Mavis Staples
We'll Never Turn Back
Anti-
originally published May 23, 2007
Long considered one of the great voices in both Southern gospel and Southern soul circles, Mavis Staples applies her commanding chops to a collection of re-envisioned protest and Civil Rights anthems (and one Staples original) on We'll Never Turn Back, her first release since 2004's Have a Little Faith.
Produced and backed by Ry Cooder, the album is uplifting and personal - as a collection of this kind of material rightly should be. However, it's the way Staples handles the songs - sometimes tender and gentle, always determined and unbending - that breathes new life and depth into them. The album hits a strong early stride with a funky opening take on J.B. Lenoir's "Down In the Mississippi." From there, Mavis fits "We Shall Not Be Moved" with a post-Katrina perspective that barbs the Washington elite; "99 1/2 Just Won't Do," coasts atop a sharp Cooder guitar part that could back John Lee Hooker just as easily as Missy Elliott (or even the B-52's), and Staples' Cooder-slide-driven version of "Eyes on the Prize" is so steamy and direct you might just pop a sweat before the second chorus is done.
In an era of mass-marketed diva worship, the name Mavis Staples rarely ever comes up. However, on We'll Never Turn Back, Staples channels the passion, integrity and fire absent from many performers gladly reveling in their adopted diva-ness. She also channels the consummate musicianship and integrity of late father and Staple Singers patriarch Roebuck "Pops" Staples throughout. Odds are good that Pops would be most proud indeed.
Chainestereo
Magnetic South EP
Independent Release
originally published May 23, 2007
Chainestereo's been running around North Georgia for the past year, and they're about to hit the East Coast - despite the fact they're young, as in high-school seniors. Their age explains the touch of parentology in their lyrics; it's the kind of thing that makes post-adolescents, at an age when drinking wine's no longer revolutionary, wince. But their youth also rewards them with stark apprehension. Little can match the sense of romantic paralysis in the line, "The whole sky's a minefield, but she's just a girl."
The boys are just learning the Tommy Tutone Rule: that it's often not what you say but how you say it. Silent lacunae and absurd inflections are often better ends of the vocal instrument than keeping time. When Nathan Higgins elongates and chops up the syllables in "Appomattox," he sinks the line deep in your cerebrum, amplifying its evocations. Suddenly, the albatross mentioned in "Chance Wedding" touched down in Thomas Wolfe territory after leaving the Ancient Mariner.
Musically, Chainestereo's Magnetic South EP is remarkable polished. "Gretchen, You're A..." compares to a Pixies rant, with bassist Philip Frobos almost matching Frank Black for tonal insouciance. The rest consists of playful guitars, Pavement style, with jangles peppering the background and refrains surmounted by quasi-pubescent boys. The same could take a harmonizing course from, say, Panda Bear, and they're lacking the gemlike precision of a Kinks' song - although that's a daunting constellation to set your compass by.
Still, Magnetic South is fun. As expected, the band's finding solid ground, full of good ingredients, just looking for the right recipe. If Chainestereo can maintain its promising direction through the pratfalls of growing up, Magnetic South feels like the kind of primordial stuff that evolves into stellar indie rock.
RTX
Western Xterminator
Drag City
originally published May 23, 2007
Trashed-out guitar bands come and go. But no matter how many duct-taped guitars pass through the chute, RTX headmistress Jennifer Herrema still looks - and sings - like she'd just as soon gnaw on your jugular as glance at you. Odds are, she and yourself have probably never even met.
Herrema, late of sloppy Pussy Galore throne usurpers Royal Trux, returns again to the captain's ride sporting a gleeful snarl, a cannon of devilish psych-metal and attitude to spare. There isn't much connectivity here on Western Xterminator, other than the songs all feature ton-heavy, fuzzed-out guitars and Herrema's sometimes unintelligible, always aggressive rasp. The subdued, folky title track gives way to the more preferable scuzz-metal of tracks like "Balls to Pass," "Restoration Sleep," "Dude Love" and pretty much the rest of the thing.
So, if Royal Trux and the first RTX release careened up your avenue, this one is a shoo-in. If not, then it may be time to search for easier listening. Whatever the case, Herrema and her hirsute pack will still be having what sounds like one hell of a neck-stiffening good time, with or withoutcha.
