Music
Section By Jeb D.
NIGHT WORK
Scissor Sisters
If great pop music didn’t carry the danger of an annoyance factor, it wouldn’t work so well in commercials. But it does, and this album is about as ideal an example as you’ll hear. Shears and company mined the catalog of every band that has ever lodged irreplacably, mercilessly in your brain– ABBA, Bee Gees, KC and the Sunshine Band– laid on a patina of Elton glitz and post-Madonna sass, and dumped it out onto the dance floor. Your ears may scream “Turn it off! Turn it off!!”. But your feet would like a word with them.
STREET SONGS OF LOVE
Alejandro Escovedo
Escovedo’s been called the Last True Believer, and that’s not just an allusion to one of his former bands. He’s an artist of conscience and commitment: some years back, he stopped performing his greatest song when he learned it was on George Bush’s iPod. And that kind of all-in commitment to his music drives his best work, which at this point is on a three-album win streak. For all his respect among his peers (No Depression magazine called him the “Artist of the Decade” around 1999, and I was never sure if they meant the one past or the one to come), his willingness to experiment with things like rock and roll string quartets has sometimes stretched his compositional gifts past the breaking point. But on the heels of the seductive The Boxing Mirror and the autobiographical Real Animal, the focus and determination on this new album might be what finally puts him across to a wider audience. Produced by Tony Visconti, with guests like Bruce Springsteen and Ian Hunter, Escovedo again works with co-writer Chuck Prophet to deliver a set of songs that pulse with the kind of passion and sweat that made you fall in love with rock and roll in the first place: “She said her first love was her last / So she cries when she hears Johnny Cash.” Strongly recommended to fans of The Hold Steady and Gaslight Anthem (as well as, you know, Springsteen).
STARING DOWN THE BRILLIANT DREAM
Indigo Girls
Long-term friends and partners; crusaders for every worthwhile cause imaginable (and probably a few that aren’t– either worthwhile OR imaginable). And so completely earnest, honest, and sincere that I’m not even going to raise the possibility that their releasing yet another live double has been timed to coincide with the revival of Lilith Fair (well, maybe I am). Beyond their sterling personal qualities, of course, there’s the vocals, rough-hewn by decades on the road, but with the most bracing harmonies this side of the Everlys. Anyway, if you’ve ever heard an Indigo Girls song in your life, the chances are pretty good that it’s here; my problem is that I can never remember any of those songs five minutes after I’ve heard them, but maybe that’s just me.
FRANK FAIRFIELD’S PAWN RECORDS PRESENTS UNHEARD OFS & FORGOTTEN ABOUTS
Various Artists
If you saw Fleet Foxes live last year, you might have caught their opening act: a courtly older gentleman making vital music on fiddle and banjo. Frank Fairfield has been performing music for over half a century, but he’s also been preserving it, in something close to its natural state, on his own record label. This collection gathers together some of the rare and fascinating recordings from all over the world that Fairfield has collected over the years, providing startling glimpses into the sound of bygone life, much of it from a time when preserving a human voice forever was barely a step up from black magic. Heaven knows, this album could be a sampler’s delight, with unearthly, long-forgotten sounds from folks like Goerit Grisee & Bok Djam, a group identified as the “Sudanese Wandering Minstrels” singing what sounds like “Go Tell Aunt Rhody,” the dark, elegant jazz of Sandor Nemeth’s Gypsy Orchestra, and a version of “La Bamba” from before Richie Valens was born. My favorite, though, is from Tauta Archer, whose chanted “Ama Ama” is clearly the original source for Plastic Bertrand’s “Ca Plane Pour Moi.”
Other Notable 6/29 Music Releases
Wolf Parade, EXPO 86. I understand that there’s some kind of rivalry going among the band’s hardcore fans as to whether Boeckner or Krug is the better writer. Dunno if it counts as a “win,” but guitarist Krug does seem more the driving force on this album, which feels louder, heavier, and more focused than previous efforts.
Jackie Greene, Till The Light Comes. I used to think he was at his best when he rocks harder than he thinks, and I suppose that’s still true. But compared to this week’s releases by, say, Wolf Parade or Escovedo, he really doesn’t even rock that hard. Maybe it’s thinking too hard that’s the problem.
Peter Case, Wig!. Escovedo’s not the only guy this week who’s making music after coming off his deathbed. In Case’s case (ahem), though, this is his first post-recovery effort, and it’s a heapin’ helpin’ of raw, dirty low-down blues and rock and roll stomp.
Kenny Burrell, Be Yourself. Quite possibly my favorite jazz guitarist of all time, in a vital new live recording. Fewer standards than you might expect from the 79-year-old Burrell, and on numbers like “Raincheck” and “Bass Face,” the band grooves like a single instrument. Damn fine shit.
Hawkwind, Blood of the Earth. Guys are late. We’ve already had “comeback month” when we had Devo, Steve Miller, Cowboy Junkies, Elvin Bishop, Suzanne Vega, fucking Gary Wright, and goddam Foghat.
John Zorn: Goddess: Music for the Ancient of Days. The title of this album might lead you to expect some new-agey harp and piano settings of music to Gaia or other related female earth deities. And you’d be right. But it’s the last damn thing I ever expected to hear from John Zorn. And Marc Ribot’s on here somewhere, too.
Kenny G., Heart and Soul. Oh, just fuck this guy sideways.