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BABY RAY
Low Rises
Dren
After three albums of pop brilliance, Boston’s Baby Ray returns to a project that they began nearly seven years ago and then set aside. Maybe they felt they weren’t up to the sprawling pop they heard in their inner ear, maybe the material needed to percolate a little longer. Whatever the reasons, the band made the right call by holding off on finishing Low Rises until now; what may well have been incomplete in 2000 could stand as Baby Ray’s masterwork now. It’s not hard to hear the oft-cited comparisons to Guided by Voices and XTC in Baby Ray’s work on Low Rises, from the Who-fixated GBV strains in “King Kong” and “Devil Ray” (particularly in Greg Simonoff’s sinewy Entwistle-like lead guitar approach to the bass runs) to the off-kilter Partridge/Moulding time signatures on “Idiots Are Out” and the spritely bounce of “You Could Go to College.” There are also a good many similarities to Jason Falkner’s work over the years, especially Jellyfish and his criminally overlooked turn in the Grays. Ultimately, these reference points are just handy markers to attract the right listeners to the disc. After a couple of listens, the quality that shines through most brightly on Low Rises is the quartet’s absolute mastery over pop convention. After a couple more listens, Baby Ray is the only name you’ll need to remember. --Brian Baker
HIGH HEART & LOW ESTATE (BRASSLAND)
After discussing the rules for sweater vests
while dining at Dorsia with some friends, we
find ourselves in some East Village club somewhere
around Houston and Ludlow. Too many J&B's
on the rocks were consumed and the cocaine
in the men's room of Dorsia seemed as weak
as NutraSweet, so there was a bit of overcompensation
with a few extra lines. There's a crooner on
stage, some weird, low-fi, one-man take on
the very same music that is slowly infiltrating
the U.S. market from Britain. It's like a cross
between the band that sang the theme song for
Pretty in Pink and that other band with all
the synthesizers behind that instant club hit, "Bizarre
Love Triangle." The oversaturation of
drugs and alcohol only means one thing: this
can't be real. The 80s are over, are they not?
TV didn't kill the radio star after all; instead
MTV found a niche in reality programs and documentaries
(rarely, but sometimes quite loosely, associated
with music) rather than music videos. Now music
is downloaded on computers, sometimes for free;
when you buy CDs, "enhanced" features
are sometimes included, like music videos.
So fear not, music videos survived, but they
have migrated to a realm where they peacefully
coexist with the radio, or now more appropriately
internet, star. Baby Dayliner thrives here,
on this drunken, high night where the lines
of reality, past and present, fact or fiction
are all blurred and probably forgotten the
next morning; but at the time it was a blast!
(Don Simpson)
BADLY DRAWN BOY
Born in the UK
Astralwerks
Damon Gough, aka Badly Drawn Boy, returns
after a two-year absence with Born in the
UK, his second Astralwerks release. With
a fairly obvious nod to Bruce Springsteen's
Born in the USA record, Gough takes the
listener on a tour of the England of his
youth all set against instrumental arrangements
that shoot for grandiosity with lots of
sweeping keyboards and strings. Maybe not
being English means that it doesn't resonate
with me as much it would for a Brit, but
the whole thing sounds really forced with
the big instrumental sound bordering on
cheesy. The exception is the excellent title
track, which promises something the rest
of it doesn't deliver. --Andy
Smith
MARCIA
BALL
SO MANY RIVERS (ALLIGATOR)
"It's about the distances between people,"
said R&B pianist Marcia Ball of So Many
Rivers--"the things that separate people
- miles, rivers, roads, valleys. It's about
leaving and coming home." Such are the
words of someone who's seen many, many miles
in her lifetime, someone who's been on the road
for nearly four decades, someone who's an American
wanderer, a Southern troubadour, and a poet
intimate with the rhythm and the blues. That
may sound like gushing (perhaps it is), but
there's truth behind it and So Many Rivers is
the evidence. Encompassing a variety of musical
styles - blues, gospel, boogie, R&B, New
Orleans R&B, country shuffles and Cajun
rock - the album is a sweeping and exciting
reflection of Ball's heterogonous (that is,
Creole) roots in the Cajun swamps of Louisiana.
"Foreclose on the House of Love,"
the first track, is a infectious boogie and
R&B number, featuring a solid horn section
(used on over half the tracks on So Many Rivers)
- alto, tenor and bari sax, trumpet and trombone.
That's surprising. Not that it's solid, but
that there's a horn section at all on a twenty-first
century album. You really don't hear enough
horns these days, unless you're listening to
an Alligator record, which has been Ball's label
since 2001. To boot, the horns provide that
roiling, locomotive feel that marked the big
traveling bands during the dance hall era. "Honeypie"
is a hybrid of Cajun and rock with the accordion
given prominence. If you're toes aren't tapping
during this number, check your pulse. "Give
Me a Chance to Love You" is one of six
Marcia Ball originals. A soulful gospel song,
it makes you ache to hear the pain of unrequited
love. Ball's voice is in top form here, and
she's easily on par with the legends of soul,
as this powerful song shows. Then there's
Ball's unsung lyricism. Ball is a poet whose
artistry lies beneath a veneer of simplicity.
Even the way she talks has a poetic gait to
it. All natural, no pretense. But she will never
draw attention to her artful songwriting. Entertainment
and musicality trump all. You won't catch her
bending to the wiles of "literariness."
She'd rather have you kick and stomp on the
dance floor than rub your chin, contemplating
the cosmos. Nevertheless, it is the creators
of songs who inspire Ball, as her dedication
suggests: "There have been so many rivers
in my life," she writes in the album notes.
"The Sabine, the Mississippi and the Colorado
of Texas. The bottomless Atchafalaya, the Rio
Grande, the Calcasieu, the Guadalupe - they
plod and they rage, draw lines between us and
gather us together, carry us away and home again.
For every river there's a song and for every
song, a writer. This record is dedicated to
the songwriters." Simple and direct, but
poetry all the same. (John Stoehr)
BALLBOY
CLUB ANTHEMS (MANIFESTO)
The title of this debut album by Edinburgh,
Scotland's ballboy is deceptive. Club Anthems doesn't have anything to do with hands-in-the-air
dance euphoria. This isn't house music but,
rather, home truths and homespun philosophy
set to strum-along indie-pop. Compiled largely
from ballboy's first three EPs, Club Anthems encapsulates the two sides of the band's guitar-
pop identity: quiet, introspective acoustic
compositions and bouncy, jangly upbeat numbers,
with vocalist (and real-life schoolteacher)
Gordon McIntyre's deft blend of poignancy and
knowing miserablism providing the common thread
throughout.
The hushed acoustic guitar and keyboard on
a track like "Olympic Cyclist" raise inevitable
comparisons with fellow Scots Belle & Sebastian,
while the driving, jangling rhythms of "I've
Got Pictures of You in Your Underwear" evoke
bands from south of the border like the Wedding
Present. Although for the most part these tracks
are built on similar instrumental foundations,
on the lilting "Swim for Health" ballboy expand
the arrangement with strings and horns.
Above all, McIntyre is an adept ironist. Few
people can sing lines like, "the last time I
saw you, you were lying in a bush with a bag
of glue" in an airy pop tone and have the whole
thing work perfectly. McIntyre skillfully uses
irony to keep humorous songs from being novelty
fluff and darker songs from being maudlin. The
epic "A Day in Space" might be a childlike fantasy
but its point about idealism and aspirations
is wryly made. Similarly, the moody, droning
six-minute standout "I Hate Scotland" is unflinching
and unsettling in its assessment of the national
character, but the relentlessly grim tone of
McIntyre's Aidan Moffat-style spoken delivery
infuses it with a subtle black humor.
