,In an attempt to make this more digestible, I'm dividing this into four chunks this year, so here's the second. The Top 50 will follow tomorrow.
75. Bettye LaVette – Scene Of The Crime (Anti)
The return of the soul survivor continued apace with this triumphant, defiant album, consisting largely of interpretations of songs written by men (her previous comeback album had been made up entirely of songs written by women). Best of all was a powerful transformation of Elton John’s ‘Talking Toy Soldiers’, which proved surprisingly fertile ground for LaVette’s gritty vocal style. It was given stiff competition by the one original here – a stylish, no-holding-back monologue detailing her life story and the injustices she suffered at the hands of a fickle and manipulative music industry. Maybe now she can finally put the past behind her.
74. Wheat – Every Day I Said A Prayer For Kathy and Made A One Inch Square (Empyrean)
Not many people noticed or indeed cared that Wheat had made another record – but delve beneath that infuriatingly pretentious title, and there’s an album of real quality and invention waiting to be discovered. It’s a little off-kilter, occasionally sounding somewhat drunk, but this is an inherent part of this rather unusual music’s quirky appeal. It’s more adventurous than most American alternative rock, and certainly more distinctive but the group now sadly seem to lack any hipster cachet.
73. Tord Gustavsen Trio – Being There (ECM)
Tord Gustavsen continued to refine rather than revolutionise his dignified, spiritual take on the piano trio for ‘Being There’. It’s still a potent sound though, with some bolder ventures into more rhythmically driven territory, although the volume remained defiantly controlled. Gustavsen’s improvising is not particularly complex, but then that style of playing may well have sounded vulgar in such a restrained context. Instead, his slow-paced development of his themes again worked perfectly and the mood was gracefully sustained from start to finish.
72. Empirical – Empirical (Destin-E)
Kit Downes is a remarkably assured, if perhaps slightly studied pianist – and he’s a lively player as part of a truly vibrant ensemble in the context of Empirical. With a debut on Courtney Pine’s label and plenty of press hype, the group have proved remarkably adept at playing the game and they certainly look the part too. There’s little point in resisting the energetic and engaging performances here for cynical reasons though, even if the group’s original contribution has perhaps been somewhat overstated at this early stage. The potential for greatness is certainly there though.
71. Boxcutter – Glyphic (Planet Mu)
If last year’s Oneiric felt like a slightly self-mocking, parodic take on dubstep (and was arguably enjoyable for precisely that reason), ‘Glyphic’ feels like a more fully-formed and weightier statement. It’s an audacious record that steers clear of the genre’s already tiring formulas in favour of something less tangible and more unusual. It’s a record refusing to follow trends, instead paving the way for this still burgeoning sub-genre to advance and develop.
70. Grinderman – Grinderman (Anti)
Well if this is simply Nick Cave kicking back, growing sinister facial hair, indulging himself and having a little fun, I’d like to hear more of it in the future. Untamed, aggressive, masculine and noisy, with outlandish and outrageous lyrics, this is a record in thrall to notoriety and provocation. Luckily it comes with a grim sense of humour too, which might just save it from accusations of misogyny. Those eagerly awaiting the next statement from The Bad Seeds will be satiated with a new album early in the new year. Cave is increasingly prolific these days!
69. Boris with Michio Kurihara – Rainbow (Blue Chopsticks)
Initially a Japanese-only release, and later afforded more widespread distribution, this collaboration between Boris and the outrageously gifted Ghost guitarist Michio Kurihara is stormy and impassioned. Yet it perhaps owes a good deal more to maverick 70s psychedelia than to the drone or metal with which Boris themselves might be more familiar. It’s no less revelatory for this though, and is another firm demonstration of the talents of this most exploratory of bands, adding a propensity for sensitivity in collaboration to their many-stringed bow.
68. John Scofield – This Meets That (Emarcy)
This is certainly among Scofield’s better efforts, combining his best trio set-up (with bassist Steve Swallow and drummer Bill Stewart) with an expressive and meticulously arranged four part horn section. It’s arguable that the interpretations yield more interesting results than the originals, particularly with Bill Frisell guesting on a thoroughly revitalised ‘House Of The Rising Sun’. Still, the feel throughout the album is tremendous, and Scofield continues to marry blues-driven aggression with the wider language of jazz to quite brilliant effect.
67. Alasdair Roberts – The Amber Gatherers (Drag City)
Alasdair Roberts remains criminally unheralded here in the UK, gaining most of his accolades on the other side of the Atlantic thanks to his friendship with Will Oldham. With all this talk of the new folk music going on, it’s extraordinary that nobody seems to mention Roberts – his handling of the Scottish folk canon has demonstrated an unforced and original approach absent from some of the more self-conscious freakery. The sense of calm he brought to that material continues here, but there’s a warmer, less mournful tone here that makes ‘The Amber Gatherers’ almost breezy.
66. Band Of Horses – Cease To Begin (Sub Pop)
With a reconfigured line-up, Ben Bridwell’s Band of Horses stopped trying to play My Morning Jacket at their own game and developed a brighter, more distinctive sound for this excellent second album. There’s also more time for reflection and mood here, and the album takes a number of engaging and unexpected side-steps, from Appalachian traditional hoe-downs, to more sonorous and unpredictable textures.
65. Arve Henriksen – Strjon (Rune Grammofon)
Norwegian trumpeter Henriksen’s weird and eerie music is evocative of ritual and folklore and he is clearly a musician far more interested in sensation and feeling than in the expression of technique. As such, he’s often keen to manipulate the sound of his trumpet so that it resembles almost anything other than the instrument he’s actually playing. The result is a disorientating but breathtaking – a sound that combines the deeply intuitive with the completely synthetic in a profoundly intimate setting.
64. Elmore Judd – Insect Funk (Honest Jon’s)
Released on Damon Albarn’s label (irritating he may be, but his broader industry role is currently paying rich dividends), this delightfully quirky electro-funk gem is an outsider’s pop nugget. With hints of Tom Waits and Captain Beefheart, but also a gleeful smattering of the sexual urgency of Prince, it’s in part highly seductive, but its charms are also somewhat angular and awkward.
63. Myra Melford/Trio M – Big Picture (Cryptogramophone)
What a shame I’ve come rather late to the extraordinary music of Myra Melford. Her ‘Be Bread’ project was actually one of the standout jazz albums of last year, but I only heard it for the first time a couple of months ago after some particularly productive MySpace surfing. This trio album is a collaborative venture with bassist Mark Dresser and drummer Matt Wilson, less spiritual and reflective than its predecessor and dominated by adventurous playing. It’s an intensely serious workout, full of fire and brimstone. The group bend rules imaginatively and effectively, and there is much enjoyment to be gained from their collective malleability – veering between a variety of pulses and free time with gleeful abandon.
62. Bruce Springsteen – Magic (Columbia)
‘Magic’ seemed a little underwhelming on first few listens, not least because Springsteen had returned to Brendan O’ Brien for production duties. Yet again he blurs and muffles the E Street Band sound, subsuming the input of the individual musicians within a vague guitar smudge. Still, the songs are consistently powerful – and Springsteen remains a writer who can cut right to the heart of the American psyche. The political fury of recent outings was still present, although perhaps a little more blurred with the personal. Sometimes the lyrics were slightly convoluted (‘Livin’ In The Future’), but at their best, they captured that everyman melancholy for which Springsteen is rightly lauded (especially ‘Girls In Their Summer Clothes’ and the title track). It’s a crowd-pleasing, driving, insistent record, but it needed time to, ahem, work its magic.
61. Colleen – Les Ondes Silencieuses (Leaf)
Parisian experimentalist Cecille Schott’s questing impulse manifests itself in the desire to perform on an ever more obscure and intriguing set of instruments. On ‘Les Ondes Silencieuses’, she added the viola de gamba and the Spinet to her collection. There’s a real sense of space and calm here, and the Schott imbued the music with humanity and emotional depth. The results were more mournful and plangent than her previous releases but also more absorbing.
60. Scott Colley – Architect Of The Silent Moment (CamJazz)
Bassist Scott Colley (who also played on Kenny Werner’s ‘Lawn Chair Society’) produced one of 2007’s most underrated gems with this effortless combination of academic musicality and carefully calibrated grooving. There’s a mysterious undertow to this dense and challenging music, and it has a fiercely contemporary mind behind it.
59. Wooden Wand – James and The Quiet (Ecstatic Peace)
James Jackson Toth’s first release for Thurston Moore’s burgeoning Ecstatic Peace label may well seem weirdly conventional to his most ardent followers. There’s little consciously weird or provocative about this set. Yet, in its very starkness and austerity, ‘James and The Quiet’ is a disturbing and vivid document, a psych-blues manifesto of the highest quality.
58. Exploding Star Orchestra – We’re All From Somewhere Else (Thrill Jockey)
The pompous liner notes touching on the music of Gyorgy Ligeti and the unity of the cosmos are somewhat off-putting, but this big band contemporary project from the Thrill Jockey staple (including members of Tortoise) is actually refreshing and exciting. In its most powerful, driving moments, it’s both relentless and rewarding, but the passages of abstraction are successful too. If the language used to describe it is rather pretentious, it’s lucky that the music itself does capture something of the sense of vastness and infinite space to which it boldly aspires.
57. Super Furry Animals – Hey Venus! (Rough Trade)
Some saw ‘Hey Venus!’ as something of a conservative retrenchment from SFA, but after the hazy, woozy and ultimately rather soporific ambience of ‘Love Kraft’, I found it a refreshing return to fun and games. It’s a mercilessly concise record that wastes no time and immediately buries itself deep beneath the skin. The lyrics remain uniquely zany. Who could possibly resist a line like ‘We may have fought with tooth and nails/But I still remember your banking details’? There are still no other bands who can match SFA for their palpable sense of adventure and fantasy.
56. Rilo Kiley – Under The Blacklight (Warner Bros)
Oh no! Every fey blogger’s favourite indie band had sold out and gone ‘a bit Fleetwood Mac’! Apparently, this provoked major consternation in the online music community. It’s all no bad thing in my book, even if late Blondie would seem a more accurate reference point for this disco-infused, remarkably polished pure pop wonder. It’s a great deal better than their previous pop music with indie affectations, and Jenny Lewis’ voice sounds increasingly purposeful and confident. That Rilo Kiley are a group of versatile and intelligent musicians helps too – these songs are well arranged, and the group are now avoiding the pitfalls of so much bland guitar pop music in favour of something insistent and rather slinky. If you’re an unconvinced indie kid – let Lewis herself tempt you in – after all, ‘what could be more indie than songs about gonzo pornography’?
55. Immaculate Machine – Immaculate Machine’s Fables (Mint)
Even the presence of Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos and members of the ghastly, unfathomably popular Cribs couldn’t raise the profile of this charming album from these Canadian underdogs. This is as taut and crisp as its equally excellent predecessors, but some subtler, more melodic shades are added into the mix, making for a more balanced whole. This group manage to draw a lot of magic from the keyboard-guitar-drums format, and are blessed with an unrelenting energy. They deserve far more attention in this country, particularly as they crafted a more substantial and satisfying record than their more highly regarded associates in New Pornographers.
54. Murcof – Cosmos (Leaf)
‘Cosmos’ represents a fascinating refashioning of Fernando Corona’s classical-meets-electronica approach. His debut ‘Martes’ and its successor ‘Remembranza’ were haunting and beautiful amalgamations of beats and strings. ‘Cosmos’ mostly forsakes this synthesis in favour of gradual swellings of texture and noise. This is a darker record than its two predecessors, and one that only gradually reveals its true colours. It’s a mesmerising side step from one of the current pioneers of electronic music.
53. Caribou – Andorra (City Slang)
Dan Snaith's musical adventures continued on the doggedly hazy, summery path he’d been pursuing since ‘Up In Flames’ signalled a radical change of direction from his original IDM. ‘Andorra’ seemed like a more fully formed statement than ‘The Milk Of Human Kindness’ – warm, lush and irresistible, but also prone to the occasional bit of troublemaking. Snaith’s canny synthesis of 60s pop melodies with more free form elements and clattering rhythms made for a compelling and elevating work.
52. Beirut – The Flying Club Cup (Ba Da Bing/4AD)
Zach Condon consolidated his prodigious talents on this rather charming second album, a record that invites the listener into its own peculiar world. Condon’s exaggerated vocals perhaps owe something of a debt to Rufus Wainwright, but the music remains infused with a bawdy Eastern European sensibility, along with some more tentative forays into French chanson. It might all seem like affectation were it not for the rich mystery and insight of Condon’s wonderful songs.
51. Paul Bley – Solo in Mondsee (ECM)
The nameless variations on 'Solo in Mondsee' are impressive elaborations on clearly stated musical ideas and themes. Whilst he frequently hints at pages of the standard repertoire, Bley is more concerned with emotional impact than referencing or thematic deconstruction. In a similar way to how Paul Motian gets tonal variety from the drum kit, Bley is chiefly concerned with contrasts at the Piano, rather than persistence or insistence. The music on 'Solo in Mondsee' is lush and deeply romantic.
Come back tomorrow for the Top 50!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Albums Of The Year 2007 Part 1: 100 - 76
ingThere seems to have been rather a lot of negative whingeing about the quality of new music in 2007. All I can say to that is genuine music-lovers should forage over a wider area because I found plenty to like and even more to admire this year. In fact, this year’s list has one of the strongest top 10s I can remember compiling in some time.
Unfortunately, I can’t hope to process all the good music within any year – so I’ll start with a list of honourable mentions of artists who have not made the cut – either because they underwhelmed me slightly, came close but no cigar, or because I simply haven’t managed to hear the entire album. You can try and guess which category they each fall into!
Honourary Mentions
Amerie, Robyn, Medeski Scofield Martin and Wood, Steve Lehmann, Enrico Rava, Deerhunter, The Bird and The Bee, Dntel, Dizzee Rascal, Bloc Party, Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings, Blitzen Trapper, The Hold Steady, Von Sudenfed, Orchestra Baobab, Shy Child, Ry Cooder, New Pornographers, Kevin Drew, Om, Sunburned Hand Of The Man, Six Organs of Admittance, Ghostface, Wu-Tang Clan, Jay Z, Sage Francis, Liars, Jens Lekman, Holy F*ck, Common, Klaxons, Manu Chao, Andrew Bird, Field Music, Kings of Leon.
Some of these will no doubt rear their heads in a ‘ones that got away’ feature at the start of next year. But I have to draw a line somewhere – and right now I’m clean outta cash!
100. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (Sonovox)
My increasingly ambivalent relationship with this record directed me to ponder whether to include it in this list at all. Arcade Fire remain a mouth-watering prospect in live performance, thanks in part to a uniquely symbiotic relationship with their fervent and devoted audiences (indeed, they played two of the best gigs of my live music year). On record, at least judging by this, their impact now seems somewhat diluted by a bloated and forced sense of ambition, and a rather muffled production that obscures the more effective of their grandiose proclamations. Still, a number of the songs remain vibrant and refreshing amidst the apocalyptic doom and gloom, particularly the affecting Mariachi swell of ‘Ocean of Noise’, which points in new and exciting directions, should the group opt to follow them. As one of the earliest and most ardent enthusiasts for ‘Funeral’, I’m saddened that this is one of those sophomore efforts doomed to some kind of noble failure simply by virtue of the grandstanding impact of its predecessor. By the standards of lesser groups, it might have been considered a triumph.
99. Fridge – The Sun (Domino)
I felt this was a little under-appreciated on release, actually representing a very successful synthesis of Fridge’s early post-rock explorations with the individual impulses behind Kieren Hebden and Adem’s solo work. It’s a highly percussive set, with melody often sidelined in favour of spacious electronic sounds and contrasting rhythmic clutter.
98. Menomena – Friend and Foe (City Slang)
Reliant as it is on its detailed and lavish production values, ‘Friend and Foe’ may not necessarily date too well. It shares a certain kinship with the questing likes of TV On The Radio and Animal Collective, but also has the beating pop heart of The Flaming Lips of ‘The Soft Bulletin’ or the Grandaddy of ‘The Sophtware Slump’. For now though, it’s a dazzling and glistening concoction, with a boundless drive to express novel and quirky ideas.
97. Fulborn Teversham – Count Herbert II (Pickled Egg)
Sebastian Rochford rides again, this time with a ‘punk’ project featuring the slightly mannered vocals of Alice Grant. She’s less irritating and more elastic here than on Acoustic Ladyland’s underwhelming ‘Skinny Grin’ album. It’s also somewhat ironic that saxophonist Pete Wareham gets much more space for improvising here than in his own project. Rochford’s rhythms are kinetic as always, but the unsung hero here is keyboardist Nick Ramm, who is one minute satirising baroque chamber music, and another producing a rampant assault on the senses.
96. Pole – Steingarten (~Scape)
Stefan Betke’s ghostly dub minimalism has a peculiar but concrete appeal – Philip Sherburne has described it as being ‘like the languid silence between two lovers who know that speech is moot’. It’s an intriguing and perceptive notion that hints at the romanticism and eroticism beneath this music’s scientific veneer – the space between the sounds constantly yielding new discoveries and adventures.
95. Fred Lonberg-Holm Trio – Terminal Valentine (Atavistic)
‘Terminal Valentine’ is in fact the third of a trilogy of valentine related albums, the first serving as a tribute to Fred Katz (another venerable Cellist) and the second covering interpretations of the works of others. This third release focuses squarely on Lonberg-Holm’s own compositions and is no less rewarding as a result. There is an intriguing contrast here between the flighty moments of abstraction and the more reflective, ruminative qualities of the central melodies. A Cello trio is still a unit of some novelty, and Lonberg-Holm exploits both the confrontational and the sensuous dimensions of his instrument’s versatile sound. The other members of the group offer fluent contributions and consolidating guidance.
94. The Shins – Wincing The Night Away (Transgressive)
‘Wincing The Night Away’ perhaps suffered that curious fate of timing that often befalls albums released in the first couple of months of a year. For whatever reason, people do not now seem to be discussing it with the same level of enthusiasm that greeted it at the end of last January. This is a shame, as it’s actually the group’s most consistent collection of winning songs so far, with James Mercer’s tendency towards lyrical verbosity firmly subordinated in the service of some infectious and addictive tunes.
93. Herman Dune – Giant (EMI/Capitol)
With their surreal lyrical escapades and cartoonish sense of fun, Herman Dune were in danger of becoming merely an unsung treasure – a cult band with a loyal following. Yet, with the addition of some brilliant cooing female backing vocals and some clever horn arrangements, ‘Giant’ succeeded in broadening their appeal considerably, even to the extent of getting their videos on daytime music TV. The songs are thoroughly charming and heartwarming throughout, and ‘Giant’ stands up as one of 2007’s most straightforwardly entertaining pleasures.
92. Nick Lowe – At My Age (Proper)
You’ve got to admire any elder statesman of rock who gives his album such a throwaway ironic title – it’s surely asking for a critical lambasting. But 2007 had brought with it so many great records contesting the lamentable belief that music has to be the sole preserve of the young. Lowe brings gentle humour and hard-won wisdom to this concise but insightful collection. It’s marginally slighter than its more soulful predecessor (‘The Convincer’), but still highly enjoyable in its warm, relaxed and debonair demeanour.
91. Paris Motel – In The Salpetriere (Loose)
Amy May’s revolving cast of chamber pop explorers are one of Britain’s most charming bands – from their tradition of Valentine’s Day gigs to the compelling narratives of their fairytale songs. ‘In The Salpetriere’ was long-awaited, but more than delivered on their initial promise, veering away slightly from tweeness in favour of something more ambitious and encouraging. Amy’s understated vocals are a particular source of joy throughout.
90. Richard Thompson – Sweet Warrior (Proper)
I’ve been meaning to unpick the back catalogue of Richard Thompson for some time, only really being familiar with those classic Fairport Convention albums to which he made such powerful contributions. Having still failed to achieve this ambition, ‘Sweet Warrior’ seemed as good a place to start as any. It’s a driving, cleanly produced record with a righteous energy that belies its writer’s increasing years. His voice seems to have suffered little or no degradation, and his powerful combination of folk melodic inflection with the spirit of rock and roll is undiminished.
89. Lucinda Williams – West (Lost Highway)
Opinions on ‘West’ depended on whether one preferred the raucous, rocking Lucinda or her more vulnerable, reflective side. I felt that with ‘West’, she wisely concentrated on the latter, in the process crafting a distinctly melancholy and haunting album tinged with a very real sense of loss. She didn’t neglect that surly sultriness completely though – and the best moments of ‘West’ were as thrillingly alive as anything else she has produced in her still developing career. If it’s good enough for Elvis Costello, it’s good enough for me.
