2008-02 Vital Source Mag – February 2008
Cat Power
Everyone loved her 15 seconds of “How Can I Tell You” in that diamonds commercial. That’s just too bad, since a full-length version isn’t on Jukebox, Chan Marshall’s second CD of cover songs since 2000. Backed by the Dirty Delta Blues band, Marshall keeps things sparse as usual and swaths the songs with her signature rasp. Also typical is her inclusion of another Dylan tune, “I Believe in You.” By now, Marshall has the icon’s panache down pat. “A Song to Bobby,” the only new song on the disc, even details a humbled admiration of the songwriter. Homage is one reason to cover a song, but are there others? That thought recurs when song choice seems mismatched (“Aretha, Sing One For Me”) and when justice isn’t paid to the classics. “Theme from New York, New York,” Hank Williams’ “Ramblin’ Man,” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” — all songs of rebellion and conviction originally — are neutered by Marshall’s lethargy. (“Silver Stallion,” however, canters along appropriately in this sleepy state.) “Metal Heart,” written during a restless night in 1999 for Cat Power’s Moon Pix and revised for Jukebox, invigorates the album; it’s the strongest and most expressive of the twelve tracks. It is her own, and she sings it like she owns it — an important dynamic missing from the rest. There isn’t a jukebox on earth that could compile a better A-to-Z of music appreciation, but this record has nothing to say. Use your Jukebox quarters for laundry instead.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
The Beat goes on
In a music career that has come full circle, Dave Wakeling has been on the right path from the very beginning. As a young man, he and his collaborators realized there was something magical in the “feet, hearts and mind” formula that came to define his group The English Beat. At the band’s apex they were surrounded by the royalty of the UK punk-era ska scene: The Selecter, Madness, The Specials and Elvis Costello. Originally dubbed The Beat, the band added the word “English” to their name stateside to avoid confusion with American power pop group the Paul Collins Beat. Signing to then-prestigious I.R.S. Records in 1981, Wakeling’s band found a measure of success in America with three solid albums and a string of wildly infectious dance floor-friendly singles. But before the roller-coaster ride really took off, Wakeling and his Birmingham buddies had already learned some valuable lessons. “We used to run parties with punk and ska DJs,” he said. “Each DJ alone would tire the dancers out, but the mix of punk and reggae equaled a full night of energy. What if you could get the both into the same songs? It was our punk-y reggae party. Boy George, members of UB40, the Au Pairs and Dexy’s Midnight Runners all came to the parties. Birmingham was going through one of its musical renaissances.” Falling under the spell of Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath in their early 20s, Wakeling and Andy Cox (English Beat guitarist) both “were fierce music fans” and “very lucky in terms of time and geography.” Live shows were a priority, and Wakeling reels off a list of defining music moments that includes two Bob Marley concerts, seeing Van Morrison, the death of Tim Buckley and seeing the Buzzcocks. “The songs were catchy, two-and-a-half or three minutes long. [It was] the same for the Undertones and Wire, who used the hook and the art-form of the pop song.” The music made a lasting impression on them, but ultimately The Beat made their mark with their own hybrid of ska, punk, soul, reggae and Nigerian highlife. According to Wakeling, “After you’d been dancing awhile the lyrics hit even harder – it was like your mind was more open. We paired the beat with lyrics that were somewhat heavy. Life is ambiguous. It’s not all happy or sad.” In a lineup notable for both its racial integration and near mash-up style influences, the original six member band consisted of Dave Wakeling on vocals and guitar, Andy Cox on guitar, David Steele on bass, Everett Morton on drums, Ranking Roger on vocals and toasting and ska sax legend Papa Saxa. The Beat sound was born, but it needed to be heard. “Our bass player, said ‘One gig is worth a thousand rehearsals.’” Armed with a half dozen original tunes and a few covers, the band knocked out its first gig, opening for the Dum Dum Boys. It was shortly after the Three Mile Island nuclear accident and the band was […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Blaine Schultz
Drive-By Truckers
