Daughn Gibson – All Hell
In the same way that James Blake brought R&B into the post-techno age, Daughn Gibson is aiming to do the same with country music. So says his record label. Or, rather, labl. Even though there’s a sense with this album that one vowel is always unnecessarily absent, it’s an intriguing listen. The vocals are 50s-era baritone. Or Scott Walker, if you prefer. There’s a drum beat over samples of old country songs. It shouldn’t work. But it nearly does. It works a lot better than old country songs. There’s nothing maudlin about the sound. There are scratches from the original recordings. There’s often a piano, but always syncopated with the rhythm. Yes, there are lyrics about terminally ill children, but, honestly, it’s not a depressing listen. Singing over orchestrated samples of old country albums, there’s nothing remotely like it. And yet, Mr Gibson manages to make it insufferably cold. It’s not a depressing listen, but there’s no cheer either. Nothing welcoming. Nothing to like. To love. And not because of the old country samples. But because of the post-techno production. Take the title track with its lyrics about terminally ill children. In old country songs, you might start off indifferent to the story that unfolds, but in the end you’d care at least a little. You’d feel something. Here, you feel the same at the end of this song as you did at the beginning. There is something genuinely captivating about this album. Something stylistically unique. But nothing emotionally rewarding. And in the end good music has to illicit some sort of emotional response.
Daughn Gibson – official website
Jack White – Blunderbuss
This is unmistakably a Jack White album. The thin voice. The cold production. This is unmistakably a Jack White album. The angry riffs. The aggrieved, cutting, remorseless riffs. This time, there’s plenty of reason to be angry. The lyrics capture the break up with Karen Elson or perhaps Meg White. Allegedly. “I hear a whistle, that’s how I know she’s home. Lipstick, eyelash, broke mirror, broken home”. Ouch. “She don’t care what kind of wounds she’s inflicted on me. She don’t care what color bruises that she’s leavin’ on me. She’s got freedom in the 21st century”. Oucher still. Well, the Karen Elson album that you produced was full of murder ballads. Allegedly. So, Mr White, what did you expect? ‘Sixteen Saltines’ is the classic Jack White song. All bluster. But while there’s plenty of drums and guitars, there’s more to the music than just that. ‘Love Interruption’ reads brutally, but sounds composed. Keyboards. Acoustic guitar. Backing vocals. ‘Blunderbuss’ suggests it should be the noisiest, fearsomest track on the album. But with its backing of pedal steel guitar and double bass, it just lies on its back and waves its legs in the air. And that’s what works. Thirteen angry guitar-driven songs might have been very cathartic for Mr White, but it would soon have outstayed its welcome. Like someone you let sleep on your couch because they’re having a tough time, but who you soon want to kick out because they sure do moan a lot. You wouldn’t wish on anyone the obvious pain and torment that provides the background to these songs. But they sure make for a great album. Allegedly.
Jack White – official site
As part of The Felice Brothers, Simone inhabits the shadier part of town. Not quite the wrong side of the tracks, but close by. Guns are either present or not very far away. Simone and his brothers, Ian and James, get into situations their mother probably warned them against. There’s usually drama in the songs. It makes for interesting listening. Recording as The Duke and The King, Simone Felice is in a much more benign place. Topanga Canyon circa 1975. At home with bands such as Dawes, Maplewood, and the arch-revivalist, the magnificent Jonathan Wilson, the mood is laid back. Hazy. With a slightly acrid smell in the air. His mother probably warned him against plenty of things that are going on there as well, but, on balance, she’d probably be happier he’s there and not in the other place. Now, Simone Felice has released his first self-titled project. The sounds don’t stray too far from the canyons, but the cast of characters suggests that he’s been hooking up again with his brothers. On ‘New York Times’ he sings about a 35-year old from New Jersey who “with a thirty-thirty, found them girls rehearsing in a ballet school, And when he bust in and point his musket he turned the lilly white muslin into bright red bloom”. Other characters include Bobby Ray, a rapist; Dawn Brady and her son who, guess what, has a gun and you know he’s gonna use it; Hetti Blackbird, an Indian from South Dakota who steals a gold Range Rover; Sharon Tate and Charlie Manson, and we know what happens there; and, most frighteningly of all, Courtney Love. Simone imagines himself in a relationship with the lonely Ms Love. ‘Take a chance and come away with me’, he sings. ‘I’ll work construction’. Suffice to say, there’s no sign of a happy ending. Mr Felice, it’s your mother on the phone again.
Simone Felice – Official website
Daniel Rossen – Silent Hour / Golden Mile EP
This is the first real outing from Daniel Rossen since Grizzly Bear’s 2009 Veckatimest album. There are plenty of continuities. Working on the Lennon/McCartney principle that whoever sings the song composed it, then ‘Return to Form’ on this EP recalls Rossen’s ‘I Live With You’ on Veckatimest. The slow build up of the guitar and then the shimmering keyboards that lifts the song to a whole new level. Similarly, ‘Silent Song’ here echoes ‘Fine For Now’ there. The quiet and the loud. The build up of tension and the release. There are contrasts, too. There’s nothing quite as elaborate or syncopated here as ‘Southern Point’. There’s nothing with the structure of ‘While You Wait For The Others’. There’s a sense that these new songs are just a little more raw. A little less produced. Less Grizzly Bear, more Department of Eagles, his other side-project. And that’s not a bad thing. Perhaps because of the circumstances in which Department of Eagles’ In Ear Park was written – the death of Rossen’s father – there was more emotion to the songs there than anything on Veckatimest. At least in the way in which they made the final cut. That emotion is here too. “Lord, I know it’s wrong”, he sings ‘On Silent Song’, “So help me out”. But the emotion is never at the expense of the melody. Rossen’s hooks stay in your head. And a sense of humour too? Calling your song ‘Return To Form’? It’s misleading, though. There was never a dip in form. And this EP just increases the anticipation of the next installment from Rossen under whatever name he chooses to record.
