Oasis

Time Flies… 1994-2009

[Sony BMG / Big Brother; 2010]

Links: Oasis | Big Brother | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 05 July 2010

Beyond their first two records, Oasis were never much of an “album band” – they’re rather the perfect example of a great singles group (with the occasional unheralded B-side), which is why 2006’s compilation disc Stop the Clocks – a mix of the obvious hits (“Wonderwall”) and more choice ones (“Acquiesce”) — was entirely appropriate. Taken out of the context of less consistent records, which may have otherwise undermined their full impact, tunes like “Lyla” and “Go Let It Out” were reminders of just how strong the band’s songwriting chops were at its best. Stop the Clocks was a great retrospective, a fitting summary of Oasis’ career, and although Dig Out Your Soul had three rather good singles, they weren’t mind-blowing enough to be worthy of anything more than a selective iTunes download…let alone another two-disc best-of set.

But, see, Time Flies… 1994-2009 isn’t really being billed as a best-of (even though that’s essentially what it is) – the official tagline with this compilation is that it’s a “collection of the band’s singles,” most of which were on the last compilation anyway. It’s a clever bit of marketing that is essentially a method of justifying repetitive re-packagings to fulfill contractual obligations (then again, the Brothers Gallagher haven’t sunken to Aerosmith’s depths yet, so I suppose it’s unfair to criticize them too harshly for letting this happen).

The thing is, Oasis does have some actually-pretty-good B-side fan favourites and even unreleased tunes that have leaked in various forms over the years. As a matter of fact, Stop the Clocks was originally meant to include the long-awaited song of the same title, which had been written two years earlier for Don’t Believe the Truth, had only been performed live once or twice, and was supposedly Noel Gallagher’s most personal song. It’s rumoured that he decided to leave it off of both albums at the last moment, rendering the title for the former a bit anti-climactic.

As for Time Flies… Well, you’d think a post-band retrospective with underrated B-sides and unreleased rarities like the aforementioned would have been a wiser choice, and probably even a stronger selling point (because how many average fans who already dished out for Stop the Clocks are really going to be fooled by Time Flies?). Maybe the label has no form of cooperation from Liam or Noel right now and thus can’t acquire the rights to these rarities, but that’s not a valid enough excuse to sell the fans short.

The ultimate point to be made is that, yes, almost all the songs here are representative of the band at its best; and yes, based on the songs alone this would be a very solid album and I’d be inclined to give it a glowing recommendation; but it’s hard listening to this without recognizing its redundancy. Furthermore, the disingenuous approach of it all just leaves a foul aftertaste. It’s an easy cash grab for a label biding time until their golden goose of a band inevitably reunites. If that takes longer than expected, don’t rule out the emergence of another compilation within the next few years. Hopefully that one brings something new to the table.

55%

Gayngs

Relayted

[Jagjaguwar; 2010]

Links: Gayngs | Jagjaguwar | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 22 June 2010

When Prince shows up at one of your band’s shows and threatens to take the stage alongside you, then it’s probably safe to say you’re doing something right. Gayngs, a rather unfortunately named indie supergroup led by Ryan Olson, features such other diverse talents as Justin Vernon (Bon Iver), Michael Lewis (from Andrew Bird’s touring band), P.O.S. (Rhymesayers) and all three members of Megafaun.

Their music basically pays homage to that lovably cheesy 1980s soft-rock/jazz hybrid that dominated the airwaves for much of the decade and which you’ve probably heard your parents (or, maybe grandparents) listening to before. That’s really all you need to know in order to place the group’s sound – you should be well aware, going into this, of whether you’ll appreciate it or not.

That being said, it’s striking how earnest Gayngs’ music sounds on Relayted, their debut album. In this glorious age of hipster mentality (I’m being overtly sarcastic here, so I guess I’m a victim of the mindset), I must confess to expecting something a bit more heavy-handed and tongue-in-cheek and perhaps even a little smug. The truth is that these tunes feel pretty organic and lovingly crafted; not ironic or post-ironic or postpartum ironic but genuine.

Which isn’t to say the album is particularly memorable – listen to it in one sitting and it all kind of blends together, songs seamlessly surging forward into other songs like a run-on sentence, and not more than a couple tracks will particularly stand out on their own merits (“Cry” gets the vote for best song). Relayted essentially contains the dynamics of an extended jam session – a bunch of talented and like-minded musicians getting together, having fun, and creating some cool enough melodies with solid production. (And yes, the production is overwrought, the mixing is unsubtle and the ubiquitous saxophone tends to squeal sensuously like something from one of those late-‘80s “erotic thrillers” that weren’t ever quite erotic or thrilling, but always featured plenty of sax). Criticizing the album’s production, in this regard, seems a bit self-defeating; the music sounds exactly how it should.

