Austin Music Source

Eric Chapelle
‘Across the Water’

Paris - France, not Texas - born composer and pianist Eric Chapelle conceived much of “Across the Water” while attending a residency program in Norton Island, Maine, and perhaps its greatest accomplishment is how effortlessly it evokes the seaside beauty of the East Coast. Piano compositions like “Norton Island” - recorded Bon Iver-style in a log cabin - exude tranquility and quiet longing. “Across the Water” is at its best when it’s also at its sparest - say, the closing solo piano numbers “Tide Pool” and “Wild Iris,” or when Julia Cory joins in on cello on opener “Every Wish” and “Soft Landing.” Its more new age-influenced diversions are less successful - the structureless soundscape of “Rainmaker” never quite jells, nor does the playful-yet-momentum-free “Straight Ahead.” Although “Across the Water” succeeds in building an atmosphere, at an hour’s worth of instrumental compositions that occasionally feel formless and plodding, a leaner approach might have conjured up a more impacting album.

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CD review: Big Boi 'Sir Lucious Leftfoot: The Son of Chico Dusty'

Big Boi
‘Sir Lucious Leftfoot: The Son of Chico Dusty’
(Def Jam)
Grade: B

Big Boi has been known as the other guy from Outkast for most of his career. Even a #1 single (“The Way You Move”) couldn’t get him out of Andre 3000’s considerable shadow, not with “Hey Ya” on the same double album. His new solo album “Sir Lucious Leftfoot: The Son of Chico Dusty” was stuck in label purgatory for four years, an ignominious fate for someone whose sold more than 25 million records worldwide.

But his relative anonymity has never been due to a lack of talent. His pinpoint breath control allows him to flow over almost any type of beat, something he takes full advantage of on “Sir Lucious Leftfoot.” He is as comfortable rapping over the laid-back soul sample of “Shine Blockas” (“the penmanship is so legit / I came equipped like an prophylactic”) as he is spewing syllables in rapid-fire fashion (“they got flour for tortillas and lettuce for enchiladas”) on club songs like “Shutterbug.”

There is an almost infinite variety of musical influences on the album, befitting the experimental style Outkast is known for. A top-notch production team, headlined by longtime collaborators Organized Noise, adds many musical touches, from electronic synthesizers to funk guitars, trumpets and orchestras, not often seen on a Southern rap album.

Like many rappers used to being in a group, Big Boi seems uncomfortable performing by himself. He recruited a bloated guest-list in place of Andre 3000, who was barred from appearing because of label politics. Of the album’s 15 songs, 12 have guest appearances.

The sheer number of guests and musical styles prevents Big Boi from putting his stamp on the album. On tracks like “Be Still,” a jazz-influenced ballad with Janelle Monae where he has only one verse, he feels like a guest on his own song. While Big Boi has the skills to be a star in his own right, “Sir Lucious Leftfoot” shows he might be more comfortable in the background.

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CD review: M.I.A. /\/\ /\ Y /\'

M.I.A.
’/\/\ /\ Y /\ ‘
(N.E.E.T./XL/Interscope)
Grade: B

Much ink - some literal, substantially more digital - has been spilled on the subject of British-Sri Lankan rapper Maya Arulpragasam since the release of 2007’s star-making “Kala.” Most of it has centered on her unlikely bio as the daughter of an absentee Tamil Tigers father, or her fashion, or her show-stopping, full-on pregnant performance at the 2009 Grammy Awards, or her politics, or her recent tiff with Lynn Hirschberg, author of a damning profile in the New York Times Magazine. All of which is hideously misguided; the millions who hungrily consumed “Paper Planes” and made the song a staple in dance halls and discos and clubs and high school parties worldwide likely couldn’t have cared less about the track’s lyrical content. Strip away M.I.A.’s 21st-century multicultural window dressing and you’re left with - at her best - a cunning artist who slices and dices reggae and hip-hop and electronica and dub for a globetrotting tour of young urban sounds. So the big question for M.I.A.’s quasi-self-titled ‘/\/\ /\ Y /\ ’ (pronounced “Maya,” one assumes) is: Does it bang?

The answer: sometimes. M.I.A. seems to be aging in reverse, growing substantially less mellow and more abrasive as the years tick by. There’s nothing on “/\/\ /\ Y /\ ” with the easygoing charm of “Sunshowers,” off debut album “Arular,” nor any dance number quite as giddy as “Jimmy,” a fiendishly addictive pop highlight off “Kala.” “Steppin’ Up” sets the tone, laying her echoing vocals over an aggressive industrial barrage of chainsaws and power wrenches. “Teqkilla” is six minutes of drugs and drone. “Born Free” has a building, epic post-rock energy but rates low on the accessibility meter and might confuse those whose first exposure to M.I.A. was a trailer for “Pineapple Express.”

Pair that with M.I.A.’s often-cynical lyrics (“They told me this was a free country,” she says of the United States on “Lovalot.” “And now it feels like a chicken factory.”) and the unceasing examination of life in the digital world and you have an album that could feel less like a good time and more like a guilt trip.

But “/\/\ /\ Y /\ ” isn’t entirely given over to cacophonous slogs. “XXXO” is an electronica-soaked dance number, while “It Takes a Muscle” reaches surprisingly sentimental, reggae-influenced heights. “Meds and Feds” co-opts a sample from Brooklyn duo Sleigh Bells and emerges as a scorching rocker, and the wistful “Space” is likely to be the closest thing to a ballad M.I.A. ever records. Between its more accessible numbers and the order that eventually emerges from the sharp and prodding edges of its more adventurous tracks, “/\/\ /\ Y /\ ” is ultimately a not-entirely-successful but still ambitious and intriguing effort from one of today’s most fragmented personalities.

Also out this week: Tracy Bonham, “Masts of Manhatta”; Crowded House, “Intriguer”; Dangermouse and Sparklehorse, “Dangermouse and Sparklehorse Present `Dark Night of the Soul’” ; HELLYEAH, “Stampede”; KoRn, “KoRn III: Remember Who You Are”; School of Seven Bells, “Disconnect From Desire”; Paul Wall, “Heart of a Champion”

Update: This entry was changed to use slashes and back slashes for the CD title, which do make more sense (but are a pain to type), as one commenter points out.

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July 6, 2010

CD review: Jimmie Vaughan `Plays Blues, Ballads and Favorites'

Jimmie Vaughan
‘Plays Blues, Ballads and Favorites’
(Shout Factory)
Grade: B

Jimmie Vaughan walked away with the Grammy for best traditional blues recording for 2001’s ‘Do You Get The Blues?’ and rightfully so. Its laconic, slow-burning grooves made a strong case for Vaughan as the proper modern descendant of the genre’s three kings - Albert, Freddie and B.B. - with Vaughan’s dry vocals and retro-cool aesthetic seasoning of 11 deeply satisfying cuts of prime blues beef.

Following up such a career best - a perfect synthesis of Vaughan’s own charms and the influences of six-string pioneers like Clarence ‘Gatemouth’ Brown and Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson - would prove challenging for anybody, even one of Austin’s most-respected blues statesmen.

Which might explain why ‘Plays Blues, Ballads and Favorites’ feels less like a proper follow-up and more like an awfully fun digression. After 2007’s collaborative album with Omar Kent Dykes, ‘On the Jimmy Reed Highway,’ Vaughan again returns to the tribute well, this time with 12 diverse covers from died-too-young R&B favorite Johnny Ace to Willie Nelson and one original instrumental.

The results are loose and casually charming, but the album rarely hits the notes of studied intensity that define Vaughan at his best.

Vaughan’s guitar saddles up with a pristine juke-joint take on Billy Emerson’s ‘The Pleasure’s All Mine’ before he joins with the smoky, still-seductive voice of Lou Ann Barton on Jimmy Reed’s ‘Come Love,’ the first of many duets. Barton’s voice doesn’t cut quite as deep as it did on her similar guest appearances on ‘Do You Get The Blues?’ She shines, though, when cut loose on lead vocals, ripping into ‘Wheel of Fortune’ and ‘Send Me Some Lovin’ with obvious relish. And the album’s array of guest stars bring their best, from blistering tenor solos from Greg Picollo to the invaluable trumpet of Continental Club mainstay Ephraim Owens. Vaughan’s choice of material rarely pushes his skills to their limit, but he performs nobly on straightforward cuts like Roy Milton’s ‘RM Blues.’ Even when ‘Plays Blues, Ballads and Favorites’ sounds like it could have used more money, more polish or more time in the studio, it rarely sounds like it needed more love.



Also out this week:
Big Boi, ‘Sir Luscious Leftfoot & 133’; Son of Chico Dusty’; Enrique Iglesias, ‘Euphoria’; Ed Kowalczyk (lead singer of Live), ‘Alive’; Bret Michaels, ‘Custom Built’; Kylie Minogue, ‘Aphrodite’

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June 28, 2010

CD review: Alejandro Escovedo `Street Songs of Love'

Alejandro Escovedo
`Street Songs of Love’
(Fantasty/Concord)
Grade: A

It’s ironic that the kickoff track to Alejandro Escovedo’s new album, “Street Songs of Love,” is entitled “Anchor,” because it lifts off with the same buoyant, guitar-fueled energy that fueled the best tracks on this album’s predecessor, 2008’s “Real Animal.” Indeed, this album is a nearly seamless segue from that earlier and justifiably acclaimed effort - same producer (Tony Visconti, who has twiddled the knobs for the likes of U2 and David Bowie), same hard-charging band (mostly) and recorded in the same out-of-the-way Kentucky studio.

But whereas “Real Animal” was a semi-autobiographical tour of Escovedo’s musical incarnations, “Street Songs of Love” is an intimate look at that most malleable of emotions; love found, lost, fought for, regained and, sometimes, sought after in vain. “I feel like I am falling/And it feels okay,” Escovedo sings in the vintage-sounding, doomed-romantic ballad “Fall Apart With You,” and many of the tracks on the album survey a series of emotional peaks and valleys. “Undesired” (with it’s wonderful opening lines, “Fought in Paris/Fought in Rome/Beneath the lights of the Astrodome/Now, baby, didn’t we now?”) is a tale of two losers lucky enough to find each other.

“Silver Cloud,” whose shredded guitar contrasts with its erotic imagery (“Silver cloud with a black lace lining…”) finds the singer confessing “I’m a fool for your love” (“C’mon fool me!” he shouts.) The swaggering Lou Reed-styled “Street Songs,” with its pumping bass and finger-snapping cool vibe, is a hipster survey of romantic possibilities while “Faith” (with Bruce Springsteen lending vocals) is a nearly inarticulate howl of affirmation.

But the heart of the album may be “Down In the Bowery,” a song Escovedo (along with co-writer Chuck Prophet) penned for his son Paris, whom he describes in a press release as “17, angry, young and pissed off, very quiet, loves punk rock, noise, and graffiti…” An essay on perhaps the most enduring love of all, that between a parent and child, the song is impossibly tender, a collection of hopes, dreams and prayers that will resonate with any parent who sees in his child all that he himself might have been. Escovedo has a canon of great songs, but this one may rise to near the very top. Musically, Escovedo, Visconti and Alejandro’s great band, the Sensitive Boys, keep things straightforward on “Street Songs of Love.” Perhaps that arises from having road-tested the songs during a two-month residency at the Continental Club before the band entered the studio. At any rate, there are none of the string arrangements that Escovedo is so fond of (though complex and layered background vocals, courtesy of Karla Manzur and Nakia Reynoso replicate similar effects). Mostly he’s playing that guitar like ringing a bell, as they say, while his three bandmates track along in close formation.

From the slinky, snake-handling riff of “Tula” to the ringing, anthemic chords of “Undesired” to mournful, blues-tinged lament of the album-closing instrumental “Fort Worth Blue,” guitars play in counterpoint to Escovedo’s lyrical essays on love’s permutations. The net result is two halves of one heart, beating in tandem. On Street Songs of Love, that heart is beating strong.

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June 23, 2010

CD review: Shawn David McMillen, "Dead Friends"

Shawn David McMillen
‘Dead Friends’
(Tompkins Square Park).

How do we memorialize those we’ve lost? We offer hugs and tears, we bring food, we sit quietly. Austinite Shawn David McMillen — known to some for his work with Rubble, Ash Castles on the Gold Coast, Iron Kite and more — made this album, a heady, mostly instrumental mix of mostly analog background clatter and acoustic mostly guitar meditations. McMillen is a psychedelic player in the truest sense of the term. We are meant to hang around in the headspace these pieces create from the vaguely Asian-sounding kalimba plinks on ‘A Morning With Dead Friends’ to the guitar and violin ramble-folk of ‘No Time Left in this Place,’ a duet with the similarly minded Ralph White. Album opener ‘Walking Home’ could be a fragment of a druggy Rolling Stones song, while out-of-focus percussion and what sounds like a very large, wooden engine turning over loops with a simple guitar melody and middle distance vocals on ‘The Moth.’ There’s no angle from which McMillen won’t approach an idea; don’t be so shocked if the next one is all-electronic or sports a brass band or is a capella.

Shawn David McMillen plays a free show with John Schooley and Followed by Static Thursday, June 24 at 7 p.m. at Trailer Space Records, 1401 Rosewood Ave.

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June 21, 2010

CD review: Gaslight Anthem `American Slang'

Gaslight Anthem
‘American Slang’
(Side One Dummy)
Grade: B-

There is absolutely nothing wrong with “American Slang” (released June 15). It has a surfeit of razor-sharp guitars, pounding drums and blue-collar, broken-hearted music poems penned by Gaslight Anthem lead singer/guitarist/honcho Brian Fallon. BUT (you knew that was coming), “American Slang” also often feels like it’s the musical equivalent of hormonally enhanced beef; sure, everything’s big and juicy and an easy swallow but with a vague taint of having grown too much too fast. That’s in comparison to “The `59 Sound,” the band’s 2008 masterstroke that was a pop-punk evolution of Social Distortion’s grease-caked rock chased with Bruce Springsteen’s working-man anthems.

While the Boss’ faint presence worked as a guide before, here he’s all over the place as Fallon recounts young men and women filling bars, “mysteries of New Orleans” and getting “your name tattooed inside of my arm.” It’s a “Born To Run on the River at the Edge of a Nebraska Town” grab bag at lots of points, which makes it something of a kindred spirit to the Killers’ underrated but uneven “Sam’s Town.”

All of which means this album’s title track and maybe one or two more will pump through satellite radio channels at Applebee’s locations all over the country. Not a bad thing, certainly, but still a little dispiriting, just like this album as a whole.

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CD review: Marah 'Life is a Problem'

Marah
`Life is a Problem’
(Valley Farm Songs)
Grade: C

Lots of changes in Marah-ville since last we checked in on brothers Dave and Serge Bielanko and their octane-burning roots rock outfit after 2008’s well-received “Angels of Destruction.” Biggest is the departure of Serge Bielanko, along with the band’s longtime rhythm section, which was bound to mess with the band’s tone and musical interplay no matter who came aboard to fill out the roster.

Rather than fight change, Dave Bielanko decided to take a creative detour and make Marah’s latest an exploration into folksy AOR territory. So “Life is a Problem” isn’t quite a stopgap, but it’s also a Marah record pretty much in name only.

Still present: Bielanko’s gift for yearning, weary choruses caked with nicotine and beer bottle sweat rings. “Valley Farm Song” and “Tramp Art,” among others, prove that Bielanko’s way with a word works in just about any musical idiom.

Sadly absent: the breakneck pace of “Point Breeze,” “Faraway You” or “The Hustle” that made Marah live shows experiences that bordered on revelatory. The benefit of this is that we get more of a glimpse into Bielanko’s lyrical chops - often very good but still a ways from great - but it’s hard to not feel like something’s missing, hearing such a white-hot rock band content to never take their tempos much past a shuffle.

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CD review: `Broken Hearts and Dirty Windows: Songs of John Prine'

Various
`Broken Hearts and Dirty Windows: Songs of John Prine’
(Oh Boy)
Grade: B+

The best tribute albums reveal new facets and strengths of their subjects, parsing the often-intimidatingly prolific catalogues of music’s titans through the prism of today’s talents. So it goes for the masterfully curated “Broken Hearts and Dirty Windows: Songs of John Prine,” which pares down the folk rock icon’s 15-plus studio albums across four decades to a stunningly cohesive 45-minute, 12-song disc that serves as a perfect Prine primer.

In hewing close to the spirit of Prine - his intimate, emotive singing and evocative, quintessentially American songwriting - while taking artistic leaps of faith when necessary, “Broken Hearts and Dirty Windows” respects without regurgitating. Justin Vernon’s ethereal opening take on “Bruised Orange (Chains of Sorrow)” pulls double duty as both an excellent cover and the best Bon Iver song not on “For Emma, Forever Ago.” Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band bring a honky-tonk energy to the Southern drama of “Wedding Day in Funeralville,” while My Morning Jacket’s take on “All the Best,” off Prine’s career-revitalizing, Grammy-winning 1991 classic “The Missing Years,” makes the most of the song’s potential for harmony. The Drive-By Truckers lively up “Daddy’s Little Pumpkin” with a Southern-fried charm. And the Avett Brothers’ knowing twang makes “Spanish Pipedream,” a high point off Prine’s classic self-titled debut album, a toe-tapping delight.

As with any tribute album, inconsistency occasionally fells the precedings - the Old Crow Medicine Show isn’t quite up to offering a fresh take on “Angel from Montgomery,” one of Prine’s most covered songs. The more straightforward acoustic interpretations of classic Prine - from singer-songwriters like Josh Ritter or Justin Townes Earle - hew a bit too closely to the source material. But taken together, “Broken Hearts and Dirty Windows” offers an almost perfect encapsulation of a singer with a winding, impressive career. For young cats looking for a Prine access point, you couldn’t ask for a much better way to jump in.

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June 19, 2010

Live review: Passion Pit at Stubb's

Bands that come through Austin during South by Southwest and have a good experience often seem to continue playing shows here regularly, even if their audience grows significantly. Boston-based indie pop band Passion Pit falls into this category, having played a showcase at Emo’s during the 2009 South by Southwest Festival. At that point the band had not released their full length album—in fact, they were barely even a band at that point—lead singer Michael Angelakos had recorded an EP of catchy synth pop entirely on his own for a college girlfriend a year or so before, and it caught on, so he brought the rest of the band along on tour. A year and some packed shows at Emo’s and the Austin City Limits Festival later, and the band is selling out two consecutive nights outside at Stubb’s.

During the first of those shows on Friday, Angelakos let the audience know how excited he was to be back in town. Though the body of songs the band was able to draw from is still very limited, nothing about the set felt particularly stale, perhaps because like many other bands of their size, they’ve had plenty of opportunities to hone their skills in a live setting over the last couple of years. Opening with “I’ve Got Your Number” from the “Chunk of Change” EP, followed by “Make Light” from the full-length “Manners” album, the band set the tone for the evening with pulsating lights and big, dramatic keyboard parts (and the audience set a tone of their own by throwing glowsticks. Phish isn’t coming until October, kids).

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June 14, 2010

CD review: Drake 'Thank Me Later'

Drake
`Thank Me Later’
(Young Money/Cash Money/Universal Motown)
Grade: B

The debut album from Toronto hip-pop maestro Aubrey Drake Graham eschews the rags-to-riches story embraced by so many rap debuts, instead bursting out of the gate as the rare freshman treatise that also acts as the requisite post-fame record. “Money just changed everything/I wonder how life without it would go/From the concrete who knew that a flower would grow?” reflects Drake within the first 30 seconds of “Fireworks,” a slow-simmering R&B burner built around a sleepy vocal hook courtesy of Alicia Keys. “Looking down from the top and it’s crowded below/My fifteen minutes started an hour ago.”

That first reference to Drake’s stratospheric fame isn’t the last - “Thank Me Later” boils with Drake’s pontifications on family and friendship and women (his second-favorite topic), but deals chiefly with his grapples with celebrity. There’s something refreshing about that honesty, and Drake’s conflicted verses save him from falling prey to the egotism of a Kanye West, routinely bouncing between the opposite poles of bluster and doubt, often within the same rhyme. “I’m living life right now and this is what I’m gonna do ‘til it’s over,” he boasts on lead single “Over,” a confident, aggressive track with all the bells and whistles - or strings and horns, more accurately - you expect from a ready-made radio hit. That’s a line that comes mere seconds after “I know too many people right now that I didn’t know last year.” It’s a problem most of us will never have, but Drake remains surprisingly sympathetic all the same.

Fortunately, all those ramifications on something less-than-universal are wrapped in some of the crunchiest pop production of any recent debut. Close producer 40 marries Drake’s rhymes - and frequent excursions into straight-forward singing - with a solid sense for rhythms on half of the album’s tracks. And Drake has the good sense to let his myriad guests - mentor Lil Wayne, T.I., the Dream, Jay-Z and a host of other industry cosigners - cut loose while keeping himself in the spotlight. He coasts a bit too much on vocal processing, but even with that crutch in place, it’s hard to deny that “Thank Me Later” has the highest density of perfect Top 40 songs of any album yet released this year, from the soulful West-produced croon of “Find Your Love” to the Bill Withers-smooth “Karaoke.”

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June 9, 2010

Review: Miike Snow at Antone's

Sometime between Miike Snow’s booking at Antone’s and Miike Snow’s playing Antone’s, a funny thing happened: Miike Snow got just a little too big for Antone’s.

The band’s three staple members — front man Andrew Wyatt and Swedish production duo Bloodyshy and Avant — are fond of pontificating in interviews on their devil-may-care approach; Miike Snow’s origins lay in collaborative experimentation with little intent to ever tour. But their self-titled debut had “infectious indie hit” written all over it. Wyatt’s subtle lilt laid over Bloodshy and Avant’s quivering synths hit the electropop sweet spot — the detached sentiment of a-ha blended with a sense for rhythm cribbed from Prince (it’s not hard to imagine “Black and Blue” as a “Purple Rain” b-side).

The songs off “Miike Snow” failed to chart on the order of Bloodshy and Avant’s other efforts — we are talking about the two guys who wrote “Toxic” here — but they struck a chord among the kinds of folks who routinely hit up the Hype Machine. Accordingly, Tuesday night’s performance by the trio and a note-perfect backing band sold out weeks ago, despite crosstown competition from the vaguely similar (if superior) LCD Soundsystem. And Antone’s — a club that’s wholly pleasant when half or three-quarters full but bereft of decent sightlines when sold-out, and that confounding bar/stage layout doesn’t help — proved a little less than ideal. For such a fast sell-out, bookers C3 Presents might have been wise to upgrade the venue to La Zona Rosa — as they did for Mumford and Sons tonight.

Not that any of that bogged the band down. Emerging bathed in an elaborate light show, Wyatt and company made their debut clad in white face masks, embracing the anonymity central to Miike Snow’s early days of blog buzz. Wyatt kicked things off inauspiciously, with a reasonably low-energy, quiet take on “Cult Logic.” But things loosened up with an ambitious group of three of the best, catchiest tunes on “Miike Snow” — “Burial,” the aforementioned “Black and Blue” and the sinister melancholy of “Silvia.” The masks came off, the energy picked up and “Silvia” closed with a lengthy, impressive jam session, blasts of the theremin accompanying bursts of light.

Most of those electronic elements dropped away for a straight-ahead rock take on “Plastic Jungle,” an effortless evocation of the strut of Britney Spears’ “Womanizer” — not, notably, a Bloodshy and Avant joint, though it easily could have been. And Miike Snow anthem “Animal” sounded livelier and more emotional live than on record — a sentiment apparent in the Antone’s audience, which hit its sing-along, clap-along height during the song. Even a limp, too-indulgent encore jam couldn’t harsh that buzz.

Update: This review has been corrected to display the correct opening song.

