Fast 'n' Bulbous Reviews: Quick Impressions 2004 Archive
Bark Psychosis, ///Codename: Dustsucker (Fire) Formed in 1986 as a Napalm Death cover band, Bark Psychosis made huge creative leaps with a series of EPs, updating their influences to Joy Division, Swans, and contemporary Talk Talk. By the time keyboardist Daniel Gish from Disco Inferno joined and they released the improvisational Scum EP in 1992, they were uncategorizable. That is, until Simon Reynolds made up the post-rock label for them and like-minded but not sounding Disco Inferno, ‘O’Rang, Seefeel and others. Then after their sole album, 1994’s Hex, they broke up. Graham Sutton went on to immerse himself in drum ‘n’ bass with Boymerang. Perhaps reaching a creative cul-de-sac, he exhumed Bark Psychosis with mostly different personnel, including, significantly, Talk Talk/‘O’Rang’s Lee Harris on drums and percussion. Five years in the making, ///Codename: Dustsucker shares Hex’s lush atmospherics and vocals, but is rather a lateral move than progression. Not that it sounds dated. Bark Psychosis remains inimitable due mainly to its abstraction. There is little structure to make blueprints from, no hooks to cop or obvious melodies to crib. Propelled by compelling, vaguely worldbeat percussion, ambient sounds, vocals and occasional samples drifting in an out like a dream, these tunes incorporate a panoply of sounds. Will-o-wisp synths, a melodica, vibraphone, sindhi tamboura, bowed guitar, piano, E-mu and “found” drums and trumpet are painstakingly woven together with elegant transitions. Around the middle of the album, there is a moment of focused clarity in “Dr Innocuous / Ketamoid,” as Sutton sings, “Did you ever hear the one / About that bird-girl?” It’s okay that most of the story is conveyed wordlessly. Harris’ silvery hi-hats and some sort of woodwind imitating bird sounds are sublime and even moving. “Shapeshifting” features lovely vocals by Rachel Dreyer, leaving you unprepared for the riveting, squalling guitar feedback that’ll slap you out of dreamstate to remain cognizant for the album’s conclusion. ///Codename: Dustsucker won’t meet all preconceived expectations of old fans or win huge masses of new ones. It’ll simply settle into its place in history as another unique, beautiful piece of art rock.
Beastie Boys, To The 5 Boroughs (Capitol) When Licensed To Ill was released in 1986, nobody would have guessed The Beastie Boys would still be rapping nearly twenty years later when they’re pushing 40. But such is the ubiquity of the culture the B. Boys didn’t merely borrow from, but helped create, that few really blink an eye that they’re still doing it. What does give pause is that they’re still good. 1999’s Hello Nasty was stiff and disappointing, lacking both wit and interesting beats. As they’ve grown up, discovered feminism and Buddhism, it seems like they’d have outgrown their genre. But they’re just as retarded as ever. While they do offer some socially conscious messages, particularly in “It Takes Time To Build” and “An Open Letter to NYC,” the raps also include just as many jokes as on the undisputed 1989 classic Paul’s Boutique. While there are plenty awkward rhymes, they actually enhance the freeflowing sense of fun, augmented by some pretty amazing beats, many of which rival their best work. Cranking To The 5 Boroughs on my backpack speakers while biking down the lakefront, people only needed to hear a few seconds as I zipped by before cheering in recognition and joy. Against all odds, The Beastie Boys are back in form.
The Bees, Free The Bees (Virgin) Those dismissive of so-called nostalgia bands should be reminded that The Beatles and the Rolling Stones started their careers as 50s blues/soul cover bands. 40 years later, why should the kids miss out on the fun of reinterpreting old music? They shouldn’t and they don’t. There’s always the danger of being too reverential, resulting in stale copycat music barely worthy of corner pubs and street fairs. Young bands like The Coral and The Bees, however, avoid that pitfall by injecting just enough weirdness and variety to keep things sounding off-kilter. Free The Bees is their second album, recorded at Abbey Road studios. You can practically feel the warm glow of the vintage vacuum tubes as you excavate a long-long jukebox full of unheard songs by The Animals, The Who, Small Faces, The Byrds, and for that matter, The Birds. Like The Coral’s first album, every tune sports a different set of influences. “The Russian,” for example, is an incredibly infectious, funky instrumental with James Brown-like “Mother Popcorn” drumming, Booker T. & The MGs organ and Upsetters swing. Then they throw in an extra surprise, as it slows down into a chilled, noirish groove, with the Hammond simmering like a Doors track, Slavic strings and horns throwing in a crescendo for good measure. Despite the cacophony of styles, the songwriting is tightly focused. Which brings up the creative tension between songcraft and originality. The Beta Band, who share some common influences with these Isle Of Wight hippie kids, might have an edge in originality, but The Bees, for the moment, top them in rewarding, enjoyable songs. That’s enough for me to give them a chance and see where they go next.
Beta Band, Heroes To Zeros (Astralwerks) After the brilliant promise of their three EPs, Beta Band floundered a bit with a sucky debut full-length and an improved followup that nevertheless stank of jam-band patchouli. On first listen Heroes to Zeroes seems to fulfill the promise of the Beta’s interesting, stimulating live shows. “Space” reminds me of musty, early 70s prog updated with shiny electronica textures and junk percussion. “Lion Thief” is the first real standout, a spare, spacy number that builds tension rather than bores. Their vocals sound more and more like Super Furry Animals, particularly with the similar melodic structures on the gently pretty “Wonderful.” “Out-Side” is another stunner, a noisy rocker loaded with samples and vocal overdubs. Some of the tunes are somewhat familiar, reminding me of melodic themes from past Beta Band songs.
Black Dice, Creature Comforts (Fat Cat/DFA) Black Dice are a special kind of experimental noise band. Namely, something you can actually listen to. True to its genre name, most of the stuff is pure wankery -- self-indulgent knob twiddling and object whacking. It’s a fine line, but Black Dice manages to offer up sounds that stimulate the imagination while still refraining from actual songwriting. While the band offered up a fearsome noise in their 2002 full-length Beaches And Canyons, they had already started including electronic sounds into their palate. “Creatures,” with its electronic chirps and beeps, is almost cute, suggesting frolicking nocturnal critters. Just don’t put your hands through the bars. “Treetops” suggests the tropicalia of Brazil’s Os Mutantes, with Fred Frith on guitar, high on poppers. “Skeleton” recalls that 15 minute trip across the hall to the bathroom when you’ve got the spins, but, ur, lots more enjoyable. The rest is an indescribable chaos, with glimpses of Faust and Butthole Surfers, all laced with a particular brand of whimsy that, without lyrics, lends this band a real likeable persona. Use this to clear the party of jocks when it’s time to bring out the limited supply of shrooms.
