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Rollo Strickland on Bonnie Prince Billys The Letting Go
At the dawn of the decade Johnny Cash covered Bonnie Prince Billys Now I See a Darkness in the third instalment of his American series, produced by Rick Rubin. Six years later the bearded king of alt-country released The Letting Go, arguably superior to its predecessors, including the much feted Now I See A Darkness. Recorded in Reykjavik, the album combines timeless warmth (that engenders occasional comparisons to predecessors like Cash) with an innovative bent that marked it out as a forward-looking LP. Its this ability to bridge the gap between past and present that marks The Letting Go as a prime candidate for Album of the Decade, with BPB (aka Will Oldham) simultaneously proving to a new audience the malleability and ageless power of guitar-based song-writing.
Previous albums under various monikers had shown Oldham as someone intent on reinventing country music retaining its narrative force, whilst wrenching the song structure into something looser, less predictable and more flexible. His lyrics have always been unique (in 2008s Lie Down in the Light Hamlet references sit beside celebrations of public fellatio) yet The Letting Go is perhaps the most consistently potent. The Kentucky-born songsmith explores his idiosyncratic, boldly metaphysical philosophy against a beautiful backdrop of complementary, unobtrusive string arrangements and perfectly pitched guitar lines.
The tone of strange, eerie wonder is set from the first lines of opening track Love Comes to Me as he intones:
When the numbers get so high,
of the dead flying through the sky
oh I dont know why,
love comes to me
The other musicians manage to keep pace with Oldhams changes in mood across the album, which range from characteristic brooding and bluster to moments of eerie serenity that are unparalleled in his other material. Dawn McCarthys expansive, disjointed secondary vocals overlap brilliantly with his husky, mercurial narratives on love, loss, mortality and wonder. The combination of these two voices (sometimes three) also intuited the resurgence of layered harmonic vocals that has trickled across the pond in recent years, with later acts such as Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver and Grizzly Bear all mining this seam to considerable success.
Whilst some readers will be unfamiliar with Bonnie Prince Billy, look beneath the surface and proof of his influence and popularity isnt hard to find. Upon the release of last years Beware he played only one gig in Britain, in The Royal Albert Hall, which sold out almost instantly. His influence on a new generation of musicians is wide and pronounced, with acts such as Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson, Phosphorescent, Joanna Newsom, and this years one-to-watch, Beth Jeans Houghton, as just a few of those to draw inspiration. This week sees the release of Johnny Cashs final, posthumous American recording. Yet whilst this is widely being received as a disappointment, the next record from the man who fostered the birth of alt-country, thus shepherding country music into the 21st century, is keenly anticipated. (BPBs The Wonder Show of the World is out March 22nd).
Martha McCarey on Caribou's Andorra
Desert island questions always put me off. There are sensitive issues with defining album of the decade: the selective amnesia surrounding everyones CD shelf of shame, particularly risky for an 89er; pinning the time when one swallows teenage pride, rediscovers the Beatles, delves into the paternal collection and starts actively looking for music; thereafter, narrowing a shortlist of twenty albums to one I would still listen to or is not the blind object of newly-found love. Caribou's Andorra fits these criteria, and more to cater for a gripping existence: it can be run or walked to. In other words, the erstwhile Manitoba has produced a form of electronic rhythm which doesnt reduce the listener to loungy vegetativeness or pump up into tachycardia, but gently nudges the human heartbeat. Another portent of greatness was the ability of the whole album to charm once I had decided to let go of [the x track] Eli after listening to it in every stage of exhaustion, inebriation or repletion.
Unlike several other similarly brilliant electronic works, all the tracks are tunes in their own right. After embarrassingly confusing Shes the one with its Springsteen namesake, one could see in both songs the catchy beats, touching melody and somewhat retro timelessness of a great pop song. Dan Snaith does remind of the Beatles in the way numbers are uniquely harmonised, recognisable and accessible, while eliciting meditation, or the mild end of psychedelic reverie. Snow Capes really does conjure peaks and eddying flakes, Sundialling something akin to the word, time-bound racy and luminous.
If sparking parental interest without prompting can be an indicator, this is one of the few to pass with flying colours. Caribou does what every artist should attempt: he gives his music focus and universal appeal, moves to the mainstream without losing quality, and his latest infectious track Odessa promises more of the same.