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Review: LCD Soundsystem at Stubb's

While some insist on calling the music from James Murphy and LCD Soundsystem “dance-punk,” the most punk (as in anyone can do this) thing about Murphy is how he looks. A slightly pudgy, 40-something guy perpetually sporting a white t-shirt and two days of beard, he looks like a guy who should be behind a bar, pouring you a shot and a bigger one for himself, rather than singing and songwriting for what has become a ferocious live band. As much as anyone in popular music, you look at Murphy and think, “This guy is a rock star?”

Yes. Yes, he is. With everyday charisma and, again, a five-piece dance machine behind him, Murphy and LCD are one of the most nakedly enjoyable live bands around and their leader is a key component.

Whether he is sing-song speaking (“Pow Pow”), shouting more or less in key (“Drunk Girls”) or crooning like a drunk girl with an unlimited karaoke budget (“I Can Change”), Murphy ringleads and mumbles and yammers, his killer rhythm section of bass, two drummers and longtime live keyboard player Nancy Whang clearing the way. Guitarist David Scott Stone is an underrated ace. He’s spent more time with hip hard rock bands such as the Melvins and the Locust than dance acts and his buzzing guitar adds an edge of psychedelic funk, turning the signature hammering piano on “All My Friends” (still one of the decade’s smartest, most heartfelt songs) into a throbbing drone.

Perhaps a reflection of the band’s brilliant hipster lament “Losing My Edge,” plenty of LCD’s tunes seemingly crib from older bands. “Us V Them” sounds awfully Talking Heads, while “Drunk Girls” sounds exactly like the Velvet Underground’s “White Light/ White Heat” and “Movement” shares a title with New Order and sounds like a Suicide outtake. But nobody minds. When you can move a soldout crowd’s heart (“Someone Great”) and feet (everything else) while looking like a guy who should be moving furniture, all is forgiven.

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June 7, 2010

CD review: Blitzen Trapper `Destroyer of the Void'

Blitzen Trapper
`Destroyer of the Void’
(Sub Pop)
Grade: A-

On “Destroyer of the Void,” the latest from Portland, Ore.-based experimental folk rockers Blitzen Trapper, the band takes a more focused, economic approach to their sound. With the exception of the title track, which opens the album with dramatic, spacey movements, the band, led by lead vocalist/songwriter Eric Early, continues to distance themselves from the sometimes freewheeling sonic adventures of their past. Instead, they offer up a cohesive collection of well-crafted country rock songs, stamped of course with the signature sound they have developed over the course of several albums. Their penchant for blending genres remains, as evident in the discofied guitar on “Laughing Lover,” but, like their last full-length, “Furr,” they leave behind a lot of the noise of 2007’s “Wild Mountain Nation.” Early’s songwriting again shines, especially on tracks such as “The Tree,” a folky duet with Alela Diane, where each line rolls of the previous, or the bouncy-yet-restrained “Evening Star,” a tale of lost innocence where Early juxtaposes quick-hitting verses with a more melodic, drawn-out chorus. Though there isn’t anything here quite as catchy as “Wild Mountain Nation” or “Furr,” “Destroyer…” is a solid collection, one worth checking out, especially for fans of the band.

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CD review: Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
`Grace Potter and the Nocturnals’
(Hollywood)
Grade: B-

Grace Potter sounds like everyone but Grace Potter. Come to think of it, how does Grace Potter sound, anyway?

The blues-belting, guitar-slinging front woman for the five-piece Vermont rock ‘n’ soul band channels a pantheon of successful influences on her third studio album. There’s a healthy dose of the down-home appeal of Sheryl Crow on the lovelorn, radio-friendly “Goodbye Kiss.” KGSR listeners might pick up on a bit of Susan Tedeschi on the soul of “That Phone.” The almost painfully hook-obsessed “Paris (Ooh La La)” isn’t all that far from a latter-day Kelly Clarkson song. You’ll hear some Stevie Nicks and some Jenny Lewis, too. And Potter’s vocals are often a dead ringer for Austin’s own master roots-rock chanteuse, Patrice Pike.

But while Potter’s dead-on imitation act means she practically has an impressive voice by proxy - emotive, loud, versatile, soulful - she never steps out on her own. “Grace Potter and the Nocturnals” careens giddily from memorable number to memorable number, especially on its harder-rocking highlights such as penultimate song “Hot Summer Night.” But as gifted as Potter and her pipes obviously are, and as well as her backing band hits their notes, the whole affair feels generic and listless. Potter has the soul and the chops. She just needs a direction.

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CD review: Delta Spirit `History from Below'

Delta Spirit
`History from Below’
(Rounder)
Grade: C+

San Diego quintet Delta Spirit’s first album - 2008’s “Ode to Sunshine” - spent its first nine minutes writing checks it couldn’t cash. The one-two-three punch of softly resonant opener “Tomorrow Goes Away,” the boisterous Americana rock of “Trashcan” and the rip-roaring shouter “People C’Mon” gave “Ode to Sunshine” one of the strongest introductions of any album that year. But all that energy evaporated with the ponderous “A House Built For Two,” and though “Ode to Sunshine” still boasted plenty of pleasures - like the Black Keys-descended blues rocker “Parade” - it never made good on Delta Spirit’s promise.

On follow-up “History From Below,” it takes only two tracks for Delta Spirit to gently amble off the rails.

Up-tempo opener “911” showcases the band at its very best, Matthew Vasquez’s howl evoking John Fogerty at the peak of his Creedence Clearwater Revival prowess. “Bushwick Blues” erupts with earnest lyricism and thundering percussion courtesy of Brandon Young.

But that momentum stalls out with plodding acoustic ballad “Salt In The Wound,” and “History From Below” never quite finds its footing again. Delta Spirit still churns out charm - witness the tailor-made-for-road-trips anthem “Golden State” or the countryjano of “St. Francis.” But by the time the overly ambitious eight-minute story song “Ballad of Vitaly” rolls out, “History From Below” has outstayed its welcome.

Delta Spirit will play July 17 at Emo’s outside.

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Live review: MGMT at Stubb's

Sunday night at Stubb’s, psych rock band MGMT—now much more a complete band than when Ben Goldwasser and Andrew VanWyngarden released “Oracular Spectacular” as a duo back in 2007—blended old and new material, erasing some of the rift that exists between the single-heavy “Oracular” and their more experimental recent release, “Congratulations.” Led by VanWyngarden, the band, now with a few years of touring experience behind them, brought a somewhat restrained, professional air as they worked through a set that balanced new songs such as “Flash Delirium” and “Siberian Breaks” against “Pieces of What” and “Time To Pretend.”

While the audience predictably responded more to the early, familiar material, a lot of the songs in the set off “Oracular,” including “Weekend Wars,” had a more organic feel than the canned beats and polished synthesizer of the studio recordings. This helped add some cohesiveness to a set that could have been very uneven, given the direction the band has headed with the new album. “Flash Delirium,” the most promoted of the new songs, is a rambling, layered exercise in experimental pop, something very different from the more tightly structured songs that drew people to the group in the first place. It sounded at home, however, aside the spacey “The Youth.”

Though they played the new material with confidence, it was clear that Goldwasser and VanWyngarden understand that a lot of people still are more interested in those older songs, especially when the low-budget light bulbs adorning the stage lit up with a giant “MGMT” during “Electric Feel,” one of their more upbeat tunes, and one that you might have heard playing in Urban Outfitters. If you’re bummed that you missed this, it’s probably available on YouTube, as a lot of the audience enjoyed the song through camera and phone displays.

After few more songs, including “Siberian Breaks,” “Time to Pretend” and the speedy closer “Brian Eno,” they left the stage for maybe a minute, returning for an encore of “Congratulations” and a recording of “Kids,” during which the band welcomed opening act Tame Impala on stage to dance and throw water at the crowd—which was either fun or not, depending on how badly you wanted to see them perform the crowd favorite.

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June 6, 2010

Review: Neil Young at Bass Concert Hall

Photos: Neil Young at Bass Concert Hall

Set list: Neil Young at Bass Concert Hall

Upon learning Neil Young was in Austin, a colleague texted me the following: “Wimpy Neil or Loud Neil?” (Note: wimpy is not a knock; he simply meant acoustic.)

As it turned out, both showed up at Bass Concert Hall Saturday night. In front of an occasionally entirely too enthusiastic crowd — there’s nothing louder and more entitled-sounding than let’s-call-them-longtime fans who’ve paid three figures for a ticket — Young alternated between new songs and old, guitar and keyboards, acoustic strum and electric fire.

Young’s hand-picked opener was a hero of his, a Scottish gentleman named Bert Jansch. Though well known in his own country and among guitar connoisseurs, Jasnch is a cult figure at best in the States, the co-founder of the British folk rock outfit the Pentangle and a man Young once called the Jimi Hendrix of acoustic guitar. Indeed he is - Jansch’s clawhammer-style picking creates spun-glass melodies, complicated and gorgeous, weaving together American blues and Anglo-Saxon folk. Jansch was one of the folk feast’s founders - his cult is devout for a reason.

But just as Jansch’s music was glorious in its fluid complexity, Young’s songs are extraordinary for their simplicity.

Opening with a trio of acoustic numbers, Young laid out his terms: rock music is eternal (“My My, Hey Hey (Out Of The Blue)”) as is longing (“Tell Me Why”) especially when combined with memory and beauty (“Helpless”).

He ratcheted up the sound on three new songs “You Never Call,” (Never thought we’d see the day when a Young song included the line “you send me a link,” but, well, here we are), “Peaceful Valley” and “Love and War” (his eternal topics), the bass string of his pickup-amplified acoustic bouncing around the room.

Most galvanizing were the electric numbers, classics such as “Down By the River” and the smashing “Cortez the Killer” reduced to their sapre, howling essence, raw like a fresh wound - “River” has rarely sounded sadder, “Cortez” more moving. The rarity “The Hitchhiker” stood stark and weird, a dark tale of drugs and more drugs.

“Ohio” was a crowd-pleaser, while “Sign of Love” and the encore-closing “Walk With Me” suggested Young has found next contexts and shapes for the gloriously unholy noises he can get out of his beloved guitar Old Black and it’s mate, the white Falcon, as if the feedback and fury from the “Arc/Weld” live era were shaped into rough songs. Elsewhere he moved to a pump organ for “After the Gold Rush” and to the piano for the light “Leia”.

You think you’ve seen it all from the guy and he finds another ace in the deck. Wimpy? Loud? Like the man once said, it’s all one song.

Alberto Martinez photo / AMERICAN-STATESMAN

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June 1, 2010

CD review: Acorn `No Ghost'

Acorn
`No Ghost’
(Zoom)
Grade: B

It would have been hard to predict the shift in sound between the initial EPs from Ottawa, Ontario’s Acorn and their debut album “Glory Hope Mountain.” The 2007 full-length traded the twinkly indie instrumentals and anthems of the band’s past for a full-blown concept album that tied the biography of singer Rolf Klausener’s mother to the Honduras landscape where her life took place.

The transition to Acorn’s second full-length release “No Ghost” isn’t quite so drastic, as the tribal-infused folk sounds that made “Glory Hope Mountain” feel so pure and naturalistic are still present. Sparse rim clicks and egg shakers add to the subdued feel of meditative songs like the acoustic “Misplaced.” More explosive numbers like “Restoration” rollick through galloping rhythms overlaid with melodies and harmonies that soar with a celebratory abandon akin to the vocal work on recent Animal Collective albums.

These instrumental flourishes are the perfect complement to the collage of elemental images that Klausener works into each song, from wind on sand dunes to cauterized cobwebs. And while the diversity of this imagery sometimes makes the songs feel thematically jumbled, it also adds to the spontaneity and color of the music. Ultimately, “No Ghost” doesn’t exhibit the vision of “Mountain.” But it does find Acorn continuing to explore a sound that’s more ambitious and eclectic than that of many other bearded, folk-driven peers.

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CD review: Nas and Damian Marley `Distant Relatives'

Nas and Damian Marley
`Distant Relatives’
(Republic)
Grade: A-

“Distant Relatives,” Nas’ recently released collaboration album with the reggae singer Damian Marley, sounds like the album he always wanted to make. Rather than drumming up controversy with an eye-catching title like “Hip-Hop Is Dead” or “Untitled” (originally a racial epithet), there’s an outline of Africa on the cover and a nod to the shared roots of American and Caribbean blacks. There is little effort at chasing trends to stay relevant, with only one big-name rapper (Lil’ Wayne) and Marley handling the entirety of the production.

After first working together on “Road to Zion,” the second single from Marley’s breakthrough 2005 album “Welcome to Jamrock,” the duo share an easy musical chemistry. Both emphasize socially conscious themes, and the slower pace of Marley’s music blends well with Nas’ lyrically intensive style.

“Distant Relatives” is a smooth fusion of reggae and rap, with neither genre overwhelming the other. On songs like “Strong Will Continue,” with Nas and Marley going back and forth over slowly building drums and snares that merge into a reggae chorus, the blending of the two styles feels completely natural. Indeed, Nas seems more comfortable over Marley’s reggae-tinged guitars than the more club-influenced sound of modern rap.

He’s content with who he is, someone who “survived spiritual wars, see my welts / walking through the valley of shadow of death / New York to Cali for money, power and respect.” On one level the album is a celebration of survival in the music industry without sacrificing artistic credibility, as Nas pats himself on the back for “having more value cuz I rapped about more than just a gun.”

There’s nothing too groundbreaking about what they are saying - the economic injustice of modern society and the necessity of overcoming negative cultural messages. But as they outline on songs like the gospel-influenced “Count Your Blessings” and “In His Own Words,” both are just happy they can say it at all.

Nas and Damian Marley (with opener Nneka) are scheduled to play June 9 at Stubb’s ($35-$39.50; stubbsaustin.com).

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May 31, 2010

CD review: Shinyribs- '?????'

Here I am, all ready to write about my favorite new album- local or national - and I realize that I don’t know the title, so I go on the artist’s web site, but can’t find that info anywhere. I’m listening to the record on iTunes, as the actual physical copy is out in the car, and it’s hard to tear myself away . Would it have killed Kevin “Shinyribs” Russell: to put the title of his new musical baby on his web site? As soon as “Shores of Galilee,” with those soulfully untethered background vocals by Sally Allen, is over I’ll head on out to the car. The first four songs of this album are almost perfect. The next five are pretty terrific, too.

If I have a problem (other than the lack of a memorable title) with this record from the Gourds co-frontman and his tasteful side band, it’s the LP-closing “Change Is Gonna Come,” which is a showcase of Russell’s vocal high range on a song that’s been covered to death in recent years. Very un-Gourds-like. Shinyribs is obviously going for a Bruddah Iz feel, but “Over the Rainbow” is isn’t.

Shinyribs
“Well After Awhile”
Nine Mile Records
Grade: A

I’m back, just in time for “East TX Rust,” which sounds like what might happen if Jerry Reed (as channeled by Ray Wylie Hubbard) invited Stevie Wonder to stop by the studio with his clavinet.

It’s obvious to call this a Gourds album without co-frontman Jimmy Smith, but there’s a completely different mindset at work here. “Well After Awhile” can more accurately be described as a record where Russell puts his vocal prowess on full display without all those reeling fiddles and vamping mandolins. Produced by George Reiff, it’s an album full of the splendidly crooning songs like “Promenade” from 2006 that take Gourds albums up a notch. But sequenced together these full-voiced ballads and sway numbers have a new energy, as evidenced by “Poor People’s Store,” which brings a doowop observational vibe in the aisles of Dollar General.

Opening track “Who Built the Moon” is so simply gorgeous that the Devo-ish lyrics almost make sense. “Country Cool,” meanwhile, is this record’s “Tex Mex Mile,” a celebration of that which is organic and local. The pot calling the kettle real.

“May you carry soul by the truckload,” Russell sings on the “Fisherman’s Friend” prayer-song and along the way he airs out a voice that comes deep from within. This is a singer’s album, a songwriter’s album. Gourds fans will dig it, but so will those who think “holler” has only one meaning, a raised voice. “Well After Awhile” is brimming with talent and who doesn’t like that?

Shinyribs play a CD release show Thursday at Saxon Pub.

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May 24, 2010

CD review: Crystal Castles 'Crystal Castles'

Crystal Castles
`Crystal Castles’
(Fiction)
Grade: B

The 2008 debut from Toronto electronica duo Ethan Kath and Alice Glass - also self-titled, leading many perplexed fans to dub the sophomore album “Crystal Castles II” - sounded something like the unholy spawn of New Order doing the business with a Nintendo Entertainment System. Live, Glass’ abrasive screech and crowd-diving antics, set to Kath’s 8-bit production flourishes and an epilepsy-inducing light display, bred a cathartic dance party - at least, when Glass refrained from picking fights with security. But on record, the Castles’ harsh aesthetic - Mega Man blips and bloops, Glass’ indecipherable howl, and all the most jagged edges of house, post-punk, new wave, and synthpop thrown together in a blender - made for a tedious slog.

“Crystal Castles” - er, the second one - steadfastly refuses to abandon all those sharp, pointy moments. The first half of the record, from the almost melody-free opener “Fainting Spells” to Glass’s aural assault on “Baptism” and “Doe Deer” - at one and a half minutes, unbearably long - almost feel like introductory challenges, riddles that must be solved before the Sphinx lets you into Thebes. But the duo indulge in a number of mellower, more pop-influenced moments on their follow-up album, stepping tentatively toward the catchier ethos of lo-fi electronica contemporary Neon Indian. “Celestica” bounces with a chill club charm and Glass manages a proper serenade. The spacey “Violent Dreams” serves as a perfect interlude between infectious disco-punk offerings “Vietnam” and “Suffocation.” It’s hard to listen to a number like the Platinum Blonde cover “Not In Love” without enviously imagining all the dance parties sure to spring forth from its synthesizer beats and new wave hooks. Is “Crystal Castles” - part deux - universally recommendable? Not even close. But it’s a sizable leap forward for a band that hitherto has failed to justify its hype.

Crystal Castles will perform Aug. 11 at Stubb’s, 801 Red River St. Tickets, $35, are on sale now. www.stubbsaustin.com.

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CD review: Widespread Panic 'Dirty Side Down'

Widespread Panic
`Dirty Side Down’
(ATO)
Grade: B

“Dirty Side Down,” the eleventh studio album from road-warrior jam veterans Widespread Panic, is packed with all of the elements that have kept the band rolling along with a super-loyal fanbase for decades - gritty southern rock and tour-ready songs that allow various members to stretch out on their respective instruments. Their unique sound isn’t going to be heralded as terribly progressive, but it’s not their concern to be hip - this band has been making music for a long time, and with their heart and soul being a touring machine, they are free to worry about making the music they want to make, and they make it well. Opener “Saint Ex,” which comes equipped with ’80s-rific smooth blues guitar and lines like “olly olly oxen free” sung with dark seriousness, is outdated, but well crafted. A more potent moment comes on the bittersweet “This Cruel Thing,” written by late singer-songwriter Vic Chesnutt, with whom members of the band recorded two albums under the name Brute. Part of the fun of listening to “Dirty…” is imagining the songs coming alive in a concert setting, which is easy to do on many of the tracks, including instrumental organ jam “St. Louis” and upbeat “True To My Nature,” with its extended guitar solo. There is an impressive energy running throughout the album, one that listeners might expect from a much younger band, and one that bodes well for their future.

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May 22, 2010

Live review: Drake at Stubb's

Clearly, Drake is on the cusp of a Moment.

A Moment, in the pop cultural sense being that time when an artist arrives pretty much fully formed, has an almost scary bond with their fans and hasn’t been tainted by any sort of career disappointments, personal gaffes or bad publicity.

The Beatles’ arrival at Kennedy Airport in 1964 was the beginning of pretty much the biggest Moment ever.

Britney Spears’ Moment spanned the first eight months of 1999. Vampire Weekend had an out-of-left-field total surprise Moment during the first half of 2008. Jay-Z has managed to make his entire career into a Moment.

Drake - a hip-hop star and actor of Canadian birth aligned with Lil Wayne and Cash Money Records - isn’t on any of those levels yet, but it was neon obvious seeing him perform Friday night at Stubb’s that the Summer of Drake is barreling toward us. Actually, “swaggering” is probably the better verb to use there. Swaggering, crooning, boasting… employing any and all methods to sex your eardrums into endorphin overloaded submission.

Playing Stubb’s relatively no-frills amphitheater - which doesn’t invite large stage show productions - put the focus Drake and his five-piece band as performers instead of showmen and made a good test for how he’ll endure as a singer going forward. Most of his hit singles - “Best I Ever Had,” “Successful,” “Over” - rely on heavy use of AutoTune or other vocal processing but a live show takes away some of that safety net and on Friday he succeeded during the roughly half the set when he sang and rapped sans effects.

Part of Drake’s appeal comes from the stylistic fence sitting he pulls off by crooning smooth vocal hooks in the choruses of his blunt and at times chauvinistic rap songs, giving him lover man R&B appeal to go with harder street credibility essential for most rappers these days. Live, it was banging beats like those in “Money To Blow” or “Lust For Life” that kept the almost uncomfortably packed venue moving. That the only lull came during a set of almost ballads near the end of the show was evidence that, at least in person, Drake’s best move is to keep the pace as frenetic as possible.

Further proof of that came after a brief ode to the currently incarcerated Lil Wayne, when Drake asked the crowd to give their best for a video the singer was making to send to the rap superstar. What followed was a rendering of Lil Wayne’s “I’m Goin’ In” that saw the audience yell/rap/sing the locked-up star’s entire opening verse of the song before Drake took over his guest spot on the track that helped set him on the accelerated path to stardom he’s currently on.

That all this comes before the young man has even released his guest-laden debut album “Thank Me Later” (out next month) says a lot of things. One of them being that catching an almost-certain star on the rise is a rare thing, and when it happens there’s not much else to do but take in the Moment in all its pure-but-bewildering power.

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May 20, 2010

CD review: The Jayhawks 'The Jayhawks (aka The Bunkhouse Album)'

The Jayhawks
‘The Jayhawks (aka The Bunkhouse Album)’
(Lost Highway)
Grade: B

A reissue many Austinites would have dearly loved to see about 15 years ago, the first Jayhawks LP was released in 1986 and bafflingly is only hitting CD for the first time now — long after the quasi-genre the band helped launch has largely wafted off in a pedal-steel vapor.

Fans hoping for a lost prequel to the “Hollywood Town Hall” sound may be disappointed: The boys aren’t making much of the piano and organ yet, and these upbeat compositions lack the spellbinding melancholy of that 1992 record. But even while their sound owes too much to Gram Parsons and their lyrics rely heavily on jailhouse-and-barstool country clichés (“Misery Tavern / It’s the only place I know,” goes a typical line), there’s much to enjoy here.

Singers Mark Olson and Gary Louris have already found the sweet spot, harmony-wise, even if Olson sometimes punches out the notes like he’s at a hootenanny; and, groundbreaking or not, numbers like “King of Kings” and “Let the Critics Wonder” are confident enough pieces of songwriting to get under your skin after just a listen or two.

“(I’m Not In) Prison” and “People in this Place on Every Side” are enjoyable reminders of the debt the No Depression crowd owed R.E.M.; while the quick tempos on “Bunkhouse” make one wonder where this Minneapolis band would have gone if they’d paid more attention to what their neighbors in the Replacements were doing at the time, the material is certainly good enough to have justified a release back when the band seemed bound for a long career.

