Dylan: Tempestuous to the End

Early reports on Dylan’s new album, Tempest (released on 9/11 like his eponymous debut record and 2001’s Love and Theft), suggested that it is his darkest record yet. This notion is belied by the upbeat breeziness of the album’s two opening tunes. But it is, in fact, a fairly accurate assessment of the album’s remaining eight tracks.

Tempest, even more than most Dylan offerings, is all about the words. The music, while adequate, mainly just sets the groove over which the Bard’s verses – and there are many! – unfold. Music wise, there are few hooks, memorable melodies or “catchy“ tunes.

For many, that may be fine, since Dylan really is about the wordplay and the message. For me, though, the coupling of those things with poignant music is what distinguishes Dylan’s most lasting work from the rest of the chaff, and there's no denying: the musical muscle – in the songs – not the musicianship – is a bit lacking on Tempest.

That said, there are a few unsuspected standouts musically, even little things like the maracas on “Early Roman Times”; the downshift of the rhythm section that segues into the some tasty, understated lead guitar in the coda of “Duquesne Whistle” and the interplay of the various stringed instruments on “Scarlet Town.”

With so much focus on the words, though, I do wonder how much of the verbiage is Dylan’s doing and how much came from the pen of co-lyricist Robert Hunter (he of Grateful Dead renown). The themes certainly echo Dylan’s particular – some might say peculiar – views.

In talking about this new batch of songs to Rolling Stone a few weeks before its release, Dylan said that he initially thought he was going to do a religious album, but it turned out to be something else. I’m not sure how true that is. It’s not unlike Bob to be coy about such matters. 

I hear definite religious aspects in much of Tempest. No, it’s not the overt proselytizing of Dylan’s notorious late ’70s Born Again phase as heard on Saved or Slow Train Coming, but there is definitely an apocryphal vision running through much of the album that represents Dylan’s ongoing fascination with the End Times. That’s OK, though. Done right, it’s good subject matter.

For me, the peak of the album comes about midway through with the one-two punch of “Scarlet Town” and “Early Roman Kings.” The former, the album’s best track, is a dark, banjo and haunting fiddle-driven folk ballad. The latter, though lyrically one of the better songs, is an endlessly chugging blues, enlivened only by the swampy organ and effect-laden harmonica bursts. The band churns away beneath Bob’s verses of dispirited, ill-fated people living in a depraved world. Dylan still digs Armageddon.

There are two parlor ballads that evoke images of the 1890s: the album’s jaunty opener “Duquesne Whistle” and the tale of the Titanic told in the album’s title track. Dylan goes on to croon romantically over weeping pedal steel on the ’50s-ish pop ballad tonality of “Soon After Midnight.”

The rest of the way, though, the music is bluesy vamps, shuffles (“Narrow Way”) and pulsing banjo-propelled dirges (“Tin Angel”) mixed with haunting, minor key, folk ballads. The one exception is “Pay in Blood,” which sounds like a mid-tempo, modern-era Stones song with multi-layered instrumentation featuring prominent electric piano and guitar.

Overall, Tempest is a decent, listenable, modern era Dylan album. It ranks above Modern Times (2006) and Together Through Life (2009), not quite on par with Love and Theft (2001) and nowhere near Time Out of Mind (1997). A Gentleman’s B.

Hitting “The Wall”

I’ve been listening to the new remastered release of The Wall this week. Pink Floyd’s monumental 1980 CD has been on my mind lately not just because of this new issue, but also because I just bought tickets to take my teenage daughter to see Roger Water’s updated rendition of the spectacular personal dystopia at Fenway Park this summer.

I’ve resisted previous opportunities to see Waters’ brick-by-brick revisitation mainly because the very first concert I ever saw was Pink Floyd’s last U.S. performance of the masterpiece in Long Island in 1980. The real deal: hard to top that! Hence, I’ve been reticent to risk tainting that memory with a lesser construction. But friends with discerning musical tastes who have seen Waters’ performance have assured me that I would not be disappointed. And it was hard to resist the idea of the old ballpark’s famed Green Monster mutating into Waters’ psycho-barricade.

But back to the reissue of the original CD. Yes, the original two record set does sounds a little bit crisper in the is new version, but I bought it for the “work-in-progress” band demos for the album included on the third disc, not for the marginal modernization of the originally released material.

The band sketches of these songs we all know and admire (if not love – that sentiment doesn’t seem quite fitting for most of these twisted tunes, somehow) are interesting in that they are evidence of how much the band and producer Bob Ezrin worked on the material in the studio. That is to say, the raw songs weren’t much akin to the polished gem they became.

Waters’ stuff is all idea and little execution. Gilmour’s parts are predictably much more polished musically, but not fully developed—in fact, the demo version of “Comfortably Numb” is surprisingly weak. Wrights keyboard parts are interesting, when they’re noticeable.

Perhaps unlike many listeners, I usually enjoy demos of well-know masterful works for what they reveal about the raw essence of the songs, the initial inspired impulse that, eventually refined, yields something for the ages. Somehow this batch of demos doesn’t quite leave me with that feeling or appreciation. Again, it does drive home how far the songs came, but mostly it leaves me wondering how the band got from this ... to that!

So, ultimately, I guess these demos are revealing, just not in the ways that I expected or which will lead me to repeated listening.

Merrill’s Transcontinental Dream

For the past couple of months I’ve been listening quite a bit to the second album by Tune-Yards, called WHOKILL. I was not familiar with the band (essentially the work of the one-woman sonic/songwriting/performing phenomenon known as Merrill Garbus, with support from bassist Nate Brenner and a small variety of others) until numerous references to the new, breakthrough release, kept crossing my radar. Tune-Yards gained major traction this spring with buzz-worthy performances at music festivals such SXSW and Pitchfork.

Why? A few listens make it clear: Garbus’ quirky combination of Afro-pop, jazz and folk is delivered with a hint of punk DIY and hip-hop spunk, adding up to one of the most original albums I’ve heard in years.

