Steve Forbert - Over With You

[purchase]

Steve Forbert himself may not agree with me, but I think that he is the kind of artist who should always have been on independent labels. Forbert started out in the majors in 1979, and had the bad luck to have a hit on his second album with Romeo’s Tune. For the lords of major label-dom, this meant that everything Forbert did from then on had to be a hit, or he was a failure in their eyes. That of course did not happen. Two albums later, Forbert had album taken hostage in the studio vaults, and he lost five years of his career while he fought to get out of his contract. All of that is history now, and Forbert is an independent artist with a new album on Blue Corn Music, Over With You.

The irony of all of this that Forbert is an artist with great pop instincts. Rhyming couplets seem to come naturally to him, and he writes variations on folk-rock formats that have great hooks. What is different about Forbert is the naturalness of his writing and delivery. Great pop music, the kind that sells in huge numbers on major labels, has a layer of artificiality to it that allows the listener to relate to it without having to get too close to the emotions involved, and allows the dancer in a club to simply not care too much at all. There is a gift to writing that way, and Steve Forbert has never had it. Forbert has the form down, but his songs feel like conversations with real people. He delivers a couplet in perfect rhyme and meter, but what you notice is how natural it sounds, as if people always talk this way. Pop music is all shiny surfaces, but you can see the dirt under the fingernails of Steve Forbert’s characters.

At the beginning of his career, Forbert had a youthful exuberance, a belief that anything was possible in love or life, and a charming twinkle in his eye as he told you about it. That optimism has been tempered by all that he has been through, but the twinkle is back on his new album. Love, in particular, is more ambiguous than it used to be. All I Need to Do, on the new album, is an “I’m Not In Love” kind of song with a sense of humor, but the narrator is coping with the fact that the relationship he wants most is over. Baby I Know presents a relationship that is mostly working, but it still is a promise to do better. In Can’t We Get Together, the narrator wants to take the distance out of a long distance relationship. Forbert sees love these days as something to work at, where it had been a state of perfection in the songs of his younger days.

As an independent artist, Forbert has the freedom to veer away from standard song forms, to be more musically adventurous. But Forbert loves these forms, so you hear a lot of them here. Still, there are places on Over With You where Forbert gets more musically adventurous, and the results are very rewarding. The title track is a break-up ballad, and it almost sounds like a hit. But the arrangement is mostly acoustic, with the addition of a drone played on the organ. There is a percussion part that kicks the song along, and a beautiful piano part emerges from nowhere. The song also has some odd chord changes that I can not identify further, but I know that something unusual just happened. But the most remarkable thing about the song Over With You is the vocal. Steve Forbert has never had a pretty voice, and this is not the kind of song you would necessarily want to hear him rasping through. But he brings both a warmth and a sincerity to it that a prettier voice would miss. That said, somebody could probably have a huge hit with the song in a properly insipid arrangement; just don’t let me know if it happens. Don’t Look Down Pollyanna is a song that can be taken in different ways. I hear it as a lifeline to people who are struggling through this difficult times. Forbert doesn’t have the answers, but he offers hope that things will get better. Musically, the treat here is Ben Sollee’s cello part, which functions almost as a duet partner for Forbert’s voice. There are also washes of notes in the background, played on an electric guitar, that give the song a sense of danger.

The album closes with Sugarcane Plum Fairy. This is one of those songs that apparently demanded to be released, but it is different from anything else on the album. It’s an ambiguous lyric, but it seems to me to recall a romance in references to fairy tales and children’s books. It has some of the sunny optimism of Forbert’s early career, except that it is told in the past tense, and when the narrator leaves at the end of the song, I have the sense that he won’t be back. The song could also be Forbert looking back over his career, and recognizing that he will never again have what he once did. The illusions are gone now, and he can see things as the really are. Something is lost in this, but something is gained as well, And Forbert shares that with the world on Over With You.

Stream the entire album here.

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I have had a statement on the sidebar here that I would remove any copyrighted material on request since I began this blog, and there is a similar statement on Star Maker Machine. Nevertheless, a recent crackdown by the recording industry resulted in the loss of my file hosting service. As a result, I will be experimenting with different ways to allow you, my readers, to hear the music I write about. This time, it's the stream above, because that is what the promoter could send me. Next time, it may be something else. Let me from you what format(s) you prefer, and I will see what I can do.

Hat Check Girl - Six Bucks Shy

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It would be easy to report that Hat Check Girl is the duo of Peter Gallway and Annie Gallup. That’s them on the album cover, and that was true of their debut album, Tenderness. But the inside cover of the new album has three musicians listed in bold type, and guest musician Mark Dann listed in plain type. The new “member” is drummer Jerry Marotta, who also co-wrote all but two of the new album’s thirteen songs. Yes, that Jerry Marotta! Liner note freaks like myself will know the name from Marotta’s work with Peter Gabriel and others. You might expect that Marotta would add punch, and that his presence here would mean that this album rocks out. There are times when his drumming adds a pulse that really propels this music, as in What Hemmingway Said, but it is never over the top. Marotta has a talent for creating texture with his playing, and that is often more to the point here. Marotta’s contribution is sometimes little more than a subtle line played with brushes. On top of that, Gallup and Gallway’s guitar lines intertwine like a caress, as do their breathy vocals. Dann adds bass and/or keyboard lines with a light touch. It all adds up to the most sensual-sounding music I have heard at least since Chris Isaac’s Wicked Game.

This sensuality is very much to the point. Six Bucks Shy is a collection of songs about heated moments. It can be the delicious passion of a forbidden tryst or the adrenaline rush of an actual crime. The songs present the passion of stolen moments, when voices can not be raised for fear of discovery. The writing does something rare. I admire songs which tell stories, but also those which capture the complex mood of a moment in time. These songs do both. August Sin sounds like the heat of the day it describes, and the tryst it presents is described in all of its languid passion. But the back story of how these lovers came to be here is also sketched in lightly. Getaway Car captures the rush of a minor heist, but also fills in the back story of the two characters. Echo Echo uses something as insubstantial as a radio signal floating in the ether to tell the tale of a tender parting in wartime. Cigarette Girl describes the push and pull of a flirtation, while it gets inside the hearts of its two characters to show us what each risks in this meeting. All of these and more are wonderfully economic pieces of writing. But the marvel of the bunch is Leave Most of It Out. Annie Gallup’s narrator talks around the real subject of this song. She reminisces about her now gone husband, and describes how she is raising their children. Only gradually, you realize the part she can not bring herself to put into words. The husband died in the World Trade Center on that awful day in 2001. No graphic description of that day could convey the sorrow as eloquently as this woman’s silence.

I would be leery of hearing covers of these songs. Gallup, Gallway, and Marotta have crafted eloquent gems of songs, and the performances smolder with barely contained heat. It would be all to easy to do to much with these songs, or too little. Hat Check Girl hits everything exactly right.

Hat Check Girl: Getaway Car

Hat Check Girl: What Hemmingway Said

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Blog business: This will be my last full album review here for the time being. I have become involved in some things, and I find that this kind of post requires me set aside a large block of time that I am finding it increasingly difficult to find. I will be going back to spotlight posts and single-song coverage. On the plus side, I am hoping that this will mean that I can get back to posting far more often than I have been lately.

Bread and Bones - Could Have Been a Dream

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In Bread and Bones, the whole is greater than the sum of some very good parts. The group is a trio, with Beth Duquette on lead and harmony vocals only, Mitch Barron providing subtle support that is always right on a variety of basses, and Richard Ruane on lead instruments and lead and harmony vocals. Ruane wrote all of the original songs here, but when Duquette takes lead vocals, she inhabits her narrators so completely that it’s hard to believe that they were created by a man. I don’t think it was intentional, especially since the original songs were written over the course of nine years, but Could Have Been a Dream winds up being a set of songs about physical, emotional, and spiritual dislocation. I think the sequencing of the songs was probably intuitive, because Ruane is an intuitive songwriter, but the intuition was dead on, and the album winds up making an eloquent and powerful statement.

