It's Christmas Eve! Here's a Christmas treat for all regular readers - this year's abums of the year list. If you come back on New Year's Eve, you should be able to find my best of the decade countdown up then. Wishing everyone a very happy Christmas!
100. Pet Shop Boys - Yes (Parlophone)
After the nadir of ‘Release’, Pet Shop Boys seemed to realise that their winning formula didn’t need to be adapted too much in order to sustain interest. ‘Fundamental’ had more energy, and some surprising political anger behind it. ‘Yes’ seems more based on human relationships, but it has some of the duo’s most engaging melodies for some time. I’m not sure the collaboration with Xenomania was strictly necessary, but it has certainly resulted in some fine songs. Neil Tennant continues to improve as a vocalist, retaining his deadpan delivery but adding phrasing and expression. Poptastic, naturally.
99. She Keeps Bees – Nests (Names)
A male-female duo playing stripped down blues-informed garage rock – does that sound familiar? She Keeps Bees have a gutsy, forthright take on the form though, and by reversing the roles, have at least distanced themselves a little from the obvious White Stripes comparisons. Compacted into a mercilessly brief 27 minutes, this is one of 2009’s most raw and unadorned musical statements.
98. Flaming Lips - Embryonic (Warner)
‘Embryonic’ is a sprawling, babbling mess of a record but not one without tremendous pleasures. These songs are supposedly studio jams, but they seem carefully constructed, or at least edited. This at least pushed Flaming Lips out of a safe zone, and back into the world of the fearless.
97. Atlas Sound - Logos (4AD)
This might be Bradford Cox’s most interesting work to date, one which further reveals his interest in 1950s and 60s pop singles and which takes his love of sound to new levels. It’s a much more widescreen, macrocosmic effort than his previous album as Atlas Sound, taking in collaborations with Animal Collective’s Noah Lennox and Sterolab’s Laetitia Saedler, but retaining Cox’s own distinctive musical DNA.
96. Candi Staton - Who's Hurtin' Now (Honest Jon's)
A straightforward follow up to the superb ‘His Hands’, this again sees Staton delivering muscular country soul. It’s powerful stuff, with Staton’s gritty voice remaining largely undiminished.
95. Paul Burch - Still Your Man (Ramseur)
This is a delightful album of old-timey rockabilly, country, gentler serenades and blues. Burch carries all this off because he has such a complete love for and thorough understanding of the American musical tradition. You could easily imagine these songs nestling into an episode of Bob Dylan’s Theme Time Radio Hour.
94. Junior Boys - Begone Dull Care (Domino)
A great collection of soulful synth pop – veering between the effortlessly funky and the hazily soporific. It’s a gently seductive album.
93. Bill Frisell - Disfarmer (Nonesuch)
‘Disfarmer’ is another one of Frisell’s occasional ambling side-steps. It’s perhaps not a major statement along the lines of ‘Blues Dream’ or ‘Have A Little Faith’, but its gentle, almost lazy-sounding country shuffle is the result of Frisell’s mastery of his instrument. He remains one of my favourite musicians in jazz – his harmonic sense is deep and intuitive, but his openness to connections between various forms of music also sets him apart.
92. Prefuse 73 - Everything She Touched Turned Ampexian (Warp)
It looked as if Scott Herren had lost the midas touch, but this sci-fi extravaganza is a reminder of how skilled a producer he is. The skittering beats and short, sharp shocks remain the Prefuse trademarks.
91. Fuck Buttons - Tarot Sport (ATP)
With Andrew Weatherall in the producer’s chair, F*ck Buttons have expanded their sound into something imposing and irresistible on ‘Tarot Sport’. It’s an electronic take on structures and ideas familiar from what is often termed ‘post-rock’, and the bursts of noise are this time more carefully integrated into the overall whole. This is a confident and controlled work.
90. Liam Hayes and Plush - Bright Penny (Broken Horse)
The reissue of Liam Hayes’ magnum opus ‘Fed’ seems to have opened the doors for his return to a modest limelight – this time with an album that sounds strongly influenced by Burt Bacharach and Philadelphia soul. It’s a sugary confection for sure, but one that sounds sincere. It may not be quite as substantial as ‘Fed’, but these straightforwardly affecting songs are the work of a real talent.
89. Joe Lovano Us Five - Folk Art (Blue Note)
This is a slightly unexpected detour for Lovano, one of America’s greatest saxophonists, now being energised by a younger band. The result, perhaps unsurprisingly, is a rhythm heavy record characterised by rhythmic interaction. Lovano also finds room for moments of real beauty and moments of fiery abstraction. A compelling session.
88. Alela Diane - To Be Still (Names)
‘To Be Still’ is a superb showcase for Alela Diane’s inventive songwriting and wildly compelling voice, which somehow manages to be peaceful and violent all at the same time. This album has a great, naturalistic sound too.
87. DOOM - Born Like This (Lex)
Only a dispiriting vein of casual homophobia blights this otherwise superb album by one of rap’s greatest mavericks. ‘Born Like This’ is an otherwise heavy beast – dark and mesmerising in the way of Doom’s best work.
86. Hildur Gudnadottir - Without Sinking (Type)
Cellist Hildur Gundnadottir has crafted an album full of space and time, but one which rides in on a wave of quiet, steely determination and vivid menace. Much of it sounds ominous and threatening. It’s a very striking work, carefully constructed and brilliantly executed.
85. Acoustic Ladyland - Living With A Tiger (Strong and Wrong)
With Chris Sharkey on guitar replacing keyboardist Tom Cawley, Acoustic Ladyland returned in an even more aggressive incarnation. ‘Living With A Tiger’ is a relentless, explosive album, but one which also finds space for brooding and for earthquake-inducing grooves. Sharkey’s effects-laden chaos sounds great when pitted against Seb Rochford’s insistent but relaxed drumming.
84. Hypnotic Brass Ensemble - Hypnotic Brass Ensemble (Honest Jon’s)
It’s difficult to see how the HBE will develop or refine this formula on future releases, so thoroughly entertaining is this debut. The combination of driving funk or hip-hop beats with a New Orleans-style brass group would probably be a mere gimmick were it not for the exuberant quality of the playing and the intelligent arranging on display here. It results in one of the year’s most fun albums.
83. The Hidden Cameras - Origin: Orphan (Arts and Crafts)
In which one of my favourite indie groups make a bold bid for wider appeal with an ambitious album retaining much of their old merriment, but also veering into grander, more windswept territory. The addition of synthesisers has refreshed the more playful aspects of their sound, and Joel Gibb’s masterful melodicism remains strong.
82. Jim Hart's Gemini - Narrada (Loop)
Jim Hart is a multi-talented percussionist and composer and in Gemini, he has assembled a powerhouse group of young musicians, full of vitality and enthusiasm for improvisation and interaction. The rhythm section of Jasper Hoiby and Dave Smith is driving and intense, contrasting with Hart’s jubilant and reflective themes. The compositions on ‘Narrada’ seem to be further developments from those on ‘Emergence’ – Hart is a brilliant musician who seems to be growing in stature.
81. Partisans - By Proxy (Babel)
Partisans remain one of the spikiest and most rhythmically attuned ensembles in British jazz, preoccupied with time shifts and quirky, unpredictable melodies. Gene Calderazzo’s effortlessly creative drumming is always a highlight of any recording he appears on, and whilst this band like to take twists and turns, they can also groove brilliantly, or craft a darker, more mysterious atmosphere.
80. Raphael Saadiq - The Way I See It (Sony)
Finally released in the UK in 2009, Raphael Saadiq’s second solo album is a masterful facsimile of classic soul music, with a particular nod to vintage Motown. It’s all done with tremendous love and enthusiasm that it manages to go beyond being a purely retrospective exercise – Saadiq brings a fresh, crisp sound to proceedings and also happens to write exceptional songs too.
79. Charles Spearin - The Happiness Project (Arts and Crafts)
The idea of finding musical phrasing to match the contours of the human speaking voice is no longer much of a novel idea – Steve Reich explored similar ground with ‘Different Trains’ and the YouTube video of one of Sarah Palin’s interview responses turned into a jazz piano solo shows what can be achieved through the process. Broken Social Scene’s Charles Spearin has now reaped further rewards from this process in recording various people discussing the concept of happiness, and making entire compositions from their conversations. The music is a strange
78. The XX - The XX (Young Turks/XL)
There’s something untrained but wholly natural about The XX’s skeletal soul music. It reminds me most of ‘Colossal Youth’, that superb Young Marble Giants album but there are also hints at the more contemporary work of Bjork collaborator Leila. Many did not like the flat, dulled sounds of the group’s two vocalists, but the voices seem to mesh together effortlessly, and there’s something believable and honest in their casual insouciance. There is a lot of potential here.
77. Broadcast and The Focus Group - Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age (Warp)
I’m not sure I get this whole ‘hauntology’ or ‘hypnagogic’ thing yet (aren’t these just terms invented by journalists?), but this collaboration between Broadcast and Ghost Box artists The Focus Group contains a wealth of bizarre and intriguing material, much of it seeming to hark back to the pioneering work of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. Initially billed as a stop-gap EP, it’s actually a short album constructed from short snippets – a collage in which the sum is much greater than the parts.
76. Apostle of Hustle - Eats Darkness (Arts and Crafts)
Broken Social Scene’s Andrew Whiteman continues to produce brilliant, entertaining albums with Apostle of Hustle – surely now more his chief preoccupation than a side project. ‘East Darkness’ is a mercilessly concise, but typically artful work, one which imposes rhythmic invention and clever dynamics on to what is ostensibly a rock production.
75. trioVD - Fill It Up With Ghosts (Babel)
There probably aren’t any rock bands around in Britain who can play with the burning intensity of trioVD, ostensibly an improvising jazz trio. This is visceral, searing, tremendously exciting music played with real vigour and energy.
74. Cortney Tidwell - Boys (City Slang)
‘Boys’ found a range of satisfying contexts for Tidwell’s haunting, spectral voice, the quality of her songwriting continuing to develop. The subtle hints at Nashville country are all the more fascinating for being buried beneath swathes of dreamy atmospherics and lush noises.
73. Gwilym Simcock - Blues Vignette (Basho)
Simcock’s second album, a double set, seemed meticulously planned to show off the diversity of his talent, incorporating his classical preoccupations in solo playing and duo performances with a cellist. The second CD was devoted to his new trio, another setting in which brilliant young drummer James Maddren can make a major contribution. Hopefully ‘Blues Vignette’ hasn’t exhausted Simcock’s manifold abilities – whilst it’s not as coherent as ‘Perception’, it is a rich, personal album full of confidence and sensitivity.
72. Volcano Choir - Unmap (Jagjaguwar)
How to follow up an internationally acclaimed word-of-mouth sensation of a debut album? Perhaps the best option is not to bother working on a proper follow up, but find an entirely new setting. Justin Vernon, aka Bon Iver, achieved this successfully by teaming up with Collection of Colonies of Bees, a little known Wisconsin instrumental group. The result placed Vernon in a more abstract, less impressionistic context, removing him from the direct environment of the ‘song’.
71. Yo La Tengo - Popular Songs (Matador)
Yo La Tengo continue to expand their reach here, combining their brighter side with moments of scintilating menace. It’s one of their more sprawling and ambitious records, a little difficult to digest in one sitting but full of inspiration and adventure.
70. Wild Beasts - Two Dancers (Domino)
Although recorded and released remarkably speedily by the standards of today’s market schedule directed music industry, ‘Two Dancers’ was a massive step on from Wild Beasts’ acclaimed debut. Much less extravagant, but retaining the band’s theatrical sensibilities, these songs benefited from greater attention to detail and from arrangements that somehow managed to be simultaneously minimal and lavish. Whilst Hayden Thorpe’s outrageous falsetto will always alienate some listeners, he also remains the group’s distinctive weapon – a real vocal character. This is a very British record – along with the likes of Golden Silvers, it suggests that there is once again potential in our music.
69. Lars Horntveth – Kaleidoscopic (Smalltown Supersound)
2009 saw a number of musicians associated with ensembles bursting into the world of contemporary composition. Battles’ Tyondai Braxton made ‘Central Market’, an informed but playful record that sounded exactly how one might imagine a contemporary classical take on Battles to sound. Jaga Jazzists’ Lars Horntveth produced something more sustained and immersing – with plenty of ideas that are developed as well as stated.
68. Zed-U - Night Time on the Middle Passage (Babel)
Striving to break free from the jazz tradition, but maintaining a commitment to spontaneous and fearless improvisation, the trio of Shabaka Hutchings, Neil Charles and Tom Skinner have developed something fresh and exciting here. In their more relaxed moments, Zed-U achieve a sort of dub-jazz hybrid, and Hutchings’ melodies are given space to breathe. Yet there are also explosive, wilder moments too. It’s refreshing to hear a band so unconcerned with genre or classification, making great strides for something new.
67. Antipop Consortium - Flourescent Black (Big Dada)
It’s a shame that, in the plethora of band reunions, the return of Antipop Consortium seems to have gone largely unnoticed. Perhaps it’s because they haven’t been away all that long or maybe it’s because, in fairness, ‘Flourescent Black’ isn’t quite as radical and exciting as their earlier material. Still, it’s a brilliantly constructed reminder of their wonky, warped and disorientating take on hip hop. It breaks no new ground for them, but it’s good to have them back. No one else makes rap sound this adventurous and stark.
66. Stefano Bollani - Stone in the Water (ECM)
Bollani is a technically accomplished pianist, with classical influences as well as an encyclopaedic knowledge of the jazz tradition. His more restrained recordings give little indication of the experience of seeing him perform live, a situation in which comedy seems to play as important a role as the music. ‘Stone In The Water’, a trio album showcasing Bollani’s expressive side, features some tremendous ensemble interaction. It’s a subtle but absorbing work.
65. Black To Comm - Alphabet 1968 (Type)
Apparently, the idea behind ‘Alphabet 1968’ was for experimental musician Marc Richter to make an album of ‘songs’. In that case, these are some of the least conventional ‘songs’ you’re ever likely to hear. This is a hugely original mix of gamelan percussion, static and found sound that, in spite of its disparate tangents, works brilliantly as a whole.
64. The Invisible - The Invisible (Accidental)
I usually hate reviews that focus on the identification of cultural trends at the expense of discussing the actual music, but 2009 does seem to have thrown up some intriguing developments. There’s the increasing number of bands mixing electronics and live performance, the vast numbers of bands strongly influenced by music from Africa (especially Mali) and then there’s whole rather baffling hauntology thing, with which I’ve yet to successfully engage. The Invisible certainly fall into the first category, but then they also fall into another – a growth in the number of bands with real technical ability on their instruments and with a serious interest in composition (see also Dirty Projectors, Three Trapped Tigers, Mew, Blk Jks and others). This debut is brilliantly produced, with an encapsulating, immersing sound. Tom Herbert, also of Polar Bear, provides some brilliantly dominant bass lines and the whole record effortlessly combines percussive drive with hypnotic atmospheres.
63. The Very Best - Warm Heart of Africa (Moshi Moshi)
This collaboration between the charmingly named production duo Radioclit and singer Esau Mwamwaya first emerged last year on an effervescent and celebratory mix compilation. So successful was this that a studio recording was planned, the results being this fresh and enjoyable hybrid music. There’s so much African-western fusion at the moment, and this feels like a particularly open and unprejudiced time in modern music.
62. Blk Jks - After Robots (Secretly Canadian)
This rock band from South Africa are superb – managing to mix the joyful energy of township music with western psychedelia and hard rock. The music here is rhythmically intricate and delivered with a blistering intensity. Best of all are the tracks with scintillating horn arrangements from Hypnotic Brass Ensemble.
61. Monolake – Silence (Monolake)
This one was only released a few days ago and possibly would have been placed higher had I had enough time to digest it fully. There’s so much to absorb in Robert Henke’s meticulously constructed sound world – a world that goes well beyond the spurious genre classifications into which electronic music is often divided. Some might call this techno, but this does little to describe Henke’s fascination with rhythm. A tremendous record that simply sounds phenomenal.
60. Tomasz Stanko Quintet - Dark Eyes (ECM)
Controversially abandoning his young Polish rhythm section, Tomasz Stanko returned with a new and different ensemble for ‘Dark Eyes’. The result was a brighter, more imposing sound, a bold step away from his familiar ethereal atmospherics. Stanko’s playing remains highly distinctive and easily identifiable, and it was refreshing to hear his vocabulary in a new context.
59. Mos Def - The Ecstatic (Downtown)
It may not say anything terribly positive about the state of hip hop in 2009 that this defiantly classicist album might be the year’s major artistic statement. After a period spent devoting time to his acting career, Mos Def re-emerged to remind us what an energetic and intelligent rapper he is, with what may well be his most consistent and enjoyable album. The arrangements are kinetic and grooving.
58. Supersilent - 9 (Rune Grammofon)
This is certainly a strong contender for the year’s weirdest album. Following the unexpected departure of drummer Jarle Vespestad, Supersilent reconfigured with a radically different set up. All three members are playing organs here, although the sound of each is excessively treated, and the range of sounds drawn from each instrument is extraordinary. Perhaps inevitably, there’s less interest in rhythm here, and these improvisations become textural experiments. It probably won’t be remembered as the greatest Supersilent album, but it’s a fascinating example of how to make an unpredictable musical statement.
57. Golden Silvers - True Romance (XL)
At last, an intelligent British pop album! Despite what our proud media might tell you, such albums are remarkably thin on the ground these days. ‘True Romance’ manages to take the better elements of the Britpop movement (think Supergrass circa ‘In It For The Money’ or ‘Fuzzy Logic’ era Super Furry Animals) and adds layers of jazz and soul. The songs are infectious and memorable and are iced with some exceptionally witty lyrics.
56. City Center - City Center (Type)
The extroardinarily pervasive influence of Ariel Pink's home recordings appears again here on this subtle leftfield pop gem. The reverb-heavy vocals add to the sense of summer heat-haze, and when combined with the oddly jaunty strumming and quirky percussion interjections, it makes for a peculiar and heady mix. This record weaves its own idiosyncratic and charming web.
55. David Sylvian - Manafon (Samadhi Sound)
'Manafon' is an exceedingly brave and individual record, and one has to admire it simply for how far Sylvian has come from his pop star persona. ‘Blemish’ was a lightning bolt of drama and catharsis, and Sylvian has not looked back since. With ‘Manafon’, Sylvian has crafted his own hermetic space, completely isolated and detached from any fashions, trends or prevailing winds. There are difficulties – the lack of dynamic contrast, the dominance of Sylvian’s rich baritone vocals. But there are also abundant qualities – insight and compassion, and the sense of striving for a new musical language.
54. Olafur Arnalds - Found Songs (Erased Tapes)
Initially given away one song per day via Twitter, this new mini-album brilliantly developed Arnalds' gorgeous strain of neo-classical melancholy and brought his music to a wider audience. It's an effortlessly direct and affecting sound, capturing a sense of loss and sadness.
53. Vladislav Delay - Tummaa (Leaf)
Along with the Moritz Von Oswald album, ‘Tummaa’ represents an intriguing trend attempting to marry the conventions of programmed electronica with spontaneous improvisation. ‘Tummaa’ is a subtle, slippery and elusive work, but one that amply rewards close attention. These compositions are considered and sophisticated.
52. Magnolia Electric Co. - Josephine (Secretly Canadian)
Jason Molina has been a dependable candidate for my end-of-year polls for as long as I've been writing this blog, although there's a justifiable sense that he may have been doggedly charting the same terrain for a little too long now. Certainly, his vocabulary remains confined to a fairly narrow metaphorical space, but 'Josephine', something of a song cycle, at last pushes away from the Neil Young and Crazy Horse template that has characterised Magnolia. It's a dusty, sad and beautiful album in which Molina's voice, at the forefront, carries a whole world of melancholy feeling.
51. Mew - No More Stories... (Sony)
In spite of losing band members along the way, Mew continue to get stronger and more adventurous with each release. They are dependable for the rich, clear quality of their sound and the haunting effect of their vocals. 'No More Stories' is also one of the most rhythmically exciting rock ensemble albums of the year, placing them in a league with the likes of Dirty Projectors and Three Trapped Tigers in the sophisticated arrangement of their music. They've also produced some touching and memorable melodies here too and the full picture contains a striking mix of muscularity and vulnerability.
50. Outhouse Ruhabi - Outhouse Ruhabi (Loop)
This collaboration between London-based improvisers Outhouse and five sabar drummers from Gambia appears to have been a successful, mutually satisfying project. It demonstrates that Outhouse are open-minded musicians with a broad conception of what constitutes contemporary jazz. The drummers are fully integrated into these compositions, sometimes fuelling them. It’s consistently engaging, and often thrilling – one of the best Loop releases so far.
49. Mountains - Choral (Thrill Jockey)
This kind of combination of electronics with acoustic instrumentation could easily become a tired cliché, but Mountains’ quietly expansive approach makes it work wonderfully. These tapestries of sound seem straightforward initially, but gradually reveal further layers of detail and texture. It’s all the more impressive on the discovery that Mountains record largely live and in real time.
48. Liam Noble Trio - Brubeck (Basho)
Here is a fine album reaching back into the output of one of the major figures of American jazz, and reinventing that music with inspiration and intelligence. 'Brubeck' is first and foremost a superb example of piano trio performance - full of spotanenous wit and energy. It's also a splendid extrapolation of frequently familiar themes, all delivered with the perfect combination of reverence and originality.