It’s not always easy listening. True to the punk and hip-hop shades of the palette, it has a hint of discomfort and agitas. Mostly, though it’s incredibly inventive, especially given that its built upon Merrill’s powerful, soulful singing, propulsive rhythmic loops and ukelele run through various sonic effects. (It ain’t your uncle’s uke, that’s for sure; or even Amanda Palmer’s, Eddie Vedder’s or whoever else has joined the uke parade in recent years, either). No, in fact, most of the time you wouldn’t guess it’s a ukelele at all.

Throw in some bass guitar and a bit of sax or marimba here and there and that’s the whole of it. But it adds up to a lot – at times even creating a wonderful cacophony, as on the opening track, “My Country.”

Merrill, a 30-something New England native now based in Oakland, Calif., has a fascinating background, which I first heard about back in May in one of the always-interesting Sound Opinion podcasts. (Highly recommended, listen to it here.) She tells some wonderful stories in an endearingly humble, yet confident way. Her explanation of how she came up with her band’s name is magically cinematic.

Not long after hearing that podcast, I caught the video of her in-studio performance on KCRW’s “Morning Become Eclectic.” (Watch it here.) I was hooked. But it wasn’t until I bought WHOKILL and listened to it repeatedly in the ensuing weeks that the full power of this performer hit me.

Since then, the Eno-meets-Marley vibe and catchy choruses of “Bizness” have made the song a bonafide hit, drawing yet more attention to the album. Like most of the songs, it’s built around Garbus’ multi-tracked vocals, sweet-and-sour inflections and occasional vocal asides dropped in here and there. She gets maximum effect out of so many of these little embellishments. Overall, it’s a superb balance of raw and refined, simple and nuanced.

“Gangsta” is another popular cut off the CD and a good example of that. It’s powerful but spare percussion and horn interjections percolate beneath multi-layered vocals that recall Petra Haden’s amazing all a cappella renditions of full albums such as The Who Sell Out.

Yet, part of what’s wonderful about WHOKILL is that right on the heels of the hip urbanity of a song like “Gangsta,” Garbus follows it with a sweetly melodic power-pop song like “Powa” (though a careful listen to the lyrics reveals far from innocent fare). Of course, after that, it’s back to the rockin’ riot of, well, “RiotRiot.”

Another of my fave tracks on WHOKILL is the whimisical “You Yes You,” with it’s bouncing bass line, jaunty electrified uke strumming and picking and Merrill’s scat-like singing and layered choruses. Who’d have thought a uke could sound like Pete Townshend’s Rickenbacker circa 1966?

All in all, not only does Merrill Garbus make some really interesting music with Tune-Yards, she has something to say, too. I’m intrigued enough to be checking her out when she comes to town in next month.

Mavis Hits Lofty Heights

A few weeks ago I picked up a new CD that, somewhat to my surprise, will likely end up being one of my favorite albums of 2010. It’s Mavis Staples’ You Are Not Alone.

I’ve long been familiar with Staples’ status as a major part of the legendary Staple Singers family ensemble that brought the spirit of southern gospel to the Civil Rights Movement, and with it her soulful vocal prowess. But I can’t claim to know anything about her career since those halcyon days. And, while I’ve always appreciated good gospel music, I’m not a dedicated or knowledgeable fan of the genre.

I do relish the soulfulness, rich choral funkiness and bluesy tinge of the best gospel – and, to a degree, even some of the righteous devotion and, conversely, unintentional humor. The deep rhythm and ecstatically powerful vocal expulsions of artists like Aretha Franklin and a few others is, undeniably, music to be reckoned with. Yet, too much of the genre – that is, mediocre gospel – leaves me unimpressed musically and put off by the heavy-handed, overly-pious sanctimoniousness of the subject matter.

That said, this new Mavis Staples album is pure gospel soul; highly listenable and, often, truly inspirational. In short, it’s brilliant.

I admit I was motivated to buy this CD, not because of a compelling interest in Staples, but rather because of Jeff Tweedy’s involvement as producer, composer, arranger and musical accompanist (I’m a long-time Wilco fan). While Tweedy’s fingerprints are evident on You Are Not Alone, this is no au courant star-turn charity gig for a past-prime legend. Far from it. For the most part, Tweedy lays back and lets Mavis’ soulful sensibilities light the way.

Besides an obvious respect for the artist’s skill and an appreciation of the power of gospel at its best, what Tweedy brings to the affair is an astute sense of song-craft and a hint of Americana. The result is a distinctive suggestion of some of The Band’s best recordings – overtly on a few tracks and subtly on the album as a whole. It’s deep gospel, but with a pronounced dash of blues, soulful R & B and alt-country twang. So, regardless of how you feel about the pronounced Christian gospel vibe, the grooves, hooks and vocals are irresistible on this simple, yet richly nuanced CD.

A brief interview and stripped-down rehearsal duet with Mavis and Tweedy.

The opening track is an upbeat gospel take on Pops Staples’ tune “Don’t Knock.” The strong backing vocals elicit comparisons with Aretha’s 1960s’ soul hits, while also suggesting a female version of The Jordanaires.

The Band references emerge in full force on the Tweedy-penned title track, which really sounds like Levon & Co. doing gospel (they did dabble, you may recall, on songs like “I Shall Be Released,” and, lest we forget, The Staple Singers were among the legion of legends invited to celebrate The Last Waltz).

If there are any Wilco references embedded in this record, “In Christ There Is No East or West” – musically at least – is the most obvious. The pairing of the tinkling keyboards (celeste and mellotron courtesy of Wilco’s Pat Sansone) and picked acoustic guitar lines (by Tweedy) are, not surprisingly, strongly reminiscent of the Wilco sound. The lyrical message of devotion, racial-harmony and forgiveness are well-meaning, if a bit contrived sounding, though they’re delivered with catchy choruses and some of the album’s most potent melodies.

