pop

Pandora's Box

tina — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Conventional wisdom says that every young popster or rocker, no matter how devoted, will one day grow into a consumer of smooth jazz. How else to explain Rod Stewart's resurgence as a tuxedo-clad, Bing-style crooner (aside from a mid-seventies deal with Beelzebub himself)? John Smith and Valerie Day, the duo behind '80s group Nu Shooz, are hardly stars of Stewart's caliber, but they did craft one of the finest American pop singles of all time: “I Can't Wait.” Over two decades later they've resurrected the song and themselves in predictable jazz fashion.

Pandora's Box is a new self-released album by Smith & Day's new project, Nu Shooz Orchestra. The album includes “I Can't Wait: 20th Anniversary Edition” and ten more tracks of over-baked coffeehouse pap that smears John Coltrane by association.

Let’s back up a couple of decades to a great song from a band with a silly name. “I Can't Wait” was a single so phenomenal that I have yet to tire of it. In fact, I'm listening to an MP3 of it right now, though it lacks the warm crackle of old 12” vinyl. The track's bassline is addictively slinky and powerful enough to support countless layers of snappy percussion, synths, twinkly guitars, a stealth horn section, and Day's coolly vibrato-free voice. The idea of a jazzy “I Can't Wait” has no appeal—in fact, it's antithetical to what makes the song work so well. Funk-influenced dance pop is propelled by deep grooves, the kind that power “I Can't Wait” and that depth can only be created on a vintage Roland synthesizer. Individual notes will transpose to the stand-up bass, of course, but if I wanted to hear stand-up bass, I'd listen to Jimmy Garrison on A Love Supreme. I wouldn't listen to Nu Shooz, with or without its orchestra.

Therein lies the artist's curse of doing one thing extraordinarily well. Musicians are vulnerable to fans' fickleness. If I want to hear a pop song that sounds like “I Can't Wait,” I can quite easily listen to “I Can't Wait” (and I did, three more times). The name Nu Shooz, however ridiculous, means classic '80s dance pop. The last thing this world needs is mediocrity, no matter what the genre.

Everyone needs to earn a living, so I don't fault Smith or Day for dipping into the seemingly bottomless wallets of our nation's latte-sippers. The harsh reality is that if these tracks were released under a completely different name (Old Sneakers?), this album wouldn't even be reviewed, much less panned for not sounding like one snotty critic wanted it to. But all is not lost! In my research for this review, I discovered that 50 Cent remixed the original “I Can't Wait” into his song “Buzzin',” and it's really good. I hope the residuals afford Smith and Day the chance to tune up the old Roland. The world—and its shoes—are waiting.

Written by: Shannon Drury, December 15th 2010

Raise Your Glass

brittany — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Pink

"Love means never having to say you're sorry."

It's one of the most famous film quotes in history, delivered with maudlin aplomb by Ali MacGraw's character Jennifer in the 1970 tearjerker Love Story. Millions of people made that film (and the novel upon which it was based) a tremendous success, and millions of people ate up that saccharine platitude. Well, y'know what? I am calling bullshit. To me, love does not mean never having to say you're sorry. It means seeing clearly the flaws inherent in the object of your affection—and still embracing them, precisely because of those flaws.

With all of this in mind, I love the music of Alecia Moore, better known as pop singer Pink. Specifically, I love Pink's stripe of brand-name braggadocio and the many pitfalls inherent in such a mixed bag. Her schizophrenic "non-pop star pop star" shtick is so integral to her image that she should trademark it. Music journalist Sasha Frere-Jones directly addresses this conundrum in "Sass and Cadence," an incisive (at times scathingly so) piece from the Nov. 24, 2008 issue of The New Yorker: "Pink’s being Pink depends on our believing that she has escaped some sort of assembly-line purgatory." She is a safe provocateur, a radio-friendly rebel, a vicious viper stripped of venom.

This attitude is exemplified in Pink's latest single, "Raise Your Glass," an anthemic Billboard Top 10 hit from the collection Greatest Hits... So Far!!! The single was released on Pink's website October 6, and made available for download the next day. It's been all over Top 40 radio, hypnotizing listeners with its ridiculously catchy lyrics: "So raise your glass if you are wrong/in all the right ways/All my underdogs/we will never be never be/anything but loud/and nitty gritty dirty little freaks."

The video soon followed, released November 2nd on MTV. In keeping with her well-established video aesthetic, "Raise Your Glass" is fairly illustrative of the song lyrics, laced with Pink's self-deprecating sense of humor, and full of imagery the mainstream media is all too happy to characterize as "shocking" and "controversial." Normally, I would scoff at such labeling, thinking it an oversimplification. However, that's not the case this time out. "Raise Your Glass" is a highly contentious video, and I have a tremendously complicated response to it.

