Why Everyone Should Be Listening to Grizzly Bear

Grizzly Bear – Cheerleader

Normally when an album has been as anticipated as much as Veckatimest has, it inevitably sinks under the weight of expectation. In the case of Grizzly Bear, everything they have done since 2006′s Yellow House has signalled a band nearing their creative peak.

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M. Ward – Hold Time

M. Ward’s new album will benefit greatly from the mainstream exposure that She & Him brought and I know it will do well in its critical reception…I’m just not sure it deserves to. Sure, it’s enjoyable – but the amount of recycled material here is staggering. So many of the melodies and chord progressions retread old ground that they are literally a pale imitation of what has come before. If you are approaching M. Ward’s music from any sort of unfamiliarity, please, please seek out Transfiguration of Vincent, Transistor Radio, and End of Amnesia first. You’ll be glad you did.

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Beirut – March of the Zapotec

Beirut – La Llorona

I’ve had the new Beirut release for about a month now and it’s definitely a departure…but not one I have taken to the way I would have hoped for. For a start, it’s two EPs together rather than an album, each half distinctly different both from each other and everything that came before. The first part is a collection of Mexican funeral march arrangements conducted through a brass orchestra, the second a gathering of ’80s inspired keyboard pop recorded in a bedroom under the new name Realpeople. It’s not without its moments, however. Instrumental ‘No Dice’ is a blast of kitsch fun and penultimate track ‘The Concubine’ is a gem. I would post the latter here but I am not legally entitled to do so. However, it will be on my forthcoming mix CD!

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Jenny Lewis – Tryin’ My Best

Jenny Lewis – Tryin’ My Best

When Jenny Lewis released her solo debut, Rabbit Fur Coat, two years ago, she felt safe in the knowledge that little was riding on it. Had the low-budget independent release failed to impress, there was always the success of Rilo Kiley to return to. Yet not only did the album outsell anything the Californian band ever released, but the one thing that reviews for the group’s subsequent album could agree on was Lewis’ potential star quality.

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Beck – Gamma Ray

Beck – Gamma Ray

I had almost given up on Beck. I’ve always felt that Sea Change was the album of his career, that it not only showcased his songwriting abilities but underlined what he is capable of when his music gains a focus. Since then, however, every album has been billed as “a return of the Beck we all know and love,” but instead merely offer a collection of ADHD-driven tracks where he faffs about, distractedly tinkering with a combination of cruising beats and forgettable ideas.

So when the press campaign behind the new release began on the same note, I was wary.

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Jackie-O Motherfucker: Flags of the Sacred Harp

There seem to be two sides to Jackie-O Motherfucker’s “Flags of the Sacred Harp”: there’s the serene, meditative folk, steeped in tradition…and then there’s the avant-garde, boundless explorations of atmospheric sound. Of course, Jackie-O Motherfucker are decades too late to be considered ground breaking in either field, but the difference between the two halves of their efforts is that the folkier side to things leaves you with a good taste in the mouth, wanting more…whereas the experimental element divides the album irreconcilably, rendering that taste a distant memory.

The cycle of the mantra-like “Nice One” start things off on a tranquil note, its calm-inducing waves making it easy to picture yourself lying on a beach with eyes shut as the sun rises. After it drifts into an extended run of static, droning interplay, “Rockaway” resumes matters with another slice of daydreaming acoustics, delivering some of my favourite lines from any album this year:

“I’m goin’ up to Heaven, gonna talk to the good Lord above / If I can’t get me no angel, send me back the one I love.
Tombstone is my pillow, graveyard’s gonna be my bed /
Blue sky is my blanket, pale moon’s gonna be my spread.”

This is as straightforward and simple as the quartet get, and arguably, their most effective…and that momentum, that warm, absorbing streak they seem to get rolling, is continued with the blissfully sedative “Hey Mr. Sky.” Combined, the crux of the opening three songs provide a brilliant, mouth watering invitation to float away on a slow burning album.

However, before its final notes have even completely faded out, an entirely different direction is undertaken, with the 11 minute long enigma “Spirits” proceeding to dismantle that climax by smashing it into smithereens.

Inspired and titled after an American songbook of traditional hymns and anthems from 1844, it’s doubtless that there is a deconstructive statement to be found here, but in music terms alone, Jackie-O Motherfucker leave the listener with quite a conundrum. A fragmented album stemming from two different entities, the potency it promises early on spills open and washes over whatever remains like the sour, rusty cello that picks at the bottom of “Loud and Mighty.” In the end, it will all boil down to how open you are to the lengthy and perhaps testing digestion process, but if you’re familiar with their oeuvre, you’ll know Jackie-O Motherfucker are not here to fit neatly into any system of comprehension.

Artist / Group:
Jackie-O Motherfucker
Album:
Flags of the Sacred Harp
Label:
Atp
Released:
5th December 2005

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Arab Strap: The Last Romance

Arab Strap: The Last Romance

             Ostentatiously Scottish, Arab Strap’s “The Last Romance” is a harrowingly open insight into the bleak realities of dead-end relationships, meaningless sex, and drug-induced mid-week slumps. Not the most gifted vocalist or creative melodicist, Aidan Moffat’s lyrics often sound simply like spoken poetry, absorbing the focus of all the attention and virtually rendering the music secondary.

              Although one could just as easily perceive the hard rain of Arab Strap’s misery as either uncomfortably revealing or refreshingly direct, whichever way it strikes you, make no mistake – this does not make for easy or instantly accessible listening. In fact, it’s hard to believe that this is the same musician behind the serene, instrumental hypnotics of Lucky Pierre – a soundscape that now seems its polar opposite…a place far, far away from here.

Artist / Group:
Arab Strap
Album:
The Last Romance
Label:
Chemikal Underground
Released:
17th October 2005

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The Howling Hex: You Can’t Beat Tomorrow

           Former guitarist of Royal Trux and Pussy Galore, Neil Hagerty sounds surprisingly like Frank Black when he decides to sing falsetto, as on the freakish, almost indescribable opener, “Teenage Doors.” Chattering in a mass of drum samples and twiddling high-pitched acoustics, it begins a pattern of sorts for an album that’s shorter than most EPs at an even 29 minutes.

             It feels as if there are two types of songs appearing on a revolving basis on “You Can’t Beat Tomorrow.” One variety belongs to a more experimental hip-hop orientated mode, white musicians taking on beats in the same approach as Beck or Ill Communication-era Beastie Boys (as on “Sick and Old #1″), and then there’s the smoking groves Hagerty deploys on every other track..

             Sounding like you’ve just wandered into a jam in a blues bar, these songs feature an unusually “open” sound, recorded live and seemingly without any regard for meticulous production processes. Despite this distance from what you’re hearing, the natural approach manages to work wonders, Hagerty’s controlling of all motion with his guitar displaying a mastery of how to ride one simple, effective riff to its atmospheric peak.

             The swinging funk of “Cobra Heart” and “SC Coward,” sizzling with the bends of Sixties-sounding guitar, and the glowing “No Numbers” – threaded with the crow of a muted horn – all feel like they contain as many elements as a party. Delightfully chaotic, you may strain to hear them, but Hagerty makes that an enjoyable process.

Artist / Group: The Howling Hex Album: You Can’t Beat Tomorrow Label: Drag City Released: 14th November 2005

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Pellumair: Summer Storm

           A smooth, undemanding listen, “Summer Storm” is just two voices and two guitars on a percussionless merry-go-round. When it works, as on the opener, “Side For This” and the comfortably subdued “Silk As Her Era,” an electric guitar feels like a notable addition, complimenting the structure of the song in all the right ways.

             More often than not, however, Pellumair just don’t give their songs a fighting chance, an arrangement of just two guitars (and the occasional pluck of an upright bass) proving insufficient to keep things from growing somewhat monotonous time after time.

             Though in some places the pair sound like a British take on Kings Of Convenience (with a hint of Galaxie 500), ultimately the lack of depth to these songs lets things down enough to make 11 tracks and 38 minutes feel like an ambitious stretch.

             Having broken up before this album was even released (an inability to find a workable live sound is reported to have been the main reason), one can only hope that their divided talents will find the company of musicians and effective permutations of instruments in their future incarnations.

Artist / Group:
Pellumair
Album:
Summer Storm
Label:
Tugboat
Released:
14th November 2005

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Rogue Wave: Descended Like Vultures

            After the surprise success of the soundtrack to “Garden State,” record companies have been only too happy to cash in on anything bearing even a feint resemblance ever since. Consequently, 2005 has seen an unprecedented influx of indie-pop releases, veritably causing the good to become indistinguishable from the bad amongst a flood of soundalikes. Whereas Brendan Benson, Jack Johnson, and Devin Davis deservedly earned warm receptions early on in the year, the likes of OKGO, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and The New Pornographers have marked a saturation point of dulcet choruses and sugar-coated harmonies. Quite simply, we’re reaching a level of overkill in the catchy department, and this cynical re-working of what “pop” is by the labels has left me as an indie-pop diabetic. Having been acquainted with Rogue Wave’s “Out of the Shadow” just before this tide began, I had to wonder whether their latest release, the aptly titled “Descended Like Vultures,” would be able to revive my ailing interest in the genre.

             Whereas 2004′s “Out of the Shadow” was ostensibly a solo effort whose ear-candy confounded listeners in all the right ways, Rogue Wave’s sophomore release is the end-product of a four-piece who have made a conscious decision to inject a little more heaviness into matters. In place of a hushed lo-fi quality uncannily like Elliot Smith comes a more vivacious spread that, instead, could be accused of sounding dangerously similar to some of the acts already mentioned. Thus, releasing this album after such a slew is a confident move indeed, but Zach Wave’s songwriting is more than able to weather the seas of soundalikes, and those already fond of his sweetened songwriting sensibilities will not be disappointed.

             Demonstrating this amped-up transition, the gratifying opener “Bird on a Wire” features a falling guitar line cutting uncompromisingly into the end of each verse with great volume, and the effect is elaborated on even further with a subtle smattering of electro-like feedback towards the song’s end. Similarly, when “Publish My Love” bursts in on a gust of distortion, and has its chorus propelled with Pat Spurgeon’s thundering bassdrum, it’s clear that the main idea here is to consciously give Rogue’s songwriting some extra strength, building it up with a tougher exterior, however superficial that layer may be.

