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Review: The Dandy Warhols’ “Earth To The Dandy Warhols”

August 27, 2008 2:58 PM

  The Dandy Warhols have had a very uneven career.  A little more than a decade ago when they released “The Dandy Warhols Come Down,” they showed great promise.  That album contained the defining singles “Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth” and “Boys Better.”   Three years later they returned with the even better album, “Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia.”  That album was best known for their song, “Bohemian like You,” but the song “Godless” was better.  In 2003, the band came back with a new-wavy record called “Welcome to the Monkey House,” which contained their hit, “We Used to Be Friends.” 

Starting with their last album, “Odditorium or Warlords of Mars,” things got a little fuzzy and strange.  That album received some horrible reviews.  It was murky and long-winded.  The Dandy Warhols either wanted to test their own boundaries or test their fans’ patience.  Truth be told, I enjoyed that record quite a bit. I found its haziness to be interesting and challenging. 

Now, however, they have released “Earth to the Dandy Warhols,” and it is an even messier undertaking.  It’s as if the members of the band have lost focus and are just aimlessly floating out into space.  Perhaps that’s the point, given the title. 

The disc opens with “The World Come On.”  It’s merely a riff played over and over again for five minutes.  It’s a typical riff for them. (It's the kind of riff their arch-rivals, the Brian Jonestown Massacre used to mock them in their song “Not If You Were the Last Dandy on Earth.”) It could’ve been the basis for a song, but all we hear is singer Courtney Taylor-Taylor yelling as if in the distance.  It’s more of a rally cry and not a song.  There really is no song here.

Next is “Mission Control.” It would’ve been a decent song if Taylor-Taylor hadn’t decided to sing it in an embarrassingly, ridiculously cartoon-y voice.  It would’ve been a nice new-wave-driven work-up.  Sadly, it is ruined. 

“Welcome to the Third World” plays like a dub-driven, funky mix between the Clash and Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” period.  Again, it would’ve made for a decent song if it had anything close to a tune.  Instead, Taylor-Taylor just rambles and the point is lost. It becomes empty, hipster funk, which while slightly cool, loses its bite without a sold core to sustain it. 

“Wasp in the Lotus” gets slightly better.  It at least puts a churning guitar-riff to good use.  It recalls some of the best songs from “Odditorium.”  It’s still messy, but you can hear a song underneath the dirge. 

The album’s first of a few great moments comes from “And Then I Dreamt of Yes.”  The song shows the band’s softer side, and shows that when they are firing on all cylinders, they can actually create something memorable.  Taylor-Taylor is actually singing a tune!  He’s singing at a whisper and it sounds like he’s on the other end of a phone line, but after four virtually useless tracks, there is finally some sort of reward.  Taylor-Taylor and his bandmates (Zia McCabe, Peter Holmstrom and Brent DeBoer) sound like a tight, cohesive unit.  This is the kind of track that made their earlier albums keepers.

The positive trend continues with “Talk Radio,” a similarly slow-burner with a cool backbeat and some psychedelic touches. 

“Love Song” has a cool guitar part and some interesting banjo-work from Mike Campbell of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.  It’s one of the best tracks here, but it again needs more of a tune.  It is well-played, though, for what it is. 

“Now You Love Me” also plays decently, with a woozy, dub-y center.  I feel like I’ve heard it before, though. It seems like it is a Dandy Warhols song by the numbers. 

“Mis Amigos” just sounds goofy with its lyrics about “my friends and me.”  It’s trying to be winkingly cute, but just winds up sounding precious, even with its drug references.  It does have a nice trumpet solo, however.

Stupidity continues to prevail on “The Last of the Outlaw Truckers AKA The Ballad of Sheriff Shorty.”  Again, Taylor-Taylor is singing in a strange voice.  He wants this to be a send-up to Western-themed road-ready anthems, but coming from an artsy band, it just sounds ridiculous, even if the band does make some effort on the chorus.   

“Beast of All Saints” again finds the Dandies working with slower material, which seems to be a winning formula.  It works even if it does bring to mind a valium-infused rip on “Stairway to Heaven.”

“Valerie Yum” is a sixties-style work-up.  Again, Taylor-Taylor’s vocal affectation brings the track down a few notches, as does the track’s not too subtle drug-referencing.  It would make a good three minute song.  Sadly, it gets dragged out for seven, complete with slowed-down voices and crazy effects. It ends up being a waste of time. 

Speaking of time-sucking chunks of audio, we have now reached the record’s final track.  “Musee D’Nougat” lasts nearly fifteen minutes.  It consists of a minimal synth-string line and someone muttering in a French accent, reciting recipes and other nonsense.  It is pretentious and odd. 

On “Earth to the Dandy Warhols,” the band hits a new low.  Is this their descent into madness or are they just floating away into the ether?  It’s hard to say.  There was a time when they made clear, exciting records.  This album confuses messiness for innovation.  While that tactic worked on “Odditorium” for me, here it falls flat. 