47. Tinariwen - Imidiwan: Companions (Independiente)
Tinariwen’s steadfast desert rock continues to be radical and exciting, a combination of vibrant rhythm, traditional storytelling and steadfast drones. 'Imidiwan' may be their most complete album to date, with the familiar drones and handclaps accompanied by a tender sensitivity. The music is resolute and repetitive, but also full of drama.
46. King Midas Sound - Waiting For You (Hyperdub)
Having made one of the most uncomfortably captivating albums of the decade as The Bug with ‘London Zoo’, Kevin Martin seemed strangely dissatisfied. The result was a new moniker – and a single collaborator in vocalist Roger Robinson. Martin’s dank claustrophobia remains here, but is accompanied by a new humanity, warmth and a tentative positivity. The result is an intriguing and original development of the dubstep sound.
45. John Abercrombie - Wait Til You See Her (ECM)
This is almost certainly the most romantic jazz album of the year - one which teeters on the precipice between sentiment and sentimentality but manages to stay just on the right side of it thanks to Abercrombie's economy and taste. It's a splendid, sustained vision, delicate and touching, with a satisfying combination of light and shade. It's some distance from the playful bounding of recent Abercrombie efforts such as 'Cat and Mouse', but a change is surely as good as a rest.
44. Califone - All My Friends Are Funeral Singers (Dead Oceans)
Califone have to be one of the world's most consistent and consistently underrated bands. Perhaps its because their music has an unassuming experimentalism at its core - a desire to fuse archaic Americana with a contemporary impulse. The result is a modern folk music that sounds natural and unforced, completely removed from the 'freak folk' artists that tend to acquire more publicity. This superb album continued their quest with a quiet audacity.
43. Dinosaur Jr. - Farm (Jagjaguwar/PIAS)
This was so much better than it had any right to be. As little as three years ago, J Mascis and Lou Barlow supposedly held each other in mutual contempt. Rumour has it that communication between them is still somewhat limited. This seems to have only added to the fire in the music - Mascis' wall of distortion sounding as effortlessly brilliant as ever. More surprising is that it still sounds vital and relevant, where so many other reunions have seemed purely nostalgic. Perhaps that is due to the quality of the songwriting which, while still consisting of non-commital titles that hint at Mascis' trademark sloth, is crisp and powerful. Mascis has evidently mellowed sufficiently to allow Barlow to contribute some songs too, both of which are excellent.
42. Neko Case - Middle Cyclone (Anti)
'Middle Cyclone' saw Case successfully navigate a path between her trademark country-noir and something brighter and more direct. Her no-frills voice still comes with a lingering resonance and a singular communicative power. Perhaps more importantly, her songwriting has continued to develop and mature, and 'Middle Cyclone' artfully balances introspective melancholy with empathy. In the title track, 'Polar Nettles' and the surprisingly breezy 'People Got A Lotta Nerve', it contains three of her most memorable songs. The image of the 'Cistine chapel painted with a gatling gun' in 'Polar Nettles' is particularly striking. Having said all that, I could still happily do without the 31 minutes of crickets chirping at the end!
41. Phronesis - Green Delay (Loop)
Jasper Hoiby, a Danish bassist now resident in London, has raised the game with this second album for his trio. This time round, Ivo Neame replaces Magnus Hjorth on the piano, and the group seems to achieve a higher level of interaction and rhythmic drive. This is definitely a piano trio led by the bass and not the piano, with much of the muscular forward motion coming from Hoiby himself. The compositions are memorable and the playing is fearless and exciting.
40. Super Furry Animals - Dark Days/Light Years (Warner Bros)
SFA became another band to follow the Radiohead/Bloc Party model by first offering up 'Dark Days/Light Years' as a download from their website. Whilst their previous few albums have all been consistently good, this seems to represent something of a rejuvenation. The madcap approach is back, with wonderfully warped melodies bouncing against summery harmonies and motorik grooves built through studio jams. As always, SFA manage to make this mess endearing and fun rather than indulgent.
39. Levon Helm - Electric Dirt (Vanguard)
At the risk of courting controversy, I can't help feeling that 'Electric Dirt' is a much more satisfying trawl through American roots music than Dylan's 'Together Through Life'. Helm isn't writing much these days, but he inhabits these old-timey songs with a gutsy enthusiasm that belies both his age and his recent battle with throat cancer. This is music out of time, played with affection and commitment by a superb group of musicians (including former Dylan guitarist Larry Campbell), with a joyful conviction and swing in its heart.
38. Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni Ba - I Speak Fula (World Circuit)
Kouyate’s follow-up to the acclaimed but slightly understated ‘Segu Blue’ is a massive step forward, full of passion, energy and joy. Kouyate gets top billing for his mastery of the ngoni, but this is undoubtedly a collective effort and the vocals of Kouyate’s wife Amy Sacko are crucial to its overall impact. Vibrant and rhythmically adventurous throughout, this is triumphant music.
37. The Field - Yesterday and Today (Kompakt)
‘Yesterday and Today’ proved a more than worthy successor to Axel Willner’s masterful ‘From Here We Go Sublime’, both reiterating and developing his trademark sound. It’s hard to imagine a more brutally insistent music, but the surrounding fuzzy haze also means this is warmer and more welcoming than most four to the floor house music. The presence of Battles drummer John Stanier adds further propulsion, but the Korgis cover suggests a softer, perhaps even saccharine dimension.
36. Fever Ray - Fever Ray (Rabid)
With this first solo album, Karen Dreijer Anderssen shows enormous promise, and threatens to become a female artist with the stature of a Bjork or a Kate Bush. This is strange and unsettling music, perhaps all the more so for its revelling in domesticity. For all the intimacy of its themes, it still feels detached and alienated, simultaneously bleak and affecting.
35. James Blackshaw - The Glass Bead Game (Young God)
James Blackshaw’s move to Young God doesn’t seem to have prompted any marked increase in exposure or popularity, although his devoted following remain committed to evangelising for his prodigious talents. ‘The Glass Bead Game’ continued to explore his piano playing in addition to his magical, swirling textures on the twelve-string guitar, with dependably hypnotic and powerful results. He has now moved well beyond being a mere disciple of the Takoma school, and is starting to forge his own unique musical path.
34. Henry Threadgill's Zooid - This Brings Us To, Vol 1 (Pi)
Relatively little is written about Henry Threadgill, in spite of his major standing as a composer and his adventurous approach to music, particularly involving unconventional ensembles. His work for Columbia records could do with reissue and reappraisal (how about taking a break from the endless repackaging of Miles in favour of a more novel legacy series?) but his recent work has gained respect thanks to support from the mercurial Pi record label, which also releases music by Steve Lehman. That Threadgill is aligning himself with a new generation of musical innovators perhaps tells a great deal about his audacious outsider status. ‘This Brings Us To’ is a somewhat fragmented but hugely engaging listen, demonstrating Threadgill’s ongoing interest in timbre. He imposes what appear to be severe restrictions on the group, dividing the players into cells which explore a specific three note interval group. The result is an interweaved web of sound producing an exciting tension.
33. Susanna and the Magical Orchestra – 3 (Rune Grammofon)
‘3’ saw Susanna Wallumrod raise her game considerably. It was not so much the curveball choice of covers that proved problematic but more that her very austere, minimal music needed to gain a new dimension. ‘3’ delivered that new aspect and more, with a broad palette of retro synthesiser sounds providing a warmer orchestration for Susanna’s now frequently multi-layered vocals. This sounded quite unlike her previous work, but retained much of the icy charm and gentle empathy that has made her so appealing.
31= Tom Cawley and Kit Downes – Homely (Impure)
31= Kit Downes Trio – Golden (Basho)
It doesn’t really make a great deal of sense to separate these two excellent albums, as they both feature the young rising star pianist Kit Downes, and there’s a good deal of overlap in terms of the compositions featured. ‘Homely’ is a rare treat in that it’’s a piano duo album with Downes’ mentor and Curios leader Tom Cawley, featuring some expressive playing and a gentle mutual respect between the two musicians. Downes’ trio gamely stepped in for Curios at a gig at the 606 when Cawley injured his hand and, in doing so, played one of the finest sets I’ve seen all year. This music has a maturity which belies Downes’ youth, with an elegiac quality and a lightness of touch. A major asset is drummer James Maddren, who has a singing, legato quality to his sound, and an ability to stretch time like elastic.
30. John Surman - Brewster's Rooster (ECM)
John Surman’s recent preoccupations, including work with choirs, string quartets and organist Howard Moody, have hardly suggested an imminent return to muscular jazz. Yet, with ‘Brewster’s Rooster’, that return has come, with a powerhouse ensemble featuring John Abercrombine on guitar, Jack De Johnette on drums and Drew Gress on bass. The recording is a little springier than their blisteringly intense set at the London Jazz Festival, but the memorable themes cut through even more clearly here. De Johnette is at the top of his game on the simmering ‘Counter Measures’ and Abercrombie is characteristically thoughtful and lyrical throughout, the perfect counterpoint to the intensity of the rhythm section.
29. Bill Callahan - Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle (Domino)
This fine album genuinely represents something of a transition for Callahan, something he has long threatened but never quite succeeded in producing. It’s certainly a long way from the dour quality of something like ‘Rain on Lens’. Instead, he’s embraced his inner warmth, and reminded us all that there he was always so much more intelligent a writer than his reputation as a casual misanthrope suggests. The music is lush and ingratiating, the perfect foil for his near-conversational vocal phrasing. The album is certainly front-loaded, with some of the best songs of Callahan’s career pushed into its first half, but the whole is a bold and well executed move.
28. Big Air - Big Air (Babel)
This international group began in 2001, bringing Chris Batchelor, Steve Buckley and Oren Marshall (the first two both Loose Tubes alumni – when will that band’s music be reissued on CD for heaven’s sake??) together with New York musicians Jim Black and Myra Melford. Melford is one of the most idiosyncratic pianists currently at work, sometimes angular but often flowing with rapid, lengthy phrases. This superb recording brings together sophisticated composing and adventurous playing, with a mood that veers between triumphal and regretful.
27. Tune-Yards - Bird Brains (Marriage)
This was a discovery late in the year for me, a clear example of how publishing your year-end list too early can result in terrible omissions. Consistently surprising, engaging, challenging and exciting, Merrill Garbus recorded this entire collection on a digital voice recorder and pieced it together using shareware mixing software. The sound quality is thus understandably rough, and sometimes so abrasive as to be unpleasant. But the sophistication of the work behind it is really quite remarkable. Garbus’ fuses her ukulele with self-made field recordings to create something highly original and frequently touching. Her versatile voice can be confrontational or tender as required, thus the range of emotion on offer here is dazzling. It’s a triumph of individual initiative.
26. The Unthanks - Here's The Tender Coming (Rough Trade)
I was unfairly dismissive of Rachel Unthank when ‘The Bairns’ was nomimated for The Mercury. I intend to return to that record properly now that I understand why more discerning critics were hailing it as the finest album on the shortlist. ‘Here’s the Tender Coming’ introduced a name change, to reflect Becky Unthank’s shared vocal role, but maintained the poignant and charming take on traditional folk music. These delicate narratives are delivered without affectation and with arrangements that support rather than smother the essential vulnerability of the songs. There are hints at some more contemporary influences too.
25. Moritz Von Oswald Trio - Vertical Ascent (Honest Jon's)
Combining the regimented, programmed precision of techno with the thrilling freedom of improvisation is not an easy task. In fact, on the surface, it might even be futile. Yet this record, where the interest is almost purely in the interaction between percussion and machines, somehow manages it without trying too hard. There's a real sense of magic and spontaneity to this recording, with a formal logic and meticulous construction lying behind it. It's a substantial achievement.
24. Vandermark 5 - Annular Gift (Not Two)
This live album finds Vandermark 5 on furious form, but also curiously groovy. It is in some ways their most conventional recording so far, but only in as much as they use rhythm as a support for their continuing exploration of the outer reaches. Here, they work remarkably well as a unit, and the results are energising. As ever, there are many unexpected twists during these lengthy pieces, with a surprising degree of introspection and reflection to balance the caterwauling. It is all vital and highly charged. It must have been a real treat to attend the gigs at which these recordings were made.
23. Health - Get Color (City Slang)
This vigorous, uncompromising mix of sonic aggression and eerie, partially obscured vocalising is a powerful and majestic beast. There’s also a sense of concision and control where it could so easily have become indulgent – and it feels like Health are making a considered musical statement. Its murky and otherworldly but also somehow very primal and real. This is artful music, as regimented as it is visceral.
22. Sian Alice Group - Troubled, Shaken, etc (Social Registry)
This intoxicating, intelligently sequenced set possibly represents the single biggest improvement between albums for 2009. This group demonstrated promise with their minimalist debut, but now they have built on that template to make a much wiser, more creative musical statement. Sian Ahern’s whispery, sinewy voice is at once a distant and imposing presence here, much more so than on the debut. Pitchfork bizarrely argued that this album saw the band abandoning interest in rhythm but, to these ears at least, it’s a considerably more percussive work than its predecessor.
21. Leonard Cohen - Live in London (Columbia)
This document of the first of Leonard Cohen’s O2 arena shows from last year is a beautiful time capsule, forever preserving the clear triumph of his comeback to the stage. Financial motivations must now be fulfilled, but the tour continues on, and has even featured some new material that we can only hope Cohen plans to record as soon as possible. This is of course valuable for the remarkable songs, played with consummate taste and depth by an extraordinary band. These intimate performances made the enormodomes he had managed to sell out feel like modest arthouse cinemas. It is also invaluable for the wit and wisdom Cohen dispenses, finally putting paid to the myth that he is simply a dour miserabilist.
20. Mark Lockheart - In Deep (Edition)
Mark Lockheart is an established musician who deserves a good deal more recognition. Whilst he is noted for his role in Polar Bear, he’s actually part of a generation of jazz musicians that go back to Loose Tubes – Chris Batchelor, Django Bates, Iain Ballamy and Tim Whitehead also among them. His own music is sophisticated, but also open to new ideas, and on ‘In Deep’ he has surrounded himself with a balanced band of propulsive youngsters and the insight of more mature musicians such as the great pianist Liam Noble. The result is a set of both grace and danger, as ruminative as it is fiery.
19. The Necks - Silverwater (RER)
Australia's great improvisers stretch out here which, for them, means a single piece of nearly seventy minutes in duration. For some, its repetitive cycles and patient unfolding might be too great a test of will. Yet its meticulous layering, immersive sound effects and the sheer amount of music they manage to draw from a four note bassline is quite remarkable. It's more about atmosphere than emotion and, as such, is perhaps better aligned with ambient music than with jazz. The piece's second half has unpredictable and unexpected tensions.
18. Micachu and the Shapes – Jewellery (Rough Trade)
The unpolished, very dirty sound of the Shapes is probably not to everyone’s tastes, but there’s little doubt that Mica Levi is a major new British talent. Formally trained in composition at the Guildhall school of music, she has combined this with her alter ego as Micachu, a lo-fi artist writing searingly honest, rough songs characterised by angular, staccato rhythms and a surly confidence.
17. Alasdair Roberts – Spoils (Drag City)
Seemingly in tandem with his mentor Will Oldham, the unshakeably consistent Roberts seems to be discovering the possibilities in a looser, freer form of folk music. Whilst ‘Spoils’ still demonstrates great respect for form, it develops the content in increasingly spidery and inventive ways, with some superb playing from Roberts’ accompanying musicians. With one foot firmly in the Scottish folk tradition and the other marching firmly forward, he is creating compelling, timeless music.
16. Oumou Sangare – Seya (World Circuit)
The return of one of the most positive and life affirming voices in Mali was a cause for celebration, and the great comeback album ‘Seya’ did not disappoint. Sangare has long been a strident advocate of women’s rights and has bravely used her music to challenge conventional attitudes in her society. Whilst we can’t understand her lyrics here, there’s a stridence and confidence in the music and in the vocal phrasing that suggests righteousness, in the best possible sense.
15. Jim O’Rourke – The Visitor (Drag City)
Whilst Jim O’Rourke’s avant garde credentials are frequently overstated (his output demonstrates that he’s at least as much of a traditionalist and the more far out material has generally been as a result of collaboration), this certainly came as something of a curveball. His two previous albums had been largely song-based, but ‘The Visitor’ presents one single, unbroken 37 minute piece of music. On the surface, tt’s hardly something designed for the ADD-afflicted mobile and internet generation. On closer inspection though, the story is somewhat different. ‘The Visitor’ is packed with ideas, and flits whimsically between textures and moods. It could have been easily separated into shorter pieces, but O’Rourke is clearly playing some sort of perverse game by stringing it all together. Overall, it’s a demonstration of O’Rourke’s musicianship. He plays all instruments himself, his guitar playing alone an endless source of variety and inspiration.
14. Branford Marsalis Quartet – Metamorphosen (Marsalis Music)
The recent departure of Jeff ‘Tain’ Watts has finally punctured what was one of the longest serving stable ensembles in the jazz world. Indeed, this wonderful album demonstrates not only the group’s consistently high standard, but also Marsalis’ commitment to democratically functioning groups. All four members contribute compositions, which veer between the lyrical and the fiercely intense and the dynamic within the group is not merely well-rehearsed but positively alchemical.
13. Kronos Quartet – Floodplain (Nonesuch)
Kronos continue to demonstrate their openness to new possibilities and contemporary settings with this magisterial set of music, both new and traditional, from the flood plains of the Middle East. It’s a timely reminder that much of this area, now a stark ideological battleground, was once the cradle of human civilisation.
12. Bonnie 'Prince' Billy – Beware (Domino)
Am I the only person to think this is comfortably Will Oldham’s best since ‘I See A Darkness’? Maybe ‘The Letting Go’ was braver and more off the beaten track, but there’s a consideration with feel and arrangement here which adds a fresh dimension to Oldham’s familiar style. Similarly, the bold colours provided by the backing vocalists and what seems to be a genuine playfulness in some of the lyrics mean that it isn’t all darkness by any means. The concert he played in London in support of this record was also loose and liberated, with a sense of spontaneity too often absent from song-based music.
11. Tara Jane O' Neil - A Ways Away (K)
Tara Jane O’Neill’s haunting drone-folk reached what might be an apotheosis on this stark and intense but also strangely comforting album. The combination of austerity and warmth in her work makes for an original and bewitching sound and it’s great to uncover another artist looking to extend the possibilities of what can be done with the enduring form of the song.
10. Vijay Iyer Trio – Historicity (ACT)
I’m becoming increasingly fascinated by Vijay Iyer and his somewhat mind-blowing scientific approach to music. He is preoccupied with patterns, structures and the complicated rhythmic cycles he has inherited both from his Indian background and his enthusiasm for African music. His recent article on the Fibonacci sequence in music, published in The Guardian, opened new doors of perception to musical approaches very different from my own. ‘Historicity’’ expands on many of his familiar themes and ideas, and has been unfairly criticised in some quarters for featuring interpretations of both his own earlier work and of the work of others. The material drawn from the pop world provides some of the freshest revelations, given Iyer’s thrilling takes on Stevie Wonder’s ‘Big Brother’ and MIA’s ‘Galang’. On the latter he does indeed make a successful attempt to transcribe the contours of MIA’s half-sung rap. As far as repeating himself is concerned, constant revision, with the light of fresh inspiration, is a crucial part of the jazz tradition. On this evidence, Iyer is entirely right to suggest that in order to move forwards, sometimes you have to look back.
09. Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca (Domino)
'Bitte Orca' doesn't quite have the same shock of the new that came with both 'The Getty Address' and the remarkable 'Rise Above' but it does do a very successful job in recalibrating Dave Longstreth's flighty, highly composed avant-rock music for a wider audience. Retained are the fearless, fearsomely controlled dynamics and unpredictable twists and turned - new is the cleaner, crisper sound. It feels like more of a group effort too, with Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian offering understated, convincingly honest vocal contributions. In 'Stillness is the Move', it even produced something approaching an anthem.
08. Memory Tapes - Seek Magic (Something In Construction)
The combination of nostalgia and melacholy has made this something of a personal favourite for me in the final quarter of the year. Philadelphia's Davye Hawk is certainly a talent to watch, someone with remarkable attention to detail - these songs are as much sound designs as they are melodic and rhythmic statements. 'Seek Magic' borrows a sense of abandon and discovery from club music, but couples it with a powerful sense of memory and imagination.
07. Staff Benda Bilili - Tres Tres Fort (Crammed)
This band of mostly disabled street musicians from Kinshasa have been a major sensation this year, their invigorating, rumba-infused music coming with jubilation and triumph. Clearly influenced by some of the icons of Congolese music (most particularly Franco), the band has taken this sound further and developed a party spirit all of its own, a sound representative of triump in the face of adversity, of overcoming your limitations.
06. Grizzly Bear - Veckatimest (Warp)
After some intense internet hype, the eventual release of 'Veckatimest' proved something of a muted anticlimax. Reviews were mainly positive, but hardly hyperbolic or ecstatic, and a small chorus of naysayers even gathered against it. I wonder if the album's compositional structure, coherent mood and abundant subtleties have blinded people to its quality. I suspect this is as sophisticated a record as has been made by a rock band in recent years, superbly atmospheric, meticulous in its construction, combining a shimmering beauty with an underlying sense of menace and risk.
05. Joshua Redman - Compass (Nonesuch)
Initially intending to continue the exploration of the piano-less trio format already captured on 'Back East', Redman ended up closer to an Ornette Coleman soundworld on some of these tracks, employing two drummers and two bassists. The group's strong sense of implied harmony dominates the proceedings, although on this occasion there is a fluidity and spontaneous inspiration that elevates this to the status of being Redman's most daring and complete album to date.
