For a Song: Beeswing

Richard Thompson: Beeswing

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Celtic legend is full of tales of people who take supernatural lovers, only to have those lovers disappear as mysteriously as they originally appeared. The tale of the selkie may be the most familiar of these tales, but it is only one example of many. Although there are no supernatural elements in Richard Thompson’s song Beeswing, it has some of that same quality. The girl here is never named, and she has a wildness that compares to the magical natures of these supernatural lovers. Like them, she cannot be tamed, and must eventually return to her point of origin. I do not think that this is coincidence. Thompson gives the song a musical setting which suggests traditional Celtic music. And Thompson’s lyrics elsewhere, particularly in his work with Fairport Convention, show a deep understanding and love of Celtic lore.

Between the Cracks

The major labels are always looking for artists who fit in neat categories, to simplify their marketing efforts. Artists know this, and try to make music that will fit. But some artists are driven to make music that falls between the cracks, that fits no musical genre very well at all. Sometimes, there are traces of various musical genres, but combined in unexpected ways. And sometimes there is no genre that can describe the music fairly. Always, these artists show a fierce originality. Some of the worst music I have ever heard is like this; the artist creates something abstract, without the slightest regard to connecting with their potential listeners. But some of the best music I have ever heard also defies categorization. Just as the English language is neither French nor German, but is derived from both, this music is a new language, but one that speaks eloquently.

Laura Siersema: Eileen

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For my recent Jazz Singers Spotlight, I included a song from Laura Siersema’s latest album. It was the sound of an artist who has found her voice. But ten years earlier, the Tampa Tribune said of her debut album, “Folk fans should take note as well as those who like classical and Tori Amos”. Translation: “I have no idea what to call this, but I like it.”. Tori Amos comes up because Siersma sings and plays piano; the classical reference has to do with how Siersma sings; and Siersma does include three folk songs on the album, but does not perform them in a folk manner.

Listening to this album now, and knowing where Siersema’s muse would take her, I can hear full arrangements in my head for these songs. What feels like a vaguely classical vocal here becomes a jazz vocal when paired with a full band. I applaud Siersema for letting her music take her where it needed to go. That said, the songs on this first album do stand up as they are. And the spare arrangements help to emphasize what a fine character writer Siersema is.

Allysen Callery: Hobgoblin‘s Hat

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The music of Allysen Callery is almost folk. She plays a nylon-strung acoustic guitar, which is a little unusual, but she plays finger-picked lines that sound suitably folkish. It’s the rest of her arrangements the knock her out of the running. There no drums, but there are bass, electric guitar, and some keyboards. It’s the electric guitar lines that are especially not folk. These are almost like a second voice, and they give these songs an otherworldly air. Callery sings in a voice with a slight childlike quality. And this suits her songs beautifully.

If I tell you that Callery’s writing shows her love of fairy tales, I hope you won’t think of Disney movies. Callery knows that fairy tales are richer and stranger than that, and often darker. She conveys a sense of wonder in these songs. Callery also knows that fairy tales convey a full range of human emotions. Like the wonderful illustrations in the Andrew Lang fairy tale collections, Callery’s songs take you to another world. It’s not clear whether that world is within or without, nor should it be.

We Are the Willows: Norwalk, Iowa

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Goth-grass? The title of the album is A Collection of Sounds and Something Like the Plague. The first song opens with a repeating figure on banjo, and the rest of the song forms and mutates on top of that. Later in the album, there is electronic percussion that usually seems to pull against the beat. This is all the work of one man, Peter Michael Miller. Yes, that high voice you hear is a man. This countertenor vocal is no gimmick; Miller really makes it work, and is perhaps the most emotive singer in this post.

Miller’s songs start with a simple groove, often on an acoustic instrument, and other instruments don’t so much join in as intrude. Some of the songs threaten to descend into chaos, but it never actually happens. This device becomes an expression of emotional turbulence, and the resolution is not always comfortable. But it is very effective. These are songs of heartbreak, and Miller does not go quietly. But he never pushes the listener away either.

Flotilla: Ghost in a Landscape

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Flotilla’s album one hundred words for water opens with drums, bass, and electric guitar, as well as lead vocals. I think I hear some keyboard in there as well, but still not that unusual. About half way through the song, a synthesizer line shows up that sounds like a calliope. A little odd, but nothing I can’t handle. Towards the end of the song, there is an abrupt tempo change. So it’s a little complicated, but we can still call it rock. But wait, there is a member of the band who you haven’t even heard yet, and he plays harp. And I don’t mean harmonica, I mean harp.