88. Kenny Werner – Lawn Chair Society (Blue Note)
Known as something of an acoustic traditionalist, Werner set out to prove such assumptions entirely wrong with this first foray into electronics. It’s not such an about-turn as to constitute an embracing of dance music techniques though – the rhythms are very much the dexterous and adventurous variety unique to contemporary jazz, even when it veers into more straightforwardly funky territory. It is a more ‘produced’ work though, with the studio playing a considerably greater role. It’s also playful and zesty too.
87. Led Bib – Sizewell Tea (Babel)
Led Bib’s signature sound, based as it is on the gimmicky dissonance between their sparring saxophonists, is only likely to carry them a limited distance. For what is only their second album though, ‘Sizewell Tea’ is certainly both confident and confrontational, and it chimes conveniently with the DIY punk-inspired ethos at the heart of the new London indie-jazz crossover. There’s more free-spirited blasting here than on recent material from Acoustic Ladyland though – and it’s certainly no pop record. Instead, its relentless assault is somewhat fearsome and foreboding.
86. The National – Boxer (Beggars Banquet)
Morose, misanthropic and stark, but still developing their more melodic preoccupations, ‘Boxer’ downplayed the group’s aggressive dimensions in favour of some dour, gin-soaked barroom music. If this is balladry, it’s balladry of a particularly torrid kind, and The National have captured a peculiar brand of darkness all of their own. ‘Boxer’ is their most sophisticated and memorable album to date.
85. Manu Katche – Playground (ECM)
The reflective and calm nature of Katche’s compositions make his parallel career as a rock drummer for hire appear somewhat incongruous. Yet, after the beautiful ‘Neighbourhood’ and now this equally beguiling album, there’s little doubt that his own musical voice is deeply personal and highly sophisticated. He’s a player with little or no ego too. In fact, he subsumes himself so completely within the collective on this that he’s often the least prominent figure in his own group. Instead, he complements the talents of his finely tuned ensemble with subtle and redoubtable good taste.
84. Iain Ballamy – Anorak – More Jazz (Basho)
Ballamy, a former member of Bill Bruford’s Earthworks with Django Bates, is a rather undervalued British jazz talent. He returns to his jazz roots here after a number of years experimenting with common ground across genres, and the playing is scintillating. His frequent staccato passages in solos are striking, but he also has a tremendously lyrical sound when necessary. He shares a somewhat satirical bent with former playing partner Bates (just listen to his reworking of ‘My Way’, about as unsentimental a reading as could be imagined). He also gives his band plenty of space to make gestures of their own, and drummer Martin France is on bristling, prickly form.
83. Dinosaur Jr. – Beyond (Pias)
The reformed Dinosaur Jr. sounded, well, exactly the same as they had in 1987. It was as if nothing had changed in the American alternative musical landscape in the intervening twenty years. Yet, as a result, there was something thrilling about hearing the chemistry between J Mascis and Lou Barlow not just restored but enhanced, Barlow being afforded greater respect on this occasion. Mascis’ cracked vocals and primal guitar squall can sound thrilling in any context though, and he blessed ‘Beyond’ with a very strong batch of songs. ‘Beyond’ succeeded chiefly through delivering a made to measure fit for everyone’s expectations.
82. Wilco – Sky Blue Sky (Nonesuch)
Wilco’s ‘Sky Blue Sky’ received something of a critical pasting for the wrong reasons. Dismissed as a conservative retreat, it’s actually an impressive restating of the group’s core values. At its best, it merges excellent craftsmanship with assured individual musical contributions (particularly from fiery avant-garde guitarist Nels Cline and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone). As a result, this is the most exciting and dynamic Wilco line-up so far, with Jeff Tweedy’s voice also becoming a more confident and manipulative instrument in such solid company. Where the record could be criticised is in the dropping off of quality in its second half – it’s let down slightly by some under-par songwriting rather than any inherent weaknesses in the overall approach and sound. The positives still greatly outweigh the negatives though.
81. The Twilight Sad – Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters (Fat Cat)
With an intensity reminiscent of long-forgotten Irish rockers Whipping Boy, The Twilight Sad conjured a dour but ultimately inspiring world of teenage isolation for their debut album. With an atmosphere charged with disaffection and distaste, the music itself nevertheless had a powerful sense of purpose, and the results constituted a stark recasting of rock dynamics.
80. Bill Callahan – Woke On A Whaleheart (Drag City/Domino)
Well at least he got rid of those obfuscating parentheses, but why the loss of the Smog moniker altogether? It left fans and critics alike pondering whether ‘Woke On A Whaleheart’ might finally be presenting us with the real Bill Callahan (whatever that might be). Well, it might be warmer in places, but it’s certainly not a complete abandoning of his misanthropic musings. The influence of Leonard Cohen is still very evident, and his singing is remains distinctively mordant. There’s a greater attention being paid to detail though – and ‘Woke On A Whaleheart’ is, as a result, closer to the more accessible and tender highlights of the Smog catalogue (‘Supper’, ‘Knock Knock’) than the elusive frustrations of ‘Rain On Lens’.
79. Low – Drums and Guns (Rough Trade)
It’s entirely conceivable that every attempt Low make at reinventing their own wheel will be classed as a step in some radical and alienating new direction. Actually, this album may well be more in keeping with the grand tradition of Low than ‘The Great Destroyer’. Nevertheles, simply giving less prominence to guitars and more to classic analogue synths and keyboards works wonders for them. This is still a melancholy and haunting affair, but the occasional bursts into what might even be bright pop (‘Hatchet’) suggest there is new territory for this most dogged of bands to map out.
78. Abram Wilson – Ride! Ferris Wheel To The Modern Day Delta (Dune)
It didn’t accrue quite as much attention as label mate Soweto Kinch’s fusion of hip hop and jazz, but Abram Wilson’s dedicated, genuine tribute to the American jazz tradition and, especially, to New Orleans had a living resonance all of its own. Wilson cuts an intensely serious figure on stage, but there’s wit and heart in this narrative project as well as drama, and the excellent big band performances invoke a range of contrasting emotions. Most of all, it’s simply a driving, toe-tapping celebration of great music.
77. Kevin Ayers – The Unfairground (Lo-Max)
Unexpectedly emerging from his retirement pad in France, Kevin Ayers returned with a sweet and deceptively simply album contrasting neatly with the more obvious experimentalism of his former colleague Robert Wyatt’s ‘Comicopera’. Accepting that it had more modest ambitions, ‘The Unfairground’ was something of a melodic triumph though, and a powerful reminder of the qualities of Ayers’ songwriting. If a little less quirky than his early solo works, ‘The Unfairground’ was both whimsical and charming.
76. Phronesis – Organic Warfare (Loop)
It’s such a good time for the piano trio at the moment that it’s worth taking stock and paying attention to one of the lesser known acts in London. Although part of the Loop Collective, Phronesis have not been afforded the same press attention as their co-conspirators Outhouse or Gemini. Led by the exuberant and expressive bassist Jasper Hoiby, this album was recorded with Swedish musicians (although the band now incorporates other London-based players). It’s a distinctive, muscular work owing a little to the power-trio approach of groups such as The Bad Plus. It’s not averse to lyricism either though, and the complete whole is extremely promising, should anyone else notice.
To be continued....
Unfortunately, I can’t hope to process all the good music within any year – so I’ll start with a list of honourable mentions of artists who have not made the cut – either because they underwhelmed me slightly, came close but no cigar, or because I simply haven’t managed to hear the entire album. You can try and guess which category they each fall into!
Honourary Mentions
Amerie, Robyn, Medeski Scofield Martin and Wood, Steve Lehmann, Enrico Rava, Deerhunter, The Bird and The Bee, Dntel, Dizzee Rascal, Bloc Party, Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings, Blitzen Trapper, The Hold Steady, Von Sudenfed, Orchestra Baobab, Shy Child, Ry Cooder, New Pornographers, Kevin Drew, Om, Sunburned Hand Of The Man, Six Organs of Admittance, Ghostface, Wu-Tang Clan, Jay Z, Sage Francis, Liars, Jens Lekman, Holy F*ck, Common, Klaxons, Manu Chao, Andrew Bird, Field Music, Kings of Leon.
Some of these will no doubt rear their heads in a ‘ones that got away’ feature at the start of next year. But I have to draw a line somewhere – and right now I’m clean outta cash!
100. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (Sonovox)
My increasingly ambivalent relationship with this record directed me to ponder whether to include it in this list at all. Arcade Fire remain a mouth-watering prospect in live performance, thanks in part to a uniquely symbiotic relationship with their fervent and devoted audiences (indeed, they played two of the best gigs of my live music year). On record, at least judging by this, their impact now seems somewhat diluted by a bloated and forced sense of ambition, and a rather muffled production that obscures the more effective of their grandiose proclamations. Still, a number of the songs remain vibrant and refreshing amidst the apocalyptic doom and gloom, particularly the affecting Mariachi swell of ‘Ocean of Noise’, which points in new and exciting directions, should the group opt to follow them. As one of the earliest and most ardent enthusiasts for ‘Funeral’, I’m saddened that this is one of those sophomore efforts doomed to some kind of noble failure simply by virtue of the grandstanding impact of its predecessor. By the standards of lesser groups, it might have been considered a triumph.
99. Fridge – The Sun (Domino)
I felt this was a little under-appreciated on release, actually representing a very successful synthesis of Fridge’s early post-rock explorations with the individual impulses behind Kieren Hebden and Adem’s solo work. It’s a highly percussive set, with melody often sidelined in favour of spacious electronic sounds and contrasting rhythmic clutter.
98. Menomena – Friend and Foe (City Slang)
Reliant as it is on its detailed and lavish production values, ‘Friend and Foe’ may not necessarily date too well. It shares a certain kinship with the questing likes of TV On The Radio and Animal Collective, but also has the beating pop heart of The Flaming Lips of ‘The Soft Bulletin’ or the Grandaddy of ‘The Sophtware Slump’. For now though, it’s a dazzling and glistening concoction, with a boundless drive to express novel and quirky ideas.
97. Fulborn Teversham – Count Herbert II (Pickled Egg)
Sebastian Rochford rides again, this time with a ‘punk’ project featuring the slightly mannered vocals of Alice Grant. She’s less irritating and more elastic here than on Acoustic Ladyland’s underwhelming ‘Skinny Grin’ album. It’s also somewhat ironic that saxophonist Pete Wareham gets much more space for improvising here than in his own project. Rochford’s rhythms are kinetic as always, but the unsung hero here is keyboardist Nick Ramm, who is one minute satirising baroque chamber music, and another producing a rampant assault on the senses.
96. Pole – Steingarten (~Scape)
Stefan Betke’s ghostly dub minimalism has a peculiar but concrete appeal – Philip Sherburne has described it as being ‘like the languid silence between two lovers who know that speech is moot’. It’s an intriguing and perceptive notion that hints at the romanticism and eroticism beneath this music’s scientific veneer – the space between the sounds constantly yielding new discoveries and adventures.
95. Fred Lonberg-Holm Trio – Terminal Valentine (Atavistic)
‘Terminal Valentine’ is in fact the third of a trilogy of valentine related albums, the first serving as a tribute to Fred Katz (another venerable Cellist) and the second covering interpretations of the works of others. This third release focuses squarely on Lonberg-Holm’s own compositions and is no less rewarding as a result. There is an intriguing contrast here between the flighty moments of abstraction and the more reflective, ruminative qualities of the central melodies. A Cello trio is still a unit of some novelty, and Lonberg-Holm exploits both the confrontational and the sensuous dimensions of his instrument’s versatile sound. The other members of the group offer fluent contributions and consolidating guidance.
94. The Shins – Wincing The Night Away (Transgressive)
‘Wincing The Night Away’ perhaps suffered that curious fate of timing that often befalls albums released in the first couple of months of a year. For whatever reason, people do not now seem to be discussing it with the same level of enthusiasm that greeted it at the end of last January. This is a shame, as it’s actually the group’s most consistent collection of winning songs so far, with James Mercer’s tendency towards lyrical verbosity firmly subordinated in the service of some infectious and addictive tunes.
93. Herman Dune – Giant (EMI/Capitol)
With their surreal lyrical escapades and cartoonish sense of fun, Herman Dune were in danger of becoming merely an unsung treasure – a cult band with a loyal following. Yet, with the addition of some brilliant cooing female backing vocals and some clever horn arrangements, ‘Giant’ succeeded in broadening their appeal considerably, even to the extent of getting their videos on daytime music TV. The songs are thoroughly charming and heartwarming throughout, and ‘Giant’ stands up as one of 2007’s most straightforwardly entertaining pleasures.
92. Nick Lowe – At My Age (Proper)
You’ve got to admire any elder statesman of rock who gives his album such a throwaway ironic title – it’s surely asking for a critical lambasting. But 2007 had brought with it so many great records contesting the lamentable belief that music has to be the sole preserve of the young. Lowe brings gentle humour and hard-won wisdom to this concise but insightful collection. It’s marginally slighter than its more soulful predecessor (‘The Convincer’), but still highly enjoyable in its warm, relaxed and debonair demeanour.
91. Paris Motel – In The Salpetriere (Loose)
Amy May’s revolving cast of chamber pop explorers are one of Britain’s most charming bands – from their tradition of Valentine’s Day gigs to the compelling narratives of their fairytale songs. ‘In The Salpetriere’ was long-awaited, but more than delivered on their initial promise, veering away slightly from tweeness in favour of something more ambitious and encouraging. Amy’s understated vocals are a particular source of joy throughout.
90. Richard Thompson – Sweet Warrior (Proper)
I’ve been meaning to unpick the back catalogue of Richard Thompson for some time, only really being familiar with those classic Fairport Convention albums to which he made such powerful contributions. Having still failed to achieve this ambition, ‘Sweet Warrior’ seemed as good a place to start as any. It’s a driving, cleanly produced record with a righteous energy that belies its writer’s increasing years. His voice seems to have suffered little or no degradation, and his powerful combination of folk melodic inflection with the spirit of rock and roll is undiminished.
89. Lucinda Williams – West (Lost Highway)
Opinions on ‘West’ depended on whether one preferred the raucous, rocking Lucinda or her more vulnerable, reflective side. I felt that with ‘West’, she wisely concentrated on the latter, in the process crafting a distinctly melancholy and haunting album tinged with a very real sense of loss. She didn’t neglect that surly sultriness completely though – and the best moments of ‘West’ were as thrillingly alive as anything else she has produced in her still developing career. If it’s good enough for Elvis Costello, it’s good enough for me.
88. Kenny Werner – Lawn Chair Society (Blue Note)
Known as something of an acoustic traditionalist, Werner set out to prove such assumptions entirely wrong with this first foray into electronics. It’s not such an about-turn as to constitute an embracing of dance music techniques though – the rhythms are very much the dexterous and adventurous variety unique to contemporary jazz, even when it veers into more straightforwardly funky territory. It is a more ‘produced’ work though, with the studio playing a considerably greater role. It’s also playful and zesty too.
87. Led Bib – Sizewell Tea (Babel)
Led Bib’s signature sound, based as it is on the gimmicky dissonance between their sparring saxophonists, is only likely to carry them a limited distance. For what is only their second album though, ‘Sizewell Tea’ is certainly both confident and confrontational, and it chimes conveniently with the DIY punk-inspired ethos at the heart of the new London indie-jazz crossover. There’s more free-spirited blasting here than on recent material from Acoustic Ladyland though – and it’s certainly no pop record. Instead, its relentless assault is somewhat fearsome and foreboding.
86. The National – Boxer (Beggars Banquet)
Morose, misanthropic and stark, but still developing their more melodic preoccupations, ‘Boxer’ downplayed the group’s aggressive dimensions in favour of some dour, gin-soaked barroom music. If this is balladry, it’s balladry of a particularly torrid kind, and The National have captured a peculiar brand of darkness all of their own. ‘Boxer’ is their most sophisticated and memorable album to date.
85. Manu Katche – Playground (ECM)
The reflective and calm nature of Katche’s compositions make his parallel career as a rock drummer for hire appear somewhat incongruous. Yet, after the beautiful ‘Neighbourhood’ and now this equally beguiling album, there’s little doubt that his own musical voice is deeply personal and highly sophisticated. He’s a player with little or no ego too. In fact, he subsumes himself so completely within the collective on this that he’s often the least prominent figure in his own group. Instead, he complements the talents of his finely tuned ensemble with subtle and redoubtable good taste.
84. Iain Ballamy – Anorak – More Jazz (Basho)
Ballamy, a former member of Bill Bruford’s Earthworks with Django Bates, is a rather undervalued British jazz talent. He returns to his jazz roots here after a number of years experimenting with common ground across genres, and the playing is scintillating. His frequent staccato passages in solos are striking, but he also has a tremendously lyrical sound when necessary. He shares a somewhat satirical bent with former playing partner Bates (just listen to his reworking of ‘My Way’, about as unsentimental a reading as could be imagined). He also gives his band plenty of space to make gestures of their own, and drummer Martin France is on bristling, prickly form.
83. Dinosaur Jr. – Beyond (Pias)
The reformed Dinosaur Jr. sounded, well, exactly the same as they had in 1987. It was as if nothing had changed in the American alternative musical landscape in the intervening twenty years. Yet, as a result, there was something thrilling about hearing the chemistry between J Mascis and Lou Barlow not just restored but enhanced, Barlow being afforded greater respect on this occasion. Mascis’ cracked vocals and primal guitar squall can sound thrilling in any context though, and he blessed ‘Beyond’ with a very strong batch of songs. ‘Beyond’ succeeded chiefly through delivering a made to measure fit for everyone’s expectations.
82. Wilco – Sky Blue Sky (Nonesuch)
Wilco’s ‘Sky Blue Sky’ received something of a critical pasting for the wrong reasons. Dismissed as a conservative retreat, it’s actually an impressive restating of the group’s core values. At its best, it merges excellent craftsmanship with assured individual musical contributions (particularly from fiery avant-garde guitarist Nels Cline and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone). As a result, this is the most exciting and dynamic Wilco line-up so far, with Jeff Tweedy’s voice also becoming a more confident and manipulative instrument in such solid company. Where the record could be criticised is in the dropping off of quality in its second half – it’s let down slightly by some under-par songwriting rather than any inherent weaknesses in the overall approach and sound. The positives still greatly outweigh the negatives though.
81. The Twilight Sad – Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters (Fat Cat)
With an intensity reminiscent of long-forgotten Irish rockers Whipping Boy, The Twilight Sad conjured a dour but ultimately inspiring world of teenage isolation for their debut album. With an atmosphere charged with disaffection and distaste, the music itself nevertheless had a powerful sense of purpose, and the results constituted a stark recasting of rock dynamics.
80. Bill Callahan – Woke On A Whaleheart (Drag City/Domino)
Well at least he got rid of those obfuscating parentheses, but why the loss of the Smog moniker altogether? It left fans and critics alike pondering whether ‘Woke On A Whaleheart’ might finally be presenting us with the real Bill Callahan (whatever that might be). Well, it might be warmer in places, but it’s certainly not a complete abandoning of his misanthropic musings. The influence of Leonard Cohen is still very evident, and his singing is remains distinctively mordant. There’s a greater attention being paid to detail though – and ‘Woke On A Whaleheart’ is, as a result, closer to the more accessible and tender highlights of the Smog catalogue (‘Supper’, ‘Knock Knock’) than the elusive frustrations of ‘Rain On Lens’.
79. Low – Drums and Guns (Rough Trade)
It’s entirely conceivable that every attempt Low make at reinventing their own wheel will be classed as a step in some radical and alienating new direction. Actually, this album may well be more in keeping with the grand tradition of Low than ‘The Great Destroyer’. Nevertheles, simply giving less prominence to guitars and more to classic analogue synths and keyboards works wonders for them. This is still a melancholy and haunting affair, but the occasional bursts into what might even be bright pop (‘Hatchet’) suggest there is new territory for this most dogged of bands to map out.
78. Abram Wilson – Ride! Ferris Wheel To The Modern Day Delta (Dune)
It didn’t accrue quite as much attention as label mate Soweto Kinch’s fusion of hip hop and jazz, but Abram Wilson’s dedicated, genuine tribute to the American jazz tradition and, especially, to New Orleans had a living resonance all of its own. Wilson cuts an intensely serious figure on stage, but there’s wit and heart in this narrative project as well as drama, and the excellent big band performances invoke a range of contrasting emotions. Most of all, it’s simply a driving, toe-tapping celebration of great music.
77. Kevin Ayers – The Unfairground (Lo-Max)
Unexpectedly emerging from his retirement pad in France, Kevin Ayers returned with a sweet and deceptively simply album contrasting neatly with the more obvious experimentalism of his former colleague Robert Wyatt’s ‘Comicopera’. Accepting that it had more modest ambitions, ‘The Unfairground’ was something of a melodic triumph though, and a powerful reminder of the qualities of Ayers’ songwriting. If a little less quirky than his early solo works, ‘The Unfairground’ was both whimsical and charming.