A departed band member can make the advent of a new album nerve-wracking rather than exciting for an ardent fan, but the absence of Jason Isbell, Drive-By Truckers’ singer of seven years, brings out a return to roots, as well as new directions. Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, the band’s eighth album, features contributions from band members who normally play the wallflower (bassist Shonna Tucker penned three shimmering beauties) paired with crunchier contributions from Patterson Hood, Mike Cooley and John Neff, with ‘icing on the cake’ keyboards by legendary Spooner Oldham. Southern rock had a glaring exterior when Lynyrd Skynyrd brought it to the mainstream, but today, one regularly hears the signature layered guitars, pedal steel, lazy drums and pretty keys channeling crusty stories of booze, drugs and hardships of alt-country on commercial radio. On Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, the Truckers juxtapose their personal brand of southern rock against established tradition. Their soft songs shine bright as the lights on a country wedding dance floor, while the gritty, raucous snarlers make the slow dancers shake their sleepy feet. Stories paste this album’s nineteen songs together. Cooley’s country-washed songs add humor with “Lisa’s Birthday” and “Bob,” the tale of a man whose mom is the only one “she lets call him Robert” and who “has always had more dogs than he ever had friends.” Hood pens staunch southern rock with such vigor and drama it draws goose bumps. “The Man I Shot” is chilling, a strong contrast to Tucker’s gentle writing and Cooley’s ‘aw, shucks’ style. Hood’s slower ballads veer into Eagles territory at times, which can either please – in the case of the amazing “Daddy Needs a Drink,” made stellar by heart-wrenching pedal steel – or annoy, as on “The Home Front,” which is lite rock at best. Brighter Than Creation’s Dark is an album to be traveled through, soaking in all the odd twists and turns, corners and dips. There are some bumpy spots, but the unexpected beauty will sink the listener like a stone, and the buoyant humor will lift the mood and ease the listener into reality, as the best stories often do.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
You don’t get a medal for showing up
At VITAL, our new year begins in February. I’d like to thank everyone once again for their support. It used to be a thrill just to write the rent check that proved we weren’t just a home office vanity project; as we’ve matured, though, my view of this whole endeavor has evolved. I have a thousand examples, but it all comes down to one idea, perfectly put by Thomas Jefferson: “I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.” I now understand that our willingness to work our asses off is ultimately the reason we’re still here, far more than any visionary thinking or single lucky break. I was born in the ‘60s and influenced by both my grandparents’ work ethic and my father’s disdain for it (to be fair, he got over it later in life). Some of my peers joined Generation X. The rest of us went to work. Mine is the generation that brought about both the ubiquity of cocaine-derived drugs and many of the amazing technological advances that shape our world. The two extremes are actually closely related, both born of an inherent relentlessness, a desire to always move at the greatest possible speed, freed from barriers – of fatigue, social awkwardness, geography, even time itself. I’m not saying this is an entirely wonderful way to look at life; the socio-cultural fallout may not be fully measured in my lifetime. Even so, the ‘80s and ‘90s were a gas, a wild ride followed by a hard crash when the middle class economy slowed way down in the first years of the 21st century. But even before that I think there was collective pause, fueled in part by the regret of our parents, now missing the grandkids a thousand miles away, who saw what had become of their latchkey, Kraft dinner-consuming, Alex P. Keaton-channeling offspring. We had it all, but we traded too much to get it. The solution was clear: the next generation would be cared for with a vengeance. Sometime in the late 20th century, the desire to give one’s children “more” took on a new meaning: with the highest percentage of “affluent” Americans in our history, the trappings of attainment took on a nurturing mantle. It was the dawn of the age of the Soccer Mom, the bicycle helmet and the mentality that reasoning was a viable parenting philosophy. I admit it; I was initially swept into the new world order. My kid had a sticker chart that he filled up by performing such amazing feats as picking up his clothes and saying thank you. He actually earned toys for meeting the minimum expectations of socialization! But eventually, I saw what I, his teachers, his soccer coach and the rest of his network of support had wrought: a kid who expected to be rewarded for taking out the garbage. He’s a good boy: naturally nice, smart and funny. On the surface, he looks like […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Jon Anne Willow
