James Hunter - The Hard Way (Universal Classics, 2008)
I often wonder why some retrogressive facsimiles of classic pop music irritate me whilst some hold me captive with their charms. Unsung British guitarist and singer James Hunter’s brand of Rhythm and Blues classicism undoubtedly falls into the latter category. Perhaps it’s just that Hunter seems to inhabit his chosen idiom so effortlessly and without even the slightest hint of self-consciousness.
Whilst ‘The Hard Way’, again recorded by Liam Watson at Toe Rag Studios, doesn’t exactly do much to develop his already entertaining canon, it’s a welcome serving of more-of-the-same. This is a similar template to that sleekly modernised by Mark Ronson for Amy Winehouse – but Hunter being a suave but unassuming character, is far less likely to shift millions of units and become tiresome tabloid fodder. He also feels no need for any contemporary context, instead playing the music as straight but as spiritedly as possible.
If there has been a progression between ‘People Gonna Talk’ and this set, it lies in the greater variety of material, and in the even more refined arrangements. Whilst the previous album was dominated by its steely horn sections and spiky guitars, here sedate backing vocals and even tuned percussion create a more delicate, lush texture, particularly on the sophisticated and subtle ‘Tell Her’ and the memorable title track.
This doesn’t prevent Hunter from getting into that old-fashioned dancehall jive vibe he replicates so expertly though. The blistering ‘Do Me No Favours’, with its dusty, swinging beat and searing guitar solo, ably demonstrates his nuanced understanding of this music, as well as his righteous enthusiasm for it. Such qualities are demonstrated many times on ‘The Hard Way’ – particularly on ‘Jacqueline’ and ‘Believe Me Baby’, the latter ushered in by some splendid boogie-tinged piano.
As the previous album suggested, Hunter is at his best when he combines the offbeat emphasis of reggae and ska with his more soulful streak. The wonderful, bittersweet ‘Carina’, all melancholy string arrangement and delicate melody, is one of the real gems of this set (naming songs after girls remains a predominant preoccupation, and the exuberant and celebratory ‘Jacqueline’ provides a neat counterpoint to the uncertainty and wistfulness of ‘Carina’). Similarly, ‘Class Act’ consummately combines a ska lilt with a light blues shuffle.
Hunter’s main strength remains his voice, which is consistently understated, wisely emphasising phrasing over power. Watson and Hunter have allowed more imperfections to creep through this time though – Hunter’s voice is frequently grittier and more vulnerable here than we’ve come to expect. Perhaps this is due to the tyranny and rapidity of Watson’s recording methods – on this occasion it’s very much to the record’s benefit though. Whilst the band is precision perfect, Hunter sounds more spontaneous and raw, allowing real feeling to seep in, and undermining any sense that his music might be chiefly formulaic and inauthentic. Who could resist such a straightforwardly enjoyable album?
Showing posts with label Blues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blues. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Unexpected Pleasures
Robert Plant/Alison Krauss - Raising Sand
It’s difficult to admit it now, but one of my earliest infatuations as a teenager was with Led Zeppelin. Not so much the quasi-mystical nonsense of ‘Stairway To Heaven’, but rather the primal rush of ‘Communication Breakdown’ or the effortless and thoroughly peculiar melding of Eastern strings and pounding drums on ‘Kashmir’. Since those days, I’ve rather fallen out of love with their considerable legacy and can’t bring myself to care much about the imminent reunion gig, even if Dave Grohl does attempt to fill John Bonham’s enormous drum shoes. Foolishly, I opted to watch Page and Plant’s indulgent tedium over the Super Furry Animals at 1998’s Reading Festival, and much of Robert Plant’s solo work has left me rather cold. ‘Raising Sand’ therefore comes as a curious and entirely gratifying surprise.
It’s not a Plant solo album as such, but rather a collaboration with the extraordinarily popular bluegrass singer Alison Krauss, about whom I am usually very much agnostic. Her own music has tended to sound overly polite and sanitised, the songs often sounding forced rather than hard-lived. Yet her soft, somewhat vulnerable tones here provide a sterling foil for Plant, who is uncharacteristically restrained throughout. Indeed, it’s only on ‘Fortune Teller’ that he even comes close to resembling the sexualised urgency of his Zeppelin vocal performances. There’s only one Plant original here (‘Please Read The Letter’), and even that is cribbed from the Page/Plant album ‘Walking Into Clarksdale’. This is mainly a somewhat studied, but thoroughly easygoing foray into American roots music, neatly melding country, blues and soul into a delicately enchanting and hypnotic hybrid.
