a coherent collection of random statements regarding God, words and tunes

Various and Sundry, Bloody Sundry

Yo again,

After this entry I’m gonna go to radio silence for a little while. I’ll check here for anything important, but it’s apparently time again for the annual August power-down and/or musical/foodical fast. I didn’t go looking for it, but it found me, so I’m a’gonna be honoring it.

As always, lots of changes afoot. And as always, some are church-related, but at least this time (finally) these ones weren’t my idea, although I’m the figurehead to move things forward, as it were (and if it makes sense to do so). And this year, it also involves changes at my work that I still don’t have my head around (and neither does anyone else above me, as far as I can tell), although I know it’ll involve inhering a chunk of the product line I was separated from during the last re-org a couple years back. Both issues are, in one way or another, related to the small-group and privately-produced curriculum that’s been much ballyhooed on these virtual pages.

And then there’s the opportunity –- again, another one that tracked me down –- to be on the board of what we’ll just call for now a local civic organization trying to grow. It’s a good cause, and in a field I used to be involved in once upon a time; just a matter of whether I’m the right person for it.

Anyway, we’ll see on all counts. But I’m looking for God’s perspective in all of it. So there you are.

**********

And speaking of “so there you are,” here’s the review this time around:

Sam Phillips – Don’t Do Anything. The former Mrs. T Bone Burnett has had quite the interesting career of her own, from mainline CCM artist who didn’t entirely suck to full-blown rebel against said genre (resulting in the brilliant The Turning, and the rather odd name change from Leslie to Sam), to super-quirky pop iconoclast whose Martinis & Bikinis (and its Beatle-esque single “I Need Love,” which you’ve heard even if you didn’t realize it: “I need love, not some sentimental prison / I need God, not the political church….”) actually earned a Grammy nomination. And like many musicians I appreciate, promptly alienated her new audience and got herself kicked off her label with the love-it-or-hate-it Omnipop (of course, my favorite album of hers).

And rather than the trouble-on-the-farm album I perversely hoped for, the last two albums, Fan Dance and A Boot and a Shoe, were…. well, not only a lot more subdued but kinda disconnected and boring. So there was some trepidation approaching Don’t Do Anything.

So let’s start there: Musically, it’s often closer to the last two than expected or possibly hoped. That said, this time it actually works, and there’s enough moments that sound like the quirky old Sam we’d come to know and love prior to that. It’s not on the level of said Martini & Bikinis or Omnipop, but it’s arguably her best Sam album outside of that. (Which is also to imply: It ain't The Turning either.) It's probably at least as good as Cruel Inventions, either way. And it’s the closest thing she's done to a trouble-on-the-farm album, but she doesn’t linger there.

“No Explanations” makes for a promising opener, as right off the bat it’s the most compelling song since Omnipop – the dour yet crunchy arrangement nicely backs up the opening statement, “I thought if he understood he wouldn't treat me this way," and goes from there. “Can’t Come Down” echoes the tone of the last couple albums, except again it’s more appealing. “Another Song,” in barely more than two minutes, goes from an odd music-box guitar opener to a forlorn piano riff, “Everything you used to do used to make me smile / Then you went away / Did you ever love me? / Did you ever you me?” The title song notches the piano and the tone up a notch, as it declares, “I  -- love you – when you don’t – when you don’t do anything / When you’re useless, I love you more.”

“Little Plastic Life” is the sweetly catchy and obvious single, hearkening back to the Martinis & Bikinis days, even as it declares, “Burn it all to the ground…. I’ve lost my power of explanation.” “My Career in Chemistry” throws yet more musical and lyrical dissonance into the mix: “"I'd rather be alone than with someone who doesn't know."

And so on. Again, it’s a Sam Phillips album, and for the first time in more than a decade it’s a good one. That should be enough to tell you your next move.

**********

Oh yeah, and I’m taking the day off tomorrow to hike this….

Yes, both of them. (There’s only about a half-mile between them once you’re up there, actually.) And yes, that shot’s probably taken from near the spot I’d be starting from. 12,700+ feet up, 3,200+ foot ascent. Probably the toughest hike I’ve ever taken, but the views obviously oughta be worth it. And I’ll finally be fulfilling a three-year-long dream to actually stand on the Continental Divide.

Talk to you when I talk to you. I shan't be too long this time.

Posted by: burninglight at 22:19 | link | comments (94)

Being Comes Before Doing

First, to get it out of the way: As mentioned in the comments elsewhere, all Sedona made me do was miss Santa Fe even more. Nice rocks, depressing people, and a huckster on every block (and that's a VERY conservative figure). And despite the insistence of visiting relatives the weekend before, there was very little in the way of sculpture there that we couldn't find by walking a half-mile up the street. Enough said.

