Aimee Mann - The Forgotten Arm SuperEgo
Reviewed by Adam D. Miller
You can always count on Aimee Mann to deliver her unique brand of lyrical and melodic pop songs that are both sarcastically witty and sincerely touching. The Forgotten Arm is the latest example of why Mann is one of modern pop/rock's greatest voices.
While her closest brush with fame came with an Academy Award nomination for her song "Save Me" from the Magnolia soundtrack, Mann has been consistently making great albums as a solo artist since her 1993 debut, Whatever. Her solid track record has often been helped by a score of friends and musical collaborators that have both influenced her and assisted in the performance of her music. These have included Roger McGuinn, Glenn Tilbrook & Chris Difford, Jon Brion, Elvis Costello, and most notably, her husband Michael Penn.
This time, singer/songwriter Joe Henry has taken on the role of producer. Henry has crafted a soundscape that is both nostalgic and fresh. It's no coincidence that the sound on many of the tracks is very 1970s. After all, this is the decade in which the album's narrative is set. The old-meets-new concept is fitting, because the album is thematically and musically a slice of the past, but with lyrics that are wholly relevant to today's climate.
The Forgotten Arm is Mann's fifth solo release (not including the Magnolia soundtrack). Although the album is based on a loose concept, Mann avoids the "rock opera" tag. As she puts it herself, The Forgotten Arm is "somewhere between a story and a collection of themes. There are a lot of subtleties." Inspired by her experiences with Magnolia, Mann set out to "write about my own characters as well as my own thoughts."
In any case, the characterization of a story is there. The Forgotten Arm is about a boxer named John ("Dear John"), who falls in love with a woman named Caroline ("Goodbye Caroline"). Their relationship is turbulent, and in the end we are unsure of the fate. Aimee herself calls album closer "Beautiful" the "happy ending," although it doesn't answer many of the questions the listener develops over the course of the album.
For me, the album's best track is "She Really Wants You." Driven by bass and Hammond B3, the lyrics perfectly illustrate the uncertainty of conflicted love. How sometimes we try to convince ourselves that we feel nothing, despite the fact that once "the moment you hear, the moment you know, I'm sure you'd come running, baby. Sure, the moment you hear that she really wants you." We can always rely on Mann's choruses to be poignant and catchy.
With The Forgotten Arm, Mann proves herself to be as good a wordsmith as many of her musical influences. She has always been a reliable storyteller, and her records have shown a natural progression; Mann's voice has gotten more confident and her songwriting more inventive. Whether or not the overall albums have gotten better or not is debatable, but they certainly haven't faltered. The Forgotten Arm isn't worth the moment of hesitation. If you've been impressed by Mann in the past, you will be impressed with her again.
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Reviewed by Russell Bartholomee
If you've been following Beck's career, you've probably noticed something of a pattern in his album releases. He tends to alternate between upbeat, funky offerings and slower, more introspective collections of songs. Some fans of Mellow Gold were put off by the front-porch acoustic stomp of One Foot in the Grave. His breakthrough fourth album Odelay, filled with hip hop lyrics and break beats, was followed by the much more muted Mutations. It was a great record, but people looking for "New Pollution 2" didn't know what to make of "Cold Brains." And after Midnite Vultures filled the void left by Prince while The Artist was deciding what he'd like to be called, no one could have expected the deeply confessional, achingly beautiful majesty of Sea Change.
So it should be no real surprise that his latest effort, Guero, is a collection of mostly upbeat, funky songs. Guero is Spanish for "White Boy." The last time Beck used a Spanish slang term for an album title was Odelay, which was also produced by the Dust Brothers. Clearly, we're supposed to think of Guero as that album's heir apparent. And yet, it would be a gross oversimplification to suggest that Guero is merely Odelay II or Mellow Gold Redux. It certainly shares some elements of those classic records. You can't miss the classic Dust Brothers beats and breaks. There are silly, non-sequiter lyrics with the occasional Spanish shout out (as in "Qué Onda Guero," which loosely translates as "Where you going, white boy?") and a general atmosphere of jives and jamboree handclaps. Musically, this is a head-bob inducing record; I expect to hear "E-Pro" and "Black Tambourine" blasting from car windows all summer long. Lyrically, he certainly hasn't lost his flair for the absurd. On "Earthquake Weather," he lets us know that "spaceships can't tame the jungle," and in "E-Pro," he advises the listener to "charm the wolves with the eyes of a gambler." Will do.
But there are also hints of Mutations and Sea Change on a few tracks, especially the lush and gorgeous "Broken Drum," which would not have sounded a bit out of place on the latter. The truth is that, even though it has more in common with Odelay and Mellow Gold than his other albums, some of the beautiful sadness of Sea Change has crept into Beck's eighth record. Several of the songs explore more somber tones and themes. On "Missing," he perfectly captures that feeling of still...well...missing a lost love, even though you moved on a long time ago. "Something always takes the place of missing pieces/You can take and put together/Even though you know there's something missing." "Farewell Ride" grimly looks forward to the grave over slide guitar and a haunting harmonica line. And he pulls a neat bit of deception with the sunny sounding "Girl." On the surface, what sounds like an ode to summer romance is actually the inner thoughts of a stalker set to 70s California pop. ("I know I'm gonna make her die/Take her where her soul belongs"). It's hard to know whether to tap your toes or lock your doors.
The whole record is strong, but there are a few highlights. "E-Pro" is as fun as anything Beck has done since "Devil's Haircut." The melancholy of "Missing" is offset by a sultry string arrangement. "Black Tambourine" has a great guitar line and a beat that won't quit, enhanced by (see if you can guess) a killer tambourine line. My current favorite track though is "Rental Car," a fuzz-toned guitar romp with handclaps and clavinet that builds to a frantic center and then dissolves into an infectious "la la la" chorus (courtesy of Petra Hayden) that could have been lifted from a 60s Swedish pop song. Really, the only song that isn't completely entrancing is "Hell Yes," which sounds like a missing track from Midnite Vultures. It's very good, but the rest of the record is just much richer.
Overall, Guero is simply further evidence of Beck's tireless creativity and artistic development. Those who have embraced both types of Beck's releases will really enjoy Guero. Fans who want every Beck record to sound like Odelay will like most of it, but may find some of it too somber. People who were hoping for an album like Sea Change may find Guero a bit too silly. Of course, if the pattern holds, they can just wait for the next record. I, on the other hand, can't.
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Ben Gunning - Beigy Blur Zunior.com
Reviewed by Adam M. Anklewicz
In November, Peter Elkas told me that fellow ex-Local Rabbit "Ben Gunning is engrossed in his own project. And he should be; it's brilliant."
For those who were disappointed that Elkas' amazing debut Party Of One was not enough like the albums released by The Local Rabbits, Beigy Blur won't disappoint. Listening to their final album, This Is It, Here We Go, followed by Beigy Blur you'd be surprised to find out that there were three and a half years between the two releases. The two albums seem to compliment each other perfectly, while still having their own identity.