I’m not well-versed enough in the band’s genre to give you comparisons to other groups from the 1980s. I’m not sure I’d want to or if it would really matter much. What I can tell you is that this is likable enough soft-rock, not nearly as mean-spirited or sarcastic in its delivery as I was expecting it to be, and just enjoyable enough to listen to without necessarily being moved one way or the other.

64%

Tame Impala

“Solitude Is Bliss”

[Modular; 2010]

Posted by John Ulmer on 11 June 2010

While some of the more popular Aussie rock bands of recent – from Airbourne to Wolfmother – are struggling to resurrect AC/DC and Led Zeppelin-style riffery (is that a word? No? Well, it should be), Tame Impala dig back a decade further, channeling the psychedelic harmonies of The Beatles circa Sgt. Pepper, the acid-tinged riffs of Hendrix at his trippiest, and the acid-soaked Britpop blues of Cream. (They also throw in some Zeppelin for good measure, but do so without shamelessly cramping the band’s style.) The result is surprisingly effective.

“Solitude Is Bliss,” the poppy lead single for debut album Innerspeaker, opens with one of those warbling Hendrix riffs before launching headfirst into even hazier atmosphere. Singer Kevin Parker is eerily good at imitating John Lennon, but on this track he sounds more like Clapton, letting his voice glide freely over the harmonies. And yet, perhaps the most impressive thing here is that none of this does sound like an imitation – much like the entire album, “Solitude Is Bliss” sounds like a band working comfortably and organically, never straining to remind us who their influences are. If you were living in a cave for the last 40 years and turned on the radio and heard this track next to any of the aforementioned artists, you probably wouldn’t think it was out of place. “You will never come close to how I feel” is chanted repetitively in the chorus, but that’s just plain wrong – this song transports you right into whatever drug-laden wonderland these guys are living in. Rarely does revivalist rock music feel so natural.

[from the album Innerspeaker, out now]
Watch the music video here.

8/10

Janelle Monáe

The ArchAndroid

[Bad Boy / Wondaland Arts Society; 2010]

Links: Janelle Monáe | Bad Boy | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 04 June 2010

It’s always refreshing when an entirely new talent breaks through and does so without compromising his or her artistic integrity. Janelle Monáe is one such talent. After catching the eyes and ears of Big Boi and delivering a critically-acclaimed concept EP in 2007, Monáe signed to Diddy’s Bad Boy Records, allowing her to record a proper follow-up in 2010, and worrying her growing fanbase in the process, which feared she’d change…or sell out…or whatever it is that people always complain about when a new talent finds fame. Thankfully, their fears were unfounded.

Her music is comprised of suites. The EP was the first one; The ArchAndroid is comprised of two more. As for their conceptual angle? Allmusic.com reports that “Monáe was genoraped in the 28th century, sent back to the 21st century, and had her organic compounds cloned and re-purposed for the existence of ArchAndroid Cindi Mayweather, whose directive is to liberate Metropolis from a secret society of oppressors.”

Um, yeah. About that – unless you’re following along with the liner notes and really paying attention to the lyrics and music videos’ storytelling techniques, the Metropolis infatuation – as admirable and intriguing as it may be for film and sci-fi fans – isn’t going to matter much. You can listen to a song like “Tightrope” and take it on its own terms (as a reflection upon the thin line between commercial appeal and obscurity) without asking where the androids fit in.

That’s certainly not to undermine the album’s narrative, because if you really delve into this record, you’ll start wanting to go along with it. Fortunately, then, this is one of the better albums released this year, and the kind you’ll want to revisit quite often.

Monáe has a great, soulful voice, but she’s also capable of adjusting to other styles – whether rapping or rocking out, she never seems strained or uncomfortable. Because the album is seventy minutes long, it does feel a bit like a journey, and not every lunge forward is without its missteps; the of Montreal collaboration, “Make the Bus,” is easily the worst song, both garish and annoying (though, admittedly, it’s more so because of Kevin Barnes’ misplaced vocals than anything Monáe brings to the table).

But, perhaps because the record does feel so overwhelming, the occasional mistake doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. On albums laden with singles and throwaway tracks, this is often quite different – you skip the bad tracks and move on – but, with The ArchAndroid, you’re left with the impression that, in spite of their flaws, the lesser moments are necessary. It’s one of those rare modern concept albums that actually works, and at the risk of sounding clichéd, it’s something you want to start at from the beginning and finish accordingly.

The record’s high points remind you of genre-bending modern pop artists like Prince or Michael Jackson in their prime; Monáe has such a firm grasp of the territories she’s working in that not for one moment do you remember that it’s her first LP, and you never feel like she’s in over her head with any of the artistic choices she makes.