So back to work. And back to tuneage, this time from three longtimers of varying reputations. And let's just say if I gave you the names up front (and come to think of it, I did at the end of THIS), you'd probably pre-rate the three CDs in a different order than how they came out. I know I did. Anyway, cut to... and in ascending order....

Elvis Costello and the Imposters -- Momufuku. This'un's been getting props elsewhere, but let me put it in my own terms: Since the first brilliant half-dozen or so albums, following Elvis Costello has been a tricky proposition. There's no question the man can tackle any musical style he puts his mind to -- Elvis does country, Elvis does classical, Elvis does Bacharach, Elvis does N'awlins, Elvis does freaking opera, FCOL. That doesn't mean he does so with the hyper-wit, originality and especially raw passion of that first handful-plus albums. (To be fair, the chamberrific The Juliet Letters, shrill as it is in places, comes pretty close.)

And even on those occasions over the last 20-plus years when Elvis has "done Elvis," it's been uneven. Blood and Chocolate had the sound, but something was missing; Spike had actual moments of absolute brilliance, but an equal to greater amount of moments of true annoyance; All This Useless Beauty, by definition, was an uncohesive mess; Brutal Youth was probably the most successful, as the passions went other equally organic but nonetheless different places that worked.

So with Momufuku being billed as the latest Elvis-doing-Elvis album... well, it's at least worth a shot, right?

But for me, it largely misses. It starts off promising enough - "American Gangster Time" oughta get airplay, and "Turpentine" actually pushes the sonic envelope a way we haven't heard from Elvis before. And the closer "Go Away" comes the closest to capturing vintage Elvis -- "Why don't you come back, baby? / Why don't you go away?" hits just the right " I love you, I hate you, and I hate me even more" note that was all over his early work.

In between those two poles, however, it's kinda Son of Spike. Only without the brilliant anger of a "This Town," let alone a "Tramp the Dirt Down." "Harry Worth" and "Mr. Feathers" are kind of "God's Comic" redux and redux-er. Others, like the opener "No Hiding Place" and "Stella Hurt," sound right but miss in the same kind of Blood and Chocolate way. "My Three Sons" threatens to be an affecting ballad but again doesn't quite get there. And so on. But enough to go on.

Beck -- Modern Guilt. I don't hate this one nearly as much as I initially did, but I don't expect I'll be giving it much more airplay after I'm done writing this either. Actually, Andre at Tuesday Morning 3 a.m. gives an accurate but more charitable review, so if you'd rather look at it his way I won't mind.

Either way, it's easiest to look at it this way: Take 2006's disappointing The Information, throw out the reasonably high highs and the execrable lows, and the low-key (if you like, feel free to read that as: boring) but at least consistent 33 minutes (!!!??!!??!) that remain are what you have here. And as mentioned in that linked review, this one doesn't tell us anything new either. To borrow from Elvis, this is Beck's Punch the Clock, in every sense of the term. Or to quote from the aforementioned TM3am review, the words "contractual obligation" come prominently to mind. If you're looking for a return to form from the guy who's given us two of the best 10 albums of the past decade (Odelay and Sea Change), you won't find it. Heck, if you were hoping for at least another Guero or Mutations, y'r gonna be disappointed. But if your sights were set on simply something better than The Information, well, I suppose you've got it, then.

And just like wit' dat' bad Momufuku above, it starts out promising enough. "Orphans" won't knock you on yr butt, but it's a pleasantly quirky mid-tempo thing that the 21st-century Bowie has done well in the past and does well here. "Gamma Ray," likewise, ups the tempo into that rat-a-tat quasi-surf guitar thang he's done elsewhere.

"Chemtrails" disappears into the la-la land that marked a lot of The Information, but at least doesn't entirely embarrass itself. The title tune is minimalistic, pleasant, and that's about it. "Youthless" takes us back into danceability, and yeah, that's about it, too.

"Walls" is probably the most interesting thing here. Some fiddle here, some ash-can drums there, a melody not totally unlike a more swaying "Losing My Religion," and some fairly intriguing if not quite scrutable lyrics: "You got warheads stacked in the kitchen / You treat distraction like an instant religion / The battlesticks snap at the rhythm / You give your best with the souls you've been given / 'Cause you know you're nothing special to them.... Hey, what are you gonna do / When those walls are falling down / Falling down on you?"

