Nick Lowe - Jesus of Cool (1978, Reissued by Proper 2008)
I’ve felt for a while that Nick Lowe is one of the most underrated and unfairly marginalised of the great British songwriters. Even now, most people know him only through the Brinsley Schwartz hit ‘Cruel To Be Kind’ or through Elvis Costello’s version of ‘(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding’. Recently, with a suave and sophisticated grey demeanour, he has reinvented himself superbly as a light country soul singer in the mould of Dan Penn. His early solo material was far from this though – and indeed, with his estuary vowels a little more pronounced – even his voice sounds somewhat unrecognisable from his recent works.
Now lavishly repackaged by Proper, ‘Jesus of Cool’ looks set to gain a thoroughly deserved reappraisal. The title now seems loaded with irony – in the intervening period since the album’s original release, Lowe has been many things, but never really hip or cool, and the cover images now look purely goofy. Yet the title came from a genuine piece of writing in Sounds from Tim Lott that described Lowe as ‘a bona fide Jesus of Cool!’ The US title, presumably aimed at avoiding offending sensitive Christians, was ‘Pure Pop For Now People’, a cloying piece of industry-speak which sounds exactly like the target of songs such as ‘Music for Money’ or ‘Shake and Pop’.
Indeed, the album’s presiding theme is the dispensability and disposability of pop music culture, a state of affairs that arguably hasn’t changed much since 1978. Lowe’s snide and cynical verbal assaults have probably diminished in impact a little over time, but there’s still a lot of fun to be had in the savage barroom boogie of ‘Shake and Pop’ or the deceptively smooth ‘Little Hitler’.
Wheareas Lowe’s recent excursions into country soul have explored a consistent and sedate sound model, much of ‘Jesus of Cool’ feels like irony-laden genre experimentation. It suggests that Lowe has as much in common with irreverent contemporary songwriters such as Stephin Merritt as with the classicists with whom he is more frequently compared. Where the enthralling ‘Tonight’ sounds like a youthful precursor to his brilliant ‘Let’s Stay In And Make Love’, a laid-back and beautifully private love song (‘tonight we’re just a boy and girl/the only ones in the world’), ‘So It Goes’ has jaunty phrasing that resembles Thin Lizzy’s ‘The Boys are Back in Town’. On the minor hit ‘I Love The Sound Of Breaking Glass’, Lowe sounds like a quirky Bowie enthusiast, the jerky rhythm of the song bolstering its insistence. On ‘No Reason’, he even veers into Ska territory.
This gameful flitting about from style to style works chiefly because Lowe is a master of simple, infectious melody, and because he is a biting, intelligent lyricist. It also works because a handful of the songs (the wiry funk of ‘Nutted By Reality’, ‘…Breaking Glass’ and ’36 Inches High’ particularly) are genuine oddities, with unconventional arrangements and a producer’s attention to detail. The album seems to present Lowe as an avid collector and digester of a range of music, which he then re-assembles to suit his own purposes.
This handsome reissue comes in superbly designed packaging, with informative sleevenotes and a whole host of excellent bonus tracks (solo recordings from the ‘widerness’ period between the demise of Brinsley Schwartz and the arrival of this album). Most apposite is the wonderful ‘I Love My Label’, another compelling dissection of music industry culture. There’s also a highly enjoyable, high speed take on ‘Cruel To Be Kind’ and a furiously energetic ‘Heart of the City’. It’s all value for money, I’d say.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Heart and Soul
Wildbirds and Peacedrums - Heartcore (Leaf, 2007)
The title is such a straightforward and obvious play on words that it seems staggering that it hasn’t been used somewhere before. I’m not sure whether ‘Heartcore’ qualifies as a 2007 or a 2008 release. It initially surfaced last year, but the generally wonderful Leaf label appears to be affording it a second release with wider distribution in April. Enabling more people to hear this quite remarkable duo from Sweden can only be a positive thing. The combination of Mariam Wallentin’s resonant, soulful vocals and the carefully crafted instrumentation of drummer Andreas Werliin inspires awe with consummate ease.
It’s difficult to know how to categorise this group’s fascinating sound. The two have just been named as benefactors of a substantial Swedish jazz award, although few would associate this song-based music with jazz or improvisation, although there are occasional elements of the latter. The group have been described elsewhere as ‘freak folk’ or ‘folktronica’ but those rather restrictive constructions barely even hint at the raw clarity of much of this music.
Some of these tracks are based purely on clattering percussion and Wallentin’s vocals alone. Her voice is so rich in charisma, intensity, personality and power that she simply does not require supporting harmony or instrumental arrangements. For example, the palpable anxiety and tension in ‘Doubt/Hope’ (the lyrics reference nail-biting) comes mainly from the way in which Wallentin’s phrasing and dynamic range interacts with the crisp, attacking percussion. The rhythm here is audacious and intricate, but sometimes it’s left as simple and uncluttered as humanly possible. ‘Nakina’ is remarkable in this respect – just a slow backbeat and Wallentin’s aching and vulnerable singing. It sounds close to Portishead, but completely free from their reliance on sampled sounds. It’s a refreshing and unconventional approach, perhaps indeed drawing inspiration from the most primal and elemental of folk music. It’s certainly not ‘freak folk’ in the cloying hippy-ish manner of Devendra Banhart, or the pretentious faux-medievalism of Circulus. There’s something brutally immediate and overwhelming about this very basic merger of melody and rhythm.