What you hear on this album is Ruane’s playing, and Ruane and Duquette’s voices. Barron’s bass parts do not announce themselves, but they add texture and enhance the emotion of the songs. Ruane usually plays acoustic guitar, but sometimes he switches to mandolin, ukulele, or even banjo on one song. That song, Emily Sits By the Window, is the one time I heard instrumental overdubs, with Ruane playing banjo, guitar and mandolin. But mostly, the songs sound they way they would live. There are no lead parts on the instruments; every thing is in support of the vocals. The group does show their prowess instrumentally in the way they vary the textures from song to song. Ruane sings in a range that straddles the line between baritone and low tenor. He rumbles a bit on the low notes, but he knows how to use that to his advantage. He has a folk style, direct and full of feeling, without much ornamentation. Duquette sings in a bluesy alto, and I have the feeling she could really belt one out if it suited the material. But the two of them blend masterfully, with their different styles meeting in the middle, and always in service of the song.

Ruane’s songs are about moments captured. There isn’t much storytelling here, although what happens in these moments sometimes tells a story of a kind. So the song Could Have Been a Dream presents a woman who remembers the mother who gave her up into fosterage when she was two or three years old. She has a collection of scattered impressions, filtered through the awareness of a young child, and her one clear memory is the refrain of a lullaby her mother sang to her. The song hints at why the mother had to give her up, but a child that age could never have understood all of the details, so the narrator of the song doesn’t either. It’s a great piece of writing that really hits home. You can tell, listening to Emily Sits By the Window, that this is an older woman; her memories come to her as she watches the sky outside, and then slip away again. We end up knowing some details of her life, but we can’t put her full story together, and we don’t need to. In the Air has a narrator who is probably a trapeze artist in a carnival. The song is about working at love without a net, and the metaphor works that much better because Ruane does not press the point. These are some of the songs of emotional dislocation. Physical dislocation is described best in North Along the River. Here we meet a group of fugitives who can not settle down, or even move about in daylight. The song does not say why they are fugitives; it simply and eloquently describes the rootlessness they feel. Will I Be Welcome and Breakwater are both about the idea of home. Welcome has a narrator wondering if he still has a home, while Breakwater tells of a man who knows he will always be able to find his home again. Who Do You Think It Was is a cover of a Charlie Sohmer tune, and finds a man in the midst of a test of his spiritual beliefs. The song has a gospel feel to it, with a great vocal blend. The album concludes with No Angels. This one says that we as human beings must rely upon ourselves and our intelligence, not on a higher power. It is a fitting conclusion to the journey this album has taken us on, and it feels in context like a message of hard-won hope.

I have nothing against flashy playing, but Bread and Bones don’t feel that they have to prove anything like that on this album. Could Have Been a Dream is a collection of finely written songs, with wonderful vocal performances, and solid instrumental backing to put the whole over with eloquence and grace.

Bread and Bones: Could Have Been a Deam

Bread and Bones: Emily Sits By the Window

Gabriel Kahane - Where Are the Arms

[purchase]

When I reviewed Gabriel Kahane’s self-titled album two years ago, I found an artist who came from the world of contemporary classical music, and reached into the world of pop music, but on his own terms. The result was an album of sometimes challenging, but always fascinating music. Where Are the Arms is Kahane’s follow-up to that album, and this time Kahane is continuing the journey with some interesting friends. Rob Moose has worked with Bon Iver, Anthony and the Johnsons, and The National. Casey Foubert, who co-produced this album, has worked with Sufjan Stevens, Richard Swift, and Pedro the Lion. And Matt Johnson’s credits include Jeff Buckley and Rufus Wainwright. The featured instrument is usually the piano, but some songs feature acoustic or electric guitar instead. Sometimes there are actual drums, while other songs may have soft percussion, or no percussion at all. The texture of the music shifts constantly, with accents provided by string, brass, and/or woodwind sections. I use the names for these sections that are used in classical music, because that is how Kahane uses them; instead of the wall of sound found in pop music, here each of the wind players, for example, has their own part to play, and it adds up to a wonderfully detailed whole, even though these sections are small.

Where Are the Arms takes off musically from where the last album ended. Lead track Charming Disease starts off sounding like it could have been on the previous album, but then the song changes. Rock elements join in, and the song becomes more assertive as it goes along. Parts of Speech lays down a shimmering pattern of electric guitars, then adds a kick from the drums, and finally finds Kahane singing in a voice with more bite than I have heard from him before. Kahane shows on this album that he can be a fine rock singer when needed. Last Dance is a lament, but there is a break where Kahane must sing some blue-eyed soul. He pulls it off, and the moment becomes one of this album’s delightful surprises. Calabash & Catamaran starts off sounding like it will be a folk number, (there is even a banjo), but layers of sound are added until it becomes a driven art-rock piece. The album closes with Great Lakes, and things seem to have settled down, but the song has a big rock climax at the end. Overall, Where Are the Arms takes the contemporary art song approach of the last album, and successfully weds it to some indie rock sensibilities.

Where Are the Arms is a collection of songs about missed and missing connections. Merritt Pkwy tells the tale of a hitchhiker who is picked up by a woman. They wind up spending a romantic-seeming day together, and the listener would expect this to turn into a happy ending if Kahane hadn’t warned us otherwise. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but suffice it to say that Kahane displays a wicked sense of humor, and his narrator has a sour memory to take from his adventure. Barn Song explores how language, or the lack of it, can separate young from old. Last Dance looks at how a death always seems to strike before we get to do that one last thing with the person we lose. And LA explores how an environment can lead to alienation. These are weighty topics, and Kahane does a great job of conveying all of these different moods with amazing vocal versatility. But what is even more remarkable is that the album is not a downer at all. Instead, Where Are the Arms is collection of portraits that draw our sympathies. The lyrics are spare, but they are free of cliché, and the performances of Kahane and his guests fill in any blanks. I am tempted to say that Kahane has arrived at his musical destination, but I suspect that that will only be true until the next album. I look forward to hearing it.

Gabriel Kahane: Charming Disease

Gabriel Kahane: Calabash & Catamaran

Brother Sun - self-titled

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Brother Sun is the trio of Pat Wictor, Joe Jencks, and Greg Greenway. After ten years or more each as a solo artist, they have come together, and the result is an album that sounds like they have never been anything but a group. Here are three singers who take turns singing lead and back-up for the other singers, and the vocal blend is a marvel. Each plays guitar, but Greenway can switch to piano, Jencks to bouzouki, and Wictor to lap slide guitar. I’m not sure who plays electric guitar on some songs. I don’t think there are any overdubs, and there are no other musicians on the album, but the sound is full and rich throughout. There are a minimum of solos here, and two songs are accompanied only by fingersnaps. Just as the singing is so tight, so too is the ensemble playing. These artists support each other and the songs they have chosen.

Based on the lyrics, I would have called this album The Rock and the Reason. One of the songs Pat Wictor contributes is Love is the Water, and the next line is “That wears down the rock.” Later, Joe Jencks contributes Love is the Reason. As solo artists, each of these artists as explored a number of different themes, but the songs on this album are all about reaching for love and friendship in the face of adversity. There are eleven songs in all. One reason the album held my interest that long, with only one subject for all the songs, is the wonderful variety of musical settings. The different instrumental blends make for a nice variety of textures. Vocally, Brother Sun can go from the creamy harmonies of Trouble to the gospel stylings of Well Well Well, to what might be called the “folk” style of All I Want is a Garden. It also helps to have the singers taking turns singing lead. All three convey emotion, but each in their own way. Greenway starts things off with Trouble. He sings in a high tenor, and he expresses beauty in the way he sings. But sadness and even anger lay beneath the surface, trying to break through. Jencks is also a tenor, but, as heard on Come With Me, the pain is closer to the surface in his voice. Beauty and love come through in his voice is yearning, but he also conveys hope. Wictor has the lowest voice here, and sings in a folk blues style. The rough surfaces of pure blues are smoothed out, but the strong brew of emotion still comes through loud and clear. On Sister Moon, Wictor presents a different voice for a different kind of song. This one has an almost lullaby quality, and the song comes across as a beautiful expression of the wonder of love.

