Tuesday, January 11, 2005

The First Reviews of 2005!

The new year is certainly beginning with a bang. Indeed, so many of the key releases of the year for me seem to be being released on January 24th that I may well be bankrupted before the year's even got into swing. Anyway, here are the first handful of albums that I've managed to hear...

Mercury Rev - The Secret Migration

The ethereal beauty of 'Deserter's Songs' allowed Mercury Rev belated but hard-earned critical garlands, but also ushered many writers into swathes of hyperbole that have yet to wear off. 'All Is Dream' was branded a continuation of the good work of 'Deserter's Songs', whereas actually it was stodgy, portentous and mostly quite dull. Arguably the best element of 'Deserter's Songs' (and indeed its equally excellent predecessor 'See You On The Other Side' was its consummate engagement with great American musical traditions, from Appalachian folk through to improvised jazz. For 'All Is Dream', the band seemed to have forgotten that this was their great strength, instead opting to create an alternative fairytale reality, with music overburdened with distorted guitars and big drums, the results being depressingly ordinary. There is, unsurprisingly, both good news and bad news with the highly anticipated 'The Secret Migration'.

The good news is that it is another sidestep in a slightly different direction. It is much more 'pop' than its predecessor, and doesn't neglect memorable melodies to quite the same extent (although they are arguably still in much shorter supply than I had hoped). It also has a luscious, richly cinematic quality that may endow it with some appeal. At its best, it is simple and effective, particularly on the loose-limbed and rhythmic 'Across Yer Ocean', a song which benefits from being uncharacteristically understated, and is bolstered by some irresistible twangy guitar lines in the tradition of Jimmy Webb songs. Equally endearing is the undeniably pretty 'My Love', which has a lovely Roger McGuinn-esque guitar solo and remains quietly mournful throughout. 'Secret for a Song' is the big opening statement, and the one moment where the great drive to achieve a 'big sound' actually results in something engaging. The short and sweet 'Moving On', with its Beach Boys-inspired harmonies is also an unexpected twist in proceedings.

The bad news is that much of 'The Secret Migration' is again incredibly mundane. The elaborate and dense arrangements of 'Deserter's Songs' remained sidelined in favour of great swathes of synth and keyboard orchestrations that fail to add very much beyond the merely impressionistic. They certainly don't have the verve or imagination of the synth stylings of the recent Destroyer album. That these bland sustained chords and studio effects are piled on to pretty much every song also makes for a irritatingly homogenous collection. Very few of the songs actually have either the energy or the emotional appeal to linger much in the mind. Lyrically, Jonathan Donohue remains committed to all things mythical and mystical, clearly striving to transcend ordinary reality, but frequently ending up sounding crass and unconvincing. When we get totally awful song titles like 'Black Forest (Lorelei)' and 'First Time Mother's Joy (Flying)', it's very hard to banish thoughts of 'Tales From Topographic Oceans' from the mind. There is a sense with recent Mercury Rev material that they have started to take themselves far too seriously, convinced that they are making hugely significant musical statements when they are in fact merely drifting without many useful ideas.

Unsurprisingly, 'The Secret Migration' has already been highly acclaimed by a British Music Press afraid to criticise a pantheon it helped to create. Mercury Rev seen to have inadvertently become one of the untouchable giants of modern rock music. Some seem enthralled by the band's romantic quality, but a much better example of shameless romanticism would be the outstanding debut from Canada's Arcade Fire (see my albums of 2004 list and previous review). 'The Secret Migration' has a handful of charming moments, which is better than a kick in the teeth, but mostly it fails to ignite.

Lou Barlow - Emoh

Well you either know Lou Barlow's songwriting intimately and love it with all your heart, or you don't. It seems unlikely that this first 'official' solo album from Barlow (at least it's the first released under his own name) will bring Barlow any wider recognition. For those that know, however, this may be what we've been waiting for for years. It's still faithfully lo-fi, mostly built over unfussy acoustic guitar strums, and occasionally bolstered by silly toy keyboards. What makes it stand out from other Barlow projects is its consistency of purpose and quality, as well as it's relative lack of arsing about. With Sebadoh, Barlow wrote some of the most elegantly moving, lovesick indie songs ever penned ('Soul and Fire', 'Rebound', 'Together Or Alone', 'Willing to Wait' and 'The Beauty Of the Ride' would easily all make it into my favourite songs of the nineties list), and with the Folk Implosion he crafted a number of excellent albums, most notably 'One Part Lullaby', a putative attempt to engage more with modern technology. 'Emoh' strips Barlow's songwriting back to its bare essentials, sometimes with melodies so simplistic, they sound like nursery rhymes.