There are three tracks on You Are Not Alone on which the band ramps up the blues-rock grit. The upbeat bluesy gospel of “Creep Along Moses” is driven by some nasty electric guitar and slinky slide riffs that creep right along with old Mo’ as he’s nudged along by Mavis and some great background vocals. Then there’s Allen Toussaint’s “Last Train,” which features some deft electric guitar melodies during the verses, accompanied by some delightfully-humorous, soulful “choo-choo’s” from the female chorus. Finally, there’s “Only the Lord Knows,” with its solid, funky R & B groove and catchy vocal that is part devotional and part put-you-in-your-place kiss off. “Only the Lord knows, and he ain’t you,” indeed!

One of the few departures from the various gospel themes is the slow blues lament of “Losing You,” a sorrowful, heartfelt ode Mavis sings about the loss of a loved one: “The sun stopped shining, it rained all the time. It did set me back some; oh, but I made it through. But I'll never get over losing you.”

In contrast, the pace picks up again with an upbeat rendition of the Rev. Gary Davis’ “I Belong to the Band.” It’s a rockin’, clapping-driven, country-folk gospel of the ilk dabbled in by Bruce Springsteen with his Seeger sessions CDs, The Blasters on “Samson and Delilah” or Delaney & Bonnie on “Poor Elijah.” It’s one of this strong album’s best tunes.

The Band influence comes to the fore again on another of the album’s standout tracks: “Wrote a Song for Everyone.” Mavis shines with a vocal that recalls “The Weight” in an emotive performance supported by majestically interwoven instrumentation. Everything from the lyrics and vocal phrasing to the melodic lead guitar lines and the overall style, tone and arrangement recall the (mostly) Canadian road warriors in their prime.

Later in the CD, an added dimension emerges as male vocalist Donny Gerrard joins Mavis for a couple of duets. The first, “We’re Gonna Make It,” is an optimistic R & B tune that, to my ear at least, ever-so-subtly recalls The Temptation’s “Papa Was a Rolling Stone.” There’s some snazzy staccato rhythm guitar licks, shuffling drums and a powerfully sustained organ that propels the tune along.

Despite all the songs having a definite gospel, soul or R & B feel, the album offers many tangents within the framework, not the least of which is the perfectly executed a cappella treatment of “Wonderful Savior,” in which Mavis determinably leads the glory-inspired chorus: “I am his, and he is mine!”

The album closes with the slow blues of “Too Close / On My Way to Heaven,” the first part of which starts with a lengthy blues vocal by Gerrard leading into a chorus-backed duet with Staples and resonant blues guitar accompaniment before segueing into a reverential nod to Pops Staples’ inspirational gospel.

Aretha should make an album like this, if the “Queen of Soul” still has it in her and can find as sympathetic a collaborator. You Are Not Alone makes it obvious that Mavis still does, as well as showing what savvy, supportive and skilled helping hands (and ears) can do for an accomplished but dormant talent.

This record is not only great Sunday morning listening, as a any decent gospel recording should be, it’s great any time listening.

Neil Makes Emotionally Raw ‘Noise’

If you’re a fan of Neil Young’s electric music of the last 20 years or so, you’ll probably like his new release, Le Noise. If you’re not a Neil fan, then chances are this album will remind you why.

Personally, I like it … a lot! I admire the experimentalism and rawness of the album, which is basically just Neil’s voice and his guitars (mostly electric) sonically treated with producer Daniel Lanois’ studio effects and sonic embellishments. While I’m a long-time admirer of Lanois’ work as an artist in his own right and as a producer of outstanding works by the likes of Dylan, U2, Emmylou Harris and others, there are few times on this CD when the recording effects are taken just a little too far – detracting from the essence of songs rather than enhancing them. That said, most of the time it works, and there’s no denying that Lanois’ soundscapes are a fundamental part of the album.

Raw and unfinished sounding at points, there’s a loose jam feel to the recording (though it’s Neil jamming with himself and Lanois’ recording console). Knob-twiddling aside, the focus of Le Noise is on the songs at their core – the chord progressions, the arrangements and the heartfelt and often very personal lyrics.

Neil Young’s recorded catalog has never been a happy-go-lucky affair. (On stage a number of years ago he joked, “I may sound really down in my songs, but don’t worry about me, I’m doing just fine.”) There’s a definite sense of melancholy running through Le Noise. At 64, the artist seems to be reflective, if not wistful; regretful and disappointed, particularly that the idealism of his hippie youth remains largely unfulfilled. There’s a tangible sense of loss, seemingly fueled by the passing of close friends.

Tonally, this is a serious sounding record. It’s resolute and passionate, but not quite dour, there’s too much energy in it for that. Neil’s brittle voice weaves in and out of his diminished chords, distorted sustain and delicate arpeggios with purpose, familiarity, comfort and (at times) hope.

I must admit, that my perspective on Le Noise is somewhat colored by the fact that, prior to its release, I heard Neil perform all but two of the songs during his “Twisted Road” solo tour last spring. That was an amazingly impressive concert (see my review). Even in Neil’s live rendering of these new tunes, there were a lot of the effects used to flesh out and color the spartan sound of just the man and his guitar. But on Le Noise, those effects are markedly more prominent.

Respected producer Daniel Lanois discusses the making of Le Noise. An interesting and insightful, if at times hyperbolic, view of how it all happened.

The album kicks off with the sonic assault of “Walk with Me,” a scene-setting artistic statement replete with distorted, sledgehammer, electric guitars and multi vocal effects that eventually lead to a bridge conjuring up Tommy-era Who before fading out with some low-key synthesizer blurbs. The layered effects work wonderfully on this song.

Less effective, though certainly not a total loss, is “Angry World,” one of only two Le Noise songs not performed during Neil’s spring/summer “Twisted Road” tour. It starts with a repetitive vocal effect, giving it an arty feel, before Neil’s typical electric guitar chording and riffing intercedes in support of thoughtfully catchy verse vocals. Unfortunately, the momentum is then fumbled by a chorus that is quite lame vocally and lyrically. (Even the repeatedly echoed “V-8” refrain can’t quite save it.) Thankfully, it’s the only such instance on the CD.

