Film Break: “The Uninvited”
My review of The Uninvited– the latest American remake of a Japanese suspense thriller, which is actually better than it looks– is posted at CT Movies.
The Bad Plus: “For All I Care”
The notion of taking a familiar pop or rock song and giving it a jazz makeover is nothing new, either for jazz or for The Bad Plus– if you haven’t heard their slow-burn, menacing take on “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” seek it out, and it’s doubtful that you’ll ever hear the original in the same light again. Long resistant to the idea of canon, the trio made up of bassist Reid Anderson, pianist Ethan Iverson, and drummer David King has never given much consideration for the genre’s standards, and that’s put them in an enviable and unique position: Their irreverent spirit and modernist bent have made them the hipster’s jazz band of choice, a group beloved by folks who normally don’t care for jazz, yet their instrumental chops and inventive originals have found them respect among jazzheads, as well. And now, with the release of For All I Care, they’re cashing in on all that goodwill with an album that’s both their most resistant to strict conceptions of jazz music, but also the one that most clearly embodies the spirit of the genre at its best. It’s their boldest, most forceful call yet for a revision to the Great American Songbook, a case for a new collection of “standards.”
Since their canon is light on Ellington and Parker, but heavy on the likes of Bowie and Tears for Fears, one expects any new Bad Plus album to have some oddball song selections, but For All I Care takes their revisionist songbook to a new level. There are no original songs here, but there are plenty of selections from the world of rock– both the cool (another Nirvana tune, “Lithium,” as well as songs by Wilco and The Flaming Lips) and the kitschy (Bee Gees, Yes, Heart), as well as a couple of tunes by relatively recent, non-canonical classical composers of the 20th century. It’s a wide-ranging cross-section of songs that, for whatever reason, have never been taken too seriously by jazz musicians, but The Bad Plus has always been too smart to treat their quirky covers like novelties; they treat these compositions with the same elasticity that more conventional jazz groups might treat a Gershwin tune, as if these songs aren’t just classic rock radio fodder, but part of our shared, cultural history– like folk songs in the oldest sense of the term, songs that belong to the community and are meant to be reconsidered and revised, taken apart and put back together in strange and exciting new ways. Thus, Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” becomes a spacey dirge, Wilco’s “Radio Cure” an exercise in controlled chaos, the Bee Gees’ “How Deep is Your Love” a ballad with big feeling and dark undercurrents.
The band pulls these songs together– disparate though they may be– to suit their own vision, making them all sound, basically, like Bad Plus songs, without totally erasing the flavors of the original compositions. Taken together, these songs strike a remarkably consistent tone, and even pick up on some of the same themes– addiction, uncertainty, and loss. Indeed, the album is a druggy, hazy affair, filled with disonance and studio anarchy, the band members making them sound trippy and dark, whether the originals were that way or not. It’s not exactly swing, nor is it a jazz album to be played at dinner parties, but the eerie, doped-up vibe is itelf addictive, trippy and off-kilter but strangely playful, performed with a sort of punchdrunk glee. The music mirrors the dark undercurrents of the songs, giving the record a sort of conceptual thrust.
And all this without mentioning the most drastic departure from past Bad Plus record– the presence of a vocalist, Wendy Lewis, who acts as frontwoman on almost all of these songs, save for a handful of instrumentals that feel almost like interludes or palette-cleansers. The addition of a vocalist to the line-up might sound like a big deal, but, strangely, it both enhances the songs without messing with the group’s chemistry too much. Having the lyrics to these songs present underscores their emotional unity, and because Lewis is an indie rocker rather than a big-voices jazz diva, she fits in well with the hipster persona of the band members. She’s a different kind of jazz singer for a different kind of jazz band performing a different version of the jazz canon.
But of course, the great triumph here, as with all the past Bad Plus albums, is that, as much as this music gives the surface illusion of bucking jazz conventions, it actually does nothing if not capture the anarchic spirit of jazz at its best. The musicians display just enough knowledge of jazz idioms and conventions that you can discern their obvious glee in existing outside those idioms and conventions, yet they are nothing if not respectful of the improvisational spirit and liberating imagination that characterizes the best jazz music. For All I Care is music without pretense: It is clearly built on a set of traditions. Determing just which traditions those are, and where one ends and the next begins, is a lot less clear. The Bad Plus wouldn’t have it any other way, and that’s what makes their music bold, adventurous, and altogether inviting, all at the same time.
