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Ryan Adams and the Cardinals “Jacksonville
City Nights”
(Lost
Highway 2005) Review by Mark Whitfield
The
mediocrity of an overkill of material burns itself out with a return
to the heady highs of Adams’ Whiskeytown days. Ah.
It’s nice to have Ryan back. After what now seems like an eternity
(but which was probably not nearly so long – he’s just too damn
eager to get albums out) of records which were kind of OK but
nothing thrilling, reaching its low ebb with the major label forced
“Rock and Roll,” Ryan showed the first signs of a recovery earlier
this year with the mixed but promising “Cold Roses.” Releasing
another studio album less than six months later might seem like
brave stupidity – certainly the sheer weight of his output would
lead you to question whether quality really can come out of so much
quantity – but here he is, back with a full length studio album and
the good news is that it’s his best since his debut, even beating
the pieced together “Love is Hell” for consistency and overall
standard. The second album to be recorded with his band the
Cardinals (despite a slight change in line-up), there’s continuity
in terms of the musicians involved, but the sound harks back to
earlier times for Adams – most specifically the beginnings of his
former band Whiskeytown’s output - it even sounds
pre-Whiskeytown at times - with country chord changes
evocative of Neil Young and the more rootsy side of Dylan, layers of
violin, mandolin, pedal steel and even the Nashville String Machine
(on the wonderfully George Jones-esque “My Heart is Broken” even if
each verse does sound like it’s about to lapse into “Any Dream Will
Do”), Adams sounds as far removed from his flirtation with the Oasis
model as he’s ever done. On top of which the UK version contains
perhaps the best version of “Always on My Mind” ever recorded – it’s
difficult to imagine how good it sounds until you’ve heard it. If
there is a low point to the record, it’s the dreary “Dear John”
co-written (and vocalised) with Norah Jones, but it’s an exception,
and nearly everything else about the album – from the production to
the standard bearing cover makes the album feel like that instant
classic that some artists can crave for throughout their careers.
That Adams has managed to make two and arguably more within the
space of what still feels like just the beginning moves of his
career should lay to rest any doubts that the best has probably long
gone already. We can no doubt expect more relapses over the years
but if this is the reward for patience in less promising times,
Adams is still the key force to be reckoned with in modern
americana. www.ryan-adams.com
Magic Car “Family
Matters”
(Tiny Dog
Records 2005) Review by Patrick Wilkins
Does the
thought of Americana from Nottingham make you groan? Magic Car show
just how bloody wrong you can be! As you
might expect given the name, there are relatively few native Brits
staking their claim in Americana. There are even fewer that
make a good fist of it without sounding like they wish they were
from the Midwest rather than the West Midlands. Or even the East
Midlands, as in this case, Magic Car hail, unashamedly, from
Nottingham. They have an undeniable roots/country feel courtesy of
some pedal steel and delicately picked acoustic, but they don’t
attempt to disguise their UK origins. Phil Smeeton is the
writer, and occasional vocalist. Other occasional vocalist is
Hazel Atkinson, ‘all fluty piped, kissed her breath into the mics’
say the sleeve notes, imagine an English folk influence on the
Cowboy Junkies Margo Timmins, and you’d be close, in case you were
wondering, this is a good thing, a very good thing. As to the nature
of the songs, as well as US country elements, from the UK point of
view, along with some folk, you get a flavour of the Beautiful
South, a dash of Richard Thompson, even an occasional aroma of
Prefab Sprout. Not exactly as expected there’s a couple of
songs with motorcycle themes, opener ‘The Bikers Lament’, sung by
Hazel, and ‘Gold Wing Queen’ sung by Phil. ‘Mother Nature’s Lamb’
possibly the stand out track, goes instead for the back seat of a
bus, features both Phil and Hazel singing over an infectious and
gentle loping riff, some Rocky Mountains rear up in this one.
‘Small Town Saturday Night’, with an alcohol tinged sing-along
(almost)chorus, could well be back in binge drinkers Britain,
‘Nothing to do but get drunk and fight’, sings Hazel, but some fine
pedal steel drags you back over the Atlantic. Title track ‘Family
Matters’ challenges ‘Mother Nature’s Lamb’ for stand out track, a
quirky, almost surreal, nonsense lyric, it seems to be about a time
travelling space man, but finishes with a quite strikingly sweet
refrain of ‘Hold on to the one you love, never let them get away or
fade away’. Its another song in which things don’t quite go
how you might have expected, a rare quality, and one that
contributes considerably to making this a fine record. www.tinydog.co.uk
Cary Swinney “Big
Shots”
(Johnson
Grass Records 2005) Reviewed by Phil Edwards
Political
troubadour Cary Swinney releases his third CD and doesn't let up in
his views about good ole USA. It's
refreshing to hear some sense in these jingoistic times. Swinney
doesn't mince his words and lets Uncle Sam have it with both
barrels, particularly on 'American History' a sad but true
indictment of the USA's history in dealing with it's indigenous
nations. The chorus says it all "Let's go to the ballgame and
sing our song with glee. And conveniently forget our past in the
land of liberty". 'Dawson County' further reiterates what the
nations leaders have turned his country into; "I think most
lobbyists are liars, I think most men in suits are sad" whilst
cranking out some excellent guitar licks. Maybe rock 'n' roll is the
answer. And the ever relenting 24 hour news readers don't get away
scott free. 'Parades Down Main Street's' outlines a narrative that
compares "news chicks" with the pride that all Americans feel when
the yearly parade including the National Guardsmen and cops pass
along their main drag, whilst conveniently leaving the lies of their
leaders behind. Everything is therefore ok. Not a bit of it. With
the political bite of Steve Earle, the deceptive qualities of John
Prine and some say the gruffness of Kris Kristofferson, Swinney
manages to relay his views without really pissing too many Americans
off. Perhaps he should try harder. www.caryswinney.com
The Walkabouts
“Acetylene”
(Glitterhouse 2005) Review by David Cowling
Preconceptions go Walkabout as they crank up the guitars in
this bonfire of profanities. After
spending the last decade or so refining their sound from a loose
kind of gothic-folk to a pulsing 21st century folktronic sound, on
this release they take the title to heart and burn down everything
they’ve done and start again. The scorched earth policy reveals that
the folkier elements have been lost in the fire and a harder
rock-based sound remains. The titles alone should tell you
something: ‘Fuck Your Fear’, ‘Kalashnikov’ or the title song don’t
really reconcile back to folk music, even when Carla’s vocals are to
the fore, and they use more electronic instruments as on ‘Have You
Ever Seen the Morning’ - the sound is full and propulsive, the
electronics like the short-circuited signalling of a cyborg designed
for war. There is very little space within the songs; it is always
filled, always driving onwards lest the flames catch up with them.
When the throttle is allowed to slacken as it does on the beginning
of ‘Northsea Train’ the riff is insistent and not pretty and it
comes to dominate, relentless. Though apocalyptic, it isn’t without
enjoyment - ‘Before This City Wakes’ is full of incendiary Crazy
Horse style guitar and by the time we get to the closing ‘The Last
Ones’ it’s as though they are the last survivors of a disaster
trying to make sense of the lottery that left them alive. Suitably
the pace slows, drums ricochet, the guitars become restrained and
the chorus almost reaches richness - the refugees’ regret and hope
are implicit in the tremulous vocals, the deep implosive guitar
break, the few piano notes that follow and the last vestiges of a
lost civilisation. The record seems like the soundtrack for a
dystopian science-fiction story with flames never far away; even
where there are strings (‘Whisper’) they only thicken the
stew. When they underscore the line ‘they take us in for
identity checks’ they are like a totalitarian army, close drilled,
uniform and soulless - this is one of the stronger tracks in
addition to the strings; here the guitar riff gives off sparks as it
spins like a grinding wheel and when it is joined by a brass section
it makes it feel as though revolution is possible. It has a
lot in common with fellow North Westerners Modest Mouse and their
‘Moon and Antarctica’ record; grand themes, sweeping in scope, it
differs in that it is more unified and cohesive as though their
occasional forays into murder ballad territory have been expanded to
a more wholesale destruction. It is the response to destruction that
is important - in some areas regular razing maintains the eco-system
and here it has given them the scope to attempt something different.