The remaining six tracks on Le Noise are all worthy additions to the Young canon. Among the stand outs are “Someone’s Gonna Rescue You,” the other non-“Twisted Road” tour song on the CD (though it would’ve fit that set nicely). It has undercurrents of vintage Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young in the rhythm guitar and classic high-pitched Neil vocals with gurgling sonics percolating just beneath the song’s surface.

The confessional travelogue/drug diary that is “Hitchhker,” a long-unreleased gem from 20+ years ago, was universally hailed as one of the highlights on “Twisted Road” and it’s rendered powerfully here. On Le Noise it’s more restrained, with a less dynamic guitar attack and less urgent vocal delivery. But even if it doesn’t quite match the live versions from earlier this year, it’s still a highlight of the album. It’s an entertaining and, ultimately, thought-provoking song. Raw and literal as it is, it alone is almost enough to make me really love this album.

Despite the distinct approach and consistent construction, Le Noise is no one-trick pony. Amid all the heavy sonic enhancements on the electric tunes, the album’s two acoustic songs stand out all the more potently in contrast.

The somber resignation of the Spanish cum country & western instrumentation of “Love and War” is reminiscent of Neil’s early ’90s Unplugged sessions – with its ringing reverbed acoustic guitar and a brief, slow hint of the riff in “My My, Hey Hey.” The refrain of “Daddy won’t ever come home again” is nothing short of heart-wrenching. Powerful stuff.

Meanwhile, a resonant acoustic riff gives a characteristic poignancy to “Peaceful Valley Boulevard.” Unlike the previous comparisons, this song is better on Le Noise than it was in concerts earlier this year. It’s yet another quintessentially Youngian tale connecting 19th-century western imperialism at the expense of Native Americans (“Change hit the country like a thunderstorm”) to current the ecological plight. (“Who’ll be the beacon in the night?” indeed.) It's dangerously close to preachy at points, but no doubt heartfelt and largely on the mark, in my view.

As a whole, the songs on Le Noise are raw shots of emotion rooted in nerves never far from the surface. But, because Neil Young is such a masterful craftsman and performer, they make for remarkably refined and highly rewarding listening. Le Noise is yet another example of the artist’s uncompromising vision and course. What he does next will undoubtedly be something completely different. That’s OK, too ... but there will always be Le Noise.

This is labeled “Le Noise: The Film” and it really is ... weighing in as a video companion to the entire CD. The video effects and distortions mimic the sonic embellishments of the CD and, overall, it represents an impassioned performance by Neil. And while the sound is excellent by YouTube standards, it still doesn’t do justice to the sonic depth of the CD release, on which the studio sorcery comes through more pronouncedly. On top of that, listening to the music while watching video accompaniment creates a very different overall experience than say, listening to the CD while driving in your car on a rainy night. Nevertheless, this is worthwhile viewing ... when you have 40 minutes to spare. (I’m guessing this will be released on DVD soon ... just before Christmas, perhaps?)

Postscript: I wonder why “You Never Call,” one of the poignant new songs featured on the “Twisted Road Tour” didn’t make the cut for inclusion on Le Noise. Maybe Neil thought it would’ve skewed the balance of the record further toward acoustic than he wanted this time around, or perhaps it was just too personal, dealing directly with the death of a long-time close friend and name checking his own son.

New Plant Yields Various Joys

With his new release, Band of Joy, Robert Plant continues to avoid the obvious and the temptation to resurrect the Golden Godness of his Zeppelin days. Instead, he again explores more esoteric and, ultimately, satisfying music far from the well-worn path of the tired old nostalgia trip.

Early in the decade, he made some wonderful music with The Strange Sensation, bringing West African and Arabic nuances to rock riffs and vocals coupled with the occasional heartfelt homage to some of the folk songs that inspired him long before he and his mighty Zep bandmates trod the globe like wanton Vikings. He followed that with his Grammy-gobbling collaboration with Alison Krauss and T-Bone Burnett. This year’s Band of Joy release, borrowing its name (though no songs or members from one of Plant’s pre-Zep outfits), doesn’t quite measure up to the alchemical wonder of 2007’s Raising Sand collaboration, but it’s pretty darn close and is, in many ways, a step further in Plant’s always interesting, if often musically meandering, sojourn.

Band of Joy, Plant’s 10th solo LP (depending on how you count ’em) does visit some of the same places as Raising Sand (i.e., strong female vocal accompaniment, this time by Patty Griffin – in more of a supportive role than the outright duets featuring Krauss, but noteworthy nonetheless) and lots of haunting reverb and minor key chords and melodies. But it also strays into quite different areas. There’s the occasional hint of North African memories in the rhythms, and once or twice it even sounds like the band is flashing back to Page & Plant’s under-rated 1998 Walking Into Clarksdale release.

Great drums paired with masterful guitar work from respected Nashville session man and Raising Sand tour veteran Buddy Miller color the whole affair and ably bolster Plant’s mostly restrained vocal performance. There’s nothing too flamboyant in the guitar playing, but there are killer atmospherics that create moods perfectly in synch with the singer’s distinctive voice.

Like Raising Sand, this is another album that even people who don’t like Robert Plant’s singing may well like. It’s full of good, often catchy songs (mostly well-chosen covers of somewhat unfamiliar songs by the likes of Low, Los Lobos, Richard Thompson, Townes Van Zandt and others) that vary in pace and tone, yet fit together remarkably well. Despite the diverse composer credits, with superb musicianship and production (spare, open, airy) throughout, the album still seems “of a piece.” Dare I say it, it should have wide crossover appeal.

The range and quality of music on this album is exemplified by the fact that my three favorite songs (at least at this early date) are radically different from one another in style and tone. The opening track, Los Lobos’ “Angel Dance,” is a jaunty, upbeat drum and mandolin-driven song that marries Arabic rhythms and country folk melodies with urgent vocals and pulsating electric guitar. While “The Only Sound That Matters” is a mellower, plaintively romantic tune carried by Plant’s vocal and Darrell Scott’s impeccable pedal steel guitar playing. And, finally, my favorite track of all, “Monkey” is a darkly haunting tune with guitars evoking the more recent sound of The Church (that is, the under-appreciated Aussie band, not the crew from Rome). It’s one of two compositions on the album by the Minnesota slowcore band Low, and one on which both Griffin and Miller really shine.