Sometimes the sound is comfortingly familiar, with swathes of pedal steel guitar and lightly brushed drums, but in places they veer into unusually eerie, gothic territory. ‘Polly Come Home’ doesn’t sound a million miles away from the harmony-directed minimalism of Low, although the slightly Irish lilt to the melody lends it an additional timeless quality. The superb opener ‘Rich Woman’ crackles and bristles with an oddly reserved energy, whilst Krauss handles the melodic line of ‘Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us’ with masterful subtlety.
The percussion throughout sounds particularly otherworldly and transcendent, perhaps slightly reminiscent of Malcolm Burn’s production work for Emmylou Harris on ‘Red Dirt Girl’ and ‘Stumble Into Grace’, particularly on the haunting take on Tom Waits’ ‘Trampled Rose’. The loose-limbed clatter that glues these songs together also prevents this from being too academic or reverential an exercise.
There’s a relaxed, consummate alchemy between Plant and Krauss that is thoroughly unexpected. Whilst it’s not quite as pure and original a partnership as that of Gram Parsons and Emmylou, it’s both respectful of that particular heritage and keen to develop it in unpredictable directions. The effortless grace of their harmony singing on ‘Stick With Me Baby’ is sublime.
What a shame therefore that Plant is undermining the promotion of this satisfying record by submitting to corporate pressures for a one-off Led Zeppelin reunion show. At least it looks unlikely to become a behemoth tour in the manner of this year’s other reunions (Genesis, The Police). I would rather focus on the quiet and intoxicating majesty of this beautiful record.
It’s difficult to admit it now, but one of my earliest infatuations as a teenager was with Led Zeppelin. Not so much the quasi-mystical nonsense of ‘Stairway To Heaven’, but rather the primal rush of ‘Communication Breakdown’ or the effortless and thoroughly peculiar melding of Eastern strings and pounding drums on ‘Kashmir’. Since those days, I’ve rather fallen out of love with their considerable legacy and can’t bring myself to care much about the imminent reunion gig, even if Dave Grohl does attempt to fill John Bonham’s enormous drum shoes. Foolishly, I opted to watch Page and Plant’s indulgent tedium over the Super Furry Animals at 1998’s Reading Festival, and much of Robert Plant’s solo work has left me rather cold. ‘Raising Sand’ therefore comes as a curious and entirely gratifying surprise.
It’s not a Plant solo album as such, but rather a collaboration with the extraordinarily popular bluegrass singer Alison Krauss, about whom I am usually very much agnostic. Her own music has tended to sound overly polite and sanitised, the songs often sounding forced rather than hard-lived. Yet her soft, somewhat vulnerable tones here provide a sterling foil for Plant, who is uncharacteristically restrained throughout. Indeed, it’s only on ‘Fortune Teller’ that he even comes close to resembling the sexualised urgency of his Zeppelin vocal performances. There’s only one Plant original here (‘Please Read The Letter’), and even that is cribbed from the Page/Plant album ‘Walking Into Clarksdale’. This is mainly a somewhat studied, but thoroughly easygoing foray into American roots music, neatly melding country, blues and soul into a delicately enchanting and hypnotic hybrid.
Sometimes the sound is comfortingly familiar, with swathes of pedal steel guitar and lightly brushed drums, but in places they veer into unusually eerie, gothic territory. ‘Polly Come Home’ doesn’t sound a million miles away from the harmony-directed minimalism of Low, although the slightly Irish lilt to the melody lends it an additional timeless quality. The superb opener ‘Rich Woman’ crackles and bristles with an oddly reserved energy, whilst Krauss handles the melodic line of ‘Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us’ with masterful subtlety.
The percussion throughout sounds particularly otherworldly and transcendent, perhaps slightly reminiscent of Malcolm Burn’s production work for Emmylou Harris on ‘Red Dirt Girl’ and ‘Stumble Into Grace’, particularly on the haunting take on Tom Waits’ ‘Trampled Rose’. The loose-limbed clatter that glues these songs together also prevents this from being too academic or reverential an exercise.
There’s a relaxed, consummate alchemy between Plant and Krauss that is thoroughly unexpected. Whilst it’s not quite as pure and original a partnership as that of Gram Parsons and Emmylou, it’s both respectful of that particular heritage and keen to develop it in unpredictable directions. The effortless grace of their harmony singing on ‘Stick With Me Baby’ is sublime.