Whilst it doesn’t give up pleasures easily, it is challenging,
thought provoking and enduring. www.glitterhouse.com
The Clientele “Strange
Geometry”
(Pointy
2005) Review by David Cowling
It’s not
math rock but it is full of odd angles and it all adds up to a well
rounded effort. Obsession
isn’t a healthy mental state but it can fuel art in a way that
workaday love can’t, and this record seems shot through with a sense
of unjustified loss - ‘Since K Got Over Me’ or ‘E.M.P.T.Y’ for
instance have been imbued with a strange passion that has skewed
them slightly and made them all the better. The melodies are simple
and the vocals lightly melancholy - the music though is something
different. It jangles, strings sawed and then psychedelic flourishes
flower and then die like an acid flashback - something stirs,
something dark. In some ways, especially vocally, these songs remind
me of Friends Again with added attention to detail and more
ambition. At times it’s as though the escape from the obsession
leads to the romantic overtones of prog - then again, ‘Step into the
Light’ is a spoken word piece and even here it is the story of
another escape this time into the past, a simpler time before the
complexities of adulthood. ‘I Can’t Seem To Make You Mine’ is a long
way from the Seeds song of the same name, with soft modulated
strings moving like curtains in the breeze - the vocal is melancholy
and the melody sad. It’s one of those songs that makes you
want someone to hold you to prove that you’re not alone. Though
geometry plays a part in at least three songs here, the record is
far from coldly calculated or regular in shape. When it slips
into patterns as ‘Since K Got Over Me’ does with its Byrdsian
shapes, there is still scope to bend things. There are few
straight lines - ‘Impossible’ starts with a flourish of strings,
bubbles along a psych-pop path (think Green Pyjamas), swoons like
the Smiths and ends with a crashing cymbals and angular guitars.
This is the kind of gently twisted music that echoes around your
head seeking out dark corners in which to hide, its geometry the
same irregular walnut shape as your brain. www.theclientele.co.uk
Joe West “The Human
Cannonball”
(Frogville
2005) Review by Phil Edwards
Santa Fe's
"Cowgirl Hall of Fame" mainstay Joe West
successfully combines his South Western humour with some serious
country licks.
West doesn't appear to take himself too seriously and this
is reflected in his approach to his music. Whilst managing to be
serious on a few tracks ('The Human Cannonball', 'Cowgirl Hall of
Fame' and 'Heaven') West manages to bring out the lighter and
usually unexplored side to alt-country. 'The Combines are Comin'
displays his observation for an easy-paced hillbilly tune that
starts off with the torching of a trailer park, and goes onto tell
of an affair with a married woman whilst she proclaims her love for
her husband. '$300 car' outlines what West feels toward his
automobile; not a lot as it happens and it also flies ! 'Straight
Man in a Gay World' is SO very B52's but without the hairdo's. Most
of the tracks on this album indicate that he's happy to include
serious lyrics within songs who's titles don't necessarily take
themselves seriously; so it's difficult to understand if West is
trying to be quirkily serious, is simply being ironic or just taking
the piss. West also enjoys adding sound effects to tracks to
emphasis the effect. The crowds cheering in 'The Human Cannonball'
(which is actually quite a sensitive song), and the vacuum cleaner
during the Mariachi vibed 'Anita Pita'. The Mexican feel simply adds
to the atmosphere of getting the house clean whilst enjoying ones
self. Margarita's anyone ? I'm not sure whether West wants us to
take him seriously or not, but this album is worth checking out.
Then you can make your own mind up. I like his humour. It's warped.
www.joewestmusic.com
Adrian James Croce “A.J.
Croce”
(Eleven
Thirty 2005) Review by David Cowling
Full
bodied AM(ericana), way too cool to be bracketed with the likes of
Paul Simon, Billy Joel and the Beatles. This
record has such a big confident sound that you can’t quite believe
it’s by somebody you’ve never heard of - ‘Don’t Let Me Down’ opens
proceedings with an insouciant swagger and a huge dose of power pop,
like Mathew Sweet at his most belligerent. ‘Baby Tonight’ follows,
full of AM dynamics, piano led with delicate harmonies that raise it
to another level - then ‘Call Me Dear’ which adds a note of
vulnerability with its bubbling chorus, Greg Leisz’s 12 string
mandolin dancing around the song flapping like a kite tail in a
breeze. The chunky piano chords of ‘Lying on the Ground’ threaten
Billy Joel like moments but swirling uplifting strings raise the
song above the mundane. He seems to have the knack for writing tunes
that seem to have been around for ever - you can sing along to most
of these well before the end of the first listen, but this is
because he uses well worn templates and the Beatles play a big part
in this. Then there is the delivery - his voice can be affecting and
infectious, carrying the songs easily, never going anywhere near the
edge of its range, always comfortable with the material and always
in love with the words that come out - there is real joy in moments
like the chorus of ‘Upside Down’. The accomplished nature of the
songs could be annoying if it wasn’t handled with such enjoyment and
panache - he’s not showing off his talent, he’s using it. An all out
assault of bouncy melodies expertly played over the course of 14
tracks can’t really be a recipe for disaster, even if at times it’s
like spending too much time with happy clappy people. I can forgive
him that for the sheer exuberance and skill he brings. For
Mojo readers everywhere, here’s an entry for your annual top
ten. www.ajcroce.com
Last of the Blacksmiths “Last of the
Blacksmiths”
(Independent 2005) Review by Robin Cracknell
A
riveting, ravishing debut gleaming with understated opulence and a
slow burning cool. The major
curses of most self-released albums are: They sound either numbingly
anonymous or so heavily influenced and derivative they are, in all
but name, tribute acts. The tracks are usually quickly and cheaply
produced with any flashes of inspiration well trampled under a
leaden mix. Puerile or toe-curlingly pretentious lyrics--often
mercifully muted by the same ham-fisted mix. The artwork is usually
a sloppy collage knocked up by someone’s girlfriend at the office
with a few more blurry pics in the insert of the guys sulking with
their guitars. Essentially, a completely forgettable vanity project
given away to friends with the vast unsold remainder gathering dust
in the attic along with the yellowing reviews from the local paper.
Well, Last of the Blacksmiths is an exception to all of the above.
This unassuming California quartet is pure quality from every angle,
a standard to which every other unsigned band should aspire. From
the intelligent, evocative lyrics to the unhurried, textured
musicianship to the simple, tasteful design of the inserts extending
even to the delicate, cream bird silhouettes printed on the disc,
this package is a treasure containing an even greater
treasure. Recorded live on a faulty Tascam 388 in Nathan
Wanta’s house while his parents were away, these songs have a
distinctly informal, low-key atmosphere but are certainly not lo-fi.
Despite one track being recorded in the living room with Nathan’s
grandfather sitting in the corner waiting for his fish supper, these
have the intimacy of a home recording but none of the associated
lo-fi shortcomings. The sound is faithful and pristine; so much so
that studio technology could well have compromised its natural
integrity. This reel to reel is real.
