You could make a good argument for the fact that whilst guitar music seems to have undergone constant evolution, been pushed and pulled in all directions and warped and twisted into new forms, in the name of contemporary music, the piano has undergone a less exploratory journey. Yes, we have a raft of bands using keyboard-like technology, but those are generally more about accessing samples rather than full ten-fingered approach to the instrument. That is why Pacifico is such a stand out record.
At the heart of many of the songs, such as Saturnalia and Robyn on the Couch is a plaintive piano, the chiming neo-classical and classic sound, timeless, chilled and soulful. At the other extreme songs like Midnight in Echo head into more driven, sassy pop-rock territory, but it is what happens between these two sonic boundaries which I find most intriguing.
Tortoiseshell Sky pulses and broods in a collision of ultra-slow hip-hop grooves and affected keyboard treatments, emotive and drifting like the play out song to a film about love, loss and longing. Similarly Oh, Starry Night is a mesh of textures rather than solid structure, layered electronica and strange keyboard washes.
It’s great to come across an album which is beholden to neither guitar riff nor borrowed sample, that takes the keyboard approach of a previous age and uses it to create songs which are very much of modern times but generously tip their hat and acknowledge previous eras and styles. Knowing where you are going musically is very important, but you can only plot a course once you know where you come from. This is an album that has its route planned to perfection.
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I think it is safe to say that if ever there was the perfect time to put out a song calling for unity, celebrating people’s similarities rather than differences and extoling the virtues of peace and compassion, it is now. The world seems like an ever more volatile place and the more bridges rather than walls we attempt to build, can only be a cause for celebration.
As the music from this album washes out of my speakers and I sit here staring at the artwork before me, it dawns on me just what a great visual representation of the music it is. The cover, like the music it envelops, is all about texture, vivid colours being subsumed and fading into minimal lines, light blending into shade, soft edges and abstracted images with just enough form and structure to hold everything together. Get within and the same forces are at work.
When the What’s Her Name? single landed before my reviewing pen a few months ago it seemed to have arrived at the perfect time. It gave me the perfect opportunity to rally against the conformity and unadventurous nature of the rock scene at the moment and hold up Smoking Martha as being exactly what was needed to shake things up a bit. The right band, the right sound, the right time. Right? But even with such a great musical calling card and a hint as to what might follow, it still didn’t fully prepare me for just what a joy to behold this full album would be.
Some music seems to be a melting pot of sounds and ideas that takes some unravelling, if you’re that sort of person, one who feels the need to explore what’s under the musical hood of the car. I’m a reviewer so I am that sort of person. Other music paints instant pictures and conjures immediate imagery, so much so that you can instantly see what you are dealing with. Kalo are the latter type of band.
I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for kickstarter funding I can tell you I don’t have money, but what I do have is a very particular set of words. Words I have acquired over a very long career. Words that make me a nightmare for musicians like you. If you stop sending me your music that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you, but if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you and I will describe your music in the most verbose way possible.
As well as being a candidate for the coolest name in music at the moment, Circus of the West delivers a song which strides confidently and compellingly towards the listener. This wonderful narrative about the absurdity of this demarcated and separated modern life plays out like a joke or anecdote moving the story on by circling the same subject before ending with the punchline that you always knew was coming. But the best jokes are often not about the pay off but the journey to it.
An album is more than just a collection of songs; it is a window into where an artist is, mentally, physically and often more telling, logistically, at the point of recording. 2014’s compact and bijou five track The Ghost of Corelli found our hero leading a three piece band and wielding a sound very much dominated by big guitars, dynamic and punchy bass lines and driving back beats. It was effective, dramatic and to the point. And whilst such a rock and roll pulse has always beaten at the heart of his music, as it beats at the heart of almost every classic record irrespective of genre, in some ways it felt like a departure from the sound I associate with David Marx.
According to their bio “The Vampire Monkeys take pride in being the voice of discontent in an unhinged world, even if they offer no valuable insights to its reformation.” And that’s fine, we don’t look to rock and roll for the answers to our worldly troubles, we look to it to act as a distraction from them. And Disposable is the perfect distraction. A strange video narrative that doesn’t take itself too seriously and a cracking riff and hook driven slice of rock.
There are so many reasons to love this eponymous debut track from Manchester Rain, not all of them totally to do with the music itself, so lets start there and work our way to the heart of this sonic treat.
It is possible that Nelson King subscribes less to the “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” philosophy and more to a “if it ain’t broke it’s still okay to beat the crap out of it and sculpt battered and interesting new shapes.” Maybe. What I’m trying to say in my unnecessarily verbose sort of way is that Is There Something is actually the best of both worlds, familiar enough to be immediately engaging yet original enough to bring something new to the table.
Just as the opening strummed acoustic guitar lines have me thinking “here we go, another earnest, balladeering, unplugged troubadour to wade through” the weight of a full band drops in behind it and suddenly the world seems a brighter place. It would have been easy to follow some sort of angst ridden pop template and aim to tug teen heartstrings; instead Rhett plays a much cleverer card.
When I first encountered Craig’s music it was via the refreshingly raw, honest and self-deprecating country-punk meets frantic folk collision of last years We Humans album. And if within that that wonderfully raw musical landscape of satire and sympathy, profanity and profundity the spirit of such mercurial artists as Tom Waits, Frank Zappa and the much overlooked Bob Log III lurked in the corners, here they act as a spiritual steering group.
As always, trying to pin Fassine down in words proves just as difficult a task as ever. Music journalism, reviewing the records at least, is often about making comparisons, noting influences and references, using words to create Venn Diagrams that help the reader envisage the music and then hopefully buy it. Taking this approach towards Fassine has never worked for me. Yes, I can talk about the chic yet minimalist musical landscapes that they build, the elegance of the production, the chilled eloquence, the hypnotic yet laid-back beats, the vulnerability yet classicism of the vocals, but does that really get us any further forward regarding communicating with the prospective listener.
