Plush, Fed (After Hours Jpn) 9+
Liam Hayes has been simmering just under the surface of the music world for a decade, contributing to recordings of Will Oldham's Palace Songs and Bobby Conn's 1998 imaginary Jesus Christ Superfly musical Rise Up!, while producing teasers of his creative genius in the lushly produced chamber pop single "Found A Little Baby" (1994) and the surprisingly spare piano ballads of More You Becomes You (1998) under the Plush moniker. Fed is the ambitious masterpiece Hayes has been rumored to be working on for the past eight years. Laying low, possibly going mad, presumed missing until spotted playing piano in High Fidelity, Hayes deserves more than cult notoriety. More accomplished than the Curtis Mayfield-inspired symphonic soul of fellow Chicagoan Neal Rosario's National Trust, Fed measures up to the best seventies arrangements with the assistance of arranger Tom Tom MMLXXXIV (Tyrone Davis, Earth Wind & Fire). The sheer scope of talent involved on this album is astounding, from jazz drummer Morris Jennings, John McEntire (Tortoise, Sea And Cake), to a cast of dozens contributing congas, tablas, choirs, horns, winds and strings. Hell may have just frozen over, because these sessions were partly engineered by the notoriously anti-lushness Steve Albini. It turns out to be a wise choice. In any other recording situation, the bombastic extravagance could easily collapse under its own weight. Without unnecessary production effects cluttering the recording, these songs sparkle rather than sag. While composers like Brian Wilson, Jim Webb, Laura Nyro, Harry Nilsson, Van Dyke Parks and even George Harrison provide some precedent, Fed is no mere genre period exercise. Muscular chord changes and daring twists of keys keep you on edge for every tune, establishing Haye's original, slightly off-kilter style. The opening number "Whose Blues" has at least three surprising turns, going from a lonesome, bluesy guitar to a hard-hitting R&B horn section, a downbeat bridge and chorus Lennon would be proud of, and a soaring orchestral false-ending, interrupted by rapping and eventually wailing. It's a mighty satisfying, total knockout first track. "Greyhound Bus Station" is easily the catchiest song, and not surprisingly the most straightforwardly melodic. From sublime Bacharach-type ballads to pop gems and symphonic barnstormers, there's simply too much going on in this album to give a complete description. Suffice it to say it deserves far better distribution and promotion than the Japanese-based After Hours label can give it. This album is far too great to be merely talked about. It belongs in the stocking of every lover of cleverly composed, meticulously arranged, beautiful sung music.