Blonde Redhead, Misery is a Butterfly (4AD) I’ve never seen the appeal of this band. They took an obvious chunk of Sonic Youth’s sound and made it less accessible and less interesting. Live they were boring as hell. Apparently they’ve gone through some hardships that have added to their resolve to matter, and are at least attempting to sound more appealing. They’ve introduced some pretty elements, while still hanging on to somewhat fractured, tuneless structures. A little Deerhoof, Haco and Kahimi Karie influences have creeped in, which is an improvement. It’s normally something I’d like, but just can’t get excited about Kazu Makino’s occasionally grating voice and unintelligible lyrics. They’ve got a long way before they’ll deserve comparisons to the groundbreaking elegance of labelmates This Mortal Coil.
The Blueskins, Word Of Mouth (Domino UK) Rehashing 70s blues rock is a tricky proposition. Much too often, attempts to tackle this moldy genre fall flat as too stodgy and dodgy (Kings Of Leon we’re lookin’ at you). Heck, most of the 70s bands failed. So it’s hard to resist rolling the eyes and ignoring the debut by The Blueskins. While Word Of Mouth is not great enough to say that would be a grave mistake, it does manage to impress with sheer force of will, bluster and some good tunes. The key is infusing the hooky songs with some punk energy – “Change My Mind” and “Girl” meld Led Zeppelin and early Pixies with amphetamine-addled Hillbilly drama, while “Stupid Ones” is good thrashy R&B with harmonies. Unfortunately the album is top heavy in the first four cuts. Subsequent melodies disappear into a gray blur, making it harder to differentiate The Blueskins from the masses of garage-rock bands churning out undistinguished product. As a first effort it’s not bad, establishing them as a guaranteed hoot live, with a few distinctive singles that promise more good things to come.
Blue States, The Soundings (Memphis Industries UK) Blue States is a classic example of a quality UK band slipping under the radar in the U.S. After releasing a downtempo, slightly derivative ambient album in 2000 (the cynically titled Nothing Changes Under The Sun), they upped the ante with 2002’s Man Mountain, a wonderful blend of electronica and 60s pop that should have at least matched Air’s popularity. While anyone would have expected them to perfect their formula for the follow-up, Blue States instead morphed into a real rock band. On The Soundings, multi-instrumentalist Andy Dragazis focused on writing guitar-driven tunes, and Chris Carr took up guitar and vocal duties. The results at first sound like early 80s Comsat Angels and Chameleons with a tinge of late 80s psychedelia like Spacemen 3. But when the songs sink in its apparent that Blue States have a real knack for this, and their inspirations are much more varied, from the delicate abstraction of Talk Talk and Bark Psychosis, shoegazers Ride and Catherine Wheel to the pop grandeur of Elbow. “Across the Wire," the lead track that triggered the Comsat Angels comparison, should really please the Interpol fans as the killer single Antics lacks. The instrumental “One Night In Tulane” could be an outtake from The Cure’s Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me, except nothing from that album really measures up to the exquisite beauty of the string arrangements. while “The Last Blast” is captivating, pillowy psychedelia. The Soundings is deceptively unassuming, but before you know it you’ve played it more than anything else this year.
Califone, Heron King Blues (Thrill Jockey) Lead by Red Red Meat's Tim Rutili, Califone rose from the former band's rubble like a tattered, limping golem -- something that might have potential for supernatural greatness, but appeared pathetically fragile. The band's unique sound was established early on, floaty, hallucinatory Americana with tentative percussion and various stringed instruments idly plucked and strummed as if they had no particular place to go. Rutili may have had a vision, but it was going to take a long time to get there, hence the barely more than halfbaked feel of the albums. After five years, Rutili has finally realized at least one of his visions, with the help of recurring dreams of a half-man half-bird character, mystically linked to an actual legend. Whether this is for real or not, Califone actually have some substance to their mystery with an actual story to tell. The other significant change is that the band has found a groove. Inspired by Strictly Personal/Mirror Man era Captain Beefheart, there's rhythm, movement, and a satisfying, rumbling low-end. "2 Sisters Drunk On Each Other" even incorporates some funk. Califone will never stoop to enunciated vocals or memorable melodies, but the music does achieve an attractive sophistication like a new sort of earthy psychedelia, a rustic version of David Bryne & Brian Eno's dense Afro-Voodoo experiments in My Life In The Bush of Ghosts. A juxtaposition of unconscious imagination and ancient myth, this highly original music measures up to the conceptual promise as something speical.
!!!, Louden Up Now (Touch and Go/Warp) This band won’t settle any arguments any time soon between those who hate the post-punk disco based on the early 80s New York scene, and those who just enjoy it. !!! (pronounced with any thrice-repeated consonant or percussive sound you choose) have disturbing similarities with hippie jam bands, except punkier and funkier. Louden Up Now isn’t a great departure from their first album, but it does incorporate some of the cooler tricksy sounds developed in their companion band Out Hud. Ironically, what makes the album successful is also what holds it back from being truly awesome – they don’t attempt to write real tunes. While The Rapture tried to mix things up and write good songs, they were stuck with songs that weren’t that great, and songs that weren’t all that danceable. !!! knows what they’re good at, and that’s some solid, dubby, spacey grooves, no more, no less.
Bobby Conn & The Glass Gypsies, The Homeland (Thrill Jockey) Bobby Conn is such a hopeless geek. Alternately declaring himself the antichrist, a Jesus Christ superczar, conman, Church of the Subgenius-style holy trickster, and now a 33rd degree, tenth generation Illuminati, the only thing preventing his tongue-in-cheek megalomania fantasies from being overbearing is how he throws himself into these roles with such uninhibited gusto, prancing about at shows like a coked-up leprechaun, sometimes wearing little more than a glittery thong and a cape. Peel away the layers of bombast, irony, camp and conspiracy theories, Conn seems to be genuinely passionate and pissed off, like a cartoonish Matt Johnson (The The). The message of "We Come In Peace" is relatively pointed and straightforward, criticizing our country's Crusades-like foreign policy, while "Relax" declares "I didn’t need to get elected, when I was born I was selected/To lead you to our destiny, The Prince Of Lies claims victory." As the Glass Gypsies, the band slips into more gaudy costumes, playing a mix of glam, disco, funk and hairmetal, always with subversive post-rock elements, courtesy of John McEntire. Other stylistic departures, like the early Tubeway Army/Ultravox synth-rock of "We're Taking Over The World" and "Relax" is pure Prince. The album is diverse to a fault, lacking a cohesiveness that is entertaining, but taints one's memory with the musty smell of an old Tubes record or a thirty year-old pleather jumpsuit.