“Earth to the Dandy Warhols” is a weak record.  It has some strong moments in its center, but ultimately, it is sadly a waste of sixty-nine minutes of your time.   

August 27, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (0)

Review: Stereolab’s “Chemical Chords”

August 25, 2008 12:59 PM

  If there’s one word you can use to describe Stereolab, it’s consistent.  Every album they’ve done since their 1996 landmark turning point, “Emperor Tomato Ketchup” has played off roughly the same style.  If you like one of their records, chances are, you’ll like them all.  Some, of course, are better than others.  “Dots and Loops” (from 1997) stands as a classic, whereas “Sound-Dust” (from 2001) is merely solid, but all their albums are enjoyable. 

“Chemical Chords” is their latest entry into their catalogue of kitschy, loungy, farfisa-fueled hipster grooves.  Lead singer, Laetitia Sadier’s distinctive delivery style is still intact.  Her lyrics are still cryptic whether in English or in French.  Her style works, though because she sort of fades into the background as if she is another instrumental layer.  Not many people probably listen to Stereolab for their lyrics, but she is an absolutely essential aspect to their sound. 

This record is one of their brightest and most animated endeavors.  It’s evident right from the opening, ringing notes of “Neon Beanbag.”  The rhythm is snappy, the organ dances along and the horn section is glorious.  The whole track sounds like it is flowing over with happiness.  “There is nothing to be sad about,” Sadier sings.  This is a celebration and a joyous renewal.  It’s the start of something bright and shiny. 

“Three Women” starts off with some nice play between the drums and a funky bassline.  It’s one of their more danceable tracks.  Quickly, guitar, horns, and organ flesh the track out.  Stereolab may always have their unique sound, but it’s one that is sonically complex.    This track changes on a dime.  Layers are added and taken away.  It’s almost as if they are more of an orchestra than a traditional band. 

“One Finger Symphony” is a two minute groover.  The band has a newly found bounce in its rhythm section.  Sadier sings in French as the beat chugs along.

On this album’s title track, they owe a huge debt to the Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds.”  That source has always stuck as a key influence.  Here, a string section adds a stately elegance.  At the same time, there’s an airy, dreaminess present.  It’s as if the track is floating across your ears. 

“The Ecstatic Static” picks up the speed once more as a signature, rhythmic stomp begins.  Again, strings are brought in for great effect.  Organs and assorted keyboards also bring in bold doses of texture, while the horns come and go at will. The arrangement is skillfully bold. 

“Valley Hi!” sounds like Stereolab’s attempt at two minute pop and it’s bound to put a smile on your face.  Once again, the beat is an accessible, groovy part of the mix within the four-chord boogie. 

“Silver Sands” is another song with the fast-paced, stomping rhythm.  It is defined by a part that sounds like some sort of xylophone.  The organs chord along, while the guitars and horns sound as if they are from a vintage sixties classic. 

“Pop Molecule” may just be the most ear-catching piece on the album.  That’s surprising because it’s a rather brief instrumental.  A backwards bassline ushers the song in until it bursts with perhaps the hardest rocking guitar part since the band’s earlier, more experimental days.  They haven’t rocked out like this in years.  Again, layering is used as an effective and engaging sonic tool. 

“Self Portrait With ‘Electric Brain’” sounds like a lounge number from the sixties.  It’s like Nico singing something somewhere between Bacharach and Motown.

“Nous Vous Demandons Pardon” takes a marching rhythm and a low fuzz-synth bassline and turns it into something bright.  As Sadier sings, the beat changes to something more straight-forward and it continues to switch back and forth throughout. 

“Celluosesunshine” is a catchy, muted go-go number.  Again, the sixties influence is evident. 

“Fractal Dream of a Thing” begins with a woozy keyboard, before a pleasantly tripped-out beat takes us for a ride.  Sadier is singing here at a near whisper. When the chorus comes up, it’s as if the beat catches up with itself and a new poppiness is discovered.  When the song changes again, the beat that was once trippy instead has a funky strut. 

“Daisy Clickclack” plays like a vaguely electro-take on a tinpan-alley classic.  You almost expect a tap dancer to come out for a solo. 

“Vortical Phonotheque” closes the record with a vibe similar to the Beatles’ “Dear Prudence.”  It has a funkier backbeat and some nice outbursts of random fuzz in the mix. 

Stereolab’s sound isn’t for everyone, but if you are indeed a fan, this record is an exceedingly strong example of their work.  It never drags and it’s always appealing.  It’s well worth adding to your collection.   

August 25, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (0)

Review: Juliana Hatfield’s “How To Walk Away”

August 22, 2008 3:19 PM

In the early to mid-nineties, Juliana Hatfield was a rising star.  I remember in 1993 hearing her single “My Sister” on top 40 radio.  It seems strange now considering what currently populates the airwaves, but Juliana Hatfield, for a fleeting moment, was poised for a breakthrough.  The inclusion of her song “Spin the Bottle” on the “Reality Bites” soundtrack helped cement her place in the Generation X, altena-hipster scene.  Later, she guest-starred on the much-beloved-but-canceled show “My So Called Life,” in a rather memorable episode and her 1995 album “Only Everything” showed her to be one of the more gifted, hard-edged guitarists of the nineties.