Tom Waits: Rap Star
This is just too cool. On February 17, ANTI- Records is releasing Spirit of Apollo, a sprawling, ambitious hip-hop album with heavy doses of Brazilian funk, the label’s first offering from the N.A.S.A. collective. The list of guest vocalists on the album is a thing of wonder: David Byrne, Kanye West, M.I.A., George Clinton, Santogold, Karen O., members of Jurassic 5 and Wu Tang Clan, and so many more.
But even that doesn’t prepare you for the sheer awesomeness of “Spacious Thoughts,” a creepy, menacing groover that finds the one and only Tom Waits growling and barking over a Kool Keith beat. It’s almost too good to be true. And you can download that particular song for free, thanks to the good folks at ANTI-.
Ten Favorite Films from 2008
Any year in which a comic book movie sequel is heralded as the next great American epic, a trash-compacting robot takes the world by storm without ever uttering a word, Indiana Jones has a close encounter of the kitschy kind, and Clint Eastwood makes a comedy has got to be a landmark year for film, and 2008 was all that and then some, a year of rich, bold cinema both at the arthouse and at the megaplex. For this critic, anyway, it was one of the most rewarding years of moviegoing in a while, and these ten films are the ones that stood out the most– movies I’ll be watching and savoring for years to come.
01. Wall*E
Dir. Andrew Stanton
A work of pure, hard science fiction; a family movie that is, for its first half hour, essentially a silent film; a powerful parable about the consequences of greed and the power of love; and oh yeah, one of the biggest blockbusters of the year; who else but Pixar could possibly have made this work? The latest feature from the director of Finding Nemo is Pixar’s boldest, most ambitious and sophisticated film yet, and also one of their richest, brimming with romance, humor, excitement, and, most of all, meaning. It’s a dystopian vision with a big heart; if the title wasn’t already taken, you could call it Love in the Ruins.
02. The Dark Knight
Dir. Christopher Nolan
Chris Nolan blows up a comic book movie sequel into a soaring, dark mythology, one informed by all the weight and complexity of human existence circa 2008. A film about terrorism and the problem of evil, it treads the same thematic ground as No Country for Old Men, and it deftly plays both sides of the argument while refusing to allow any easy answers. Heath Ledger’s maniacal Joker is a character for the ages, but Gary Oldman’s quietly noble Jim Gordon is the franchise’s true heart. Not too shabby, Caped Crusader.
03. Synecdoche, New York
Dir. Charlie Kaufman
Ruthlessly complicated and bizarre to the point of being truly maddening, Charlie Kaufman’s first turn as a director is a movie of sweeping ambition and frightful imagination. A film about the frustrating life of the artist and the mysterious role of the creative act in our lives and our culture, it’s a film that could be watched over and over again without ever truly being unraveled or fully understood– which is what makes it both frustrating and unforgettable, a harsh and beautiful masterpiece.
04. Slumdog Millionaire
Dir. Danny Boyle
Boyle harnesses all his powers as a director for a feat that employs the full range of pure cinema– color, light, sound, seamless editing– for a grand fantasy that’s as much a celebration of the movies as it is a monument to true love. A fairy-tale for grown-ups, the film is one of the most suspenseful, and at times one of the darkest, of the year, but its bold, unashamed belief in the power of love to turn darkness into light if unflinching and unerring.
05. Speed Racer
Dir. The Wachowski Bros.
A movie that’s just about being a movie, this big-screen, live-action cartoon was unfairly maligned by critics who wanted it to be something different from what it is. Look for profundity and you’ll be disappointed, but watch it on the biggest screen you can find and prepare for a sugarrush of pure fun and energy and you’ll be blown away. It’s a masterpiece of style and creativity, a careening joyride of whiplash action and sly humor, color and motion and giddy joy. I have a hard time watching this movie without grinning from ear to ear.
06. Doubt
Dir. John Patrick Shanley
Adapted from stage to screen with appropriate theatricality, this big-screen parable is told with the utmost simplicity, even as it addresses some big, complex issues. It’s a human drama about faith and doubt, idealism and cynicism, tradition and compassion, and, at its heart, it’s a clash between two titans of acting– Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman– who share scenes of verbal sparring that rank among the year’s most intense and engrossing. Streep is as great as usual, but it’s Hoffman who proves to be the powerhouse actor with this riveting, nuanced performance. As an added bonus, the film gives us one of the most appealing portrayals of a Christian on the big screen in some time.