Calling
themselves the Blacksmiths has more to do with their love of 60’s
black music and The Smiths than any attempt to conjure up some
iconic americana image of sweaty labourers and all the tired horses
etc. Having said that, don’t expect much in the way of grinding soul
or clever Morrissey-isms. With their sad keyboards, brushed drumming
and a lazy, loping melancholia, LotB meander around Wills Oldham and
Johnson territory with space, patience and a general cool oozing
through every uncluttered track. It’s a cliché but true in these
songs: the notes not played are as palpable as those that are. The
lyrics are equally spare and evocative with words rarely wasted. In
‘Tree Song’, a dying tree laments the fact that children are always
indoors saying ‘I don’t know why those kids never come out of their
houses/I haven’t felt the climb of their hands in years’. ‘Grass
Blade’ evokes memories of a simpler time ‘before televisions were in
cars/when it was good enough to stare outside the window at the
moving stuff’. ‘In My Hands’ with guest violin from Jolie Holland,
reads like a hymn of affection centred around a father’s guiding
hand. Other songs, ‘Pete McKenzie’ and ‘Russian River’ also explore
the shifting ground between fathers and sons, ends and beginnings.
Over 14 tracks and almost an hour of music (all originals except for
‘Columbus Stockade Blues’), this is a remarkably weighty and mature
debut. Taking the simple, timeless stories of the everyman--caught
between home and beyond, moving on and looking back-- and framing
those stories in an equally timeless but contemporary way is
something few bands manage. The inevitable comparisons to laid-back
Wilco, Richmond Fontaine, even The Band are accurate and justified.
www.lastoftheblacksmiths.com
Neil Young “Prairie
Wind”
(Reprise
Records 2005) Review by Andy Riggs
Ellaborate
return to form for a legend. The big
questions for Neil Young fans are 1) Is this a 'Rust Never Sleeps'
or 2) another visit to 'Greendale'? The recent loss of Neil's
father and his own recovery from illness has accelerated this
release and perhaps focused Neil's attention on making one of those
records we know he still has in his vault, but so often follows his
own muse which takes very few of us with him. In the last ten years
his output has been as always unpredictable, and at times well below
par. Records such as 'Mirror Ball', 'Are You Passionate' &
'Greendale' were disappointing, especially bearing in mind that Neil
is one of rock’s survivors (not only in terms of health but
credibility). Having read recent reviews and pre-release publicity
for 'Prairie Wind' apparently it's a follow up to 'Harvest Moon' -
well it's not, it's Neil doing what he does best, writing songs
about his life, family, career and world around him - indeed a
recurring theme throughout the record is Neil's father and looking
back. Unlike the much talked about 'Greendale' (Emmerdale) where the
themes got lost in over long and heavy arrangements, 'Prairie Wind'
sees Neil return to some basics and simplicity. He is joined by some
old favourites Ben Keith, Spooner Oldham and Pegi Young. Track by
track:
1. “The
Painter” - pedal
steel and acoustic guitar introduce the first song and thematically
it sounds like it could have come from Greendale - but there's a
warmth to the song and it contains one of Neil's great throwaway
choruses that were missing from Greendale. Neil writes about his
friends, some who are still with him and some 'that can't be
found'.. it's a strong start to the record. 2. “No
Wonder” - one of the best songs Neil has written in the last 20
years, 'tick-tock the clock on the wall, no wonder we're losing
time'...making references to 9/11..and the march of time. 3.
“Falling Off The Face of The Earth” - dedicated to his father,
and another great song. 4. “Far From Home” - an up
tempo song with horns, Neil writing about 'rocking on his daddy's
knee' and family nights making music that influenced his life. 'Bury
me out the on the Prairie where the buffalo used to roam, you won't
have to shed a tear for me, cos' I won't be far from home'.
5. “It's A Dream” - Neil at the piano, comparing his life to
others, and the bad news that greets each of us every morning in the
headlines. His life has been a dream, and looks back at his
childhood days in Canada. 6. “Prairie Wind” - horns again in
this up tempo bluesy title track - 'trying to remember what my daddy
said, before too much time took his head' - going back to his early
life 'Prairie Wind blowing through my head - trying to remember what
daddy said'. 7. “Here For You” - sounding like 'Out on
the Weekend' Neil is content with his life and love with Pegi.
8. “This Old Guitar” - Neil writes about his guitar and his
career, 'This Ole Guitar, it's a been messenger in times of trouble
and times of fear' liking his guitar to his life' It's been around
years & years' waiting in it's oak case'....'it can be blamed
for my mistakes, it only does what's it's told...... 9. “He
Was King” - In the intro Neil talks to Ben Keith -' the last
time I saw Elvis he was shooting at a colour TV'- he was singing a
gospel song'.....'the last time I saw Elvis he was riding in a pink
Cadillac the wind was blowing in his hair, guess he never looked
back'.... We even get a Neil Young 'thank you very much' at the
end...! 10. “When God Made Me” - one Neil's anthemy
endings, questioning the gifts that were given to him and how he has
used them in his life.
“Prairie
Wind” will not convert any new fans but should bring back those fans
who stopped buying his records in the mid-90s. As Neil reaches his
60th birthday, Long May He Run, and let's have the Neil Young
'Archives'....'tick-tock' - hats off to Neil and Happy Birthday.
Fruit Bats “Spelled in
Bones”
(Sub Pop
2005) Review by David Cowling
Bats
undergo semi-successful sonic transformation.
When you lose your edge, there are only two possible
outcomes - you either become dull or you become well rounded, and
here I’m not quite sure if the two things preclude each other. It
has been a gradual move from the experimental earlier recordings
with Brian Deck at the helm to these self-produced almost pure pop
songs. No longer could you say that they are Califone-lite, there’s
none of that wheezing creaking rural electronica now that the
catarrh of experimentation has been expunged; now a clear throated
honeyed sound prances around the strawberry fields of classic pop.
There is still an awful lot of attention to detail: ‘Born in the
70’s’ masterfully builds from an acoustic strum, bubbled bass, sweet
vocal, echoes of piano and bentand sustained notes with whirling
organ to provide a lush atmosphere, a cowboy in a conservatory.
There are obvious parallels to Wilco, ‘Legs of Bees’ building like a
lot of ‘Summerteeth’ piles of decorative antique keyboards sketching
and stretching out the pop template. You keep waiting for everything
to slip into place and to soar, and there’s a moment after the
helium vocals on ‘The Wind That Blew My Heart Away’ that promises
that, the guitars taking over a fragile melody driving it forward
with accompanying piano and deely-boppers of synths waving around -
you think this is going to be it but it promptly ends, moving into
the title track which is like a pocket version of Mercury Rev, the
gentle washes of music like reeds bending in the breeze, roots
washed with watery melody. The closing ‘Every Day That We Wake Up
It’s A Beautiful Day’ sums up the record perfectly, with its bright
chords of piano and some Flaming Lips style electronic alchemy
overlaid with a simple vocal melody, the instruments flitting around
like a swarm of midges until the music fades and the bird song takes
over. No matter how many times you listen to this record, it seems
to promise more than it can deliver, which is a great pity because
underneath it all, this is a great bunch of songs.
Nathan Mayberry “Myth of the
Self Made Man”
(Independent 2005) Review by David Cowling
Welcome to
the reflective thoughtful side of Nathan - you may find it
unexpectedly moving. You know
how we now have two very different types of non-fiction television,
reality and documentary - fifteen years ago these were one and the
same thing, the difference being that the former exists purely for
the cameras and the latter would happen whether or not the cameras
were there or not. Well, there is the same kind of dichotomy in
music, those that are making music to fuel dreams of fame and
celebrity and those who would make music anyway, Nathan (and you
know I’m going to say this) belongs to the latter category. There is
something authentic in his songs - his heart isn’t an artifice but a
source of material for these delightfully sad songs and he has that
extra thing called charm that begins to separate him out from
others. There is nothing remarkable about the material; the songs
are constructed simply, with mainly acoustic guitar and the
melancholy sound of the pedal steel providing the settings for his
troubled voice. The best passage of the record starts with the alley
cat steel strings of ‘Nine Pound Hammer,’ a song that makes use of
the ‘tell me you don’t love me and I’ll let you go’ cliché. We
then move on to the stripped back almost rockabilly ‘400 Miles’
which is a ‘distance comes between us’ song. He saves his best
chords for ‘Nova Scotia,’ music as bleak and beautiful as the
geographical winter landscape, another miniature masterpiece, this
time with a pedal steel solo every bit as dextrous as Jackie Chan.
