Archives : all posts by Sean

A very late Sunday night excursion means that I forget to blog and so here we are, posting late. Apologies!

Josh Ritter - "You've Got the Moon". It was just announced that Josh Ritter is opening for Sarah Harmer on her Canadian tour, so here's a flashback to the American songwriter's first album. While he usually does slightly twang-tinged things, like a Texan David Gray, "You've Got the Moon" is an unearthly channelling of Nick Drake's spirit, finger-picking and a windsoft voice. For me, though, it's not crass imitation - it's tribute, perhaps, but also sincere emotion. This is the sound of the song Josh Ritter's singing, the wispy straining feelings that are locked up in "the tall grass and the trees / silhouettes and crickets singing". [buy]

Dawn Kinnard - "Wires in the Sky". Sometimes my Canadian-ness shows. Dawn Kinnard's not a Canuck, but listening to her creaking voice and rural-city landscapes, I hear only Kathleen Edwards, who is. (Maybe we'll visit Kathleen later this week, come to think of it.) "Wires in the Sky" is perfectly arranged: glowing organ pulses, little wails of pedal steel, sparklewashes of cymbal, a mandolin that circles Kinnard's voice. She dips husky low and climbs lilting high, and when she's hopeful it's a muted hopefulness, unwilling to fall into cliche. "And the words / in the sky / shine so bright / ... / I'm guilty / I don't know why." It's ghostly americana for a day with splashes of sun. [buy]

A hearty welcome to Lacunae, the new mp3blog by Douglas Wolk (who wrote perhaps the first big-media piece on mp3blogs).

Hello, Friday! It's us, Said the Gramophone!

Today, two ladies who have put out new albums in the past year. Both cuts, however, are from earlier records. Kooky.

(These are wonderful songs.)

Sarah Harmer - "Lodestar". Sarah Harmer's very finest track. Behind "Pyramid Song," it was my favourite song from 2001. For Canadians, Harmer's now a familiar face at festivals and in national newspaper Arts sections. Like the Leslie Feist of 2001, or something. But while she's proven her songwriting skills, I'm not sure she's ever reascended to "Lodestar"'s moon-bathed heights. The song's brilliance is in the way it starts slow, smooth, an oar through lakewater. But a trumpet cuts over the water, sharp through the night. A cello begins to advance, the stars sliding out of focus. Dazzle. Before long everything's turned sparkling, bright, a night "scooped out," full of laugh and dance and, as Harmer sings, "fireglow". These are two songs, almost, but the whole is so much finer than the parts. This is dusk, midnight and dawn; it's loneliness, freedom and jubilation. It's some of the country's very, very best. (From Sarah Harmer's debut, You Were Here.) [buy]

Nina Nastasia - "Ocean". Nastasia' debut, Dogs has just been reissued and, wouldn't you know it, I still haven't found a copy. I'm left, then, with the dark richness of 2003's Run to Ruin, and 2001's Blackened Air - both on Touch & Go. Nastasia does amazing things in her songs. Her words are stories, macabre and haunting and brave. The melodies, meanwhile, are tossed like black rags into the air. They turn and twist, pulled by creaking strings and the entropic drumming of Jim White (Dirty Three). Listening to Nina Nastasia's songs, I always imagine the wood of the cello like the hull of a ship. "Ocean" blows in slowly, a snatch of accordion that comes in on the wind. Later, as drums thump and hammer the roof, as a violin tears the door off, Nastasia stands resolute - angry, defeated, unwilling to bend. There is a moment of respite, literally a calm before the storm, but then she's wiped away by tide and gale, dashed on the rocks. The blood mingles with slate-grey surf. Post folk. [buy]

tonight, if all goes according to plan: The Microphones and Matt Haimovitz.

Speedstar* - "New Orleans Funeral No. 1". Another tip from Laura, Said the Gramophone's fine Australian correspondent. It may come as a disappointment to some that Speedstar's got nothing to do with Strong Bad or The Cheat, but on the bright side they play slightly sorrowful alt-pop, with trumpet and piano that's reminiscent of The Reindeer Section (whom we visited yesterday). A couple of non-American artists have turned to Louisiana's funereal horns, of late: Radiohead, in "Life in a Glass House," and Kid Koala, in the terrific video for "Basin Street Blues". I've gotta say that Speedstar don't quite get it (at least, not here,) but there's still much to like about this track. Everything's laid out flat, like traintracks straight on to the horizon. Alister Bell's vocals recall Coldplay's Chris Martin, as does the optimistic pulse of piano. If that kind of earnestness repels you then by all means stay away, but if not - dig those jingling bells. (The band's links page lists a whole whack of fine people: the aforementioned Reindeer Section and Coldplay, as well as The Frames, Sun Kil Moon, Wilco, Mazzy Star...) [buy] (anyone with a better n. american buy link, please leave me a note in the comments!)

