Music
Section by Jeb D.
INTERPOL
Interpol
I know that Interpol has been trying for years to shake the label of “American Joy Division”, but song titles like “Memory Serves” and “Barricade” can’t help but recall the Mancunian doom patrol, while the metronomic rhythms of “Success” and “Lights” wear that influence on their sleeves. But Interpol has always made explicit the pop connections that Curtis and company only implied, with the layered vocal harmonies of “Memory Serves” and “Summer Well;” and the guitar riff that drives “Safe Without” verges dangerously close to being catchy. Yeah, the songs are mostly twice as long as they need to be, and there’s too much self-pitying bilge like “I was on my way to tell you it’s no good / I was on my way / chasing my damage” that’s reminiscent of a junior-high-school attempt at “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” but I do like the grounded world view of “I did not take to analysis / So I had to make up my mind.”
LIGHT ME UP
The Pretty Reckless
Never having watched Gossip Girl, I came to this without any preconceived notions of what to expect from Ms. Momsen (Lohan? Clarkson? Duff?). On the evidence, she’s Courtney Love’s smartass kid sister: got a nice line in guitar-based growling, and a clutch of modern-celeb shock stories; “I’m just sixteen if you know what I mean / Do you mind if I take off my dress?” she politely inquires before offering you “anything you need” because she’s “not above having to beg.” Her band slams past any question of irony, leaving that for Momsen’s in-your-face vocals. There’s the usual adolescent melodrama (“Make Me Wanna Die,” “Miss Nothing,”), but also the occasional clear-eyed perspective (“You,” “Just Tonight”). Of course, given precedent, you’d expect rehab by the next album; girl sounds like an awfully ancient seventeen at this point. Still, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’s crafted a lot of this as much from observation as experience: in other words, she thinks she can handle it. Be interesting to watch, anyway.
AUDIO SECRECY
Stone Sour
I’m not sure that “Digital (Did You Tell)” is any worse a pun than “D’yer Mak’er”, but at least Zep didn’t feel the need to spell it out for you. The droning piano of the title track will feel like the longest 1:43 that you’ve ever sat through, while you wait for the payoff, which comes in the form of a “Mission Statement” in which our hero asks his audience to “tell me who I am” (I doubt that they’re laying out consultant’s fees for helping them with that, though). They’re “Dying,” they’re “Bitter,” they’re “Haunted.” And ain’t we all? Still, there’s something to be said for a band that can work up thundering outrage over the idea of “Nylon.” “This is me, not giving a fuck,” roars Corey Taylor. No, that would be me.
PREPARE THE PREPARATIONS
Ludo
If anyone had told me that there was a band out there whose goal in life was to marry Fountains of Wayne with The Darkness… well, hell, at least it’s an idea, right? Plenty of groups don’t even have that. “Cyborgs vs. Robots” would appear to come down on the side of whichever group is prepared to employ the dinkiest synth sound, and “Whipped Cream”‘s leering tone is almost redeemed by its radio-ready chorus. Ludo seems to take the dictum about success though faking sincerity so much to heart that the occasional lyrical cleverness can get undermined by the “wink wink nudge nudge” surrounding it on tracks like “Rotten Town” and “Overdone”: you’re afraid that as soon as you start taking them seriously, they’re going to pop out of the speakers and yell “Psych!” The girl whose eyes are compared to “All The Stars in Texas” might be somewhat confused by the arch recounting of her swain’s small-time heists, all set to a boogie beat that resembles ZZ Top being played through a Speak N Spell. “Anything For You” lifts an ironic eyebrow at songs of devotion (“I have crossed the astral plane and communed with the dead / But people always seem to want some proof / I got pictures / But I’d give them all up for you“), before going soft in the end (“But the best story that I could ever tell is the one where I am growing old with you“). But after all, no matter how hard you get, when it’s over, we all soften up. Why should these goofballs be any different?
Other Noteworthy 9/7 Releases
Sara Bareilles, Kaleidoscope Heart. She’s “a basket case without you,” and worries that you’ll take a “Machine Gun” to her emotions. Literate, sensitive, more grounded than Tori Amos, more accessible than Kate Bush. But really, wouldn’t a “Kaleidoscope Heart” look pretty weird?
Jerry Lee Lewis, Mean Old Man. I honestly don’t know if this is more of the sessions that produced 2006’s Last Man Standing, but it’s pretty much the same story: The Killer pits what’s left of his voice against a parade of partners (Clapton, Hag, Willie, etc.; with John Mayer and Kid Rock tossed in for the youngsters out there). Lewis may not rock as hard as he once did, but it’s a genial enough outing. My faves are the two “country” Stones covers: “Dead Flowers” with Mick, “Sweet Virginia” with Keef.
Southern Culture On The Skids, The Kudzu Ranch. Rick Miller’s Dick-Dale-Meets-John-Lee-Hooker guitar and Mary Huff’s cheerfully seductive vocals make for a most welcome helping of rocking Southern hospitality, the band’s first album of all-new material in five years. And while the songs are the usual tasty deep-fried fun (“My Neighbor Burns Trash,” “Bad Boys”), with a smidge of socal realism (“Bone Dry Dirt,” “Busy Road”), the instrumental mashup of “Come As You Are” and “Lucifer Sam” is my favorite track of the week.
Jukebox the Ghost, Everything Under the Sun. Is it the piano that makes so much of the smarts sound like snark? Or is it Thornewill’s chirping vocals? Good stuff either way, though: Sparks for norms.
Eden Brent, Ain’t Got No Troubles. Don’t you believe it: this Delta hottie has pretty much the same ol’ hard times as everyone else, but her barrelhouse piano, Dixie arrangements, and unique vocal combination of nasality and throatiness make this one of the best blues albums of the year.
Todd Rundgren, For Lack of Honest Work. Three disks of live Todd, sound quality middling to fine. More Utopia than you (or anyone) needs, but otherwise catches the hits (“It Wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference,” “Hello It’s Me”) and the shoulda-beens (“Black Maria,” “Want Of A Nail”). Inspirational: “I Hate My Frickin ISP.”
Bachman & Turner, Bachman & Turner. Hey, what happened to “No new crap!”? Simpsons references aside, I’m not generally fond of hearing old bands revisit past glories, but this album surprised me: the poppier aspects of songs like “Takin’ Care of Business” and “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” are downplayed in favor of a heavier, blues-rocking sound. Nothing you haven’t heard before, but if you’re looking to flick your Bic and do a bit of fist-pumping, these boys got your back.
Steeldrivers, Reckless. Urgent back-country bluegrass and Steve Earle-style ballads. “Guitars, Whiskey, Guns and Knives”– pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?
Brendan James, Brendan James. He’s clever enough to do a Rubik’s Cube, but still “stupid for your love.” And his piano playing is just as sensitive-smart.
Thermals, Personal Life. Finding love worries them; losing it inspires them. In other words, they’re as confused as you and me, but they rock harder.
Helmet, Seeing Eye Dog. You’d look long and hard through the Beatles’ catalog to find a song that would benefit less from being thickened and slowed down than “And Your Bird Can Sing.” But that’s what you get when you ditch the majors to self-release: there’s no one to call you out on your crap. At least “White City” isn’t the Pogues song, and “Welcome to Algiers” is kinda catchy.
Megadeth, Rust In Peace: Live. 20th anniversary live performance of Rust in Peace, plus a few other faves. For better or worse, the week’s most self-recommending release.