My Dad often bemoans the lack of committed political protest songs these days. I'll certainly concede that you're unlikely to hear any on daytime radio - but I think he would have appreciated the evening of good old fashioned left-wing protest music at the Stripes Bar at Brentford FC last Saturday night. With all due respect to the people of Brentford, the place really is something of a hell-hole - overpowered by that nasty A4/M4 flyover that goes out to Heathrow, the GlaxoSmithKline office block and a group of old tower blocks halfway through demolition. It may well be in a 'transitional' phase, but it comes as something of a shock immediately after the comparatively pleasant high street feel of South Ealing. Regeneration will probably come in the form of yuppie appartment blocks Still, it was a refreshing change of venue, and somewhat incongruous with its carpeted floors, and school assembly seating arrangement.
The music was consistently refreshing, erudite and intelligent - with Atilla The Stockbroker trading his passionate, gutsy folk music with Roger McGough-esque performance poetry. It's the sort of thing that is sadly too frequently laughed at - but Atilla is a force to be reckoned with, and his merciless ranting style is articulate and forceful. Chris T-T is simply getting better and better. He's always been an endearing if ramshackle performer - now he remains endearing but has polished up some of the rough edges. He's achieved this without losing any of his distinctive charm though, instead adding more controlled vocal performances (with greater dynamic range), crisp phrasing and a guitar playing style which is now less aggressive. He mixes the explicitly political songs from his recent '9 Red Songs' collection with the more personal songs from 'London Is Sinking', and even a rare outing for 'Open Books' from 'Panic Attack At Sainsbury's'. We also get a lovely, powerful take on 'Bored Of the War', a single from the height of the Iraq conflict.
Both Chris T-T and outstanding American songwriter David Rovics also have thoughtful, self-aware songs in their repertoire. T-T's is 'Preaching To The Converted', a song that neatly captures some of the pitfalls of political protest singing, especially at events like this where the purpose is clear from the outset. Rovics has 'I'm A Better Anarchist Than You', a brilliantly hilarious look at the competitive fervour that sometimes drives idealists to madness. Will I hear a better lyrical couplet this year than 'I don't have sex/and there will not be a sequel/Because heterosexual relationships are inherently unequal'. I think not!
Rovics' set is particularly powerful because he does not stick rigidly to rational arguments but also captures the horror and devastation of conflict. There's always criticism levelled at those who resort to 'emotional' arguments over warfare - but it's also very easy for the cosy British middle classes to forget exactly what conflict means. Chris T-T also hints at this with his introduction of a song as being about 'people trapped in a conflict between two terrorist groups, one of which thinks it's a government'. Rovics' American delivery is slightly to the cartoonish end of the spectrum - which frequently emphasises his words powerfully, but can also become grating after a while. T-T, by contrast, is estuary English through and through.
Local boy Robb Johnson proves the revelation of the evening. I was a little uncertain about his opening tune, with its sporadic breaks for strange words such as 'pre-condimented', but I gradually warmed to his unique satirical style. Best of all were his refashioning of the National Anthem to include the lines 'She Lives In Slough' (good view, convenient for Heathrow etc etc) and something about 'The Age Of The Moron', which went well beyond preaching to a partisan crowd, denouncing not just vacuous reality TV and tabloid hell, but also a certain breed of football supporter.
The evening was intelligently staged, with each performer playing two sets with very quick changeovers. The closing encore with all four on stage performing Johnson's 'Be Reasonable' was appropriately rousing. Its chorus of 'Be reasonable and demand the impossible now!' neatly captured both the innate appeal and inherent frustration in protest songwriting. Definitely an evening well spent.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
Retrieved From The Cutting Room Floor
Sufjan Stevens - The Avalanche
Not content with setting himself the surely unachievable goal of recording an album for every US State, Sufjan Stevens is now releasing an outtake collection as a stopgap. 'The Avalanche' is by no means scraping the barrel either - at a CD busting 75 minutes, it has even more material than the original 'Illinois' album that spawned it. Admittedly, some of this is somewhat superfluous (do we really need three different versions of 'Chicago'?). For the most part though, this is a collection of previously unheard material completed at the same sessions as the 'Illinois' album. Perhaps Stevens is simply pre-empting the exploitative reissue series twenty years hence - or maybe he just has a compelling desire to release his every recorded note.
There's certainly material of real value here - and the highlights rival any of the best material on its parent album. The opening title track has that warm, familiar and endearingly delicate way with melody that is Stevens' greatest songwriting gift. It's strange too that 'Saul Bellow' was left off the original album, given that it references one of America's towering literary figures, and undoubtedly one of Chicago's 'great men'. There's more infectious breezy pop on 'The Mistress Witch From McClure', which also comes bolstered with an intelligent horn arrangement that is more subtle and less twee than usual. Most unexpected is the slightly bluesy 'Springfield, or Bobby Got A Shadfly Caught In His Hair' (the ludicrous song titles are still present and correct), which even comes with some effective dissonant guitar work.
Yet this album also leaves a lingering impression that Stevens' working methods may be beginning to obscure his talents. He certainly has a gift for arrangements - but as he piles on more and more unusual instruments, the songs occasionally get lost. There are three versions of 'Chicago' here (in addition to the completed version used on 'Illinois') - the 'acoustic' version, the 'adult contemporary easy listening version' (oh, the irony) and the 'multiple personality disorder' version. By far the best is the acoustic demo, in which Stevens pares down the instrumentation, and allows the song's wistful grace some room to breathe. The songs with the more grandiose arrangements here tend to sound more saccharine and, paradoxically given their vaunting ambition, less distinctive. Certainly, over the course of 75 minutes, the limitations of the trademark Stevens sound become more apparent - and many of the songs end up bleeding into each other.
As a lyricist, Stevens remains a uniquely eloquent chronicler of the 'little moments' of local history, as well as the broad canvas of American myth-making. He may yet evolve into the brightest American songsmith of these times - but he will need to find new contexts for his elegiac melodic tone, and resist always settling for the 'big' sound.
Not content with setting himself the surely unachievable goal of recording an album for every US State, Sufjan Stevens is now releasing an outtake collection as a stopgap. 'The Avalanche' is by no means scraping the barrel either - at a CD busting 75 minutes, it has even more material than the original 'Illinois' album that spawned it. Admittedly, some of this is somewhat superfluous (do we really need three different versions of 'Chicago'?). For the most part though, this is a collection of previously unheard material completed at the same sessions as the 'Illinois' album. Perhaps Stevens is simply pre-empting the exploitative reissue series twenty years hence - or maybe he just has a compelling desire to release his every recorded note.
There's certainly material of real value here - and the highlights rival any of the best material on its parent album. The opening title track has that warm, familiar and endearingly delicate way with melody that is Stevens' greatest songwriting gift. It's strange too that 'Saul Bellow' was left off the original album, given that it references one of America's towering literary figures, and undoubtedly one of Chicago's 'great men'. There's more infectious breezy pop on 'The Mistress Witch From McClure', which also comes bolstered with an intelligent horn arrangement that is more subtle and less twee than usual. Most unexpected is the slightly bluesy 'Springfield, or Bobby Got A Shadfly Caught In His Hair' (the ludicrous song titles are still present and correct), which even comes with some effective dissonant guitar work.
Yet this album also leaves a lingering impression that Stevens' working methods may be beginning to obscure his talents. He certainly has a gift for arrangements - but as he piles on more and more unusual instruments, the songs occasionally get lost. There are three versions of 'Chicago' here (in addition to the completed version used on 'Illinois') - the 'acoustic' version, the 'adult contemporary easy listening version' (oh, the irony) and the 'multiple personality disorder' version. By far the best is the acoustic demo, in which Stevens pares down the instrumentation, and allows the song's wistful grace some room to breathe. The songs with the more grandiose arrangements here tend to sound more saccharine and, paradoxically given their vaunting ambition, less distinctive. Certainly, over the course of 75 minutes, the limitations of the trademark Stevens sound become more apparent - and many of the songs end up bleeding into each other.
As a lyricist, Stevens remains a uniquely eloquent chronicler of the 'little moments' of local history, as well as the broad canvas of American myth-making. He may yet evolve into the brightest American songsmith of these times - but he will need to find new contexts for his elegiac melodic tone, and resist always settling for the 'big' sound.
Back To The Future
I really need to do something with the Links section of this blog. As a useful resource, it's fast becoming obsolete. A lot of the URLs are now outdated and there are plenty of new sites and MySpace profiles I could add were I to find the time. Rest assured that it's on my 'to do' list.
In the meantime, here are some thoughts on some records from the giant backlogue....
2005 was not a terribly illustrious year for electronic music, but just beyond its mid-way point, 2006 already shows much brighter prospects. Regular readers will already know (at least from my Mercury Music Prize analysis) that, like many other music bloggers on the internet, I'm thoroughly captivated by the self-titled album on Kode 9 from Burial. I cannot claim to know very much at all about the dubstep scene, or the immediate heritage of this music, aside from occasional listens to North London grime pirate radio stations (I'm more familiar with the mainstream end of the spectrum - Dizzee, Roll Deep, Lethal Bizzle etc). Sometimes I find it baffling, disorientating and disjointed - sometimes it is simply propulsive and compelling. 'Burial' is a more complex beast. It is decidedly minimal - the beats are syncopated, unusual and located far from conventional dancefloor rhythms, but not in the more predictable stutter, click and cut mode of most of the music unpalatably termed IDM. Melody and harmony are also subsumed to droning atmospherics, but again these found sounds and looped synth effects are well outside conventional parameters. This is the sound of damp city streets after dark - there's a vague sense of menace lurking beneath the surface, but also the familiar and comforting streetlight glow. There are abstract echoes and unexplained sounds, subtle shifts of tone and mood. The term 'urban' music so beloved of those who need to create lifestyle tickboxes for music consumers might be far better employed here. This is instrumental music that captures the paradoxical claustrophobia and expanse of London life better than anything else I've heard this year. The genre term 'dubstep' seems apt - the subtle shifts in sound do recall the ingenious productions of Scientist or Lee Scratch Perry, although the emphasis on bowel-quashing bass is not quite so marked. The rhythms clearly descend from the two-step and garage scenes, but they are made fractured, confusing and completely hypnotic. Sometimes it sounds like there's too little going on here - but listen closely and it quickly becomes hypnotic. A marvellous hybrid sound and one of the great achievements of 2006 so far. Yet outside the genuine internet buzz that has built a strong word-of-mouth profile, will it get any albums of the year plaudits come December?
