RECOMMENDATION: Jack White’s “Blunderbuss”
blun•der•buss: noun: (1) a short musket of wide bore with expanded muzzle to scattershot, bullets, or slugs at close range (2) an insensitive, blundering person.
I’ve been struggling with this review since the record came out for a couple of reasons: first, the record is brilliant beyond comprehension, and as much as I was aware of that, I was still a little shocked at the bluesy rock goodness that tumbled out of the speakers. And the second reason, and one that I think sent me into a little bit of an existential tailspin, is that this is a review I absolutely do not need to write. Jack White absolutely does not need my help to promote the record. There’s a general consensus between critics, fans, and other musicians that Blunderbuss is a phenomenal record, everything you’d want from a Jack White composition (and maybe more). So I had to really examine why I write this blog, and after I came up with an answer, I realized I had to write about Blunderbuss– maybe more than I needed to write about anything else.
There are so many music blogs out there, it’s easy to get caught up in someone else’s purpose. And I love to write about up-and-coming bands. There are so many bands that you haven’t– and really, that I haven’t– heard of yet. And that’s exciting. I like to talk to musicians who are still excited because everything’s an unknown. But this blog has always been a place for me to talk about whatever I like– whatever I’m listening to– new or old, hugely popular or unheard of. So. No further adieu– here’s Blunderbuss. And not to spoil it for you, but this is one of the best records I’ve heard in years.
Since I first heard “Love Interruption” back in January, I knew that this was going to be a record I loved. White’s stark, incisive vocals paired with the raspy warble of Ruby Amanfu’s vocals is so raw it’s almost painful: though listening to a Jack White composition often feels a little bit like shedding skin, there is almost no way to avoid that kind of painful change while listening to this song.
I want love to
Murder my own mother
Take her off to somewhere
Like Hell or up above
I want love to
Change my friends to enemies
Change my friends to enemies
And show me how it’s all my fault
I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt, or interrupt me
I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt, or interrupt me
What a mantra for a chorus. What a thing to repeat! “Love Interruption” takes everything you know about a love song and turns it on its head; it shows the violent, fearful power that love’s got. Between White and Amanfu, it’s pretty striking, and definitely an attention getter. Then “Sixteen Saltines” came out, and has practically my favorite lyrics of this year–
She doesn’t know but when she’s gone, I sit and drink her perfume
I know she’s drinkin’ two but why, and where, and what for, and who?
And if the dichotomy of the sweet sounds and razor-blade lyrics of “Love Interruption” isn’t attractive, “Sixteen Saltines” is all massively heavy hitting and weird– down to the video. Between the insane frequency with which he’s singing and the articulation that Jack White lyrics require, the song feels like taking a shower with a fire hydrant. It’s refreshing… after the end. My husband and I drove around Nashville a few weekends ago with the record cranked up loud, and as good as the lyrics are, as mindblowing as the guitar is, we agreed the best part of the song– by far– is the high-pitched shout White gives at the end of the musical intro. It’s primal.
That’s the word that keeps popping up for me: primal. Every song on this record talks about humanity in a way that gets underneath all the things that keep us alive and speaks just to the core– in fact, I think that’s why so many people who like different kinds of music like Jack White. There’s something about his music that cuts through the crap. You can instantly identify his guitar work; it’s not that it’s nothing you’ve ever heard before, at least not if you’re a fan of the White Stripes, or the Raconteurs, or even The Dead Weather. And this record, as White himself has said, isn’t anything he could have released with the other bands.
“…I couldn’t have released [Blunderbuss] until now. I’ve put off making records under my own name for a long time but these songs feel like they could only be presented under my name. These songs were written from scratch, had nothing to do with anyone or anything else but my own expression, my own colors on my own canvas.” — Jack White, printed in Rolling Stone, April 2012
There’s not a bad song on Blunderbuss: there’s not even a forgettable song. Once, a long time ago, (sorry Mom!) I rode on the back of a friend’s motorcycle. And even though we were only going about 30 mph, the trip changed my breathing– to have air forced into your face makes it both easier to breathe and feel like you’re fighting it. And there’s that element of this record. Andy said he was hooked from the first track, “Missing Pieces,” which ends with White singing pretty matter-of-factly:
Sometimes someone controls everything about you
And when they tell you that they just can’t live without you
They ain’t lyin’, they’ll take pieces of you
And they’ll stand above you and walk away
That’s right, and take a part of you with them
The last line– “and take a part of you with them”– is sung almost like an afterthought, but of course, it’s the most important, most perfect way to tie the song together. That’s perhaps the least consistent part of any Jack White record: he says insignificant things brashly and he speeds through important things. I think that’s part of what I love about this record though: there’s not a single line that I was happier not knowing. I am a more complete person knowing these songs. Some of them help me process things I’ve felt before. The ones that don’t? I’ll probably need in the future.