The "club" element of the album's title notwithstanding,
there is indeed something anthemic about ballboy's
songs, as McIntyre manages to elevate the mundane
to a grander, higher level. The title of the
most affecting number is "They'll Hang Flags
from Cranes upon My Wedding Day." That says
it all. (Wilson Neate)
BALLBOY
A GUIDE FOR THE DAYLIGHT HOURS (MANIFESTO)
Scottish pop with its roots firmly set in the
late 80s C-60 style. The Wedding Present spent
an entire career moving away from that sound,
but Ballboy play homage to it well here (even
if that isn't their intention). It's hard to
look past just how much like the Wedding Present
they sound, but Gordon McIntyre's sense of humor
is much more evident than that of the ever glib
David Gedge, and there doesn't seem to be any
underlying desire to explore Ukrainian folk
music or Albini produced raw power pop. If anything,
the sound of an acoustic McIntyre singing "I
lost you but I found country music" (on
the song of the same name) reveals a tenderness
Gedge and company never had. "A Europewide
Search for Love" introduces lovely strings
over a mid-tempo romp with monologue, achieving
a desirable sound akin to Microdisney and, perhaps,
the Delgados. It's the strongest thing here,
and they continue on with unsettlingly unfunny
sophmoronic musings as "Sex Is Boring"
and "All the Records on the Radio are Shite"
(true as that may be!). It's not without its
moments, but it's no 'Tommy' by any means (and
by 'Tommy' I mean the Weddoes second album).
Their sound seems to be maturing, perhaps the
nature of McIntyre's songwriting will as well.
(d.n.l)
A
BAND OF BEES
SUNSHINE HIT ME (ASTRALWERKS)
We Americans tend me to be pretty insular,
especially when it comes to the music we love.
Don't bother us with pop music from India or
garage rock from Mexico. Give us some Creed
and we'll be fine. But many of us long for something
beyond Top 40 and America's borders. Luckily
Astralwerks can help. The label has been importing
talent from Europe and Great Britain for the
past 10 years. It has given us such notables
as Basement Jaxx and Fatboy Slim (from England)
and Air (France), but also less-prominent but
equally stunning artists like Norway's Sondre
Lerche and Royksopp. The distributor, notably,
has also reissued all three albums by krautrockers
Neu! (Germany). At the top of Astralwerks' roster
(at least alphabetically) is A Band of Bees,
a duo imported from the Isle of Wight, an island
off the coast of South England. Friends and
musical comrades for 10 years, Paul Butler and
Aaron Fletcher have created an eclectic album
that is conservatively judged quirky for its
lack of uniformity. But in its rich variety
is the album's noteworthiness. Variety in the
States is becoming increasingly conspicuous
by its absence, as popular music (i.e., pop)
slouches toward greater homogeneity. Every track
on Sunshine Hit Me seems to come from some other
band, some other album. "Punchbag"
smacks of pure Stereolab, with muted horns and
mellow piano lines complementing a great bass
beat. "Angryman" is a funk, with wah-wah
guitar and tasty Hammond organ work. Butler
and Fletcher sing falsetto vocals that demonstrate
their study of Sly and the Family Stone and
Curtis Mayfield. "Binnel Bay" combines
Malinese percussive sounds and the solemn reverence
of a Quaker hymnal. The track is similar to
a recent CD by Blur's Damon Albarn titled Mali
Music (also on Astralwerks). "No Trophy"
brings on the falsettos again, but is laid over
a solid reggae beat that would make Bunny Wailer
proud. If UB40 could sound this rough and raw,
they'd be lucky. Butler's preference for natural
sounds gives this whole album an authenticity
that doesn't come with mistake-free Pro Tools
makeovers. (John Stoehr)
FRANK
BANGO
THE UNSTUDIED SEA (SINCERE RECORDING COMPANY)
Three years ago Frank Bango released a terrific
album called Fugitive Girls, which sounded more
nearly like Costello's Armed Forces than anything
I'd heard in eons. From the first few times
through The Unstudied Sea, with its spare instrumentation,
it sounds to me that he'd decided his music
needed to 'mature,' and that he'd made a correspondingly
sad and depressing album. Then a lengthy track
called "A Clear Eye For Daisy" kicked
in, with evocative lyrics, a haunting guitar
part, affecting vocal, and a spine-chilling
ending. A few spins later, it was clear that
while he'd largely left the sound I loved on
the last album behind, this new one was full
of beautifully realized, artfully crafted songs
as well. Bango has a partnership with a lyricist
named Richy Vesecky, and comparisons with Bacharach
and David are becoming more appropriate, it
seems. This album is a bit of an acquired taste,
and it won't impress you much initially, but
if you're one of those folks who appreciated
Costello's Bacharach collaborations, you probably
need to search this one out. It is indeed a
top quality pop record. (Kent H. Benjamin)
BANGS
CALL AND RESPONSE (KILL ROCK STARS)
In the spirit of 77, Bangs can really rock.
That's with a capital R-A-W-K. These are songs
for a good time. This is what 70s rock n' roll
was all about, kids! L-I-V-I-N. Wait. Bangs
are about more than just the music and the good
times. "Call and Response" is a clear
plea against sexual harassment, with a very
direct audience in mind (are they talking to
me?), creating an eerie sense of urgency and
frustration. It's as if more men are guilty
of these horrors than we would generally suspect.
"I Want More" is a beautifully crafted
song about the evils of mass media, and the
desire to replicate the sugary, ideal (yet unrealistic)
lives of people on television. This message-oriented
rock music reminds me of something else from
1977. What was it? Yeah. Punk rock. What ever
happened with that? (Don Simpson)
DANNY BARNES
Get Myself Together (TERMINUS)
Former Bad Livers banjo extraordinaire Danny
Barnes should look into short story writing.
He crafts tales of wit and woe with a prose
writer’s careful attention to detail,
and that allows his characters to step out of
the stereo, trip over their broken shoelaces
and stumble right onto the living room couch.
A typically lost soul narrates “Get Me
Out of Jail.” “Well, I got drunk
this morning and I went off to work/By 9 or
10 I cashed it in and threw up on my shirt,”
Barnes sings. “Then I lost your house
keys so I broke in with a rock/I keep my Oxycotin,
baby, way down in my sock.” Others like
“Rat’s Ass” and “Big
Girl Blues” confirm Barnes’ refusal
to join the politically correct world. Bully
for him – and us. Cover songs make up
about half the material here, and Barnes proves
himself a unique and innovative interpreter.
Look no further than his brilliant dusty-road
reading of the Stones’ “Sympathy
for the Devil” for evidence. –Brian
T. Atkinson
SHANE BARTELL
Too Soon To Say
Sarathan
While this beefed up re-release of Shane
Bartell’s full-length debut contains
new songs (the bass-heavy “Harris
Park” is noteworthy), it’s the
same terrific record that will hopefully
garner more attention this time ‘round.