One of the better tracks, “Say You’ll Go,” is a haunting ballad that suddenly introduces a Debussy sample at the end – the sort of confident move that could be a complete misfire for many artists, but which Monáe pulls off entirely. It’s easy to indulge in lazy hyperbole when you’re wowed by the introduction of an impressive new talent, but somehow, it doesn’t seem unfair to assume, based on the merits of her album, that Monáe may be one of the fresh artists to help redefine pop music in the new decade. And even if she doesn’t – even if this album doesn’t sell much and she never quite breaks into the mainstream – at least she’s walking the tightrope and doing her own thing on her own terms.

87%

Stone Temple Pilots

Stone Temple Pilots

[Atlantic; 2010]

Links: Stone Temple Pilots | Atlantic | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 27 May 2010

Stone Temple Pilots never quite achieved the level of respect that they deserved. No, they weren’t particularly inventive – nor did they push many boundaries – but they were unfairly maligned by the music press as imitators, a stigma that followed them even as they switched styles from album to album.

Of course, these same critics argued that their gradual evolution (if you wish to call it that) was just another sign of their calculated attempts to cash in on whatever the latest fads were – assertions that didn’t make much sense when you considered the alienating Morrison/Bowie vibe going on throughout their last couple records arrived at a time when rap was beginning to dominate the charts, and alt-rock – let alone glam-and-Doors-inspired classic rock – were hardly “in.” I mean, at least Scott Weiland didn’t collaborate with Timbaland, right?

Although I’ve never been a huge fan of the group, there’s no denying their ability to write a great pop tune; their singles compilation from 2003, Thank You, which was (at the time) considered their departing gift to fans as they officially split, really showcased their inherent navigation of pop/rock radio.

So, ten years after their last album of original material, with all the members having since joined and ditched various respective supergroups, STP is back with an eponymous album. The Self-Titled Record used midway through a career is often perceived as a bold statement – whether you’reThe Beatles or Metallica – so it’s just a bit disappointing that Stone Temple Pilots isn’t the most emblematic product of their work together, nor their most interesting. Then again, Weiland and co. have admitted numerous times they only reunited for million-dollar-paychecks, so it could have been much worse.

Most of the songs lean more towards Bowie, Aerosmith and Cheap Trick rather than Nirvana or Soundgarden – Weiland’s voice isn’t notably different from the last time we heard him in this band, and the DeLeo Brothers’ talents are still well on display.

As it stands, Stone Temple Pilots is a solid, fun, passably entertaining record – a strong enough comeback that probably won’t push millions of units or set the airwaves ablaze, but which will, for the most part, connect with their fans. Most of the songs suffer from the same flaw that Weiland’s last album with Velvet Revolver did: overly repetitious choruses. For this very reason, the more you play ‘em, the more endearing these songs become – lead single “Between the Lines” grew on me after about 2 or 3 spins – but at first it can be a tad bit annoying, especially when Scott’s engaging in strange vocal inflections (as on the sticky “Hickory Dichotomy,” which features lyrics as nonsensical as the singer wrote during the prime years of his heroin addictions).

So, there’s sticky pop and choppy rock and serviceable fun to be had here. Nothing mindblowing, but a couple tunes you might hear on alt-rock stations years from now along with “Big Empty” and “Sex Type Thing,” as well as a few eclectic tracks that you might see on obscure-leaning fan lists in the future with the likes of “Atlanta” and “Hello It’s Late.” And if you like any of those songs then you pretty much know what you’re getting here. If you don’t, you probably think they’re bandwagon-jumping imitators. Can’t please everybody.

65%

Eminem

“Not Afraid”

[Aftermath; 2010]

Posted by John Ulmer on 24 May 2010

It’s always been a bit puzzling as to why, exactly, Eminem chooses to release goofy launch singles for his albums; in the early stages of his career it wasn’t very problematic because the songs were good, but 2005’s Encore had the annoying “Just Lose It,” and last year’s Relapse featured the unfortunate “We Made You” — the latter of which was an apparent attack against celebrity culture that fell victim to its own satire (count the Kim Kardashian and Lindsay Lohan references). With that in mind, “Not Afraid” is Em’s most serious lead single yet, a fact both reassuring and disappointing. Reassuring because he seems to have finally given up the comic-rap shtick; disappointing because it’s not on par with “Lose Yourself.” Hell, it’s not even really as moving as “Beautiful,” his underrated ballad from Relapse. The biggest point of criticism seems to be the sing-songy chorus, where Eminem pleads with us to “come take my hand” so we can “walk this road together through the storm.” Upon first listen it’s a bit corny, but it’s appropriately anthemic, and not bad enough to deter from the strength of the overall track.