For the last twenty years or so, in fact, Juliana Hatfield has been an alternative, singer-songwriter staple.  She rose up in the band Blake Babies and then had a brief, high-profile stint as the bassist of the Lemonheads.  This led into her extensive solo career and her enjoyable, recent side-project, Some Girls. 

It’s a nice surprise to find that her new album, “How To Walk Away” is actually the most mature, confident, assured, enjoyable, solid album of her solo career.  She has never put together as consistent a collection of songs as she has here.  A few times, she’s come close.  (“Bed” from 1998 was a really strong album, as was “In Exile Deo” from 2004.)  This record is different because never before have her elements of songcraft been so keenly and completely synced up.  Often, her tunes were good, but her lyrics weren’t at the same level.  Here, she’s lyrically at the top of her game.

Even more surprisingly, it’s a very mellow record.  Those expecting her to fully rock out and show off her skills with a fuzz-pedal will have to wait.  This is a very gentle record.  Compared to the roughness of her last full-length record, “Made In China,” this one seems much more calm and commercial. 

“How To Walk Away” was produced by Andy Chase, who is known both as a member of the band Ivy and for his own Brookville albums.  If you are a fan of those bands, you’ll definitely recognize his signature ethereal sound on here.  The songs gloriously float as if they are just sitting on the air.  Chase’s subtle electronics truly compliment Hatfield’s acoustically-driven set of songs.

 
Hatfield has assembled an all-star dream cast of musicians, too, making the album even more of a find.  Notably, Tracy Bonham, (herself, very much in need of a new album) plays violin at various parts throughout, while Jody Porter of Fountains of Wayne adds some guitar work. 

The record opens with “The Fact Remains,” which is a wonderfully moody piece.  Hatfield still possesses her girlish voice, but this backing track has almost an earthy, Beth Orton-like sense of drama.  Here, there’s an earnest sense of loss within the song’s core.  Hatfield nods to the album’s title while singing how she “stayed to long,” and how she learned “how to walk away.”   

“Shining On” continues the album’s acoustic, wintery feeling, although it’s a tad bit brighter sounding than the first track.  Her lyrics about a fighting couple are balanced out by her somewhat optimistic chorus.  Never the less, images of endings and deaths prevail, giving the song an overall broken-hearted feeling. 

“This Lonely Love” is built around a vaguely funky, strutting piano part and it continues the trend.  This album is most probably a break-up record and a very fine one at that.  Hatfield conveys the mood of a person falling apart. “I broke down on 14th Street, / I could have been blind /And you could’ve been anywhere in the world, / But I saw you in my mind.”  The song’s chorus of “This lonely love is all around. / It’s up in the air and underground…” is punctuated by the wonderfully deep warble of Richard Butler of the Psychedelic Furs and Love Spit Love, who sings back-up on the track. (Butler, himself released a similarly impressive self-titled solo record in 2006. It should be mandatory listening for anyone who has ever been a fan of his work.)  This track is a single waiting to happen. 

“My Baby…” is another song about a dying relationship.  Hatfield describes a scene and then sings, “Oh, my baby doesn’t love me anymore.”  Her sense of detail is sharper than ever. 

“Just Lust” is a slightly grungy, slightly bluesy rock song describing a 3AM booty-call from a wasted boyfriend.  At the beginning of the track, fitting to the storyline, Hatfield’s voice sounds all crackly and raspy, as if she actually was just awakened.  In the chorus she sets the man straight by saying, “It’s just lust. / It doesn’t mean I love you.” It’s a cutting song about a woman who wants everything but a real relationship. 

“Now I’m Gone” is similarly mutedly and fuzzy sounding.  It could’ve easily been on any of her records, but it fits this album’s broken relationship motif.  “It was you and me, / So I left, / Now I’m gone,” she sings in a very matter of fact tone. 

“Remember November” is the best track on this album.  (That’s saying a lot because there isn’t a bad song in this bunch!) If there was ever an argument for Hatfield to have another major pop single, it’s this ballad. I sincerely think this song could open her up to whole new audience.   In fact, if this song isn’t on the airwaves within a matter of months, my theory that the radio industry truly is now broken will only be validated.  Here, Hatfield somehow manages to sing a very heartfelt, soft, affectionate song full of longing without sounding cheesy.  It’s a testament not only to her songwriting ability, but to her skills as a performer, as well.  A lesser singer would’ve probably sugared this song up and ruined it.  Hatfield hits everything exactly right.  When the very melodic bridge comes around, it just makes the whole thing a much sweeter delight.  Whereas the tracks before it describe breakups in a striking, almost negative light, this song mournfully and lovingly remembers the good times.  It’s romantic, sweet and cathartic all at the same time.  It’s proof that Hatfield really has a great amount of unrecognized range. It’s an unexpected stunner. 