Mind you, any momentum from that is instantly killed by the meandering, blippy "Replica," but the sampled blues stomp "Soul of a Man" tries to regain some of it. And if it did, "Profanity Prayers" builds on it -- an actual driving melody that gives way to a sliding acoustic bridge before driving on. "Volcano" either closes the album on a moody note or plods to a finish, I still can't decide which. Maybe when I pull it back out several months from now I'll care enough to figure it out.

 

Alejandro Escovedo -- Real Animal. Put simply, while Elvis on a good day mops up the floor with Alejandro, 1) Elvis hasn't had a day this good in a quarter-century, and more to the point, 2) this album is everything Momufuku purports to be and isn't.

And Alejandro Escovedo is still a heck of a songwriter. Again, track down Por Vida (that rarity, a tribute album that works -- for 2 CDs, no less) for further proof. Granted, he wasn't always this good -- put bluntly, his first band, the San Francisco punk band The Nuns... well, sucked. They achieved notariety by opening for the Sex Pistols at their final (non-reunion) gig, but trust me, they weren't good. At all. Alejandro will come to admit this on the album at hand here, but as always, that gets ahead of our story.

What did happen, though, was he became a songwriter along the way who -- and like his hero and admirer Ian Hunter -- realized that developing a gentle side didn't have to mean becoming less passionate. No Depression called him "artist of the decade" -- a bit overstated, perhaps, but that fact that he deserved consideration, and the source therein, tells you that the guy's come a long way. Heck, the guy's last album was a Mexicali punk-pop chamber piece done with John Cale. Yeah, huh.

But for this one, Alejandro reaches back to his punk days. and every formative moment thereafter that he can get his hands on. He's living -- and quite often and quite vividly reliving -- in these songs. But rather than simply revisiting what's already passed -- and yeah, I'm looking at you again, Declan Patrick Aloysius MacManus -- he transforms it. (All of which really makes me think you oughta track this down, tim, given your recent entries.)

And thus we finally get to the meaning of our title: Being comes before doing. And make no mistake, Alejandro is doing some big-time being here, only with 30 years of wisdom informing it.

So thus, you get at turns songs you could well imagine hearing in a punk club 30 years ago, but which sound fresher and a heck of a lot better constructed (the Iggy Pop tribute "Real as an Animal," "Chip n' Tony")... uplifting yet smart songs like "Always a Friend" and the heart-rending "Sister Lost Soul" (the chorus of which, "Sister lost soul / Brother lost soul / I need you..." won't get out of my head)... the obvious but stomping "Smoke," in which guitars and strings meet at dawn to shoot it out.... more standard passionate-ballad Alejandro fare such as the lovely "Swallows of San Francisco," "Hollywood Hills," and the closer "Slow Down"... even the swampy, slow-fiddled version of "Ashes to Ashes" that is "Golden Bear" (trust me here....)

A few songs deserve especial note. "Sensitive Boys," as one example, is a declaration of purpose that doesn't sound totally unlike Lou Reed's epic ballad "Coney Island Baby": "Nothing's ever what it seems / Too much ain't enough / We wore it like an open wound / We always felt too much... / Sensitive boys / The world needs you now (need you more than ever now)..."

The decidedly punkish "Chelsea Hotel '78" recalls not only Alejandro's own stint living in the infamous NYC hotel, but that of another certain resident who, as already mentioned, he'd previously crossed paths with:

Nancy called up to our room
Said, "Come and help with Sid"
We went down and looked around
The dealer let us in
We thought he was hysterical
The knife, it was a joke
Don't know if he did what they said he did
Nobody really knows....

And it makes no sense
And it makes perfect sense
And it makes no sense
And it makes perfect sense

Hearing said vocals actually shouted by our normally sensitively passionate crooner kinda brings it all together. It really does both make no sense and perfect sense. Which, after all, is kinda the punk ethos -- if not the rock and roll ethos -- in a nutshell.

The centerpiece, though, is the spitting, urgent celebration "Nuns Song," which takes the aforementioned ethos to places the guy couldn't've possibly imagined -- or frankly, had the chops for -- 30 years earlier. Some great heavy bass accompanies the delivery here:

We don't want your approval
It's 1978
We know we're not in tune
We know we'll never be great
We made it this far
A little piece of fame
Up on the bandstand
Nobody knows no shame...

Jennifer Moscone
Don't need nobody's pain
She had enough desire
To shatter window panes
She said, " I don't fall for small talk"
Down on Leavenworth and Polk
She said, "I don't need your heroes
To make my life a joke"

We've got too much to live for
It's not too late
We've got so much to live for
It's not too late....

As always, take it or leave it. And as always, yr loss if you leave it.

Posted by: burninglight at 01:57 | link | comments (9)

An away one, while I'm quick....