76. Phronesis – Organic Warfare (Loop)
It’s such a good time for the piano trio at the moment that it’s worth taking stock and paying attention to one of the lesser known acts in London. Although part of the Loop Collective, Phronesis have not been afforded the same press attention as their co-conspirators Outhouse or Gemini. Led by the exuberant and expressive bassist Jasper Hoiby, this album was recorded with Swedish musicians (although the band now incorporates other London-based players). It’s a distinctive, muscular work owing a little to the power-trio approach of groups such as The Bad Plus. It’s not averse to lyricism either though, and the complete whole is extremely promising, should anyone else notice.
To be continued....
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
The Virtue Of Simplicity
Radiohead - In Rainbows pt.2
Olafur Arnalds - Eulogy For Evolution
Recently I’ve been becoming more and more intrigued by, if not the complete rejection of technique in music, then at least the subordination of technical ability to the clear exposition of simple and affecting ideas. I keep coming back to the austere advice of Talk Talk’s brilliant Mark Hollis – ‘Before you play two notes, learn how to play one note…and don’t play one note unless you’ve got a reason to play it’. When I first read this in an interview, I felt it provided a neat counterpoint to Miles Davis’ statement about playing ‘what’s not there’ instead of what’s there. Often it’s precisely what’s not there – the space as much as the sound – that makes music such an overwhelming force.
Listening to the tracks on the bonus CD that comes with the discbox of Radiohead’s ‘In Rainbows’ (leaked to the internet of course!), it strikes me that whilst this band have a reputation for unprecedented intricacy amongst rock ensembles, their latest material succeeds largely through its unashamed simplicity. Yes, they veer in some directions most rock bands are not even aware of (asymmetrical time signatures, extended harmony, unconventional song structures etc), but the arrangements of these new tracks are stubbornly minimal in the best possible way.
‘In Rainbows’ part two opens with an eerie, mysterious reprise of ‘Videotape’ called ‘Mk 1’, with Thom Yorke ghosting his own vocals in the opening seconds. It is of course a throwaway offcut – perhaps just one phase in the band’s development of an idea, but it is interesting precisely because of this. It also acts as a particularly effective curtain-raiser, and demonstrates that the group have thought carefully about the sequencing and structure of this bonus disc. It’s not just the remains from the cutting room floor, but rather an accompanying featurette that shows a band in transition, and signposts a number of the themes of the main release.
Of the remaining tracks, ‘Bangers and Mash’ is severe and intense, with some snarling, savage guitar riffing battling with Phil Selway’s characteristically definitive drum pattern. Yorke sounds completely demented here, and there’s a whole spectrum of disorientating sounds and harmonies in the background to satisfy the more intent listener. It’s a direct and brutal assault on the senses, and a significantly more realised track than the live versions that emerged on the internet last year. It’s a neat complement to the more aggressive tracks on the main disc (‘Bodysnatchers’, ‘Jigsaw Falling Into Pieces’).
There’s also a real sense of the band developing some of their earlier ideas. ‘Up On The Ladder’, with its attacking, percussive guitar and electronic beat, is reminiscent of Depeche Mode in a similar way to ‘I Might Be Wrong’ from ‘Amnesiac’. The piano dominated ‘Down Is The New Up’ sounds like a looser, funkier, less off-kilter take on Pyramid Song, incorporating more of that haunting, lingering melancholy that the group possibly derived from the music of Alice Coltrane.
Best of all is the almost unspeakably beautiful ‘4 Minute Warning’, which emerges from a fog of fuzzy guitar with one of the group’s most memorable melodies. Yorke’s lyrics here hint at the fear of terrorism (‘running from the bomber’), and his delivery is at its clearest and most direct, with little or no affectation. Musically, there’s very little going on, but every part seems to add something to the haunting overall impact. It’s a close relation of ‘House Of Cards’ on the main disc, albeit without that track’s reggae lilt and more personal perspective.
In addition to the acres of space created by these songs' skeletal arrangements, it also strikes me that this once frustratingly sexless band are now becoming more erotic, in both the obvious and broader sense of the word. For ‘Reckoner’ and ‘House of Cards’ on the main disc, Thom Yorke at last found it within himself to write something candid and personal (even if the subject matter was not in fact drawn from his own personal experience, the songs come across as uniquely honest in the Radiohead canon). Similarly, there’s a powerful intimacy across the best tracks on this bonus set, where every sound is serving an overall sense of intrigue and mystery. The rustle of a cymbal, or the very delicate plucking of a guitar string – all combine to convey a rather sensual and hypnotic impression. I stand by my earlier conclusions about ‘In Rainbows’ even more in light of these extra tracks – put the best moments from both discs together and you easily have the group’s least self-conscious, most assured work to date.
Another album to exploit the merits of simplicity, to starker and more devastating effect, is Icelandic composer Olafur Arnalds’ ‘Eulogy For Evolution’, released this week on the Erased Tapes label. The record has been touted as an obvious next step for those enticed by Sigur Ros’ rock orchestrations, although I feel the comparison does Arnalds something of a disservice. Whilst Sigur Ros sometimes sound burdened by rhythmic banality, Arnalds’ work takes flight by mostly abandoning percussion altogether (and indeed, the occasional bursts thunderous drums are all the more unpredictable and menacing as a result). ‘Eulogy For Evolution’ also mostly dispenses with the quiet-loud post rock formula in favour of a dignified restraint. Distorted guitars only make a couple of appearances, and sound all the more violent and aggressive as the listener is totally unprepared for the effect. With nameless tracks that are simply assigned four digit numbers, and a seamless, thoroughly consistent mood, Arnalds creates an atmosphere loaded with profound grief through his lingering piano motifs and elegant string lines. It’s nothing particularly maverick – there’s little dissonance or unpredictability in the harmony – but the development and continual emphasising of a small number of motifs is both haunting and unsettling. As a result, there’s something deeply mournful and achingly sad about this suite of music.
Olafur Arnalds - Eulogy For Evolution
Recently I’ve been becoming more and more intrigued by, if not the complete rejection of technique in music, then at least the subordination of technical ability to the clear exposition of simple and affecting ideas. I keep coming back to the austere advice of Talk Talk’s brilliant Mark Hollis – ‘Before you play two notes, learn how to play one note…and don’t play one note unless you’ve got a reason to play it’. When I first read this in an interview, I felt it provided a neat counterpoint to Miles Davis’ statement about playing ‘what’s not there’ instead of what’s there. Often it’s precisely what’s not there – the space as much as the sound – that makes music such an overwhelming force.
Listening to the tracks on the bonus CD that comes with the discbox of Radiohead’s ‘In Rainbows’ (leaked to the internet of course!), it strikes me that whilst this band have a reputation for unprecedented intricacy amongst rock ensembles, their latest material succeeds largely through its unashamed simplicity. Yes, they veer in some directions most rock bands are not even aware of (asymmetrical time signatures, extended harmony, unconventional song structures etc), but the arrangements of these new tracks are stubbornly minimal in the best possible way.
‘In Rainbows’ part two opens with an eerie, mysterious reprise of ‘Videotape’ called ‘Mk 1’, with Thom Yorke ghosting his own vocals in the opening seconds. It is of course a throwaway offcut – perhaps just one phase in the band’s development of an idea, but it is interesting precisely because of this. It also acts as a particularly effective curtain-raiser, and demonstrates that the group have thought carefully about the sequencing and structure of this bonus disc. It’s not just the remains from the cutting room floor, but rather an accompanying featurette that shows a band in transition, and signposts a number of the themes of the main release.
Of the remaining tracks, ‘Bangers and Mash’ is severe and intense, with some snarling, savage guitar riffing battling with Phil Selway’s characteristically definitive drum pattern. Yorke sounds completely demented here, and there’s a whole spectrum of disorientating sounds and harmonies in the background to satisfy the more intent listener. It’s a direct and brutal assault on the senses, and a significantly more realised track than the live versions that emerged on the internet last year. It’s a neat complement to the more aggressive tracks on the main disc (‘Bodysnatchers’, ‘Jigsaw Falling Into Pieces’).
There’s also a real sense of the band developing some of their earlier ideas. ‘Up On The Ladder’, with its attacking, percussive guitar and electronic beat, is reminiscent of Depeche Mode in a similar way to ‘I Might Be Wrong’ from ‘Amnesiac’. The piano dominated ‘Down Is The New Up’ sounds like a looser, funkier, less off-kilter take on Pyramid Song, incorporating more of that haunting, lingering melancholy that the group possibly derived from the music of Alice Coltrane.
Best of all is the almost unspeakably beautiful ‘4 Minute Warning’, which emerges from a fog of fuzzy guitar with one of the group’s most memorable melodies. Yorke’s lyrics here hint at the fear of terrorism (‘running from the bomber’), and his delivery is at its clearest and most direct, with little or no affectation. Musically, there’s very little going on, but every part seems to add something to the haunting overall impact. It’s a close relation of ‘House Of Cards’ on the main disc, albeit without that track’s reggae lilt and more personal perspective.
In addition to the acres of space created by these songs' skeletal arrangements, it also strikes me that this once frustratingly sexless band are now becoming more erotic, in both the obvious and broader sense of the word. For ‘Reckoner’ and ‘House of Cards’ on the main disc, Thom Yorke at last found it within himself to write something candid and personal (even if the subject matter was not in fact drawn from his own personal experience, the songs come across as uniquely honest in the Radiohead canon). Similarly, there’s a powerful intimacy across the best tracks on this bonus set, where every sound is serving an overall sense of intrigue and mystery. The rustle of a cymbal, or the very delicate plucking of a guitar string – all combine to convey a rather sensual and hypnotic impression. I stand by my earlier conclusions about ‘In Rainbows’ even more in light of these extra tracks – put the best moments from both discs together and you easily have the group’s least self-conscious, most assured work to date.
Another album to exploit the merits of simplicity, to starker and more devastating effect, is Icelandic composer Olafur Arnalds’ ‘Eulogy For Evolution’, released this week on the Erased Tapes label. The record has been touted as an obvious next step for those enticed by Sigur Ros’ rock orchestrations, although I feel the comparison does Arnalds something of a disservice. Whilst Sigur Ros sometimes sound burdened by rhythmic banality, Arnalds’ work takes flight by mostly abandoning percussion altogether (and indeed, the occasional bursts thunderous drums are all the more unpredictable and menacing as a result). ‘Eulogy For Evolution’ also mostly dispenses with the quiet-loud post rock formula in favour of a dignified restraint. Distorted guitars only make a couple of appearances, and sound all the more violent and aggressive as the listener is totally unprepared for the effect. With nameless tracks that are simply assigned four digit numbers, and a seamless, thoroughly consistent mood, Arnalds creates an atmosphere loaded with profound grief through his lingering piano motifs and elegant string lines. It’s nothing particularly maverick – there’s little dissonance or unpredictability in the harmony – but the development and continual emphasising of a small number of motifs is both haunting and unsettling. As a result, there’s something deeply mournful and achingly sad about this suite of music.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Only In Dreams...
Neil Young - Chrome Dreams II
I feel somewhat ambivalent towards Neil Young these days. He’s written a number of my favourite songs of all time, and discovering his prodigious output (and its influence on the likes of Nirvana and Pearl Jam) was a key chapter in my musical adolescence.
It’s now been a very long time since he’s produced a record worthy of his talent though. Where he used to have a genuine skill in expressing simple and direct statements (especially on ‘Harvest’ and ‘After The Goldrush’), with parts of ‘Silver and Gold’ and pretty much all of ‘Prairie Wind’, this veered into a sort of homespun sentimentality. ‘Are You Passionate?’, which featured members of the Stax house band, should have been a triumph, but it contained the hollow, pro-war ‘anthem’ ‘Let’s Roll’, and even its better moments seemed stilted and lumbering. More recently, the eco-opera ‘Greendale’ represented some sort of crazed grand folly, and ‘Living With War’, despite being highly praised elsewhere, was a clunky attempt at reversing the sentiment of ‘Let’s Roll’ in favour of clumsy Bush-baiting with little cogent analysis.
Neil Young has imbued ‘Chrome Dreams II’ with a mythical and somewhat silly title. The original ‘Chrome Dreams’ was scrapped in 1977, but would arguably contained Young’s finest, most consistent selection of songs – Pocahontas, Stringman and Like A Hurricane among them. This record is therefore not so much a sequel, as a rather blatant attempt to reference former glories. It’s not surprising that people are looking to it to provide fresh justification of Young’s revered status in the rock canon.
Unfortunately, it’s not the album that many people so clearly want it to be. Yes, there’s the 17 minute epic ‘Ordinary People’ (although even the most ardent Young admirer would have to take at least six of those minutes to ponder why it had to be quite *that* long). There’s also one other lengthy workout, ‘No Hidden Path’, which at least crackles with a mild vitality. It’s Young’s noble attempt at raging against the dying of the light. ‘Ordinary People’ is an anthem celebrating the impoverished and downtrodden and it rambles on for twenty verses, some more inspired than others. It’s a passionate and energised performance, enervated by some characteristically unsubtle guitar solos pitted against a quite marvellous horn section. It’s telling though, that it was actually recorded some twenty years ago and never included on ‘This Note’s For You’.
Elsewhere, things get pretty uncomfortable. ‘Beautiful Bluebird’ opens the album on a rather twee note, whilst ‘Shining Light’ and ‘The Believer’ sound rather like pastiches of gospel and Motown. Both could have sat comfortably on ‘Are You Passionate?’. Worst of all, ‘Dirty Old Man’ most closely resembles ‘Piece Of Crap’, the banal and facile low point of the otherwise outstanding ‘Sleeps With Angels’ album.
Not only has Young lost his capacity for those simple but affecting combinations of thoughts and melodies that made his name, he has also lost the ability to deliver with any kind of nuance. This has long been evident in his insistent, repetitive and indulgent live performances with Crazy Horse, but is increasingly also prevalent in his more reflective solo work. ‘Chrome Dreams II’ is a ragbag collection that occasionally grasps for inspiration, but never quite reaches it.
I feel somewhat ambivalent towards Neil Young these days. He’s written a number of my favourite songs of all time, and discovering his prodigious output (and its influence on the likes of Nirvana and Pearl Jam) was a key chapter in my musical adolescence.
It’s now been a very long time since he’s produced a record worthy of his talent though. Where he used to have a genuine skill in expressing simple and direct statements (especially on ‘Harvest’ and ‘After The Goldrush’), with parts of ‘Silver and Gold’ and pretty much all of ‘Prairie Wind’, this veered into a sort of homespun sentimentality. ‘Are You Passionate?’, which featured members of the Stax house band, should have been a triumph, but it contained the hollow, pro-war ‘anthem’ ‘Let’s Roll’, and even its better moments seemed stilted and lumbering. More recently, the eco-opera ‘Greendale’ represented some sort of crazed grand folly, and ‘Living With War’, despite being highly praised elsewhere, was a clunky attempt at reversing the sentiment of ‘Let’s Roll’ in favour of clumsy Bush-baiting with little cogent analysis.
Neil Young has imbued ‘Chrome Dreams II’ with a mythical and somewhat silly title. The original ‘Chrome Dreams’ was scrapped in 1977, but would arguably contained Young’s finest, most consistent selection of songs – Pocahontas, Stringman and Like A Hurricane among them. This record is therefore not so much a sequel, as a rather blatant attempt to reference former glories. It’s not surprising that people are looking to it to provide fresh justification of Young’s revered status in the rock canon.
Unfortunately, it’s not the album that many people so clearly want it to be. Yes, there’s the 17 minute epic ‘Ordinary People’ (although even the most ardent Young admirer would have to take at least six of those minutes to ponder why it had to be quite *that* long). There’s also one other lengthy workout, ‘No Hidden Path’, which at least crackles with a mild vitality. It’s Young’s noble attempt at raging against the dying of the light. ‘Ordinary People’ is an anthem celebrating the impoverished and downtrodden and it rambles on for twenty verses, some more inspired than others. It’s a passionate and energised performance, enervated by some characteristically unsubtle guitar solos pitted against a quite marvellous horn section. It’s telling though, that it was actually recorded some twenty years ago and never included on ‘This Note’s For You’.
Elsewhere, things get pretty uncomfortable. ‘Beautiful Bluebird’ opens the album on a rather twee note, whilst ‘Shining Light’ and ‘The Believer’ sound rather like pastiches of gospel and Motown. Both could have sat comfortably on ‘Are You Passionate?’. Worst of all, ‘Dirty Old Man’ most closely resembles ‘Piece Of Crap’, the banal and facile low point of the otherwise outstanding ‘Sleeps With Angels’ album.
Not only has Young lost his capacity for those simple but affecting combinations of thoughts and melodies that made his name, he has also lost the ability to deliver with any kind of nuance. This has long been evident in his insistent, repetitive and indulgent live performances with Crazy Horse, but is increasingly also prevalent in his more reflective solo work. ‘Chrome Dreams II’ is a ragbag collection that occasionally grasps for inspiration, but never quite reaches it.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Great 2007 Round-Up Begins!
It's not often that I speak in praise of a British monthly magazine end of year poll, but Uncut's latest offering isn't all that bad. At least they polled their writers for the January rather than the December issue as in the previous two years, although the rush to get the end of year lists decided before the year is out again makes for some notable omissions (Yeasayer, Burial, plus you would surely have expected them to include Levon Helm's 'Dirt Farmer').
That being said, LCD Soundsystem's 'Sound Of Silver' is a real curveball choice of album of the year for this nominally conservative magazine. The decision is carefully justified in the synopsis (which I'm guessing was penned by John Mulvey, the man behind their excellent Wild Mercury Sound new music blog). I had expected either The Hold Steady or Rilo Kiley to top the list. Other interesting and bold choices in the list include PJ Harvey at 3, Robert Wyatt at 6, Radiohead at 9, Bjork at 11, Battles at 12 (well done!), Panda Bear at 15, Feist at 19, Tinariwen at 33, Iron and Wine at 40. There are numerous omissions of course, but a Top 50 is simply never going to be broad enough (no jazz or hip hop, no modern composition, very little electronic music).
The list reflects the moribund state of British guitar music in 2007 - only Arctic Monkeys, Klaxons, Super Furry Animals, Manic Street Preachers and Maps make the cut (and I would argue that only one of those albums really merits a place anywhere near a top 50 of 2007).
Aside from a handful of truly silly selections (The Cribs, Babyshambles, Neil Young's 'Chrome Dreams II' which is really one great song in search of several more), this is the best list they've compiled for some time. They've certainly thrown down the gauntlet to Mojo.
I'm working on a Top 100 and a tracks of the year list, so blogging activity may be limited for a while. Anything I've not managed to write about yet will be covered with a decent synopsis in the lists!
That being said, LCD Soundsystem's 'Sound Of Silver' is a real curveball choice of album of the year for this nominally conservative magazine. The decision is carefully justified in the synopsis (which I'm guessing was penned by John Mulvey, the man behind their excellent Wild Mercury Sound new music blog). I had expected either The Hold Steady or Rilo Kiley to top the list. Other interesting and bold choices in the list include PJ Harvey at 3, Robert Wyatt at 6, Radiohead at 9, Bjork at 11, Battles at 12 (well done!), Panda Bear at 15, Feist at 19, Tinariwen at 33, Iron and Wine at 40. There are numerous omissions of course, but a Top 50 is simply never going to be broad enough (no jazz or hip hop, no modern composition, very little electronic music).
The list reflects the moribund state of British guitar music in 2007 - only Arctic Monkeys, Klaxons, Super Furry Animals, Manic Street Preachers and Maps make the cut (and I would argue that only one of those albums really merits a place anywhere near a top 50 of 2007).
Aside from a handful of truly silly selections (The Cribs, Babyshambles, Neil Young's 'Chrome Dreams II' which is really one great song in search of several more), this is the best list they've compiled for some time. They've certainly thrown down the gauntlet to Mojo.
I'm working on a Top 100 and a tracks of the year list, so blogging activity may be limited for a while. Anything I've not managed to write about yet will be covered with a decent synopsis in the lists!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Gone But Not Forgotten
Django Bates and The BBC Big Band - Tribute To Joe Zawinul
Poor planning sadly left me unavailable for much of this year's London Jazz Festival. What inititally looked like a rather unpromising programme (at least in comparison with last year's stellar line-up) had mushroomed into something rather special - not least with an outstanding selection of smaller, home talent-focussed gigs at The Vortex and The Luminaire (I am kicking myself for yet again missing the chance of seeing Fraud). The concluding show at The Barbican last night had been arranged as something spectacular and unmissable - Joe Zawinul performing new arrangements of the cornerstones of his catalogue with the BBC big band. Sadly, his unexpected death earlier this year robbed London concertgoers of that treat - but with admirable gusto, BBC Radio 3 and The Barbican honoured the date with a tribute that was both reverent and exiciting in its own right.