Griffin, while no Alison Krauss on many levels, nevertheless adds to the haunting undercurrent that runs through much of this album. She manifests a faint, wispy, ghost-like presence on some songs that gets amplified to full-frontal haunt on other tracks. Krauss comes across as a naive innocent compared Griffin’s sultry earthiness.

While Band of Joy expands upon the unique fusion of country, folk, rock, blues and bluegrass that was mined and polished in the Krauss collaboration, the heavier country emphasis of that release is not wholly abandoned here. A few touches of the Nashville recording environs seep through: In the banjo meets field-holler blues of “Central Two-O-Nine” (the album’s only original composition); and the subtly humorous “Cindy, I’ll Mary You Someday,” on which Miller’s clean, reverbed electric guitar lurks eerily behind the banjo licks before ramping up to a rollicking end reminiscent of Zep’s “Gallows Pole.” Then there’s Townes Van Zandt’s “Harm’s Swift Way,” the most Raising Sand-reminiscent song on the record, with Griffin and Plant sharing the catchy “Oh me, Oh my, who’s gonna mark my time?” refrain.

Other notable cuts among the album’s dozen tracks include the dreamy “Silver Rider,” with understated, gradually building guitars reminiscent of some of the mellower latter-day U2 material. (Interestingly, the same might be said of the conclusion of “Harm’s Swift Way,” too.) Less surprisingly, there’s also the near-rockabilly of “You Can’t Buy My Love” and the quasi-doo-wop of “Falling in Love Again,” which finds Plant crooning like he hasn’t since his nostalgic turn with The Honeydrippers in the early ’80s.

Beyond the satisfying collection of songs itself, bonus points to Plant for designing the colorful and intriguing cover art himself. That’s a first for him, I believe. Further evidence that even at 62, he’s still very into exploring new avenues of creativity.

Plant and his current joyous band did a brief tour previewing the new album, mostly through the South, this past summer. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to see a much-anticipated, but yet-to-be announced, second leg tour stop in New England.

POSTSCRIPT: I was thinking about posting the official video to “Angel Dance” along wit this review, but it’s a mediocre video (despite the thematic nod to composers Los Lobos’ Latino heritage). Moreover, the sonically muted sound of YouTube really doesn’t do justice to the dynamic sound of the song as heard on CD. I hold out hope that, if commercially successful enough, maybe they’ll do a better video for “Monkey,” but I'll still listen to the CD for the sound.

Fables ... Revisited

I recently picked up the new remastered release of R.E.M.’s 1985 LP Fables of the Reconstruction. Fables was the first R.E.M. record that I bought as a fan when it first came out, having fallen under the Southern-gothic-meets-Byrdsian-folk-rock spell of the collegiate circuit darlings in the wake of their stellar 1984 album, Reckoning.

In fact, now that I think about it, like many people my age, R.E.M. was a significant part of the soundtrack of my college years. I listened to Fables quite a lot back in the day, but it has been a very long time since I last spun the disc (vinyl platter long since replaced by CD). My memories of it are of a transitional, inconsistent album that, nevertheless, had its share of worthwhile moments. Upon now listening to the new remastered release, I’m pleasantly surprised at how well the album has aged (the same certainly can’t be said for all of R.E.M.’s catalog).

Fables was the first R.E.M. album to show that they could be more than a jangly Rickenbacker -totting pop band with alluringly mumbled vocals. While Fables may only have shown sporadic hints that the group had more edge and a wider palette of sounds and song structures than previous efforts suggested, it did establish a foothold for new directions that would be further explored and developed on the next few albums as the band matured and gained renown.

Not long after its release, Fables began being maligned – not least of all by the band itself (despite guitarist Peter Buck’s revisionist claims to the contrary on the CDs new liner notes; sorry, Peter, I have interviews from the mid ’80s depicting the disgruntlement). The album was disparaged as an under-rehearsed, under-produced and unfocused record. Perhaps in the shadow of the much more polished sound and songs of the next few R.E.M. releases, that criticism may have held up more at the time than it seems to now.

While the band’s 1987 release, Document, remains one of my all-time R.E.M. favorites, representing several steps of departure from the sound of the band’s early years, hearing these records now I think Fables more than holds its own against the band’s immediate follow up, 1986’s more commercially successful Life’s Rich Pageant.

Even at the time, it was clear that Fables represented some kind of evolutionary step for the band. Now, in hindsight, its place as a transitional touchpoint in the band’s history is even more pronounced. Fables has one foot planted in R.E.M.’s early foundation (represented by the Chronic Town EP, Murmur and Reckoning) and the harder-edged sound that would play out on the band’s next few releases.

The songs on Fables plainly fall into one of two categories, with “Feeling Gravity’s Pull,” “Old Man Kensey,” “Can’t Get There From Here” and “Auctioneer (Another Engine)” representing new, darker, more aggressive and instrumentally diverse forays, while “Maps and Legends,” “Driver 8,” “Life and How to Live It,” “Green Grow the Rushes” (based on a traditional English folk tune), “Kohoutek,” “Good Advices” and “Wendell Gee” (with the addition of banjo) harken back to whence the band came.

Beyond serving as a reminder of this, the Fables reissue also tweaks the sound of the original album in a few interesting ways. The remastered sound is evident right from the start in the much more prominent cello on the hauntingly dark and dissonant opening track, “Feeling Gravity’s Pull.” At first, the improved clarity on the backing instruments is a bit off-putting in its recasting of the song (compared to that which was emblazoned on our memories so long ago). But, while the supportive instruments like the cello, piano, harmonica and harmony vocals are now more distinct, the guitar, bass and drums remain undiminished. The backstage lights are a bit brighter, but the spotlight still shines on Stipe’s vocals and Buck’s alternately chiming and distorted arpeggios.