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May 17, 2010

CD review: Band of Horses 'Infinite Arms'

Band of Horses
`Infinite Arms’
(Fat Possum)
Grade: B+

When Band of Horses stopped at Stubb’s during South by Southwest in March, frontman Ben Bridwell introduced perhaps the band’s best-known song, “The Funeral,” saying something along the lines of “I think this one’s a single.” By doing so he demonstrated both a sense of humor and a self-awareness of their place in mainstream culture. He understands the appeal of their sound, which combines the comfort of classic rock with a more contemporary cynicism. Two albums and a jump to a major label removed from the song, which is still probably being played on a commercial somewhere, “Infinite Arms” finds the band more or less sticking to the same formula, with a few tweaks. Things kick off with “Factory,” a highlight with a well-crafted melody and just the right amount of strings. “Compliments” shows off Bridwell’s split personality, juxtaposing fairly upbeat, bouncy piano and guitar with lyrics like “I’m fixing a drink in the morning/with the way things are/you may have stayed too long.” The fuzzy rocker “Laredo” kind of misses the mark, with Bridwell belting out empty verses such as “I’m at a crossroads with myself.” “Blue Beard,” a quiet, slow mover with a church hymn-like choral intro, gives way to bittersweet electric guitar, harmonies and easy-going country rock. The rest of the album moves along in a sweet but consistently subdued fashion. The title track is drenched with ambient melancholy as Bridwell sings introspectively atop acoustic guitars and cymbal rolls. Fast-paced “NW Apt.” is fun, but clacks the gravitas that works so well for the band. None of this is to say that they’ve necessarily lost what drew so many listeners in the first place - all of the elements are still there - it’s just that some of what they do works better.

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CD review: Black Keys 'Brothers'

Black Keys
`Brothers’
(Nonesuch)
Grade: B+

Producer extraordinaire Danger Mouse only helmed the consoles for one song - fuzzed out, whistle-accentuated lead single “Tighten Up” - off “Brothers,” the sixth album from galvanic Ohio blues rock duo the Black Keys. But his sensibility dominates “Brothers” nonetheless - the record’s 15 tracks boast Danger Mouse’s keen ear for hooks and fondness for concise statements. And both guitarist/singer Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney have expanded their horizons since 2008’s “Attack and Release” - Auerbach on solo album “Keep It Hid,” Carney on side project Drummer, and both on the better-than-it-had-any-right-to-be rap/rock collaboration “Blackroc.” All those dalliances make “Brothers” the strongest, most varied Black Keys record yet. “Everlasting Light” boasts a summertime groove and a gospel sensibility; “Black Mud” evokes the guitar lines of Stax/Volt classics; and “Ten Cent Pistol” kicks off like an 1970s jazz song. “The Go Getter” and “Too Afraid to Love You” build themselves on creeping soundscapes and a wind tunnel’s worth of reverb.

Auerbach and Carney push the boundaries of a blues rock duo about as far as they’ll go - but still can’t quite sustain the album’s 55-minute running time. Closers “Never Gonna Give You Up” (not a Rick Astley cover, sadly) and “These Days” are rote pieces of blues, and the Black Keys can pump out lovelorn tunes of loss like “She’s Long Gone” in their sleep. A little trimming would have ensured “Brothers” was perfect - as it is, Black Keys fans will have to settle merely for “pretty good.”

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CD review: LCD Soundsystem 'This is Happening'

LCD Soundsystem
(DFA)
`This is Happening’
Grade: A-

“There’s no way that we will be pleased with this/We’ve been waiting such a long time” James Murphy croaks on “One Touch,” the third helping of haughty dance-punk on third LCD Soundsystem album, “This Is Happening.” The line could serve as an encapsulation of the sky-high expectations with which “This Is Happening” must contend. The rock critic hive mind collectively dubbed 2007’s “Sound of Silver” a modern masterpiece, and justly so - it boomeranged wildly from parody to poignancy, with Murphy’s spiky, knowing croon reflecting on self-consciousness and aging, anchored at every point by some of the most indelibly infectious disco grooves yet seen in the still-nascent 21st century.

So it’s a great pleasure to report that “This Is Happening” pioneers new territory for Murphy, beyond even the already expansive horizons of “Sound of Silver.” Opener “Dance Yrself Clean” kicks off modestly, with a slow build of bongos and Murphy at his most reminiscent of Kermit the Frog, before exploding in a cathartic, powerful release of synthesizers. That trademark blend of Murphy’s striking lyricism and dance instincts shows up on the wistful “All I Want.” The cloaked self-loathing of “I Can Change” sounds like the Smiths-by-way-of-synthesizer. The requisite goofiness appears on lead single “Drunk Girls” and, more enjoyably, on “Pow Pow,” which graduated from the same “monologue as song” school as “Losing My Edge.” It’s an eight-minute charmer that’s less a song and more a lengthy call-and-response stand-up comedy routine layered over tropical percussion. Only the aforementioned Talking Heads train wreck of “One Touch” fails to impress, but eight out of nine’s nothing to sneeze at, and all is forgiven by the time emotional closer “Home” sulks out of the speakers.

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May 10, 2010

CD Review: The National `High Violet'

The National
`High Violet’
(4AD)
Grade A-

“It’s a terrible love and I’m walking with spiders,” Matt Berninger, frontman for Brooklyn-based indie rock group the National, sings to kick off the band’s latest release. If you’re hoping things brighten up a bit as the album moves forward, they don’t, but that isn’t what this band is about. Similar to their last full-length effort, the lauded “Boxer,” “High Violet” reflects a group that is exceptionally comfortable with their sound, and, as a result, very good at what they do. The defining element of the National’s music is Berninger’s voice, which purposefully drags along with a thick layer of detachment, lulling listeners into a groove in order to construct a dramatic arc that defines their best moments. This time around, Berninger tells a dark story, packed with grim imagery that borders on the abstract but nonetheless lures one into his personal world. It’s a potent approach, particularly on standout track “Lemonworld,” where he paints a portrait of beautiful depression, singing, “lay me on the table, put flowers in my mouth and we can say we invented a summer loving torture party.” This isn’t to say that the rest of the band plays a secondary role-rather, they complement Berninger throughout the album, adding both lush layers and subtle fills, like on “Little Faith” where quick drums in conversation with strings and guitar shine, playing as prominent a part as the lead singer.

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CD Review: Sara Hickman `Absence of Blame'

Sara Hickman
`Absence of Blame’
(Self-released)
Grade B-

“Love Is There,” the soaring, uplifting first track off “Absence of Blame” from much-loved, perennial Austin singer-songwriter Sara Hickman, is something of a bait-and-switch. With its chorus of background vocalists, it has the vibe of a gospel number, as Hickman reassures us that love is there, ever-present even “in the broken places/in the empty spaces.”

But not all of “Absence Of Blame” is as straightforward. The slow, acoustic “Betrayal: Suitcase” is a little more ambiguous, and Hickman dives into infidelity and heartbreak on “Infidelity: Before You Change Your Mind,” the damage wrought by suicide in “Suicide: Blown Away,” and all manner of dysfunction and self-destruction on “Family Dynamics: Broken.” The sound is just as mercurial, from a Neil Young guitar riff on “Prison: Edentown” to the jazzy keys and R&B atmosphere of closer “Gratitude: I’m So Glad You Came Along.” It’s that adventurousness - both sonic and lyrical - that redeems “Absence Of Blame” when the album doesn’t quite hold together, whether on the heartfelt but overly subdued “Juliet and Juliet” or the too-standard “John Lennon: Last Of A Dying Breed.”

Sara Hickman performs at 5 pm. today at Waterloo Records (free; waterloorecords.com) and 8:30 p.m. Wednesday at the Cactus Cafe ($10; www.utexas.edu).

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CD Review: Grupo Fantasma `El Existential'

Grupo Fantasma
`El Existential’
(Nat Geo Music)
Grade: B+

Even if you didn’t know coming into “El Existential” that Austin’s reigning kings of Latin funk recorded their fourth album in a house in North Austin, you could probably deduce as much from its free-flowing, extemporaneous vibe. The 10-piece blender of all things Afro, Anglo and Latino that is Grupo Fantasma have crafted a record that’s not as laser-focused as the Grammy-nominated “Sonidos Gold” - nor as precise as last year’s stellar Brownout outing “Aguilas Y Cobras” - but makes up for it with a shaggy charm and an energy that’s entirely sincere.

There are excursions into psychedelia - as “Telerana,” which features Curt Kirkwood of the Meat Puppets and which swirls a mean lick into reverb-heavy vocals and mythological imagery. “El Consejo” is almost insolently funky, with a groove that sounds like it could have soundtracked a foot chase in a Blaxploitation classic. There are the expected saucy and sassy numbers, from the spiraling horns of “La Conozco” to the seductive “Calor” (that’s “Heat” to English-speakers). And surprisingly strong storytelling emerges across nearly all of the album’s 13 tracks, from the tale of revenge on “Juan Tenorio” to the mystery of the hard-driving “Montanozo.” “El Existential” doesn’t redefine Grupo Fantasma, but it is the band’s most expansive, wide-ranging work yet, proving that even in its 10th year the band is still plumbing every last depth of world music.

Grupo Fantasma plays a free in-store at Waterloo Records today at 5 p.m.

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CD Review: Woven Bones `In and Out and Back Again'

Woven Bones
`In and Out and Back Again’
(HoZac)
Grade B+

You have to hand it to Woven Bones singer/guitarist Andrew Burr and his crew. The band landed in Austin in 2008, cranked out a couple of grimy singles, shuffled some drummers and built themselves the buzz they deserve. Rumor has it that this excellent Austin trio is none too pleased with the steady stream of Jesus and Mary Chain comparisons that get mumbled its way. This is completely understandable, except over nine songs and 26 minutes - and one must always add points for keeping things concise - every tune here could be a Jesus and Mary Chain B-side, from the snotty vocals to the willfully rudimentary drumming to the guitar gunk that alternates between driving and foggy. (Then there’s Burr’s completely excellent yet very Mary Chain hair.) This is also in no way a bad thing and these guys know it. Bands have been riffing on the Mary Chain’s admixture of bubblegum melodies and guitar noise for about 25 years now and there is no reason to stop. The fuzz is cut with a twang that any Texan would be proud to call his or her own, Burr’s voice sounds awfully sweet soaked in all that echo and you need to see them live. Until you do, this is a dandy souvenir.

Woven Bones play a CD release show at 10 p.m. Wednesday at Beerland. With Jacuzzi Boys, OBN IIIs.

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May 4, 2010

CD review: Free Energy, 'Stuck On Nothing'

Free Energy
‘Stuck On Nothing’
(DFA)
Grade: B

The debut album from Philadelphia rock quintet Free Energy has been available digitally since early in the spring, and it drops today on CD. But the real way to experience the album is how hundreds of South by Southwest Music Festival attendees did — on cassette tapes distributed by the band and its representatives.

That’s because “Stuck On Nothing” is perfectly suited for an old-school cassette. It’s T. Rex and Slade, filtered through the more modern sensibilities of five youngsters who heard it first on the radio and have logged equal time listening to Weezer and Oasis. “Free Energy” and “Bang Pop” channel the best of ’70s rock, with the guitar histrionics and jokey cowbell of the former recalling Blue Oyster Cult and the latter packing a sing-along chorus you’ll be chanting for days.

LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy steers the ship as producer, bringing a glossy sheen to the dance punk excursions of “Bad Stuff” and lending production pathos to slower tracks like “Hope Child.” Free Energy isn’t as laser-focused as the band could be, with longer songs that drag a bit and musical flourishes, as on closer “Wild Wind,” that don’t pair organically with the group’s straight-ahead style. But there are the makings of an awfully fetching rock band here.

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May 3, 2010

CD review: The New Pornographers ‘Together'

The New Pornographers
‘Together’
(Matador)
Grade B+

New Pornographers lead visionary Carl Newman closes out “Moves,” the opening track off “Together,” by making a promise to the listener: “These things get louder.” That’s a guarantee that’s hard to imagine, coming as it does at the end of an explosive track loaded with the Pornographers’ 21st century Electric Light Orchestra style, all soaring strings and offbeat harmonies seemingly designed to out-bizarre the Dirty Projectors.

But he and the rest of the Canadian supergroup — including Neko “I’m kind of a big deal” Case and eccentric pop sorcerer Dan Bejar — make good on that promise. “Together” is a return to fist-pumping form after the less immediate, more cerebral pleasures of fourth album “Challengers,” from the charging rock of lead single “Your Hands (Together)” to the audacious trumpet-showcasing “A Bite Out of My Bed.” Case sounds as giddy and enthused as ever, joyful and charismatic over a chorus of whistles on “Crash Years.” Bejar chips in his catchiest numbers yet, especially on the gentle summertime amble of “If You Can’t See My Mirrors.” Standard New Pornographers nuggets sound stronger than ever when backed by the virtuosic strings of Tara Szczygielski and Ben Kalb. Closer “We End Up Together” unseats previous champion “Stacked Crooked” as the band’s best closing number, an epic culmination.

If there’s any criticism to be made, it’s that the album’s rich wall-of-sound production sometimes overwhelms the musicianship, as the already-expansive New Pornographers are layered on top of strings, the Dap-Kings Horns and a bevy of guest stars including Will Sheff and St. Vincent. But that’s not a mortal sin, and if anything “Together” is guilty of only occasionally being too much of a good thing, like a musical ice cream headache.

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CD review: Broken Social Scene 'Forgiveness Rock Record'

Broken Social Scene
‘Forgiveness Rock Record’
(Arts & Crafts)
Grade: A-

‘Forgiveness Rock Record’ is the fourth full-length album from Broken Social Scene, who, along with the New Pornographers, is one of two popular Canadian rock collectives releasing a record this week. Unlike the Pornographers, who have more or less kept its lineup constant throughout the band’s existence, BSS’s lineup seems to be constantly in flux, a feature also reflected in live performances, which have an old-timey, traveling roadshow feel, with different members entering and exiting at all times.

That looseness comes across strongly on Broke Social Scene’s latest, as does the character of the different members as the music shifts from more straightforward rock to dance and folk-influenced pieces. “Forgiveness …” kicks off with “World Sick,” an ambitious song combining light, poppy verses and a big guitar and drums chorus. A highlight, the song sets the tone for the rest of the album, though nothing else quite reaches that level of intensity. On the catchy “All to All,” a fast, pulsing drum machine lays the foundation for a Donna Summer-like disco affair; that gives way to horns and fuzzy vocals on “Arthouse Director” and African-influenced folk on “Highway Slipper Jam.” At 14 tracks and with scores of guest spots from onetime BSS members like Feist, Metric’s Emily Haines aand James Shaw, Jason Collet and others, “Forgiveness” is a journey bound to have something that will satisfy both longtime fans and those new to the group.

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CD review: The Hold Steady 'Heaven is Whenever'

The Hold Steady
‘Heaven is Whenever’
(Vagrant)
Grade: A

In an interview earlier this year, The Hold Steady’s lead singer/songwriter Craig Finn described the forthcoming album as “less anthemic.” Fine, but with a band like the Hold Steady, even if the group cut the anthem level in half, the album still would be pretty anthemic. That’s more or less what you get with “Heaven is Whenever,” the band’s fifth album and the first since “Almost Killed Me” not to feature keyboardist Franz Nicolay as a member of the band.

While there is an argument to be made that all of the Hold Steady’s catalog is to some degree an homage to rock ‘n’ roll, Finn and company seem to run with that idea just a little bit harder this time, most evident on “We Can Get Together,” the chorus of which the band used for the album’s title. Throughout the song, Finn, at his most sentimental (which is very sentimental), references everything from Husker Du to “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” to British band Heavenly, beckoning for love to “shine down on us all.” It’s kind of cheesy, but it also makes sense given the way in which his songwriting as evolved over the years.

Similar to the last album, “Stay Positive,” Finn has again more or less left behind most of the characters that inhabit many of the band’s most recognizable songs — a mention of Saint Theresa, but not a whole lot of Charlemagne or Holly. That is not to say that the band still isn’t capable of conjuring the same energy that made early material so appealing. Album highlight “The Weekenders,” with its quiet, thumping beginning yielding to Tad Kubler’s roaring guitar licks, is destined for the band’s inevitable greatest hits collection in 20 years.

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CD review: Court Yard Hounds 'Court Yard Hounds'

Court Yard Hounds
‘Court Yard Hounds’
(Columbia)
Grade B

In the beginning, there were four Dixie Chicks — sisters Emily Robison and Martie Maguire teamed with Robin Lynn Macy and Laura Lynch. Then just with Lynch, then with Natalie Maines, she of the thermonuclear voice. The latter group has sold tens of millions of records and scored 15 Grammys and turned into a cultural referendum when Maines told a London audience that she wasn’t too wild about war in Iraq in 2003.

Now, with Maines in Los Angeles in the middle of a musical hiatus dating to 2007, we’re back to the core of Robison and Maguire billed as the Court Yard Hounds, writing and performing low-key, country/folk-grass about love and its complicated, adult consequences. It’s hard to see this as more than a side project (a reunited Dixie Chicks plays some shows with the Eagles this summer). But everyone has been silent about new Chicks albums, and this is also more than a toss-off. It’s also hard to not notice Robison’s divorce from musician Charlie Robison in songs such as “Skyline,” “April’s Love” and even the backsliding “I Miss You.”

“Gracefully,” the still-married Maguire’s breakup tune, is the most brutal and direct: (“We settle like oil and water/ I, I just wanna smile again/but you just wanna drown in the bottle”). The zippy single “The Coast” reminds everyone that Fleetwood Mac is a big part of these gals’ musical DNA, and the rocking “Ain’t No Son” looks at the horror of a son coming out to a father who hates him. There’s nothing here that would be out of place on a Chicks album, nor is there anything here that would necessarily be improved by Maines’ belt. Like the most complex romantic breakups, it is impossible to tell if this is a good or bad thing.

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CD review: Minus the Bear 'Omni'

Minus the Bear
‘Omni’
(Dangerbird)
Grade: B-

Seattle’s Minus the Bear makes a lot of tradeoffs on its fourth full-length album — scenic backdrops for seedy ones, intricate string work for slick production and syncopation for straightforward rhythm.

A few songs find this formula successful. In the album centerpiece “Into the Mirror,” a sharp, jutting synth shrieks over ebullient guitar lines, and singer Jake Snider paints scenes from a glitzy party with brushstrokes blurred by a drug-induced haze. But most of the album lacks this kind of sophistication. All too often, “Omni” feels like the never ending tale of Snider’s prowl for his next hookup.

Granted, the frontman rarely dropped his sexual references subtly on past albums. But he dropped them with more nuance. Now, instead of observing the “Blinds drawn at twelve noon/With daylight pouring through/Projecting lines on her body,” he can only implore his latest prospect to “Yell out my name, baby.”

These cliches are backed by riffs that a seasoned guitarist like Dave Knudson should be able to play with one hand. You might say this figuratively about most guitar players. But given Knudson’s complex signature tapping style, it might come close to true on songs like “Hold Me Down.” The track glides along with the smooth, dark melody of the band’s early EPs, but lacks any semblance of their innovative guitar work.

Still, “Omni” showcases a band expanding its musical palette. The funky disco groove of “Summer Angel” and the trance pulsations of “Animal Backwards” see Minus the Bear stepping far beyond genre constrictions.

Let’s just hope the next outing regains the band’s bite.

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CD review: 'B.o.B. - the Adventures of Bobby Ray'

‘B.o.B Presents: The Adventures of Bobby Ray’
(Atlantic)
Grade: B+

Most rappers’ first albums revolve around their lives before music. They usually don’t become disillusioned with the fame until albums two or three. B.o.B’s “The Adventures of Bobby Ray” accelerates this process; it’s the debut of a 21-year-old rapper who somehow already sounds jaded and world-weary.

An Atlanta rapper named for the Outkast single “Bombs over Baghdad,” he was signed to a record label soon after finishing high school at 17. He made a name for himself on the mix-tape circuit and landed a cover of XXL, but remained in label purgatory for years. This despite frequent comparisons to Andre 3000, with whom he shares a similar eclectic musical taste and the ability to carry a tune.

But, as he laments, it takes more than talent to succeed: “Somebody take me back to the days / Back when I was rapping for the hell of it / Can I get a wish to end the politics / and get back to the music that started this.” While the existential angst of stardom is hardly a new topic for musicians, it’s rather rare for a musician who isn’t yet a star.

“The Adventures of Bobby Ray,” with the #1 single “Nothing on You,” could change that. It’s similar to Andre 3000’s “The Love Below,” with B.o.B going back and forth smoothly between singing and rapping over a diverse array of instruments, from guitars to pianos and synthesizers. He has both a natural ear for melodies and the ability to rap with big-name guests like Lupe Fiasco (“Past My Shades”), Eminem (“Airplanes, Part II”) and label boss T.I. (“Bet I”).

Throughout, he showcases a layer of introspection and self-doubt unusual for a rapper. He pleads on the intro “that what comes up, must come down / so don’t let me fall.” On “Airplanes,” he compares airplanes to shooting stars and wishes that “everyone know my name / and everywhere I go people want to hear me sing / And I just dropped my new album / on my first week did 500,000.”

In this climate, no rapper is guaranteed even a second album anymore, not even someone as talented as B.o.B.

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Live review: Norah Jones at Stubb's

Norah Jones’ evolution from sleepy jazz chanteuse to bona fide singer-songwriter is complete.

That was the takeaway lesson from night one of Jones’ two-night stand at Stubb’s on Saturday night, where the frightfully successful 31-year-old largely steered clear of her subdued, piano-playing image in favor of a passion-laced, enthusiastic set drawing almost entirely from material from last year’s confident, expressive “The Fall.”

Which is not to say fans coming out to see the hits didn’t get them — Norah sat down at the piano to bang out an enjoyable rendition of signature “Sunrise,” blew through “Come Away With Me” and joined opener Sasha Dobson for a version of “Don’t Know Why” with sweet, memorable harmonies. She sounded vulnerable and intriguing playing piano on the lovelorn “Waiting.”

But Jones spent more time at the guitar and keyboard Saturday night, whether on the gentle lull of “I Wouldn’t Need You,” the nicely energetic single “Chasing Pirates,” or her surprisingly sassy and swaggering take on “Sinkin’ Soon.” “It’s Gonna Be,” a sinister pop song with thundering percussion and an easy highlight off “The Fall,” proved just as intoxicating live, with a stellar keyboard solo from Jones. And the sold-out crowd seemed happy to journey with Jones into new material, with little in the radiant atmosphere to suggest that anyone was disappointed to not hear more material off her mulit-multi-multi-add-about-15-more-multis-platinum debut.

Jones seemed poised and confident, never more so than during the encore, when she and her superb backing band migrated to the wooden steps leading to Stubb’s upstairs balcony to perform two acoustic songs. Jone has come a long way from playing the indoor stage during South by Southwest — her very first Austin show, she claimed — but has clearly embraced her inner genre-hopper, to her and our benefit.

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Review: The Dead Weather at Stubb's

In spite of the hundreds of folks who cheered wildly when White Stripes leader Jack White stepped from behind the drums to sing now and then, what worked best about the Dead Weather Friday night at Stubb’s was frontwoman Alison Mosshart.

The raven-haired stepchild of Steven Tyler and Vampira, Mosshart’s throaty belt weaved in and out of the band’s stomping, often bluesy rock. The bigger and heavier the beat was, the better the music was, the better Mopsshart sold it. Even when you couldn’t see or hear her all that well, which is much of the time when Stubb’s is sold out, Mosshart was a wickedly effective focus. (Unless you’re right up close to the stage, sold-out Stubb’s shows aren’t really about music as much as hanging out at Stubb’s.)

Drawing from last year’s “Horehound” and this year’s soon-to-be-released “Sea of Cowards,” the closer the band got the actual blues licks, the less interesting the music became, moving ever closer to the boring “Blueshammer” stereotype brilliantly outlined in the movie “Ghost World.”