Al Bell on Arcade Fire's Funeral
Fortunately, Arcade Fire's Funeral has nothing to do with that self-important and far too over-wrought Band of Horses song The Funeral. The latter is an exceptionally successful exercise in the hollow presentation of something thats meant to sound emotional. A lot of whining and a few stark lyrics that dont really mean much all smoke and mirrors really. Arcade Fires album, on the other hand, is a three dimensional experience, full of sound and fury, and, actually, signifying a lot.
Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels) opens the album, unveiling the tone of what is to follow; the piano meanders over a subtle rhythm from the strings a melody begins to take shape, searching, waiting for the surging certainty of the guitar riff to drive it forward. The melodies, and everything about their execution, are propulsive. Arcade Fire sing with emotion, but this is not the stagnant, angsty sort. Swelling and pulsing beneath Win Butler and Regine Chassagnes agonized tones is a dynamic, relentless energy; even in the albums most literally sad ballad Crown of Love, the force of the ever-present piano, unfalteringly obedient to the rhythm, propels the song to its ecstatic conclusion. Its hard to imagine Arcade Fire sulking.
The advantage of Arcade Fire's listing eight band members lies in their ability to create a sort of surround sound landscape experience a listen to the album is like peering into various thoroughly imagined scenes: In the eerie darkness of the burnt out streetlights and quiet, ordered melody of Une anne sans lumiere we get the sense that something is rotten in the state of suburbia. A vibrancy resonates within (my eyes are shooting sparks) which bursts through later in the song in the form of a frantic transformation, with sharp chords and outbursts from Butler. When Chassagne turns to her homeland, Haiti the scene is at once fraught with the language of death and violence, yet also celebratory, interspersed with a jubilant glockenspiel melody; here are the emotional complexities of remembering a wounded mother Ill never see, of Chassagnes grateful but painful nod to her family who helped her flee the country in her childhood (Ma famille set me free).
Funeral is never content with the status quo: something is always building, even in the albums most introspective and tender In the backseat, where Chassagne accompanied by only a guitar and piano at the outset, sings obliquely of a fear of driving (I like the peace in the backseat/I dont have to drive/I dont have to speak). Gradually, her vocals become powerfully Bjork-esque and elevate the song, making room beneath for the rest of the band to support this painfully unrestrained expression of anxiety. Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out) best expresses Arcade Fire's insistent energy; Butlers voice, shouting from the rooftops, longing to be heard, issues a yearning cry: the powers out in the heart of man/take it from your heart/put it in your hand. The album categorically succeeds in following the advice of these lines: in Neighbourhood #3 and the albums nine other tracks, the power is most definitely not out.
Didi Wambugu on Saul Williams' Saul Williams
When I discovered Saul (for there is no other way to relate to him, other than on a first name basis) I started my relationships with lyrics.
Saul, it seems was born with the God-given right to partner with words through the medium of music and create a most formidable relationship of the sort akin to Mr and Mrs Smiths. Unlike the Smiths however, Sauls marriage with words is not hindered by the immature denial of love, rather there exists a conviction of almost religious proportions, that only death will do them part.
It isnt recognised as a fundamental Human Right within the UN Human Rights charter, but if it were, I would assume words would be classed on the same level as food, water and shelter. We all need words for survival. Somehow, music had seemed to loose sight of this in the last decade. If you were to take away all the tracks on your i-Tunes which dont have words, then scan through the lyrics of those that you are left with, how many make sense, if comprehensible at all? Nonetheless, I am not denouncing the power of the melody or the sound with which non-sensical words themselves can carry meaning all too well. As discussed with a friend, Bon Ivers melodies captivate and ravage you, almost by force, yet the words dissolve into the melody and in most parts, they are barely coherent.
Saul Williams did not break into the musical arena with heart-strung melodies, if anything they are far removed from the seductive sweetness with which some of the decades most successful artists have been heralded for. Sauls music, can be accompanied by the resounding melodies of a string quartet or female jazz singers, however, what will cut into your heart will be his arresting words, grated with the perceptive use of an eclectic array of penetrating rhythms.