For the record: my favorite song is “Blunderbuss” itself. One of the most outstanding features of the entire record, but this song especially, is the use of piano. This song stands out especially. The pedal steel is insane, and more than even the lyrics, White’s harmonizing, “Da da, da da” with the music is one of the most beautiful moments on the record. Sometimes it’s easy to forget (partially because of his tendency towards rockin’ awesomeness) how beautiful the music he makes really is. He probably puts a song together better than anyone out there right now. His voice is gorgeous (and, even those who don’t agree with that assessment, can we come together on “moving and powerful”? I thought so). The guitar work is both tasteful and impressive– which is kind of a difficult line to walk. And the lyrics in this song feel so natural, it’s a wonder to believe he hadn’t ever written this song before.
A corner exit not tall enough
To walk out standing straight
Designed by men so ladies
Would have to lean back in their gait
You grabbed my arm and left with me
But you were not allowed to
You took me to a public place
To quietly blend into
Such a trick pretending not to be
Doing what you want to
But seems like everybody does this
Every single moment
I laid you down and touched you
like the two of us both needed
Safe to say that others would not
Approve of this and pleaded
“So selfish them” would be their cry
And who’d be brave to argue
Doing what two people need
Is never on the menu
And I guess what draws me to Jack White is the same thing that draws me to a good poet: he uses rhythm, meter, and rhyme to actually, literally change the way your body feels. He winds me up and calms me down. A Jack White record– and Blunderbuss in particular– is like a drug. And it’s drug-like because he’s absolutely the ringleader of a circus: he is manipulating you from the word “go” by being a better writer and guitarist than should be humanly possible. I can’t stop listening to Blunderbuss and am so, so grateful White decided to go ahead and release these songs.
Bought my copy at Third Man, because all fans should go to Mecca eventually
See? You didn’t learn anything new here. You just learned, big surprise, that I like Blunderbuss. But if you’re here, I assume either (a) you ALSO like Blunderbuss, which makes us friends. You should comment about which song is your favorite and we can talk about it there, or (b) you don’t know about this record yet and you’re looking for balanced reviews. (If that’s the case, I’m sorry, there’s nothing balanced about my feelings for Jack White. Of course, I don’t think you should have balanced feelings for him, either…) But for what it’s worth: it makes me happy to talk about Jack White. So I’m going to keep talking about music that makes me happy.
CHECK OUT JACK WHITE III (AND THIRD MAN) ONLINE…
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SHAKE, RATTLE, & DESPAIR: Father John Misty’s “Fear Fun”
If you’re coming into this Father John Misty review cold, without having heard any of his music, this review may seem sort of scattered because, to even begin discussing Fear Fun, I have to compartmentalize in a way I normally can’t with music. And really, I probably ought to put a caveat here: I reserve the right to revisit this record at a later date with a more nuanced (or less nuanced?) understanding. But as of now: Fear Fun does a lot of things that other records can’t. Fear Fun is like a beautiful dream that’s punctured with moments of unbelievable, apocalyptic violence. I’m not exactly sure what– or if– this means anything on a small scale: on occasion, it’s shocking, and on occasion it transcends to be something lovely and poignant. But on a grand scale, Fear Fun is one of the most addictive, lush records I’ve bought in a long time– and at this point, I’m convinced Misty could be singing absolute gibberish against the music and I’d still listen.
The album artwork is impressive to say the least– one of the prettiest records I’ve ever seen. Plus, tucked in with the liner notes, in tiny, tiny print, is a novel. I’m not kidding.
Father John Misty– Josh Tillman, drummer for Fleet Foxes– is sort of a mysterious character. I’ve read interviews and bios from around the web, and I can’t really tell if these songs are very, very sincere or if they are a mirror of sorts, reflecting the independent music scene (or the political climate; or regular ol’ hypocrites; or, or, or…). I have seen one interview he did which talked at length about mushroom consumption. I feel like that would explain a lot. But again– I’m not sure what to take seriously and what to view through an ironic lens. If you want the same background I have (and again, I’m not sure it helps), you can read his page at SubPop Records.