It’s on the verses that Eminem really lets loose and reminds us why he’s one of the best out there – he doesn’t sound quite as pissed off as he did on “Despicable,” the freestyle released last month, but he does sound pretty passionate about what he’s telling us. He acknowledges that his last album was “meh” and promises to drop the obnoxious accents. (Both of which can only be good signs for Recovery, which tentatively drops June 18th.) It’s a solid single – flawed, maybe, but endearingly so. As an endnote: “Not Afraid” was released as a single and hit #1 on the Billboard charts this week, the second rap song in history to debut at that position. Looks like he has a reason not to be afraid.

[from the upcoming album Recovery tentatively due out June 18th]

7/10

Jamie Lidell

Compass

[Warp; 2010]

Links: Jamie Lidell | Warp | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 19 May 2010

Jamie Lidell is a talented musical chameleon who has thus far built his solo career by largely forgoing his breeding grounds of electronica and moving toward the arenas of neo-soul and funk. And while there’s always a fine line between emulation and imitation, Lidell mostly achieves the former, creating interesting melodies in decidedly familiar styles.

JIM, his 2008 effort, may have been a really fun record, but Compass is the superior work; it has been described by some as the album Prince has desperately been trying to make for the last decade, and that’s not nearly as silly a description as you may think.

Lidell doesn’t exactly hide his points of reference—both tracks “Completely Exposed” and “She Needs Me” surge forward with beats and distorted backing vocals straight off of “If I Was Your Girlfriend,” while “I Wanna Be Your Telephone” bears more than a titular reference to “I Wanna Be Your Lover.” Likewise, “The Ring” sounds like the sort of lost rarity from Sign ‘O’ the Times that would surface on some kind of compilation by the artist formerly known as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. But Lidell’s clearest influences never quite seem forced or ham-fisted – in fact, more than ever before, Lidell seems to have come into his own, and the music feels natural as a result.

While there’s plenty here to please Motown and James Brown enthusiasts, Lidell has also added thrown some more blues into the mix; “Big Drift” doesn’t sound far from something you’d hear the Black Keys doing, and there are a couple slower, introspective acoustic numbers (like closing track “You See My Light”) that showcase the diversity and intimacy that Lidell can achieve with his vocals when he wants to.

Some of his friends have helped out, too. Beck (whose Record Club series Lidell has contributed to) co-writes and produces a track or two; Feist takes on some backing vocals; numerous members of Grizzly Bear pop up; and so on and so forth. The songs are layered and distorted enough that it’s hard to really pick them out let alone name names, but maybe that’s a good thing, as nothing here really seems too overwrought.

In its essence, Compass is a gleefully weird and off-kilter album by a musician who seems to keep growing stronger and more consistent with every record. The wide array of styles present on the album might make it a bit more difficult for some listeners to get into, but that’s always been the biggest challenge with Lidell. No matter what the reaction may be to Compass, it’ll certainly be interesting to see where he goes from here.

78%

Elliott Smith

Roman Candle (2010 Remaster)

[Kill Rock Stars; 2010]

Links: Elliott Smith | Kill Rock Stars | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 10 May 2010

Chances are, if you’re reading this review, you already know who Elliott Smith was; you’re probably well aware of Roman Candle by now, too, and you don’t need the belabored back-story to add context. The album is what it is, and people are still listening to it over a decade later, which pretty much speaks for itself.

Most people who are specific enough to be looking up reviews of the newly-remastered 2010 edition of the album will presumably be more interested in whether the sound itself is worth upgrading for. And, quite frankly, that boils down entirely to how you like your music – scratchy, hissy and “authentic,” as some people have dubbed the original lo-fi mastering; or cleaned-up and (relatively) smoother, as the new Kill Rock Star release is.

You see, to contradict my earlier point of not delving into the record’s history, Roman Candle was originally released in 1994 by indie label Cavity Search, who weren’t exactly titans in the industry, and Smith’s songs – recorded mostly alone on a four-track – were never quite properly mastered to begin with (reportedly due to the fact that he never planned to actually release the record until being urged to by fellow musicians – a theory supported by the fact that four of the songs have no titles).

Of course, over the years, that whole scratchy, hissy, lo-fi sound is part of what endeared since-converted fans to this record – and for those of you who’ve been listening to this album in its original form since the ‘90s, yeah, you might take issue with a few of Larry Crane’s tweaks. But for the average listener, and even for fans who aren’t exactly audiophiles, this will probably sound like an improvement.

Having said that, let’s not pretend this is a vastly different presentation. The songs are still what they always were; they haven’t been remixed or spruced-up beyond recognition. Some of the creases and tears in the sound have merely been glossed over, and you could argue the claim that it’s somewhat more accessible as a result.

And really, let’s be honest: if you’re a so-called “completist,” you’re probably going to buy this anyway. If you’re happy with what you already have, then you should probably sample Crane’s remaster prior to purchasing it and decide for yourself. And if you’ve never heard Roman Candle, then this is the ideal opportunity to change that. At the end of the day, an admirable job has been done here. Crane has tastefully remastered the impressive, now legendary debut album of an artist who sadly left this world far too soon.