The new, improved version of “Too
Soon To Say” remains a pleasant mix
of slinky pop with jazz and Britpop overtones,
making it sound suitably in tune with these
cultured, chaotic times. The exquisite “At
Any Moment” is a fine song to fall
in love with (or listen to while falling
in love with someone), although the smooth
as a baby’s ass bossanova of “Stars
Burn Out” is an ideal single. Nothing
quite prepares for the album's epic conclusion,
though, as “Almost Perfect”
opens with restrained piano and Bartell’s
voice repeatedly murmuring “sometimes
you make it almost perfect” with just
enough underlying disquiet to create a queasy
feeling. It’s a sweeping tour de force
that has guitars and percussion colliding
in a fever dream, a clatter of sounds worthy
of O.K. Computer-era Radiohead,
forcing Bartell to sing louder about a conflicted
love affair. Which makes “Almost Perfect”
all the more intense and aptly named. Produced
by Lars Gorannsson (Cardigans, Dave Pirner),
whose legendary love of UK pop must have
influenced such nuances, Bartell is riding
a wave that is also generating buzz for
his live shows. –
David Pyndus
BASS PIGGY
BOX SET (BASS PIGGY)
While Dave Fridmann is a member of this band
(he plays beatbox and drums), let me start this
review by saying that Bass Piggy sounds nothing
like Mercury Rev, the Flaming Lips, or anything
else in the Fridmann universe. Not that that
is a bad thing. This box set, a steal at 10
bucks (they even throw in some random Happy
Meal toys), contains all three Bass Piggy albums
released from 1989-1996 (a fourth has been recorded
but not yet released): You're A Bore, You're
Fat! and Litmer. The group, which also features
Fridmann's wife Mary, Steve Wasiura (Waz), and
Andrea Scalise (who are the other married couple
in this bizzaro-world version of ABBA), is an
occasional project done mostly for the hell
of it. Waz comes up with some of the most entertaining
stories (witness all eight minutes of "The
Cheese Song") and some dead-on parodies
("The Donut Shop" takes on Suzanna
Vega's "Tom's Diner" while "Pink
Floyd," contrarily, sounds nothing like
Pink Floyd). While I can see why Dave claims
that there wasn't much major label interest
in this project, anyone who thought Ween was
good fun will eat this up like Chicken McNuggets
(which, I guess, is where the Happy Meal toys
come in!). (d.n.l).
OUT FOR THE NIGHT (TEMPLE)
One of Scottish music’s true institutions,
having fearlessly introduced shades of contemporary
rock and pop into their traditional folk mix
over their 35 year existence, the Battlefield
Band are once again purveyors of a more strict
form of folk purism. Not that their history
of slipping synthesizers in among bagpipes
and whistles was entirely unwelcome, as they
generally did so in such an unobtrusive way
that they could never be accused of making
reckless transformations or concessions to
commerciality, but the vigor and enthusiasm
with which they attack these tracks seems to
suggest that they are invigorated by the traditional
approach. Whatever the case, their playing
suffers little from the stuffy academia that
sometimes creeps into the work of those who
pride themselves on being purists, and their
sensitivity to the range of expression and
nuance in each of these songs and in each chosen
instrument (ranging from whistles and fiddles
to bagpipes and keyboards) truly sets them
above their contemporaries. With vocalist Pat
Kilbride back in the fold after a 20-year absence,
the band sounds utterly reborn. And while it’s
a somewhat amorphous distinction to draw, the
deftness with which they blow through jigs
and reels, then slip into sweet ballads and
gorgeously sentimental arrangements, ensures
that the album runs through an incredible array
of textures and sentiments over its 70-minute
playing time. Even though their approach is
traditional, roughly half of the tracks are
actually originals, and they aren’t afraid
to center arrangements on non-folk instruments
like piano on the melancholy “Rest and
Be Thankful” or slip into more contemporary
vernacular with “Belfast to Boston.” In
the end, Out for the Night is just about everything
a fan of the form could want.
THE BEACH BOYS
THE BEACH BOYS CLASSICS AS SELECTED BY BRIAN
WILSON (CAPITOL)
It would be easy to complain about yet another
Beach Boys reissue. And yet the concept of having
Brian Wilson pick out and annotate his 19 best
performances, along with a previously unissued
song dating from Brian's last golden period
with the Boys (circa '71-'73) as a bonus, is
just hard to resist. Remastered in HDCD 20-bit
audio, it's like an audiophile's collection
of the best-ever Brian Wilson songs (few hardcore
fans are going to quibble with his choices,
as they're ours, too). The new track "California
Feelin'," features a strong-voiced Wilson
backed by the Wondermints and Jeffrey Foskett,
but it's really just for collectors. You won't
hear it on modern radio. But for those of you
who don't own much Beach Boys music on CD, and
have wondered exactly why some obnoxious fans
like us keep insisting that Brian Wilson is
god, well, here's why. In one compact form,
19 slices of pure pop heaven; rating songs on
a scale of one to ten, there's 19 consecutive
10s here. Music doesn't get any better than
this. Quibble: Would've been lovely to have
included a stereo "I Get Around."
(Kent H. Benjamin)
THE
BEATIFICS
IN THE MEANTIME (BUS STOP RECORDS)
Minneapolis-based The Beatifics have dallied
five years since their last album, and are down
to only one original member. This five-song
EP features a new quartet drawn from members
of other groups on their old label, Twin/Tone.
One track, the excellent "Longest Days
of Summer," has previously been released
on 7" vinyl. It's a terrific power pop
soundtrack for the summer of double nought two,
though. Best is the title track, "In The
Meantime," which effectively channels both
Cheap Trick and Raspberries. Great singing,
great harmonies, full of high-energy pop hooks,
this little EP makes me very excited about hearing
their full-length album which is due later in
the year. Recommended. (Kent H. Benjamin)
THE BEATINGS
The Heart, The Product, The Machine And The
Asshole
Midrift Records
Hot on the heels of their critically lauded
full-length debut, Italiano, Boston’s
The Beatings offer this dreadfully titled sophomore
EP. Whereas Italiano had mouths agape and drawing
abundant comparison to 80s era indie pop and
prog-punk influences (the list goes on), The
Heart, etc. represents a professed stylistic
change. While by no means a severe departure
- the quartet has always experimented across
the map, and still kneel reverently at the altar
of lo-fi aesthetic - their controlled chaos
has been toned down overall with a darker, more
sullen approach. Italiano’s closing track
was “Bloated and Disabled,” and
that seems to be the overall temper with which
The Heart picks things back up. Sluggish and
droning with six-plus minutes of tremolo-laced
guitar feedback, its opening dirge, “American
Standard,” leaves the listener hoping
it won’t become one. The hilariously titled
(though alarmingly reminiscent of Bob Seger’s
“Shame on the Moon”) “Organ
Donor Regrets” fares somewhat better,
and seems a fitting ode to a band that openly
proclaims, “We encourage indulgence in
our vices.” Enter “Transvestite
Bar,” another lethargic number replete
with endless drag-themed couplets and a low-register
refrain (“transvestite bar’s got
the best of me”) sung by a burly “man
chorus.” It’s got novel, drinking-song
appeal, but does little to delve into the pressing
question of precisely how it’s gotten
the best of him (other than being wasted). Again,
“Sick Day” begins with recorded
footage of someone taking a piss, and then rocks
Hüsker Dü style with more alcohol-laden
lament. Faring much better are the upbeat “This
Year” and album closer, “These Will
Be The Old Days Someday.” The former features
bassist Erin Dalbec on a doubled lead vocal
treatment (a la Kim Deal), and quirky but hypnotic,
loop-like guitar lines; the latter is a gloomy-yet-soothing
ballad whose stripped-down instrumentation and
earnest lyrics succeed brilliantly in conveying
an intimacy that eludes the rest of the slower
songs on the EP. Perhaps the biggest problem
with The Heart is in a seeming mismatch between
lo-fi ethic (the vocals especially are woefully
EQd) and attempts at slower material. Devil-may-care
production attitude tends to fly much more fabulously
when bashing out one’s brains, but if
The Beatings wish to engage listeners in the
introspective fold they might do well to create
a more inviting auditory environment. Upon multiple
listens, the distinct charm of these songs begins
to emerge more clearly, but that does little
to rescue it from a definite lack of sonic warmth.