With songs like the album opener “Fun Times in Babylon,” it’s easy to get a lighthearted first impression, and I won’t dissuade you from that, though it’s hard to know exactly what to expect. Is he being serious? Tongue-in-cheek? I’ve listened countless times this week and I’m no closer to the truth of that. The song itselfs warms up with the delicate piano plinks and female back-up “oohs” that usually signify much older (and often more reverent) music. Misty sounds vaguely of Roy Orbison here (a phrase that, as I wrote it, I realize I never, ever get to use: I’m really excited to have something that reminds me of that era)– he plays on the warmth of that atmosphere before throwing out lyrics like:
Fun times in Babylon
Momma they’ve just begun
Before they put me to work in a government camp
Before they do my face up like a corpse and say, “Get up and dance,”
Before the beast comes looking for last year’s rent
I would like to abuse my lungs
Smoke everything inside with every girl I’ve ever loved
Ride around my wreckage on a horse knee-deep in blood
Look out, Hollywood, here I come
Download “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings” here
So I guess here’s where I start compartmentalizing. This is the kind of lilting, powerful melody that lives in your head for days on end. The music is like a setting; it feels like every time I turn this record on, I go to the same place, even though it’s not somewhere I recognize. And that’s a pretty cool trick: often songs can give us character or setting via lyrical contribution, but rarely is that all conveyed just with the music. I think my favorite thing about Fear Fun is that ability. The lyrics don’t always contribute to the same setting– or feeling– as the music, though. Sometimes that comes together in a kind of beautiful contradiction, and sometimes it seems a bit like slamming a square peg into a round hole. Are lyrics like– well, anything in “Hollywood Cemetery Forever Sings”– intentionally off-putting? (The song is, though imagistic and not explicit, about sex in a graveyard.)
Something that immediately drew me to Fear Fun were the song titles: they are absolutely brilliant, and fit together almost like a book of vignettes. One of the titles I loved right off the bat was “Only Son of the Ladiesman,” and it doesn’t disappoint. It feels almost-Golden-era-of-Country rock. And this song has some of my favorite lyrics, too: particularly,
When I sang “Moon River” in that silent film
Did I really make a sound when they called ‘action’?
And the music itself. God. What can you say about music like this? It’s weird because the music thrusts you into nostalgia while the lyrics are so painfully modern. It works so well here. I love the warmth and brightness of the songs.
My favorite song, without a doubt, is the final track, “Everyman Needs a Companion.” This song is a perfect example of Misty’s voice lifting the song up; the lyrics being in perfect harmony with the melody; the backup singers creating the right atmosphere. The rhythm is both driving and comforting; the guitar work is gorgeous. But this is also where Misty’s writing shines the best:
John the Baptist took Jesus Christ
Down to the river on a Friday night
They talked about Mary like a couple of boys
With nothing to lose
Too scared to try
Every man needs a companion
Someone to turn his thoughts to
I know I do
Every man needs a companion
Someone to console him
Like I need you
So I’ve stopped trying to figure out what Misty is “trying” to do. Here’s what he accomplishes for me: the lyrics are always evocative. There isn’t a word on this disk that isn’t carefully planned out and put there for a reason. I have a lot of respect for his kind of writing. And while it’s narrative, it’s not any kind of ‘narrative’ that is intuitive to me; it’s at once meandering like stream-of-consciousness and razor sharp. But what’s really got me listening to this record over and over is the music. It’s gorgeous. The music may be the most charming, perfectly composed music I’ve heard in a long time. From the straight-up country of “Tee Pees 1-12″ to the dark, brooding pop of “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings,” there isn’t a composition on this record that I’m not drawn to– even when the lyrics sometimes arrest me in a way I’m not used to or prepared for.
TRUE BELIEVERS: The Counting Crows at the Ryman (5/5) by Andy Mullins
Seeing the Counting Crows is always a moving, powerful experience, but something about hearing all my favorites songs pressed up against the pews at the Ryman Auditorium felt apt. There were moments of incredible synchronicity– listening to them play “Return of the Grievous Angel” and then slam right into “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” was particularly eerie, given the environment. And after the show, we went back to the hotel and crashed– and then I woke up ready to talk about the show. And really, I haven’t stopped. After hearing Andy describe the show, though, I realized it had meant the same thing to both of us, which is strange: to share something that personal and know that it’s being interpreted the same way by the person holding your hand is a pretty striking experience. So I am happy to say my husband, Andy Mullins, wrote this review: no further adieu, here’s what you missed if you weren’t in Nashville on Saturday. — KD
—————————————————————
Here’s the thing about seeing Counting Crows live- the excitement you feel when those musicians saunter across the stage at showtime is overwhelming. For weeks I’d been living with the growing excitement of knowing I was going to have a chance to meet some of my musical heroes in person at one of the most storied music venues in the country. Those are the perks of being the husband of a music blogger. Friday night as we settled into our hotel room in Nashville, Katie and I were both pretty stoked. It all seemed to unreal. And then we were there- at the Ryman, standing in that empty temple of music watching the Counting Crows soundcheck and I was trying to imagine what I might say when I shook David Immergluck’s hand and I had nothing. I felt like a kid on the night before Christmas.