The range that Nathan displays on this record is illustrated by
‘Call and Call Me Baby’ where he is joined by Jill McCallister, a
call and response song reminding me of the Caitlin Cary and Ryan
Adams Whiskeytown vocal battles. This is a surprising triumph for a
man better known for his more humorous work; here he deals with
deeper subjects and even offers some comfort for reality TV wannabes
- ‘false hope gives hope as good as any other’. Here’s hoping that
he gets what he deserves. www.myspace.com/nathanmayberry
James McMurtry “Childish
Things”
(Compadre
2005) Review by David Cowling
This is
the perfect album for the disenfranchised folk of New Orleans.
McMurtry
is like wheat beer - cloudy, agricultural, substantial and something
of an acquired taste, you might be put off after a few sips but if
you get the taste, it’ll stay with you. This isn’t a sparkling
translucent brew, the issues aren’t transparent, the music is a
thick southern brew that serves as a background for the sermon like
prose that he delivers - capitalism is evil, and it robs the
ordinary man of his dignity and leaves them as flotsam on a tide of
globalisation. The stories are hypnotic, like driving long distances
- the thrum of the tyres on the road, the monotonous rhythm of his
voice, it’s all much the same, occasionally the lyric will act as a
rumble strip. The music is an unchanging rain spattered flat
country and offers no relief (actually that’s not quite true, a few
shafts of sunlight do burn through - the baritone sax, trombone and
fiddle on the opening ‘See the Elephant’ bring some welcome levity).
Otherwise it’s the same pace throughout, though the old standard
‘Ole Slew Foot’ shows a welcome flash of humour. It’s not as though
you can’t gain any enjoyment from the record - the songs
individually would be great on the radio or a compilation and songs
like ‘We Can’t Make It Here’ would stand out as gritty realist
invective, the downbeat tone and the flat intonation a welcome
change. Over the course of a record the sheer weight of it beats you
down much like the system that he rails against - perhaps this is an
ironic strategy on his part. In a way he’s like a curmudgeonly
Status Quo sticking to the same chug and boogie sonic template; in
some ways it’s admirable like the discipline of Buddhist monks and
similarly if you are not a devotee you can’t quite unpick the
reasons why they’d do it in the first place. I’m left perplexed
wondering if I’m not getting it or if I’m reacting on some level to
the liberal nationalism on display and I’m left with a phrase: in
small doses a tonic; in one sitting an overdose. www.jamesmcmurty.com
The Amazing Pilots “Hello My
Captor”
(Décor
2005) Review by David Cowling
Promising
start for Irish semi-experimental popsters. This is a
band that have ambitions to be more than they are at present - they
keep threatening to cast aside the conventional parts that keep
pulling them back; the problem is they are good at those bits. ‘The
Price of Winter’ rolls along on a wave of poppiness and ‘I’ve Got
Wings Irene’ reaches out across the Atlantic to its spiritual
Grandaddy - these are the most immediate parts, and thus those that
are difficult to let go. More sonically interesting is ‘The Way I
See Things’ with squelches of electronic noise hanging around in the
background like a flock of hungry seagulls waiting to swoop for any
juicy nuggets of melody. ‘I Don’t Know Where Are You’ threatens to
go off into interesting territory, like Larmousse and their grand
electronic anthems with added vocals and when you think ‘You Make Me
Feel Amazing’ is slipping into the cosy soft-focus pop, a few bars
of discordance shifting the perception so that the rest of the song
seems all the juicier for it. It’s a pity that this is then
over-egged with too many layers of vocals and too many synths.
‘Dirty Love’ also tries to add in elements of electro pop and the
result is pretty weak and unworthy of much of the good work that
they do elsewhere. The closing track redeems some of the low points
with a slow-burning strum but they can’t help but add in a few
splashes of unneeded convention to dilute the overall effect - it
must be said that this is the strongest vocal performance on the
album. Once the song proper has finished we are left with a
threatening coda of electronic rumblings that seem to narrate a
descent into menacing darkness until acoustic guitar and vocals
appear to illuminate the cavern, and when stalactites of piano notes
drip down you feel that perhaps the whole endeavour would have been
more successful if it had followed this more experimental bent. I,
for one, will be looking forward to seeing them support Richmond
Fontaine in the autumn. www.theamazingpilots.com
Pacific Ocean Fire “Pacific Ocean
Fire”
(Smokeylung Recordings, 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle
Intensely
beautiful stripped down Americana from doyens of burgeoning
Leicester scene. Leicester-based Pacific Ocean Fire’s second album is their
first for American label Smokeylung, which means that their music is
now much more easily available that side of the Atlantic, which can
only be a good thing. The album has nine tracks, five of which are
the entirety of their 2003 “Roadsigns” EP (no longer
available), and a further two are from their 2005 co-release with
Don’s Mobile Barbers, leaving only two new songs. Damn fine though
this brace is, English fans’ purchasing decisions will surely depend
on the extent of their fandom, as few will buy an entire album, no
matter how good, for just two tracks. Leaving financial
pragmatism aside though, this is a damn fine album. On release
I gave “Roadsigns” 9/10, and described it as “music to
clutch yourself to, music to ache to, music to sing along with, this
is simply glorious”, and time and distance do not dispose me to
revise that assessment now. The remaining tracks approach the
same level, with closer “Stalled Hearts” (one of the newies),
which has an unsettling, near-discordant melody that manages to be
both disturbing and catchy at the same time, being particularly
good, The music is sparse, intense, literary and passionate, and
while, as with any band, one can play spot the influence (Calexico,
Lambchop, Flaming Lips spring most readily to mind) their sound is
their own. Plaintive, passion-drenched, intense vocals are
overlaid on sparsely brooding melodies, with guitars, steel and
brass layered in to create brooding, often troubling music. The
playing is exemplary, the production the same, and the overall
effect is simply beautiful. In fact, ignore what I said
earlier, if you’ve got all but the two new tracks buy it anyway, and
if you haven’t, what are you waiting for? www.pacificoceanfire.com
The Hackensaw Boys “Love What You
Do”
(Network
America, 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle
Lyrically
superior set of bluegrass-based nu-folk. Hailing
from Charlottesville in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, the
Hackensaw Boys are steeped in that area’s famous bluegrass, and as
good as exponents of it as you’re likely to hear. They rejoice
in a fine set of pseudonyms, namely Four, Shiner, Baby J., Salvage,
Mahlon and The Kooky-Eyed Fox Hackensaw, although they’re far from
the Deliverance refugees, or indeed college humourists, that this
might suggest. For this, their fourth album, they’ve moved on
from the high-powered furious playing that has characterised their
earlier work, particularly 2000’s “Get Some” and the 2003’s
live “Give It All Back”. “Love What You Do” is the
sound of a band stretching out and pushing boundaries. There’s still
the occasional high-octane piece like “Cannonball”, and a couple of
self-penned tradders like “Fiddle My Blues Away” not to mention the
entertaining and risqué “Kiss You Down There”, but the core
of this album is the more reflective and thoughtful pieces like
opener “Sun’s Work Undone” and the keynote tracks, “High
Faller” and “All Good Dogs”. The first is a high and lonesome
lament, starting with a single voice and banjo, building to an
elegiac refrain, and adding a keening and mournful backing wail at
the end. The second follows a similar musical format and weeps
with loss and regret, with lyrics the likes of “It’s a suspect
profession/to sell your love when it’s gone cold/All good dogs turn
to beggars/That I know, that’s all I know” that twist your stomach
into desperately tense knots of anguish and regret. Recommended.
www.hackensawboys.com
James Summerfield “Paint the
Road”
(Independent 2005) Review by David Cowling
A lovely
delicate dark brooding Americana all the way from Birmingham (West
Midlands).