Elsewhere, the vibe is looser and less rigorous, with an emphasis on melodic innovation and extension. On ‘Bird’, Andreas Werliin provides a chattering patter on toms but emphasises expression rather than strict time. This allows Wallentin, appropriately enough, to take flight, frequently resembling a young Patti Smith. The lyrics begin with the line ‘I am a bird now’ and it’s a tempting diversion to ponder whether this is a nod in the direction of Anthony and the Johnsons. Wallentin has a good deal more vocal armoury than Anthony Hegarty, whose tremulous reverb is beginning to suffer from its increasing omnipresence through guest appearances. So different does Wallentin’s voice sound across the tracks on this record that it’s sometimes hard to believe we are listening to the same singer – she is phenomenally expressive and has masterful tonal control.
It would have been interesting enough had the group followed the percussion and vocals template across an entire album, but ‘Heartcore’ reveals that Werliin and Wallentin have plenty more tricks up their sleeve. The clanging sounds on ‘Lost Love’ hint at Gamelan textures, and the lyric conjures up powerful feelings of loneliness and regret (‘on the mountain, I see lots of faces but I only long for yours’). Even better is the sublime ‘I Can’t Tell In His Eyes’ which works largely through leaving plenty of space within its enveloping, serene and hypnotic sound. Werliin’s subtle brush drums perfectly complement the sweet but unpredictable nature of Wallentin’s vocals, and the use of conventional harmonic backing is all the more successful because it is rarely deployed elsewhere.
The duo are also not averse to creating strangely accessible moments. ‘The Way Things Go’ reminds me a little of Matthew Herbert’s work with Dani Sicilliano or Roisin Murphy, although he would be unlikely to rely so heavily on a simple light shuffle beat. There’s plenty here for admirers of The Gossip or other such raw modern takes on soulful, blues-infused rock (particularly for those who admire the stripped down impact of ‘Listen Up’), but there’s a sensitivity and subtlety mostly lacking from more conventional garage rock. In spite of its frequent sparseness, there’s a real dynamic and textural range to the material here. What a superb album this is – one of the most captivating and original records I’ve heard in quite a while.
The title is such a straightforward and obvious play on words that it seems staggering that it hasn’t been used somewhere before. I’m not sure whether ‘Heartcore’ qualifies as a 2007 or a 2008 release. It initially surfaced last year, but the generally wonderful Leaf label appears to be affording it a second release with wider distribution in April. Enabling more people to hear this quite remarkable duo from Sweden can only be a positive thing. The combination of Mariam Wallentin’s resonant, soulful vocals and the carefully crafted instrumentation of drummer Andreas Werliin inspires awe with consummate ease.
It’s difficult to know how to categorise this group’s fascinating sound. The two have just been named as benefactors of a substantial Swedish jazz award, although few would associate this song-based music with jazz or improvisation, although there are occasional elements of the latter. The group have been described elsewhere as ‘freak folk’ or ‘folktronica’ but those rather restrictive constructions barely even hint at the raw clarity of much of this music.
Some of these tracks are based purely on clattering percussion and Wallentin’s vocals alone. Her voice is so rich in charisma, intensity, personality and power that she simply does not require supporting harmony or instrumental arrangements. For example, the palpable anxiety and tension in ‘Doubt/Hope’ (the lyrics reference nail-biting) comes mainly from the way in which Wallentin’s phrasing and dynamic range interacts with the crisp, attacking percussion. The rhythm here is audacious and intricate, but sometimes it’s left as simple and uncluttered as humanly possible. ‘Nakina’ is remarkable in this respect – just a slow backbeat and Wallentin’s aching and vulnerable singing. It sounds close to Portishead, but completely free from their reliance on sampled sounds. It’s a refreshing and unconventional approach, perhaps indeed drawing inspiration from the most primal and elemental of folk music. It’s certainly not ‘freak folk’ in the cloying hippy-ish manner of Devendra Banhart, or the pretentious faux-medievalism of Circulus. There’s something brutally immediate and overwhelming about this very basic merger of melody and rhythm.
Elsewhere, the vibe is looser and less rigorous, with an emphasis on melodic innovation and extension. On ‘Bird’, Andreas Werliin provides a chattering patter on toms but emphasises expression rather than strict time. This allows Wallentin, appropriately enough, to take flight, frequently resembling a young Patti Smith. The lyrics begin with the line ‘I am a bird now’ and it’s a tempting diversion to ponder whether this is a nod in the direction of Anthony and the Johnsons. Wallentin has a good deal more vocal armoury than Anthony Hegarty, whose tremulous reverb is beginning to suffer from its increasing omnipresence through guest appearances. So different does Wallentin’s voice sound across the tracks on this record that it’s sometimes hard to believe we are listening to the same singer – she is phenomenally expressive and has masterful tonal control.
It would have been interesting enough had the group followed the percussion and vocals template across an entire album, but ‘Heartcore’ reveals that Werliin and Wallentin have plenty more tricks up their sleeve. The clanging sounds on ‘Lost Love’ hint at Gamelan textures, and the lyric conjures up powerful feelings of loneliness and regret (‘on the mountain, I see lots of faces but I only long for yours’). Even better is the sublime ‘I Can’t Tell In His Eyes’ which works largely through leaving plenty of space within its enveloping, serene and hypnotic sound. Werliin’s subtle brush drums perfectly complement the sweet but unpredictable nature of Wallentin’s vocals, and the use of conventional harmonic backing is all the more successful because it is rarely deployed elsewhere.
The duo are also not averse to creating strangely accessible moments. ‘The Way Things Go’ reminds me a little of Matthew Herbert’s work with Dani Sicilliano or Roisin Murphy, although he would be unlikely to rely so heavily on a simple light shuffle beat. There’s plenty here for admirers of The Gossip or other such raw modern takes on soulful, blues-infused rock (particularly for those who admire the stripped down impact of ‘Listen Up’), but there’s a sensitivity and subtlety mostly lacking from more conventional garage rock. In spite of its frequent sparseness, there’s a real dynamic and textural range to the material here. What a superb album this is – one of the most captivating and original records I’ve heard in quite a while.
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