Some of the vignettes in the video ring true. For example, Pink performs at a gay wedding. Pink is a proud LGBT ally who has spoken openly of her gay following, her youthful days spent dancing at gay bars, and her own queer experiences. I can also buy her taking down a matador the same way matadors kill a bull, with multiple swords brutally jabbed into the body. Pink is a vegetarian and an animal rights activist who has lent her voice and/or visage to a variety of PETA campaigns. Some of the video's images are even touching, such as a fat girl knocking over a cardboard cutout of a judgmental woman, then chowing down on a corn dog, and a tearful woman of color decked out in a cap and gown on her graduation day. I cry every time I see this.

The most intentionally controversial scene starts with Pink in a bed with a holy man, her goblet empty as she holds a sheet over her breasts and waits for the next cleric (among many in line) to join her in the sack. Get it? She's getting endlessly screwed by organized religion—some might argue, like every other woman on the planet. As the video progresses, she is shown weeping after two such gents, then happily thanking Heaven for getting to shag a Catholic nun. I was unperturbed by this scene. If anything, I found it hilarious.

My biggest problem was when Pink tried to present herself as some kind of proletariat warrior, in a sumo match against a stereotypical fat cat robber baron three times her size, facing off in a ring with a dollar sign on the ring's floor. Love her or not, I feel as though a reality check is in order here. Pink is an internationally renowned superstar ranked in the top thirty as one of the most powerful celebrities in the world on the Forbes Magazine's Top 100 Celebrities list. Her reported net worth is over $40 million. Billboard Magazine lists her as the number one Pop Song Artist of the Decade. Pink may come from a working middle class background, but that is most certainly not where she is at now. This image of her as the badass taking on big money is therefore (understandably) a little hard to swallow.

The first ten years of the twenty-first century seem to have been devoted to the exploration—and exploitation—of difference. The slogan of years 2000-2010 should be "I'm a unique rebellious individual... just like everyone else." A discussion of the commodification of dissent is passé at this point. Savvy consumers know it's happening, every second of every day, in American culture. They watch as every possible aspect of their identity is meticulously lifted from—and then sold back to—them. In her supposed celebration of the weirdo, the outsider, and the underdog, is Pink really just using them? Is this a calculated attempt to cash in on the zeitgeist, or is Pink offering up a heartfelt toast to the "dirty little freaks?"

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, December 11th 2010

Welder

gita — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Elizabeth Cook

31 Tiger Records

Elizabeth Cook blends tenacity with tradition for Welder, embracing traditional backwoods country twang, some bluegrass, and a touch of rockabilly while adding her own progressive spin and pop edginess. The daughter of country musicians and welders, for whom the album was named, Cook effectively utilizes these aforementioned influences to raise her fist to integral feminist themes like independence, sexual expression and assertion. An inspired production by Don Was helps to paint these emotionally expressive tales that cut to the bone yet have appeal for a more mainstream audience. Back vocals from Buddy Miller, Dwight Yoakam and Rodney Crowell further add to this colorful mosaic that offers the listener beseeching love song narratives and catchy, yet ornery bucolic anecdotes.

Welder runs a zigzag marathon from point A to Z, and then back to C. “All The Time” starts it all with endearing Dolly-style twang vocals that make you smile and pine for that effortless grating raw emotion somehow missing from current pop country mainstays. “El Camino” utilizes its playful soft pitter patter to create tongue-in-cheek banter about premarital sexcapades in a creepy ’72 El Camino. Cook then jumps from silly to emotionally cutting and intense with “Heroin Addict Sister,” further reflecting the underlying progressive nature of the record, lamenting about the sister’s painful life of drug abuse and prostitution. The mood changes yet again with “Yes To Booty,” a tribute to sober honky tonk sex that has potential sing-a-long cult status, where thousands cry “come on say no to beer and say yes to booty.” Cook’s cover of Frankie Miller’s “Blackland Farmer” is as simple and effective as it gets; her warm gooey alto vocals melt atop the simple, yet compelling, lyrics offering gritty realism and keen insight. “Girlfriend Tonight” works the pedal steel into lush harmonious grandeur to help capture the sentiment in the lyrical content, “Honey I know that I am just your wife / I wanna be your girlfriend tonight.” “I’m Beginning To Forget” covers a song written by Cook’s late mother and is lovingly sung with Rodney Crowell.