What a shame therefore that Plant is undermining the promotion of this satisfying record by submitting to corporate pressures for a one-off Led Zeppelin reunion show. At least it looks unlikely to become a behemoth tour in the manner of this year’s other reunions (Genesis, The Police). I would rather focus on the quiet and intoxicating majesty of this beautiful record.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Tidying Up
There's a whole load of stuff I haven't got around to writing about yet, so here's a bit of a catch up in advance of my albums of the year.
First of all, it's time for me to eat some humble pie. A couple of years ago, I reacted violently every time Amy Winehouse appeared on TV or received a glowing review (mind you, that 'Stronger Than Me' single was dreadful...). Two things have made me completely revise my opinions. Seeing her perform a song at Ko's final gig at the Green Note in Camden Town (a tiny cafe venue) was genuinely sensational and, secondly, the consistently high quality of her 'Back To Black' album is something of a revelation. A lot of back to basics soul albums turn out to be bland and insignificant, but her second album very much sees Winehouse finding her own voice. For sure, she's achieved this by heading back to some staple influences for inspiration (Ray Charles, Billy Paul, Donny Hathaway, swing jazz), but there's a soulful spirit to this music that is genuine and unforced. She still remains bolshy and mouthy throughout (with lyrics like 'what kind of fuckery are we/now you don't mean dick to me', one wonders why anyone gets involved with her), but the whole experience now seems much more natural and less contrived. Anyway, she's still a lightweight in the explicit and bitchy department when placed next to someone like Millie Jackson. Mark Ronson's production adds a distinctively modern sheen, with hints of hip hop flavouring, but without diluting the record's timeless spirit. The arrangements are rich and elaborate, but without sacrificing the infectious qualities of peerless pop songs such as 'Rehab' and 'You Know I'm No Good'. Perhaps Winehouse's nasal voice remains an acquired taste, but she seems less interested in simply emulating Billie Holiday this time round, and the vocal phrasing is impressively sophisticated. The highlights are too numerous to list, but the tender 'Love's A Losing Game', with delicate and restrained guitar playing that ably supports her expressive vocal, adds new dimensions to her craft and the title track is supremely ambitious.
The last album from EST (Viaticum) was highly acclaimed and just scraped the bottom end of my end-of-year list for 2005. It is, however, not an album I've returned too much this year, its austere chamber mood feeling a bit stifling and oppressive. Its rapid successor 'Tuesday Wonderland' seems to be one of those take-it-for-granted albums that hasn't quite received its dues from the music press, even in specialist jazz circles. As usual, the titles of the compositions are worth the asking price alone, with 'Brewery of Beggars', 'Dolores In A Shoestand' and 'Eight hundred Streets By Feet' being particular favourites of mine. Musically, it retains many of the staple elements of Esbjorn Svensson's by now signature sound - the subtle integration of electronic textures, gently expanding harmonic motifs, and a subtle, deftly handled rhythmic invention. To these ears, this album pushes these elements further than anything this band have recorded since 'From Gagarin's Point Of View', and has taken them to a new, almost hypnotic effect. It's still much more about sound and atmosphere than the technical virtues of improvisation, but these compositions have more than enough ideas, and the album as a whole is very carefully sequenced.
There are three other jazz albums from 2006 that make for some quietly inspirational listening. Kenny Garrett returns with 'Beyond The Wall', an album that mercifully steers well clear of the banal and smooth territory this excellent musician can sometimes frustratingly inhabit. With Garrett's emotional tones playing alongside some fiery and impassioned blowing from Pharoah Sanders (age seems incapable of diminishing his force and fury), 'Beyond The Wall' neatly juxtaposes the gospel spirit of America with the spiritual and mystical intrigue of the East. It's an intoxicating brew, essential to which is the full and intensely felt piano accompaniment from Mulgrew Miller. As is frequently the case with Garrett, the themes are very simple, occasionally risking sounding insubstantial or incomplete, but in this context, the minimalism feels wholly appropriate, and the keenly felt performances are vibrant and expressive. Albums with spiritual inspirations can seem pretentious, and it's probably a huge help that Garrett managed to get Sanders on board (who played on some of the key albums in Alice Coltrane's series of devotional works and has pioneered this sound himself). 'Beyond The Wall' is, however, gritty and thrilling in its more explosive moments, and carefully controlled and contemplative in its moments of peace and calm.