Beigy Blur is less guitar-intense than Gunning's previous work. It has a life of it's own and is more mellow than anything The Local Rabbits had done. Relying heavily on synths to fill the sound of the album, the jazzy/rock songs are the perfect compliment to an evening in.
"Oh Rebel" and "Drinks" are the two standout songs on the album. Challenging himself, Gunning spent hours perfecting one guitar solo on "Oh Rebel." The song is the story of a rebel who finds himself going from a freewheeling life style to an office job hoping to get back that life he had to give up. "Drinks" on the other hand is about falling slowly into a drunken bliss leading to regret. Though the best of the album, it doesn't end there.
Although not up to the level of "Oh Rebel," "The Beauty of God" is addictive and introduces the listener to the album effectively. You get an impression of what's to come, while rocking without a fear of funk. Though that fear is a healthy one, Gunning is able to toe-the-line without going too far.
Though Gunning is not the greatest singer, his voice never works against the songs. His voice is not the centre of the songs, but blends into the instruments that fill up the album. Scattered throughout the disc are some melodies that will be floating through your head long after it finishes. A few hours after the first listen you'll be humming those tunes and putting the CD back into the player (if you buy the physical version).
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Ben Harper and the Blind Boys of Alabama - Live at the Apollo EMI/Virgin
Reviewed by Russell Bartholomee
I don't know if Ben Harper is reading this (probably not), but if so, I have a little advice for him: keep making records with the Blind Boys of Alabama. Whenever you guys get together, something good happens.
That was true last year, when Harper and the Blind Boys collaborated on the magnificent There Will Be a Light. That collection of eleven songs (mostly penned by Harper) perfectly blended the Boys' gospel with Harper's soulful rock-a marriage that may quite literally have been made in heaven. Critics and fans agreed; the record won numerous awards, including a Grammy for each act. In October of 2004, Harper and the Blind Boys took what they had crafted to the stage, performing at Harlem's legendary Apollo Theater. And once again, something very good happened. Harper and his band, the Innocent Criminals, are well known for putting on a good show. But the chemistry between them and the Blind Boys of Alabama is tangible. This disc makes clear that seeing them together would clearly be a rare treat.
Everyone is in top form on Live at the Apollo. Especially effective are Jason Yates (keyboards) and Marc Ford (guitar). But the whole band sounds incredibly tight, providing perfect accompaniment for the singing. And what delightful singing it really is. Harper's voice is strong and soulful, nicely complementing the sweet harmonies of the Blind Boys. Personally, I think his voice sounds better on these albums than on any of his solo records; perhaps having to sing with the Blind Boys convinced him to bring his best game. That's not to say that he's a freeloader here. After all, in addition to his fine performance, he wrote or arranged all but two of the album's songs.
All eleven of the tracks from Light are presented here, as well as three other tunes Harper had recorded on previous albums. Every song deals in one way or another with spiritual themes; in a sense, the show is less a concert and more a worship service. It opens with Harper's guitar instrumental "11th Commandment," which serves as a sort of musical opening prayer, before launching into a moving rendition of Bob Dylan's "Well, Well, Well." The Blind Boys of Alabama really shine here, and they're only getting started. Their stunning vocal work is the foundation of every song in the show.
With few exceptions, the live arrangements are very faithful to the studio versions. That's not too surprising, since the original record was recorded more or less live in the studio. But it's still uncanny how well the band nailed the studio sound. "Take My Hand," with excellent guitar work from Marc Ford, sounds so close to the original that I could almost believe they dubbed in an applause track (even though I know better). There are a few songs that differ significantly, but never to the detriment of the song. "Wicked Man" features more pronounced piano and guitar parts (and a blistering guitar solo). "Church on Time," already a hand-clapping, foot-stomping country and gospel tune is augmented by deft Hammond organ (courtesy of Jason Yates). But it's the show's closer, the unstoppable "Satisfied Mind" that changes the most (and for the better). Originally a three-minute nugget, the live version clocks in at over ten minutes of raucous soul-stirring, gospel music. Blind Boy Jimmy Carter's voice is unparalleled here. It sounds like of a lifetime of pain and suffering, but also of love and hope, yearning and striving, all pouring forth in the key of B flat. Halfway through the song, he sustains a note for about a solid minute, ending in a triumphant roar. Then the tune gets turned loose into an old school gospel celebration, full of joy and jubilee. It's an excellent ending to a powerfully soulful and spiritual evening. The joint had to have been jumping.
In fact, the only real drawback to Live at the Apollo is that, as strong as the live recording is, the songs sound so close to the versions on There Will Be a Light. That's not an insult. The originals sound great; sounding great live is nothing to be ashamed of. But for those with a limited budget who already own There Will Be a Light, there are only a few tracks that offer a significantly different aural experience. Still, the record is an absolute pleasure to listen to, and "Satisfied Mind" is a very persuasive argument for picking up Live at the Apollo.
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Bloc Party - Silent Alarm Vice/Dim Mak
Reviewed by Ted Spas
Bloc Party's debut album, burdened with a load of hype that would herniate Atlas, begins with the most breathless, defiant four songs in recent memory. Passionate, fierce, gleeful and intelligent, these four songs represent the shining pinnacle of the otherwise risible 80s-revival dance-punk thing that's been clogging the indie consciousness for the past too damn long already. These are SOME SONGS, people, easily sweeping aside all the Franz Bravery Radio Rapture Killers in one astonishingly giddy charge. Listen closely to the final seconds of "Banquet" and you'll hear the sound of ten thousand rock critics tripping over their Fall seven inches in a blind rush for the thesauri.
And then there's a slow song. "Blue Light" is a lovely, chiming, pastoral number that allows the critics a moment to catch their breath and start jabbering about "emotional scope" and "depth" and fantasizing photo captions that say crap like "The Last gang In Town" or "The Only Band That Matters."
"She's Hearing Voices" is up next and it's another dance punk sledgehammer. And then, another slow song. Yes, it builds into a decent frenzy by the end, but for a few minutes everything goes worryingly Unforgettable Fire-era U2 and the more perceptive critics go "oh dear" in their heads and make squinchy little faces like what Elvis Costello's mug has been frozen into for the last decade or so.
Three more rockers up next, and it's like, "whew," even though "Price Of Gas" has some seriously shitty lyrics, it's no big problem. I mean, have you looked at a Gang Of Four lyric sheet lately? Ugh. "Back on track," think the critics and maybe one or two of us even attempt an awkward little critic dance as we start to think about uncorking the five-star-review bottle of Moet.
Then it's time to strap down, kids, because this album turns to total bullshit after that. One more terrific barn-burner ("Luno") is left to squander its impressive fury in a wasteland of the aforementioned sub-U2 sludge.