And then the lights went down and “Lean On Me” started blaring through the loudspeakers. Out walked Charlie, then Jim, Millard, Adam and Dave, Immy and Dan. They walked out on stage like they have thousands of night before, grabbed instruments and started tuning up. The lights went out and Adam fumbled with a water bottle as the instruments started to tune up. Out of the noise David Bryson started playing a little motif that morphed into those opening ringing notes of Round Here and the room simply fell apart. And for me, all that excitement that had been building up in anticipation of actually meeting the Counting Crows disappeared. It was replaced by a more immediate and satisfying excitement. I was about to watch them make music. How lucky am I?
(Editor’s Note: This is footage from the 5/5 show at the Ryman. It is, to this date, the best version I’ve ever seen of “Round Here”– KD)
Katie and I laid in bed the night before and debated. What do you open a show with in Nashville? Shame on us both. Neither came up with “Round Here” and sad to say, it wasn’t until the second verse that it hit us both. ”Maria came from Nashville…” Of course. Again, the crowd went crazy but now whole room was drawn in. Have you experienced a Counting Crows show? The audience is composed of all age ranges. Hipsters. Seniors. College kids. People dressed to the nines. Folks in jeans and t-shirts. They are all, as far as I can tell, true believers. At some point in the last twenty years, the band has composed a piece of music that told their story and they’ve never forgotten it. It shows on their faces through the whole show. The carefree breezy memories of “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby” evoking smiles and closed-eyes, rapturous singing. The heartbreak they have tied to “Black and Blue” bubbling to the surface, long buried but right there as the band launches into the first verse. They listen and they celebrate and they mourn and they go wherever the band takes them because they trust them.
And it’s good that they trust them because it becomes apparent that the band are working mysterious magic. Adam is a shaman and his band mates are beside him in the temple conjuring the deepest and truest experiences they know so that everyone in the room is riding the same wave, entering the same story and finally understanding the universe together.
They change songs. Classic songs. If you haven’t been to a Counting Crows show, you might not know that, but it’s a thing they do and it’s sort of wonderful. ”Round Here” was the opening track to their ubiquitous debut and those opening notes and plaintive lyrics are ingrained in fans. The Crows know this but they also know that was over twenty years ago and the things they know now they didn’t know then and the heartbreak they lived to learn what they know now would be wasted if they didn’t share what they know. ”Round Here” started out as a song about a guy who knows how to leave. He walks out the front door and never looks back and nothing that anybody tells him about how life should be lived is going to make a difference. But leaving has a price and the more you leave, the more you leave parts of yourself behind. That’s what the song is about. Check out what Adam said introducing “Round Here” at VH1 Storytellers if you don’t believe me.
And the song is true. It was then and it is now. But somewhere along the way Adam understood something he didn’t know when he wrote the song and it comes out when you hear it live. After the bridge the band breaks the song down into a slow groove led by Charlie’s piano and some beautiful ambient guitar work while Adam starts an incantation.
“Except it’s only in my head,
And I know it’s only in my head,
You close your eyes and try to sleep,
Come soon and you wait and you wait for the breathing
In and out and out and in and the dreaming won’t come.”
Adam directs the band behind him with one hand as he riffs on these words and these ideas and the mantra repeats over and over.
“the in and out and out and in and in and out and the breathing and the sleep doesn’t come…”
Then the fantasy exposes itself.
“You remember all your yesterdays. Tomorrows seem so far away. So climb out your window, don’t tell your mother, climb out your window and I’ll see you tomorrow.
Come outside she says, come away with me. Come outside. Don’t tell your mother. I won’t tell my father.
And you wait for a sound like a click at the window, like a rock on your window…
Can’t you see me?”
The music is slowly building, the fantasy colliding with the sleepless dream, the ideal we all leave looking for colliding with the harsh reality of the sleepless, dreamless nights that we live with as a result. The fantasy knocks louder and louder begging for attention, grasping against the will for our very lives.
“It’s the in and and the out and the out and the in and the in and the out and the breathing, but the sleep never comes.
Come outside with me. Don’t tell your mother.
Can’t you see me?
NO!
