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Olav Larsen & the Alabama Rodeo Stars, Love’s Come To Town

This charming set of Americana-by-way-of-Norway hits all the right notes, so to speak. The band brightens up Larsen’s traditional sounding, but occasionally quirky, roots-rock and country songs with homespun energy. The musicians bed the songs in endearingly shambling arrangements that perfectly complement the songwriter’s jaunty, somewhat wobbly vocals.

This band of Europeans has thoroughly absorbed, digested and done right by Americana music, while giving it just enough of their own flavor to make it interesting. The songs range from Dylan-esque wistfulness (“May the Sun Always Shine”) to bluegrass shenanigans (“Ain’t Got Time”); from a splash of dixieland and ragtime (“Atomic Bombs and Wine”) to sweet, shimmering rambles (“Love’s Come to Town,” “Like Daisies”); and from the hillbilly gospel of “The Sweet Saviour’s Arms” to the grim, cautionary “Unhappy/Dreamer”:

I never thought that you would leave this town behind.
Your unpredicted departure almost destroyed my mind.
You didn’t even say goodbye to your friends: unkind.
I guess there’s something bigger going on this time.

The slightly off-kilter lyrics – perhaps from English not being Larsen’s native language – has a paradoxical effect of making them seem sly and heartfelt at the same time. How could anyone resist this: “When you say jump, I’ll jump for you baby. / When you say run, I’ll run for you too. / I’ll do anything you want me to / And you can call me baby!”

Highly recommended for country-rock and Americana fans. Hear some full tracks at their Myspace page.

Richard X. Heyman, Actual Sighs

One-man rock band Richard X. Heyman’s new release is a blast from power-pop’s past and a new work at the same time. The CD is packed with twenty songs, the first fourteen of which are new recordings of old compositions – most written in the early 80s – that never got recorded before. The last six are a reworking of the EP Actual Size, which Heyman put out himself, to critical acclaim but with limited distribution, in 1986.

It’s hard to imagine any Heyman fan not being over the moon with this collection, or any fan of rock, classic rock and power-pop not finding much to like. No doubt, Heyman’s musical vision is a little old-fashioned, but mainly in the sense that it is a powerful, emotional tapestry of male rock without whininess. Heyman fits together big collections of instruments and tracks – all played by him, except for the strings and horns – into ever-evolving, mind-grabbing, crisp but not cluttered arrangements – the rock equivalent of what a great classical or Broadway orchestrator does.

The greatest studio bands of past decades – like Yes, Led Zeppelin, Crowded House, Smashing Pumpkins, and of course the Beatles and George Martin – could orchestrate pop in that way. Most rock bands and producers nowadays, too worried about trying to sound like somebody else, shy away from the interesting.

Heyman doesn’t have that problem. He’s an original. The opening orchestral theme of “Kenyon Walls” (it suggests Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir,” but played on real horns and strings instead of a Mellotron), leads straight into the pounding, multi-voiced chorus. Right away we’re introduced to Richard X. Heyman the confident guitarist and piano player, but above all (or behind all) the frighteningly good drummer. (This is borne out in live performance; it’s worth seeing anyone he’s backing up on the skins.)

If there was any doubt, the thunderous drum intro of the fist-thumping “Stockpile” blasts it away. Think Georgia Satellites on speed. Heyman does more things on the drums in these two and a half minutes than most drummers do in their band’s whole set.

There’s no let-up in the midtempo “All In the Way You Found Me,” with its rueful Byrds/Petty chord changes, rich pop harmonies, and throaty organ solo. The deceptively simple-sounding “Winter Blue” harks back to art-rock. If you’re old enough you might remember when Genesis toned its histrionics way down, but hadn’t yet made the move to machine-pop. Such references aren’t out of place with Heyman, who’s been writing songs since 1969, though his major label period was twenty years later.

More highlights: the caffeinated, drum-drowned rave-up “Twelve Boxcars and I Still Have the Blues”; the groovy, Zombies-like harmonies of “In a Boxcar”: and the grandiose marching lines of “A Fine Line.” And that’s only on the first half. Small gems like the ballad “Written All Over My Face,” together with ambitious ones like “The Gazing Moon,” poke out of this overstuffed CD’s “Side B” like fighting limbs. It’s too much to listen to straight through, actually. On the other hand, Heyman is one of the few artists who can put out a twenty-song disc without ever succumbing to a flaccid or disinterested vibe.

With all the sound and fury, not every song here will appeal to everyone. But it’s certainly fair to say that smart rock doesn’t get much better than this.