One song perhaps best displays everything that is so right about this album. Go Tell Mary is a co-write by Tom Prasada-Rao and Pat Wictor. But Brother Sun is a group of three generous musicians who are most interested in what is best for the song. So it is Joe Jencks, not Pat Wictor, who takes the lead vocal on this one. The bluesy quality on Wictor’s writing comes through, but in Jencks’ voice this time, and it works beautifully. The song is a telling of the biblical story of Lazarus, from the point of view of his sister Martha. Martha’s love for her brother, and also her sister Mary, form the focus of the song. Martha has taken on burdens for her sister’s sake, and now she does not regret it, but she yearns to lay them down, if only for a little while. The song is thus consistent with the album’s theme, but it also demonstrates how much these three songwriters find to say about it.

The album concludes with All I Want is a Garden. This one is a song of a traveling musician’s love of home and family. The song functions on the album as a closing benediction and prayer. It’s a great conclusion to a fine album. I was already familiar with Pat Wictor’s music. Now I know that I will need to find out more about Greg Greenway and Joe Jencks as well. Stay tuned.

Brother Sun: Trouble

Brother Sun: Well, Well, Well

Red Molly - Light in the Sky

[purchase]

The easy and hard way to write about Light in the Sky would be to compare the new Red Molly with the old one. Molly Venter has taken the spot in the group that had been held by Carolann Solebello, and this is the first album with the new line up. It would be easy because it is an obvious entry point. It would be hard because I don’t want to say that this or that line up is better or worse. Red Molly was and is a special group of three women who bring diverse talents and blend them into a greater whole. Here, they are aided by the same backing musicians throughout the album, and that helps bind together a more stylistically varied set than before. The blues and country flavors are still strong here, as are the beautiful folk ballads, but there are also a couple of jazzy shuffles and one gospel number. And I got my wish: Fever is here as a delightful bonus track to finish the album.

On most of the album, Abbie Gardner plays dobro and Molly Venter plays acoustic guitar. Laurie MacAllister picks up an electric bass for two songs, and Gardner sets down her dobro and picks the banjo for one. The opening track, Dear Someone, is performed a capella, and serves as a wonderful intro to the blend of the three women’s voices. Gardner brings the blues and jazz influences, and has a sob in her voice that also works beautifully on the more country-flavored songs. She shines on Come On in My Kitchen, making the song a promise of shelter from the storm. MacAllister’s lead vocal on Ghost is a fine example of what she brings to the group. She delivers a clear reading of the lyric, her voice breaking with the emotion of the song. It’s never overdone, but the yearning of the song comes through perfectly. Venter’s voice has a smoky quality and a bit of bite in her delivery. This approach works beautifully to convey the gospel fervor of By the Mark, and the call and response vocal between Venter and the other two on this song is a great example of the rapport that these women have. Much as I admire Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, this version of By the Mark, with its full band arrangement and vocal ensemble work, greatly improves on the original. The band includes drums and stand up bass, with piano or organ on some tracks, and fiddle and mandolin on others. Jake Armerding’s fiddle parts are especially notable. Appearing on seven of the album’s fourteen songs, Armerding is asked to cover a wide stylistic range, and he delivers.

Light in the Sky was recorded entirely in the studio, but thematically, this can be considered a road album, at least in part. Dear Someone, Ghost, and especially Oh My Michael are songs of yearning, and of separation over a great distance. As rendered here, Walk Beside Me and Come On in My Kitchen are songs of female solidarity and bonding. And the title of Your Long Journey speaks for itself. But there is also Hold It All, the first song written by Molly Venter that the group has recorded, and it is a prayer for strength. And the rest of the songs concern falling in and out of love. In addition to Hold It All, there are only two other original songs this time, both cowrites by Abbie Gardner. But Red Molly is a group that is committed to strong songwriting, whether it is in their own material or their choice of covers. Light in the Sky is a collection songs of varied emotions, eloquently written and beautifully performed.

Red Molly: Oh My Michael

Red Molly: Fever

Spottiswoode & His Enemies - Wild Goosechase Expedition

[purchase]

When I wrote about Spottiswoode in my post on Rosler‘s Recording Booth, I said I wanted to know more about his work. It’s great in this business when you get your wish, but it’s even better when your first impression is correct. Wild Goosechase Expedition is a generous helping of Spottiswoode & His Enemies, with seventeen songs and just over an hour of music. The rich musical imagination that was on display in his Rosler performance is here in abundance. This is also my first encounter with Spottiswoode as a writer. He serves up a wonderfully varied but highly coherent program of songs here. His band must be conversant in a variety of musical styles and moods, and they show themselves here to be very fine musicians. I particularly want to single out the work of drummer Konrad Meissner. Spottiswoode’s regular drummer Tim Vaill was not available for the recording sessions, so Meissner was called on to sub for him. Meissner had to be versatile, and pick up on the variety of moods that Spottiswoode wanted in these songs, and he did a great job. Vaill is now back with the band, but they would do well to stay in touch with Meissner in case they ever need him again.

The line-up of Spottiswoode & His Enemies starts off normally enough, with drums, bass, and Spottiswoode on guitar. Then things start to get interesting. A second guitarist also plays mandolin and glockenspiel. The keyboard player plays piano, organ, accordion, and maybe something else that I missed. And there are two horn players, who can contribute R&B riffs or Miles Davis-like harmonies on trumpet and sax. The horn players also contribute background vocals. The album opens with Beautiful Monday. This is a sunny pop-rock tune with a British invasion feel, and some horn work of the sort Burt Bacharach used to favor. This establishes a tone of comfort and normalcy that is soon to be disrupted. Purple River, Yellow Sun opens with chanted vocals over chiming piano notes, and the song has bursts of tumult, with anthemic rock vying for supremacy with the poppier sound of the opener. The sense of comfort fades, and the music becomes unsettled. Odd harmonies begin to move in. Just a Word I Use has verses with a French cabaret feel, and bursts of almost hard rock on the choruses. Elsewhere, there are Bo Diddley beats, chiming guitars, jazzy excursions, even some things that border on world music from an unknown tribe. Spottiswoode ties all of this together with his vocals. He sings in a slightly scratchy baritone, and he is one of the most passionate singers I know of. There are plenty of opportunities for him to cross a line, and make the songs bombastic, but that never happens. That said, this album overall has a theatrical quality, and it’s a show I would gladly see.

The title Wild Goosechase Expedition suggests aimlessness, but this album tells a story. I mentioned the sense of normalcy that opens the album. Beautiful Monday is a celebration of normalcy, with only the vaguest hint that this will soon be disrupted. It opens the first section of the album, entitled Setting Out. The setting out actually occurs in Purple River, Yellow Sun, and the previous normalcy becomes either an illusion or a fading memory. The next section is called The Kingdom of the Dead. Here, Spottiswoode’s narrators try with out success to hold on to memories of love. I’d Even Follow You to Philadelphia shows that Spottiswoode can tell his tale with droll humor. The longest section is titled Massacre in the Desert. Here, the narrators have reached the point of despair. Loved ones try to send lifelines, but their messages fall on deaf ears. The album’s title track comes in this section, and it uses black humor to express a sense that whatever motivated this journey was wasted. The final section, Starvation and Surrender, has the narrators returning home, but something has been irretrievably lost, at least as of the end of the album. You Won’t Forget Your Dream closes the album with the suggestion that recovery may be possible, but it can also suggest that the reason for the departure in the first place is regaining its strength as the narrator rests. So this may be a somewhat happy ending, or just the resumption of a cycle. There is ambiguity here, and that is intentional. Taken as a whole, the album may be about a breakup and reconciliation. Or it may be about a spiritual journey, in which a character learns that fulfillment lay in what he already had. Or, the album may be about a band going on and returning from a tour, an idea that is most clearly suggested by the song Wake Me Up When It’s Over. Personally, I think the album is about all of these, and probably a few other things I haven’t mentioned. These songs reach out to the listener, and invite us to imagine. It’s an invitation I was glad to accept.