The harp produces ripples of sound that radiate out into a room. Flotilla gets this effect with a full band. The music is also intensely rhythmic. Veronica Charnley is the songwriter, and she plays guitar and provides the vocals. She sings in a passionate soprano. One of the songs here is called Ophelia, as in Shakespeare. Charnley writes songs with unusual characters and points of view. She gets inside these characters, and makes us believe in them.

Ljova and the Kontraband: Crutchahoy Nign

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I feel lucky to present to you the music of Ljova and the Kontraband. Ljova, aka Lev Zhurbin, is a Russian born violist who has worked with the Kronos Quartet, Yo-Yo Ma, and Jay-Z, to name a few. And he contacted me, to see if I would be interested in his music.

The album is called Mnemosyne, and she was the Greek goddess of memory. The memory here is of a time and place that may or may not have ever existed, but is real in the minds of the musicians. This music is about what their heritage means to them. A diverse group, this means that there are shades of klezmer, jazz, classical, cabaret, and gypsy music, to name a few. That the album makes sense as a whole is a tribute to the talent of all the musicians involved.

For a Song: Pull Out the Pin

Kate Bush: Pull Out the Pin

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What? Another For a Song post? Where’s the theme post this week? All good questions. After a year and a half of living elsewhere, this week my family and I are finally moving back into our own home. Why is a very long story, but suffice it to say that this is a great relief. However, the move is also a lot of work and very stressful. So I simply don’t have the time and energy to do a full theme post right now, as things related to the move come to a head. Still, I wanted my readers to have something to carry you into the weekend. And I wanted to continue my theme of music that defies categorization. The theme post is still to follow.

Actually, much as I love the music of Jane Siberry, I had originally planned to post Kate Bush last time, from her amazing album The Dreaming. But I only got that album unpacked today. Here are songs which show a knowledge of English dance hall songs, and also of the Australian Aboriginal dreamtime. Other songs, like Pull Out the Pin, do not have obvious precedents from anywhere. And this is quite a change from the chanteuse who had a British hit not long before with Wuthering Heights. Wuthering was a lush ballad, with soaring strings and a highly emotional vocal. But then Kate Bush met Peter Gabriel, and her musical imagination was unleashed. Pull Out the Pin could have been a lush piano ballad, with a Wuthering Heights type of arrangement and vocal. The piano part is there, but the rest is something else. The odd percussion creates a dramatic tension, while Bush’s vocal is intense but not overwrought. Other songs on The Dreaming express emotional anguish, and the power of Bush’s voice comes to the for in such numbers. But where those songs burn and flame out, Pull Out the Pin smolders with an emotionalism that does not burn out by song’s end.

The lyric here seems to describe a relationship in terms of predator and prey, and it’s not clear which is which. There are also vague suggestions that this may be a werewolf tale. Or it may all be just a metaphor. Either way, it’s powerful stuff.

One last thing to say about this song: there are performances by two notable guest musicians on this track. Bassist Danny Thompson first become known to me as a member of Pentangle. And the male vocals on the chorus are by David Gilmour, best known for his work with Pink Floyd.

For a Song: Mimi on the Beach

Jane Siberry: Mimi on the Beach

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“The arrangement’s not quite there.”

Indeed. I have always been drawn to artists whose work does not fit neatly into any genre. Usually, such artists are driven to create for the sheer joy and freedom of it, rather than a search for fame or even wide scale recognition. Some of these artists achieve wide acclaim anyway, but always on their own terms.

Jane Siberry is a fine example of this. Mimi on the Beach comes from Siberry’s US debut, No Borders Here. That album title is very much about the spirit in which the album was made. Inspirations could come from anywhere or from the work of any musician in any genre. The lyrics are surreal, and can have different meanings for different listeners. Musically, you could call the song rock, but then it changes and that label doesn’t seem to work anymore. There hints of the minimalism of Phillip Glass, but again, the music changes. The rhythm varies throughout the song, but check it carefully and you find that the song is in 4/4 time throughout. If this sounds like an unruly mess, it isn’t. Siberry gets the whole thing to stay together, and the lyric does seem to have a consistency throughout. But is the song to be taken literally, or what is it a metaphor for otherwise? My answer changes from time to time.

Siberry has continued to explore this kind of ambiguity throughout her career, while continuing to exercise her musical freedom. More often than not, the results are as fascinating as they were here.

