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2008-02-05

by Don Simpson

Capsule Reviews: Basia, Drug Rug, VW, Jeffrey Lewis and more…

Summary

The old growth and heartache of darling crass vampires on drugs, oh my!

Article

Basia Bulat – Oh, My Darling

Oh, My Darling is a startling web of stars, evolving into its own very galaxy, as it seamlessly intertwines the ethereal bodies of Emily Dickinson, Jeff Magnum and Joni Mitchell into one: Basia Bulat (not to be confused another Basia – the Polish jazz-pop star: Basia Trzetrzelewska). She follows in the lushly orchestrated, classically tinged footsteps of Joanna Newsom; but Bulat’s differentiating voice, as full bodied as a tall glass of well aged neat scotch, makes Oh, My Darling unequivocally intoxicating and invigorating. Accented with a generous dash of old fashioned ragtime and waltz, the songs drunkenly ramble around past influences echoing from a transistor radio in the cobwebbed infested corner of the room playing that much-beloved old time AM station from days long gone. Bulat sums up Oh, My Darling best at the end of “Snakes and Ladders”: ‘What a perfect accident / Oh, we danced around them all / Like we didn't even notice / I love the way we come undone./’

Since the age of three, the Canadian born and bred Bulat has been benched in front of pianos (thanks to her piano-teaching mother) from whence she initiated her forays with guitar, autoharp, banjo, ukulele, sax, flute and upright bass. Putting the “wo” into the concept of a one-woman band, Bulat’s broad musical talent is only usurped by her knack for playfulness and the instrumentally surreal. This forever shimmering debut album was engineered and produced by Howard Bilerman (Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Arcade Fire, British Sea Power) at Arcade Fire's church-cum-studio.

Dead Meadow – Old Growth

Armed with Led Zepplin by way of Black Sabbath thick as molasses grooves that move as slowly as the neural networks of a pot-smoke clouded brain, Dead Meadow’s propensity is for that certain lacksadasical state-of-being following one-too-many hits from the bong; yet, the unadulterated complexities of Old Growth resin-ates far beyond that of mere stoner rock. As musically profound as Pink Floyd (circa 1968 – 1975) and Black Sabbath (circa 1968 – 1973) and riffed as if simultaneously channeling Jimi Hendrix and Jimmy Page; Old Growth finds Dead Meadow meandering out of the drug-enduced coma of the past and into the lush fields of modernity with eyes wide open. For instance, as they “Keep On Walking” Dead Meadow begin to shake the stale stench of the early 70s, sounding more like a menacing alter-ego of Spritualized or Luna. One might even say, this Old Growth equals good growth and this Dead Meadow never stops growing (unlike nails, which contrary to popular belief, do not continue to grow after death) – this is more like a Bardo Thodol meadow than a dead one.

Drug Rug – S/T

Remember that late night campfire tale about the pair of 8-year-old campers who escaped from the confines of the Walden Summer Camp with a heaping bag of Dave “the cool camp counselor’s” secret summer stash and some instruments from the camp music room? Well, Tommy Allen and Sarah Cronin, the dynamic duo of Drug Rug, are not 8-years-old; but their unadulterated eponymous debut sure sounds like they are sitting beside a late night campfire experiencing drugs for the very first time and making sweet, sweet music together. Oh, happy music!

Following in the footsteps of John Lennon and Yoko Ono…or maybe Paul and Linda McCartney…or maybe Juno MacGuff and Paulie Bleeker…or maybe Drug Rug is just doing their own damn thing! Is there anything wrong with that?! I thought not. So what if Allen and Cronin are snogging? It really has very little bearing on their music. Nonetheless, here is Drug Rug… It’s a spontaneous affair, with songs that sometimes start off unassuming but unsuspectingly swerve into fits of convulsions mid-stream; other times the songs remain either consistently unassuming or consistently convulsing. Sometimes primordial, other times naïve, and all the time catchy and fun; it is their certain lack of structure or form that truly makes Drug Rug something special.