Over in Britian, the F-IRE collective have spawned a number of genuinely exciting acts, with Pete Wareham's Acoustic Ladyland and Seb Rochford's Polar Bear getting the lion share of attention. Rochford also appears behind the drum kit with the excellent Oriole, although he demonstrates a very different style of playing here from the righteous clatter that now predominates in Acoustic Ladyland's music - here he is supremely sensitive, playing largely with brushes, and really supporting the melodic ebb and flow of the music. The group are directed by guitarist Jonny Phillips, whose compositions are deeply melodic, and frequently inspired by music from other cultures, particularly those of South America and Africa. Phillips' acoustic rhythm playing is textural, but far from neutral, establishing unusual and esoteric moods over which his melodies can float and linger. The combination of Ingrid Laubrock's ebullient saxophone and the languid, delicate cello of Ben Davis is distinctive and unassumingly original. This music is delicate and has a real subtlety that amply rewards repeated listens. The title, 'Migration', is apt, suggesting a flow not just of peoples, but also of ideas, values, sounds and experiences between countries and cultures. Phillips succeeds not just in observing this shared experience, but in fully inhabiting it himself.
Joe Lovano remains one of the world's most astounding saxophonists, capable of powerful extended solos and carefully constructed melodic expression. The variety of his playing means he can handle sensitive ballads every bit as adroitly as he can hard swing. For his latest project, a collaboration with arranger Gunter Schuller, he has returned to one of the key texts in the jazz canon, Miles Davis' 'Birth Of The Cool' collection. The rearrangement of these pieces into a big band suite is an unqualified success, with some inventive reharmonising from Schuller, as well as a whole range of new structural intricacies. The rhythm section swings effortlessly when required, but also handles the through-composed elements of the music with real precision. This music is sandwiched between a series of original compositions from Lovano, all of which are directly inspired by giant and iconic figures in the music's history. What could easily have seemed a tediously reverential exercise is invigorated by the sheer range of inspiration Lovano draws from - there are actually very few players who could claim to be as much inspired by Albert Ayler as Sonny Rollins. The spirit of Ellington and Mingus are naturally strong presences too, but the whole set really succeeds in playfully remodelling some of jazz history's more established conventions.
There are many people more qualified than me to comment on the return of the king of rap Jay Z (but surely every one of his last five albums has seen him 'come out of retirement?'), but I'm going to add my views anyway. 'The Black Album' was clearly one of those pivotal records that it's next to impossible to improve on, but there's little doubt that 'Kingdom Come' would be considered a lazy offering even from a much lesser talent. It starts well enough, with 'Oh My God' and the title track in particular offering something hard hitting and compelling. The latter reworks the Rick James Superfreak sample to surprisingly heavy impact. After that, however, it quickly goes wrong. 'Show Me What You Got', although one of the better tracks, is a sprawling and disorientating mess, whilst the appearance of bland crooner John Legend on the uninspiringly titled 'Do U Wanna Ride?' gives a strong hint at the direction in which the album is headed. From here on, the beats are basic to the point of tedium, and the rapping mainly consists of boasts about the level of credit Jay Z can get. Who cares apart from Beyonce when she wants her 450th pair of heels? It's baffling that one of the more maverick and ambitious productions here comes from Chris Martin! Even The Neptunes are coasting with their dull contribution.
Two albums from singer-songwriters have caught my attention in recent months. 'Song Of The Blackbird' by William Elliott Whitmore is one of the country albums of the year (thanks to Lauren for the tip, albeit it a not entirely unbiased one), and Whitmore's voice is absolutely superb. It's gravelly and gutsy like a soul man overdosing on bourbon, but by accompaning himself usually only with the starkest of settings, he nimbly avoids the pitfalls of cliche. There's a sincere and emotive quality of the music, and the experiences related seem believable, even when they adhere rigidly to American folk traditions ('Lee County Flood'). It's possibly at its best when Whitmore makes use of the banjo, which when used alone, is surprisingly dramatic. Like the excellent Benoit Pioulard album, this should be benefiting from some word of mouth buzz.
