piano

Swanlights

brittany — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Before we jump into this it’s important to make something clear: Swanlights is both the title of Antony and the Johnsons’ latest album and a collection of Antony Hegarty’s artwork. Sure, all transgender musical geniuses shouldn’t be lumped together, but I like to think of Hegarty as a more psychically wounded, heartbroken, and unbedazzled Hedwig.

I am a long time fan of Antony and the Johnsons and by extension, I wanted to believe that I’d love anything Hegarty placed his delicate hands on. Sadly, I recently found this to be untrue. After studying each page of Hegarty’s collection of art, I was convinced that all it takes to get a book deal is a recognizable name and built-in following. After flipping through a few pages on his own, my best friend, a reluctant artist, said what I didn’t have the heart to say: “This isn’t art.”

According to the singer, it took him three years to compile the collages, paintings, sketches, and scribbles that would eventually become Swanlights and if we’re being honest here, I can’t understand why it would take so goddamn long to compile something so random and childish in appearance. Cryptic squiggles appear on old help wanted ads; newspaper pages are color blocked with what appear to be markers; faded encyclopedia images are taped or stitched together; illegible handwriting appears next to old images of animals that have been torn or cut.

Nothing in Swanlights really spoke to me; it was all too delicate, too precious, and too nonsensical. Its only appeal was that flipping through its pages was like revisiting an old, childhood diary in which snippets or wisps of things seem slightly coherent, if only for a fleeting moment. Or, for those of us spent their younger years dropping acid and getting crafty, Hegarty’s artwork might serve as an uncomfortable reminder of what psychedelic drugs can do to an otherwise healthy mind.

Swanlights the album is markedly better, which just proves that because a musician dabbles in art, doesn’t necessarily mean an entire book should be devoted to their mournful collages. Like Antony and the Johnsons’ previous albums, Hegarty’s beautiful, almost operatic voice will hit you in the gut with longing. Swanlights is all piano and gorgeous string arrangements, with each song unfurling like a poem and repeatedly touching on the themes of water, ghosts, death, and renewal.

It’s Hegarty’s focus on water that I’m most moved by and the reason I will continue listening to Swanlights late at night when something in my brain shifts from happy to sad, on to off. When I was thirteen, my older brother snuck me out of the house and he and his girlfriend drove me around Redondo Beach in her 1967 Chevy Malibu. We listened to Morrissey all night and at that point in my young life, it was the most magical, exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I remember looking out the window at the ocean and thinking how a person could be sucked in by the waves, into the cold and dark, never to be seen again. Admittedly, it was a dark thought for such a lovely night, but the second I realized how true that was I never felt the same about the ocean again. I’m still terrified of it, but also strangely drawn to it, like many people/things in my life. The point of all of this, of course, is that Swanlights reminds me the late night drive and the ocean and strangely enough, of the overwhelming difficulty of being a teenage girl when—as Hegarty sings on the opening track—“Everything is new.”

I’m convinced that “I’m In Love” is the happiest you’ll ever hear Hegarty. Red corral is caressing him, he’s kissing his partner like a hummingbird, and all his dreams came true the day he laid his head on you, but in true Hegarty fashion the song ends with the day his partner cracks open, dies, and “ten black boys flew free from inside.” You’ve got to take the bad with the good, kids, and Hegarty knows this like no other.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, December 16th 2010

People Eating People

admin — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By People Eating People

The Control Group

So, back in the day, I was in a struggling band in Seattle. And back in that day, one of the biggest breaks a struggling band could get was getting a blurb written about them in The Stranger, the local indie newspaper (edited by none other than Dan Savage, of “Savage Love” fame). While my band was scrambling between shows, staying up way too late at practice, and generally creating plenty of VH1 Behind the Music drama, another band was stealing all of the time in The Stranger: Mon Frere.

When members of my band said their name, it sounded like it should be in italics and in caps, just because we said it through gritted teeth in a mean voice, as in, “Oh, how sweet, Mon Frere got another piece in The Stranger!” (Not that our music could even really be compared—my band and Mon Frere sounded just about as similar as Elton John and Black Flag). So, I admit that when I saw Nouela Johnston went solo and has a new album with her solo act, People Eating People, I was all over it! Heck Yes! Revenge!

Well, here are the facts: I really like People Eating People. I was fully planning on hearing something that I’d heard before (piano plus angst multiplied by the square root of Tori Amos, post-Strange Little Girls, roughly equals something irritating), but People Eating People is really, really good. I don’t even have to totally hold myself back from gritting my teeth as I agree with Stranger columnist Megan Seling. Johnston’s sound lies with Fiona Apple (minus my mom asking me if I’m feeling okay when I’m listening to her), Regina Spektor (minus the kitsch), and Amanda Palmer (minus those funky tattooed eyebrows). Only (sigh!) I like her more than all of the previous three. There. I said it.