Not that the lack of a post in a given week here is indicative of anything, but just in case you ARE trying to reach me, I'm not here.

Rather, all next week I'll be here:

Interesting... we have that sculpture here, too.... but being in the sculpture capital of the world, we WOULD....  Needless to say, we'll be checking out our share of art there, too.

So try to play nice while I'm gone, a'ight? 

 

Posted by: burninglight at 18:39 | link | comments (9)

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue (or some combination thereof)

Between busyness – you HAVE been following the saga lately, right? – the plethora of new music that has suddenly arrived, and the stuff I’ve been playing that won’t go away, suffice to say I now have a backlog.

So I’ll try to both be reasonably quick & try to do everyone justice.

But of course, I won’t. Be quick, that is.

And our title above seemed like a good way to keep it all organized, so here goes….

Ashley Cleveland – Before the Daylight’s Shot (old [2006], and a bit of blue and borrowed) – I’ll confess, there’s really only a handful of female singers who do it for me. Yes, I’m looking at you, Patti; you too, Kate Bush. After that, early Pretenders, early Indigo Girls, early Sinead O’Connor, mid-period Kate B…. er, early Tori Amos, and pretty much anything from Leslie/Sam Phillips between The Turning and Omnipop (c. 1987-2001). And if it makes y'all happy, a scattered handful of Janis songs. And yeah, that’s about it.

And in the CCM realm (and since Ms. Phillips only got interesting after biting said CCM hand that fed her, then running screaming away from it, I won’t count her here) there would’ve be only one: Ashley Cleveland. (OK, Miranda Stone too, if she EVER puts out another CD.) When she’s transcendent… well, suffice to say “There’s a Light” (from Lesson of Love) approached Patti territory (even if it was more Dream of Life than Horses). And even when she’s in default mode: Great smoky voice, and lyrics that tend to be above the norm even while vigorously flexing their orthodoxy. Heck, to follow said “There’s a Light” with a stomping version of the old gospel chestnut “Power in the Blood” (and pulling it off -- heck, I used to use her version when leading worship back in the day) showcases someone who’s real, whether you subscribe to that reality or not. She’s also worked quite a bit with John Hiatt, to help the uninitiated among you get some context here. It’s that kind of music.

Anyway, I finally went back and got this one – those Contemporary Gospel Grammies tend to scare me off, you know – and discovered she’s still in fine voice and sound. The amps are cranked, and there’s no mistaking what side of the fence she’s on. Again, there’s VERY few singer/songwriters who could pull off a song called “I Need Jesus” without it sounding corny or contrived. If the girl says she needs Jesus, she needs JESUS, dang it. Suffice to say, subtlety always isn’t her strong point, but with a voice like this it doesn’t need to be. She pretty much stomps her way through the entire album, and it works just fine. The opener “Queen of Soul” the cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground,” and especially “Streams of Mercy” (“’Go in peace,’ said to my friend / I’m not the one you were seeking after all / Here’s your release from my anger and my failure / I thought you knew its only hot air after all … In calm waters I am shrinking down to size / Tender hands lift me up and hold me like a prize… Who will let me live, where streams of mercy flow?”) are all highlights. So go poke around her site & figure it out for yrself.

The War on Drugs – Wagonwheel Blues (new, and vaguely blue) – Score another one for eMusic. I’d downloaded the freebie EP Barrel of Batteries, and liked it enough to pay for this one. The Philadelphia band’s myspace site describes them as “Pop / Ambient / Comedy.” I’d kind of only agree with the middle one, and the ambience comes out way more on their new release Wagonwheel Blues (although the interspersed musical snippets on Batteries hinted at it). Anyway, what I hear is c. 1965 Roger McGuinn being raptured away from Crosby, Hillman, et al., and dropped next to a mythical woodshed where Brian Eno’s producing a kinder, gentler Nirvana. But that’s just me.

So: While I like the stripped-down Batteries version of the song better, the cranked-up and still-harmonica-driven version of “Arms Like Boulders” makes a nice single. Not sure how universal or specific the target is, but make what you will of such lyrics as, “And your god is only a catapult / waiting for the right time to let you go / into the unknown, just to watch you / hold your breath .. ‘Cause you’re, yooooooou’re the kind / to hide your eyes from the sun / And in your world, the strong survive… / Yeah, they tell you your arms are like boulders / and your shoulders are cliffs / but your head keeps rolling off….”