(J. J. Benson)
THE BEATINGS
Holding on to Hand Grenades (MIDRIFF)
My mind has suddenly spun back to crisp, fall
evenings during my sophomore year of high school,
sitting on my bedroom floor beside the turntable,
strategically placing the needle alternately
on “Could You Be the One?” and “Standing
in the Rain” from my recently purchased
copy of Husker Du’s Warehouse: Songs and
Stories. This evening I find myself doing the
same with “A Responsible Person”
and “Upstate Flashbacks” from the
Beatings’ Holding on to Hand Grenades
(it’s much easier, but not quite as enjoyable,
alternating tracks on a CD). Totally naive of
previous output by the Beatings, just as Warehouse
was my virgin foray into Husker Du; they will
probably influence me like my discovery of the
Husker Du back-catalogue. For now, it sure sounds
like 1987 is back and in full-throttle again.
Holding on to Hand Grenades takes us to the
glory days of when today’s thirty-somethings
were in high school and the buzzing guitars
of blue collar rock bands like Husker Du and
the Pixies ruled the school airwaves. It’s
fertile ground that few have tempted to cover
so accurately, making this humble reference
to (gulp!) almost 20 years ago even more exciting.
--Don Simpson
THE BEES (U.S.)
High Society
Roar
First things first: This Nashville-based band called The Bees is known as The Bees (U.S.) in order to differentiate themselves from the UK-based Bees (known in the US as A Band of Bees). The Bees (U.S.) play a sunny, breezy pop full of acoustic guitars and piano, and there is a sort of Van Morrison, Jackson Browne, early solo period Paul Simon quality about the music on High Society. The sound is warm and embracing, and Daniel Tashian's voice is guaranteed to make you think of sunny afternoons. On the other hand, despite its effortlessly tuneful sound, this record is decidedly lightweight--pleasantly engaging but not much more. --Andy Smith
BELHOME
A View of the Woods (/Built\)
Austin's Belhome plays a pleasant and unassuming
brand of folky-pop music with nice melodies
and Andrea Couch's violin prominently featured.
The sound is reminiscent of Scottish bands like
Aberfeldy and Belle and Sebastian, although
Belhome isn't quite in that league. There is
also a hint of a rootsy, Americana sound, although
the band isn't especially twangy. The record's
opener "Before We Drown" is a snappy
and fairly catchy ditty, although it might be
about a minute too long. All in all, A View
of the Woods is a promising record from a band
that has talent but seems to need more time
to mature. (Andy Smith)
THE BELLRAYS
Have a Little Faith
Cheap Lullaby
The BellRays suffer from a bit of an identity
crisis. Have a Little Faith's first song,
"Tell the Lie," is a delicious
piece of fine early 70's Superfly-esque soul that showcases the depth and soul in
Lisa Kekaula's voice. But from there the
BellRays go onto a series of chunky guitar
rock songs that make them sound like a band
that plays a lot of suburban rock club battle
of the bands contests. Kekaula battles bravely
throughout, but the material doesn’t
serve her nearly as well. When the band
returns to its Motown leanings on "Have
A Little Faith In Me," "Everyday
I Think of You," and "Third Time's
the Charm," the BellRays hit their
stride. If there is a division in the band
on which way to go, this listener suggests
the Martha Reeves side of the argument over
the Grand Funk Railroad leanings. --Andy
Smith
BELONG
October Language (CARPARK)
Belong’s first release, October Language,
drips with a rich, dark, cerebral blend of sonic
distortions; partly mechanical and maniacal,
as if a static-ridden Lynchian broadcast from
the horrifying interior of a electrical system,
yet simultaneously dazzling and delightful with
flowing landscapes shrouded with expansive layers
of guitars and synthesizers. This collaboration
between Turk Dietrich and Michael Jones was
born in New Orleans’ West Bank around
2002, though the album was not assembled, composed
and produced until 2004 in Dietrich's bedroom
studio. Without delving into metaphors of recent
natural disasters, October Language personifies
a landscape of gothic beauty and lustrous life
entangled with an eerie and devilish undercurrent
of destruction. --Don Simpson
THE BENDERS
MOUNTAIN RADIO (PIG PILE)
Bluegrass has been flourishing since before
the whole O Brother Where Art Thou thing, the
traditional bent of which gives kind of a warped
view of the current bluegrass scene. Contrary
to that record's valuable but narrow purview,
bluegrass is not just about the old songs; there
are plenty of young bands like Blue Highway,
Mountain Heart, and the Two High String Band
writing their own original tunes and contributing
to the bluegrass songbook as a whole. The Benders
are one of these, a fiery acoustic quintet that
keeps one foot in tradition and one in modern
times on its latest album Mountain Radio. The
lineup is the traditional guitar, banjo, mandolin,
dobro, and bass, and if none of the guys are
virtuosos on their chosen instruments, they
certainly know how to play. The vocals, meanwhile,
betray backgrounds in rock 'n' roll without
sounding out of place, though the Benders' real
virtue lies in the songwriting talents of banjoist
Bow Thayer, guitarist Jabe Beyer, and bassist
Nolan McKelvey. "The Road Home," "Double
Yellow," "Racin' Till the Break of
Dawn," and "Shovel Full of Dreams"
sound like old classics while remaining firmly
in the modern era, a neat trick not many roots
writers can pull off. The Benders could draw
from the vast catalog of bluegrass icons, like
most 'grassers these days, but why bother when
they're too busy creating catalog entries of
their own? Mountain Radio hasn't a single song
from Bill Monroe or the Stanley Brothers, but
is still a topflight bluegrass record. (Michael
Toland)
BERNIE BERNIE HEADFLAP
STONE COLD BLUE (HUMAN INHUMAN RECORDS)
Ah ha! I think this might just very well be the perfect example of the merits of desktop recording. This is obviously the creation of a sole, omnipotent soul capable of perfecting the "one man performing multiple layers of sound and dialogue" game. It must be a mighty fun game for Mr. McCabe, but I also read an underlying, much more serious secret message, a plea if you will, for collaborating musicians. This is a creation that lives and breathes for the streets, for mass consumption, yet one man cannot pull off this feat alone. The menagerie of possibilities behind the curtain, creating such a wild yet cohesive compilation of songs, is one thing; to take this show on the road, other players, many other players are surely required. This is music that deserves a band, a label, a home; the 'Flap in singular form will continue with or without others but for the world's sake let's hope the 'Flap multiplies to more members than the Polyphonic Spree. The possibilities are endlessly possible; will it be "quirky college band superstars" or "well-respected groundbreaking underground talent" or "this millennium's Talking Heads"? Without further ado, go to the 'Flap website, listen to the music for yourself, as no descriptive or comparative words will do the recordings the justice they justly deserve. (Don Simpson)
PETE
BERWICK
ONLY BLEEDING (SHOTGUN)
There's a noble aspect to the career of artists
like Pete Berwick, who's been kicking around
the midwest in punk, pop, and country bands
since the late 70s. But while Berwick's scruffy,
earnest tales are compelling, and "Outsider"
is surely his signature song, full of squalling
guitar mesh and driving rock rhythms, neither
his voice nor the heartfelt but ultimately not-all-that
distinguishable songs rise to the level of compelling.