07. Man on Wire
Dir. James Marsh
What makes this documentary truly masterful is the way in which the filmmakers simply let their subject tell his story– and that story is so breathlessly compelling, no embellishment is needed to make this a film that’s not just a totally engaging, entertaining history lesson, but, more importantly, a truly inspiring film about a man with big dreams and a desire to bring a little bit of beauty into a sometimes ugly world. Priceless.
08. Shotgun Stories
Dir. Jeff Nichols
A blood-soaked, Christ-haunted morality play set in the deep South, Shotgun Stories sounds, on paper, like a Flannery O’Connor homage, but, more than that, it’s a tribute to Terrence Malick, finding inspiration in the famed director’s long pauses and evocative imagery. It’s subtle but powerful, devoid of frills but rich with thematic depth, and its resonantes on levels both personal and political.
09. Flight of the Red Balloon
Dir. Hou Hsiao-Hsien
Great filmmakers can turn light and motion into pure poetry, which is exactly what happens in this remarkable, bittersweet film that deftly walks the line between childhood and adulthood, capturing the tension that exists between the two. Told more through suggestive imagery than through plot, it’s a slow-moving, meditative film that rewards patient viewing. Its neatest trick is the way it celebrates both childlike wonder and grown-up responsibility, and its greatest surprise is a strikingly blond Juliette Binoche, in one of her best performances.
10. Gran Torino
Dir. Clint Eastwood
A deeply personal film that only Eastwood could have made, Gran Torino is covered in the fingerprints of its auteur and carries with it the weight of his entire career up to this point. Alternatingly heartbreaking and hilarious, the film plays off of Eastwood’s Dirty Harry mythology and subverts his familiar iconography into a primal, redemptive tale of sacrifice and friendship.
Honorable Mention: Burn After Reading
(Dir. The Coen Bros.)
How do the Coens follow their dark, philosophical, Oscar-winning No Country for Old Men? Why, with an absurd, over-the-top CIA farce, of course. A team of master filmmakers and terrific actors cut loose and have fun in this infectiously silly, quirky send-up of government ineptitude and international espionage. Hilarious and full of surprises.
A few more honors…
Best Film for the Whole Family
Wall*E
Achievement in Acting
Philip Seymour Hoffman (Doubt, Synecdoche, New York)
Achievement in Directing
Christopher Nolan, The Dark Knight
Richest Exploration of Spiritual Issues
Tie– Synecdoche, New York and Doubt
Richest Exploration of Cultural/Political Issues
Tie– The Dark Knight and Shotgun Stories
Richest Exploration of Film as a Medium
Slumdog Millionaire
PPP [Platinum Pied Pipers]: “Abundance”
When DJs Waajeed and Ssadiq dubbed themselves the Platinum Pied Pipers, they donned what is surely one of the most awkward, stupid names in all of hip-hop. In 2008, they shortened it to simply PPP, which isn’t much better– shorter, but just as silly and arguably just as awkward to say. Mercifully, they’ve finally gotten the hang of the name game for the release of their 2009 record Abundance. Brimming with imagination and creative verve, this fifteen-song set is a treasure trove of vision and artistry that bounds from one killer song to the next. Abundance is right– in terms of bang for buck, this smokin’ hot LP is the absolute motherload of R&B gems.
A lot has changed for these Detroit natives since their last set, the rap-flavored Triple P, not the last of which is that they’ve had to look on with horror as the tribulations of the auto industry has put their home city at the forfront of America’s economic crisis. Not surprisingly, then, Abundance is, as much as anything, a Valentine to Detroit and a celebration of the city’s rich musical heritage. The set’s opening trifecta rolls Detroit’s past and presence into one kick-ass, no-prisoners burst of energy and inspiration, opening with the hard-edged, guitar-and-drums rocker “Angel” before kicking into the high gear of the organ-fueled rave-up “Smoking Mirrors.” It’s an explosive opener that flirts with perfection– and it turns out to be nothing more than the warm-up lap. The PPP duo unleashes their full array of powers on the third cut and first single, the swaggering Motown sing-along “On a Cloud.” As if reclaiming their city’s legacy from the recent swathe of retro-minded R&B belters, Waajeed and Saadiq turn recent pop trends on their side with a thrilling full-band arrangement, while vocalist Karma Stewart brings both cheery good humor and come-hither sexuality in a performance that sounds like Beyonce if she ratcheted up the soul factor by another 10 points. It’s a dynamite single that packs more heart and hooks into its four minutes than Amy Winehouse’s entire first album.