04. Sweet Billy Pilgrim - Twice Born Men (Samadhi Sound)
In spite of (or perhaps because of?) its Mercury nomination, this beautifully constructed, sophisticated and emotionally rewarding album has been curiously absent from most of the major year-end lists. This is a deeply intelligent work, marrying evocative words with elegant arrangements characterised by aspiration and ambition. Understandably, this has been compared with the similarly paced work of Elbow - but, whilst it has a similar warmth and compassion, it foregoes that band's predilection for terrace anthems in favour of a graceful weightlessness. Sweet Billy Pilgrim have created their own mysterious landscape - both dangerous and immersive.
03. Keith Jarrett - Testament: Paris/London (ECM)
Keith Jarrett certainly makes the most from his limited public appearances these days, releasing his two rapturously received European solo concerts from late last year across three CDs for maximum return. It's fortuitous then that these performances were such a personal artistic triumph too, capturing the preoccupations, influences and expressions of an entire career in a series of miniature epic improvisations that demonstrated Jarrett's open-minded philisophy and profound feeling as well as his undoubted technical flair. Here are pieces that veer from the lushly romantic to the surprisingly confronational, all delivered with unflinching commitment and passion. Music created in fleeting moments with a powerful lasting value.
02. Steve Lehman Octet - Travail, Transformation and Flow (Pi)
Combining his interests in music technology, asymmetrical metre and the methodology of 'spectralist' composers, Steve Lehman managed to craft the year's most viscerally exciting jazz album. This music's combination of precision and momentum, effortlessly both controlled and informed by Tyshawn Sorey's drumming, seemed bewildering on first listen but eventually revealed a thrilling and dynamic core. The rigorous harmonic and structural constraints provide the lines – reading between them illuminates a world of intuitive interaction and freedom.
01. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion (Domino)
Animal Collective have slipped insidiously into the mainstream this year, a significant triumph given how little, if anything, they have compromised. Their customary sense of sun-drenched melody has now been pushed into the foreground, with the love of static and feedback replaced by some less interventionist and more complementary noise. 'Merriweather', more than anything a conventional rock band could concoct, feels inspired by the great communal experiences of house and rave music - an expression of radiant and transcendent joy. It combines a primitive urgency with a characteristic sophistication and ambition in its construction. The array of sounds and effects deliver a sensory assault, albeit one that seems positively to invite our submission. It might not be a particularly distinctive or imaginative choice to top this list - but it is the album I've listened to and enjoyed most this year.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Bubbling Under
This has been a very good year for music. Perhaps there are less big classic albums being made these days, but there's certainly a plethora of diverse, challenging and entertaining music across the genre spectrum, to which access has been greatly improved thanks to a greater variety of media. This year, Spotify has greatly improved my listening, and I haven't had to buy all the albums in my end of year list. I'm still working on the final list - but to whet your appetites, here are some albums from 2009 that I've liked to varying degrees, but which haven't made the list:
Antony and the Johnsons - The Crying Light
Doves - Kingdom of Rust
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz
Tord Gustavsen Ensemble - Restored, Returned
Elvis Costello - Secret, Profane and Sugarcane
AC Newman - Get Guilty
The Low Anthem - Oh My God Charlie Darwin
Erin McKeown - Hundreds Of Lions
J Tillman - A Year In The Kingdom
Trembling Bells - Carbeth
Bob Dylan - Together Through Life (but please, let's be honest, this is a pedestrian album by Dylan's standards).
The Handsome Family - Honey Moon
Bat For Lashes - Two Suns
Broken Family Band - Please and Thank You
The Dodos - Time To Die
Immaculate Machine - High on Jackson Hill
Decemberists - Hazards of Love
Marianne Faithful - Easy Come Easy Go
Jan Garbarek - Dresden
Depeche Mode - Sounds of the Universe
Lou Barlow - Goodnight Unknown
Antony and the Johnsons - The Crying Light
Doves - Kingdom of Rust
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz
Tord Gustavsen Ensemble - Restored, Returned
Elvis Costello - Secret, Profane and Sugarcane
AC Newman - Get Guilty
The Low Anthem - Oh My God Charlie Darwin
Erin McKeown - Hundreds Of Lions
J Tillman - A Year In The Kingdom
Trembling Bells - Carbeth
Bob Dylan - Together Through Life (but please, let's be honest, this is a pedestrian album by Dylan's standards).
The Handsome Family - Honey Moon
Bat For Lashes - Two Suns
Broken Family Band - Please and Thank You
The Dodos - Time To Die
Immaculate Machine - High on Jackson Hill
Decemberists - Hazards of Love
Marianne Faithful - Easy Come Easy Go
Jan Garbarek - Dresden
Depeche Mode - Sounds of the Universe
Lou Barlow - Goodnight Unknown
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
A Dream of Summer
Memory Tapes - Seek Magic (Something in Construction)
Here is a hazy, warm and blissful pop album in which to drown happily. Davye Hawk is a Philadelphia bedroom producer who has been releasing singles under the monikers Memory Cassette and Weird Tapes. As the new name suggests, Memory Tapes is an effort to combine the preoccupations of his former outfits. The result is a splendid hybrid fusing reflective melancholia with the urgency of disco and house music.
There are hints of New Order, Arthur Russell (most noticeably the facet of Russell preoccupied with dance music and hip hop compiled on ‘Calling Out of Context’) and perhaps even of more contemporary synaesthetic groups such as Animal Collective. Yet there’s also something singular about this project – particularly in the way the dreamy vocal harmonies are subsumed into the overall sound so effectively.
There’s a fuzzy, nostalgic glow to the opening trio of tracks that hints at the capacity of memory to provide a safety net or a path of escape from more immediate concerns. Even when the obscured lyric might be hinting at a form of desperation, the abiding musical sensation is one of lush, sensory beauty and comfort.
‘Seek Magic’ is therefore a collection of music that pushes and pulls in different emotional directions. Its more than possible to enjoy its moments of squelchy funk as pure bolts of joy, but beneath them is a keen awareness of our many changing moods. This is perhaps best captured on the seven minute ‘Stop Talking’, which captures a strong duality between sugar rush and an undercurrent of regret.
Hawk has a wonderful ability for finding simple but striking melodies and placing them against a delicately warped array of synthesisers and found sounds. ‘Plain Material’ almost buries its unnervingly pretty mellotron line beyond walls of fuzzy guitars and an insistent rhythmic urgency.
The closing ‘Run Out’, the slowest and gentlest piece here, suggests that the good times might be gone, but ‘Seek Magic’ at least makes a valiant and noble attempt to revive them. It’s a curious combination of melancholy and nostalgia on one hand, and unashamed joie de vivre on the other. This is a beautiful summer dream in musical form.
Here is a hazy, warm and blissful pop album in which to drown happily. Davye Hawk is a Philadelphia bedroom producer who has been releasing singles under the monikers Memory Cassette and Weird Tapes. As the new name suggests, Memory Tapes is an effort to combine the preoccupations of his former outfits. The result is a splendid hybrid fusing reflective melancholia with the urgency of disco and house music.
There are hints of New Order, Arthur Russell (most noticeably the facet of Russell preoccupied with dance music and hip hop compiled on ‘Calling Out of Context’) and perhaps even of more contemporary synaesthetic groups such as Animal Collective. Yet there’s also something singular about this project – particularly in the way the dreamy vocal harmonies are subsumed into the overall sound so effectively.
There’s a fuzzy, nostalgic glow to the opening trio of tracks that hints at the capacity of memory to provide a safety net or a path of escape from more immediate concerns. Even when the obscured lyric might be hinting at a form of desperation, the abiding musical sensation is one of lush, sensory beauty and comfort.
‘Seek Magic’ is therefore a collection of music that pushes and pulls in different emotional directions. Its more than possible to enjoy its moments of squelchy funk as pure bolts of joy, but beneath them is a keen awareness of our many changing moods. This is perhaps best captured on the seven minute ‘Stop Talking’, which captures a strong duality between sugar rush and an undercurrent of regret.
Hawk has a wonderful ability for finding simple but striking melodies and placing them against a delicately warped array of synthesisers and found sounds. ‘Plain Material’ almost buries its unnervingly pretty mellotron line beyond walls of fuzzy guitars and an insistent rhythmic urgency.
The closing ‘Run Out’, the slowest and gentlest piece here, suggests that the good times might be gone, but ‘Seek Magic’ at least makes a valiant and noble attempt to revive them. It’s a curious combination of melancholy and nostalgia on one hand, and unashamed joie de vivre on the other. This is a beautiful summer dream in musical form.
Monday, November 23, 2009
London Jazz Festival 2009
London Jazz Festival Diary 2009
Respecting the Masters
Saturday 14th November
Sonny Rollins/Liam Noble Trio – Barbican Centre
Getting things off to a fabulous start, the opening weekend of the London Jazz Festival brought a performance to treasure from one of the last surviving titans of the American jazz tradition. Rollins still performs with impressive frequency for someone on the cusp of turning 80, but there’s always the feeling that every visit to London could be his last.
Like Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen in the world of pop and rock, Sonny Rollins is such an icon that to pair him with a support act would seem both unnecessary and insensitive. Luckily, the festival organisers have the perfect answer with their series of free gigs. Liam Noble’s Dave Brubeck-inspired trio provided the perfect complement to hearing a true legend perform. Noble is a hugely gifted pianist capable of vivid flights of melodic invention who also has a radical and distinctive harmonic sensibility. His handling of Brubeck compositions, some of which (‘Take 5’, ‘Blue Rondo a la Turk’, ‘In Your Own Sweet Way’) are among the most familiar in the jazz repertoire, is respectful without being overly reverential. He uses Brubeck’s themes as a springboard for original and intelligent extemporisation.
His humorous description of one of the group’s more abstract moments as being ‘like kids messing in a sandpit’ somehow succeeded in being both self-deprecating and slightly truthful. There was a wonderful innocence and naivety to Noble’s rapid flow of ideas but also a palpable artistry in their expression. The empathetic playing of bassist Dave Whitford and drummer Dave Wickins ably supported this imaginative flow of ideas. Refreshingly, this ensemble is a long way from the ‘power trio’ setup that now threatens to become a cliché. Yet it’s also far from the delicate, near-silent trios on the ECM label. Wickins’ lithe and expressive drumming is unobtrusive but highly creative. The result is a dynamic, flexible unit, taking inspiration from a master and generating something new and exciting from it.
Of course, there was a time when every Sonny Rollins gig must have been audacious, imaginative and creatively challenging at the highest possible level. This was not one of those performances. In later life, Rollins has developed his own comfort zone, playing similar sets with a generous helping of heavily stated, crowd-pleasing calypso rhythms.
He ambled onstage uncomfortably, looking hunched and as frail as one might reasonably expect an 80-year old to appear. Yet from the first notes it became clear he still had the energy and air in his lungs to produce a tough, full bodied sound from his saxophone. His accompanying musicians, whilst undoubtedly impressive (especially drummer Kobie Watkins), mostly offered adaptable and willing support for his unpredictable bursts and flurries. For a while, the rhythm section swung beautifully, before unleashing toe-tapping urgency and palpable joy.
The more rigorous side of jazz performance may now be lost to Rollins. He played tentatively over his musicians’ solos, as if he was struggling to keep his place, and towards the end he exploded in an unstoppable, barnstorming tirade of sound, delivered directly into the faces of people in the front row. This felt like a relentless, highly energised rock n’ roll take on jazz, something akin to watching James Brown or The Rolling Stones. What it lacked in formal precision and sophistication, it compensated for in sheer enthusiasm and excitement.
Two Sides of the Musical Coin
Vijay Iyer + Leszek Mozder and Lars Danielsson – Purcell Room, Sunday 15th November
This could be one of the most challenging pieces of concert programming in the entire festival week. For the headline act, the festival brought over from America Vijay Iyer, a remarkable pianist with a PhD in physics and an interest in cultural history, justly lauded for his fiendish rhythmic complexity. Mostly working with a quartet or, more recently, a wonderfully intense trio, on this occasion Iyer performed solo piano. Completing the double bill were the duo of Polish pianist Leszek Mozder and double bassist Lars Danielsson. By way of contrast with Iyer, these musicians had a distinctly European sensibility, seemingly absorbed more in the traditions of classical and European folk music than with the American standard repertoire.
In Mozder and Danielsson, the festival has introduced some previously unfamiliar but supremely able musicians. They played with subtlety and tremendous technical facility but more importantly with a synergy that proved entirely unflinching. Not even some technical glitches could disturb their refined delicacy or the gleeful precision of their rapid unison phrasing. Whilst I’m sometimes suspicious of the overuse of effects pedals, hearing electronic effects applied to the acoustic bass produced surprisingly rich results – with the additional chorus basking the room in a warm aural embrace.
All this impressed the audience greatly, who offered them rousing applause for which they won a surprise encore. In spite of this, there seemed, to these ears, to be something missing. Without wanting to get drawn into a tedious debate over what, precisely, might constitute ‘jazz’, it might at least be uncontroversial to suggest that jazz is a music that requires both tension and release. Dissonance was almost entirely absent and the occasional selections of foreign notes seemed to lack conviction. This music too often seemed firmly rooted harmonically, with a combination of playfulness and serenity that became saccharine and repetitive over the course of a whole set. With his dark clothes, long hair and cross around his neck, Mozder perhaps looked better suited to being in a heavy metal band. He announced the final piece as being called ‘Suffering’ with no sense of irony.
After the interval, Vijay Iyer stated his intent immediately and with percussive attack. The opening ‘Testing’ featured extravagant rhythmic gestures and his trademark complex cyclical structures. He continued with a confounding take on the standard ‘I’m All Smiles’, at once playful and measured. Perhaps some audience members were expecting more of the duo’s benign calm. The minor exodus from the venue at least indicated some frustration or confusion in the ranks of the audience.
Yet whilst Iyer is noted for his intellectual approach to composition and also for his intricacy, he usually couples these characteristics with a strong melodic sense. At his best, he employs all his technique in the purpose of creating a forceful emotional impact. His boyish appearance belies a mature and nuanced musicianship. Sometimes the effect of his music is visceral and unsettling, but it would be unfair to brandish him as alienating or impenetrable, however fearless and radical his ideas are on pieces such as ‘Autoscopy’.
Perhaps this would have been made clearer to those departing audience members had they stayed to hear Iyer joined by Talvin Singh, playing Tablas with fluency and elegance, on a clever and highly physical reworking of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Big Brother’. Even more impressive was Iyer’s surprise choice of encore – an interpretation of Michael Jackson’s ‘Human Nature’ that coupled asymmetrical phrasing with a previously disguised lyricism. He also demonstrated his knowledge of the jazz tradition with a spirited and sincere rendition of Duke Ellington’s ‘Black and Tan Fantasy’. His latest trio album ‘Historicity’ contains new versions of previously recorded originals, brand new compositions and a wide range of interpretations. Iyer now seems to be joining those musicians determined to build a new standard repertoire, an important move that could really help widen the audience to music too often mistakenly viewed as elitist or inaccessible.
For all this concert’s scope and imagination, it also seemed a little tentative at times. It’s possibly unfair speculation, but I wonder whether Iyer is as suited to the solo piano setting as Keith Jarrett or Stefano Bollani. Jarrett always has a massive range of emotion and mood within his reach, from lush romanticism to angular expressions of doubt or loss. He always plays with absolute conviction and confidence. Iyer’s ideas sometimes didn’t quite seem to reach full sustained flourish. Part of the joy of his recorded repertoire so far has been the sheer wonder in hearing his ensembles keep pace with his breathtaking demands.
There can be little doubt though that Iyer is one of a clutch of music taking American jazz to new places, fusing it with influences drawn from his heritage and wider framework of interest. He has a compelling story to tell.
When Whispers are Wrong or Turning Disappointment Into Triumph
Hans Koller Band
The Oxford, Kentish Town – Monday 16th November
A sizeable audience created a rather sweaty atmosphere upstairs at The Oxford, many appearing following rumours (from credible sources) that Bill Frisell would be sitting in with Hans Koller’s group. Sadly, an inscrutable world of political intrigue and contractual issues prevented that from happening. To his great credit, Koller explained the situation, and addressed the disappointment of those hoping to see a legend in such an intimate setting. Again to his credit, Koller’s lively music hopefully enabled those people to go away nonetheless satisfied.
Koller’s arrangements are closer to the lush orchestrations of Mike Gibbs than the tumbling, turbulent energy of Dave Holland’s big band works. Some contrasts in improvising styles amongst the players made for an engaging, unpredictable performance – from the bright, singing lines of Nick Smart to the unassuming but effortlessly intelligent phrasing of Julian Siegel. Koller himself made for a warm and humble presence.
Drummer Jeff Williams and bassist Dave Whitford provided steady support, although Williams proved markedly less interventionist than Gene Calderazzo (who played on Koller’s ‘London Ear’ big band recording). Whilst the performance occasionally lacked a sense of danger or risk, there was plenty of space for the full sonorous detail of Koller’s arrangements to shine.
The Quirky and Quixotic
Carla Bley and The Lost Chords/Julian Siegel Trio
Tuesday 17th November – Queen Elizabeth Hall
This concert seems to have been one of the most rapturously received of the festival, with the Telegraph rather uncritically claiming that Bley’s performance was ‘beyond praise’. Bley’s injection of irony and humour into her music has long made her one of the most distinctive and refreshing jazz auteurs.
Actually, in the event, I was perhaps more impressed with Julian Siegel’s quite wonderful trans-Atlantic trio with Greg Cohen and Joey Baron. Siegel’s themes are simultaneously both simple and complex. He plays inventively with a restricted complement of notes – twisting rhythm and phrasing with playful and stimulating results. His musical personality is restrained and unpretentious, but his technique and imagination are tremendous.
Baron has long been one of my favourite drummers on recordings, so I was glad to finally get the opportunity to see him live. Located centre stage, his imposing charisma, utter commitment to the music and enthusiastic interactions almost threatened to distract attention from his bandleader. Luckily, though, he is a drummer that does not feel the need to fill every space (contrasting hugely with performances from Jack De Johnette and Eric Harland later in the week). His solo patiently and carefully develops musical ideas, and his bizarre disintegrating drumsticks raise a few bemused reactions in the audience. Speaking to Baron in the interval, I discover these sticks were made from rattan and, as a result, ‘decompose’ on impact, but ‘make a really interesting sound in the process’. Baron is as interested in the variety of sounds he can draw from the drum kit as he is in rhythm and phrasing.
Although Carla Bley, painfully thin, looked both physically and emotionally vulnerable, she began her set in customarily comedic mode. Explaining that she would begin with a suite based on ‘Three Blind Mice’, she played the nursery rhyme’s basic melody, claiming we would hear those notes but also ‘many more’. She then proceeded to exclaim – ‘I feel like Wynton Marsalis up here!’ This, perhaps a dig at Marsalis’ tendency to be a self-elected educator and evangelist for the jazz tradition, raised a predictable cheer from her fans.
This may have been the most demanding performance of the entire festival, bookended by two long suites (the aforementioned ‘Three Blind Mice’ and the suite that gives the group its name). These lengthy, highly composed works were full of mysterious twists and turns and bold melodic and harmonic developments. Between them, the band performed brighter, more immediate pieces such as the Lee Morgan-inspired ‘Sidewinders in Paradise’.
The prevailing temperament throughout though is one of subtlety and restraint, which sometimes threatens to conceal Bley’s characteristic humour. Her improvising is delicate and tentative, and sometimes her phrases seem to end too early, without reaching a natural point of resolution. Occasionally, the band echo her uncertainty – there was a point when Billy Drummond and Steve Swallow were feeling beat one of the bar in different places for a long and noticeable amount of time before recapturing the delicate groove. Swallow has, however, retained his graceful elegance on his five string electro-acoustic bass and his mastery of the upper register of his instrument was in plentiful display.
My review of John Surman is on The Write Stuff section of the Jazzwise magazine website.
Expanding the Vernacular
Stefano Bollani and Enrico Rava
Thursday 19th November - King’s Place
For Stefano Bollani, jazz and comedy are closely connected. This makes the experience of watching Bollani play live markedly different from that of listening to his recordings. His work is mostly refined, elegant and expressive, his collaborations with trumpeter and mentor Enrico Rava being a particular highlight. Rava is the special guest at this, the second of Bollani's four night residency at King's Place, but anyone going in having never seen Bollani before could hardly have expected such merriment and mirth.
Bollani started proceedings with his new trio, featuring Danish musicians Jesper Bodilsen on bass and Morten Lund on drums. Even at this early stage in proceedings, the group made it clear that they intended to be more kinetic and driving than on record. Lund's ferocious, all-frills drumming provided much of the momentum, with Bollani spurring him on with his extraordinary technique at the piano. Veering between fast runs, percussive block chords and expansive lines traversing the full breadth of the instrument, Bollani demonstrated precisely why he is so highly praised. He kicked his left leg out and, when particularly energised, even played standing up.
The apperance of Rava added an extra dimension. The relationship between Bollani and Rava is jovial and full of warmth, and they traded jokes in Italian and English. There was a particularly hilarious discussion about Stan Getz living in London as an 'amateur archaeologist' - 'so that's why jazz musicians say I dig it', Bollani wisecracked.
