Okay, okay. The cliché-writing critic in me has to get the following sentence out of the way. I won’t rest easy if I don’t. Ahem:
If you like Mazzy Star, you’ll love AJICO.
There. I said it. And right away, I’m shaking my head at the inaccuracy of the remark.
Granted, AJICO does share with Mazzy Star some crucial similarities: a slow, haunted, atomspheric sound; a compelling lead singer; great songs.
But singer UA is not Hope Sandoval.
UA’s rich, husky voice immediately calls to mind Patti Smith or Marianne Faithful. When layered over Asai Kenichi’s reverb-drenched guitar work, AJICO resembles more closely the psychedelic influences that inform both groups.
On the opening title track of Fukamidori, UA delivers one of the most bluesy melodies in her career, stamping it with a distinct emotional charge. “Lake” has the quiet intensity that gave Erik Satie a permanent place in the western music repetoire. The eight-minute “Hadou” builds with a “White Rabbit” sense of proportion, only to conclude with Doors-like improvisation.
But not all is moody and grey, mean and restless. The grungey “Utsukushii Koto” (“Beautiful Thing”) approximates what the Velvet Undergroud might have sounded like if they wrote conventional rock songs. “Freedom” breaks the general solemnity of the album with a bouncy, sugary hook. “Garage Drive” thump-whacks along with a “Pretty Woman”-esque bass line.
When the mood does lighten up, Asai takes over vocal duties with a rough, nasal tenor that suites the group’s classic rock tendencies as well as UA’s deep alto. When the two voices join on “Utsukushii Koto,” the combination is astounding.
Fukamidori is a terrific debut, and with UA at the mic, listeners can rarely go wrong.
But as the recent chart-topping success of The Beatles #1 demonstrates, the third to the last decade of the previous millenium refuses to go into that good night.
So what to make of Love Psychedelico?
This duo from Japan are so enamoured of their Jefferson Airplane, Rolling Stones and Revolver-era Beatles records, lead singer KUMI even affects a British accent in her Japanese. They’ve even titled their debut album, The Greatest Hits.
Love Psychedelico so faithfully recreate a vintage sound, right down to wheezy organs, clanging klaviers and jangly, twangy guitars, it’s amazing to think anyone in the world would go so retro so hardcore. (Only the drum machines give them away as a modern band.)
Under unskilled hands, this kind of sound could result in true evil, but Love Psychedelico not only manage to avoid nostalgic gimmickery — they make their sound totally work.
Credit that to the group’s incredibly strong songwriting and KUMI’s soaring vocals. Tracks such as “Your Song”, “Lady Madonna”, “Moonly” and “Nostalgia ’69” never tire with repeated listenings.
Even when shades of the past get a bit too familiar — the chorus of “I miss you” is almost a note-for-note quote of “Ruby Tuesday” — Love Psychedelico never fall into the trap of blind hero worship.
If anything, the group has done the miraculous achievement of honoring the past by creating new works in that same idiom. Sort of like folk singers who aren’t afraid to set traditional Gaelic waulking songs to techno beats.
Jon Crosby does something remarkable on Music for People.
He’s managed to take music from a whole lot of influences and turned them into a cohesive work.
Critics have already been wetting themselves over VAST’s Music for People for good reason. This album jumps from anthemic rock to metallic thunder to lush string arrangements to everything in between, without a single two-second pause between tracks.
The opening strains of “The Last One Alive” call to mind Starfish-era Church, but when that opener segues into the album’s first single, “Free,” Crosby turns into a throat-bursting powerhouse, proclaiming his freedom at full volume. Afterward, Crosby retreats and almost turns into Boy-era Bono during the majestic bridge of “I Don’t Have Anything.”
And that’s just the first three tracks. As the album progresses, Crosby processes even more diverse sources. There’s a sliver of an Engima reference with a Gregorian chant-like sample on “What Else Do I Need.” “Blue” features an etheral piano and string arrangement that’s equal parts Lou Reed and Paul McCartney. “Land of Shame” even moves along on a shuffle beat.
Music for People is a sonic rollercoaster ride never on the verge of flying apart, even when your eyes tell you it should.
The only criticism that can be levied on the album is it’s relatively indescript mix. With such a work with a broad range of dynamics, it almost seems a shame that the guitars don’t buzz louder or the strings sweep more broadly.