Spottiswoode & His Enemies: Purple River, Yellow Sun

Spottiswoode & His Enemies: Wild Goosechase Expedition

Ray Bonneville - Bad Man’s Blood

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Listening to Bad Man’s Blood, I am reminded of the music of John Lee Hooker. Hooker would set up a groove with just a few notes, and he would stay on those notes for the entire song. The effect was haunting, like an incantation. It was a technique that only worked for Hooker, I thought, but its power was undeniable. Ray Bonneville has a somewhat richer musical vocabulary here, but he achieves some of the same kind of effect. Bonneville casts a spell, and he holds you for the length of the album.

The songs on Bad Man’s Blood are mid-tempo stomps, and stomps is an apt term. Bonneville plays either acoustic or electric guitar on every song, sometimes both. To this he adds what the liner notes call “foot percussion”; basically, this seems to mean that he stamps his foot in time to the music. Mike Meadows is the drummer on some tracks, but this is not drumming as you usually hear it. Meadows is playing a “Black Swan”, which is a tunable hand drum with changeable heads, so you can get a wide variety of sounds from it; here, Meadows is just playing a steady pulse, like a heartbeat. Gurf Morlix plays electric guitar, baritone guitar, bass, and banjo in various places. His role is to thicken the sound and add texture. Also adding to the texture on two songs is Dexter Payne on saxes. And here and there, Bonneville adds smudges of sound on harmonica. These smudges are sort of accidental chords, and their purpose is not melodic at all. They sound like something from another planet, but they make musical sense in context. In sum, the tempos don’t change much on this album, but Bonneville and his crew vary the textures enough to make this a fascinating listen. Bonneville sings in a weathered bluesy baritone. Bonneville knows his limits vocally, but he can imbue the title song with a sense of foreboding, while the affection in Blond of Mine, the sly humor of Funny ‘Bout Love, and the yearning in Darlin’ (Put You Suitcase Down) all come through loud and clear.

There is also a nice variety of themes in the lyrics. Of course, there are love songs. Darlin’ (Put Your Suitcase Down) is what it sounds like, a song about a break up. But Bonneville leaves open the possibility that the Darlin’ in the song might finally decide to stay. Funny ‘Bout Love is about the feelings of a man and a woman who meet years after they stopped being a couple. And Sugar and Riley relates the tale of a lovers quarrel overheard through a wall; Bonneville hastens to assure us in the first chorus that everything was ok again by morning. Other songs are more mysterious. River John sounds like a fond remembrance of a friend who has passed on. Night Walker is a speculation about a stranger who is observed walking around outside night after night; Bonneville’s narrator regards him with intense curiosity, but does not see him at all as a threat. In all of these songs, there is a sense of hope, and abundant sympathy. Bonneville sees the world as full of good people who sometimes get in bad situations.

So, where John Lee Hooker portrayed men in hopeless positions, overcome by their fate, Bonneville uses the same kind of insistent music not to despair but to urge perseverance. Bad Man’s Blood casts a spell, but the darkness never takes over. This album is insistent, but hopeful in hard times. Bonneville’s voice has a smile in it, especially later in the album. I’m sharing that smile right now.

Ray Bonneville: Sugar and Riley

Ray Bonneville: Night Walker

Eliza Gilkyson - Roses at the End of Time

[purchase]

I saw Eliza Gilkyson perform at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival last year. I remember that it was hot, and their were lots of people around. I don’t remember the songs she performed. But the next time I see her, it will be different. Roses at the End of Time is the first Gilkyson album I have ever heard, and I will not forget these songs. They are marvels of subtlety, and fine examples of the art of songwriting. It’s just that Gilkyson’s art is intimate, and a festival is probably not the best place to hear it for the first time.

On Roses, Gilkyson plays acoustic guitar most of the time, and she when switches to electric on some tunes, she does so for the difference in tone, but stays with the same technique. Most songs have a second guitar, either electric or acoustic, a bass, likewise either stand up or electric, and all but two songs have some kind of drums or percussion. No one steps out to take a solo, and neither are these songs driven by hooks. Instead, the band creates a set of textures that are completely in synch with the intent of each song. So Slouching Towards Bethlehem has a sort of gut bucket gospel feel, sort of like a Tom Waits song with the rough edges smoothed out some. Death in Arkansas sounds like an old time bluegrass song that is in danger of succumbing to modernity, which perfectly suits its subject matter. Belle of the Ball has an appropriately haunted sound. In short, the band here shows an astonishing tonal range, and Gilkyson shows a great gift for creating diverse musical settings that perfectly suit her songs. On top of all this is Gilkyson’s voice. As the album begins, it would be easy to Gilkyson a limited singer. She sings in a slightly scratchy alto, and she does not appear to have a wide range in terms of notes. But the more I listened, the more I came to marvel at her tonal and emotional range. She doesn’t raise her voice much, but she uses subtle shadings to put over a wide range of material. Blue Moon Night conveys a sense of wonder, 2153 is gently mocking, and Belle of the Ball and Vayan al Norte tug at the heartstrings in different, but equally powerful ways. Elsewhere, she conveys love, longing, and road weariness with equal eloquence.

Of course, the writing has something to do with it too. Vayan al Norte is an amazing piece of songwriting. Gilkyson presents Mexican immigrants in the United States. She begins the song in English, but Spanish words begin to slip in, and then take over completely. Thanks to a full English translation on Gilkyson’s website, I can tell you what’s going on here. The narrator of the song starts out emotionally in the US, but slowly their consciousness returns to Mexico, and what they had to leave behind to come here. The music also shifts subtlety to become more Mexican sounding. It’s a brilliant device. Once I Had a Home starts out sounding like it is about someone who became homeless when their house was foreclosed, but later it sounds more like it is about Native Americans who were forced from their lands and onto the reservations. The song ends up making a powerful connection between the two without explicitly stating either one. Other songs are more direct. Blue Moon Night captures a fleeting moment in time. The song has great beauty, but also a wonderful wistful quality. And Slouching Towards Bethlehem rides a great groove to spell out some of the evils of the world. It manages the trick of having a gospel fervency without sounding preachy in the least.

Blue Moon Night was great way to open this album. Its momentary bliss drew me in, and kept me listening long enough to discover more of the treasures on Roses at the End of Time. I suspect that I will find more of these treasures each time I listen to the album. That’s all I could ask.

Eliza Gilkyson: Blue Moon Night

Eliza Gilkyson: Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Kris Delmhorst - Cars

[purchase]

Starting in 1978 and running through most of the 80s, there was a new sound in popular music. Prior to that, your standard pop-rock band had drums, bass, and rhythm and lead guitar. There was a lead singer who sang sincere and heart-felt lyrics of the vicissitudes of love. A fifth member of the band, if there was one, played piano or organ or both, and sang back-up. But in 1978, a new band arrived, with great hooks, a lead singer who sang with ironic detachment, although the subject matter had not changed, and with a keyboard player who played synthesizer. The band had great writing, with some of the best hooks anyone had ever heard, and with lyrics that began with tales of teenage lust, and progressed to more mature tales of love as the band matured. The band was The Cars, and you may have guessed that they were favorites of mine. So I’m going to be touchy when someone covers one of their songs. Kris Delmhorst has covered an entire album of them.