             How and ever, the new changes ring in a comfortable level of diversity if nothing else, and “Descended like Vultures” is certainly the better for it. “10:1,” on the other hand, is the perfect example of sounding a little too like every other indie-pop band, and it’s a moment we, and Rogue’s songwriting, can do without. No matter how they’re dressed up and filled out, one can’t escape the feeling that these songs were all written on an acoustic as simple saccharine reveries (like the Norweigan Wood-esque “California”) and have been given a makeover in an attempt to avoid the inevitable comparisons to label-mates The Shins – an inclination that seemed set to dog Rogue Wave’s career after “Out of the Shadow.”

             By the time we reach “Are You on My Side,” it’s clear that Rogue Wave’s songs feel infinitely catchy and memorable while you’re listening to them, but, somewhat inexplicably, seem to lack a magnetic pull; as with the previous release is, it’s quite easy to enjoy this thoroughly without finding yourself being drawn back to it. Yet even if that is the case, there’s surely more than enough here to earn it a place right alongside the best of the scene’s current crop, though any commercial success may hang in the balance of the album’s timing.

Artist / Group:
Rogue Wave
Album:
Descended Like Vultures
Label:
Sub Pop
Released:
31st October 2005

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Tortoise and Bonnie “Prince” Billy: The Brave and The Bold

Will Oldham’s voice seems to have as many variations as he has pseudonyms, so ever since word spread sometime earlier this year that a collaboration between Bonnie “Prince” Billy and Tortoise was on the cards, followers of both artists have been speculating endlessly as to what the end product might sound like. Those who have had enough with salivating at the prospect alone may be pleasantly surprised to hear that a sound surprisingly similar to the Flaming Lips opens the album with a haunting reinterpretation of Elton John’s “Daniel,” of all things. However, rather than set the tone of the project, “The Brave and the Bold” is a challenging, adaptive listen that feels as diverse as the list of artists it covers.

After the reverberating drones of “Daniel” and a relatively straightforward take on Richard and Linda Thompson’s “The Calvary Cross,” comes Devo’s “It’s Pep!” Disappointingly, it sounds little more than someone (almost anyone, in fact) covering Devo, messily shaking it up until it makes a near seemless transition into the Minutemen’s “It’s Expected I’m Gone.” So much so, in fact, that the latter sounds like a settled version of the former, grinding neatly as Oldham delivers a Chris Cornell-like vocal.

Taking on the Brazilian beats of Milton Nascimento and charging his “Cravo é Canela” with distortion, tellingly, this is perhaps the only track on “The Brave and the Bold” that sounds anything close to the kind of dynamic Tortoise are known for. Similarly, Melanie’s “Some Say (I Got Devil)” reveals further cracks in the concept when Oldham’s croak is guilty of running on autopilot, becoming a disinterested pedestrian (and, arguably, not for the first time) until the track is rendered a pale comparison of what was originally a beautiful song.

With a sleeker take on Quix’o'tic’s lo-fi indie sounds, the subtleties of “On My Own” shows that Tortoise and Bonnie Prince Billy are capable of getting things just right after all. However, the same can’t be said for the majority of the rest, and this nicely contained track remains as one of the album’s few memorable moments. Meanwhile, on Lungfish’s “Love is Love,” the bubbling distortion that persistently emanates from the keyboards (not only here but throughout the album) takes the sheen off what is a sleek and effective song by one of the last great emo bands.

Finishing with an ambitious rethreading of the anthemic “Thunder Road,” Springsteen’s trickling piano is replaced with some squealing synths and extremely effective slithering guitar, and while Oldham’s vocals may not sound like they contain any pressing urgency, they manage to contribute to a portrait that recasts the original as an epic, paying tribute to exactly the way a good cover version should.

In the end, though Tortoise fans may feel that the band is slightly curtailed in such a supportive role, “The Brave and the Bold” will certainly be considered as a must-buy release to both parties’ admirers. Having originally come about after Oldham jokingly told Overcoat Recordings owner Howard Greynolds that he would only consider recording a covers album if he had Tortoise backing him, it seems as if that lack of seriousness has translated into the work as a whole, feeling like an idea for a quality EP that inadvertently expanded into an album.

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Neil Young: Prairie Wind

            For all his former glories, Neil Young nearly lost me with “Greendale.” I remember sitting in the front rows of Vicar St. when he was debuting the material, looking over my shoulders in disbelief, wondering if anyone else felt that we were being put on. So while all the talk of “Prairie Wind” being a return to his “Harvest” days may be jumping the gun somewhat, it certainly is a stabilising return to form.

The album starts off strongly; though the substance is somewhat familiar, the effective simplicity of tracks such as “The Painter” are what Neil Young does best. “No Wonder,” a meditation on the climate around 9/11, can be praised for the same qualities, but also marks the introduction of one of Prairie Wind’s most notables features. This is where we’re given the first taste of the layering of elements that are wrapped around the songs from here on out: gospel choirs, church organs, horns, and even a string section are used on a rotating basis.

Tracks such as “Far from Home,” “It’s a Dream,” “Prairie Wind,” and “He Was the King” (a light hearted tribute to Elvis) are loaded with this kind of pomp, and strangely enough, it’s difficult to tell whether these songs would float or sink without them. The female backing in the title track in particular sounds quite soulless, and by the song’s end (an unnecessary seven and a half minutes) it has emptied itself of all significance.

To counterpoint all this, perhaps, there’s plenty of dirty acoustic riffage to keep things flowing nicely. The return of guitarist (and co-producer) Ben Keith to the fold means there are some striking similarities to “Harvest Moon” – arguably Young’s last release of genuine class. If the elderly, autumnal romantics to “Falling Off the Face of the Earth” and “Here for You” don’t underline the comparison for you, the recycling of the riff from the title track on “This Old Guitar,” certainly will (the melody of “World on a String” is also rehashed earlier on in the album).

Ultimately, a sepia-toned album filled with nostalgia and the recurring image of prairie wind (you will swear you’ve heard him sing lines such as “Bury me out on the prairie Where the buffalo used to roam” before) will come as absolutely no surprise to those with any previous knowledge of Neil Young. The good news is that if you’re a dedicated admirer of the song-writer’s trademark touches, you’ll certainly be pleased to know he’s still capable of producing something of note. Although this may indeed be his best album it years, it serves as more of a redeeming move rather than a latter-day magnum opus.

Artist / Group:
Neil Young
Album:
Prairie Wind
Label:
Reprise
Released:
27th September 2005

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Red Sparowes: At the Soundless Dawn

           Ah, instrumental “post rock.” A slew of rough guitars set out on a familiar trail, stopping off for a quiet little breakdown before building back up towards a heavy, droning climax. While Red Sparowes apply themselves to this template competently, it goes without saying that this dynamic has a shorter lifespan than most, and as a result, there is little margin for predictability. It should be no surprise that, by nature, then, listeners will tend to treat this genre unforgivingly should its latest product fail to impress on its first airing.

“At the Soundless Dawn” certainly has the potential to grow on you with repeated listens, but whether you’ll get that far is another matter entirely. So let’s split it into the good, the bad, and the indifferent. In terms of highlights, the subtle slide guitar employed in several places is certainly noteworthy, while the giddy shuffle of the bassline on “Buildings Began to Stretch Wide Across the Sky, And the Air Filled With” is arguably the best part of the album. Going against its favour, however, are the excessive song lengths which are used to indulge extended phases of plodding rhythm, often being reduced to a simple, pointless strum (“The Sixth Extinction Crept Up Slowly, Like Sunlight Through the Shutters, A”) that’s about as progressive as jogging on the spot. Naturally, this kills all momentum.

As a whole, though there is a grinding neatness to the album that may jar its way into your attention, the atmosphere it contains is identical to what you’ll find with Explosions in the Sky (and “A Brief Moment of Clarity Broke Through the Deafening Hum, But It Was Too” in particular sounds like a Redneck Manifesto knock-off). Though I would be interested to see what sort of a live setting they could conjure up for themselves, on record, “At the Soundless Dawn” is simply too middle of the road.

Artist / Group:
Red Sparowes
Album:
At the Soundless Dawn
Label:
Neurot
Released:
7th March 2005

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Sebastien Tellier: Politics

           Far from sounding anything like label-mates Air, there’s a touch of electro-cabaret to Sebastien Tellier’s latest offering, “Politics.” More specifically, on more than a few occasions it manages to sound like a concept album designed with a German opera about the 80s in mind, consequently making it an unexpected and quite intriguing listen to say the least.

With grand, sweeping layers present from the outset, the feel to Tellier’s arrangements and the tonality of his melodies frequently sound conspicuously like that master of concept albums, Frank Zappa (as on “Bye Bye” and “Benny”). Perhaps somewhat inevitably, then, there’s an air of deliberate tackiness at hand on tracks such as “Wonderafrica” and “Mauer,” filling out the width of the album with a gluttonous quality.

Yet when the more conventional moments do arrive, they’re worth taking note of: the clapping, aahhh-ing snap of acoustics in “League Chicanos,” the funky resonance of quasi-instrumental “La Ritournelle” (which has “summer anthem” written all over it), and the meditative, drawing strings of “Slow Lynch,” may satisfy those curious enough to investigate the Frenchman’s latest eccentric endeavour.

However, as a whole, it remains to be seen whether “Politics” is an eye-brow raising exercise in diverse and unusual song-writing, or rather a tongue-in-cheek experiment in Euro-trash. With closing number “Zombi” sounding like the soundtrack to the flashing neon lights of some bizarre game show, it’s hard to imagine anyone giving this album repeated listening with a straight face (or a full measure of sanity).

Artist / Group:
Sebastien Tellier
Album:
Politics
Label:
Lucky Number
Released:
12th September 2005

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Porcupine Tree – Deadwing

            Song to song, Porcupine Tree have a way of moving from average nu-metal to bland sentimentality as if there were nothing to it, but it’s a line tread most unremarkably. Though “Deadwing” may not be the worst album of the year, it certainly makes for some fairly uninspired listening as, rather than make any form of advance from their previous works, instead their latest release sees them slip into a world of self-plagiarism.

The crux of the title track feeds off riffs that sound like latter-day Rage Against The Machine (and, similarly, sound like a band running out of ideas and unable to cover up their weaknesses), but the disastrous faux-aggression of the spoken word part and the extended track length are entirely unwarranted. With “Shallow” sounding like a continuation of the same song (only seemingly better shaped for radio airplay), you may, at this point, find yourself wondering whether you have what it takes to go on.