Real care and thought went into the staging and planning of this concert. British talent Django Bates was an audacious but also shrewd choice of keyboardist to fill Zawinul's rather large shoes. He is undoubtedly quirkier and tetchier than Zawinul, but his dazzling technique and improvisational flair were consistently evident throughout, with a sheer insistence on covering the full geography of the keyboard. He kept his pranksterish sense of humour on a tight leash, but where that side of his musical personality did emerge, it seemed strangely appropriate. Bates' love for gonzo synth sounds, warm pads and clattering electronic noise echoed many of Zawinul's preoccupations with the musical potential of new technology. Similarly, his frequent vocoderised singing was both sutble and in the spirit of Zawinul's own live performances.
The choice of supporting musicians proved similarly judicious. Legendary bassist Victor Bailey seemed a little frail, but performed with feeling, expression and quiet dignity throughout. This contrasted neatly with the driving, powerful drumming of Martin France - dexterous without being pointlessly virtuosic, and full of energy and groove. His frantic urgency on a sterling version of 'Fast City', veering from cluttered dance rhythms to swashbuckling fast swing, neatly encapsulated the tendency of Zawinul's music to engage the feet as much as the brain. Together with adventurous percussionist Bosco D'Olivera, this was a rhythm section of real muscle, with as much feeling as technical prowess. Luckily, in the likes of Stan Sulzman and Henry Lowther, the BBC big band had soloists to more than match their credentials.
In essentially recreating Zawinul's recent 'Brown Street' big band project, the selection of music also proved thoughtful, covering as close to all bases of Zawinul's prolific career as might be expected. From some curveball choices from lesser known Weather Report projects ('Procession') to the inevitable, but carefully executed renditions of classics ('A Remark You Made', a colourful and adventourous recasting of 'In A Silent Way' and a terrifyingly funky 'Black Market'). The set also touched on material recorded by the syndicate and some solo Zawinul pieces with which I must confess to being completely unfamiliar. It also avoided the deeply obvious crowd-pleasers (no 'Birdland', and no encore!).
Whilst Julian Joseph's frequent interjections (largely for the purpose of the radio broadcast) could have been frustrating, they did not disrupt the flow of the performance too much, and somehow managed to be both reverent and celebratory. The interviews with Zawinul's biographer Brian Glasser were hardly necessary, but did serve to add a human touch to the proceedings from someone who had obviously had numerous encounters with the man himself. Best of all was a snippet of a recorded Zawinul radio interview which gave a real sense of the character, spirit and determined vision of this most crucial of jazz performers.
Whilst I feel deeply privileged to have caught Zawinul himself at his last London performance at the Jazz Cafe earlier this year, I also felt rather special to have been part of a sadly much-reduced audience at this dynamic and engaging spectacle. What emerged crystal clearly from this show was that Zawinul's music was not based so much on 'composition' or 'arrangement', but on living, breathing ideas that could be recreated comfortably in a number of different contexts, given the right combination of musicians. Zawinul's brand of fusion - merging the adventure of improvisation with the basic impulse and relentless energy of true dance music (incorporating numerous and intricate rhythms from all across the globe in the process) has been somewhat out of fashion, particularly in Britain, for some time. Is the tide starting to turn back in its favour?
Poor planning sadly left me unavailable for much of this year's London Jazz Festival. What inititally looked like a rather unpromising programme (at least in comparison with last year's stellar line-up) had mushroomed into something rather special - not least with an outstanding selection of smaller, home talent-focussed gigs at The Vortex and The Luminaire (I am kicking myself for yet again missing the chance of seeing Fraud). The concluding show at The Barbican last night had been arranged as something spectacular and unmissable - Joe Zawinul performing new arrangements of the cornerstones of his catalogue with the BBC big band. Sadly, his unexpected death earlier this year robbed London concertgoers of that treat - but with admirable gusto, BBC Radio 3 and The Barbican honoured the date with a tribute that was both reverent and exiciting in its own right.
Real care and thought went into the staging and planning of this concert. British talent Django Bates was an audacious but also shrewd choice of keyboardist to fill Zawinul's rather large shoes. He is undoubtedly quirkier and tetchier than Zawinul, but his dazzling technique and improvisational flair were consistently evident throughout, with a sheer insistence on covering the full geography of the keyboard. He kept his pranksterish sense of humour on a tight leash, but where that side of his musical personality did emerge, it seemed strangely appropriate. Bates' love for gonzo synth sounds, warm pads and clattering electronic noise echoed many of Zawinul's preoccupations with the musical potential of new technology. Similarly, his frequent vocoderised singing was both sutble and in the spirit of Zawinul's own live performances.
The choice of supporting musicians proved similarly judicious. Legendary bassist Victor Bailey seemed a little frail, but performed with feeling, expression and quiet dignity throughout. This contrasted neatly with the driving, powerful drumming of Martin France - dexterous without being pointlessly virtuosic, and full of energy and groove. His frantic urgency on a sterling version of 'Fast City', veering from cluttered dance rhythms to swashbuckling fast swing, neatly encapsulated the tendency of Zawinul's music to engage the feet as much as the brain. Together with adventurous percussionist Bosco D'Olivera, this was a rhythm section of real muscle, with as much feeling as technical prowess. Luckily, in the likes of Stan Sulzman and Henry Lowther, the BBC big band had soloists to more than match their credentials.
In essentially recreating Zawinul's recent 'Brown Street' big band project, the selection of music also proved thoughtful, covering as close to all bases of Zawinul's prolific career as might be expected. From some curveball choices from lesser known Weather Report projects ('Procession') to the inevitable, but carefully executed renditions of classics ('A Remark You Made', a colourful and adventourous recasting of 'In A Silent Way' and a terrifyingly funky 'Black Market'). The set also touched on material recorded by the syndicate and some solo Zawinul pieces with which I must confess to being completely unfamiliar. It also avoided the deeply obvious crowd-pleasers (no 'Birdland', and no encore!).
Whilst Julian Joseph's frequent interjections (largely for the purpose of the radio broadcast) could have been frustrating, they did not disrupt the flow of the performance too much, and somehow managed to be both reverent and celebratory. The interviews with Zawinul's biographer Brian Glasser were hardly necessary, but did serve to add a human touch to the proceedings from someone who had obviously had numerous encounters with the man himself. Best of all was a snippet of a recorded Zawinul radio interview which gave a real sense of the character, spirit and determined vision of this most crucial of jazz performers.
Whilst I feel deeply privileged to have caught Zawinul himself at his last London performance at the Jazz Cafe earlier this year, I also felt rather special to have been part of a sadly much-reduced audience at this dynamic and engaging spectacle. What emerged crystal clearly from this show was that Zawinul's music was not based so much on 'composition' or 'arrangement', but on living, breathing ideas that could be recreated comfortably in a number of different contexts, given the right combination of musicians. Zawinul's brand of fusion - merging the adventure of improvisation with the basic impulse and relentless energy of true dance music (incorporating numerous and intricate rhythms from all across the globe in the process) has been somewhat out of fashion, particularly in Britain, for some time. Is the tide starting to turn back in its favour?
Friday, November 23, 2007
Floating Without The Old Constraints
Paris Motel - In The Salpetriere
At long last! Amy May’s band of fluctuating musical conspirators have long been one of my favourite live acts in London. Unit, one of my now defunct musical projects, had the privilege of having the group join us for the launch of our debut album back in 2006. Whilst Unit suffered that clichéd fate of disintegration due to ‘musical differences’, Paris Motel have kept true to their remarkably pure and consistent musical vision, although it’s taken rather a long time for this debut album to emerge.
This is essentially British folk music with small group orchestral arrangements. It’s what is what is often casually referred to as ‘chamber pop’, for want of a more accurate term – equal parts Fairport Convention and JS Bach. It’s no longer an especially novel concept, but Amy May’s arrangements are considerably more ornate and expressive than those of, say, Arcade Fire (not to take anything away from that band – their sound is still brutally effective in a live context, as their Alexandra Palace shows last week demonstrated). These songs all have a character and elegance that is very much May's own.
Since their promising ‘071’ EP, the group have largely succeeded in making their sound a little more muscular and a little less twee, without losing any of their charm or subtlety in the process. There are some clear standout tracks on this carefully sequenced album – notably the rolling rhythmic drive of ‘City Of Ladies’, with its affectionately cooing backing vocals, or the lush, romantic and thoroughly beguiling ‘Catherine By The Sea’. The latter effectively closes the album with a warm rush of melody and charm, with some thoroughly enchanting lyrics (‘I have a map of your skin, I know the valleys within…’). The elaborate arrangements are controlled enough to allow Amy May’s delicate, understated vocals to breathe – what her voice lacks in power it makes up for in empathy and humanity. There’s also the shuffling, evocative ‘Three Steps’ and the epic love song ‘After Wanda’, which veers adroitly from the melancholy to the celebratory.
In between, there’s plenty of charm, but much of it is a little less immediate. ‘Coignet’s Trial’ is considerably more restrained and stripped back and whilst it initially seems a little directionless, repeated listens reveal its subtle, hypnotic qualities. Similarly, ‘My Demeta’ is based more on elusive mystery and implication than anything clearly stated, but it eventually draws you in to its spellbinding world. A cursory glance at the song titles will quickly reveal that we’re in ‘suspend your disbelief’ lyrical territory here – with all manner of devices more familiar from fairytale and folklore than contemporary popular song. There’s nothing wrong with that in the right hands though – and May’s imaginings hit the right side of the fine line more often than not.
I strongly suspect there’s much more still to come from Amy May – ‘City Of Ladies’ and ‘Catherine By The Sea’, with their cautious hints at Phil Spector and Motown arrangements, suggest a more exotic and ambitious future. Some of the tracks here are a little overlong and don’t build or grow quite as much as they could. For now, though, this is a wonderfully crafted and enchanting record that reveals more and more with every listen.
At long last! Amy May’s band of fluctuating musical conspirators have long been one of my favourite live acts in London. Unit, one of my now defunct musical projects, had the privilege of having the group join us for the launch of our debut album back in 2006. Whilst Unit suffered that clichéd fate of disintegration due to ‘musical differences’, Paris Motel have kept true to their remarkably pure and consistent musical vision, although it’s taken rather a long time for this debut album to emerge.
This is essentially British folk music with small group orchestral arrangements. It’s what is what is often casually referred to as ‘chamber pop’, for want of a more accurate term – equal parts Fairport Convention and JS Bach. It’s no longer an especially novel concept, but Amy May’s arrangements are considerably more ornate and expressive than those of, say, Arcade Fire (not to take anything away from that band – their sound is still brutally effective in a live context, as their Alexandra Palace shows last week demonstrated). These songs all have a character and elegance that is very much May's own.
Since their promising ‘071’ EP, the group have largely succeeded in making their sound a little more muscular and a little less twee, without losing any of their charm or subtlety in the process. There are some clear standout tracks on this carefully sequenced album – notably the rolling rhythmic drive of ‘City Of Ladies’, with its affectionately cooing backing vocals, or the lush, romantic and thoroughly beguiling ‘Catherine By The Sea’. The latter effectively closes the album with a warm rush of melody and charm, with some thoroughly enchanting lyrics (‘I have a map of your skin, I know the valleys within…’). The elaborate arrangements are controlled enough to allow Amy May’s delicate, understated vocals to breathe – what her voice lacks in power it makes up for in empathy and humanity. There’s also the shuffling, evocative ‘Three Steps’ and the epic love song ‘After Wanda’, which veers adroitly from the melancholy to the celebratory.
In between, there’s plenty of charm, but much of it is a little less immediate. ‘Coignet’s Trial’ is considerably more restrained and stripped back and whilst it initially seems a little directionless, repeated listens reveal its subtle, hypnotic qualities. Similarly, ‘My Demeta’ is based more on elusive mystery and implication than anything clearly stated, but it eventually draws you in to its spellbinding world. A cursory glance at the song titles will quickly reveal that we’re in ‘suspend your disbelief’ lyrical territory here – with all manner of devices more familiar from fairytale and folklore than contemporary popular song. There’s nothing wrong with that in the right hands though – and May’s imaginings hit the right side of the fine line more often than not.
I strongly suspect there’s much more still to come from Amy May – ‘City Of Ladies’ and ‘Catherine By The Sea’, with their cautious hints at Phil Spector and Motown arrangements, suggest a more exotic and ambitious future. Some of the tracks here are a little overlong and don’t build or grow quite as much as they could. For now, though, this is a wonderfully crafted and enchanting record that reveals more and more with every listen.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Buried Tresure # 3: The Boo Radleys - C'Mon Kids
(I had intended to write many more of these columns than I’ve managed so far….)
Why has everyone now forgotten all about The Boo Radleys? Of all the 60s-inspired bands lumped together spuriously as ‘Britpop’ in the mid-90s, they were the most concerned with filtering those classic influences through a more radical and inventive prism. The most obvious selection here would be ‘Giant Steps’, the audaciously titled critical favourite, although nobody seems to remember just how adventurous and exciting even that album was. Perhaps it’s simply that we had to put up with months of Chris Evans starting off our days in the most horrific way imaginable with ‘Wake Up Boo!’, that incessantly chirpy and relentlessly upbeat freak hit. Yet the album from which it came contained plenty of inspiration, and some more melancholy and reflective moments too. The consensus appears to be that, afterwards, they fell into terminal decline.
Well, it’s true that ‘C’Mon Kids’ did not repeat its predecessor’s surprising sales figures. But there was no ‘Wake Up Boo’, or even an ‘It’s Lulu’ on this defiant and maverick collection. It veered all over the place in miscreant and deviant style, with no respect whatsoever for taste or decency, but it also retained the key juxtaposition of Martin Carr’s melodic sensibility and Sice’s rampant bellow that made the group so elemental and inspired. Neither has repeated this invention in their subsequent solo work, for the process of collaboration and combination was integral to the group’s success. Carr wrote the songs, Sice delivered and interpreted them.
Perhaps the epitome of this approach appeared with this album’s opening title, a screech of vicious noise accompanied by some thrilling, life-affirming lyrics (‘f*ck the ones, who tell you that life, is merely a time before dying’). It’s one of the best pop songs to crystallise that drive and hunger for something new which exists naturally in youth, but often seems to erode with the onset of jaded thought and cynicism. Sice’s voice never sounded more rampant, and Carr’s guitar squalls are both visceral and engaging.
The rest of the album proved increasingly unpredictable though, and any attempt to second-guess the groups’s preoccupations or modus operandi would always be thwarted. From the bass-directed groove of ‘Melodies For The Deaf’ and the hazy dub of ‘Fortunate Sons’ to the extrapolated psychedelia of ‘Ride The Tiger’ and effortless melodicism of ‘New Brighton Promenade’, the album may have had something for everyone, but it also had plenty to irritate less open-minded listeners.
It’s hard to imagine any of the Britpop also-rans producing a song as bizarre and disconcerting as ‘Meltin’s Worm’ or a song as deeply melancholy and affecting as the wonderful ‘Everything Is Sorrow’ (‘…and you know you shouldn’t have another cigarette/But nothing else makes much sense, nothing else can recompense’). The Boo Radleys were a group that could cover all bases, from the resonant and emotional to the surreal and adventurous. They could deploy the resources of the studio to their maximum potential, and indeed, ‘C’Mon Kids’ is a record in thrall to the joy of noise and confusion.
Rather shockingly, second hand copies of it now seem to be going on Amazon for a mere 25p (could an album be more undervalued?) and a greatest hits compilation seems to have slipped out earlier this year without any publicity or recognition whatsoever. What a great shame that this most unusual and inventive of bands seem to have been reduced to a mere footnote in a history of 90s pop written by the tiresome victors (The Verve, Oasis etc).
Why has everyone now forgotten all about The Boo Radleys? Of all the 60s-inspired bands lumped together spuriously as ‘Britpop’ in the mid-90s, they were the most concerned with filtering those classic influences through a more radical and inventive prism. The most obvious selection here would be ‘Giant Steps’, the audaciously titled critical favourite, although nobody seems to remember just how adventurous and exciting even that album was. Perhaps it’s simply that we had to put up with months of Chris Evans starting off our days in the most horrific way imaginable with ‘Wake Up Boo!’, that incessantly chirpy and relentlessly upbeat freak hit. Yet the album from which it came contained plenty of inspiration, and some more melancholy and reflective moments too. The consensus appears to be that, afterwards, they fell into terminal decline.
Well, it’s true that ‘C’Mon Kids’ did not repeat its predecessor’s surprising sales figures. But there was no ‘Wake Up Boo’, or even an ‘It’s Lulu’ on this defiant and maverick collection. It veered all over the place in miscreant and deviant style, with no respect whatsoever for taste or decency, but it also retained the key juxtaposition of Martin Carr’s melodic sensibility and Sice’s rampant bellow that made the group so elemental and inspired. Neither has repeated this invention in their subsequent solo work, for the process of collaboration and combination was integral to the group’s success. Carr wrote the songs, Sice delivered and interpreted them.
Perhaps the epitome of this approach appeared with this album’s opening title, a screech of vicious noise accompanied by some thrilling, life-affirming lyrics (‘f*ck the ones, who tell you that life, is merely a time before dying’). It’s one of the best pop songs to crystallise that drive and hunger for something new which exists naturally in youth, but often seems to erode with the onset of jaded thought and cynicism. Sice’s voice never sounded more rampant, and Carr’s guitar squalls are both visceral and engaging.
The rest of the album proved increasingly unpredictable though, and any attempt to second-guess the groups’s preoccupations or modus operandi would always be thwarted. From the bass-directed groove of ‘Melodies For The Deaf’ and the hazy dub of ‘Fortunate Sons’ to the extrapolated psychedelia of ‘Ride The Tiger’ and effortless melodicism of ‘New Brighton Promenade’, the album may have had something for everyone, but it also had plenty to irritate less open-minded listeners.
It’s hard to imagine any of the Britpop also-rans producing a song as bizarre and disconcerting as ‘Meltin’s Worm’ or a song as deeply melancholy and affecting as the wonderful ‘Everything Is Sorrow’ (‘…and you know you shouldn’t have another cigarette/But nothing else makes much sense, nothing else can recompense’). The Boo Radleys were a group that could cover all bases, from the resonant and emotional to the surreal and adventurous. They could deploy the resources of the studio to their maximum potential, and indeed, ‘C’Mon Kids’ is a record in thrall to the joy of noise and confusion.
Rather shockingly, second hand copies of it now seem to be going on Amazon for a mere 25p (could an album be more undervalued?) and a greatest hits compilation seems to have slipped out earlier this year without any publicity or recognition whatsoever. What a great shame that this most unusual and inventive of bands seem to have been reduced to a mere footnote in a history of 90s pop written by the tiresome victors (The Verve, Oasis etc).
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Sound Of Confusion
Burial - Untrue (Hyperdub)
Last year’s debut Burial album caused something of a word-of-mouth sensation, moving well beyond hardcore dubstep followers and earning itself a surprising place in even Uncut magazine’s albums of the year. Yet that album was really just a collection of individual pieces developed over a period of years and it may have only touched on what this elusive, anonymous producer can achieve. Its rapid fire follow-up, ‘Untrue’, is a more coherent and powerful statement.
It retains the mysterious, vaguely threatening sound that made the debut so compelling, but whilst that album conjured a truly urban vision, ‘Untrue’ seems more human and broadly appealing. Its greater reliance on cut-up snatches of ghostly vocals adds emotional depth to the crackling, edgy atmospheres. It also makes for a more accessible, but no less uncomfortable musical vision. Essentially, there is soul as well as intelligence in this music.
Somehow, ‘Untrue’ succeeds in being at once very approachable and profoundly disconcerting. It is bleak, occasionally even harrowing, but also richly moving rather than cold or detached. Time will tell, but I already get the sense that it is a genre classic to rival Goldie’s ‘Timeless’ or Tricky’s ‘Maxinquaye’. It has that alchemical balance of confrontation, poise and impact that made those albums so crucial. It captures a sense of disorientation and isolation amidst the roaring, non-stop city environment that is timely and insightful. It's actually rather similar to Thom Yorke's sense of alienation, but it captures this without recourse to anything as earthy as his rather limiting language.
The sound and mood is so consistently eerie that it makes little sense to highlight individual tracks, although ‘Archangel’ and ‘Ghost Hardware’ are immediately striking. The fragmentary approach to production not only creates plenty of space (a subtle quality often missing from the more relentless forms of dance music) but also makes for a very contemporary and refreshing statement of melodic craftsmanship. It’s an album that is very easy to become immersed in – strangely familiar in its dystopian spirit, yet so clearly original and innovative.
Last year’s debut Burial album caused something of a word-of-mouth sensation, moving well beyond hardcore dubstep followers and earning itself a surprising place in even Uncut magazine’s albums of the year. Yet that album was really just a collection of individual pieces developed over a period of years and it may have only touched on what this elusive, anonymous producer can achieve. Its rapid fire follow-up, ‘Untrue’, is a more coherent and powerful statement.