The album is Cars. I have to believe that this project started back in the 80s, with Delmhorst learning each new Cars album by heart, and singing along with the records in her bedroom when she thought no one was listening. I say that because her phrasing throughout is perfect, just the way I remember the originals. Now, I don’t go for people who cover a song by reproducing the originals note for note. But, what saves Delmhorst’s vocal performances here for me is the fact that she understands that she is not Ric Ocasek. The notes and the phrasing are here, but the tone is new. Delmhorst does not come off as ironic at all, but the lyrics can support a sincere reading as well, and Delmhorst projects a wonderful warmth that works beautifully. The fast songs, like You Might Think and My Best Friend’s Girl have a playful quality that really works. But Delmhorst especially shines on the ballads. Drive was a big hit in the original version, but it was one place where I always thought that the ironic approach didn’t work. Here, Delmhorst gives a completely sincere reading, and I hear what I was missing.

But I have saved the best for last. Those great hooks are all here, but Delmhorst has arranged the songs for a sort of folk orchestra. On top of a solid foundation of drums and bass, there is an army of mostly acoustic instruments. Those synthesizer line from the original songs might be played here on accordion, fiddle, penny whistle, or even clarinet. On Drive, the original had a wash of synthesizers as the key to the sound of the song, but here it’s a combination of accordion with some bass clarinet added as the song progresses. This really warms the song up, making it more emotionally resonant. Delmhorst also loosens up the arrangements at times. The cello parts on Why Can’t I Have You add depth to the song. Listen closely to the bass line on My Best Friend’s Girl, and you will hear the wonderful playfulness of this album. And the banjo part in Hello Again is a great touch. The background vocals are a mix of high female voices and low male ones, and the push and pull between the two is a device that is used here to great effect, especially on Shake It Up.

In sum, Kris Delmhorst shaows that she loves these songs, and the album gives me fond memories of when I first heard them. But the songs have been revoiced, both vocally and instrumentally, which makes Cars an album that is full of delightful surprises.

Kris Delmhorst: Why Can‘t I Have You

Kris Delmhorst: Drive

Spuyten Duyvil - New Amsterdam

[purchase]

When I reviewed Spuyten Duyvil’s previous album a year ago, I noted that the band had just replaced their bass player and added a drummer and a harmonica player. Now, these new members are fully integrated into the band, and we get to hear what they sound like. James Meigs is the harmonica player, and he often plays Chicago style, which means that he places the harmonica directly on the microphone and gets that dirty, distorted sound that one hears in Chicago blues. Mark Miller can now write for a band with a tight rhythm section. So New Amsterdam is an album of folk, blues, even occasional old-time jazz and gospel flavors, but all delivered with a powerful rock kick. Beth Kaufman has the strong voice to put all of this over beautifully, and Miller, who takes more of the lead vocals than last time, is very impressive here as well. He has the power for an old-time blues number, (One Fine Day), but can also take a more subtle approach for a jazzy shuffle, (Through the Light). Overall, the affect is a wonderful blend of rock energy and jug band flavor and variety.

There are two covers on the album. Things get started with a rocking Shady Grove. I’ve never heard the song approached this way before, but I challenge you to try to sit still for this one. Later, a perfect train rhythm starts up, and Beth Kaufman launches into a fine performance of Freight Train. After she completes the lyrics the first time, Mark Miller comes in with a song I haven’t heard before that I would call Angel, Lay Him Away. This then becomes a counter-melody, when Kaufman comes back in with Freight Train again. All in all, it works beautifully. The album cover lists ten songs, but there is also a hidden track that should not have been. Track eleven is just two minutes of silence, but then comes a song called Pride Packs Her Bags. This is a beautiful breakup song, filled with yearning. It is more acoustic than the rest of the album, so maybe that’s why it’s hidden. But don’t miss it.

Mark Miller has a knack for writing original songs that sound traditional, and I certainly mean that as a complement. In particular, I actually searched on line to try to find an older version of One Fine Day. I was that sure I had heard the song before. These kinds of songs often have spare lyrics, with a lot of details left for the listener to fill in. But Miller also writes more modern songs, with more of the details in the lyrics. I was particularly impressed with Coal Train, Through the Light, and Peace With the Damage, as well as Pride Packs Her Bags. Coal Train depicts a weary soldier who must return to the war; the subject could easily be rendered as a political song, but here instead is a deeply human portrait. Peace with the Damage is a portrait of a woman who regrets the actions that have led to a breakup, but who can not yet take full responsibility and apologize. Through the Light has a story that is somewhat in shadows; a man is in the hospital for a life-threatening situation, but he considers his situation through a series of metaphors to avoid fully facing his fears. Miller finds characters in emotional flux, and he depicts them perfectly.

I don’t know when was the last time I mentioned this many of an album’s songs in my review. New Amsterdam is a treat from start to finish.

Spuyten Duyvil: Through the Light

Spuyten Duyvil: Peace With the Damage

David Francey - Late Edition

[purchase, priced in Canadian dollars]

Based on the example of his new album, Late Edition, David Francey is an economical man. By that, I mean that he uses only as many words and as much music as he needs to make his point. The twelve songs on Late Edition run about a half hour total. There are solos, but nothing flashy, and the arrangements of this music are little marvels of efficiency. Make no mistake, Francey is a man of deep feelings and strong opinions. He just doesn’t need a lot of space to show it.

Francey sings in a somewhat scratchy baritone. All of the songs here are either Francey originals or co-writes of his, but on Late Edition, he does not play an instrument. I probably wouldn’t either if I had a band that included Kieran Kane, Fats Kaplan, and Richard Bennett. Drummer Lucas Kane has a most unusual role here. Bennett plays acoustic or electric guitar, except for his beautiful bouzouki part on the song Wonder. His electric guitar playing has an acoustic quality, and is mainly used to vary the sound and texture of the music. Kieran Kane, who also co-wrote three of the albums songs, contributes banjo, guitar, and mandolin parts. Fats Kaplan usually adds tasty fills with his fiddle, but he switches to a beautifully subtle accordion part on Wonder, and picks up an electric guitar and rocks out on I Live in Fear. It would be easy to miss the drums, except on I Live in Fear. Usually, Lucas Kane adds just a whisper of a bass thump to the songs here; the effect is an almost subliminal heartbeat. There is no conventional rhythm section on these songs, and no bass player. The songs range from ballads to ragtime influenced up tempo numbers, and the subtle shifts in texture make Late Edition a richly varied listen. I’m using the word subtle a lot here; it is the hallmark of these songs.

The musical arrangements place an emphasis on the words. Francey grew up in Scotland, leaving for Canada when he was 12, and the accent is very much there, but his words are clear. Francey’s lyrics set moods and feelings, but they don’t tell stories. Instead, these are beautifully sketched slices of life, and they rely on both the music and the listener’s imagination to fill in the details. Pretty Jackals is clearly concerned with the Crucifiction, but you have to get to the last verse to see what Francey has done here. Then you realize that he has imagined how the Crucifiction would be reported today on the TV news. Wonder and Grateful are powerful evocations of love, from two different angles. Solitary Wave and Borderlands are mood pieces based on contemplations of the natural world, and in each case, I can see the scene in my head as I listen. And Blue Heart of Texas is a song that snuck up on me. When I started working on this review, I did not think that I would be posting Blue Heart. But its depiction of the loneliness and yearning of a musician on the road won me over. I should mention that the song as written does not have to be about a musician at all, but that is where it takes me when I listen.

As I said earlier, the listener winds up filling in the details of these songs, so your experience of this album may be different than mine. But I can promise you that these songs will take you somewhere, and that the trip will be well worth it.

David Francey: Pretty Jackals

David Francey: Blue Heart of Texas

David Bromberg - Use Me

[purchase]

A lot of hip-hop albums these days are made with multiple producers, each producing one or two tracks. I believe some country albums are also done this way. I’m old school, so this bothers me. An album, in my view, is supposed to have a single point of view, and this is achieved by having an artist and producer working together as a team for the length of the album. What then am I to make of the new album from David Bromberg? There is an over all concept to this album: it is Bromberg’s musical wish list of who he would like to work with. So Bromberg’s guitar and vocals are the constants, but each track has a different guest artist who also provided the other musicians and produced. Most of these guests also wrote their song specifically for this album; the others chose the song they wanted Bromberg to cover with them. Only Levon Helm contributed two songs, and they are completely different from one another. And the collaborators came from the worlds of country, blues, folk, old school R&B, funk, jam band, and pop. So what does this all add up to? A stylistically diverse album that can stand with David Bromberg’s best.