Welder succeeds in pushing the envelope of Americana standards by melding them all with a variety of far-reaching themes and influences. Moving between stark, emotionally cutting and intense to amusing honky tonk clichés could either confuse listeners, or, be perceived as a well-rounded exploration of life. Cook should be given credit for her ability to turn the twang on and off when it suits the song, as well as for using satirical idioms that don’t usually flow, but she makes it all work. Compelling themes that go to the limits, both high and low, accentuate the harshness of life and the beauty of it all in its simplest form.

Written by: Cat Veit, November 23rd 2010

Perfect Harmony

gwen — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Acorn Theatre

New York, New York

At the start of Perfect Harmony, a narrator tells the audience that the Acafellas, an all-male acapella singing group, have won the last eighteen high school singing competitions. What’s more, we’re told that they were the inspiration for “that show.”

Like Glee, Perfect Harmony celebrates dorkiness, this time in an elite private high school. Five male songsters—two of them grandsons of the Acafellas’ founders—are itching for their nineteenth win. The obstacle? A girl group, once called The Ladies in Red and now dubbed Lady Treble.

On the surface, the boys pooh-pooh Lady Treble’s all-out effort to triumph. “Girl groups sound tinny,” says Lassiter A. Jayson III [Robbie Collier Sublett], the Acafellas’ ostensible leader, to his mates. “Boys have a biologically fuller sound,” Simon [David Barlow] agrees.

Not surprisingly, these fighting words cement the girls’ resolve to stop the boys in their tracks. But how best to do this? Leader Melody [Dana Acheson], is a squeaky clean “good girl” who wants to emphasize the wholesome—her favorite song is “My Life Goes On in an Endless Song/How Can I Keep from Singing”—while Meghan [Kelly McCreary] wants to sex things up. New costumes, a more contemporary play list, and some risqué dance moves will ensure a win, she argues. After all, she adds, no one wants to see girls dressed “as old-fashioned mummies.”

The three remaining group members—played with abundant humor by Faryl Amadeus, Marie-France Arcilla, and Kate Morgan Chadwick—have heretofore been more comfortable taking orders than making decisions. They’re torn. Should they listen to Melody, or should they follow Meghan’s lead and develop a routine that that is bolder, sassier, and less predictable?

Yes, both male and female characters are stock roles, the “types” found in every high school, everywhere. This is not a deterrent; in fact, this recognition is what makes the play so much fun. Indeed, while the story addresses something serious—the notion that winning trumps all—it uses fifteen song and dance numbers, all of them performed faultlessly, to touch on the importance of friendship, loyalty, group-cohesion, and the ways we undermine both others and ourselves.

In addition, the injection of Botox into the vocal chords of male tenors, making them like “big, husky soprano angels,” is subtlety derided. Likewise homophobia. When JB [Jarid Faubel], the groups’ most athletic and macho member, tells the others that he kissed a boy in summer camp, it opens the door to the homoeroticism that lurks in the group’s DNA. Later, it’s part of the impetus that allows Philip Fellows V [Kobi Libii] to come out. Philip’s father, Philip Fellows IV, was initially incensed, we’re told, but he’s gotten used to the idea and now fully supports his son. The Acafellas are similarly accepting.

It’s sweet.

Perfect Harmony is light fare, charming, witty, and entertaining. Collaboratively written by playwright Grosso and a group of actors who call themselves The Essentials, the 105-minute one-act was first mounted at the 2006 Fringe Festival and had an extensive New York City run in 2008. It’s now off Broadway, with a ten-member cast that rocks the house and is laugh-out-loud funny.

That said, Perfect Harmony probably won’t make you nostalgic for the trials and tribulations of high school, but it might just have you belting out a 1980s pop song as you boogie down 42nd Street after the final curtain.

Perfect Harmony is at the Acorn Theatre, 410 West 42nd Street, through November 13. Tickets cost $49.50 and are available through Telecharge, 212.239.6200.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, November 9th 2010

Sharanam

priyanka — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Sharon Gannon

White Swan Records

With the release of Sharanam Sharon Gannon adds another dimension to her body of work as a yogi, inspirational figure, and advocate of compassionate lifestyles. I have encountered Gannon’s philosophy and teachings in YouTube videos, web and magazine articles, on her website, and in a documentary on raw foods, and have always found myself appreciative of the contribution she makes towards a more peaceful and spiritually grounded world. This musical dimension, unfortunately, fell flat for this eager listener.