“So Alone” has a dark, brooding drive to it.  It’s a rocky, road-ready song full of woe and discontent. A guitar sea swells up as a drum sound clatters along in the back to stirring effect.  This would make for a great single as well.   “You’re so alone/ So alone. / You want to die and nobody knows,” she sings.  This is a fitting ode to disillusion and depression and there’s urgency in Hatfield’s voice. 

“Such a Beautiful Girl” is about a sad, young woman whole “lives in an ugly world.”  Hatfield’s thesis on personal isolation continues as she sings, “It makes a person strong to be alone for so long.”  The song features Nada Surf’s Matthew Caws singing backup.  Perhaps this is payback for Hatfield’s guest appearance on “I Wanna Take You Home,” a standout track on the bonus disc packaged with Nada Surf’s latest album, “Lucky.”  Both Juliana Hatfield and Nada Surf were once associated with louder, grungier rock.  Both are now finding their footing in softer, more delicate terrain without losing any of their cool. 

The album closes with the acoustic “Law of Nature” which compares killing flies to the fleeting sense of love.  “I’m heading your way into your burning flame,” she sings as if love only leads to loss and impending doom.  It may be pessimistic, but it wraps up the album nicely. 

Dissatisfaction and sadness have rarely sounded so alluring.  On “How To Walk Away,” Hatfield has crafted a nearly flawless collection about the pitfalls of lost love.  Even if you haven’t heard any of the albums she’s done since “Become What You Are,” you should pick this one up.  It’s well worth a listen and it is deserving of your attention.  Hatfield has always made very listenable records.  This may very well be her first true masterpiece.      

August 22, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (1)

Remembering the Dave Matthews Band’s Leroi Moore (1961-2008)

August 20, 2008 11:49 AM

  You can probably count on one hand the number of current popular bands with a saxophone player among their ranks.  Outside the ska world (and say, the E Street Band) the saxophone has become a rather scarce instrument in rock, thus Leroi Moore’s membership in the Dave Matthews Band helped shape their sound into something unique and different.  Since they first came out of Virginia in the early nineties, the Dave Matthews Band have been one of the more unique success stories, making music that legions of college kids and their parents can agree on.   

Sadly, Moore died yesterday afternoon at Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center where he was still being treated for injuries he suffered from an all-terrain vehicle accident in June. The exact cause of death has not been released as of yet.

Today, if you go to the Dave Matthews’ Band’s official website the opening page is dedicated to Moore’s memory.  He was one of the band’s founding members. 

The Dave Matthews Band had been on tour this summer without Moore while he was in recovery. Unfortunately now they must now soldier on without him.

This is a very sad day for the many Dave Matthews Band fans out there.  Moore no doubt left his mark, though, and his skilled work can be heard on the many studio and live albums that the band has released up until this point.   From hit singles “What Would You Say” and “Ants Marching” to “Crash” and “American Baby,” his punctuating saxophone playing took their music to a whole new level. 

Moore was only 46.  He will be missed. 

August 20, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (1)

Happy Birthday to On the Record!

August 16, 2008 11:07 AM

  One year ago, on August 16, 2007 at 11:07 AM, the first On the Record blog was posted!

  Since then, over the course of 88 posts, this blog has been a place to find reviews of everything from the Foo Fighters, to Underworld, to Elvis Costello, to Madonna to Nas.  It's been a place to discuss old favorites and a place to predict the next big thing.  It has been a place to find out about new releases with a rare level of track-by-track depth. Hopefully over that time it has introduced you to new music and been a reliable place to find out about your favorite artists.

May this be the first of many birthdays to come.  Now, please go get yourself a piece of cake and make sure that you listen to your favorite album today in our honor!  After all, it’s all about the love of music and finding out what inspires you.  A great song and a great album really can change your life!   

Keep listening and keep reading!   

August 16, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (1)

Review: Conor Oberst’s “Conor Oberst”

August 14, 2008 1:24 PM

  Conor Oberst has earned his rep as an over-achieving, earnest singer-songwriter with wisdom beyond his years.  His records under the name Bright Eyes have shown him to be a smart musician with a great deal of range.  His 2005 double-whammy delivery of “I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning” and “Digital Ash in a Digital Urn” still comes to mind when thinking about the scope of his vision.  Last year’s “Cassadaga” was an even stronger set of songs.  For every indie kid who thinks Oberst is the second coming, there’s someone who doesn’t quite get it. 

I must admit, I was on the fence about Oberst for a while.  He has always written great songs, and some of them really popped out at me and successfully screamed at me to like them.  (I’m thinking mainly of the amazing “Lover I Don’t Have to Love” from the 2002 album “Lifted or the Story is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground.”) Otherwise, his dead-seriousness, excessive wordiness and vocal delivery tended to test me.  I am pleased to say that particularly with “Cassadaga” and this new, self-titled record, Oberst has finally won me over.  He’s always been worth listening to, but with these two recent releases he’s really upped the bar.   