Daniel Rossen official website
The Shins – Port of Morrow
Writing songs is becoming more difficult for James Mercer. In the early days it was easy. The songs were short, crisp, catchy. Cerebral, but simple. Gradually, things have changed. It’s not just the amount of time between albums that suggests writing is becoming more difficult. It’s the songs themselves. Take ‘Simple Song’. Simple, right? No. It’s full of fills. Guitar fills. Drum fills. A deeper, talky section in the middle. Simple, it is not. And then, there’s ‘It’s Only Life’. A ballad by The Shins. A very ordinary ballad. A very clichéd ballad. Almost an X-Factor ballad. Terrible. That said, this is still an album by The Shins. Unmistakably by The Shins. ‘Bait And Switch’ could have come straight from Oh, Inverted World and in a good and new way. ‘September’ is a slow song, but it’s not a ballad. It’s calm, but it’s unmistakably a song by James Mercer and The Shins. There’s a moment on it when he sings ‘born of the sea’ and on the word ‘sea’ suddenly the song goes to a whole new place. A wonderful place. We’re pulled back soon enough, but at least we went there. Generally, there’s a feeling that James Mercer is having to try a little too hard these days. Maybe he needs a collaborator, like Danger Mouse, to bring out what’s best within. On Port of Morrow, he still has plenty of really good ideas, but there’s a nagging sense that he has to build a song around them. The early albums felt complex, but natural. Here, they feel complex, but constructed. Ah, but then there’s that moment on ‘September’.
The Shins official website
Andrew Bird – Break It Yourself
With ‘Break It Yourself’ Andrew Bird shows that he’s as unique as ever. The talent for song titles, ‘Eyeoneye’, ‘Polynation’, ‘Near Death Experience Experience’. The penchant for elusive lyrics. “Exiled your close advisors. Ousted your dog, your rabbits. You’re through with pasifizers”. And then there’s the music. The looping. The whistling. This could only be an album by Andrew Bird. But this is a slightly different Andrew Bird album from its two predecessors. There’s more pizzicato. Fewer overdubs. The pace is slower. The sound more mournful. Cold even. On ‘Near Death Experience Experience’ he pictures a plane plummeting to earth with the seemingly inevitable result. But, thankfully, there’s nothing wrong. “And we’ll dance like cancer survivors”, he sings. “Like we’re grateful simply to be alive”. And yet, it doesn’t seem like a great party. If there’s dancing, it’ll be a tea dance, not a rave. Contrast that to ‘Fiery Crash’ from ‘Armchair Apocrypha’ where he pictured exactly the same scenario but made it sound like a great way to go. The downbeat nature of the album can be seen most clearly on the penultimate track, ‘Hole In the Ocean Floor’, all 8 minutes 18 seconds of it. It grows gradually to a crescendo, right? No. It meanders. It’s very Andrew Bird. An infinite variety of strings. But it doesn’t welcome you in. ‘Break It Yourself’ is yet another great Andrew Bird album, but unlike his other recent albums it’s a difficult one to love.
Andrew Bird official site
Damien Jurado – Maraqopa
Ah, the ‘difficult’ second album. You’ve been writing songs since you were teenager, perfecting them. They get released and suddenly you’ve got a hit on your hands. It’s so popular that the public and, more importantly, the record company are clamouring for more and quickly. You deliver. Frantically writing an album’s worth of new songs in a fraction of the time the previous one took. But it’s a dud, and for the next 40 years you end up playing the songs you wrote as a teenager to small groups of fans in the back rooms of pubs. For Damien Jurado, it’s the ‘difficult’ eleventh album. Moving away from the standard singer-songwriter format, the sound has slowly got fuller, the palette broader, the ambition bigger. On Maraqopa, the development is clear. ‘Nothing Is The News’ kicks things off with a total wig out. ‘Life Away From The Garden’ follows with echoing female harmonies. ‘Reel To Reel’ swirls. These are new sounds. They’re courtesy of a continuing collaboration with singer-turned producer, Richard Swift. They really work. There are songs that hark back to the two previous albums, ‘Caught In The Trees’ and ‘Saint Bartlett’, but Swift manages to build on them, keeping the vulnerability of Jurado’s voice and lyrics while adding a new dimension, a new orchestration. It works because it’s done subtly. Even the wig out. In the end, there’s a certain anti-climax. The final song ‘Mountains Still Asleep’ finishes the album quietly, even abruptly. But it’s a trick. It just leaves you waiting all the more impatiently for that ‘difficult’ twelfth album.
Damien Jurado official site