The Cribs (Wichita UK) It’s hard to believe, but it seems The Strokes really did have a huge impact in the UK. It wasn’t just the music weeklies crowing their praises – kids were packing the shows to capacity, listening and learning. It’s ironic, given how The Strokes were often derided as musical simpletons. But simple tunes often make the best ones. Just ask Check Berry, or Lou Reed. Now there’s a large crop of young bands, all smart enough not to sound merely like Strokes acolytes, but incorporating their own twist. Wakefield’s The Cribs have that familiar Velvets guitar tone, with hints of Feelies and Television. But they’ve also incorporated early Pavement. Note the shambling, nearly classic-sounding pop hooks in “You Were Always The One” and “The Light Went Out.” Just these two tunes are good enough to put them on the underground map, for now. But there are another dozen bands waiting in the sidelines (including Bloc Party, The Paddingtons, The Others, Thee Unstrung) eager to surpass them. Unfortunately the band has handicapped themselves with a needlessly lo-fi sound (recorded at Toerag Studios, made famous by The White Stripes), The songs up through “Learning How To Fight” are solid and catchy enough. But eventually the lack of dynamics and variety start to get wearing, Then things get really ugly with “Tri’Elle” and “Third Outing.” Let’s hope they don’t follow The Fall’s path and put out every single fart they record. A little self-editing and more imaginative production, and this band could emerge the shakedown amongst the deluge of similar bands smelling like roses.
Delays, Faded Seaside Glamour (Rough Trade UK) Despite the numerous accolades as a major new British talent, Southhampton’s Delays are nothing special. Their initial singles “Nearer To Heaven,” “Long Time Coming” and “Hey Girl” all display the requisite catchy hooks and harmonies to help them challenge Coldplay for ubiquity on the airwaves. With tastfully jangly guitars, Delays absorb bits and pieces from the likes of The Church, The La’s, Stone Roses and Suede (with Greg Gilbert styling his vocals after Bret Anderson’s). The results sound professionally crafted by a Britpop focus group rather than inspired passion. Meaning, Faded Seaside Glamour is dull and ordinary to the point of dreariness. The album’s funcrushing conservatism lightens up slightly on “Stay Where You Are,” with just enough electronic tweaking to suggest they are to Radiohead what INXS and The Fixx were to Orchestral Manoevres in the Dark. Too bad the tune isn’t that good. The rest of the songs have a pleasant enough sound, but are basically filler that would be hard pressed to qualify as Church B-sides. On the other hand, if you think the Thrills and Keane are a blast, then this just might be more excitement than you can handle.
Dogs Die In Hot Cars, Please Describe Yourself (V2) It’s doubtful that Scotland’s Dogs Die In Hot Cars will achieve the success of Franz Ferdinand. In addition to the absolutely terrible band name, their sound is just way too dorky. Take the first cut, “Godhopping.” It’s not a bad tune, but it sounds like an unholy union of ELO, Men At Work, XTC and Dexy’s Midnight Runners. “Lounger” evokes Big Country and a nineties band so bad I dare not speak its name. The herky-jerky ska-lite single “I Love You Cause I Have To,” however, dishes out the pleasure relatively free of aerosol cheese product. “Celebrity Sanctum” starts out as a laugh about celebrity crushes, but the clever arrangements and genuinely moving choruses transcend the song into something much more wistful, and the best song on the album. By “Paul Newman’s Eyes,” the band has managed to establish a somewhat consistent aural identity, thanks partially to the production duo Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley (China Crisis, Aztec Camera and Haircut 100). Even a seemingly lesser tune like “Pastimes And Lifestyles” proves to be a grower, with surprisingly sophisticated melodies and lyrics, like a more rocking version of the brainy Housemartins. While Please Describe Yourself doesn’t impress all the way through, it’s enough to bode well for the future of a bright new talent.
The Eternals, Rawar Style (Aesthetics) Ever since his previous band Trenchmouth shook things up with their last and most adventurous release, 1996’s The Broadcasting System, bandleader Damon Locks has demonstrated an impressively restless creative spirit. Where he easily could have taken his band into Rage Against The Machine-level stadium popularity, he chose to follow his muse. An uninhibited artist unconcerned with success can be a prickly proposition, and Locks and Wayne Montana’s current project The Eternals is no exception. Their first shows in the late nineties revealed an ambition to stake out new musical territory using old-school breakbeats, dub and electronics. The starkness and lack of tunefulness was hard to wrap your head around at times, but as they’ve honed their craft, the picture is getting clearer at what The Eternals are getting at. Rawar Style is impressive, enjoyable, and impossible to pigeonhole – a nightmare for marketers and beancounters, but a coup for Locks, Montana and various drummers, including Tortoise’s John Herndon.
Fennesz, Venice (Touch) The Viennese impresario’s last album Endless Summer was like a champagne bath in an inflatable kiddie pool -- wistful childhood dreams and arty, decadent adult indulgence. Rather than a departure from abstraction to song form, I don’t hear a big difference in Venice. At least not until “Transit,” which features ex-Japan vocalist David Sylvian. It’s as pleasantly startling and refreshing as when Schneider TM first started crooned a Smiths cover. “The Stone of Impermanence” begins with more gritty sounds that harken back to Plus 48 Degrees North. The pleasures of Venice may not be obvious enough to make it onto a movie soundtrack like Lost In Translation, but patience reveals more rewarding listening than anything new from his early role model, Kevin Shields.
The Futureheads (679 Recordings UK) The Futureheads’ name may be inspired by a ten year-old Flaming Lips album, but their music is purely herky-jerky new wave. This schtick has been rehashed off and on for a couple decades now, so it takes deft touch to avoid total cliché-meltdown. They were wise to choose the underrated first three XTC albums as a template, as that sound has not yet been beaten into the ground, and ’77-’79 model XTC were more varied and crafty than normally given credit for. There’s plenty other recognizable elements of course. Most distressingly is “Robot,” which is carbon-copy Jam, a band that has been plagiarized to death. Great tune though. The band manages to step outside its punky comfort zone with “Alms,” which begins with a quirky a capella vocal and guitar tone that recalls more recent Dismemberment Plan, and “Danger Of The Water,” a mostly vocal doo-wop song. “First Day” and “A To B” are so incessantly catchy it almost feel like you’re being bulldozed by hooks. The frenetic pace slows a couple times for much-needed breathers, and overall exudes a sense of lighthearted fun. Not a single track can be faulted for lacking in energy, catchiness or ideas. Yet it’s not a faultless album, as it leaves you craving for a couple more challenging tunes to chew on.