Completely different in sound and approach, and a great deal more playful, is the latest album from Matmos. Wary listeners could be forgiven for looking at the title ('The Rose Has Teeth In The Mouth Of A Beast') and running a mile for fear of some pretentious nonsense. This prejudgment might well be exacerbated by the fact that Drew Daniel and MC Schmidt have demonstrated a consistently 'scientific' and proscribed approach to music making. Well, this is certainly sound collage, but it's also full of wit and invention. Its overarching concept (a series of compositions written in honour of dead gay icons) gives it coherence and (whisper it) maybe even some warmth (certainly it's rich in delirious humour).
If Matmos have in the past been perhaps too in thrall to their conceptual concerns - this time, the theme allows them to run wild in all directions, and one of the fascinating elements in listening to this record is picking up the personality traits and characteristics in each icon that may have contributed to the sound of the track. Sometimes the inspiration is blindingly obvious, such as on 'Buttons For Joe Meek', in which the duo construct what is more a gleeful homage than original concoction, recontextualising the Meek psychedelic sound for the modern laptop era. 'Snails and Lasers For Patricia Highsmith' has a smoky, noir-ish atmosphere, with Amy Vallaincourt's French Horn (a wonderful instrument heard all too infrequently in modern popular music) helping to recreate the tension and mystery of classic Detective movie soundtracks. The superb 'Steam and Sequins For Larry Levan' is easily the grooviest concoction Matmos have yet created, with its irresistible house-meets-disco beat, energising bassline, clavinet riffing and early 80s percussion samples. It's clearly influenced by the sound Levan himself pioneered as a DJ at the Paradise Garage, but it's also possible to hear the textural influence of Arthur Russell and Dinosaur L. By contrast, 'Semen Song For James Bidgood' has a decidedly more abstract, melancholy and sophisticated sound, with floaty, layered atmospherics partially reminscent of Portishead. It's another example of the duo moving well beyond their comfort zone.
That said, the baffling sample wizardry has certainly not been abandoned. In fact, it's still the central aspect of this record's sound. Yet, when you've sampled rhinoplasty operations, what can you do next? Well, look at what MC Schmidt is credited as playing on 'Tract For Valerie Solanas' - a cow's uterus, reproductive tract and vagina! Let's hope the Animal Rights militia don't get hold of this record! Even more ridiculous is 'Public Sex For Boyd MacDonald', a track that actually comes close to fulfilling the promise of its title. It apparently features samples of 'anonymous sex acts recorded at Blow Buddies during International Bear Weekend'. Delightful!
This manages to avoid dry theoretical tedium because Matmos have incorporated have achieved a more successful musical synergy this time around, largely through intelligently deployed guest appearances. There are strings performed by ACME and the Kronos Quartet, unashamedly funky live guitar parts, and vocals courtesy of Bjork and Antony Hegarty (although both resist delivering anything predictable). 'The Rose Has Teeth...' is comfortably the best album of their career so far. What could easily have been an exercise in nostalgic meandering has turned out to be fascinating and wildly entertaining.
I was a little disappointed with Ellen Allien's last album 'Thrills'. It was full of headspinning repetition and came with plenty of energy but, for me, lacked the occasional beauty and emotional pull of her classic 'Berlinette' album. 'Orchestra Of Bubbles', written and recorded in collaboration with Apparat, is a great deal more successful. It still has the same relentless, pulsating quality that has characterised all of Allien's work so far, along with her decidedly minimal, breathy vocals, but it also teases more possibilities from this defiantly skeletal approach. The tracks deploying a cello are excellent, 'Retina' sounding eerie and beautiful, 'Metric' carrying a real sense of menace and suspense. The latter layers its repeated phrases to chilling effect and is thoroughly compelling. Elsewhere, the pleasures are more familiar. 'Sleepless' is grindingly rhythmic, a perfect insomniac anthem, with Allien's vocals adding to the drama and confusion. The myriad bleeps and noises of the lengthy 'Jet' build into something energetic and invigorating. Like much of the best electronic music, the success of 'Orchestra of Bubbles' lies in the subtle manipulation of very simple devices and ideas. It's an outstanding headphones album. It still doesn't quite recapture the cold heart of 'Berlinette', but it's not as stark and uncompromising as 'Thrills' either.
It's a bit debatable as to whether 'Everything', the debut album on Matthew Herbert's Accidental label from Micah actually fulfills its considerable promise. The accompanying blurb talks about Micah Gaugh's eager desire to rechannel the spirit of Prince and The Cocteau Twins, but the music is sometimes a little too sedate and polite to capture the inventiveness of either act. All this is a surprise given the refreshingly understated quality of Micah's voice, and the fact that production duties on this record were carried out by the frequently uncompromising Arto Lindsay. What should therefore have been a decidedly artful affair has ended up only partially successful, its questing spirit sometimes undermined by restraint and technical gloss. There's no escaping this record's enveloping pleasantries - its delicate, underplayed guitar motifs, hypnotic Fender Rhodes keyboards and superficially jazzy aura. Still, like a number of the much feted nu-soul artists of the 90s (Erykah Badu particularly), it tends to get stuck in a mid-paced groove. The opening 'Constant' is a glaring example of this, with metronomic and very basic 4/4 programming not allowing it to veer in any unexpected or interesting directions. The same problem mires the single 'Revelation' which tries very hard to find some soulful, gospel spirit, and would probably succeed were it not for the flat monotony of the beat. Elsewhere, the programming is less restrictive but the tempo rarely breaks above a gentle trot. It would be interesting to see whether this material might work better with a live backing band, rather than relying so heavily on the conventions of studio trickery (mind you, 'Nothing', the one track with something close to a live sound dangerously resembles lumbering 90s funk-rock merchants Living Colour and is thoroughly unremarkable as a result).
It's not all negative though, as there's much of promise here and the album proves that Micah is at his best when at his most quirky. The delightful 'Knitting' has more variation in the programming and plenty of melodic interest. In fact, it works brilliantly because Micah deploys the full extent of his vocal range, thoughtfully expanding the harmony for the song's chorus, but rooting it firmly with a distinctive pop sensibility. The multi-tracked Micahs that permeate the contemporary reggae gloss of 'Give Up' add depth and intrigue to an effectively hypnotic backing track. The combination of pop and soul influences hinted at by Accidental's press release also comes out more clearly in the title track, which benefits from a highly infectious melody. 'Operator' is astonishing, chiefly because it seems to be several different songs spliced together, and entirely different in approach from the occasionally stifling rhythmic control of the rest of the album. Best of all is 'Sutra', which departs firmly from the sultry soul template to search for a more unique space - it's highly repetetive, a little like a mantra, but punctuated by highly effective interludes of musical invention. More of this upbeat contemporary psychedelic soul (like Norman Whitfield refashioned for a laptop) would really have elevated this album. As it stands, for all its strengths, the minimalist electro-soul template becomes a little soporiphic after a while. Persevearance certainly pays off, but there's little doubt that Micah's best records are still to come.
In the meantime, here are some thoughts on some records from the giant backlogue....
2005 was not a terribly illustrious year for electronic music, but just beyond its mid-way point, 2006 already shows much brighter prospects. Regular readers will already know (at least from my Mercury Music Prize analysis) that, like many other music bloggers on the internet, I'm thoroughly captivated by the self-titled album on Kode 9 from Burial. I cannot claim to know very much at all about the dubstep scene, or the immediate heritage of this music, aside from occasional listens to North London grime pirate radio stations (I'm more familiar with the mainstream end of the spectrum - Dizzee, Roll Deep, Lethal Bizzle etc). Sometimes I find it baffling, disorientating and disjointed - sometimes it is simply propulsive and compelling. 'Burial' is a more complex beast. It is decidedly minimal - the beats are syncopated, unusual and located far from conventional dancefloor rhythms, but not in the more predictable stutter, click and cut mode of most of the music unpalatably termed IDM. Melody and harmony are also subsumed to droning atmospherics, but again these found sounds and looped synth effects are well outside conventional parameters. This is the sound of damp city streets after dark - there's a vague sense of menace lurking beneath the surface, but also the familiar and comforting streetlight glow. There are abstract echoes and unexplained sounds, subtle shifts of tone and mood. The term 'urban' music so beloved of those who need to create lifestyle tickboxes for music consumers might be far better employed here. This is instrumental music that captures the paradoxical claustrophobia and expanse of London life better than anything else I've heard this year. The genre term 'dubstep' seems apt - the subtle shifts in sound do recall the ingenious productions of Scientist or Lee Scratch Perry, although the emphasis on bowel-quashing bass is not quite so marked. The rhythms clearly descend from the two-step and garage scenes, but they are made fractured, confusing and completely hypnotic. Sometimes it sounds like there's too little going on here - but listen closely and it quickly becomes hypnotic. A marvellous hybrid sound and one of the great achievements of 2006 so far. Yet outside the genuine internet buzz that has built a strong word-of-mouth profile, will it get any albums of the year plaudits come December?
Completely different in sound and approach, and a great deal more playful, is the latest album from Matmos. Wary listeners could be forgiven for looking at the title ('The Rose Has Teeth In The Mouth Of A Beast') and running a mile for fear of some pretentious nonsense. This prejudgment might well be exacerbated by the fact that Drew Daniel and MC Schmidt have demonstrated a consistently 'scientific' and proscribed approach to music making. Well, this is certainly sound collage, but it's also full of wit and invention. Its overarching concept (a series of compositions written in honour of dead gay icons) gives it coherence and (whisper it) maybe even some warmth (certainly it's rich in delirious humour).
If Matmos have in the past been perhaps too in thrall to their conceptual concerns - this time, the theme allows them to run wild in all directions, and one of the fascinating elements in listening to this record is picking up the personality traits and characteristics in each icon that may have contributed to the sound of the track. Sometimes the inspiration is blindingly obvious, such as on 'Buttons For Joe Meek', in which the duo construct what is more a gleeful homage than original concoction, recontextualising the Meek psychedelic sound for the modern laptop era. 'Snails and Lasers For Patricia Highsmith' has a smoky, noir-ish atmosphere, with Amy Vallaincourt's French Horn (a wonderful instrument heard all too infrequently in modern popular music) helping to recreate the tension and mystery of classic Detective movie soundtracks. The superb 'Steam and Sequins For Larry Levan' is easily the grooviest concoction Matmos have yet created, with its irresistible house-meets-disco beat, energising bassline, clavinet riffing and early 80s percussion samples. It's clearly influenced by the sound Levan himself pioneered as a DJ at the Paradise Garage, but it's also possible to hear the textural influence of Arthur Russell and Dinosaur L. By contrast, 'Semen Song For James Bidgood' has a decidedly more abstract, melancholy and sophisticated sound, with floaty, layered atmospherics partially reminscent of Portishead. It's another example of the duo moving well beyond their comfort zone.