They’re not quite ready for prime-time – for one thing, there’s too much repetition of musical themes here, and I suspect it’s often more padding than deliberation. I mean, really, as pleasant as it is, does “Show Me the Coast” need to be 10 minutes long? ‘Specially given that we already had the three-minute-long “Coast Reprise” to precede its source material, the bouncy/marchy/folky/ambient album highlight “Buenos Aires Beach” (“so let’s speak about the past / in the future-perfect tense” – nice)? And boy, things could benefit from less distortion at times (i.e., you don’t have to use the reverb button, guys – it’s an effect – and again, I’ve heard Batteries, so I know y’r not addicted to it).

That all said, this is an enjoyable first album from a band you hope tightens up and hits stride as they progress. And again, go download Batteries for free on eMusic and see if there’s something to what I’m saying here.

Seventy Sevens – Holy Ghost Building (old, new, borrowed AND blue). Finally. So, two contrasting issues here:

A) I love Mike Roe and the 77s. If there has EVER truly been a “Christian rock” band, this is it. While I can’t quite place them in the same category with the “Only Three Rock and Roll Bands Ever” (i.e., Kinks / Mott the Hoople / Replacements), there’s a realness to their music (and the lyrics) that you can only find in a handful of other musicians/bands, in ANY sector. Plus, the boys can play – I’d love to see Mike and tim in a guitar-off. Plusser, Mike has a voice that can positively drip with emotion.

B) This is primarily an album of blues/gospel covers. And blues/gospel is not a genre I’ve ever really gone for.

I was looking forward to comparing this to Patti’s Twelve album last year. And, despite the year’s separation, the comparison is still relevant: Master of adult angst who gets better with age takes on the classics (albeit a totally different set of classics), to generally pleasant but nonetheless mixed results.

It starts off well enough. “I’m Working on a Building” is a hopping, bouncy number that puts things on the rails and sends them along, and “Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning” keeps the train a’rollin. “Stranger Won’t You Change Your Sinful Ways” takes things down a notch (or several), although there’s some great guitar work near the end.

“I’ll Remember You, Love, in My Prayers” probably would’ve fit well on Drowning With Land in Sight. Rather Stonesian, with some nice growling vocals by Mike. It’s about here, though, that I start to miss Mike’s lyrics. “You’re Gonna Be Sorry” has a nice Canned Heat kinda feel, but again I’m not compelled here. “What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul” probably would’ve fit well on an early Byrds album (i.e., one of the more rocky ones). And again, all pleasant, but without Mike ripping out my heart with those lyrics, that’s all it is.

Thus, even though it really doesn’t “fit” the album, I find myself coming back more to the one original song, the lovely, sad closer “A Lifetime Without You.” Quickly thrown together as it admittedly was, it still managed to hearken back to one of the two best albums of 2004, Mike & Mark Harmon’s Fun With Sound (and of course, Patti’s Trampin’ was the other). The lyrics are simple but effective: “You were my kingdom / You were my kingdom / But I was on the throne…. Think I’m on my own for once / You can call me an f’in dunce / I cried for you…. You don’t belong to me / I don’t belong, and I / I just don’t fit / I think I’ll quit now…”

Thus, while I’m willing to appreciate Holy Ghost Building as Mike doing the songs HE loves, I’ll take a whole album of THAT next time, thanks. And given the rest of this century’s output so far, I’m pretty sure Mike’s still got that in him.

Additional note: Just to keep me honest, I played this during our 4th of July party for my local Christian rock/blues buddies. Les, who’s WAY more of an aficionado of this kind of music, responded with a resounding "EH." My brother-in-law Kevin, also more of a blues guy, said (at least mentally), "Yeah, huh?" Jim, a big 7s fan but not so much a blues guy (but still more than me) loved it. So I let him borrow it; I'm pretty much done for now.

Frightened Rabbit – The Midnight Organ Fight (new, and blue in its way) – This Scottish band’s second album has been in my rotation for awhile now. And if we’re gonna go ahead and reference Scottish bands anyway, picture The Proclaimers trying to sound like the early Waterboys. Witty, edgy, and decidely more self-flagellating than either of the above bands. While it’s not quite revelatory, it’s danged enjoyable and decidely personal. Scott Hutchison drops the f-bomb way more than he needs to here – and usually as a verb -- but at least it’s not forced. The candor can be disarming, but heck, that’s what candor DOES. :)

Let’s start with the opening single, “The Modern Leper.” (And again, thank you eMusic for the freebie.) Frenentically bouncy, even while delivering such lyrics as “Well I crippled your heart a hundred times / And still can't work out why / You see, I've got this disease I can't shake… Yeah, this is how the modern stay scared / So I cut out all the good stuff / Yeah, I cut off my foot to spite my leg / Well, is that you in front of me? / Coming back for even more of exactly the same / You must be a masochist / To love a modern leper, on his last leg.”