Why isn’t this new album a Bright Eyes record?  Oberst was always the main focus and most constant force behind Bright Eyes anyway. Maybe the absence of producer and frequent Bright Eyes associate Mike Mogis is the reason.  Maybe it’s a contractual issue, considering that this album was released by Merge and not Oberst’s own Saddle Creek label.  Whatever the reason, this has been dubbed a self-titled solo record. 

The record opens with the quietly folk-y “Cape Canaveral.” His voice is much less shaky then on earlier releases.  At 28 he’s a steady pro and he’s now got more of a sense of what works for him.  On softer songs like this one, he sounds more and more like a hushed answer to Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock. They have similar methods of phrasing. 

Next is the country-rocker, “Sausalito,” It’s a road-ready number which mentions riding through the desert, sleeping on an air mattress, “living on a houseboat” and the place “where pilgrims disappear.” It’s effective and it’s likely to catch your ear. 

“Get-Well-Cards” would make an excellent single.  Ever since Oberst first appeared, he’s been saddled with being called this generation’s answer to Dylan.  Sometimes people are quick to judge and hastily throw such labels out there, but in this case, it really does fit.  He sings like he’s talking and his lyrics are filled with rich imagery.  Here, he has quotable, Dylan-esque lines like, “I want to be your bootlegger, / I want to mix you up something strange. / Braid your hair like a sister, / Name you like a hurricane.”  These lines are in the midst of a song which includes images of surfers and suntan lotion.  The song centers on a lazy postman who has stopped to take a nap in the sand.   Oberst’s love of complexity and intelligent phrasing keeps him from being pop-y.  His words don’t roll off the tongue very easily, but if he gets the tune right, he gets a winner.  This track is one of those winners!

“Lenders in the Temple” is another haunting, folk-driven number.  This album is probably labeled “alternative” by most, but it’s really a rather straight-forward, old-school singer-songwriter record.  Here, there’s an ominous feeling all around.  “Watch your back, the Ides of March / Cut your hair like Joan of Arc / Disguise your will, they’ll find you out / And when they do / Watch your back.”  The track has sparse instrumentation with just Oberst on guitar and Nate Walcott on organ, but that just makes the whole thing even more spooky.  It’s a definite highlight. 

“Danny Callahan” is another country-esque song about a little boy dying, in need of a bone marrow transplant.  Again, Oberst continues to align himself with a folk-driven state of mind with the lines,  “The love you feel you carry inside can be passed. / See your brother in the gutter, you reach out your hand, / Ask, ‘How are you getting on alone?’”  Oberst may be young, but he’s got an old soul. 

“I Don’t Want To Die (in the Hospital)” is one of the best songs on the record.  It’s a rambling country-blues song with lines like, “Can you make a noise to distract the nurse? / Before I take a ride in that big black hearse, / I don’t want to die in the hospital. / You better take me back outside.”  Considering the subject, it’s really upbeat and catchy.  It’s a riotous stomper.

“Eagle on a Pole” is typical of most of Oberst’s work.  Again, it’s a slow-growing, folk-driven number that eventually is given lift by the addition of a full band. If you liked his album, “I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning,” you should be able to appreciate this track, too. 

“NYC – Gone, Gone” is a minute-long Celtic-flavored rocker.  It’s one of the hardest songs on here, and though it’s brief, it leaves an impression with it’s authoritative, stomping rhythm. 

“Moab,” though amped up for mass-appeal, would make a good old-style folk song.  You can picture the song stripped down to its essence, with just Oberst and a guitar, singing the line, “There’s nothing that the road cannot heal.”  It’s almost as if Oberst was born during the wrong time.  It gives him a nice niche when you consider that this brand of songwriting is rare these days. 

The album’s only piece of filler is next.  It only lasts fifty seconds, but its inclusion is questionable. The track is called “Valle Mistico (Ruben’s Song),” and it consists of a conch shell being played in three bursts by Ruben Mendez Hernandez.  I have no idea what inspired Oberst and Mendez Hernandez to put this on the album.  It’s extremely off-putting and the sound it produces is a little like that of a busted trumpet.

Thankfully then comes “Souled Out!!!”  Oberst just released a video for the track, and though it’s pretty buried in the album, it makes for an excellent single.  Again, lyrically, Oberst is like a mad-lib king with his random references.  He mentions “an electric razor,” “a grassy knoll,” “some magic bullets,” “poison apples” and “the dusk of man,” It’s hard to decipher his exact meaning, but it’s an intriguing listen.  The core of the song is about getting into heaven.  During the chorus, Oberst sings, “You won’t be getting in,” while Rilo Kiley’s Jason Boesel sings a driving, “you know by now” repeatedly in the background.  For Oberst, this track sounds downright jubilant.  He even sounds like he’s about to crack up once or twice.  It’s nice to hear him obviously having fun.

