From Jem’s debut EP It All Starts Here… and her 2004 full-length Finally Woken. Jem is like a slightly more ambitious and eclectic Dido–which could be a strength or weakness, depending whether you value diversity or so-called “cohesiveness” in an album.
I suppose in the download era it’s irrelevant anyway. “They” is the keeper track.
Canadian electro-funk duo Chromeo, along with Bruno Mars, Pharrell Williams, Mayer Hawthorne and others, form the vanguard of a retro-funk movement that has the 2010’s sounding remarkably like the early 1980’s. In a good way.
French production team Nouvelle Vague’s moniker is well-chosen: it translates into English as “new wave” and means “bossa nova” in Portuguese. And how handy for them, specializing as they do in bringing a beguiling Brazilian sensibility to MTV-chic artists such as Joy Division, Modern English, Echo and the Bunnymen, New Order and the like.
It makes one ponder what a timesaver it’d be if other artists employed the helpful tact of couching their mission statement in their band name.
“The Alan Parsons Project” could have been called “Vangelis with Lyrics”. “Electric Light Orchestra” might have been “Diet Sgt. Pepper”.
Young fans of southern rock (if there were such thing) could have been spared much confusion if “Lynyrd Skynyrd” began calling themselves “A Lynyrd Skynyrd Tribute” after 1977. And how much of your download budget could’ve been better utilized had “Mumford & Sons” given fair warning and called themselves “The Bad Avett Brothers”? Perhaps “The Trans-Siberian Orchestra” might have chosen a name like “Nobody Cared About Us When We Were Savatage, But Hey–Christmas!”
I suppose that last one might not have fit on the music hall marquee.
Anyway, if you’re into Bossa Nova covers of the Clash–or need some ironic dinner music for your next chill party–check out the New Wave Bossa Nova of Nouvelle Vague.
Sit back in your most comfy chair with something seasonal in your mug (perhaps a pumpkin ale or an English tea?) and let piano, acoustic guitar and gentle strings take you on a journey back to the Yorkshire dales of songwriter Chris Simpson’s youth. If you’ve got some years on the clock this is the type of song that you’ll feel in your bones…
Times change with the tide, for such is the way of things
The old order can not stand forever, unmoving
All that goes around comes around, as indeed it must
…Look over your should, pilgrim, rest awhile
And consider on what ground you stand…
Simpson’s spoken reflections and the song they frame elicit at turns nostalgia, sadness, defiance, resignation and reassurance as he conjures an image of an idyllic place standing in the looming shadow of fast-changing times.
Guitarist Elliot Randall (Steely Dan/Doobie Brothers), who played on this album, notes its “wonderful tune-smithing” and “sonic loveliness” and compares it to a good book–“the kind you can’t put down.”
Other superlatives heaped on Simpson and his senescent progressive folk band are here duplicated from the liner notes:
“Chris Simpson — the English Paul Simon.”–Fred Dellar (Mojo)
“The boy still writes a fair toon.”–Doug Morter (guitarist)
“One of the greatest singer/songwriters in the world.”–Roy Teysee (Universal Records, Holland)
“A master songwriter and natural born storyteller”–Graham Chalmers (Ackrill’s Newspapers)
“They are the whole story of contemporary acoustic music”–Colin Irwin (Melody Maker, Mojo, BBC Radio 2)
It seems every time I begin to feel jaded about new music–thinking nothing will ever again be released but regurgitated tripe–someone like Ezra Furman steps in right on cue to show me there are still new ways to stir the old pot.
The unlikely combination of ingredients here include a punk sensibility and a doo wop arrangement featuring producer Tim Sandusky on sax. It’s like the Del Vikings’ “Whispering Bells” meets the Violent Femmes.
In fact, putting “Pot Holes” up against “Whispering Bells” illustrates just how much of a song you can borrow and still call what you created your own. Although Furman claims the only songwriting credit on “Pot Holes”, the elements of the Pittsburgh group’s 1957 hit–the rhythm, chord progression, sax stylings and even the guitar motif that becomes the “bow-dow-dow-dit-dit-dit” lyric line–all seem to be lifted. (Also tagged in this clip is a familiar 70’s tune with a strikingly similar hook).
Is there a “Blurred Lines”-type lawsuit in Furman’s future?
Nevertheless, this does nothing to diminish my enjoyment of “Pot Holes”. For the adventurous listener and/or anyone who identifies as societal outsider, Furman’s Perpetual Motion People album is worth the exploration. His frantic energy, musical experimentation, and willingness to let his freak flag fly (that’s him on the cover in the dress and lipstick) blow some dust off pop convention.
I consider it no knock on Steve Hackett to say he has created some of my favorite music to fall asleep to–maybe not what most rock guitarists would want as an epitaph, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind.
His albums display a variety of styles and moods, but I find him most affecting when he evokes the restful hours at day’s end, and the inside of my eyelids provide the movie to Hackett’s beautiful soundtrack.