And with that “no” the music breaks like a wave and we’re swept all the way into the final verse. We breathlessly leave behind the trance and the dream, relieved to be out and suddenly with a firm understanding of why it’s so easy to get trapped there in the first place. But we don’t have to be. There’s more than the dream.
There’s a girl on a car in a parking lot sayin’ man you should try to take a shot…”
……………
Katie and I talked about that moment later that night, both realizing that we were actually holding our breath until that “No!” came and the music kicked back in. We were both entranced. I’ve thought about it a lot since and I’m still not sure where Adam took us, deep on a journey through his own psyche or maybe just deeper into the universal experience of longing and wanting and losing and wanting more. Transported. That’s a word we don’t use to describe an artistic experience enough anymore, but it fits here.
The journey didn’t stop there. For over two hours the band took us back over familiar territory and introduced us to new material but we never left seemed to leave the temple. We were sharing and learning and celebrating and grieving all of us together and the band conducted the ceremony with their usual skill. I imagine when you’ve been playing together as long as the Crows have, it becomes like a “band of brothers” sort of thing. They have that kind of vibe on stage like they’re all pulling each other along, lifting each other up, reminding each other all the time that they have the best jobs in the world.
You never leave a Counting Crows show feeling like you’ve been cheated. The band pours itself all over the stage and if you open yourself up enough to become part of the experience, you’re rewarded by walking out feeling a little more human and a little more connected with the world around you. Katie and I were having lunch at a little hot dog joint downtown before the show and we picked up one of Nashville’s local scene newspapers. There was an article in it about the Crows and their upcoming show at the Ryman and it was, well, disappointing. The author reluctantly admitted to having been a fan of the Counting Crows when they were younger and far more naive and talked about how nice it can be to go back and visit those heart-on-your-sleeve days even though nobody really lives there anymore. The whole thing was dripping with the kind of condescension and cynicism that makes me sad all over for music specifically and people in general. To have to apologize for a time when you can feel a genuine emotion? That’s unfortunate.
Luckily, that’s not the case with the Counting Crows. They’re still wearing their hearts on their sleeves and while they still explore sad with the best of them, they manage to swerve before wrecking into being jaded and cynical. I’m happy about that. I don’t know what it’s cost them to write those songs and make that music and how they’ve navigated fame these last two decades without losing their humanity, but I’m grateful. They remain one of the few bands out there with the ability to usher an audience into a mystical experience.
We did get to talk to Adam after the show. Backstage he told us how close they came to cancelling the show. How he’d blown his voice out singing in Atlanta the night before. How his voice didn’t come back until the third song really. I sat there amazed that all of that first song was coming out of a guy on the verge of losing his voice. But he never lost his magic. That’s the trick I guess. There’s music and there’s magic and sometimes, when you’re lucky, they both happen at the same time.
Me & Andy backstage at the Ryman while Mean Creek was warming up
SET LIST:
Round Here
Untitled (Love Song)
I Wish I Was a Girl
Daylight Fading
Hospital
Black and Blue
When I Dream of Michelangelo
Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby
Omaha
Mercy
Like Teenage Gravity
Good Time
Long December
Return of the Grievous Angel
You Ain’t Goin Nowhere
Hanginaround
—————–
Rain King
Ballad of El Goodo
——————
Come Around
Holiday in Spain
CATCH THE COUNTING CROWS ONLINE, AND KEEP YOUR EYES OUT FOR THE OUTLAW ROADSHOW DATES!
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Record Store Day 2012
Photo by: Grace Mullins
We may have gotten a late start, but fortunately (unfortunately?) that didn’t save my pocketbook. And I still left things behind that I wanted! I went to Joe’s Records on the west side of Evansville (where I’m also a member of the vinyl club: if you’re anywhere near southern Indiana, this is a good place for you to buy records)– and despite the fact that I couldn’t get there until late afternoon, they still had a shockingly good selection. That says how good the releases are this year.
The records I was most excited about were the Uncle Tupelo reissues– I’ve wanted to know “Black Eye” on vinyl since I first learned the song. But after scouring the selections they had, I made peace with the fact that they’d been picked over pretty hard by 3 p.m. I only had one single– Patterson Hood’s “After It’s Gone”– and was planning on picking up a few more for posterity’s sake. But I mentioned the Uncle Tupelo records to the guy behind the counter– and lo and behold, there were a whole bunch of records (re: All Of The Ones I Wanted) in another place.
While I was busy rejoicing about Uncle Tupelo (I came away with March 16-20, 1992 and No Depression), my stepdaughter, Grace, found the Ryan Adams 7″. And then I found Brendan Benson’s and Richard Buckner’s. All in all, a ridiculously successful Record Store Day.