So here's all us critics looking around at each other making Rene Zellweger "I smell a fart" faces, and some cats get pissed and savage at what is actually a pretty decent record (one reviewer said it sounded like Terence Trent D'Arby, which is LOW) and some of 'em had their reviews finished before the last bunch of songs started (hint: they all work for NME) and pull out the five stars and the nine-outta-tens. Who can blame 'em? They've got deadlines.
Here's the real, though: when Bloc Party are on point, they're breathtaking. Silent Alarm is fierce, committed, artful and catchy as all hell. The also-rans they're getting lumped in with wish they had half this much talent and energy. Even the crappy, slow songs on this album aren't that bad, I'm probably being a grouch. Even if "Plans" and "Compliments" do suck (I just listened to them again, and yes, they do), that's what the skip button on your remote is for. Silent Alarm is a fine album. Really.
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Blue Rodeo - Are You Ready Warner
Greg Keelor - Seven Songs For Jim Warner
Reviewed by Adam M. Anklewicz
The songwriting duo of Greg Keelor and Jim Cuddy have been writing outstanding songs for nearly twenty years as Blue Rodeo. The rest of the band has gone through many personnel changes, but the core duo has driven Blue Rodeo to be one of Canada's most respected bands.
Are You Ready, Blue Rodeo's eleventh album finds Cuddy back at his roots oriented songwriting and Keelor ready to rock out. The title track is a great song about the death of Keelor's father. An emotionally heavy song that isn't afraid to get a bit of an edge. Keelor crafts some razor sharp rock with a song that will keep you coming back. Keelor's rock perfectly accentuates Cuddy's sweet pop sentiments.
The first single off of Are You Ready is "Rena," a love song that finds Blue Rodeo doing what they do best; a folk/country influenced love ballad. A sonic-return to their Casino era songs, "Rena" is a great example of why Blue Rodeo are as popular as they are. The song has a catchy melody, with country flavours including the top notch playing of Bob Egan. Those not familiar with Bob Egan in Blue Rodeo will probably know his name from Wilco's album Being There.
Though not afraid to swap roles, Cuddy and Keelor are able to use each other's talent to create better songs, proving that Blue Rodeo is better together than apart. Feeding off of each other, Keelor/Cuddy is a songwriting team that stands out.
"Tired of Pretending" is a powerful, mellow song able to transfix; "Beverley Street" is the weakest on the album, sounding like they're trying to recreate the sound of Gordon Lightfoot's albums from the 1970s; "Phaedra's Meadow" isn't afraid to be something different; and "Runaway Train" keeps on movin'.
Greg Keelor also released a solo record a week before the release of Are You Ready. Seven Songs For Jim is one of the saddest and beautiful personal records I've heard in a long time. As the title suggests, this album contains seven songs about Jim Keelor, Greg's adoptive father. The disc is Keelor's second solo album, his first since 1997's Gone.
When Keelor steps away from Blue Rodeo he gets personal. Gone was about a personal discovery, learning that his parents were not his birth parents. Seven Songs For Jim is a personal tale. It's the story of a man sitting beside his father's hospital bed as he dies. The songs are beautiful and sad; the songs are haunting; and there is not a bad song on this album. The starkness suits the subject matter perfectly. "Are You Ready" is a great song, better on the Blue Rodeo album of the same name, but the band version wouldn't have suited the album.
So with Are You Ready and Seven Songs For Jim we have two albums from a famous Canadian band. Never making too much of a dent outside of Canada, Blue Rodeo are a gem of a band that should be sought out.
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The Books - Lost and Safe Tomlab
Reviewed by James Tyler
The Books are a Massachusetts duo that revels in understatement. There is a strong sense of atmosphere behind their acoustically-driven and yet electronically playful music. A gentle approach, for the most part, goes into creating a mood or a feeling whether it's in the instruments that pop up, or in the way they use them. The use of voice snippets and samples rounds out the overall effect of their music - the samples evoke every piece of the human emotional experience in some way, augmenting their sound and adding a bit of "flesh" to the active listener.
Fascinated with odd noise and drowning in these bizarre audio samples, The Books manage to do a lot with very little. There is a homemade quality amongst their craft - the ability to sound intimate, to listen like it's a secret between you and the music.
The one huge standout for me is "It Never Changes to Stop". It has a clear arc to it, dynamically, but it never builds to a point where it gets out of control. Sweeping orchestral string arrangements bring to mind the Kronos Quartet/Philip Glass collaborations - sweeping, deliberate, haunting. Growing out of a solitary banjo loop, the song grabs you by the throat, percussion-less and beat-free, into a quirky and unsettling sample of a man shouting orders at children, getting progressively more irritated. There is that ambiguous quality about The Books that never makes you feel like you "understand" what's going on: the voice could belong to a school teacher, or it could be a kidnapper or escaped lunatic: the room for interpretation is vast.
The downfall of such emotionally challenging music is its gravity - The Books have an identity that restricts them, an artistic goal that defines them too tightly. "Lost and Safe" is not something I can latch onto and appreciate unless I am prepared: the absence of any flexibility gives this little in the way of extended rotation on my stereo.
The Books are an interesting addition to that niche of homegrown electronica - Mouse on Mars, Albion Rose, Manitoba/Caribou, even someone like Four Tet - and their use of a broad range of instrumentation and sampling aside from the blip-boop-beep approach makes them worth at least a couple of listens.
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British Sea Power - Open Season Rough Trade
Reviewed by Russell Bartholomee
If you thought British Sea Power's debut record, The Decline of British Sea Power, was the best record of 2003 and fell head over heels in love with its intelligent Pixies-meet-Bowie post-punk, you're in good company. If you've been waiting anxiously for the follow-up, eager to see if it could possibly be as good, you may be very pleased with what I'm about to write. But if you're also one of those fans who like their favorite band to keep releasing the same record again and again without ever changing their sound in any significant way, Open Season just might not be for you.
It is, however, for me. It may be indie-rock sacrilege, but I honestly prefer Open Season to Decline (though I like Decline very much). The debut was a furious affair, especially on its visceral opening couple of songs. It was loud and noisy and fun. Not a thing wrong with that. But Open Season is a much more mature record, one that shows clearly that BSP is growing artistically.
It's a great collection of shimmering Brit-pop that is more cohesive than Decline. While the Pixies and Bowie are still obvious influences, the band has embraced a wider spectrum of sound this time out. Without making a retro record, these eleven tracks brim with hints of atmospheric new wave and intelligent, moody modern rock. On "Be Gone," singer Yan sounds like he's been listening to Psychedelic Furs and classic Echo and the Bunnymen as much as he has to Bowie. There are still Joey Santiago-inspired guitar stabs (as on "How Will I Ever Find a Home?"), but the guitar work is less crazed this time around, more grounded in the fine tradition of players like Johnny Marr and even The Edge.