Softer outings such as “Lazarus,” “Arriving Somewhere (But Not Here),” and “Mellotron Scratch,” on the other had, never fail to meander frustratingly through wishy-washy territory. While it’s been made clear from an early stage here that the lyrical content isn’t going to be anything to write home about, one still hopes that Steven Wilson was intentionally writing with the ears of dull, angst-ridden teens in mind, rather than actually being so creatively limited.

The beginning of “Open Car” says it all: it’s a throwaway sound that’s been re-hashed by a countless number of middle-of-the-road nu-metal bands. Though this may be tolerable enough to some (or even endearing to die-hard followers of the genre), this smacks of not only cynicism, but a lack or artistic integrity, and for me, this is where the journey must end. A pale revision of “Lightbulb Sun,” “Deadwing” is an apt title if ever there was one: falling completely flat, it’s a tired sound that just won’t fly.

Artist / Group:
Porcupine Tree
Album:
Deadwing
Label:
Lava
Released:
26th April 2005

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C’mon – In the Heat of the Moment

           “The guitar is placed unusually high in the mix on C’mon’s second LP, “In the Heat of the Moment,” and understandably so: their strongpoint unmistakably lies behind the power of their throttling, high energy riffs. As someone who’s slaved away behind the production desk for countless local bands over the years, Ian Blurton knows exactly what he wants from his (relatively) new band – to kick ass. More specifically, to kick the ass of a number of recent bands who Blurton feels have been faking something that, when he grew up, was most definitely sacred (though he doesn’t name names, The Darkness most certainly come to mind). Fittingly, the trio have gone for a loaded, somewhat retro sound culled from three different elements: the dynamic and (time-length) of punk songs, the simplicity of classic 70s rock, and the sensibility of crunching metal licks.

            ” It should be no surprise, then, that there a plethora of influences to be found imprinted all over “In the Heat of the Moment,” ranging from the likes of AC/DC and Cheap Trick to Queens of the Stone Age and Turbonegro. Then again, you might ascertain the same conclusions just from glancing at the band: while it’s hard to miss Blurton’s prominent ZZ Top-like beard, the group as a whole look like they’ve been transported from some crumpled-up 70s rock magazine cover. What is slightly surprising, however, is how the ex-Change of Heart frontman manages to sound like a singer half his age, imbuing the release with all of the immediacy of a breakthrough debut album.

            ” Flying through twelve tracks in less than half an hour, “In the Heat of the Moment” is a collection of no nonsense, straight ahead rock cuts seemingly revived for starved, die-hard head-bangers in mind. Though there are virtually no blistering solos in sight (just melodic bursts), it’s Blurton’s knack for surging riffs that remain delectably neat and tidy that wins the day here. From the pulsating weight of opener “This is Yr Captain” to the magnetic guitar bends of highlight “Cut Me Down,” the album is impressively cohesive, if not short and sweet. Despite being lyrically weak in places (“I Got a Fever,” “Burn All Night”) and touches of familiarity (The Ramones on “Gonna Get Some,” and CCR’s “Green River” on “Desperate Hearts”), “In the Heat of the Moment” will make an opportune arrival to those whose air-guitars have long been lying dormant. If you ever took the likes of The Darkness seriously in the first place (which would be slightly worrying), alongside C’mon, it underlines the impression that the former are merely a pastiche of Spinal Tap.

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Laura Veirs: Year of Meteors

           Compared to the wintery feel of 2004′s “Carbon Glaciers,” an album suitably fronted with a monochrome illustration of a lone figure roughing the waters of a stark, arctic landscape, “Year of Meteors” catches Laura Veirs in the full bloom of spring. Though it’s normal for Veirs’ song-writing to be finely decorated with streaming vivid imagery and symbols of nature, each track here deals with movement in one way or another, threading the songs together nicely and imbuing them with vivaciousness.

             With whole worlds flooding down cheeks in the underwater realm of “Galaxies,” and sandcastles melting into the waves of “Rialto,” the sense of a gentle flow trickling on from one song to the next is hard to ignore. The opening “Fire Snakes,” for example, typifies just the sort of warm, glimmering sound that “Year of Meteors” is lit by: Tucker Martine’s production keeps things clear, crisp, and neat and tidy at all times, gifting the spaces between Veirs’ understated, unassuming sweetness with slight, subtle touches of electronica. Simultaneously, the viola of Eyvind Kang compliments the caressing, tender strokes of Veirs’ band the Tortured Souls brilliant, adding a texture that songs such as “Parisian Dream” simply couldn’t do without.

             By the time a quick succession of “oh’s” appear like stones for Veirs to hop across on “Through the Glow,” it becomes clear that the Seattle songstress’ utterly unimposing quality is key to her appeal. Though it lends a soothing quality that she obviously revels in, there are surprising flirtations with indie-rock on “Black Gold Blues” and the aforementioned highlight “Galaxies,” while the closing, untitled bonus song – recorded over a crackly phone line on what sounds like a beat-up old answering machine – tells us that her sound is adaptable enough to avoid being perceived as a one-trick pony any time soon. In all, “Year of Meteors” is a vibrant and ornate collection of songs inspired by life on the road, but rather than be swallowed up in frustrated introspection, the songs sit back and pan out cinematically from salty sea grass to meteors amongst the stars.

Artist / Group:
Laura Veirs
Album:
Year of Meteors
Label:
Nonesuch
Released:
23rd August 2005

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Scout Niblett: Kidnapped by Neptune

            I’ll admit it: on first listen, “Kidnapped by Neptune” doesn’t sound too bad, maybe even half decent. This is not, however, an album that will stand up on repeated listens, slowly announcing itself as a gem to be cherished. On the contrary, it will most likely soon betray any initial confidence you invested in the album, as if to laugh mockingly at such a naïve display of faith. With Kidnapped by Neptune, Niblett attempts to showcase just how much Kurt Cobain has influenced her, by both putting her songs through grunge arrangements and plonking Steve Albini behind the desk with the hope of him working a similar magic as he did for Nirvana’s “In Utero.” However, sometimes even Albini can’t conjure up the audio equivalent of a miracle, and rather than produce a timely breakthrough with brilliant song-writing and mass-appeal, Niblett’s latest offering is belated and unremarkable in many ways, failing as any kind of resuscitation to a genre, if that was indeed the intended purpose.

            With an overly-sparse set-up of half-hearted guitar and weak drumming (there is no resemblance to the White Stripes, you can rest assured), Niblett’s voice is left to carry whatever weight there actually is on the album, with songs often being reduced to near acappellas. Though her melodies, lyrics, and overall attitude may warrant some merit, there is no meat here for Niblett to bite, no trace of muscle to flesh these skeletal ideas out. As a result, despite having fifteen tracks, there is not enough on “Kidnapped by Neptune” to warrant a full release, and the same, monotonus feel is padded out to grossly inconsistent results.

             Granted, there are moments where Niblett can’t help but shine (the title track, and “Lullaby for Scout in Ten Years,” for example), and there’s even something to say for the occasional grunge riff that runs past fleetingly (as on “Handsome”), but these are counter-measured y irritating moments in numbers (“Valvoline” sounds like something to be found at your local battle of the bands, and the shrieking martyrdom of “Wolfie” could induce a headache). While “Kidnapped by Neptune” is far from musical masturbation, it’s hardly profound either, and even Niblett’s uber-fans will admit that this is not a patch on the level of craft and song-writing found on her previous release, “I Am.” One could argue that Scout Niblett has all that it takes to one day produce a best-of collection, but it feels as if there will be little here that could make cut.

Artist / Group:
Scout Niblett
Album:
Kidnapped by Neptune
Label:
Beggars Too Pure
Released:
10th May 2005

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Sigúr Rós: Takk…

          Definitively ethereal, Sigúr Rós have made a name for leaving their work incomparably open to interpretation through such measures as leaving song names blank and even having an unpronounceable album title (“()”), causing some critics to point out that such a gesture perhaps reflects a lack of real distinction. In 2002, singer Jónsi even went as far as initiating a competition for fans to come up with their own transcriptions of what they thought the lyrics to be, yielding numerous poetic and overly-analytical explanations. On the feather-light Takk…, however, Sigúr Rós have switched the language of their lyrics from the intentional ambiguity of the made-up “Hopelandish” to actual Icelandic, and though that might make little difference to the understanding of most listeners, there is a heightened sense of storytelling running through the album.

             Sigúr Rós seem to place the emphasis of their music on the growth of a song, channelling everything into its growth, guiding every movement toward climactic peaks – whether it’s from an embryonic outline to fully realised, orchestral sweeps, or from levelling whispers to soaring, dramatic explosions. Takk’s series of “small adventures” are weaved together to form chapters of a clear and tangible whole; from the single “glósóli” – a tale of a character who wakes up to discover that the sun is missing, and then sets out on a journey to find it (while sounding not unlike U2′s “With or Without You”) – to the pomp of the rolling drums on the brilliantly heavy “saeglopur,” the primary impression that Takk… leaves you with is one of a cleansing resonance. The cinematic flow behind the lovely “Andvari,” a clear highlight that typifies the kind of beauty Sigúr Rós are capable of attaining, culminates in “svo hljott,” where the tranquillity of a still lake at the break of day stirs with the slight whir of an accordion before piano keys shimmer together like the sound of falling water.

             Pardoxically, although Takk… is a harder, more focused effort, it’s also soothing and meditative at just about every turn, and likely to be received as the band’s best yet. However, for those who can’t deal with the amount of floating space that Sigúr Rós grant the listener – both in terms of song length and analytical slack – the album may feel like waking up as a bystander in someone else’s dream: for all its gorgeousness, at times it just seems as if it’s all fitting together for someone else. While Sigúr Rós’s openness to interpretation is commendable, that aesthetic freedom also runs the risk of forming a vacuum around the listener which, when push comes to shove, one might possibly find themselves lost in.

Artist / Group:
Sigúr Rós
Album:
Takk…
Label:
Geffen
Released:
13th September 2005

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Cass McCombs: PREfection

         There’s been somewhat of a rekindling of interest for music with a palpable Eighties feel in recent times, and while Cass McCombs might not immediately appear to fit the description of some of these retro-poseurs, being on the 4AD label and gathering comparisons to The Smiths, The Cure, and even Echo and The Bunnymen, means PREfection is bound to be placed squarely under the same umbrella.