Gomez, Split The Difference (Virgin) Never a fan of the po-faced rootsy conservatism of their first two albums, I thought In Our Gun was underrated. On Split The Difference, Gomez backs away from the experimentalism of their last album, leaving the likes of Radiohead to satisfy listener’s taste for adventure. While they’re back to a traditional rock sound, they still sound pretty invigorated , with the arrangements more lively than their early stuff, and not so overtly indebted to tired classic rock and brit pop. Sometimes they sound like Pearl Jam, but somehow more enjoyable, and even rocks harder at times, like in “Where Ya Going.” “Sweet Virginia” is very moody and lush, a new facet to their sound. “Chicken Out” sounds like a half-done outtake, but with a catchy little chorus. It sticks out like a sore thumb, wish they’d finished it. It’s like the last four songs revert back to the old (or young) crappy Gomez. A good album that would have been excellent had it not petered out.
Ed Harcourt, Strangers (Heavenly UK)Ed Harcourt is bursting with songs and love. He supposedly had written over 300 songs before his first album, 2001’s Here Be Monsters was released. With Strangers being only his third full length, it must be a maddening process picking which songs will be immortalized on album and which will die in obscurity. As a singer-songwriter, Harcourt’s destiny is not to define a new musical genre, but to release dozens of albums full of consistently great songs, perhaps have a fluke hit or win a Grammy for his contribution to a hit romantic comedy and grow old as a cherished musical treasure. He won’t be idolized like tragic heroes Jeff Buckley or Elliott Smith, but he’s likely to produce more great music than the two of them put together. For now, Ed’s in love, and at 26 (at the time he wrote them), he’s still young enough to convey the giddiness of new love untainted by the jaded pessimism of older souls. Though oddly characterized as a Tom Waits acolyte, Harcourt’s best songs are usually the happy, lighthearted pop songs. While he’s proven to have the depth of character and soul to pull off doom and gloom worthy of Nick Cave, this time around, the downhearted tunes don’t ring as true. “The Storm Is Coming” could be interpreted as predicting doom, but it sounds like he’s happy to meet the challenge, featuring the most aggressive guitars that have ever graced a Harcourt album. “Born in the 70s” is a great tune with funny lines like “My parents named me Ed / I tried my hardest to smile,” managing to delve into nostalgia without being cloying. “Strangers” is another sunny jaunt, stripped down to simple hand percussion, tambourine and even a kazoo. “Something To Live For” features delicate tinkling bells and a soft organ, its arrangement actually does resemble, ironically, some of Tom Waits’ softer tunes. “Music Box” is an earnest attempt at a wartime tale. Recorded in the heart of a Swedish forest, Strangers generally features richer production than the minimalist From Every Sphere, lending resonance to the heavy violin-driven “Let Love Not Weigh Me Down” and the surprisingly radio-ready slickness of “Loneliness,” which sounds similar to Hawksley Workman’s more successful attempts at a commercial sound. Even on the slighter songs, Harcourts heart-on-sleeve lyrics and wonderfully rich voice are always beguiling. This winning, highly personal album makes Harcourt’s success rate three for three. A great start to his forty album oeuvre.
The Go! Team * Thunder, Lightning, Strike (Memphis Industries)I’m a little mystified about who The Go! Team are, where they came from, and how there was such a buzz before their debut even came out. Thunder, Lightning, Strike deserves all praise, at least as a great party album. Their music is difficult to describe without the use of sock puppets and words like “bonkers.” Like The Avalanches, they cram a dense array of samples together to create a raucous, exhilarating party atmosphere. The Go! Team also play instruments and sing. To their credit, it’s not easy to discern where the samples end and the playing begins, so tightly they’re woven together. The fabulously catchy “Ladyflash” sounds like a woozy Cornershop track with girl-group vocals that may be sampled or sung. I think there’s two live drummers playing on it. “Huddle Formation” features a melody reminiscent of New Order with children’s playground chants over the top. Or perhaps they’re cheerleaders cranked on diet pills and Dr. Pepper. “Bottle Rocket” has a rollicking soul jam with some Sugar Hill style rapping. “Junior Kickstart,” by god sounds like Sonic Youth! Oh, if they did the horny-hornrific soundtrack to a 70s Blaxtploitation film. While it may seem totally incoherent, the album is tied together nicely by a consistent rhythm section and overall sound. And the fun is over at 30 minutes before it has a chance to get overwhelming or wear out its welcome. It’s hard to say how much blood, sweat and tears went into it, but it sounds like a tossed-off classic.
PJ Harvey, Uh Hu Her (Island)
I’m less than objective regarding Polly. Before I even heard her music, I felt a connection with this girl the same age as me, who grew up relatively isolated (her in Yeovil near Stonehenge, me in Iowa near, um, the House on the Rock), listening to Captain Beefheart. When four of her seven albums are contenders for her best, it’s time to start wondering if she’s going to qualify for rock god status up there with Dylan, Beatles and Stones, or if she’s going to totally take a dive and discover Jehova or Scientology. Thankfully, our girl’s psyche seems solid. It doesn’t match her best work in ambition, but her supreme confidence can be felt in the understated performances and production. Actually there’s hardly much production at all, it’s her by her lonesome, just like on 4 Track Demos. Rather than showing off with complicated arrangements, the songs are stark and stripped down, with very simple chords. They almost seem too short and simple, but I think time and repeated listening will reveal more masterful nuance, much like the old blues geezers she grew up listening to.
Hope Of The States, The Lost Riots (Sony UK)
Word has it that Chichester’s Hope Of The States is bringing post-rock to the masses. This wouldn’t be the first time (remember Kid A?), but nevertheless the imagination can conjure some enticing possibilities (a poppier Disco Inferno, more rockin Bark Psychosis?). Reality proves not quite so exciting however. The instrumental “The Black Amnesias” starts out promisingly enough, reducing the Dirty Three, Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Mogwai to their most basic elements. But the next few tunes are nothing but ordinary rock with modest symphonic pretensions. “The Red The White The Black The Blue” injects a spike of energy with driving chords and snarled lyrics. Unfortunately Sam Herlihy’s weak, reedy vocals become far too grating as a singular melody is repeated too many times, spoiling the song. In a world of perfect pitch and little soul, weak vocalists can be a charming asset, if they know how to work within their limits. Herlihy needs to work on that. “Black Dollar Bills,” clocking in at 7:08, is The Lost Riots’ grandest sounding moment. However, with its strings and requisite crescendo, the song doesn’t really add much to what Mercury Rev already accomplished years ago. With that dour peak, the album cools off slowly with the rousing march of “George Washington” and the string-laden “Me Ves Y Sufras,” which starts out delicately ethereal, and becomes increasingly ragged and jarring. Thereafter, the album settles into more rote, plodding orchestral pop that frankly gets a little boring. It’s a pity that guitarist Jimmi Lawrence killed himself just after recording was finished. From the recent hyperbole you’d think Hope of the States had created their Closer, but it turns out they have a lot of work to do before they reach that league. Unless they recruit someone with some truly invigorating musical ideas, these romantics are truly doomed.