But anyone who thinks the band’s somewhat gothy cast is a stretch for White needs to check out this year’s White Stripes live album “Under Great White Northern Lights,” in which White hurls his voice all over the place, filling the songs with melodramatic shrieks and moans. The genius of Dead Weather is that that energy is passed to Mosshart, who thrills in darker, fiercer ways.

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May 2, 2010

Review: Van Morrison at Bass Concert Hall

Van the Jazzman Band Director showed up at Bass Concert Hall, apparently in a good mood and rested from six months off the road. His planned January restart in Texas was delayed until Friday night, with exhaustion cited, but the wait paid musical dividends.

In strong, mostly clear voice, the always unpredictable Van Morrison pleased the crowd right away with his “Brown Eyed Girl” hit at the piano, followed by “Moondance” on a saxophone. Then he stepped into his conductor role for the rest of the evening, pointing to each band member for repeated solos and often turning his back to the audience.

The jazzy renditions of not-so-well-known songs sounded well rehearsed. Improvisation must have been banned on this tour, but Morrison’s scatting provided just enough free flow to the songs that honored reflective quietude.

With a lesser band, that might have been disappointing. But these crackerjack players, particularly on weeping violin and soulful horns, worked wonders with the many slow songs. Van the Man would not be shouting G-L-O-R-I-A this night.

Nor did he name the musicians. Nor did he say a word to the audience, not a thank you for the standing applause after his harmonica-driven “The Philosopher’s Stone” or even just for buying $85-$350 tickets. He makes Dylan look chatty on stage by comparison.

Some of the players Morrison held over from his 2008 experiment at the Hollywood Bowl when he performed all of 1968’s “Astral Weeks” in front of a larger band with strings and chorus. That album produced no hits but set the meditative, chanting jazz style that Morrison employed so well at Bass without playing a single “Astral Weeks” song. He saved his bluesy, R&B self for another time.

Austin fans have proved their loyalty to Morrison over and over, from 1974’s appearance at the Armadillo World Headquarters to 2006’s Austin City Limits Music Festival. But after his Austin Music Hall show in 2008 some fans muttered about high tickets prices, few classic songs and no encore. They wondered what his next stop here might be like.

Near the end of Friday’s 16th song — the who-knows-this-one “On Hyndford Street” — Morrison exited the stage blowing his harmonica. The hall lights came on. No complaints heard. Van, still The Man after more than four decades of performing, and a band of serious pros had delivered satisfying goods.

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April 26, 2010

Live review: Steve Martin at the Long Center

One thing is worth establishing when it comes to Steve Martin’s unlikely side gig as an acclaimed bluegrass musician: he doesn’t need to do any of this.

Martin, of course, has been one of comedy’s most bankable stars for decades and has a net worth estimated at north of $100 million — so unlike most musicians, he has no financial need to tour. For that matter, the opportunity cost of Martin going on tour when he could be bringing home multimillion dollar paydays for films is, one imagines, pretty substantial — a sacrifice alluded to by Martin during his between-song banter (“The next song has elements of sadness and melancholy, kind of like my agent’s face when I told him I wanted to do a banjo tour.”)

So it’s safe to say that when Martin puts out a Grammy-winning album of bluegrass tunes (“The Crow”), or goes on a national tour playing banjo, he does it for one reason only: love.

That was readily apparent Sunday night as Martin, backed by virtuosic North Carolina bluegrass quintet the Steep Canyon Rangers, moved effortlessly and joyously through a mixture of music and comedy — about 70 percent the former and 30 percent the latter. Across a series of both infectious, fun instrumentals (“Words Unspoken”) and equally enjoyable vocal tunes (the bouncing and kid-friendly “Late For School” and the celebratory “Jubilation Day”) Martin showed off his superlative banjo-playing chops. Decades of banjo infatuation have made Martin into a skilled, emotive player who’s a joy to watch and listen to, whether on an instrumental medley of songs done clawhammer-style or a bluegrass classic-to-be like “Daddy Played The Banjo.”

Skilled though Martin may be, though, it was the collective talents of the Steep Canyon Rangers that put the show over the top. Fiddle player Nicky Sanders stood out for his blistering solos, especially on an encore version of “Orange Blossom Special.” The band really got their chance to shine during three Martin-less songs mid-show, including a beautiful a cappella take on standard “I Can’t Sit Down” that received a standing ovation.

The comedy may not have been as intricate and impressive as the music, with between song banter that came across more goodhearted and silly than particularly clever — though Martin retrieving a beer from the upright bass was a highlight, as was the amusingly satirical comedy song “Atheists Don’t Have No Songs.” But the overall tone of the show was a nice mix of low-key humor and impressive musicianship. When the band busted out an encore, bluegrassified version of “King Tut,” one thing became clear: Steve Martin knows what the people want, and he appears quite happy to give it to them.

Set list — and just for giggles, some between-song quotes from Steve Martin — after the jump.

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April 21, 2010

CD review: Plants and Animals 'La La Land'

Plants and Animals
“La La Land”
Secret City
Grade: A-

Montreal-based rock band Plants and Animals showed they were a band to watch with the release of 2008’s “Parc Avenue,” making melodic music that was at once anthemic and minimalist. Despite critical acclaim and attention from music blogs and elsewhere, the band didn’t exactly experience a surge in popularity. On their latest, the group hopes to change that, adding a little more oomph to their sound and demonstrating that they’ve continued to develop as musicians.

They exhibit a sense of humor, too, evidenced by the title of the first track, “Tom Cruz,” a slow-builder driven by a crunchy guitar line that stretches out toward a coda that has become a standard part of the group’s sound. It’s followed by “Swinging Bells,” with a spacey, low-key beginning that experiences something of a jam band climax before quieting down again. The song calls to mind David Bowie, as does “American Idol,” on which the band should be nominated for best use of a saxophone.

Continue reading...

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April 19, 2010

CD review: Roky Erickson with Okkervil River

Roky Erickson with Okkervil River
‘True Love Cast Out All Evil’
(Anti-)
Grade: A

Roky Erickson bares his soul exactly two minutes and 48 seconds into “True Love Cast Out All Evil.”

“Electricity hammered through my head,” sings Erickson on the second track, “Ain’t Blues Too Sad,” his voice weathered and throaty but in so many ways all too innocent. “ ’Til nothing at all was backwards instead.”

If most bands sang that line, it would be metaphorical. For Erickson, it’s a literal truth, and that makes the line heart stopping in its horror, power and raw, naked emotional resonance. That’s par for the course for “True Love … ,” his first album in more than 10 years, and one of the year’s best records so far, a musical journey with power enough both to inspire and to get you crying, sometimes within the same note.

Will Sheff drew from more than 60 songs across Erickson’s life in producing the album, and the resulting work is a powerful biography of an astonishing career, with 12 tracks of Erickson’s genre-spanning songwriting layered over the impeccable musicianship and production choices of Okkervil River.

Erickson’s miraculous story — from architect of psychedelic rock with the 13th Floor Elevators to Rusk State Hospital patient and eventually to stable elder statesman of local music — is by this point familiar to Austin music fans. So what makes “True Love … ” so striking is not the tale it weaves, but how it weaves it. Sheff chooses to kick the album off with an early lo-fi tape recording from Erickson, capturing the singer at a low ebb, before bit by bit mixing in the sounds of Okkervil River, from keys to harp to a wall of strings.

From that point on, whether Erickson is pleading and praying to authority on “Please Judge” or invoking a beautiful, pastoral vibe on “Forever,” Okkervil River manages to augment the power of Erickson’s voice without ever drowning it out. From the horns of “Be and Bring Me Home” to the slide guitar on the paean to love that is the title track, Erickson’s honest voice anchors a sonically diverse record that somehow manages to distill his windy life story to a concentrated, affecting 45 minutes.

Production flourishes abound, but they never overwhelm Erickson — make no mistake, this is a Roky Erickson album and not another Okkervil River record.

Though it’s impossible to separate Erickson’s story from his music — and, really, why would you? — perhaps the greatest compliment one can give “True Love … ” is that, for all the power of its context, it also just plain grooves when it needs to. “Goodbye Sweet Dreams” is a wistful guitar rocker of the highest caliber, and “John Lawman” is a cacophonous slice of damn-the-Man righteous fury that builds a whole story out of one angrily repeated line. “Bring Back the Past” channels power pop and the best of Texas country rock.

Longtime fans of Erickson and the 13th Floor Elevators — and Okkervil River devotees, to some extent — will draw the most from this record. But for all the neophytes just beginning to access Erickson’s extraordinary tale and songwriting talent, you couldn’t ask for a better introduction.

Roky Erickson and Okkervil River play Saturday at the Paramount Theatre. 7 p.m. $30. 713 Congress Ave. www.austintheatre.org.

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CD review: Willie Nelson 'Country Music'

In theory, this should be special — the classic Willie Nelson album we haven’t had since “Spirit” in 1996. In the producer’s chair you have T-Bone Burnett, who’s already resurrected mountain music (“O Brother Where Art Thou?”) and Robert Plant (“Raising Sand,” with Alison Krauss) this decade. The pitch here is “Stardust” meets the Grand Ol’ Opry circa 1962. How could it miss?

But “Country Music” sounds more like a playful, bluegrass-scented, jam session than a milestone. The musicians and Willie seem to be having a great time bashing it out, but this is a record without a spiritual core. Even Willie’s so-so albums (the Lost Highway years) generally have some sort of thread of humanity that binds, but “Country Music” sounds like it can’t wait to get to a box in the checkout line at Starbucks. You have to wonder if Burnett charged Rounder extra for this rush job.

There are some terrific moments, such as the coalminer’s dirge “Dark as a Dungeon” and the eerie, album-closing “Nobody’s Fault But Mine.” Plus Doc Watson’s “Freight Train Boogie” rocks as hard as any track without drums can. But mostly this just flutters around overdone covers such as Porter Waggoner’s “Satisfied Mind,” Bill Mack’s “Drinking Champagne” and songs that should have been left alone (“Pistol Packin’ Mama” is downright irritating).

There are going to be some Willie fans who love this record. But they are warned to not load it up on iTunes, where it will be followed by true Willie Nelson classics that show just how far “Country Music” strays from its intention. Hearing “Crazy” after this album will only make the new title sound generic.

Like so many of Burnett’s recent projects, “Country Music” started with T-Bone’s record collection; he sent Nelson 28 songs to consider, and together they whittled it down to 15. Then Burnett called in the A-team — Buddy Miller on guitar, Ronnie McCoury on mandolin, “Raising Sand” bassist Dennis Crouch and many other liner note perpetuals.

The problem is that Willie Nelson’s voice thinks it’s enough to belong to Willie Nelson. In concert, where Nelson (who turns 77 next week) talks his lyrics as much as he sings them these days, he’s earned such a pass. When he sings all over the beat onstage with his exaggerated nasal twang, that’s cool because, c’mon people, that’s Willie Freakin’ Nelson!

But on record, especially a high-profile one like this, “One Take” Willie’s vocal imperfections stick out.

This album took four days to record, but it sounds like it could’ve used another week.

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April 15, 2010

Review: Pat Metheny at the Paramount Theatre

Guitarist Pat Metheny’s concert Wednesday night at the Paramount Theatre was a musical happening of the highest order - a jaw-dropping confluence of jazz, technology and visual art. Think you know Pat Metheny? Think again.

You’ve heard of Jimi Hendrix, the Band of Gypsys? This night was all about Pat Metheny and his Band of Robots.

The sensation was straight out of the 22nd century: Metheny composing, choreographing, conducting and collaborating in the company of an industrial-sized virtual jazz orchestra. A one-man band like you’ve never seen.

Metheny started the night intimately, organically, visiting delicate acoustic landscapes from “Beyond the Missouri Sky” and “Bright Size Life” - even as he was flanked by xylophone/keyboard/calliope-looking musical furniture that sat mysteriously silent.

Then, four songs deep, a curtain rose, revealing a three-story scaffolded tower, six huge boxes on each level, filled with instruments. Drums, snares, traps, bells, cymbals, an exotic array of percussion instruments.

With that, Metheny launched into “Orchestrion,” an expansive, picturesque jazz symphony in five movements, the room filling with sound as his virtual orchestra sprang to life. Metheny’s music has always had a rich sense of panorama, of landscape. He loves exotic sounds, textures. And so it was in “Orchestrion,” with his virtual band (which he also calls Orchestrion) approximating marimba, chime, pipe organ, whistle, piano, all manner of Asian, African and South American percussion.

It was a wonder to look at, too - a hyper-modern musical art installation, with pistons pumping, mallets bouncing on keys, pin-pricks of white light pulsing from the scaffolding each time Metheny activated an instrument in his wall of sound.

Metheny performed for two-and-a-half hours - playing seven, eight different guitars through the evening while taking on the role of bandleader, soloist, programmer, improviser, accompanist all in one. The music often had a sweep, a textural energy, familiar to fans of the Pat Metheny Group, with exhilarating changes in tempo and rhythm and tone.

At one point, Metheny noted to the audience that the sensation for him, in some settings, was like playing guitar in front of a futuristic scroll player piano, one with a refined sense of dynamics. He also confessed the first question people often ask is “Have you lost your mind?”

Metheny’s virtual jazz orchestra can’t do everything. It can’t replicate the spontaneous human dance of listening-and-soloing of bebop, of small combo jazz. With his orchestrion, Metheny improvises, listens to himself, solos in response to his own solos, and so on: It’s a different kind of dance.

Yet Metheny’s music moves. It satisfies, intensely, in a textural, orchestral sense. And it’s infused with the joy of an artist who seems forever young in his passion to try new things, to see new ways, to take new journeys. The man was busting jazz barriers when he played the Armadillo World Headquarters more than 30 years ago - and so it is today.

The Paramount audience clearly loved it, the show punctuated with frequent standing ovations to the very end, when Metheny closed with the 1978 gem “Sueno con Mexico” - the orchestrion technology allowing him to play two guitar lines at the same time.

“Thank you,” Metheny said to the house at one point. “I know it took a leap of faith for you to buy this ticket.” What an exhilarating leap it was.

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April 12, 2010

CD review: Matt Pond PA, 'The Dark Leaves'

Matt Pond PA
‘The Dark Leaves’
(Altitude)
Grade: C

“The Dark Leaves,” bucks the trend of the oft-imitated, sparse folk music of artists such as Bon Iver or Bowerbirds, opting instead for polished production, big vocals and bouncy songs. In doing so, the band instead places itself closer to the world of experimental musician Andrew Bird. Pond, who has been around for more than 10 years, lets his experience shine on the release; the songs are for the most part well-crafted and overflowing with a sense of confidence. On some of the material, like opener “Starting,” he fails to connect emotionally, and the result unfortunately plays like background music on some CW teen drama. He fares better on the sprawling “Remains,” quietly singing lines such as, “I can’t remember which movie taught me pain” in conversation with thumping drums and a droning guitar. The strength of the song doesn’t carry over to the mid-tempo “Brooklyn Fawn,” however, which falls short as it plods along with nothing to distinguish from any other alt-country release. This sense of imbalance more or less sums up the experience of “The Dark Leaves”; for every promising track, something uninteresting comes along and spoils the fun.

Matt Pond PA plays the Mohawk June 21.

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CD review: Freelance Whales, 'Weathervanes'

Freelance Whales
‘Weathervanes’
(Frenchkiss/Mom and Pop)
Grade: C

The debut album from Freelance Whales functions something like a 45-minute, 13-song time machine, transporting the listener all the way back to the halcyon days of … well, 2005, essentially, before the term “chillwave” existed and when the indie roost was ruled by precious, sensitive, quirky indie pop from the likes of the Boy Least Likely To, the Shins and Sufjan Stevens.

All the hallmarks are there. Heartfelt swells of emotion? Check out the erupting choir over a gently strummed acoustic guitar on “Location.” Painfully earnest lyricism that’s too straightforward by half? Take a listen to these puppies: “I am convinced we could be friends/We have several interests in common/And I am convinced that we have been friends/Were you a Tahitian grain of sand/In a past life?” Banjo? Glockenspiel? Handclaps? Oh, you’d better believe you’ll hear more of them than you know what to do with. There’s even an extended reference to mumblecore movie “Hannah Takes the Stairs,” on the song “Hannah.” You could call that a hipster feedback loop.

Your appreciation for “Weathervanes” will hinge largely on how fondly you look back on that particular brand of pop. Freelance Whales are perfectly good at what the band does — the melodies are catchy and the instrumentation is airtight. It’s precisely the sort of music Natalie Portman’s character in “Garden State” would have regarded as life-changing.

But there’s a serious dearth of anything exciting or different on “Weathervanes,” and from front man Judah Dadone’s strikingly Ben Gibbard-esque opening lilt to the closing tambourine on “The Great Estates,” the album can’t help but feel a little stale.

There’s promise on offer — the band showed substantially more energy and verve during its multiple appearances at the South by Southwest Music Festival, proving this band’s got the chops — but it’s not realized here.

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CD review: Jeff Beck, 'Emotion & Commotion'

Jeff Beck
‘Emotion & Commotion’
(Rhino)
Grade: C+

Don’t focus on the “Colbert Report”-worthy eagle swooping, guitar in talons, across the cover of Jeff Beck’s latest record — “Emotion & Commotion” might have moments of bombast (the “Miami Vice”-ready “Hammerhead,” written “with Jan Hammer in mind,” for one), but there’s nothing self-consciously parodic about it.

Instead the guitarist spends most of his time here conjuring grandly serene emotions — cushioning himself in an orchestra that his tone can pierce, ever so gently, like the rays of sunlight breaking through clouds behind that axe-wielding eagle.

This is a Beck who’d rather pick out “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (where the melody reverberates and bends like an underwater whalesong) or a bit of Puccini, each note given its due, than compete with his virtuosic peers for Guitar God bragging rights. The result is always pretty, always tasteful, but sometimes (as on a cover of “Lilac Wine,” a song known via Jeff Buckley’s aching 1994 rendition) its beauty is as unchallenging as Aaron Neville singing an advertisement for 100 percent cotton clothing.

Beck growls here and there, most notably when he has guest vocalist Joss Stone egging him on. (Her “I Put a Spell On You” is a noble attempt handicapped by the band’s unwillingness to match the deranged lurch of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’s original.)

But on the whole this is an easy-listening outing, where not even the occasional sample of Tuvan throat singing (on “Serene”) can interrupt the soundtracky vibe. Listen for it in a Starbucks near you.

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CD review: Carrie Rodriguez, 'Love and Circumstance'

Carrie Rodriguez lays it all out on the very first track of “Love and Circumstance.”

“I need love as big as an ocean/I need a love that can’t be crossed … Do you know where this love can be found?” queries Rodriguez in her inviting, wise-beyond-her-31-years way, backed by the tender harmony vocal of Aoife O’Donovan.

That’s the central question that binds and unifies the third solo studio album from the famously prolific, famously twangy Austinite. Comfortingly, when Rodriguez goes looking for love, she basically does it the same way many of us do: by digging through her records. Thus, “Love and Circumstance”: 12 thoughtfully tackled covers, each examining in its own way the search for, infatuation with or loss of love.

Lest you roll your eyes already, “Love and Circumstance” isn’t a garden-variety covers record. Rodriguez is a thoughtful curator who veers away from the cliché and well-known, tackling a diverse set of material from Buddy and Julie Miller, Lucinda Williams, Richard Thompson, David Rawlings and Gillian Welch and, most touchingly, her father David, on the gently ambling “Eyes on the Prize.” By the time she does get to an obvious standard, on a striking and spare rendition of Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” she’s earned it.

They’re slam-dunk covers, too — lived-in and enjoyable, whether on her surprisingly propulsive take on Rawlings’ and Welch’s “I Made a Lover’s Prayer” or her sadder, mellower approach to Sandrine Daniels’ “I’m Not for Love.” She’s aided by a strong backing band and a small-but-powerful group of guests that includes Bill Frisell and Doug Wamble. By the time “Love and Circumstances” winds to a close it feels like Rodriguez’s most personal album yet — no small feat for a record where she didn’t pen a single lyric. Fortunately, it bears her indelible personal stamp all the same.

Carrie Rodriguez plays a two-night stand at the Cactus Cafe at 8:30 p.m. on April 16 and 17. Tickets are $15 at the door.

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CD review: MGMT, 'Congratulations'

When a band gets famous and members feel they can’t “handle it,” they often make one of two kinds of followup records.

One is the “price of fame” album, in which They sing and play and songs about how everything has changed and who can we trust and please pass the drugs so I can numb myself. “In Utero” was a really good one. “De La Soul is Dead” and “The Marshall Mathers LP” are others. Pulp’s “This is Hardcore” is a personal favorite. Bow Wow actually named an album “The Price of Fame,” which gave everyone a good laugh.

The other is the “contract breaker,” an album that goes so consciously against label expectations based on previous work that the record company elects to let the artists go from their contract, which is probably the intention. It is essentially a dare. Those familiar with 1990s indie rock remember that when avant-blues rockers Royal Trux signed to Virgin, the band delivered a straight-forward album in 1995 called “Thank You,” then followed it with “Sweet Sixteen,” a well-neigh unlistenable record with a profoundly befouled toilet on the cover. Genius!

At first, it’s a little hard to tell which “Congratulations” is. “Dead in the water/ is not a paid vacation … it’s hardly sink or swim when all is well, when the tickets sell” goes the title track. Which certainly argues for the former.

MGMT became wildly famous for the song “Kids,” which dates back to theearliest recordings in 2004. An anthemic, dancey tune with a blissful, pastoral vibe, a rerecorded version became a hit in 2008.

It seems to have freaked the band out a bit. There isn’t a “Kids” on “Congratulations.” People who know the band from “Kids” will probably hate this.

Instead, the band made a woozy, often disjointed hunk of obtuse psychedelic musicmaking, stacks of guitars and synths and drums and what sounds like many substances in one big swirl.

Produced by Spacemen 3’s Sonic Boom, MGMT’s Ben Goldwasser and Andrew VanWyngarden rounded out their duo with something like a full band to make an album full of references to past psych-rockers (“Brian Eno,” “Song for Dan Traecy”) and weirdos present (“Lady Dada’s Nightmare”). “It’s Working” feels the drugs taking effect, and the title track complains “Damn my luck and damn these friends” while sounding exactly like an acoustic T. Rex song.

Ultimately, this isn’t a contract breaker: Too much thinking went into it; it’s too, of all things, sincere. We’ll see what the kids think.

MGMT plays an already sold-out show June 6 at Stubb’s.

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Live review: Yeasayer at La Zona Rosa

While mash-up artist Girl Talk entertained on the University of Texas campus Saturday night as part of the annual 40 Acres Festival, Brooklyn-based indie pop group Yeasayer created a musical collage of their own in the first of two nights at La Zona Rosa. Combining eighties and early nineties dance music, sprawling layers of synthesizer effects, tribal-sounding drums and percussion and rock, the scene was arguably just as much of a dance party.

The group, fronted by sports-coat clad vocalist Chris Keating, is no stranger to Austin, having made a few stops at Emo’s and elsewhere over the last few years, but with a new album and revamped sound, they seemed to play with a stronger sense of direction this time around. Though they band pushed their sound in a lighter and more pop-oriented direction on their sophomore release, “Odd Blood,” they merged new and old material seamlessly during the set. The jumpy “Odd Blood” tune “Rome,” with its piercing keyboard line, stood finely aside the eastern-sounding “Wait for the Summer,” on which the band belts out the endlessly catchy lines “Wait for the summer/we’ll sleep when we wanna/don’t tell your mother.”

