2005-10 Vital Source Mag – October 2005
The Coral
By Paul Snyder The Coral’s “In the Morning” could’ve easily been the feel-good single of the summer. However, Columbia decided to give Jessica Simpson a bikini and a 60s classic, and well, here we are. Lee Hazlewood puts a few more dollars in his back pocket while the Coral’s coulda-been rests in the number-six spot on the new LP. The good news is that the album, The Invisible Invasion, is still yours for the taking, even if six Liverpool blokes might not look so good in pink bikinis. The lads reigned in Portishead’s Adrian Utley and Geoff Barrow to produce this effort and add a bit of sheen to their sound. While there are no sparse “Sour Times” trances, the eerie urgency of “She Sings the Mourning” and haunted house feel of “A Warning to the Curious” adds a new dimension to the Coral’s canon. The production also enhances the songwriting. James Skelly hasn’t progressed much as a tunesmith—which isn’t bad, considering his penchant for perfect three-minute pop singles—but the right guys twiddling the knobs can really fledge three-chord fluffs into panoramically enjoyable experiences (see “Come Home”). It probably won’t dent the American mainstream, which isn’t much of a surprise. But in a time when retro becomes cooler with every passing day, and the Redwalls bewilderingly gain more popularity, the Coral deserve just a bit of consideration. After all, The Invisible Invasion clearly proves they’re doing it better. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Heidi Spencer
By “Anybody willing to go out on a limb/ Winter is calling and I’m calling you in.” From the opening line of her sophomore album, Milwaukee filmmaker and musician Heidi Spencer asks us to enter her world of long winters, starry nights and lovers who are leaving or already gone. It’s filled with the beauty found in sadness, in long drives on rainy nights, or in the nostalgia of past relationships that haunt the heart. The Luck We Made delves even deeper into the pathos Spencer began documenting with her excellent debut Matches and Valentines. Vulnerability, loneliness, longing and the pressure of expectations are not new subjects for Spencer, but here she accepts them with a dreamy optimism. Every song is fully realized, a rarity for a record of such emotional weight that is also so catchy. Production props must be given to Bill Curtis; he expanded the textures and atmospherics. Cello, slide guitar, lap steel, piano, upright bass and Curtis’s nuanced drumming weave in and out of Spencer’s rippling acoustic guitar, but her voice is truly the perfect instrument here. Somewhere between Tori Amos and Mazzy Star’s Hope Sandoval with a dash of Dolly Parton, Heidi Spencer is a folk-country-dream pop anomaly. She moves from whisper to breathy purr to high lonesome and back with control and an idiosyncratic phrasing that makes her unique. The Luck We Made is available locally at Atomic Records. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Death Cab For Cutie
By Eric Lewin Death Cab for Cutie‘s Transatlanticism was the indie gorilla that kept hope alive for pop music; it seemed back on the upswing. A band with R.E.M.’s unique combination of indie smarts and pop sensibility had finally come home to roost. Even more hopeful is the notion that DCFC could match or, dare we dream, trump themselves with Plans. Is it possible? Well, not yet. Plans picks and chooses elements from DCFC’s back catalogue, and the results are hit and miss. Still remaining is Ben Gibbard’s melodic genius, which has very few contemporary rivals. “I Will Follow You into the Dark,” a beautiful acoustic number, might be the Prozac generation’s first wedding song. “Your Heart is An Empty Room” revisits some of Death Cab’s better baroque offerings and even steals a piano fill from Transatlanticism’s “Lightness.” Did they think no one would notice? Noted success aside, DCFC’s straying from their signature nuances is like watching a fastball pitcher try a split-finger knuckler – some of their liberties end up on the wrong side of the fence. The virtuosic homage to Rush at the end of “Different Names for the Same Thing” is an irrelevant coda to a bland song. Also gone is a good deal of DCFC’s pessimism: “Someday You Will Be Loved” is an enthusiastic goodbye to bad memories, for better or worse. After all, it’s hard to be sad when you’re getting shout-outs from Seth Cohen. Smile, My Space kids. Your favorite band will smile with you. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIEPlansAtlanticwww.deathcabforcutie.com Death Cab for Cutie‘s Transatlanticism was the indie gorilla that kept hope alive for pop music; it seemed back on the upswing. A band with R.E.M.’s unique combination of indie smarts and pop sensibility had finally come home to roost. Even more hopeful is the notion that DCFC could match or, dare we dream, trump themselves with Plans. Is it possible? Well, not yet. Plans picks and chooses elements from DCFC’s back catalogue, and the results are hit and miss. Still remaining is Ben Gibbard’s melodic genius, which has very few contemporary rivals. “I Will Follow You into the Dark,” a beautiful acoustic number, might be the Prozac generation’s first wedding song. “Your Heart is An Empty Room” revisits some of Death Cab’s better baroque offerings and even steals a piano fill from Transatlanticism’s “Lightness.” Did they think no one would notice? Noted success aside, DCFC’s straying from their signature nuances is like watching a fastball pitcher try a split-finger knuckler – some of their liberties end up on the wrong side of the fence. The virtuosic homage to Rush at the end of “Different Names for the Same Thing” is an irrelevant coda to a bland song. Also gone is a good deal of DCFC’s pessimism: “Someday You Will Be Loved” is an enthusiastic goodbye to bad memories, for better or worse. After all, it’s hard to be sad when you’re getting shout-outs from Seth Cohen. Smile, My Space kids. Your favorite band will […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Kanye West