You see, even in the old days, David Bromberg was, by choice, a musical chameleon. His work was based on the blues, but he could rock, and he was always equally adept on acoustic or electric guitar. He eventually would record a wonderful album of Irish folk. So the mix of styles makes sense here, where it might not for anyone else. Also, the guest artists here have chosen or written songs that they feel Bromberg would sound good on. So Linda Ronstadt, for example, brings a Brook Benton tune, It’s Just a Matter of Time, but it’s arranged for just acoustic guitar and stand-up bass, with a chorus of female vocals. Los Lobos, with The Long Goodbye, stretch Bromberg with a Mexican waltz, but he is more than up to it. A slow blues with Keb Mo makes all the sense in the world, as does a jug-band tune with Levon Helm. Bromberg gets funky with Dr John, but also with widespread Panic. A slow R&B workout asks almost the same thing of a singer as a slow blues. John Hiatt doesn’t get enough credit for his talent at writing these kinds of songs, and Ride on Out a Ways is a fine example. Bromberg’s voice lacks the power it once had, but he has figured out ways to compensate, and convey as much emotion as he ever did. I am particularly impressed with the way he can still adjust his tone for the different styles of song heard here. Bromberg has also become a more subtle guitar player. Where he might once have broken out in an extended solo, now he knows that he can get his point across with just a splash of notes.

Use Me, then, is an album that Bromberg might have wanted to make at the peak of his career, but he was on a major label then, and they never would have allowed it. I’m glad he found a way to do it now. Use Me has the most important element any great album needs. It sounds like all of the musicians are having a great time.

David Bromberg: Ride on Out a Ways

David Bromberg: It‘s Just a Matter of Time

Lori Lieberman - Bend Like Steel

[purchase]

I’ve waited quite a while for this album. Lori Lieberman’s last album, Gun Metal Sky, came out three years ago, and it was a marvel of subtle beauty. Bend Like Steel was worth the wait. This is a personal album, and the beautifully rendered musical settings here are even more intimate than last time. The basic band has Lieberman switching off between acoustic guitar and piano, plus additional acoustic, stand-up bass, and percussion. There are also cello parts on many of the songs, and an electric guitar is sometimes added with the lightest of touches. It would be a mistake to add much to this. Lieberman is a passionate singer here, but she does not raise her voice much. She often gets quieter for emotional effect where most singers would get louder. So it is remarkable how well her voice and Monty Byrom’s baritone combine on the album’s one duet number, Mr and Mrs Make-Believe. Byrom must match Lieberman’s subtlety with his own, and too few singers know how to do that.

The big surprise to me about Bend Like Steel was the content of the lyrics. Lieberman has been making music for almost 40 years, and I haven’t heard nearly all of it. But this album feels like Lieberman had some kind of a breakthrough, and years of pent up emotion came out in the writing of these songs. Lieberman says in the liner notes, “A writing streak led to the making of this CD… where the more I said, the more I felt I needed to say.” The album opens with songs of love gone wrong. If Not Now feels like a snapshot of a moment when a woman who has been isolated in an abusive relationship decides to break out. Mr and Mrs Make-Believe depicts a hollow marriage, where their acquaintances believe they are the perfect couple, but their relationship is actually loveless. Cup of Girl is one of the most heartfelt songs on an album full of them; it depicts a singer who has been manipulated, but has finally decided to take control. The song uses an extended metaphor of a recipe, and this is a device that could have failed miserably, but Lieberman nails it. As the album progresses, the emotional tone begins to shift. Now, the narrator who had been so unlucky in love begins to find the real thing. My Sister’s Boyfriend is a flashback that represents a long-sought ideal for what love should be. The relationship in the song did not endure, and there is a heart-stopping moment in the song that explains why not with one word. I don’t want to give a spoiler by saying more, but you will know the moment I mean when you hear it. That one moment sums up everything that is so right about this album. These Things is a wonderfully ironic song; after recounting all of the experiences that could have warned her off of love forever elsewhere on this album, Lieberman finds herself in this song assuring a new lover that he does not have to let his past hurts scare him away from her. And that sums up what Lieberman has taken away from all of these experiences, and what she wants the listener to take away from this album. Through it all, Lieberman never lost her faith in true love, and so, she was ready when it found her at last. Netherlands finds her in that country for the first time since 1975, and it completes a circle for her. And There’s a Harbor closes the album with an affirmation of the power of love. Lieberman didn’t write this one, but she chose the perfect song to conclude this journey.

And it is a journey. Much care has obviously gone into sequencing the songs on Bend Like Steel. This is an album that should be heard straight through in one sitting if possible. Heard this way, the album tells a story that is real, but also heartwarming in the end.

Lori Lieberman: Cup of Girl

Lori Lieberman: My Sister‘s Boyfriend

Carolann Solebello - Threshold

[purchase]

I’ll start by saying that Threshold is Carolann Solebello’s first solo album since she left Red Molly. But being part of a group that does a lot of sweet harmonies is different from being a solo artist. And writing for a group is also different from writing for yourself. Threshold shows how Carolann Solebello creates and performs an album’s worth of material just for herself. The rich and sweet alto voice is still here, of course. But there are times here when Solebello cuts loose and belts out a few notes. This is all the more affective because Solebello does it sparingly. And having an entire album of Sollebello originals, plus two well chosen covers of traditional tunes, puts her writing in a context that was not possible in a group. I will always treasure the albums Solebello made with Red Molly, but Threshold is a treat of a different sort.

In a sense, Threshold can be heard as a single song. It starts as a folk-rock tune, with both electric and acoustic guitars prominent in the mix, backed by drums and bass. Then there is a quiet midsection, where the electric guitar and drums, and soon even the bass, drop out, and a fiddle and mandolin show up. The folk-rock arrangement comes back, although not as forcefully. Finally, there is a gospel coda, with just acoustic guitar and chorused background vocals. Put this way, it sounds very schematic and deliberate, but that’s not how it sounds. The lyrics are a set of stories, organized around the themes of freedom and home. In Solebello’s eyes, these concepts are opposites, and the tension between them is what really drives the album. There is an emotional ebb and flow here, mirrored by the changing tone of the music.

One extreme of this emotional dynamic comes out in the song Empty House. Solebello makes it clear that a house is a mere shell. A home is about being surrounded by loved ones. This motif reappears later in Tea Without Sympathy. The urge for going, and for freedom, is represented most clearly here by the traditional Black Jack Davey, where the protagonist gives up her family and home to travel with a gypsy. But not all of Solebello’s narrators can make this choice so easily. In Paint My Wagon, the narrator wants her freedom, but she wants her husband to go with her. Alice, in the song of the same name, ties herself to a house and family, but keeps the spirit of freedom alive in her heart for when it will be needed again. Alice is a wonderfully realized heroine, probably my favorite on an album full of fascinating women. Somewhere in the middle emotionally are the songs A Song I Can’t Remember and Someone Else’s Dream. These are songs where Solebello’s heroines sing in the first person, and they feel that they have arrived in a place where they do not belong.

Finally, that gospel coda I mentioned is Wash Me Clean, which must close the album. The conflict expressed in all that has come before is not completely resolved, but Wash Me Clean feels to me like a secular prayer to help the heroine accept her situation, and the consequences of her choices. The song powerfully binds the album together, and leaves the listener with a feeling of hope. This is an album that is best heard as a whole, in the order the songs appear on the disc. Taken this way, Threshold is a powerful emotional document that I know I will want to come back to.