They showed their range on another new song, the ethereal “I Remember,” which incorporates elements of progressive rock. The audience was predictably excited about “2080,” which has become one of their strongest numbers, but the fact that a lot of people seemed to know all of the words to the new songs is an indicator of just how strong of a fan base they’ve built. This was especially true on the big singles “Ambling Alp” and “ONE,” during which many in the crowd showed off their craziest moves. They changed direction a bit for the encore, which began with the psychedelic “Grizelda” and went straight into another crowd pleaser, “Sunrise,” a fitting way to end the night.

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Live review: Girl Talk at Forty Acres Fest

Even before Gregg Gillis queued up the samples, readied the laptops and had his posse shoot toilet paper into the audience, it was already abundantly clear that the operative word to describe his headlining performance at the University of Texas’ Forty Acres Fest Saturday was going to be “insane.”

The annual free and open-to-the-public shindig at the base of the UT tower has hosted some fine performers in recent years, from the Roots to Little Richard, but the crowd for Saturday’s show was on an entirely different level. Clearly UT’s Music and Entertainment Committee found the pleasure center of the collective college brain and stroked it hard, as students and onlookers were packed into the area like sardines. Before a note of music was played, two things were clear for every attendant: you were going to dance, and you were going to get sweaty.

The ever-reliable White Denim made for something of an odd opener for Girl Talk — they’re sloppier and more psychedelic than Gillis even at his most outre — but played an energetic set that at least established a nicely frenetic vibe. But the best setup for Girl Talk was in the songs played over the PA before he started performing — nothing gets a college-age audience primed like some vintage 80s cheese and a little Stevie Wonder, so spirits were high and students were singing along even before Gillis played his first sample.

After a quick introduction — Gillis steered away from banter for most of the night, letting the mashup do the talking — Girl Talk plunged into a selection of cuts drawn primarily from “Night Ripper” and “Feed the Animals,” with a healthy selection of new samples and progressions thrown into the mix to keep things fresh. It’s been almost two years since “Feed the Animals” hit the Internet, so there was plenty of new life in Gillis’ mixes, including prominent samples from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ “Heads Will Roll” and Phoenix’s “1901.”

Recapping a Girl Talk show is a little tricky — there’s no song breaks and no set list, per se, and running down which samples he employs would be a tedious exercise in listmaking. The ultimate barometer for a Girl Talk show is audience engagement, and by that rubric Saturday’s show was a sweeping success. It wasn’t a show for the faint of heart — if you wanted to stand in the back, cross your arms, and sway mildly, you were out of luck, as crowds jammed into each other, elbows were thrown, and the temperature on the ground was a good twenty degrees higher than in the air. As with any Girl Talk show, attendance essentially required getting very intimate with strangers. But the joyous audience was willing to go with the flow as beach balls bounced, confetti flew and students crowdsurfed. As the set wound down with an extended sample from John Lennon’s “Imagine,” the experience was self-referential, sweaty, diverse, dance-filled and very exhausting.

In other words, perfect for a college show.

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April 11, 2010

Live review: Elton John at the Erwin Center

(Alberto Martinez AMERICAN-STATESMAN)

• Photos: Elton John at the Erwin Center

UPDATE: Elton John’s Saturday night show at the Erwin Center was the highest-grossing concert ever at the venue. Sir Elton sold $1.308 million worth of tickets, surpassing Luciano Pavarotti’s previous record of $1.2 million.

When Elton John and his band, including original members Davey Johnstone on guitar and Nigel Olsson on drums, opened with “Funeral for a Friend/ Love Lies Bleeding,” followed by “Saturday Night’s Allright for Fighting” at the Erwin Center Saturday night before a sellout crowd of 16,000, you had to wonder how they were going to top that. And for two hours they didn’t, though an extended “Rocket Man”- the concert’s centerpiece- came close.

Other highlights included “Levon,” which was turned into a gospel stomp at the end with Sir Elton’s furiously staccato piano runs, the epic “Madman Across the Water,” a quite lovely “Daniel” and “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me,” with the night’s most stirring vocals.

But the show didn’t really lift off until the end of “Burn Down the Mission,” when, following that legendary piano workout, Elton said “come on down” and invited the audience to jam up in front of him. The faces of delirium took the show to a different level.

Nobody is more aware of his audience than Elton John, who’s always sensationally talented, but puts on his best show when the crowd’s totally into it. His goal seems to be to try and get his fans to wake up the next day with faces sore from smiling. After just about every song Saturday night, he sprung from his bench and ranged the stage, mouthing “Come on!” But after playing “Bennie and the Jets,” his cheerleading was unneccessary. The pre-encore set closed with “The Bitch Is Back,” “I’m Still Standing” (the theme song of his AARP years) and the classic inhibition-flushing “Crocodile Rock.”

I’ve seen Elton John several times since 1974, when he was the biggest thing since the Beatles, and he’s never sang and played better than on Saturday night. At age 63, Elton can still hit the high notes on such early career classics as “Tiny Dancer” and “Honky Cat.” And on the brand new “You’re Never Too Old To Love Somebody,” from an upcoming duet record with his hero Leon Russell, Elton shows he’s still got a jazzman’s mind on the 88s.

At one point, Elton addressed a man in the front row who looked to be about 35- the median age of the crowd. The guy had been singing every song at the top of his lungs and raising his arms as if the music would charge him even further. Elton seemed to be playing to the man several times and they locked energies on “Philadelphia Freedom” (my least favorite Elton John song, by the way). “What’s your name?” Elton asked, after saying that he’s seen the man at most of his shows lately. His name is Rich and he told his idol that Saturday night was his 167th E.J. concert. “Well, I love to play for you,” Sir Elton said. “Whenever you’re in the crowd, I know it’s going to be a good show.”

And it was. Thanks, Rich.

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April 10, 2010

Live Review: Vampire Weekend at Stubb's

• Photos: Check out pics from the Vampire Weekend show at Stubb’s.

There’s an old Albert Brooks bit that contains the punchline “What a polite animal.”

Vampire Weekend reminds me of that joke. They are very polite animals.

What kind? I’m leaning toward meerkat. Perky, social, smart — sounds like these four New York kids, who sold out Stubb’s weeks before their brisk, 19 song show.

Their music — a blend of semi-Afropop guitar, in-jokey lyrics about the urban-dwelling upper-middle class they know well, and more of ska’s bounce than most bands would admit internalizing so completely — seems perpetually one song away from being Jimmy Buffet for comp lit majors.

But there’s a weird charm about them that keeps them on the safe side of smug. Maybe it’s their self-consciousness. Ezra Koenig — he of the lead vocals, high-set guitar, button-down shirts and hair that demands a political campaign be built around it — made jokes about sing-alongs as a corporate trust building exercise and dedicated a song to students, “especially grad students.” They know their reputation cold.

There’s very little on their sophomore album “Contra” that’s as catchy as anything on their still-startlingly focused debut. Early songs (“A-Punk,” “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa”) bounced and rippled with a simple clarity, amped up by Chris Tomson’s wisely enormous-sounding drums.

The songs from “Contra” were more complicated, from the cascading notes on “Bryn” to the almost-heavy blend of clacking drums and dueling guitars on “Giving Up the Gun” to the drum machine-driven ballad “Taxi Cab.” No songs ever drifted or descended into jams — they punched like New Yorker “Talk of the Town” pieces. Everything was over and done with well before 11 — these rock ‘n’ roll animals stayed polite until the end.

Setlist after the jump

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April 5, 2010

CD review: Amy Cook 'Let the Light In'

Don’t pick up Austin singer Amy Cook’s “Let the Light In” expecting to hear much of the sound of high-profile producer Alejandro Escovedo — aside from an eleventh-hour, subtle guest vocal on “Moonrise,” a haunting tune that’s one of the album’s best, Escovedo’s production is largely clean and invisible. Don’t expect her other guests — Patty Griffin for the thoughtful and lovelorn “Hotel Lights” and Ben Kweller co-writing “Let’s Go Down to the River” — to represent the sound of “Let the Light In,” either. Don’t even expect to hear much of the sound of Lucinda Williams — it’s a bit of an overplayed comparison, and Cook’s delivery is never quite as raw or nakedly intense as Williams is even at her most disillusioned.

Instead, Cook’s closest comparison, particularly on hopelessly enchanting rockers like “I Wanna Be Your Marianne,” which has an electric guitar solo to kill for, is Sheryl Crow. All the hallmarks are there — the mastery of a good hook, the easy and identifiable way with lyrics, the girl-next-door voice that rarely calls too much attention to itself but always gets the job done. That’s not intended as a slight — there’s a reason Crow’s sold millions of records, and why in a better world Cook would, too. “Let the Light In” doesn’t have a boring spot on it, and while it rarely breaks out and surprises quite as much as you want it too — except on the quirkily spare and eerie “I Like to Go to the Parties” — it’s a tuneful, fun listen.
— Patrick Caldwell

Amy Cook has an in-store performance at 5 p.m. Tuesday at Waterloo Records, 600 N. Lamar Blvd. 474-2500, www.waterloorecords.com. She has a CD release show for ‘Let the Light In’ at 6 p.m. Thursday at Hotel San José, 1316 S. Congress Ave. More at amycook.com.

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CD review: Usher 'Raymond vs. Raymond'

Usher
‘Raymond v. Raymond’
(La Face)
Grade: B-

Just as Usher is releasing his sixth album, America has become fascinated with the train-wreck quality of celebrity divorces. It’s fortuitous timing, because there may be no one more qualified to comment on celebrity marital woes than the R&B lothario slowly creeping into his 30s.

The success of his biggest album (2004’s “Confessions”) in part stemmed from the pulled-from-the-headlines quality of some of his biggest songs, which revolved around him cheating on TLC singer Chilli. In the years since, Usher has begun to see the downside of giving the world a bird’s eye view to his personal life.

As in “Confessions,” most of “Raymond v. Raymond” revolves around a failed relationship, this time a short-lived marriage with his hair-dresser. Once again, he has a confessional song over dark pianos about his infidelity (“Foolin’ Around”). And while he still acknowledges his culpability (“I guess it’s just the man in me / blame it on the celebrity / But it’s really just my fears / And it don’t dry your tears”), he is far less self-critical than he was six years ago.

Instead he resigns himself to the inevitability of his actions, throwing his hands up at the very idea of fidelity: “I guess I’m guilty for wanting to be in the club / I guess I’m guilty because girls always want to show me love / I guess I’m guilty for living and having a little fun.”

And maybe in the world before TMZ, the look-the-other-way model of marital relations Usher proposes was feasible. Or as T.I. put it more bluntly on “I’m Guilty,” he has an “alibi” for cheating on his girl: the nice things he buys her. But the celebrity-obsessed tabloid environment makes it nearly impossible for Usher’s new bride to ignore his actions. — Jonathan Tjarks

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CD review: Harlem - 'Hippies'

Harlem’s approach is easy to sum up: The Austin band’s serious about what it does, but not necessarily how it does it. On sophomore album and Matador Records debut “Hippies,” the famously anything-goes, self-deprecating band makes 16 tracks of sweaty, strummy, infectious spare rock look almost frustratingly effortless. You don’t make an album this fun without working very hard, but Harlem tries its darndest to make it look like its members weren’t trying — the record kicks off with the casually cruel lyricisim of “Someday Soon” and segues quickly into “Friendly Ghost,” a Casper-referencing nugget of pure jangle-pop perfection that’s almost clinical in how carefully it pokes every riff-loving pleasure center in the brain. “Cloud Pleaser” is an appealing song of heartbreak that slows the tempo down a bit, while scorchers like “Number One” and “Faces” shoot past at less than two minutes each, less songs than interludes designed to keep the listening experience fresh.

And when Harlem branches out a bit — as on “Prairie My Heart,” with its country-western amble — they show an impressive range lurking just under their straightforward garage rock song. “Hippies” doesn’t break a whole lot in the way of new ground, and it won’t change your life — but it does improve substantially on debut album “Free Drugs,” and for a band that makes fun its chief goal, it hits the mark.
— Patrick Caldwell

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April 3, 2010

Live review: Morris Day and the Time

(David Weaver FOR AMERICAN-STATESMAN)

• Photos: 2010 Urban Music Festival

To anybody who dropped $20 — or $50, in the case of VIP tickets — for the Urban Music Festival based largely on the prospect of a lengthy show by headliner Morris Day and the Time, there’s really only one thing to say:

Sorry.

The organizers of the annual festival deserve full credit for putting on an event that ran (for the most part) smoothly and where the vibe was overwhelmingly relaxed and friendly, as families camped out in chairs savoring the music and enjoying the cool evening air. And Prince contemporaries and 80s hitmeisters the Time couldn’t have asked for a finer opening act than R&B crooner Joe — quite possibly the most generic one-word stage name of all time — who got an audience of thousands singing along. To judge by the faces in the crowd, when Joe sang that he wanted to “take you on a sexual journey,” more than a few were willing to go along, meaning that the audience was primed and ready for a rollicking performance by the famously entertaining Day, a consummate showman if there ever were one.

And as the clock struck 9:30 p.m. — the scheduled start time for, er, the Time — they waited. And waited. And waited.

When Day and the ever-svelte Time finally took to the stage an hour late, at 10:30, there was only enough time for them to tear through a four song set — consisting of “Cool,” “Get It Up,” “Wild and Loose” and “The Bird” — before running up against Auditorium Shores’ 11 p.m. deadline. That meant a set originally scheduled to run an hour and 15 minutes was shortened to a paltry 25.

In all fairness, the Time made the most of that 25 minutes. The band overcame an initially tinny sound mix with a blustering, theatrical live performance. Day had a rock-solid rapport with the audience — particularly in the call-and-response refrain of “Cool,” and when bantering with Jerome Benton during the famous “Bring out my mirror, I miss myself!” routine that’s become one of Day’s live trademarks. Live, the Time’s rock-influenced 80s funk jams are infectious, and it was encouraging to see the entire crowd at the Urban Music Fest rise from their chairs to dance to signature single “The Bird.”

But even the best filet mignon is underwhelming when there’s only two ounces of it, and a Morris Day and the Time show without “Jungle Love” seems roughly akin to a Kiss concert without “Rock and Roll All Nite.” The overall verdict? Good show, but the portion size was just too small.

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April 1, 2010

Live Review: Ted Leo & Pharmacists

(Stephen M. Keller AMERICAN-STATESMAN)

A lot has been made of Ted Leo’s roots in New Jersey. The New York Times recently placed him in a Jersey continuum involving Bruce Springsteen on one end and Titus Andronicus at the other. Even Leo acknowledged it during his stellar Wednesday night show at Emo’s, dedicating “Even Heroes Have To Die” to openers Screaming Females — not just the best band to come out of New Brunswick possibly ever, but perhaps the most slept-on rock band touring clubs today — noting that the song was about growing up in Jersey.

But I will always think of Leo as a Washington, D.C., talent. After time in New York hardcore bands, Leo formed the neo-mod act Chisel in D.C. in 1990, a band which lasted for most of the decade. Leo’s long-time band the Pharmacists include D.C. punk veteran James Canty (Make-Up, Nation of Ulysses) on guitar and organ as well as one-time Richmond, Virginia bassist Marty Key on bass and Philly-based drummer Chris Wilson. What’s up, Mid-Atlantic punk lifers?

In spite of Leo’s tendency towards long sentences in his complex, specific lyrics, his songs tend towards the fist-pumping. After five albums and five EPs, they’ve accumulated a mess of high-octane scorchers, power poppy songs that owe as much to the Jam as Fugazi.

And live, the band blends the energy (and sound) of the two brilliantly, Canty’s thick SG chordings and vertical pogo-ing blending with Leo’s frantic strumming and occasional full-body leaps. From the terrorist attack in “The Mighty Sparrow” to the body-as-battleground in “Me and Mia” to ahrd-strummed, vaguely Irish “The Sons of Cain,” this was Leo and the band at their most anthemic and energetic. Opener (and Austinite) Sally Crewe joined in for some refrains of “tell the bartender that I’m falling in love” on “Bottled in Cork.” Much like Fugazi’s “Glue Man” or “Reprovisional,” the set’s almost-closer “Stove by a Whale” took a simple, circular riff and turned into a free-fire, anything-goes punk jam, a rush of guitar chug that turned the stage into a temporary autonomous zone. In true punk fashion, that vibe spilled over into the hard-dancing crowd.

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March 30, 2010

CD review: Alan Jackson's "Freight Train"

Alan Jackson
“Freight Train” (Arista Nashville)
Grade: B-

It’s taken Alan Jackson a mere 20 years to become a respected elder of country music. Aside from an ill-advised dance remix of “Chattahoochee” in 1993, the man in the white Stetson has not wavered in his commitment to the pure country of his prime model Merle Haggard. The pedal steel guitar is not there for decoration, hoss. At the same time, Jackson has managed to stay current by writing great songs fans can two-step to and choosing the right outside material.

On his latest album, which hits stores today, the Georgia native finds such originals as “Every Now and Then,” the pandering lead-off track “Hard Hat and a Hammer” and “That’s Where I Belong” (surprising only because it took Jackson this long to write a song called “That’s Where I Belong”) overshadowed by such writers as Fred Eaglesmith (title track) and Jay Knowles and Adam Wright (“Taillights Blue”). Since an artist of Jackson’s stature gets first dibs on the best new songs, you wonder why he insisted on penning eight of the LP’s 12 tracks. As evidenced by the number of platinum records on George Strait’s walls, fans don’t care who wrote the songs. Jackson seems to be running out of things to say and ways to say them.

Still, this is a solid record, with Jackson’s smooth, yet lived in, baritone, lifting up every tune. A.J.’s been nothing if not consistent through the years, but there are standouts, including the duet with Lee Ann Womack on “Till the End,” as the singers urge each other on emotionally. New original “The Best Just Keeps Getting Better,” meanwhile, ends the album on a classic country note.

Twenty years after he advocated not rocking the jukebox, Jackson makes albums that sound like his others. But that’s not a bad thing, as Jackson and his producer Keith Stegall have perfected a formula to make records that sound like Bakersfield 1973 because everything else on the radio sounds like Nashville 2000. This is authentic country music by default.

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March 28, 2010

Review: Megadeth at Stubb's

Rattling skulls is Megadeth’s business and business was good Friday at Stubb’s. Playing to a capacity crowd of 2,000 (many of whom drove from metal-heavy San Antonio), the pioneering Los Angeles speed-metal band delivered the whole of its classic 1990 “Rust in Peace” album and proved to be swinging mighty big stones by casting Testament and Exodus as openers.

Hilariously billed beneath “Gospel Brunch” on the outdoor marquee, Megadeth arrived to the recorded intro of Ice-T and Jello Biafra’s Black Sabbath-sampled “Shut Up, Be Happy.” Receiving a roaring horns-up welcome, iconic axe grinder Dave Mustaine led his ‘Deth squad through a shredding set that included “In My Darkest Hour,” “Skin of My Teeth,” “Holy War” and “Hangar 18.” Flanked by returning bassist David Ellefson and former Jag Panzer guitarist Chris Broderick (who stretched the Shaq-sized shoes of his predecessors), Mustaine snarled like a rabid jackal while drummer Shawn Drover pounded like the Hulk.

When danger was (inevitably) spotted in the boiling mosh pit, Mustaine took time to confirm the well-being of a fallen fan. Disaster avoided, Megadeth sparked the fuse on “Rust in Peace” and chaos happily resumed.

Taking a sly poke at Iron Maiden, Mustaine introduced “Headcrusher” by proclaiming its namesake to be the superior torture device. He then offered “The Right to Go Insane” from new album “Endgame,” confessing it was the first time Megadeth ever played the song. In a one-two punch that stirred the frenzy from ballistic to volcanic, Megadeth finished its beating with “Symphony of Destruction” and the immortal “Peace Sells.”

Retelling the gig would be sorely lacking without props to Exodus and Testament. The former caused a daylight dust cloud of swirling violence with the tracks “Bonded by Blood” and “Toxic Waltz” while the latter replayed its 1987 “The Legacy” album and gave a shout to S.O.D singer Billy Milano who was taking a break from his job at nearby Headhunter’s.

Never to be confused with a gospel brunch, Megadeth, Testament and Exodus were a pleasurable pain in the neck.

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March 14, 2010

Review: Flaming Lips at Austin Music Hall

Flaming Lips singer Wayne Coyne on Friday night at the Austin Music Hall. Photo by Jordan Smothermon/AUSTIN-AMERICAN STATESMAN

Not 10 minutes into the Flaming Lips show Friday at Austin Music Hall, the five members of the Oklahoma psych-rock group had reached such a fever pitch with the sold-out crowd that the show could have ended there and people would have left satisfied.

More confetti was strewn about than at a Super Bowl celebration. Numerous white, orange and yellow inflatable balls were dispatched into the audience. Strobe lights flickered in pandemonium. Dozens of dancers, flanking both sides of the stage in neon orange and fuzzy conehead hats, danced and pumped their fists. And smoke machines made thick, thick fog.

Frontman Wayne Coyne was already in his signature clear blow-up bubble, risking limbs and lungs traversing the upraised arms of the crowd. Santa, Dorothy and the Tin Man were among those helping. Indeed, the full spectrum of the scene was a riot—exhilarating no matter your first or 100th time.

“We’ve played some of our greatest shows in Austin,” Coyne would later say, after finishing up that intro song, “Enthusiasm for Life Defeats Existential Fear.” He recalled one with the Butthole Surfers at the defunct Ritz theater and one at SXSW in ‘99.

The new Lips album, “Embryonic,” is dense and sprawling. It takes a bunch of listens to attempt to comprehend. So as not to alienate their fair weather fans any more than they already have with it, the Lips tucked mediocre numbers “Worm Mountain” and “Silver Trembling Hands” into the show’s initial thrust and later on wisely showcased the album’s jams, “See the Leaves” and “Convinced of the Hex.”

Outside of that the Lips played singalong hits like “The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song,” “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots,” and “She Don’t Use Jelly,” which they said they play almost every single show. Coyne proved himself a consummate showman throughout, facilitating his props with the mastery of a magician. At one point, during the song “Waitin’ for a Superman,” he wound up a mechanical dove and, wings flapping, waved it through the air.

Coyne said the song was dedicated to musician Mark Linkous (aka Sparklehorse), who earlier this month committed suicide. He said the Lips had played it a lot when they were touring with Elliott Smith, another musician who had committed suicide. He said the song was about “making your own happiness.”

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March 9, 2010

CD review: Ludacris 'Battle of the Sexes'

Ludacris
‘Battle of the Sexes’
(DTP)
Grade: B-

Ludacris’ new album ‘Battle of the Sexes’ was supposed to be a duet album between him and Shawnna, a female rapper signed to his DTP label. So when Shawna left the label last year in a contract dispute, Ludacris expanded the idea to collaborating with female rappers in general, with the idea to showcase a feminine perspective severely lacking in modern rap.

But while collaborations like ‘Hey Ho’ talk about sexual double standards and ‘BOTS Radio’ give relationship advice, the vast majority of this supposedly forward-thinking concept album is actually a return to Ludacris’ roots. Hip-hop’s premier jester tried to inject gravitas into his last few albums, dabbling in social consciousness and self-consciously trying to thrust himself into the conversation of ‘great’ rappers.

‘Battle of the Sexes’ makes no such pretenses of artistic depth. It’s an album that revolves around partying, clubbing and sex. Over screwed and chopped samples and pulsing beats, Ludacris sweet-talks women (‘I Know You Got A Man’), parties all night (‘Party No Mo’ ’) and brings them back to his room (‘Sex Room’). His tongue is planted firmly in cheek throughout: ‘Get your money right ladies, write your own checks / But don’t call me after midnight unless we’re having sex.’