On the other hand, the trumpet on the album’s hit single, “Can’t Get There from Here” – which was plenty prominent on the original release, and one of the more notable steps of departure for the band – does not seem to have been jacked up in this new edition. It sounds about the same as it did on the original.

In a less definable way, “Life and How to Live It” seems to shine brighter in this revisit. That may be the result of remastering or simply proper aging and new context. Similarly, this release reminds me what a great pop song “Driver 8” is – marrying that old-timey Southern folk imagery (not to mention Stipe’s ongoing railroad infatuation) with the band’s characteristic upbeat jangle.

Overall, the Fables remaster also proves a powerful testament to Mike Mills’ importance to the band. His instrumental prowess on bass, piano and whatever else he might have picked up speaks for itself, even if others sometimes got the credit. But without his subtle, yet essential, harmony vocals, R.E.M. would not be the same band. Drummer Bill Berry also adds a spark that doesn’t seem to have been matched, even by more technically adept drummers in the wake of his retirement a decade or so ago.

Meanwhile, Stipe’s vocals, while not entirely discernable, have more clarity than on the band’s previous releases. There’s also a pleasant restraint to his singing on Fables compared to his more frequent over-the-top performances of later years. “Good Advices,” “Green Grow Rushes” and the elegiac album closer “Wendell Gee” are among some of Stipe’s strongest studio performances of the era.

Given the smorgasboard of new and old sounds comprising the record, the sequencing on Fables works really well, seamlessly taking the listener into new terrain while never straying too far from familiar paths. The way in which the folky harmonies of “Life and How to Live It,” one of the songs most reminiscent of the band’s previous releases, lead into the engagingly sinister, yet melodic, opening guitar and bass riffs of “Old Man Kensey” is a powerful juxtaposition that amplifies the menacing tones of the latter. (Even now, listening to “Kensey” I’m reminded of how, back in the day, a good friend always referred to this song as “Old Man Lindsay” in my presence. It was, and remains, one of my favorite songs on the album.)

THE BONUS DISC OF DEMOS

In addition to the updated master, the new edition of Fables also includes a disc of demo versions of the songs on the original release, as well as three additional tunes from the period (at least two of which should be familiar to R.E.M. fans). These “Athens Demos” are basically live-in-the-studio rehearsals from January 1985, recorded between the end of the 1984 tour and the band’s departure for the Fables sessions in London,

While interesting, there’s not much extraordinary in the demos. Standouts include a rawer, stripped down, but still quite polished, version of “Can’t Get There from Here,” featuring an extended coda and Stipe’s “Thank You, Ray” (a la Elvis) studio banter; and “Maps of Legends” in which Stipe’s overdubbed background singing sometimes competes with his lead vocal – creating a slightly distracting discord in the song and undermining what is, otherwise, one of stronger tunes of the period.

The non-album songs are “Hyena,” which was featured in live shows at the time and later appeared on the follow-up album to Fables; “Bandwagon,” a strong but traditional R.E.M. sounding outtake; and “Throw Those Trolls Away” – the only song in the set that I hadn’t heard before – featuring the classic refrain: “Don’t be a loser.” Ironically, the latter is a throw away outtake that seems to be an embryonic version of “I Believe,” later to appear in more developed (and significantly improved form) on Life’s Rich Pageant.

Priced at $22 or more, I would only recommend this new deluxe edition of Fables to hard-core fans. However, it does serve as a good impetus to dust off your old copy of the record (be it vinyl or CD), or pick up a new CD if you don’t have it, and rediscover the pleasures of some of the better music of the mid ’80s era.

THE RECONSTRUCTION TOUR

A bootleg, quasi pro-shot, video of R.E.M. performing “Can’t Get There From Here” at Merideth College in Raleigh,N.C., 5/27/85 … about six months before I saw them at The Mosque Theatre in Richmond, Va. I can’t get over how Buck, who had switched from primarily playing hollow-body Rickenbackers to playing mostly Fender Telecasters, moves like a cross between a young Keith Richards and Pete Townshend. Gotta love Stipe’s boxcar hobo look, too.

You Don’t Know Jack ... But You Will

A couple of months ago a friend gave me a CD that he’d been involved in. He asked for my feedback, with the unspoken hope that I would write something good about it on this blog. Because I respect his musical skill and sensibilities, I agreed to listen to it and give him my opinion, though I doubted I’d publish anything about it since his description as he handed me the CD (“kind of in the vein of Dave Matthews or Jack Johnson”) suggested that it wasn’t particularly my cup of tea music wise. Nevertheless, he assured me that it was quite good, especially given the tender age of the players, some of whom have a ways to go before they’re out of their teens.

The CD in question was Generation of Need, by Jack Babineau, a young Rhode Island singer/songwriter. When I got down to listening to it, the Dave Matthews influence was evident right away, less so with the Jack Johnson sound. I did also hear some shades of Ben Harper (sans the gritty pedal steel) and John Mayer in the tracks. However, I was most struck by the maturity of the songwriting and the well-defined, sophisticated sound of the recording.

Instruments are subtly interwoven, yet crisp and well-defined. Most songs are built around a foundation of layered guitars, starting with Babineau’s driving acoustic and the frequent interjection of electric guitars of various hues. Solid bass and surprisingly adept drumming (compelling, but not over-busy) flesh out the sound. Understated, but essential, keyboards add nuance and distinction to most of the tracks.

It certainly doesn’t hurt that the young star and his band mates’ raw talent is featured in the refined setting of Emerson Torrey’s accomplished production and juiced by the guest appearances of other renowned local music industry vets such as James Montgomery (adding resonant blues harp), Mark Cutler (on country-blues style slide guitar) and Richard Reed (whose keyboard skills seem to grace all of the album’s best tracks), as well as Torrey’s guitar and piano contributions. (Torrey’s teenage son, Jake, is one of the three guitarists in the band.)