Carolann Solebello: Alice

Carolann Solebello: Wash Me Clean

Tara O’Grady - Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

[purchase]

I am very pleased to present to you Tara O’Grady’s new album, Good Things Come to Those Who Wait. As you know if you have been reading this blog for a while, last year I started spotlighting artists who were having fund drives to make their next albums. Of the various drives I have featured so far, O’Grady’s was the first to produce an album. So Good Things Come to Those Who Wait is an album that some of you may have helped make. I thank you for that, because it’s a good one.

For now, Tara O’Grady is a jazz singer. I say for now, because some of Good Things suggests that she has other options. Her backing band includes the drums, stand-up bass, and piano that you would expect. But there is also acoustic guitar, harmonica, fiddle, accordion, even tin whistle. So O’Grady is not afraid to bend the rules, but she and her band make this all sound natural. O’Grady sings in a dramatic alto that can sound like some of Aretha Franklin’s jazzier moments. This voice is something of a pose, and she drops it for a bonus track in which she sings in a poppier voice. To call her vocal a style a pose is not a criticism here; it perfectly suits what she is after. Good Things is a collection of songs of idealized romance. These are not songs of experience, but rather of imagination. O’Grady sometimes winks at the listener to let us know that she understands that love isn’t really like this, but she captures the dream beautifully more often than not.

This separation of dream from reality is never clearer than in the song Let Me Be Your Audrey. Audrey is Audrey Hepburn, and the lyrics make references to some of her movies. O’Grady knows that she is offering a fantasy here, and she makes it sound very appealing. Some of the best moments on this album come in songs that mix this dream quality with romantic yearning. Shadow Blues opens the album with a woman who wants one name to fill out her dance card for the rest of her life. Later, November Moon is a gorgeous ballad with some Irish touches, concerning a woman who may be losing her lover. Tara O’Grady wrote all of the lyrics here with two exceptions. Trouble in Mind is a cover of the classic blues song. Think of Me is another musical wink on O’Grady’s part. The words are excerpted from a poem by Thomas Hood, Lines to a Lady on Her Departure for India. Hood describes a series of extreme situations, and asks the lady to “Think of Me”. There is an element of absurdity about the whole thing, and O’Grady delivers this perfectly by singing the song straight up as a ballad of romantic yearning. The poem is actually a satire of an earlier work by Thomas Hood’s brother-in-law, John Hamilton Reynolds.

I mentioned that O’Grady has other options besides jazz. Waiting For You has the sound of an early soul ballad, and it is one of the most powerful vocals on the album. Goodnight Nora is a beautiful duet and a lullaby of the love of two newlyweds. The male singer is Alan Bennett. I have to say that I would love to hear this one recorded again; Bennett is not a bad singer, but his voice and O’Grady’s are not well matched. The song is wonderful, and deserves a better treatment. Goodnight Nora should have been the last song on the album. It is followed by a bonus track, Love on the Underground. This is a tale of an almost-encounter on the subway in New York City. O’Grady uses her voice here very differently than she does anywhere else on the album. She goes for a light tone, and the whole thing sounds like what Bare Naked Ladies might come up with if they wrote a love song. I found the song enjoyable, but it belongs on a different album. The rest of the album casts a wonderful romantic glow, and powerfully evokes a time that is either long gone or never existed at all. It is a world that appeals in the same way as a well constructed world in a fantasy novel. O’Grady’s playfulness only makes it more appealing. I can’t wait to hear what she does next.

Tara O‘Grady: Shadow Blues

Tara O‘Grady: November Moon

Danny Ellis - The Space Between the Lines

[purchase]

The Space Between the Lines is, in a sense, Danny Ellis’ first album. This Tenderness, his actual debut, was a set of electronic soundscapes with trombone and a scattering of other acoustic instruments humanizing the proceedings, and helping the songs to connect emotionally. 800 Voices was Danny Ellis telling his harrowing story of growing up in the notorious Artane Industrial School in Dublin, and the music was based on traditional Irish music, leavened with other types of music that Ellis heard growing up. Having made that album, Ellis was finally free to make an album of songs that sound like himself as he is now. In the liner notes to The Space Between the Lines, Ellis describes how these new songs came pouring out of him. Lines has a consistent sound, and planned or not, there is a consistency of theme in the lyrics.

The arrangements here are spare, but they sound fuller than they are. Ellis plays acoustic guitar, and his parts are doubled and enhanced by mandolin or a hybrid of guitar and bazouki called a bazar. There also beautiful fiddle parts. On some songs, Ellis overdubs his own piano or organ parts. I am pretty sure that I also hear bass parts on most songs, but there is no bass player credited in the album notes. And that’s it. In particular, there are no drums, but none are needed, because the rhythm of this music comes through just fine without them. Ellis overdubs some background vocals, and everything sounds like a band that has played together for so long that they fill in each other’s part’s intuitively. Ellis sings in a high tenor voice that manages to be gentle and fully emotionally invested at the same time.

I would say that the theme of these songs is first love. It’s true, but the phrase carries certain connotations that do not apply here. Lines starts with the song Shine, and Ellis describes how he thought he knew what love was until he met his current love. His narrator now realizes that there was no love between his parents, so he never saw the real thing modeled by his role models. The song is a profound thank you for the gift of real love at last. The next song, Ask, is about first love in a completely different way. Here, the narrator describes a romantic encounter from when he was sixteen, in beautiful and tender language. But, at the end of the song, we find that the song is not what it appears to be. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it takes the listener to another place that seems perfectly natural when you get there. And the album continues, with similarly well crafted songs about discovering love and exploring its depths. Then, in the later part of the album, a second theme emerges: the idea of home. The “home” songs include Another Dublin, which is about the differences between how a place feels in memory and in actual fact. Ellis’ narrator here goes to Dublin, hoping to experience the good things about the city of his youth, but discovers instead that that city is as gone as his youth itself. In the other “home” songs, home is as much an emotional place as a physical one, and the ideas of home and love become intertwined. This is all expressed in beautifully poetic lyrics.

My description may have made it sound like Lines has a premeditated quality, but that is not the case at all. I tend to think that Ellis was not consciously developing a theme either when writing or recording these songs. They have a feel that is completely natural and sincere. The Space Between the Lines is the sound of one man’s heart speaking, beautifully.

Danny Ellis: Ask

Danny Ellis: Another Dublin

Blog business: although I hate to break the mood, I am late in congratulating Adam Sweeny and the Jamboree on the success of their Kickstarter campaign. Thank you to all who helped.

Abbie Gardner - Hope

[purchase]

Country music is a hybrid musical form. It represents a blending of many older musical genres, and that certainly includes the blues. The music of Abbie Gardner makes this connection very clear. I already knew this from Gardner’s work with Red Molly, but Gardner’s new album Hope is still a revelation. For one thing, I love the sound of the National steel guitar, and Gardner plays it here far more than I have heard her do before. For another, where Red Molly performs roughly an even split of original material and covers, and that includes songs by the three different artists who make up the band, Hope is Abbie Gardner’s show, and she wrote all but three of the album’s songs. The last element that makes Hope something special is that Gardner gets to show off her jazzy side, which mostly doesn’t fit with what Red Molly does. Naturally, I am eager for the next Red Molly album, hopefully later this year, but Hope is a wonderful treat in its own right.

The country-blues connection starts with Abbie Gardner’s voice. She doesn’t growl like some blues singers, but her slightly breathy alto has a full range of expression, whether on a bluesy burner like Break It Slow, or on a tender country waltz like Hope. On jazzier numbers like Comes Love, she adds a wonderful sassiness that is perfect for the song. On the album, Gardner plays the National, the dobro, and a lap steel, with the National often featured. So she goes from a percussive guitar sound to a twangier one, and she can also add lead lines that are reminiscent of Bonnie Raitt’s slide work. The core band here adds Craig Akin on stand-up bass and Ben Wittman on drums. Gardner puts these rhythm players through their paces, what with the stylistic and mood changes here, but both players display amazing versatility. Akin also contributes one original song, the instrumental Do It, which sounds like it arose out of a jam session; the three musicians are having entirely too much fun here, which makes the song fun for the listener as well. Some tracks add Herb Gardner, Abbie’s father, on piano; others have Sarah Gardner, her sister, on organ. In both cases, Abbie Gardner has chosen the best available musicians for the songs. There is also a variety of background singers on the album.