But if you're looking for the scars of living
in the American indie rock underground, Berwick's
your man . . . . (Luke Torn)
Bevis Frond
Hit Squad (Woronzow)
It would be absurd to expect Nick Saloman to
strike out in a radical new direction after
18 studio albums and it's safe to assume there'll
be no Bevis Frond techno, jazz or spoken-word
record any time soon. That said, Saloman's latest
album certainly isn't a formulaic exercise in
which he simply goes through the motions. Hit
Squad is more diverse than either of the
Frond's last two records and shows that Saloman's
not content just to repeat himself. The trumpet-adorned
"All Set?" opens the proceedings in
a way reminiscent of What Did for the Dinosaurs,
"Dragons" kicks out the jams with
characteristic Frondian gusto and "Flood
Warning" offers some classic Saloman jangle-pop,
but the most memorable numbers add new dimensions
to the band's sound. Indeed, fresh ideas and
imaginative instrumental coloring abound here,
giving the Frond renewed energy and dynamism.
Hawkwindesque sci-fi synths twitter and hiss
throughout the heavy grind of "Doing Nothing"
and a moody organ lurks on "Through the
Hedge"; elsewhere, "High Point"
has a brighter, country feel, thanks to some
rootsy mouth harp and slide guitar. Saloman
has always displayed great range as a guitarist
but on the melancholy "Crumbs" his
playing is particularly expressive, as he teases
out mesmerizing, Frippertronic-style melodic
swathes. In contrast with the largely one-man-Frond
MO of earlier records, Saloman has enlisted
the touring version of the band on the last
few albums and the current lineup really makes
its presence felt here. On "Mission Completed,"
the Alchemysts' Paul Simmons turns in a trademark
blistering solo and the rhythm section of Jules
Fenton (drums) and old hand Adrian Shaw (bass)
drives the song forward with irresistible force.
Saloman's aversion to the business side of music-making
is no secret and that antipathy reaches new
heights on "Hit Squad," whose protagonist
is a rock 'n' roll avenger out to whack the
usual suspects -- promoters, distributors and,
not surprisingly, rock hacks ("He got a
shitty review in a music mag / Try writing when
you're zipped up in a body bag"). Recalling
in equal measure "Summertime Blues"
and the theme music from the original Batman TV show, "Hit Squad" captures Saloman's
writing at its most witty and ironic: "He's
got a semi-detached and a family car / He's
got a season ticket down at QPR / He's just
turned 50 and he's deaf in one ear / And he
grows more bitter with each passing year."
Saloman saves the best until last with "Fast
Falls the Eventide," an atmospheric epic
of synth and guitar textures that returns to
some of his favorite themes -- London, decline
and death, with some insanity thrown in for
good measure. Although the song ends in a rather
bleak fashion as Saloman sings about the "hour
at which we both depart," we can rest assured
that the Frond will be back with another record.
After all, What Did for the Dinosaurs closed in much the same way and itself followed
the forebodingly titled Valedictory Songs.
(Wilson Neate)
THE
BIRDWATCHER
AFTERNOON TALES THE MORNING NEVER KNEW (ARENA
ROCK)
Dan Metz, AKA the Birdwatcher, first made a
name for himself as a member of avant rock combo
Windsor For the Derby. That band's quiet, unearthly
tones are a definite influence on the Birdwatcher's
second album Afternoon Tales the Morning Never
Knew, though this version of Metz's muse is
far more song- oriented than Windsor. Melody
and self-expression are more important here
than pushing the experimental envelope. Like
a lot of bedroom indie-pop, some of the tracks
sound unfinished, and the intimate nature of
the performances sometimes stretches Metz's
unvarnished voice past its limits. But the gentle
pop urgency of "The Hush," stripped-down
acoustic performance of "A Thousand Ants,"
noiseless epic poetry of "Trouble"
and plush dreampop distortion of "Drawn"
possess enough melodic spine and genuine beauty
to balance out the flaws. (Michael Toland)
THE BLACK ANGELS
s/t (LIGHT IN THE ATTIC)
It seemed to take a while, but Austin now has
a band on the Brian Jonestown Massacre-led neo-psychedelic
bandwagon, which considering Texas' long and
storied psychedelic history seems appropriate.
The Black Angels take their name from a Velvet
Underground song and shoot for a similar dark,
droning sound on their debut four-song EP. There's
a lot of biting, hard-edged guitars and vintage
organ sounds, and the grooves stomp as often
as they swirl, ending up with a sound on the
darker side of the new paisley power bands,
even wandering into almost Joy Division territory
with "Manipulation." The Black Angels
do a number of things very right on this record
with their sense of dynamics at the top of the
list and singer Alex Maas' vocals coming in
close behind. The weak link right now is the
band's retro-obsession and too-easy fit into
the trendy neo-psych (a la DIG!) scene, which
thus far seems to be more hype than substance,
unfortunately. Texas' original psych bands like
13th Floor Elevators, Bubble Puppy, and even
Sir Douglas Quintet took pride in transcending
the West Coast scene rather than falling into
line with it, and with some further maturity
(and a few more hooks) the Black Angels' darker,
almost gothic neo-psych sound could truly become
its own. --Andy Smith
Black Dice
Creature Comforts(DFA)
Black Dice is one of the first bands performing
experimental music to be commercially successful,
so it’s no surprise that, compared to their
influences and many contemporaries, they’re
also one of the least adventurous. Since they
abandoned their chaotic Gravity Records punk
sound just a few years ago, they have been trying
their hand at all kinds of noisemaking, be it
drone-rock (“Beaches and Canyons”) or formless
electronic music (“Miles of Smiles”). The band’s
latest, Creature Comforts, lies somewhere between
previous niches but, unfortunately, synthesis
of styles is not synonymous with quality and
interest. Electronic music’s success is heavily
reliant on the composer’s ability to mine new
and unheard sound worlds, but everything on
Creature Comforts, from the clichéd guitar playing
(where’s my phaser pedal?) to the familiar synthesizer
sounds, fails to leave any kind of lasting impression
on the listener. To the band's credit, there
are some compelling moments, especially in the
album’s opener “Cloud Pleaser,” but the album
soon falls into aimless noisemaking and never
looks back. Black Dice isn’t making terrible
music, but there is much more to be gained elsewhere
in the world of experimental music than from
this band of New Yorkers who can’t seem to make
any kind of definitive statement. (Nick Hennies)
BLACK SABBATH
SYMPTOM OF THE UNIVERSE (RHINO)
PAST LIVES (DIVINE/SANCTUARY)
It's great to see that the world is finally
waking up to just how important Black Sabbath
was/is to so many people. Too bad it took a
really awful television show to draw attention
to that (too painful to even watch! Who wants
to watch Ozzy turn into a senile, obscenity
rife grandfather?). Add to that the years of
degradation the Black Sabbath name suffered
with ever-increasingly weak lineups based around
founding guitarist Tony Iommi, and it's no
wonder that both of these compilations focus
on the classic, original version of this legendary,
groundbreaking band from Bournemouth. The Rhino
compilation is a thing of beauty, giving the
trademark remaster Rhino treatment to all of
the best tracks from the band's first eight
albums, and compiling an informative booklet
filled with rare photos to boot. The song selection
goes in chronological order, from "Black
Sabbath" to "A Hard Road," with
an emphasis on the first four albums. There's
only one rare track, "Evil Woman," which
has previously been available on import compilations
(and is exceptionally weak). Most Sabbath fans
will already have all of this material but,
like myself, will want this anthology just
because it's so well produced and it's so nice
to have these songs all together in one package.
