Rock
Bob Dylan
By Blaine Schultz With Modern Times, Bob Dylan finds himself inhabiting the itinerant bluesmen’s spirits he merely impersonated when he cut his first album in 1962. As with the masterful Love and Theft, Dylan immerses himself in American music forms, touching on blues, old-timey country and Tin Pan Alley pop, and lets his band rip into these templates, reinventing them in his own image. If these songs sound familiar it is simply because Dylan is not shy about borrowing generously – a Muddy Waters line here, a slide guitar lick there – from source materials that were magpied plenty of times before he got to them. But like Miles Davis and Bill Monroe, Dylan reconfigures the very DNA of the music. This is the second album in a row Dylan has chosen to record with his current touring group and, musically, Modern Times excels when the players work in their signature driving, roadhouse blues that allows for real-time interaction and bits of improvisation. Not unlike his legendary work with The Band, this lineup is a stellar example of how songs are treated in the hands of sympathetic players. Unfortunately, in Dylan’s tour of the American songbook he seems to have developed a jones for crooners. While his cragged voice woks great for the Old Testament cane-stompers, there’s too much Bing Crosby included here; that’s my lone caveat. Consumer note: some pressings include a DVD of four fantastic performances, and orders from his website include a CD of Dylan’s Theme Time satellite radio show with his hilarious commentary on baseball-themed tunes.
Oct 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
Jet
By Jon M. Gilbertson There was no denying that Jet’s 2003 debut, Get Born, was energetic. That distinguished both the Aussie band and their songs from Oasis, with whom they have otherwise shared numerous characteristics: brotherly consanguinity (the Cesters vs. the Gallaghers), a producer (Dave Sardy) and a fetish for wearing yesterday’s fashions as though they were today’s. Not a lot has changed on Jet’s follow-up, Shine On, but it is a stronger album because of how every little evolution accumulates over the course of its 15 tracks. The most noticeable improvement lies in the band’s ability to vary tempos. Get Born’s best songs were its faster ones, period, and never mind that the clumsy “Sexy Sadie” rewrite “Look What You’ve Done” was a hit. Now, whether tearing through the mid-tempo AC/DC-derived “Stand Up,” gently developing a Pink Floyd tangent via the title track, or throwing noise all over the garage in “Rip It Up,” Jet sounds just that significant bit less reverent of their sources. As frontman and lead singer Nic Cester spearheads the turn toward determined looseness, both his shredded-speaker scream and his Abbey Road-era croon have gained something akin to personality. Mostly, though, Jet and Sardy don’t tamper with what worked before: Chris Cester’s Ringo-solid drums, Mark Wilson’s power-trio bass (which sounds heavy in the quartet setting) and Nic Cester and Cam Muncey’s too-perfect guitar interplay. Yes, what worked before for Jet was actually what worked 35 years before Get Born got born. It still works, and probably shall as long as cheeky bastards like this have the energy and arrogance of youth.
Oct 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
Madonna
By Jon M. Gilbertson When music industry observers can refer to an album that �only� went platinum as a serious failure, then it�s clear they�re talking about an artist who�s redefined the concept of success. In the last 25 years, that could only be Madonna, whose 2003 work, American Life, sold over a million copies without one Top Ten single. Hence Confessions on a Dance Floor, which revisits the clubs that first played her. Musically, it�s clearly a throwback; the tracks run together like the set of a particularly adroit DJ who knows her listeners don�t want to hear a single moment of silence to break their absorbed movement. Although �Future Lovers� touches upon the multiple harmonies of psychedelic-era Beatles, and �Hung Up� leads off the album as a genuine single, this is less a pop album to be heard than an extended mix of beats to feel as the lights flash and the drugs and alcohol do their things internally, and the sweat and sexual energy do their things externally. Lyrically, Confessions is mostly as empty as Madonna�s bank account is not, although that doesn�t prevent one or two musings, notably �Let It Will Be,� on the price of fame. Yet the combination of self-importance and everyday cliché�plus the use of the word �dork� as a rhyming lynchpin in the East Coast solipsism of �I Love New York��are in this context as beside the point as Esther, her Kabbalah name. The album is all about rhythm and motion, even if both point to the past rather than to the future, where Madonna supposedly was once leading the rest of us. VS
Jan 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
The Reigning Sound