Their territory sufficiently marked, PPP blows the roof of the joint and charts a course straight for outer space with the remaining songs. It’s like a mixtape of the greatest R&B songs you’ve never heard: There’s a sweaty, club-ready jam (“Go, Go, Go”), a white-hot blast of Latin jazz (“The Ghost of Aveiro”),a dub-inflected electro-rocker (“Countless Excuses”), and a hilarious story-song that gleefully exploits hip-hop cliches (“American Pimp”). The middle of the album serves up a couple of silky-smooth ballads– the only place where the record’s rollicking energy dips– and the final tracks exlode into a kind of sci-fi funk that provides the perfect cap for the most exploratory, forward-thinking R&B album in recent memory– a giant slab of funk and fun that brings to mind the most visionary classics from Parliament or Funkadelic.
The group’s twin masterminds aren’t exactly attention hogs– they work mostly behind the scenes, with songwriting and production– but they deliver a bravura performance here. They sustain a kinetic energy throughout the album, which flows seamlessly from one song into the next, and their sense of pacing and sequencing is unimpeachable. They maximize these productions for drama, depth, and, most importantly, hooks; a track live “Luv Affair” is as memorable for its killer melody as for the moment where the drums kick in and lock the groove into place, or for the layering of the synths and guitars. And they invert the entire concept of the retro– so popular in the pop and R&B of the late 2000s– by splicing old and new sounds together with no discrimination, which means that this music exists totally outside of trends or even history– it’s timeless R&B that has one foot in tradition and the other in the future.
As for the folks out front, PPP have roped in the perfect troupe of vocalists to give these songs their heart. Coultrain is the male presence here, the embodiment of charisma and attitude, while Karma Stewart is all smoldering sexuality and aching soul. Neco Redd brings winking humor and broad theatricality to “American Pimp,” and Jamila Raegan is simply a great pop singer who finds the emotional meat in what could have been mindlessly hooky tracks like “Go, Go, Go.” Each singer has a distinct personality and brings something special to the table, much like the songs themselves, which alternate between giddy humor and mature, grown-up reflections on love and relationships. PPP proves equally adept at applying professional sheen and letting their little quirks and foibles shine through, which means that the album takes some trippy detours without ever seeming to veer off course or break from its ruthless groove.
The term tour de force is one of the most overused critical cliches in existence, but Abundance is one of the rare albums that actually deserves it. It’s an utterly epic album that seems to run the entire spectrum of R&B sounds and styles, bringing a fresh creativity and big heart to each one, all the while never seeming to break a sweat. Indeed, the PPP posse never misses a beat or makes a fumble; its scope is sweeping, its craft flawless, its vision impossible to deny. Mainstream pop and R&B haven’t seen an album so inspired or inventive in years, and indeed, in its forward-thinking innovation, it’s technically as impressive as any recent offerings from the world of indie rock and pop. It doesn’t buck genre conventions so much as it completely owns them and uses them for its own purpose, and the only reasonable response is to give into its grooves and submit to its mind-melding celebration of song and style.
Bruce Springsteen: “Working on a Dream”
For the last decade or so, Bruce Springsteen’s music has been inextricably tied to his politics, each new album feeling a bit like The Boss’ own State of the Union, a relfection of what’s happening in the country he loves, filtered through his own leftist populism. 2002′s reunion with the E-Street Band, The Rising, is, for many, the defininitive 9/11 album, a record that Bruce wrote and released quickly after the attacks on U.S. soil that lamented what we’d lost, celebrated what we had left, and– perhaps most importantly– cast a distrustful, cautious eye toward the foreign policy decisions that were, at the time, just being hinted at by the Bush administration. Then came Devils and Dust, a quiet, prayerful lament for a country that seemed to be slipping away before Bruce’s very eyes; not so coincidentally, it was released shortly after Bush defeated John Kerry, for whom Springsteen had campaigned tirelessly. Even We Shall Overcome, his collection of old folk songs popularized by Pete Seeger, couldn’t help but feel timely, with its ancient laments about the plight of the working man and the horrors of war resonating as much as ever. And Magic, released in 2007, was Bruce’s Bush album, a dark, cynical set that was as full of true sorrow as it was rageful fury.