As for the new live collection, the sad thing
about the original Sabbath is that no official
live album was released during their era (in
a time when Deep Purple, Blue Oyster Cult and
Uriah Heep were cleaning up on the concept,
how did this happen?). Past Lives rectifies
the situation somewhat. It takes the show recorded
for the posthumous, and poorly packaged, import-only
Live at Last! and combines it with a disc of
songs recorded throughout the 70s. It concentrates
heavily on the Sabotage album, which is fine,
but as a career overview, it's lacking. Still,
Past Lives is great for all of its clumsy Ozzy-isms
("come on, let's hear ya'" is heard
most frequently) and for proof of what many
of us never got to experience firsthand: Black
Sabbath were one of the seminal live acts of
the 70s. Having fairly reconciled their historical
output, let's just leave it at that. (d.n.l)
THE BLACK
WATCH
VERY MARY BETH (STONE GARDEN RECORDS)
The desired effect was to land in every teenage
girl's bedroom CD collection. From the cover
photo of a sassy grinning chick to the mid-tempo
acoustic rocking, it's obvious the Black Watch
is aiming for a spot right between the Crash
Test Dummies and Counting Crows on this their
seventh long-player. To some degree, it works.
The tunes are pleasant enough, and the crooning
restrained, but as is the problem with anything
vying for mid-America acceptance, Very Mary
Beth is just way too pleasant, stylized, and
mediocre. Throw in some Tom Petty grooves here,
some Radiohead guitar washes there, melodicism
reminiscent of happy Cure or Echo and the Bunnymen,
and you wind up with some radio friendly pap
with occasionally clever lyrics, but no sparkling
singles. It sounds calculated, and worse, calculated
several years behind modern pop trends. After
15 years hopping the indie labels, it seems
the Black Watch, headed by English Ph.D. John
Andrew Frederick, is getting tired and looking
for a way out. I think the teenaged girls will
need more convincing before they foot that retirement.
(Jason Benjamin)
BLANKET MUSIC
MOVE (HUSH)
On Move's first song, Blanket Music instruct
a whiny critic to "Shut up and sway your
hips," thus subverting the entire record-reviewing
process. Damn you, Blanket Music! You are too
clever for the likes of me. Anyway, Blanket
Music are a Portland group somewhere between
a quartet and a sextet who specialize in a languid
brand of electronically-enhanced lounge music.
Now, from where I sit the whole cocktail nation
scene seems pretty played out, but the genre
has been harder to kill than Jason from Friday
the 13th, so I guess there's nothing to do but
shut up and sway my hips. Besides, I am probably
in error referring to this as lounge music;
it would be more precise to call it ersatz tropicalia
with inflections of bossa nova. Lead everything
Chad Crouch has certainly got the skillz for
the job. His voice is somewhere between the
breathy sophistication of Belle & Sebastian's
Stuart Murdoch and the more sedated moments
of Ryan Adams. His guitar work is also exemplary,
giving the proceedings just the right leisurely
bounce, and he also blends in some electronic
programming with a free hand. Also impressive
is drummer Greg Lind, who sounds as though he
is prepared for any exoticism thrown his way.
All in all it is a very pleasant if unadventurous
listen that is probably best not thought about
too deeply. If your favorite cocktail shaker
is somewhere gathering dust and your hips feel
in need of a thorough swaying, I encourage you
to give Blanket Music a go. (Matt Murphy)
THE BLEACHERS
Suspicion
Village Industries
Suspicion is an interesting record with
a lot of interesting ideas that don't always
mesh, which makes the Bleachers sound like
a young band still trying to figure its
sound out. On most of this record, they
seem to be trying on a lot of different
styles to see what fits, which is in evidence
during the three consecutive songs: "Don't
Make No Roads,""Octopus"
and "Anne/A Death In Segments."
However, this record has one stellar song,
"Invitation," which has a wonderfully
jangly, murky Cure meets Chronic Town-era
REM sound with a catchy chorus. This is
the only song on this mostly atmospheric
and moody record where they seem to put
it all together. --Andy Smith
Bloc Party
Silent Alarm (V2)
London-based Bloc Party is one of a group of
UK bands playing spiky, slashing post-punk music
that has gained great popular traction in the
wake of Franz Ferdinand's success in 2004. They
made their first US appearances in early 2005
and gained quite a buzz at the South By Southwest
Music Conference in Austin in March and along
with such like-minded bands at Kaiser Chiefs,
The Futureheads, and Kasabian, are making some
popular headway on these shores. Silent
Alarm, their debut, shows both the similarities
and differences with the bands with whom they
have been conveniently categorized. Bloc Party
may be the most truly post-punk of these bands
(if direct comparisons to Gang of Four are the
key to that term). They have the loping bass
lines, staccato beats, and slashing guitars
all in place, as well as the sense of space
in the music that Gang of Four always used to
brilliant effect. However, it is wholly inaccurate
to say that Bloc Party merely apes their predecessors;
they simply are using some of the same ingredients.
Vocalist Kele Okereke has a great sense of melody
and feel as a vocalist, even if he doesn't have
a great range, and the band effectively mixes
splendid melodic choruses with the barbed wire
sections and gentler parts. Silent Alarm is a mature and effective debut that showcases
this band's skilled songwriting and musicianship.
The advance hype is well-deserved. (Andy Smith)
The Blood Brothers
Crimes (V2)
The Blood Brothers seem bent on creating as
ugly a racket as possible while also embracing
rock star bravado and bombast. On Crimes, their
fourth record overall and first for V2, they
scream and yell and make all sorts of abrasive
noise, but amidst their controlled chaos is
a great deal of structure and thought. After
two blasts of unbridled fury open the record,
they actually experiment with something approaching
melody on the brilliantly titled "Love Rhymes
With Hideous Car Wreck" which builds gradually
then degenerates into the band's trademark squalling
cacophony before ending in a sort of 70's AM
pop mockery. "Rats and Rats and Rats For Candy"
sounds as though the band tried to jam as many
changes as possible into a three and a half
minute song. Then "Live At the Apocalypse Cabaret"
comes about as close as the band can to lounge
music before the last four tracks get back to
the eardrum splitting agenda. Certainly not
for the faint-hearted or those sensitive to
migraines, Crimes shows that there is more to
the Blood Brothers than simple sonic destruction.
(Andy Smith)
THE
BLOODTHIRSTY LOVERS
THE BLOODTHIRSTY LOVERS
In his latest Post-Grifters project, Dave Shouse,
most recently of Those Bastard Souls, has made
the misguided decision to see what this electronica
thing is all about. The result is a generally
uninspired effort that has tinges of TNT-era
Tortoise, minus the grandeur and originality.
These 11 disappointing tracks sputter along
blandly, virtually indistinguishable from one
another, and the record isn't so much an exploration
of electronica as a dull retread of sounds you've
heard at least five years before. The group
presumably takes its name from a song on the
Grifters' Full Blown Possession album, a fact
that only serves to remind listeners that in
his post-Grifters efforts, Shouse has yet to
make anything that approaches the rough-hewn
majesty of any of that band's criminally underrated
recordings. (Amanda Cantrell)
Blues Brother Castro
MoneyMakerMe (Rara Records)
Blues Brother Castro hails from Amsterdam and
just recently completed their first American
tour. Their debut record MoneyMakerMe is a raw
record full of martial rhythms, snarling barb-wire
riffs from guitarist Tjeerd Meindersma, and
frenzied vocals from singer/guitarist Leon Caren.