There’s a moment on Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea that erases any doubts that a listener made a right purchase.
It happens toward the end of “The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore.” Polly Jean Harvey hits a stratospheric note with blood-curdling precision, and yet her husky voice gives that wail-like tone a ruddy color.
And that pretty much speaks volumes to what Harvey does with her voice throughout this album.
Within a single track, Harvey can move from gutteral chant to sweet croon, from quiet deadpan to soaring falsetto, from introspective whisper to forceful directness.
And the songs on Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea provide ample opportunity for Harvey to flex her remarkable control.
The album starts off with Harvey practically bellowing at her audience on “Big Exit,” but when the chorus hits, she delivers a pristine soprano. Later, she draws in on “One Line,” layering her voice in an ethereal choir.
And just when you didn’t think Harvey couldn’t do any better, along comes Radiohead’s Thom Yorke to accenuate Harvey’s more bittersweet range.
Although Harvey is an excellent songwriter in any setting, it’s the harder tracks on Stories that leave a more lasting impression.
Her wail sounds wonderfully eerie on “Kamikaze.” “Is This Love” has one of those dirty grooves that just feels way too fun, and the appropriately titled “We Float” features a chorus that does exactly that.
But PJ Harvey the songwriter isn’t the star on Stories — it’s Harvey’s incredible vox.
There are a few things preventing Supercar’s Futurama from being one of the best British pop albums to be released in 2000.
Supercar isn’t from Britain, and Futurama isn’t sung in English.
Of course, the same could almost be said if Supercar were based in the States and did sing in English — it doesn’t prevent Futurama from sounding like it came from a Manchester rave or a London garage.
Supercar is really from Japan, as the band’s lyrics attest, but the group’s gorgeous sonic tapestry of buzzing, industrial guitars, techno beats, and square-wave synthesizer effects is far more international.
The Sony press machine compares the band to Lush, the Cranes and Psychocandy-era Jesus and Mary Chain.
Well, it’s a better description than I can come up with, even if it’s still slightly inaccurate. Think of a more electronica-friendly, less-grungey Garbage.
Supercar achieves the kind of balance between rock and dance that major labels were so desparately trying to find back in 1997, when alternative rock really started to leave a bad, putrefying smell.
If anything, Supercar does labelmates Boom Boom Satellites one better by writing actualy tunes.
“White Surf Style 5” is like a Beach Boys song on poppers. “Baby Once More” indulges in the lyrical minimalism of the best club music while employing twangy guitars. “Flava” sports effects that call to mind space-age lounge music, while “A.O.S.A.” sounds like it could have come from Everything But the Girl’s distant garage rock cousins.
“New Young City” features some really nice string arrangements that Jon Crosby probably cosmically channeled while recording VAST’s Music for People, while “Fairway” buzzes to an incessant dance beat.
Bassist/vocalist Nakamura Koji sings like he has a British accent — although not as heavily fake as Love Psychedelico’s Kumi — and his cool croon suits Supercar’s metallic but warm sound.
Aside from being a widly diverse and original work, Futurama is also incredibly cohesive, even as it pulls in 20 directions at one time. It’s an ambitious work that’s skillfully written as it is wonderfully performed.
It’s easy to gush over the Brilliant Green’s first two albums. The Brilliant Green and Terra 2001 are both very competent albums, sporting solid songwriting and very spirited performances.
But after a while, the shiny happy jangle pop of “BuriGuri” doesn’t allow a listener to really rock out.
The trio’s third album, Los Angeles, is quite a proverbial kick in the arse.
The band sounds alternately angry and haunted on this album, even when they attempt to retain the brightness of their first two works. But that louder, darker sound works.
“The Lucky Star” starts off quietly with a heavily distorted vocal, then bursts into a roar. “Yeah I Want You Baby” continues that outburst with some of the grungiest guitars the group has ever produced.
“Sayonara Summer is Over” and “Falling Star in Your Eye” take baby steps back to the lighter BuriGuri of the past, but other tracks such as the reverb-drenched “Hidoi Ame” and the solemn “Kuroi Tsubasa” ground the band in its beautiful blue funk.
Los Angeles concludes with “I can hold you hand, baby,” a blues-y, atmospheric track worthy of Mazzy Star.