There seemed to be a spontaneous quality to much of the performance, with debates over who would start a particular piece and some simple but clear gesturing to mark out structures. In addition to this, the stating and inventive exposition of recognisable quotes (including tunes as well-worn as ‘The Surrey with the Fringe on Top’) played a major role in the performance, Bollani and Rava seemingly playing elaborate games with each other. Rava's control of sound is breathtaking, both in terms of his microphone technique (he was happy to play off-mic when the musical texture demanded it) and in the range of tones he can produce. The second set proved particularly entertaining, with Bollani and Rava engaging in a frantic duel, and with the memorable encore of 'Bandeleros' even allowing for some audience participation.
How refreshing it is to see jazz musicians at the highest level of artistry working to make a performance witty and joyous. After all, what could be more inherently ridiculous then 4 people on a stage making it up as they go along?
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
Troyka – Clore Ballroom Freestage, Royal Festival Hall
Overtone Quartet/Clarinet Council – Queen Elizabeth Hall
Friday 20th November
I really want to like Troyka a whole lot more than I actually do. On an individual basis, the group includes my favourite musicians currently operating on the London scene. Chris Montague is a guitarist with not just a mastery of electronic effects, but also a nimble agility around the fretboard and an apparent love for the dusty resonance of Bill Frisell. Kit Downes is frantically justifying all the hyperbole used in praise of him, playing in a wide variety of contexts and displaying both prodigious technique and sensitive musicality. His trio with Calum Gourlay and James Maddren has made some involving, beautiful music. Josh Blackmore is the mad scientist of the drums, although I prefer it when his supreme articulation is deployed with greater subtlety in Tom Cawley’s Curios.
I’m just not yet sure that there’s a wider concept, purpose or direction behind their particular brand of jazz-rock fusion. Time Out’s supposedly positive description of them as ‘King Crimson for the iPod generation’ actually encapsulates all their limitations. There’s fearsome control, rhythmic security and technique but a quickfire onslaught of ideas that suggests a severe case of attention deficit syndrome. The results are often briefly exciting, but alienating and austere over time. I enjoyed it when they allowed time to develop their ideas, particularly with the unfamiliar sound of Josh Blackmore on brushes on the superb new composition ‘Rest’ and a desert take on Nirvana’s ‘Heart Shaped Box’. Too often though, the intricate, asymmetrical grooves too rapidly disintegrate into murk and fog.
If the paring of Vijay Iyer with Leszek Mozder and Lars Danielsson seemed uncomfortable, this was nothing compared with the double bill of Dave Holland’s new supergroup with David Jean-Baptiste’s ‘Clarinet Council’. A lot of people I spoke to in the interval reacted angrily against this opening act. It’s not hard to see why – chamber jazz is an uncomfortable format anyway, even more so with an unconventional quartet of variations of the same instrument. There’s probably an argument that the humble clarinet deserves some sort of regeneration, but I’m not sure Jean-Baptiste’s project is going to achieve it. This was jovial and endearing to some extent, but rhythmically insecure, overly polite and ultimately, better suited to a corporate function.
Overtone were every bit the powerhouse group you’d expect them to be. New compositions from every member of the group, including extraordinary drummer Eric Harland, proved ambitious and sophisticated, although Holland’s music continues to stick doggedly to his winning formula. The audacity and quality of interaction in the ensemble was at the highest level, with Holland’s relaxed, super-secure basslines enabling Harland to stretch and contract the time feel with consummate ease.
Some sound problems undermined my enjoyment slightly. Jason Moran’s improvising may arguably have been the most original and attacking in the group, but both the acoustic and Rhodes pianos could have done with a brighter sound and more attack. Others in the audience voiced their frustration at not being able to hear Chris Potter’s saxophones.
Potter seemed to have adapted his playing to suit this new environment – less flighty and verbose in his language than in his own groups. Tremendous power remains the basis for his full sound – but here he demonstrated his versatility and restraint. The memoral themes – both lyrical and sprightly, lingered in my mind after the gig’s conclusion, even if Eric Harland’s outrageous, lengthy drum solo threatened to induce a panic attack.
Meditation and Reflection
Tord Gustavsen Ensemble/Andrew McCormack and Jason Yarde
Queen Elizabeth Hall, Saturday 21st November
The preceding days of this superb festival had been heavy on intensity, pace, drive, humour and entertainment. They had been relatively short on reflection and contemplation. This excellent concert went some distance in redressing the balance. The opening duo set from Andrew McCormack and Jason Yarde was both inspired and playful, with McCormack’s crisp and clean right hand beautifully supported by his busy, conversational left hand. He plays the piano as if one hand is conversing with the other, a style that proved particularly beneficial to the duo setting. The duo had a brilliant way with developing simple ideas – as in one piece with a recurring melodic and rhythmic motif subjected to all manner of imaginative harmonic extensions.
I’ve not yet been completely comfortable with Tord Gustavsen’s latest album release but this concert made me glad that I’ve held fire writing about it. I shall return to it very soon. The addition of Tore Brunborg on saxophones and replacement of bassist Harald Johnsen with Mats Eilertsen does not seem to have disturbed the finely tuned equilibrium of the core trio too much. Indeed, Brunborg’s typically Nordic sound actually serves to have enhanced the group’s sensitive dynamic rather than punctured it.
Gustavsen described more than one of his pieces as ‘prayers’ and, indeed, the likes of ‘Tears Transforming’ and ‘Draw Near’ had a spiritual, becalming, perhaps even sacred quality. Singer Kristin Asbjornsen was absent, so the group could only tackle a limited amount of the new material. Still, this provided an opportunity for the group to expand a little beyond its spacious, quiet comfort zone, with a further hint of the energy and fervour of gospel, something that complemented rather than competed with Gustavsen’s spiritual preoccupations. This group’s music is defiantly simple rather than simplistic, and the audience responded to this with jubilant enthusiasm.
Respecting the Masters
Saturday 14th November
Sonny Rollins/Liam Noble Trio – Barbican Centre
Getting things off to a fabulous start, the opening weekend of the London Jazz Festival brought a performance to treasure from one of the last surviving titans of the American jazz tradition. Rollins still performs with impressive frequency for someone on the cusp of turning 80, but there’s always the feeling that every visit to London could be his last.
Like Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen in the world of pop and rock, Sonny Rollins is such an icon that to pair him with a support act would seem both unnecessary and insensitive. Luckily, the festival organisers have the perfect answer with their series of free gigs. Liam Noble’s Dave Brubeck-inspired trio provided the perfect complement to hearing a true legend perform. Noble is a hugely gifted pianist capable of vivid flights of melodic invention who also has a radical and distinctive harmonic sensibility. His handling of Brubeck compositions, some of which (‘Take 5’, ‘Blue Rondo a la Turk’, ‘In Your Own Sweet Way’) are among the most familiar in the jazz repertoire, is respectful without being overly reverential. He uses Brubeck’s themes as a springboard for original and intelligent extemporisation.
His humorous description of one of the group’s more abstract moments as being ‘like kids messing in a sandpit’ somehow succeeded in being both self-deprecating and slightly truthful. There was a wonderful innocence and naivety to Noble’s rapid flow of ideas but also a palpable artistry in their expression. The empathetic playing of bassist Dave Whitford and drummer Dave Wickins ably supported this imaginative flow of ideas. Refreshingly, this ensemble is a long way from the ‘power trio’ setup that now threatens to become a cliché. Yet it’s also far from the delicate, near-silent trios on the ECM label. Wickins’ lithe and expressive drumming is unobtrusive but highly creative. The result is a dynamic, flexible unit, taking inspiration from a master and generating something new and exciting from it.
Of course, there was a time when every Sonny Rollins gig must have been audacious, imaginative and creatively challenging at the highest possible level. This was not one of those performances. In later life, Rollins has developed his own comfort zone, playing similar sets with a generous helping of heavily stated, crowd-pleasing calypso rhythms.
He ambled onstage uncomfortably, looking hunched and as frail as one might reasonably expect an 80-year old to appear. Yet from the first notes it became clear he still had the energy and air in his lungs to produce a tough, full bodied sound from his saxophone. His accompanying musicians, whilst undoubtedly impressive (especially drummer Kobie Watkins), mostly offered adaptable and willing support for his unpredictable bursts and flurries. For a while, the rhythm section swung beautifully, before unleashing toe-tapping urgency and palpable joy.
The more rigorous side of jazz performance may now be lost to Rollins. He played tentatively over his musicians’ solos, as if he was struggling to keep his place, and towards the end he exploded in an unstoppable, barnstorming tirade of sound, delivered directly into the faces of people in the front row. This felt like a relentless, highly energised rock n’ roll take on jazz, something akin to watching James Brown or The Rolling Stones. What it lacked in formal precision and sophistication, it compensated for in sheer enthusiasm and excitement.
Two Sides of the Musical Coin
Vijay Iyer + Leszek Mozder and Lars Danielsson – Purcell Room, Sunday 15th November
This could be one of the most challenging pieces of concert programming in the entire festival week. For the headline act, the festival brought over from America Vijay Iyer, a remarkable pianist with a PhD in physics and an interest in cultural history, justly lauded for his fiendish rhythmic complexity. Mostly working with a quartet or, more recently, a wonderfully intense trio, on this occasion Iyer performed solo piano. Completing the double bill were the duo of Polish pianist Leszek Mozder and double bassist Lars Danielsson. By way of contrast with Iyer, these musicians had a distinctly European sensibility, seemingly absorbed more in the traditions of classical and European folk music than with the American standard repertoire.
In Mozder and Danielsson, the festival has introduced some previously unfamiliar but supremely able musicians. They played with subtlety and tremendous technical facility but more importantly with a synergy that proved entirely unflinching. Not even some technical glitches could disturb their refined delicacy or the gleeful precision of their rapid unison phrasing. Whilst I’m sometimes suspicious of the overuse of effects pedals, hearing electronic effects applied to the acoustic bass produced surprisingly rich results – with the additional chorus basking the room in a warm aural embrace.
All this impressed the audience greatly, who offered them rousing applause for which they won a surprise encore. In spite of this, there seemed, to these ears, to be something missing. Without wanting to get drawn into a tedious debate over what, precisely, might constitute ‘jazz’, it might at least be uncontroversial to suggest that jazz is a music that requires both tension and release. Dissonance was almost entirely absent and the occasional selections of foreign notes seemed to lack conviction. This music too often seemed firmly rooted harmonically, with a combination of playfulness and serenity that became saccharine and repetitive over the course of a whole set. With his dark clothes, long hair and cross around his neck, Mozder perhaps looked better suited to being in a heavy metal band. He announced the final piece as being called ‘Suffering’ with no sense of irony.
After the interval, Vijay Iyer stated his intent immediately and with percussive attack. The opening ‘Testing’ featured extravagant rhythmic gestures and his trademark complex cyclical structures. He continued with a confounding take on the standard ‘I’m All Smiles’, at once playful and measured. Perhaps some audience members were expecting more of the duo’s benign calm. The minor exodus from the venue at least indicated some frustration or confusion in the ranks of the audience.
Yet whilst Iyer is noted for his intellectual approach to composition and also for his intricacy, he usually couples these characteristics with a strong melodic sense. At his best, he employs all his technique in the purpose of creating a forceful emotional impact. His boyish appearance belies a mature and nuanced musicianship. Sometimes the effect of his music is visceral and unsettling, but it would be unfair to brandish him as alienating or impenetrable, however fearless and radical his ideas are on pieces such as ‘Autoscopy’.
Perhaps this would have been made clearer to those departing audience members had they stayed to hear Iyer joined by Talvin Singh, playing Tablas with fluency and elegance, on a clever and highly physical reworking of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Big Brother’. Even more impressive was Iyer’s surprise choice of encore – an interpretation of Michael Jackson’s ‘Human Nature’ that coupled asymmetrical phrasing with a previously disguised lyricism. He also demonstrated his knowledge of the jazz tradition with a spirited and sincere rendition of Duke Ellington’s ‘Black and Tan Fantasy’. His latest trio album ‘Historicity’ contains new versions of previously recorded originals, brand new compositions and a wide range of interpretations. Iyer now seems to be joining those musicians determined to build a new standard repertoire, an important move that could really help widen the audience to music too often mistakenly viewed as elitist or inaccessible.
For all this concert’s scope and imagination, it also seemed a little tentative at times. It’s possibly unfair speculation, but I wonder whether Iyer is as suited to the solo piano setting as Keith Jarrett or Stefano Bollani. Jarrett always has a massive range of emotion and mood within his reach, from lush romanticism to angular expressions of doubt or loss. He always plays with absolute conviction and confidence. Iyer’s ideas sometimes didn’t quite seem to reach full sustained flourish. Part of the joy of his recorded repertoire so far has been the sheer wonder in hearing his ensembles keep pace with his breathtaking demands.
There can be little doubt though that Iyer is one of a clutch of music taking American jazz to new places, fusing it with influences drawn from his heritage and wider framework of interest. He has a compelling story to tell.
When Whispers are Wrong or Turning Disappointment Into Triumph
Hans Koller Band
The Oxford, Kentish Town – Monday 16th November
A sizeable audience created a rather sweaty atmosphere upstairs at The Oxford, many appearing following rumours (from credible sources) that Bill Frisell would be sitting in with Hans Koller’s group. Sadly, an inscrutable world of political intrigue and contractual issues prevented that from happening. To his great credit, Koller explained the situation, and addressed the disappointment of those hoping to see a legend in such an intimate setting. Again to his credit, Koller’s lively music hopefully enabled those people to go away nonetheless satisfied.
Koller’s arrangements are closer to the lush orchestrations of Mike Gibbs than the tumbling, turbulent energy of Dave Holland’s big band works. Some contrasts in improvising styles amongst the players made for an engaging, unpredictable performance – from the bright, singing lines of Nick Smart to the unassuming but effortlessly intelligent phrasing of Julian Siegel. Koller himself made for a warm and humble presence.
Drummer Jeff Williams and bassist Dave Whitford provided steady support, although Williams proved markedly less interventionist than Gene Calderazzo (who played on Koller’s ‘London Ear’ big band recording). Whilst the performance occasionally lacked a sense of danger or risk, there was plenty of space for the full sonorous detail of Koller’s arrangements to shine.
The Quirky and Quixotic
Carla Bley and The Lost Chords/Julian Siegel Trio
Tuesday 17th November – Queen Elizabeth Hall
This concert seems to have been one of the most rapturously received of the festival, with the Telegraph rather uncritically claiming that Bley’s performance was ‘beyond praise’. Bley’s injection of irony and humour into her music has long made her one of the most distinctive and refreshing jazz auteurs.
Actually, in the event, I was perhaps more impressed with Julian Siegel’s quite wonderful trans-Atlantic trio with Greg Cohen and Joey Baron. Siegel’s themes are simultaneously both simple and complex. He plays inventively with a restricted complement of notes – twisting rhythm and phrasing with playful and stimulating results. His musical personality is restrained and unpretentious, but his technique and imagination are tremendous.
Baron has long been one of my favourite drummers on recordings, so I was glad to finally get the opportunity to see him live. Located centre stage, his imposing charisma, utter commitment to the music and enthusiastic interactions almost threatened to distract attention from his bandleader. Luckily, though, he is a drummer that does not feel the need to fill every space (contrasting hugely with performances from Jack De Johnette and Eric Harland later in the week). His solo patiently and carefully develops musical ideas, and his bizarre disintegrating drumsticks raise a few bemused reactions in the audience. Speaking to Baron in the interval, I discover these sticks were made from rattan and, as a result, ‘decompose’ on impact, but ‘make a really interesting sound in the process’. Baron is as interested in the variety of sounds he can draw from the drum kit as he is in rhythm and phrasing.
Although Carla Bley, painfully thin, looked both physically and emotionally vulnerable, she began her set in customarily comedic mode. Explaining that she would begin with a suite based on ‘Three Blind Mice’, she played the nursery rhyme’s basic melody, claiming we would hear those notes but also ‘many more’. She then proceeded to exclaim – ‘I feel like Wynton Marsalis up here!’ This, perhaps a dig at Marsalis’ tendency to be a self-elected educator and evangelist for the jazz tradition, raised a predictable cheer from her fans.
This may have been the most demanding performance of the entire festival, bookended by two long suites (the aforementioned ‘Three Blind Mice’ and the suite that gives the group its name). These lengthy, highly composed works were full of mysterious twists and turns and bold melodic and harmonic developments. Between them, the band performed brighter, more immediate pieces such as the Lee Morgan-inspired ‘Sidewinders in Paradise’.
The prevailing temperament throughout though is one of subtlety and restraint, which sometimes threatens to conceal Bley’s characteristic humour. Her improvising is delicate and tentative, and sometimes her phrases seem to end too early, without reaching a natural point of resolution. Occasionally, the band echo her uncertainty – there was a point when Billy Drummond and Steve Swallow were feeling beat one of the bar in different places for a long and noticeable amount of time before recapturing the delicate groove. Swallow has, however, retained his graceful elegance on his five string electro-acoustic bass and his mastery of the upper register of his instrument was in plentiful display.
My review of John Surman is on The Write Stuff section of the Jazzwise magazine website.
Expanding the Vernacular
Stefano Bollani and Enrico Rava
Thursday 19th November - King’s Place
For Stefano Bollani, jazz and comedy are closely connected. This makes the experience of watching Bollani play live markedly different from that of listening to his recordings. His work is mostly refined, elegant and expressive, his collaborations with trumpeter and mentor Enrico Rava being a particular highlight. Rava is the special guest at this, the second of Bollani's four night residency at King's Place, but anyone going in having never seen Bollani before could hardly have expected such merriment and mirth.
Bollani started proceedings with his new trio, featuring Danish musicians Jesper Bodilsen on bass and Morten Lund on drums. Even at this early stage in proceedings, the group made it clear that they intended to be more kinetic and driving than on record. Lund's ferocious, all-frills drumming provided much of the momentum, with Bollani spurring him on with his extraordinary technique at the piano. Veering between fast runs, percussive block chords and expansive lines traversing the full breadth of the instrument, Bollani demonstrated precisely why he is so highly praised. He kicked his left leg out and, when particularly energised, even played standing up.
The apperance of Rava added an extra dimension. The relationship between Bollani and Rava is jovial and full of warmth, and they traded jokes in Italian and English. There was a particularly hilarious discussion about Stan Getz living in London as an 'amateur archaeologist' - 'so that's why jazz musicians say I dig it', Bollani wisecracked.
There seemed to be a spontaneous quality to much of the performance, with debates over who would start a particular piece and some simple but clear gesturing to mark out structures. In addition to this, the stating and inventive exposition of recognisable quotes (including tunes as well-worn as ‘The Surrey with the Fringe on Top’) played a major role in the performance, Bollani and Rava seemingly playing elaborate games with each other. Rava's control of sound is breathtaking, both in terms of his microphone technique (he was happy to play off-mic when the musical texture demanded it) and in the range of tones he can produce. The second set proved particularly entertaining, with Bollani and Rava engaging in a frantic duel, and with the memorable encore of 'Bandeleros' even allowing for some audience participation.
How refreshing it is to see jazz musicians at the highest level of artistry working to make a performance witty and joyous. After all, what could be more inherently ridiculous then 4 people on a stage making it up as they go along?
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
Troyka – Clore Ballroom Freestage, Royal Festival Hall
Overtone Quartet/Clarinet Council – Queen Elizabeth Hall
Friday 20th November
I really want to like Troyka a whole lot more than I actually do. On an individual basis, the group includes my favourite musicians currently operating on the London scene. Chris Montague is a guitarist with not just a mastery of electronic effects, but also a nimble agility around the fretboard and an apparent love for the dusty resonance of Bill Frisell. Kit Downes is frantically justifying all the hyperbole used in praise of him, playing in a wide variety of contexts and displaying both prodigious technique and sensitive musicality. His trio with Calum Gourlay and James Maddren has made some involving, beautiful music. Josh Blackmore is the mad scientist of the drums, although I prefer it when his supreme articulation is deployed with greater subtlety in Tom Cawley’s Curios.
I’m just not yet sure that there’s a wider concept, purpose or direction behind their particular brand of jazz-rock fusion. Time Out’s supposedly positive description of them as ‘King Crimson for the iPod generation’ actually encapsulates all their limitations. There’s fearsome control, rhythmic security and technique but a quickfire onslaught of ideas that suggests a severe case of attention deficit syndrome. The results are often briefly exciting, but alienating and austere over time. I enjoyed it when they allowed time to develop their ideas, particularly with the unfamiliar sound of Josh Blackmore on brushes on the superb new composition ‘Rest’ and a desert take on Nirvana’s ‘Heart Shaped Box’. Too often though, the intricate, asymmetrical grooves too rapidly disintegrate into murk and fog.
If the paring of Vijay Iyer with Leszek Mozder and Lars Danielsson seemed uncomfortable, this was nothing compared with the double bill of Dave Holland’s new supergroup with David Jean-Baptiste’s ‘Clarinet Council’. A lot of people I spoke to in the interval reacted angrily against this opening act. It’s not hard to see why – chamber jazz is an uncomfortable format anyway, even more so with an unconventional quartet of variations of the same instrument. There’s probably an argument that the humble clarinet deserves some sort of regeneration, but I’m not sure Jean-Baptiste’s project is going to achieve it. This was jovial and endearing to some extent, but rhythmically insecure, overly polite and ultimately, better suited to a corporate function.
Overtone were every bit the powerhouse group you’d expect them to be. New compositions from every member of the group, including extraordinary drummer Eric Harland, proved ambitious and sophisticated, although Holland’s music continues to stick doggedly to his winning formula. The audacity and quality of interaction in the ensemble was at the highest level, with Holland’s relaxed, super-secure basslines enabling Harland to stretch and contract the time feel with consummate ease.