It retains the mysterious, vaguely threatening sound that made the debut so compelling, but whilst that album conjured a truly urban vision, ‘Untrue’ seems more human and broadly appealing. Its greater reliance on cut-up snatches of ghostly vocals adds emotional depth to the crackling, edgy atmospheres. It also makes for a more accessible, but no less uncomfortable musical vision. Essentially, there is soul as well as intelligence in this music.
Somehow, ‘Untrue’ succeeds in being at once very approachable and profoundly disconcerting. It is bleak, occasionally even harrowing, but also richly moving rather than cold or detached. Time will tell, but I already get the sense that it is a genre classic to rival Goldie’s ‘Timeless’ or Tricky’s ‘Maxinquaye’. It has that alchemical balance of confrontation, poise and impact that made those albums so crucial. It captures a sense of disorientation and isolation amidst the roaring, non-stop city environment that is timely and insightful. It's actually rather similar to Thom Yorke's sense of alienation, but it captures this without recourse to anything as earthy as his rather limiting language.
The sound and mood is so consistently eerie that it makes little sense to highlight individual tracks, although ‘Archangel’ and ‘Ghost Hardware’ are immediately striking. The fragmentary approach to production not only creates plenty of space (a subtle quality often missing from the more relentless forms of dance music) but also makes for a very contemporary and refreshing statement of melodic craftsmanship. It’s an album that is very easy to become immersed in – strangely familiar in its dystopian spirit, yet so clearly original and innovative.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Not Blogging for A While...
I'm spending the next couple of weeks away from dependable internet access - will be back in the frame around the weekend of the 17th November - no doubt there will be plenty for me to catch up on by then!
Friday, November 02, 2007
Get In The Sunrise
Yeasayer – All Hour Cymbals
There’s a similar buzz around this debut album from Brooklyn’s Yeasayer as surrounded Arcade Fire’s ‘Funeral’ on its initial release. That excitement seems already to have spread from blogs and webzines to the conventional music press who have, admirably, been much quicker to react on this occasion. I’ve already ranted at length about the NME’s description of Yeasayer as ‘world music that doesn’t make you want to puke’. I’m grateful to the anonymous reader who quite rightly corrected me on my own description of the group as White Americans (one member is Indian and another is Jewish), although I think my point about the NME and its astoundingly ignorant journalism still holds. The clear implication is that ‘world music’ is only OK if it is filtered through the prism of a Western based indie band. It was more an issue of territorial rather than racial prejudice.
I don’t want to focus on that now though, as the paper’s enthusiasm for Yeasayer is not, to my mind, misplaced. The band’s unison shouting vocals certainly recall the collective energy of Arcade Fire at their best, but, in what may be an unfair comparison, the sheer musical audacity of ‘All Hour Cymbals’ reveals that much lauded band’s increasingly transparent limitations. Whilst Arcade Fire prefer layering grandiose instrumentation upon what are really rather basic chugging rock templates, much of the music on ‘All Hour Cymbals’ is intricate, fascinating and rhythmically inventive. This band’s closest contemporaries may be the likes of Animal Collective or TV on the Radio, although it’s worth emphasising that their own blend of influences is uniquely diverse and impressively organic.
This is a genuinely remarkable record characterised by a questing ambition completely absent from our domestic rock scene in the UK. Just listen to the rhythm section alone, which is carefully orchestrated and technically adventurous, particularly the inventive bass lines. It seems as if every beat and every note is played to add depth or meaning. On top of this more than solid foundation comes striking and beautiful vocal harmony closely resembling those of The Byrds or Crosby, Stills and Nash.
Although the rather mean sleeve only lists nine tracks on ‘All Hour Cymbals’, there are in fact 11, with two quite lengthy untitled tracks rounding off the proceedings. The album begins in imaginative but accessible terrain with the groovy and spirited ‘Sunrise’, where bass and percussion immediately stand out as the most effective parts of the ensemble. ‘Wait For The Summer’ is more reflective in tone, but its dense vocal arrangements are entrancing. ‘2080’ offers signs of some seriously unfashionable influences, sounding not unlike that highly respected rock classic ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ by Tears for Fears. It’s a remarkable track though, veering from mellifluous African-sounding guitar cadences though to tribal vocal assaults.
The album becomes more mysterious, wispy and elusive as it progresses and, as such, requires a few listens to leave its complete impression. It is music to inhabit rather than pass through though, and it casts a cumulatively powerful spell. ‘No Need To Worry’ is both complex and compelling, whilst the more atmospheric tracks towards the album’s conclusion, particularly ‘Worms/Waves’ are mesmerising in their range of sounds and styles. ‘Worms/Waves’ appears to draw from traditional Indian folk music in its non-Western sounding guitar lines, and perhaps also from Middle Eastern or African music in its unconventional percussion.
It’s tempting to conclude on a resoundingly negative note by again emphasising the point about the lack of comparable ambition in British rock music. Aside from Radiohead, where are the bands striving to make such inventive use of the studio and of production? Where are the bands working to mould rock music into a vital and thoroughly contemporary form of composition and arrangement that is both elaborate and viscerally exciting in this way? If there are any out there, they are not being effectively marketed, and the British music scene is depressingly stagnant as a result.
Ultimately, I’d like to conclude more positively though. Yeasayer are a band unafraid to express idealistic sentiment, both in their use of natural world imagery and futurist preoccupations. The sounds of summer and sunrise persist throughout, whilst ‘2080’ argues that ‘by 2080, only enlightenment can prevent terror everywhere’. This is not, in itself, a very encouraging thought about our global future. We don’t seem to be moving much closer to enlightenment at the moment (and, historically, ‘enlightenment’ is a rather tricky and misleading concept anyway). Yet, it’s comforting in these times to find a band with the clarity and spirit to express ideals. Again, comparison is unfavourable to Arcade Fire – an ungenerous assessment of ‘The Neon Bible’ would describe it as a rather vague extended apocalyptic whinge. ‘All Hour Cymbals’ seems like so much more than that. It is positively charged.
There’s a similar buzz around this debut album from Brooklyn’s Yeasayer as surrounded Arcade Fire’s ‘Funeral’ on its initial release. That excitement seems already to have spread from blogs and webzines to the conventional music press who have, admirably, been much quicker to react on this occasion. I’ve already ranted at length about the NME’s description of Yeasayer as ‘world music that doesn’t make you want to puke’. I’m grateful to the anonymous reader who quite rightly corrected me on my own description of the group as White Americans (one member is Indian and another is Jewish), although I think my point about the NME and its astoundingly ignorant journalism still holds. The clear implication is that ‘world music’ is only OK if it is filtered through the prism of a Western based indie band. It was more an issue of territorial rather than racial prejudice.
I don’t want to focus on that now though, as the paper’s enthusiasm for Yeasayer is not, to my mind, misplaced. The band’s unison shouting vocals certainly recall the collective energy of Arcade Fire at their best, but, in what may be an unfair comparison, the sheer musical audacity of ‘All Hour Cymbals’ reveals that much lauded band’s increasingly transparent limitations. Whilst Arcade Fire prefer layering grandiose instrumentation upon what are really rather basic chugging rock templates, much of the music on ‘All Hour Cymbals’ is intricate, fascinating and rhythmically inventive. This band’s closest contemporaries may be the likes of Animal Collective or TV on the Radio, although it’s worth emphasising that their own blend of influences is uniquely diverse and impressively organic.
This is a genuinely remarkable record characterised by a questing ambition completely absent from our domestic rock scene in the UK. Just listen to the rhythm section alone, which is carefully orchestrated and technically adventurous, particularly the inventive bass lines. It seems as if every beat and every note is played to add depth or meaning. On top of this more than solid foundation comes striking and beautiful vocal harmony closely resembling those of The Byrds or Crosby, Stills and Nash.
Although the rather mean sleeve only lists nine tracks on ‘All Hour Cymbals’, there are in fact 11, with two quite lengthy untitled tracks rounding off the proceedings. The album begins in imaginative but accessible terrain with the groovy and spirited ‘Sunrise’, where bass and percussion immediately stand out as the most effective parts of the ensemble. ‘Wait For The Summer’ is more reflective in tone, but its dense vocal arrangements are entrancing. ‘2080’ offers signs of some seriously unfashionable influences, sounding not unlike that highly respected rock classic ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ by Tears for Fears. It’s a remarkable track though, veering from mellifluous African-sounding guitar cadences though to tribal vocal assaults.
The album becomes more mysterious, wispy and elusive as it progresses and, as such, requires a few listens to leave its complete impression. It is music to inhabit rather than pass through though, and it casts a cumulatively powerful spell. ‘No Need To Worry’ is both complex and compelling, whilst the more atmospheric tracks towards the album’s conclusion, particularly ‘Worms/Waves’ are mesmerising in their range of sounds and styles. ‘Worms/Waves’ appears to draw from traditional Indian folk music in its non-Western sounding guitar lines, and perhaps also from Middle Eastern or African music in its unconventional percussion.
It’s tempting to conclude on a resoundingly negative note by again emphasising the point about the lack of comparable ambition in British rock music. Aside from Radiohead, where are the bands striving to make such inventive use of the studio and of production? Where are the bands working to mould rock music into a vital and thoroughly contemporary form of composition and arrangement that is both elaborate and viscerally exciting in this way? If there are any out there, they are not being effectively marketed, and the British music scene is depressingly stagnant as a result.
Ultimately, I’d like to conclude more positively though. Yeasayer are a band unafraid to express idealistic sentiment, both in their use of natural world imagery and futurist preoccupations. The sounds of summer and sunrise persist throughout, whilst ‘2080’ argues that ‘by 2080, only enlightenment can prevent terror everywhere’. This is not, in itself, a very encouraging thought about our global future. We don’t seem to be moving much closer to enlightenment at the moment (and, historically, ‘enlightenment’ is a rather tricky and misleading concept anyway). Yet, it’s comforting in these times to find a band with the clarity and spirit to express ideals. Again, comparison is unfavourable to Arcade Fire – an ungenerous assessment of ‘The Neon Bible’ would describe it as a rather vague extended apocalyptic whinge. ‘All Hour Cymbals’ seems like so much more than that. It is positively charged.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Creeping Menace
Supersilent - 8
Norwegian improv group Supersilent allegedly only meet in order to make music. Their albums are the result of spontaneous sessions, sometimes left intact, sometimes spliced and edited by their inventive producer Deathprod, who has also worked with a number of other Rune Grammofon artists including the intoxicating Susanna. With trumpeter Arve Henriksen also releasing some beguiling material in his own right, this is fast becoming one of the most furtive and inspired collectives in contemporary music and '8' is a satisfying and worthy addition to the Supersilent canon.
Commentators have accurately observed that, whilst speaking of career progression in terms of this band is no doubt missing the point, their music has gradually shifted away from the provocative, abrasive assault of their triple CD debut towards something more melancholy and cinematic. Whilst much of '8' is similarly contemplative, it also hits something of a midpoint between these approaches, restoring a sense of impending doom and sinister malice to their experiments in sound.
Supersilent are, above all, a group of musicians keen to find new ways of creating and manipulating sound. Henriksen's trumpet is often processed in such a way as to make it sound like a radically different instrument, and the synthesisers are rarely used to provide conventional harmony, but rather offer fragmented and mood-altering interjections. Most interesting of all on '8' is the increased dependence on percussion, which is often asymmetrical and provocative.
There is a consistent approach that gives shape and coherence to these unplanned group performances. All seem to be very intelligent and dynamic extrapolations of a key idea or texture. For example, 8.1 and 8.5, the longest of the pieces, focus heavily on bristling production and distorted textures, whilst 8.4 is more reductionist - stapled down by a consistent heartbeat pulse and making much more liberal use of Henriksen's long, mournful trumpet melodies.
8.2 and 8.3 are the most synth-heavy of the pieces, and are a long way from anything that might be described as conventional. The synth phrases are desultory, occasionally even aggressive, and don't sound particularly crisp or technical. Yet they help form peculiar and hypnotic soundscapes that, whilst minimal, are also deeply compelling. The use of sweeping, rustling cymbals instead of more attacking drum sounds on '8.2' is particularly effective.
'8.5' may be among the strongest tracks in Supersilent's catalogue so far, veering as it does across a wide range of moods, themes and ideas. It begins with a manipulated voice, which increasingly (and peturbingly) sounds like an attack of the Daleks from an episode of Dr. Who. By the track's vivid conclusion, it has metamorphosed into a liberated, angular, polyrhythmic assault on the senses that is both fascinating and visceral. It provides a superb summary of this outstanding group's very raison d'etre.
Norwegian improv group Supersilent allegedly only meet in order to make music. Their albums are the result of spontaneous sessions, sometimes left intact, sometimes spliced and edited by their inventive producer Deathprod, who has also worked with a number of other Rune Grammofon artists including the intoxicating Susanna. With trumpeter Arve Henriksen also releasing some beguiling material in his own right, this is fast becoming one of the most furtive and inspired collectives in contemporary music and '8' is a satisfying and worthy addition to the Supersilent canon.
Commentators have accurately observed that, whilst speaking of career progression in terms of this band is no doubt missing the point, their music has gradually shifted away from the provocative, abrasive assault of their triple CD debut towards something more melancholy and cinematic. Whilst much of '8' is similarly contemplative, it also hits something of a midpoint between these approaches, restoring a sense of impending doom and sinister malice to their experiments in sound.
Supersilent are, above all, a group of musicians keen to find new ways of creating and manipulating sound. Henriksen's trumpet is often processed in such a way as to make it sound like a radically different instrument, and the synthesisers are rarely used to provide conventional harmony, but rather offer fragmented and mood-altering interjections. Most interesting of all on '8' is the increased dependence on percussion, which is often asymmetrical and provocative.
There is a consistent approach that gives shape and coherence to these unplanned group performances. All seem to be very intelligent and dynamic extrapolations of a key idea or texture. For example, 8.1 and 8.5, the longest of the pieces, focus heavily on bristling production and distorted textures, whilst 8.4 is more reductionist - stapled down by a consistent heartbeat pulse and making much more liberal use of Henriksen's long, mournful trumpet melodies.
8.2 and 8.3 are the most synth-heavy of the pieces, and are a long way from anything that might be described as conventional. The synth phrases are desultory, occasionally even aggressive, and don't sound particularly crisp or technical. Yet they help form peculiar and hypnotic soundscapes that, whilst minimal, are also deeply compelling. The use of sweeping, rustling cymbals instead of more attacking drum sounds on '8.2' is particularly effective.
'8.5' may be among the strongest tracks in Supersilent's catalogue so far, veering as it does across a wide range of moods, themes and ideas. It begins with a manipulated voice, which increasingly (and peturbingly) sounds like an attack of the Daleks from an episode of Dr. Who. By the track's vivid conclusion, it has metamorphosed into a liberated, angular, polyrhythmic assault on the senses that is both fascinating and visceral. It provides a superb summary of this outstanding group's very raison d'etre.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Get Happy!
Rufus Wainwright, Carling Apollo Hammersmith, 30th October 2007
In heaven, all gigs will be like this. They will open with a short, but sweet support set, on this occasion from honey-voiced singer-songwriter Scott Matthews. The addition of a string quartet provided some soothing Robert Kirby-esque arrangements and I felt that, for once, the stronger influence was Tim rather than Jeff Buckley. Then, with little messing about, not one but two very generous sets from star of the show Rufus Wainwright, amounting to two and a half hours of breathtaking entertainment that comfortably justified the £38 ticket price.
Over the past three or four years, Rufus has gradually been accruing all the necessary components of the perfect songwriter and entertainer. He has a unique ability to be frivolous, disposable, playful, camp and hilarious on one hand, yet touching, affecting, profound and deeply insightful on the other. He’s at his very best when he somehow pulls all this off simultaneously. Those people who genuinely believe that Robbie Williams is the greatest entertainer of our time are missing something in their lives!
Rufus is in outstanding voice tonight. Where once he had a tendency to exaggerate or slur his words as if drunk, tonight his phrasing is crisp and clear. His voice is big and full of gravitas without being overbearing or grating. It is a voice that can be self-mocking or completely sincere depending on the context. His unamplified take on a Scottish folk song (title translates as ‘hearthrob’ apparently) is truly spine tingling, and evidence not just of his family background, but also of his own sublime talent.
The first set centres largely on new album ‘Release The Stars’, with its grandiose horn and wind flourishes and unrestrained pomposity. Opening with the title track is an unpredictable but effective gamble – the horn arrangement veering into New Orleans Marching Band territory. We’re treated to a mournful ‘Going To A Town’ and an utterly hilarious ‘Tulsa’ (dedicated to Killers frontman Brandon Flowers - ‘amazingly talented, wonderfully handsome, hopelessly het-e-ro-sex-ual!’). The closing one-two of the vulnerable ‘Leaving For Paris’ and extravagant ‘Between My Legs’ gives Rufus the opportunity for some unsubtle humour (‘we’ve left Paris, we’re now between my legs!’) and one lucky everyman from the audience gets to do the closing theatrical voiceover. He does this very gamely, in appropriately overblown style, with accompanying hand gestures.
Those hoping for some back catalogue gems would no doubt have been satiated by a superbly moving version of ‘The Art Teacher’ (for all his love of massive orchestration, there’s little doubt that Rufus is as much a master when alone at the piano) and a playful ‘Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk’, complete with some all-too-human gaffs, which Rufus endearingly does not attempt to disguise.
The second set is less predictable, not least because of Rufus’ costume change into lederhosen. Although it fills in all the remaining gaps from ‘Release The Stars’, there are also two wonderful selections from the Judy Garland show, the aforementioned Scottish folk tune, a crackling, tempestuous ‘Beautiful Child’ and a real curveball choice in ‘The Consort’, one of the finest tracks from ‘Poses’. It all ends with an extended arrangement of the magnificent ‘14th Street’, which out-Sondheims Sondheim and gives the exquisite band a chance to show their chops. Breaking free from the meticulous arrangements, they sound positively liberated.
There’s still a generous encore though – including ‘I Don’t Know What It Is’, a wonderfully expressive ‘Danny Boy’ (the Rufus original, not the folk song) and a delicious solo performance of ‘Poses’. By now, Rufus is now in a bath robe, and as a cluster of technicians quickly remove the piano, it is clear there is something of a surprise underneath it (the bath robe, not the piano). In drag, Rufus and some charismatic dancers then perform a karaoke version of the old standard ‘Get Happy’. No, really. I’d say it was a prime YouTube moment but, really and truly, you just had to be there.
In heaven, all gigs will be like this. They will open with a short, but sweet support set, on this occasion from honey-voiced singer-songwriter Scott Matthews. The addition of a string quartet provided some soothing Robert Kirby-esque arrangements and I felt that, for once, the stronger influence was Tim rather than Jeff Buckley. Then, with little messing about, not one but two very generous sets from star of the show Rufus Wainwright, amounting to two and a half hours of breathtaking entertainment that comfortably justified the £38 ticket price.
Over the past three or four years, Rufus has gradually been accruing all the necessary components of the perfect songwriter and entertainer. He has a unique ability to be frivolous, disposable, playful, camp and hilarious on one hand, yet touching, affecting, profound and deeply insightful on the other. He’s at his very best when he somehow pulls all this off simultaneously. Those people who genuinely believe that Robbie Williams is the greatest entertainer of our time are missing something in their lives!
Rufus is in outstanding voice tonight. Where once he had a tendency to exaggerate or slur his words as if drunk, tonight his phrasing is crisp and clear. His voice is big and full of gravitas without being overbearing or grating. It is a voice that can be self-mocking or completely sincere depending on the context. His unamplified take on a Scottish folk song (title translates as ‘hearthrob’ apparently) is truly spine tingling, and evidence not just of his family background, but also of his own sublime talent.
The first set centres largely on new album ‘Release The Stars’, with its grandiose horn and wind flourishes and unrestrained pomposity. Opening with the title track is an unpredictable but effective gamble – the horn arrangement veering into New Orleans Marching Band territory. We’re treated to a mournful ‘Going To A Town’ and an utterly hilarious ‘Tulsa’ (dedicated to Killers frontman Brandon Flowers - ‘amazingly talented, wonderfully handsome, hopelessly het-e-ro-sex-ual!’). The closing one-two of the vulnerable ‘Leaving For Paris’ and extravagant ‘Between My Legs’ gives Rufus the opportunity for some unsubtle humour (‘we’ve left Paris, we’re now between my legs!’) and one lucky everyman from the audience gets to do the closing theatrical voiceover. He does this very gamely, in appropriately overblown style, with accompanying hand gestures.