That said, the baffling sample wizardry has certainly not been abandoned. In fact, it's still the central aspect of this record's sound. Yet, when you've sampled rhinoplasty operations, what can you do next? Well, look at what MC Schmidt is credited as playing on 'Tract For Valerie Solanas' - a cow's uterus, reproductive tract and vagina! Let's hope the Animal Rights militia don't get hold of this record! Even more ridiculous is 'Public Sex For Boyd MacDonald', a track that actually comes close to fulfilling the promise of its title. It apparently features samples of 'anonymous sex acts recorded at Blow Buddies during International Bear Weekend'. Delightful!
This manages to avoid dry theoretical tedium because Matmos have incorporated have achieved a more successful musical synergy this time around, largely through intelligently deployed guest appearances. There are strings performed by ACME and the Kronos Quartet, unashamedly funky live guitar parts, and vocals courtesy of Bjork and Antony Hegarty (although both resist delivering anything predictable). 'The Rose Has Teeth...' is comfortably the best album of their career so far. What could easily have been an exercise in nostalgic meandering has turned out to be fascinating and wildly entertaining.
I was a little disappointed with Ellen Allien's last album 'Thrills'. It was full of headspinning repetition and came with plenty of energy but, for me, lacked the occasional beauty and emotional pull of her classic 'Berlinette' album. 'Orchestra Of Bubbles', written and recorded in collaboration with Apparat, is a great deal more successful. It still has the same relentless, pulsating quality that has characterised all of Allien's work so far, along with her decidedly minimal, breathy vocals, but it also teases more possibilities from this defiantly skeletal approach. The tracks deploying a cello are excellent, 'Retina' sounding eerie and beautiful, 'Metric' carrying a real sense of menace and suspense. The latter layers its repeated phrases to chilling effect and is thoroughly compelling. Elsewhere, the pleasures are more familiar. 'Sleepless' is grindingly rhythmic, a perfect insomniac anthem, with Allien's vocals adding to the drama and confusion. The myriad bleeps and noises of the lengthy 'Jet' build into something energetic and invigorating. Like much of the best electronic music, the success of 'Orchestra of Bubbles' lies in the subtle manipulation of very simple devices and ideas. It's an outstanding headphones album. It still doesn't quite recapture the cold heart of 'Berlinette', but it's not as stark and uncompromising as 'Thrills' either.
It's a bit debatable as to whether 'Everything', the debut album on Matthew Herbert's Accidental label from Micah actually fulfills its considerable promise. The accompanying blurb talks about Micah Gaugh's eager desire to rechannel the spirit of Prince and The Cocteau Twins, but the music is sometimes a little too sedate and polite to capture the inventiveness of either act. All this is a surprise given the refreshingly understated quality of Micah's voice, and the fact that production duties on this record were carried out by the frequently uncompromising Arto Lindsay. What should therefore have been a decidedly artful affair has ended up only partially successful, its questing spirit sometimes undermined by restraint and technical gloss. There's no escaping this record's enveloping pleasantries - its delicate, underplayed guitar motifs, hypnotic Fender Rhodes keyboards and superficially jazzy aura. Still, like a number of the much feted nu-soul artists of the 90s (Erykah Badu particularly), it tends to get stuck in a mid-paced groove. The opening 'Constant' is a glaring example of this, with metronomic and very basic 4/4 programming not allowing it to veer in any unexpected or interesting directions. The same problem mires the single 'Revelation' which tries very hard to find some soulful, gospel spirit, and would probably succeed were it not for the flat monotony of the beat. Elsewhere, the programming is less restrictive but the tempo rarely breaks above a gentle trot. It would be interesting to see whether this material might work better with a live backing band, rather than relying so heavily on the conventions of studio trickery (mind you, 'Nothing', the one track with something close to a live sound dangerously resembles lumbering 90s funk-rock merchants Living Colour and is thoroughly unremarkable as a result).
It's not all negative though, as there's much of promise here and the album proves that Micah is at his best when at his most quirky. The delightful 'Knitting' has more variation in the programming and plenty of melodic interest. In fact, it works brilliantly because Micah deploys the full extent of his vocal range, thoughtfully expanding the harmony for the song's chorus, but rooting it firmly with a distinctive pop sensibility. The multi-tracked Micahs that permeate the contemporary reggae gloss of 'Give Up' add depth and intrigue to an effectively hypnotic backing track. The combination of pop and soul influences hinted at by Accidental's press release also comes out more clearly in the title track, which benefits from a highly infectious melody. 'Operator' is astonishing, chiefly because it seems to be several different songs spliced together, and entirely different in approach from the occasionally stifling rhythmic control of the rest of the album. Best of all is 'Sutra', which departs firmly from the sultry soul template to search for a more unique space - it's highly repetetive, a little like a mantra, but punctuated by highly effective interludes of musical invention. More of this upbeat contemporary psychedelic soul (like Norman Whitfield refashioned for a laptop) would really have elevated this album. As it stands, for all its strengths, the minimalist electro-soul template becomes a little soporiphic after a while. Persevearance certainly pays off, but there's little doubt that Micah's best records are still to come.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Revitalised!
What a great weekend! In this stifling heat, it was good to get away to coastal Wales (for the Aberystwyth Arts Festival), where it was still ridiculously hot, but with the added benefit of a refreshing sea breeze. It all helped clear the head after a mildly depressing couple of weeks. The long drive through the Welsh hills and valleys was particularly enjoyable too, listening to the Pipettes, Camera Obscura, Scritti Politti and Tom Petty's surprisingly agreeable new album.
The long weekend was topped off with a dependably brilliant Teenage Fanclub gig at the Forum last night. I've probably written all I can about the pure pop genius of this band, so I don't need to add much here, other than that they played 'Bandwagonesque' in its entirety, with Brendan O'Hare back behind the kit, his unpredictable surrealist comic genius still intact (he played much of the set with no trousers on). This of course meant plenty of songs we never hear from the Fannies these days - 'Metal Baby', 'Pet Rock', 'December', 'Guiding Star' and a first-ever performance of the Goal of the Month soundtracking 'Is This Music?' set hilariously to rudimentary drum machine. 'There's been much debate over who has been the best drummer in Teenage Fanclub', says O'Hare gleefully. 'Now we have the defininitive answer - it's the drumulator! Keeps time! All the time!'. Of course, the first thing it did was to fail to work. Throughout, balding men in their mid to late forties are actively moshing, crowd-surfing and bellowing at the top of their voices. Quite bizarre, and very sweaty.
There's a short break before an additional 45 minute 'greatest misses' set full of favourites 'About You', 'I Don't Want Control Of You', 'Don't Look Back', 'Mellow Doubt' and the rest, including some technical hitches with a glockenspiel on 'Your Love Is The Place Where I Come From'. The middle aged men are replaced by some indie boys (are TFC really picking up new fans now?) . Whilst the atmoshere initially deflates somewhat, it's back to the unexpected energy by the closing numbers. Quite wonderful and some strong competition for Bruce Springsteen as the gig of the year so far.
The long weekend was topped off with a dependably brilliant Teenage Fanclub gig at the Forum last night. I've probably written all I can about the pure pop genius of this band, so I don't need to add much here, other than that they played 'Bandwagonesque' in its entirety, with Brendan O'Hare back behind the kit, his unpredictable surrealist comic genius still intact (he played much of the set with no trousers on). This of course meant plenty of songs we never hear from the Fannies these days - 'Metal Baby', 'Pet Rock', 'December', 'Guiding Star' and a first-ever performance of the Goal of the Month soundtracking 'Is This Music?' set hilariously to rudimentary drum machine. 'There's been much debate over who has been the best drummer in Teenage Fanclub', says O'Hare gleefully. 'Now we have the defininitive answer - it's the drumulator! Keeps time! All the time!'. Of course, the first thing it did was to fail to work. Throughout, balding men in their mid to late forties are actively moshing, crowd-surfing and bellowing at the top of their voices. Quite bizarre, and very sweaty.
There's a short break before an additional 45 minute 'greatest misses' set full of favourites 'About You', 'I Don't Want Control Of You', 'Don't Look Back', 'Mellow Doubt' and the rest, including some technical hitches with a glockenspiel on 'Your Love Is The Place Where I Come From'. The middle aged men are replaced by some indie boys (are TFC really picking up new fans now?) . Whilst the atmoshere initially deflates somewhat, it's back to the unexpected energy by the closing numbers. Quite wonderful and some strong competition for Bruce Springsteen as the gig of the year so far.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Mercury Falling
Sorry, a bit late with the news, but just in case anyone out there doesn't already know - these are this year's Mercury Nominations:
Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not#
Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan - Ballad Of The Broken Seas
Editors - The Back Room
Guillemots - Through The Windowpane
Richard Hawley - Coles Corner
Hot Chip - The Warning
Muse - Black Holes And Revelations
Zoe Rahman - Melting Pot
Lou Rhodes - Beloved One
Scritti Politti - White Bread, Black Beer
Sway - This Is My Demo
Thom Yorke - The Eraser
Some obvious inclusions here that I'd manage to overlook (not that they'd necessarily be on my ideal list) - Guillemots, Sway, Richard Hawley all quite predictable really. The inclusion of dismal Interpol copyists Editors is perhaps the least inspired decision. Why not Elbow instead? Only one 'token' nomination from specialist genres here (middlebrow choice Zoe Rahman) - no folk (Vashti Bunyan for heaven's sake!) or contemporary classical. DJ Martian rightly pointed to Neil Cowley as a superior jazz option - I would have liked to see Andrew McCormack included.
The omission of Matthew Herbert is a real oversight. He should have been nominated in previous years (for Plat du Jour, Bodily Functions or Goodbye Swingtime).
The Isobel Campbell/Mark Lanegan collaboration was partially funded by the Scottish Arts Council. Whilst it's great to see that funding for new music projects is available somewhere - the resulting album is, in my view, nowhere near exciting enough for a nomination.
The inclusion of Muse is a laughable reaction to popularity and media hype.
Of those nominated, I'm rooting for Hot Chip for slightly biased reasons, and I'm sure they have a decent chance at winning if the judges swing in the direction of electronica this year. The fact that it's an excellent album should also help. If not 'The Warning', then the award must go to Scritti Politti's outstanding 'White Bread, Black Beer' if it is to draw any credibility at all from this rather conservative list.
A shame that neither the Burial nor Boxcutter albums were eligible.