             Opening on the excellent “Equinox,” McCombs begins with one of the best melodies of the year, but the song also acts as a telling template for what’s yet to come. While his intentionally obscure lyrics are carried with some clever rhymes, they have to be taken with a pinch of salt – a meditation on the happenings of the court of Fontaineblleu over half a century ago is most likely not what will stick with you from this song, but instead the well-balanced slow-dance of floaty, day-dreaming syllables is bound to catch your ear. Indeed, despite the fact that he sounds nothing like him, Cass McCombs plucks his melodies out of the same air that John Lennon found his very best – you know the ones…”I was dreaming of the past, and my heart was beating fast…” or “I read the news today, oh boy…”

             However, what lets down PREfection, aside from the conceptual red herrings, is a sound that’s altogether muddied, an atmosphere far too clouded to be enjoyed. Even with highlights such as the first single “Sacred Heart,” the sulking, moody “Cuckoo,” or the playful, sing-along simplicity of “Bury Mary,” the musicianship counterparts the sleepy vocals by being a touch too messy, and as a result, the overall sound is in dire need of some sharpening up. Which is a shame, because it looks like McCombs could have the potential to use his knack for effective hooks and elaborate lyrics to create something truly memorable. In the meantime, that’s exactly what the unremarkable “PREfection” is not.

Artist / Group:
Cass McCombs
Album:
PREfection
Label:
4AD
Released:
7th February 2005

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The Evens: The Evens

           The Evens’ eponymous debut has really been a pleasant surprise; from the opening minute of “Shelter Two,” its brilliant, digging riff uncovering a well of sound that we all thought had dried up ten years ago, the musical taste buds are set alight. It’s re-assuring to know that these kind of riffs are refreshingly plentiful on the album; the fat, gritty sound of MacKaye’s baritone’s guitar spreading out to make things nice and dirty, creating some paradoxically smooth grooves to turn through, and rendering the presence of a bass obsolete.

            ”The Evens” is a new outlet for Fugazi’s Ian MacKaye, shelving his trademark guttural bark and instead distilling the same fiery discontent that drove the post-punk unit into an all-singing male/female guitar/drums outfit. It’s not often that a mogul of hardcore decides to take his deft hand for political commentaries and sit down crossed-legged with his lover to try out a more folksy set-up, creating an end-product that re-crosses the heights once attained by sparse “grunge” song-writing at its cutting best. Fortunately, this mix of punk/folk/grunge/pop works a charm, and ex-Warmers Amy Farina not only brings a smatter of exquisite percussion to the fold, but her soft, silky smooth vocals compliment MacKaye’s previously unheard nasally intonations (though hints of this sound were outlined on the quieter moments of Fugazi’s “The Argument”). When they weaver together, we get moments of flower-power-like bliss (the stretching out of “crude bomb” at the end of said song), and when Farina largely goes it alone, definite highlights are immediately delivered (such as the bouncing “Around The Corner”).

            Indeed, MacKaye is certainly onto a winner with this combination (one that would make Jack White swoon with envy); just listening to the interplay between the guitar rebounding from speaker to speaker while Farina’s drums spill tidily under the duo’s harmony make the few trickles of praise that The Evens have struggled to accumulate since the album’s release seem criminally stingy. Although the lyrics don’t waste time in getting straight to the point, such accessibility is spent almost solely on issuing edgy political content (unsurprising to those familiar with MacKaye) – corrupt politicians, police brutality, legislation, and an onslaught of propaganda all get a look in.

            It’s quite likely that those eagerly awaiting an end to Fugazi’s hiatus will be disappointed that the roaring vocals and full-bodied, amplified thrashing presence of a band are nowhere to be found, but one feels that this album (certainly among Dischord’s best) will work the other way: listeners unfamiliar with Fugazi, Minor Threat, and The Warmers will begin to retread the steps of the pair’s former glories with keen interest.

Artist / Group:
The Evens
Album:
The Evens
Label:
Dischord
Released:
8th March 2005

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Sam Prekop: Who’s Your New Professor

           I can’t help but picture a really tired Robert Smith when I hear Sam Prekop’s breathy voice, even though I know full-well what the Sea and Cake member looks like. And it should be understandable that such a thing plays on my mind, because those sleepy, just-out-of-bed vocals are the signature of Prekop’s sound, always ensuring that the mood never strays too far from that regulatory sense of a gentle, dreamy haze at every song’s centre. They even manage to consistently steal the attention from Prekop’s other trademark feature: the bossanova-like movements that thread through such reveries. Just listen to the way the opening “Something” is brought together – despite a bongo rhythm that’s left too high in the mix (as are all of Chad Taylor and John McEntire’s percussion on the album), Prekop’s vocals float out effortlessly over a sleight timbre of instrumentation that claws away restlessly.

            You’d be forgiven for thinking that you’re in store for a repeat of this template over and over, but “Magic Step” is the first of a number of instrumental pieces interspersed throughout “Who’s Your Professor,” giving the band (featuring co-Sea and Cake players Archer Prewitt and John McEntire) a chance to shine, racing swiftly through a Latin-infused shake-up. That feel continues into “Dot Eye” as the vocals resume once again, trying to ensure that the melody proves enough change to prevent Prekop’s air from letting things grow stale, the lead guitar still matching every syllable note for note.

            The latter half of “Dot Eye” transforms into an instrumental that works as an admirable venture into Crazy Horse territory, Taylor’s feather-light drums keeping things jazzy before “Two Dedications” arrives with a descending synth sweep in the middle, seeming to retain an effective individuality… until you notice that you’ve already begun to award brownie points for anything that distinguishes the track from its vocalised predecessors. The suspicion that arose earlier regarding template riding may now be gain some credibility here – and deliberately done or not, Prekop’s singing is chiefly responsible.

            ”Chicago People” restores a little faith in matters, offering itself up as a highlight midway through “Who’s Your Professor,” scorning you for even thinking about giving up so early. However, the addition of a wah pedal does little to help the cause on “Little Bridges” and “Density,” and while “A Splendid Hollow” ends as wonderfully as “C + F” begins, Prekop’s voice is once again the reliable culprit, letting things down yet again. Prekop is continuously calm, universally soothing, but samey and underwhelming at the same time – and more’s the pity, as some of these songs have the potential to be truly fine cuts.

            Ultimately, fans of Prekop and the Sea and Cake will most likely find no wrong here, but those troubled by the current of his unremarkable, almost mono-tone voice will feel that “Who’s Your Professor” becomes a case of trying to pick out one standalone track that sums up everything and speaks adequately for its kin. So which is the best song? “Something”? “Chicago People”? “C + F”? “Between Outside”? Truth is, it’s too hard to tell… Short running times and the use of instrumentals to try and cushion things out simply fail to cover up for the effect of a love it or sleep on it voice.

Artist / Group:
Sam Prekop
Album:
Who’s Your New Professor
Label:
Thrill Jockey
Released:
8th March 2005

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Mugison – Mugimama: Is This Monkey Music?

           Being such an openly effervescent character, and wielding such an in-your-face, eccentric stage presence to boot, the straight-faced nature of “Mugimama: Is This Monkey Music?” comes as somewhat of a surprise. Beginning with “I Want You” (a track that Mugison openly admits he ripped off the Beatles’ “She’s So Heavy” on, although he sounds strangely like a Scandinavian Chris Martin on it), no time is wasted with formal introductions or guarded song-writing. Instead, we’re steeped straight into personal territory. “I Want You” is the song Mugison used to get his girlfriend back with, and while its whining despair bubbles amongst a play of tricky instrumentation, it sets up what’s to follow in two ways: 1) Musically, we’re given a taste of the toy-like, processed sounds that will chop and change throughout Mugimama, chiming creepily as if they were emanating from a madman’s dilapidated workshop somewhere near Lapland. 2) In what will prove to be an important element of the album, a real-life relationship is unexpectedly (and openly) brought into the fold from the very outset.

            Vocally, Rúna (his girlfriend) features almost as much as Mugison throughout; for example, on “The Chicken Song,” seeking approval, Mugison asks her innocently: “do you want me to be intellectual?” “Yeah, be intellectual, baby,” she replies soothingly, sounding like a mothering figure dishing out much-needed encouragement before whispering the instruction: “Hey, c’mon, sing that first verse again, ok?” Indeed, there is an odd, tangible bond present between them, as quirky as it is potentially tragic – you can almost see them lying in each others arms while singing a duet one moment, and entering into a suicide pact the next.

            The results give us some intimate, carefully crafted love-songs where the pair trade lines like a duo with nothing to hide (such as the water-pouring “2 Birds,” and the cosy lo-fi feel of “What I Would Say In Your Funeral”), but there are also some energetic, playful moments to be had (and there’d want to be, or past audience members might think they’d picked up the wrong CD). “Sad as a Truck” explodes in through the door out of nowhere, its brilliant, driving bass dancing manically on the grave of all that’s come before. Meanwhile, on the back of the slow, peculiar imagery of “I’d ask” (“a pen, a pillow, paperwork, chill…”) comes the brilliantly up-tempo acoustics of “Murr Murr,” sounding like Bert Jansch manipulated by pro-tools.

            In all, “Mugimama” is a strange little Icelandic wonderland that’s surprisingly dark at times, and while the comedy of Mugison’s live shows seems nowhere in sight, its endearing in an entirely different way. Artistic, poetic, heartbreaking…its intricacies manage to captivate the listener by drawing a colourful, bizarre kind of strength from a shared sense of vulnerability.

Artist / Group:
Mugison
Album:
Mugimama: Is This Monkey Music?
Label:
Accidental
Released:
25th April 2005

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Colleen: The Golden Morning Breaks

            There’s not a lot one can say about “The Golden Morning Breaks”; it’s one of those rare instances where, for once, 20-second clips of each track will really give you a good idea of what’s to be found within, and where the song titles by themselves actually go some distance to review the album: “Summer Water,” “Floating in the Clearest Night,” “The Heart Harmonicon,” “Sweet Rolling,” “Happy Sea,” “Bubbles Which on the Water Swim,” “Mining in the Rain,” “The Golden Morning Breaks,” and “Everything Lay Still.” If you hadn’t guessed, it’s a work of soothing ambience and meditative minimalism, wandering through the kind of unoccupied, timeless space that Eno pioneered as if he were a compositional answer to Christopher Columbus.