Interpol, Antics (Matador)
At first it seems surprising that Interpol’s good but not earth shattering 2002 album, Turn On The Bright Lights would inspire such rapid fandom. What would motivate fans to be so forgiving as to step around the numerous lyrical cowflops? That would be excellent taste and a genius for distilling the best parts of shimmering, psychedelic post-punk bands like Joy Division, Comsat Angels, The Sound, Echo & the Bunnymen and The Chameleons into a new, sexy package. In retrospect their ascendancy to minor alternative stardom is easy to understand. Look at The Doors. Did Jim Morrison actually have anything to say within his lunatic alcohol and peyote-fueled ravings about being the lizard king? Lack of clarity in bad lyrics are often misinterpreted as being mysterious and deep. It didn’t matter to most, it’s just rock ‘n’ roll, lighten up! Indeed, Interpol’s songs are light on meaning, but ingenious at implying emotion and depth with their glossy black finish. Antics maintains the blueprint with minor tweakings. The arrangements are lighter on dark, atmospheric synths and heavier on tight interplay between bass, guitar and percussion. Homages to The Smiths and Echo & the Bunnymen are stripped away, revealing a focused sound that is distinctly Interpol’s. Every song features many tasty guitar lines, melodies and supple bass. For a band that probably isn’t very prolific (I doubt they picked the best ten songs out of thirty), it’s unusual to end the album with particularly strong songs such as “C’mere,” “Length of Love” and “A Time To Be So Small.” The only other complaint is Interpol’s sound is now too singular, lacking in variety. A little more experimentation in the future and more thought into the lyrics, and Interpol could conceivably be a truly great band.
Isis, Panopticon (Ipecac)
When many people think of metal, the conservative, insular genre comes to mind where Metallica’s aborption of punk was the last innovation. Those who have paid attention in the last 15 years will know that there’s always at least a handful of metalheads who keep an enterprising eye on developments in indie rock, post rock and ambient electronica. Since 1999, Boston’s Isis have been developing a style that began with the spareness of the Melvins, the plate techtonic rumblings of Earth, and the electronic-dub excursions of Godflesh and Techno Animal, and more recently, the instrumental expressiveness of Slint and Mogwai. Their third full-length, Panopticon, refines the quiet-loud dynamics explored on 2001’s Celestial and 2002’s Oceanic. While the biggest difference is that the quiet parts are surprisingly delicate and subtle and Aaron Turner’s trademark hoarse bellow is toned down slightly and embedded further within the music, it’s the finer details that make a difference. It may be the overwhelming sensations caused by the music’s density that leaves listeners at a loss for words to describe it in detail, leaving them babbling about spiritual and cosmic experiences. Or maybe that’s Isis fans’ affinity for a certain herb. Either way, the monolithic sheets of sound do compel one to simply surrender themselves and be carried by the ebbs and flows. Digging into the music and sifting through details may or may not reveal clues as to its connection with the title, a mind-bending prison design by British philosopher Jeremy Bentham, where the prisoner is always under surveillance (before video cameras). Its implications of power and control were covered exhaustively by French poststructuralist Michel Foucault in 1975’s Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison (a book, not an album). It’s easy to see where Isis is going with this in the era of The Patriot Act. However, just like the panopticon would need to be experienced to be truly understood, this music needs to be heard to feel the crush of paranoia. The gloominess is certainly there, but most notable are the nearly joyous movements that suggest the feeling of release after escape. Several tracks compete for the album’s highpoint, with the hard hitting “Backlit,” the mindbending distortion of “In Fiction,” and “Altered Course,” which gets the nod for the sublime bass lines from Tool’s Justin Chancellor, and its clever inversion of getting the big-bang crescendo out of the way in the first quarter, drifting on hypnotic afterburn that I wouldn’t mind lasting the rest of the night.
The Killers, Hot Fuss (Lizard King)
It’s fitting that this Las Vegas band’s debut was released first in the UK. Its main musical touchstones are all British, from Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me era Cure on “Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine” to Pulp, Blur and early 80s synth pop. Along with fellow American-Anglophilics The Faint and Stellastarr*, the British rock revival is nearly as pervasive in the States. Come to think of it, that’s not much different than all the sixties American garage bands inspired by the Beatles, Stones and Kinks. Whether The Killers will be merely another Flamin Groovies depends more on chance than the quality of their music, which is more good than inspired. Already known for flashy live shows and a charismatic leader in Brandon Flowers, The Killers seem destined for radio, with catchy ditties like “Mr. Brightside” and the moderately sweeping “All These Things That I’ve Done” with a rousing gospel chorus testifying, “I’ve got soul/But I’m not a soldier.” So far so good. But how’s this for a sharp stab in the foot – “Indie Rock And Roll” with its chorus, “It’s indie rock ‘n’ roll for me!” sung with the complete and utter pseudo-operatic conviction of a Freddy Mercury or Justin Hawkins. Coming from a band that was obviously born ready to drop its pants and whore itself out to MTV, Clearchannel and Vegas showrooms if need be, this is either knowingly delicious irony, or incredibly retarded. Best to just nod and smile, ignore the last few duds, enjoy the singles and hope for the best.
Sondre Lerche, Two Way Monologue (Astralwerks)
This Norwegian waifboy caused quite a stir with his first album, which I don’t quite understand, as the songs are pretty . . . slight, and the music relatively bland compared to superior work from countryman singer-songwriter Even Johansen. This album is fulfilling his promise though – the arrangements are more interesting, he varies his vocal stylings a little more. A few cuts might actually stick to my memory. He kinda sounds like Donovan, which isn’t entirely a band thing.
The Libertines (Rough Trade/Sanctuary)
When The Libertines’ Up The Bracket was released in the UK in 2002, it was well liked for its youthful punk energy and similarities to The Jam and The Clash (it was produced by Mick Jones). Another good album that went practically unheard in the U.S., no biggie. In 2004, it’s an entirely different story – one that’s plastered all over the UK tabloids. Given that the story has nothing to do with their music, it’s not worth getting into. But oddly, suddenly The Libertines are being hailed one of the greatest bands ever. Huh? Their sophomore self-titled release certainly doesn’t measure up to that hype. It’s understandable why the standout single “Don’t Look Back Into The Sun” wasn’t included – its tightly focused blast of energy would make the rest of the album sound all that much more limp and ineffective in comparison. These songs sound like they were written in the studio. Many don’t sound like they were written at all – where guitars slashed on Up The Bracket, they mostly noodle here. Songs like “Don’t Be Shy,” “Music When The Lights Go Out” are absolutely terrible. “The Man Who Would Be King” starts out tentatively but actually redeems itself by settling into a gauzy, haunting groove that could be a Sandinista! cut, complete with spontaneous hyaena-like howls and end-of-song banter. The lyrics sound tossed off, but ironically, they manage to pack more resonance than on the debut album. This is ultimately what makes The Libertines worth giving another listen. The Libertines really are a great band. They put on an excellent live show and they seem to stumble upon kernels of wit and wisdom like drunken savants, not unlike The Replacements used to. Despite the fact that only the aforementioned song, “What Became Of The Likely Lads” and possibly “Can’t Stand Me Now” come close to measuring up to their previous work, there are plenty of other isolated moments scattered throughout the album. Forget expectations, and this unfocused, shambling mess of an album can be enjoyed for what it is in the right context. Maybe they’ll get it right next time, if they make it that far.
