Nina
EMMA
Filed under: Albums, Emma, New Music, Uncategorized | Tags: iron & wine, kiss each other clean, sam beam
Photo by Piper Ferguson
When Iron & Wine’s first album, The Creek Drank the Cradle, came out in 2002, it was Sam Beam’s rich lyrical imagery, bare bones guitar and wistful, whispery vocals which set him apart from the throngs of Super bearded folk-roots singers out there. (The S is capitalized on purpose, that should probably become a genre within itself by now)
Then, the practically flawless Garden State soundtrack was released just a few months after Iron & Wine’s second album, Our Endless Numbered Days, and proved itself more popular than the actual movie it scored. Among the many notable tracks on Garden State was Iron & Wine’s haunting, stripped down version of The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights,” which solidified my impression of the band as beautifully moving, but frankly, depressing.
Such Great Heights (cover)
In a recent interview with the AVClub, Beam claimed he does not write sad songs. “I want to describe a feeling, and write something that’s true. I do touch on stuff that people don’t want to deal with because they think it’s too heavy or sad, but I don’t try to make people upset,” he said. “A good song should be a poem and have some kind of element that you recognize is true, but couldn’t be expressed in a conversation.”
Well, that’s all well and good, but after about a thousand listens, “Naked As We Came” still never fails to make me feel languid and on the verge of tears… beautiful, beautiful, redemptive tears. I understand that for the many fortunate souls who do not occasionally enjoy writstcuttingly depressing music as much as I do, Beam’s first three releases (including 2005′s In the Reins) might have fallen flat. Even so, Beam could have continued down the same path, maintaining the same kind of Nick Drake yearning he was known for.
But then, with The Shepherd’s Dog, Beam displayed an unexpected side of Iron & Wine. The album features diverse sounds and is decidedly more upbeat. From the first track “Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car,” with a larger instrumental range in the first minute than Beam brought in any of his first three albums, all the way through to “Flightless Bird, American Mouth,” it is an exceptional record. Beam exhibited not only his signature breathy singing talents but his ability to really bend and mesh folk music themes and styles while keeping the album’s coherence and flow in tact. See: “Boy With a Coin,” “Peace Beneath the City,” and “Resurrection Fern.”
Resurrection Fern:
Beam’s Iron & Wine transformation could have ended with The Shepherd’s Dog and it would have been a pretty intriguing and impressive trip. But with Kiss Each Other Clean, just released in late January, he’s taken it a step further away from the days when it was just a man, a guitar and his beard. The album is ambitious, to say the least. Beam utilizes a full band – so full, in fact, that the opening song “Big Burned Hand” sounds almost unrecognizable from any song he’s put out in the past, complete with jazz-y sax and backup vocal echos.
To begin at the end, the album’s last song, “Your Fake Name is Good Enough For Me,” is possibly its most important, and it is nothing short of epic. It starts out bluesy and full with twangy, back and forth rhythms. But somewhere around three minutes in, the horns grow deeper and hushed, and Beam relies primarily on his voice, supported by complimentary-yet-unobtrusive electric guitar and some vocal layering. By minute five the song evolves into a prayer-like chant, with Beam singing in contrasting couplets and repeating “We will become, become” in a trance. This could be creepy, but he pulls it off, swelling the backing instruments as he sings through a list of cliché (“So cruel and kind”), inventive (“Caress and the claw”) and then, by the end, somewhat silly (“Ice cream cone, a disco ball) pairs.
The rest of the album has its ebbs and flows. In experimenting with new sounds, instruments and textures, Beam occasionally loses his knack for intoxicating imagery, á la Our Endless Numbered Days. And, though the great ambition and range of Kiss Each Other Clean is impressive, the final product is not quite as sharp and exceptional as The Shepherd’s Dog. Still, Sam Beam and his new full-band deserve many props, and this album begs the question: Where will the evolution of Iron & Wine go next? It certainly seems like Beam is working towards something compelling, and there are only a handful of bands who have evolved as successfully as Iron & Wine without losing what made them so great in the first place. Give Kiss Each Other Clean at least three listens before you make up your mind. It’s all in the details, and there are a lot of details to explore.
Filed under: Albums, Nina | Tags: 1980s, britpop, ian brown, stone roses
See, my wandering days are over, or at least temporarily put on hold due to this final (idontwannatalkaboutit) school year. But for whatever reason, there’s been a British invasion in my musical consciousness. Perhaps it’s the influx of British bands about to hit Great Scott (Blood Red Shoes on October 24, Joy Formidable on November 13). Perhaps it’s the autumnal bite in the air reminding me of my London ideal (and the coming rains hinting at the London reality). Regardless, it’s been back to Los Campesinos, the xx, Radiohead in the rain, and the aforementioned Great Scott bands. But most of all, it’s been a revival of The Stone Roses.