Boris & Michio Kurihara
Rainbow
Drag City
originally published May 23, 2007
Japan's cartoonish refraction of western popular culture runs deep, extending even to the already cartoonish realm of esoteric noise-rock. Les Rallizes Denudes built a (highly elusive) discography on jacking up the already ridiculous noise and chaos of the Velvet Underground album White Light / White Heat. Merzbow has devoted decades to stripping music of anything even remotely musical. Acid Mothers Temple routinely one-ups Hawkwind by stretching every supernova of a song to the 20-minute mark while soloing constantly throughout. Yes, there's a long, storied tradition of absolutely insane Japanese psych-rock, and on Rainbow two of the leading lights of that archipelago's past couple of decades bang heads.
The transcendent and occasionally delicate guitar-work of prime Ghost shredder Michio Kurihara might potentially seem like a mismatch with Boris's feedback-saturated sludge, but on Rainbow the disparate parties have combined to create a compelling piece of work.
Kurihara further proves himself to be one of today's most electrifying guitar players. The stunning opener "Rafflesia," a stumbling, stately epic that's like listening to early King Crimson through a woozy Nyquil fog, is a prime showpiece for Kurihara's inimitable skills. The song's stark and desolate beauty gradually gives way to an amazing solo that sounds like whatever noises must emanate from the center of the sun. The bluesy riffs and propulsive rhythm of "Starship Narrator" are similarly superseded by a nearly unfathomable solo, a violent, throbbing squeal that's almost as mind-splitting as Lou Reed's work on "I Heard Her Call My Name." Between these songs and the long-form freak-outs of "You Laughed Like a Water Mark" and "Sweet No. 1," Rainbow overflows with ridiculously awesome guitar solos.
Although Kurihara regularly steals the spotlight, at its core Rainbow mostly sounds like a Boris record - albeit an especially restrained Boris record. The overpowering bombast of the band's last album Pink is mostly reined in, and nothing comes close to the otherworldly low-end drones of their notorious Absolutego. With "My Rain" they even offer up a tender folk-pop instrumental.
There isn't a bad song to be found, but there's also nothing that would be all that noteworthy without the mastery of Kurihara. In fact the songs that don't feature Kurihara in full-on face-melting mode tend to float by in a faceless, yet pleasant, fog. Boris's unusually muted palette provides Kurihara with ample room to shine, but it also leads to the occasional dull spot, like the listless psych-folk tune "Shine." That doesn't come close to spoiling an otherwise good thing, but in the end Rainbow is little more than a highly enjoyable footnote to either participant's resume.
Elliott Smith
New Moon
Kill Rock Stars
originally published May 23, 2007
Three-and-a-half years after taking his own life, iconic Portland-based singer-songwriter Elliott Smith is at last given the odds'n'sods treatment. This double-CD collates 24 tunes - only three of which have been released previously - that Smith cut between 1994 and 1997.
The bulk of this material comes from the 1996 Either/Or sessions. Smith agonized for months over that album's tracklist, as he reportedly felt that most of the songs he ended up shelving were as strong as the ones that made the cut. After hearing these outtakes, it's easy to agree with him; in fact, two of the Either/Or-era tracks rank among Smith's best work. "Looking over My Shoulder" examines a psyche that's bouncing between confronting and pleading with the parties that have done him wrong, with Smith's manic lyrics blurring the line between assertive anger and wounded groveling. In "Placeholder," a spurned person seeks significance by romanticizing his own insignificance. Both songs present complex, conflicted personas, giving the lie to popular notions that Smith's music facilitates moping and self-pity.
In terms of instrumentation, the songs on New Moon differ little from those that saw proper release during Smith's pre-major label days. Acoustic guitar is most prominent, but electric guitar, bass and drums aren't uncommon. A few tangential stylistic departures occur, though. "Whatever" features some nimble Kottke-esque picking, the rousing "New Monkey" flirts with power-pop, "Riot Coming" boasts a yearning refrain that reminds us that Smith came of age during grunge's heyday, and "Fear City" detours into crunchy funk-by-way-of-Led-Zep.
And then there are a handful of songs that lack memorable lyrics or gimmicks. While less flavorful than their companions, these tunes are just as well-crafted and labored over, suggesting that Smith's knack for unimpeachable melodies was perhaps his greatest gift.
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