Incidentally, the purchase link is for the Sheeba Store, where Jane Siberry offers her music for sale for whatever price the customer sets. It is well worth your time to shop here, as there are many more Siberry treasures to be found. And I encourage you, when setting your purchase price, to please be as generous as you can. Siberry has long since proven that she deserves it.

Meg Hutchinson - The Living Side

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Meg Hutchinson records for Red House records. Based on what I have heard from that label before, I thought this album would make a nice segue from Americana week. It didn’t work out that way. But it does make a nice lead-in to a week of music that doesn’t fit any musical genre. Welcome.

If there is no label that conveniently describes the music of Meg Hutchinson, how shall I proceed? Well, have you ever participated in a guided meditation? There is a leader, who speaks softly, describing in broad strokes a scene and a sequence of events, leaving many blanks for the participants to fill in, each in their own way. The participants are lying down with their eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly, taking this in and each making their own journey of it. On The Living Side, Hutchinson takes us on quite a journey.

Let me hasten to add that this is not new age music by any stretch. There is great substance to both the words and the music here. And they are both finely crafted. But this music is very delicate and hushed. To take us on that journey, Hutchinson cannot startle or jar us. She must manage the trick of varying the feel and texture of the music, while not breaking our trance. And for those who wish to listen without traveling, Hutchinson must also make music that rewards close listening. She does.

Most of the songs feature acoustic guitar, bass, an electric keyboard, and often drum sequences. Sometimes there is also electric guitar, and a string quartet is used here in a way I have never heard before; the bows across the strings sound like breathing. Likewise, an accordion shows up sometimes, again as I have never heard it used before; it plays single chord drones that sound like something out of Eastern music. Hutchinson adds her low and intimate alto parts, and her background vocal parts are done as overdubs, often recorded differently than the lead vocals. I don’t know the technical aspects of this, but this contrast between the lead and background vocals gives this music a wonderful otherworldly effect.

The songs on The Living Side are mostly about love and faith, both in one’s self and each other. But there are turns of phrase that take the songs to unexpected places. Hopeful Things begins, “When I drink whiskey, sometimes I do things I don’t regret.” Now, Hutchinson has our attention for a song of hope. The chorus recalls an incident from a little while ago, where an airline pilot, facing a crash landing, was able to put the plane down in the Hudson River; it was considered a crash, but all on board walked away from it. The song, though, is more personal, talking about hope in a relationship.

Gatekeeper shows another side of Hutchinson’s gift. This song conveys a wonderful quiet intimacy. And Hutchinson can evoke a place or a scene in a single line. Hard to Change has a line about, “Driving south from New York City…toward the strange glow of the factories…” I live in New Jersey, and I know exactly what and where she means. Travel In has a more extended description of the Great Lakes region, and I’m sure it’s just as accurate.

So that’s what I hear when I listen to The Living Side. As happens with guided meditations, you may hear something quite different. If that happens, I hope you will share it in the comments. And I look forward to the chance to take more journeys with Meg Hutchinson in the future.

Meg Hutchinson: Gatekeeper

Meg Hutchinson: Hopeful Things

Americana Festival Finale

In this series of posts, I have been exploring the intersection of country and Americana music. But Americana is a label that covers more ground. At the outer edges of Americana are some artists whose music shares only the most tenuous connection with country music. The combination of instruments may be the same, but the results are quite different.

Kevin Higgins: The Levee Boys

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Kevin Higgins has a band which includes drums, bass, acoustic and electric guitars, and piano. Three guest musicians add pedal steel, organ or accordion, and fiddle or mandolin to some songs. Higgins sings in a weathered baritone that sometimes sounds like a Texas version of Mark Knopfler. All of the elements of country music are in place. But the piano is used in a way you never hear in country. The piano parts are single or two note runs, and the effect is like the tolling of a bell. And Higgins’ songs develop slowly. Country music is the last refuge of the three minute pop song, but Higgins often needs five minutes or more to let his songs cast their spell.

And they do cast a spell. You can feel the wind blowing the dust across the flatlands. This is especially powerful on the lead track of Find Your Shine. Out in the Fields is about a tornado strike, and Higgins lets you feel the wind gathering. Elsewhere, the wind is more gentle, but it blows through all of these songs.