To this day I don’t remember how I got ahold of The Stone Roses in the first place, but I can vividly see my 15 year old self pacing back and forth across Other Music near St. Mark’s, agonizing over whether I should spend the money I’d accumulated by skipping lunch for a week on The Complete Stone Roses. I can also remember hazy-eyed gazing out of my window onto twilight Brooklyn delerium, choleric thoughts that made “Made of Stone” sound terrifically poignant. I remember being charmed by “Sally Cinnamon,” wishing to exchange awkward teenage fumbling for something resembling those sweet pop riffs. Needless to say, I bought the disc, and it was a damn good decision.
For some reason, most people I gush about these guys to don’t seem to know who they are. That statement would come off as completely obnoxious, but this isn’t exactly a North Brooklyn basement band with a dozen devoted fans and a snazzy MySpace. A little research reveals that NME voted their 1989 self-titled debut the Best British Album of All Time, beating out heavy-hitters such as Sex Pistols, The Smiths, and even The Beatles. On our side of the pond, die-hard naysayers Pitchfork gave that same album’s reissue a perfect 10.0! Flawless victory, ya’ll.
So how did this Manchester breakout band fade so much that, besides a beautifully-placed “Fool’s Gold” in Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and sketchy rumors of a reunion tour, you’d be hard-pressed to find mention of them in pop culture? Probably something to do with a mediocre second album and an ugly breakup. Maybe a gypsy curse.
It’s really a shame because nearly every song on this album is amazing. From the irresistible pop perfection of “She Bangs the Drums” and “Sugar Spun Sister” to the sinister “Love Spreads” (which masks graphic images of the crucifixion, with Jesus as a black woman, beneath a catchy refrain) these songs linger and send shivers, pull you in with slippery psychedelic rhythms and spot-on hooks. Every time I revisit this album something new catches my ear. This time I’m addicted to Ian Brown’s deadpan faking you out several times before launching into a triumphant wail on the chorus of “I Am The Resurrection.” I’m also grinning every time I hear the gleefully appropriate post-Smiths rhyme of “she doesn’t care / for my despair” on “Mersey Paradise.”
Whenever I stumble back onto these guys, a mix of nostalgia and pure enjoyment keeps me hooked for weeks. If the Stone Roses have gotten by your radar, you certainly owe it to yourself to give these blokes a listen or two. Then, when Brown’s plea turn to palpitations towards the end of “I Wanna Be Adored,” we can all give him an imaginary pat on the back and reassure him that he still is.
Filed under: Albums, Emma, New Music | Tags: broken social scene, canadian indie pop, cloak and cipher, land of talk, montreal, pitchfork, tt the bear's, upcoming concerts in boston
out on Saddle Creek Records
Montreal trio Land of Talk‘s new album, Cloak and Cipher, will be released on the 24th. I’ve been waiting all summer to write about this, having only learned of the band back in June. As a friend slowly fed me their inventory through Skype messages, beginning with their ridiculously addicting EP Applause Cheer Boo Hiss, I quickly fell in love singer Elizabeth Powell’s husky vocals and the band’s riff heavy style. I was sad to find out they had JUST been in Boston a week before my ears started an intense summer love affair with them, thanks in large part to the track “Summer Special.” Alas, they will be back on November 3, and at TT the Bear’s no less: I now suspect the summer lovin’ will last way past fall.
I had the pleasure of hearing Cloak and Cipher at my internship back in July and felt it was a pretty big step forward for the band, whose first full length album Some Are Lakes lost a little steam after their EP (though there are a few excellent tracks on that release as well). Anyway, today Pitchfork published their review of Cloak and Cipher and gave it a 6.9 rating on their despised decimal system… which isn’t particularly bad, considering how harsh they can be. The review was also pretty positive, but call me crazy, I was expecting a higher grade especially as Some Are Lakes also received a 6.9. God, I hate decimals.
Land of Talk toured North America with Montreal’s super group to end all super groups, Broken Social Scene, a few years back. Their new release picks up a bit of that good ol’ Canadian indie pop sound, often reminiscent of BSS’s older stuff, but I really can’t say that’s a bad thing. In the Pitchfork review, writer Zach Kelly mentions a particular similarity between LoT’s “Swift Coin” and the epic “7/4 (Shoreline),” which I suppose I can hear now that it’s been pointed out, but in the guitars alone. Otherwise, Land of Talk have their own unique sound.