87%

Slash

Slash

[EMI / Dik Hayd; 2010]

Links: Slash | EMI | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 23 April 2010

Slash is pretty much what you’d expect from an album called Slash. While the other major figure from Guns N’ Roses chose to estrange himself from pop culture and spend over a decade trying to find himself, Slash has never really been afraid of embracing his rock n’ roll image — which, over the years, has been branded into more of a trademark than anything else.

This certainly isn’t to take anything away from the man’s playing. It’s just to say he isn’t as much the tortured artist as he is the fun-loving junkie who got high because he liked it. “Give the ghost that hides in your soul rock n’ roll,” intones The Cult’s Ian Astbury on the opening track of the axeman’s self-titled album. And that’s basically the chorus of the song. For the remainder of the record, it doesn’t really get much deeper than that.

Astbury sounds weathered and worn and certainly knows the vices of rock n’ roll all too well – one of the reasons he’d have been a suitable immediate replacement for Scott Weiland in Velvet Revolver – but most of Slash’s best moments come as complete (and giddy) delights: Fergie makes the successful transition from annoying auto-tuning pop tart toward full-on rock duchess. Her collaborative track with the Top-Hatted One, “Beautiful Dangerous,” is silly but impossibly infectious – expect to hear this one all over the radio.

The album’s peak might be the resurrection of Chris Cornell, grunge’s fallen rock god (thanks, Timbaland), who seems to have finally embraced the laidback, soulful vibe he teased us with a decade ago on Euphoria Morning. His “Promise,” a song ostensibly written from the perspective of a father to his child, has a great chorus and a wonderful performance by the singer that makes one wonder what a collaboration between these two men in their prime might have sounded like.

Besides channeling the best from Fergie, Cornell, Kid Rock, and Adam Levine (yes, an accomplishment in itself), Slash also had the wisdom to pay attention to Jimmy Page and enlist former Plant-replacement runner-up Myles Kennedy (the only dude to snatch two spots on the record), a highly talented singer who had the misfortune of being tied to one of those shitty post-rock bands (Alter Bridge: Creed, but with a good singer). “Back to Cali” has the kind of gritty, simplistic blues-riff that Slash built his legacy on, and “Starlight” is appropriately anthemic.

Andrew Stockdale does his best Zeppelin imitation with “By the Sword,” one of the better hard-rockers featured here, and Lemmy Kilmister reminds us with “Doctor Alibi” what chugging whiskey and smoking cigarettes for a few decades will do to your voice – namely, make it sound freakin’ awesome.

For the most part, however, the other rock titans fare less well. Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crucify the Dead” – which the singer wrote as his own take on the breakup of Guns N’ Roses – features a pretty cool solo and decent lyrics, but frankly, Osbourne’s voice is short of self-parody at this point. He mumbles and slurs his way through a song that just never really comes together. Likewise, Iggy Pop really phones it in with “We’re All Gonna Die,” which doesn’t sound unlike anything found on The Stooges’ last abortion of a record. “We’re all gonna die / so let’s get high!” he suggests repeatedly. Then: “We’re all gonna die / So let’s be nice.” Huh?

No one will approach Slash with the lofty expectations that Axl and Guns N’ Roses’ Chinese Democracy was saddled with. Nor will people be as eager to hear new material from someone so omnipresent in popular culture. But this album will satisfy people looking for a quick fix – some (mostly) good tunes with (mostly) catchy hooks and a fun vibe. Unexpectedly solid production and the surprising strengths of its typically less reliable guest stars are only bonuses. Anyone expecting something more substantial should take a pass.

Note: Various regional releases of the album contain bonus tracks. One of them, “Mother Maria” (featuring Beth Hart), was originally recorded as part of a Haiti benefit album. It’s better than most of the songs on display here, and definitely worth seeking out.

63%

Charlotte Gainsbourg

IRM

[Because; 2009]

Links: Charlotte Gainsbourg | Because | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 31 March 2010

I guess if your father is Serge Gainsbourg and your mother is a respectable actress, singer and model in her own right, then you’re ultimately going to wind up attracting attention no matter what you do.

Luckily for us, Charlotte Gainsbourg decided to follow in the footsteps of her parents, becoming both a successful actress and talented musician. IRM is the second album of her adulthood (following 2006’s 5:55), and to describe it in simple terms would be a disservice to how complex and gripping it really is.

An innately personal work, IRM refers to Gainsbourg’s near-death cerebral hemorrhage in 2007. The track employs actual IRM device noises (the French acronym for what we know as an MRI), replicated on the album’s title track as she heard them during her trips to the hospital. The song is an eerie and haunting trip. Anyone who’s ever been stuck inside one of those behemoths for periods of time will be unnerved.