The album closes with “Milk Thistle.”  It’s yet another timeless acoustic guitar number.  It’s another song which centers around death and the afterlife. Oberst can get pretty heavy. “I keep death on my mind / Like a heavy crown. / If I go to heaven / I’ll be bored as hell / Like the little baby at the bottom of the well.”  Listening to this, I think Oberst must be a real blast at parties!! (Hahaha!) Nevertheless, although it is dark, this is also one of the album’s high points. 

Conor Oberst has grown up well and he only gets better with age. Even if you might have once been unsure about some of his earlier Bright Eyes records, you should give this a chance.  This is one fine record from Omaha, Nebraska’s former indie-rock teen prodigy.   

August 14, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (0)

Review: Randy Newman’s “Harps and Angels”

August 14, 2008 1:02 PM

  Randy Newman has always had a dual existence.  On one hand, for a long while he has been Hollywood’s go-to guy for light-hearted, slightly jazzy movie themes.  His work on movies like “Parenthood,” “Toy Story” and “Meet the Parents” has kept him consistently in the public eye.  The other side of Randy Newman is the crankier, more driven side.  This is the side he’s shown most on his albums.  If you don’t listen carefully, all his songs sound innocent.  A closer examination will show that he’s gifted in the art of well-crafted, well-thought-out socio-political trash talk.  Sometimes songs like this have gotten him into trouble.  Most famously, his song “Short People” angered little people everywhere.  It was intended to show that bigotry was ridiculous, but it ended up backfiring. 

Other songs over the years have caught people’s attention in a similar way (“Redknecks,” ”Political Science”) but Newman doesn’t seem to mind controversy.  He’s outspoken whether we like it or not.  First and foremost, though, Randy Newman is a great storyteller. Like Bob Dylan, Warren Zevon and Tom Waits he is an ace writer who goes by his own set of rules.

“Harps and Angels” occasionally finds Newman in a particularly testy place.  It makes for very funny, enjoyable listening experience.  His sense of humor is dark and twisted sometimes, but that is well balanced by the New Orleans pseudo-ragtime vibe of his musical backdrops.  Newman doesn’t so much sing throughout as he does talk his way through. In a strange way, this makes his music connect even more.  This draws one’s attention to his lyrics.

The album begins with the title track.  It’s a song about a near brush with death.  The protagonist is sick and nearly dies, sees heaven, describes it in great detail, is told how he should live and then he’s shot back to earth.  It is explained that it’s not his time and that he’s only up there because of a “clerical error.” Suddenly, the protagonist is filled with a sense of belief. There’s awe in Newman’s voice as he describes his surroundings.  When God speaks to him and says “Encore! Encore!” Newman says “He spoke French!” with utter delight. A song about near-death is an odd way to begin an album, but it’s typical for Newman.  His upbeat New Orleans brand of ragtime-flavored blues makes this anything but dark, though.  With the organs, harps and background singers it is actually somewhat of a surreal toe-tapper. 

Newman has also always been good for a sentimental number or two.  “Losing You” is one of his finest in this realm. “Was a fool with my money/ Lost every dime/ And the sun stopped shining / And it rained all the time. / It did set me back some / But I’ll make it through / But I’ll never get over losing you.”  Sung in his signature hang-dog style, backed with a string section, the pain of this song is felt.  It oozes with sincerity.

Things don’t remain downbeat for long because next is “Laugh and be Happy.”  It’s a musical pick-me-up with just the right shot of adrenaline.  “Laugh and be happy / Don’t you ever wear a frown. / Don’t let the bastards grind you down,” he sings, backed by what sounds like a semi-subtle Dixieland-eque orchestra.    After a verse or two, Newman surprisingly jumps into the immigration debate! “Now this country that we’re living in, / (You mean the good ol’ U.S.A.?) / It’s never been about keeping you out. / It’s about inviting you in and letting you play. / Laugh and be happy. / Smile right in their face / Cause pretty soon you’re gonna take their place.” 

With that he goes into “A Few Words in Defense of Our Country” in which he does admit that our current leaders are “the worst that we’ve had,” but he says they’re not “the worst this poor world has seen.”  He then lists everyone from the Caesars, to Hitler and Stalin, to King Leopold of Belgium.  He takes a jab at the “war on terror” by saying, “A President once said, ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.’ / Now, we’re supposed to be afraid. / It’s patriotic in fact and color coded. / And what are we supposed to be afraid of? / Why of being afraid. / That’s what terror means, doesn’t it?”    He then bemoans the state of the Supreme Court and admits sadly that “this empire is ending like all the rest.”  But he makes a point that the people in the U.S. “aren’t bad, nor are they mean.”  Moreover, this is a song about his disappointment in our country’s political direction, but it’s delivered simultaneously with a sense of patriotic love for what has been lost. 