“For Now” makes me teary-eyed in a way that Fiona Apple could only do back when I was about sixteen. “Rain, Rain” is funky and quirky without being obnoxiously so (and yes, even Spektor can overdo the quirky at times). I like Amanda Palmer quite a lot, but Johnston just about slays her with a jazzy bravado and riffing on the old jazz standard “Summertime” in her song “Let’s Rage.” And, finally, let’s face it: She just kills with her wickedly fantastic lyricism. Take “Supernatural Help”: “I don’t need supernatural help/I can fuck things up myself.” Well put.

What makes People Eating People work is that Johnston keeps things simple, letting her voice and her piano speak by themselves when appropriate, and bringing in drums and other accouterments only when they are needed. Gee, she’s so great that I don’t even have to be jealous that Matt Bayles mastered her disc. He only was responsible for mixing, engineering, or producing (or all three) bands like Botch, Mastodon, The Murder City Devils, and Pearl Jam, to name but a few. Not me. I’m just not the jealous type.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 30th 2010

Abnormally Attracted to Sin

admin — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 08:44:00 +0000

By Tori Amos

Universal Republic Records

It’s a sinful world out there, and Tori Amos wants to talk about a few sins not included in the Ten Commandments. Her tenth studio album, Abnormally Attracted to Sin, tackles themes of oppression, shame, intolerance, and abuse of power. It’s a record aimed at exploring ways in which governments, organizations, and people degrade each other.

Abnormally Attracted to Sin is an eclectic mix of musical styles that range from classic piano-driven ballads to electronic, jazz, and cabaret-inspired tunes. With nearly every album Amos has put out over the past decade, she seems to take a step further away from being the “piano girl.” The result with Abnormally Attracted to Sin, is that Amos has achieved a more integrated band sound and continues to explore the world of keys. In addition to her beloved Bosendorfer piano, this album features Amos on synths, Rhodes electric piano, and organ. She’s also joined by longtime collaborators Matt Chamberlain on drums and Jon Evans on bass.

The opening song for Abnormally Attracted to Sin, “Give,” sets the mood with its message of giving instead of taking. But this is no rainbow and butterflies ballad. It’s a dark, electronic-tinged track, on which Amos’ voice is at times husky and at times soaring. She sings, “There are some, some whose give, twists itself to take, they mis-take, who, what made up the line, some say it was pain, or was it shame?”

From there, this seventeen-track album spans topics of religious intolerance in “Strong Black Vine,” infidelity in “Fire to Your Plain,” and the cycle of abuse in “Ophelia.” Some of the standout tracks on Abnormally Attracted to Sin include the jazzy “Lady in Blue,” the twangy “Fast Horse,” and “Flavor,” a spacey trip where the narrator asks what it would it be like to look down on the destructive forces of man at work on Earth. The track where Amos shows her musical ability at its best is the title track. It’s a haunting song where Amos warns “pussy willow calls there by the church, ‘don’t go in if you are abnormally attracted to sin.’”

Amos continues to garner an increasing amount of criticism for producing albums like Abnormally Attracted to Sin that some deem “bloated” and “self-indulgent” for passing the seventy-minute mark. For some, it might prove a tedious listening experience, but it seems, as Amos sings in the opening track, that she’s more interested in giving abundance than taking away. What does seem to suffer, however, is the quality of writing. The record has more duds than usual for Amos. On “Welcome to England,” she writes the clunker “bang a tango but do not get tangled...if your heart explodes, is it deathly cold?” On “Police Me,” it’s hard not to laugh when Amos sings “to get off he cries ‘slutty goth’, but I’m a brightly colored person.” Amos may have hit an all-time low with “Not Dying Today,” a cacophonous, embarrassing mess.

What is most disappointing about Abnormally Attracted to Sin, though, is that it feels like Amos is pushing fewer boundaries. Her music feels safer. And, she continues to deal with the same themes she has built her career on: religion, trust in relationships, and women reclaiming themselves from the patriarchy. But one can’t fault Amos for passionately and tirelessly pursuing topics that will not be solved overnight. It’s a worthy battle and one that she does well.

Written by: Beverly Jenkins-Crockett, August 13th 2009

Meridians

admin — Mon, 25 May 2009 00:55:00 +0000

By Valerie Mih

Meridians is a very “new age” title for an album. You may hear the word “meridians” all the time without knowing what it means, and when you look it up, you still don’t. You know it’s about circles and zeniths and acupuncture references to the body’s pathways to energy—but can you use it in a sentence?

When I worked at a record store (yes, a record store) in the '90s, we had an entire new age section. Vangelis, Yanni, John Tesh—there was a studied blandness to their music. New age fans were just as serious about blandness—serious about their wool socks, scented candles, and herbal tea music. So I didn’t expect to like Meridians—but I did.

Have I become the demographic of wool socks? Maybe I’m more open to this kind of music. I’m not dancing on tables to Lady Gaga (not every night anyway). I want to relax. I want to “de-stress.” I want candles and herbal teas.