There's an innocence and naivety here that manages to be touching rather than twee. It treads a fine line for sure, but it stays exactly on the right side of it because, as ever, Barlow's perenially adolescent takes on human relationships end up being surprisingly perceptive. There are plenty of platitudes, but Barlow sings them with such underplayed sincerity that it's hard not to feel a tug on the heartstrings. The two highlights are a pair of beautiful songs, as good as any he has ever written. 'Legendary' and 'Puzzle' are among his most perfectly concise, and deeply affecting compositions. On the latter, he seems genuinely bewildered, confessing, 'in between my shadow and your light, I did lose you', whilst on the former, he is simply devastated. Elsewhere, the arrangements are slightly more playful, such as on 'Caterpillar Girl', an obvious choice of single should Domino want to release one, or on 'Monkey Begun', which is almost upbeat. On 'Home', the rudimentary drum machine is reminiscent of Barlow/Davis incarnation of Folk Implosion. There's very little of the angsty, grumpy Lou that has blighted his chances of success in the past, and 'Emoh' does seem like a concerted attempt to produce a consistently powerful collection of deceptively simple songs. With me, Barlow is certainly preaching to the converted, but if you want a way in to understanding the Barlow mindset, this may be the best place to come.

Patrick Wolf - Wind In The Wires (Tomlab)

Patrick Wolf's elaborate vocalising is a million miles from Lou Barlow's soft and delicate delivery. In fact, I often wish Patrick would stop sounding so serious and earnest and give his often excellent songs a little more room to breathe. Advance reports have suggested that he has done exactly that with 'Wind In The Wires'. It sounded like he was going to take the best elements of 'Lycanthropy', an album which demonstrated tremendous potential, and build them into something spectacular, with wildly abstruse arrangements combining with more restrained, folk-tinged melodies.

Given that the bulk of 'Lycanthropy' was written when Patrick was very young (and clearly also quite impressionable), it's not surprising that some of it betrayed a rather adolescent world-view. It seemed to focus closely on Patrick's pubescent experiences and confusions. 'Wind In The Wires' is based on more of Patrick's youthful experiences, this time in the form of train journeys across the West country and glimpses of the Devon coastline. It is thematically much more coherent and mature than its predecessor, and its preoccupation with Hardy-esque stories, landscape and weather lend it a lingeringly evocative quality. It is bookended by two remarkable songs which are easily the best he has recorded so far. 'The Libertine' lives up to its name by sounding reckless, carefree and wild, melding folky violin with a relentless disco beat. The concluding 'Land's End' is a carefully constructed epic that veers from the wistful to the exhuberant, and it perfectly summarises this album's many moods and feelings. Much of this album concentrates on the idea of escape and the chorus of this song states 'I'm leaving London for Land's End/ With a green tent and a violin'. It perfectly captures the thrill of leaving the crowded city for a more personal, mysterious space. It is a great journey into the unknown.

In between the two, there is also much to be encouraged by. 'Teignmouth' is spectacularly beautiful, and one of Patrick's most complex and deftly handled arrangements. That it dates back to his teenage years clearly demonstrates his precocious talent and self-confidence. 'Ghost Song' sounds distant and shimmering, whilst 'This Weather' drifts mysteriously in and out of the ether. Elsewhere, however, it's arguable that Patrick concentrates on mood, sound and theme at the expense of melody. I love the way this album sounds - it's conflagration of quaint instrumentation and modern electronics, its careful engagement with both folk music and the torch song - it's just that I struggle to recall specifics. I can remember the spirit and feel of this album - I just couldn't really hum any tunes from it. Patrick's tendency to oversing also obscures melodic gifts that are undoubtedly present, but perhaps still need to be given room to develop. Plenty of people have been seriously comparing Patrick with the young Kate Bush, whose melodies were often complex, and could also prove strangely elusive. What feels frustrating now may well make perfect sense given several more listens. I certainly want it to - because 'Wind In The Wires' is an intelligent and touching paen to the naivety and thrill of escape.

Roots Manuva - Awfully Deep (Big Dada)

What a superb record this is - not just an early contender for the best British hip hop album of the year, but simply for the best hip hop album of 2005 full stop. Much of 'Awfully Deep' builds on the enticing, hypnotic groove of his classic 'Witness' single from a few years back, and the wordplay again demonstrates a fearsome intelligence. 'Awfully Deep' is one of the few hip hop albums I've heard that demonstrate a capacity for capturing melancholy feeling. From the lyrics here, it would appear that Roots Manuva has spent much of the last couple of years in a period of depressive self-analysis, and all the scrutinising has produced spectacular results. That it is as intriguing sonically as it is lyrically helps its cause considerably - with Roots clearly aiming at resisting pigeonholing and incorporating a massive range of influences, from dub producers such as Keith Hudson through roots reggae, electro, funk and soul. On 'Colossal Insight' he claims that he doesn't give a damn about UK rap - he's a UK rapper, but he doesn't want to be categorised. 'I got love for all them scenes but the pigeonholes weren't enough to hold me!' he states. On this evidence, this would prove to be an accurate self-assessment.