Some sound problems undermined my enjoyment slightly. Jason Moran’s improvising may arguably have been the most original and attacking in the group, but both the acoustic and Rhodes pianos could have done with a brighter sound and more attack. Others in the audience voiced their frustration at not being able to hear Chris Potter’s saxophones.
Potter seemed to have adapted his playing to suit this new environment – less flighty and verbose in his language than in his own groups. Tremendous power remains the basis for his full sound – but here he demonstrated his versatility and restraint. The memoral themes – both lyrical and sprightly, lingered in my mind after the gig’s conclusion, even if Eric Harland’s outrageous, lengthy drum solo threatened to induce a panic attack.
Meditation and Reflection
Tord Gustavsen Ensemble/Andrew McCormack and Jason Yarde
Queen Elizabeth Hall, Saturday 21st November
The preceding days of this superb festival had been heavy on intensity, pace, drive, humour and entertainment. They had been relatively short on reflection and contemplation. This excellent concert went some distance in redressing the balance. The opening duo set from Andrew McCormack and Jason Yarde was both inspired and playful, with McCormack’s crisp and clean right hand beautifully supported by his busy, conversational left hand. He plays the piano as if one hand is conversing with the other, a style that proved particularly beneficial to the duo setting. The duo had a brilliant way with developing simple ideas – as in one piece with a recurring melodic and rhythmic motif subjected to all manner of imaginative harmonic extensions.
I’ve not yet been completely comfortable with Tord Gustavsen’s latest album release but this concert made me glad that I’ve held fire writing about it. I shall return to it very soon. The addition of Tore Brunborg on saxophones and replacement of bassist Harald Johnsen with Mats Eilertsen does not seem to have disturbed the finely tuned equilibrium of the core trio too much. Indeed, Brunborg’s typically Nordic sound actually serves to have enhanced the group’s sensitive dynamic rather than punctured it.
Gustavsen described more than one of his pieces as ‘prayers’ and, indeed, the likes of ‘Tears Transforming’ and ‘Draw Near’ had a spiritual, becalming, perhaps even sacred quality. Singer Kristin Asbjornsen was absent, so the group could only tackle a limited amount of the new material. Still, this provided an opportunity for the group to expand a little beyond its spacious, quiet comfort zone, with a further hint of the energy and fervour of gospel, something that complemented rather than competed with Gustavsen’s spiritual preoccupations. This group’s music is defiantly simple rather than simplistic, and the audience responded to this with jubilant enthusiasm.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Radio Silence
Sorry I've been a bit quiet on here for a while now. This is for two reasons:
1. I've been working on a big review of the decade - 200 best albums and 50 best films.
2. I've been busy with the Write Stuff journalism course organised by Serious and Jazzwise magazine. I'll publish a full diary of my London Jazz Festival week here in due course. In the meantime, here's a link to my rapturous review of John Surman at the Queen Elizabeth Hall last night:
http://www.jazzwisemagazine.com/write-stuff-mainmenu-145/11043-john-surman--queen-elizabeth-hall--181109-review-daniel-paton
To quench your thirst for new content just a little, here's a hint at what I've been/will be listening to:
Kit Downes Trio - Golden (Basho)
Gwilym Simcock - Blues Vignette (Basho)
Memory Tapes - Seek Magic (Something In Construction)
Califone - All My Friends Are Funeral Singers (Dead Oceans)
Molina and Johnson - Molina and Johnson (Secretly Canadian)
Tom Waits - Glitter and Doom Live (Anti)
REM - Live At The Olympia (Warner Bros)
Dave Rawlings Machine - A Friend of A Friend (Acony)
Elvis Costello - Live At The El Mocambo (Universal)
TrioVD - Fill It Up With Ghosts (Babel)
Jim Hart's Gemini - Narrada (Loop)
Keith Jarrett - Testament (ECM)
Stefano Bollani - Stone In The Water (ECM)
Ralph Towner/Paolo Fresu - Chiaroscuro (ECM)
John Abercrombie - Wait Til You See Her (ECM)
Tomasz Stanko - Dark Eyes (ECM)
Tord Gustavsen - Restored, Returned (ECM)
Antipop Consortium - Flourescent Black (Big Dada)
1. I've been working on a big review of the decade - 200 best albums and 50 best films.
2. I've been busy with the Write Stuff journalism course organised by Serious and Jazzwise magazine. I'll publish a full diary of my London Jazz Festival week here in due course. In the meantime, here's a link to my rapturous review of John Surman at the Queen Elizabeth Hall last night:
http://www.jazzwisemagazine.com/write-stuff-mainmenu-145/11043-john-surman--queen-elizabeth-hall--181109-review-daniel-paton
To quench your thirst for new content just a little, here's a hint at what I've been/will be listening to:
Kit Downes Trio - Golden (Basho)
Gwilym Simcock - Blues Vignette (Basho)
Memory Tapes - Seek Magic (Something In Construction)
Califone - All My Friends Are Funeral Singers (Dead Oceans)
Molina and Johnson - Molina and Johnson (Secretly Canadian)
Tom Waits - Glitter and Doom Live (Anti)
REM - Live At The Olympia (Warner Bros)
Dave Rawlings Machine - A Friend of A Friend (Acony)
Elvis Costello - Live At The El Mocambo (Universal)
TrioVD - Fill It Up With Ghosts (Babel)
Jim Hart's Gemini - Narrada (Loop)
Keith Jarrett - Testament (ECM)
Stefano Bollani - Stone In The Water (ECM)
Ralph Towner/Paolo Fresu - Chiaroscuro (ECM)
John Abercrombie - Wait Til You See Her (ECM)
Tomasz Stanko - Dark Eyes (ECM)
Tord Gustavsen - Restored, Returned (ECM)
Antipop Consortium - Flourescent Black (Big Dada)
Monday, October 26, 2009
New Folk Pathways
Volcano Choir - Unmap (Jagjaguwar, 2009)
Following a critically acclaimed debut is never an easy task but Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon has made it look easy by refusing to play the waiting game. It seemed plausible that ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’ could have been one of those great one-off successes but the ‘Blood Bank’ EP suggested new possibilities, from Reichian minimalism to the unexpected vocodered splendour of ‘The Woods’. Now Vernon has made another intriguing sidestep by teaming up with instrumental group Collections of Colonies of Bees for a collaborative project. Those approaching Volcano Choir in search of more of the cabin intimacy that made ‘For Emma’ so beguiling may well be bemused by this music. This is perhaps a more calculated and less nakedly emotional beast, but its challenges are coupled with rewards.
The focus here is not on words, but on sound, texture and mood. Where lyrics are present, they are difficult to discern and are clearly not intended as the main source of meaning. Carried over from ‘For Emma’ is the use of Vernon’s voice as a presiding, haunting presence, but there is less of a sense of thematic unity. Instead, Volcano Choir feels like an artistic experiment, with a collective ensemble feeling for ideas, sometimes tentatively but more often with confidence and combined expertise.
The opening trio of tracks is particularly effective, with the subtle expressive strokes on ‘Husks and Shells’ giving way to enticing rhythmic games on ‘Seeplymouth’ and the brilliant ‘Island, IS’. This emphasis on rhythm immediately distances ‘Unmap’ from Vernon’s work as Bon Iver. ‘Island, IS’ might even be said to be founded on an angular groove, its seemingly mechanised instrumentation anchored and humanised by some delicate but physical drumming. A similar airiness pervades much of ‘Seeplymouth’ and allows space for the track’s compelling crescendos. Particularly fascinating on these tracks is the way the individual parts interlock in a way that seems almost scientific.
‘Dote’ begins with warm tones that hint at the peculiar mood pieces of Stars of the Lid, before a more unnerving fuzz drifts in, along with Vernon’s manipulated voice. It ends with something close to aggression, before suddenly drifting into the near-joyful handclaps and vocal punctuations of ‘And Gather’. It’s an unpredictable and thrilling transition.
Occasionally, things don’t quite work. ‘Cool Knowledge’ represents a potentially quirky and charming diversion into doo-wop influenced vocal layering, but it gets ruthlessly truncated before it really gets going. ‘Mbira in the Morass’ feels noticeably less comfortable than most of the material here – a rather sheepish toe being dipped into the waters of what sounds like free improvisation. It has some common features with David Sylvian’s ‘Manofon’, but lacks that record’s steely self belief and sense of space. ‘Still’ takes those wonderful vocoder-altered vocals from Bon Iver’s ‘The Woods’ and adds instrumentation, but the effect of the new drones and sounds is sadly to cause unnecessary clutter and undermine the devastating impact of the original track.
‘Unmap’ is rounded off beautifully and contemplatively with ‘Youlogy’. The crass wordplay of the title doesn’t quite do justice its carefully crafted serenity. More so than the rest of the album, it hints at the common ground between Bon Iver and this project – and also demonstrates that the more systematic, collaborative approach can still yield emotionally rich results – without recourse to something as limiting as language.
Following a critically acclaimed debut is never an easy task but Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon has made it look easy by refusing to play the waiting game. It seemed plausible that ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’ could have been one of those great one-off successes but the ‘Blood Bank’ EP suggested new possibilities, from Reichian minimalism to the unexpected vocodered splendour of ‘The Woods’. Now Vernon has made another intriguing sidestep by teaming up with instrumental group Collections of Colonies of Bees for a collaborative project. Those approaching Volcano Choir in search of more of the cabin intimacy that made ‘For Emma’ so beguiling may well be bemused by this music. This is perhaps a more calculated and less nakedly emotional beast, but its challenges are coupled with rewards.
The focus here is not on words, but on sound, texture and mood. Where lyrics are present, they are difficult to discern and are clearly not intended as the main source of meaning. Carried over from ‘For Emma’ is the use of Vernon’s voice as a presiding, haunting presence, but there is less of a sense of thematic unity. Instead, Volcano Choir feels like an artistic experiment, with a collective ensemble feeling for ideas, sometimes tentatively but more often with confidence and combined expertise.
The opening trio of tracks is particularly effective, with the subtle expressive strokes on ‘Husks and Shells’ giving way to enticing rhythmic games on ‘Seeplymouth’ and the brilliant ‘Island, IS’. This emphasis on rhythm immediately distances ‘Unmap’ from Vernon’s work as Bon Iver. ‘Island, IS’ might even be said to be founded on an angular groove, its seemingly mechanised instrumentation anchored and humanised by some delicate but physical drumming. A similar airiness pervades much of ‘Seeplymouth’ and allows space for the track’s compelling crescendos. Particularly fascinating on these tracks is the way the individual parts interlock in a way that seems almost scientific.
‘Dote’ begins with warm tones that hint at the peculiar mood pieces of Stars of the Lid, before a more unnerving fuzz drifts in, along with Vernon’s manipulated voice. It ends with something close to aggression, before suddenly drifting into the near-joyful handclaps and vocal punctuations of ‘And Gather’. It’s an unpredictable and thrilling transition.
Occasionally, things don’t quite work. ‘Cool Knowledge’ represents a potentially quirky and charming diversion into doo-wop influenced vocal layering, but it gets ruthlessly truncated before it really gets going. ‘Mbira in the Morass’ feels noticeably less comfortable than most of the material here – a rather sheepish toe being dipped into the waters of what sounds like free improvisation. It has some common features with David Sylvian’s ‘Manofon’, but lacks that record’s steely self belief and sense of space. ‘Still’ takes those wonderful vocoder-altered vocals from Bon Iver’s ‘The Woods’ and adds instrumentation, but the effect of the new drones and sounds is sadly to cause unnecessary clutter and undermine the devastating impact of the original track.
‘Unmap’ is rounded off beautifully and contemplatively with ‘Youlogy’. The crass wordplay of the title doesn’t quite do justice its carefully crafted serenity. More so than the rest of the album, it hints at the common ground between Bon Iver and this project – and also demonstrates that the more systematic, collaborative approach can still yield emotionally rich results – without recourse to something as limiting as language.
Friday, October 23, 2009
A Grim Journey
Katalin Varga (dir Peter Strickland, 2009)
NB This review necessarily contains plot spoilers.
Writing about British director Peter Strickland’s debut feature, filmed in Romania without a drop of funding from the UK film council, poses some interesting challenges. If the audience yields to its dramatic conceits, it can be argued to be a well-crafted film that generates some teasing moral ambiguities. It’s also infused with tension and suspense, and benefits greatly from an entrancing attention to detail in its sound design. The film takes place in an environment mysteriously divorced from time – the use of mobile phones reminds us that the setting is contemporary and not medieval. Perhaps its greatest strength is a reminder that the existence of social attitudes far removed from our own greatly restrict people’s life choices in many parts of the world.
However, for many, such a positive appraisal would depend on some pretty colossal logical and emotional leaps. In the most positive reviews, the film has been described as a tragedy, but the concept only works when an audience can empathise with the central characters. By the film’s gruesome (and arguably rather crass) conclusion, I had rather lost patience with everyone except the innocent child at its centre.
The film is undoubtedly promising, but I wonder about the extent to which critics often exaggerate the originality and impact of first time directors. The film’s plot and mood bear more than an incidental resemblance to Bergman’s The Virgin Spring and the well reserves of arthouse cliché (shaky camera footage, self-consciously symbolic images, slow tracking shots and, yes, the obligatory rain storms) are drained yet further to inform Strickland’s cinematic language. Some have cited Bela Tarr as a key influence, but there’s little of Tarr’s icy weirdness here. A more transparent inspiration for me would be the bewilderingly overrated Mexican director Carlos Reygadas. I was also, at times, reminded of Andrei Zwygantsev’s vastly superior ‘The Return’.
Some have seen the film’s central secret as an elaborate mystery, but there seems little avoiding the fact that ‘Katalin Varga’ has that grinding inevitable misery common to this style of film-making. Sensible and insightful viewers will probably be aware from the start that Katalin has been grievously abused, with or without the aid of plot spoilers. It’s possible that the desire for revenge after such a terrible act must be overwhelming – what is much harder to accept is that any woman would be so reckless as to so endanger their ten year old child.
The bond between mother and son imbues this film with moments of real charm and grace, yet we’re expected to square these images and scenes with Katalin’s brutal and calculated behaviour and her repeated abandoning of her child. Where exactly is Orban when Katalin recounts her grim tale in all its loathsome detail on that boat trip? It’s a bizarre scene, but one that seems to service the film’s internal poetry more than it does a believable storyline. Katalin maintains an unflinching stance when reunited with her attackers which possibly stretches the bounds of credulity.
It is difficult for me to put myself in the position of either a violated woman or that of a rapist – but this film demands that we do both in order to comprehend the unbearably tense situation that unfolds towards its conclusion. Would a rapist and his sidekick really both completely fail to recognise the woman they attacked? Would an abused woman be able to maintain such brutal poise when confronting her attackers? Would she really endanger her child in the process? The extent to which the film is convincing depends on your answers to these questions.
Strickland’s film is undoubtedly provocative – and, particularly interesting in light of the recent Polanski arrest is its portrayal of an unpunished criminal reminded of his actions ten years after the event. I initially felt winningly hypnotised by the film’s peculiar mix of suspense and contemplation but the final third ratchets up the brutality and violence to an extent that seems self-conscious. I was left with the nagging sense that, rather than showing us a strong woman enacting her revenge, Strickland in fact risks joining the club of directors that revel in female suffering.
NB This review necessarily contains plot spoilers.
Writing about British director Peter Strickland’s debut feature, filmed in Romania without a drop of funding from the UK film council, poses some interesting challenges. If the audience yields to its dramatic conceits, it can be argued to be a well-crafted film that generates some teasing moral ambiguities. It’s also infused with tension and suspense, and benefits greatly from an entrancing attention to detail in its sound design. The film takes place in an environment mysteriously divorced from time – the use of mobile phones reminds us that the setting is contemporary and not medieval. Perhaps its greatest strength is a reminder that the existence of social attitudes far removed from our own greatly restrict people’s life choices in many parts of the world.
However, for many, such a positive appraisal would depend on some pretty colossal logical and emotional leaps. In the most positive reviews, the film has been described as a tragedy, but the concept only works when an audience can empathise with the central characters. By the film’s gruesome (and arguably rather crass) conclusion, I had rather lost patience with everyone except the innocent child at its centre.
The film is undoubtedly promising, but I wonder about the extent to which critics often exaggerate the originality and impact of first time directors. The film’s plot and mood bear more than an incidental resemblance to Bergman’s The Virgin Spring and the well reserves of arthouse cliché (shaky camera footage, self-consciously symbolic images, slow tracking shots and, yes, the obligatory rain storms) are drained yet further to inform Strickland’s cinematic language. Some have cited Bela Tarr as a key influence, but there’s little of Tarr’s icy weirdness here. A more transparent inspiration for me would be the bewilderingly overrated Mexican director Carlos Reygadas. I was also, at times, reminded of Andrei Zwygantsev’s vastly superior ‘The Return’.
Some have seen the film’s central secret as an elaborate mystery, but there seems little avoiding the fact that ‘Katalin Varga’ has that grinding inevitable misery common to this style of film-making. Sensible and insightful viewers will probably be aware from the start that Katalin has been grievously abused, with or without the aid of plot spoilers. It’s possible that the desire for revenge after such a terrible act must be overwhelming – what is much harder to accept is that any woman would be so reckless as to so endanger their ten year old child.
The bond between mother and son imbues this film with moments of real charm and grace, yet we’re expected to square these images and scenes with Katalin’s brutal and calculated behaviour and her repeated abandoning of her child. Where exactly is Orban when Katalin recounts her grim tale in all its loathsome detail on that boat trip? It’s a bizarre scene, but one that seems to service the film’s internal poetry more than it does a believable storyline. Katalin maintains an unflinching stance when reunited with her attackers which possibly stretches the bounds of credulity.
It is difficult for me to put myself in the position of either a violated woman or that of a rapist – but this film demands that we do both in order to comprehend the unbearably tense situation that unfolds towards its conclusion. Would a rapist and his sidekick really both completely fail to recognise the woman they attacked? Would an abused woman be able to maintain such brutal poise when confronting her attackers? Would she really endanger her child in the process? The extent to which the film is convincing depends on your answers to these questions.
Strickland’s film is undoubtedly provocative – and, particularly interesting in light of the recent Polanski arrest is its portrayal of an unpunished criminal reminded of his actions ten years after the event. I initially felt winningly hypnotised by the film’s peculiar mix of suspense and contemplation but the final third ratchets up the brutality and violence to an extent that seems self-conscious. I was left with the nagging sense that, rather than showing us a strong woman enacting her revenge, Strickland in fact risks joining the club of directors that revel in female suffering.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Leaving The Nest?
The Hidden Cameras - Origin: Orphan (Arts and Crafts, 2009)
The Hidden Cameras remain a band close to my heart, even though they mostly make the kind of sugary indie-pop that I listen to sparingly these days. There’s still something very admirable in Joel Gibb’s way of fashioning nagging and infectious melodies from very conventional, limited and predictable musical building blocks. All too often, their songs deliver a great burst of joy that is impossible to resist.
That these songs have often come with subversive intent (Gibb’s candid lyrics deal not just with homosexuality and attendant desires – but with the physical mechanics of sexual activity) adds a defiance and triumphalism so often absent from a genre more concerned with nostalgia and whimsy. Gibb seems to have gained a reputation as a miserable interviewee, but when I interviewed him on the band’s first visit to the UK, I found him engaging and unflinching. He wasn’t in the slightest bit worried that anyone should be put off by the frankness of his songs – he was only interested in the open-minded.
‘Origin:Orphan’ is perhaps the first album where Gibb sounds a little confused over his identity. A number of the tracks hark back to the ‘gay folk church’ sound of ‘The Smell of Our Own’ but do so with arrangements that have been embellished even further. Elsewhere, Gibb branches out in rather different directions. Few could have expected a Hidden Cameras album to begin with a two minute drone, or for its title track to sound like a cross between Spiritualized and Depeche Mode.
Sometimes these experiments are done on a budget. Some reviews have compared ‘Do I Belong?’ or ‘Underage’ with ‘new wave techno’ (whatever that is – did techno have a ‘new wave’?). Actually, the former sounds about as cutting edge as Queen’s ‘I Want To Break Free’ played on a Bontempi organ and the latter sounds like ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ as performed by Tight Fit. How on earth does Gibb manage to make these simplistic, arguably tacky, undeniably dated performances so enervating and thrilling? Even though he’s at his most melancholy on the former (even to the extent of ‘sitting by the phone waiting for you to call’), there’s still a mischievousness and playfulness at the heart of these songs.
‘Origin:Orphan’ is often more audacious though. ‘In The NA’ retains Gibb’s trademark melodic sense, and is therefore recognisably a Hidden Cameras song – but it’s combination of synths and clattering percussion are a new addition. It then cascades into a chorus that is plucked straight from the REM songbook. The opening ‘Ratify The New’ is darker and more mysterious, with what sound like an Indian influence. ‘Origin Orphan’ is a rare detour into slower paced territory, with distorted guitars and programmed drums. Best of all is ‘Walk On’ which bolsters its essentially repetitive form with a colossal Spector-ish wall of sound. Gibb’s vocals are often heavily reverb-laden and double tracked which adds to the grandiose atmosphere. Another frequent characteristic is the extended outro – over which Gibb indulges his love of vocal ticks and yelps (often sounding more like a wolf or a dog than a human being), albeit with less irritating impact than has sometimes been the case in the past.