Much like the Kaiser Chiefs last year, the Arctic Monkeys are the tedious clear favourites. They will get enough albums of the year plaudits from mainstream music magazines come the end of the year. The arrogance of NME editor Conor McNicholas is, as usual, astounding, as he claims that he will be 'flabbergasted' if the Monkeys don't win. Aside from the fact that there are more worthy contenders, there's no reason for them to win purely because their success has been based substantially on misleading NME hype. Given the judges' predilection for snubbing popular favourites - I wouldn't be at all surprised if they don't win!
Of course, we shouldn't forget moaning Thom Yorke - The Eraser is probably just bold enough to stand an outside chance, especially as Radiohead have so far been neglected.
What this year's list reveals more than ever is the need for strong financial backing to even be considered for the award. Hot Chip got nowhere with 'Coming On Strong', their debut on Moshi Moshi, but now with the backing of EMI they have much better prospects. Boxcutter and Burial were not nominated because Planet Mu and Kode9 probably have little money to spare for entrance fees, even if the resulting exposure from a nomination would raise their respective profiles considerably.
The winner will be announced on September 5th.
Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not#
Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan - Ballad Of The Broken Seas
Editors - The Back Room
Guillemots - Through The Windowpane
Richard Hawley - Coles Corner
Hot Chip - The Warning
Muse - Black Holes And Revelations
Zoe Rahman - Melting Pot
Lou Rhodes - Beloved One
Scritti Politti - White Bread, Black Beer
Sway - This Is My Demo
Thom Yorke - The Eraser
Some obvious inclusions here that I'd manage to overlook (not that they'd necessarily be on my ideal list) - Guillemots, Sway, Richard Hawley all quite predictable really. The inclusion of dismal Interpol copyists Editors is perhaps the least inspired decision. Why not Elbow instead? Only one 'token' nomination from specialist genres here (middlebrow choice Zoe Rahman) - no folk (Vashti Bunyan for heaven's sake!) or contemporary classical. DJ Martian rightly pointed to Neil Cowley as a superior jazz option - I would have liked to see Andrew McCormack included.
The omission of Matthew Herbert is a real oversight. He should have been nominated in previous years (for Plat du Jour, Bodily Functions or Goodbye Swingtime).
The Isobel Campbell/Mark Lanegan collaboration was partially funded by the Scottish Arts Council. Whilst it's great to see that funding for new music projects is available somewhere - the resulting album is, in my view, nowhere near exciting enough for a nomination.
The inclusion of Muse is a laughable reaction to popularity and media hype.
Of those nominated, I'm rooting for Hot Chip for slightly biased reasons, and I'm sure they have a decent chance at winning if the judges swing in the direction of electronica this year. The fact that it's an excellent album should also help. If not 'The Warning', then the award must go to Scritti Politti's outstanding 'White Bread, Black Beer' if it is to draw any credibility at all from this rather conservative list.
A shame that neither the Burial nor Boxcutter albums were eligible.
Much like the Kaiser Chiefs last year, the Arctic Monkeys are the tedious clear favourites. They will get enough albums of the year plaudits from mainstream music magazines come the end of the year. The arrogance of NME editor Conor McNicholas is, as usual, astounding, as he claims that he will be 'flabbergasted' if the Monkeys don't win. Aside from the fact that there are more worthy contenders, there's no reason for them to win purely because their success has been based substantially on misleading NME hype. Given the judges' predilection for snubbing popular favourites - I wouldn't be at all surprised if they don't win!
Of course, we shouldn't forget moaning Thom Yorke - The Eraser is probably just bold enough to stand an outside chance, especially as Radiohead have so far been neglected.
What this year's list reveals more than ever is the need for strong financial backing to even be considered for the award. Hot Chip got nowhere with 'Coming On Strong', their debut on Moshi Moshi, but now with the backing of EMI they have much better prospects. Boxcutter and Burial were not nominated because Planet Mu and Kode9 probably have little money to spare for entrance fees, even if the resulting exposure from a nomination would raise their respective profiles considerably.
The winner will be announced on September 5th.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Razor's Edge
All my own opinion, not work related etc etc....
In an extraordinary spirit of generosity, when one of my colleagues handed me a copy of Razorlight’s self-titled second album this morning, I decided I’d give it a chance. The record has been described as ‘insanely ambitious’ in various sections of the press, but I’d suggest ‘cocky’ and ‘nakedly commercial’ as more accurate descriptions before I reached for the plaudits. To be fair, the band have certainly moved well beyond the Strokes-lite rifferama of ‘Up All Night’ into rather more distastefully anthemic territory. The opening ‘In The Morning’, with its taut guitars and clamorous drumming, along with ‘Pop Song 2006’ and ‘Back To The Start’, provide some sort of connection between the two records – but for the most part, Johnny Borrell seems to be looking more to Bon Jovi than Television this time around.
Pretty much all the songs are insanely infectious, and it’s therefore not difficult to understand their mass appeal. The band sound tight, controlled and fresh, and it’s easy to see these songs filling arenas up and down the country. All this wouldn’t be quite so objectionable if Borrell wasn’t so infuriatingly drawn to cliché and platitude. There are lyrics here that make Richard Ashcroft look like Walt Whitman. As if the single’s bland assertion that ‘in the morning, you know we won’t remember a thing’ isn’t bad enough, Borrell then repeats the same line verbatim on ‘Kirby’s House’. It was barely worth him opening his mouth the first time. Elsewhere, we get ‘Who Needs Love?’ a shallow, ugly song about rejecting relationships – an idea that could produce something interesting and individual given some thought and more articulate self-expression. ‘Hold On’ is a giant sugar rush, but this kind of sentiment is so familiar now as to be meaningless, particularly in this rather lightweight context. Worse still is the attempt at ballad-tempo reflection in ‘America’, where Borrell repeats ‘All my life, I’ve been watching America/All my life, there’s panic in America’. The song then proceeds to tell us nothing terribly interesting about his life or about the vast landmass of its title.
From a man who already claims to have written more great songs than Bob Dylan, we might reasonably expect some insight or intelligence, but ‘Razorlight’ is parked firmly in the middle of the road. As for the question of ‘ambition’, this certainly stakes Borrell’s claim to be a vacuous, posturing rock star, but listening to this next to ‘Born Sandy Devotional’ from The Triffids, a significantly more questing and richly poetic record first released 20 years ago, helped put it all in perspective.
In an extraordinary spirit of generosity, when one of my colleagues handed me a copy of Razorlight’s self-titled second album this morning, I decided I’d give it a chance. The record has been described as ‘insanely ambitious’ in various sections of the press, but I’d suggest ‘cocky’ and ‘nakedly commercial’ as more accurate descriptions before I reached for the plaudits. To be fair, the band have certainly moved well beyond the Strokes-lite rifferama of ‘Up All Night’ into rather more distastefully anthemic territory. The opening ‘In The Morning’, with its taut guitars and clamorous drumming, along with ‘Pop Song 2006’ and ‘Back To The Start’, provide some sort of connection between the two records – but for the most part, Johnny Borrell seems to be looking more to Bon Jovi than Television this time around.
Pretty much all the songs are insanely infectious, and it’s therefore not difficult to understand their mass appeal. The band sound tight, controlled and fresh, and it’s easy to see these songs filling arenas up and down the country. All this wouldn’t be quite so objectionable if Borrell wasn’t so infuriatingly drawn to cliché and platitude. There are lyrics here that make Richard Ashcroft look like Walt Whitman. As if the single’s bland assertion that ‘in the morning, you know we won’t remember a thing’ isn’t bad enough, Borrell then repeats the same line verbatim on ‘Kirby’s House’. It was barely worth him opening his mouth the first time. Elsewhere, we get ‘Who Needs Love?’ a shallow, ugly song about rejecting relationships – an idea that could produce something interesting and individual given some thought and more articulate self-expression. ‘Hold On’ is a giant sugar rush, but this kind of sentiment is so familiar now as to be meaningless, particularly in this rather lightweight context. Worse still is the attempt at ballad-tempo reflection in ‘America’, where Borrell repeats ‘All my life, I’ve been watching America/All my life, there’s panic in America’. The song then proceeds to tell us nothing terribly interesting about his life or about the vast landmass of its title.
From a man who already claims to have written more great songs than Bob Dylan, we might reasonably expect some insight or intelligence, but ‘Razorlight’ is parked firmly in the middle of the road. As for the question of ‘ambition’, this certainly stakes Borrell’s claim to be a vacuous, posturing rock star, but listening to this next to ‘Born Sandy Devotional’ from The Triffids, a significantly more questing and richly poetic record first released 20 years ago, helped put it all in perspective.
The Crystal Ball
Deciding an album of the year for 2006 is going to be a particularly tricky task. We’ve already had highly worthy contenders from TV On The Radio, Scott Walker, Matmos, Cortney Tidwell, Gnarls Barkley, Johnny Cash, Hot Chip and much more besides. This will no doubt result in weeks of chronic indecision at the end of the year, exacerbated by this hugely impressive release schedule. It’s all a little bit quiet for the summer months, but things really do start to get interesting again:
22/8
BROADCAST – Future Crayons (B-sides and rarities set)
LAMBCHOP – Damaged
JASON MOLINA – Let Me Go, Let Me Go, Let Me Go (one of several Magnolia Electric Co. related projects scheduled for release in 2006-7)
PAJO – 1968
M WARD – Post-War (a third album in as many years?)
28/8
BOB DYLAN – Modern Times (inevitably a major talking point)
THE ROOTS – Game Theory
5/9
HIDDEN CAMERAS – Awoo
11/9
BASEMENT JAXX – Crazy Itch Radio
MAGNOLIA ELECTRIC CO. – Fading Trails
NINA NASTASIA – Title TBC
YO LA TENGO – I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass (now there’s a title!)
18/9
BONNIE “PRINCE” BILLY – Then The Letting Go
DANI SICILIANO – Slappers
25/9
SOLOMON BURKE – Nashville
THE LEMONHEADS – Title TBC
SPARKLEHORSE – Dreamt For Light Years In The Belly Of A Mountain (ugly title!)
2/10
THE DECEMBERISTS – The Crane Wife
CLINIC – Visitations
CALIFONE – Roots and Crowns
BLOOD BROTHERS – Young Machetes
MICAH P. HINSON – Micah P. Hinson and The Opera Circuit
17/10
SQUAREPUSHER – Hello Everything
We’re also expecting new albums at some point from:
CANNIBAL OX
EL-P
FEIST
JARVIS COCKER (yes!)
JUNIOR BOYS
THE SHINS
SPIRITUALIZED (will Jason Pierce’s recent brush with serious illness bring him back to the top of his form?)