This type of music is usually linked with porch sitting but
to my ears this record is more of an indoor album. As the autumn
arrives, you get an impression of doors closed, fires lit, an aura
of protection from the elements and from feelings - the music is
contained and constrained and his voice is intimate rather than
expansive. Everything is knit together, woven so that each
instrument is part of the blanket that is wrapped around his voice.
There’s plenty of texture but not a huge pallet of colour - the
tones are definitely those of the Fall. With acoustic guitar, banjo
some threads of dobro, lap steel and violin with embroidery provided
by harmonica and mandolin, even when they all join together as on
‘Son O’ Gold’ the sounds pull towards each other rather than push
outwards, like the nervous fry of mouth-brooder fish the instruments
never stray far from the heart of the song. The songs themselves are
like individual squares on a patchwork quilt, his voice the
stitching that holds everything together: the first square ‘Drunk in
Montreal’ contains only his voice and where he doesn’t have the raw
power of Richard Buckner, he does a good job, not trying to overfill
the space. It is the first inkling that we have of the
interior landscapes of what follows. The tasty guitar and organ
combination on ‘Road Killer’ is rendered all the sweeter by the
contrast to the silence of the opener; it’s a record that reminds me
a lot of James Yorkston, and the songs seem natural and the
performances unaffected. The songs are threaded with the subtle
colours of each instrument - ‘Spider on the Window’ is constructed
of these delicate threads, the strings of the instruments
individually discernable and on ‘Hard to See’ the lap steel provides
melancholic notes of blue throughout. Whilst it’s not a record to
set the world alight, it has more modest ambition than that - it is
one that you can find some warmth in as the nights draw in.
www.jamessummerfield.co.uk
Kevin Montgomery “Live from
Glasgow”
(Road Trip
Records 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle
Decent
“Best Of” from Nashvillian and ubiquituous UK tourer, featuring the
legendary Al Perkins. Kevin
Montgomery has spent a large proportion of the last few years
touring his heart out across the UK, and has been rewarded for his
troubles with a sizeable fanbase, so a live album is a logical
step. Recorded at King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut it documents a
performance from June 2003 and features his usual band the Road
Trippers, who include Paul Deakin and Robert Reynolds from the
Mavericks, and on steel and guitar Al Perkins from almost anyone who
matters (Burritos, CSN, Emmylou to name but three).
Stylistically this is a warts and all album (not that there are
many) and hasn’t suffered from much post-recording studio
work. This means it has a real live feel, but from time to
time the overall sound quality, and Montgomery’s vocals in
particular, are a little strained. 2003 was probably the peak of
Montgomery’s live show, as latterly it has descended into tedious
self-indulgence (notably from Montgomery and Reynolds) and little if
any new material is offered. On “Live from Glasgow”
though the band were still in rocking blow ‘em away mode and
relatively fresh, and it shows. Songwise what you get is
essentially a best of, and despite the odd dip (“Angel Tonight” is
particularly maudlin and lachrymose) there are a lot of A1 songs
here. “Tennessee Girl” and “Melrose” rock with the best
of them, and “Fear Nothing”, “Another Long Story” and “Let’s All
Go To California” are a tryptch that can hold their own with
anybody. Instrumentally, while the band is never less than
competent it’s Al Perkins, as you would expect, who is the star. The
set proper finishes with blistering versions of “Crossroads” and
“Ooh Las Vegas” and Perkins’ fingers fly with unfeasible speed and
skill. Eat your heart out Jerry Douglas. Live albums are often a
difficult proposition, suffering as they do from hints of
contractual obligation, and often being little more than
milk-the-fans exercises. “Live from Glasgow” is a
decent offering though, and a handy starting point for the
uninitiated. www.kevinmontgomery.com
Chris Mills “The Wall To
Wall Sessions”
(Circus 65
Records 2005) Review By Mark Phillips
Illinoisan
Brooklynite in Career-Defining, Triumphant, Return.
Recorded to two-track tape in Wall To Wall Studios in
Chicago over three days in January, Mills’ latest offering of
atmospheric, scratched, vinyl comes good in so many ways that you’re
left short of breath and heartbroken by it’s end, even if it comes
in at a mere 30 minutes and a few spare seconds. Finally
(finally..!!), the production is spot on, and it seems that
the songs have been set free to feel and to be themselves, without
sounding compressed or having to be something that they’re not. It
luckily follows that the arrangements make many of the tunes here
life-affirming, string or brass-lead affairs, but that they are just
delicate enough for the quite sounds of hearts being shredded to
come through very clearly. It’s a remarkable feat and Mills and his
co-producer / arranger David Nagler should regard the finished
product as an artistic peak of such giddy heights that it betters
most records released so far this year in any genre. The roots of
this record lay firmly in folk and classic singer-writer territory,
yet he is content to borrow from other places, and you can’t help
feeling that much of the heart comes from the blues and from soul,
blue eyed though he undoubtedly is. Even the Lennon and
Tweedy-isms which occasionally crop up are neatly moulded to the
Mills way of doing things, and everything about this record screams
of it’s individuality- it just doesn’t give two hoots what you think
about it and it’s key success is that this is an artist who has
reached a level of maturity and confidence which allows him to do
what the hell he wants. The addition of both Kelly Hogan and Nora
O’Connor on backing vocals on some tracks is pure genius and they
both put in the astounding performances that you would expect of two
of the best, if most underrated, singers in America today. Dave Max
Crawford’s trumpet is present throughout, as is Fred Lonberg-Holm’s
familiar cello; both are the heart of The City That Works- the Mills
band- but additions to the usual in the form of tenor and alto
saxes, violin, flute and oboe all define the new textures that
envelope you as you take the narrative in.
The Songs?
Oh my God. They are amongst the best in a career of touching
intimacy, but one or two here are better than recent work by Tweedy,
Ritter or even that camp warbler, Anthony Hegarty. “In the Time of
Cholera” is perhaps the most heart-strangling moment this writer has
heard in a decade. Perhaps predictably, it’s about waiting for
a whole life to spend time again with the one who owns your
heart, and he somehow summarises all you need to know about that
emotion without the pretentiousness of his literary counterpart.
Surely a challenge to get through without choking or at the very
least, getting very damp eyes. You’d defy anyone not to immediately
think of that very special person, not to feel their physical
presence right next to them, listening. Otherwise, “Everything about
The Heart” and “You are My Favorite Song” deserve a special mention-
the former a painful cry to a father for wisdom on how the heart
works, though you suspect there no answers. “Favorite Song” is
at once daft and sweet:
“I love
the way your verses
Are all
filled with curses
But your
middle eight
Is so
delicate”
It’s half
a throw-away, but then with this songwriter, his scraps and his daft
whims are better than most others’ encore material. So, finally,
Chris Mills has made something approaching a perfect Chris Mills
album, and on this evidence, he stands a fighting chance of
eclipsing the likes of Workman and Coyne, artists who he has
covered, yet whom he may turn out to be rather better than. Mills
has moved into the front rank of today’s best music makers of all
stripes and shades- this record deserves critical plaudits and a
huge audience. www.circus65.com
Philip Kane “Time:
Gentlemen”
(Corrupt
Records 2005) Reviewed by Andy Riggs
A cursory
glance at the Philip Kane web site gives you an indication of
Philip's view on life... on the
first web page Philip greets us with....Greetings Bumsuckers...