Saul, a reconstituted, self-invented, tribal, body-painting bro of sorts has proclaimed himself as the neo-prophetic voice for the lyric. Saul refuses to be owned by the indie, hip hop, rock, electronica or classical institutes of sound, choosing instead to permeate through and steal from them all. He has re-branded himself as a new type of bro; one that went to college, is a poet, one who challenges bi-sexuality in black men and allows music to mean much, much more than that beat is tight or I love this sound!
His material covers the popular ranges of love - love gained and lost, however, with an almost fearless and militant attitude, he re-introduces our disillusionment towards politics and sexual politics into the realm of love. Doing what was almost lost amongst the segregated world of music, inviting the relevant social concerns of our generations, and all its evils back into the untainted sphere of music, and of the heart. He dares our hearts to beat to songs they havent yet sung, whether you be a rapper or a hippie, I assure you, Saul Williams will add to you, in spirit or mind.
Music
The Rejects
Mumford & Sons: After one album these guys have already overstayed their welcome. A hollow attempt at replicating the success of the Fleet Foxes, but with worse lyrics and more annoying singing; Mumfords blasting multi part harmonies only serve to emphasise the painful whining of frontman Marcus Mumford. Worst of all, their website propogates the delusion that Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young are essential to defining their sound; wishful thinking.
Justin Beiber: Ushers boy wonder precosciously rose to stardom with the same originality and songwriting ability as his mentor. Assumeing he follows in Ushers footsteps, lets hope his slide into obscurity will be just as graceful.
T-Pain: With his best recent track and Andy Sambergs ridiculous satirical jab at autotune, Im on a boat being one and the same, T-pain doesnt really have much credibility left.
Crazy Frog: never before has a frog been so crazy; reportedly used as a form of torture, Crazy Frog's incessant nattering has the repulsive force of Two Girls One Cup, but without the intrigue. Made wierder when you notice it has a penis.
Hell
Marina and the Diamonds
Ones to watch in the coming years
The Antlers: Their debut album Hospice was produced after a band member spent time in isolation, similar to Bon Ivers For Emma, forever ago, but less constrained by the circumstances of its conception; The Antlers respond to a sorrowful situation by combining painfully evokative lyrics with eerie ambient and multi-instrumental anthems.
Standout track: Bear
The Low Anthem: Oh My God Charlie Darwin reached #2 in Rough Trades albums of 2009; a brilliant record that varies gorgeous, delicate harmonies with raw bar-room stomps it is garnering wider mainstream appeal by the day. The band uses a number of mysterious vintage instruments to create real depth and texture.
Standout track: To Ohio
Kathyrn Mcleod reports from Glasgows Oran Mor
Lead singer Marina and her band of Diamonds may have sparkled in the charts last week but it was Glasgows West End they lit up recently, with an intimate gig at the converted church-come-club that is Oran Mor.
Opener Oh No! ensured a snappy self-assured start to the evening, complete with a yellow duck outfit that gave way to a Mickey Mouse motif dress. Favourites I Am Not A Robot and Seventeen gave the fans she calls them her diamonds the chance to chant along. Sit-down songs at the piano, like the disheartened Numb, showcased the range of both high and low notes that this newbie can nail. Intense, almost philosophical lyrics on the perils of fame and hard-earned dreams with failed relationships en route could be cheesy, but somehow she managed to avoid it.
Half Greek, half Welsh (and part wannabe American, if the lyrics to her recent Top 20 single Hollywood are anything to go by), Marina Diamandis is currently touring the UK promoting her debut album The Family Jewels. The latest in a list of female solo artists hitting the high notes of fame and fortune recently think La Roux and Little Boots, but with more substance Marina and the Diamonds went from low-key single releases late last year to being runner up on the BBCs Sound of 2010 at the start of January. In wake of the win, her UK gigs are fast selling out.
A bit more interaction with the crowd wouldnt have gone amiss in Glasgow, not that her fans minded. After leaving the stage, ostensibly for the last time, Marina and the Diamonds reappeared with the killer line. CUCKOO! The first phrase of Mowglis Road sent the crowd crazy: Marinas diamonds clearly love her, and after her Scottish stint, its easy to see why.
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