Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Transitions...


Transition albums are always difficult…shedding the old, embracing the new, trying to find a fresh direction while not completely losing touch with where you came from, it happens to most any band who sticks around for more than half a dozen years. From their very first album in 1964, the Rolling Stones were able to put out a slew of consecutively great to spectacular (and one bizarrely interesting) albums that hit a superbly sweet spot between 1968 and 1972 with the quadruple threat of Beggar’s Banquet, Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers and Exile On Main Street – and they did so while losing guitarist/auxiliary musician Brian Jones and incorporating guitar wunderkind Mick Taylor, a seemingly effortless transition in which they never missed a beat or a lick (ha, ha, get it?). But when Mick Taylor left, things started to get a little shaky. Sure, he was onboard when their slight decline began in 1973 with Goats Head Soup, but was long gone when the band started trying out guitarists while simultaneously recording 1976’s Black and Blue. And while Ronnie Wood eventually got the slot and has been there ever since, he only appears on a handful of tracks on that album, as the rest are filled in by other possible hopefuls. Recorded sporadically over a period of several months, I think it’s safe to say that the resulting album from any band under these circumstances would be patchy at best. There definitely seemed to be a lack of focus from the group, and that’s also understandable considering a) this was their thirteenth album in as many years and b) the plethora of amazing material they were able to churn out in that amount of time (while also indulging in a now legendary rock n roll lifestyle). In my opinion, Black and Blue is an overlooked gem. I won’t quite call it a lost classic because it in no way compares to the “fantastic four” or even some of the stronger efforts from their early period, but for what it is, which is a band looking to stay together and possibly rediscover themselves, it’s quite strong. With styles covering reggae, jazz, funk and, of course, rock n roll, Black and Blue is very smooth listen. And honestly, this might be part of the problem, for where many of the great-great-great Stones albums challenge the listener with song after song that not only cover a variety of styles but create attitudes and personalities all their own, Black and Blue catches a groove in a slick and seamless fashion that is in every way unobtrusive, so just as you’re starting to shake yer biznezz with Hot Stuff, the next thing you know it’s 40 odd minutes later and Crazy Mama is shutting it all down for you. Essentially, once the needle hits the wax, it’s very easy for this album to just slip into the background and it really takes repeat and concentrated listens to catch hold of true standouts (some of which are in the lower tiers of the best of the Stones) like Hand of Fate, Memory Motel and Melody (which features a fantastic organ and counter vocal from Billy Preston). Though a commercial success (it went to #1 in the US), Black and Blue effectively transitioned the Rolling Stones into their final and current stage (unless you wanna consider the departure of Bill Wyman as another phase), replacing a lot of the rough grime and grit, both musically and lyrically, that had made them infamous with a glossy sheen that became more tongue in cheek chic, a formulaic parody of themselves, than the threat from the dark underbelly of rock music. Also, this is where their true artistic decline begins (though they followed up this album with Some Girls, which many fans consider to be on par with their dead level best), as they started to morph into the cash machine that would eventually end up on the cover of Forbes. But all of that aside, we really can’t fault or overlook the music, which has merit, even if it’s a touch pedestrian, jaded and ultimately uninspired. Black and Blue presents its case of Stones longevity well, showcasing a set of musicians still capable of putting out a listenable tune and a formidable, if not earth shattering, record -- and they were able to keep up that lesser momentum at least into the early 80s (right Bill?).

Thursday, March 4, 2010

When You’ve Got It All Over Him…


There are many faces to Stephin Merritt: grumpy queen, disgruntled queen, bemused queen, ornery queen and, my favorite, bitchy queen. This is quite fitting ‘cos the man knows about a million ways to break a heart, from both the giving and receiving ends, and has told us all about it in song for close to two decades. Of his multiple monikers the most infamous is the Magnetic Fields, a truly dynamic group whose many albums have ranged from minimalist pop (Distant Plastic Trees), to lo-fi dance pop (Get Lost), to indie chamber pop (i), to noise pop (Distortion) and most recently to folk…you thought I was gonna say pop (Realism). And let us not forget the triple album magnum opus, 69 Love Songs, that covers most all those styles plus country, doo-wop, a cappella, jazz and “punk” to name a few. And if all of that weren’t enough, and it’s not, Merritt fronts even more groups - the self-praising and collaborative 6ths, the bubblegum brood of the Gothic Archies and the discothèque Future Bible Heroes - which allow him to push his magic envelope even further, and, finally, an impressive solo output that includes forays into show tunes. Merritt’s wit is truly unparalleled and he can turn a phrase that makes you grin even as it socks you in the stomach as easily as the average man can turn a corner. But what makes this choleric queen so downright irresistible is how absolutely effortless all his songs seem. He uses the same basic chords that the rest of us mortal musicians use, and yet the melodies drawn from them make the angels weep on a daily basis. Even when it’s not his plaintively low baritone bemoaning yet another love catastrophe, other vocalists who take the mic cannot hide the fact that this song is distinctly Merritt and his aloof shadow still lingers within the spotlight of attention.