PATRICK WOLF
GILLIAN WELCH
22/8
BROADCAST – Future Crayons (B-sides and rarities set)
LAMBCHOP – Damaged
JASON MOLINA – Let Me Go, Let Me Go, Let Me Go (one of several Magnolia Electric Co. related projects scheduled for release in 2006-7)
PAJO – 1968
M WARD – Post-War (a third album in as many years?)
28/8
BOB DYLAN – Modern Times (inevitably a major talking point)
THE ROOTS – Game Theory
5/9
HIDDEN CAMERAS – Awoo
11/9
BASEMENT JAXX – Crazy Itch Radio
MAGNOLIA ELECTRIC CO. – Fading Trails
NINA NASTASIA – Title TBC
YO LA TENGO – I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass (now there’s a title!)
18/9
BONNIE “PRINCE” BILLY – Then The Letting Go
DANI SICILIANO – Slappers
25/9
SOLOMON BURKE – Nashville
THE LEMONHEADS – Title TBC
SPARKLEHORSE – Dreamt For Light Years In The Belly Of A Mountain (ugly title!)
2/10
THE DECEMBERISTS – The Crane Wife
CLINIC – Visitations
CALIFONE – Roots and Crowns
BLOOD BROTHERS – Young Machetes
MICAH P. HINSON – Micah P. Hinson and The Opera Circuit
17/10
SQUAREPUSHER – Hello Everything
We’re also expecting new albums at some point from:
CANNIBAL OX
EL-P
FEIST
JARVIS COCKER (yes!)
JUNIOR BOYS
THE SHINS
SPIRITUALIZED (will Jason Pierce’s recent brush with serious illness bring him back to the top of his form?)
PATRICK WOLF
GILLIAN WELCH
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Physically Lightweight, Intellectually Heavyweight
A good description of some of Haruki Murakami's best novels, which apparently can be useful props when trying to impress the object of your desires. Must try that sometime....
Right, now we've got that out of the way we can get on to to the music. Lots to catch up on, some new stuff and some albums that have been lingering around for a while. I simply have to write something about Scott Walker's 'The Drift' - but a serious album demands some serious comment, so it will have to wait for another post now. In the meantime, here's the first stage in an attempt to get back on track.
The critical barbs are already flying for the debut album from retro girl group The Pipettes. Apparently, they are 'no more than mere pastiche' or, even worse, 'The Darkness in polka dots'. Oh piss off you pompous killjoy music critic dullards! Go back to your Razorshite and Lily Allen promos (funny that nobody seems to notice the pastiche there, isn't it?)! Of course this isn't music that's going to change the world or break any boundaries. What it is is good, healthy fun (and it's more than a little bit camp too). All fourteen songs here are crisp and ruthlessly brief; compact paens to dancefloors, school discos, sex and pretty boys, all with thunderous drums, taut rhythm guitars and immensely hummable melodies. You'd have to be extremely churlish not to accept that this is a genuinely enjoyable record - witty, charming and exhuberant. Yes, it's completely derivitive in its homage to 50s girl pop and Phil Spector production values - but the songs work because they are delivered with verve and spirit, and because the backing band have a really great feel for the style and feel of the music. It's all introduced by 'We Are The Pipettes', a refreshing blast of a theme tune. The infectious quality of the tunes is sustained throughout, even if many are now familiar from live shows or previous single releases. 'Pull Shapes' and 'ABC' are gloriously effervescent, whilst 'It Hurts To See You Dance So Well' is a marvellous inversion of all those 'I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor' type songs currently doing the rounds. It's unlikely they'll be unable to sustain an enduring career on this basis - but we should not feel guilty for enjoying it while it lasts.
It has become very easy to take The Handsome Family for granted. They've made a string of consistently excellent records bi-annually since 'Through The Trees', and their latest 'Last Days Of Wonder' is no exception. The band used to be extraordinary principally due to Rennie Sparks' bizarre, surreal and frequently verbose prose-poems, which husband Brett would labour hard to transform into equally evocative music. The lyrics on 'Last Days...' are noticeably more compact, but they have lost none of their striking imagery or mastery of allusion. As with any Handsome Family record, there are a handful of great songs here. My personal favourites are the touching, elegiac 'Beautiful William', the desperate longing of 'All The Time In Airports' (which revisits the plaintive strum of 'The Giant Of Illinois') and the more familiar gothic country stylings of 'Your Great Journey' and 'Flapping Your Broken Wings'. I'm not sure that Rennie's own attempts at singing really add much - although she had previously been almost entirely passive at a musical level. The album also tails off a bit towards the end, where the songs become less memorable. Still, a new Handsome Family album should always be embraced - maybe at some point they won't release them anymore.
One of the very best albums of 2006 so far comes from TV On The Radio, a band who continue to push themselves in exciting new directions and are becoming more adventurous with every release. 'Return To Cookie Mountain' effortlessly combines a dazzling array of influences, from twitchy modern R&B to Brian Wilson-derived vocal arrangements. Producer David Sitek creates dense, powerful atmospherics using unusual samples and striking sounds, but the strength of this record really lies in the empathetic vocal unity between singers Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone. The sound of their voices together, even when they are simply singing identical lines, is mysterious and bewitching. The album originally leaked with the full throttle, even aggressive 'Wolf Like Me' as the opening track, but the order has since been successfully revised, with 'I Was A Lover' now opening the album on an entirely more enigmatic, bewildering and enticing note. The lyrics of these songs frequently allude to war, apocalypse and devastation, but in a way that seems uniquely personal and guarded. The music veers between sweet, lingering melancholy and violent outbursts of sound, yet the tone and mood is impressively coherent. This is a record with a vision - although it is sufficiently understated to allow plenty of mystery and confusion to seep in. It's challenging, but also immediately likeable - with a warmth and obvious enthusiasm sometimes lacking in experimental music. If it's true that rhythm is currently overtaking melody as the prime feature in contemporary independent music - then this album stands apart for having both in abundance.
Elvis Costello and Allen Toussaint have worked together before (Toussaint provided the expressive piano playing for Costello's 'Deep Dark Truthful Mirror' on the unfairly overlooked 'Spike' album), but the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina offered a powerful context for revisiting that collaboration across a whole disc. 'The River In Reverse' is a record well versed in the language and spirit of gospel and soul, and The Imposters, Costello's backing band, do a very honourable job of imitating the house band style of classic soul records. Costello's voice is at its grittiest here as he gamely tries to capture some of the overwhelming sweat and emotion at the heart of New Orleans' musical heritage, and he sometimes strains at notes as a consequence. The fact that some of the vocal takes are a little ragged, for me, only adds to the sense of authenticity here. Costello has earned his right to sing these songs.
The album offers rich pickings from Toussaint's illustrious catalogue, but is chiefly interesting due to some new collaborative songwriting efforts. The best of these is arguably 'Ascencion Day', based on an old Professor Longhair tune and rich in Costello's trademark kinetic wordplay. It paints a vivid picture of a day of reckoning. The title track is wordier still, and far less melodic - and sees Costello combine his penchant for a Dylan-esque ramble with some fiery blues playing. It rolls on relentlessly, much like the river bursting its flood banks. The very lack of structure and energy of the delivery adds to the song's forceful impact. More jubilant is 'International Echo', an energetic romp in homage to the global language of great music.
Of the older songs, 'Who's Gonna Help Brother Get Further?' (originally written by Toussaint for Lee Dorsey) features Toussaint's only lead vocal, and it is arguably a shame that we don't get to hear more of his deceptively laconic, understated delivery. I wonder whether the contrast between Toussaint's serenity and Costello's power couldn't have been better exploited. Still, that's a minor quibble when Costello delivers a song like 'Freedom For The Stallion' with such emotional clarity. The song began life as a civil rights anthem but clearly still has resonance in a modern western world where individual freedoms are persistently being curtailed in the name of combatting a terrorist enemy with that precise aim at the centre of their outlook. It's one of the album's most concise, direct and powerful moments and it's in impressive company.
Right, now we've got that out of the way we can get on to to the music. Lots to catch up on, some new stuff and some albums that have been lingering around for a while. I simply have to write something about Scott Walker's 'The Drift' - but a serious album demands some serious comment, so it will have to wait for another post now. In the meantime, here's the first stage in an attempt to get back on track.
The critical barbs are already flying for the debut album from retro girl group The Pipettes. Apparently, they are 'no more than mere pastiche' or, even worse, 'The Darkness in polka dots'. Oh piss off you pompous killjoy music critic dullards! Go back to your Razorshite and Lily Allen promos (funny that nobody seems to notice the pastiche there, isn't it?)! Of course this isn't music that's going to change the world or break any boundaries. What it is is good, healthy fun (and it's more than a little bit camp too). All fourteen songs here are crisp and ruthlessly brief; compact paens to dancefloors, school discos, sex and pretty boys, all with thunderous drums, taut rhythm guitars and immensely hummable melodies. You'd have to be extremely churlish not to accept that this is a genuinely enjoyable record - witty, charming and exhuberant. Yes, it's completely derivitive in its homage to 50s girl pop and Phil Spector production values - but the songs work because they are delivered with verve and spirit, and because the backing band have a really great feel for the style and feel of the music. It's all introduced by 'We Are The Pipettes', a refreshing blast of a theme tune. The infectious quality of the tunes is sustained throughout, even if many are now familiar from live shows or previous single releases. 'Pull Shapes' and 'ABC' are gloriously effervescent, whilst 'It Hurts To See You Dance So Well' is a marvellous inversion of all those 'I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor' type songs currently doing the rounds. It's unlikely they'll be unable to sustain an enduring career on this basis - but we should not feel guilty for enjoying it while it lasts.
It has become very easy to take The Handsome Family for granted. They've made a string of consistently excellent records bi-annually since 'Through The Trees', and their latest 'Last Days Of Wonder' is no exception. The band used to be extraordinary principally due to Rennie Sparks' bizarre, surreal and frequently verbose prose-poems, which husband Brett would labour hard to transform into equally evocative music. The lyrics on 'Last Days...' are noticeably more compact, but they have lost none of their striking imagery or mastery of allusion. As with any Handsome Family record, there are a handful of great songs here. My personal favourites are the touching, elegiac 'Beautiful William', the desperate longing of 'All The Time In Airports' (which revisits the plaintive strum of 'The Giant Of Illinois') and the more familiar gothic country stylings of 'Your Great Journey' and 'Flapping Your Broken Wings'. I'm not sure that Rennie's own attempts at singing really add much - although she had previously been almost entirely passive at a musical level. The album also tails off a bit towards the end, where the songs become less memorable. Still, a new Handsome Family album should always be embraced - maybe at some point they won't release them anymore.