Think of it in the same way as when Radiohead followed the The Bends and OK Computer with Kid A. People lamented that they'd lost their edge, but many found the dark and brooding textures of Kid A to be a positive sign of growth for the band. So it is with Open Season.
Yes, it's mellower. And no, there aren't any many obvious singles (though "It Ended on an Oily Stage" and "How Will I Ever Find My Way Home?" are both energetic enough to be likely candidates). That might be a let down for people expecting an album full of "Apologies to Insect Life." But if the more melodic, intricate songs from Decline were the tunes that ultimately convinced you that BSP was really on to something, then you should adore Open Season. Either way, it's exciting to see a band that could have rested on its laurels try something different and succeed. Maybe British Sea Power isn't in decline at all.
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Bruce Springsteen - Devils & Dust Sony/BMG
Reviewed by Adam D. Miller
I'm convinced that Bruce Springsteen suffers from some sort of multiple musicality disorder. There's Bruce Springsteen the Jersey-bred soul-driven rock 'n' roller. The Bruce Springsteen who as frontman for the E-Street Band has played in sold out stadiums, delivering classic albums like Born To Run and Darkness On The Edge Of Town, and enthusiastically topping off 3 1/2 hour performances with covers of songs like "Quarter To Three" with Clarence Clemons' wailing saxophone.
Then there's the acoustic, Hank Williams/Bob Dylan-influenced Springsteen. Something very bizarre happens to him when he enters this mode. Suddenly, his voice is no longer the wailing soul man of "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out" or "Bobby Jean," but instead, he takes on the accent and delivery of an Oklahoma drifter, someone born and bred in America's heartland.
Here's where I'll be honest. The rural Springsteen doesn't usually do it for me. Of course, Nebraska, the album which originally found Springsteen in this acoustic, country-influenced mood is brilliant and gorgeous. But when Devils & Dust, his latest offering in this category, was announced, I approached it with certain reservations.
The comparisons with Springsteen's last folk-oriented effort, 1995's The Ghost Of Tom Joad accompanied the hype over Devils & Dust. Some of it made sense. Songs like "The Hitter," which is included here, were written around the time of Joad. And thematically, the album is pretty similar.
But the more I listen to Devils & Dust, the more the comparisons to The Ghost of Tom Joad surprise me. For one thing, Devils & Dust has drums, which takes the folk elements of the material to a completely different level. This is made the most clear on "Maria's Bed," a definite highlight of the album, which, like many of the great, early Rod Stewart songs ("Every Picture Tells A Story," "Mandolin Wind"), starts out very sparsely, with a little acoustic guitar, before the drums start rolling in.
The only E-Street Band member (aside from the always evident Patti Scialfa, who is also Springsteen's wife, and occasional E-Streeter Soozie Tyrell on violin) who appears on Devils & Dust is Danny Frederici, who supplies tasteful keyboards to "Long Time Comin'," another highlight of the album.
Another part of what makes Devils & Dust a great album is the production. Brendan O'Brien made Springsteen's last album, The Rising, a great success, and with his help Devils & Dust rarely sounds bland, despite its low key texture.
The only disappointing track on the album is "Reno," and it has more to do with the lyrics than the music. Sorry Bruce, but do we really need to hear you sing about a dirty deal with a prostitute? "Two hundred dollars straight in, two-fifty up the ass"? Feh.
Thankfully, "Reno" is the only sore moment, and the rest of the album glows. As I've already said, I tend to be more into Bruce the rocker, but if anything, Devils & Dust is a fitting reminder for those of us rocking out with Springsteen in the stadium, that there is also a Springsteen who is content with nothing but an acoustic guitar, stool and a small stage.
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Clem Snide - End of Love SpinArt
Reviewed by Brighid Mooney
"I like to imagine this record playing in the background as a red state and a blue state - maybe Tennessee and New York - secretly meet at a Comfort Inn off I-40 and have angry, awkward sex," says Eef Barzelay, musical impetus for alt-country group Clem Snide, about the band's latest album, End of Love. That quote accurately describes the meshing of sounds and emotions present in End of Love, as regret meets hope and pop meets country, with a healthy dose of humor thrown into the mix.
"For me, this record is about failing triumphantly," says Barzelay, who produced the album on his own for the first time. Indeed End of Love is filled with failures and sadness. As he sings on the title track, "No one will survive the end of love." But it isn't all dreary darkness. Despite the often melancholy subject matter, the album has its moments of optimism. "Fill Me With Your Light" is an upbeat pop song and "Made for TV Movie" is both hopeful and forward-looking. "Jews for Jesus Blues" is one of the best tracks on the album and, along with the title track, is both catchy and poignant.
Clem Snide is a band that has always been moderately unclassifiable. Dabbling in country and western and indie rock, the band has previously employed a myriad of non-typical instruments, including the cello, banjo, horns, strings and even the glockenspiel. The result has often been a non-typical sound that makes Clem Snide stand out among its contemporaries in either the indie rock or alt-country musical scene. Those familiar with Clem Snide know that their music is often winsome, sad, poignant and melancholy, but with articulate, empathetic lyrics drenched in wit, that provide a certain kind of balance to the music's overall feeling. End of Love follows along these lines, not strenuously different from the band's past endeavors, but not so much the same as to reach into banality either. It is a solid, beautiful album that should satisfy any fans of Clem Snide, as well as providing an appropriate introduction for anyone new to the band's music.
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Colored Shadows - Colored Shadows
Reviewed by Ivan Fernandez
There is a town within Southern California's Los Angeles County called Echo Park. The city is named after the lake it was built around, which was opened to the public 110 years ago. If you were to go out to the lake during a full moon, in the middle of the night, you would discover one of the hidden treasures the area has to offer. The reflection of the moonlight in the darkness of the rippling waves creates an aura of vivid and eerie romance. If the whole experience could be recorded with sound, that sound would belong to Colored Shadows.
Colored Shadows (who at one time were known as "1984") is one of the LA area's bands most worth mentioning. Put simply, the local band sounds like what French electronic duo Air would sound like if they lived in a top-floor loft in downtown Los Angeles' art district. The quartet, comprised of Lucas Field on bass/lead vocals, Howie Diamond on drums, Tad Moore on keyboards and Ben Pollack on guitar/vocals, creates a wall of sound that is as densely romantic as it is layered with a sense of foreboding.
Their self-titled EP features the type of music that wants to make you cry while simultaneously lifting you off your feet. The opening track, "Moscow," lays the groundwork for what will be the band's trademark sound-music controlled by synths that flow like rich wine and sparse guitar work backed by the oxymoronic work of a delicately pounding rhythm of drums and bass.
Field's vocal work and writing are the strong center point to "Eyes," the second track. The song starts with a melancholic piano line and takes off when Field projects himself through the microphone. "I wait and see/'cause I can't help but think," he sings. "That everything I've ever seen/that's perfect is right here/I taste it, it's so near/Makes me say these things I'm saying here."