They’ve got a great driving sound, and plenty more o’ those candorous moments. Cases in point: “Good Arms vs. Bad Arms”: “I am armed with the past, and the will, and a brick / I might not want you back, but i want to kill him… I'm not ready to see this happen / and leave the rest at arm's length / i'm still in love with you (can't admit it yet).” Or the impassioned appeal from “The Twist,” “Let’s pretend I'm attractive… I need human heat.” Or the regretful, lovelorn “Backwards Walk” “I’m working on my backwards walk / there's nowhere else for me to go / except back to you just one last time / say yes before i change my mind / you're the **** and i'm knee-deep in it.” Or the unforgettably unfortunate yet entirely accurate: “You won’t find love in a, won’t find love in a hole / It takes more than f****** someone to keep yourself warm.”

On the more radio-friendly side is the hopelessly bouncy “Old Old Fashioned,” with its winking come-on, “Oh, let's get old fashioned / Back to how things used to be / If I get old, old fashioned / Would you get old, old fashioned with me?”

Things gets WAY more somber toward the end. On the just plain old sad side is the plaintive “Poke”: “Why won't our love keel over as it chokes on a bone? / We can mourn its passing and then bury it in snow / Or should we kick its **** in and watch as it dies from bleeding / If you don't want to be with me, just say and I will go / Should look through some old photos, I adored you in every one of those / If someone took a picture of us now / they'd need to be told that we had ever clung on tight, and maybe not with arms at night…. / And now we're unrelated and rid of all the **** we hated / But I hate when I feel like this and I never hated you.” And the quietly majestic “Floating on the Forth” brings Hutchison to the conclusion, “So you just stepped out of the front of my house / and I'll never see you again…. And the door shut shut / I was vacuum packed / shrink-wrapped out of air / And the spine collapsed / and the eyes rolled back / to stare at my starving brain / And fully clothed, I float away / Down the Forth, into the sea / I think I'll save suicide for another day.”

Suffice to say… well, just suffice to say....

Sparks – Exotic Creatures of the Deep (new) – My feelings for the Mael brothers’ previous album, Hello Young Lovers -- and for these guys in general -- are already abundantly clear. And you’ve got to love a band that celebrates the release of its 21st album in almost 40 years with a three-week-long stretch of gigs, each one featuring an entirely different album (3 weeks = 21 days, get it?). Iconoclastic, even toward their own music – consider Ron & Russell have taken on glam-rock, pop, neo-classical, electronica, and even made the ONLY good disco album EVER, with Giorgio Moroder, no less (No. 1 in Heaven) – then consider that nearly 40 years later, our favorite Hollywood Anglophiles are STILL challenging themselves, even while often venturing into lyrical territory that at first glance seems only slightly more serious than Weird Al.

Every so often, these guys manage to find their ways back onto the pop charts. And this might just be the album to get them back. Bully for them if it works. It’s not quite as immediately pushing-the-envelope as Hello Young Lovers or its predecessor Lil’ Beethoven, but it’s decidedly more accessible than either and very arguably as ambitious. And I keep finding new layers of sound and/or more strikingly funny-but-really-not lines each time I hear it. I may actually end up liking this better than HYL when all is said and done. In fact, I think I'm already there. It's a catchy thing of beauty that makes you laugh out loud yet hurts if you stop to think too long about it.

And yes, for the 21st time in their career, the bedrock material is primarily still More Songs About Being Obsessed With, Terrified by, or Just Plain Used Mercilessly by Women, and/or Narcissism (theirs and everyone else’s). One wonders how a pair of musical-genius brothers -- one of which was a former high-school quarterback (in California, for crying out loud) -- have managed to remain single into their early 60s. Then you listen to this and go, “Oh, yeahhhhh…” Which also explains why everyone’s favorite celibate vegetarian neo-glam-rocker, Morrissey, is such a big fan of these guys. But that gets ahead of our story. (By the way, it would also explain why Russell looks scarily similar to Clay Aiken on the cover of this thing. And I’m not going there AT ALL.

And since y’r probably asking yrself the question by now, they insist they’re not.)

Anyway, the album as a whole is appropriately framed by its closer “Likeable” and the line used in the multi-track-vocaled “Intro” and “Intro Reprise”: “I don't care if you love me, just so you like me…” From there -- and to underscore the absurdly pointed hollowness that's all over this -- we veer into the electronic  poppiness of “Good Morning,” detailing the morning after with a woman the singer can't even remember:

Good morning
Who are you?
I woke up and saw you
I'm dreaming, still dreaming
My life is now about to have some meaning

Good morning
I'm thinking
I must have
Been drinking
And said something clever
It must have been the best line from me ever

Thank you, God, for something rare as this
What surely must have been a holy night of bliss....