Cloak and Cipher opens with the title track, a thumping ballad that starts out with Powell’s singing sounding far away until the first chorus comes around and everything kicks in at once. The “distanced” singing comes in and out throughout the song creating a push and pull feel, which allows the percussion to really stand out. “Quarry Hymns” is beautiful and haunting, even though I can’t get the image of the song being played on what looks like a Casio keyboard under a highway overpass, thanks to the video of LaBlogoteque’s take-away performance (which you can find right here).
Other stand out tracks include “Color Me Badd,” in which Powell’s vocal range and talent are really showcased, “Playita,” and “Blangee Blee.” “The Hate I Won’t Commit” is interesting, to say the least, as it interrupts the rest of Cloak and Cipher‘s pretty consistently poppy, controlled and accessible sound with a noisy interlude that almost reminds me of Sleater-Kinney or something equally hardcore. It takes a little time to like, but eventually I decided it was pretty awesome too.
LoT got by with a little help from their Montreal friends, Stars and (all together now), Arcade Fire, and a cast list of many others, although these cameos are not really pronounced on any of the tracks. One thing that could be worked on? These songs have great lyrics, but you’d never know it without looking them up. While Powell’s voice is strong, you can really only hear her words when she is belting out choruses. Some more audible wording throughout the songs would be nice.
Huzzah! Finally raving about that album feels like the sweet relief of fall’s coming at the end of a hot summer. Check out the album, come see them live when they return to TT’s on a chilly November evening or wherever they’re playing near you… it’ll be a good time, I’m sure.
* As the album isn’t quite out yet, it’s a bit difficult to find streaming links. Will put them in once they’re up and out there on the big bad interwebs.
Filed under: Albums, Emma | Tags: excitable boy, john darnielle, listening suggestions, lyricists, the mountain goats, warren zevon
Zevon on the left, Darnielle second to the right. The most important men in my life, shirt arted by Nina.
Thanks to Arcade (Ipromisewe’llstoptalkingaboutthemsoon) Fire’s new spot on top of the Billboard 200 chart, I’ve spent the past week unsuccessfully attempting to write something new and interesting about the current and future relationship between indie music and the mainstream. Alas, I am temporarily throwing in the towel.
(In lieu of my piece I refer to the behemoth article by my new hero, Nitsuh Abebe at Pitchfork. Though this was published as part of their Y2K wrap up back last September, its still well worth the read.)
Instead I’ll talk about something more personal, in the form of two very important men in my life: John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats and the late, great, Mr. Warren Zevon.
Though my love and respect for both these excitable boys is nothing new, today on my long and treacherous journey between New York and Boston I started thinking of their similarities. While Zevon and Darnielle are pretty far apart instrumentally, it is their witty, self deprecating narratives that win me over time and again. It is only natural that Zevon and The Mountain Goats appeal largely to different generations and audiences, but if you enjoy either one of their styles and don’t know the other, I suggest you learn.
Photo from Asylum Records
When Zevon passed in 2003, I was admittedly way too young to appreciate his work. I would soon learn, however, that his dark lyrics house all the best kinds of character studies. (An in-depth look at these headless gunners, gamblers, and, well, excitable boys can be found at the A.V. Club.) The rarity of Zevon’s genius comes to the surface more and more with each listen, as you catch lines you missed on the first, third and fifth time around. There is much to be said on Warren, and if you like reading artist biographies as much as I do, I wholeheartedly suggest I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead by Zevon’s ex-wife Crystal. But for now I’ll let him do the talking.
Suggested starter songs: “Excitable Boy” (obviously, as if I haven’t referenced it enough in this article), “Lawyers, Guns and Money,” (He “wrote this song late one night on wet cocktail napkins, after a long day of improbable and grotesque mischief.”) “Mohammed’s Radio,” and “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.”
Photo by Derek Goodwin
John Darnielle also maintains an incredible narrative throughout most of his songs, especially those on The Mountain Goats’ earlier albums like All Hail West Texas, Tallahassee and, though some may disagree, The Sunset Tree. He shines brightest in the first person, telling his stories with a signature wry bluntness. On “Hast Thou Considered The Tetrapod,” a song that plays like an entry from his journal set to some simple chords, Darnielle sings about getting beaten by his step father. Despite the sinister nature of the song, however, when he says, “And then I’m awake and I’m guarding my face, hoping you don’t break my stereo because it’s the one thing that I couldn’t live without, so I think about that, and then I sort of black out,” it’s hard not to laugh. Darnielle’s ability to catch you off guard with black humor makes The Mountain Goats so disarming.
Suggested starter songs: “This Year,” “No Children,” “See America Right.” (Really anything from the aforementioned albums).