Mih’s first note on the album is her body—she exhales and breathes life into the title song. This exhale lasts two seconds, but it sets the tone of emotional connection and presence throughout her work. I know, I know—how new age. Yet most new age music has a forced sense of completion, and the emotional complexity of a pod-person. It is one with the universe, end of story. But Mih’s breathing is not I-am-one-with-the-universe. Instead it is more I-am-a-woman-tired-at-the-end-of-her-day. Let-me-be-saved-by-my-music.

The experimental arrangements of Mih’s piano, vocals, keyboard, and accordion also add to the emotional depth, and reflect the not always beatific path to tranquility. Her voice is reminiscent of an English chorus in “Meridians,” “Flow,” and the end track, “Circular Dreaming.” The accordion and the bell sounds of keyboard add subtle tension to “Meridians.” However, the same bells are overdone in “Interwoven” where they take a melodramatic turn of suspense that would be at home in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

Mih’s experimental best is “Saturn’s Rings,” where I’m not sure if she is breathing again as music or if the keyboards are replicating the sound. The keyboard could also be evoking a computer as it runs a program—the sound of a computer breathing. Whichever the case, this interplay of sounds provide an interesting juxtaposition of music, nature and technology. The plaintive accordion of this song is one of the most memorable sections of this album.

Yet some of Mih’s works are less experimental and more direct. “Little One,” “Reflections” and “Sacred Sound” are impassioned selections with the piano as the only instrument. “Autumn” is also centered on the piano, but the repetitive chords get in the way of this song. Although they could be a statement about the cyclical nature of seasons, the repetition can be excessive. Yet it’s the dissonant chords at the end of “Autumn” that conversely provide closure.

Meridians may share aspects of new age music, but I wouldn’t call Valerie Mih new age. She could be an instrumental version of Enya or the Cocteau Twins. Where those artists used their voices to create a surreal auditory landscape, Mih uses her piano, keyboard and accordion. There could even be a classical parallel with the French composer Claude Debussy.

So, yes, not what I expected. Valerie Mih’s album reconnects the listener to the emotional experience of music and leaves you elevated. No blandness here. Except for those wool socks.

Written by: Andrea Dulanto, May 24th 2009

Baby

admin — Tue, 12 May 2009 10:19:00 +0000

By Bosque Brown

Burnt Toast Vinyl

The sophomore set from the Texas-hailed band is a challenging listen that may tax some listeners due to the consistent, if sometimes, monotonous sound. Singer Mara Lee Miller has a strange, formless yowl that echoes such disparate influences as Billie Holliday and Janis Joplin as well as sharing sounds with contemporaries like Feist or Norah Jones. Her phrasing is often elastic and endearingly tuneless, yet there’s considerable timbre, remarkable for a singer so young. The end result is an indie record that has a distant relationship with jazz.

The songs are based around some average to good piano work. The structures of the songs, much like Miller’s vocals, are a bit sprawling. While it’s an interesting sound, it doesn’t make for terribly catchy music, although listeners who stick by Miller’s work will be rewarded because her singing is interesting and intriguing. Her vocals on the record are tinny as if the studio she worked in had a cavernous ceiling and walls; there is a slight reverberation to her voice and a refreshing lack of studio sheen.

Much of the tunes are played a bit like a dirge and none of the record would be considered party music. When the songs do pick up a bit, such as “Whiskey Town” or “Train Song,” there is a much-needed, although strongly muted dose of whimsy that alleviates some of the somberness of the album.

Baby isn’t a stellar record. Too much of it sounds alike, and after a few listens, the songs begin to bleed into each other. However, Miller’s voice is an eccentric and fascinating; one that deserves a chance.

Written by: Peter Piatkowski, May 12th 2009

Snowflakes and Carwrecks

admin — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 17:52:00 +0000

By Hauschka

Fat Cat Records

Once you’ve mastered an instrument, you have two choices: move on to another, or tinker with the one you know and love. No stranger to critical acclaim, German composer and avant garde pianist Volker Bertelmann’s work as Hauschka makes use of the latter technique. Known as prepared piano, Hauschka’s unique sound is derived from altering the original use of a piano—preparing it—to make new sounds by shoving tacks and wooden blocks in between strings or plucking them like a guitar. Why hire an entire percussive ensemble when you can make many of the same sounds yourself?

Snowflakes and Carwrecks reenergizes fans and warms up unfamiliar audiences for Hauschka’s upcoming tour across the US. While instrumental tunes may not immediately inspire a concert ticket purchase, a live show with fractured and reworked instruments might make you think twice. Listening to the soothing, complex layers of this short album—what I’d call “work music,” something to which I can listen while I work and not become distracted—is great for both a rainy Sunday or a walk in the woods. While reminiscent of the cold German winters that likely inspired it, Snowflakes and Carwrecks is at turns both somber and hopeful. Winter ends eventually, and you’d better have some music to pair with the returning sunshine.

Prepared piano has been used by everyone from Elton John to Ben Folds to Christine McVie. It can be described as the audible equivalent of using expired film in an ancient camera without casing. You may not be certain of the results, but bringing an art form down to its most basic, primitive state, you can find new ways to start all over again, from the ground up.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, February 14th 2009