“Le Chat Du Café Des Artistes,” a version of a Jean-Pierre Ferland song written in 1970, is reminiscent of (believe it or not) Jack White and Alicia Keys’ “Another Way to Die” – which is, as you’ll recall, that disappointingly lackluster Bond theme song from Quantum of Solace. Gainsbourg takes an almost identical riff and works it into a beautiful, textured piece that is at once comforting and disconcerting.

And this is how the majority of the album plays out: you’ll enjoy listening to IRM yet never quite feel complacent with where it is heading. Between the hushed, breathy vocals and evocative melodies, it’s an experience you’ll likely find hard to shake off.

Certainly credit must be given to Beck, who produced the record, and his influence is all but tangible – none of these tracks’ rhythms would sound out of place on one of his (better) albums, and in working with Gainsbourg, he has – in the process – somehow brought out some of his best in years.

IRM closes with “Looking Glass Blues,” a relatively poppy and upbeat tune that finds Gainsbourg’s staccato vocals playing to the strengths of a catchy beat. It’s a sigh of relief at the end of a dark, captivating journey. It presumably opens the doors for what may be a less introspective, more raucous and joyful follow-up album. Yet no matter which direction Gainsbourg ultimately heads, one can’t help but think: It’s gonna be hard to top this one.

83%

Efterklang

Magic Chairs

[4AD; 2010]

Links: Efterklang | 4AD | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 11 February 2010

Wikipedia informs us that the word “Efterklang” is the Danish equivalent of “remembrance,” which is somewhat ironic, given that post-rock and ambient albums can be some of the more difficult to recall. In my first year of college, I think I might have listened to Brian Eno’s Ambient I at least once per week during study sessions, and I’m not even sure I could really recreate any of the songs in my mind beyond vague details. You can hum that latest Lady GaGa single, but try to sing along to Godspeed or Tortoise.

So it should be mentioned that Magic Chairs,the latest release by a Danish rock band named Efterklang, is more melodic and pop-oriented than their earlier albums, 2004′s Tripper and 2007′s Parades. The former was essentially an ambient record with singing; indeed, some critics even complained that the singing was intrusive and the album should have been entirely instrumental. Comparatively, the latter was a decisive move towards stickier melodies, with an increased use of vocals and lush arrangements.

Magic Chairs, then, can be seen as a logical extension or evolution of the group’s impressive dynamics, recalling few of the hushed soundscapes of Tripper but welcoming a more expansive variation of chamber pop. Think Grizzly Bear meets Explosions in the Sky. Frankly, it’s rather beautiful stuff.

The band seems to have acknowledged its decision to strive for melodies with song titles such as “Harmonics” and “Natural Tune,” the second of which features a moving vocal duet, accompanied by sparse acoustics and pianos.

And call me crazy, but those warm pulsating synths on “Alike” aren’t far from Book of Love’s “Modigliani.” (I’m not sure I’d have ever listened to Book of Love if it weren’t for John Hughes’ Planes, Trains and Automobiles,which I have probably seen throughout my lifetime more than any other film. I’m not sure if that says more about the film or more about me.) Nor do they avoid a rhythmic parallel to Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of Philadelphia,” which, incidentally, was also on a popular film soundtrack.

“Raincoats” opens with steady clapping before a guitar riff creeps in, and then maybe some flutes, and suddenly vocalist Casper Clausen chimes in, humming along to the melody, starting to sing: “I begin to fall apart…” And there’s something in there about “fingers falling off again,” and it’s all quite dream-like and haunting and poetic in its unique way.

Efterklang have done something remarkable here. This is maybe the first great album of 2010 – which, I suppose, isn’t saying a whole lot considering how early it is, but certainly it is a record that will be deserving of recognition – err, remembrance – at year’s end. Don’t overlook it.

84%

Julian Casablancas

Phrazes for the Young

[RCA; 2009]

Links: Julian Casablancas | RCA | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 09 November 2009

Some people think they’re always right. Julian Casablancas may be one of those people, if his antics and comments over the years are to be taken in earnest. Never one to mince words, Casablancas has always carried himself with the effortless cool of a rock star who just doesn’t give a shit, most recently popping up in his leather jacket on Converse ads and singing about boomboxes with the unfunny guy from SNL.

In the past his disaffected mumbling has often given way to a sort of drunken croon or despairing croak, but – as much as I love the Strokes’ first couple albums – I feel like he’s never utilized his voice as much as he could have been outside of the band’s albums.

Phrazes for the Young, then, reasserts Casablancas’ musical persona as something of a space-rock bar singer, sliding his voice around the synth organs of tracks like “Left & Right in the Dark” or breaking out in falsetto (!) on “Glass,” which is one of the best pop songs I’ve heard all year.