            There will be those for whom “The Golden Morning Breaks” will be asking a little too much: abstract, repetitive wisps of sound float on by and, besides the odd, lovely turn that comes at the end of one or two songs (“Summer Water,” and “The Happy Sea,” for example), very little ground (or air, perhaps) is covered before the track’s end. On the other hand, for those that not only have a high threshold for experimental electronica, but actively seek out new soundtracks to dream to, Cecile Schott’s follow up to her debut, “Everyone Alive Wants an Answer,” will feel rich in texture (the percussion of “Mining in the Rain” comes from the uneven taps of falling precipitation against a window), and laden with quixotic melodies (the same song is cycled through slowly with the sound of a ghostly music box being turned by itself).

            An outing in chimerical escapism to be sure, Colleen (Schott) gives the same intentions underlying her fully-sampled first album a more “live” treatment: gorgeous sounding, sparse instrumentation is plucked away as if from another century, the acoustics of a guitar, strings, a harp, and a glass glockenspiel moulded into an ethereal fabric by the touch of subtle electronic post-production, skilfully combining all the elements together. “The Golden Morning Breaks” has a very slight, phantom-like presence – the kind that would be forced to compete for attention under the chatter of an over-active mind. As a collection of quiet, instrumental soundscapes, perfect for an atmosphere of bedtime tranquillity, it’s hard to imagine more than one person listening to it at any one time, but if you prefer art to beats, ambience to breaks, then Colleen may just have something for you.

Artist / Group:
Colleen
Album:
The Golden Morning Breaks
Label:
Leaf
Released:
24th May 2005

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The Mountain Goats: The Sunset Tree

           ”The Sunset Tree” follows on from the confessional nature of John Darnielle’s previous release, “We Shall All Be Healed” (an album dealing with his earlier life spent amongst meth users), by regressing even further to matters closer to the heart: those tumultuous, fragile years caught in the crossfire of domestic violence. “The Wonder Years” this is not; Darnielle’s candid recollections give new meaning to the idea of naked storytelling, achieving an openness that other artists would have nightmares about being exposed in. However, not only does Darnielle touch upon his own raw nerves throughout, but he earnestly embraces them, recounting moment by moment the scenes where he awaited the wrath of an abusive stepfather without even blinking an eye: “While my stepfather yells at my mother / Launches a glass across the room straight at her head / And I dash upstairs to take cover / Lean in close to my little record player on the floor / So, this is what the volume knob’s for.” (“Dance Music”)            Yet it doesn’t make for the confrontational or uncomfortable listen one might expect it to be; while you’re hardly going to be singing along (unless, of course, you find yourself relating to Darnielle’s pain from own experiences), the remarkable narratives articulate the anguish with the clarity of a well-practiced storyteller. Indeed, it is with a flair for the literary that the singer re-writes certain memories with a hybridisation of ambiguous, hazy recollection and the lasting effect of a child’s fantasies and fears:

     ”The King of the Jungle / was asleep in his car / When your chances fall in your lap like that / You gotta recognise them for what they really are / Nobody in this house wants to own up to the truth / I crawl in shotgun and reach into his mouth / Grab hold of one long, sharp tooth / and hold on… for dear life… I hold on / Well of course he wakes up / And his paw hits the horn / I am gonna regret… the day I was ever born.” (“Lion’s Teeth”)

Similarly, images of frenzied wolves, chickens roosting, or stray kittens feeding off a mother before the magpie has “his way,” all help to recreate a sense of emotional weight still lingering in irreparable, distorted hindsight.

            The fact that the music (which exhibits a sharpness that’s a significant step up in sound quality from the boombox recordings of his earlier works), would feel as sweet as a sunset with any other lyrical content present adds all the more poignancy to the detailed disclosures you’re hearing. Remarkably, it takes a few listens to realise that there are almost no drums present (“Lion’s Teeth” an obvious exception) aside from the odd, pounding tremor here and there amidst an already fractured emotional plane. While the musicianship is excellent (“Magpie” and “Dilaudid” are notable examples), at all times, it’s carefully understated, subtly taking a backseat to the exorcism of Darnielle’s demons. Although knowing that much of his back catalogue is based on the lives of fictitious characters, it would still serve quite a shock if it was to be revealed that “The Sunset Tree” is not so autobiographical after all; for it is this unguarded quality that Darnielle brandishes while outing skeletons from his closet that makes this an extraordinary album. Who needs therapy when you can turn all your suppressed childhood memories into records like this?

Artist / Group:
The Mountain Goats
Album:
The Sunset Tree
Label:
4AD
Released:
2nd May 2005

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The White Stripes: Get Behind Me Satan

            The White Stripes aren’t up to their old tricks, and more’s the pity. Although artists are regularly crucified for either sticking to the same tried-and-tested formula or changing their direction after a critically acclaimed album (in other words, you’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t), I think it’s safe to say that shelving the presence of Jack White’s guitar sound is chiefly responsible for making “Get Behind Me Satan” somewhat of a letdown, losing the kind of thrusting punch the duo were capable of displaying on “Elephant.”

             Starting the album with the rocking “Blue Orchid” (and releasing it as the first single some time in advance) is quite a misleading move, and perhaps even cynically so. Kicking things off with a hook-laden, gritty slice of pop-rock in the same vein as the best that “Elephant” had to offer, while still managing to keep things fresh, “Blue Orchid” promises to deliver exactly what most of their fan base will have been waiting for. What follows, however, is an album largely made up of piano-based tunes, stripping down an already sparse sound even further.

             The problem with this alteration is that the songs aren’t as filled out on the piano as one might expect; it sounds as if it’s being played like a guitar (note by note, as if the piano only has enough keys for one octave), the riffs being merely transferred from one instrument (the one they were most likely written on) to another with the hope that it’ll translate effectively. A notable exception is the superb “Red Rain,” which, although experimenting with effects on the vocals, is conducted within their more favoured dynamic, and reassuringly nails down their brand of distorted blues with aplomb.

             The same can’t be said for the uninspired “Instinct Blues,” however, which covers worn-out templates and helps cement the impression that “Get Behind Me Satan” is certainly the White Stripes weakest effort lyrically. Similarly, the Motown-jingle of “My Doorbell” could have been brilliant – the soulful breakdown of “you don’t seem to come around, push your finger and make the sound…” is inspired – but the song’s main spit is repetitive to the point of being criminal, and in the end, feels a little too improvised. While Meg’s inability to sing is unnecessarily indulged on the filler of “Passive Manipulation,” thankfully, it’s followed up by the much needed highlight “Take, Take, Take,” with some Jimmy Page-like acoustic strumming padding out the pounding, beaten-up piano.

             In terms of production, the White Stripes have gone for a rough and unpolished, live “demo” feel for the recording of “Get Behind Me Satan,” with glasses smashing in the background, and one element always being left higher up in the mix than anything else. Stylistically, the same charming element of White’s song-writing is still there, but this time out, it’s an album full of “I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother’s Heart,” only softer, more acoustic, and without zest. Although I’m sure the album will achieve commercial success purely on the back of their former glories, the White Stripes will need Satan to help them out if this is to make any kind of lasting splash in the grand scheme of their career.

Artist / Group:
The White Stripes
Album:
Get Behind Me Satan
Label:
V2
Released:
7th June 2005

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Lucky Pierre: Touchpool

           Do albums have sequels? Aidan Moffat’s latest release, “Touchpool,” is certain proof that such a thing exists. A direct follow up to the sleepy sanctuary of 2002′s “Hypnogogia” (a tour de force of ambience designed to be the perfect album to fall asleep to), insomniacs who’ve since worn out their copies will be glad to see the return of warm, sweeping synths and lulling rhythms.

            Though containing no surprises, there are a few notable differences this time out: while sounding less panoramic than “Hypnogogia,” the beats behind each track on “Touchpool” have a more natural feel and don’t stick out quite as much as the dated drum-machine sounds of the previous release, which is a definite plus. Also absent is anything resembling a vocal sample (such as the chanting of tribes or the sounds of the rain forest), and, perhaps as a consequence, there are less memorable moments or standout tracks here. Instead, “Touchpool” makes these subtractions inconspicuous by being delightfully cohesive and working that little bit harder to achieve its merits, particularly with songs such as “Jim Dodge Dines at the Penguin Café,” a surreal but wonderful blend of bossanova beats, classical strings, sliding country guitar, and a Mariachi band’s horn section.

            The same dynamic of shimmering string sections and whispered, marching percussion successfully conjure up the sounds of some cloudy, far-off dream land that’s tranquil enough to beckon you to sleep, but be warned: the idea behind these songs is based on repetition, so if not being played when trying to sleep, they should always be listened to when doing something else.

            As serenity takes centre stage once more, Touchpool’s cohesion is by far its most appealing feature, ensuring a seamless flow into its calmer, more blissful moments, such as the album’s extended closer, the fittingly titled “Total Horizontal.” Sounding like Amon Tobin’s “Permutation” on downers, “Touchpool” will have you nodding of to sleep with a smile on your face, and though it’s difficult to separate it from “Hypnogogia” aside from the reasons already mentioned, Lucky Pierre’s army of converted insomniacs will agree that that’s not such a bad thing.

Artist / Group:
Lucky Pierre
Album:
Touchpool
Label:
Melodic
Released:
14th February 2005

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Four Tet: Everything Ecstatic

           Four Tet’s latest release “Everything Ecstatic,” is a more challenging, almost aggressive outing that feels like a conscious departure from the “folky” cohesion of 2003’s successful, and pleasingly gentle, “Rounds.” With a decidedly faster pace to proceedings, Kieran Hebden seems to be investigating the energy behind old-school techno within the ever-expanding world of inventive clicky-bleep laptop electronica. Starting of on an energetic note, “A Joy” sounds like a spacecraft counting down to self-destruct before being filled out with Four Tet’s usual flurry of sampled jazz drum solos, driving the song into a tailspin.