"July" gives Pollack and Diamond a chance to set a stronger mood by allowing them to create a feeling of urgency within the song. Whether the band is forcing the listener to run towards or away from something is entirely in the eye of the beholder. Is the glass half empty or full? You decide.
The EP ends with "Rose Colour," which gets heavy in the beginning thanks to some vocoder work. The song works as a happy ending to the EP, as it's the most upbeat song on the entire recording.
Colored Shadows sounds like the beginning of something beautiful. Let's hope it thrives.
For more information on the group, take a peek at the band's site at www.coloredshadows.com.
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The Decemberists - Picaresque Kill Rock Stars
Reviewed by James Tyler
Main Entry: 1piácaáresque
Pronunciation: "pi-k&-'resk, "pE-
Function: adjective
Etymology: Spanish picaresco, from p’caro
: of or relating to rogues or rascals; also : of, relating to, suggesting, or being a type of fiction dealing with the episodic adventures of a usually roguish protagonist <a picaresque novel>
Colin Meloy has a vision, one that is clear, coherent, unmistakable, and unbelievably wordy. This album represents perhaps the most accurate example of this vision in action. Picaresque , as the name suggests, is a dense and fast-moving mélange of sea shanties, singalongs, and rousing tales of lust and intrigue in the Victorian ages or on the high seas. It's a concept, and although it might initially sound awkward, it works for the Decemberists on the whole.
"Rock" music, and everything lumped under that vast umbrella, is often criticized for a lack of imagination, for a creative stymie through which nothing new or innovative is communicated. In the sense of Meloy and his band, there exists no such ceiling, and their refreshing take on horn-laden, acoustic guitar strum-a-longs is welcomed. Unlike previous Decemberists recordings, this album advances their earlier work and fleshes it out.
Think of it like a story with a few loose ends and confusing sub-plots that are then edited out, smoothed off. This is, to me, Picaresque .
Meloy's unmistakable voice sings songs of death, scandal, espionage, innocence lost, libraries, melodrama and tragedy. Opening track "The Infanta" is as percussively thunderous as the cannons firing and muskets blazing that it evokes, and its heart-racing pace makes you want to rush to the docks with your tri-corner hat to see the entrance of the young princess being introduced to the masses. "The Sporting Life" brings a playful, jolly rhythm to the story of a failing athlete embarrassing himself in front of his peers, his family and his girlfriend. It's the perfect anthem for all the youth who eschew the baseball diamond in favor of books or the occasional black-and-white matinee.
Not wishing to remain too light-hearted and fictional, the track "16 Military Wives" takes a more serious stance on the issue of politics, war and the media - the wool is pulled over the eyes of the public by TV newsmen talking gibberish and failing to convey what is actually happening. Everyone has a voice, but no-one has an opinion.
It's a pretty album, and one worth listening to if nothing else for Meloy's insanely precocious vocabulary - as a friend so rightly pointed out, rhyming "folderol" (a useless object or accessory) with "chaparral" (a thicket of dwarf evergreen oaks) is worth at least one star alone. (Note: "The Infanta" is perhaps the best example of his book-smarts)
All playfulness aside, Picaresque is a rich and engaging testament. Colin Meloy's musical arrangements, extravagant and expressive, are the perfect conduit for his dreamy and antiquated lyrics, and they fuse to form a perfect story. It's not something I could listen to or indulge in for the longest time, but I can appreciate it for what it's trying to accomplish. It's different and unique, and those are two qualities becoming more rare and precious across the musical landscape.
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Des Ark - Loose Lips Sink Ships Bifocal Media
Reviewed by Ivan Fernandez
Don't you hate it when you hear one song off an album that builds your expectations in a certain manner, only to discover that the one song you heard was nothing but a deviation? That's just not cool. Such was the case when I popped in a copy of Des Ark's Loose Lips Sink Ships.
The band, featuring the duo of Timothy Herzog on the drums and Aimee Argote on guitar and vocals, start off with a lovely acoustic number called "Some Are Love." And as I listened, I thought to myself "wow, I hope the rest of the album is as sweet as this." Just imagine my surprise when Aimee starts growling like some sort of lioness screaming at you to back off from her young lion cub on "Yes Sir, Yes Way." Fellas, shield your crotches because this girl is definitely a biter.
The rest of the album followed a similar pattern. Rough, distorted guitars with angry girl Aimee screaming plus Timothy banging on his drum kit. Oh, woe were my ears at the thought of only having one track as a sweet lullaby. It's not that I'm against women showing their fearsome side. I just don't feel comfortable having someone scream into my face right after they've rocked me into a state of day dream-ish ennui.
Confused and distraught, I checked the band's web page and found the following blurb on the tour dates page: We are a punk band and we do punk type things, mainly punk shows. Ah ... that explains it all. Luckily, I did find some redeeming qualities, for the album wasn't all bang-strum-growl as I feared it would be.
Tracks like "It's A Hard World Sometimes For Little Things" and "For Bob Riecke" proved me wrong. The former track uses a distorted, blues-ish guitar lick that matches Aimee's somber vocals. There's even a piano thrown in at the end for good measure.
The song dedicated to Mr. Riecke, whoever he may be, is an ode using nothing but voice and piano.
Des Ark aren't terrible but they aren't great either. I might throw a song or two of theirs on a mix tape some time in the near future for some scene points but I don't think I'll be adding the album to anyone's birthday list.
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Despistado - The People Of And Their Verses Jade Tree
Reviewed by Ivan Fernandez
Like any music lover, I come with a few pet peeves. One of these is discovering a band too late. Such is the case with the now-defunct Despistado. The Canadian post-hardcore group disbanded soon after they finished recording their second album, The People Of And Their Verses. The album leaves the rest of us newbies with a set of twelve tracks to digest as their raging swan song.
As with any post-hardcore outfit, the comparison to former post-hardcore rockers At The Drive-In (who have received near-legendary status despite the existence of Sparta and The Mars Volta) is impossible not to make. The formula is all there: dynamic guitar shifts balanced with plucked notes, full-throated singing (even when not screaming), drums that stab your spinal cord, etc. But if anyone were to tell you that the boys from Regina, Saskatchewan were nothing but rip-offs, you'd have my permission to punch them in face for voicing such an ignorant statement.
The similarities may be there but this isn't some manufactured rock band designed as the high-budget ATD-I. On the contrary, when these Canadians set out to rock, they do it on their own terms. Dagan Harding and Leif Thorseth complement each other well in their dual, trebled-guitar assault. Brennan Schwartz's drum work hits like a professional boxer's jabs to the chest. Joel Passmore completes the line-up with his bass.