The reigning champion of this album, however, is lead single “11th Dimension.” Filled with a euphoric sense of joy, it’s one of those songs that just makes you forget about all your troubles for roughly three and a half minutes. We heard a hint of this melancholy on “You Only Live Once” – the best track from 2006′s First Impressions of Earth – but now he’s gone all out, unafraid to pile on one layer of sound after another until the final chorus sweeps in – and knocks you out.

Casablancas has never been a great lyricist, but there’s something about his simplicity — “Forgive them / Even if they are not sorry” is “Dimension’s” main hook — that just lends itself to the music and, well, feels right. The opening lyric of the album, for example, might give a hint to how he imagines himself to be seen by other members of the Strokes: “Somewhere along the way / My hopefulness turned to sadness / Somewhere along the way / My bitterness turned to anger.”

It’d be nice to get a new Strokes record in 2010, but Phrazes for the Young is that rarest of vanity projects: a successful one. Though it has its share of missteps (the weakest track, “Ludlow St.,” is just a bit too smug for its own good), let’s face it — this could have turned out terrible, but instead we have one of the finest, tautest and most surprising rock albums of 2009. I guess he was right after all.

78%

The Beatles

Please Please Me

[EMI; 1963/2009]

Links: The Beatles | EMI | Purchase The Beatles Remasters

Posted by John Ulmer on 10 September 2009

“One, two, three, four” – followed by that unmistakable guitar riff – and all at once the Beatles had announced themselves to the world. Nothing would ever be the same.

The thing about grading any Beatles record is that it’s relative — with Please Please Me, you’re contrasting against Sgt. Pepper’s and Revolver: the types of work in a league of their own. Anything will pale in comparison to such output. While most bands would be proud to ever record something as wonderful as Let It Be, the general consensus is that it’s their worst studio album. Thus, you have a tendency to underrate an album that, from another artist’s catalog, you wouldn’t hesitate to praise.

The amazing thing about the band, both then and now, is how quickly and masterfully they covered musical ground – Please Please Me is fairly straightforward by their later standards, but they essentially moved across more genres and boundaries in under a decade than most groups ever do in their entire careers. They established themselves, deconstructed and reconstructed themselves, and imploded in less time than it takes some artists to record a single album.

Please Please Me feels sporadic and loose – probably since it was recorded quickly in a last-ditch effort to capture the sound of the band’s live act and capitalize upon their pending fame – and, as a result, it’s not perfect: there are some songs here that many fans, depending upon which Beatles era they have an inclination towards, may not revisit often. Personally, most of the covers on the record have never done much for me – save “Twist and Shout,” which is one of the band’s early highlights. Recorded last because of the toll it took upon John Lennon’s cold-affected voice, this raucous rocker pretty much defines rock n’ roll. And if you can listen to it without thinking of Ferris Bueller dancing on a parade float, then props to you.

While it may not earn direct comparison to the band’s truest masterpieces, Please Please Me stands as an insightful snapshot of an evolving band at a pivotal moment in time, right before anyone had quite the idea of how big they’d really become.

87%

Jay-Z

The Blueprint 3

[Roc Nation; 2009]

Links: Jay-Z | Roc Nation | Purchase on Insound | Listen on Rhapsody

Posted by John Ulmer on 10 September 2009

Jay-Z isn’t a businessman — he’s a business, man. And when you’ve branded your image to the point where you’re simultaneously managing a clothing line, sports club and record label, it’s fair to say the Hova has landed. The new quandary becomes maintaining your self-proclaimed street cred whilst juggling decidedly non-street multi-million-dollar finances — something done in 2007 with American Gangster by hiding behind the “concept album” guise. (It wasn’t Jay-Z rapping about slingin’ heroin — it was Jay-Z channeling an American gangster who just happened to bear a strong resemblance to young Jay. The fact that he all too clearly blurred the lines between himself and his character on tracks like “Roc Boys” didn’t seem to matter; the beats, the rhymes and the flow were all at a peak — and, collectively, a welcome resurrection after the disappointment of Kingdom Come in ‘06.)

Bad news, then: Blueprint 3 isn’t nearly as good as American Gangster. The production is more excessive; the lyrics are often derivative; Jay’s rhymes are inconsistent, jumping from hot (”D.O.A.”) to cold (”Hate”). It’s more BP2 than BP1; more Kingdom Come than Reasonable Doubt. But it’s still not the flop that some critics are labeling it as.

The album’s primary fault is its length — at 15 tracks, it’s too damn long, especially since it’s relatively front-loaded — in other words: all the best stuff comes at the beginning. “What We Talkin’ About,” with its warm synths and pounding bass, is a great intro; “Thank You” recalls the neo-soul production of the album’s original predecessor; “Death of Auto-Tune” overcomes its burdensome gimmickry with a stripped-down instrumental section and a take-no-prisoners Hov. (That being said: the problem with placing an anti-auto-tune song on an album featuring songs whose main hooks include obvious usage of auto-tune is notable.)