Working on a Dream, then, is Bruce’s Obama album– well, something like that, anyway. Released just a week after the new president took office, and following on the heels of several Obama fundraisers and rallies performed at by Springsteen, Dream, as its sentimental title suggests, is an outright romantic, idealistic album– the most at-peace Springsteen has ever sounded. It is, one assumes, a reflection of the hopes and yes, dreams, that Bruce has riding on the new administration. Sadly, none of Obama’s charisma seems to have rubbed off on Springsteen over the last few months, and, while The Boss may be working on a dream, he has apparently not been working on any decent new songs. Obama’s inauguration may have been Bruce’s political dream come true, but, as far as his music is concerned, it’s an absolute nightmare, resulting in the limpest, least inspired album of Springsteen’s long and, until now, remarkably consistent career.
His partnership with producer Brenden O’Brien continues, as self-destructive as ever before. O’Brien brings a slick, glossy touch to everything he touches, which stands at odds with the classic rock and roll fervor of the E-Street Band, and it seems that O’Brien’s parasitic presence sucks more life out of Springsteen with each passing album. The Rising was a great album in spite of O’Brien’s tendencies to overproduce; Devils and Dust was a pretty good album ocassionally marred by them; and Magic was a decent album that had most of its potential shot to hell by them. But Working on a Dream is outright terrible, everything encased in a sort of psychadelic, soft-rock sheen that results in the world’s first easy-listening Bruce album.
Fortunately for O’Brien, though, he is not guilty of ruining a great Springsteen album this time around; it would be a lousy record even without him, as Bruce has traded all the complexities of his political and personal rage, sorrow, and indignation for an album of platitudes, Hallmark cheese that he tries to pass off as the hopefulness of a new age. But there’s nothing hopeful about it, because there’s nothing even remotely alive or human about it; this is imply Bruce going through the motions, phoning in lame love-song treacle (“you were life itself, rushing over me”; “In a way, it will be alright”), finding his dream girl working the cash register at the grocery store (“Queen of the Supermarket”), an constructing an embarrassing everyman mythology (“Outlaw Pete”) that strains for the better part of eight minutes without ever being even remotely as interesting as “Thunder Road.” (Or just about any other Springsteen song, for that matter.) There are no hooks and there is no energy to speak of; the whole thing is just one spectacularly dreadful bore.
The best thing that can be said about it is that it makes Magic sound much better in retrospect. That album may have been Bruce by the numbers, but at least it was halfway decent Bruce by the numbers, with a few songs having solid hooks, and most of them having good lyrics. But here, Springsteen experiments. The results: Inexplicable choices like an African choir, a bizarre dip into 1950s sock-hop pop, and– admittedly– one pretty good, bluesy rock number, “Good Eye.”Bruce’s song from The Wrestler, which won him a Golden Globe, is also included, but those two songs are the two exceptions to an otherwise heartbreaking introduction to a kinder, gentler, and infinitely lamer Bruce– a Bruce who will soon be performing at the Super Bowl, and who has a new, ten-song greatest hits album that’s available exclusively at Wal Mart. In other words, these new developments aren’t the typical Springsteen fan’s dream, and, even if we share the man’s excitement over the new Commander in Chief, this album makes one worry that, for Boss fans, it’s going to be a long four years.
The Oscar-Nominated Peter Gabriel
Kudos to Peter Gabriel for his well-deserved Oscar nomination for “Down to Earth,” the song he wrote with Thomas Newman and performs over the end credits of Wall*E. This nomination demands to be celebrated for a few reasons. For one, it is one of the only honors given to the film, which was criminally robbed of a Best Picture nomination. (Apparently, being one of the most well-reviewed and highest-grossing films of the year and being honored by many critics’ groups as the year’s best movie don’t mean much to the Academy.) Second, this is some of the only good news to emerge from what is, overall, a simply terrible group of nominees. And third, it’s the best song Gabriel has recorded in, like, two decades. It’s so nice to hear him return to spirited pop songwriting– now how about that new album, PG?