Arto Lindsay * Salt (Righteous Babe)
Early in Arto Lindsay’s career, he was known for his impatience with convention and tradition, his spastic guitar-playing in the no-wave band DNA being the epitome of unpredictability. His style morphed quickly, and remained ever-changing and dissonant throughout his stints with the Lounge Lizards and Ambitious Lovers. Which is surprising how single minded he’s been for an amazing six album stretch in studying a particular form, albeit in a somewhat fractured, deconstructed form. He loves his bossa nova, and lovingly sprinkles in a touch of skronk and electronica. But experimentalism takes a back seat now to aesthetic beauty, with consistently amazing results. On the surface, Salt might sound like he’s repeating himself, but dig deeper and the variety and evolution is there, but on a subtle level. As the cover art suggests, he continues to deal with earthy sensuality, this time incorporating inspiration from Carnaval, which he participated in. He doesn’t collaborate with as many people this time, but one stand-out is “Into Shade,” written with Brazil’s Lucas Santtana. It’s one of his plushest, and the strings, amazingly, were arranged by Living Colour’s Vernon Reid.
The Magnetic Fields, i (Nonesuch)
I loved 69 Love Songs. Perhaps I OD’d on the last triple set, because I can’t handle their sound right now, from their same-old synth pop to Merritt’s deadpan voice. Makes me think of Handsome Family, whom I’m also sick of at the moment. I get the urge to hit skip on every song. And tying together songs by starting them with “i” is just dumb. Back to this another time.
Syd Matters, A Whisper And A Sigh (3rd Side Fr/V2)
With the great but criminally underheard Rob and Benjamin Biolay, France is likely harboring many
more musical talents. The debut of Syd Matters affirms this. Those who miss the Eels before Mr. E. tried to become a tough rocker and Grandaddy before they became insipid, A Whisper And A Sigh should satisfy those cravings. This is ornate American-style psychedelia with generous dollops of keyboards, xylophones and the sort of whimsical electronic effects that could accompany a soundtrack to a Tim Burton production of Alice In Wonderland (*hint hint, Mr. Burton*). “Bones” and “End And Start Again” are particularly enchanting meetings of surreal imagery and magical sounds. Elsewhere, extended instrumental passages lean too much towards soundtrack atmosphere rather than captivating songs with wider melodic range. But beautiful moments like the delicately haunting conclusion to “Morpheus” makes up for the occasional lapse in clarity. Is France under some sort of quarantine? Why don’t these artists come out and play? We’ll gladly kick the Francophobes out of office if they’ll come…
Mission Of Burma, ONoffOn (Matador)
Judging from the raving reports of last year’s reunion tour, (can’t believe I missed it), I was confident good things were to come. Mission Of Burma was such a powerful band that was fairly little known in their day, though aspects of their innovations were carried on via two notable acolytes, Husker Du and Sonic Youth. One of the first three CDs I ever bought (along with Joy Division’s Substance and Pixies' Come On Pigrim/Surfer Rosa), Rykodisc’s 1988 reissue of nearly their entire catalog was the first CD to break the 80 minute barrier. I remember reading a quote from Michael Stipe saying he was listening to nothing else. After being featured in one of the best chapters of Michael Azzerad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life, they’re finally getting the attention they deserve, 20 years after the fact. Filling in for tape manipulator Martin Swope’s vacancy is Shellac’s Bob Weston, who played with Peter Prescott in Volcano Suns throughout the 80s. I never thought this would happen, due to Roger Miller’s tinnitus (I didn’t think it was reversible). However he’s managing to pull it off, this album is as loud and savage as early MoB, a gift from post-punk heaven. Awash in fiery guitars, “The Setup” sounds like their followup to VS. should -- more challenging post-punk arrangement, with just a tad more structure and hooks. “Max Ernst’s Dream” refers to the B-side of their very first single; “Dirt” is a re-recording of a demo previous released on Peking Spring, intended for their uncompleted third album. It’s a treat to hear it in full splendor, although it would have been nice to hear others, like “Dumbells,” “Go Fun Burn Man,” “Peking Spring” and “This Is Not A Photograph.” It’s hard to say how this album will age next to other 2004 releases, but at the moment it sounds more contemporary than the decent efforts by Wire and Killing Joke. Cleansing like a spa treatment of sparks and sandpaper.
Modest Mouse, Good News For People Who Love Bad News (Epic)
The first tune, “World At Large” is an interesting surprise – sounds like someone’s been listening to My Bloody Valentine. “Float On” is messy and raucous with sloppy choruses and hoarse vocals that remind me of Stellastarr*. As the tunes crash and tumble by, I realize Good News has much more in common with 1997’s stylistic mishmash of Lonesome Crowded West than the sleek The Moon and Antarctica. The banjo-plucking in “Bukowski” reflects Isaac Brock’s recent dabblings in folky Americana with Holopaw. The horny “The Devil’s Paw” is practically a parody of Tom Waits and Nick Cave, and doesn’t quite work. It’s enjoyable enough, but might not have as much staying power as the previous album, with its lack of any truly great, memorable tunes.
The Open, The Silent Hours (Polydor UK)
Liverpudlians The Open also suffer from similar stylistic doldrums, with this band copping moves from Echo & The Bunnymen, The Verve, Doves and The Bends (which may just become a sub-genre in itself). Mixed by Cocteau Twin Simon Raymonde, The Silent Hours sounds sufficiently epic, but lacks the songwriting smarts. There are brief moments of unaffected beauty in songs like “Just Want To Live” and “Coming Down,” but they just can’t get it together. That is, until the last two tracks. Like a butterfly emerging from its crusty cocoon, The Open truly start to open up their sound and begin to transcend their influences on “Step Into The Light” and the climactic “Elevation.” Tack these two tunes along with the three Delays singles onto your Britrock MP3 folder and wait for the next album. I’ll place my bets with The Open maturing into a good band.