Roots Manuva clearly understands the classic strategy of coupling dense, dazzling wordplay with strikingly simple and infectious choruses. Where lesser talents would have relied on straightforward sampling for these choruses, often from classic soul records, Manuva sings them himself, with a shameless energy that lightens the psychological gravity considerably. The chorus of opener 'Mind 2 Motion' is hilarious, possibly the only rap track to betray the influence of children's comedy legends Trevor and Simon, with its exhortation to 'swing your pants!'. The title track also has a similarly irresistible chorus line. When set to pared down backing tracks with their squelchy electro lines and deep, bowel rumbling basslines, the raps prove to be completely compelling. The music often sounds influenced by the uncompromising firebrand spirit and energy of Jamaican dancehall music.

Whereas I often avoid rap music because I find it difficult to engage with or remember its lyrics, 'Awfully Deep' proves to be expressive and memorable. Roots himself describes his own 'venomous eloquence', his almost savage ability to nail a lyric in simple and concise verse. 'Colossal Insight' is a brilliant song about drinking, with Roots claiming 'I walk with disaster/prefer to be plastered' and confessing 'I should cut down this drinking/Too many late nights and wayward thinking'. On 'Thinking' he gets even more bogged down in existential angst, professing to be a 'lonely soldier' fighting his own battles unaided.

'Awfully Deep' manages to pull off the very impressive trick of juggling a diverse array of sounds and influences whilst maintaing an admirable clarity and coherence of purpose. It never sounds boring, just thrilling and exciting stuff from start to finish.
Vera Drake (Dir: Mike Leigh, 2003)

It’s only the first week of the new year and here already is the year’s first must-see movie (with the exception of Scorsese’s opulent, Oscar-baiting The Aviator, which slipped out at the end of last year, and which, despite being a Scorsese picture, may not actually be ‘must-see’ at all). Mike Leigh’s picture comes fresh from the festival circuit, where it has won a number of awards, including the Golden Lion for best picture and the Best Actress award for Imelda Staunton at last year’s Venice Film Festival. It also provided the gala opening for the London film festival last November. It will no doubt win many more accolades in the coming months.

Leigh’s eponymous central character is a compulsive ‘do-gooder’, a woman with a heart of gold who helps infirm neighbours, invites people round to feed them ‘a proper meal’ and makes endless cups of tea for those in need of comfort. In secret, she is also a backstreet abortionist, a grisly role for which she accepts no remuneration and sincerely believes she is acting out of the goodness of her heart, performing a social duty for the needy and underprivileged who have found themselves in trouble.

The first half of the film is captivating largely because of Leigh’s extraordinary recreation of early 1950s London life. Despite a meagre budget, and a lack of feasible locations, Leigh has crafted a convincing world – where the colours are appropriately drab and muted, but where there is also considerable warmth and human sympathy. Leigh is often dismissed for working largely with ‘caricatures’, or extreme types, which he creates at first through highly unique improvisatory techniques before presenting his actors with a script. Whilst Vera may well be seen as a class stereotype, working officially as a cleaner in wealthy homes whilst sympathising with the needy and happy with her own somewhat limited stock, there is also an element of truth and compassion in Imelda Staunton’s outstanding performance. She is highly supportive and encouraging towards her family, and carries herself with a quiet dignity.

Leigh also develops a believable euphemistic language when constructing dramatic situations. Vera does not perform abortions, she ‘helps girls out’. The amiable, slightly simple Reg proposes to Vera’s daughter Ethel in an endearingly clumsy manner, at first asking her if she has ‘thought about moving out’. In fact, there is a surprising abundance of charm and humour in the first half of the film, which neatly counterbalances the inevitable grimness elsewhere, without really ever becoming uncomfortable. The scenes of the operations themselves, which Vera performs with a Higinson syringe, soapy water and disinfectant, whilst not graphically depicting the procedure, are edgy and unpleasant, and a couple of these procedures are savagely juxtaposed with Drake family members enjoying a picture show. It’s a neat trick, which Leigh pulls off with an admirable deftness of touch and control.