Welcome to the World Kane. Another thinly disguised attempt to make
you part with your money for shit you simply do not need ....Philip
is a self confessed poet, raconteur & arsehole....obviously
Philip wears his humour on his sleeve. His last record 'Songs for
Swinging Lovers' received critical praise from MM, Uncut, Rolling
Stone & The Observer - I'm afraid that release passed me by. On
first hearing he sounds like Jeff Buckley with a mix of Nick Drake,
Al Green and a dash of Michael Weston King but he has a fine voice
and the arrangements are very strong - with support of a full band
and strings. First song up is 'Paul Bowles' Last Letter to his Long
- Dead Wife' and Philip ain't a happy man as he states 'I'm gonna
play Jonny Cash at full fucking volume' - as the press release
states 'this record is for adults about his generation where he
meditates on ageing, alcohol & loss'. On the third song he sings
'Well we're both 38, and we ain't been to be bed, we spent half of
the night sniffing glue in the shed, it was alright, I might do it
again tonight' - it's all gloomy stuff but half way through there's
a great Leonard Cohen-ish chorus. There are some catchy songs with
some excellent arrangements, especially on the brass led 'A Big Hole
in the Ground'. Philip's voice can be heard to fine affect on the
soul tinged 'Still' where his Al Green influences came to the fore -
and it's a fine song, one of the highpoints of this unusual record.
He tackles the Holocaust on track 9 'Thereseinstadt' which is an
uncomfortable theme for a song with a wah wah guitar in the
background. Written from the perspective of a SS guard at the camp
he says to the prisoners, 'there are no songs to come out of
Terazien' and 'the music won't save you, and prayers won't save you'
half way through we have violins crunching their way through the
chorus - in the end the guard begs to be forgiven as 'I come to you
fresh from the war trials' - but hell awaits him 'The are not enough
tears to wash clean this soul of mine'. On a 'What a Man's Got to
Do' we are in much lighter poppier territory. The album closes with
a superb love song 'The reason I Love Her'. A really varied and
interesting record, with some brilliant arrangements and strong
songs. www.philipkane.com
Spike Priggen “Stars After
Stars After Stars”
(Volare
2005) Review by Paul Kerr
Great
collection of obscure covers. A veteran
of American new wave/post punk/power pop bands including Dumptruck
and the Hello Strangers, this is Priggen’s second album. A
collection of covers , he states that “a lot of the artists I admire
were known as great songwriters and equally as great interpreters of
other peoples songs.” Cover albums can be fairly awful vanity
projects (the equivalent of inviting someone over to see your very
tasteful collection) or a chance to bring a particular vision to
bear on influences allowing a degree of insight into an artist’s
roots (Bowie’s Pin Ups?, any other takers?). Priggen falls firmly
into the latter camp although there is a degree here of having
impeccable taste (but then, don’t we all?). The only songs that
listeners might immediately jump on are Alex Chilton’s “Nightime”
and (gulp) Alice Cooper’s “I’m Eighteen.” Otherwise Priggen’s tastes
seem to be biased towards mid eighties British indies , Nikki sudden
and the Jacobites, Everything But the Girl and Orange Juice with a
nod to earlier years with the Zombies “How We Were Before” and a
smattering of American indies. Gathering together a collection of
worthy musicians including Bun E. Carlos(Cheap Trick) and (the) Mark
Spencer (of Blood Oranges and Jay Farrar fame), the sounds here are
redolent of vintage power pop, approaching the delights that were to
be heard from Dwight Twilley and his ilk. Opener, “In the Inside”
(originally by The Hot Bodies) churns along with Priggen’s
voice sounding a little like Alejandro Escovido. On “Big Store”
(written by Stephen “Tin Tin” Duffy, originally by the Jacobites)
the band conjure up a colossal wall of noise with the guitars
riffing away until unleashed at the end. The guitarists throughout
(Mark Spencer and Ivan Julian of the Voidoids and Matthew Sweet) are
superb. There are some hidden tracks after the main fare, one, a
musicians’ in-joke apparently, is a recording of some guy pitching
to record labels execs to put on a huge show of some sort. This tape
provides the album’s title as he states that Warner Brothers have on
their roster “stars after stars after stars.” The humour escapes me
but after this there are two other songs, the final one a rousing
cover of Orange Juice’s “Felicity”. Priggen has a healthy
attitude to the internet and his website has information on several
of the covers on the album. There’s also an opportunity to listen to
it as a stream, so if this review whets your appetite head on over
there and tell him we sent you. www.spikepriggen.com
Steve Dawson “We Belong To
The Gold Coast”
(Black Hen
Music 2005) Review By Mark Phillips
Mellow,
Groovy and Kicks Jack Johnson Ass.
It may not be what BC’s Steve Dawson is trying to do, but if
you’re after mellow, acoustic, laid back and bluesy, he lays it down
with charisma and personality, and he effectively puts the ludicrous
Hawaiian back into 88th place where belongs (For regular readers,
this Steve Dawson is not the one who’s an Idaho native, went to
Berklee College of Music in Boston and now lives in Chicago- this
one is definitively from the Canadian west coast; see reviews
passim for mentions of the Idaho lad). Dawson’s great
strength is his ability to inflect urgency and emotion into picking
that’s superficially just nice to hear- he has enough of the old
time feel for when a guitar, banjo or (if you were lucky) an
autoharp was the main source of entertainment, and his retains a
stain of the hard working life throughout his songs. He’s unlikely
to be called “the new Bob Dylan” as the Mail on Sunday has been
referring to Johnson, but then it’s unlikely that any of our readers
take any notice of the nonsense that comes out of Derry Street.
“Gold Coast” can be recommended to anyone who digs country blues,
but likes a little of Cali or ‘Strine surf layered on the top;
Dawson also isn’t afraid to use electronic noises, beats and
samples, but they never dominate, merely adding to an environment
which is defined by more organic sounds- from pedal steel and
Hawaiian guitars to viola, cello and ukulele. It’s a warm, inviting
mix and the likes of “Ruby” and “An Orange Grove in Calfornia” are
real standouts- the former starting off briefly like a Portishead
track before veering off into a dark, introspective and mildly
claustrophobic world- never quite cutting it’s ties with the
paranoiac Bristol sound. The string arrangements by cohort Jesse
Zubot enhance the sense of darkness. “Orange Grove”, meanwhile, is
completely the reverse- sunny, cheery and somewhere between Western
Swing and straight 20’s flapper jazz; it’s a joy to behold, and
occasionally nods in the direction of a ragtime sound, making your
hips sway ever so slightly. Overall, “Gold Coast” is a real pleasure
and one which you should acquaint yourself with at the first
opportunity. www.blackhenmusic.com
Clifford ”Signal by The
Sun”
(Tonehaus
Recordings, 2005) Reviewed by Andy Riggs
The
Clifford Brothers consist of brothers, Brad & Bryce
Clifford and this
independently produced release was recorded in Austin over the last
12 months and the brothers are joined by Kim Deschamps (formerly
Cowboy Junkies pedal steel player), Tony Scalzo (from the much
under-rated Fastball) and Jon Blondell (Austin session player and
Willie Nelson sideman). The boys influences range from such stellar
performers as Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan, The Band and the great Paul
Westerberg. Of the eleven tracks all but two are written by the Brad
& Bryce, with two covers 'Shelter from the Storm' and Mike
Scott's 'Always Dancing, Never Getting Tired'. Brad plays drums,
while Bryce handles lead vocals, guitars, piano & harmonica.