Andy was most excited about Richard Buckner’s Willow– it’s from a movie and was initially only released in America as a special track for the digital pre-order of Our Blood. It also has a song called “Lost” and– I’m very excited about this– a digital download of The Cars’s song “Candy-O.” The Ryan Adams 7″ (which anyone who is a regular reader here can predict was the one I was most jazzed about) features the Bob Mould covers “Heartbreak A Stranger” and “Black Sheets of Rain.” Patterson Hood & The Downtown 13 features “After It’s Gone,” which is a rallying cry against the further development of Athens, GA. (This song features all sorts of musicians, including Mike Mills. I can’t wait to hear this.)
And perhaps the coolest: Brendan Benson’s release (on his new label, Readymade Records), features the lead single off his forthcoming record (next week)– “What Kind of World” and an exclusive B-side, “Go Deco.” But that’s not all– Benson’s also offering the opportunity for you to download his new record, What Kind of World, two days early, exclusively at his website.
In conclusion, I’ll basically be listening to these for the next 48 hours. I’ll let you know when I come up for air.
Levon Helm (May 26, 1940 – April 19, 2012)
Anytime a great man dies, everyone has something to say about it; usually the only profound things come from people who actually knew him (as it should be). But Levon Helm and his music has meant so much in my life that I can’t let his passing go without memorializing him here, whether it’s profound or not. One of my most vivid memories with my father is him coming into the living room when I was back from college, eyes lit up, holding our old copy of Music From Big Pink. I heard his speeches about who the members of The Band were for my whole life, but that time, I remember leaning up against our big speakers, feeling the bass line in “Chest Fever,” hearing the strain in Helm’s voice in “The Weight” like it was brand new.
“The Weight” as performed in The Last Waltz with the Staples Singers
All of my favorite musicians are influenced by The Band. Jason Isbell’s beautiful “Danko/Manuel,” the Counting Crows’s “Richard Manuel Is Dead”– but Levon Helm’s influence isn’t just on musicians. Anyone who enjoys listening to good music– who likes a pure, unadulterated true voice– has been moved or influenced at one point or another by something Helm put out into the universe. As throughout his illness, everyone in the music community has rushed to say what a good man he was, how kind he was, and how genuine he was. It shined through on all of his music.
So tonight, Andy and I put The Last Waltz on and taught Grace who Levon Helm was. And she watched him sing “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” completely, and she asked how old he was and said how sad it was that he died. And all I could think of was my seven-year-old body listening to that same song in the passenger seat, my dad talking about how important Levon Helm was, telling me how rare it was that a drummer would have such a songwriter’s soul. Thanks for the music, Levon.
RECOMMENDATION & REVIEW: The Thousand Pities, “Believe in Sound”
photo by: Mike Caffrey
It seems like a few times a year, I switch over to listening almost exclusively to pop and punk, and it seems to be that time. There’s been a lot of Harvey Danger on rotation, lots of Death Cab (and we can argue over whether or not they’re a pop band later, but that’s a ‘later’ discussion)– and lots of The Thousand Pities’ new record, Believe in Sound.
LISTEN TO “BELIEVE IN SOUND” HERE
The opening track, “What if Everyone Is Wrong?” may be one of my favorite opening songs in a long time. It just wakes the record up with this fantastic upbeat sound, and the rest of the record is pretty true to that. I think part of what I’m attracted to is the lyrics– one part reminiscent, one part happily looking forward–
Stuck by my habit of screwing up
What if she never comes again?
What if I play the same chords, but I sing a different song?
Everyone has advice for you
What if everyone is wrong?
So this is San Francisco
My heart’s not in it at all
I’m in love with the future
Make a late night call
I love the technique of questions in the song, but what I like the best is the way the vocals seem to match the lyrics: increasingly upbeat, and incredible harmonies and backing vocals (especially on lines like “So this is San Francisco”). The vocalist, Matthew Davis, sort of reminds me of Ed Roland from Collective Soul (compliment), both in tone and delivery. It’s straightforward, but emotive. Just a cool kick-off track, and I realized that when listening through for the first time, I started to do that thing where I flipped back to the beginning without listening to the last couple of chords because I wanted to hear it again so bad. I love that: when you immediately want to incorporate a song into your knowledge base, so you listen to it as many times as possible in a row so you can memorize it. It reminds me of my teenaged summers, and that’s a great sign for a record. It makes me feel like I felt when I was first learning how to love music.