Being a frequent listener of sacred mantras set to modern beats, I fully expected to adore Sharanam. The cover artwork was done in sepia tones and portrays a tree-hugging Gannon looking very fairytale goth, with long black hair and ground-sweeping lacy white dress. My hopes for edgy renditions of mantras "Lokah Samastah," "Hare Krishna," and "Om Shantih" were further raised. Yet three of the eight tracks are different mixes of "Lokah Samastah," and even the upbeat version, for which I had the highest hopes, didn’t quite transcend the tranquilizing New Age tempo and high-pitched breathy vocal quality that has earned the genre a somewhat marginalized status among contemporary music.

The first rendition of "Lokah Samastah" begins with a compelling intro: spare, electronic, heartbeat-style percussion overlays Gannon’s voice heartfully calling out. I felt some tingles of excitement and anticipation here. Background vocals (belonging to David Life, Gannon’s partner and Jivamukti co-founder) are introduced along with keyboard-generated effects, which are referred to in the liner notes as "High Techo Sound"). The entire mantra "Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhav Antu" (which roughly translates to “may all beings be happy and free”) is repeated by both vocalists as an upbeat drum track is added in. The nearly seven-minute track totally loses me after the five-minute mark when the mix dissolves into a very slow duet. My interest is lost not for poor composition or performance, but slow, dreamy songs, especially with slow dreamy vocals, have never been my thing.

I wish I could say it got better for me from here. Track two, "Guruji," is a mix of keyboard, drum tracks, and the swirling sounds of a theremin. The more than fourteen-minute soprano rendition of "Hare Krishna" was also a deal-breaker for my ears. Never once was I inspired to dance, nor did I feel elevated to a higher spiritual plane, relaxed into a meditative state, or carried away in musical appreciation.

The healing and peaceful intention that Gannon evidently puts forth with Sharanam, and the meaning behind the lyrics used in each song, are powerful, beautiful, and positive. Mantras are said to open the heart and mind and to exert both healing and enlightening powers. Unfortunately for this seeker of peace, love, and awareness, the aesthetic of Sharanam turned me off so that the meaning behind the songs was lost.

Written by: Matsya Siosal, November 5th 2010

Salt

brittany — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

By The Locals

If The Locals were an item of clothing, they would be a neatly pressed pair of designer vintage “distressed” jeans—$200 pants with holes, bleach stains, and grease marks already worked in. The Locals have a crafted sound that has been tweaked and molded into a perfect pair of pre-worn pants. Steven Gillis, the producer of their album, has manufactured a sound that has every ounce of distortion honed into a meticulous arc; every howl from lead singer Yvonne Doll’s voice is finely tuned until it cracks in just the right way in all of the right places. Perhaps music this polished in production isn’t really my thing, but I have to give the band credit for putting a whole lot of time and trouble into a finished product. They are clearly very dedicated (despite being unsigned) with an arty CD cover design, professional website, and squeaky clean production values.

The Locals are a good band. They are passionate musicians who have spent a lot of time and energy making a product that has everything but a record label. But here’s where I have to criticize. They list three major influences in their band bio which are The Pixies, The Killers, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The Killers, perhaps. But the Pixies? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Really? If The Locals are a pair of distressed designer jeans, the Pixies are a sweat-stained t-shirt from a thrift store, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are a sparkly space-ballet jump suit. The Locals are way, way too polished for a Pixies reference, and way, way too run of the mill to be compared to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

I’m not saying their music is bad. I’m just saying The Locals sound like they have radio-friendly hits that are so clean, crisp, and focused on slick production values that they could be on Top 40 radio right now. Think Matthew Sweet (another one of their cited influences, from their MySpace page) and you would be barking up a much closer tree. I don’t mind Matthew Sweet—the guy did have some catchy pop-sugar hits back in the mid-nineties—but he sure wasn’t singing about slicing up eyeballs, and his videos never featured little kids chopping off each other’s limbs. Somehow, I can’t see that kind of dark weirdness coming from The Locals, either. They’re good, they’re tidy, and they’re tight as hell. But Black Francis in a stained thrift store tee, they certainly are not.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, September 19th 2010

Cho Dependent

mandy — Sat, 11 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

By Margaret Cho

Clownery Records

To call comedienne Margaret Cho’s latest endeavor, Cho Dependent, a comedy album seems like a disservice. Though songs like “Calling in Stoned” (featuring the ever-stoned Tommy Chong), “Your Dick,” and “Eat Shit and Die” do little for my argument, Cho Dependent is completely unlike her six previous comedy albums. This, my friends, is Cho’s foray into the music world, and a damn fine one at that.