The other is 'People Gonna Talk', a very traditionalist, perhaps even conservative record from British bluesman James Hunter, that it's really impossible not to embrace with open arms. We're very much in Van Morrison territory here, although mercifully not the flowery hippy drivel of Astral Weeks, more the jazz-meets-blues territory that Morrison has wandered, occasionally fruitfully, in more recent years. Yet, this album has everything you could want from this form of music - vocals that are crisp but understated, and some saxophone arrangements that don't crowd the music. It's mainly driven by a precision perfect rhythm section, that can incorporate elements of ska or reggae without ever sounding uncomfortable. Hunter's lyrics are simple, but frequently they resonate precisely because of this, and his melodies are warmly familiar, delivered in an unhurried and unshowy style. All the tracks have a similar feel, but it is all so lovingly and authentically rendered (it was all recorded at Toerag studios with former White Stripes and Holly Golightly engineer Liam Watson), and at just forty minutes, it certainly doesn't outstay it's welcome. With repeated listens, the subtle differences in tone become more readily apparent - 'Walk Away' has a gentle swing, whilst the more melancholy 'Mollena' betrays the influence of Sam Cooke. This is a charming, beautifully restrained record that harks back to a bygone era with swing and sophistication.
The Canadian supergroup Swan Lake, involving Dan Bejar of Destroyer and The New Pornographers, along with Spencer Krug from Wolf Parade, are responsible for one of the very strangest records of 2006. 'Beast Moans' seems to have some unfashionably progressive influences behind it, from the peculiar cover art featuring mythical creatures to the baffling lyrics that seem to speak of other worlds. The music favours mysterious droning and exotic atmospherics over rhythm or melody, and as such, it's all a bit difficult to get a grip on. It may well be outstanding, but I also can't help feeling that it's deliberately difficult, and something of an indulgence for the musicians involved. It sometimes sounds intriguing, but rarely makes any real sense. Destroyer's 'Your Blues' album is certainly a far more effective foray into peculiar territory, and it works primarily through being much less guitar-based.
I have no such doubts about the enchanting qualities of Trentemoller's outstanding 'Last Resort' though. This is one of the outstanding electronic albums of the year (albeit with the caveat that I haven't yet managed to hear recommended efforts from Booka Shade, Current 93 and James Holden), sublime and genuinely hypnotic without ever being boring. So much club music only sounds good in clubs, but this, although heavily reliant on the kind of relentless and pulsating rhythm tracks that occasionally tie dance music too closely to its own conventions, sounds intense and imaginative on a home stereo system. It has a peculiar mechanistic beauty, and it alternates between moments of stark clarity and moments of genuine warmth.
I've really run the gamut of genres with this one!
First of all, it's time for me to eat some humble pie. A couple of years ago, I reacted violently every time Amy Winehouse appeared on TV or received a glowing review (mind you, that 'Stronger Than Me' single was dreadful...). Two things have made me completely revise my opinions. Seeing her perform a song at Ko's final gig at the Green Note in Camden Town (a tiny cafe venue) was genuinely sensational and, secondly, the consistently high quality of her 'Back To Black' album is something of a revelation. A lot of back to basics soul albums turn out to be bland and insignificant, but her second album very much sees Winehouse finding her own voice. For sure, she's achieved this by heading back to some staple influences for inspiration (Ray Charles, Billy Paul, Donny Hathaway, swing jazz), but there's a soulful spirit to this music that is genuine and unforced. She still remains bolshy and mouthy throughout (with lyrics like 'what kind of fuckery are we/now you don't mean dick to me', one wonders why anyone gets involved with her), but the whole experience now seems much more natural and less contrived. Anyway, she's still a lightweight in the explicit and bitchy department when placed next to someone like Millie Jackson. Mark Ronson's production adds a distinctively modern sheen, with hints of hip hop flavouring, but without diluting the record's timeless spirit. The arrangements are rich and elaborate, but without sacrificing the infectious qualities of peerless pop songs such as 'Rehab' and 'You Know I'm No Good'. Perhaps Winehouse's nasal voice remains an acquired taste, but she seems less interested in simply emulating Billie Holiday this time round, and the vocal phrasing is impressively sophisticated. The highlights are too numerous to list, but the tender 'Love's A Losing Game', with delicate and restrained guitar playing that ably supports her expressive vocal, adds new dimensions to her craft and the title track is supremely ambitious.