Artist / Group:
Four Tet
Album:
Everything Ecstatic
Label:
Domino
Released:
23rd March 2005

            Perhaps utilising the same sample used on the Avalanches’ “Since I Left You,” “Smile Around the Face” goes to work with vocals warped into chipmunk mode, as a funky break-beat rhythm holds things down; various sounds begin to intersperse, coming and going before the song eventually takes shape with a warm, sunny drift towards its end. The bizarrely unnecessary “Fuji Check” isn’t much more than an interlude of café noise, the sound of a jack being plugged into an amp before the whole thing is slowed down, blurring to a halt after only twenty seconds.

             “Sun Drums and Soil” recalls the Four Tet of old, riding along on a smooth channel of sound that fits together break-neck chops with slow, elongated eeriness; everything is diced up as hundreds of fragments are packed in, slowly, subtly changing the scope of things, then returning. Hebden’s trademark use of drowsy trumpets even make an appearance, while an effective, muffled vocal sample introduces itself just as things are beginning to get climactic – easily the album’s standout track, “Sun Drums and Soil” is exactly the sort of tune you hope to get when you pick up “Everything Ecstatic.”

            “Clouding” is another intermission of sorts, this time chiming and sedative, before the phasing “And Then Patterns” begins to develop a hypnotic groove that sounds as if it’s borrowed the keyboard from Isaac Hayes’ “Ike’s Mood 1,” reconfigured into something that sounds vaguely original. Dotted with the sound of an enormous gong being pounded, with “High Fives” Hebden gathers a familiar amount of twinkling xylophone and some incomputable blips and beeps, but doesn’t quite cook the mixture up, and accordingly, the track never really looks like working.

            More UFO sounds, more spilling drum solos – “Turtle Turtle Up” peters out quickly; having not been given enough time to amount to anything, it’s a short burst of an electrical storm right around the frontal lobes (i.e. potentially headache inducing). By “Sleep, Eat Food, Have Visions,” we’re nearing the album’s end, and as time runs out, it becomes less and less likely that the album’s two highlights will find any company here, not least from this less than convincing, chirping track. Although suddenly shifting in dynamic after three and a half minutes, it’s still unable to deliver the goods, and as it reaches its climax, we’re frustratingly near headache territory once more. A peaceful respite comes with “You Were There With Me” to close things out, sounding like the chimes on a front porch knocking in the wind as the lull of a confusing, psychedelic afternoon nap begins to set in (and for this, the song is arguably better suited to the title of the previous track).

            Possibly reinventing himself to spite his face, this is not quite the album everyone expects (read: wants) it to be; compared to the cinematic, jazz complexities of “Dialogue,” “Everything Ecstatic” feels like a diminished, hastily-assembled EP… and Caribou’s recent “The Milk of Human Kindness” covers similar ground to better effect. Consistently concerning himself with the “textures” of music, Four Tet’s latest offering is somewhat missing in the substance department, feeling more like an aesthetic object of sound, rather than an album that will bring you back for repeated listens.

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Róisin Murphy: Ruby Blue

          Surprisingly abstract and experimental, “Ruby Blue” is a refreshingly ballsy move from someone with the kind of mainstream-pop credentials that Róisín Murphy can lay claim to. Co-written with veteran dance producer Matthew Herbert, the music behind “Ruby Blue” is the end product of fusing together Herbert’s glitch-electronica and the organic instrumentation of his Big Band. Originally released without much fanfare over a series of three limited edition 12-inch EPs, Herbert provides Murphy with a similar environment to the one he created for Dani Siciliano (his other half) on her album “Likes” – a suitably edgy, promiscuous backdrop for her sultry vocals to run wild, yielding some admirably daring and inventive results in the process.

           The album opens with the sparse “Leaving the City,” whose beginning promises to kick into a top-ten chart hit, but tellingly, never does. Instead, a dark montage of Autechre-like textures is wandered through, a hauntingly diverse array of sounds intertwining with Murphy’s non-committal, airy farewell. Typically, as each track begins, a clutter of brow-raising noises spring up and there’s just no way of knowing where you’ll be taken by the song’s end. Sometimes the elements are all pulled into place with impeccable precision (such is the case with certain moments of “Dear Diary,” Murphy providing her own chorus of Motown-like backup singers to produce pure pop bliss), and sometimes they refuse to lay down, continuing to clutter and run amok for the remainder of the song (“Ramalama” and “Night of the Dancing Flame” threaten to be flamboyant outings in messy melodrama from the very outset, and arguably, stay that way).

           While Róisín Murphy’s voice is employed a number of times as another instrument amidst a technique that sounds like Cut-Copy-Paste-Electro-Funk, it’s the songs that, musically, take on a slightly more conventional approach (while still avoiding being anything near chart fodder) that work best. “Sinking Feeling,” for one, sees keyboards and a sized-down brass section combining for a lovely blend of retro-jazz/funk, hinging Murphy’s delightful hooks together. Similarly, the fantastic, laid-back allure of “Through Time” glides by to deliver one of the album’s highlights: a shimmering, simple harmony that arrives at the song’s halfway point, and succinctly captures the magical points of “Ruby Blue.”

           The highlights don’t end there, however. The raunchy title track may sound abrasive on first listen, but it quickly proves to be an absolute addiction. The swing of a distorted guitar line bounces along as Murphy playfully pulls melody after melody out of the bag, rightfully boasting “check this out” before delving into another gem of a line. Next up, the superb “Off On It” draws you in with a hypnotic, drowsy release of endorphins – this is definitely one place where every sound that Hebert can bring into the fold works to perfection; Murphy’s heavy, charged breathing repeats like pistons chugging away underneath the lure of the suggestive whispers of “off on it, off on it, off on it,” enticing you further. The album’s arguably worth getting for these last three songs alone (but they can also be found together on the first LP, “Sequins 1″).

           Although any record execs in fear of betraying a potential glut of teeny-bopper, single-buying crowds may be appeased with the potential prospects of single material “Love in the Making” (or “Sow Into You”), for the most part, credit is certainly due to the ex-Moloko singer for taking an adventurous, challenging route with the making of her first solo album. With Matthew Herbert at the helm, the intricate, often complex soundscapes that thread through “Ruby Blue” allow Róisín Murphy enough space for her moody vocals to switch from sounding like a breathy, intimate Dusty Springfield to a dancefloor soul diva within the same song, and to turn more than a few heads in the process.

Artist / Group:
Róisín Murphy
Album:
Ruby Blue
Label:
Echo
Released:
13th June 2005

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José González: Veneer

            The arrival of “Veneer,” the full-length debut from Swedish-born acoustic maestro José González, is already one of the most exciting prospects for music in 2005. It’s a stripped-down release of gorgeous, eloquent musings that catch González in candle-lit intimacy, with just his nylon strings to snap out a delicate rhythm that reflect his Argentinean roots.

            ”Slow Moves” is anything but that; rather, it’s head-down, up-tempo dash is an inconspicuous dip into the well of González’s carefully crafted, sell-sufficient ambience. Threading a lovely beginning together, the dewy-eyed optimism to “Remain” rumbles on with just two lines (“We’ll remain after everything’s been washed away by the rain / We will stand upright as we stand today,”) though it may take half a dozen listens (or even more) to realise that that’s all there is to it. Simple and sparse at all times (it’s just González and his acoustic on every track), it’s clear that he has been wandering alone in the walls of his own sound for years, and has found a way of extracting the most from it like few others could, given the same tools.

            It’s a world that, almost wickedly, we’re only getting a taster of here; with eleven tracks bowing out after half an hour, by the time you’re ready to sit down and unfurl, you’re being showed the door. However, each song is like a beautiful little scene from a low-budget, independent foreign film you may never see; the heartbreak of “Lovestain” handed to you simply with the lines: “”You left a lovestain on my heart / And you left a bloodstain on the ground / But blood comes off easily,” while the twinkling of “Deadweight On Velveteen” runs deep with the timely, John Fahey-like addition of three simple, resonating bass notes.

            There are wonderful bossa nova-like rhythms to be found on tracks such as “Stay in the Shade,” gliding up against you and breezing by like the seduction of a swivelling Latin dance. The only real signs of formulaic failure come with “Hints,” which relies too much on a solitary, hammer-on-hammer-off turn of the strings, before allowing “Broken Arrows” to aptly draw “Veneer” to a close by summoning a mass of dark clouds over its run of quiet tales, trailing out to the sound of the only other instrument that appears on the album: a melancholic, muted trumpet. Invigoratingly fresh, “Veneer” is a real find for those who may have lost faith in what new music has to offer.

Artist / Group:
José González
Album:
Veneer
Label:
Peacefrog
Released:
25th April 2005

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Robert Plant and The Strange Sensation: Mighty Rearranger

            Admirers of 2002′s “Dreamland” will be pleased to see Robert Plant’s run of form continue with “Mighty Rearranger,” an earthy album sprinkled with Middle-Eastern influences. Wonderfully, there are moments (such as on the hushed “Another Tribe”) that see Plant’s voice defying age and sounding just as it did thirty years ago, as he re-ignites us with the trance of understated “Morocco’n'roll,” amplifying the Sahara sounds of the badir and lute with a jagged, bluesy edge.

            The Strange Sensation, for the most part, provide capable backing for Plant’s modern impetus, but at times are guilty of sounding little more than an assembly of various members of not-so-great bands of the late 90s (which, arguably, they are). The first single, “Shine It All Around” (a song where Plant sings of his regeneration while perhaps owing something lyrically to the Bobby “Blue” Bland’s “Turn On Your Love Light”) is one such example, whereas “Tin Pan Valley” sounds like it’s veering a little too close to a Superunknown-era Soundgarden riff.

            ”Freedom Fries,” meanwhile, storms ahead, running the blues through the dust of the desert before the warbling intro of “Tin Pan Valley” threatens to put the listener right off. Thankfully, the other elements of the song manage to pull it together, with Plant’s near-whispering of his refusal to fall into the traps of his peers meaning that the wrinkles do make an (intentional) brief appearance, after all.

            Though carrying a touch of “The Rain Song” to it (in fact, that same falling, open-chord sound can be found in numerous places on “Mighty Rearranger”), the excellent “All The King’s Horses” is a dreamy, acoustic reverie that has Plant at his most sublime. Things continue to come together nicely with the stirring “The Enchanter,” though the guitar interestingly sounds like it belongs to Jack White’s take on the blues. The political “Takamba,” meanwhile, feels as if it’s groping for the same vibe as Plant’s much favoured Moroccan nomads “The Berber Tribesmen”, but instead it closes down that route altogether and wastes no time in rocking things out, resonating Plant’s 21st century sound.