I mentioned that Higgins writes long songs. He needs the extra length, because he is storyteller, and a very fine one. The track I have chosen is the story that struck me most powerfully. The Levee Boys are a group of childhood friends who grow up quickly one summer. Into their midst comes a new boy who they discover is being beaten by his father. They must decide whether to protect him, and why. It is an experience that changes them forever. The tale is told through adult eyes by one of the Levee Boys looking back, and still digesting the experience. There is no moral, and the resolution is uncertain. Higgins leaves the listener to think about this, and fill in some of the blanks. It’s powerful stuff. Again, I have mentioned that country music as practiced nowadays is comfort music, so it has no room for this kind of storytelling. I’m glad that Kevin Higgins does.

Ian Tamblyn: Afghanistan

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I hear some faint echoes of country in the music of Ian Tamblyn. I hear more blues, notably the blues harp in Fool’s Revelation, but also more subtly elsewhere. But mostly, I hear winter. In Wonder has the sound of shining icicles, while other songs have a brisk winter wind in them. Tamblyn’s acoustic guitar playing is where most of the country echoes show up, but his band adds a powerful kick from the drums, augmented by the bass lines. Other instruments will sometimes set up a drone. And a trumpet adds haunting color on a couple of songs. Overall, the full band, when used, often sounds like a percussion ensemble, only with a melody and harmony. This music reminds me of all kinds of things, but I’ve never heard anything quite like it.

Sometimes, Tamblyn’s lyrics are opaque. And the song becomes a mood piece. But he can also but quite direct and openly emotional in his lyrics. Tamblyn’s vocals work either way. His singing can express an impressive range of emotions. Afghanistan is the song the moved me most deeply here. The song is dedicated to the memory of a soldier who died in Afghanistan, and the song sounds like Tamblyn knew him personally. If he didn’t, both the songwriting and the performance are that much more impressive. I’m sure Tamblyn would want to mention that the soldier was Cpl. Anthony Joseph Boneca, of Thunder Bay, Ontario. (That’s right, Tamblyn is a Canadian.)

I want to mention one more thing before I move on to my last selection. I can imagine that some of my readers are musicians, and maybe even producers. I want you to know that someone is going to have a hit with Raven and Ray Charles. The song has a great beat and a great hook. Remember, you heard it here first.

Jake Armerding: Porto,Portugal

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Porto, Portugal is not country. Maybe it isn’t even Americana. But I couldn’t resist posting it, and much of Jake Armerding’s album Her does qualify. Certainly, Armerding’s credentials are solid. I found him through his work with Red Molly. And many of the songs here show a deep appreciation of the ground that folk and country share. But Porto Portugal is a good choice, because it makes clear where Armerding diverges from this territory. The harmonies are taken from Portugese music; Armerding is not afraid to put into his more countryish numbers the occasional odd harmony. And Porto Portugal is a break-up song, but it is a subtle and nuanced look at the subject. Armerding is a subtle writer, and a very effective one.

Armerding sings in a high tenor, and he carries the emotions of his songs without ever oversinging. His band fills in well, never overpowering him. If I have to continue my climate metaphors, Armerding’s songs are a summer breeze in a place with lots of growing things. Even the sad songs have a warmth to them, an intimacy that never feels forced. Jake Armerding lets you in.

There is a term, a songwriter’s songwriter. These are musicians who are most admired by other musicians. Often their hits are covers of their songs by other artists. I could see this happening to Armerding. The songs are strong, but the subtlety of the performances keep them from a mass audience. They also preserve the individuality of the artists. So I hope that songs like Song of Solomon and $2 Kite become hits, so Armerding can continue doing what he does. And I hope Armerding never sacrifices the subtlety of his performances to make this happen. And I’m fairly sure that, if that happens, I will always prefer Armerding’s original versions to the covers. Of course, if Armerding can keep producing albums like this, and have hits as well, that would be best of all.

Americana Festival Continues

First of all, I apologize for being late with this post. We had a disruption in our internet service over the last few days. The problem is fixed now, so it should be clear sailing from here on. After this, there will one more post to finish my Americana festival, and also to finish the week. Normal posting will resume next week.

As I put together the first part of my Americana festival, I thought about how I would characterize modern country music, and why the music I’m presenting here would not qualify. After all, many different sounds are accepted as country music these days. So why do these artists fail the test?

One reason is production. Country fans seek out their music for comfort. They want to know what to expect. So, in a mainstream country song these days, there will be a relatively quiet arrangement on the verses, and the music will swell on the chorus. This may be achieved with strings or electric guitars, but you know you’re going to hear it.

Another factor that disqualifies an artist is complex lyrics. Again, country fans seek simplicity and predictability. They want the story laid out for them; they don’t want implications, and they don’t want their songs cluttered with descriptive passages. They also want their protagonists to be people like them; they’re not looking to meet someone different.