I accidentally began following Cho’s career thanks to the short-lived television series All American Girl. I didn’t have cable television until I was twenty-three, so I would watch just about anything on the “regular” channels. From what I recall All American Girl wasn’t spectacular by any means, but I knew it was unprecedented for a television show’s focus to be on a Korean family. By the time high school rolled around, I spent weekends lying in bed with a friend watching VHS tapes of Cho’s standup. I ultimately fell in love with her wit, her hilarious take on sex and race, and her devotion to issues surrounding the LGBTQ community.

Cho’s wonderfully offbeat humor is present in nearly every song on Cho Dependent, and an impressive collection of musicians are along for the ride. The album is a mishmash of the alt-country and pop sensibilities of such talent as Ani DiFranco, Ben Lee, Brendan Benson, Jon Brion, and Grant Lee Phillips who providing the backbone for many of Cho’s songs. On opening track “Intervention,” featuring Tegan and Sarah, Cho admits to an obsession with the television series from which the song’s name is derived. Much like the show, “Intervention” features a nervous Tegan unsuccessfully reading a heartfelt letter to a drunken Cho who barfs on Tegan’s jack-o-lantern. The sisters then break into a chorus of “No more hugs ‘til you give up drugs. I know it sucks, but for once think about us.” I had no idea Cho has such a lovely, lilting voice, nor was I aware of her knack for songwriting.

Amid the dick jokes and songs about vaginas is the standout track “Hey Big Dog,” co-written by the amazing Patty Griffin. According to Cho, the song is about conversations she’d like to have with her (now deceased) dog Ralph, if only Ralph could speak. Cho imagines telling Ralph (played by Fiona Apple) there’s no reason to be afraid of the wind—as he was his entire life—and Ralph would respond that Cho should stop waiting for a certain man to call because he probably isn’t going to and the guy was no good anyway. As I write this I’ve become aware that this is a silly concept for a song, and I’m embarrassed to say the sincerity and soulfulness of the song made me cry: “Hey big mama, why you let that man come around? I don’t like the way he looks. I don’t like the way he sounds. I didn’t tell you, but he stepped on my tail. And he smells just like he’s fresh out of jail.”

A lot has changed for Cho since I spent lazy weekends watching those hazy VHS tapes. She’s become a gay icon, a burlesque star, a clothing designer, and an author. Most importantly, she’s comfortable in her own skin, a large part of which is now covered by tattoos, which is no small feat for a woman who once starved herself to the point of suffering from kidney failure and descended into a drug- and booze-fueled downward spiral. In other words, Cho has lived through a lot of rock star clichés, only now she has created an album to respond to the bad behavior.

If you were expecting a conventional comedy album, Cho Dependent will not deliver. But if you’re interested in seeing a slightly sweeter side to one of the ballsiest female comedians to ever grace the stage, this album will not disappoint.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, September 11th 2010

Dancing on the Moon

admin — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Lisa Bell

Lisa Bell delivers the goods on her third album, mixing blues, jazz, pop, and roots into a bright, sparkling mix. Her voice can be both polished and loose, and shimmering washes of percussion, chimes, and layered instrumentation provide a worthy backdrop to her lyrics.

“Change Is Free,” the story of an unemployed woman facing daunting economic prospects, is the disc’s standout track, with a funky vibe, heavy beat, and touches of organ. Rather than embracing despair, she opts for change. “I can wait for the shining knight to save the day / I can pray that an angel comes my way... but change is up to me.” An accordion gives “After All” a mellow, European feel. It’s a song of struggle and redemption, accepting responsibility for past mistakes but moving on. Bell’s vocal perfectly suits the languorous tone of the hip-swaying bossa nova beat on “Misty Roses,” another highlight.

Bell gets loose with “Stand Up,” a quirky, danceable tune with prominent drums, organ, and electric guitar creating blasts of sound, and there is a comic element to “How Long,” in which a woman deals with insomnia and delayed flights while waiting to be reunited with her lover. Bell’s voice is full of yearning on “The Last Time,” in which an old love is renounced, with piano adding depth to this ballad.

The varied material on the disc provides plenty of opportunities for Bell to show off her versatile voice, which conveys longing, acceptance, hopefulness, anticipation, and joy in turn. With superb guitar and percussion throughout, it’s clear she is interested in each song not just as a showcase for herself but as a means of communication between artist and listener. Mostly, you get the sense that Bell loves what she’s doing and wants to share the beauty and excitement of these songs with you. Dancing On The Moon is an enjoyable outing of both smooth and improvisational songs, with an upbeat feel, and the blend of styles makes it perfect for the musically adventurous.

Written by: Karen Duda, August 26th 2010

As It Turns Out

admin — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 10:12:00 +0000

By Mel Flannery Trucking Co.