The Ordinary Boys, Over The Counter Culture (B-Unique UK)
“They’re mod as fuck, mate.” That was the reply from the pottymouthed girl in Manchester when I asked about Brighton’s Ordinary Boys. But not mod like the early Who, Small Faces or The Creation. More like a couple generations down the line between The Jam and Blur, with a few odd touches like Julian Cope’s Teardrop Explodes (especially on “Robots And Monkeys”). The band promises a fresh blast of energy with the giddy horn-powered rush of “Over The Counterculture” and a muscular cover of The Specials’ “Little Bitch,” enhanced with thick guitar riffs. Despite these strengths, the band doesn’t have a particularly unique voice, which makes the sentiments in “The List Goes On” hilariously ironic – “I've heard it all done before / a hundred years ago or more / Originality is so passé." One can begin to forgive that gaffe on the relative strength of the sophisticated pop of “Week In Week Out.” “Weekend Revolution” and “Maybe Someday” are nothing new musically, but enjoyable enough rockers with good lyrics about consumerism and office thugs. The band trips seriously over “Just A Song,” a wretched ballad with trite lyrics that suggest Morrissey at his banal worst. The album winds up with more mid-tempo songs that belie the band’s intentions to save British rock from the doldrums of commercialism. But on the strength of their singles, The Ordinary Boys certainly have the potential to be key players in making extraordinary British rock.
The Ponys, Laced With Romance (In The Red)
The Ponys are a Chicago band who’ve seemingly come out of nowhere. After some groovy singles, they’ve come out with a solid album that displays their strengths (cool mix of keyboard-heavy sixties garage updated with Pere Ubu-inspired post-punk) and weaknesses (less distinguished songwriting, somewhat off-putting yelpy vocals). This should bear pretty well under repeated listens, once you realize the singer is no worse than Richard Hell, and there’s more than one layer to their psychedelic tones. This bodes well for some great, sloppy rock’n’ roll energy.
Sketch Show, Loophole (Third Ear)
It would be easy to mistakenly believe the organic, folk-infused electronica-pop of the likes of Oval, Fennesz, B.Fleischmann and Four Tet were completely new. Japan’s Haruomi Hosono and Yukihiro Takahashi have something to say about that. As members of Yellow Magic Orchestra, they pioneered much of today’s music over 25 years ago. And Hosono has been at it since the 60s with psychedelic band Apryl Fool. Both have produced solo instrumental and soundtrack work throughout the 80s and 90s that could easily have been source material for today’s younger talents. In 2002 the duo formed Sketch Show and released their impossible-to-find debut, Audio Sponge with another former YMO mate, Ryuichi Sakamoto, contributing to one song. With Sakamoto and Keigo Oyamada (Cornelius) making live appearances, the band stole the show at the June 2003 Sonar electronica festival in Barcelona. Available in Japan since November, Loophole is an amazing display of glitch pyrotechnics and tightly polished songcraft, showing the kids how it’s done. Using sampled clicks and beeps in place of percussion, at first it sounds spare. The spare vocals, Flamenco-tinged acoustic guitar and overall sense of fragility belies the dense, rich detail which makes this album such an alluring, rewarding experience. The alien beauty of this music will most likely mystify and entrance these gentlemen’s grandchildren, as they have broken ground for a third generation.
Sonic Youth, Sonic Nurse (Geffen)
People talk about Sonic Youth being in a slump, but Murray Street wasn’t chopped liver. It equaled if not surpassed Washing Machine. Nurse is another notch upwards in their ascending arc. I was hoping they would rock out in a way they haven’t since Daydream Nation, but they’re not spring chickens anymore, so we’ll have to settle for the tidbits of restrained abandon. The revelation on this album is the groove and melodicism. The second track (the titles are all messed up on my copy) sounds like a Marvin Gaye rhythm track, with Thurston Moore’s vocals actually sounding pretty and melancholy. Kim Gordon is still doing her screechy riot-gramma yowl which can grate at times, but we love her just the same. Tracks three and five have some alluring chiming guitar tones, with the latter threatening to break loose at five minutes with some crazed solos, though they’re reigned in within twenty seconds. It’s nice to hear Lee Renaldo’s voice on track 8, on possibly the most raucous, noisy track. It was so good I played it twice (yeah I cheated). The album closes with an appropriately long build-up, with gentle picking and Thurston sounding all soft and pretty again (we can tell who wears the pants in his family), before the guitars take over. Right around four minutes they reach a peak and pause. While last album they emulated Telvision’s Marquee Moon, this one more recalls the crystalline sounds of Adventure. While the songs are shiny and fresh, it’s still comforting to hear their voices and signature instrumental styles. I couldn’t imagine hearing this group of people any other way.
Spektrum, Enter…The Spektrum (Playhouse UK)
The namedropping of everything cool in the early 80s that had a dance beat (New York avant-funk on the Ze label, Liquid Liquid, Konk), The Pop Group, Talking Heads, Slits, 23 Skidoo, etc. is sufficient to garner attention and controversy, but doesn’t come close to describing the music. Spektrum are both less and more than their antecedents. It’s unfair to expect a dance band to be able to shatter barriers like the aforementioned groups did over 25 years ago. To their credit, Spektrum evokes the eclecticism and audacious creativity that seemed to dry up around 1985, as far as experimental dance is concerned (forget the faceless four-four tedium of House). The closest comparison that can be made is fractured electronica of The Soft Pink Truth, but with more elastic rhythms, as if toonced up by Bootsy’s Rubber Band. What makes Spektrum far superior is Lola Olafisoye, who’s vocals sashay effortlessly between hip post-punk disco diva Grace Jones to piercing Poly Styrene screams. Spare and airy, this sounds great cranked up, like Prince’s “Kiss.”
Tangiers, Never Bring You Pleasure (Sonic Unyon)
Canadian rockers Tangiers released a promising debut last year, Hot New Spirits, filled with noisy dual-guitar 70s punk-influenced tunes. Already gone through a significant swap of members (losing the second guitar, acquiring a keyboardist and Guided By Voices drummer Jon McCann in the deal), Never Bring You Pleasure sees the band progressing with more distinctive songwriting with James Sayce’s vocals more up front. Though the sound is more spare and airy, it’s hardly as commercial as someone like The Killers. The production is lean and ragged like Steve Albini’s work, and Sayce’s style is far too quirky and unpolished to reach a huge audience. Which is too bad in a way, as most people will miss out on the twee charm of “I Don’t Love You,” and the incredibly catchy “I Wanna Go Out,” a cracking powerpop tune that beats the hell out of anything by The Plimsouls or The Knack. Less immediate but just as rewarding to the attentive is “Spine To Your Necklace,” with furious strumming giving way to a glam stomper. McCann’s drums are thunderous throughout, lending muscle to even the tender, sweet passage of “Ro-Ro-Roland,” possibly a love song to an organ. Crafty hooks, inventive guitar effects and choppy reggae rhythms keep some of the lesser songs engaging, but doesn’t save “Your Colour” from dragging some. With those odds, Tangiers are a sure bet for further repeated listens and smoking gigs.