By Kevin Krekling On his new album Late Registration, Kanye West proclaims “I think I died in that accident, ‘cause this must be heaven.” Boy, is he right. Ever since the release of his monster debut The College Dropout, Kanye has been everywhere. He went from the Grammy’s to Hurricane Katrina benefits and, most importantly, the top of the hip-hop world. His beats are going for about $75,000 a song and a 16-bar verse might cost you more. Is he worth it? If Late Registration is any proof, the answer is a resounding yes. Knowing that it would be impossible (and boring) to make a College Dropout Vol. 2, Kanye ditches the “old soul sped-up sample” style he perfected and moves on. In an attempt to tackle some new sounds and genres, West enlists Grammy-award winning (and completely non hip-hop) Jon Brion to serve as co-producer for the album. A risky move indeed, but the gamble pays off. The result is the best hip-hop album of the year (although 2005 was a very weak year for hip-hop) and also the most imaginative. From the syrup-sippin’ Dirty South anthem “Drive Slow,” to the baby mama-drama of “Gold Digger,” to the overdramatic, James Bond-sampling “Diamonds Are Forever,” the album is chocked full of excitement. Initially, some cuts don’t seem like they should work (who puts Maroon 5’s Adam Levine on a hip-hop song, anyways?), but they do. The one knock on West is his mic skills. Although his flow is thought provoking, funny (“she said she want diamonds, I took her to Ruby Tuesdays”), and creative, West doesn’t have the natural voice of a Biggie Smalls or Method Man, and sometimes the music suffers. On the album’s best song, “Gone,” his vocal shortcomings are magnified when he is simply overpowered by the verses of superior MC’s such as Cam’ron and Consequence. But those moments are few and far between, so it is not worth shutting the album off. Late Registration is not The College Dropout. In many ways, it’s better. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Redemption Song
Here’s the thing about Liz Phair. If you’re a great admirer (as I am) you might be intimidated by the prospect of speaking to her directly (as I was). Even as a seasoned feature writer with two decades of bylines in my files, I was so nervous that when her publicist patched us together that I kind of froze. “Hello?” she said, her speaking voice a little higher and more melodic than I’d imagined. “Are you there?” Tongue-tied, I almost hung up, but I was on assignment, so instead I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I confessed my insecurity, potentially sealing my fate as a pathetic amateur in her eyes. “God, don’t you hate that? That happened to me not too long ago.” She giggles, but it’s a conspiratorial girl-giggle, meant to put me at ease. She then tells the story of being in Michael Penn’s home recording studio, working on tracks for Somebody’s Miracle, when Joni Mitchell popped in. Penn invited Liz into the kitchen to meet her all-time musical hero, but, she confesses, “I was so freaked out, my ass was frozen to the couch. Absolutely frozen. I could not get up. When I finally did, I kind of hung back by the doorjamb. I had nothing interesting to say to her.” She goes on to tell about meeting Mick Jagger (again) recently, and how she tried to lighten things up by being friendly and cracking a joke. But everything she said seemed to come off as offensive in some way, so she just shut her mouth. We agreed that it was probably the difference between being Midwestern and being from, well, about anywhere else. I pushed aside unbidden thoughts of the great girlfriends Liz and I would surely have been in a different life and pressed on. Here’s something you may not know. Liz Phair is at peace with herself. This is a relatively new development, a spiritual transition years in the making. Nothing shakes up one’s world quite like parenthood, except perhaps a painful divorce or a career inexplicably on the slide. For some, the death of a much-loved relative can turn everything upside down. And when it all comes down more or less in a continuum, there’s no time to process each piece individually. It’s a true “get real” moment, fall or rise. Liz has risen, and her first big step was self-forgiveness. “There is an acceptance in me now,” she says. “I feel like I turned a corner in my personal life where I stopped running from all my bad qualities and said ‘enough is enough.’ I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone; I don’t want somebody making excuses for me, I don’t want to be somebody that my son needs therapy to get over.” But inner equilibrium is learned behavior for the woman who had the (mis)fortune of releasing one of the most acclaimed debut records of all time, then proceeded to ride celebrity like […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Jon Anne Willow