The last album from EST (Viaticum) was highly acclaimed and just scraped the bottom end of my end-of-year list for 2005. It is, however, not an album I've returned too much this year, its austere chamber mood feeling a bit stifling and oppressive. Its rapid successor 'Tuesday Wonderland' seems to be one of those take-it-for-granted albums that hasn't quite received its dues from the music press, even in specialist jazz circles. As usual, the titles of the compositions are worth the asking price alone, with 'Brewery of Beggars', 'Dolores In A Shoestand' and 'Eight hundred Streets By Feet' being particular favourites of mine. Musically, it retains many of the staple elements of Esbjorn Svensson's by now signature sound - the subtle integration of electronic textures, gently expanding harmonic motifs, and a subtle, deftly handled rhythmic invention. To these ears, this album pushes these elements further than anything this band have recorded since 'From Gagarin's Point Of View', and has taken them to a new, almost hypnotic effect. It's still much more about sound and atmosphere than the technical virtues of improvisation, but these compositions have more than enough ideas, and the album as a whole is very carefully sequenced.
There are three other jazz albums from 2006 that make for some quietly inspirational listening. Kenny Garrett returns with 'Beyond The Wall', an album that mercifully steers well clear of the banal and smooth territory this excellent musician can sometimes frustratingly inhabit. With Garrett's emotional tones playing alongside some fiery and impassioned blowing from Pharoah Sanders (age seems incapable of diminishing his force and fury), 'Beyond The Wall' neatly juxtaposes the gospel spirit of America with the spiritual and mystical intrigue of the East. It's an intoxicating brew, essential to which is the full and intensely felt piano accompaniment from Mulgrew Miller. As is frequently the case with Garrett, the themes are very simple, occasionally risking sounding insubstantial or incomplete, but in this context, the minimalism feels wholly appropriate, and the keenly felt performances are vibrant and expressive. Albums with spiritual inspirations can seem pretentious, and it's probably a huge help that Garrett managed to get Sanders on board (who played on some of the key albums in Alice Coltrane's series of devotional works and has pioneered this sound himself). 'Beyond The Wall' is, however, gritty and thrilling in its more explosive moments, and carefully controlled and contemplative in its moments of peace and calm.
Over in Britian, the F-IRE collective have spawned a number of genuinely exciting acts, with Pete Wareham's Acoustic Ladyland and Seb Rochford's Polar Bear getting the lion share of attention. Rochford also appears behind the drum kit with the excellent Oriole, although he demonstrates a very different style of playing here from the righteous clatter that now predominates in Acoustic Ladyland's music - here he is supremely sensitive, playing largely with brushes, and really supporting the melodic ebb and flow of the music. The group are directed by guitarist Jonny Phillips, whose compositions are deeply melodic, and frequently inspired by music from other cultures, particularly those of South America and Africa. Phillips' acoustic rhythm playing is textural, but far from neutral, establishing unusual and esoteric moods over which his melodies can float and linger. The combination of Ingrid Laubrock's ebullient saxophone and the languid, delicate cello of Ben Davis is distinctive and unassumingly original. This music is delicate and has a real subtlety that amply rewards repeated listens. The title, 'Migration', is apt, suggesting a flow not just of peoples, but also of ideas, values, sounds and experiences between countries and cultures. Phillips succeeds not just in observing this shared experience, but in fully inhabiting it himself.
Joe Lovano remains one of the world's most astounding saxophonists, capable of powerful extended solos and carefully constructed melodic expression. The variety of his playing means he can handle sensitive ballads every bit as adroitly as he can hard swing. For his latest project, a collaboration with arranger Gunter Schuller, he has returned to one of the key texts in the jazz canon, Miles Davis' 'Birth Of The Cool' collection. The rearrangement of these pieces into a big band suite is an unqualified success, with some inventive reharmonising from Schuller, as well as a whole range of new structural intricacies. The rhythm section swings effortlessly when required, but also handles the through-composed elements of the music with real precision. This music is sandwiched between a series of original compositions from Lovano, all of which are directly inspired by giant and iconic figures in the music's history. What could easily have seemed a tediously reverential exercise is invigorated by the sheer range of inspiration Lovano draws from - there are actually very few players who could claim to be as much inspired by Albert Ayler as Sonny Rollins. The spirit of Ellington and Mingus are naturally strong presences too, but the whole set really succeeds in playfully remodelling some of jazz history's more established conventions.