“Run This Town,” the record’s second (and underrated) single featuring Kanye and Rihanna, works even better within context of the album; but Jay is overshadowed by ‘Ye, and he never quite recovers for the remainder of his album; “Real As It Gets” is good but strangely familiar, and “Empire State of Mind” — while definitely one of the album’s better tracks — is basically a remake of “Brooklyn Go Hard,” featuring the exact same unique vocal inflections on its verses and chorus.

“A Star is Born,” “Venus vs. Mars” and “So Ambitious” are largely forgettable. You’re left wondering why “History,” “Jockin’ Jay-Z” and “Swagga Like Us” (all tracks released since ‘07, before the album got bumped back multiple times) were left on the cutting room floor in favour of these turkeys. Did Jay and his team of producers really think this material was up to par?

Interestingly enough, the impression I was left with after Blueprint 3 was over? Jay has been listening to some indie rock — I’m not sure what happened to that missing MGMT track, but the production as a whole reeks of hipster influence. (Even the album artwork, the first of Jay’s not to feature himself on the front cover, seems unmistakably…indie. Add to the evidence: Jay was spotted moving to the sweet rhythms of Grizzly Bear at a show in NYC last week.)

As interesting a concept as this may be — indie rock hip-hop? — it’s not entirely effective on Blueprint 3, and you’re left wondering how much better this all might have been if we sensed that Jay had a purpose. Jay’s rise to fame has been a blessing and a curse (BP2 pun intended) — it’s enabled him to be the biggest and, for a while, the best; it’s also undermined his outlook. Everything here is far too insulated — as good as “Run This Town” may be, you’re left with the feeling that Jay actually believes those esoteric lyrics. Surrounded by an army of yes-men and enablers, it would be hard for anyone not to buy into their own name — especially when their name is spread across so many ventures — but, you know, the best rap albums — Reasonable Doubt and American Gangster included — usually channel the hunger, strive and purpose of an underdog. Jay doesn’t have that drive anymore because he is on top — and it might take him hitting rock bottom again before we ever hear something as bold and beautiful as the first Blueprint. In the meantime, we’ve got a relatively above-average work from an artist who’s proven himself capable of so much more.

71%

Dirty Projectors

Bitte Orca

[Domino; 2009]

Links: Dirty Projectors | Domino | Purchase on Insound

Posted by John Ulmer on 07 July 2009

So much has been written about Bitte Orca, the latest album by Dirty Projectors, that it’s an almost daunting task to find something worth bringing to the table that hasn’t yet been discussed at length. The album has been greeted with a level of pre-release hype amongst indie circles this year that was surpassed only by the likes of Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear. The immediacy and over-saturation of the Internet has rendered my thoughts typical; discourse is redundant. What’s left to be said about an album released three weeks ago whose Google search already results in well over one million hits?

The chief singer and essential mastermind of the project, Dave Longstreth, is a wildly divisive vocalist; he sounds a bit like the lovechild of Freddie Mercury and Antony Hegarty, but the execution is lacking. He’s seemingly incapable of channeling anything beyond frenetic elasticity. His falsetto bends and winds its way around opener “Cannibal Resource,” which sounds a bit like something Prince might have written on a coke and heroin binge in 1986. (The small bass riff surely must be a nod to “Kiss.”) The female choir is eerie and haunting — a recurring theme all through this trip.

What Longstreth is crooning about here or anywhere on Bitte Orca is a bit of a mystery, but it’s equal parts infectious and annoying, which is the simplest way of summarizing the album as a whole. In both tone and substance: it’s bizarre, frustrating, unique, and derivative all at once.

Album’s lead single, “Stillness is the Move,” is arguably the best – and most accessible – tune on display here. Like much of the album, it has a white-boy Afro-Pop stadium-rock edge. Longstreth actually moves aside on this track and lets the girls take over to full effect. “Useful Chamber” opens up with a fuzzy, Black Moth Super Rainbow-like synth riff before opening into a beautiful melody. While revisiting the track, it seemed to linger a bit more than any others, leading me to put it on repeat. “Two Doves” is a ballad that would have been better as a half-assed replication of “When Doves Cry,” especially if it had been recorded in the same manner as Rise Above (the band’s 2007 Black Flag-inspired semi-cover-album). These are the sort of aimless thoughts that Bitte Orca invokes.

Although Bitte Orca has sharply divided the indie community, it is hard to deny that there’s something interesting at work here, though I’m perhaps less inclined to believe its alleged “genius” was calculated. Longstreth is not a brilliant visionary, but he has created a masterpiece to the extent that he is capable. Bitte Orca is either deliberately frustrating or frustratingly deliberate, but in any case, it’s worth a listen. Or two. Or three.

70%