The songs are all intense, energetic affairs
that at times echo newer bands such as Pretty
Girls Make Graves, as well as indie stalwarts
like the Pixies (especially when bassist Mila
joins in on vocals). At times it is unabashedly
abrasive (i.e.. "Good Enough"), but
when the band finds hooks and catchy tunes to
mix into the frantic intensity (for instance
on "Dress" and "Want To"),
MoneyMakerMe shows the potential to make Blues
Brother Castro more of a household name on this
side of the Atlantic. (Andy Smith)
TIM
BLUHM
THE SOFT ADVENTURE EP / COLTS
(CALIFORNIA RECORDINGS)
Making a more low-key and laidback foray into
rootsy California rock, the Mother Hips' Tim
Bluhm takes a step, albeit a small one, away
from the increasingly pop-minded work of his
hippie-happy brothers. Pairing a richly adorned
six-song EP with a more utilitarian ten-song
bootleg that dates from 1996 but never saw official
release, the set serves as a suitably comprehensive
introduction to Bluhm's comfortably soulful
rock. Here, handling nearly every guitar, piano,
and harmonica in the mix, Bluhm ties together
numerous durable singer-songwriterisms, simultaneously
bordering on cleverness and cliché but
never giving over entirely to either. Still,
underneath the plaintive guitar strumming, streaming
countrified licks, and down-and-out rambler
narratives is a fairly sophisticated melodic
sensibility, with chord progressions taking
unexpectedly sour turns in the Beck-ish "Life
in the City" and a surreally cooing choir
adding solemnity to the darkly lush "The
Only Solution." Mostly, though, it's the
influence of 70s California rock that echoes
through the conventions of his thoroughly inviting
vocals and by-the-books lyricism. Although he
doesn't owe a gratuitous debt of inspiration
to any one influence, numerous suitable sonic
comparisons are available - from the Eagles
to Tom Petty to Gram Parsons. All in all, he
might not yet be ready to move out from under
the umbrella of his other band, but on the basis
of the evidence here, Tim Bluhm proves himself
more than capable of filling center stage on
his own. (Matt Fink)
THE BOBBLEHEADS
AUTOMATIC FUN (PopPop)
San Francisco outfit the Bobbleheads play incessantly upbeat guitar pop on Automatic Fun , the kind of late-60s influenced platter that rides the cusp of bubblegum pop and Association/ Monkees / pastiche. Led every step of the way by singer John Ashfield's Rickenbacker guitar, they're at their best on the sunny " Denver ," which reminds me of a strange alter-ego to downcast 80s jangle rock outfit Pop-Art. But, if you're sweet-tooth runs in this direction, Automatic Fun will paste a grin on your face. --Charlie Sands
BOCHUM WELT
Elan (FUZZY BOX)
Arguably, a pitfall facing dance-oriented electronic
musicians is that they run the risk of sounding
indistinguishable from their peers. Indeed,
Gianluigi Di Costanzo's latest Bochum Welt project
(the fruit of a four-year collaboration with
Californian composer Brian Salter) shows that
it's not easy for electronic artists to emerge
as auteurs with a distinctive, recognizable
sound. Elan continues in the familiar Bochum
Welt ambient techno/IDM vein and, while this
material is often fleetingly pleasing or works
as aural wallpaper, it's hardly memorable. Featuring
Italian pop singer Garbo, the triptych "Blue"
sounds generic while "Joystick Coupler"
fares little better, notwithstanding the presence
of the singing Italian astronomer Dr. Fiorella
Terenzi (a cross between Carl Sagan and Madonna,
according to Dennis Miller). While "Vectors
in Full Colors" reduces ambient music to
its Muzaky lowest common denominator (and not
even in a pastiche way), the beatless soundscape
"Cinematronics" is more promising,
although it ultimately feels underdeveloped
and unrealized. Overall, the 28-minute Elan
disappoints with nondescript, albeit functional
dance-flavored tracks and chilled-out numbers
that are more soporific than oneiric. --Wilson
Neate
DAVID BOWIE
BEST OF BOWIE (EMI)
It feels like there have been more Best of
David Bowie compilations than have actually
been released. While it's hard to improve on
Rykodisc's 1993, three-disc boxed set of singles,
b-sides, and choice album tracks, this new compilation
does indeed fill a very needed hole in your
David Bowie collection. It's not merely a collection
of great songs (not all were released in the
States as singles), but marks the first-ever
appearance on CD for a surprising 11 of the
20 tracks. You see, most of Bowie's biggest
hits appeared on vinyl 45s in edited single
versions, and they've never before been available
on an album, much less on a CD. This includes
several of Bowie's duets, notably "Under
Pressure" with Queen, "Dancing in
the Street" recorded with Mick Jagger for
Live Aid, and "This Is Not America"
with the Pat Metheny Group, although it should
be noted that the latter ranks just above "The
Laughing Gnome" as the worst single Bowie
ever released. As for hearing all these songs
back to back, gloriously remastered, in a cool
little package, well, it's a gas gas gas. Bowie
is nothing more or less than one of the finest
singles artists of all time. Put it on the shelf
with your Beatles, Elvis, and Stones, and play
it loudly and often, relive your youth, and
look to the future. That this comes on the heels
of Bowie's best album in decades is doubly gratifying.
(Kent H. Benjamin)
David Bowie
David Live at the Tower, Philadelphia
(Virgin)
Along the David Bowie timeline, the span between
the fall of Ziggy Stardust and the rise of the
Thin White Duke is hazy. A span of albums that
included an attempt at a new alter ego, a half-baked
musical adaptation of Orwell's 1984,
and a short lived phase as an Americana soul
singer proved that while the man's frequent
reinventions may have fallen short, it was the
growing strength of his songwriting which kept
him at the top of the pop heap. Overlooked in
the years following its 1974 release, David
Live shakes the tunes from the constraints
of their overbearing albums, and shifts the
focus back to the songs themselves; making it
a vital document in getting to the bottom of
Bowie's transitional period. Although touring
in support of the recently released Diamond
Dogs, it’s the material from 1973's Aladdin Sane that shines through the
brightest in this set; brimming with a road
worn confidence that leaves the band more room
to play around Bowie's vocal rather than behind
it. Having sacked the Spiders From Mars as his
backup the previous year, "Jean Genie"
and "Cracked Actors" could never strut
and swell with as much bloated passion as they
do here. Unfortunately, Bowie seems far less
inspired in bringing the songs from his then
current album to the stage. Stripped of its
trademark opening guitar lick, "Rebel Rebel"
is buoyed by backing vocals and saxophones,
but sinks without the album version's swagger. Dogs' title track is a complete success
however, allowing the horns to build each chorus
into a rave up ending; all but forming the bridge
Bowie would soon cross over into what he termed
"plastic soul". Considering Bowie
cut Young Americans at Philadelphia's
Sigma Sound Studios in the middle of this tour,
it's amazing that David Live contains
none of the songs that made that album such
a crossover success (including his John Lennon
duet "Fame" and the classic title
track). That's not to say it doesn't hint at
things to come. While not an all out soul rave
up, Live features beefy horns at every
turn and showcases Bowie (for better or worse)
in crooner mode. Essential listening? Hardly.
With lavish stage productions being half the
reason to witness Bowie in the first place,
the high water mark set by the studio albums
makes the live document almost unnecessary.