Alexi Murdoch - "Orange Sky". Scottish-American Alexi Murdoch released an EP called Four Songs, and lo and behold, the four songs are good. "Song for You" is sweet and hands-off, a pastoral love song with neat rhymes and a chorus that sparkles. "Orange Sky" is my favourite, however, a song that's totally obvious in its structure, patterned on so many that preceded it, but lovely all the same. Murdoch fits right in with the newish crop of britfolk patterned singer-songwriters, the cult of which seems centered in Ireland (Damien Rice, Josh Ritter, David Gray, heck, Van Morrison). "Listen to my hands," he sings, cutting himself off, leaving just the understated play of fingers on acoustic guitar. Gorgeous use of strings, of organ, little glimmers that underlie the rest. Good-natured and a little dumb, but if I wanted clever I'd turn on the Weird Al. [buy]

Womenfolk is a brand new mp3blog with a wonderful bubblegummy design. It's still the very early days, but I like what I see (and hear!).

I also neglected to mention Sixeyes, a musicblog that's highlighting a bunch of artists that are near and dear to my heart, linking to offsite mp3s when possible.

Oh - If any of you Gmail-ers haven't logged in to notice, you likely have some invitations to distribute. Make some friends!

Richard Hell and the Voidoids - "Love Comes in Spurts". Robert Quine ended his life earlier this week. Quine's well known for the "Quine Tapes," bootleg recordings he made of the Velvet Underground's early days in NYC. For many, many others, however, Quine will most be remembered for the adventurous, intelligent, blazing guitar work he contributed to things like Lou Reed's Blue Mask, Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend, and, of course, as a member of the Voidoids. I know very little about Quine, Richard Hell, or the CBGB's scene in which they played such an important part. But I do know this terrific song, the debut cut from Richard Hell's debut record, a heart that's pumping blood across the linoleum, electrical wires that are crackling and tumbling down. Quine's solo is breathless and full; it's raucously alive. So sad, then, that it's the sound of his ghost. RIP. [buy]

The Reindeer Section - "You Are My Joy". A pick-me-up from the Scottish super-group, with members of Belle & Sebastian, Teenage Fanclub, Mogwai, and Snow Patrol's Gary Lightbody on vocals. It's a repeating loop of happiness, twinges of punchdrunk love on a day that's not gone so well. Running to the corner and falling into his/her arms. This band's two records are wonderful things, blooming rainyglad music. This is them at their most brightest, at their most carnival. Synths, trumpet, violin and a simple mantra, all of it over flushing, kind electric guitars. [buy]

candy company + smash mouth = marketing genius.

The Kings of Convenience have a new record coming out. It's called Riot on an Empty Street, and it contains, at the very least, two lovely songs. Here they are.

The Kings of Convenience - "Homesick". As heralds of the 'new acoustic' movement, as two gentle-voiced fellows with acoustic guitar(s), the Kings of Convenience were inevitably compared to Simon & Garfunkel. Compared, compared, and compared again. While the argument could be made for the band's first two discs, Riot on an Empty Street does not sound like a Simon and Garfunkel album. Erlend Oye's been too busy listening to old (and new) records, folding them together on the decks. The Simon & Garfunkel analogies will keep coming, however, because "Homesick" is the first track on the album and it's the one that all critics will hear, even if they skip the rest in order to make their deadlines. "Homesick" is an unabashed ode to Paul and Art: I recognize it in the vocal harmony, that wonderful familiar interval. I recognize it in the words ("I can't stop listening to the sounds / of two soft voices / blended in perfection / from the reels of this record that I found"). I recognize it in the spirit of the song, the loneliness that leads to progress - the path of a boxer, perhaps, on his way to America. Taking up what you long for. How can something so simple say so much?

The Kings of Convenience - "The Build Up". Twice on the album, the Kings of Convenience are joined by a third voice. And the third voice (hold your breath!) is Leslie Feist. "Know How" is a glad shuffling shrug which doesn't quite get interesting until Leslie joins in, casting a chill with her five-second solo. "The Build Up," however, gives a clearer taste of Leslie's talents. (Clearer like raindrops tumbling over a lake, raindrops dangling on the ends of pine-needles, raindrops flying from the wheels of your bike, that silver black and red.) Astonishingly, Erlend lets Feist end the album, he lets her rising-falling song linger. This is the Kings of Convenience without their strummy crutches, without the network of golden notes. Instead: there's a draft.

The album comes out in the UK on June 21st. Do buy it.

For those of you in seek of yet more advance-leaked music, TTIKTDA's got Polyphonic Spree which, despite the improvement (bigger! more glad! more like the Flaming Lips!) still leaves me flat. I concede that in person I might be blown away (again, see the Lips), but on record I hear only a bunch of huffing and puffing.