            The warm, sifting sound of “Dancing In Heaven,” with its lovely, wordless chorus, helps to further tilt the balance of the album in favour of the good far outweighing the forgettable. There seems to be another shift in guitar sound for both “Let the Four Winds Blow” and the title track, as if, after much honing, Plant and co. have settled for a bluesier feel. Accordingly, these two tracks pull no punches, adding some meaty weight to the fold, straightforward as it may be. The final (listed) number is a quick, endearing jam as Plant reproduces the vowel sounds of Them’s “Gloria” to the sounds of an impromptu honky-tonk piano. The bonus track, however, is a new-age remix of “Shine It All Around” which tries its hand at tame drum’n'bass, and fails to work in any way.

            In all, there’s much to like here, and Robert Plant’s die-hard contingent will doubtless feel that he hasn’t put a foot wrong. Though he’s guaranteed to never disappear from the musical map thanks to his achievements with Led Zeppelin, with “Mighty Rearranger,” Plant’s Indian dream-catcher brings together the nuances of Blues and Arabic folk with political commentary, showing that his sound is maturing gracefully, and just as importantly, that he’s still got that fiery roar.

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Modest Mouse – Good News for People Who Love Bad News

           Modest Mouse are one of those bands that have their own distinct and instantly recognisable sound: a mouthful of lyrics sung through a teetering syllabic balance, a manic grin and a sense of demented glee backed by the thrashing click of a sonic guitar or two, the drums thumping away at the same steady beat. From the fantastic “Horn Intro” (performed by the Dirty Dozen Brass Band), to the weird, welcome respite of “Dig Your Grave” (an intermission), the three songs in-between not only perfectly contain that characteristic sound, but disappointingly, it all sound like it’s the same song, and that song is a sequel to their previous albums.

            Thankfully, “Bury Me With It” begins a sequence of tracks that made this let-down more than forgivable. It’s as pumped as a Pixies track; it’s loaded, it’s fantastic, it explodes and rocks in every direction. The feverish enthusiasm builds with the noxious “Dance Hall,” before God is cursed in “Bukowski”‘s pensive frustration.

            The exact same intro for the album’s opener is repeated at the beginning of “The Devil’s Workday” (an intentionally symbolic measure?), which itself is a brilliant mixture of jazz and bluegrass that roars incredibly well together. The plodding, lightweight funk of “The View” is probably too familiar to be enjoyable, and while “Satin In a Coffin” has the same essential rhythm and sway that nearly every Modest Mouse song seems to have, an inspired banjo lick is followed through with a song that, considering it’s working from the same old template, is surprisingly fresh. Here, a lunatic forebodes over the body he’s just knocked unconscious: “Are you dead or are you sleepin’? God I sure hope you are dead.”

            The strange aside of an organ followed by the coos of a baby passes before the calm, acoustic brush of “Blame It All on the Tetons.” Sounding almost like Lambchop, as things quieten down, it causes you to briefly forget that you’re nearing the end of an album that’s pelting out eighteen tracks in forty-eight minutes. However, it genuinely works, and with an appearance from a violin and piano, this rustic piece shows that there is another side to the band’s sound. While the start of “Black Cadillacs” might hint that the album could be slow to recover from that tranquillity, things are soon kicked back up to speed at a full, reckless volume: “we were done, done, done with all the fuck, fuck, fucking around.”

            The dreamy “One Chance,” and even the one line “The Good Times Are Killing Me” from the song of the same name, state quite clearly that there is quality throughout the album, but the order of the tracks means the way that it’s maintained is quite skewered. For first-timers, get “Lonesome Crowded West” or “The Moon & Antarctica,” otherwise, this polished effort to crack the mainstream is a good continuation.

Artist / Group:
Modest Mouse
Album:
Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Label:
Epic
Released:
19th July 2004

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Rogue Wave – Out of the Shadow

          From the very outset, there seems to be a strange duality at work: the voice and melody belong to a clean-cut pop sensibility, while the sound, instrumentation, and arrangement of everything else, sounds as if it’s part of a credible indie song-writing outfit. Like the hyperactive “Nourishment Nation” (which features a wonderfully floaty breakdown), the tunes are catchy enough to be tapped out and hopped to, the kind that sound perfect when you’re in the best mood of your life.

            The third track in, “Be Kind – Remind” was the song that originally sparked my curiosity with Rogue Wave; just an acoustic and a sweetly blended melody in an Elliot Smith-like number, here, it more than confirms a case of ‘So far, so good.’ “Seasick on Land” and “Kicking the Heart Out,” however, are a bit more standard and seem like they’re doing less to impress, but when they both finally come into action, they still manage to retain some of that inexplicable ear-candy that’s present everywhere on this album. It’s at this point that it begins to make you wonder: is the pop sensibility taking over in the balance? Or it just a case of these hooks being too good to be true?

            Tracks like “Postage Stamp World,” meanwhile, certainly prove Zach Rogue to be someone deserving to contend amongst the upper-tier of the U.S. charts (alongside the few serious artists there, of course). In general, it’s difficult to fault this album: the songs are good, they’re not repetitive, but there just seems to be that one unnameable thing missing that prevents the work as a whole from selling itself fully as being destined for greatness. In fact, the songs, sung in a crystal clear voice, often seem so sugar-coated and so catchy that you have to double-check that this really is some low-key, independent work being re-released on Sub Pop (an appropriate move for them, given the striking similarities between them and their new label-mates). Perhaps this is the reason that the lyrics seem difficult to digest, and lacking a certain bite. Nevertheless, “Out of the Shadow” is confounding in all the right ways.

Artist / Group:
Rogue Wave
Album:
Out of the Shadow
Label:
Sub-pop
Released:
13th September 2004

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Beck: Guero

            Beck is an artist with whom you just don’t know what you’re going to get. After the critical success that followed the stellar, concentrated outing that was 2002′s “Sea Change,” I went to see him perform a solo acoustic live show, hoping (simply enough) to hear live renditions of those shows. What followed, however, was a set that included no less than ten covers (of artists such as Justin Timberlake and Nelly, it should be added) and a hell of a lot of tinkering with a sampler. Beck overturns expectations in a similar fashion with “Guero,” the music equivalent of browsing through a kitsch flea market.

            The funky melody packing the no-nonsense, distortion-soaked “e-Pro” gets things off to a flying start, making clear the intention to get back to the style and attitude of the sound that runs through “Odelay” and “Midnight Vultures.” With a cheeky, more “rocking” foothold, combined with a plethora of computer-like chirps and beeps throughout this album, it seems that the idea behind “Guero” is to recreate the feel of those said releases with a sprinkling of Latin flavour. “Que Onda Guero” is the first track to usher in this new direction in Beck’s hip-hop, flourished with neighbourhood street sounds over a plodding drum beat. Half-rapped in Spanish, and filled out with what sounds like an arrangement of car horns, the track places you in the muggy heat (and passing banter) of an L.A. barrio lined with drop-tops and low-riders.

            ”Girl,” meanwhile, begins exactly like the sound of one of the earliest Nintendo games, before striding into a more conventional “Beck” sound (if there is such a thing): a sliding acoustic paired with an old-school drum machine. The bossanova feel to “Missing” sounds as if it could have lent itself from the same sessions that produced the sandy sounds of “Sea Change.” Its light, sultry swing works well to make it one of the album’s standout tracks, and on another album, it would work as a great opening number. If it had been placed at the foot of “Guero,” however, it would only act as a misleading (albeit promising) introduction to a very choppy album.

            The pounding shuffle of “Black Tambourine,” with its Sixties’ psych-pop guitar cutting in, serves as an all-too-brief shimmying groove, an interim before the proceedings head straight into the cool, yet dark, “Earthquake Weather.” Cooked up with a funky hook snapped out on a rusty acoustic over a bed of scratchin’ (a similar recipe is used elsewhere on the album), the sound again brings to mind the hubbub of a Hispanic street corner at night. The chorus doesn’t quite match up with the verse, but there’s enough attitude here to characterise the album as a whole.

            ”Hell Yes” could easily be a collaboration with the Neptunes; in a sound that doesn’t quite lend itself naturally to Beck, there’s more Latin flavour here, only this time it sounds like the worlds of a 70′s detective show and a porno have collided. There’s no real point to the track, merely a head-nodding beat for its own sake, a “sound” more than a song – something designed just to cruise around to.

            Yet another strange sound introduces the eerie flow that surrounds the Billy Jean-like beat of “Scarecrow.” There’s a definite, purposeful strut to the song as if to make it a deadbeat, tripped-out counterpart to the Beegees’ “Stayin’ Alive.” There’s a cameo appearance from a warped harmonica, and a bluesy kick-around that descends into the final minutes of the song, but it’s too late – this stoner’s walkabout hasn’t gotten us anywhere.

            The rolling bounce of “Go It Alone” sees another trendy, laidback-to-the-point-of-nonchalant groove, with, of course, the mandatory hand-clapping and a blues-meets-funky swagger. The little twist of organ the track exits on, however, is inspired. More hand-clapping forms the backbone of the minimal, bluesy “Farewell Ride,” where Beck’s knack for a funky tune guided through the inroads of the Delta, reminds us what’s chiefly responsible for his most integral, successful sound. That’s also the case with the final track “Emergency Exit,” where a heavenly harmonious, simple piece of melody floats in over the track’s quietly mechanical grind. When that current of noise dries up, we get Beck at his best: just the melody and a twanging steel-string to reel you in at exactly the right time.

            Before that, though, “Rental Car” asserts itself in a bid to confuse all. If you put together the start of “Que Onda Guero” and “Earthquake Weather,” you might just get the beginning of this track, but thankfully a throttle of distortive rhythm settles into a brilliant, swinging chorus line like something out of a Sixties’ game show. Soon, all sorts of infectious madness are thrown into the works, and it’s just crazy enough to be effective. Like the rest of the album, it’s cluttered, messy, slightly schizophrenic, but is chockfull of infectious moments. Moments, but not songs. Hopefully it won’t take another bout of heartache for Beck to produce a more focused opus like that of “Mellow Gold” or “Sea Change,” but for the moment, works like “Guero” seem to simply be about having fun while building grooves from gadgetry.