On Repeat: Titus Andronicus
Titus Andronicus is a runaway freight train of a band, a totally wild and uncaged fury of bar band rowdiness, rock and roll fervor, and existential mayhem. Any band as wild and wooly as this one can’t help but turn a few heads, and this particular group had the good fortune of having their self-released debut album, The Airing of Grievances, discovered last year by the tastemakers at Pitchfork Media– pretty much the best thing that can happen to an up-and-coming indie troupe. Not surprisingly, the Pitchfork exposure led to a signing with something akin to a real label– in this case, XL Records– and the band’s previously hard-to-find album is now a little easier to find, available both on iTunes and in brick and morter stores as of this week. Here’s The Hurst Review’s take on the album from last year; I’m sure it sounds just as good now as it did then.
Antony and the Johnsons: “The Crying Light”
For as long as Anthony Hegarty has been making music– or at the very least, ever since he released the Mercury Prize-winning I Am a Bird Now– his music has been inseparable from his personal identity. That’s not so much because critics and fans have celebrated his persona over his art, but because he’s made that persona an intregal part of his art, crafting his songs and even selecting his guest appearances on other artists’ records with his status (or at least his demenor) as an outsider firmly in mind. Even when he’s at his most theatrical, there is always some reflection of his emotional or psychological state lurking just beneath the spectacle and the facade of his art. In fact, so bold was the mark of the auteur on I Am a Bird Now that even its cover, a black and white shot of the transsexual Warhol associate Candy Darling on her deathbed, seemed intricately tied to the singer’s own feelings about his life and his sexuality, which, of course, carried over into the music.
Naturally, then, when Hegarty prepared to release his third album with his band the Johnsons, The Crying Light, its cover art– another striking black and white shot, this time of the 102-year-old Japanese dancer Kazuo Ohno– garned a fair shair of speculation, its ambiguous portrayal of either ectasy or torment prompting critics to wonder what the photo, both similar and decidedly different than the one on Bird, said about Antony’s aspirations with these ten new songs. But this time, it isn’t the art itself so much as Hegarty’s explanation that provides the most insight into this music: The singer has said that Ohno is an inspiration to him for demonstating how to age gracefully, prompting Hegarty himself to feel more comfortable with growing a bit older. And fittingly, The Crying Light– which is dedicated to Ohno– feels enlivened by that inspiring spirit, with Antony sounding both more mature and more self-assured than ever before, making an album that is his most sophisticated and graceful to date.
That he is a singer who carries himself with dignity and elegance needs not be reiterated; Hegarty has been anything but dormant since releasing Bird, becoming the indie world’s version of Emmylou Harris by showing up to lend guest vocals to seemingly endless projects, most notedly acting as the voice for the celebrated disco troupe Hercules and Love Affair in 2008. But here, he proves himself to be an artist of previously unimagined restraint and technical grace, crafting an achingly delicate, beautiful collection of string-laden chamber pop songs, each of them a showcase for his distinctive warble but also his expressive piano playing. Every song here is understated and exquisite, and Hegarty handles each one with a nimble, light touch while the Johnsons provide stately support with strings, reeds, and light percussion. It’s completely out of time, and the closest antecedent in recent indie history is Shearwater’s fanciful Rook, but where that album alternated between intense quiet and deafening fury, The Crying Light is unflinching in its pursuit of a meditative, almost sacred sound.
And yet, what is most distinctive about the album– and about the cover photo– is in how Antony looks outside of himself. If the artwork of I Am a Bird Now reflected Antony as he is, the shot of Kazuo Ohma is a dream of who he desires to be, and indeed, this is music that peaks outside as a way of looking inside. Its greatest trick is one that Hegarty borrows from Romantic poets like William Blake and Percy Shelley– namely, the way that it focuses on the natural world as a way of reflecting the internal world. And so, these songs are pastoral, spiritual, and vivid in their evocation of the physical, created world, which, of course, leads to some nervous speculation as to the planet’s future and some grief at the beauty we’ve already lost– “Another World,” in which a mournful Antony pleads for a new creation to replace this current, marred one, is a key song to unlocking the album’s mystery. But it is by no means a work dominated by environmental concerns, for these musings serve as a vehicle for Hegarty’s own meditations on love, sorrow, God, and more.
The tone is initially very dark and somber, but the songs gradually reveal themselves to posess some of the same ambiguity as that cover image; though there is much grief here, there are also moments of surprising joy, of hope, of fervent prayer and desire. And throughout it all, Antony and his bandmates play and sing with an organic grace and a poetic honesty that cause the record to unfold with an uncommon and deep emotional resonance. The great irony, of course, is that the album ends up saying more about Hegarty, both as a man and as an artist, then he’s ever been comfortable revealing in the past, all while it opens the gates and allows the whole world entrance, resulting in a work of art that’s as warm in its embrace as it is unsettling in its fragile intimacy.