For the most part, Gibb follows the trend set by 2006’s ‘Awoo’ in keeping the lyrics more restrained and focusing more on emotions. The album ends with a song in this vein, and one of the group’s greatest to date, ‘Silence Can Be a Headline’, an epic ballad somewhere in between The Righteous Brothers, The Platters, REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ and Roy Orbison.
A couple of tracks see him returning to more provocative themes, not least the hilarious ‘Underage’ (‘let’s do it like we’re underage…’I’ll pretend you’re seven and you’ll pretend I’m eight’….’you have the most beautiful young thing I’ve ever seen’ – eek!). If the Daily Mail were to pick up on this, the band would gain a whole lot more publicity! ‘The Little Bit’ manages to throw every trick in Gibb’s book into one two minute slice of string and brass laden pomp-pop (‘a little bit of spittle and a little bit of blood’ – niiiice). All par for the course, but I’m beginning to prefer Gibb in more tender mode (‘Kingdom Come’ is particularly wonderful). Even after ‘Awoo’, it still remains
‘Origin: Orphan’ perhaps sees Gibb dipping a toe in the water – only partially leaving his roots. Whilst it is at times brave, it’s no radical departure from the honeyed melodic template. Its greatest strength, aside from the chamber pop arrangements, remains Gibb’s voice, which carries exactly the combination of pure clarity and dirty nasal whine that his lyrics demand – that always appealing mix of sacred and profane. The sequencing is inevitably a little haphazard and there are some moments, joyful as they are, where Gibb is clearly repeating earlier achievements (‘He Falls to Me’, ‘Colour of a Man’ – the latter is a sweet melody in search of another section or chorus). Yet, on balance, it’s further evidence of Gibb’s talents, and a firm suggestion that he is far from losing inspiration. There is much here to relish and enjoy.
The Hidden Cameras remain a band close to my heart, even though they mostly make the kind of sugary indie-pop that I listen to sparingly these days. There’s still something very admirable in Joel Gibb’s way of fashioning nagging and infectious melodies from very conventional, limited and predictable musical building blocks. All too often, their songs deliver a great burst of joy that is impossible to resist.
That these songs have often come with subversive intent (Gibb’s candid lyrics deal not just with homosexuality and attendant desires – but with the physical mechanics of sexual activity) adds a defiance and triumphalism so often absent from a genre more concerned with nostalgia and whimsy. Gibb seems to have gained a reputation as a miserable interviewee, but when I interviewed him on the band’s first visit to the UK, I found him engaging and unflinching. He wasn’t in the slightest bit worried that anyone should be put off by the frankness of his songs – he was only interested in the open-minded.
‘Origin:Orphan’ is perhaps the first album where Gibb sounds a little confused over his identity. A number of the tracks hark back to the ‘gay folk church’ sound of ‘The Smell of Our Own’ but do so with arrangements that have been embellished even further. Elsewhere, Gibb branches out in rather different directions. Few could have expected a Hidden Cameras album to begin with a two minute drone, or for its title track to sound like a cross between Spiritualized and Depeche Mode.
Sometimes these experiments are done on a budget. Some reviews have compared ‘Do I Belong?’ or ‘Underage’ with ‘new wave techno’ (whatever that is – did techno have a ‘new wave’?). Actually, the former sounds about as cutting edge as Queen’s ‘I Want To Break Free’ played on a Bontempi organ and the latter sounds like ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ as performed by Tight Fit. How on earth does Gibb manage to make these simplistic, arguably tacky, undeniably dated performances so enervating and thrilling? Even though he’s at his most melancholy on the former (even to the extent of ‘sitting by the phone waiting for you to call’), there’s still a mischievousness and playfulness at the heart of these songs.
‘Origin:Orphan’ is often more audacious though. ‘In The NA’ retains Gibb’s trademark melodic sense, and is therefore recognisably a Hidden Cameras song – but it’s combination of synths and clattering percussion are a new addition. It then cascades into a chorus that is plucked straight from the REM songbook. The opening ‘Ratify The New’ is darker and more mysterious, with what sound like an Indian influence. ‘Origin Orphan’ is a rare detour into slower paced territory, with distorted guitars and programmed drums. Best of all is ‘Walk On’ which bolsters its essentially repetitive form with a colossal Spector-ish wall of sound. Gibb’s vocals are often heavily reverb-laden and double tracked which adds to the grandiose atmosphere. Another frequent characteristic is the extended outro – over which Gibb indulges his love of vocal ticks and yelps (often sounding more like a wolf or a dog than a human being), albeit with less irritating impact than has sometimes been the case in the past.
For the most part, Gibb follows the trend set by 2006’s ‘Awoo’ in keeping the lyrics more restrained and focusing more on emotions. The album ends with a song in this vein, and one of the group’s greatest to date, ‘Silence Can Be a Headline’, an epic ballad somewhere in between The Righteous Brothers, The Platters, REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ and Roy Orbison.
A couple of tracks see him returning to more provocative themes, not least the hilarious ‘Underage’ (‘let’s do it like we’re underage…’I’ll pretend you’re seven and you’ll pretend I’m eight’….’you have the most beautiful young thing I’ve ever seen’ – eek!). If the Daily Mail were to pick up on this, the band would gain a whole lot more publicity! ‘The Little Bit’ manages to throw every trick in Gibb’s book into one two minute slice of string and brass laden pomp-pop (‘a little bit of spittle and a little bit of blood’ – niiiice). All par for the course, but I’m beginning to prefer Gibb in more tender mode (‘Kingdom Come’ is particularly wonderful). Even after ‘Awoo’, it still remains
‘Origin: Orphan’ perhaps sees Gibb dipping a toe in the water – only partially leaving his roots. Whilst it is at times brave, it’s no radical departure from the honeyed melodic template. Its greatest strength, aside from the chamber pop arrangements, remains Gibb’s voice, which carries exactly the combination of pure clarity and dirty nasal whine that his lyrics demand – that always appealing mix of sacred and profane. The sequencing is inevitably a little haphazard and there are some moments, joyful as they are, where Gibb is clearly repeating earlier achievements (‘He Falls to Me’, ‘Colour of a Man’ – the latter is a sweet melody in search of another section or chorus). Yet, on balance, it’s further evidence of Gibb’s talents, and a firm suggestion that he is far from losing inspiration. There is much here to relish and enjoy.
Friday, October 09, 2009
In Praise of Progress
Sian Alice Group – Troubled, Shaken Etc (Social Registry, 2009)
HEALTH – Get Color (City Slang, 2009)
Tara Jane O’ Neil – A Ways Away (K, 2009)
Such is the heavy pressure to produce easily promoted, mind-blowing debuts these days, that it’s easy to let those acts that manage to develop slip under the radar. I admired ‘59’59”’, the debut album from Sian Alice Group, for its comfortable assimilation of various genres, for its attention to detail and for its hypnotic, repetitive moods. ‘Troubled, Shaken Etc’ really is a massive leap on from that record though. Here, the band return to some of the concerns they only fleetingly addressed on their debut, and explore them in greater depth, with far greater confidence.
It’s immediate from the opening ‘Love That Moves The Sun’ that Sian is allowing herself to stretch out a bit, her voice given a great deal more prominence. A lot of the lyrics remain indecipherable, but there’s a combination of assertion and melancholy that establishes her as a reedier, sleeker PJ Harvey. The song has some elements of a traditional song – arpeggiated guitar chords and a reverb-laden sound – but the unpredictable shape of the melody, playful textural variation and the informed looseness of the ensemble take it somewhere far less familiar. Something similar can be said for ‘Grow, Again, Repeat’, which starts out as a straightforwardly haunting ballad, before moving towards something more unsettling.
The album’s highlight is the shimmering, pulsating ‘Close To The Ground’, which unfolds lengthily over seven minutes, its motorik pulse underpinning a labyrinth of menace and sinister intent. The vibraphone introduction owes a considerable debt to Steve Reich, but the main body of the track has its own steely ebb and flow. It’s an enticing combination of grace and danger, austerity and charm.
Bizarrely, a review on Pitchfork accused Sian Alice Group of ‘avoiding rhythm’ on this album. Some of the tracks certainly have a gentle lilt, or a sense of freedom (the gorgeous closing ballad ‘Salt Water’ or some of the interludes), but then there’s the percussive drive of ‘Close To The Ground’ or the marvellous ‘Vanishing’, which is built on what is effectively a breakbeat. The all-too-brief ‘Longstrakt’ sound like the basis for a Kompakt-esque piece of minimal techno. Rhythm is certainly not absent from these tracks, and the result is that they provide a pleasing contrast with the group’s more aquatic moments. In fact, the use of sophisticated percussion arrangements strikes me as one of this album’s key characteristics.
‘Troubled, Shaken Etc’ is every bit as minimal, economical, cautious and restrained as its predecessor. Yet there’s a more concentrated focus on texture and effect here that adds a sense of tentative adventure. Skeletal templates are developed into haunting, elaborate mood pieces. The effect, particularly on the near-empty title track, is both disorientating and enchanting. This strikes me as a high achieving album, both challenging and enjoyable, and near-perfectly sequenced, which will no doubt go completely unnoticed by the increasingly conservative UK music press.
I can’t say the rather scattershot first album from HEALTH made much of an impression on me, but a firm recommendation of their second ‘Get Color’ (sic) from Three Trapped Tigers’ Tom Rogerson has to carry some weight. So, indeed, it transpires, on listening to this colossal combination of abrasive noise and soft, detached vocals. For all its sonic assaulting, this is also extremely artful music. Although it often explodes into brutality and savagery, it also seems carefully regimented and constructed. Rather than a series of random lurches, these tracks seem like plotted maps for difficult terrain. After a few listens, it becomes clear that we should expect the unexpected.
Importantly, on ‘Get Color’, the band has developed a distinctive and coherent sound, working independently without the use of a producer. Some of their wilful obscurities have been restrained and the template seems to work whether at its most furious and insistent (the double punch of ‘Severin’ and ‘Eat Flesh’) or on something approaching relative tenderness (‘In Violet’). Loud drums are a constant characteristic, and they serve both to anchor the music (with a regular quarter note kick drum pulse) and to stretch it (with elaborate rapid fills and phrasing).
Set against this are barrages of distorted synths and guitars, in carefully orchestrated bursts of noise, both visceral and energising. More important than all of this though are the weirdly androgynous vocals, heavily disguised and distant, but somehow still providing an element of warmth and feeling. It’s a strange, heady mix, but the results are subtly melodic on ‘Before Tigers’ or even arguably anthemic on the insistent, almost industrial clang of ‘Die Slow’. The album is just long enough to state its case and short enough to leave us wanting more.
Tara Jane O’Neil might best be categorised as a folk singer, but such commonplace terminology doesn’t really do justice to the strange and unnerving space her music occupies. This is actually her fifth album as a solo artist, but it’s the first time I’ve ventured into her weird and wonderful world, thanks largely to a positive and intriguing review over at Mapsadaisical.
The songs here are simple, often built on drones and unhurried chord changes, but the devil is most definitely in the details. O’Neil’s production is exquisite, from the layered harmonies on ‘In Tall Grass’ that add to the sense of awe and beauty, or the shaking bells on ‘Dig In’ providing an underlying sense of creepy unease (a consistent factor throughout the record). Perhaps most impressive of all is ‘Howl’, where a sense of personal vulnerability is allowed to seep in, its circular theme getting progressively more intense with each reiteration.
‘A Ways Away’ sounds like a coherent set of music rather than a gathering of isolated songs. It subverts our traditional expectations of singer-songwriters by capturing both a sense of worldly beauty and a sense of fear. This distinctive world is not something that could ever be described as twee. O’Neil realises it through her delicate balance between acoustic vulnerability and an odd kind of distance through fuzzy electric intervention.
By all accounts, this seems to be quite a development from earlier albums and it’s the sort of music that could easily reach a much wider audience in light of the success of Bon Iver. Sadly, the lack of mythical backstory probably means that few will pay attention. Also, there’s something significant in what O’Neil holds back. Whilst this is a frequently intimate and poignant album, it’s not a heart-on-sleeves backwoods confessional in the Bon Iver mould. It’s a good deal more mysterious and ghostly.
HEALTH – Get Color (City Slang, 2009)
Tara Jane O’ Neil – A Ways Away (K, 2009)
Such is the heavy pressure to produce easily promoted, mind-blowing debuts these days, that it’s easy to let those acts that manage to develop slip under the radar. I admired ‘59’59”’, the debut album from Sian Alice Group, for its comfortable assimilation of various genres, for its attention to detail and for its hypnotic, repetitive moods. ‘Troubled, Shaken Etc’ really is a massive leap on from that record though. Here, the band return to some of the concerns they only fleetingly addressed on their debut, and explore them in greater depth, with far greater confidence.
It’s immediate from the opening ‘Love That Moves The Sun’ that Sian is allowing herself to stretch out a bit, her voice given a great deal more prominence. A lot of the lyrics remain indecipherable, but there’s a combination of assertion and melancholy that establishes her as a reedier, sleeker PJ Harvey. The song has some elements of a traditional song – arpeggiated guitar chords and a reverb-laden sound – but the unpredictable shape of the melody, playful textural variation and the informed looseness of the ensemble take it somewhere far less familiar. Something similar can be said for ‘Grow, Again, Repeat’, which starts out as a straightforwardly haunting ballad, before moving towards something more unsettling.
The album’s highlight is the shimmering, pulsating ‘Close To The Ground’, which unfolds lengthily over seven minutes, its motorik pulse underpinning a labyrinth of menace and sinister intent. The vibraphone introduction owes a considerable debt to Steve Reich, but the main body of the track has its own steely ebb and flow. It’s an enticing combination of grace and danger, austerity and charm.
Bizarrely, a review on Pitchfork accused Sian Alice Group of ‘avoiding rhythm’ on this album. Some of the tracks certainly have a gentle lilt, or a sense of freedom (the gorgeous closing ballad ‘Salt Water’ or some of the interludes), but then there’s the percussive drive of ‘Close To The Ground’ or the marvellous ‘Vanishing’, which is built on what is effectively a breakbeat. The all-too-brief ‘Longstrakt’ sound like the basis for a Kompakt-esque piece of minimal techno. Rhythm is certainly not absent from these tracks, and the result is that they provide a pleasing contrast with the group’s more aquatic moments. In fact, the use of sophisticated percussion arrangements strikes me as one of this album’s key characteristics.
‘Troubled, Shaken Etc’ is every bit as minimal, economical, cautious and restrained as its predecessor. Yet there’s a more concentrated focus on texture and effect here that adds a sense of tentative adventure. Skeletal templates are developed into haunting, elaborate mood pieces. The effect, particularly on the near-empty title track, is both disorientating and enchanting. This strikes me as a high achieving album, both challenging and enjoyable, and near-perfectly sequenced, which will no doubt go completely unnoticed by the increasingly conservative UK music press.
I can’t say the rather scattershot first album from HEALTH made much of an impression on me, but a firm recommendation of their second ‘Get Color’ (sic) from Three Trapped Tigers’ Tom Rogerson has to carry some weight. So, indeed, it transpires, on listening to this colossal combination of abrasive noise and soft, detached vocals. For all its sonic assaulting, this is also extremely artful music. Although it often explodes into brutality and savagery, it also seems carefully regimented and constructed. Rather than a series of random lurches, these tracks seem like plotted maps for difficult terrain. After a few listens, it becomes clear that we should expect the unexpected.
Importantly, on ‘Get Color’, the band has developed a distinctive and coherent sound, working independently without the use of a producer. Some of their wilful obscurities have been restrained and the template seems to work whether at its most furious and insistent (the double punch of ‘Severin’ and ‘Eat Flesh’) or on something approaching relative tenderness (‘In Violet’). Loud drums are a constant characteristic, and they serve both to anchor the music (with a regular quarter note kick drum pulse) and to stretch it (with elaborate rapid fills and phrasing).
Set against this are barrages of distorted synths and guitars, in carefully orchestrated bursts of noise, both visceral and energising. More important than all of this though are the weirdly androgynous vocals, heavily disguised and distant, but somehow still providing an element of warmth and feeling. It’s a strange, heady mix, but the results are subtly melodic on ‘Before Tigers’ or even arguably anthemic on the insistent, almost industrial clang of ‘Die Slow’. The album is just long enough to state its case and short enough to leave us wanting more.
Tara Jane O’Neil might best be categorised as a folk singer, but such commonplace terminology doesn’t really do justice to the strange and unnerving space her music occupies. This is actually her fifth album as a solo artist, but it’s the first time I’ve ventured into her weird and wonderful world, thanks largely to a positive and intriguing review over at Mapsadaisical.
The songs here are simple, often built on drones and unhurried chord changes, but the devil is most definitely in the details. O’Neil’s production is exquisite, from the layered harmonies on ‘In Tall Grass’ that add to the sense of awe and beauty, or the shaking bells on ‘Dig In’ providing an underlying sense of creepy unease (a consistent factor throughout the record). Perhaps most impressive of all is ‘Howl’, where a sense of personal vulnerability is allowed to seep in, its circular theme getting progressively more intense with each reiteration.
‘A Ways Away’ sounds like a coherent set of music rather than a gathering of isolated songs. It subverts our traditional expectations of singer-songwriters by capturing both a sense of worldly beauty and a sense of fear. This distinctive world is not something that could ever be described as twee. O’Neil realises it through her delicate balance between acoustic vulnerability and an odd kind of distance through fuzzy electric intervention.
By all accounts, this seems to be quite a development from earlier albums and it’s the sort of music that could easily reach a much wider audience in light of the success of Bon Iver. Sadly, the lack of mythical backstory probably means that few will pay attention. Also, there’s something significant in what O’Neil holds back. Whilst this is a frequently intimate and poignant album, it’s not a heart-on-sleeves backwoods confessional in the Bon Iver mould. It’s a good deal more mysterious and ghostly.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Eyes On The Prize
Look, Stranger! – EP (Self-released CDR, 2009) and live at 93 Feet East 22nd September 2009
Look, Stranger! are clearly a generous band. Having just recorded a meticulously arranged and pristine sounding EP with engineer Charles ‘Chicky’ Reeves, they’re now giving it away free at their first headline London show. This might well be something artists are compelled to do in the future, given the current devaluing of music as a product. Indeed, if Spotify ever does start to generate profit, the very concept of music ownership might be up for contention. For now though, it’s just a kind gesture to their burgeoning audience. I’m reminded of that great moment at Porchester Hall, when Arcade Fire’s Win Butler snuck two bemused ticketless fans in through the stage door. The bands that build through word of mouth share their experience with their audience.
Look, Stranger! radiate the same warm and ingratiating qualities onstage as well as off, inviting the audience further forward and engaging in jovial interaction. Whilst their songs are not without a small degree of youthful pretention, or at least a modest theatricality, there seems to be a determination not to incorporate this into their stage performance. They deliver their songs with commitment and charm, impressively faithful to their carefully plotted recorded counterparts.
There’s a sense that Look, Stranger! are venturing into what is now becoming a crowded marketplace. There is a substantial group of bands, from both sides of the Atlantic, including the likes of Battles, Dirty Projectors, Mew, and Three Trapped Tigers, who are reinjecting the virtues of arrangement and composition into rock music. Look, Stranger! seem to share these preoccupations, but with a greater deference to melody, harmony and the timeless impact of the human voice. There’s a palpable, widescreen ambition in songs like ‘She Will Not Rest’ and ‘Nova Zembla’ and the group are not averse to the occasional odd time signature.
If at times it threatens to get a little grandiose (Sheinman half-jokingly describes ‘Nova Zembla’ as the band’s response to the new Muse album), then there are moments of unashamed fun that dilute the danger. ‘She Will Not Rest’ unpredictably explodes into a careering, driving mix of heavy bass synths and stuttering drums. ‘Where Horses Roam’ could be the band’s finest moment, a three minute pop song with a nagging lyricless hook and an angular Grizzly Bear-go-to-studio-54 groove. It has the potential to really capture the imagination – surely it’s only a matter of time before large audiences are chanting ‘woah-hoah-hoah’ along with the band - and then quite possibly to become an albatross around the group’s collective neck.
Most impressive for me is ‘To The River’, where Sheinman’s voice is at its most personable and relaxed and the music is at its most evocative. The integration of electronic and acoustic drums in the rhythm track undoubtedly owes a debt to Radiohead, but the languorous melody also hints at the more emotional territory of Elbow or Sweet Billy Pilgrim. This lush, slow-building terrain, well crafted but also honest and direct is where the band are at their strongest.
This is the work of a sophisticated band. The most transparent evidence of this is in the well executed vocal arrangements and the group’s assured and sensitive handling of dynamics. The overall effect is also enhanced by an excellent rhythm section – bassist Ali Wedderburn and drummer Thom Hosken sit very tightly and play expressively but never contribute any more than is necessary for each particular song’s mood. Hosken is that rarest of things – a drummer with a very light touch who might just, at times, be too quiet! Crucially, Look, Stranger! sound like a real ensemble – there’s also much to enjoy in David Isaacs’ combination of Reichian minimalism and ornate flourish at the keys and in Tim Sheinman’s shimmering guitar lines.
At 93 Feet East the band bring out a more whimsical side to complement their ambition in songs like ‘Lady Godiva’ and also in the playful encore, which features a whistling solo from Wedderburn and sees band members depart from the stage one by one. That the band manage to marry their ambition with qualities of intimacy and immediacy is impressive. There are some minor kinks to be ironed out, some slightly tentative vocal pitching suggesting the group could yet grow in confidence – but this is clearly a band to watch.