One of the very best albums of 2006 so far comes from TV On The Radio, a band who continue to push themselves in exciting new directions and are becoming more adventurous with every release. 'Return To Cookie Mountain' effortlessly combines a dazzling array of influences, from twitchy modern R&B to Brian Wilson-derived vocal arrangements. Producer David Sitek creates dense, powerful atmospherics using unusual samples and striking sounds, but the strength of this record really lies in the empathetic vocal unity between singers Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone. The sound of their voices together, even when they are simply singing identical lines, is mysterious and bewitching. The album originally leaked with the full throttle, even aggressive 'Wolf Like Me' as the opening track, but the order has since been successfully revised, with 'I Was A Lover' now opening the album on an entirely more enigmatic, bewildering and enticing note. The lyrics of these songs frequently allude to war, apocalypse and devastation, but in a way that seems uniquely personal and guarded. The music veers between sweet, lingering melancholy and violent outbursts of sound, yet the tone and mood is impressively coherent. This is a record with a vision - although it is sufficiently understated to allow plenty of mystery and confusion to seep in. It's challenging, but also immediately likeable - with a warmth and obvious enthusiasm sometimes lacking in experimental music. If it's true that rhythm is currently overtaking melody as the prime feature in contemporary independent music - then this album stands apart for having both in abundance.
Elvis Costello and Allen Toussaint have worked together before (Toussaint provided the expressive piano playing for Costello's 'Deep Dark Truthful Mirror' on the unfairly overlooked 'Spike' album), but the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina offered a powerful context for revisiting that collaboration across a whole disc. 'The River In Reverse' is a record well versed in the language and spirit of gospel and soul, and The Imposters, Costello's backing band, do a very honourable job of imitating the house band style of classic soul records. Costello's voice is at its grittiest here as he gamely tries to capture some of the overwhelming sweat and emotion at the heart of New Orleans' musical heritage, and he sometimes strains at notes as a consequence. The fact that some of the vocal takes are a little ragged, for me, only adds to the sense of authenticity here. Costello has earned his right to sing these songs.
The album offers rich pickings from Toussaint's illustrious catalogue, but is chiefly interesting due to some new collaborative songwriting efforts. The best of these is arguably 'Ascencion Day', based on an old Professor Longhair tune and rich in Costello's trademark kinetic wordplay. It paints a vivid picture of a day of reckoning. The title track is wordier still, and far less melodic - and sees Costello combine his penchant for a Dylan-esque ramble with some fiery blues playing. It rolls on relentlessly, much like the river bursting its flood banks. The very lack of structure and energy of the delivery adds to the song's forceful impact. More jubilant is 'International Echo', an energetic romp in homage to the global language of great music.
Of the older songs, 'Who's Gonna Help Brother Get Further?' (originally written by Toussaint for Lee Dorsey) features Toussaint's only lead vocal, and it is arguably a shame that we don't get to hear more of his deceptively laconic, understated delivery. I wonder whether the contrast between Toussaint's serenity and Costello's power couldn't have been better exploited. Still, that's a minor quibble when Costello delivers a song like 'Freedom For The Stallion' with such emotional clarity. The song began life as a civil rights anthem but clearly still has resonance in a modern western world where individual freedoms are persistently being curtailed in the name of combatting a terrorist enemy with that precise aim at the centre of their outlook. It's one of the album's most concise, direct and powerful moments and it's in impressive company.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
The Existential Wanderer
Thom Yorke - The Eraser (XL Recordings)
If anyone was still in any doubt as to which member of Radiohead was in the driving seat for the much-vaunted change in direction for 'Kid A' and 'Amnesiac', here is the ultimate proof. Thom Yorke's first solo album is hardly a retrenchment into the safer territory of guitar rock. It's electronic, and it covers more of the same stark, minimalist terrain Yorke first tentatively approached on tracks like 'Idioteque', 'Everything In Its Right Place' and 'Packt Like Sardines...'. It's predictably insular, full of righteous frustration and, somewhat inevitably, it reveals his talent and considerable weaknesses in equal measure.
Yorke remains at his best when he focusses on the expressive quality of his voice. The opening title track is particularly effective with its layered vocal harmonies, although it revisits the same lyrical ground covered on 'Kid A', notably the celebrity-fixated desire to disappear from public view. It also seems to directly replicate the harmonic motif from 'Everything In Its Right Place', although its less eerie and more stuttering than that most beguiling of 'Kid A' highlights. Equally impressive is 'Atoms For Peace', which, with little more than a handful of notes and a beat as a backdrop, allows the conventional but strikingly haunting melody to roam free. 'The Clock' and 'Harrowdown Hill' deploy a similar effect with skeletal basslines (played with the same extraordinary lack of technique as 'The National Anthem').
Where Yorke has been content to compromise his ideals for big publicity juggernauts for Radiohead albums, he has succeeded in keeping 'The Eraser' low-key, switching record labels and only announcing its existence a matter of mere weeks in advance of its release. It's not surprising therefore that he allows himself to indulge his tendency for whingeing. Few could begrudge Yorke his fears for the state of the modern world - but it remains deeply frustrating that he is frequently so inarticulate in expressing them. The worst offender here is 'Black Swan' (a close relation of 'I Might Be Wrong'), with its chorus simply bemoaning repeatedly that 'it's fucked up'. Thanks for that pithy insight, Thom. Some of the music also feels a little impressionistic and sketchy, and it is in these moments (particularly the somewhat tuneless 'Skip Divided'), where Yorke elects to veer into vocal abstraction.
'Kid A' and 'Amnesiac' were 'difficult' at least in part because they flitted through a wide variety of musical stylings. The rock band arrangment of 'Optimistic' was a million miles away from the opaque digitising of 'Kid A', and the piano balladry of 'Pyramid Song' didn't sit terribly comfortably with the pulsating electronica of 'Packed Like Sardines...'. If anything, 'The Eraser' goes too far in the opposite direction. It's so coherent a record that it feels a little oppressive in its completeness. It's almost as if Yorke has a process through which his songs must go, so they all end up with remarkably simlar arrangements.
It's unlikely that this gives much of a pointer as to the direction of the forthcoming Radiohead material, but it certainly gives an illuminating picture of Thom Yorke as a writer - an insular character who spends vast amounts of time ensuring that his music adheres to a cold, stark blueprint. When this musical technique is married to vocal performances with power and emotional impact - the results are stunning. Yorke has a great ear for sound, and everything here seems carefully planned and executed. It's not always possible to submit comfortably to Yorke's bleak vision though - especially as this appears to be a world with no solutions and no means of escape. There's also a lingering sense that this is simply exactly what we might expect from a Thom Yorke album - plenty of bad poetry, some haunting and strikingly beautiful vocal performances with considered and deft arrangements, but no alarms and no surprises.
If anyone was still in any doubt as to which member of Radiohead was in the driving seat for the much-vaunted change in direction for 'Kid A' and 'Amnesiac', here is the ultimate proof. Thom Yorke's first solo album is hardly a retrenchment into the safer territory of guitar rock. It's electronic, and it covers more of the same stark, minimalist terrain Yorke first tentatively approached on tracks like 'Idioteque', 'Everything In Its Right Place' and 'Packt Like Sardines...'. It's predictably insular, full of righteous frustration and, somewhat inevitably, it reveals his talent and considerable weaknesses in equal measure.
Yorke remains at his best when he focusses on the expressive quality of his voice. The opening title track is particularly effective with its layered vocal harmonies, although it revisits the same lyrical ground covered on 'Kid A', notably the celebrity-fixated desire to disappear from public view. It also seems to directly replicate the harmonic motif from 'Everything In Its Right Place', although its less eerie and more stuttering than that most beguiling of 'Kid A' highlights. Equally impressive is 'Atoms For Peace', which, with little more than a handful of notes and a beat as a backdrop, allows the conventional but strikingly haunting melody to roam free. 'The Clock' and 'Harrowdown Hill' deploy a similar effect with skeletal basslines (played with the same extraordinary lack of technique as 'The National Anthem').
Where Yorke has been content to compromise his ideals for big publicity juggernauts for Radiohead albums, he has succeeded in keeping 'The Eraser' low-key, switching record labels and only announcing its existence a matter of mere weeks in advance of its release. It's not surprising therefore that he allows himself to indulge his tendency for whingeing. Few could begrudge Yorke his fears for the state of the modern world - but it remains deeply frustrating that he is frequently so inarticulate in expressing them. The worst offender here is 'Black Swan' (a close relation of 'I Might Be Wrong'), with its chorus simply bemoaning repeatedly that 'it's fucked up'. Thanks for that pithy insight, Thom. Some of the music also feels a little impressionistic and sketchy, and it is in these moments (particularly the somewhat tuneless 'Skip Divided'), where Yorke elects to veer into vocal abstraction.
'Kid A' and 'Amnesiac' were 'difficult' at least in part because they flitted through a wide variety of musical stylings. The rock band arrangment of 'Optimistic' was a million miles away from the opaque digitising of 'Kid A', and the piano balladry of 'Pyramid Song' didn't sit terribly comfortably with the pulsating electronica of 'Packed Like Sardines...'. If anything, 'The Eraser' goes too far in the opposite direction. It's so coherent a record that it feels a little oppressive in its completeness. It's almost as if Yorke has a process through which his songs must go, so they all end up with remarkably simlar arrangements.
It's unlikely that this gives much of a pointer as to the direction of the forthcoming Radiohead material, but it certainly gives an illuminating picture of Thom Yorke as a writer - an insular character who spends vast amounts of time ensuring that his music adheres to a cold, stark blueprint. When this musical technique is married to vocal performances with power and emotional impact - the results are stunning. Yorke has a great ear for sound, and everything here seems carefully planned and executed. It's not always possible to submit comfortably to Yorke's bleak vision though - especially as this appears to be a world with no solutions and no means of escape. There's also a lingering sense that this is simply exactly what we might expect from a Thom Yorke album - plenty of bad poetry, some haunting and strikingly beautiful vocal performances with considered and deft arrangements, but no alarms and no surprises.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
So Damn Good We Did It Twice
Scritti Politti, King's Cross Scala, 11/7/06
So, what would happen at Green Gartside's first official live performances for 26 years? What would the sound be like? How would he recreate his meticulous studio pop sheen? In the end, it was all rather straightforward, with a full band playing a sumptuous and well-crafted take on mostly new material, with few frills or distractions. Gartside's crippling stagefright has been long-documented, but the only signs of this tonight were some references to the complexities of some of the songs and a decidedly old fashioned orchestral music stand for lyric prompts (amusingly kept in the correct order throughout the gig by keyboardist Dave). In all other respects, he seemed refreshingly down to earth, personable - perhaps even quietly confident.