It’s as if something happened to The Brilliant Green since it’s last album to give the world the sonic equivalent of an upraised middle finger, but they’ve wrapped that finger in a diamond-studded velvet glove.
This time around, only the song titles are in English. Singer Kawase Tomoko sings in Japanese on this album, and while the rest of band set the amplifiers to 11, Kawase maintains the sweet core that made the BuriGuri’s earlier songs such pop confections. Now, she’s the element that makes the band’s harder songs go down easier.
Los Angeles finds the Brilliant Green growing up and expanding. It’s nice to see a band that continues to top itself after achieving high after high.
Here’s a new metric to determine the popularity of an artist: the number of users sharing files on Napster (before all the filtering, of course.)
The more popular an artist, the more files will be shared.
Someone looking for songs by Metallica or Dr. Dre won’t have nearly as hard a time as someone looking for, say, Yoshida Chika or Nina Hynes.
If Napster popularity were a measurement today, the availability of Oblivion Dust files says something about the group’s output.
Of the Japanese rock quartet’s four albums, the one most shared by users is Reborn and deservedly so. But it seems Reborn is the only album anyone’s purchased — Reborn’s predecessor, Misery Days, shows up occassionally, and the band’s debut, Looking for Elvis, pops up as often as the Halle-Bop comet.
So what does any of this babble have to do with Oblivion Dust’s most recent album, Butterfly Head? Well, if popularity and availability are directly proportional on Napster, quality and availability share no relationship whatsoever.
Butterfly Head is good. Probably just as good as Reborn and definitely better than Misery Days. But it’s damn hard to find it on Napster. (Try Audiogalaxy instead.)
OD’s latest offering contains much of the same elements as Reborn: big riffs, memorable hooks, some synthesizer effects for that Orgy/Nine Inch Nails reference, and singer Ken Lloyd’s rebeller-than-thou lyrics.
Lloyd still sounds like the distant Japanese cousin of Orgy’s Jay Gordon, but his vocal timbre is appropriate for the Japanese-English mix of post-grunge, Reznor-influenced rock. On “Designer Fetus,” he channels a bit of Billy Corgan.
About the only misstep — and it’s a microscopic one — is the hip-hop break in the middle of “No Regrets.” But for the rest of the album, Oblivion Dust lay heavy on the guitars.
“Designer Fetus” has a chorus that just won’t go away even when you want it to. “Forever” has a really nice guitar part. Even the overly produced “The Nude” fits well on the album.
Butterfly Head is some decent rock ‘n’ roll. Nothing mind-blowing like VAST or even Number Girl but certainly enjoyable in a late-90s sense. You’d think more people would be sharing it.
Whatever you do, don’t press the random button while listening to this album.
And if you just happen to have acquired Shouso Strip through file sharing, don’t just start playing tracks randomly.
Shiina Ringo’s second album is an epic work full of strange effects, sudden starts and stops, plus lots and lots of studio tricks. It’s also a highly structured album that only makes sense when heard from start to finish.
Taken individually, the tracks on Shouso Strip could be mistaken as a whole lot of fancy stuff on the surface with little depth. After all, if a song were really that good, it would stand on its own stripped-down, right?
Wrong.
Shouso Strip goes beyond just a collection of 13 good songs. Each track works well with others, and in some cases, they need each other.
By itself, “Stoicism” is a passable, quirky novelty, but taken in context of its preceeding songs, the head-banging “Identity” and the grunge-y blues of “Tsumi to Batsu”, it sets up momentum for the straight-forward rocker of “Tsuki Ni Makeinu.”
The dischordant intro of “Benkai Debussy” sounds alien without the prepared piano conclusion of “Yokushitsu.” And the sudden cut at the end of “Sakana” would make no sense without the distorted drums of “Byoshou Public” to cut it off.
It’s this interplay between the songs that makes Shouso Strip an addictive album. Play it again and again, and the aural roller coaster Shiina has created takes more twists and turns with each subsequent listen.
While her debut album, Muzai Moratorium, showcased the strength of Shiina’s songwriting, Shouso Strip demonstrates her ability to compose.