Look, Stranger! are clearly a generous band. Having just recorded a meticulously arranged and pristine sounding EP with engineer Charles ‘Chicky’ Reeves, they’re now giving it away free at their first headline London show. This might well be something artists are compelled to do in the future, given the current devaluing of music as a product. Indeed, if Spotify ever does start to generate profit, the very concept of music ownership might be up for contention. For now though, it’s just a kind gesture to their burgeoning audience. I’m reminded of that great moment at Porchester Hall, when Arcade Fire’s Win Butler snuck two bemused ticketless fans in through the stage door. The bands that build through word of mouth share their experience with their audience.
Look, Stranger! radiate the same warm and ingratiating qualities onstage as well as off, inviting the audience further forward and engaging in jovial interaction. Whilst their songs are not without a small degree of youthful pretention, or at least a modest theatricality, there seems to be a determination not to incorporate this into their stage performance. They deliver their songs with commitment and charm, impressively faithful to their carefully plotted recorded counterparts.
There’s a sense that Look, Stranger! are venturing into what is now becoming a crowded marketplace. There is a substantial group of bands, from both sides of the Atlantic, including the likes of Battles, Dirty Projectors, Mew, and Three Trapped Tigers, who are reinjecting the virtues of arrangement and composition into rock music. Look, Stranger! seem to share these preoccupations, but with a greater deference to melody, harmony and the timeless impact of the human voice. There’s a palpable, widescreen ambition in songs like ‘She Will Not Rest’ and ‘Nova Zembla’ and the group are not averse to the occasional odd time signature.
If at times it threatens to get a little grandiose (Sheinman half-jokingly describes ‘Nova Zembla’ as the band’s response to the new Muse album), then there are moments of unashamed fun that dilute the danger. ‘She Will Not Rest’ unpredictably explodes into a careering, driving mix of heavy bass synths and stuttering drums. ‘Where Horses Roam’ could be the band’s finest moment, a three minute pop song with a nagging lyricless hook and an angular Grizzly Bear-go-to-studio-54 groove. It has the potential to really capture the imagination – surely it’s only a matter of time before large audiences are chanting ‘woah-hoah-hoah’ along with the band - and then quite possibly to become an albatross around the group’s collective neck.
Most impressive for me is ‘To The River’, where Sheinman’s voice is at its most personable and relaxed and the music is at its most evocative. The integration of electronic and acoustic drums in the rhythm track undoubtedly owes a debt to Radiohead, but the languorous melody also hints at the more emotional territory of Elbow or Sweet Billy Pilgrim. This lush, slow-building terrain, well crafted but also honest and direct is where the band are at their strongest.
This is the work of a sophisticated band. The most transparent evidence of this is in the well executed vocal arrangements and the group’s assured and sensitive handling of dynamics. The overall effect is also enhanced by an excellent rhythm section – bassist Ali Wedderburn and drummer Thom Hosken sit very tightly and play expressively but never contribute any more than is necessary for each particular song’s mood. Hosken is that rarest of things – a drummer with a very light touch who might just, at times, be too quiet! Crucially, Look, Stranger! sound like a real ensemble – there’s also much to enjoy in David Isaacs’ combination of Reichian minimalism and ornate flourish at the keys and in Tim Sheinman’s shimmering guitar lines.
At 93 Feet East the band bring out a more whimsical side to complement their ambition in songs like ‘Lady Godiva’ and also in the playful encore, which features a whistling solo from Wedderburn and sees band members depart from the stage one by one. That the band manage to marry their ambition with qualities of intimacy and immediacy is impressive. There are some minor kinks to be ironed out, some slightly tentative vocal pitching suggesting the group could yet grow in confidence – but this is clearly a band to watch.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Flight From Convention
Flaming Lips – Embryonic (Warner Bros, 2009)
David Sylvian – Manafon (Samadhi Sound, 2009)
A new Flaming Lips album is always going to be a talking point. It’s unsurprising then that the nature and character of ‘Embryonic’ has already been well documented in publicity and interviews. It’s a massive double album, constructed largely from ‘jams’ in the studio, a move supposedly taken to liberate the group from the restrictions of the song form and to stop them from repeating themselves.
I certainly applaud the band’s willingness to adapt, although it is starting to look as if those brilliant companion albums ‘Zaireeka’ and ‘The Soft Bulletin’ might become twin albatrosses around the group’s collective neck. ‘Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots’ has not, at least for me, endured all that well – relying too much on quirks and production tricks. ‘At War With The Mystics’ may well have been a better record, but it felt dense and impenetrable in places.
Perhaps ‘Embryonic’ might have come as more of a shock if Wayne Coyne hadn’t already explained and justified it so thoroughly. Now that he has, its sound is relatively unsurprising – full of fuzzy noise, propulsive drum grooves (still reliant on that colossal, distorted Dave Fridmann sound) and heavily inspired by the likes of Can and the electric period Miles Davis groups.
Melody is clearly not a priority for the group here, and one of the most interesting changes is the way Wayne Coyne’s voice has now been subsumed into the overall texture of the music. On ‘The Soft Bulletin’, they made a clear virtue of his shaky pitch, presenting him as the very vulnerable, human heart experiencing a sense of cosmic awe. Now he sounds like a background figure, somewhat overwhelmed by the unhinged chaos surrounding him.
As a result, it’s the moments where everything relaxes and the music sleepwalks into a laconic drift that are most surprising. ‘Evil’ is eerie and appropriately sinister, whilst ‘I Can Be A Frog’ is tender and barmy in equal measure, albeit slightly undermined by unsubtle interjecting sound effects. Even better is ‘If’, which sounds like a more aquatic version of Neil Young’s theme from ‘Philadelphia’.
Elsewhere, there is much to enjoy, if you have the patience to trudge through the whole thing. There’s something gleeful and delirious about the chanting on ‘Worm Mountain’ and the opening ‘Convinced By The Hex’ makes for a suitably warped and disconcerting introduction. The frantic, glorious rush of ‘Silver Trembling Hands’ and the way it melts beautifully into its frazzled half-time chorus, is a definite highlight.
Sometimes, though, it has to be conceded that ‘Embryonic’ exposes the limitations of this approach to music making. For improvisation to work, it has to be unselfconscious, with inspired music emerging as a result of a natural, unforced interplay between the members of the ensemble. Yet this is not really what the Flaming Lips do. Their reputation has been built on careful orchestration and meticulous studio processes. In concert, when they are not busy with gesticulation and gimmicky showmanship, their performances consist of near-perfect facsimiles of the studio recordings. It would perhaps be too much to expect them to abandon this aesthetic entirely.
As a result, much of the supposed ‘randomness’ of ‘Embryonic’ sounds meticulously plotted and pre-ordained. When at its least successful, it sounds like a number of, well, ‘embryonic’ ideas stitched together. Yet there are so many ideas here – some worthwhile, whilst others lead the group up cul-de-sacs. At the very least, it invites careful repeated listening. It’s the sort of album that will inspire and frustrate in equal measure.
Embryonic is currently streaming at http://www.colbertnation.com
By way of contrast, David Sylvian is an artist who has been on a path away from the conventional song form for quite some time now. His output has been sporadic, but has always seemed like the result of a clear and driven mission, if not of complete repudiation of his past, then at least in search of radical new directions. It worked brilliantly on ‘Blemish’, a genuinely caustic and provocative record, on which Sylvian sought some kind of catharsis following the collapse of his marriage. It featured contributions from the late, brilliant avant-garde guitarist Derek Bailey and from electronic artist Christian Fennesz.
One of the major characteristics of Sylvian’s recent work has been an attempt to escape from the restrictions of time and rhythm. Like ‘Blemish’, ‘Manafon’ has no drums or percussion, and has a floaty, dreamy atmosphere. Some might argue that Sylvian is more interested in ‘pure sound’ than music here and, as such, ‘Manafon’ does seem more like the product of an art installation than a studio collaboration between experienced musicians. All this reminds me of Ian Carr’s warnings about the limitations of a certain approach to free improvisation. Whilst he had great admiration for the likes of Evan Parker, he also claimed that attempting to avoid time was usually futile – ‘as soon as you play a group of notes, you’re playing in time’.
Whilst ‘Manafon’ adopts a similar approach to Blemish, with Fennesz returning to play a greater role on laptop and guitar, it’s a notably calmer work. Even amidst its references to tortured poets and ‘random acts of senseless violence’, it’s Sylvian’s voice, with its hint of vibrato, that’s placed firmly in the foreground, representing a peculiar sort of serenity. Here is someone who has, at least supposedly, abandoned false idols in search of something pure and crystalline.
This music is pregnant with silence, space and air. The musical contributions from Evan Parker amongst others are quiet and mysterious rather than furious or wild. It’s not fair to say that this music lacks melody – it’s more a case of the improvised backdrops inspiring Sylvian to improvise his own melodies. When these integrate well with the music, as on the opening ‘Small Metal Gods’ and ‘Emily Dickinson’, the results are hypnotic. On the longer pieces, though, any sense of shape or flow tends to dissipate, and the results are rather opaque mood pieces.
‘Manafon’ would have worked brilliantly as an EP or a mini-album. But with the entire full length album adopting this delicate, brush stroke approach consistently, it sounds much more like one continuous, overlong piece than a set of individual songs. I deeply admire the emphasis on space, but can’t help longing for some sort of contrast or surprise.
It could certainly be argued that ‘Manafon’ requires one hundred per cent total immersion and concentration to deliver its full rewards. But the individual statements of the musicians, however subtle and controlled, are fleeting and transient, over which Sylvian’s incantations are clearly intended to be transcendent. His intellectual and philosophical musings don’t always offer anything to connect with emotionally, a problem that did not afflict ‘Blemish’.
One has to admire Sylvian’s audacity. Like Scott Walker, he has distanced himself so thoroughly from his former life as a pop star that one now has to expect something challenging and deeply unconventional with every release. His last release with Nine Horses was a smoky treat – and his record label Samedhi Sound is beginning to establish itself as a source of stimulating, powerful music, not least the haunting, beautiful music of Mercury nominated Sweet Billy Pilgrim. Yet in his search for a transcendental, spiritual response to the dangers and chaos of the world, Sylvian may have produced a work which is ultimately rather difficult to enjoy and appreciate. It’s almost as if his music has been so purified that any sense of humanity – any rage, anger, love, passion has been excised in favour of a detached, impartial gaze. It’s arguable that he has done this very thoroughly and successfully but there will be divergent schools of thought as to whether this is a musical goal worth aspiring to or not.
David Sylvian – Manafon (Samadhi Sound, 2009)
A new Flaming Lips album is always going to be a talking point. It’s unsurprising then that the nature and character of ‘Embryonic’ has already been well documented in publicity and interviews. It’s a massive double album, constructed largely from ‘jams’ in the studio, a move supposedly taken to liberate the group from the restrictions of the song form and to stop them from repeating themselves.
I certainly applaud the band’s willingness to adapt, although it is starting to look as if those brilliant companion albums ‘Zaireeka’ and ‘The Soft Bulletin’ might become twin albatrosses around the group’s collective neck. ‘Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots’ has not, at least for me, endured all that well – relying too much on quirks and production tricks. ‘At War With The Mystics’ may well have been a better record, but it felt dense and impenetrable in places.
Perhaps ‘Embryonic’ might have come as more of a shock if Wayne Coyne hadn’t already explained and justified it so thoroughly. Now that he has, its sound is relatively unsurprising – full of fuzzy noise, propulsive drum grooves (still reliant on that colossal, distorted Dave Fridmann sound) and heavily inspired by the likes of Can and the electric period Miles Davis groups.
Melody is clearly not a priority for the group here, and one of the most interesting changes is the way Wayne Coyne’s voice has now been subsumed into the overall texture of the music. On ‘The Soft Bulletin’, they made a clear virtue of his shaky pitch, presenting him as the very vulnerable, human heart experiencing a sense of cosmic awe. Now he sounds like a background figure, somewhat overwhelmed by the unhinged chaos surrounding him.
As a result, it’s the moments where everything relaxes and the music sleepwalks into a laconic drift that are most surprising. ‘Evil’ is eerie and appropriately sinister, whilst ‘I Can Be A Frog’ is tender and barmy in equal measure, albeit slightly undermined by unsubtle interjecting sound effects. Even better is ‘If’, which sounds like a more aquatic version of Neil Young’s theme from ‘Philadelphia’.
Elsewhere, there is much to enjoy, if you have the patience to trudge through the whole thing. There’s something gleeful and delirious about the chanting on ‘Worm Mountain’ and the opening ‘Convinced By The Hex’ makes for a suitably warped and disconcerting introduction. The frantic, glorious rush of ‘Silver Trembling Hands’ and the way it melts beautifully into its frazzled half-time chorus, is a definite highlight.
Sometimes, though, it has to be conceded that ‘Embryonic’ exposes the limitations of this approach to music making. For improvisation to work, it has to be unselfconscious, with inspired music emerging as a result of a natural, unforced interplay between the members of the ensemble. Yet this is not really what the Flaming Lips do. Their reputation has been built on careful orchestration and meticulous studio processes. In concert, when they are not busy with gesticulation and gimmicky showmanship, their performances consist of near-perfect facsimiles of the studio recordings. It would perhaps be too much to expect them to abandon this aesthetic entirely.
As a result, much of the supposed ‘randomness’ of ‘Embryonic’ sounds meticulously plotted and pre-ordained. When at its least successful, it sounds like a number of, well, ‘embryonic’ ideas stitched together. Yet there are so many ideas here – some worthwhile, whilst others lead the group up cul-de-sacs. At the very least, it invites careful repeated listening. It’s the sort of album that will inspire and frustrate in equal measure.
Embryonic is currently streaming at http://www.colbertnation.com
By way of contrast, David Sylvian is an artist who has been on a path away from the conventional song form for quite some time now. His output has been sporadic, but has always seemed like the result of a clear and driven mission, if not of complete repudiation of his past, then at least in search of radical new directions. It worked brilliantly on ‘Blemish’, a genuinely caustic and provocative record, on which Sylvian sought some kind of catharsis following the collapse of his marriage. It featured contributions from the late, brilliant avant-garde guitarist Derek Bailey and from electronic artist Christian Fennesz.
One of the major characteristics of Sylvian’s recent work has been an attempt to escape from the restrictions of time and rhythm. Like ‘Blemish’, ‘Manafon’ has no drums or percussion, and has a floaty, dreamy atmosphere. Some might argue that Sylvian is more interested in ‘pure sound’ than music here and, as such, ‘Manafon’ does seem more like the product of an art installation than a studio collaboration between experienced musicians. All this reminds me of Ian Carr’s warnings about the limitations of a certain approach to free improvisation. Whilst he had great admiration for the likes of Evan Parker, he also claimed that attempting to avoid time was usually futile – ‘as soon as you play a group of notes, you’re playing in time’.
Whilst ‘Manafon’ adopts a similar approach to Blemish, with Fennesz returning to play a greater role on laptop and guitar, it’s a notably calmer work. Even amidst its references to tortured poets and ‘random acts of senseless violence’, it’s Sylvian’s voice, with its hint of vibrato, that’s placed firmly in the foreground, representing a peculiar sort of serenity. Here is someone who has, at least supposedly, abandoned false idols in search of something pure and crystalline.
This music is pregnant with silence, space and air. The musical contributions from Evan Parker amongst others are quiet and mysterious rather than furious or wild. It’s not fair to say that this music lacks melody – it’s more a case of the improvised backdrops inspiring Sylvian to improvise his own melodies. When these integrate well with the music, as on the opening ‘Small Metal Gods’ and ‘Emily Dickinson’, the results are hypnotic. On the longer pieces, though, any sense of shape or flow tends to dissipate, and the results are rather opaque mood pieces.
‘Manafon’ would have worked brilliantly as an EP or a mini-album. But with the entire full length album adopting this delicate, brush stroke approach consistently, it sounds much more like one continuous, overlong piece than a set of individual songs. I deeply admire the emphasis on space, but can’t help longing for some sort of contrast or surprise.
It could certainly be argued that ‘Manafon’ requires one hundred per cent total immersion and concentration to deliver its full rewards. But the individual statements of the musicians, however subtle and controlled, are fleeting and transient, over which Sylvian’s incantations are clearly intended to be transcendent. His intellectual and philosophical musings don’t always offer anything to connect with emotionally, a problem that did not afflict ‘Blemish’.
One has to admire Sylvian’s audacity. Like Scott Walker, he has distanced himself so thoroughly from his former life as a pop star that one now has to expect something challenging and deeply unconventional with every release. His last release with Nine Horses was a smoky treat – and his record label Samedhi Sound is beginning to establish itself as a source of stimulating, powerful music, not least the haunting, beautiful music of Mercury nominated Sweet Billy Pilgrim. Yet in his search for a transcendental, spiritual response to the dangers and chaos of the world, Sylvian may have produced a work which is ultimately rather difficult to enjoy and appreciate. It’s almost as if his music has been so purified that any sense of humanity – any rage, anger, love, passion has been excised in favour of a detached, impartial gaze. It’s arguable that he has done this very thoroughly and successfully but there will be divergent schools of thought as to whether this is a musical goal worth aspiring to or not.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Captive States
Fish Tank (Dir: Andrea Arnold, 2009)
Afterschool (Dir: Antonio Campos, 2009)
Britain’s Andrea Arnold could be an amazingly resourceful woman, someone with impressive connections or just someone to whom very fortunate things happen. She’s certainly a promising talent, but not all talented people win Oscars for their first short films and get their first two features shown in competition at Cannes. Perhaps her earlier career as a presenter on those ITV Saturday morning shows that I do not remember fondly – No. 73 and Motormouth – did her less harm than one might expect. However she’s got to her current position as pre-eminent British auteur, she’s clearly in a league of her own.
Seeing her in conversation at the London Film Festival a couple of years ago for a special screening of her first feature ‘Red Road’, I was a little disappointed at how inarticulate she appeared. ‘Red Road’ had, it transpired, emerged from a collaborative project in which Lars Von Trier’s Zoetrope company had played a dominant role, and Arnold had been given a list of characters around which she would have to craft her film. She seemed to have little else to say about it and, perhaps understandably, seemed frustrated at some of the audience’s more banal questions.
Luckily, Von Trier’s trademark combination of provocation and pretention were nowhere to be found in Arnold’s finished product, which seemed like a murky, disorientating product of the real world. Arnold had elicited some tremendous performances from an unstarry cast and the cinematography and pacing of the film conspired to create a distinctive, claustrophobic atmosphere.
Nevertheless, I expressed some reservations about the film. I speculated as to whether some of the actions of Arnold’s central female character were completely convincing (although I would have to concede I’m not best placed to judge), perhaps enough to undermine the film's central dramatic conceit. I also felt slightly cheated that Arnold had set up the very engaging and timely CCTV scenario only to sidestep the entire issue in favour of a more conventional revenge thriller with an unsatisfactory denouement.
‘Fish Tank’ is perhaps less original but a good deal more assured. It takes Arnold’s natural feel for location and mood and applies them to something which could be described as a social realist genre piece. Arnold not only brilliantly establishes the tension and frustration of a life in enclosed space and with limited opportunity, but also contrasts this with some brilliantly composed images of the wilder, unforgiving Essex countryside.
In the manner of Ken Loach, Arnold again draws terrific performances from her cast, particularly from the established Michael Fassbender and from untrained newcomer Katie Jarvis. Jarvis, who got the role after being spotted mouthing off at a railway station, is certainly a bright spark and one hopes that she is guided to more acting opportunities in the future. Fassbender, who is clearly becoming more selective with his roles now, just goes from strength to strength.
The story focuses on Mia, a prickly, obtuse and naïve fifteen-year-old living in an Essex council estate with her drunken, disinterested mother and her audacious younger sister. Her appetite for confrontation and adventure places her in difficult situations – getting in trouble for breaking another girl's nose with a deft headbutt or ending up in danger when trying to rescue a captive horse. The latter situation is a none-too-subtle but nevertheless affecting metaphor for Mia’s own desire for freedom.
Her life begins to change irrevocably with the appearance of Conor (played by Fassbender) who begins a relationship with her mother. Conor pierces their world with an attractive casual insouciance which masks his secrets and motivations. The first thing he does is to praise Mia, claiming ‘you dance like a black…I mean it as a compliment’. It’s doubtful whether anyone has even noticed Mia’s passion for urban dance before, never mind encouraged it. It represents mysterious new territory for a young girl with little experience of warmth or love.
At first, Mia is confused about how to react and oscillates between reciprocating Conor’s affection (which seems sincere) and flatly rejecting him. There’s a brilliant scene in which Conor takes the whole family to some marshes and catches a fish. Mia’s mother and sister cower on the bank but Mia bravely follows Conor into the water. She cuts her foot in the process and Conor carries her back to the car, but the warm atmosphere quickly reverts to something unbearably tense.
Arnold establishes a sort of grim inevitability to her narrative arc. She’s not in the least bit subtle in establishing the erotic tension between Conor and Mia and it’s hardly a great plot spoiler to reveal that, after a night of heavy drinking, they end up having rather sordid sex. I’m a little agnostic as to whether this inevitability heightens the sense of claustrophobia or whether it actually undercuts the drama. Either way, I can’t help feeling the film suffers a little for occasionally resorting to arthouse cliche. The use of slow motion and heavy breathing on the soundtrack whenever Conor and Mia are in close proximity seems a little simplistic. It risks glamorising the transgression, of which Conor is painfully aware, but which Mia does not recognise until it is too late.
