Music
Section By Jeb D.
OLYMPIA
Bryan Ferry
This album’s release having been pushed back a week gave me a chance to listen to all of it (plus, it gave me an excuse to post that Kate Moss album cover), and… pretty much what the first single and video intimated: Ferry’s umpteenth retelling of the pain of love over expertly-played dance grooves that sound exactly like the expertly-played dance grooves of virtually everything he’s done since the first Roxy Music reunion. Roxy’s theme was “the death of Romance,” with all that implied both culturally and metaphorically; for the past couple of decades, though, Ferry’s focus has narrowed to “the bittersweet troubles of MY romance,” playing out the louche paradox of the lover too suffused with himself to do anything but shrug and take another drink as the latest leggy supermodel leaves: a song title like “Heartache By The Numbers” may say more about Ferry than he intended. His singing has become less mannered over the years, but his vocal strength seems to be diminishing, with cracked crooning and husky whispers in place of the risk-taking that used to define it. In terms of musical execution, you can’t fault the sound: basses pop and swoop and slither, drums beat out that jungle rhythm, Eno and Mackay add flourishes here and there, everyone from David Gilmour to Groove Armada to the Scissor Sisters show up, and the resulting wall of smooth funk is rhythmically intoxicating, even if most of the guests wind up buried in the sound (an exception is Nile Rodgers, whose guitar leaps brightly, wickedly out of the mix, and who I really hope supplements, or replaces, Chris Spedding in Ferry’s touring band). Still, new Ferry albums don’t come along every day of the week; perfect for those days when you feel like dancing in ironic self-pity.
BEEN LISTENING
Johnny Flynn
Flynn’s second album makes its way stateside (with a generous bonus EP for those who already have the import). Though backing band The Sussex Wit are dropped from the title this time, their playing feels even more confident, their punctuation of the lyrics more precise (not that Flynn gets left out of the act: if you didn’t know he played the trumpet before, he makes damn sure you know it now). That’s particularly impressive when you consider the range of music they’re embracing from the calypso lilt of “Kentucky Pill” to the shambling Tom Waits craziness of “Howl” to the electro-marimba-Africa of “Churlish May.” Along the way, Flynn steps out from the lyrical density of A Larum to use familiar folk tropes (the songs are full of rolling seas, British meadows, and the call of “will you put down your fiddle young Willie and pray“) to paint the self-portrait of an ambitious young man coming to terms with a life in the spotlight. Family and friends help keep you grounded, of course, and Flynn gets lovely support from his sister Lillie on “Agnes;” and friend Laura Marling (source of his first album’s title) blends her voice exquisitely with Flynn’s in the melancholy sigh of “The water can’t drown me / I’m done with my dying,” on “The Water.” All through the album, in fact, Flynn’s vocals are sharp and bold with the exuberance of discovery. The eleven-minute epic, “The Prizefighter and the Heiress,” that closes out the album may be overreaching a bit, but Flynn’s outsized talent is so nearly equal to his musical ambition that I’ll call it even.
ACOUSTIC SESSIONS
The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger
Beatleson and Supermodel (AKA Sean Lennon and Charlotte Kemp Muhl AKA The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger) combine for sensitive, quirky (or do I mean twee?) lovie-dovieness, laid on a lush bed of elegant production that suggests a Swingin’ 60’s spent more in Paris than Liverpool. From the gorgeous harmonies that open “Lavender Road” to the touches of celeste and banjo that highlight “Dark Matter White Noise” to the startling a capella of “The World Was Made For Men,” Acoustic Sessions is a rich, frothy helping of imaginative production. I don’t know that I’ve heard much of Sean Lennon’s previous work (and I know virtually nothing about Ms. Muhl), but there’s a confidence about the presentation that defies the almost demo nature of the album. The lyrics range from the arch to the whimsical to the pretentious to the downright incomprehensible, but if you don’t find that a particular obstacle, you may succumb to the sweet and tangy blend of musical flavors.
RARE GENIUS: THE UNDISCOVERED MASTERS
Ray Charles
Now here’s how you celebrate a birthday. In honor of what would have been Ray Charles’ 80th, producer John Burk eschews massive box sets and reissues, and simply puts ten wonderful previously-unreleased Charles performances onto a disk, programmed like, well, like a new Ray Charles album. One of the reasons that Charles has always been most comparable to Elvis Presley (besides the obvious cultural impact) was his omnivorous taste for pop music in all its varieties; and while that led to things like schlocky Beatle covers and a stream of undistinguished material from his own publishing company, it’s also the reason he moved so effortlessly from gospel to jazz to country to soul to pop and back again, shattering boundaries along the way. Whether Burk was consciously honoring that tradition, or just working with what was available, the album flows beautifully, from the vintage-soul opener, “Love’s Gonna Bite You Back,” the stunning ballad “It Hurts To Be In Love,” the sly blues reworking of the country staple “A Little Bitty Tear,” and the surprising finale: Charles accompanying Johnny Cash on a Billy Sherrill-produced version of Kris Kristofferson’s “Why Me, Lord?” Burk brought in some studio pros to touch up the original masters of these recordings; given Charles’ tendency to over-produce his stuff in the first place, they’re certainly not obtrusive.
OTHER NOTEWORTHY 10/26 RELEASES
Taylor Swift, Speak Now. They say she’s a Serious Artiste now, but I’m a-let her finish without me.
Senses Fail, The Fire. With bonus DVD of live concert material and interviews, the “Post-Hardcore Trailblazers” (it says here) are, well… blazing trails, I guess.
Monster Magnet, Mastermind. “Gods and Punks,” eh? They’re too old anymore for the latter, but if they want to think of themselves as the former, well, who am I to gainsay?
Caro Emerald, Deleted Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor. Some jazz, some hip-hop, a tad of Bossa Nova blended together… she’s like a one-woman Verve Remixed album.
Wayman Tisdale, The Fonk Record. On these previously unreleased sides, the late basketball all-star and jazz bassist recruited some friends, including George Clinton, George Duke, and the Tempts’ Ali Woodson, for a bit of funky experimentation that makes his loss just that much sadder.
Madlib, Medicine Show No. 10: Black Soul. More dazzling mix magic, this time focused on soul and funk music of the 60s and 70s.
Henry Threadgill. This Brings Us to 2. Free jazz is one thing, but I’m not sure it’s this thing. Expert playing, for sure, and it’s pretty consistently funky.
Lauren Pritchard, Wasted in Jackson. Pritchard hooks up with members of the Mumford & Sons/Noah and the Whale musical axis for smoothly pleasant pop, with enough lashes of country and soul to keep it interesting.
Jimi Hendrix: West Coast Seattle Boy. Hendrix released three albums of studio material during his lifetime, and had mostly completed a fourth; there have been something like four hundred albums and CD’s of him released since then. Is the previously-unreleased material on these four CD’s and one DVD box set great? Of course it is. Is it way past time for people to quit ringing the register on the dude’s grave? Of course it is.
Kiske/Somerville, Kiske/Somerville. The best thing about this collaboration between the ex-Helloween guitarist and the slinky blonde co-author of Aina is the album cover, which looks like one of the faux-movie posters they whipped up for the Scott Pilgrim movie. But, I’ve already posted this week’s requisite album four covers.
Penelope. Composer Sarah Kirkland Snider’s contemporary song cycle uses the story of Odysseus’ wife to comment on war (not favorably, in case you’re curious). Not all that engaging, but I mention it for the stunning performance of Shara Worden in the title role.
Buddy Guy, Living Proof. Also delayed from last week. But the wait just makes it twice as sweet.