Free from trying to impress anybody or being something he is not, Ludacris is having the most fun he’s had in a long time. His hit single ‘How Low’ is designed for booty-shaking contests at a night-club. On ‘Sexting,’ he busts out a Tiger Woods impression and raps in text message abbreviations: ‘haha, omg, lol, / kit, smiley faces, x and o’s / l-m-f-a-o.’ And becausee Ludacris’ style often works better over one verse than a whole song anyway, ‘Battle of the Sexes’ still gives a good platform for female rappers both old (Lil’ Kim and Eve) and young (Nikki Minaj and Diamond from Crime Mobb). An album like ‘Battle of the Sexes’ won’t win a Grammy, but judging from the popularity of its singles, especially in comparison to those on ‘Theatre of the Mind,’ it is what the people want from Ludacris.

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Show review: John Mayer at Erwin Center

Deep in the midst of what one journalistic wag has dubbed “The John Mayer Implosion Era,” the heartthrob guitarist and songwriter brought his “Battle Studies” tour to the Erwin Center on Monday. And one may be forgiven for wondering what affect the backlash to the recent way-too-candid interviews in “Rolling Stone” and “Playboy” featuring Mayer’s inflammatory racial and sexual remarks would have on his performance, and his audience.

The answer was “not much.”

“Everybody wants to know about the ‘Playboy’ thing,” was Mayer’s only comment on the uproar, reacting to one sign held up by a fan, and you couldn’t help but hear a trace of resignation in his voice.

But otherwise Mayer played it straight, letting his emotive and fluid guitar work do the talking through the course of a technically flawless 90-minute show.

Still, lyrics like “I wanted water/But I’ll walk through fire” and “What do they want from me/All these vultures/Hiding right outside my door” must be taking on a new poignancy for Mayer these days.

Not that the fans seemed to mind. They accorded Mayer a rapturous reception from the first notes of “Heartbreak Warfare” from the new album, which was followed in short order by a Cream-flavored “Crossroads,” “Vultures” and “Bigger Than My Body.” A segue from Jimi Hendrix’s “Wait Until Tomorrow” into his own “Who Did You Think I Was” closed out the first half of the show.

When all the hype and pop star clutter is cleared away, Mayer emerges as an uncommonly talented blues-flavored guitarist. His command of all the basics — tone, dexterity, harmonics, precision — are impressive, as is his yearning voice which can leap into an appealing falsetto when the mood demands.

Several times Mayer virtually turned his back on the audience to engage in long, string-bending duets with his two guitarists, Ryan Harris and Robbie McIntosh, and he used the tips of his finger and a drumstick to wring dramatic effects from his own instrument during “Assassin.” A languid, piercing solo during Mayer’s cover of the Bill Withers soul classic “Ain’t No Sunshine” was one of the night’s high points.

Before the encore, prefacing “Gravity,” Mayer made a passionate acknowledgment of his renewed appreciation for the bond between audience and performer. Citing the cathartic and healing powers of music, he said, “If we can be that for you…that puts me on a whole new path as a musician.”

Mayer might never completely shed the TMZ-style pretty-boy pop culture caricature with which he contends (and admittedly, sometimes he doesn’t contend very hard). But away from the paparazzi’s flash bulbs and the tabloid’s chatter, he proves himself a pretty fair hand with a guitar and a songwriter’s pen.

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February 24, 2010

CD review: Balmorhea - 'Constellations'

For a largely instrumental band — with the odd wordless vocals here and there — Balmorhea are just a little bit scarily insightful at selecting song titles. Fourth album “Constellations” has a track list replete with either nautical imagery, references to the night sky or both — there’s the title track, “Bowsprit,” “Herons,” Night Squall,” “To the Order of the Night,” “On The Weight Of Night,” and “Steerage and the Lamp.”

This is appropriate because where third album “All Is Wild, All Is Silent” saw Rob Lowe and Michael Muller’s post-rock-by-way-of-classical-music outfit channel the naturalistic majesty of the Texas frontier, “Constellations” is a decidedly quieter affair. Richly evocative of the gentle bob of the ocean and the cold emptiness of space, it unfolds gracefully and minimally, with spare instrumentation that almost entirely eschews percussion. Balmorhea often get tagged with that “cinematic” descriptor, but it’s hard to avoid that when they release an album that sounds like the soundtrack to the best Stanley Kubrick or Andrei Tarkovsky film you’ve never seen.

Opener “To the Order of the Night” sets the tone aptly, with a haunting piano melody accompanied only by the sound of softly creaking wood, like the hull of a ship swaying in the sea. The spacey “Winter Circle” builds its contemplative piano on a foundation of wordless vocals that recalls Gregorian Chant, while the simple acoustic guitar of “Herons” succeeds in building a pensive mood.

Which is not to make “Constellations” sound utterly basic — Travis Chapman’s upright bass adds a nice touch of jazz to “Steerage and the Lamp,” and the majestic work of Aisha Burns on the violin and Nicole Kern on the cello. And the album makes a good case that it’s the percussion used least that means the most — the stomps on “Bowsprit” and restrained drums on “On the Weight of Night” add a needed sense of purpose and muscle.

If there’s any slight against the album, it’s that it never builds quite as satisfyingly as “All Is Wild, All Is Silent,” feeling as if it’s perpetually just shy of realizing its ambitions. But like all Balmorhea records — and classical music in general — “Constellations” rewards the listener willing to make the investment of time and attention.

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February 8, 2010

CD review: Yeasayer 'Odd Blood'

Psychedelic pop band Yeasayer came out of nowhere in 2007 with “All Hour Cymbals,” a dystopic affair recalling the Talking Heads’ “Remain in Light” and other Brian Eno-infused work. Similar to Vampire Weekend, the debut was so strong that it wasn’t unreasonable to think the band would just fade away after exhausting their best material.Songs such as “2080” and “Sunrise” were both catchy and forward-thinking; to duplicate these would be a challenge.

It seems the band felt something similar to this as well, as the first thing that stands out about “Odd Blood” is its change in direction. The dark, haunting core that defined “Cymbals” is replaced with a distinctively brighter vision. “Ambling Alp,” while staying faithful to the band’s tendency toward layered synth effects and rhythmic experimentation, is notably different with its feel good chorus, “stick up for yourself son, never mind what anybody else does.” Similarly, the companion tracks “O.N.E.” and “ONE” seize upon a dance pop sound that locates them closer to contemporaries like Cut Copy than the Talking Heads. While “Odd Blood” might not win as many new fans as the debut, it represents a big leap forward in the band’s development.

Yeasayer have two shows scheduled — April 10 and 11 — at the Parish. Tickets are $15 in advance, $17 at the door. www.theparishaustin.com.

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February 2, 2010

CD review: "As He Wanders..." by Texas Sapphires

Texas Sapphires
“As He Wanders…” (Ike Records)
Grade: B+

I hate it when younger artists sing songs about the sad current state of country music. Shurman almost ruined a good album by including the whiney, hokey “Country Ain’t Country Anymore.”

The best commentary is to make a pure country album like this sophomore release from Billy Brent Malkus and Rebecca Cannon, known together as the Texas Sapphires. With fiddle, banjo, pedal steel guitar and mandolin on just about every track, this record imagines a time when the most famous Garth is the sidekick on “Wayne’s World.” Even when they rock, as on “Farmer’s Tan,” they can’t shake the hillbilly shawl.

Opening with Arty Hill’s “Nashville Moon,” the Sapphires establish the honky tonk feel right out of the chute. The rest of the tunes are written by Malkus (who shows a great sense of humor on “How Did I Get So Sloppy Drunk When I Was Drinkin’ Neat?”), with the exception of Cannon’s stirring “Teardrops or Rain.” As a balladeer, Cannon (a former punk rocker in Sincola) is not a belter, but has a quality in her voice that makes it seem as if she’s feeling the words. Overdubbing her vocals on “Make Him Make Me,” one of Malkus’ best songs, is a nice touch.

Malkus is more limited vocally, but he can drive a guitar all around. And Cannon’s soft harmonies are always there when needed.

There’s no threat of the Texas Sapphires breaking out on country radio. There’s just a hint of a bar band scent to this record that terrifies programmers. But no one can say- or write a song- about this band being not country.

The Texas Sapphires play a Waterloo instore tomorrow and headline the Continental Club Thursday.

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January 29, 2010

Review: Fiery Furnaces at the Parish

Living up to their reputation, the Fiery Furnaces filled their short-ish set Thursday night at the Parish with dramatic tempo changes and classic rock guitar riffs. Lead vocalist Eleanor Friedberger was inspiring with her consistent energy, maintaining a non-stop rock presence that drove the music throughout. Brother Matthew mainly focused his energy on the guitar, fluctuating between haphazard noise and full blown 70’s arena rock. This habit of key changes and explosive outbursts distinguishes the band’s live show.

That said, the performance was good but not great. There was a balance to the show that seemed to reflect the band’s latest releases — some of their most restrained work — but they were never quite as loose as they seem capable of being. New songs, including the bouncy “Charmaine Champagne” and “Keep Me In the Dark” stretched out nicely live. The set ended after a fast 50 minutes.

Part of the charm of “I’m Going Away” is the soulful piano that gives the album its laid-back feel. There was no piano or keys with band; instead, the new material was reinvented strictly as guitar rock. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. At times it worked, but some of the new tunes, including the bluesy “Drive to Dallas,” suffered from keys’ absence. The encore mini-set picked up again with Eleanor taking a turn on the drums as well as “Single Again, “Japanese Slippers” and the super-catchy “Here Comes the Summer,” which closed an evening that felt like it wrapped up a little early.

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January 25, 2010

CD review: Various artists 'Casual Victim Pile'

With “Casual Victim Pile” so dominated by the furious sounds of rock ‘n’ roll — from Follow That Bird’s righteous, Joan Jett-evoking “The Ghosts That Wake You” to the closing midtempo New Wave shuffle of Lost Controls’ “Entirely Wired For Sound” — it might come as a surprise that the best word to describe it would be “love.”

Of course, it’s a sappy way to sum up a record so decidedly unsappy, so loaded with kicks and thrashes and even a one-minute, four-second song — “Nazis On Film” by the Teeners — that’s one of the best bits of driving gutter punk that will ever assault your eardrums. But Matador Records co-owner Gerard Cosloy’s highly personal snapshot of the Red River scene circa 2009 is an obvious labor of love from the first track to the last, carefully curated and misfire-free.

Whether on the low-key jangle of Harlem’s catchy “Beautiful and Very Smart” or the psychedelic drawl of Elvis’ “Mommy’s Little Soldiers,” “Casual Victim Pile” manages to feel cohesive without ever limiting itself, bounding across 19 tracks of headbang-worthy rock.
Even if it is just a glorified mixtape — albeit a mixtape from Matador Records that we hope will bring needed exposure to a bushel of great Austin bands — it’s just about the most lovingly assembled collection of fiendishly addictive tunes you’re likely to find anywhere. Way to make the Beerland faithful proud, Matador.

Read more about ‘Casual Victim Pile’ in Sunday’s Life & Arts section. Bands featured on the release will play three nights — Feb. 4-6 — at Beerland to celebrate the record.

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CD review: Patty Griffin 'Downtown Church'

Before she became the undisputed Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin was a mediocre gospel singer. Really. A magnificent voice always, but Aretha lacked the purity of purpose possessed by such less talented, but better Christian blues singers as Sallie Martin, Dorothy Love Coates and Bessie Griffin.

Patty Griffin is an amazingly athletic singer and her fans will love her attempt to get next to God on “Downtown Church,” recorded at a Presbyterian one in Nashville. But there’s no growl in the gal. Praising a higher power who can’t get the electricity turned back on takes an innate quiver or twist that, like Lady Soul, Griffin just doesn’t have. Don’t know why she thought she could bring something fresh to “If I Had My Way” and “Wade In the Water.” When the Staple Singers did those songs in the ’60s, they were done. Produced by Buddy Miller as if he has too many albums and loves them all, “Downtown Church” is often divinely stirring but lacks a deep spiritual core.

And when the Lark of Hyde Park throws in “Virgen de Guadalupe,” it comes off as the most awkward border crossing since Vallejo tried to pass as Rock en Español.
Griffin’s seventh studio album works better when she covers country gospel, such as Hank Williams’ “House of Gold” and “We Shall All Be Reunited” by Doc Watson, and adds hue with gentle new originals “Little Fire” and “Coming Home To Me.” But what really makes the record is a solemn, yet soaring, version of “All Creatures of Our God and King,” written in 1225 by St. Francis of Assisi. A hymn made for her, it’s like being in church and the top of a mountain at the same time.

Listen, I’m a snob of black gospel music, so it was predetermined that I wouldn’t accept this. I was going to list all the gospel records you should buy instead of “Downtown Church.” But over a few listens, I was converted.

But if you pick this up, you also have to get “Freedom Highway” by the Staple Singers. Patty wants you to.

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More from Sunday's Help Austin Help Haiti concert

(Kelly West AMERICAN-STATESMAN)

• Photos: Help Austin Help Haiti at the Austin Music Hall

The marathon “Help Austin Help Haiti” benefit on Sunday at the Austin Music Hall began with Asleep At the Wheel’s lilting version of Townes Van Zandt’s “If I Needed You” and drew toward a close almost 10 hours later with Charlie Sexton romping through a muscular version of the Beatles’ “Help.”

In between, the cream of Austin’s Americana/singer-songwriter community came together, as it has so often in the past, for those in need. Although no exact figures were available Monday morning, the concert and accompanying silent auction seemed certain to have raised many tens of thousands of dollars for Haitian earthquake relief.

The event came together with breathtaking rapidity. Visiting with Tim O’Connor and Doug Moyes of Direct Events, who manage the Music Hall, on an unrelated matter a week and a half ago, Joe Ely asked offhandedly if anyone was planning a local effort to aid Haitian earthquake victims. “You are,” the pair told Ely in essence, and basically tossed him the keys to the building.

With lots of behind-the-scenes sweat and tenacity, Ely and his cohorts assembled a cast of musicians that also included Shawn Colvin, Bob Schneider, the Gourds, Bruce Robison and Kelly Willis, the Flatlanders, Robert Earl Keen, Marcia Ball (filling in for an ailing Billy Joe Shaver), Band of Heathens, Patricia Vonne, Reckless Kelly, Ray Wylie Hubbard, Guy Forsyth, Band of Heathens and Paula Nelson.

Many of the participants were parents themselves and the televised images of children wandering lost through the wreckage of Port Au Prince weighed on them.

“The big thing was being a dad,” said Bob Schneider, discussing his participation as his son, Luc hovered nearby. “All those people will have a hard time looking after the kids in all the devastation.”

“No matter how big this town gets or how much it changes, it’s still a music town and this is how we grieve and celebrate,” said Kelly Willis as her own kids romped around her dressing room.

Husband Bruce Robison added, “I’m proud to be part of this. It’s wonderful to try to help, and to find people that give you a way to help.” “Musicians are like family,” said Shawn Colvin, “and when someone like Joe makes this happen, how can you say no?”

Inevitably, with such a cast, musical highlights were plentiful. The Flatlanders (Ely, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock), augmented by guitarist David Holt and steel maestro Lloyd Maines, lit up the room with a scorching version of Gilmore’s “Midnight Train.”

Colvin did a meltingly lovely solo take on the Lefty Frizzell/Merle Haggard hit “That’s the Way Love Goes.” Marcia Ball, sitting in with Ely and band, rocked the 88s on Ely’s keyboard anthem “Fingernails.” The Gourds mashed up an epic rendition of “Gin and Juice” with samples of Sam Cooke’s “Cupid” and Cheap Trick’s “Surrender.” Ely dug deep into his song bag for a moving acoustic version of “Dig All Night.” Robert Earl Keen put an anthemic spin on Townes Van Zandt’s “Flying Shoes.” Robison and Willis sat in on one another’s sets between backstage babysitting duties.

“You feel helpless looking at the TV,” said Ely during the course of the evening. “But then I thought about Willie Nelson doing the benefit for the tsunami victims and Clifford Antone putting together a fundraiser after Hurricane Katrina … And I thought, it’s my turn.”

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January 15, 2010

Review: Fat Man and Little Boy at the Whip In

(Fat Man and Little Boy perform Thursday at The Whip In. Photo by Laura Skelding AMERICAN-STATESMAN)

“We’re gonna play without a mic,” announced Little Boy at the onset of Thursday night’s gig. “Normally we can place blame on a (bad) sound system … .”

“Or a bad sound man,” added his counterpart, Fat Man.

A mic might not have been a bad idea for Fat Man and Little Boy, otherwise known as the Atomic Duo, purveyors of “struggle” music for our modern day Depression. The setting was Whip In, a convenience store off the I-35 frontage road in South Austin, where the din of chatter and clanging of silverware born of the dozen or so diners communing over scrumptious Indian food and on-tap craft beers in the store’s refurbished eating area made for sometimes indiscernible lyrics.

But Fat Man and Little Boy were oblivious. They were too wrapped up in their self-deprecating banter and knock-knock shtick, and in making sense of live renditions of the mountain, swing, bluegrass, Dust Bowl, and Tin Pan Alley songs on their self-titled album. The album came out in November but because Fat Man had a torn rotator cuff then, the Atomic Duo’s just now celebrating its release, with a January residency at Whip In among other Texas dates.

Vocals were split fairly evenly between Fat Man (Mark Rubin, Austin’s resident advocate of old-time music, most notably with the trio Bad Livers) and Little Boy (Silas Lowe, an East Coast transplant equally enamored with Old, Weird America). Traditional and original songs were buoyed by ersatz country voices and the high lonesome sounds of mandolin, banjo and resonator guitar, and occasionally were assisted by vocalist Jenn Miori, fiddler Wayne “Chojo” Jacques, and harmonica player Sean Tracey.

“Texas City” spoke of the 1947 explosion of ammonium nitrate aboard the French vessel SS Grandcamp, which killed hundreds of people in the port town. “Turpentine Farm” was about “sadomasochistic animal husbandry.” And “Rope Stretchin’ Blues” affirmed the notion of an eye for an eye, wherein the song’s protagonist busts a home intruder’s head with a club.

Fat Man and Little Boy excelled at turning heartache into humor, with a vibe on par with White Ghost Shivers and the Gourds. For one departing customer, the lack of a mic was no big deal.

“You sounded great,” she told the duo.

“If you stick around,” Fat Man said, “we can fix that.”

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January 12, 2010

CD review: Freedy Johnson 'Rain on the City'

“Rain on the City” is singer-songwriter Freedy Johnston’s first release of original material in eight years, and it is a strong enough outing to let fans and critics know that he’s still out there, making music. Though the album, a blue, sparsely produced collection, isn’t particularly ground-breaking as far as its sound or song writing is concerned, there is something very appealing about Johnston’s silky-yet-nasally voice as well as the layers of mood that envelop the music. The title track is the strongest testament to Johnston’s talent, a gloomy, minor key ode to loneliness. Similarly, “The Devil Raises His Own,” a dark groove that recalls early ’70s soul, allows Johnston to show off his range.

The album falls short in a few places, such as the gratuitous country track “Livin’ Too Close to the Rio Grande,” but its slip-ups are rare enough that the whole doesn’t suffer much.

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CD review: Katharine McPhee 'Unbroken'

If one gleans anything from “Unbroken,” Katharine McPhee’s sophomore album, it would be this: Girl is sad.

We can only speculate why — channeling the angst from her struggles with eating disorders? Being dropped by previous label RCA Records? Things with husband Nick Cokas not working out well? Recently watched “The Notebook”? The lyrics are a bit too obtuse to say for sure, but “Unbroken,” from the wistful lament of “Had It All” to the sweetly melancholic “Surrender,” chooses heartbreak as its central theme. McPhee and a cadre of co-writers return time and again to images of loss and regret, giving “Unbroken” an unexpectedly tragic tinge. When she closes the album out with a cover of Melanie’s novelty hit “Brand New Key,” the ray of sunshine is practically a relief.

Of course, “Unbroken” doesn’t concern itself only with darkness — McPhee’s no Leonard Cohen — and the sound is vintage shiny happy adult contemporary, all soaring crescendos and headbop-worthy piano lines. It’s enough to make you wish McPhee, a talented vocalist and stage presence, would be as confessional and intimate with her choice of instrumentation as her choice of lyrics.

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CD review: Vampire Weekend 'Contra'

The bolt-from-the-blue brilliance of Vampire Weekend’s first album rested largely on how successfully it fused everything stereotypical upper-class white people like — with four dapper Ivy League-educated gentlemen crooning about images of Cape Cod summers and infatuations with Louis Vuitton-adorned girls — with the habit-forming beats of African popular music. That mixture gave the band the catchiest and most resonant multicultural white guy pop this side of Paul Simon’s “Graceland.”

That formula sticks around for sophomore album “Contra,” but with added textures and layers of depth, from the M.I.A. samples on “Diplomat’s Son” — at six minutes, “War and Peace” by Vampire Weekend standards — to the billowy auto-tune of “California English” to the blaring trumpets on “Run.” Lead singer Ezra Koenig takes on added vulnerability on “Taxi Cab” and album closer and pseudo title track “I Think Ur A Contra,” which sounds more dreamlike and ethereal than even the debut’s slowest moments. The result is an album that, at 36 minutes, is concise but not immediate, the definition of a grower that takes time to reveal its mysteries. It lacks the slam-bang fun of their self-titled debut — lead single “Cousins,” with its frenetic punk rock energy and surf guitar rolls, is the closest thing to last album’s instantly affecting “A-Punk” — but expands Vampire Weekend’s toolbox. If the debut album was the perfect party record, “Contra,” with its increasingly epic scope and references piled on top of references — the ever-clever Koenig’s even titled the album in direct contrast to the Clash’s “Sandinista!” — is better suited for a long road trip, to be immediately queued up and played again after its first listen.

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January 4, 2010

Free Week: cold air and hangovers

David Weaver FOR AMERICAN-STATESMAN

• A-List photos: Free Week 2010, night 2

With New Year’s Eve and its accompanying hangover behind them, Austin’s budget-conscious scenesters rallied on Saturday night, as crowds, venues and lineups all filled out. Music fans weighed cost savings and bitter chill and decided claiming the former was worth toughing through the latter as Riverboat Gamblers spinoff Ghost Knife — so new they don’t even yet have a MySpace — packed the inside room at Emo’s.

Just as impressive was an earlier set from Big Black-meets-Sonic Youth post-punk rockers Manikin, with guitarist Alfonso Rabago’s echo-loaded vocals jumpstarting a crowd already high on the gregarious garage of Serious Tracers. Outside, the spirited sludge rock of Woven Bones rang out over a sizable crowd. Even more popped in to catch certifiable buzz act and recent Matador Records signees Harlem — three guys who never fail to look giddy even at the most unfriendly hours and temperatures of the night.

Further down Red River, Stubb’s and Beerland joined the fray, with the former boasting an electric set from Black Bone Child and the latter hosting endlessly dependable rockabilly circus the Flametrick Subs. At the Mohawk, a substantial crowd crammed into the inside room to catch In Dudero, the Nirvana tribute act with members of the Sword and Those Peabodys — proof positive that, for all of Free Week’s great original acts, sometimes you just want to chug a beer and hear “Rape Me.”

Whether it was the biting cold or just the natural fallout of a hectic holiday weekend, crowds thinned out Sunday night. But those daring enough to stick around were clearly in it to win it — take, for instance, the swirling crowds at Emo’s inside during country rockers Crooks. It’s not often you see copious two-stepping on the floor of Emo’s, but the country western dance was an appropriate indulgence for a band with such a fetching honky tonk sound that you can practically hear the pedal steel — even though there isn’t one. It was something of a country-influenced night at the inside room of Emo’s, with a charming set from Frank Smith (note: the band doesn’t actually contain anyone named Frank Smith) and even a few tunes on the more acoustic, old-fashioned tip from What Made Milwaukee Famous front man Michael Kingcaid, who played a stripped-down show of solo material.