It is only when one of Vera’s patients becomes seriously ill and nearly dies that her crimes are brought to light and she becomes exposed. At the ‘operation’, the young girl’s mother recognises Vera from a launderette where they both used to work before the war. In a subtly devastating few seconds, her anonymity is lost and she becomes perilously vulnerable. Never one to miss the opportunity for a dramatic coup, Leigh times her arrest to coincide with a family party, where the engagement of Ethel and Reg, and the pregnancy (oh, the irony) of Stan’s sister-in-law are being celebrated.

It is here that Imelda Staunton crafts her extraordinary transformation from pillar of the community to humiliated, devastated wreck. Much has already been made of her brilliant performance, but what seems most significant to me is that she is allowed to further flourish through intelligent, sensitive direction. Much like Ken Loach, Leigh is often criticised for being too concerned with drama and script, and less concerned with the actual technicalities of film-making. Here, with considerable aplomb, he demonstrates these critical barbs to be entirely inaccurate. When the police first arrive for Vera, the camera moves from a short distance into extreme close-up, capturing Staunton’s face as it first quivers and then collapses, losing its essence and vitality in what seems like an agonisingly long take. Another staggering moment, which I feel certain will linger in my memory for some time, is when, after completing her statement for the police, Vera finally confesses to her husband Stan. Here, Dick Pope’s camera frames the two characters in exquisite close-up, as Vera whispers the terrible news into his ear, unable to repeat her confession aloud. Leigh also skilfully resists the temptation to turn the final reel of the film into a perfunctory courtroom drama, through elaborate editing that transmits the magnitude of Vera’s trial and sentence without dwelling too long on technicalities.

Given that Leigh obviously intends our sympathies to lie with Vera, some have criticised this film for taking a morally ambivalent stance on abortion. I would certainly agree that the film maintains an admirable detachment on issues of personal morality (and, perhaps strangely, religion is hardly even touched upon), but it does not seem to me to be a defence of backstreet abortions. The abortion scenes themselves are fraught with tension, and, frequently, with despair, as Vera is often confronted with the fact that her actions have not magically washed away her clients’ problems as she clearly would like. What Leigh seems to be arguing (although this film is by no means intended as polemic) is that there was an underlying hypocrisy in 1950s Britain, whereby the wealthy could afford to pay for quietly sanctioned abortions in comfortable environments, whereas the working classes were left to fend for themselves, at the mercy of others and, indeed, of perilously dangerous practices. Leigh provides class contrast by following a sub-story involving the daughter of one of the wealthy women for whom Vera provides a cleaning service (her official, gainful employment), who is raped by a potential boyfriend and forced to recourse to a private termination. Leigh also portrays Stan’s brother Frank’s quiet frustration with his socially ambitious wife Joyce, who appears to hanker for a washing machine more than she wants her unborn child. Perhaps unusually for Leigh, these points are left implied rather than imposed, which perhaps leads to these various plot strands remaining unsatisfactorily unresolved.

Someone emerging from the cinema in front of me also clearly felt the film to be an unfair treatment of the 1950s, claiming ‘it was only the fifties, but from that you’d have thought it was the dark ages!’. This viewer clearly missed some of the more challenging and intriguing ambiguities within the film. Not all are immediately condemnatory of Vera – her son Sid claims that her actions are wrong, and that he may be unable to forgive her, but when he claims she has let the family down, Stan immediately and firmly disputes this. The reaction of the Drake family is as significant as Vera’s private devastation. In the earlier part of the film, Leigh constructs a convincing and richly detailed portrait of family life, for it to be profoundly challenged by the shocking revelations. Not only this, but the police investigation is conducted with a surprising sensitivity, They seem aware both of Vera’s humiliation and her kindness, yet they are bound by law to perform their duty. These are complex and sympathetic performances in roles that a lesser director may have made thankless.

Vera Drake is an intense, deeply moving and carefully crafted film of immense power, but it is perhaps not my favourite of Mike Leigh’s pictures. It shares some of the shocking revelations as his earlier masterpiece ‘Secrets and Lies’, but that film arguably adopted a less scholarly approach. It also lacks the mysterious allure of a film such as ‘Naked’. It is also slightly undermined by its persistent use of choral music, which, to me at least, felt slightly crass. What is Leigh trying to say with the use of this soundtrack? Is Vera supposed to be a saint or martyr, or is Leigh trying to confront fundamental positions on abortion and the sanctity of life? I suspect that Leigh has little interest in either of these notions, and that the music is simply inappropriate. Other than these small reservations though, ‘Vera Drake’ shows Leigh to be as uncompromising and confrontational as ever, and still eliciting sublime performances, both from the overwhelmingly compelling Staunton, and her talented supporting cast.