Telefon Tel Aviv, Map of What Is Effortless (Hefty)
Formed in New Orleans in 1999, Telefon Tel Aviv's first album, Farenheit Fair Enough (2001) was a laudable ambient techno effort. Joshua Eustis and Charles Cooper relocated to Chicago, and went to work on creating something a little more original. Schooled in classical music, they convinced their alma mater (New Orleans' Loyola University) to let them use the Chamber Orchestra to record some string sections. Using vocalists like L'Altra's Lindsay Anderson, Telefon Tel Aviv are thawing electronica from its frozen rut by composing real songs rather than just knitting together strings of clicks and beeps. And they're quite good at it. The results are often soulful, with hints of Marvin Gaye and Massive Attack. Yet the ultra-detailed sonic inventiveness eclipses the latter, making sure this album deserves credit for making at least a microleap in the genre. From chillout rooms to headphones to the bedroom, this album should see some heavy use this year.
Utada, Exodus (Island)
Born in New York in 1983 to a musical family, Hikaro Utada recorded her first song at age 11, released an English-language album at 13 as Cubic U, and had already sold a million copies of her first Japanese-language album by 16. Exodus is Utada’s fifth album, and her voice belies her experience, if not her age, sounding remarkably confident and mature. Determined to break free of genre boundaries such as J-pop, Utada mixes Asian melodies with quirky electronica, and with vocal mannerisms considerably similar in sound and intensity to Kate Bush. You know she means it when she employed the production talents of Timbaland (on "Exodus'04", "Let Me Give You My Love", and "Wonder 'Bout."), and Mars Volta drummer Jon Theodore on “Kremlin Dusk.” Like Annie’s Anniemal, Exodus is incredibly consistent for a pop album. Of course, it’s not just any pop album. A student at Columbia University, Utada is no vapid sexdoll. She may tackle common lyrical themes like love, loss, dancing, and being the other woman, but she ties in references to Edgar Allan Poe. On “Let Me Give You My Love” she coos, “Can you and I start mixing gene pools / Eastern Western / get naughty multilingual / …don’t keep me waiting” Can’t you wait about five years for me, luv? The album is tied together with the repeated refrain, “I don’t wanna cross over between this genre and that genre / between you and I / is where I wanna cross over / across the line / I just wanna go further between here and there / grow wiser together you and I” in both “Opening” and “Crossover Interlude.” Given the album’s title, she seems to be suggesting that all of her listeners come with her and obliterate genres altogether. With the album getting more adventurous and challenging near the end, particularly with “Kremlin Dusk” and the brilliantly electronica-treated flute to a dizzying effect on “You Make Me Want To Be A Man,” there’s little doubt she’ll get what she wants someday.
John Vanderslice, Cellar Door (Barsuk)
Were there more artists like John Vanderslice, the image of singer-songwriters might just be rescued from the bland cliches and trite love songs of the likes of John Mayer. Already on his fourth solo album in less than five years, Vanderslice keeps his edge by going were most songwriters fear to tread. "The truth is I have no faith in happiness," he sings, "It turns to fear, draws the devils near." So he skips the happiness, opens the cellar doors and faces the monsters head on. What emerges are stories of pain and tragedy with an expert storyteller's eye for detail. The pithy psychodramas, while not always autobiographical, suggest that Vanderslice has survived as many excruciating experiences as Neutral Milk Hotel's Jeff Mangum, but remains intact enough to continue producing beautiful, heartwrenching epics, laced with his increasingly rich "Sloppy Hi-Fi" production techniques. Lush string arrangements complement delicate beauties like "Promising Actress," synthesizers and ambient effects punctuate the hooky "Coming And Going On Easy Terms". The escapist fantasia of "Lunar Landscapes" offers an alluring reprieve, leaving one craving even more from this prolific, passionate artist at peak strength.
We Ragazzi, Wolves With Pretty Lips (Suicide Squeeze)
We Ragazzi are one of those exceptionally talented bands that take a while to catch on. They’re slow burners who improve with each album, and most likely will not peak until they’re well into their career. 2002’s The Ache was encouragingly compelling, their small guitar, keyboards, drums setup sounding larger than ever, with a quirky similarity to early Japan, mixed with some Stonesy swagger. Wolves sounds incrementally tighter, but a little less of that trashy glam energy that made their last album more fun. The performances make up for it, but with no post-punk power ballads made for MTV, they’re destined for the long road of touring and polishing their chops until they sparkle.
Wilco, A Ghost Is Born (Nonesuch) Jun 22
I love the sound of a band chasing away the bulk of their audience. Really. That’s when they get interesting. Perhaps this won’t measure up to YHF, but gawd bless ‘em for stubbornly refusing to capitalize on their status by making easy radio fodder. The first song is so quiet it comes and goes without my hardly noticing it. “Hell Is Chrome” is similarly unassuming. I’ve learned not to take Wilco at face value or first-listen – months of listening can reveal many layers. “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” is an interesting surprise, a total kosmiche space-out indebted to Can, that lasts an entire 10:48. Jim O’Rourke must still be working with ‘em. “Muzzle of Bees,” “Hummingbird” and “Handshake Drugs” all have a familiar Wilco sound with nice melodies. Time will tell how they hold up. More songs come and go, they could have used some more hooks or something. Getting sleepy. “I’m A Wheel “ is a nice spike in the punch. It sounds like Hootenanny–era Replacements with the Magic Band. “Theologians” could be a solid classic, while “Less Than You Think” is, predictably, a lullabye, and floats away into distorted buzz . . . for twelve minutes! I’m not immediately impressed with the swipe from Labradford, but perhaps there’s hidden messages to be dug up later.
The Zutons, Who Killed The Zutons? (Deltasonic UK)
Yet another band from Liverpool, the Zutons share not only a town and label with The Coral, but a fetish for old sixties sounds. On “Zuton Fever,” the catchy surf guitar and saxophone does seem to share a lot in common with The Coral circa their debut album. However, the hot single “Pressure Point” veers off into a parallel path that’s unique enough to separate them. Without targeting any particular artist, they sound vaguely more American, with more soul and R&B influences. “Dirty Dancehall” pays tribute to Dr. John the Nighttripper’s voodoo psychedelia without sounding too similar. “You Will You Won’t” could have been an alternate version of Captain Beefheart & the Magic Band’s “Dropout Boogie” from Safe As Milk, but it works. Low key crooners like “Confusion” and “Not A Lot To Do” fit in nicely between the more raucous, funky tracks. While only “Railroad” and “Nightmare Part II” count as weak tracks, many of the songs seem to lack something that would make the album feel more substantial. Sixties nostalgia is good fun, but the Zutons will need to push things forward a little if they want bands thirty years from now paying tribute to them.
Quick Impressions Archive 2003