Outside, indie pop maestros Quiet Company put on their Sunday best for an appropriately joyous set containing a furious cover of the Pixies’ “Monkey Gone To Heaven.” Front man Taylor Muse praised the crowd’s persistence — “Some of us musicians have to get up at 6 a.m. for work, too” — and rewarded their loyalty with a closing rendition of the band’s crescendo-laden “On Modern Men” that pulled friends and acquaintances on-stage for a soaring sing-along. The perpetually underrated Corto Maltese fared just as well, toggling between Rush-esque guitar heroics and intellectual rock in the Radiohead style. Proggy electropoppers Many Birthdays — who, to go by their apparent youth, haven’t celebrated all that many birthdays — played the first of what will be a couple of Free Week shows with aplomb. Over at the Beauty Bar, One Hundred Flowers provided quiet, acoustic experimental pop perfectly suited for a more buttoned-down evening of relaxation and cocktails. Even on a quiet Sunday evening distinguished by its harsh chill, Red River looked surprisingly popping — and you were guaranteed to overhear substantially more conversations about Pitchfork than you would on most Sunday nights. Truly, the party has begun. Three nights down, seven to go.

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Review: Chuck Prophet at the Continental Club

Chuck Prophet likes to wax sarcastic in between songs. His first wisecrack during a monster Saturday set at the Continental Club — the second of back-to-back nights — was a riff on virtual reality.

“Go home tonight and check your Friendster page,” Prophet said. (Don’t you mean Facebook?) “How many friends do you need? How many people would actually pick you up at the airport? Now, get rid of the rest.”

Then the San Francisco slacker and his four-piece band, including wife Steffie Finch on keyboards and backing vocals, laid into a cover of Alejandro Escovedo’s “Always A Friend,” which Prophet co-wrote, along with the majority of Escovedo’s triumphant “Real Animal” album.

Prophet is perhaps better known for his collaborations with other musicians, including Austin’s Kelly Willis, than he is for the nine solo albums he’s put out. But “Soap and Water,” from 2007, yielded an appearance on David Letterman, and this year’s “Let Freedom Ring,” a 25th anniversary update of the American Dream proffered by Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.,” has garnered critical acclaim.

Prophet played heavy doses of both albums Saturday, in a dynamite display of workmanlike rock. Prophet stabbed his trusty Fender Squier like a hoodlum in a knifefight, as he grunted and winced through his character-driven songs, vacillating between a traditional mic and one that made his voice sound like it was amplified through a blowhorn.

“Steve, who I guess is head of security here,” Prophet said, presumably referring to Continental owner Steve Wertheimer, “says there’s been a lot of bootlegging lately. I’d only ask, because this is how we make our living,” Prophet continued, feigning seriousness, “that you film this one. Because no one likes new songs.”

That disclaimer about identity theft was followed by “Hot Talk,” a song about a shady impersonator, with Dire Straits undertones. Meanwhile, “Doubter Out of Jesus (All Over You),” about a treacherous vamp, conveyed double-meaning when Finch repeatedly sang the outro at Prophet, “You could make a doubter out of Jesus.”

But for my money I’ll take the opener, “Sonny Liston’s Blues,” wherein Prophet echoed the words of the boxer in the lead up to his memorable bout with Muhammad Ali. Prophet sang them as if to dupe you into thinking he wasn’t the smart aleck he seemed: “I’m a man of few words, baby/ I think by now you’ve heard ‘em all.”

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December 18, 2009

Live review: Phoenix at La Zona Rosa

Jay Janner AMERICAN-STATESMAN

• Photos: Phoenix sound check, 12.17.09
• Phoenix opens soundcheck to students before La Zona Rosa show

Forget the cold, hard, analytical signs that 2009 was the year French alternative rock band Phoenix finally crossed the line from a beloved indie fixture to bona-fide mainstream success — the gamut of late-night talk show appearances, the festival dates, the widespread critical acclaim and prominent placement on several best-of-the-year (and decade) lists for “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.” Purge it all from your memory.

Because far more important than any of the Wikipedia-friendly evidence, the signs of Phoenix’s rise — if not from the ashes, then at least from the band’s previous status as the clever, sensitive rock band of choice primarily for sexy intellectuals — were found all over La Zona Rosa Thursday night. You could see it in the packed-to-the-gills sold out crowd, the middle school students being picked up by their parents post-show and, above all, the rapturous faces in the audience and the ceaseless movement of seemingly every body in the house.

After a brief introduction by 101X’s Jason Dick — quite possibly the most prominent ginger in Austin radio — and energized opening sets from psychedelic genre blenders White Denim and dance rock enthusiasts Hockey, Phoenix took to the stage for an electric and surprisingly gracious set that touched on material from all four of the band’s studio albums. They showed none of the signs of weariness or apathy you’d expect from a band that’s gigged nearly non-stop in every corner of the world since March, with tight, focused playing and a palpable sense of glee at their command over the audience.

The show kicked off with an enthused take on lead “Wolfgang” single “Lisztomania,” followed by snappy stabs at two band classics — “Long Distance Call” and the mesmerizing, seductively groovy “Run Run Run,” which incorporated particularly dazzling guitar and bass solos from Laurent Brancowitz and Deck D’Arcy. The band’s regular forays into older material were a nice demonstration of their solid back catalog, and demonstrated the kind of seasoned experience and wealth of material that some similar breakout bands aren’t lucky enough to have.

That focus on older material didn’t mean a compromise in energy on new songs, though. They still nailed the most important — to go by audience recognition — songs off “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix,” with peppy versions of “Fences,” “Rome,” and “1901.” And front man Thomas Mars was always sure to yield the floor to his band mates, giving each member a chance to show off — a willingness particularly evident on the lengthy “Love Like A Sunset,” which gave each member of Phoenix a solo to call their own and proved the group could make a lengthy and meditative number appropriate for a live show. That kind of democratic spirit goes a long way toward explaining why the band’s still vital and capable after well over a decade playing together.

But the night’s real story was in Mars’ very sincere connection to the crowd. Whether soliciting hand claps during “Rome” or jumping into the audience to perform “Lasso,” wearing a grin a mile wide, Mars knew how to work a crowd and how to appear sincerely appreciative doing it. That rapport came to a celebratory end on the final song, a reprise of “Lisztomania” which saw the front man leaping from the stage to perform the first half of the song in the crowd before eventually returning and welcoming dozens on stage to sing and dance alongside the band. As enthusiastic concertgoers poured onto the stage at La Zona Rosa, one thing became clear: Phoenix’s greatest success as rock stars just might be how blissfully unaware they seem of being rock stars. Even with a massively successful year under their belt — Thursday night’s show marks their last of a very busy 2009 — they remain four shy, sensitive, nice guys, who seem as thrilled as the audience to have that many giddy people on stage.

Set list
Lisztomania
Long Distance Call
Lasso
Run Run Run
Fences
Girlfriend
Armistice
Love Like A Sunset
Napoleon Says
Too Young
Consolation Prizes
Rome
Funky Squaredance

Encore
Everything Is Everything
If I Ever Feel Better
1901
Lisztomania (reprise)

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December 15, 2009

CD review: Timbaland 'Shock Value II'

Timbaland performs with SoShy at last month’s American Music Awards. Photo by the Associated Press

Timbaland
“Shock Value II”
(Blackground)
Grade: A

Before the “Shock Value” series, Timbaland never had a signature CD as a solo artist, unlike fellow superstar producers Dr. Dre and Kanye West. Producers can showcase their talent in that setting, free to unleash their creative id without compromise and look for inspiration in unlikely places. “Shock Value II” is the CD Timbaland has been building his entire career toward, the work of a great musician at the top of his game.

After more than a decade of consistent success, he doesn’t need to justify his musical decisions. “Shock Value II” reflects that - featuring everyone from Daughtry and Chad Kroeger to Miley Cyrus, the Fray, Drake and Justin Timberlake. Timbaland tweaks the music for each artist but keeps a consistent sound - a futuristic mash-up of R&B, rock, pop and rap destined to be copied endlessly.

And with such a diverse and talented guest-list, the album feels like a compilation CD of the year’s biggest hits. Nearly every song could conceivably be released as a single; in theory he could have a big hit in four different genres - rap (“Say Something”), rock (“Marching On” or “Long Way Down”), pop (“Undertow” or “Lose Control”) and R&B (“Carry Out”).

For the most part, each song celebrates a different aspect of how great he (and his guests) are. Drake pokes fun at girls from his past (“I should wanna go back to the one I started with / But I’m addicted to this life it’s gonna be hard to quit”) while Daughtry reminisces on his meteoric ascent (“I hear it’s such a long way down / And the climb back up is something I can do without”).

Timbaland serves as a unifying force, as a DJ introducing each act while occasionally delivering a rap verse. He’s nowhere near as talented on the mic as Dre and Kanye, but he doesn’t detract from the music. He doesn’t have much to say; “If you assume my life is wonderful, then y’all right” is about as introspective as he gets on “Shock Value II.” It’s an album designed to play from start to finish at a house party, and it will many times over the next few months.

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December 10, 2009

Live review: Jay Reatard at Emo's - 40 minutes and two arrests, yes that's punk rock

Photos: See pics from the Jay Reatard show.

Jay Reatard, nee Jimmy Lee Lindsey, built his reputation on short, spazzy, furiously energetic garage punk with several bands in Memphis, Tenn. But by the time he graduated to solo material — first with 2006’s “Blood Visions” and this year with “Watch Me Fall” — he’d welded his guitar chops and rowdy rock sensibility with surprisingly catchy, pop-oriented songwriting that made him one of punk’s more accessible musicians. “Watch Me Fall” highlighted Reatard at his versatile best, with a more melodic sound that made greater use of harmonies and even strings.

But while Reatard’s recordings may have matured, his public persona — and the full-frontal assault that is his live show — haven’t aged a day. “Punk rock” is still the most apt description for Reatard’s image. After all, he’s the man who announced the loss of his band via Twitter in October (with the instantly quotable lines “Band quit ! (Expletive) them ! They are boring rich kids who can’t play for (expletive) anyways.”). Reatard’s famous for punching a zealous fan on-stage in Toronto last year. And Reatard has even claimed, also via Twitter, that shots were fired to disperse a fight during his Dec. 8 show at Walter’s in Houston.

That ethos was readily apparent at Wednesday night’s show at Emo’s, as Reatard and his new band pounded through 40 minutes of blistering punk. Fans gathered near the stage moshed violently, a firecracker was detonated on the floor and the show ended with the arrest of two concertgoers.

So, to reiterate: Punk. Rock.

Reatard took the stage after midnight and immediately launched into a series of highlights from his solo career. Though melody has taken on a greater prominence on his recordings, there’s little evidence of that in the live show — Reatard and band focused instead on fast, frenetic playing. They powered through a half dozen songs in the set’s first 10 minutes, treating their instruments less as objects to be coaxed and more as punching bags worthy of abuse. Reatard sliced into “It Ain’t Gonna Save Me,” the lead single off “Watch Me Fall,” with joyful abandon. Hooky riffs helped smooth out the rough edges on “Hammer I Miss You,” and Reatard’s high, Geddy Lee-esque voice rang out surprisingly clearly on “I Know A Place.”

While the set had all the makings of a fun night of pop-punk, it was sadly abridged at only 40 minutes — less than the opening performance by Austin’s own Harlem — after two rowdy fans attacked Reatard on-stage shortly after he announced he was playing the night’s final song. He retaliated by swinging his microphone stand and departed mid-song, giving the at-times rambunctious audience the finger as he exited the stage. There was to be no encore — the lights went up and the PA music kicked in as the two intruding fans were arrested by police outside the club’s Sixth Street entrance.

It was a good show — while it lasted. And Reatard can’t be held responsible for violent fans. But at less than 45 minutes and with a buzzkill of an ending, it’s hard to regard the night as anything more than an initially promising disappointment. That’s the sad thing about punk rock — sometimes the anger overtakes the fun and an audience walks away let down. With a too-short set and a combative ending, Reatard’s Wednesday night show ultimately felt less like a satisfactory set from a skilled player and more like a sad tease of the fun evening that might have been.

Update: The Austin Police Department’s public information office has confirmed that Michael Buehrer, 20, and Peter Aravello, 23, were the two men arrested. Both have been charged with public intoxication.

Pitchfork has this statement from Reatard’s publicist: “Jay was attacked, totally unprovoked, by two different people, both of whom were later arrested. One guy bolted onstage and came swinging at Jay, but security took him away pretty quickly. Soon after (the band hadn’t stopped playing, by the way), another guy sprinted onstage and hit Jay. Unlike the first guy, Jay didn’t even see this guy coming. So Jay defended himself with the mic stand until security took that guy away, too. Jay is safe and unhurt, and the cops were there for about an hour afterwards.”

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December 5, 2009

Live review: KISS at the Erwin Center

Gene Simmons prowled the giant stage, scanning the front rows for female fans to harass and thrill. Fingers fondling his bass, Simmons made hard eye contact with his victims, then subjected them to slow, grinding pelvis gyrations — his metallic cod-piece glittering in the lights — and that interminable, wet, wagging tongue. The women gasped and giggled. Simmons, a self-aware pro, laughed back.

This was high comedy during KISS’ spectacularly silly and moderately fun rock extravaganza Friday night at a crowded Erwin Center, a cavernous venue that could barely contain the show’s endless eruptions of theatrical bombast and pyro porn that finally, during the orgiastic three-song encore, struck a comical level of hedonistic overkill. (Fire! Fire! Fire!)

KISS is lowbrow performance art — children, like so many in the audience, devour this stuff — accompanied by a tinny but extremely loud soundtrack of mindless rock ditties. For 35 years, their concerts have been a savvy blend of bluster and balderdash, with a cloying infusion of Jerry Bruckheimer. (If they began today, KISS would be a CGI creation.)

They do it well, and the four band members worked hard Friday to keep the audience involved with flattering between-song banter, constant eye-contact, call-and-response games and by anointing the masses with flurries of guitar picks. Simmons, Paul Stanley and relative newcomers Eric Singer on drums and Tommy Thayer on guitar (who does a fine imperson-Ace-tion) never took the crowd for granted, constantly checking in, begging our approval and throwing it right back, like an enormous, flame-strewn self-esteem seminar.

They opened with old-timers “Deuce” and “Strutter” — not the most muscular songs out of the gate — with Stanley promising a night of “classic vintage KISS.” For more than two hours, the band stomped through, and sometimes tiresomely dragged out, a hit-list of songs about sex, partying, sex, drinking, rocking and sex. At least two songs, “Modern Day Delilah” and “Say Yeah,” from their new album “Sonic Boom” (“Get your butts down to Wal-Mart and get yourself a copy!” Stanley hollered) were beer-break tunes, but the crowd thrilled and sang along to “Hotter Than Hell,” “Cold Gin” and “Black Diamond.”

The show hit its stride with faster, hookier songs (“Calling Dr. Love,” “Parasite”) and foot-stomping anthems (“Rock and Roll All Nite”) that matched the volcanic production values. Amid a backdrop of JumboTrons, sirens, rising platforms, confetti and flaming mushroom clouds, Simmons spewed blood and fire, Thayer shot rockets from his guitar and Stanley wiggled his rear-end at fans before smashing his guitar. Singer’s drum platform spun around.

It’s no secret that Simmons, lascivious demon-beast, with that long-legged skulk and spiked armor, is the show’s cynosure. In a literal high moment, he was lifted by cables to the rafters, where he mounted a platform and gazed down upon his worshipful kingdom. There he bellowed 1982’s “I Love it Loud,” his lips and chin stained with fake blood. The song ended and the lights went out. It was only in the safety of the dark that the winged batman could do something so ordinary and un-KISS-like as what came next: He descended back to earth.

Set list: “Deuce,” “Strutter,” “Let Me Go, Rock ‘n’ Roll,” “Hotter Than Hell” (Gene Simmons breathes fire off a sword), “Shock Me” (with Tommy Thayer on lead vocals), “Calling Dr. Love,” “Modern Day Delilah,” “Cold Gin” (Thayer guitar solo, with rocket-firing guitar), “Parasite,” “Say Yeah,” “100,000 Years” (routine Eric Singer drum solo, one long cluster bomb of quadruplets), Gene Simmons bass solo (with blood spitting), “I Love it Loud,” “Black Diamond” (with Singer on lead vocals), “Rock and Roll All Nite” (with stadium-clogging confetti storms).

Encores: “Lick it Up,” “Love Gun” (Paul Stanley flies over audience), “Detroit Rock City” (Paul smashes guitar). More fire.

Click here to view more photos from the concert.

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December 1, 2009

CD review: The Bravery - 'Stir the Blood'

The Bravery
‘Stir the Blood’
(Island Records)
Grade: C

You could call “Stir the Blood” a study of contrasts.

On the one hand, frontman-songwriter Sam Endicott is angry. You can hear it in every jagged riff, every angsty yowl, even in the gore-evoking album title. And there are only so many ways to interpret a song called “Hate(expletive).” There’s a pretty good chance he wants to shower some physical violence on someone. Possibly you.

But we can assume he at least wants you to have some fun while he does it, because “Stir the Blood” is also a return to upbeat form for this New York post-punk new wave band after a disappointing second album “The Sun and the Moon.” It has an almost pathological need to be danceable in its instrumentation, with the speedy, steady beat on “Red Hands and White Knuckles” adding a rollicking, catchy pulse to a fundamentally violent, ugly tune. It’s that disconnect between the high-school pleading, for instance, of “I Am Your Skin” with its techno-influenced head-bopping time signature that keeps “Stir the Blood” somewhat lively. There’s something naturally fascinating about cognitive dissonance, and it doesn’t come much more dissonant than dancing to “Slow Poison,” with its focus on the bitter sting of heartbreak.

The Bravery never quite dodges the problem that’s dogged the band since its self-titled debut — namely, that “Stir the Blood” starts to sound awfully monotonous after 11 songs. And you’d have to be very young, very immature or very unfortunate to relate much to this level of focused brooding. But those who enjoyed the Bravery’s driven dance sound on the debut will be pleased by “Stir the Blood,” and it’s hard to condemn an album as too dark when it has the good sense to rock while doing it.

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CD review: R. Kelly - 'Untitled'

R. Kelly
‘Untitled’
(Jive)
Grade: B

To paraphrase the great Texas philosopher Hank Hill, somewhere along the line we forgot to teach R. Kelly shame.

This is, of course, painfully obvious to anyone who has followed his unsavory legal problems. Artistically, on the other hand, it’s been helpful. Kelly’s go-to topic has always been sex — it’s what he writes about when he can’t be bothered to write about anything else — and a lack of shame is a pretty good thing to have if you spend your days thinking up new ways to talk about the world’s oldest activity.

Nothing on “Untitled” reaches the lunatic heights of “Trapped in the Closet” nor the complicated shadows of, say, “A Woman’s Threat.” “Untitled” is mostly sex jams, but often very funny ones.

Who else can sell “you have pretty teeth” as a pickup line, as he does during “Exit”? The single “Number One” compares sex to making a hit record (and possibly stripping a car — as guest vocalist Keri Hilson puts it, “You know you stay at the top spot/ When you’re breaking me down like a chop shop”). “Echo” is what he would like your screams to do (“I hope you’re ready, girl, to scream and moan/ like yodoley oley ohhoooo”).

“Religious” has him repenting and changing his thuggish ways (“There’s something religious about you (I wanna testify)/ there’s something church about you” - a.k.a. how to get with the choir director) yet “Bangin’ the Headboard” and “Go Low” should explain themselves. And when he tells you he wants to get you “Pregnant” (“Telling myself I’m a playa so I keep tryna shake it off/ But I keep on seeing this big old house with a picket fence and a dog”), you almost believe him.

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CD review: Adam Lambert - 'For Your Entertainment'

Adam Lambert
‘For Your Entertainment’
(RCA)
Grade: C+

Amid all the controversy and rapt media attention showered on Adam Lambert — from initial questions surrounding his sexuality to his instantly game-changing air-sex antics during the American Music Awards — the “American Idol” runner-up has received surprisingly little attention for his ostensible selling point: his pipes.

Maybe that’s how Lambert managed to record one of the year’s most surprising albums even under intense scrutiny. “For Your Entertainment” is a disjointed but intriguing melding of rock, pop, electronica and dance — with the occasional hard left turn into schmaltz — that taken altogether is one of the most striking examples of pop-by-committee in recent years. Lambert’s at his best when he’s also at his most ostentatious, so “For Your Entertainment” really sings when he embraces his obvious gift for sweaty, sexy dance music. The title track is an electroclash-filled, sometimes-autotuned three minutes that takes to heart George Bernard Shaw’s old maxim about dancing as a vertical expression of horizontal desire. And “Fever” is the kind of track you know was co-written by Lady Gaga even before glancing at the liner notes, with its club thump and unapologetically sex-obssessed lyricism (“There he goes/My baby walks so slow/Sexual tic-tac-toe”). After tolerating the just-shy-of-risque-faux-lesbianism of Katy Perry’s “I Kissed A Girl” in 2008, Lambert’s unhesitant embrace of both his sexuality and his energy is something of a relief.

He’s less successful when he slows down and pursues the obligatory ballads — “Aftermath” somehow manages to be simultaneously earnest and soulless. The string-laden “Time For Miracles,” which moviegoers might recognize as Lambert’s contribution to the “2012” soundtrack, crumbles like a CGI Los Angeles into an ocean of cliche.

But even in the album’s darkest, most Roland Emmerich-approved moments, there are surprises in store that suggest Lambert might have a good sense of how to shepherd a great pop album, from the thundering strings of “Soaked” to the spare horror movie piano that kicks off “Broken Open.” He might not be — despite what the surviving members of Queen have suggested — a replacement for Freddie Mercury, but as young dance house glam stars go, he’s got promise.

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November 25, 2009

CD review: KGSR Broadcasts Vol. 17

KGSR Broadcasts Vol. 17
Grade: A

Two troubadours — a grinning, shaggy Steve Earle and rising star Hayes Carll — front the cover of KGSR Broadcasts this year (the CD is out Friday, Nov. 27. Check here for retail locations). The contrast between elder statesman of alt-country and beaming, youthful next big thing so adeptly sums up the beauty of the series that one has to wonder if it was specifically chosen as a raison d’etre for Broadcasts as the series enters a period of change.

That ethos of mixing the best of established talent with fresh-faced up-and-comers is particularly pronounced on volume 17, a skillfully curated, two-disc assemblage of 40 live, largely acoustic cuts that offers the single best value in Austin music. Station tastemaker Jody Denberg might be leaving — for now — but he’s gone out with another solid entry of the series that’s become an Austin tradition.

Unsurprisingly, the bread-and-butter artists that serve as the cornerstone of KGSR’s playlist are well-represented. There are recent songs from staple artists, such as an impassioned, rapidly delivered “40 Dogs (Like Romeo and Juliet)” from Bob Schneider, or a surprisingly funky rendition of Fastball”s “Little White Lies,” with a jumpy bass line that tops the original album version.

But the real treat is the album’s surprising emphasis on collecting some of the station’s most beloved and most played vintage cuts. From Alejandro Escovedo’s “Velvet Guitar” to Todd Snider’s satirical “The Ballad of the Kingsmen,” volume 17 is heavy on energetic new versions of some of the station’s most reliable tunes. Tori Amos’ “Silent All These Years” stings with aching vulnerability, while a naked “Ft. Worth Blues” from Steve Earle makes for a powerful closer.