By It�s a cold November night when Greg Cartwright and his group The Reigning Sound take the Mad Planet stage. Cartwright clears his throat and apologizes for his hoarseness. But that�s not a problem, he sounds somewhere between Bobby �Blue� Bland and Paul Westerberg. In that perfect parallel universe, Cartwright�s songs are hits and writers don�t drop obscure references. A white artist hasn�t exhibited this much soul since Charlie Rich exited the planet, and as a young man Cartwright should have plenty of years ahead. With The Oblivions and later The Compulsive Gamblers, Cartwright helped pilot Memphis projects of chaos, blues, punk and Gospel. The Reigning Sound albums took a decided turn toward melody, featuring Alex Greene�s proto-soul keyboards and slowed tempos. While still wholeheartedly a mix of garage and R&B, lyrically Cartwright wears his heart on his sleeve and backs the whole thing up with hooks that refuse to leave your head. Outtakes, different arrangements, an odds & sods compilation: call Home For Orphans what you will, but this band�s crumbs are better than most groups� top-shelf material. �Funny Thing,� as close to a perfect song as you might hear, adds uncredited pedal steel to notch the melancholy factor. Much like Roy Orbison, �What Could I Do� frames what could be a short novel or black and white movie based around the interactions of three people, and leaves the listener intensely curious about the outcome. Chicago�s Green and vintage Brian Wilson come to mind throughout the album as The Reigning Sound work from solid, tried and true song structures, guitar or Hammond organ solos that build off the tune�s melody, and la-la-la vocal choruses. Nothing you haven�t heard before, but rare to hear it done so well in this day and age. And just when you fear it�s getting a bit introspective, the album�s finale is a live blast through �Don�t Send Me No Flowers I Ain�t Dead Yet.� Maxwell�s is a blurred snapshot. Recorded on a weeknight at the legendary New Jersey club, The Reigning Sound blast through a set that includes covers of Sam Cooke and Sam & Dave as well as a blitz through �Stormy Weather.� Not entirely breakneck, but when Cartwright asks the audience to bear with his guitar playing, �I�m down to three strings,� you know these guys will stop at nothing to get the music across. VS
Jan 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
John Cale
By Eric Lewin Postmodern music sure is ironic. �Progressive� bands such as Brian Jonestown Massacre, The Warlocks and the rest of the MySpace-endorsed shoegazers generally make their way by rethreading Velvet Underground�s effects and hypnotic hum, some pulling it off more ably than others. Even more ironic is that John Cale, Velvets� second-in-command behind Lou Reed, refuses to overtly borrow from his old band. Black Acetate has its influences, to be sure, but none of them hung out with Andy Warhol. Acetate plays like a Frank Zappa record in that it relies heavily on eerie effects, creepy voices and funked-out Mothers of Invention-style bass lines. A well-lit room is recommended during the spooky �Brotherman;� when Cale groans that he writes �reams of this shit every day� in a Leonard Cohen grunt, it�s downright terrifying. For better or worse, Acetate doesn�t dwell in the horrific for too long. Hell, it doesn�t dwell anywhere for too long. Cuts like �Gravel Drive� and �Satisfied� are undeniably beautiful, not to mention flavorful, when positioned next to rockers �Sold-Motel� and �Perfect,� which border on danceable. Trying to outrun a monster legacy like Velvet Underground at all costs is an impossible task that Cale doesn�t attempt. While Acetate contains minimal elements of White Light/White Heat, it comes filtered through Velvet-inspired records such as Love and Rockets� Earth Sun Moon. A musician being influenced by musicians that he himself influenced? All this post-modernity is confusing, but it sure is fun. VS
Jan 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
Babyshambles
By Paul Snyder Stateside knowledge of Pete Doherty is little more than �that walking hypodermic needle that got Kate Moss hooked on cocaine.� In England, he�s revered as a romantic, tragic figure: always arrested for possession, always missing gigs, always getting his ass kicked, and always writing great songs along the way. He was part of The Libertines, though his own demons got him ousted before they�d made their U.S. debut. But while the other three limped to their finish, Doherty formed Babyshambles and released a couple of punchy singles intent on outdoing his old mates and re-instilling faith in his pale, skeletal frame. Down in Albion was intended to be the pièce de résistance. It�s a piece, all right � 16 scatterbrain tracks that scream �addict!� far more often than �genius!� The lyrics so frequently recycle the themes of fading belief, depression and pleas to be left alone that they caricaturize themselves before the record�s finished. �I can�t tell between death and glory.� Er� right. Clever. The thing is, with some proper guidance and editing, this could have been a sucker punch. It�s hard to deny the great spark in �The 32nd of December� and �Loyalty Song,� but they�re in such droll company that no fire is ever allowed to catch. So download those two, plus the single of �Killamangiro� and their sprightly contribution to the Help! benefit album, �From Bollywood to Battersea.� But don�t shell out for this mess; if you do, you already know how Pete�s going to spend the money. VS
Jan 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