Of course, he had every reason to feel revitalised. To these ears at least, 'White Bread Black Beer' is a collection of songs every bit as good as anything in the Scritti back catalogue. It also marks a more successful intergration of hip hop and electro influences than the less subtle rap experiments of 'Anomie and Bonhomie'. Although Gartside clearly still strives for pop perfection (those sunny harmonies are a revelation), there is a delightfully skeletal, homespun quality to many of the productions that sees Gartside again make steps in exciting new directions. Gartside may not be the most animated of performers - but in a live setting it becomes clear exactly how deft an instrument his peculiar voice is - pinched and high pitched, it is a great vehicle for what appears to be a new emphasis on complex phrasing and delivery. Songs like 'Dr. Abernathy' and 'The Road To No Regret' are impressively intricate, and veer between breezy, lush introductions and crisp, verbally dense pop. Opening with single and paen to hip hop 'The Boom Boom Bap', it is immediately clear that Green is concentrating very hard over every syllable of his uniquely personal lyrics. This set sounded consistently considered and well-rehearsed.
Of the new songs 'After Six' is as infectious as pop songs come - but also characteristically clever. 'Cooking' and 'Snow In Sun' demonstrate that Gartside has rediscovered an interest in delicate rhythm guitar strum, and he uses the device effectively. Perhaps best of all was 'E Eleventh Nuts' with its driving, Bo Diddley-esque rhythm and endearing lyric ('First I hit a rock, then I hit a roll/Now I'm hitting on you!'). Perhaps the unifying characteristic of these new songs is that they all manage a neat trick of reshaping somewhat conventional influences - McCartney on 'Dr. Abernathy', the Beach Boys on 'Snow In Sun' and 'Mrs Hughes' in new and fascinating contexts.
These new contexts are illuminated further when Gartside announces that one of the effects on a song was in fact inspired by a track called 'Come Clean' by rapper Jeru The Damaja. The band then proceed to launch into a determinedly groovy and spirited cover of said rap gem. It's not the only game attempt at rapping Green tries throughout the evening - there's also an outing for his collaborating with rapper Skillz. Who else could get away with this?
There are only a handful of old songs in a set that is perhaps slightly on the short side. We get a crisp, controlled and enthusiastic rendition of 'The Sweetest Girl' and Gartside goes right back to his earliest material with 'Skank Bloc Bologna', although this rendition inevitably lacks some of the spontaneity and ragged glory of the original recording. He saves 'Wood Beez' for the encore. Although still a great pop song, it's the one moment of nostalgia in an otherwise forward thinking set, and therefore strikes something of an odd note. I found it somewhat depressing that many left bemoaning the lack of other 'Cupid and Psyche '85'-era tracks. A rapturous ovation brings the band back for a second encore, but they have run out of songs and the crowd have to make do with a repeat run through 'E Eleventh Nuts', remarkably delivered with more gusto than its initial outing.
In a sense, it's arguable that this gig took the same form as Morrissey's problematic shows in support of 'Ringleader Of The Tormentors' (and it's worth noting this as I never got round to writing a report on the Moz tour). Both acts chose to play almost all of their respective new releases, with minimal pickings from illustrious back catalogues. Yet while a 'Ringleader'-heavy Moz set sounded generic and one-dimensional, this new line-up of Scritti-Politti had vitality and variety in abundance. The focus on new material paid off handsomely here, whereas at the Moz gigs, it left me feeling that, whilst still a terrific performer, Morrissey's gigs could be much improved by more judicious song selection (or at least some appreciation of the peaks of his solo work).
Let's hope this tour is not just a one-off and that we'll be seeing more of this Scritti line-up in the future - because there is much of merit in this redeployment of a great pop heritage. After one of the peculiar hip hop interludes, Green remarks 'I don't know what I think I'm doing really'. Well, it's good to see that any sense of shame has been consigned to the past. As a wise man once said, ridicule is nothing to be scared of.
So, what would happen at Green Gartside's first official live performances for 26 years? What would the sound be like? How would he recreate his meticulous studio pop sheen? In the end, it was all rather straightforward, with a full band playing a sumptuous and well-crafted take on mostly new material, with few frills or distractions. Gartside's crippling stagefright has been long-documented, but the only signs of this tonight were some references to the complexities of some of the songs and a decidedly old fashioned orchestral music stand for lyric prompts (amusingly kept in the correct order throughout the gig by keyboardist Dave). In all other respects, he seemed refreshingly down to earth, personable - perhaps even quietly confident.
Of course, he had every reason to feel revitalised. To these ears at least, 'White Bread Black Beer' is a collection of songs every bit as good as anything in the Scritti back catalogue. It also marks a more successful intergration of hip hop and electro influences than the less subtle rap experiments of 'Anomie and Bonhomie'. Although Gartside clearly still strives for pop perfection (those sunny harmonies are a revelation), there is a delightfully skeletal, homespun quality to many of the productions that sees Gartside again make steps in exciting new directions. Gartside may not be the most animated of performers - but in a live setting it becomes clear exactly how deft an instrument his peculiar voice is - pinched and high pitched, it is a great vehicle for what appears to be a new emphasis on complex phrasing and delivery. Songs like 'Dr. Abernathy' and 'The Road To No Regret' are impressively intricate, and veer between breezy, lush introductions and crisp, verbally dense pop. Opening with single and paen to hip hop 'The Boom Boom Bap', it is immediately clear that Green is concentrating very hard over every syllable of his uniquely personal lyrics. This set sounded consistently considered and well-rehearsed.
Of the new songs 'After Six' is as infectious as pop songs come - but also characteristically clever. 'Cooking' and 'Snow In Sun' demonstrate that Gartside has rediscovered an interest in delicate rhythm guitar strum, and he uses the device effectively. Perhaps best of all was 'E Eleventh Nuts' with its driving, Bo Diddley-esque rhythm and endearing lyric ('First I hit a rock, then I hit a roll/Now I'm hitting on you!'). Perhaps the unifying characteristic of these new songs is that they all manage a neat trick of reshaping somewhat conventional influences - McCartney on 'Dr. Abernathy', the Beach Boys on 'Snow In Sun' and 'Mrs Hughes' in new and fascinating contexts.
These new contexts are illuminated further when Gartside announces that one of the effects on a song was in fact inspired by a track called 'Come Clean' by rapper Jeru The Damaja. The band then proceed to launch into a determinedly groovy and spirited cover of said rap gem. It's not the only game attempt at rapping Green tries throughout the evening - there's also an outing for his collaborating with rapper Skillz. Who else could get away with this?
There are only a handful of old songs in a set that is perhaps slightly on the short side. We get a crisp, controlled and enthusiastic rendition of 'The Sweetest Girl' and Gartside goes right back to his earliest material with 'Skank Bloc Bologna', although this rendition inevitably lacks some of the spontaneity and ragged glory of the original recording. He saves 'Wood Beez' for the encore. Although still a great pop song, it's the one moment of nostalgia in an otherwise forward thinking set, and therefore strikes something of an odd note. I found it somewhat depressing that many left bemoaning the lack of other 'Cupid and Psyche '85'-era tracks. A rapturous ovation brings the band back for a second encore, but they have run out of songs and the crowd have to make do with a repeat run through 'E Eleventh Nuts', remarkably delivered with more gusto than its initial outing.
In a sense, it's arguable that this gig took the same form as Morrissey's problematic shows in support of 'Ringleader Of The Tormentors' (and it's worth noting this as I never got round to writing a report on the Moz tour). Both acts chose to play almost all of their respective new releases, with minimal pickings from illustrious back catalogues. Yet while a 'Ringleader'-heavy Moz set sounded generic and one-dimensional, this new line-up of Scritti-Politti had vitality and variety in abundance. The focus on new material paid off handsomely here, whereas at the Moz gigs, it left me feeling that, whilst still a terrific performer, Morrissey's gigs could be much improved by more judicious song selection (or at least some appreciation of the peaks of his solo work).
Let's hope this tour is not just a one-off and that we'll be seeing more of this Scritti line-up in the future - because there is much of merit in this redeployment of a great pop heritage. After one of the peculiar hip hop interludes, Green remarks 'I don't know what I think I'm doing really'. Well, it's good to see that any sense of shame has been consigned to the past. As a wise man once said, ridicule is nothing to be scared of.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Pure Speculation
So, the announcement of the Mercury Music Prize nominations are nearly upon us again (the swanky party is on July 18th). I can't find a public copy of the longlist so this may all be a complete waste of time, but it's always fun to follow this award which so many love to hate.
This year there are some obvious choices, for better or for worse. Kate Bush's Aerial must be a surefire inclusion. It's also hard to imagine Arctic Monkeys being left off - but I'm not sure that the Lily Allen* or Razorlight albums will be released in time. Is Thom Yorke's 'The Eraser', out tomorrow, just in time? I would expect a nomination for the much feted Mystery Jets too.
Surely though, with the financial backing of EMI - we might expect a nomination for some old friends - Hot Chip, with their excellent second album 'The Warning'. If Arctic Monkeys turn out to be too obvious a choice for winner, I reckon this is a good bet (that is, if it even made the long list in the first place).
Some albums I'd like to see included:
Boxcutter - Oneiric
Burial - Burial
The whole dubstep sound has really exploded this year, with plenty of incisive commentaries in support from webzines and blogs, but a near universal neglect from the mainstream media. It can hardly be expected that the Mercury judges could catch up, but what a justification for the prize's continued existence it would be if even one of these albums were to be shortlisted. The Burial album has been sold out in every London record store where I've looked for it!
Nine Horses - Snow Borne Sorrow
A really powerful, mysterious and haunting record from an underrated talent in David Sylvian.
Scritti Pollitti - White Bread, Black Beer
A lovely collection of homespun pop songs, nimbly juxtaposing Green Gartside's penchant for sheened production with frank lyrics and a more skeletal approach to arrangement. I'm very excited about the upcoming Scritti gig at the Scala this Tuesday, particularly as I have absolutely no idea what to expect from a man who has so rarely performed live.
Andrew McCormack - Telescope
It might not be crushingly original - but this is as crisp and expressive a piano trio album as has been recorded in recent years.
Matthew Herbert - Scale
Not perhaps his most radical album, but impressive nonetheless. I would expect that it wasn't submitted for the long list though.
Camera Obscura - Let's Get Out Of This Country
Sublime indie-pop of the highest order!
Broadcast - Tender Buttons
Stark, minimal and impressive.
Elbow - Leaders Of The Free World
Quality epic rock and recognition of this band's continued success.
Psapp - The Only Thing I Ever Wanted
Not sure if they count as British (one half is from California, the other from London) but this, unpalatably termed 'toytronica', is fun and inventive.