The only problem with this? It took me forever to get to the second track! However, I then repeated all of those steps with “Count My Summer Down,” which not only emulates the feel of those young summers, but actually tells the story of one that you can insert yourself into:
Speakers pressed to my ear
That nighttime summer sound
The DJ tells me what’s ahead
Starts to count my summer down…
Count your blessings, count them quickly
You’re all right, you’re all right
I’ve got the ellipsis after “count my summer down” not because I skipped a stretch of lyrics, but because I can’t find another bit of punctuation that accurately mimics Davis’s phenomenal drawl at the end of that bridge. This song is full of the energy that you want in a really good pop song.
I guess I’ve gotten ahead of myself: I’ve been looking forward to talking about these songs for a while. But I also believe it’s important to talk a little bit about the band itself. Davis was originally in The Vestrymen, and has shared the stage with other KDR favorites like Aimee Mann. He originally ‘retired’ from music in 1994, but with a few songs still lingering (and surrounded by other very talented musicians), The Thousand Pities formed in 2006. Because I’m shameless, I’ll be honest and tell you I listened to this record initially because it was recommended to “fans of Pete Yorn”. While I think I see the comparison (the Jersey stuff, the soaring sonic melodies), I’d say The Thousand Pities have quite a few differences– namely, Davis writes fairly linear lyrics, and while the music sounds as good, it’s not quite as focused on technique (or it doesn’t sound like it is) as Yorn’s is. This record is one you can turn up all the way and listen to, or put on in the background, and it doesn’t seem out of place in either setting.
The first song I heard was actually “Super-High Moon,” which has this amazing video to accompany it:
This is certainly a more chill song than the first two, but it’s got a lullaby-type beauty to it:
I promise you this is the year
Of the super-high moon
No one believes, but it appears
It’s coming soon
The strings that break in after the opening verse are so gorgeous; it gives me that same feeling of heart-swelling that I get when I’m thinking about my husband. It just perfectly mimics that reminiscing sweetness that happens when you’re focused on happiness. And then the electric guitar comes in perfectly and plays over them after the second verse: just gorgeous. It’s so focused and pointed that it actually seems like a second vocalist. Just a sweet, beautiful piece of music.
I’ve already enjoyed this record so much, and I have a feeling it’s going to be one I pull out over and over, all year around. This is the kind of power-pop that’s harder and harder to find– the kind that would have been on the radio fifteen years ago. I’m so excited to be able to share this record with you guys– a wonderful sound by some truly talented musicians.
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LISTEN TO: Kids With Torches, “Embers”
The weather’s been changing between too hot and too cold for this time of year, and I find myself torn between swinging all the way into my surf pop collection and running quickly back to my moodier music, trying to match the seasons. Kids With Torches and their song “Embers” is one of the few songs I’ve been enjoying in both temperaments, though it seems to speak especially to the dying of a long winter.
LISTEN TO “EMBERS” HERE
Currently a two-piece band out of England (though they’re working on expanding), Matt Royal and vocalist Jonathan Taylor decided to work on a record together while their other projects– Royal’s band The Picturesleeves and Taylor’s solo work– were on hiatus or break.
“Embers” stands out in part due to the vocals being just slightly off syncopation: it’s a song that, at least in the beginning, could have easily faded into its own production, but because it chooses not to, it stands out. With subtle drum fills and soaring instrumentation, the music serves the lyrics very well: “We were embers on the breeze/ Carried over trees/ Burning red until we kissed the earth”. There’s a lot of strong imagery in the song, and it serves to make it that much more triumphant when the music changes and the repeated line becomes, “hold your head up”.
Matt Royal says that part of the inspiration for the track was the Postal Service project (a record I’ve loved since it came out):
The original idea was to make quite subtle record, “a bit like Talk Talk”, I think I said, but it ended up being a bit bigger and anthemic than we originally expected. Jon’s voice and approach is just so emotionally direct, it just sent the songs soaring, and I struggle with being willfully obtruse, I’m naturally drawn to warmer, beautiful sounds. It is quite an electronic record, but it’s not cold, it’s really cinematic and lush (I hope so anyway). The album is called “Carried Over Trees”, and we’re tremendously proud of it. The whole thing was done via email. I would record the instrumental tracks at home, and then email it to Jon, who would write and record the vocals, and then send back to me for feedback, and then tweaks were made if necessary. I guess I was quite fascinated and inspired by The Postal Service record, and wanted to try that approach for myself.
Royal nails Taylor’s vocal abilities: they’re straightforward, but they’re moving and full. And while he’s right, “Embers” has an electronic feel, I hesitate to describe it that way because of Royal’s defense: electronic music is so often associated with coldness, but there’s a burgeoning warmth in this track, much like the excellent Something Happens track “Momentary Thing.” I’m excited to hear the rest of the record, but until then, I’ll be content to listen to this track over and over.
