of these Canadian bands have orchestral instruments as integral elements of the band, not a casual add-on in a bid for respect and maturity. In both cases, the thoughtful arrangements elevate them above the din, but in at least one of these two cases, it’s not enough to save the album in question.
Montreal's Islands have not only had a string section and a bass clarinetist on board since day one, but their songwriting on this, their second album, increasingly resembles a rock opera where verses and choruses take a back seat to longer, linear compositions—which would be fine if they were able to pull it off. The strings themselves boast much more colourful arrangements than heard on Islands' debut, but the similar-sounding songs themselves aren't strong enough to sustain interest.
Some of this is due to songwriter Nick Thorburn's limitations as a singer, but this also marks the first time that he's worked without a strong foil and/or editor: in his past life in The Unicorns, he had an often tumultuous relationship with that band's co-founder; in the first incarnation of Islands, he was collaborating with inventive Guelph drummer Jamie Thompson, who helped steer the ship through some of Thorburn's thornier twists and turns.
Now that Thompson is gone, the current line-up of Islands break up their more plodding numbers by embarking on extremely awkward Motown/Latin/calypso breakdowns—something that Thompson could segue together seamlessly—and seem to be building towards a dynamic release that never happens. By the time Thorburn starts singing about shitting in swimming pools, it seems like an apt metaphor for the entire album.
Real-life islanders, Hey Rosetta! are Newfoundland newcomers who fare far better on their first widely-distributed album. There are no shortage of orchestral flourish for vocalist Tim Baker to howl over, usually set to driving, propulsive rhythms that sound like more muscular version of Hidden Cameras—or, for those who remember, the 80s Irish group Hothouse Flowers.It's not surprising at all to see that Into Your Lungs is produced by Hawksley Workman; both artists share a love of grandiose stadium-size gestures, and the emotive Baker shares more than a few Workman-like operatic vocal tics, though none of his sense of economy—Into Your Lungs wears out its warm welcome well before its 60 minutes are up.
Even though Workman gives Hey Rosetta! a larger-than-life radio sound, this is a band that undoubtedly sounds much more invigorating live, where their more bombastic side would truly come alive. (K-W Record, May 29)
Jamie Lidell – Jim (Warp/ Fusion 3)Some artists go further out on a limb as they get older; some discover the joys of simple pleasures. Jamie Lidell started out in the abstract techno world before attempting a Timberlake-style millennial soul makeover on 2005’s Multiply. The transformation is now fully complete, with Lidell reaching even further back to mid-60s Stevie Wonder for inspiration.
Thankfully, Lidell comes to his new state of Wonder-ment with an undeniable set of pipes that don’t sound the least bit the product of studio trickery, which is even more obvious with his new stripped-down sound. Lidell is one of the few British soul singers whose whoops and hollers are convincing enough that he’d feel entirely natural leading a Southern gospel choir. With the help of some of Feist’s key collaborators—Gonzales, Mocky and Renaud Letang—Lidell is never short of finger snappin’, piano rockin’ soulful pop to wrap his voice around.
As good as he is, there are few instances here where one wouldn’t rather pull out some dusty vinyl from his source material and listen to that instead—especially when one song is a direct lift of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.”
Jim is the beginning of Lidell’s reinvention; next time he’ll likely dive in even deeper. (K-W Record, May 8)
Matmos – Supreme Balloon (Matador)Matmos are, and always have been, scientists. Often dressed in lab coats on stage, their studio albums create music from found sounds in the unlikeliest sources: shuffling decks of cards, snails and lasers, spanking bottoms—even liposuction. Each album by these Bjork collaborators is tied to a specific concept, wherein the source material for their instrumental compositions is directly linked to the intended musical narrative.
This time out, however, Matmos are one step removed from the lab, and more like soundtrack artists for a 70s sci-fi film—or even an educational filmstrip, which children of that decade will remember fondly. Matmos boast that “no microphones were used on this album,” instead turning to a series of analog modular synthesizers to create what could be early synth pioneer Wendy Carlos romping through a Nintendo-generated fantasy world. If nothing else, Supreme Balloon will certainly conjure memories of that first school trip to the Ontario Science Centre.
Because they’re so associated with conceptual art, this is the first Matmos album that must be approached entirely on its own musical merits. Their playful spirit prevails, on the glitchy blips and bossa nova beat of “Rainbow Flag” or the non-sequitur quote from O Canada that appears in the middle of “Exciter Lamp And The Variable Band.” But they pop their own balloon and set themselves adrift on the 24-minute title track, which sounds like a plodding outtake from Kraftwerk’s more psychedelic period, where nothing develops over the course of its epic length to justify it taking up almost half the album’s running time. (K-W Record, May 15)
Ocote Soul Sounds and Adrian Quesada – The Alchemist Manifesto (ESL/Select)Adrian Quesada and Martin Perna are the two men responsible for this chilled-out, trippy Latin groove album—which is not what you would expect considering their day jobs in two of the hottest live bands in the U.S.: the Latino powerhouse funk band Grupo Fantasma and the neo-Afrobeat Antibalas, respectively. But playing in those acts must be exhausting, which is why they probably start making music like this back at the hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. Some stronger grooves prevail, but this is definitely post-party music, the kind where renowned horn player Perna breaks out his alto flute far more often than his baritone saxophone. It’s also several steps above the usually tepid downtempo modern muzak that this will invariably get lumped in with; Quesada and Perna deserve much better than that. (K-W Record, May 29)
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