Halogen Records

Melanie Flannery fronts a New York-based jazz ensemble called the Mel Flannery Trucking Co. Backed by bassist Matt Aronoff, drummer Danny Sher, and keyboardist and songwriting collaborator Lee Pardini, Flannery cultivated a sound that bridges pop, cabaret, jazz, and soul. Their latest offering, As It Turns Out, remains consistent with previous releases.

It also has little to recommend itself. While not unpleasant, the album did not capture my imagination. The arrangements are nice, if a bit too staid and preoccupied with conveying boho sophistication. Flannery and Pardini's lyrics tend to reflect on failed romance without tapping into new insights from such a well-documented subject in popular songwriting. Likewise, Flannery's alto is nice, but lacks singularity in tone or phrasing to set her apart from other jazz-inflected musicians who might grace Starbucks compilations.

Regrettably, I heard little variance between songs in As It Turns Out. I had difficulty telling the difference between "Something About You," "Lift Me Up, Tie Me Down," "We're Still Here," and "I Won't Say Goodbye." I do like Pardini and Sher's flourishes on "I Need You Here With Me," and "You Know What To Do." The latter also serves as one of the album's most appealing track, with Flannery cutting loose. I also appreciate the goofy lyrics in bonus track "You Are the Only One For Me." Flannery's biggest moment is "Gone," the album's proper closer, which boasts a lovely vocal performance brimming with emotion.

At times, the group's clean, slightly funky sound provides a jarring contrast with a song's content. This is most evident in "Running," a groovy slow jam about domestic violence. I appreciate Flannery and Pardini's efforts to represent a very real social problem from a survivor's perspective. This extends toward the album's liner notes, which provide information on the Human Rights Campaign and the National Domestic Violence Hotline. I don't think the song needs a foreboding sound to reflect the content. I just feel strange about the song having such a swing to it.

The group's talent is evident. I just wish I had more of a personal stake in the results.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, August 4th 2010

Aphrodite

admin — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Kylie Minogue

Parlophone

Who can hate Kylie? She’s an Aussie superstar in Europe, Britain’s most beloved celebrity, and a global gay icon. She survived several decades in the entertainment business, even flourished there, and perhaps most impressively, also beat breast cancer. After she finished chemo in 2006, she headed back to the studio. Her second album since then, and her eleventh studio album, Aphrodite is an ethereal blend of her pop sensibilities and down-tempo club jams.

Minogue’s strength has forever been in singles, and Aphrodite doesn’t contain anything as strong as classic hits like “I Could Be So Lucky” or “Can't Get You Out of My Head.” That said, it’s a fine album of danceable pop enthusiasm and is peppered with themes of personal liberation and freedom on the dance floor.

Opening track and first radio single “All The Lovers” is a bittersweet tribute to a current love. Breathy and infused with raw sexuality, she sings, “All the lovers/That have come before/They don’t compare/To you.” While not yet a single, I’d be surprised if the title track doesn’t get some airplay. One of the more catchy songs about how Minogue is “original, a golden girl,” it relies on her standard charming rhymes like “kiss me/miss me,” and I imagine more than a few anxious DJs will seek this one out for club remixes.

“Get Outta My Way” is both about personal empowerment and kicking no-good dudes to the curb. In typical tough gal Kylie fashion, she keeps repeating, “Now I showed you what I’m made of.

This album won’t change your life, but it could liven up a party, a long drive, or a jog around the lake. My slightly Eurotrashy self will definitely be keeping this in rotation this summer.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, August 1st 2010

Flesh Tone

admin — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Kelis

Interscope Records, Will.i.am Music Group

Kelis has always been brazen, unapologetically growling her way onto the music scene in 1999 with the single “Caught Out There,” a vicious tale of heartbreak and revenge. Since then, she's gone on to release four more albums, achieving her greatest success in 2003, with the now-infamous braggadocio of the song “Milkshake.” With her latest release, Flesh Tone, Kelis makes what could be her boldest—and also blandest—career move yet, reinventing herself as a dance diva.

Flesh Tone is Kelis' first album of new material in four years, since the 2006 release Kelis Was Here. It's also important to note that this is Kelis' first album since the birth of her first child (a son named Knight) and the dissolution of her marriage to Knight's dad, hip-hop legend Nas. It could seem logical, then, that the nine songs comprising Flesh Tone gel together to result in the kind of life-affirming album that a lot of female artists release after such major events; think Madonna's Ray of Light. But no matter what phase, Madonna has pretty much always been entrenched in the dance-pop genre. For Kelis, such a transformation seems a little jarring and, sadly, a lot opportunistic.