As a songwriter, Abbie Gardner shows a great love of classic forms. Break It Slow is the tale of a woman who fears that her relationship with her lover may be ending. The sung kicks off the album in high gear, with its uptempo blues sound, but the lyric could just as easily be a country song. Hope is a country waltz with a wonderful cello part, and it shows Gardner’s gift for imagery. Her “glasses that shatter like broken little pieces of stars” is an image that, in the context of the song, I can see in my head as she sings the line. In all, these are stories of love sought, found, and lost, told with great eloquence. Gardner’s performances invest her words with great emotion, and thus she demonstrates her love of classic song forms. And then, late in the album, she breaks the rules a bit. Bang Bang has an ambiguity that one doesn’t usually find in country. Here, a woman who has found her lover with another woman lets the us know that she has a gun, and she intends to use it. But she might shoot her lover, his lover, or herself. She only knows that “something wants to go bang today”. Her feelings and the sense of danger are both very real in this song, but Gardner wants to present the situation, not its resolution. Nellie is a great piece of storytelling, and it describes a harrowing situation. The narrator, whose relationship with the title character is unclear, offers to help Nellie escape from an abusive relationship. Gardner tells the tale, not graphically, but with a bluntness that is unusual and brave. Finally, the album concludes with Too Soon (For Karena). This one is a beautiful hymn for a lost loved one. Coming at the end of the album as it does, Too Soon offers comfort not only in the context of the song itself, but also for all the stirred emotions that have come before.

In all, Hope is an album I know I will be going back to. The playing is sometimes flashy, but always in service to the song. The writing is rich and varied. And Abbie Gardner has a great voice for blues, country, or jazz.

Abbie Gardner: Break It Slow

Abbie Gardner: Hope

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Brother Joscephus and the Love Revival Revolution Orchestra - Live at Brooklyn Bowl

[purchase]

In some cultures, music is used to induce a shared ecstatic trance state. Individual participants are then driven to shout and move wildly, as their spirits rush out seeking expression. On Live at Brooklyn Bowl, Brother Joscephus and the Love Revival Revolution Orchestra give us an idea what this sounds like. The key word in the name of the band is revival, as in “revival meeting”. This is not sacred music, but the spirit is very much involved. When I reviewed Brother Joscephus‘ debut album, I spoke of the theatricality of the music and the clear New Orleans influences, and those qualities are very much still here. But, heard live, other qualities emerge that just weren’t as clear on a studio album. One is the generosity of Brother Joscephus himself; most of the other musicians who made up the band on the night this was performed get spotlights to show what they can do, which is a lot. Another pleasant surprise here were the little hints of jazz that turn up from time to time.

The songs here are not, taken as a group, as thoughtful a batch as last time. That is as it should be, since a studio album is more geared towards listening, while a live performance like this is about presenting the best party possible. These songs are appeals for love in its varying forms, and the lyrics would sound a bit naïve if the performances were not invested with so much passion and fervor. Brother Joscephus himself is a soulful shouter. On Somebody to Love, (yes, that’s a cover of the old Queen song), he yields the microphone to Seoul Sistah #1, (AKA Samia Mounts), who delivers a stunning gospel soul performance that brings to mind Aretha Franklin in her prime. The band is huge. I counted twelve instrumentalists, four main singers, and a chorus of five background singers. There is a horn section of trumpets, trombone, and sax, but they can switch to clarinet and tuba for a wonderful take on When the Saints Go Marching In. Revolution of Love is a funky workout that turns jazzy when the horn players step out to take their solos. The trombone solo is particularly tasty here. Shine On has a funky groove, but the band all but drops out for a middle section that features first the piano, and then is joined by electric guitar playing pure rock. These are some of the ecstatic moments that I mentioned, and there are more. In each case, it is easy to see how the musicians got swept up in the group sound, and the band does a great job of finding the groove again and getting back to the song. So you could call this jam band music, but in the best sense. The band is tight enough to get loose. That sentence may not make much sense on the page, but you can hear it throughout this album.

For the last two songs, I Still Love You and Mighty Mighty Chain of Love, the band takes the pace down, and gently brings the audience back to earth. I criticized the last album for flagging at the end, but, in the context of a live performance, I see how this works, and it is done beautifully here. An album should leave you wanting to hear more, and a live album should make you want to attend a performance. Live at Brooklyn Bowl succeeds perfectly on both counts.

Brother Joscephus and the Love Revival Revolution Orchestra: Revolution of Love

Brother Joscephus and the Love Revival Revolution Orchestra: Somebody to Love

Natalia Zukerman - Gas Station Roses

[purchase, scroll down]

Almost every artist I have reviewed goes with a tight song structure. Verses and choruses proceed in a predictable pattern, and the bridge, if there is one, comes roughly in the middle. The verses rhyme and scan in a particular way, and the choruses might have a different scheme, but each chorus works the same way as every other. I’m not knocking writing a song this way. It’s not easy to do it and have it sound true. But it’s possibly even harder to break these rules, and still have songs that work. That’s what Natalia Zukerman does on Gas Station Roses, and she makes it work beautifully. The songs here are messy, but so are the relationships they portray. Choruses arrive like unfinished thoughts, to be fleshed out in later iterations. Rhymes happen naturally, if at all, and the number of syllables in a particular line may change from verse to verse. All of this comes on top of the tight grooves laid down by Zukerman and her band. In fact, there is a tension between the tightness of the playing and the looseness of the vocal lines, and that is why the whole thing works so well.

The last song on the album is Little Bird, and it features just voice, acoustic guitar, and an understated bass part. But the rest of the album’s songs have drums, bass, and some combination of electric, acoustic, and lap steel guitars. Brooklyn adds a tenor sax, Indiana has some amazing interplay between tenor sax and harmonica, and Howard Hughes features fiddle and banjo. The music is a fine stew of rock, blues, and even intimations of funk in places. And then there is Zukerman’s voice. She sings in a smoky alto. Her voice is often breathy, but she can break into a full voice that tends to reach for higher notes and heightened emotions. She can portray hope and disappointment in the same song. And her singing adds a detail to some of the songs that is not in the lyric: she has a warmth and even a sense of humor that says she can pick herself up and go on. Love doesn’t always work out, but Zukerman’s characters are never ready to give up on it.

In the song Brooklyn, an unread book can cause an avalanche. At the start of the song, this is a symbol of a cluttered life. But by the end, when the image returns, I had the sense that reading the book meant allowing oneself to fall in love, and the avalanche was now emotional rather than physical. This is a fine example of how Natalia Zukerman uses a metaphor, and she does it exceptionally well. A word or a phrase will repeat in the course of a song, and its meaning will change with the context. Zukerman uses this device to tell her stories. Gas Station Roses is one those songs where you wonder what the chorus has to do with anything. The song seems to be a simple plea for love. But the last verse ties it all together, and the song turns out to be an attempted apology. Indiana is a mood piece. On top of great atmospheric music, the lyric uses a series of images to describe a bleak emotional landscape, but Zukerman still offers hope. Sorry Side of Town has a narrator who must learn to let go of self pity and accept love. Instead of the sudden breakthrough you might expect, there is a gentle evolution, beautifully rendered. And Come Undone might have been a good title for this album. Each of the song’s four verses ends with the words “Come undone”, and each time the meaning of these words shifts, from a burst of mutual attraction, to a tumultuous point in a relationship, to finally an acceptance and a sort of emotional détente.

On the basis of this album, then, Natalia Zukerman is a fine writer who speaks by indirection, but eloquently. She is a singer who can say things that her words do not. She has put together a fine band who create exactly the right atmosphere for each song here, and also provide a nice variety of sounds throughout the album. Gas Station Roses is a rare treat.

Natalia Zukerman: Gas Station Roses

Natalia Zukerman: Come Undone