Cat Power
By Erin Wolf Cat Power�s Chan Marshall has become something of a gothic folk legend, like the music she�s created over the past decade. Part indie rocker, part folk storyteller, part mystery, with complements of dark and brooding lyrics and extreme stage fright and self-doubt, Marshall rises above all her clouds with The Greatest. Going back to her Georgian roots, she employs her cultural background as the main emphasis on The Greatest, leaving the foundation of previous albums. Sonically, she re-constructs and tweaks her new songs with the help of capable Memphis musicians, including Al Green�s guitarist Mabon �Teenie� Hodges, Jim Spakes on saxophone and Doug Easley for a little dose of pedal steel. The Greatest begins with the startlingly beautiful title track about a boy who wants to be a boxer; its wistful reflection sets the tone for the album. The second track, �Living Proof,� warmly swells with horns and organs, showcasing Marshall�s lovely, throaty voice, which is better suited to the role of soul singer than dejected chanteuse. The Greatest features personal songs soaked with the languidness of a Southern afternoon, favoring relaxed storytelling and at times breaking the circle with piano-crooning introspection. 2006 finds Cat Power in a more comfortable and truly natural place � it�s as though all the tension and angst from previous albums has finally run its race, and Marshall is finally at ease. The Greatest speaks volumes for her personal journey. VS
Jan 1st, 2006 by Vital Archives
Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane
By Blaine Schultz Blue Notewww.bluenote.com About a half-century ago, giants walked among us. They wrote and played music for extended low-key club dates, performing special concerts and releasing records periodically. Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane were two of these giants, and this recently discovered November 29, 1957 recording from the Library of Congress vaults is a vital contribution to their respective legacies. In the summer of ‘57, Coltrane joined Monk’s group at an NYC club called the Five Spot. The Carnegie Hall recording presents the group in more genteel surroundings. Regardless of venue, these musicians are at the height of their powers, Monk certainly the more established and Coltrane ready to open doors previously unseen. If Monk’s piano playing is less spiky and angular than typical (if there is such a thing as “typical Monk”), he certainly gets into the loose sparring with Coltrane’s sax. Opening with “Monk’s Mood” from the early show, the soloists riff and dance around and through each other’s phrases. By the second tune, “Evidence,” a slipstream opens up and Coltrane blows at will. This is the early stage of his technique of playing the notes of a chord in succession—later to be called “sheets of sound”—still within the tune’s melody. But with the benefit of hindsight, it seems he’s testing the boundaries for his later masterworks. Ahmed Abdul-Malik ‘s bass provides a sinewy walking line that is both strong and resilient enough to support and propel the tune. At several points, Monk and Coltrane play unison lines to state a tune’s theme. The effect is a thickness and depth that sounds like more than a piano and saxophone, with the keyboard sounding concise and the sax just on the verge of over-blowing. Credit also Shadow Wilson’s drumming and cymbal work, which seem to have been brought into focus with the digital mastering. The closing tune, a partial take of “Epistrophy,” can be heard as Monk’s statement of purpose. On this night there is a feeling of openness and genuine collaboration. Monk is ultimately unique and not always the easiest player to get a grip on. But this evening he, Coltrane, and the others sound unguarded in their enjoyment. VS
Dec 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
The Brian Setzer Orchestra
By Kevin Krekling Surfdogwww.briansetzer.com It’s that time of the year again. A time for shoveling snow, mistletoe hookups, eggnog hangovers and Brian Setzer Christmas albums. The former Stray Cat is back again with his second holiday record in three years. And, what you get here with Dig That Crazy Christmas is pretty much the same as what you got with 2002’s Boogie Woogie Christmas. But we’re talking about a guy who has changed virtually nothing about his style since the early ‘80s, so what do you expect? The album is simply Setzer reworking old Christmas classics in his familiar uptempo, horn-driven, rockabilly style. But given the fact that the two newly penned originals are easily forgotten duds, and that Setzer’s voice sounds pretty rough, the album is actually quite fun. Does it stack up to A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector? No. But, at the same time, it’s not ‘NSYNC Home For Christmas, and that is something we can all be thankful for. So, if you’re looking for something festive, fun and tolerable to throw on this holiday season, this may be right up your alley. VS
Dec 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
The Darkness