A.C. Newman: “Get Guilty”
Carl Newman has said in interviews that the title of his latest LP, Get Guilty, was chosen less for whatever legal, moral, or spiritual connotations it might have and more for the sheer sound of it– the alliteration, the cadence of the words, the way they shape the mouth and roll off the tongue. And that’s a pretty good indicator as to just how Newman’s mind works, at least when it comes to his music. He is an audiophile, a true sensualist who revels in sound itself– in the different tones and timbres of instruments, in the effect of layering certain sounds over others, in the different characters lent by different recording equiptment.
It’s a bit rare to find a musician quite like Newman: A purveyor of power pop who cares as much about sound as song. After all, power pop is all about cranking out as many two-and-a-half to three-minute gems, loaded with as many hooks, as possible. But Newman is a bit more complex and ambitious than that. His songs sometimes take their time to unfold, and he’s as concerned with texture and nuance of sound as he is the hooks. And it seems that he ventures farther down that road with each new album he makes; on his last project as the ringleader of the power pop collective New Pornographers, the slow-burning Challengers, Newman and Co. turned down the volume and took their feet off the gas for a quiet, subdued set that took some time to grow on you. And Get Guilty, only his second album recorded by himself and under the A.C. moniker, is a completely different animal altogether, both a significantly more powerful and muscular album than Challengers and a more nuanced, layered recording than his previous album, 2004′s wonderful and insanely catchy The Slow Wonder.
It’s still very much a power pop album– it seems Newman can do nothing else but pen finely-honed, hooky gems, bursting with infectious energy and glee– but it isn’t the all-out, electric guitar throwdown of the New Pornos’ Twin Cinema. The difference is partly one of feel, as this album is a slightly moodier affair, but it also has a lot to do with the way it’s recorded. Newman still lets loose with some choice power chords, but much of the album’s punch comes from drummer Jon Wurster, whose splashing cymbals and gently rattling hand percussion give these songs their accent, their flavor. The album was recorded very quickly and spontaneously in the studio, too, which means that, rather than feel neatly manicured and carefully planned, they’re alive with the flash of improvisation and the interplay of great musicians, banging around in a room together.
Newman still aims for the gut on several songs, as on the sing-along title track and the pure pop gem “Submarines of Stockholm,” but, just as often, the charm of the songs comes from the little touches, like the nervous tension of the pulsating strings in “Thunderbolts,” the twinkling pianos in “There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve,” the imaginitive percussion in “Like a Hitman, Like a Dancer” and the layering of acoustic and electric instuments in “Elemental.” Newman covers a wider range of emotional terrain, too, beginning with the pomp and circumstance of the stately opener “There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve”– which sounds like the perfect processional for an indie pop high school graduation– and immediately seguing into the slow-building crescendos of “The Heartbreak Rides,” which captures a sense of catharsis not unlike Twin Cinema‘s “The Bleeding Heart Show.” And he’s a master of album sequencing, too; never has he recorded anything as subdued as darkly restrained as “Thunderbolts,” and he heightens its impact by following it with the frantic drumming and chiming keyboards of “The Palace at 4 A.M.,” the first single and a worthy heir to The Slow Wonder‘s standout, “Miracle Drug.”
The sensualist’s ear Newman brings to his arrangements and his strong melodies carries over into his lyrics, which aren’t exactly straightforward, but still manage to be expressive because of their command of the sounds of the language. Newman is more about abstract feelings, oddball imagery, and bizarre non-sequiters and jokes than he is narrative– the album’s most direct song is “Thunderbolts,” a wistful tale of Greek deities in their youth, and the album cover seems to portray a cage match involving unicorns, which might tell you something about where Newman’s mind is– so it’s unlikely that you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about much of the time, but damn if doesn’t all sound really cool.
But of course, merely sounding cool isn’t enough to make a great album, and, though Get Guilty is an album filled with small, subtle pleasures, Newman hasn’t forsaken his sense of craft as a pop songwriter, and every song here is typically catchy and irresistibly fun. Since it is very much a craftsman’s album, it doesn’t bowl you over on the first listen, but all the little details quickly add up into something very warm and appealing, which makes it a grower, but also one of Newman’s finest albums ever, and certainly the one that most amply rewards close, attentive, and frequent listening.