With The Neptunes at the helm, her first two albums (1999's Kaleidoscope and 2001's Wanderland) were bass-heavy, chock full of oddball blip-bloops, and, lyrically speaking, often inclined toward the extraterrestrial. Yet even after she completely parted ways with the successful producing duo to release Kelis Was Here, there were still hints of wailing ferocious rock in her hip-hop mix. With Flesh Tone, Kelis makes a bold step, trying to stay relevant by shifting from the sound of her earlier career into more radio-friendly dance pop. In doing so, ironically, she sounds like another dime-a-dozen throwaway commercial diva.

The album is a success in that Kelis' usage of spacey imagery, with which she's been toying for years, has coalesced into an album-length idea, instead of sporadic song themes popping up in between other different tracks. Flesh Tone is much more unified than her previous releases. She is growing and all of her parts are coming together into a more cohesive whole. “22nd Century” serves as a good example.

I consider the second half of the album to be much better than the first. The lyrics are personal, more intimate than the hollow dance music that clogs up the first half. “Brave” and “Song For The Baby” most closely addresses Kelis' personal issues. Another excellent track is “Acapella.” As one of the strongest tracks on the album, it was a solid single choice, conveying an endearing sentimentality with the chorus: “Before you, my whole life was a cappella/now our symphony's the only song to sing.” Its amazing beat also makes it a great track for cutting loose at a nightclub.

At the end of the day, I simply cannot make up my mind on Flesh Tone. The girl who just wants to get crazy-sweaty on the dance floor can't get enough of it. The girl who has loyalties to the Kelis she's known and loved for so long has a hard time reconciling this new manifestation of one of her beloved pop stars, because I question the motives and worry that it's all one big sellout move.

Maybe it's cynicism talking. Or maybe, to paraphrase comedian Maria Bamford, I'm just paralyzed with the hope that Kelis was above all this nonsense. Then again, maybe Kelis was just as bored with her signature sound as many of us were enamored of it—which is why we got Flesh Tone.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, July 28th 2010

Die Young

admin — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Blair

Autumn Tone Records

Blair Gimma bounces about between art pop and insightful complexity with her first full-length venture, Die Young, juxtaposing the indelible angst of indie folk rock (with help from her daydreamy vocals) with stark lyrical imagery. Die Young was produced by Keith Ferguson, and uses all New Orleans-based musicians as a sort of tribute to where Blair spent her adolescence. Although the deep-rooted sounds of this genre are not entirely reflected in Die Young, the personal nature of the record touches on its sentimentality, as if most of the songs were acoustically derived from adversity and recorded in the solitude of Blair's bathroom.

“Rampage” sets the partial tone for the record, filling the landscape with echoed reverb and a little Pavement-inspired noise rock delight. Listening to electric keyboard synths in the opening verse of “Hearts,” one can almost picture the rolling credits of a favorite 80s soundtrack in all of its soft new wave splendor. “Hello Halo” features Blair's sprightly vocals, cushioned with classic indie distortion and a pulsing, syncopated beat that’s as pleasing as it is fitting, all while Blair recites, “Got a radio in my head…and it tells me what to say"; not to mention Blair’s amusing ode to girly glory, as she continues by deadpanning, “Kittens, rainbows!” “Paris, France” is moody and ethereal, blending electro-pop and the warm glow of ambient-pop, lush and hypnotic. “Candy in the Kitchen” works with heavy beats and moves in the same direction, albeit with a bit of a departure from the rest of the record. Gleefully, Blair sings, “I was dancing to Whitney Houston,” as you adjust your ears earnestly just to hear what she’ll say next.

Die Young is an extension of light summery pop melodies with harsh complex concepts that cut through its airy pop conventionality. Blair’s mix of vulnerability and savvy musical chops work in tandem, even though some of the songs could be on different records. Her personal pilgrimage, lasting over a span of five years, is still in its beginning stages, a cunning premonition to her eventual creative evolution in the years to come.

Written by: Cat Veit, July 14th 2010

Manners

admin — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Passion Pit

Colombia Records

To get the most out of Passion Pit’s debut album, you will need: a healthy appetite for sugary keyboard riffs, plenty of enthusiasm for falsetto vocals, and a large space in which to dance around like crazy. Having gathered these things, you can dive straight into Manners and experience all the colours promised by the album’s cover art. This is music that isn’t afraid of a bit of fluoro.