Good morning
In sorrow
I know that
Tomorrow
You'll be with some winner
Who's richer, younger, maybe even thinner...

Good morning
I need you, I need you
Who are you?

Next comes the Beach-Boys-meets-symphonic-punk “Strange Animal,” which narrates the battle between a musician, an overanalytical (imagined?) fan, and all the characters in the song, ending in the songwriter killing everyone concerned and starting over. Definitely one of your more original songs about the creative process, and for that matter probably the closest thing here to the scary-good “Dick Around” from Hello Young Lovers.

Then, for the first time in years, they revisit their glam years (albeit trading in Queen for T-Rex here) in the funny-as-it-sounds-except-it’s-not “I Can’t Believe You Would Fall for All the Crap in This Song.” When Russell sings to a would-be fan, “I want you and only you and only you, my love" you both believe him and kinda get creeped out by it. You know, like when Morrissey sings something like that. But again, too early in our story.

Then comes the quasi-classical Ron-piano-driven section. On either side of the “Intro Reprise” comes “Let the Monkey Drive” (“It’s only fair / It’s the monkey’s car / And he hates to share”) and “I’ve Never Been High,” both of which are better than I’m letting on for some semblance of brevity’s sake. “(She Got Me) Pregnant” turns the tables, even while reminding you of its unturned-tabular relevance, “You know how these girls can be  / they treat you all so casually / They wine you and they dine you and expect a little la-dee-dee /And then you learn that though she's several thousand miles away / There is a part of her she's given you and now you have to deal with being / Pregnant  /She got me pregnant / She got me pregNANT….”

Then comes what REALLY oughta be the hit single here (at least in Britain), and if only for its topicality, “Lighten Up, Morrissey.” Veering a bit more gently into glam-land , the protagonist in the song pleads with his hero to give his girlfriend less material to work with (and thus compare him unfavorably to):

She won't have sex with me
No, she won't have sex
Unless it's done with a pseudonym
She won't do sport with me
No, she won't do sport
'Cos it's way, way too masculine, look at him

So lighten up, Morrissey
Lighten up, lighten up…

I got comparisons coming out my ears
And she never can hit the pause
If only Morrissey weren't so Morrissey-esque
She might overlook my flaws…

She won't dine out with me
No, she won't dine out
Since my t-bone steak is at fault
She won't dine out with me
No, she won't dine out
With a murderer -- pass the salt…

Anyone who either loves OR hates the guy should hear this. (And FWIW, the subject matter himself reportedly loves it.)

“This Is the Renaissance” is growing on me big-time, and turns the social observation even wryer. Although the context is different it reminds me a bit of one of my all-time favorite Sparks songs, “It Ain’t 1918” (from Indiscreet), in that it starts out poking fun at the “old ways” then turns the tables to reveal how intolerant and empty the “new ways” are: “Middle ages sucked / Spent all day in prayer / Judgement Day was everyday and / Witches burning everywhere / But now we are in luck / Beauties everywhere / Paintings filled with foxy women / No one's got a cross to bear… If you like to read / Man, you are in luck / Gutenberg is cranking out The Bible with a centerfold… This is the Renaissance / Came upon us all at once….”

It tails off a bit near the end. “The Director Never Yelled ‘Cut’” features the lyrical repetition that figures prominently on the last two albums, but again musically it’s very hard to fault – there are some truly lovely passages here -- and the verses themselves tell the story of yet another guy who doesn't measure up to his girlfriend's/"director's" standards  just fine. “Photoshop” is the most obvious thing here, regarding the protagonist’s plea to “photoshop me out of your life,” but it’s a’ight.

Then finally to “Likeable,” a six-minute classical-rock-waltz-a capella paean to… well, being liked… and the ultimate hollowness therein,

Wonder what it feels like to be in love
How would you describe it -- like a push or shove?
Guess I keep pretending this is all I need
Wanting more than what I have might appear as greed

Cause I'm likeable, they all say
Wouldn't have it any other way
And there's no other reason things go my way
I'm just likeable, night and day.

When the album’s opening line finally reprises here, “I don't care if you love me, just so you like me / Like me, like me, like me, like me…” it's actually rather heartbreaking. (Again, not unlike my all-time favorite Sparks song, “Dance Godammit,” in which the phrase “Do you want to dance?” grows from casual come-on to a desperate plea for ANY kind genuine human connection whatsoever.)

