XL CD REVIEWS

Patty Griffin, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Bloc Party

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Patty Griffin

'Children Running Through'

(ATO)

The majestic voice has made its most unbridled, soul-soaring album to date, but "Children Running Through" could be one song and one parenthetical notation too long. The album starts off showing that Patty Griffin — claimed by Austin but a New Englander at heart — can sing anything, from the timeless ballad "You'll Remember" to the rhythmic true-life rhumba of "Stay On the Ride" and an almost punk rock "Getting Ready." Her voice is an amazing instrument, too raw to be precious, too powerfully elastic to settle for breathy. The flaming redhead shows incredible restraint to keep from burying her idol Emmylou Harris on the "Trapeze" duet. But on the rest of "Children Running Through" (no idea what that refers to), Griffin airs it out like never before.

The album, co-produced by Griffin and Mike McCarthy (Spoon, Trail Of Dead) hits its high mark at the halfway point, with "Burgundy Shoes" and "Heavenly Day," a nostalgic scene-painter followed by a buoyant declaration. But the five songs that complete the album are similar-sounding, drippy ballads, like a demo disc sent to Natalie Maines for consideration on the next Dixie Chicks album. I imagine that in the right mood, with the right red vintage and the lights out, the last half of "Children" could unleash therapeutic torrents of emotion. But the last two times I played the album late, I fell asleep in my chair.

Although "Railroad Wings" contains some of Griffin's most insightful lyrics ("Most everything means nothing/ Except some things that mean everything"), it could've been left off. And you have to wonder why the usually cryptic Griffin tagged "(MLK Song)" onto the title of "Up To the Mountain," taking the mystery out of this anthem of spiritual quest.

Aside from those minor quibbles, the new album continues Patty Griffin's rise to the very top of the singer-songwriter mountain. She's matchless as a singer (Neko Case comes closest) and with a voice like that, her songs come off like divine inventions. —Michael Corcoran

---

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

'Some Loud Thunder'

(self-released)

An album that deserves notice as much for what it does financially as what it is musically, "Some Loud Thunder" is the follow-up to this Brooklyn band's 2005 debut, a smart, mild-mannered, self-released indie rock album inspired by Talking Heads and too much coffee that should have sunk without a trace. Except thanks to enthusiastic bloggers and the vagaries of an unkempt and scattershot marketplace, it sold 124,000 copies, a staggering number for a record that was promoted mostly by rumor. The band chose to ignore label advances and release this highly anticipated set themselves.

So what do you do for a follow-up? Keep singer Alec Ounsworth's strangled whine in tight focus and turn up the static, apparently. While the band's melodies still snap and thrum, much of the album sounds intentionally distorted (all of the opening title track, the massive drums on "Emily Jean Stock," the pulsing "Satan Says Dance").

It's tempting to blame producer David Fridmann, who seems to turn everyone he touches into some mutant version of his long-term clients the Flaming Lips. This is too bad, as sprightly songs lay underneath these gunky layers. The gunk almost feels like a challenge to the ones that brung 'em. Which makes one wonder: Will blogerati tastemakers see this "Thunder" as a sign of melodic weakness or evolving hipness?

— Joe Gross

---

Bloc Party

'A Weekend in the City'

(Vice/Atlantic)

Back in 1995, the British band Pulp broke through — after years of struggle — with "Different Class," a staggeringly great snapshot of booty calls, social strata and the intersection of the two, set to state-of-the-art disco-glam-Britpop. Suddenly, Pulp leader Jarvis Cocker had everything he ever wanted. He responded with "This is Hardcore," a complete nervous breakdown of an album. It has aged really well, but its downer vibe all but destroyed the band.

Bloc Party has done something similar. But instead of struggling, the zippy-yet-anthemic beat-rock on their 2005 debut "Silent Alarm" set the zeitgeist a-dancin' and made them indie sensations. Like Pulp, they've followed it up with a bunch of high-res whining, but unlike Cocker, there's no particular evidence that Bloc singer Kele Okereke has a sense of humor about himself, fame or anything at all. The music overreaches as only a concept album about a lost weekend in London can — too much epic and sweep, too little ephemeral and catchy.

The main problem, sadly, is Okereke, whose lyrics struggle with profundity, drugs, sexuality, fame and the like, but simply remind you he's barely old enough to rent a car. As Okereke sings on "The Prayer," "Is it so wrong to want rewarding?" Well, ironic or not, when you put it that way, dude . . .

— Joe Gross