I don’t mean to diss country music. It isn’t easy to write simple songs well. It takes a special talent to work effectively within such limitations. And the talent needed to put these songs over and make them fresh should not be underestimated. But, that said, I generally prefer music with more meat on its bones. Americana gives me that.

Craig Bancoff: St Anthony

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Craig Bancoff plays acoustic guitar, and his band includes drums, electric bass, sometimes pedal steel or banjo at other times, and sometimes there is a fiddle. But this is not country music. Surely, country is an element here, more clearly heard on some tracks than on others. But, in the vocal lines, I hear turns of musical phrase that remind me of Neil Young. Folk music is certainly an element that comes up in the guitar parts. There is even a jazzy tinge to some of the bass lines. All of this adds up to a consistent sound throughout.

Bancoff sings in a range similar to Neil Young’s, but with none of the abrasive quality that Young has. This is Bancoff’s natural range, and he never has to force it to hit a note. But Bancoff is certainly an emotional singer. That is fortunate, because his writing is indirect. His meaning is often carried by how he sings a song. But the most remarkable thing about Bancoff is his imagery. He is a very visual writer, and he can bring a picture to life with just a line or two. The images are often of nature, and he places these images perfectly within each song. A sequence of images, plus the emotion of Bancoff’s voice, tell a story where the rest of the words might not.

I had a hard time choosing just one song from Eden for this post. In the end, I found the image of a statue of St Anthony half-buried in the sand was the picture that most stayed in my mind.

Grant Peeples: The Saddest Thing

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Almost all of the songs on Pawnshop by Grant Peeples are, musically, country music. Leaving Her Was Easy could even fly on country radio, with its break-up lyrics and smooth delivery. There is even a radio-friendly version of the song as one of two hidden tracks at the end of the album. But Pawnshop is not a country album. The lyrics and the vocal delivery on the rest of the album disqualify it. Instead, what we have here is an idea of what it might sound like if Tom Waits did a country album.

Now, before I heard this album, I would have said that the idea was absurd. But Grant Peeples usually sings here with a gravelly tone that reminds me of Waits. And like Waits, Peeples excels at tales of downtrodden people. Peeples understands these people and sympathizes with them when no one else will. There is one important difference though. It’s subtle, and I never felt preached at on this album. But the tales Peeples tells of the downtrodden are morality tales. He wants to move us to reach out and try to help.

Peeples also sings relationship songs, and here the Tom Waits comparison really doesn’t hold up. These songs stand up quite well, without comparison to anyone. Most of them wouldn’t fly on mainstream country radio because of the lyrics. Peeples implies rather than explicitly stating how his narrators are feeling. To give you an idea of where he’s coming from, one song is dedicated to the poet Charles Bukowski.

I thoroughly enjoyed Pawnshop as a whole, but the songs I keep coming back to are those morality tales. The Saddest Thing tells of a couple who have come to a pawnshop to sell their wedding rings. The song is powerful, not mawkish, and has as its subtext the divide between rich and poor. If I hadn’t posted this one, my next choice would have been The Hanging. I believe the female voice on this one is Lis Williamson. The song is a duet, and it asks who we should weep for at a hanging.

Altogether, Pawnshop is an album that displays sensitivity and subtlety. The musicianship is fine indeed. This isn’t country by today’s standards, but maybe it should be.

Matt Harlan: Walter

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I started listening to Tips and Compliments by Matt Harlan, and I settled in for a nice mellow rock album. Then there was a side trip into country. Harlan’s acoustic guitar playing shows a fine appreciation of folk. And I could even have made a case for including one song, Warm November, in my jazz singers set. But Americana covers all the bases. This album shows a variety of influences, but it makes sense taken as a whole. Drums, bass, and acoustic guitar are heard on each song. Then add electric guitar or pedal steel. There are also banjo, mandolin, and some very tasty fiddle work on some tracks. Listening to Harlan’s voice, I imagine him taking a few tokes on a cigarette between songs. He sings in a clear baritone with a bit of smoke in it.

Matt Harlan is a story teller. He lets his tales unfold at their own pace, which means there are a lot of words, but none of them are wasted. You get to know his characters well, and see them change.

Walter is one of several songs I was tempted to post. Musically, it falls on the country-to-folk side of things. I love the description of the uncertainty of memory in this song. Walter is a dog, but this song is more about a life he touched than the dog himself. It is a fine example of Matt Harlan’s gift for presenting characters who are real because Harlan provides just the right amount of detail to bring them to life.