“A Piece of the Pie” is next.  It’s like something out of the zaniest musical you can imagine.  The band marches along with a sense of dissonance while Newman talks about how greedy we are as a society, while asking if we have so much money, why we aren’t happier.  He sticks in a joke every now and again (“The rich are getting richer, I should know!”) and makes perhaps a few negative mentions of Jackson Browne and John Mellencamp.   Obviously, lately Newman, like the rest of the country has got the state of our Union on his mind. 

“Easy Street” is almost the flipside.  Whereas the people in “A Piece of the Pie” are working hard for their happiness and not truly getting to enjoy it, the characters in “Easy Street” are actually getting to live the good life, even if they behave badly or bend the rules.  Privilege and its abuse is a recurring theme.  Newman seems to want us to realize how well we have it but at the same time he wants us to treat each other with respect. 

The next song could offend as many people as “Short People” once did.  Education is the next target and on “Korean Parents,” Newman suggests that we could all learn a lot from his title characters and their strict work-ethic and drive for achievement.  It’s definitely a track based on stereotypes.  He talks about “Korean Parents” like they can cure all the ills of society.  He says they’ll be “someone to whip you into shape. / They’ll be strict but they’ll be fair.” The fact that he’s saying something positive about a group of people might cause less controversy.  It’s definitely not politically correct, but that’s never been Newman’s style anyway. 

“Only a Girl” is a jazzy ode to an awkward girl who dresses in black, with eyes that are “strange” and a “peculiar” voice.  She’s tough and a vegetarian.  He describes her in great detail.  It’s a stellar example of a character study.  The song has a nice turn in the end when you realize it is indeed a love song. 

“Potholes” is Newman’s tribute to his troubles involving women, whether it's his wife, his daughter or his mother.  In the chorus he sings, “God bless the potholes in Memory Lane.”   I’m guessing his message is that all the bumps in the road are worthwhile if you have someone to love who loves you back. 

“Feels Like Home” closes the disc.  Like “Losing You,” it’s another strong sentimental track.  It comes off as very personal and almost like a tear-jerker.  Like many of his other songs, this song not only works in his hands, but it would also work if it was given to the right person to cover.  It’s classic Randy Newman. 

“Harps and Angels” is a remarkably strong record.  It should please old Randy Newman fans and win new ones as well.  The key really is to pay attention to his lyrics.  They may make you laugh.  They may make you angry.  They may make you think.  If you are in the right mood, the ride will definitely be enjoyable. 

August 14, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (4)

Remembering Isaac Hayes (1942-2008)

August 11, 2008 11:55 AM

The death of Isaac Hayes yesterday came with great sadness and shock.  Hayes was one of the most iconic soul music artists of our time.  He was a massively gifted musical giant.  Of course, he was most famous for his soundtrack to “Shaft,” and he embodied the cool image of that film’s title character, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. 

Hayes’ arrangements were distinctively groovy.  He was one of Stax records’ greatest musical architects. His songs were as elegant and impressive as they were effortlessly funky.  What he could do with a string section and a flute was incredible. Just listening to a certain kind of sleek wah-wah guitar line brings to mind Isaac Hayes' signature sound.  If you have ever heard his truly expansive versions of “Walk on By” or “The Look of Love,” you know that he could even add soul to the music of Burt Bacharach.

His only true peer may have been Curtis Mayfield whose work on “Superfly” was just as classic as Hayes’ work on “Shaft.”  Sadly, now both masters are gone. 

Hayes later also proved himself to be a gifted comedian with his work as the voice of Chef on “South Park.”  Up until his controversial exit from the show, he was always a good source for a laugh, famously singing some of the most inappropriately funny songs ever put on television. 

Isaac Hayes was indeed a legend.  His influence helped shape the sound of modern R&B and hip-hop. He worked on Alicia Keys’ debut album (providing a typically Hayes-ian arrangement on her song “Rock Wit U”) and his work has been sampled by everyone from Jay-Z to Portishead. 

Farewell, Mr. Hayes.  There’s a reason why the nickname “Black Moses” stuck.  In the world of soul music, you were indeed an epic titan.

What did Isaac Hayes’ music and influence mean to you?   

August 11, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (19)

Review: George Carlin’s “It’s Bad For Ya”

August 05, 2008 1:20 PM

  The death of George Carlin in late June left a huge void in the comedy world.  Over the last forty years or so he was one the most consistently, intelligently outspoken comedians of our time.  He had taken stand-up to a whole new level.   His albums would make you think as much as they made you laugh.  In fact, George Carlin was so brilliant that he could magically make you laugh at things which in other context you might otherwise find offense.  But Carlin was always an equal-opportunity offender and he wasn’t afraid to stir the pot.  His most famous bit, “Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television” (from his classic 1972 album, “Class Clown”) pretty much proved that.  Over the years, people expected Carlin to make clever observations and tell it like it is with an honest perspective. He was always true to himself.  Like Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor, he was never one to sit and bow to social conventions if he had questions.  Questioning social conventions was one of Carlin’s favorite pastimes.  What he did over the years in the field of language analysis should have earned him an honorary degree in linguistics. He was a master at picking apart words and phrases that we commonly use and explaining why they make absolutely no sense. 