Those hoping for some back catalogue gems would no doubt have been satiated by a superbly moving version of ‘The Art Teacher’ (for all his love of massive orchestration, there’s little doubt that Rufus is as much a master when alone at the piano) and a playful ‘Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk’, complete with some all-too-human gaffs, which Rufus endearingly does not attempt to disguise.
The second set is less predictable, not least because of Rufus’ costume change into lederhosen. Although it fills in all the remaining gaps from ‘Release The Stars’, there are also two wonderful selections from the Judy Garland show, the aforementioned Scottish folk tune, a crackling, tempestuous ‘Beautiful Child’ and a real curveball choice in ‘The Consort’, one of the finest tracks from ‘Poses’. It all ends with an extended arrangement of the magnificent ‘14th Street’, which out-Sondheims Sondheim and gives the exquisite band a chance to show their chops. Breaking free from the meticulous arrangements, they sound positively liberated.
There’s still a generous encore though – including ‘I Don’t Know What It Is’, a wonderfully expressive ‘Danny Boy’ (the Rufus original, not the folk song) and a delicious solo performance of ‘Poses’. By now, Rufus is now in a bath robe, and as a cluster of technicians quickly remove the piano, it is clear there is something of a surprise underneath it (the bath robe, not the piano). In drag, Rufus and some charismatic dancers then perform a karaoke version of the old standard ‘Get Happy’. No, really. I’d say it was a prime YouTube moment but, really and truly, you just had to be there.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Resurrected
Steve Earle - Washington Square Serenade
Bettye LaVette - Scene Of The Crime
It's not really necessary to add to the voluminous amount of writing about Steve Earle's career trajectory, including time spent as a convicted criminal and drug addict, other than to say that his more recent output has been some of the boldest and most exciting of his career. 'The Mountain', a bluegrass album made in collaboration with the Del McCoury band is one of the best contemporary examples of the genre, whilst 'Jerusalem' and 'The Revolution Starts Now', both politically confrontational albums unrepentant in their stark polemic, both bristle with raw tension and excitement.
'Washington Square Serenade' represents yet another sidestep, consisting of rhythmically driven acoustic guitars and some rather intrusive beats from Dust Brother John King. The basic musical template isn't really anything new for Earle, so the addition of drum machine backings seems like rather a forced way of reinventing the same wheel. Ultimately, when you're as literate and compelling a songwriter as Steve Earle, there isn't a great obligation to embrace modernity, especially when the result risks removing the timeless quality from the music.
The presence of a song like 'Satellite Radio' (Earle himself now presents a radio show Stateside) is intriguing given that much of 'Washington Square Serenade' sounds tailor-made for daytime radio airtime. 'Down Here Below' is the kind of talky narrative song that Earle does brilliantly, but it disintegrates into a rather bland singalong chorus that detracts from its overall force. Similarly, the first introduction of those 'beats' on 'Tennessee Blues' immediate push the song away from the margins and into the middle of the road. The album concludes with a rather ill-advised neutering of Tom Waits' excoriating 'Way Down In The Hole'.
Yet, in its more organic moments, 'Washington Square Serenade' is a pure delight. There are a clutch of simple, affecting love songs with less cluttered arrangements which give Earle's wisened voice greater room to communicate. 'City of Immigrants' is as broad and encompassing as its subject matter necessitates, with a provocative rhythm track that sounds more natural than its more overtly 'produced' counterparts.
Perhaps the production would work better if it was all more carefully integrated, instead of the beats so often sounding more like a casual afterthought. Earle's songwriting voice is still a confident and compelling one, but too often 'Washington Square Serenade' sounds dangerously bland. There are some lovely songs here, but an unadorned acoustic performance of them (like those Rick Rubin-produced Johnny Cash albums) might well have been more daring and more artistically successful.
Until a couple of years ago, when the wonderful 'I've Got My Own Hell To Raise' appeared on the Anti label, soul singer Bettye Lavette had rather disappeared from the radar. Seemingly a victim to the music industry's more fickle and unpredictable machinations, Lavette was making money as a jobbing singer, but firmly without the reputation and critical acumen she so clearly deserved. That album, produced by Joe Henry and comprising a collection of songs from empathetic female songwriters (Dolly Parton, Lucinda Williams etc), changed all that, and also served as a timely reminder of her gritty and gutsy performances on classic soul sides like 'Let Me Down Easy' and the swampy 'He Made A Woman Out Of Me'.
Her next step was to return to the legendary Muscle Shoals studios where she cut her now infamous 'lost' album 'Child of the Seventies', one of the great albums by a female soul vocalist and almost left for good on the cutting room floor. Appearing on the record is David Hood, the bass player on the original sessions. Hood is father of Patterson Hood, from outstanding southern rockers Drive By Truckers who, taking time out from his main project, organised all the musicians and songs for this recording.
The emphasis here is very much on Lavette as soul survivor. Over time, this could easily get a little tiresome but one can hardly begrudge her the chance to vent her spleen here. It's all the more exciting because she mostly does this through the vehicle of other people's songs. By contrast with its predecessor, all the songs here, with the exception of the sole original, are the work of men. It's a timely reminder of how the great art of interpretative singing is rather rapidly dying out. Lavette is one of the few singers left who could proudly proclaim 'I don't write songs, I sing them.'
And boy does she sing! There's a whole world of life experience in that husky but commanding voice and right from the album's opening lines ('I've been this way too long to change now/You're gonna have to take me as I am!') there's a sense that her conviction and commitment have not been diminished by the passing of time. There's a righteousness and self belief on 'Choices', and her take on Frankie Miller's 'Jealousy' is appropriately smouldering and sensual.
'The Scene of the Crime' again emphasises the close connections between soul and country music, not just through the presence of Memphis legend Spooner Oldham on Wurlitzer (how resonant that old electric keyboard sounds here), but also through interpretations of songs from gifted songwriters firmly entrenched in the American tradition - Willie Nelson, John Hiatt and, perhaps less illustriously, Don Henley. The album's finest moment, as highlighted by Patterson Hood in his sincere and eloquent sleevenotes, is a version of 'Talking Old Soldiers', an obscure Elton John song. Lavette completely transforms it, turning it into a grand old statement of defiance and survival.
Unlike the Steve Earle record, there's little conscious attempt to push Lavette into the modern world. Instead, we get a brilliantly solid old soul sound, expertly crafted by the Drive By Truckers, providing the firm foundations for Lavette's merciless extemporising. The upbeat tracks feature some of the clearest, firmest backbeat grooves of this year or any other, whilst the ballads are deftly and sensitively handled, particularly the amount of space left in the rendition of Willie Nelson's 'Somebody Pick Up My Pieces'.
You know you've achieved legendary status when you can get away with referring to yourself in the third person. On that basis, the one original song here, 'Before The Money Came (The Battle of Bettye Lavette)', should ensure Lavette's place in the pantheon of soul legends is at last secure. The brazenly autobiographical lyrics were apparently captured by Patterson Hood from snippets of recalled studio conversation, and they neatly sum up the themes of this project and the unrelenting spirit of this determined woman.
Bettye LaVette - Scene Of The Crime
It's not really necessary to add to the voluminous amount of writing about Steve Earle's career trajectory, including time spent as a convicted criminal and drug addict, other than to say that his more recent output has been some of the boldest and most exciting of his career. 'The Mountain', a bluegrass album made in collaboration with the Del McCoury band is one of the best contemporary examples of the genre, whilst 'Jerusalem' and 'The Revolution Starts Now', both politically confrontational albums unrepentant in their stark polemic, both bristle with raw tension and excitement.
'Washington Square Serenade' represents yet another sidestep, consisting of rhythmically driven acoustic guitars and some rather intrusive beats from Dust Brother John King. The basic musical template isn't really anything new for Earle, so the addition of drum machine backings seems like rather a forced way of reinventing the same wheel. Ultimately, when you're as literate and compelling a songwriter as Steve Earle, there isn't a great obligation to embrace modernity, especially when the result risks removing the timeless quality from the music.
The presence of a song like 'Satellite Radio' (Earle himself now presents a radio show Stateside) is intriguing given that much of 'Washington Square Serenade' sounds tailor-made for daytime radio airtime. 'Down Here Below' is the kind of talky narrative song that Earle does brilliantly, but it disintegrates into a rather bland singalong chorus that detracts from its overall force. Similarly, the first introduction of those 'beats' on 'Tennessee Blues' immediate push the song away from the margins and into the middle of the road. The album concludes with a rather ill-advised neutering of Tom Waits' excoriating 'Way Down In The Hole'.
Yet, in its more organic moments, 'Washington Square Serenade' is a pure delight. There are a clutch of simple, affecting love songs with less cluttered arrangements which give Earle's wisened voice greater room to communicate. 'City of Immigrants' is as broad and encompassing as its subject matter necessitates, with a provocative rhythm track that sounds more natural than its more overtly 'produced' counterparts.
Perhaps the production would work better if it was all more carefully integrated, instead of the beats so often sounding more like a casual afterthought. Earle's songwriting voice is still a confident and compelling one, but too often 'Washington Square Serenade' sounds dangerously bland. There are some lovely songs here, but an unadorned acoustic performance of them (like those Rick Rubin-produced Johnny Cash albums) might well have been more daring and more artistically successful.
Until a couple of years ago, when the wonderful 'I've Got My Own Hell To Raise' appeared on the Anti label, soul singer Bettye Lavette had rather disappeared from the radar. Seemingly a victim to the music industry's more fickle and unpredictable machinations, Lavette was making money as a jobbing singer, but firmly without the reputation and critical acumen she so clearly deserved. That album, produced by Joe Henry and comprising a collection of songs from empathetic female songwriters (Dolly Parton, Lucinda Williams etc), changed all that, and also served as a timely reminder of her gritty and gutsy performances on classic soul sides like 'Let Me Down Easy' and the swampy 'He Made A Woman Out Of Me'.
Her next step was to return to the legendary Muscle Shoals studios where she cut her now infamous 'lost' album 'Child of the Seventies', one of the great albums by a female soul vocalist and almost left for good on the cutting room floor. Appearing on the record is David Hood, the bass player on the original sessions. Hood is father of Patterson Hood, from outstanding southern rockers Drive By Truckers who, taking time out from his main project, organised all the musicians and songs for this recording.
The emphasis here is very much on Lavette as soul survivor. Over time, this could easily get a little tiresome but one can hardly begrudge her the chance to vent her spleen here. It's all the more exciting because she mostly does this through the vehicle of other people's songs. By contrast with its predecessor, all the songs here, with the exception of the sole original, are the work of men. It's a timely reminder of how the great art of interpretative singing is rather rapidly dying out. Lavette is one of the few singers left who could proudly proclaim 'I don't write songs, I sing them.'
And boy does she sing! There's a whole world of life experience in that husky but commanding voice and right from the album's opening lines ('I've been this way too long to change now/You're gonna have to take me as I am!') there's a sense that her conviction and commitment have not been diminished by the passing of time. There's a righteousness and self belief on 'Choices', and her take on Frankie Miller's 'Jealousy' is appropriately smouldering and sensual.
'The Scene of the Crime' again emphasises the close connections between soul and country music, not just through the presence of Memphis legend Spooner Oldham on Wurlitzer (how resonant that old electric keyboard sounds here), but also through interpretations of songs from gifted songwriters firmly entrenched in the American tradition - Willie Nelson, John Hiatt and, perhaps less illustriously, Don Henley. The album's finest moment, as highlighted by Patterson Hood in his sincere and eloquent sleevenotes, is a version of 'Talking Old Soldiers', an obscure Elton John song. Lavette completely transforms it, turning it into a grand old statement of defiance and survival.
Unlike the Steve Earle record, there's little conscious attempt to push Lavette into the modern world. Instead, we get a brilliantly solid old soul sound, expertly crafted by the Drive By Truckers, providing the firm foundations for Lavette's merciless extemporising. The upbeat tracks feature some of the clearest, firmest backbeat grooves of this year or any other, whilst the ballads are deftly and sensitively handled, particularly the amount of space left in the rendition of Willie Nelson's 'Somebody Pick Up My Pieces'.
You know you've achieved legendary status when you can get away with referring to yourself in the third person. On that basis, the one original song here, 'Before The Money Came (The Battle of Bettye Lavette)', should ensure Lavette's place in the pantheon of soul legends is at last secure. The brazenly autobiographical lyrics were apparently captured by Patterson Hood from snippets of recalled studio conversation, and they neatly sum up the themes of this project and the unrelenting spirit of this determined woman.
A Date With ECM
The Edition of Contemporary Music label can always be relied upon to produce intriguing and challenging output in any given year but 2007 does appear to have been a particularly fertile time for Manfred Eicher's remarkable company. Whilst the label continues to sustain its highly individual aesthetic - music often emphasising atmosphere and mood over virtuosity or technique - it has done so whilst covering an increasingly varied and unpredictable terrain.
I am deeply sceptical of the rather more narrow-minded breed of music listener who, despite increasing evidence to the contrary, continue to assert that classical and jazz are somehow incompatible forms. Classical music is about formal composition, jazz is about improvisation and the two can only ever meet uncomfortably. Anyone still upholding this rather archaic and unimaginative view would do well to listen to the latest wonderful album from John Surman. Surman should have won the Mercury Music Prize for his outstanding 'Proverbs and Songs' album and I wouldn't have objected to him receiving a second nomination for the wistful, contemplative and thoroughly immersing collaboration with the Trans4Mation String Quartet on 'The Spaces In Between'. This is essentially a continuation of the approach Surman first deployed on 'Coruscating', but it is more successfully realised here, with the string players given more space for their own creative statements.
Surman switches between baritone sax, which provides a wonderfully smoky tone for the mysterious opener 'Moonlighter', bass clarinet and soprano, thus ensuring there is more than sufficient tonal variety throughout the album. He even sits out for the title track, allowing violinist Rita Manning to perform an exquisitely controlled and deeply expressive solo. The contrast between his exquisite soprano extemporisation on the bittersweet 'Winter Wish' and the more elusive, wispy sound of 'Moonlighter' is highly effective.
Whilst the most conventional of jazzers might be forgiven for mourning the absence of a rhythm section, the striking impact of the staccato passages of 'You Never Know' demonstrate that the quartet can operate as rhythm players in their own right, although Surman more often favours more languid forms of expression. The pivotal player here is double bassist Chris Laurence, both an orchestral musician and frequent Surman collaborator, and his binding role is fundamental to the music's impact.
Surman recycles a number of older compositions for this project, with extremely satisfying results. 'Where Fortune Smiles' was once restless and driving, but now sounds stately and graceful. 'Mimosa', originally written for Oud player Anouwar Brahem, retains some of its Middle Eastern stylings, but is successfully subsumed into the more European flavour of the rest of the project.
Surman's playing is distinctive and rich throughout, and his compositions are characteristically elegiac and flowing, leaving enough time and space for individual expression. What is most impressive is the smooth interpolation of Surman's melodies with the quartet's elegant accompaniment. 'The Spaces In Between' is a haunting, powerful statement of chamber jazz.
Paul Motian has long carved his own unique niche as a drummer far more interested in texture and space than in rhythmic propulsion or groove. He doesn't swing conventionally, yet his playing has a definitive musicality and invention that continue to mark him out as a world class musician. His bassless trio with guitarist Bill Frisell and towering saxophonist Joe Lovano may be the most fruitful means of capturing his prime concerns. Frisell is the perfect foil for Motian's sweeping, breathing playing. Motian leaves much of the rhythm implied rather than stated, and Frisell's guitar atmospherics (frequently imitated but never bettered by less creative musicians) help craft a spacious, introspective dynamic. There is a palpable conversation between the two musicians, but it is more ruminative than chattering. Whilst Lovano's sound is muscular and strong, he fits into this jigsaw with consummate ease. His playing has commanding authority, but also a snug empathy with the overall texture.
Much of this music has an isolated, desolate quality, particularly the eerie opener 'Cambodia', and the musical ideas are allowed to unfold at a decidedly gradual pace. Whilst the overall sense is of three musicians playing relatively freely, powerful melodies are delivered with pinpoint precision, such as on the beautiful 'Wednesday'. Even when Motian is on the surface somewhat provocative, intent on causing trouble on 'OneTwo', he is so completely locked in with Lovano's dexterous soloing that the effect is extraordinary. How exactly do they achieve this remarkable synergy?
I'm in two minds about the latest work from former Weather Report bassist Miroslav Vitous. Despite its title, 'Universal Syncopations II' is not much of a direct sequel to its predecessor, unless one considers it a more elaborately arranged, orchestral take on a similar folk-meets-jazz concept. Although there are brief appearances here from Randy Brecker and driving drummer Adam Nussbaum, this album lacks the star appearances of the first 'Universal Syncopations' project (which featured Chick Corea and Jan Garbarek amongst others). This time, Vitous has made himself master of all aspects of the process - composing, scoring, arranging, engineering and co-producing. To my ears, there is a sense that this has made this project a little too formalised and controlled. Whilst the orchestral and choral arrangements are dense and engaging, they are based mainly on manipulated sampled sounds, and therefore sound frequently jarring with the more organic nature of the accompanying music. Why not simply have recorded this as a live band with live orchestra? The opening 'Opera', whilst lengthy, is the most immediately successful statement here - fluent and confident, particularly with the benefit of Nussbaum's riveting percussion. Yet the less elaborate Gerald Cleaver takes over for the rest of the album, and the lingering sense is that this is only a half-realised musical statement, and a less confident integration of jazz and classical concerns than the Surman album. Luckily, that wonderfully resonant, coursing bass sound that Vitous has made entirely his own still takes centre stage amidst the orchestral clamour.
There are very obvious criticisms one could direct against the Tord Gustavsen Trio, now releasing 'Being There', their third album for ECM, and apparently the concluding part of an intended trilogy. These are the same criticims that tended to be leveled against the rather excellent Esbjorn Svensson Trio - namely that the group leader, in each case a pianist, is not a very dynamic or inventive improvisor and that the music therefore doesn't qualify as jazz. Well, who cares exactly what it is? Those who dislike est on such rigid grounds are probably more than a little envious of the group's stadium level success in Europe, whilst those who reject the lingering melodies of Tord Gustavsen are missing out on something emotionally charged and quietly affecting.
There's a delicacy and lightness of touch to the playing of all three musicians in the group. Listen to how the drums are so subtle that they often fade into the background. Whilst Gustavsen's extemporising is slow paced and rarely veers too far from the melodic theme, it has a grace and feeling that many of the more outrageous improvisers all too easily abandon. It is also entirely in keeping with the restrained, meditative quality of his compositions.
Whilst there's nothing on 'Being There' quite as immediate as the more infectious melodic statements with which Gustavsen peppered 'Changing Places' and 'The Ground', the gospel influences are brought more clearly to the foreground. The lightly funky 'Blessed Feet', for example, is an absolute delight. There's also more of a rhythmic drive to the expressive, touching 'Vicar Street'.
The more characteristic beauty the band have captured before is also sustained impressively on 'Being There', and there are moments of bittersweet melancholy and supremely understated calm. If it's a more insidious record than its predecessor, more subtly seeping under the skin, then that's probably a powerful quality. Gustavsen will have to develop his musical language for future releases but, for now, this thoughtful, deeply felt music has its own space and value.
Paul Bley is one of the most pivotal and influential of jazz pianists, yet he's rarely mentioned in the same breath as Keith Jarrett, Chick Corea or Bill Evans. How odd, given that his first foray into solo performance for ECM ('Open, to Love') came two years before the Koln Concert shattered all expectations. Bley has a more open, singing style than Jarrett, although he also favours right hand melodies accompanied by left hand chords. The nameless variations on 'Solo in Mondsee' are impressive elaborations on clearly stated musical ideas and themes. Whilst he frequently hints at pages of the standard repertoire, Bley is more concerned with emotional impact than referencing or thematic deconstruction. In a similar way to how Paul Motian gets tonal variety from the drum kit, Bley is chiefly concerned with contrasts at the Piano, rather than persistence or insistence. The music on 'Solo in Mondsee' is lush and deeply romantic.
One of the more revelatory jazz releases of recent years was 'Neighbourhood', the ECM debut from drummer/composer Manu Katche. Although Katche had been a frequent sideman for Jan Garbarek, he was perhaps better known at this time as a session and touring drummer for the likes of Peter Gabriel, Sting and Joni Mitchell. Few had expected his compositions to be so lucid and powerful, or that he could command such a top class frontline (both Garbarek and Tomasz Stanko made priceless contributions to the record). Now returning for 'Playground', Katche has wisely opted to maintain some of that album's qualities of deceptive simplicity, whilst not trying too hard to repeat the formula. The star frontline is replaced with Norwegians Mathias Eick and Trygve Seim and, whilst less well known, they prove to be every bit as effective. Seim's lighter tone makes for a neat contrast with the more forceful interjections made by Garbarek on 'Neighbourhood', whilst Eick is a more direct subsitute for Stanko's vulnerable lyricism.