Mystery & Misery introduced me to The Fatales, who are a revivifying indie rock band. Yeah Yeah Yeahs + Harvey Danger. Listen to "Where'd You Get Those Shoes".

It's Monday, today, (hello!) and I'm going to write about Kathryn Williams.

Four years ago, I was in a magazine store and picked up something British - Mojo or Uncut or something, - and scanned a story about the Mercury Prize. What caught my attention was a line something like this: "...also nominated is Kathryn Williams, a female Nick Drake..."

There are countless singer-songwriters out there who idolize Mr Drake, and a great number who spend far too much time and money recording insipid, impotent tunes. Comparing her to him is moderately accurate, but it's also a little unfair. One soft-voiced folksinger need not be doing the same thing as another. Kathryn Williams owes something to Nick Drake, certainly, but also to Joni Mitchell, The Smiths, and herself. The Nick Drake ghetto can be a hamfisted pigeonhole.

As we were walking in the Market a few days ago, I commented to Julian that the problem with liking folkie/singer-songwriter stuff is that people assume you enjoy the work of every person who picks up an acoustic guitar and awkwardly serenades a patio. When I finally managed to find Kathryn Williams' material (which until Old Low Light was very difficult indeed, on this side of the Atlantic), I was very pleasantly surprised. Little Black Numbers is an altogether wonderful record - music made up of small gestures, subtle smiles. Her first record (Dog Leap Stairs) is rather disappointing, and some of her later work is hit-and-miss, but she's really an excellent singer, especially when she sings with her mind, and not just her voice.

(To go on a little tangent, I was reading this interview with Leslie Feist, and I had to wonder about what she said, exactly, which entitled the reporter to write this: "[Leslie says that] it?s more interesting to perform that sad song with no expression and let instrumentation and beautiful arrangements fill that space left open by the performer." The sentiment is completely right, of course, some of the time, but there are other moments when you must invest a little more and not just leave things "calm." That's probably Let It Die's biggest flaw - too much of it is pleasant, cool. (There's a reason that despite her phenomenal talent, most people don't own multiple Bebel Gilberto records; or that nobody's screaming for another Hem disc.) Kathryn's not so fantastic at "calm" - her version of "Hallelujah," for instance, plays things a little too nice, and the cover of Pavement's "Spit on a Stranger" lacks both hipness and an active wit.)

A three-song tour, then, of some of Kathryn Williams' best work, ending with a selection from her newest album, a collection of covers called Relations.

Kathryn Williams - "We Dug a Hole". The opening track from 2000's Little Black Numbers. It's halting at first, steps across stones in a grey creek. But Kathryn's voice slowly gains momentum - as do the guitar and acoustic bass. Lots of room in this song, open spaces for open hands and stretching arms. It's one of these things that I can't imagine translating into a live performance: the ebb and flow would be canned, the fluttering growth rehearsed. When the big bass drum joins in, cello stoking the fire, it builds to a green-and-swirling climax, voices and radio-chatter in the background - like Nick Drake, maybe, but only after a night of listening to White Light White Heat. (ok, i admit, that's stretching it.) [buy]

Kathryn Williams - "No One Takes You Home". A rousing anthem for feeling good when you're feeling bad, culled from 2002's Old Low Light, which was distributed by Warner (at least in Canada). From the very start, that accelerating strum signals that the song's going somewhere, heading downhill to a place that's lit up and full of music - a pub? a club? a friend's home?. Before long a cello's joined you on the lane, then a tambourine, and lo and behold there's a crowd: they've got wine-stained lips and eyes aglow. You march en masse, you join hands and probably flirt, you kick in a door and ask: "Why can't life give [us] some more?" By the time you're "ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ing" there's some twee confetti in the air, a trumpet giving you long looks. Gladness. And then it's gone. [buy]

Kathryn Williams - "Thirteen". Relations is an exciting record for people who like Kathryn Williams, and for people who like covers, but not for those who dislike either. She doesn't do anything astonishing enough to convert the unconverted, nor are most of these tracks fine - or different - enough that they outshine the originals. Accept those caveats, however, and there's a lot of pleasure to be found on the album - after all, here's Kathryn doing Nico, the Velvet Underground, Pavement, Nirvana, and more. In front of us right now is, of course, a rendition of Big Star's "Thirteen." It's cool, first of all, because it features the only non-atrocious use of bongos that I can remember. It's also cool because it is completely great - it's happy and sad and nostalgic and regretful and not.

When you're young, certain things happen, and they're sad or they're sweet but somehow you know that later, thinking back, the moments will be sadder or sweeter still. That there's something magic in the childish Now that's fluttering beneath the surface, something that you can't quite grasp but know that one day you'll long for. Well that's what this song is about, and it's in the way Kathryn Williams sings, it's in the doo-wop mermaid voices, it's in the ephemeral-perfect guitar solo. It's all there, and then it's not, and you dream of it sometimes. [buy]