There are many people more qualified than me to comment on the return of the king of rap Jay Z (but surely every one of his last five albums has seen him 'come out of retirement?'), but I'm going to add my views anyway. 'The Black Album' was clearly one of those pivotal records that it's next to impossible to improve on, but there's little doubt that 'Kingdom Come' would be considered a lazy offering even from a much lesser talent. It starts well enough, with 'Oh My God' and the title track in particular offering something hard hitting and compelling. The latter reworks the Rick James Superfreak sample to surprisingly heavy impact. After that, however, it quickly goes wrong. 'Show Me What You Got', although one of the better tracks, is a sprawling and disorientating mess, whilst the appearance of bland crooner John Legend on the uninspiringly titled 'Do U Wanna Ride?' gives a strong hint at the direction in which the album is headed. From here on, the beats are basic to the point of tedium, and the rapping mainly consists of boasts about the level of credit Jay Z can get. Who cares apart from Beyonce when she wants her 450th pair of heels? It's baffling that one of the more maverick and ambitious productions here comes from Chris Martin! Even The Neptunes are coasting with their dull contribution.
Two albums from singer-songwriters have caught my attention in recent months. 'Song Of The Blackbird' by William Elliott Whitmore is one of the country albums of the year (thanks to Lauren for the tip, albeit it a not entirely unbiased one), and Whitmore's voice is absolutely superb. It's gravelly and gutsy like a soul man overdosing on bourbon, but by accompaning himself usually only with the starkest of settings, he nimbly avoids the pitfalls of cliche. There's a sincere and emotive quality of the music, and the experiences related seem believable, even when they adhere rigidly to American folk traditions ('Lee County Flood'). It's possibly at its best when Whitmore makes use of the banjo, which when used alone, is surprisingly dramatic. Like the excellent Benoit Pioulard album, this should be benefiting from some word of mouth buzz.
The other is 'People Gonna Talk', a very traditionalist, perhaps even conservative record from British bluesman James Hunter, that it's really impossible not to embrace with open arms. We're very much in Van Morrison territory here, although mercifully not the flowery hippy drivel of Astral Weeks, more the jazz-meets-blues territory that Morrison has wandered, occasionally fruitfully, in more recent years. Yet, this album has everything you could want from this form of music - vocals that are crisp but understated, and some saxophone arrangements that don't crowd the music. It's mainly driven by a precision perfect rhythm section, that can incorporate elements of ska or reggae without ever sounding uncomfortable. Hunter's lyrics are simple, but frequently they resonate precisely because of this, and his melodies are warmly familiar, delivered in an unhurried and unshowy style. All the tracks have a similar feel, but it is all so lovingly and authentically rendered (it was all recorded at Toerag studios with former White Stripes and Holly Golightly engineer Liam Watson), and at just forty minutes, it certainly doesn't outstay it's welcome. With repeated listens, the subtle differences in tone become more readily apparent - 'Walk Away' has a gentle swing, whilst the more melancholy 'Mollena' betrays the influence of Sam Cooke. This is a charming, beautifully restrained record that harks back to a bygone era with swing and sophistication.
The Canadian supergroup Swan Lake, involving Dan Bejar of Destroyer and The New Pornographers, along with Spencer Krug from Wolf Parade, are responsible for one of the very strangest records of 2006. 'Beast Moans' seems to have some unfashionably progressive influences behind it, from the peculiar cover art featuring mythical creatures to the baffling lyrics that seem to speak of other worlds. The music favours mysterious droning and exotic atmospherics over rhythm or melody, and as such, it's all a bit difficult to get a grip on. It may well be outstanding, but I also can't help feeling that it's deliberately difficult, and something of an indulgence for the musicians involved. It sometimes sounds intriguing, but rarely makes any real sense. Destroyer's 'Your Blues' album is certainly a far more effective foray into peculiar territory, and it works primarily through being much less guitar-based.
I have no such doubts about the enchanting qualities of Trentemoller's outstanding 'Last Resort' though. This is one of the outstanding electronic albums of the year (albeit with the caveat that I haven't yet managed to hear recommended efforts from Booka Shade, Current 93 and James Holden), sublime and genuinely hypnotic without ever being boring. So much club music only sounds good in clubs, but this, although heavily reliant on the kind of relentless and pulsating rhythm tracks that occasionally tie dance music too closely to its own conventions, sounds intense and imaginative on a home stereo system. It has a peculiar mechanistic beauty, and it alternates between moments of stark clarity and moments of genuine warmth.
I've really run the gamut of genres with this one!
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