Lyrically, Harding has a tendency of swaying from prose that borders on intellectually ironic to simply silly. Compare the lyrics for "The Memory Of This History" to the title track: "Basque in the sun like a separatist/Our generation burned as it tanned...They hold us down then tell us that it's gravity" vs. "So plant trees on the side of your head/After all they could prevent erosion."
What Despistado suffers from is appearing on the music scene too late. Had they appeared a few years ago when progressive hardcore first hit its stride a few years ago, the band would've made more of an impact on the scene's eardrums. It would have then made more sense when Harding sings "I tracked you down to be a victim of our sound" on "Victim."
Instead, we all become victims of a late discovery that won't develop past what many will dismiss as a knock-off. It's a real shame since these boys were just getting started.
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Gruf - Hopeless Peanuts & Corn
Reviewed by Brighid Mooney
Canadians can rap. Yeah. You heard me. "Welcome to Canada," Gruf sings on the first track of Hopeless, his second full-length album. Indeed, this is a Canada far from the Neil Young and Avril Lavignes that you might associate with its vast expanse. You may think that rap is anathema to Canada, but Gruf is here to disprove any misconceptions you may have. Lyrical, insightful and melodic, the songs on Hopeless are not like any hip hop you have ever known. Eschewing harsh beats, the songs flow with something almost like romance, sensual beats that drive the music forward at every step. Gruf's singing itself is likewise lacking the harsh edges often associated with rap music. Rather than simply speaking the lyrics, this is singing as it is rapping. The result is an album more fully musical, with beats and tunes, hooks and melody.
Produced by McEnroe, and with vocal help from Pip Skid, John Smith and others, Hopeless is far from living up to its title. Rather, it is catchy, beat-driven music with audible evidence of piano and even more unusual instrumentation, pulling beats with a sometimes Eastern influence. Lyrically, Gruf digs deep with rhymes both personal and self-deprecating, unfailingly introspective. His music shows recognition of how the problems of the world start inside each individual person, and likewise their solutions. Touching upon modern politics, especially in songs like "Butcher's Bill," Gruf's anger is both discernible and eloquent. On songs like "You Need To Relax" and "Off Time" he is more forthcoming, perfect logic in hip hop form. "Whiplash," featuring John Smith, takes on guns and violence with an inescapably infectious hook, and "Hopeless Romantic" is well-named with Gruf's sister taking on the chorus.
The album ends with another installment of the P&C Cribs series, in which Gruf plays host, liquor in tow. Hopeless is not Gruf's first foray into Canadian rap and his evolution seems to be taking a forward step. Thoroughly enjoyable, literate and intelligent, Hopeless gives hope to anyone doubting that great hip hop could be found north of the 49th parallel.
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Heavy Trash - Heavy Trash Yep Roc
Reviewed by Zayne Reeves
This is a party record with all the pros and cons associated with that particular genre. Heavy Trash masterminds Jon Spencer (Jon Spencer Blues Explosion) and Matt Verta-Ray (Speedball Baby) are old pros at this kind of messy, fun and often downright raunchy rockabilly and their self-titled collaboration should go well next to your old Rudy Ray Moore records (I assume you're taking this party record shit seriously) and that case of Milwaukee's Best. Like Dale Watson, Rex Hobart and Wayne Hancock, Spencer and Verta-Ray are throwbacks to a bygone era and it helps to already have real affection for Charlie Feathers and early Ray Price because they sure do. At best, these "head to the past" artists keep the old stories alive and manage to turn an ever renewing stream of white college kids on to Jimmy Reed, Merle Haggard and Spade Cooley. At their worst, they feel like spiritless Xerox copies. Jon Spencer has caught more than his share of flack over his career for being something like the George Thorogood of his generation. I think it's an apt comparison except that I don't see it as an insult. The music might not be visionary but it's spirited, well played and made by people who know their roots.
Heavy Trash kicks things off in high style with "Dark Hair's Rider," which chugs along with equal parts sex and menace. You know these songs even without hearing them. Heartbroken men walking down that long lonesome road feelin' bad, drop top convertibles, another shot of whiskey in a dirty glass, Wurlitzer pianos and pedal steel mocking a rogue's gallery of hard men and unfaithful women with each sting and curlicue lick. A song like "Walking Bum" has every single rockabilly cliché imaginable in its every groove and, you know what, it's a blast the whole way through. Elsewhere on Heavy Trash, Spencer and Verta-Ray add a little psychedelia to the proceedings on songs like "Mr. K.I.A." and bring some welcome variety to the proceedings. They even catch real fire with "Under The Waves," which plays like a twisted pulp comic thanks to Spencer's startling vocal turn that would do Johnny Dowd proud.
After awhile though, you start to feel as if you've eaten too many chocolate chip cookies. I found myself wanting it to be a little bit more than just a raucous hipster soundtrack for couples to make out to underneath framed Hatch Show Print artwork. It's not music that's meant to stay with you and yet, because it is fun and made by people who are so good at what they do, you want them to occasionally quit with the act and really say something. But, and I feel myself slowly inching towards being curmudgeonly prude here, Heavy Trash just wants to party. So, invite some friends over, play it fucking loud and use only as directed.
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Reviewed by Brighid Mooney
Hot Hot Heat are nothing if not consistent, and their newest album, Elevator, proves that, delivering a solid set of insistently catchy garage rock, firmly in the vein of 2002's breakout album, Make Up the Breakdown. The biggest difference here is that Make Up the Breakdown actually sounded like it might have been recorded in a garage, whereas Elevator is more polished and produced. Production values notwithstanding, Hot Hot Heat have, for the most part, stayed with the sound that made them famous: rollicking, raucous, two and a half minute garage rock anthems. Short, sweet and over before they can get annoying, these songs are cheerfully direct, unabashedly joyous. Hot Hot Heat keeps the pace through the album's 14 tracks (track 13 is skipped in true elevator fashion), in an unrelenting stream of rawest rock and roll.
Elevator is the band's first album on a major label, and the production of the album reflects that change. While they can no longer be called darlings of indie rock, Hot Hot Heat still managed to bring the indie feel with them when they left Sub Pop for Sire. A band whose songs are made of scratchy, rough around the edges rock won't always feel at home with a major label, but somehow Hot Hot Heat's laconic vocals and poppy, frenetic sound hold onto their texture even with the polish of a slick production. There isn't an immediate "Oh, goddamnit" on Elevator, but within the bulk of analogous songs there are plenty to like. "Goodnight, Goodnight" is a shameless slap in the face to a former lover ("I can't even rewind the tape machine, to listen to your drunken reasoning"), "You Owe Me An IOU" thinks it's a little more clever than it actually is, and songs like "Pick It Up," "Dirty Mouth," and "Solider In a Box" are simply enjoyable, no holds barred rock and roll.
Elevator doesn't depart much, if at all, from Make Up the Breakdown, but if nothing else, Hot Hot Heat has created an admirable companion album for their last release. Elevator is Make Up the Breakdown with studio polish, the same songs in nicer clothes, but just as fun and just as cathartic, and you might even be able to understand the lyrics this time.