However, the gorgeous packaging of this reissue,
complete with fold out sleeve, a full list of
1974 tour dates plus extensive notes and photos,
does make it a little easier to add an "inessential"
to your collection. (Jeremy Erwin)
CARLA BOZULICH
Red Headed Stranger
DICHRISTINA STAIR BUILDERS
If nothing else, you’ve got to give
Carla Bozulich points for audacity. Not only
is Willie Nelson’s 1975 album Red Headed
Stranger a bona fide outlaw country classic,
a record that contains some of the work most
closely associated with Willie, but it also
has to be one of the unlikeliest multi-million
selling records in history. (An understated
traditional country concept album about a murderous
lovelorn preacher on the run? Sounds like a
blockbuster to me!) So naturally Bozulich has
now covered the whole thing song for song. It’s
a decision that doesn’t make a whole lot
of sense to me, but Willie apparently approves
since he joins in on a couple of songs. So who
am I to gripe? Given her background in unruly
bands like Ethyl Meatplow and the Geraldine
Fibbers I half expected this to be more of an
avant-garde deconstruction, but that isn’t
really the case. For the most part Bozulich
and her crack band (which includes former Fibber
Nels Cline on guitar and lap steel) adhere pretty
closely to the original. Bozulich does have
a knockout set of pipes; her voice is as warm,
craggy, and distinctive in its own way as Willie’s
is in his. Sounding at times like a countrified
Marianne Faithful, she is able to wring every
drop of troubled desolation out of songs like
“Time of the Preacher” and “Blue
Eyes Crying in the Rain.” And the instrumental
arrangements, though not as bare-boned as on
the original, are kept simple, with atmospheric
strands of guitar and violin sweeping to the
far corners of each song. Cline’s playing
is particularly impressive. On tracks like “Just
As I Am” he sounds like he is plucking
a downed power line, sending mournful signals
up to a silent West Texas sky. But as good as
it all sounds (and make no mistake, it sounds
just super) the listener is ultimately left
with no choice but to compare the album with
the original. Does Bozulich really improve on
Willie’s version in any way? To my ears
the answer unfortunately is no. It’s an
interesting and engaging new take on a classic,
but in the end I’m left hoping that next
time around Bozulich finds some material that
she can better claim as her own. (Matt Murphy)
RANDALL
BRAMBLETT
THIN PLACES (NEW WEST)
Singer/songwriter Randall Bramblett has developed
a jazz/pop/country hybrid sound and uses Thin
Places to showcase his diverse range of
styles. From the disc's opening track, "Nobody's
Problem," Bramblett shapes his influences
into a great pop/rock sound, which bleed through
songs like "You Can be the Rain,"
where Bramblett's full range as a songwriter
are on display. Thin Places comes across
as honest, simple songwriting that has characterized
Bramblett's style for the past quarter century.
There's no reason an artist like Bramblett should
be flying under the radar with an album like
this. Look for Thin Places to make
its way on many top ten lists in 2004. (Lance
Looper)
BRANCA ENSEMBLE
SYMPHONY NOS. 8 & 10
LIVE AT THE KITCHEN (ATAVISTIC VIDEO)
While Branca insists on naming his opuses "symphonies,"
they lack the structure and episodic compartmentalization
of true symphonic movements. The greatest symphonic
thing here is the orchestral arrangement on
the stage of the multi-guitar ensemble, part
of a five-night 1995 engagement in New York
City. In that regard, Branca may not be helping
advance rock as an art form. However, few deserve
the description "wall of sound" more
than Branca, with his dense, cathartic compositions.
Filmmaker Wharton Tiers was on hand to capture
every brick-heavy moment that Branca, as conductor,
elicits from the ten-member Branca Ensemble.
The slowly changing, ever building intensity
of the work, climaxing in a prolonged meltdown,
is essentially hard-rock Philip Glass. (Tom
"Tearaway" Schulte)
BRANDO
SINGLE CROWN POSTCARD (RECORDHEAD/MR. WHIGGS/LUNA)
Led by songwriter/instrumentalist Derek Richey,
Brando takes a four-track to the bedroom and
makes warm and tender love to it on Single Crown
Postcard. With melodies derived from ELO, the
Beatles, and other psychedelic/dreampop sources,
the songs lay back on the bed, giving you that
sexy smile promising all sorts of heretofore
forbidden intimacies. The question is whether
or not you're in the mood. There's nothing here
that hasn't been done better by any member of
the Elephant 6 collective, and as winsome as
Richey's melodies and vocals are, they're not
so ingratiating that they'll have you unplugging
the phone to ensure uninterrupted bliss. It
all depends on what you're looking for: a quick
encounter to relieve your boredom or a drawn-out
mindblower that could blossom into a real relationship.
Either way you're probably better off visiting
the old girlfriend instead. (Michael Toland)
JOHN BRANNEN
Twilight Tattoo
Sly Dog
His guitar prowess is so much more developed
than his reedy voice, that the playing is
what initially leaps out from this album.
But John Brannen is able to twist and stretch
his vocal chords through sheer force of
will, whether it’s a cutting blues
like “Vagabond Saints” or a
tremelo-fueled ballad as in the title track.
The overall effect is a cross between Jimmy
LaFave and Bruce Springsteen in folk mold,
though the dozen songs also straddle alt-country
terrain and heartland rock. Still, the focus
is Brannen’s guitar, sounding like
a crosscut saw on one song and delicately
minimalist on the next. Duets with Lucinda
Williams are always worth repeated listens,
and Brannen scored a coup with “A
Cut So Deep.” The country weeper is
the standard-type ballad Williams excels
at, and Brannen holds his own with the Southern
Queen of Americana. He produced the record
himself along with notable Minneapolis mainstay
David Z (Prince, Neneh Cherry), who thankfully
doesn't try to blot out Brannen's inherent
Southern rootsiness. –
David Pyndus
BRAT
WE ARE THE ROCKINGEST (KILLDEER)
Sure to amuse some, confuse others, and annoy
many, We Are the Rockingest is the debut of
Madison, Wisconsin's oddest obscuro pop duo.
Comprised of NoahJohn's Eena Ballard, more notable
for her screeching viola than her sense of humor,
and Freddy LaForce, a basement punk extraordinaire,
the pair rips through 14 playfully quirky tracks
in 25 minutes. Making few concessions to seriousness,
the resulting songs have a spontaneous, stream-of-consciousness
quality, with rather tuneless male/female vocals
and a variety of keyboards, kazoos, tinny electric
guitar, glockenspiel, and viola forming the
backdrop for their crazed children's show performances.
Like They Might Be Giants backing Frank Zappa,
anything and everything is up for scrutiny,
with the resulting songwriting addressing topics
ranging from the thoughtful (a disgruntled commentary
on occupational ennui in "Hypocrite")
to the nonsensical (contemplating a sex change
in "Some of Your Parts") to the simply
inane (buying butter in "Parkay").
As such, the songs are about as good as barely
rehearsed, half-realized songs can be, but they
do cram more unedited ideas into their minute-and-a-half
bursts of goofiness than many artists do over
the course of a whole album, making this the
year's most unabashedly fun release. The music
bounces and squeals, falling somewhere between
the B-52s and the Moldy Peaches, running out
of meter and veering wildly with some genuinely
memorable hooks emerging as fuzz guitar elbows
out viola and accordion on the silly "The
Lonely Dragon Song" and clears out room
for a chorus of la-la-la's. Overall, it's an
album that is more entertaining than exceptional
and gives every indication that it aspires to
be nothing but. (Matt Fink)
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