The relationship, of course, is actually a good deal more complicated than this crass eroticism suggests. Mia desperately needs a father figure, and ends up conflating this in her own mind with sexual attraction. Following their encounter, and Conor’s predictable abrupt departure, the film shifts gear as Mia delves for more information, uncovering some shocking truths and, in one brilliant moment at a ‘dance’ audition, finding a real sense of integrity and self belief. This, combined with the escape at the end of the film (whether temporary or permanent) demonstrates Arnold’s essential optimism, and provides a much needed glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak landscape.
At one point towards the end, it looks like the film might drift into ‘Red Road’ style revenge territory. Thankfully, Arnold holds back brilliantly, merely flirting with this theme in a manner which is entirely in keeping with Mia’s character. During this sequence, she ratchets up the tension and very quickly removes it – a sure sign that she has many more mature films to come.
‘Fish Tank’ is not, as some have suggested, a masterpiece. If we are rash in bestowing good films with such status, then we are doing a disservice both to audiences and to cinema. There are clear flaws – from the aforementioned stylistic stereotypes to some parts being a little underwritten. What it is though is an extremely promising and confident work, more controlled and communicative than its predecessor, which proves that there is still great space for expression in the field of social realism.
Young director Antonio Campos is arguably emerging as something of a Stateside counterpart to Arnold. He caused something of a stir with his short film ‘Buy It Now!’, about a teenage girl auctioning her virginity on ebay. With ‘Afterschool’, he has crafted one of the year’s more eye-catching and acclaimed features, albeit one that wears its influences proudly on its sleeve. With its preoccupation with video and high levels of tension, ‘Afterschool’ has been compared with Michael Haneke’s ‘Hidden’, although the ghostly school corridors of Gus Van Sant’s ‘Elephant’ may have exerted an even greater influence. Campos has at least had the grace to develop his own affectations – much of ‘Afterschool’ is framed in a very unconventional manner, leaving heads and faces curiously out of shot.
I often comment that school is the most political environment we experience in our lives – more so than any workplace or indeed any explicitly political institution. Campos goes much further than this in establishing it as a chilling, alienating place repressing expression and feeling. So completely dispiriting is this portrait that it seems more like a depiction of a prison. With its harsh lighting and creepy sound design, ‘Afterschool’ is distinctive chiefly for being the coldest, most austere film I have seen in some time. This at times makes it quite challenging to watch.
The film’s protagonist Rob, played appropriately listlessly by Ezra Miller, is compulsively addicted to some of the internet’s darker offerings, from violent pornography to confrontational clips on YouTube. He is interested, he says in slices of ‘things that seem real’. Rob is inarticulate, clumsy and unconfident, particularly in his relationships with girls, and appears to inhabit a world where drugs, both illegal and prescribed are commonplace. Actually, rather than bring him closer to the real world, his immersion in video serves to detach him further from reality.
Rob joins an after school video club to learn filming techniques and perhaps to get closer to a girl. Whilst working on a project, he inadvertently captures the school’s leading lights, glamorous and popular blonde twins, collapsing and dying after snorting cocaine that may have been cut with rat poison. His response to this traumatic experience is affectless and dulled, although it inevitably provokes the well-intentioned but naïve concern of all the adults around him.
Indeed, one of my major misgivings with ‘Afterschool’ is its treatment of the adult community of the school, from its patronising counsellor to its foolish headteacher. The latter shows extraordinary depths of idiocy by assigning Rob to make a video diary in memory of the girls and then being shocked by the unflinchingly honest product with which he is presented (Robert’s film eschews both diplomacy and production values). Predictably Rob’s mother, heard only in a terse telephone conversation in the school common room, is similarly witless and lacking in understanding. Whilst these portrayals don’t quite hit the levels of adult caricature favoured by Channel 4’s Skins, they do fail in the need to capture the complexity of relationships between teenagers and adults (something Andrea Arnold obviously confronts more explicitly in ‘Fish Tank’). Adults can of course seem distant or unhelpful at that age – but usually some are able to bridge the perceived divide and find some common ground. Perhaps these uncomplicated roles were simply necessary for Campos to establish his sense of alienation and confusion.
There are some convincing touches – from Rob’s fumbling and apparently unsatisfying first sexual encounter to his simmering resentment at his room-mate stealing his girlfriend. Campos also does an assured job in realising the real and significant impact such a tragic event would have on a school community. Rob actually captures this in his video, but the headteacher would, understandably, prefer to present the bereaved family with benign platitudes set to appropriate music.
The film’s brutal aesthetic is sustained throughout – an impressive achievement, although one which leaves critical judgment somewhat in the service of personal taste. There is a great deal to admire about ‘Afterschool’, perhaps a little less to like. The film poses intriguing and important questions about guilt and complicity and leaves them tantalisingly unresolved.
One final thought – if ‘Afterschool’ has been so admired on both sides of the Atlantic (in the UK, it received a feature review in Sight and Sound, and broadly positive assessments from Peter Bradshaw and Philip French, widely believed to be our most influential broadsheet critics) – why has it only been showing in one screen in London?!
Afterschool (Dir: Antonio Campos, 2009)
Britain’s Andrea Arnold could be an amazingly resourceful woman, someone with impressive connections or just someone to whom very fortunate things happen. She’s certainly a promising talent, but not all talented people win Oscars for their first short films and get their first two features shown in competition at Cannes. Perhaps her earlier career as a presenter on those ITV Saturday morning shows that I do not remember fondly – No. 73 and Motormouth – did her less harm than one might expect. However she’s got to her current position as pre-eminent British auteur, she’s clearly in a league of her own.
Seeing her in conversation at the London Film Festival a couple of years ago for a special screening of her first feature ‘Red Road’, I was a little disappointed at how inarticulate she appeared. ‘Red Road’ had, it transpired, emerged from a collaborative project in which Lars Von Trier’s Zoetrope company had played a dominant role, and Arnold had been given a list of characters around which she would have to craft her film. She seemed to have little else to say about it and, perhaps understandably, seemed frustrated at some of the audience’s more banal questions.
Luckily, Von Trier’s trademark combination of provocation and pretention were nowhere to be found in Arnold’s finished product, which seemed like a murky, disorientating product of the real world. Arnold had elicited some tremendous performances from an unstarry cast and the cinematography and pacing of the film conspired to create a distinctive, claustrophobic atmosphere.
Nevertheless, I expressed some reservations about the film. I speculated as to whether some of the actions of Arnold’s central female character were completely convincing (although I would have to concede I’m not best placed to judge), perhaps enough to undermine the film's central dramatic conceit. I also felt slightly cheated that Arnold had set up the very engaging and timely CCTV scenario only to sidestep the entire issue in favour of a more conventional revenge thriller with an unsatisfactory denouement.
‘Fish Tank’ is perhaps less original but a good deal more assured. It takes Arnold’s natural feel for location and mood and applies them to something which could be described as a social realist genre piece. Arnold not only brilliantly establishes the tension and frustration of a life in enclosed space and with limited opportunity, but also contrasts this with some brilliantly composed images of the wilder, unforgiving Essex countryside.
In the manner of Ken Loach, Arnold again draws terrific performances from her cast, particularly from the established Michael Fassbender and from untrained newcomer Katie Jarvis. Jarvis, who got the role after being spotted mouthing off at a railway station, is certainly a bright spark and one hopes that she is guided to more acting opportunities in the future. Fassbender, who is clearly becoming more selective with his roles now, just goes from strength to strength.
The story focuses on Mia, a prickly, obtuse and naïve fifteen-year-old living in an Essex council estate with her drunken, disinterested mother and her audacious younger sister. Her appetite for confrontation and adventure places her in difficult situations – getting in trouble for breaking another girl's nose with a deft headbutt or ending up in danger when trying to rescue a captive horse. The latter situation is a none-too-subtle but nevertheless affecting metaphor for Mia’s own desire for freedom.
Her life begins to change irrevocably with the appearance of Conor (played by Fassbender) who begins a relationship with her mother. Conor pierces their world with an attractive casual insouciance which masks his secrets and motivations. The first thing he does is to praise Mia, claiming ‘you dance like a black…I mean it as a compliment’. It’s doubtful whether anyone has even noticed Mia’s passion for urban dance before, never mind encouraged it. It represents mysterious new territory for a young girl with little experience of warmth or love.
At first, Mia is confused about how to react and oscillates between reciprocating Conor’s affection (which seems sincere) and flatly rejecting him. There’s a brilliant scene in which Conor takes the whole family to some marshes and catches a fish. Mia’s mother and sister cower on the bank but Mia bravely follows Conor into the water. She cuts her foot in the process and Conor carries her back to the car, but the warm atmosphere quickly reverts to something unbearably tense.
Arnold establishes a sort of grim inevitability to her narrative arc. She’s not in the least bit subtle in establishing the erotic tension between Conor and Mia and it’s hardly a great plot spoiler to reveal that, after a night of heavy drinking, they end up having rather sordid sex. I’m a little agnostic as to whether this inevitability heightens the sense of claustrophobia or whether it actually undercuts the drama. Either way, I can’t help feeling the film suffers a little for occasionally resorting to arthouse cliche. The use of slow motion and heavy breathing on the soundtrack whenever Conor and Mia are in close proximity seems a little simplistic. It risks glamorising the transgression, of which Conor is painfully aware, but which Mia does not recognise until it is too late.
The relationship, of course, is actually a good deal more complicated than this crass eroticism suggests. Mia desperately needs a father figure, and ends up conflating this in her own mind with sexual attraction. Following their encounter, and Conor’s predictable abrupt departure, the film shifts gear as Mia delves for more information, uncovering some shocking truths and, in one brilliant moment at a ‘dance’ audition, finding a real sense of integrity and self belief. This, combined with the escape at the end of the film (whether temporary or permanent) demonstrates Arnold’s essential optimism, and provides a much needed glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak landscape.
At one point towards the end, it looks like the film might drift into ‘Red Road’ style revenge territory. Thankfully, Arnold holds back brilliantly, merely flirting with this theme in a manner which is entirely in keeping with Mia’s character. During this sequence, she ratchets up the tension and very quickly removes it – a sure sign that she has many more mature films to come.
‘Fish Tank’ is not, as some have suggested, a masterpiece. If we are rash in bestowing good films with such status, then we are doing a disservice both to audiences and to cinema. There are clear flaws – from the aforementioned stylistic stereotypes to some parts being a little underwritten. What it is though is an extremely promising and confident work, more controlled and communicative than its predecessor, which proves that there is still great space for expression in the field of social realism.
Young director Antonio Campos is arguably emerging as something of a Stateside counterpart to Arnold. He caused something of a stir with his short film ‘Buy It Now!’, about a teenage girl auctioning her virginity on ebay. With ‘Afterschool’, he has crafted one of the year’s more eye-catching and acclaimed features, albeit one that wears its influences proudly on its sleeve. With its preoccupation with video and high levels of tension, ‘Afterschool’ has been compared with Michael Haneke’s ‘Hidden’, although the ghostly school corridors of Gus Van Sant’s ‘Elephant’ may have exerted an even greater influence. Campos has at least had the grace to develop his own affectations – much of ‘Afterschool’ is framed in a very unconventional manner, leaving heads and faces curiously out of shot.
I often comment that school is the most political environment we experience in our lives – more so than any workplace or indeed any explicitly political institution. Campos goes much further than this in establishing it as a chilling, alienating place repressing expression and feeling. So completely dispiriting is this portrait that it seems more like a depiction of a prison. With its harsh lighting and creepy sound design, ‘Afterschool’ is distinctive chiefly for being the coldest, most austere film I have seen in some time. This at times makes it quite challenging to watch.
The film’s protagonist Rob, played appropriately listlessly by Ezra Miller, is compulsively addicted to some of the internet’s darker offerings, from violent pornography to confrontational clips on YouTube. He is interested, he says in slices of ‘things that seem real’. Rob is inarticulate, clumsy and unconfident, particularly in his relationships with girls, and appears to inhabit a world where drugs, both illegal and prescribed are commonplace. Actually, rather than bring him closer to the real world, his immersion in video serves to detach him further from reality.
Rob joins an after school video club to learn filming techniques and perhaps to get closer to a girl. Whilst working on a project, he inadvertently captures the school’s leading lights, glamorous and popular blonde twins, collapsing and dying after snorting cocaine that may have been cut with rat poison. His response to this traumatic experience is affectless and dulled, although it inevitably provokes the well-intentioned but naïve concern of all the adults around him.
Indeed, one of my major misgivings with ‘Afterschool’ is its treatment of the adult community of the school, from its patronising counsellor to its foolish headteacher. The latter shows extraordinary depths of idiocy by assigning Rob to make a video diary in memory of the girls and then being shocked by the unflinchingly honest product with which he is presented (Robert’s film eschews both diplomacy and production values). Predictably Rob’s mother, heard only in a terse telephone conversation in the school common room, is similarly witless and lacking in understanding. Whilst these portrayals don’t quite hit the levels of adult caricature favoured by Channel 4’s Skins, they do fail in the need to capture the complexity of relationships between teenagers and adults (something Andrea Arnold obviously confronts more explicitly in ‘Fish Tank’). Adults can of course seem distant or unhelpful at that age – but usually some are able to bridge the perceived divide and find some common ground. Perhaps these uncomplicated roles were simply necessary for Campos to establish his sense of alienation and confusion.
There are some convincing touches – from Rob’s fumbling and apparently unsatisfying first sexual encounter to his simmering resentment at his room-mate stealing his girlfriend. Campos also does an assured job in realising the real and significant impact such a tragic event would have on a school community. Rob actually captures this in his video, but the headteacher would, understandably, prefer to present the bereaved family with benign platitudes set to appropriate music.
The film’s brutal aesthetic is sustained throughout – an impressive achievement, although one which leaves critical judgment somewhat in the service of personal taste. There is a great deal to admire about ‘Afterschool’, perhaps a little less to like. The film poses intriguing and important questions about guilt and complicity and leaves them tantalisingly unresolved.
One final thought – if ‘Afterschool’ has been so admired on both sides of the Atlantic (in the UK, it received a feature review in Sight and Sound, and broadly positive assessments from Peter Bradshaw and Philip French, widely believed to be our most influential broadsheet critics) – why has it only been showing in one screen in London?!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Into The Woods
Mew – No More Stories Are Told Today I’m Sorry They Washed Away No More Stories The World Is Grey I’m Tired Let’s Wash Away (Columbia, 2009)
Well, that certainly wraps up the ludicrous title of the year award, with bonus points for lack of punctuation. What a shame that such linguistic pretention will most likely alienate this record’s potential audience, for Mew’s excellent, inventive music continues to develop apace. This may well be their warmest, most accessible album but the group’s imagination with rhythm and sound continues to set them apart from most of their peers, placing them firmly in that league of superior, composition-focused rock groups (see also Dirty Projectors, Grizzly Bear, Apostle of Hustle, Three Trapped Tigers etc).
Those with an innate suspicion of ‘intellectual’ rock music might pounce on the angular subdivisions of ‘Introducing Palace Players’ (featuring a style of drumming that is somewhat alien to the rigorous restrictions of indie-rock). They might also be dissuaded by the rather self-conscious reversed weirdness of the opening ‘New Terrain’ and condemn Mew as ‘difficult’. For me, there’s something curiously uplifting in the disjunctive robotic movements of the former and something surreal and disorientating in the textures of the latter.
Whilst this music is certainly meticulously constructed, it’s not without more immediate charms. There’s the insistent pulse of ‘Repeaterbeater’ or the gorgeous summery shimmer of ‘Beach’. Even more off the beaten track is the bastardised samba of ‘Hawaii’, an irresistible confection which seems. Whilst Mew are renowned for their short attention spans, tending to flip between a wealth of ideas, these songs are more notable for their consistent, carefully detailed moods.
The mid-section of the album adopts a more stately pace. The saccharine ‘Silas The Magic Car’ is the one point where Jonas Bjerre’s cutesy, childlike vocals threaten to become an irritation. Much better is ‘Cartoons and Macrame Wounds’, an engrossing and mesmerising epic with a peculiar combination of gentle lilt and emphatic crescendos.
Rich Costey’s production is a significant factor throughout. Having also produced the group’s international debut ‘Frengers’, Costey has played a vital role in defining the distinctive Mew sound, which is sleek and precise. It strikes me that Mew are actually quite close in sonic terms to Muse, another band that Costey has produced, although they are nowhere near as grandiose and they lack Matt Bellamy’s nails-down-a-blackboard vocal histrionics. Perhaps this explains Mew’s modest but fiercely loyal audience – they’ll never break into stadiums in the way that Muse have, perhaps because of the sense of restraint that tempers their otherwise expansive music.
There’s something quietly subversive about Mew’s coupling of mainstream production values with the impulse for adventure. Whilst the album’s title exposes their affectations, there’s also something innocent and charming in their bizarre, almost nonsensical lyrics and delicate melodies. Listening to them is like walking into a fairytale forest – it looks beautiful and enticing but offers unexpected twists and turns in the dark.
Well, that certainly wraps up the ludicrous title of the year award, with bonus points for lack of punctuation. What a shame that such linguistic pretention will most likely alienate this record’s potential audience, for Mew’s excellent, inventive music continues to develop apace. This may well be their warmest, most accessible album but the group’s imagination with rhythm and sound continues to set them apart from most of their peers, placing them firmly in that league of superior, composition-focused rock groups (see also Dirty Projectors, Grizzly Bear, Apostle of Hustle, Three Trapped Tigers etc).
Those with an innate suspicion of ‘intellectual’ rock music might pounce on the angular subdivisions of ‘Introducing Palace Players’ (featuring a style of drumming that is somewhat alien to the rigorous restrictions of indie-rock). They might also be dissuaded by the rather self-conscious reversed weirdness of the opening ‘New Terrain’ and condemn Mew as ‘difficult’. For me, there’s something curiously uplifting in the disjunctive robotic movements of the former and something surreal and disorientating in the textures of the latter.
Whilst this music is certainly meticulously constructed, it’s not without more immediate charms. There’s the insistent pulse of ‘Repeaterbeater’ or the gorgeous summery shimmer of ‘Beach’. Even more off the beaten track is the bastardised samba of ‘Hawaii’, an irresistible confection which seems. Whilst Mew are renowned for their short attention spans, tending to flip between a wealth of ideas, these songs are more notable for their consistent, carefully detailed moods.
The mid-section of the album adopts a more stately pace. The saccharine ‘Silas The Magic Car’ is the one point where Jonas Bjerre’s cutesy, childlike vocals threaten to become an irritation. Much better is ‘Cartoons and Macrame Wounds’, an engrossing and mesmerising epic with a peculiar combination of gentle lilt and emphatic crescendos.
Rich Costey’s production is a significant factor throughout. Having also produced the group’s international debut ‘Frengers’, Costey has played a vital role in defining the distinctive Mew sound, which is sleek and precise. It strikes me that Mew are actually quite close in sonic terms to Muse, another band that Costey has produced, although they are nowhere near as grandiose and they lack Matt Bellamy’s nails-down-a-blackboard vocal histrionics. Perhaps this explains Mew’s modest but fiercely loyal audience – they’ll never break into stadiums in the way that Muse have, perhaps because of the sense of restraint that tempers their otherwise expansive music.
There’s something quietly subversive about Mew’s coupling of mainstream production values with the impulse for adventure. Whilst the album’s title exposes their affectations, there’s also something innocent and charming in their bizarre, almost nonsensical lyrics and delicate melodies. Listening to them is like walking into a fairytale forest – it looks beautiful and enticing but offers unexpected twists and turns in the dark.
Ellie Greenwich 1940 - 2009
‘Be My Baby’, ‘Leader of the Pack’, ‘Then He Kissed Me’, ‘I Can Hear Music’, ‘River Deep Mountain High’, or even the much less cool ‘Sunshine After The Rain’ – it’s an old cliché, but they simply don’t make them like that anymore. All were co-written by the great Ellie Greenwich, who died this week at the age of 68. Theiconic producers behind her biggest hits (Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, Phil Spector) are rightly given credit for defining the sound of popular music at that time, but their influence would not have been so pervasive were it not for the quality of the writing of Greenwich and her partner Jeff Barry. Whilst the other husband and wife writing teams of the time, Gerry Goffin and Carole King, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weill, remain household names, few are even aware of Greenwich’s achievement.
Many of her songs exalted the naïve excesses of adolescent emotions, making them readily identifiable for many. Whilst they were undoubtedly written for a commercial imperative in a rapidly growing market, they also came to define the genuine art of the 2-3 minute pop songs. Here was all the grandeur and feeling of a symphony, compacted into a readily digestible form. The harmonic progressions were necessarily simple, but the formula was always irresistible and endlessly repeatable.
Many will know Greenwich’s best loved songs, even if they are completely unaware that she wrote them. Fewer will have any idea of her own solo recordings as a singer-songwriter, most of which are criminally unavailable. Posthumous it will now be, but a reissue programme would be greatly appreciated.
Many of her songs exalted the naïve excesses of adolescent emotions, making them readily identifiable for many. Whilst they were undoubtedly written for a commercial imperative in a rapidly growing market, they also came to define the genuine art of the 2-3 minute pop songs. Here was all the grandeur and feeling of a symphony, compacted into a readily digestible form. The harmonic progressions were necessarily simple, but the formula was always irresistible and endlessly repeatable.
Many will know Greenwich’s best loved songs, even if they are completely unaware that she wrote them. Fewer will have any idea of her own solo recordings as a singer-songwriter, most of which are criminally unavailable. Posthumous it will now be, but a reissue programme would be greatly appreciated.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)