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John Doe - Forever Hasn't Happened Yet Yep Roc
Reviewed by Russell Bartholomee
Listening to John Doe's voice on Forever Hasn't Happened Yet, it's easy to forget that he used to front a punk band. Not just any punk band, of course. We're talking about X, the seminal L.A. punk rockers whose influence is still fully felt in garages all over America. But on his latest solo record, his voice is so melodic and understated that you might think he'd been doing singer/songwriter records all along. I'd like to hear Johnny Rotten try to sing this well. (On second thought...).
Forever is the logical successor to 2002's excellent Dim Lights, Bright Stars, and thankfully it actually manages to improve on that disc's one flaw. Namely, Forever is much warmer, eschewing the polish applied to some of the cuts on its predecessor. Produced by Doe and Dave Way, these songs sound much more natural, and Doe's voice has a compelling clarity throughout. But there is a crucial element of Dim Lights that remains on Forever, and it's one of the main reasons it shines so brilliantly. Namely, John Doe asked some of his best musical friends to join him in the studio. Each one of his guests (and it's an illustrious crew, including Grant Lee Phillips, Kristin Hersh, Neko Case, and Dave Alvin) makes a welcome contribution to Doe's already solid songwriting.
The album has been described by many as a blues record, but I'm afraid that is woefully inadequate to describe Forever. There are several blues tunes, and they're terrific. But there are also raw rockers, a couple of pop gems, a punk-informed acoustic number, and a pair of the best country songs I've heard since Van Lear Rose came out last year. There's certainly a blue mood to the whole affair, and the direct approach to the recording is reminiscent of Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf.
The tone for the record is set by the haunting opening track, "The Losing Kind." Dave Alvin's smoky guitar is combined with atmospheric Hammond organ to mesmerizing effect. It's a back porch blues that sounds like the soundtrack to a Jim Jarmusch film that hasn't been made yet. It's followed by the roadhouse stomp rock of "Heartless," which features Alvin and Grant Lee Phillips (one of whom is playing a mean slide guitar). It could be that some critics only listened to the first two cuts before pronouncing the album a "blues record" and moving on to the next review. If they had stuck around for one more song, they'd have heard "Mama Don't," which is a just about perfect pop song, with its soaring melody and upbeat guitar jangle. Not a blue note to be found, and yet it sounds completely right in the song sequence.
There's really not a bad song on the album, but there are a couple of standout tracks that warrant a mention. "Hwy. 5" (co-written by Exene Cervenka) is a rousing-but-dark offering with a rumbling bass groove and amazing harmony vocals by Neko Case. "Your Parade" is steeped in gorgeous strings and strummed guitar and contains one of the album's best lyrics: "I know it's a mistake / I'm just a float in your parade / a shooting star in a winter sky / I make a wish that I'm not sad about you." Kristin Hersh does a marvelous job lending her voice to the frantic, fast-paced rock of "Ready," a song about friends who die far too young. The song pays tribute to several in Doe's musical community, especially Elliott Smith. "Sang his song like breaking a bell...He lied when he said he was ok / but he was in possession of his own judgment day."
If I had to pick my absolute favorite track, though, it would be "Twin Brother," a tender duet with Grant Lee Phillips that could easily be a Depression-era folk song. It paints a vivid picture of the innocence of childhood, even when that childhood was rough, of the closeness of brothers who are sometimes each other's only solace. Doe and Phillips sing of breaking a pair of glasses and fearing a mother's retribution, of having a step-father whose bad temper keeps them from even simple pleasures, and of wishing for a future someday, when they'll be grown-ups and not have any more problems. It's a hopeful (if naïve) sentiment that every child knows, not knowing that adulthood has problems of its own. All of this emotion is summed up in one line, a promise from a brother to his twin: "Someday I'll buy you glasses that will never break." It's a moving song that could get lost in sentimental mush and instead, like the rest of Forever Hasn't Happened Yet, rings perfectly honest and true.
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Kings of Leon - Aha Shake Heartbreak RCA
Reviewed by Brighid Mooney
Once touted by critics as "the Southern-fried Strokes," the Kings of Leon gained relatively widespread recognition in 2002 with their debut album Youth and Young Manhood. Currently they may be more recognized from the new Jetta commercial, as "Molly's Chambers" from their first album provides a kicking soundtrack to Volkswagen-inspired youthful independence. Selling out before their second album? Say it ain't so! Actually it is so, but if that's the case, at least the Kings of Leon have something to sell. The band, now opening shows for U2, aren't actually much like the Strokes at all. They are rawer and more unhinged, but just as energetic, with copious heavy bass lines and rough guitar riffs.
Sexual allusions abound in their sophomore album with songs like "Soft," which has the sort of obvious, heavy-handed lyrics that somehow seem appropriate here. Subtle they are not, but lyrically they fare better elsewhere on the album. At times Heartbreak can reach levels of annoyance, specifically with "Day Old Blues." Why are we yodeling? I'm not sure, but for the most part the album is fairly flawless in its energy and southern charm. Combining elements from influences like Neil Young, The Rolling Stones and Randy Newman, Aha Shake Heartbreak wears its southern pride on its sleeve and in Caleb Followell's raw, laconic vocals. The band is at its best with songs like the slowed down and sultry "Milk" and the raucous bravado of "Velvet Snow" and "Pistols of Fire."
One word of warning is that the album seems to have some serious copyright restriction embedded on it, and there is a landslide of complaints out there from unhappy iPod owners who couldn't get the album to play. So, if the iPod is your chief means of music listening, buying the album on iTunes is probably a better route. At any rate, Aha Shake Heartbreak is a solid investment for anyone looking to have an unrestricted good time. Or maybe a kegger.
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Loudon Wainwright III - Here Come the Choppers Sovereign Artists
Reviewed by Amy Wagner
Loudon Wainwright III is one of the last of a dying breed - the songwriter as storyteller. He first gained attention as part of the 1960s folk generation that came to be dominated by Bob Dylan, and as a folkie, Wainwright made an early living off of old-style standards that were more stories set to music than actual songs. Now as he nears 60 years of age, the old folk singer in Loudon Wainwright is undergoing a fabulous renaissance. Not only does his stunning new album Here Come the Choppers! tell great stories, it also offers the listener a portrait of a man taking stock of both the bad and good aspects of his own character.
The album gets off to a quirky, yet touching start with the track "My Biggest Fan," in which Wainwright tells the story of a 400-pound man who is literally his biggest fan. The song manages to treat this lonesome outsider with a good measure of respect and affection. "Hank and Fred" is an old-style journey song about traveling through Montgomery, Alabama and "visiting Hank Williams' grave on the day Fred Rogers died" (yes, Mr. Rogers from the kids' show). The song also celebrates the courageous history of Montgomery and some of its famous citizens including Rosa Parks and Nat King Cole.