Babineau’s lead vocals are band-leader worthy and effective in delivering his catchy and thoughtful lyrics. The song arrangements are tight and the playing is sharp throughout. But the secret weapons that really give this release a major label sound are the well-executed harmony vocals and the production – studio effects are adroitly employed, never over done.

While the whole 30-minute CD is easy to enjoy, the standout tracks are the title track, a muscular song in which potent electric guitars are juxtaposed against an acoustic foundation; the funky “Love Now,” in which the soulful backing vocals and driving beat recall The Rolling Stones in their glory years; and “Keep It On,” which elicited some nostalgia for me, harkening back to the short-lived early 1990’s collection of local studio pros and an acoustic duo from Maine known as The Walkers (beneficiaries of Atlantic Records’ brief infatuation with New England bands at the time, which saw The Raindogs, Young Neal and The Vipers and The Walkers all signed to the label).

So what I originally considered kind of an obligatory favor to a friend turned out to be an unexpected gift. I will continue to give Generation of Need the occasional spin in the CD player and keep an eye on what these young fellows do in the future with their budding talent and benevolent mentorship.

Jack Track-by-Track

No Excuses – The most Jack Johnson-esque song on the CD; not one of my favorites, but it has grown on me with repeated listens. With a decent chorus, a mildly shuffling beat and bouncy acoustic guitar, it provides a fitting lead in to the rest of the affair.

From the Outside – One of the more Dave Matthews-esque songs on the CD, and a good one at that. A funky, buoyant beat is fleshed out with meaty organ fills and soaring lead guitar lines – all complementing the assured verse vocals, a strong chorus and outstanding harmony. This was one of my 15-year-old daughter’s favorites – she, like her dad, being of impeccable musical taste. :-)

Blossom Street – The tempo slows a bit for this more predominantly acoustic tune. Tasteful acoustic guitar glides over subtle electric guitar and piano. The sound builds in instrumentation as it progresses, but it maintains its simple clarity. A heartfelt love song and another superb production.

Generation of Need – Undoubtedly the best song on the CD, the title track is still acoustic driven, but things get considerably more funky and heavy. The electric guitars rock up the chorus, while the Dave Matthewsy vocal phrasing works particularly well on this ode to the age of anxiety, miscues and greed. Multi-layered electric guitars cut loose amid a swirling frenzy of effects to create a satisfying climax. Fun time for all, no doubt!

For Today – This piano-driven ballad is the other Jack Johnson moment on the CD. Nicely restrained vocals are well-suited for the romantic lyrics. Eventually, it evolves into Power Ballad Land, with a big chorus and arena rock guitar. Overall, my least favorite song on the CD, but one that shows the musicians’ ability to tackle different styles.

Keep It On – This bluesy, Walkers-esque, acoustic tune, sparked by James Montgomery’s harp and Babineau’s staccato R ’n’ B flavored vocals, is another stand out track. Quite good, indeed.

Love Now – The funkiest tune on the CD is my second favorite. The acoustic guitar takes a back seat to the funky bass, slick wah-wah guitar and soulful vocals, including potent female harmonies. “We need the love now,” indeed.

Conformity – The CD closes on a strong note with another upbeat acoustic guitar-driven song (with understated R ’n’ B guitar and piano). Tasteful slide guitar added by Mark Cutler, along with more soulful female vocals and a relatively unadorned blues-rock electric guitar solo near the end make this track another vivid homage to the vintage Stones sound.

FURTHER:

• JackBabineau.com

• MySpace.com/jackbabineau

Cutler Goes Rhode Island ‘Red’ on New CD

I have to start with a disclaimer: I’m a huge fan of Mark Cutler’s music. His well-crafted, thoughtful songwriting, his biting-yet-melodic guitar playing, even his Petty-meets-Dylan-meets-Tom-Verlaine vocal style, has struck a chord with me since the day I first saw his then-new band, The Raindogs, at T.T. the Bear’s Place in Cambridge back in the spring of 1988.

The problem with being an evangelist for a particular musician plays out in one of two ways: Either you’re so smitten with everything the artist does that you can’t see the ebb and flow that is inevitably a part of any creative career, or you have such high expectations that you’re all-too-easily disappointed. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve leaned more toward the latter.

When it comes to the Rhode Island singer-songwriter’s new CD, Red, however, I’m happy to report that I’m far from disappointed. In fact, it’s a great record. Maybe not quite the best thing Cutler’s ever done in his 25-plus year career, but pretty darn close. Not only is it right up there with his finest solo work and the pinnacle of The Raindogs’ and The Schemers’ catalogs, it more than holds its own alongside the best rootsy, Americana music out there today.

As this is the first new full-length CD of Cutler compositions since the second Dino Club release, Bright Screen Wide, in 2004, and Mark’s first solo offering since 2000’s Mark Cutler and Lexington 1-2-5 album, it’s a momentous occasion for fans of his heartfelt, hope-and-melancholy-filled music.

In the few weeks that I’ve been listening to Red, it has continued to grow on me. Despite my familiarity with half of the CD’s dozen songs – from earlier, home-recorded versions previously posted on Mark’s MySpace page – when I first heard the new record as a whole, I was struck by the mellowness of the affair. Upon subsequent listening, however, what I first perceived as restraint, revealed itself to be richly nuanced, cinematically evocative songwriting. Cutler’s airy acoustic guitar and contemplative lyrics are adorned by conspicuous mandolin, accordion and piano embellishments. That’s not to say there aren’t some penetrating electric guitar moments on Red. There are, but they intercede intermittently, rather than dominate the affair. (Think more Gas Boy, than Raindogs or Schemers.)

Overall, there’s a sense of maturity and understated confidence to the proceedings. Pristine production, subtle instrumentation (great, clean-tones and masterfully layered sounds) and tight arrangements buoy emotive vocals, which are at times soulful, bluesy or rootsy.

Cutler employs a familiar troupe of musicians, prominently featuring long-time guitar compadre Emerson Torrey (this time co-producing, engineering and adding piano and backing vocals), fellow Schemers accordionist/keyboardist Richard Reed and bassist Jim Berger, as well as Mike Tanaka from The Dino Club on bass, along with a large cast of other contributors. The musicianship is top notch all around, with David Richardson’s mandolin, in particular, playing a pivotal part on several songs.