Bottom line: Once you get past the decidedly funny surface of Exotic Creatures and into the "Deep" of the music and the emotional disconnect portrayed throughout.... well anyway, if you still think it's a joke, then it's clearly a joke you're not getting. If THIS one comes out #1 this year, too, I won't be apologizing for it.

And then there's....

Grandpaboy/Paul Westerberg – Mono/Stereo (old [2002], and blue in its way too) —I’ve already gone on quite a while, so ironically I’ll cut to the chase here: For those who’ve missed The Replacements even before they broke up (sorry to likely offend some, but as far as I’m concerned the uneven Pleased to Meet Me was the last real Replacements album, Don’t Tell a Soul and semi-commercial success be damned – although All Shook Down holds up way better than suspected, in retrospect)... anyway, it’s not quite Tim or Let It Be, but if what's followed since this is any indication, I don’t think he’ll ever get this close again.

Conveniently broken into two equally homemade disks – the rocking pseudonymous Grandpaboy Mono CD and the more introspective Paul Stereo disk – you have the best of both worlds here. Whether the amps are cranked or it’s just Paul and an acoustic, what comes out is engaged and impassioned. It’s the sound of a man with a heart on his sleeve and the humor and intelligence to express what’s in it. Just like you remember it.

Mono, being the rockier of the two, is also the more lyrically cut-and-run/wiseass of the two. And thus it’s great to hear some choice Westerbergian epithets here. Among the gems: “You oughta be a silent film star / Keep your pretty little trap shut”; “Baby, stay away from me / With your eyes like sparks / And my heart like gasoline”; “Need a leap of faith, or a jump of stupid / Either way, don't know what I'm doing… Well, it's heads, I win / Tails, we flip again”; “You’ve got 2 days ‘til tomorrow / You're still the one I want / 2 days ‘til tomorrow / You say I didn't count.”

On the other hand, when Grandaboy Paul closes Mono with the alliterative title chorus to “AAA” – “I ain't got anything -- to say to anyone – anymore” – you believe it. And that’s all you can ever ask for. And yet see so seldom ANYWHERE in rock and roll.

For me, though, Stereo is the real keeper. It closes with a couple rockers, “Call That Gone” and the hidden track “Postcards From Paradise,” but by then the damage has already been done. Rip my heart out, old man, again and again. An older (and wiser? at least deeper) Paul Westerberg reflects on aging and both what he’s gained and what he’s lost, starting right from the opening lyrics, “baby learns to crawl / watching daddy's skin / learns to fall / get up again / baby learns to cry / watching mama's smile / in the mirror / can you hear her.”

“Only Lie Worth Telling” is arguably the most devastating thing here, as Paul basically tells a would-be lover that he’d rather live a lie than have her walk away: “Call me when you're full of pretty lies / Call me when your eyes are empty / And open all night…. The only lie worth telling / Is I'm in love with you.”

In terms of gain and loss, though, “Boring Enormous” is the centerpiece:

The coffee laughs at us every morning
We always laugh at the choices we've made
And ask ourselves, "How did it get so early?"…

No longer in a hurry to get anywhere
Still don't care for your destination
No longer lead, you just let things happen….

Faucet's been dripping for a year and a half
Both of us tripping outside to play
One thing I love I can no longer stand
Boring enormous
Please just ignore us
'Cause up close we're still far away...
Boring enormous
It isn't for us to say.

“We May Be the Ones” throws another poignantly dismissive observation on the fire: “We may well be the ones / To set this world on its ear / We may well get it done / Why the hell else are we here?”

And then there’s the cover of the old folk chestnut “Mr. Rabbit.” Just the antidote to the sadness throughout here, wherein our favorite misfit revels in his… well, aging misfittiness: “Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Rabbit / your coat is mighty grey / yes, bless God it's made that way / every little soul must shine / every little soul must shine.”

Not that we stay there for long. In a disk filled with sad moments, “Let the Bad Times Roll” may well be the saddest thing here: “Just add water / I'm disappointed / The good times hide / So will I / Watch the world roll by / From my hole / I'm gonna let the bad times roll…” Vintage Westerberg. Again, it won’t make you forget “Here Comes a Regular.” But it WILL make you remember, and compared to what almost anyone else out there has to offer, that’s almost more than good enough.

 

There’s even more new stuff coming – hopefully next week, and if I can get excited about it (so far it's probably 1 for 3 -- and all I'll add for now is that it's between Beck, Elvis Costello and Alejandro Escovedo) – but this is enough to get you started, right? :)

Posted by: burninglight at 19:48 | link | comments (15)