Lest anyone think newcomers are neglected, though, volume 17 also has plenty to please those looking for something a little more fresh — folk prodigy Sarah Jarosz’s “Song Up In Her Head” is a disc two highlight, and Andrew Bird’s “Fitz and Dizzyspells” showcases the indie rocker at his whistling best. The hipster crowd will appreciate a haunting, spare rendition of Spoon’s “Black Like Me.” Altogether, volume 17 hits a challenging balance between guaranteed crowd-pleasers and the intriguing new material that helps keep the station vibrant.

It’s hard to say how the series — and station — might change in the wake of Denberg’s departure. It’s tempting to say he should have gotten the cover nod. But his pending leave offers a good chance to take stock of everything Broadcasts has accomplished in 17 years: millions raised for the Sims Foundation and dozens of discs with hundreds of hours of the very best in music from artists all over the world. And all of it for only $15 a year.

All in all, not too shabby. Take a bow, Broadcasts.

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November 23, 2009

CD review: Susan Boyle 'I Dreamed a Dream'

Susan Boyle
‘I Dreamed a Dream’
(Sony)
Grade: C

The half-year since Susan Boyle’s “Britain’s Got Talent” debut has been a painful one for the fans who turned that Internet video into a worldwide phenomenon. Would Boyle fall apart under the pressure of instant fame? Would Simon Cowell and company give the Everywoman such a polish she’d no longer be recognizable?

It’s hard to imagine many of that group will be disappointed with “I Dreamed a Dream,” which comes close to delivering what’s expected and was clearly made by people who knew better than to try to change the singer’s style. But the record isn’t nearly as good as it might have been, and its sometimes monotonous vibe won’t persuade many listeners who aren’t already in the fan club.

Though it showcases the pretty side of Boyle’s voice, occasionally even letting her be playful (the whisper and croon of “Cry Me a River,” for instance), “Dream” is surprisingly short on power. Yes, the stirring title track is here, and Boyle displays some convincing pop expressiveness on “Proud,” but elsewhere it’s as if she and producer Steve Mac are holding back. Mac doesn’t help matters when, bizarrely, he lets Boyle get lost among the backup choir in “Amazing Grace” and pushes the synths full tilt just as she’s working her hardest to sell the Madonna cover “You’ll See.”

Some strange choices turn out nicely — Boyle certainly makes the Stones’ “Wild Horses” her own — but what’s with the 5 mph take on “Daydream Believer” that makes the song sound like a breakup ballad?

A more earthy production would have gone a long way here, but the slick shimmer does work for “Silent Night.” (Just try to avoid that one in the month to come.) Maybe now that the overnight sensation has delivered a record that doesn’t break the hearts of the faithful, next time around she can let herself go just a bit.

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CD review: Rihanna 'Rated R'

There is no way to review Rihanna’s new album “Rated R” without mentioning Chris Brown. After what happened earlier this year, their relationship is the proverbial elephant in the room.

The lead single “Russian Roulette” (“Know that I must pass this test / So just pull the trigger”) and its dark metaphor for love? The anthemic songs about how great she is on her own and the reflective ballads about lost love that every R&B album has? While she rarely explicitly mentions their relationship, almost everything about “Rated R” could be plausibly interpreted to be about Brown in some way.

It’s unfortunate, because “Rated R” should be judged on its own merits. Rihanna has become one of the most consistent hit-makers in pop music, and this album continues that trend. Five or six songs easily could be top 10 singles - from the Jeezy- and Slash-assisted club smashes (“Hard,” “Rockstar 101”) to the slower ballads (“Fire Bomb” and “Te Amo”) and songs that ably mix both styles (“Photographs” and “Wait Your Turn”).

Almost every one of the album’s 12 songs has a strong, memorable and catchy chorus. A superstar group of producers and songwriters - headlined by StarGate, the team behind “So Sick” and “Unfaithful” - give Rihanna a varied musical backdrop (from slow pianos to R&B tinged guitars and electronic club music) that still fits together cohesively. This allows Rihanna to stretch herself as a singer like she never has before.

“Rated R” should only further establish Rihanna as one of music’s pre-eminent superstars. And as for Chris Brown, maybe that’s the only message she needs to send — success is still the best revenge.

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November 22, 2009

Review: Daniel Johnston at St. David's

“Well, that’s all I’ve got for now,” Daniel Johnston mumbled about 20 minutes into his show Friday night at St. David’s Episcopal Church. He had just rambled through three songs on his acoustic guitar, pounding Diet Cokes and obsessively flipping through his lyrics book in between. The 125 or so people in attendance, who were no doubt there just as much to see the idiosyncratic pop-song machine as they were to hear him, had their first awkwardness-as-comedy moment of an intimate set filled with many of them. I know I wasn’t the only one thinking, is it really all over?

Nope. It was just the end of the solo stuff. Roots cover band Strings Attached, who had backed Johnston on opener “Living Life” — wherein Johnston, fists balled, down at his sides, twitched as intensely as Joe Cocker at Woodstock as he sang, “Living, living, living, living, living, living, living, living life” — rejoined him for an hour’s worth of rhyming couplets mostly about girls, ghosts, dreams and death.

They kicked off things with “Mind Movies” and “High Horse,” from Johnston’s glossy new album “Is and Always Was,” which was produced by Beck collaborator Jason Falkner. It was a smart idea to have a backing band for Johnston so he could concentrate solely on singing, but I’m not sure Strings Attached was the best fit — unless, of course, Johnston wanted to convey the subtle country vibe created by Strings’ mandolin and violin flourishes.

In between golden oldies “Speeding Motorcycle” and “Life in Vain,” Johnston, having finally warmed to the crowd, told a joke. “I had a dream,” he said, “that this guy was sentenced to death for suicide — and it was me, in the back of the courtroom, going, ‘No, no.’” Johnston rode the momentum of the laughs it generated and played two more songs from the new album, “Tears” and “Freedom” (originally titled “Freedoom,” he said), before calling for an impromptu intermission.

Upon return, Johnston and Strings played “Eleanor Rigby” by the Beatles, after which Johnston said, “I have a special Christmas gift for you all.” And with that, he sang a warm and fuzzy version of “True Love Will Find You in the End.” A standing ovation ensued. As Will Taylor of Strings introduced his players over the thunderous clapping, Johnston grabbed his guitar and remaining Diet Cokes, and split for his dressing room.

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November 18, 2009

Review: Rufus Wainwright at Paramount Theatre

Patrick Meredith FOR AMERICAN-STATESMAN

• Photos: Rufus Wainwright at the Paramount

Tuesday night, a well-heeled crowd gathered at the Paramount to see the final performance of a two-night engagement by the man Elton John has called “the greatest songwriter on the planet.” Strangely (and perhaps a bit out of character) Rufus Wainwright took the stage with very little fanfare and, after a polite hello to the crowd, launched right into a soaring version of “Grey Gardens.” The timbre of his rich voice matched the baby grand piano perfectly and filled up every inch of the theater, yielding only to the applause that followed.

Wainwright wasted no time engaging the crowd, riffing on the recent cold front. “When I got here it was 80 degrees,” he complained mockingly. “I was going to go swimming at … that water thing.” The man knows how to work a room and had almost as much shtick as he did music.

Tuesday’s show was a strange mix of the mediocre and the sublime, though. After flubbing the intro to a mostly lack-luster version of “Leaving for Paris No. 2,” Wainwright played a nearly flawless version of “Beauty Mark” that was full of all the resplendent theatrics he is famous for. “Sanssouci,” a wistful daydream about an imaginary getaway on par with Roy Orbison’s “Blue Bayou,” was marred only by a slightly out-of-tune guitar. Even so, Wainwright’s rich baritone held everything together beautifully. His guitar playing was a bit rudimentary and no one seemed to mind that he occasionally couldn’t find the right chord. Instead of glossing over these mistakes Wainwright used the occasion instead to draw the crowd in with a wry smile and knowing wink. Like I said, the man knows how to work a room.

Wainwright’s songs can be vain and self-indulgent at times, but Tuesday’s show proved that vanity is one of his greatest assets. To keep an entire theater breathless and listening in rapt admiration for 90 minutes, you have to be in love with the sound of your own voice. On “The Art Teacher” and “Peach Trees” he explored every nuance of the melodies, stretching phrases to their breaking point for dramatic effect, often allowing his voice to trail off into nothingness at the end.

Wainwright also previewed several songs from an upcoming album of solo piano and voice during the show. He announced to the crowd that the piano parts were very difficult and asked them to please excuse any mistakes as he was “in the practice stage.” He was being facetious, of course, and played them remarkably well although the new songs were a bit like cigarettes and chocolate milk, to borrow one of Wainwright’s own metaphors. The overtly showy piano arrangement, which echoed 19th Century Romanticism, wrestled with the facile vocal melody of “Give Me What I Want,” at times obscuring the lyrics. Wainwright was at his best when he let the naturally evocative quality of his voice tell the story as on “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” and “Going to a Town,” which brought the house down. For Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” during the encore, Wainwright brought out his opener, Joan as Police Woman, for a duet that featured some lovely harmonizing.

The audience wasn’t there last night for an exhibition of virtuoso musicianship, though. They were there for the gilded voice, the poetry, and the wit - all of which Rufus Wainwright had in spades.

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November 16, 2009

CD review: John Mayer - 'Battle Studies'

John Mayer
‘Battle Studies’
(Columbia)
Grade: C

Listeners who put on a pop record and are greeted with the sound of an orchestra tuning up may fear they’re in for an hour of self-importance. But the latest from soft-pop superstar John Mayer doesn’t want to shake the earth, it just wants someone to love.

Fair enough. But instead of wooing the listener, the singer is intent on first convincing her of the wreck old loves have made of him. “I’m in the war of my life,” he croons on one track; “if fear hasn’t killed me yet,” he claims, “then nothing will.” But there’s not a drop of passion in his voice, and Mayer doesn’t appear to know there should be.

He nearly pulls off the sad-sack act on “Perfectly Lonely,” but even there isn’t fit to hold the Kleenex of another smooth-sounding pretty boy, Chris Isaak, who understands how to make languor sound truly heartbroken.

Mayer delivers plenty of radio-friendly pop here, like the gently catchy “Who Says,” but his take on “Crossroads,” in which his buzzing rhythm guitar sounds like a sound effect from a ’50s sci-fi movie, hardly bolsters his blues credentials.

He’s at his best on “Half of My Heart” (joined by pop-country phenom Taylor Swift) and “Friends, Lovers or Nothing,” two takes on romantic ambivalence in which the songwriter actually seems to know whereof he sings.

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CD review: 50 Cent - 'Before I Self Destruct'

50 Cent
‘Before I Self Destruct’
(Aftermath)
Grade: C

50 Cent tries to reconnect with his gangster rap roots on his new album, “Before I Self Destruct.” Besides a few Dre tracks and the lead single “Baby By Me,” the album has a consistent and monotonous sound — harshly melodic beats with hard pianos and drums behind them.

With no other guest rappers besides Eminem, the album rests entirely on 50’s shoulders. (Ne-yo and R. Kelly do sing some hooks on the record.)

Such a bright spotlight does him no favors. He rarely switches up his flow, mostly sticking with the same gravelly sing-song rhyme scheme that sounds like he’s talking out of one side of his mouth.

And he’s certainly not the cleverest lyricist, using lazy metaphors like “I’ve got more guns than a gun store” and “I’m like Will Smith in Pursuit of Happyness; in my hood we hustle in pursuit of the same (expletive).” Eminem out-raps him on “Psycho” so badly it’s embarrassing.

“Before I Self Destruct” is a full-throated return to the hardcore lyrics of his underground years: “You want some, come get some / It’s murder one when you see my gun / I just squeeze and squeeze till the whole clip done / You just bleed and bleed until the police come.” That’s the most surprising part of the album - 50 has made hundreds of millions of dollars over the past seven years, yet he doesn’t sound very happy.

The only reason girls have sex with him is to “have a baby by me and be a millionaire.” Even his usually witty one-liners are tinged with bitterness, such as slams against banished G-Unit members Young Buck and Game. The scars from a messy custody battle with the mother of his son are still fresh: “She don’t care about me, she just wants some cash / I’m thinking damn girl we used to be friends.”

But anytime he shows any vulnerability, he quickly scrambles back to the psychological safety of the gangster pose. He mentions the pain he felt when his mother blamed him for the missing furniture his crack-head uncle stole, then immediately boasts “he pistol-whipped that (expletive) till his face was purple” to retaliate.

As “Psycho” shows, a rapper as talented as Eminem and a producer as talented as Dre can make great music about nothing, but 50 doesn’t have nearly the skill of his mentors. He spends most of “Before I Self Destruct” trying to scare us, when it really sounds like he just needs a hug.

Update: This article has been amended to correct the guest rappers. Thanks to our readers for pointing this out - the version we reviewed had the wrong guests listed on some tracks.

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CD review: Them Crooked Vultures - 'Them Crooked Vultures'

Them Crooked Vultures
‘Them Crooked Vultures’
(Sony BMG, DGC/Interscope, Columbia)
Grade: B-

A well-meant ode to goofing off with pals and heroes, Them Crooked Vultures can’t be accused of having a thought in its heavy head outside of “Let’s rock!” Since so few bands aspire to that simple notion these days (what’s up, Monsters of Folk), these guys sound downright outside the box.

It helps that they are a trio of weights so heavy they filmed an “Austin City Limits” episode months before their album was released. John Paul Jones (Led Zeppelin, bass, elder statesman), Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters, drums, alt-rock vet) and Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age, hard rock’s tallest, most suave man) make quite a crew. And hey, the songs are almost there.

As anyone who saw their “ACL” taping, ACL Fest show or Stubb’s gig know, these Vultures came to boogie. The tracks range from stuff that sounds a whole lot like Queens (“New Fang,” “Mind Eraser, No Chaser,” “Caligulove,” which is the most Queens-sounding song title Homme has ever come up with) to stuff that sounds an awful lot like Zeppelin (“Elephant,” “Reptiles”). “Spinning in Daffodils” is the full-on psychedelic jam, seven minutes of piano intros, Zep riffs, Grohl’s rolling, wonder-thump and general rock ‘n’ roll sprawl. There might be an organ involved in “Warsaw or the First Breath You Take After You Give Up”; not their best idea.

But hey, there’s nothing here that’s anybody’s best idea. That’s the problem with supergroups — nobody is ever going to hand over their finest notion to a project band, no matter who else in the group that person is trying to impress. Just throw the CD in the car and hit the highway.

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CD review: Kris Allen - 'Kris Allen'

Kris Allen
‘Kris Allen’
(Jive)
Grade: D+

Kris Allen, with his matinee idol good looks and Hallmark Channel-friendly personal story, falls squarely into the camp of utterly unsurprising “American Idol” winners. His second album (but first since participating in the television show) is precisely the sort of pop confectionery you’d expect from a carefully groomed would-be star, a generic outing that’s all soaring harmonies, inoffensive guitar and utter lack of soul.

Single “Live Like We’re Dying” kicks off the album, with cliche lyrics that — aside from, um, urging you to live like you’re dying — elect to go as broad as possible, lest any listener be alienated by an actual glimmer of personality. It’s a running motif throughout the album, which favors almost offensively universal songs modeled after adult contemporary pop favorites like Maroon 5. Allen’s voice is serviceable, but from love song “Before We Come Undone” to “Is It Over,” he fails to make much of an impression, churning out one anonymous radio-friendly nugget after another. Only on a bizarre and fun cover of Kanye West’s “Heartless” does Allen show the promise you would expect of the man who just might be the most musically diverse “American Idol” winner yet.

Update: This article has been amended to correct a couple song titles.

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CD review: Norah Jones 'The Fall'

Norah Jones
‘The Fall’
(EMI)
Grade: B

There are all sorts of ways to interpret a tantalizingly ambiguous album title like “The Fall,” but the most resonant is also the most biblical. Like mankind’s own fall from the grace of the Garden of Eden, Norah Jones’ fourth full-length abandons the sleepy, idyllic jazz sound that characterized diamond-certified and Grammy Award winning debut “Come Away With Me” in favor of a more complicated — but also more intriguing — world. “The Fall” represents a loss of innocence for Jones — and a needed injection of color and musical variety that should help her shake that “S’Norah” nickname once and for all.

Make no mistake, “The Fall” has some vintage Jones, as on the sad, sweetly melancholic “December,” or the smoky piano-infused “Back in Manhattan.” Both songs are rich with the regret that tinges recent breakups — Jones split with longtime collaborator and boyfriend Lee Alexander prior to the album’s recording. Fortunately, she also retains a sense of humor on “Tell Your Mama” — a Southern shouter that evidences that there’s more than a bit of Texas left in Jones — and “Man of the Hour,” a love song penned to her dog.

But “The Fall” really pulses during its more adventurous moments. “Light as a Feather” is a dark, driven dirge of a song, while the steady, strong percussion of “It’s Gonna Be” has a bop not typical for Jones songs.

Lingering electric guitar underlies “Young Blood” and breaks out into a full solo on the album’s best song, “Stuck,” co-written with Will Sheff of Austin’s own Okkervil River. “I’ll go home alone, a sinking stone, a switched-off telephone,” Jones sings, moodily recapping a drunken, unhappy night alone.

It’s a sharply poignant song that reminds the world that even after three best-selling albums, Jones is still a young woman at 30 with plenty of heartbreak and insight left to share.

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Live review: the Swell Season at the Paramount

Harry Houdini once performed at the Paramount Theatre- some of the current ushers might’ve worked that show- but it’s hard to imagine a more magical night at the old grand hall than Sunday, when the Swell Season put a musical spell on the sold-out crowd for two hours.

The night just felt special, like when you can see in the performers’ eyes that this ain’t Dallas.

“The Swell Season” was the name of a 2006 album credited to Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard, which actually came out a year before they “met” onscreen with the beyond-charming film “Once.” But the group now called the Swell Season is Hansard’s band, make no mistake about it, though Irglova certainly had her transfixing moments Sunday.

With Hansard’s old band from Dublin, the Frames, backing up the duo (who switched between piano and guitar), and the amazing fiddler Colm Mac Con Iomaire doing a solo turn on a traditional Irish tune, the show was one of several musical configurations. There was none so pure and powerful, however, as Hansard standing up there all alone with a battered acoustic guitar. His possessed version of Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks” may have left his strumming hand permanently blurred and “Say It To Me Now” had folks dabbling at their eyes after the Irishman interjected a touching story about how saying something instead of just thinking it can make someone’s day in a deep and meaningful way.

Hearing his voice is the aural counterpart of watching an athlete do something almost miraculous. How can he possibly do that day after day?

Those who came to hear the Oscar-winning “Falling Slowly” and “When Your Mind’s Made Up” from “Once,” were not disappointed, unless they were the impatient type. Both highlights from the film came near the end, both past 11 p.m. on a Sunday night. Of the two, “Falling Slowly” was better; it’s really hard to top the emotional undercurrent of the movie version of “Mind’s Made Up.”

Hansard seemed a bit thrown off by just how pin-drop quiet the scene was, and when the band emerged to encore with “Falling Slowly” he asked the audience to remain standing because it felt better. Indeed, it was a bit surprising that the performance didn’t inspire more standing ovations. If I was in the fifth row, I would’ve been up ten times.

See John Carney’s “Once” (terrible title) if you haven’t. It’s probably the best film ever made about why people make music and how they become connected through songs. The film’s theme was there in the flesh Sunday night, when the audience sang along to an encore number so new it doesn’t yet have a name.

When it comes to Glen Hansard and the Swell Season, “Once” is not enough. But if that’s all you’ve got, it’s plenty.

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November 15, 2009

Live review: Son Volt at Antone's

It’s always been a little difficult to get a bead on Son Volt, the alternative country band formed from the ashes of Uncle Tupelo by Jay Farrar in 1994. Partly that’s because Son Volt’s sound has covered every square inch of the territory of alt-country, from restrained folk ballads to juke joint rockers. And partly that’s because the band has undergone some pretty major shifts, from a six-year hiatus in the early part of this decade to its eventual reformation with an entirely different lineup, Farrar aside.

That quixotic — or, if you were being less generous, schizophrenic — spirit was alive and well at Antone’s Saturday night, as Farrar presented a tale of two Son Volts. One took the stage sounding tight but looking disconnected from its audience, speeding through low-key, often monotonous ballads. The other threw itself into a series of barhouse rockers with a decided energy. Fortunately, by the end of the night the stronger Son Volt had won out and reaffirmed the band’s status as a winning, if inconsistent, act.

The first half of the evening’s set was loaded with several of Son Volt’s slower, more ambling numbers. The band sounded flawless on the slow-paced “Dust of Daylight” but seemed disconnected. On “Pushed Too Far,” an angst-loaded song off this year’s “American Central Dust,” they sounded more studied than engaging. While drummer Dave Bryson pounded out his part with note-perfect energy, Farrar seemed to neglect his role as band linchpin, failing to connect with the audience. For a while — aside from the powerful licks laid down by enthusiastic lead guitarist James Walbourne — it looked like Son Volt might be upstaged by their own opener, the rollicking and very entertaining Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit. Even a song about Keith Richards’ drug habits (featuring the immortal line “I snorted my father and I’m still alive”) failed to be as amusing as it should have been.

Fortunately, Farrar and his band mates loosened up as the night wore on, leading to a more enjoyable second half that was heavier on the kind of toe-tapping rock songs that Son Volt excels at. On “No Turning Back” Bryson’s drums grew positively bone-rattling, and “Medication,” with its Indian guitar parts and furious dueling solos, was a highlight of the whole performance. Son Volt also popped on “The Search” and “Afterglow 61,” the memorable single off 2005’s “Okemah and the Melody of Riot.” Even the quieter moments — like “Big Sur,” off a Jack Kerouac-inspired collaborative album by Farrar and Ben Gibbard, of Death Cab for Cutie — took on a greater sense of urgency.

By the close of their four-song encore, Son Volt had overcome an initially underwhelming show. When bassist Andrew Duplantis took advantage of the opportunity of one last moment on stage to propose to his girlfriend (she said yes, incidentally), it felt like he — and the band — had earned their moment of celebration.

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Live review: Mike Birbiglia at the Paramount

When comedian Mike Birbiglia played Austin about two years ago, it was at Antone’s opening for a band nobody had heard of. It was good to see a near sellout crowd at the Paramount Saturday night for the Boston storyteller who’s enjoyed a career spike after regular appearances on NPR’s “This American Life” and, to a lesser extent, the nationally syndicated “Bob and Tom Show.”

His hour and 20 minutes Saturday were built on five or six main stories that branched off into hilarious vignettes. Getting regularly beat up in an all boys Catholic school, arguing with his GPS, throwing up on the Scrambler at the carnival, adventures in sleepwalking and urology, and sticking the finish in gymnastics were just some of the topics that had the crowd roaring. During that latter bit, the pudgy comic rolled on the crowd to imitate a fallen gymnast, saying, “this is the opposite of what I’m trying to do.” He’s got the timing of Tommy Chong circa 1973.

He’s really the closest in style and outlook to Jim Gaffigan, who also doesn’t use profanity. But where food is Gaffigan’s main riff, it’s sleep for Birbiglia, who offered a hilariously rich description of what it’s like to be out and about at 4:30 a.m.

For an encore, Birbiglia came out with a guitar and did two songs from the three-year-old album “Two Drink Mike.” That was lazy. He also took requests for retired material and did “Joey Bag-O-Donuts,” about how he survived a tough job by pretending a beloved former employee was his brother. Also lazy, but very funny.

Birbiglia has altered his act slightly as he’s found success with the NPR crowd. There weren’t any hip-hop references- once a big part of his set- and the routines are longer. But he still makes full use of a rare comedic mind and his delivery elevates. Next time through, he’ll play Bass Concert Hall, going from Antone’s to 3,000-seaters faster than anyone since Los Lonely Boys.

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