The Magnetic Fields


The Magnetic Fields – All the Umbrellas in London


The 6ths - As You Turn to Go


The Gothic Archies - The Abandoned Castle of My Soul


The Future Bible Heroes - I'm a Vampire


Stephin Merritt - Sorry, Wrong Show


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

When You've Still Got It...

Then...

Few bands have stayed together for so long and remained as consistently worthwhile and enjoyable as The Church. From their jangle-rock beginnings to their psychedelic pop (commercial) heyday to the sweeping landscapes and textures they've explored for the past twenty years, they have never put out a bad album, from 1981's Of Skins and Heart to 2009's Untitled #23, and each release has at least one or two (or ten) tracks that could easily be about the best song the band has ever written. In the middle of it all is vocalist/bassist Steve Kilbey, who in the early days penned nearly every song and even now is the focal force of their more free form oriented material, his mellow baritone croon cutting through even the most intricate of layered guitar flutterings and thundering tom barrages as clearly and smoothly as a knife passing through water, giving extra weight to the tone of each song he sings with a rich almost prophetic clarity. And if 23 albums plus a handful of collected b-sides, outtakes and rarities with The Church weren't enough, he's released seven solo albums and worked on close to a dozen (or more) collaborative efforts, including my favorite Jack Frost with the late Go-Betweens singer/guitarist Grant McLennan. Everything Steve Kilbey has put his hand and voice to over the past 30 years is worth checking out, from atmospheric noodlings to pure pop perfection, he is a veritable Renaissance Man of sensational underground music (plus he writes poetry, short stories and Lord knows what else).

The Church - Reptile (1988)

The Church - Numbers (2002)

Steve Kilbey - Other Time (1986)

Steve Kilbey - Wolfe (2008)

...and now, with The Church...

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

When You've Got It Too...


My longtime readers (all three (3) of you) will know that a couple or so times I have lauded Rhett Miller of the Old 97's as "the 2nd Greatest Songwriter of Our Generation." But have I ever mentioned the first? Yes? No? I can't remember, but here he is...Neil Halstead. Who? Yeah, I know. Unless you were falling all over shoegaze in the first half of the 90s you probably never caught note one of his absolutely unparalleled group within that self-celebrating scene, Slowdive. The music that band created was essentially a long and plaintive sigh, a splendid wave of melancholy that, to quote them, "just soothes my pain away." And if you never caught Slowdive, you likely never caught the band that followed straight on the heels of their demise, the folk-twang flavored Mojave 3, who have put out some of the finest laid back strum-along music found on either side of the pond. And if that weren't enough, he's even tried his hand solo, producing two widely diverse yet distinctly Halstead albums that both spun the laser dull on my CD player. In the Slowdive days Neil's lyrics, though descriptive, generally set a mood to fit the song and were as cryptic and open to interpretation as the music that swirled around and half buried them. Beginning with Mojave 3, a more straightforward affair, he truly began his "singer/songwriter" stage and the word-pictures he painted followed suit, stepping from the haze of a dream and projecting a roadside, field-wide, surf-ride image as clear and sharp as if the memory were your own. The best vibe to sum up Neil's work across all three of these outings is "mellow," because even at Slowdive's noisiest or Mojave 3's most upbeat (which really didn't come along until their fifth album), they are lead by the gentle spirit of a man who can carve a sweet barrel as smoothly as he can lull you into a state of absolute dreaminess. Please do not operate heavy machinery while listening.


Slowdive


Slowdive - Waves

Mojave 3 - Who Do You Love?

Neil Halstead - Sailing Man



Mojave 3

Monday, March 1, 2010

When You've Got It...

Ain't she sweet?

Few outside the indie/twee pop world of the 90s will know the name Rose Melberg. That's a shame, 'cos with a voice to melt a heart of titanium she fronted several of indie rock's best and most beloved bands. From the cutesy snarl of Tiger Trap, to the jangle bounce of Go Sailor, to the dreamy strum of The Softies (where Rose and I were first introduced), she has been a cult-fan-fave and a critical darling on par with, well...very few to be honest, 'cos her output is that consistently good. While most of these projects were relatively short-lived with limited output, the quality of music from each is so great that it seems as if no one group or set of musicians could quite contain Rose's wide and varied visions, and yet each bears a stamp that is distinctly hers, and if you're a fan of one, you're bound to be a fan of all the rest (which includes Gaze where she played drums). I guess when you've got it, you've got it. So if you're not familiar with Rose Melberg or any of her outfits, give 'em a spin...you'll be glad you stopped by. And if you are familiar, you've already skipped this paragraph and gone straight to the music. Oh yeah!

Tiger Trap - My Broken Heart

Go Sailor - I'm Still Crying

Gaze - Detail Queen

The Softies - Sleep Away Your Troubles

Rose Melberg - Moon Singer

The Softies