By Erin Wolf Atlantic www.thedarknessrock.com When The Darkness crash-landed on the stagnant rock scene two years ago, it startled hordes of music fans into stupefied wonder, creating either strong affinity or distaste. Cheeky hair metal can produce nothing but strong feelings. For those hordes still recovering from the initial shock of their first release, Permission to Land, The Darkness bring it on back with their latest, One Way Ticket to Hell…And Back. Somewhere, Freddie Mercury is listening intently to his emulating, three-octaved vox counterpart, Justin Hawkins. Hawkins, sibling Dan, Ed Graham, and Frankie Poullain have become Britain’s most-loved (and hated) rock band for sheer bombast, guitar solos straight from the ‘80s and stage personas amplified by J. Hawkins’ elaborate cat-suit costumes. The Darkness again come clawing through the paper bag that has confined rock music for nearly a decade. One Way Ticket to Hell…And Back slams another dose of tongue-in-cheek, elaborately sung and lovingly frosted heaven down our throats. Take the medicine with a spoonful of sugar or leave it. More solos, more vocal trills, more arena-rock bliss, more flippant than ever, The Darkness’ latest is just more. Confident to the point of annoyance, The Darkness rip through tales of rock-star woe, complete with cocaine sniffing. More orchestrally polished, thanks to producer Roy Thomas Baker (who also has worked with Queen and The Who), the band experiments with piano sounds, bagpipes, sitar, Moog and enough pan flute intro to satisfy Jethro Tull. From Bryan Adams-esque ballads to the fist-pumping title-track, One Way Ticket sounds more pulled together, more ballsy, and more competent: they don’t take themselves seriously, yet they can seriously play their instruments. The Darkness return with a triumphant scissor-kick in the air. VS
Dec 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Brian Wilson
By Paul Snyder Aristawww.brianwilson.com The Christmas market is tricky. All the holiday CDs end up in the red cardboard bin at the front of Sam Goody. And, to be fair, Brian Wilson has had his chance. The Beach Boys’ 1964 Christmas LP did spin off the charming “Little Saint Nick,” which, on last count, had surpassed “Up on the Rooftop” in Christmas party popularity and was closing in fast on “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Only appropriate that it would be revisited here, along with “The Man With All the Toys.” Maybe it’s my distaste for Mike Love that finds something gained in the retreads. Wilson’s backed by the same group that reconstructed SMiLE, which works to his advantage, not only in providing the panoramic sound he’s always loved, but, in adding sympathetic accompaniment to a voice that’s a long way gone from 1966. There’s nothing special about Wilson’s takes on standards like “The First Noel,” and his swing at “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” verges on clumsy. There is, however, an impressive surf-rock take on “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” featuring plenty of Fenders and a great little organ solo. Of the two new songs, the Bernie Taupin co-authored title track and “Christmasey” (with lyrics by Jimmy Webb) are pleasant enough and certainly less offensive than a certain Wham! holiday original. What I Really Want For Christmas isn’t necessary, but neither is eggnog. At the right time of year and when ingested in tolerable amounts, however, both do no harm. You know Wilson’s not in this for the financial spoils, so it adds a genuine touch where a lot of other Christmas albums falter. After all, even “God Only Knows” had sleigh bells on it. VS
Dec 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
The Dials
By Erin Wolf Latest Flame Recordswww.thedials.us Chicago’s The Dials debut album Flex Time is an exciting encounter in the already well-behaved genre of dance-band pop/rock. Snarling like the throttled vocals of Sleater-Kinney and equaling their growly, growly guitars, yet jumping off of dance-y influences such as early Joy Division and Franz Ferdinand and pure poppers such as the Go-Go’s , B52’s, and The Waitresses, The Dials are a motley crew of influences, indeed. With claims to the Chicago music scene, probably better known for its harder-edged sounds, The Dials’ music is a surprising shade of bubblegum laced with pop rocks. Patti Gran’s guitar crunches up chords, Rebecca Crawford’s bass devours the capable drum lines set by the late Douglas Meis, while Emily Dennison’s Farfisa combo organ nibbles at the main rhythms by creating intertwining surf-rock beeps. The whole effect is like listening to The Waitresses who have had too much coffee on the job – wiry and invigorating, and definitely in your face. The lyrics are fun and pop-punchy in the same vein as The Ramones. In “Bye Bye Bye Bye Baby,” Crawford taunts, “You’ll be sitting pretty in your new shitty city with your new girlfriend / I can’t wait until it ends.” Crawford, Gran and Dennison trade vocal shrieks and sneers with the grace of well-executed high-school hallway insult swap. Flex Time is full of dynamic energy, the quartet slamming out notes and chords so fast, they threaten to self-combust. It’s dance music at its best for it has enough raw energy to not be coma-inducing, nor does it put on any airs – The Dials have a lighthearted yet raw and energizing sound, censored of any false pretences. VS
Dec 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