But once you’ve danced around the room a few times and flopped down on the couch, you might start to notice that there’s darkness in Passion Pit’s world as well. In between those insistent beats and sparkling keyboards, composer Michael Angelokos is asking questions like, "Is this the way my life has got to be?" and "Why do I always need to need you when you’re fleeting?," or simply requesting that we leave him alone.

Angelokos launched Passion Pit three years ago as "a humble one-man multi-track laptop project" from his college dorm room. Since then, he has managed to create Manners and gather a band to perform the album live. Passion Pit even had a hit on the Billboard Heatseekers chart with "Sleepyhead," which made it to number nine.

Passion Pit’s website describes Manners as "baroque and intricate in its construction," which sums up both its appeal and its main stumbling block. There’s enough going on here to sustain multiple listens, but perhaps too much for us to ever really get a grip on the emotion behind the material. Angelokos is in there somewhere, but more often than not, he’s obscured by the blinding brightness of his music.

If the emotion on Manners is hard to make out, its take on gender is all but buried. While Angelokos is generally singing to or about a "you," the identity of this person—like much of the album’s lyrical content—remains a complete mystery.

It’s only as the album winds down that we finally get a glimpse of the Angelokos behind the beats and sparkles. The acoustic versions of "Sleepyhead" and "Moth’s Wings" reveal a thoughtful, reflective man with a sweet, soaring voice, while the final track, a cover of The Cranberries’ "Dreams," suggests either a love of early nineties pop or a wicked sense of humour. All this points to one conclusion: we need to hear more from Passion Pit.

Written by: Alice Allan, July 9th 2010

Laws Of Illusion

admin — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Sarah McLachlan

Arista

July 22, 1997 in Mansfield, Massachusetts (at what was then known as Great Woods), I had the pleasure of seeing an amazing group of women perform. Over the whir of blenders and drenched in Frappuccino, I got to hear bits and pieces of the likes of Tracy Chapman, Suzanne Vega, and Sarah McLachlan. But, of course, I was already a fan. I was lucky enough to have been at that first Lilith Fair tour and now, thirteen years later, I hope to be going again. Only this time I won't be wearing a green Starbucks apron.

It's been a while since Sarah McLachlan has released an album and Laws Of Illusion is worth the seven-year wait. Even Mr. Z (who makes fun of me for listening to what he deems "women's music") is a fan and we've been arguing about who gets to take the CD in the car to listen to. This is one of those albums that never makes you hit the "Skip" button on your CD player. Each and every track is wonderful. However, I particularly love "Loving You Is Easy," and can see that it's destined to be one of those classic Sarah McLachlan tunes that will stand the test of time.

If you're a longtime Sarah McLachlan fan, you probably ran out already and bought Laws Of Illusion. If you're new to her hauntingly beautiful voice, what are you waiting for?

Cross-posted at The Review Broads

Written by: Zippy, July 3rd 2010

Maniac Meat

admin — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Tobacco

Anticon

Sometimes I can send off a record review in ten minutes. Excited by the tunes in my headphones or emanating from my computer’s tinny speakers, my fingers fly across the keys with artistic inspiration. Other times, it takes time and a few repeat spins of the disc to let the music settle into my brain. Tobacco’s Maniac Meat is one such record.

You could ask, what’s happening here? A better question is, what isn’t? So many sounds merge on this album that it can be difficult to discern how these arrangements were conceived, let alone constructed. Tobacco, who is also the frontman of Pittsburgh’s experimental psychedelic outfit Black Moth Super Rainbow, is known as much for his borderline hip-hop beats as he is for his solo analog-based electronic collages. Rolling Stone called his first album “stoner-rock.” Since I don’t indulge, you’ll have to find out about this one yourself.

The entirety of Maniac Meat sounds like a cross between an underwater concert, some synthed-out Dosh, and a few Daft Punk samples. “Creepy Phone Calls” is a dance hit of epic proportion. Less distortion and more danceable synth, the track is lyric-less but soulful. “New Juices From the Hot Tub Freaks” brings some serious rock to the mix with heavy guitars—or at least, a vocoder sample that sounds exactly like them.

The album’s two tracks featuring guest instrumentation or vocals, “Fresh Hex” and “Grape Aerosmith” sound like Beck songs for a reason. Mr. Hansen, auteur of noise, makes a guest appearance, though according to Tobacco, the two never met during their collaboration. The wonders of lo-fi genius at work in our modern world.

BMSR may be SXSW darlings, but Tobacco also gets away with doing few interviews. I like privacy in the age of oversharing. I like artistic merit in a time of paparazzi-based acclaim. And I like anyone who uses a tape machine when a Mac with some audio software will do. Because for some of us, it won’t.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, June 18th 2010