The lyrical, atmospheric approach suits the ECM vision perfectly, and the very selfless playing of all five members of the group allow for a remarkably subtle interplay and conversation. The melodies are warm and immediate, whilst Katche has very successfully made himself a supporting player in his own group, to the great success of this light, airy music. It's not an abstract record at all though, with 'So Groovy' living up to its rather audacious moniker without piercing the overall mood. A little like the Tord Gustavsen record, the solos don't veer too far from the melodic template and there is little here that is radical or unconventional. Yet the feel is exquisite and the pervading warm mood pretty much irresistible.
Perhaps the pick of the bunch though is 'The Third Quartet', unsurprisingly the third album from guitarist John Abercrombie's Quartet with violinist Mark Feldman, bassist Marc Johnson and brilliant drummer Joey Baron. Not only is Abercrombie one of the master stylists and technicians of the jazz guitar, he is also superb at crafting bold, adventurous musical statements through hint and suggestion. This is partially because Abercrombie himself has a distict flair for veering between free rhythm and sprightly, locked on playing, but it's also because of the supreme quality of ensemble playing on display here. Feldman particularly is a brilliant addition - immediately making for unconventional textures and sounds. This music rarely ever feels daring or progressive - instead it sounds effortless - but there's a real alchemy here that may mark this album out as the pinnacle of the group's achievement so far.
The crackling, pulsating opener 'Banshee' is a brilliant example of this group's adventurous dynamic, although its driving qualities are perhaps a little misleading - much of the rest of this album is more ruminative and ponderous. Everywhere however there is a real intensity at work, however. Even when it's at its most quiet and restrained, the music has a force and impact that makes it impossible to ignore. Baron rises to the challenge of partially impersonating the late great Elvin Jones on 'Elvin', and there's also a spectacular reimagining of Bill Evans' exquisite 'Epilogue', during which Abercrombie is at the very top of his game. The originals all sustain a distinctive mood and eccentricity, and the whole album is immersing and hypnotic.
I am deeply sceptical of the rather more narrow-minded breed of music listener who, despite increasing evidence to the contrary, continue to assert that classical and jazz are somehow incompatible forms. Classical music is about formal composition, jazz is about improvisation and the two can only ever meet uncomfortably. Anyone still upholding this rather archaic and unimaginative view would do well to listen to the latest wonderful album from John Surman. Surman should have won the Mercury Music Prize for his outstanding 'Proverbs and Songs' album and I wouldn't have objected to him receiving a second nomination for the wistful, contemplative and thoroughly immersing collaboration with the Trans4Mation String Quartet on 'The Spaces In Between'. This is essentially a continuation of the approach Surman first deployed on 'Coruscating', but it is more successfully realised here, with the string players given more space for their own creative statements.
Surman switches between baritone sax, which provides a wonderfully smoky tone for the mysterious opener 'Moonlighter', bass clarinet and soprano, thus ensuring there is more than sufficient tonal variety throughout the album. He even sits out for the title track, allowing violinist Rita Manning to perform an exquisitely controlled and deeply expressive solo. The contrast between his exquisite soprano extemporisation on the bittersweet 'Winter Wish' and the more elusive, wispy sound of 'Moonlighter' is highly effective.
Whilst the most conventional of jazzers might be forgiven for mourning the absence of a rhythm section, the striking impact of the staccato passages of 'You Never Know' demonstrate that the quartet can operate as rhythm players in their own right, although Surman more often favours more languid forms of expression. The pivotal player here is double bassist Chris Laurence, both an orchestral musician and frequent Surman collaborator, and his binding role is fundamental to the music's impact.
Surman recycles a number of older compositions for this project, with extremely satisfying results. 'Where Fortune Smiles' was once restless and driving, but now sounds stately and graceful. 'Mimosa', originally written for Oud player Anouwar Brahem, retains some of its Middle Eastern stylings, but is successfully subsumed into the more European flavour of the rest of the project.
Surman's playing is distinctive and rich throughout, and his compositions are characteristically elegiac and flowing, leaving enough time and space for individual expression. What is most impressive is the smooth interpolation of Surman's melodies with the quartet's elegant accompaniment. 'The Spaces In Between' is a haunting, powerful statement of chamber jazz.
Paul Motian has long carved his own unique niche as a drummer far more interested in texture and space than in rhythmic propulsion or groove. He doesn't swing conventionally, yet his playing has a definitive musicality and invention that continue to mark him out as a world class musician. His bassless trio with guitarist Bill Frisell and towering saxophonist Joe Lovano may be the most fruitful means of capturing his prime concerns. Frisell is the perfect foil for Motian's sweeping, breathing playing. Motian leaves much of the rhythm implied rather than stated, and Frisell's guitar atmospherics (frequently imitated but never bettered by less creative musicians) help craft a spacious, introspective dynamic. There is a palpable conversation between the two musicians, but it is more ruminative than chattering. Whilst Lovano's sound is muscular and strong, he fits into this jigsaw with consummate ease. His playing has commanding authority, but also a snug empathy with the overall texture.
Much of this music has an isolated, desolate quality, particularly the eerie opener 'Cambodia', and the musical ideas are allowed to unfold at a decidedly gradual pace. Whilst the overall sense is of three musicians playing relatively freely, powerful melodies are delivered with pinpoint precision, such as on the beautiful 'Wednesday'. Even when Motian is on the surface somewhat provocative, intent on causing trouble on 'OneTwo', he is so completely locked in with Lovano's dexterous soloing that the effect is extraordinary. How exactly do they achieve this remarkable synergy?
I'm in two minds about the latest work from former Weather Report bassist Miroslav Vitous. Despite its title, 'Universal Syncopations II' is not much of a direct sequel to its predecessor, unless one considers it a more elaborately arranged, orchestral take on a similar folk-meets-jazz concept. Although there are brief appearances here from Randy Brecker and driving drummer Adam Nussbaum, this album lacks the star appearances of the first 'Universal Syncopations' project (which featured Chick Corea and Jan Garbarek amongst others). This time, Vitous has made himself master of all aspects of the process - composing, scoring, arranging, engineering and co-producing. To my ears, there is a sense that this has made this project a little too formalised and controlled. Whilst the orchestral and choral arrangements are dense and engaging, they are based mainly on manipulated sampled sounds, and therefore sound frequently jarring with the more organic nature of the accompanying music. Why not simply have recorded this as a live band with live orchestra? The opening 'Opera', whilst lengthy, is the most immediately successful statement here - fluent and confident, particularly with the benefit of Nussbaum's riveting percussion. Yet the less elaborate Gerald Cleaver takes over for the rest of the album, and the lingering sense is that this is only a half-realised musical statement, and a less confident integration of jazz and classical concerns than the Surman album. Luckily, that wonderfully resonant, coursing bass sound that Vitous has made entirely his own still takes centre stage amidst the orchestral clamour.
There are very obvious criticisms one could direct against the Tord Gustavsen Trio, now releasing 'Being There', their third album for ECM, and apparently the concluding part of an intended trilogy. These are the same criticims that tended to be leveled against the rather excellent Esbjorn Svensson Trio - namely that the group leader, in each case a pianist, is not a very dynamic or inventive improvisor and that the music therefore doesn't qualify as jazz. Well, who cares exactly what it is? Those who dislike est on such rigid grounds are probably more than a little envious of the group's stadium level success in Europe, whilst those who reject the lingering melodies of Tord Gustavsen are missing out on something emotionally charged and quietly affecting.
There's a delicacy and lightness of touch to the playing of all three musicians in the group. Listen to how the drums are so subtle that they often fade into the background. Whilst Gustavsen's extemporising is slow paced and rarely veers too far from the melodic theme, it has a grace and feeling that many of the more outrageous improvisers all too easily abandon. It is also entirely in keeping with the restrained, meditative quality of his compositions.
Whilst there's nothing on 'Being There' quite as immediate as the more infectious melodic statements with which Gustavsen peppered 'Changing Places' and 'The Ground', the gospel influences are brought more clearly to the foreground. The lightly funky 'Blessed Feet', for example, is an absolute delight. There's also more of a rhythmic drive to the expressive, touching 'Vicar Street'.
The more characteristic beauty the band have captured before is also sustained impressively on 'Being There', and there are moments of bittersweet melancholy and supremely understated calm. If it's a more insidious record than its predecessor, more subtly seeping under the skin, then that's probably a powerful quality. Gustavsen will have to develop his musical language for future releases but, for now, this thoughtful, deeply felt music has its own space and value.
Paul Bley is one of the most pivotal and influential of jazz pianists, yet he's rarely mentioned in the same breath as Keith Jarrett, Chick Corea or Bill Evans. How odd, given that his first foray into solo performance for ECM ('Open, to Love') came two years before the Koln Concert shattered all expectations. Bley has a more open, singing style than Jarrett, although he also favours right hand melodies accompanied by left hand chords. The nameless variations on 'Solo in Mondsee' are impressive elaborations on clearly stated musical ideas and themes. Whilst he frequently hints at pages of the standard repertoire, Bley is more concerned with emotional impact than referencing or thematic deconstruction. In a similar way to how Paul Motian gets tonal variety from the drum kit, Bley is chiefly concerned with contrasts at the Piano, rather than persistence or insistence. The music on 'Solo in Mondsee' is lush and deeply romantic.
One of the more revelatory jazz releases of recent years was 'Neighbourhood', the ECM debut from drummer/composer Manu Katche. Although Katche had been a frequent sideman for Jan Garbarek, he was perhaps better known at this time as a session and touring drummer for the likes of Peter Gabriel, Sting and Joni Mitchell. Few had expected his compositions to be so lucid and powerful, or that he could command such a top class frontline (both Garbarek and Tomasz Stanko made priceless contributions to the record). Now returning for 'Playground', Katche has wisely opted to maintain some of that album's qualities of deceptive simplicity, whilst not trying too hard to repeat the formula. The star frontline is replaced with Norwegians Mathias Eick and Trygve Seim and, whilst less well known, they prove to be every bit as effective. Seim's lighter tone makes for a neat contrast with the more forceful interjections made by Garbarek on 'Neighbourhood', whilst Eick is a more direct subsitute for Stanko's vulnerable lyricism.
The lyrical, atmospheric approach suits the ECM vision perfectly, and the very selfless playing of all five members of the group allow for a remarkably subtle interplay and conversation. The melodies are warm and immediate, whilst Katche has very successfully made himself a supporting player in his own group, to the great success of this light, airy music. It's not an abstract record at all though, with 'So Groovy' living up to its rather audacious moniker without piercing the overall mood. A little like the Tord Gustavsen record, the solos don't veer too far from the melodic template and there is little here that is radical or unconventional. Yet the feel is exquisite and the pervading warm mood pretty much irresistible.
Perhaps the pick of the bunch though is 'The Third Quartet', unsurprisingly the third album from guitarist John Abercrombie's Quartet with violinist Mark Feldman, bassist Marc Johnson and brilliant drummer Joey Baron. Not only is Abercrombie one of the master stylists and technicians of the jazz guitar, he is also superb at crafting bold, adventurous musical statements through hint and suggestion. This is partially because Abercrombie himself has a distict flair for veering between free rhythm and sprightly, locked on playing, but it's also because of the supreme quality of ensemble playing on display here. Feldman particularly is a brilliant addition - immediately making for unconventional textures and sounds. This music rarely ever feels daring or progressive - instead it sounds effortless - but there's a real alchemy here that may mark this album out as the pinnacle of the group's achievement so far.
The crackling, pulsating opener 'Banshee' is a brilliant example of this group's adventurous dynamic, although its driving qualities are perhaps a little misleading - much of the rest of this album is more ruminative and ponderous. Everywhere however there is a real intensity at work, however. Even when it's at its most quiet and restrained, the music has a force and impact that makes it impossible to ignore. Baron rises to the challenge of partially impersonating the late great Elvin Jones on 'Elvin', and there's also a spectacular reimagining of Bill Evans' exquisite 'Epilogue', during which Abercrombie is at the very top of his game. The originals all sustain a distinctive mood and eccentricity, and the whole album is immersing and hypnotic.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Mountain Moonshine
Band of Horses – Cease To Begin
The rather lovely packaging for Band of Horses’ second full length (a collection of photocards in keeping with the excellent design of their debut), with its moon and tide image, rather suggests a cold and foreboding work. In reality, ‘Cease to Begin’ is as much full of warmth and compassion as it is a lingering melancholy. It also represents a major stride forward for a band initially all too easy to deride as My Morning Jacket soundalikes. The parallels between the voices of Jim James and Band of Horses’ Ben Bridwell are still transparent but there’s a much broader musicality at work here which places BoH closer to an American folk tradition. Ultimately, there’s more of The Band and less of Lynyrd Skynyrd on ‘Cease To Begin’, a sign that the band are embracing subtlety as much as their beloved southern rock assault.
That being said, the opener ‘Is There A Ghost’ is something of a red herring. It’s by no means a bad song – indeed, it sounded positively thrilling when opening their set at London’s Scala earlier this year. On record though, its limitations cut through a little more than one might hope – it’s essentially the kind of blandly arranged chugging indie of which I’m increasingly sceptical. There’s an insistence and immediacy to its repetitive lyric and melody that sets it apart from the more elusive, slow burning dynamism on offer elsewhere on this fine album.
The overall approach here seems to be one of reducing the grandiose theatrics, instead opting for a more restrained and affecting sound. This is best evidenced by the beguiling 'No One's Gonna Love You', with its echo-laden guitars and haunting melody, effortlessly handled by Bridwell. 'Marry Song' is quite some distance from anything on the group's debut, emphasising lingering Wurlitzer chords over guitars, and again giving the melody plenty of space to breathe.
In this context, the group allow themselves plenty of opportunity for interplay, and things occasionally veer in unexpected directions. There's some spirited honky tonk amidst the lush, melancholy balladry and 'Ode To LRC' is something of a love song to a lost dog. The spirit of Neil Young is cursing through these songs, but the music is rarely ever as stodgy or relentless as Crazy Horse at their worst. Instead, 'Cease To Begin' offers a fresh spin on the Appalachian sound, and is as fresh and enthralling as the mountain air.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Them and Me, We're History, There Ain't Nothin' Left For Me
I like this blog to be mainly positive in outlook, but sometimes it's both satisfying and necessary to prepare a good hatchet job. There's been a lot of ten year anniversary nostalgia for 1997 recently (and I've joined in with this myself, it was at that pivotal point in my late adolescent life that shall always stick in my mind). There have been thoughts about OK Computer, Be Here Now but, oddly, nothing written about Blur's supposed 'reinvention' as Pavement-influenced marginals. Right now, given their announcement of new shows and new material, the focus is very much on The Verve.
I'll confess that ten years ago, they seemed special, even before everyone latched on. One event is particularly etched upon my memory - an Oasis show at Earl's Court, for which The Verve were support act. The horrible, leery, great unwashed Oasis fanbase jeered, hissed and booed, repeating their mind-numbing chants for the headline act throughout Ashcroft and Co's set (remember that Urban Hymns hadn't yet been released at this point). I was thinking privately to myself - there's something anthemic and uniting here, and you lot are going to feel very silly in a couple of months. I was right in some ways, and really quite wrong in others.
In 2007, I find 'Urban Hymns' completely unlisteneable, not just because its popular singles have been overplayed to the point of tedium, but because, with the greater knowledge that's come with ten further years of musical exploration, it's a wretched record. Richard Ashcroft had the kind of self aggrandising, misplaced conviction that now looks wholly unattractive in every sense. His vocals, whilst forceful, are also monotonous and his pitch is frankly poor, even for a pop singer. When Chris Martin introduced him at Live 8 as the greatest singer and songwriter in the world, I had to laugh.
I am now bored to tears by the predictable harmony of 'Lucky Man', the middling, meandering melodies of 'History' and 'The Drugs Don't Work', and the false leaps at grandeur that came with those cloying, sugary string arrangements. As for the quasi-mysticism and faux-philosophising of much of 'A Northern Soul' and all of 'A Storm In Heaven', they can take it all back. The rhythmic backbones of much of their less mournful material seem leaden and deadweight now.
Whereas Radiohead's OK Computer, whatever one might think of it, had an eerie presience in 1997 (accurately resisting the misplaced complacency of Cool Britannia) that has kept it relevant - exactly what does 'The Drugs Don't Work' really mean in 2007? Most of its spine tingling qualities appear to have evaporated with the passing of time.
Perhaps the group's legacy has been irreparably damaged by the feeble quality of Ashcroft's solo material, and I'm being unfair. Yet I can't help feeling now, whilst admittedly with the benefit of hindsight, that his lofty pretentions at poetry were all too transparent then too.
Yet people still seem to care about this group in 2007 in a way they simply didn't about Ashcroft's solo material - hence the massive ticket sales for the huge arena shows at the end of the year. I don't get it - it's past history, and I'm going to adopt a revisionist perspective for this one! If I want a slice of '97 nostalgia today, I'll dig out my knackered copy of 'Black Love' by the Afghan Whigs - now I was right on that one for sure!
I'll confess that ten years ago, they seemed special, even before everyone latched on. One event is particularly etched upon my memory - an Oasis show at Earl's Court, for which The Verve were support act. The horrible, leery, great unwashed Oasis fanbase jeered, hissed and booed, repeating their mind-numbing chants for the headline act throughout Ashcroft and Co's set (remember that Urban Hymns hadn't yet been released at this point). I was thinking privately to myself - there's something anthemic and uniting here, and you lot are going to feel very silly in a couple of months. I was right in some ways, and really quite wrong in others.
In 2007, I find 'Urban Hymns' completely unlisteneable, not just because its popular singles have been overplayed to the point of tedium, but because, with the greater knowledge that's come with ten further years of musical exploration, it's a wretched record. Richard Ashcroft had the kind of self aggrandising, misplaced conviction that now looks wholly unattractive in every sense. His vocals, whilst forceful, are also monotonous and his pitch is frankly poor, even for a pop singer. When Chris Martin introduced him at Live 8 as the greatest singer and songwriter in the world, I had to laugh.
I am now bored to tears by the predictable harmony of 'Lucky Man', the middling, meandering melodies of 'History' and 'The Drugs Don't Work', and the false leaps at grandeur that came with those cloying, sugary string arrangements. As for the quasi-mysticism and faux-philosophising of much of 'A Northern Soul' and all of 'A Storm In Heaven', they can take it all back. The rhythmic backbones of much of their less mournful material seem leaden and deadweight now.
Whereas Radiohead's OK Computer, whatever one might think of it, had an eerie presience in 1997 (accurately resisting the misplaced complacency of Cool Britannia) that has kept it relevant - exactly what does 'The Drugs Don't Work' really mean in 2007? Most of its spine tingling qualities appear to have evaporated with the passing of time.
Perhaps the group's legacy has been irreparably damaged by the feeble quality of Ashcroft's solo material, and I'm being unfair. Yet I can't help feeling now, whilst admittedly with the benefit of hindsight, that his lofty pretentions at poetry were all too transparent then too.
Yet people still seem to care about this group in 2007 in a way they simply didn't about Ashcroft's solo material - hence the massive ticket sales for the huge arena shows at the end of the year. I don't get it - it's past history, and I'm going to adopt a revisionist perspective for this one! If I want a slice of '97 nostalgia today, I'll dig out my knackered copy of 'Black Love' by the Afghan Whigs - now I was right on that one for sure!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Full Spectrum
Radiohead - In Rainbows
So, is it actually any good then? This being Radiohead of course, there are some fairly characteristic and dependable features of ‘In Rainbows’. Like its immediate predecessors, it merges the band’s preoccupations with conventional rock, glitchy electronica, jazz and contemporary composition, but on this occasion perhaps with a greater emphasis on rock instrumentation. Drums and guitars feature prominently, but rarely in a straightforward way. In essence then, ‘In Rainbows’ traverses fairly similar terrain to that already charted by ‘Hail To The Thief’, providing evolution in the band’s approach and processes, and providing an intelligent amalgamation of many of their creative ideas. Whilst it’s arguable that the group are no longer making great strides during the gestation periods between albums, they’ve certainly now found a happy hybrid sound that defies restrictive classification.
Whilst, controversially it would appear, I still rate ‘Hail…’ very highly – it’s at least the Radiohead album I most enjoy - ‘In Rainbows’ does reveal it as a little unfocussed and scattershot. The most impressive aspect of this very accomplished record is the band’s focus on specific techniques and styles of arrangements. A number of the tracks seem to have been built up from Phil Selway’s spidery, chattering drum loops and there’s also a clear emphasis on low rumbling bass lines and delicately plucked, often arpeggiated guitar parts. Selway also frequently leads the dynamic swells, moving away from a looped rhythm into bolder, swashbuckling cymbal work. If they haven’t made overt sonic progress since ‘Hail To The Thief’, it’s worth remembering exactly how far they have come since ‘Pablo Honey’. That album now sounds not just dull, but also rather quaint when placed next to the palpable futurism of ‘In Rainbows’.