Here Come the Choppers! takes a more personal turn on a set of songs that Wainwright wrote about members of his own family. "Half Fist" is an ode to Loudon Wainwright Sr., the grandfather that Loudon III never knew. Without any first-hand knowledge of his relative, Wainwright only has the memories of others and faded photographs to draw a history from. "Nanny" is an affectionate, bouncy tune for his grandmother, a fun loving woman who "didn't bake or knit/didn't give a shit" and even took in her wayward grandson during some of his more troubled years in the 60s.
While nostalgia may color songs about his distant past, Wainwright comes face to face with the man in the mirror in what maybe his most personal song ever. "When You Leave" is a sad confessional tale about failing and leaving behind wives and children (Wainwright's kids are critically-acclaimed musicians Rufus and Martha) - often destroying their lives. Scenario goes on to mention the despair of having grown children show up at his door as strangers who are "a bit bereft" and may even be destined to follow in his uneasy footsteps. The song succeeds by expressing an honest amount of regret instead of trying to explain the mysteries of the human heart.
In the past few years, Loudon Wainwright III has been turning out a steady stream of new music. It's even easy to imagine that he still may not have peaked as an artist and there could be many more albums to come. In a youth-dominated society, his tales of experience and his brand of style with substance are welcome additions.
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Louis XIV - The Best Little Secrets Are Kept Atlantic
Reviewed by Brighid Mooney
"If you want good clean fun, go fly a kite," Louis XIV suggest on their seminal debut, The Best Little Secrets Are Kept. But if you want good, dirty rock and roll, then you need look no further. The Best Little Secrets is full of rock and roll bravado, vocal swagger, and copious amounts of innuendo, with the parental advisory to prove it. This album is all about sex. These guys are nothing if not straightforward about what it is they want, with no time for double entendres. All this just makes for unabashedly naughty and unequivocally fun rock and roll, and with the discernible influences of everyone from T-Rex to Bowie to the Kinks, Louis XIV walks the line between glam and pure, unpolished garage rock.
If the Darkness was just a little too over the top for you, but you worship at the altar of retro rock and roll, Louis XIV may be the answer to your prayers. On tour with fellow rough rockers Hot Hot Heat, Louis XIV fit in with their contemporaries, from the Libertines to the Killers. If the White Stripes dug glam instead of the blues they might sound like Louis XIV. Unhinged rock and roll played with reckless abandon, sleazy, salacious rock sung with inexplicably British overtones, the band from San Diego has made an album that is simply unpretentious fun. There is no greater message, there is no deeper context. Just girls, girls, and more girls, like the lascivious beginnings that gave rock and roll its name.
"Well, I'm a weapon of mass destruction," sings Jason Hill, in a line that opens the album. And from there Louis XIV indeed go on to destroy the greater pretensions of modern rock. Bringing along over half the songs from their acclaimed EP, The Best Little Secrets is ten tracks of mostly unrelenting energy and libido, with only a couple of tracks that break their raunchy spell. Louis XIV shine on the songs that are full of frenetic energy, which luckily is most of them, but even their slower jams are not without merit. In fact, one of the best tracks on the album is the slow closer, "Ball of Twine," an ode to the classic rock and roll that Louis XIV has always loved. With lines like "God save the Kinks and the music from the Big Pinks," the song is surprisingly tender, a sincere finish to an album brimming with over the top sexual allusion. The Best Little Secrets has its weak moments, but they are astonishingly few for a band this young. This is rock and roll the way it was meant to played: with pure, unadulterated libidinous joy.
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Martha Wainwright - Martha Wainwright Maple Music Recordings/Rounder
Reviewed by Adam M. Anklewicz
"Oh you bloody mother fucking asshole" sings Martha Wainwright on her debut self-titled album. Not afraid of being crude, Wainwright's songs are smart, witty and heartfelt.
Those who recognize the name Wainwright will probably have heard her singing before. Martha Wainwright comes from a family known for music. Her father is Loudon Wainwright III; her brother is Rufus Wainwright; her mother is Kate McGarrigle of The McGarrigle Sisters. Finally the fourth member of this family steps out from her usual role of "backing vocals".
Ever since I first heard Rufus Wainwright's debut album in 1999, I've enjoyed Martha's voice, particularly beside Rufus'. There was no question of whether or not she could sing, the question was can she write songs as well as the rest of her family?
Yes, she can. Less operatic and grand than her brother, and nicely in between the rock and folk of her parents, Martha carries on the Wainwright name. Songs like "Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole", "When The Day Is Short" and "Far Away" are great songs and prove her talent as a singer-songwriter.
"Far Away" quickly proves to the listener how soothing and beautiful Wainwright's voice is. Opening the album, the song carries a simplistic beauty through it that isn't seen too often in other people's work.
The album is far from perfect. There are a handful of songs that aren't great. "Factor" is a boring song, but the album flows well. Wainwright isn't a perfect songwriter, but when she hits a high, she really hits it.
"Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole" is a song that I could listen to endlessly. The vocal performance bleeds raw emotion; the lyrics don't beat around the bush; and the music matches everything else. "I will not pretend / I will not put on a smile / I will not say 'I'm alright' for you," she sings with true passion. Listen to this song with the volume turned up loudly and everything else will fade away.
Wainwright is true to her songs, her emotions flow through and her voice invites you in. Unable to escape the huge gaze that she'll get because of who she follows, Wainwright, makes her first attempt something that should make most naysayers happy to have been wrong. Not the best set of songs, but a great album to put on for a lazy Sunday.
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Monade - A Few Steps More Too Pure
Reviewed by Ivan Fernandez
What is it about the French language that is so romantic? I think it has something to do with their pronunciation of words. If you really think about it, no other language could make an adjective sound so sexy. And no one can croon as dreamily as Laetitia Sadier. The French chanteuse, whose day job is that of front woman for long-running indie-pop group Stereolab, has set sail on her own side project, Monade.
A Few Steps More is both a beginning and a sequel. The album is the second release by Laetitia Sadier but the first release both for and by Too Pure Records.
Monade's first release, Socialisme ou Barbarie: The Bedroom Recordings, was a self-published home recording. Sadier played and recorded every instrument on the album. For the follow-up, a few of her fellow musician friends join her, namely Nicolas Etienne, Marie Merlet, Xavier Chabellard and Joe Watson.
To no one's surprise, Monade sounds incredibly similar to Stereolab. The songs can almost be mistaken as lost Stereolab b-sides. Laetitia's solo work features many of the trademark Lab sounds, such as her dreamy French vocals backed by synths, drums and trebled guitars. The outer space mod-lounge feel is there as well.
However, in comparison, Monade's recording is a bit more lo-fi than Stereolab in its overall production. The snare drum sounds like it was recorded at a distance of two miles from the microphone. X