Guest musicians also include Thomas van der Brook on tenor
saxophone, violin, plus Rachel Lynn on backing vocals plus Brett
Humphrey on harmonica. First track up is 'Home' and we are straight
into top draw Americana, held together by some stunning pedal steel,
drumming, piano and one of those guitar breaks that you wish you
could play. Telling a tale of lost love, 'And if my heart fails to
bring you home, I'll blame myself, my words are desperate, they fail
to move you' - it's a very strong start to the record. Next up is
the buoyant 'College St' with a riff that The Fountains of Wayne
would have been proud to have written. The upbeat tempo continues
with 'All The Girls (Never Care Less)', and there is some fine
trombone and guitar work, working together on this song, that sounds
reminiscent of Chicago (before they went MOR) in their prime. Up
next is the beautiful 'Beautiful Is Never Alone' - acoustic guitar,
piano, tenor saxophone combine together with stunning, evocative
lyrics 'I am the great traitor, that great hypocrite, for just one
kiss could kill this loneliness, you're beautiful but it's just a
sketch, you're as empty as me I bet' - clocking in at over 5 minutes
this is one of the many stand out songs on this record. The quality
of the songs and playing never falters over the 40 plus minutes on
the penultimate track 'Last Call In The North East' with it's
haunting harmonica, guitar and lyrics clearly show that these
brothers have the talent to make their mark, overall a very
impressive record. www.clifford-signalthesun.com
Dr Dog
“Easybeat”
(Rough
Trade 2005) Review by David Cowling
The faux
shambolism of Pavement meets the intricate Americana of the Band
(oh, and some classic rock along the way). This
leads to passages that are a complete mess, portions of seemingly
accidental genius and a lot in-between - what it doesn’t allow you
to do is to sit back and relax thinking that you know how it will
develop. There are quiet passages of beauty in ‘The Pretender’
surrounded by guitars that want to join a biker gang and ride of
into the sun. Underneath many of the songs there are hints of
classic AM rock - they are well hidden, the noisy ‘Say Something’
keeps hinting that if they toned things down and weren’t so
difficult they’d give REO Speedwagon a run for their money. Less
worrying is ‘Today’ that has swirling eddies of guitar notes with
some disturbingly straightforward vocals and a well-behaved guitar
break and again, closing your eyes you see moustaches and large
hair. Similarly the last track ‘Wake Up’ has a guitar break that
wouldn’t be out of place on a Journey record, but then it mutates
into a mass choir sing-along that redeems it. Redemption (musically)
is a recurring constant: ‘Oh No’ does so with some cello and strings
that rescue it from MOR, the sleigh bells helping too as they bridge
to Flaming Lips style baroque construction before spiky angular
guitar and irresistible vocals smash everything into a most
satisfactory conclusion. There is some kinship between Dr Dog and
Home - both have no real care for convention other than subverting
it to create something new. The title track is gentle psychedelia
shot through with acid blessed with a strong unifying tune that
flows through like Cleethorpes printed-through rock. ‘Dutchman
Falls’ is as traditional as it gets – it could almost be Hoagy
Carmichael with its lazy drawl and crawling melody. Decoration comes
from snatches of cello and impassioned vocals, with drums as
primitive as you like building to the sustained crescendo of a
guitar weeping like a wolf calling its lost mate. In contrast ‘Fools
Life’ luxuriates in its atonal guitar interruptions and its
mercifully short excursion into country speed metal. They clearly
enjoy playing with our perceptions and, like a cat with a ball of
wool, it’s bound to come undone occasionally, but for the most part
it’s fun to be toyed with. www.roughtraderecords.com
Midwest "Whatever You
Bring We Sing"
(Homesleep
Records 2005) Review by John Hinshelwood
It is
always somewhat disconcerting when the accompanying press release
takes on a hectoring tone, seemingly
trying to dictate how you are supposed to react. For instance, we
are told here that this CD " ....WILL (my italics) confirm Midwest
as one of the most interesting and important bands of the European
alt-country scene." Right then, so no need for any critical
evaluation from the great unwashed, as it has been decreed.
Apologies to the author if that seems like an over the top reaction,
but really, this kind of stuff does not do the band any favours. If
you are confident that the music is so good, how about just letting
listeners make up their own minds? As it happens, there are actually
some good moments here on the second album from this Italian
four-piece. The opening two tracks impress immediately. "Release the
Catch" has a slow, moody introspective feel, with violin and cello
featuring strongly. "Odd Fair" is a total contrast with a bouncy,
trad jazz feel allied to some Jayhawks style vocals (if you can
imagine that !), and trombone, clarinet and tuba all featuring. A
few more songs down the line, however, and eclection fatigue starts
to set in. The prevalent, rather self conscious over zealousness to
be constantly wacky and "different" (reminiscent at times of the
most hippy / trippy excesses of the Incredible String Band) starts
to grate more than a little. The fact that, with the exception of a
few words here and there, it is almost impossible to discern any of
the lyrics, obviously does not do their cause much good. That is not
intended as a criticism of the band's English, it's just that the
constant chewing and strangulation of the vowels by lead vocalist
Matteo Gambacorta becomes more and more irritating with each song,
and tends at times to detract from some interesting musical ideas.
By the time we get to the aptly titled "Chewing Its Name", the plot
has been well and truly lost. If you can imagine the Grateful Dead
on a particularly bad trip, singing with the theme to "Steptoe and
Son,” you will get an idea of what this is about. There are several
songs which take on a shambling country feel with obvious nods in
the direction of Son Volt, Wilco etc. that are executed with varying
degrees of success, but at times there are just too many ideas (and
instruments!) vying for attention, with the overall sound becoming
too cluttered. The band is at its best on a song like "Magpie On a
Wire" which has a thoughtful structure and arrangement with a
definite contemporary "classical" influence, and if only it were
possible to make out the words, this could have the potential to be
a very compelling song indeed. Overall, a very erratic set, but
there are clearly a lot of creative ideas circulating within the
band with three different writers represented here, and hopefully,
this can be harnessed to better effect on future releases. www.midwesttheband.com
Miracle Mile
“Glow”
(MeMe
Records, 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle
Indispensable, intelligent adult pop. A common
critical lament with Miracle Mile is “why are they not more
popular?”. The reason is simple, it’s because of what they eschew,
not what they do. Not for them the obvious lyric, the trite
sentiment, the inevitable key change and the overwhelming
predictability of 99.9% of pop songs. Instead they offer
gorgeous melodies, hooks galore, intelligent lyrics that demand and
repay careful listening, beautifully produced instrumentation, and
an overall effect that combines poignancy and joy in equal measure,
and the result is as close to a pop masterpiece as you’re likely to
hear this or indeed any other year. Recorded with the vocals
right at the front, so that every word and nuance can be heard,
their lyrics document and celebrate the extraordinary ordinary, the
quiet highs and lows of the so-called average life.
Underpinning them is a delicate mix of acoustic and electric
instruments, never too much, never too little, with bits of brass,
pedal steel and the like dipping in and out of the core guitars.
Each song would be a standout on lesser albums, and with lines like
“I’ll see you in the morning/And like you least but love you the
best” from “What Kate Did Next” it’s not hard to see why.
“Paper Planes And Ponytails” subject matter would be mere
nostalgia in lesser hands, but here it’s a paean to defining
childhood moments and memories “waterpistol in my hand/stuck in
never nowhereland”. “Baby’s in the House” questions the desire
for escape, where we are “trading our hope for a distant sun” and
ending up where “baby’s in the house and she’s scared to be”,
all over an irresistible melody and chorus. There are two
semi-spoken pieces: “The Secret Fold”, a poignant take on
childhood that captures perfectly the loss of innocence and gentle
pleasures that none of us ever quite get over, and “Night
Sail”, which describes that strange feeling of being both
completely enclosed and safe and simultaneously completely open and
exposed that we all experience from time to time, on a boat, at a
festival, at night. Fine though they are, it’s the songs that
linger the longest, as “Glow” is one of those rare albums where
music and words come together in a state as close to perfection as
makes no difference, and leave you with a delicious ache that makes
you hug yourself with the sheer overwhelming joy of hearing such
wonderful music. Needless to say the album is packaged to the same
standard as the music, and the whole experience, from picking up the
package through to the fading sound of the last note is quite
simply, sublime. An indispensable album. www.miraclemile.co.uk
The Decemberists
“Picaresque”
(Rough
Trade 2005) Review by Patrick Wilkins
Get those
decks swabbed and that main brace spliced, the Portland pirates are
back. The
Decemberists, from Portland Oregon, deliver folk derived fare that
has elements of 80s indie, particularly British, but some colonial
too. Vocally Colin Meloy is similar to Tim Booth, formerly of James,
put this over a backing that is part Smiths, part Levellers, and you
have the basic ingredients. On this, their third full-length record,
they have gone for less of an acoustic approach, and for more blood
and thunder, with plenty of percussion amidst the usual array of odd
instruments. Opening track ‘The Infanta’ signifies this, sounding
like a joyfully wild update of a lost Victorian music hall overture.