Very few women rockers, including ones in America, achieve the kind of confrontational artistry Shiina Ringo regularly produces. E!Online’s comparrisons to Courtney Love — whom Ringo mentions along with Kurt Cobain in the lyrics of the album’s centerpiece, “Gips” — are somewhat off-the-mark.
Shiina isn’t afraid to be challenging or weird, and Shouso Strip is both pleasantly.
Back in high school, Tracy Chapman’s eponymous debut album was the soundtrack to my attempt to cram John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath for English literature class.
At the time, Chapman’s socially-conscious music was a much publicized and lauded move away from the MTV-shaped female figureheads of music that dominated the radio and television airwaves. As if being Annie Lennox was a bad thing.
People expected great things from Chapman, being a “serious” artist with a “real” message and all.
Twelve years later, most press about Chapman labels the trembly-voiced singer as being too serious and too real.
And yet, the forces that gave Chapman such great publicity more than a decade ago still give her context. Whereas Chapman was styled as the anti-Madonna back then, she could very well serve as the anti-Britney Spears and the anti-Christina Aguilera.
In other words, Chapman has pretty much stood still while the world around her has gone in circles.
What does that mean for Telling Stories, Chapman’s first album since scoring a hit with “Give Me a Reason” four years ago?
It means it’s business as usual for Chapman. Telling Stories has moments of quiet beauty and introspection, with sparsely arranged songs that draw inward even when being uptempo and extroverted.
Telling Stories doesn’t quite have the live-in-the-studio feel that made 1995’s New Beginning such a strong performance, but some of the flourishes on the album — Uillean pipes, violins — add just enough garnish to make things interesting.
For the first half of the album, Chapman keeps things lively, placing one fast tempo song after another. As Telling Stories progresses, Chapman slows down the momentum and delivers the kind of material for which she’s best known. Toward the end, an appearance by Emmylou Harris adds honey to an already exquisite, bittersweet album.
Telling Stories packs few surprises for anyone familiar with Tracy Chapman’s work, and in a strange way, that’s pretty comforting.
Line-up changes not withstanding, Rage Against the Machine is one band with a clear sense of itself.
I mean, a really clear.
Even a project as straight-forward as a covers album is forcefully and unflichingly molded into the group’s creative and ideological vision.
Renegades is a Rage Against the Machine album firstly, a collection of other artists’ songs secondly.
On hip-hop covers such as Volume X’s “Pistol Grip Pump” and Cypress Hill’s “How I Can Just Kill a Man”, Rage supplanted those track’s original “music” — not hard, since most hip-hop is backed by drum machines and samples — with its own.
Some of the transformations are drastic, as evidenced on Afrika Bambaataa’s “Renegades of Funk,” originally a break dancing song with a really old (read: cheesy) drum machine. On EPMD’s “I’m Housin’,” Rage makes the song more ominous with a slowed-down beat and Tom Morello’s obtuse guitar riffs.
On other tracks, Rage Against the Machine magnify a seemingly small portion of a song, such as the sliding bass on “Pistol Grip Pump,” which turns into an anaconda-sized slithering slap in the ear.
The punk covers come across as more straight-forward. About the only thing that separates Rage’s version of Minor Threat’s blistering “In My Eyes” is a louder mix. Zach de la Rocha makes for a mean punk singer — he shouldn’t just stick to rap.
Rage’s much lauded cover of MC5’s “Kick Out the Jams” doesn’t quite come across as revelatory as its press would have anyone believe. It’s a heavier, fatter cover, but the original somehow manages to sound harder than Rage’s version.
It’s the songs that don’t fit into hip-hop or metal where Rage takes the most liberties. Bruce Springsteen’s “The Ghost of Tom Joad” transforms from a haunting folk ballad to a nightmare-ish metallic tale. Bob Dylan’s cheeky jubilence on “Maggie’s Farm” becomes a declaration of angry indepedence.
Oddly enough, Rage saw fit to turn Devo’s synthetic “Beautiful World” into one of the band’s quietest songs. In doing so, they turned a self-deprecatingly funny tune into something mopey.
A listener not familiar with any of the original songs on Renegades will most undoubtedly enjoy the album just because Rage Against the Machine are excellent at what they do.
But as a covers album, Renegades is an inventive work. Whatever traces these tracks possessed of their songwriters’ original intentions are wiped clean by Rage’s own.