Artist / Group:
Beck
Album:
Guero
Label:
Geffen
Released:
21st March 2005

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Comets On Fire: Blue Cathredal

           Blue Cathedral bursts open to an explosive, grinding start with “The Bee & The Crackin’ Egg,” one of many pounding, monster-like jams that fill out this album. Despite the power and ferocity with which the group attack each rhythm, things never get to the point where the grooves might run away with themselves. In fact, the aforementioned track in particular shows how the band can suddenly settle down and ride things out carefully, calmly, and succinctly; that is, when they’re not puncturing and tearing through decibels with sonic drones and erupting into old-school garage rock reminiscent of groups like the 13th Floor Elevators or MC5.

            Indeed, the carnival-like keyboard lick that rolls down through “Pussy Footin’ the Duke” seems like a definite throwback to late-sixties psychedelic rock, a sentiment faithfully put in place behind each and every pumping fist of a track. Apart from the occasional inaudible screaming lyric scattered here and there (as on the screeching, smashing “The Antler of the Midnight Sun”), the songs are mostly instrumental somersaults, deceptively reckless, but a sure-fire way to get the adrenaline pumping a la Black Flag, if the mood so finds you. Apart from the acoustic-based respite of the Eastern “Brotherhood of the Harvest” (I say “based” because the Led Zeppelin-esque ramblings are soon cemented over with a soaring momentum), these songs are consistently pummelling and dirty enough to make Comets on Fire a potentially spectacular group of live performers.

Artist / Group:
Comets On Fire
Album:
Blue Cathedral
Label:
Sub Pop
Released:
13th September 2004

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Jim White: Drill A Hole In That Substrate And Tell Me What You See

            ”Drill a Hole in That Substrate and Tell Me What You See” gets off to a perfect start: “Static on the Radio” slinks in with a dark, buoyant beginning that draws you in to White’s contemplative whisper. By the chorus, however, Aimee Man’s accompaniment brings the song somewhere decidedly different from that initial waft of the mysterious. Wanting, waiting for it to come back, the listener becomes a curious passenger – something that won’t go unrewarded on this album.

            Dark shades are again present on the lumbering, slow, “Bluebird,” an almost elegiac ode to something that seems to have been drawn out and pulled away from the artist, yet completely deserving his attention and respect. Managing to be remarkably soulful at all times, White’s clear voice sings crisply yet hushed, while everything else seems to just hang around it. The funky “Combing My Hair in a Brand New Style” is an unexpected infusion of Southern-style hip-hop; White speaks like an old, soft-spoken guru amidst a background of crooning trumpets and a line of back-up singers, to really give it that Afro-American edge – it recalls the likes of Gil Scot-Heron, but taking the feel of a 70s bohemian soul track and inverting it in tornado-riddled corn fields. Similarly, on “Buzzards of Love,” a soulful, urban feel is once again uprooted and transplanted somewhere else, somewhere lost and disorientated, but where the power and substance retain their worth.

            The weary, melancholic country of “That Girl from Brownsville, Texas” makes it clear that Jim White has no intention of accepting the idea of a clear-cut genre to stick to. At one moment in particular, the music stops and White take his time stringing the words together, as if putting off the waiting music just for fun, or to hold the thought and the moment together that little bit longer. While the smoky, banjo-straddling “Borrowed Wings” will etch itself in your memory as simultaneously haunting and beautiful (and feels a touch like what an encounter between the recent works of Grant Lee Phillips and Tom Waits would sound like if the two ever crossed paths), the quirky “If Jesus Drove a Motorhome” can’t help like sounding like an Eels outing. While the distorted background refrain of “Motorhome, motorhome, motorhome” absolutely makes the song, its eclectic mix of elements is rich food for thought. Unexplainably funky, the song is just another example of how White can reconfigure so many other types of music to his own choosing, and produce successful results every time.

            In “Objects in Motion,” the image of a suitcase of unsigned love letters floating down a river is a terrifyingly profound reminder of life’s inevitability. This song is weighty enough that one might need to go and have a lie down afterward: stripped from it’s heavy, blue restlessness, it carries a beautiful, insightful sentiment. After country blues are rejigged and remixed on “Alabama Crome,” complete with a breakdown for a hick-rap, sounds fade in and out at the beginning of “Phone Booth in Heaven.” Time is being killed as the song begins, an acoustic contemplation follows the sounds of cars zooming past on a wet road, passing God only knows what in the ditch out of their vision. At times, Jim White’s music is the equivalent of unexplainable, extra-terrestrial phenomena (an abduction from a crop-circle somewhere in the South would be apt, perhaps). An extraordinary album by an equalling intriguing figure in music.

Artist / Group:
Jim White
Album:
Drill A Hole In That Substrate And Tell Me What You See
Label:
Luaka Bop
Released:
19th April 2004

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The Emperor Machine: Aimee Tallulah Is Hypnotised

           The funky, frisky collection of analog sounds running through The Emperor Machine’s debut album (a side project of Chicken Lips’ Andy Meecham) is just the kind of thing robotic pimps could strut to. If you can imagine Air with a lot more attitude, scoring the soundtrack to a cheap 70′s sci-fi, you might just begin to be on the right track. Though the straight-ahead, feel-good opener to the album, “The TV Extra Band” sounds like a stuttering version of the Dr. Who theme, it’s the perfect warm up for what is about to come: a stream of non-stop head nodding.

            From the glittering, synth-heavy “Linda Looks Good,” laced with flute, to the strobing, sequential title track, Meecham places the listener amidst a lysergic nightlife of cinematic proportions. Thumping rubber bass-lines of just two notes, kitsch phasing and sound-effects, all interact for a definite “cruising at altitude” feel to this album, while bringing a much needed live feel to all things electronica.

            Whether it be the sinister drones of the altogether funky “Front Man” swinging by, the computer game-like “Expanding in Reproduction,” or sounds only fit for an action-packed 1980′s helicopter chase scene (“Brains in a Box”), the simple yet addictive grooves scattered throughout make the bass the real winner here, consistently managing to hold things down under quintessentially kooky goings on. Kraut rock has been re-born by throwing it head-first into an antique vision of the future.

Artist / Group:
The Emperor Machine
Album:
Aimee Tallulah Is Hypnotised
Label:
D.C.
Released:
25th October 2004

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Pistol Star: Crawl

           Paul Kimble is, quite possibly, one of my favourite producer. Best known for his work as a member of Shiva Burlesque and Grant Lee Buffalo (plus production credits on Luna’s “Days of Our Nights” and the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack), it was with great interest that I sought out a copy of the multi-instrumentalist’s long overdue solo album.

             “Crawl” begins with the glistening string arrangement of “Mr. DJ,” a tune tied down with the heavy piano sound that one would associate with Grant Lee Buffalo; the track’s Sunday-morning pop is then met with a slightly strained falsetto rap from Kimble (who performs, sings, writes, mixes, and produces a large amount of the album just by himself) before settling into a more catchy (and comfortable) chorus. “Shine,” meanwhile, follows the opener with another pop-fuelled falsetto tune, this time giving you the unmistakable impression that there are more than a few layers at play beneath the track’s surface.

             The title song itself is sublime: lovely, lonesome, but content in the face of things; it’s arguably worth getting the album for this track alone. Here, Kimble’s voice is refreshingly strong behind just an acoustic, the warmth and strength of the message having no delay in reaching the listener. The ghost of George Harrison even makes an appearance for the lead-guitar solo (again played by Kimble himself) for a fitting end (it is of the same calibre as a latter-day Beatles number) to a remarkable song.

             If it wasn’t for the steady drumbeat at the beginning of “Fool,” the soundscape of this song could sound quite spooky. Despite an interesting guitar sound (and a Tom Morello-like spit of a solo), Kimble’s voice again feels like it’s sitting too high, made even more apparent when the line “feel like I’m a fool” gives us a hint of what his natural singing voice sounds like, before the song bubbles into a backward-sounding drone to close out. Similarly, the underwhelming “Halo” feels like it’s missing something – lyrically, it just doesn’t connect with the kind of punches that Kimble’s sound is capable of.

             The misty “I Don’t Feel That Way” starts off with the pairing of a lovely double-bass and a subtle-string arrangement, hammering into a slow, pensive daydream in a smoke-filled, darkened room. It is precisely this gift for production that would have me eager to hear any project with Kimble’s attached. The sun-drenched, drifting sound of “Candy” is another upbeat excursion into fancy-free pop; the melody of the chorus guaranteeing to find its way into your head days later, infectiously burrowing its way deep into your subconscious. The bulging sound of “Lovely Lolita,” on the other hand, featuring a characteristic Paul Kimble bass-line, is illustrative of the overall kind of feel that Kimble seems to be trying to capture on this album: light-hearted, yet often sultry, pop. The overall style of Kimble’s sound, however, when paired with a half-spoken falsetto, is one that manages to sounds not too far away from certain Faith No More tracks in the process.

             Lyrically, the weight and substance of “Crawl” is missed on songs such as “It’s OK” – a tune which gives you the feeling that, by the time it reaches its dipping “Hallelujah,” the heart of this song had the potential to be something greater, but was never quite realised. The rolling “We Never Close” sees the return of Kimble’s bulging sound with a slightly more-sinister take on the previously mentioned sun-drenched pop — a template that has been forged out with mixed results thus far. Rocking from side to side, a melody that could belong to a sedate Frank Zappa is sung with a slight sense of urgency before leading us to the album’s tender final track: “I Know.”

             There’s something strangely familiar, yet hard to place, about this final outing: strengthened with a female harmony, Kimble gives the listener another flash of the kind of quality he’s capable of in sombre fashion with a Neil Young & Crazy Horse-esque tune, before finally bowing out. Overall, having literally waited years to hear this album, perhaps a sense of disappointment was always inevitable given the rather high-standards Kimble’s past work had already firmly established in my mind; or perhaps it is because the feel of this album is decidedly more mainstream and, indeed, a genre apart from those same said works. Regardless, it is clear that, although Kimble has asserted an impressive amount of control to oversee this project, Pistol Star could use the aid of another lyricist (or melody-maker, at least) to work in tandem with its main contributor, if it is to attain the same heights that Paul Kimble is no doubt capable of achieving.

Artist / Group:
Pistol Star
Album:
Crawl
Label:
Wax Orchard
Released:
2004

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