We'll see if any of these make the list. Interestingly, if last year's winner was a Brit resident in New York, can the whole thing work the other way round with Scott Walker - an American long resident in Britain? If he has dual citizenship I see no reason why not.
*While I'm at it, I'll have a rant about Ms. Allen, for she is truly awful. When will people stop buying the myth that these artists have 'made it through the internet'? Obviously her success has absolutely nothing to do with her status as 'daughter of Keith'. She may have just released the most irritating single of the year so far with 'Smile', cementing her reputation as the female Mike Skinner with a similarly woeful concoction of whining and forced rhyme schemes. Plus the polished ska-pop of the backing track is spectacularly cheesy and really nothing novel - surely Scritti perfected this kind of hybrid with 'The Word Girl' back in 1985?
This year there are some obvious choices, for better or for worse. Kate Bush's Aerial must be a surefire inclusion. It's also hard to imagine Arctic Monkeys being left off - but I'm not sure that the Lily Allen* or Razorlight albums will be released in time. Is Thom Yorke's 'The Eraser', out tomorrow, just in time? I would expect a nomination for the much feted Mystery Jets too.
Surely though, with the financial backing of EMI - we might expect a nomination for some old friends - Hot Chip, with their excellent second album 'The Warning'. If Arctic Monkeys turn out to be too obvious a choice for winner, I reckon this is a good bet (that is, if it even made the long list in the first place).
Some albums I'd like to see included:
Boxcutter - Oneiric
Burial - Burial
The whole dubstep sound has really exploded this year, with plenty of incisive commentaries in support from webzines and blogs, but a near universal neglect from the mainstream media. It can hardly be expected that the Mercury judges could catch up, but what a justification for the prize's continued existence it would be if even one of these albums were to be shortlisted. The Burial album has been sold out in every London record store where I've looked for it!
Nine Horses - Snow Borne Sorrow
A really powerful, mysterious and haunting record from an underrated talent in David Sylvian.
Scritti Pollitti - White Bread, Black Beer
A lovely collection of homespun pop songs, nimbly juxtaposing Green Gartside's penchant for sheened production with frank lyrics and a more skeletal approach to arrangement. I'm very excited about the upcoming Scritti gig at the Scala this Tuesday, particularly as I have absolutely no idea what to expect from a man who has so rarely performed live.
Andrew McCormack - Telescope
It might not be crushingly original - but this is as crisp and expressive a piano trio album as has been recorded in recent years.
Matthew Herbert - Scale
Not perhaps his most radical album, but impressive nonetheless. I would expect that it wasn't submitted for the long list though.
Camera Obscura - Let's Get Out Of This Country
Sublime indie-pop of the highest order!
Broadcast - Tender Buttons
Stark, minimal and impressive.
Elbow - Leaders Of The Free World
Quality epic rock and recognition of this band's continued success.
Psapp - The Only Thing I Ever Wanted
Not sure if they count as British (one half is from California, the other from London) but this, unpalatably termed 'toytronica', is fun and inventive.
We'll see if any of these make the list. Interestingly, if last year's winner was a Brit resident in New York, can the whole thing work the other way round with Scott Walker - an American long resident in Britain? If he has dual citizenship I see no reason why not.
*While I'm at it, I'll have a rant about Ms. Allen, for she is truly awful. When will people stop buying the myth that these artists have 'made it through the internet'? Obviously her success has absolutely nothing to do with her status as 'daughter of Keith'. She may have just released the most irritating single of the year so far with 'Smile', cementing her reputation as the female Mike Skinner with a similarly woeful concoction of whining and forced rhyme schemes. Plus the polished ska-pop of the backing track is spectacularly cheesy and really nothing novel - surely Scritti perfected this kind of hybrid with 'The Word Girl' back in 1985?
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Learning How To Die
Johnny Cash - American V: A Hundred Highways
Make no mistake, this is an astounding album. Whilst it's always tempting to be cynical about posthumous releases (and I wish to make it clear from the outset that I have no desire to see Johnny Cash turned into the Tupac Shakur of country music), the overwheming power of these recordings is simply impossible to ignore. Inevitably, these final recordings made by Johnny Cash and Rick Rubin essentially offer more of the stark, neo-gothic acoustic arrangements of the previous albums in the American series. Some have complained that the song selection isn't so radical here - there's nothing as unexpected as the takes on Nine Inch Nails' 'Hurt' or Soundgarden's 'Rusty Cage'. Others have also highlighted the obvious vocal deterioration, although it's worth noting that this rarely effects pitch or phrasing. Cash's physical weakness only adds to the weight of wisdom in the face of vulnerability that characterises this collection and, for my money, this makes American V the finest album in the series so far. Here is a man still coming to terms with the death of his wife, also forced to stare his own square in the face. This being Johnny Cash of course, he doesn't even attempt to evade the issue.
Almost every track here seems weighted with thoughts of the end. On the opening 'Help Me' (written by Larry Gatlin), Cash makes an emotional plea for the strength to walk just one more mile. The arrangement has real gravitas, and the vocals (apparently recorded simply to a guide track before the musicians added their parts) are stately and dignified. On 'God's Gonna Cut You Down', Cash intones the God-fearing mantra (part of which was used by Moby for 'Run On') against a chain gang percussion track of stomps and handclaps, the performance imbued not just with righteous indignation, but also with wisdom gained through experience.
Elsewhere, the tone is more playful. Perhaps the most impressive transformation is the re-fashioning of Springsteen's 'Further On Up The Road'. On 'The Rising' it sounded dense, heavy and apocalyptic, a song paradoxically juxtaposing fear and hope for the post 9/11 world. Here, it is presented as a jaunty shuffle, Cash facing death with his 'lucky graveyard boots and smiling skull ring' as if it was something to be laughed off with a resigned shrug. It's an enticingly playful interpretation and it's difficult to imagine any other singer so completely changing the style and impact of a song. The album may well be best remembered for 'Like The 309', a similarly blackly comic song and Johnny Cash's final recorded composition. It's not a major work as 'The Man Comes Around' was, but it's warmth and humour leave a lingering impression.
Even the songs that could potentially have been mawkish end up devastatingly moving. Rod McKuen's 'Love's Been Good To Me', famously performed by Frank Sinatra, here sounds like a frankly positive interpretation of a life well lived. Don Gibson's 'Legend In My Time' could have come across as hubris in the hands of a lesser artist - but only the most churlish would deny Cash the right to enjoy his status in his final months.
Best of all are two deceptively simple takes on well-worn standards. Hank Williams' 'On The Evening Train', its story telling of a widower watching his wife's body being carried away obviously resonated strongly with Cash following June Carter's death. It makes for an uncomfortably upfront listen. Gordon Lightfoot's 'If You Could Read My Mind' is transformed from relatively lightweight middle of the road country into something weighty and significant, with Cash struggling to control his faltering vocal.
It's hard to escape the sense that American V is the sound of a man literally learning how to die, and using the standard American musical catalogue to heal his remaining wounds - dealing with those long-standing debts to God, and coping with the loneliness and sadness of life's final days. There is a staggering depth of wisdom and experience here. Even though Cash didn't write most of these words - he has left his lasting imprint on every single line. A Hundred Highways and he'd walked every last one of them. If only we could all live so well.
Make no mistake, this is an astounding album. Whilst it's always tempting to be cynical about posthumous releases (and I wish to make it clear from the outset that I have no desire to see Johnny Cash turned into the Tupac Shakur of country music), the overwheming power of these recordings is simply impossible to ignore. Inevitably, these final recordings made by Johnny Cash and Rick Rubin essentially offer more of the stark, neo-gothic acoustic arrangements of the previous albums in the American series. Some have complained that the song selection isn't so radical here - there's nothing as unexpected as the takes on Nine Inch Nails' 'Hurt' or Soundgarden's 'Rusty Cage'. Others have also highlighted the obvious vocal deterioration, although it's worth noting that this rarely effects pitch or phrasing. Cash's physical weakness only adds to the weight of wisdom in the face of vulnerability that characterises this collection and, for my money, this makes American V the finest album in the series so far. Here is a man still coming to terms with the death of his wife, also forced to stare his own square in the face. This being Johnny Cash of course, he doesn't even attempt to evade the issue.
Almost every track here seems weighted with thoughts of the end. On the opening 'Help Me' (written by Larry Gatlin), Cash makes an emotional plea for the strength to walk just one more mile. The arrangement has real gravitas, and the vocals (apparently recorded simply to a guide track before the musicians added their parts) are stately and dignified. On 'God's Gonna Cut You Down', Cash intones the God-fearing mantra (part of which was used by Moby for 'Run On') against a chain gang percussion track of stomps and handclaps, the performance imbued not just with righteous indignation, but also with wisdom gained through experience.
Elsewhere, the tone is more playful. Perhaps the most impressive transformation is the re-fashioning of Springsteen's 'Further On Up The Road'. On 'The Rising' it sounded dense, heavy and apocalyptic, a song paradoxically juxtaposing fear and hope for the post 9/11 world. Here, it is presented as a jaunty shuffle, Cash facing death with his 'lucky graveyard boots and smiling skull ring' as if it was something to be laughed off with a resigned shrug. It's an enticingly playful interpretation and it's difficult to imagine any other singer so completely changing the style and impact of a song. The album may well be best remembered for 'Like The 309', a similarly blackly comic song and Johnny Cash's final recorded composition. It's not a major work as 'The Man Comes Around' was, but it's warmth and humour leave a lingering impression.
Even the songs that could potentially have been mawkish end up devastatingly moving. Rod McKuen's 'Love's Been Good To Me', famously performed by Frank Sinatra, here sounds like a frankly positive interpretation of a life well lived. Don Gibson's 'Legend In My Time' could have come across as hubris in the hands of a lesser artist - but only the most churlish would deny Cash the right to enjoy his status in his final months.
Best of all are two deceptively simple takes on well-worn standards. Hank Williams' 'On The Evening Train', its story telling of a widower watching his wife's body being carried away obviously resonated strongly with Cash following June Carter's death. It makes for an uncomfortably upfront listen. Gordon Lightfoot's 'If You Could Read My Mind' is transformed from relatively lightweight middle of the road country into something weighty and significant, with Cash struggling to control his faltering vocal.
It's hard to escape the sense that American V is the sound of a man literally learning how to die, and using the standard American musical catalogue to heal his remaining wounds - dealing with those long-standing debts to God, and coping with the loneliness and sadness of life's final days. There is a staggering depth of wisdom and experience here. Even though Cash didn't write most of these words - he has left his lasting imprint on every single line. A Hundred Highways and he'd walked every last one of them. If only we could all live so well.