‘In Rainbows’ is also the Radiohead album with the most intelligent use of space. The silences are as significant as the more familiar crescendos, and whilst there are intriguing orchestral flourishes, the defining feel is minimal and skeletal. The group arrangements are deft and thoughtful in delaying the entries of certain instruments – with Colin Greenwood’s bass proving particularly adaptable in this regard. This leaves plenty of room for the studio-enhanced atmospherics and orchestral colourings. Mood and texture are key elements of this vivid, compelling music – it never sounds overly dense or cluttered.
These songs have, in what is now traditional for Radiohead, been developed over a long period of time, and tested in live performance. There’s little sign of the supposed conflict and frustration that tends to result from this process though. Radiohead now sound not just fascinated by the possibilities of the studio for enhancing their compositions, but also a band working supremely well together. Just listen to the nimble interplay between Ed O’Brien and Jonny Greenwood’s guitars on the evocative ‘Weird Fishes/Arpeggi’ or the thrilling rush of ‘Jigsaw Falling Into Pieces’.
Also fascinating is the way the group are very effectively subsuming a greater variety of musical stylings into their overall sound. The beautiful ‘House Of Cards’ is ushered in on a deceptively light reggae drum beat, whilst the opening ’15 Steps’ betrays influences from the worlds of techno, dubstep and jazz, its off-kilter 5/4 rhythm immediately taking it to a place where most rock music dare not travel. The first half of ‘All I Need’ perhaps recalls Portishead or Massive Attack, with whom Radiohead have always shared a somewhat claustrophobic, paranoid vision. There’s also more than a hint of the influence of Mark Hollis and Talk Talk in the creative use of space in this music, particularly on the boldly minimal closer ‘Videotape’ or the superb ‘Reckoner’. The latter manages to combine Hollis’ gift for restrained impressionism with an almost funky groove.
Unfortunately, there’s still a massive gulf between the imagination and invention of the group’s music and the poor quality of Thom Yorke’s lyrics. He hasn’t yet spoken much about ‘In Rainbows’ but has said that, if it has a theme, it is about ‘anonymous fear - the kind of fear you get when sitting in a traffic jam and feeling you should be doing something else’. The band’s music now captures this Ballardian disconnection with consummate clarity, but Yorke’s lyrics remain detached fragments of vague rumination, never really capturing feeling and certainly never finding concrete solutions. Whilst his voice is not dehumanised here as it was in parts of ‘Kid A’ and ‘Amnesiac’, it’s still very much an integrated part of the wider whole rather than a lead instrument. His enunciation is deliberately poor, and the lyrics are frequently either very loose ideas or simply difficult to determine. I wonder now why he bothers writing them at all. Wordless songs would surely better convey his feelings of alienation and frustration, or would at least do so in a less repetitive manner. There’s a really predictable tone to some of his statements here (‘Don’t get any big ideas, they’re not going to happen’, ‘I’m an animal in your hot car’, ‘You’ll go to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking’, ‘Everybody leaves if they get the chance’ etc).
Luckily, the sound of his voice is still remarkable in its emotional force. This is particularly the case with his deployment of a pinched, nasal falsetto on the exquisite ‘Nude’, an effect that really heightens the song’s impact. He’s hushed almost to a whisper on the acoustic ‘Faust ARP’, strangely reminiscent of Nick Drake with its Robert Kirby-inspired string arrangement. By way of contrast, he gets unusually aggressive on the strident, angry ‘Bodysnatchers’, the most dirty and distorted work the group have crafted in some time. It sounds as if it was recorded in a tin shack, with Yorke shouting through his grievances from outside the door. Some have emphasised that this is Radiohead’s most straightforwardly melodic record in a while. ‘House Of Cards’ and ‘Nude’ aside, I’m not sure I agree with this – it seems to be far more about effect, implication and mood than about clearly stated themes.
‘OK Computer’ probably remains the group’s most popular release both critically and commercially because of its more reductive ‘anthemic’ qualities, many of which have been borrowed wholesale by numerous less talented artists lacking Radiohead's nuance and sensitivity (Muse, Keane and Coldplay spring immediately to mind). Radiohead have long since jettisoned any pretence at stadium dynamics. Even the decade-old ‘Nude’ sounds much more subtle and controlled in this context than it would have if recorded for ‘OK Computer’. It’s perhaps possible to argue that their music has occasionally risked becoming a little cold and sterile as a result of this thoughtfulness. I have the sense though that ‘In Rainbows’ has restored some humanity and possibly even some soul to their music. ‘Nude’, ‘All I Need’ and, particularly, ‘House Of Cards’ (one of the group’s most affecting songs to date) have a lush romanticism beneath their veneer of existential angst.
It’s tempting to conclude that, ten years on from ‘OK Computer’, ‘In Rainbows’ not only emphasises how prescient that album was in its refusal to follow the prevailing optimistic winds, but also how little the Blair-era actually achieved in changing the political and social landscape of Britain. I suspect, though, that once the cultural and political resonances of ‘OK Computer’ have worn off (if indeed they ever do), this powerful, highly inventive and pleasingly concise record may come to be seen as the pinnacle of Radiohead’s achievements. Like all their previous works, it rewards close attention and repeated listening. It’s too easy to take cheap shots at this band for their vaunting ambitions and unashamed high-mindedness. With U2 disintegrating into a mire of laughable blandness and REM worryingly looking to the superficial, self-regarding sheen of producer Jacknife Lee for their next record, there is no other globally successful rock group working at this level of creativity and invention. I can see a rainbow and it’s worth singing about it.
So, is it actually any good then? This being Radiohead of course, there are some fairly characteristic and dependable features of ‘In Rainbows’. Like its immediate predecessors, it merges the band’s preoccupations with conventional rock, glitchy electronica, jazz and contemporary composition, but on this occasion perhaps with a greater emphasis on rock instrumentation. Drums and guitars feature prominently, but rarely in a straightforward way. In essence then, ‘In Rainbows’ traverses fairly similar terrain to that already charted by ‘Hail To The Thief’, providing evolution in the band’s approach and processes, and providing an intelligent amalgamation of many of their creative ideas. Whilst it’s arguable that the group are no longer making great strides during the gestation periods between albums, they’ve certainly now found a happy hybrid sound that defies restrictive classification.
Whilst, controversially it would appear, I still rate ‘Hail…’ very highly – it’s at least the Radiohead album I most enjoy - ‘In Rainbows’ does reveal it as a little unfocussed and scattershot. The most impressive aspect of this very accomplished record is the band’s focus on specific techniques and styles of arrangements. A number of the tracks seem to have been built up from Phil Selway’s spidery, chattering drum loops and there’s also a clear emphasis on low rumbling bass lines and delicately plucked, often arpeggiated guitar parts. Selway also frequently leads the dynamic swells, moving away from a looped rhythm into bolder, swashbuckling cymbal work. If they haven’t made overt sonic progress since ‘Hail To The Thief’, it’s worth remembering exactly how far they have come since ‘Pablo Honey’. That album now sounds not just dull, but also rather quaint when placed next to the palpable futurism of ‘In Rainbows’.
‘In Rainbows’ is also the Radiohead album with the most intelligent use of space. The silences are as significant as the more familiar crescendos, and whilst there are intriguing orchestral flourishes, the defining feel is minimal and skeletal. The group arrangements are deft and thoughtful in delaying the entries of certain instruments – with Colin Greenwood’s bass proving particularly adaptable in this regard. This leaves plenty of room for the studio-enhanced atmospherics and orchestral colourings. Mood and texture are key elements of this vivid, compelling music – it never sounds overly dense or cluttered.
These songs have, in what is now traditional for Radiohead, been developed over a long period of time, and tested in live performance. There’s little sign of the supposed conflict and frustration that tends to result from this process though. Radiohead now sound not just fascinated by the possibilities of the studio for enhancing their compositions, but also a band working supremely well together. Just listen to the nimble interplay between Ed O’Brien and Jonny Greenwood’s guitars on the evocative ‘Weird Fishes/Arpeggi’ or the thrilling rush of ‘Jigsaw Falling Into Pieces’.
Also fascinating is the way the group are very effectively subsuming a greater variety of musical stylings into their overall sound. The beautiful ‘House Of Cards’ is ushered in on a deceptively light reggae drum beat, whilst the opening ’15 Steps’ betrays influences from the worlds of techno, dubstep and jazz, its off-kilter 5/4 rhythm immediately taking it to a place where most rock music dare not travel. The first half of ‘All I Need’ perhaps recalls Portishead or Massive Attack, with whom Radiohead have always shared a somewhat claustrophobic, paranoid vision. There’s also more than a hint of the influence of Mark Hollis and Talk Talk in the creative use of space in this music, particularly on the boldly minimal closer ‘Videotape’ or the superb ‘Reckoner’. The latter manages to combine Hollis’ gift for restrained impressionism with an almost funky groove.
Unfortunately, there’s still a massive gulf between the imagination and invention of the group’s music and the poor quality of Thom Yorke’s lyrics. He hasn’t yet spoken much about ‘In Rainbows’ but has said that, if it has a theme, it is about ‘anonymous fear - the kind of fear you get when sitting in a traffic jam and feeling you should be doing something else’. The band’s music now captures this Ballardian disconnection with consummate clarity, but Yorke’s lyrics remain detached fragments of vague rumination, never really capturing feeling and certainly never finding concrete solutions. Whilst his voice is not dehumanised here as it was in parts of ‘Kid A’ and ‘Amnesiac’, it’s still very much an integrated part of the wider whole rather than a lead instrument. His enunciation is deliberately poor, and the lyrics are frequently either very loose ideas or simply difficult to determine. I wonder now why he bothers writing them at all. Wordless songs would surely better convey his feelings of alienation and frustration, or would at least do so in a less repetitive manner. There’s a really predictable tone to some of his statements here (‘Don’t get any big ideas, they’re not going to happen’, ‘I’m an animal in your hot car’, ‘You’ll go to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking’, ‘Everybody leaves if they get the chance’ etc).
Luckily, the sound of his voice is still remarkable in its emotional force. This is particularly the case with his deployment of a pinched, nasal falsetto on the exquisite ‘Nude’, an effect that really heightens the song’s impact. He’s hushed almost to a whisper on the acoustic ‘Faust ARP’, strangely reminiscent of Nick Drake with its Robert Kirby-inspired string arrangement. By way of contrast, he gets unusually aggressive on the strident, angry ‘Bodysnatchers’, the most dirty and distorted work the group have crafted in some time. It sounds as if it was recorded in a tin shack, with Yorke shouting through his grievances from outside the door. Some have emphasised that this is Radiohead’s most straightforwardly melodic record in a while. ‘House Of Cards’ and ‘Nude’ aside, I’m not sure I agree with this – it seems to be far more about effect, implication and mood than about clearly stated themes.
‘OK Computer’ probably remains the group’s most popular release both critically and commercially because of its more reductive ‘anthemic’ qualities, many of which have been borrowed wholesale by numerous less talented artists lacking Radiohead's nuance and sensitivity (Muse, Keane and Coldplay spring immediately to mind). Radiohead have long since jettisoned any pretence at stadium dynamics. Even the decade-old ‘Nude’ sounds much more subtle and controlled in this context than it would have if recorded for ‘OK Computer’. It’s perhaps possible to argue that their music has occasionally risked becoming a little cold and sterile as a result of this thoughtfulness. I have the sense though that ‘In Rainbows’ has restored some humanity and possibly even some soul to their music. ‘Nude’, ‘All I Need’ and, particularly, ‘House Of Cards’ (one of the group’s most affecting songs to date) have a lush romanticism beneath their veneer of existential angst.
It’s tempting to conclude that, ten years on from ‘OK Computer’, ‘In Rainbows’ not only emphasises how prescient that album was in its refusal to follow the prevailing optimistic winds, but also how little the Blair-era actually achieved in changing the political and social landscape of Britain. I suspect, though, that once the cultural and political resonances of ‘OK Computer’ have worn off (if indeed they ever do), this powerful, highly inventive and pleasingly concise record may come to be seen as the pinnacle of Radiohead’s achievements. Like all their previous works, it rewards close attention and repeated listening. It’s too easy to take cheap shots at this band for their vaunting ambitions and unashamed high-mindedness. With U2 disintegrating into a mire of laughable blandness and REM worryingly looking to the superficial, self-regarding sheen of producer Jacknife Lee for their next record, there is no other globally successful rock group working at this level of creativity and invention. I can see a rainbow and it’s worth singing about it.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
The NME Hits A New Low
OK, we'll ignore the stupidly small-minded 5/10 review of the actually mind-blowing Dirty Projectors album. We'll also ignore the pathetic, tedious campaign to get the Sex Pistols' 'God Save The Queen' to number one (it was a dreadful record then, it's still dreadful now - and how many more deserving 70s acts could the paper be re-evaluating?).
But we won't ignore the piece on Yeasayer. The band are entirely deserving of the coverage - indeed, credit to the NME for at last jumping on a sensible bandwagon. I've just pre-ordered their 'All Hour Cymbals' album for a bargain price from Play and am keenly anticipating its arrival in a couple of weeks. It's how the paper describes them that has sent me into an apoplectic rage though: 'World Music that doesn't make you want to puke'. What?! What does this really translate as? 'World Music made by White Americans'? Exactly what is the NME trying to say here? What do they define as World Music? The stupendous 2CD 'Best Of Ethiopiques' compilation I still need to blog about? The wonderful Ali Farka Toure and Toumani Diabate collaboration from a couple of years ago that still gets plentiful airplay in my home? Excellent releases from Tinariwen, Orchestra Baobab, the lush tango of Astor Piazolla, or Portuguese Fado music, Fela Kuti, Brotherhood of Breath? The Balkan music that has inspired Beirut, given a mildly positive review elsewhere in the paper? Not to mention a whole range of music from parts of the globe NME journalists won't have heard about, never mind visited. What a bunch of total morons.
But we won't ignore the piece on Yeasayer. The band are entirely deserving of the coverage - indeed, credit to the NME for at last jumping on a sensible bandwagon. I've just pre-ordered their 'All Hour Cymbals' album for a bargain price from Play and am keenly anticipating its arrival in a couple of weeks. It's how the paper describes them that has sent me into an apoplectic rage though: 'World Music that doesn't make you want to puke'. What?! What does this really translate as? 'World Music made by White Americans'? Exactly what is the NME trying to say here? What do they define as World Music? The stupendous 2CD 'Best Of Ethiopiques' compilation I still need to blog about? The wonderful Ali Farka Toure and Toumani Diabate collaboration from a couple of years ago that still gets plentiful airplay in my home? Excellent releases from Tinariwen, Orchestra Baobab, the lush tango of Astor Piazolla, or Portuguese Fado music, Fela Kuti, Brotherhood of Breath? The Balkan music that has inspired Beirut, given a mildly positive review elsewhere in the paper? Not to mention a whole range of music from parts of the globe NME journalists won't have heard about, never mind visited. What a bunch of total morons.
Let's Raise a Toast To Helium
Beirut – The Flying Club Cup
The prodigiously talented songwriter Zach Condon has followed up his debut ‘Gulag Orkestar’ with unfashionable rapidity. This time, his songs come with the added bonus of arrangements from former Hidden Cameras member and Arcade Fire collaborator Owen Pallett (with whom I once spent an evening in a Cambridge gay pub, ligger extraordinaire that I was back then). Advance word on ‘The Flying Club Cup’ (a tricky tongue twister of a title, that one) suggested it might display a radical change of direction, veering sharply into the world of French Chanson. Well, that influence is certainly present, not just in the French language song titles, but also with the emphasis on keyboards and accordians over mandolins, ukuleles or guitars. What is most impressive about this record, apart from its admirable brevity at 38 minutes, is the way these new preoccupations have been cleverly subsumed into Condon’s Balkan gypsy sound. This album very much represents an evolution rather than a revolution, which seems entirely appropriate at this stage of Condon’s still burgeoning career.
The drunken wooziness that characterised ‘Gulag Orkestar’ is still a defining feature of Condon’s sound, particularly on the deliberately ragged choruses of ‘A Sunday Smile’ and ‘Cliquot’. Satisfyingly though, Condon’s voice is afforded a much more confident and clear presence here, pushed forward in the mix and with much less of the mannered slurring that obscured many of the affecting words on ‘Gulag Orkestar’. These songs are written in a peculiar, almost archaic language referencing the folk tradition which gives them a compelling balance of clarity and allusion. What on earth is ‘The Penalty’ all about for example? ‘Our parents rue the day, they find us kneeling/Let them think what they may for they’ve good reason/Left for the lights always in season.’ These words have a deliberate, compelling flow but the precise meaning is somewhat elusive. ‘Cliquot’ is particularly fascinating – either delivered from a female perspective or a song about love between men (‘what kind of melody will lead my lover from his bed/what kind of melody will have him in my arms again?’).
Pallett makes his presence felt on the wonderful ‘Forks and Knives’, with its mix of elaborate orchestral swells and pizzicato strings. Throughout, his arrangements are thoughtful and inventive rather than smothering – there’s a wonderful moment on ‘In the Mausoleum’ when additional percussion enters, heralding a long instrumental passage dominated by Pallett’s hypnotic string melody. There’s a preoccupation with waltz time here that makes a refreshing change from the four-square stomp of most rock music (and which provides particularly fertile ground for Pallett’s arrangements).
Named in honour of a hot air balloon race, ‘The Flying Club Cup’ has some of the heady, celebratory rush that one might associate with such an event, but there’s also an underlying melancholy and mournfulness that the title conceals. Much like it’s predecessor, it’s a lugubrious and charming record, completely removed from any prevailing trends. It’s far more in tune with a recognisable folk tradition than the parodic, irksome ‘freak folk’ of Devendra Banhart and, whilst the songs seem lacking in contemporary resonances, they are seeped in a rich emotion that feels genuine and sincere.
The prodigiously talented songwriter Zach Condon has followed up his debut ‘Gulag Orkestar’ with unfashionable rapidity. This time, his songs come with the added bonus of arrangements from former Hidden Cameras member and Arcade Fire collaborator Owen Pallett (with whom I once spent an evening in a Cambridge gay pub, ligger extraordinaire that I was back then). Advance word on ‘The Flying Club Cup’ (a tricky tongue twister of a title, that one) suggested it might display a radical change of direction, veering sharply into the world of French Chanson. Well, that influence is certainly present, not just in the French language song titles, but also with the emphasis on keyboards and accordians over mandolins, ukuleles or guitars. What is most impressive about this record, apart from its admirable brevity at 38 minutes, is the way these new preoccupations have been cleverly subsumed into Condon’s Balkan gypsy sound. This album very much represents an evolution rather than a revolution, which seems entirely appropriate at this stage of Condon’s still burgeoning career.
The drunken wooziness that characterised ‘Gulag Orkestar’ is still a defining feature of Condon’s sound, particularly on the deliberately ragged choruses of ‘A Sunday Smile’ and ‘Cliquot’. Satisfyingly though, Condon’s voice is afforded a much more confident and clear presence here, pushed forward in the mix and with much less of the mannered slurring that obscured many of the affecting words on ‘Gulag Orkestar’. These songs are written in a peculiar, almost archaic language referencing the folk tradition which gives them a compelling balance of clarity and allusion. What on earth is ‘The Penalty’ all about for example? ‘Our parents rue the day, they find us kneeling/Let them think what they may for they’ve good reason/Left for the lights always in season.’ These words have a deliberate, compelling flow but the precise meaning is somewhat elusive. ‘Cliquot’ is particularly fascinating – either delivered from a female perspective or a song about love between men (‘what kind of melody will lead my lover from his bed/what kind of melody will have him in my arms again?’).
Pallett makes his presence felt on the wonderful ‘Forks and Knives’, with its mix of elaborate orchestral swells and pizzicato strings. Throughout, his arrangements are thoughtful and inventive rather than smothering – there’s a wonderful moment on ‘In the Mausoleum’ when additional percussion enters, heralding a long instrumental passage dominated by Pallett’s hypnotic string melody. There’s a preoccupation with waltz time here that makes a refreshing change from the four-square stomp of most rock music (and which provides particularly fertile ground for Pallett’s arrangements).
Named in honour of a hot air balloon race, ‘The Flying Club Cup’ has some of the heady, celebratory rush that one might associate with such an event, but there’s also an underlying melancholy and mournfulness that the title conceals. Much like it’s predecessor, it’s a lugubrious and charming record, completely removed from any prevailing trends. It’s far more in tune with a recognisable folk tradition than the parodic, irksome ‘freak folk’ of Devendra Banhart and, whilst the songs seem lacking in contemporary resonances, they are seeped in a rich emotion that feels genuine and sincere.
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