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NEW & STREAMING: Counting Crows, “Underwater Sunshine (Or What We Did On Our Summer Vacation)”
I don’t know that I’ve ever been this excited about another single blog post: I’m happy and excited to share the Counting Crows forthcoming record, Underwater Sunshine (Or What We Did On Our Summer Vacation) right now– before its April 10th release date. The record, which is basically a compilation of some of the best songs ever written (and because the band is so dedicated to promoting up and coming artists, some songs you may not have heard before), is remarkable.
Because it’s a Counting Crows record, I have so many favorite songs it’s impossible to narrow it down: however,it’s impossible not to talk about how haunting the Fairport Convention’s “Meet on the Ledge” is; how joyous their version of The Faces’s “Ooh La La” is; how the Romany Rye’s “Untitled (Love Song)” is full of yearning; and how their killer rendition of Big Star’s “The Ballad of El Goodo” ends the whole record on a high, hopeful note. I love every song on this album for a different reason– Teenage Fanclub’s “Start Again” has some of the best harmonies I’ve heard in a long time. And no matter how many times I listen to Adam sing, “I guess I’m in love/ I guess I’m in love/ Some people get scared of those words around here, and that’s all right,” on Kasey Anderson’s brilliant “Like Teenage Gravity,” it feels new and raw all over again (this is probably the track I’ve listened to most, in the interest of honesty). I also love their very different take on Gram Parsons’s classic “Return of the Grievous Angel”– it’s got a rock edge that I have to feel Parsons himself would appreciate.
It’s killing me to not do a full review, because I could (and will!) talk about this record for thousands of words. I could talk about how the song choices, to me, are very personal: some of these songs (“Return of the Grievous Angel” and “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere”) are important to me not just as music, but in the soundtrack of my life. They are songs that I’ve incorporated into my life in a way more intimate than normal music. And now to have these gorgeous versions of, admittedly, my favorite band singing them is almost too good. This is one of those rare times in life where my lofty expectations were exceeded. I’m so happy to be sharing this record.
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NEW: Megan Reilly, “Sew the Threads Into Your Heart”
STREAM “SEW THE THREADS INTO YOUR HEART” HERE:
Megan Reilly’s voice has a warm quality to it, and between that and the music in “Sew The Threads Into Your Heart”, the song is unforgettable. The instrumentation on this song is something special– evokes Cardinals-esque guitar and expanse. What really captivates me every single time is how, in the pre-chorus, the music does the opposite of what I’d expect. And Reilly is a very talented vocalist: she’s got growling qualities of 70′s-era singers, but she’s got a power and passion to back up her lyrics. She’s releasing her fifth record, The Well, on April 24th.
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INTRODUCING: The Weakenders, “Everything and Nothing”
The Weakenders is a four-piece rock band (75% of which hails from the great state of Indiana) who are now based in Nashville. Though they’re a relatively new band, they play together with a tightness that would imply a longer tenure together; it bodes well for their forthcoming full length record, which should be out later this spring. The EP they released in October, Everything and Nothing, shouldn’t be overlooked, though; this is a band that is already making worthwhile music, and I’m dying to hear what’s next.
If you fumble around on their Bandcamp, it’s obvious they’ve always had a knack for melody. Even the early stuff– titled Rough Drafts– is pretty good. But by the time they put this EP together– which was recorded over six days, mixed over six more, and mastered in one– they’d found that band-magic that makes songs memorable.
“I Get Down” has shades of early Foo Fighters in it, though admittedly a lot more southern rock. The guitar breakdown towards the end of the song is so strong it’s almost as if the guitar itself were singing: it’s twangy, but it’s aggressive. I’m fascinated by this song. Hands down, though, my favorite part of the song is the vocals on “I get down.” The way that last syllable is stretched is so pretty; and that’s really the best part of this EP. The lyrics are good, the guitar is killer, but overall the melodies and harmonies are really pretty. I love a record that can be good background music OR good primary music, and Everything and Nothing is exactly that.
My favorite song is “Leave a Light On,” which stands out to me because of how good the keys are. There are moments where the music feels very Black Crowes-y, but the vocals aren’t quite
Leave a light on
So I can see
I want to watch your form
Crash over me
I want to fall apart
In front of you
I’ll only get you high
If you ask me to
Bathed in 60 watts of afterlife
Won’t you be my baby tonight?
Overall, this record feels like a throwback: there’s a warmth in the vocals and guitar that makes the music accessible, but there’s also an edge to it. Looking forward to hearing what’s next.
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