But, most of all, Red emphasizes Cutler’s skill as a singer-songwriter. Somebody once said about the writer Raymond Carver that nobody captures the darkness and hopefulness of everyday America better. I think the same can be said of Cutler’s songs. The predominantly slow and mid-tempo tunes on Red are often pensive, but there are dashes of faith and optimism throughout, frequently accented by Cutler’s characteristic exhortations to keep on trying.

Red is available on CD from 75orLess Records, and through iTunes and Rhapsody starting May 7. Cutler will be playing an official record release party at Nick-a-Nees in Providence on May 8. I know I’ll be there.

Hope in the Tracks

Mark Cutler’s new CD might be Red, but its palette covers much of the musical spectrum. Here’s a brief song-by-song rundown:

• Vampires – Based on the song title alone, you might think: “nice band-wagon jumping.” But while this reflective exhortation to resiliency and perseverance does employ an oh-so-au-courant vampire metaphor, its musical and lyrical depth belie that notion. Musically, it sets a compelling stage for what’s to come with baritone guitar melodies, chiming mandolin, rich vocal choruses and a folk-rock-pop sheen that hint at both Tom Petty and Lucinda Williams in tempo and mood, but remain wholly Mark Cutler in theme and sound. A great album opener and potential single.

• Cousin Mary’s New Car – With a bit more bounce in vocal meter than the haunting melodies of the opening track, this imagistic character study depicts a carney-like cast of fringe-dwelling homeys. Musically mellow, this song is also driven by mandolin, accordion and Springsteen-like vocals and lyrics. It’s a bit reminiscent in lyrical motif to “Under the Rainbow” from The Raindogs’ Lost Souls.

• We Shall Always Remain Friends – The tempo perks up a tad for this touching tribute to the strength of friendship – either with a former lover or as brotherly devotion. Acoustic guitar joins the mandolin and shakers in musical dominance on this one. In no way derivative, but perhaps a little suggestive of the kind of thing The Wallflowers or Steve Earle might do.

• Just a Paycheck Away – After the mellow impression of the first three tunes, the electric guitar melody leaps out of the speakers right from the get-go on this one. It’s a timely and fitting “Worried Man Blues” for the Great Recession. Bluesy vocals are paired with the more aggressive guitar, making it perhaps the most Raindogs reminiscent track on the CD. It’s a quintessential Cutler song and one of the best on this collection.

• Hovering – This catchy tune changes the pace yet again, introducing a lazy country-and-western feel, with more prominent baritone guitar melodies, mandolin and an electric guitar that magically suggests pedal steel at points. Lyrically, the question remains: Is the hovering protective or obsessive?

• Doc Pomus Ghost – This titular nod to the early white blues singer and Songwriters Hall of Fame member (co-author of hits for Elvis, Ray Charles and others) is the most bluesy tune on the album. A tale of longing (to the point of delusion), it features some menacing electric slide guitar that gives it a kick-ass oomph not found elsewhere on the record. Knowing that Mark, like one of his heroes, Bob Dylan, is a discerning student of music, I have to wonder whether this song – with its “hidden charms” refrain and fierce slide guitar solo – isn’t also a tip of the hat to Howlin’ Wolf and Willie Dixon.

• You Know What to Do – In another effective juxtaposition to the preceding track, the somber tones of this song are forged by acoustic guitar, a haunting cello, mandolin and a ringing vocal chorus about a corrupted soul. One of Red’s most engaging mellow tunes.

• Jumpin’ Time – The beat hops back up again for this Cajun-meets-jump-blues tale of things not always being as they seem. Another one of the many real highlights on Red, the Dylanesque R-n-B feel is electric and percussive, but the spikey mandolin melody contrasts nicely with the funky context.

• You Can’t Give It Away – This may be the album’s tune that is most reminiscent of the softer side of The Dino Club (think “Isn’t It Fine”) and Cutler’s previous solo albums, though the beautiful cello lines (while not Johnny Cunningham’s fiddle) do evoke the mellower side of The Raindogs, too. Piano flourishes weave in and out of the layered acoustic string sounds supporting the sympathetic vocal. Like “You Know What to Do,” this is melancholy done right – in the vein of one of Cutler’s all-time classics, “Up in the Air” from Gas Boy.

• Ain’t Been Born – This slow blues tune rides gospel organ embellishments, understated slide guitar and strong soulful vocals that I can almost imagine Candi Stanton or maybe even Aretha singing. Another of the somewhat Dylanesque moments on the CD, this fully-realized song offers a different lyrical spin by taking the wind out of false hope. Kind of a slow burner, it has gradually grown to be one my favorite songs on Red.

• I Hear Your Car – This is a good enough tune, but the least-remarkable one on the CD. Somewhat “generic Cutler” to my ears, it’s the kind of thing you sense that Mark could write in his sleep. (Other artists should be so lucky!)

• Miss Connected – One of the CD’s most poppy, mid-tempo tunes ends the affair on a high note. There’s some nice electric lead guitar playing, a very strong vocal chorus and a lyrical narrative that paints an engaging picture of a past love affair that went awry. “A pop song crossed with the extreme / A love song denied, but almost redeemed” … “Clocks just don’t turn back, nor can we” ... indeed.

I have to admit to wishing that Mark had included “Kill the Devil,” one of the real standout songs among the home recordings he has streamed in recent years on MySpace. It’s a great tune – one of my favorite Cutler compositions of the past decade – but I can see why he might have decided that it didn’t quite fit the vibe of the rest of the CD. Maybe next time. Until then, I’ll be happily enjoying what is Red, right along with the best of Cutler’s past output.

This older YouTube video for the home-recorded version of “Jumpin’ Time,” updated on Cutler’s new CD Red, shows how, in a fairly low-tech way, you can create a compelling complement to a good song. Some great found images put to effective use here.