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

Let the Youth Movement Begin

As promised, a couple new artists, even if their releases can't be considered new anymore (both were 2006). For that matter, both have actually been around for the better part of five years in indie form -- although for one it's an honest-to-gosh (and apparently long-awaited) first full album, and for the other, it's the first one of theirs to get some tread via college radio (and only their second full-length one, and the first one wasn't that long).

In both cases, if you like yr music acoustic and earnest both are well worth your time. One's decidedly more polished and other decidedly more stripped-down and creaky -- and knowing that each is a blessing for some and a curse for others (astute observers should have little question of where I land on this), knowing which is which will also help you decide where to go first.

Alexi Murdoch -- Time Without Consequence. Imagine a more radio-friendly Nick Drake, and you'll know exactly how you feel about this. It's one you can hand to the wife who can't believe you just bought yet another CD and say "But y'r gonna like this one. Trust me." (And trust me, I have, and she did.) Granted, it doesn't top Beck's Sea Change on the Drake-imitation scale (and as that one captured not only the sound but the soul, probably nothing ever will), but it's a very worthy and enjoyable effort. And even if it's too late to enjoy for Spring, Fall's not all that far away. Yeah, it sounds like that.

You may have even heard the fine, fine closer "Orange Sky," which has played in the background of any number of poignant TV moments over the last few years, and that refrain/mantra, "In your love, my salvation lies, in your love, my salvation lies...." And it probably still is the best song here. (And come to think of it, the music is strong enough throughout that he gets away with a lot of lyrical repetition on this album.) But there's plenty to take in before then, all of which holds its own quite nicely. The album's almost more a long (if hopeful) melancholy sustained for nearly an hour, but moments and phrases pop through the atmosphere to make sure you're still listening, as well you should be....

...such as, working backward, the coda of the seven-minute-plus "Shine" -- "time to believe in what you know / And you don't need strength to be strong / time to believe in what you know" -- and the nearly seven minutes of engaging instrumental that follows, simply called "12" and occasionally bellowing out the word "shine" during what's easily one of the two loudest moments here.... (I've never heard of guitarist Joel Shearer before now, but the boy can wail when called upon to do so -- and now I see he also contributed to Richard Thompson's previous album Front Parlor Ballads -- definitely would like to check out his band Pedestrian [as opposed to several other bands by the same name] after hearing this)...

...or the quiet majesty of "Wait" that grows larger and larger over the course of six minutes, and the fact that it enables him to actually pull off singing some variation of the line "Won't you wait for me?" for the last two of them... or that line in "Dream About Flying": "Well sometimes I feel like I'm drowning / Actually, it's most of the time..."

....or the propulsive feedback-laden "Home" -- which again, curiously, like the even louder "Shine" is also one of the sparsesest moments here lyrically, with its variations on the line, "When do we really get to go home?... maybe then we already are home...."

...or the tense guitar riff that carries along the dark encouragement, "don't forget to breathe / we're all lifers here, no eleventh-hour reprieve.... / keep your head above water / but don't forget to breathe."...

...or the somber, moaning cellos that open then drive this album's sad yet bouncy opener, "All of My Days." The decision whether to heed the cellos' call is now in your hands.

 

The Kamikaze Hearts -- Oneida Road. As previously alluded in a capsule review a month or so ago, THIS is the album I've been waiting a dozen years for Son Volt to put out. All the affecting monotone drawling you can eat, but more sugar AND more fiber. Actually, there's two primary voices (and songwriters) here -- Troy Pohl would be the Jay Farrar soundalike, while Gaven Richard reminds me quite a bit of Robbie Schaefer from Eddie from Ohio (and if y'r going "huh?" buy Looking Out the Fishbowl and FIX that, FCOL), only reaching from even further back in the sinuses. Matthew Loiacomo (mandolin, banjo, background vocals & drums), Bob Buckley (guitar, dobro, background vocals) and Nathan Giordano (bass), in turn, help create the atmosphere that makes their home your home from note one.

And while Oneida Road is indeed less finished-sounding than the aforementioned Time Without Consequence, 1) that's part of the charm for me personally, and 2) you can thus actually hear the potential here, and that's even more part of the charm. It's pretty obvious this Albany, NY band has more in them than even this, and I'll be looking forward to hearing that too when it comes. Not that they're not already beginning to hit stride at the same time y'r hitting "play." So let's talk about what's in front of us, roll down the windows and hit the gas....

...'cause "Top of Your Head" will make you want to find a car to climb into and discover as much country as you can put your hands to, the wistfully hoping-against-hope lyrics aside: "You said, "What a mistake it was to come this far"... Now our voice was raised just a bit / We're talking in the car / 'Bout the good things we'll have in the end / But today you're weeping / Y'r curled up in a ball...." "Defender" takes things into a more minor key and deeper into bluegrass mode; this is probably the place where I cite Nickel Creek in this particular review, as well I should. It certainly holds it own.

"You Can't Just Get Up and Leave" is a more upbeat and disarmingly wry song directed at an ex-girlfriend: "Yes, I've dreamt about killing someone, of course I have / Where do you think all this came from?... /'cause in this world, everyone knows you can't go on like that / You can't get up and leave without looking like a rat." Leading into the even more upbeat (musically, at least) "No One Called You a Failure," which actually recalls a bit of "Brown-Eyed Girl" in the intro.

"Half of Me" drops the album back into a lovely bittersweetness -- "Look at a photograph we just took / Your eyes reflecting me on the side / Half of me is with you and half me's away.... I think all of this is holy as the truck starts again / Everything I am is here" -- all the while building up the emotional momentum until you discovered you've already been knocked flat on yr back. "Wolfert's Roost," in turn, is a brief vignette of upstate New York life, wherein little details like the golf course, the pharmacy, riding home at 3 in the morning but not before hitting the drive-thru, all coalesce in the space of two minutes.

"Ash Wednesday" had to've been the single. Once again, it's time to roll down the windows and crank it up. It's the sound of living in the moment (as a lot of this album is), and even if the moment doesn't have anything unique to offer it still has a splendor of its own ("And just like the day before, we'll wait it together / Goddamn, what a beautiful day," indeed). And after three-plus minutes of sheer joy, we segue flawlessly into bittersweetness yet again with "Deer Hunter," another quiet vignette where the even more impressionistic lyrics take an even wider back seat to the music.

After a few moments of silence comes the nine-minute closer, "Guyana Central High School Class of '78," a mandolin-led ballad that so slowly and chillingly yet gorgeously dawns on you, if the title hadn't already given the deliberately-anything-but-funny punch line away, that (Richard's voice aside) you could swear The Band was still among us:

Reverend Jim, he spoke at the commencement
He was listing at the lectern in his robe and his sunglasses
He looked out on the class
It seemed like he might be wrapping up
So we call drank the dregs of our Dixie cups
And threw them down on the sharpened summer grass
Sat back in my folding chair and waited there for my new life to begin
Tried to keep the children calm
Let his words bury us over.
He said, "I'm so proud of all of you
I'm so proud of all of you
I'm so proud of all of you
I'm so proud of all of you..."

Powerful? OH yeah. Go to kamikazehearts.com and buy this thing, so these guys can afford to tour, oh say, 1,800 miles away from the East Coast for awhile.

Posted by: burninglight at 19:58 | link | comments