Jeffrey Lewis – 12 Crass Songs

Originating in 1977, Crass was part of the very first anarchy-inflicting wave of punk rock in the U.K. With Gang of Four and The Clash included in that bunch, it speaks volumes when music journalists rate Crass as the most politically radical and furthest left. Crass actively promoted anarcho-pacifism, anti-consumerism, anti-globalization, animal rights, feminism, anti-racism, environmentalism, the separation of church and state, among many other political issues; additionally, they abided by a DIY doctrine, before DIY was even invented.

Yet, who ever actually listened to, let alone understood Crass’ lyrics? Jeffrey Lewis – that’s who; and on his latest LP, Lewis decided to rework 12 songs from Crass’ oeuvre into tuneful folk music. What seemed like an impossible undertaking, primed for failure, became an amazingly moving and relevant piece of music; in fact, 12 Crass Songs could not be any more relevant than it is today. More so than any political recording since Phil Ochs and Woody Guthrie, 12 Crass Songs speaks plainly, truthfully and holds no proverbial punches. The lyrics comment upon the state of the world today, like none other. It seems as if Crass knew that Lewis would be recycling their songs 25 to 30 years after they were originally penned; as if they purposely shrouded their lyrics with untranslatable yells barely audible above the thick curtain of noise, so that they would be deciphered by a 30-something Lower East Side folk singer in a future when the lyrics would be countless times more meaningful. Thank you, Jeffrey Lewis for revitalizing these 12 Crass Songs.

Murder Mystery – Are You Ready for the Heartache Cause Here It Comes

With an album title that literally begs to be compared (in both length and attitude) to Yo La Tengo’s I Am Not Afraid Of You and I Will Beat Your Ass, Murder Mystery’s debut is as geek-y as it is poppy. With that certain je ne sais quio (let’s just call it their “geek/pop factor”) comparisons to They Might Be Giants and Weezer are not totally unfounded – I might even throw them a Jonathan Richman bone if they beg long enough.

Jeremy Coleman’s deadpan vocal delivery works in playful juxtaposition to the catchy-as-all-hell melodies and 60s-esque backing vocals. Just grab a coffee or a cup of tea (something with caffeine please) and feel free to bop your head as you helplessly hum along (honestly, there’s no avoiding it). I imagine that Murder Mystery, as a collective group, were the wallflowers at their high school prom but they somehow found their way up on stage – whether or not they got beaten up by the school jocks is an entirely different story...we’ll save that discussion for their sophomore effort.

Vampire Weekend – S/T

“Mansard Roof” kicks things off with such insatiable ease that it is impossible to conceive that this is the first full length by Vampire Weekend. Followed by “Oxford Comma” this one-two punch personifies the significance of this debut (which may just rival Talking Heads: 77 as far as debuts are concerned). On track 3 (“A-Punk”) we are first exposed to Vampire Weekend’s tendency towards afro-pop and reggae a la Peter Gabriel and The Police – if Graceland and Synchronicity were not in the collective consciousness of the youth of today, they will be now. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” (track 4), is pure Peter Gabriel – so much so that they find it impossible not to name-check him. The rollicking, string-infused “M79” (track 5) and the ultra-poppy “Campus” (track 6) are so inseparable from prep-school panache, they are both guaranteed to appear prominently on the soundtrack to the yet-to-be-conceived Rushmore II.

Six great tracks, all one right after the other (not that the remaining five tracks are not worthy of attention, but I have got to stop somewhere!). This is an opportune point to stop and ask: is Vampire Weekend creating something new? Not exactly, but they are recycling (recycling is good for the earth!) sounds from the past that have rarely (in some cases, never) made their way into indie-rock. Few bands have the bravado to touch Peter Gabriel or The Police, to do so would usually be a death-wish (sentencing said band to play frat parties and weddings in purgatory forever). Somehow Vampire Weekend pulls it off – not satirically or ironically – but honestly and truthfully.