The most distinguishing feature of the Decemberists comes from Colin
Meloy’s lyrics, in the manner of a time traveller, Meloy lands in
different decades, and on different continents, to find his themes.
It’s a record that a dictionary will help you get through, so, for a
start, ‘Picaresque’ is defined as ‘a type a fiction in which the
hero, a rogue, goes through a series of episodic adventures’, an
appropriate choice. ‘This Sporting Life’ has a mixture of American
and British references, the title relating to a 1963 British film of
the new realism ‘Saturday Night and Sunday Morning’ kitchen sink
school, and starts with another percussive flurry just like the
Jam’s ‘A Town Called Malice’. ‘The Bagman’s Gambit’ tells a cold war
tale of embassies, attachés, documents and microfilm. Both of these
songs have a mood closely related to Neil Hannon’s Divine Comedy. As
a counter to the Brits, ‘We Both Go Down Together’ is remarkably
similar to REM’s ‘Losing My Religion’ in places. ‘Eli The Barrow
Boy’ is virtually straight ahead hey-nonny-nonny folk, and as such
sounds a bit too contrived. The sea shanty territory, a favourite
haunt of Meloy, works better, such as on the plaintive ‘From My Own
True Love (Lost at Sea)’, and the jaunty epic ‘The Mariner’s Revenge
Song’ where the narrator survives an attack of a giant whale ‘I must
have slipped between his teeth’ we hear. An anti war song ‘16
Military Wives’ has a psych-pop feel, part XTC, part Beatles, with a
hook laden chorus that runs against its serious message. Not
everything works, ‘On The Bus Mall’ has more hints of the Jam, this
time ‘That’s Entertainment’, but rambles on for nearly 6 minutes,
outstaying its welcome. However, bands as adventurous as this are a
rare commodity so a couple of misfires is an acceptable price to pay
for the unexpected. If you’ve already been press ganged and dragged
aboard the Decemberists pirate ship, this record will not
disappoint, if you’re malingering and merely observing with
curiosity from telescope distance, step right up, its worth it.
www.decemberists.com
The Quarter After “The Quarter
After”
(Bird Song
Recordings 2005) Review by David Cowling
The name
suggests the Three O’Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, wake up: it’s
time for a psychedelic revival. If like me
you discovered the Byrds through the Paisley Underground and if you
still retain a fondness for the Rain Parade, the Moving Targets,
Bleached Black and others, then you’re going to enjoy this. There’s
a moment on ‘A Parting’ that sums it all up: harmony vocals,
jangling guitar falling out of tune and then alongside it a long
sustained note warping into feedback - that’s the sort of thing that
hooked me in the first place and fills me full of nostalgia now.
‘Too Much To Think About’ is a mixture of the Seeds ‘I Had Too Much
to Dream Last Night’ and the Long Ryders ‘I Had A Dream Last Night’
going further than either into the interior of dreams, the guitars
probing the sub-conscious realms with short forays away from the
centre of the song prodding synapses until they end up stranded in a
vast cavern with everywhere to go and nothing else to do but stop
after the 10 minute journey. Tons of fuzzed guitar obscure the
melody at the heart of ‘One Trip Later’ like clouds blocking the
sun, with sunny bursts of pop climbing 8 miles high to break through
before the effects pedals are stomped and the Angels are playing air
guitar. There’s an early REM feel about ‘Taken’ in the way that
everything is knitted together so that to add or subtract anything
would completely change everything - then unlike them the guitars
are allowed to chase off after stray notes and five minutes later
we’re back to the integrated close harmonies. The closing
‘Everything Again’ is a mildly psychedelic pop song - barely three
minutes of harmonies and irresistible chords that jangle courtesy of
Roger McGuin and vocals by way of Gene Clark, the same template as
followed on the opening ‘So Far To Fall’. So we’ve gone full circle,
not heard anything new and yet the journey has got me rooting
through my record collection to rediscover half-remembered songs -
and more importantly plastered a huge grin across my face. www.thequarterafter.com
Cowboy Junkies “Blues for The
21st Century”
(Cooking
Vinyl 2005) Review by Patrick Wilkins
A (mostly)
covers record from the lo-fi gloom maestros, and don’t mention the
rapping.
Since the Cowboy Junkies made ‘The Trinity Sessions’ in
1987, one of the landmark records of modern Americana, there have
been few developments in their style. Having said that, the slow
hypnotic pace, with Michael Timmins ghostly guitar swirling around
the languid sensuous voice of Margo Timmins, is still a great
combination, so why fix it if it aint broke? Plus they have always
had an interesting way with covers, ‘Sweet Jane’ from the ‘Trinity
Sessions’ is a masterpiece of interpretation, and from live shows
their rendition of Springsteen’s ‘State Trooper’ is brooding,
haunting and dark, and the marathon jam based on Robert Johnson’s
‘32-20 Blues’ is frightening, eerie and thrilling in equal measure.
Therefore a record of mostly covers is an interesting prospect,
particularly following on from the fine EP of non-originals ‘Neath
Your Covers’ that came with the last record ‘One Soul Now’. That
included some unexpected choices, like the Cure’s ‘Seventeen
Seconds’, and this record too has some unlikely Junkies fare. This
time though there is a theme. The band gathered in February this
year, together with an additional Timmins, older brother John, and
each member brought two or three songs to the table with the themes
of war, violence, fear, greed, ignorance, and loss. Says Michael,
‘We hoped to reach a critical mass of material that would reach out
and touch a couple of hearts and souls. Our goal was to create our
own small document of hope’. One of a couple of traditional songs, a
bluesy anti slavery lament ‘No More’ the band first played twenty
years ago, and it still fits like a glove. Less comfortable is
Lennon’s ‘Don’t Want To be A Soldier’ which works fine until the
rapping, from guest, Rebel, cuts in, the best thing to be said about
this song is, well, at least they were brave enough to give it a
try! Fellow Beatle George Harrison contributes ‘Isn’t it A Pity’
which featured in live shows on the last tour, and is considerably
less painful than the Lennon song. U2’s ‘The One’ doesn’t quite step
out of the shadow of the original. The two Michael Timmins songs are
among the best on the record, both from the ‘One Soul Now’ sessions,
‘December Skies’ is in a familiar Cowboy Junkies pattern, and ‘This
World Dreams Of’ has a great, almost spoken, vocal from Margo. What
might be called the usual song writing suspects appear, there’s a
reasonable take on Dylan’s ‘License to Kill’, which has Margo in
fits of laughter at the beginning, and we get a couple of
Springsteen songs, ‘Brothers Under The Bridge’ and ‘You’re Missing’.
The latter is brilliantly worked, a female vocal transforming the
perspective of this simple and very moving song. Not a great Junkies
record, its really one for the already converted, there are at least
as many misses as there are hits, but then those that do hit, like
‘You’re Missing’ and ‘This World Dreams Of’ hit well enough to
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