“It’s Bad For Ya” is sadly Carlin’s last album, recorded just months before his death.  It also sums up all that was good about his work.  His no-nonsense approach was still intact. 

Right from the beginning of the record Carlin comes out fighting, singling out Lance Armstrong, Tiger Woods and Dr. Phil complaining that he’s sick of being told who his heroes should be in this country.  He doesn’t have kind words for his three subjects.

It seems appropriate yet a little bit upsetting that so much of the album is about death.  Carlin had crossed the line of seventy and so maybe he had felt death’s approach, but to hear him make jokes about crossing dead people out of the address book after they’ve been dead for six weeks hits a little close to home when you consider that this album has been released roughly six weeks after Carlin’s own death.  For all we know, that may have been Carlin’s own idea of a sick little joke.

He says that he’s sick of people saying old relatives are “smiling down” on them and says there’s got to be a more interesting afterlife than simply watching over the living.

Age is definitely on Carlin’s mind as he explains the difference between an “old man,” an “old fart” and an “old f___.”  He considers himself to be in the third category.   

He questions the existence of Heaven and Hell and wonders if there is a Hell, whether your parents and grandparents are there. 

Elsewhere, he discusses how kids aren’t allowed to be kids anymore with play-dates, planned out schedules and specialized summer camps.  “When does a kid ever get to sit in a yard with a stick anymore?” he asks.  “Do today’s kids even know what a stick is? You sit in a yard with a … stick and you dig a … hole.  And you look at the hole and you look at the stick and you have a little fun.”  Only Carlin could explain such an act of child’s play so eloquently! (Please note my playful sarcasm!)

Carlin then goes off on the “self-esteem movement” and how every kid has to be a “winner,” and how no kid is told he’s a “loser” until he’s in his twenties and gets fired from his first job.  To him, this is an important lesson.

He goes out on a limb and says that “every child is clearly not special!”   Some may find his criticisms to be harsh, but Carlin’s got logic on his side underneath his grouchiness.  If it is true that “every child is special, what about every adult?  Isn’t every adult special, too? And if not, then at what age do you go from being special to being not so special?  And if every adult is special, that means we’re all special which means the idea loses all of its … meaning!”

Elsewhere on the record, Carlin is in typical form, complaining about people who waste his time telling him endless stories he doesn’t want to hear.  He doesn’t want to hear about your kids.  He doesn’t want to see pictures of your kids.  He doesn’t want you to waste his time on the phone.  In short, Carlin comes off like your bitter, grouchy, yet hilariously endearing uncle.  Somehow beneath the bile, he’s able to still make you like him.  He can say the meanest, most horrifying thing and make you say, “That’s awful, but I understand why he feels that way.”  It’s his consistent point of view. 

Later in the disc, he discusses contradicting hat philosophies in different religions.  He says as a Catholic he was told that he had to remove his hat in church “to honor the presence of God.” But he was also told that God was “everywhere.”  So he asks, “If God is everywhere, why would you even own a hat?” He then sums it up by saying, “Personally, I would never want to be a member of any group where you either have to wear a hat or you can’t wear a hat.” He ties it all into wondering why you have to take off your hat as a flag passes by.  Carlin questions these traditions because he wonders what they really mean. 

He then goes into a lengthy bit about whether “God Bless America” really means anything more than “good luck.” He says that God is supposed to love everyone equally and why would he start playing favorites?

This then leads us into our finale, a classic bit about how we have no rights.  Rights are not “God-given,” he says, because each country has a different number of rights on the books and in this country we have had to go in and add onto the Bill of Rights a number of times.  If rights were “God-given” no one would go hungry.  This is a fitting close to Carlin’s last record.  He was always about making big statements. All throughout, he continues to wonder why people don’t ask more questions when it comes to our “made up” traditions.  He says it is just as important to teach children to question what they read as it is to teach them to read.  In essence, this isn’t your average stand-up record.  This is also a civics lesson and a raunchy motivational speech. 

Recently, even at times when every other word had four letters, Carlin had sounded like a wise prophet, telling you what you should know, picking apart society with a fine slice of wit.  He had no peers.  Most comedians of his caliber stopped being comedians and started being actors.  George Carlin was the trusty warhorse who continued to do stand-up until the very end.  He never ran out of fresh insight or things to say.  He never went soft.  He was always true to himself.  Most of all, even though he was grey and bald, he never let himself get old.  He was sharp as a knife.  Sadly there will never be another George Carlin.  At least he left us a large pile of comedy records and stand-up specials.  These should be studied and enjoyed for many years to come.  They will make some of us laugh and they will offend others.  Whether you agreed with his records or not, you had to admire his integrity. 

On “It’s Bad For Ya,” Carlin sounds full of life.  It’s weird to think he is now dead.  It’s a horrible loss, but one thing is for sure. --   He's definitely not “smiling down” on us.    

August 5, 2008 | Permalink | User Comments (9)