Hear extended clips at CD Baby.

Everybody Else, Everybody Else

Speaking of power-pop, it ain’t just old-timers like Richard X. Heyman bringing the joyful noise. Score another one for The Militia Group for their pickup of L.A. trio Everybody Else.

Mixing Squeeze-like pop sophistication with bubblegum, then spiking it with raunchy guitar, the band has hit on a sweet formula for their debut full-length CD. There’s nothing terribly original here, but with their smart use of pop conventions and powerful knack for hooky melodies, Everybody Else has no need to reinvent the wheel – they just have to set it on fire, and they do, with songs like the infectious, anti-love callout “Meat Market” and the Matchbox 20-like “I Gotta Run.” “In Memoriam” is an irresistible nostalgia trip, while “Born To Do” grinds out the jagged edge of love, with choked-off chords evoking the sinister humor of the Toadies. “Rich Girls, Poor Girls” is funny, imagistic and touching all at the same time:

the rich girls see the curving of the earth
when flying over kansas city
but ice cream music floats along the hills
of where we’re living
and those poor girls know the feeling of
the playground bench with darkness bleeding
like a palm tree, dreaming

i love you even though you got no dough

rich girls, poor girls
i just can’t decide…

The fine songwriting continues throughout the CD – there isn’t one weak song. “The Longest Hour of My Life” sounds like a lost 1970s pop hit, while “Button for Punishment” shows the band can also do a memorable acoustic ballad. The CD actually closes with one of its strongest tracks: the electronica-flavored “Alone in the World” is the kind of song Duran Duran might have had a smash with.

An impressive, spirited debut, highly recommended.

Assembly of Dust, Recollection

Assembly of Dust is the current project of Reid Genauer (Strangefolk, Phil Lesh and Friends). The band tours on the jam band circuit, but the best songs on this, its third studio album, have roots in 1970s country-rock with a progressive glint, as much Steve Miller and Steely Dan as Grateful Dead.

Arena-rock hooks, colorful, imagistic lyrics, emotional lead guitar from Adam Terrell, and shimmery piano work from Nate Wilson (who co-writes the songs with Genauer) are all here, but the most distinctive characteristic of the set is a sunny disposition. Even the songs with serious or sad lyrics are still move-your-body music.

The band front-loads the CD with its best songs. The jumpy, mid-tempo “Grand Decision” evokes The Band (think “Ophelia”) and a bit of Boz Scaggs, while later in the CD, “Bootlegger’s Advice,” which slows that groove down, isn’t as strong a song. The bracing “Telling Sue” cheerfully adapts its soaring hook from the Dead’s “U.S. Blues,” while “Truck Farm” aims for a similar, simple, goofy grandeur but doesn’t quite hit the mark. Maybe Genauer just sounds too nice to represent the kind of guy who’s set a fire in anger after buying a lemon vehicle.

“Zero to the Skin” and “Whistle Clock” are fully realized works. They’re successful because they’re not trying to be anything but what they are, and because their music and lyrics evoke the gritty, poetic, somehow-we-survive American heartland spirit.

You may serve them roses.
You may serve their delight.
But when the working day closes,
I sing you sweetly goodnight.

The climax comes in the chorus of “Samuel Aging,” a nova of a song about a writer’s tragic life that could be any of ours.

Well he raked his eyes and read what he had laid down.
His tongue was dry, his eyes were moist and red.
Exhausted from the work and went and laid down,
and the writing read and the writing read.
Run walk or stagger to your old life’s hanging.

Next comes “40 Reasons,” a pretty but not entirely convincing attempt at Neil Young’s sort of minor-key pathos. The rather hollow “The Honest Hour” is notable mostly for inheriting the language of its guitar solo from Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Boxer.” And on the evidence of the aimless “Walking on Water,” “Desperado”-style ballads aren’t the Assembly’s strong suit.

Even the less successful songs have well-considered lyrics and a sensitive soul. But what we have here is an excellent band delivering half of an excellent album.

Hear some full tracks at their Myspace page.

Brooklyn Repertory Ensemble, Pragmatic Optimism

You don’t hear too much ensemble jazz any more, and when you do it’s usually in an educational context (meaning, most of us who aren’t in school never experience it). For one thing, it’s awfully expensive to gather and rehearse a big jazz band. The musicians are hard to herd because they’re always off scrabbling for the next paying job, which is usually with a smaller combo, or backing up a pop singer, or teaching.

Notwithstanding these difficulties, the resourceful drummer and composer Wade Barnes has expanded his highly regarded 1990s group, the Brooklyn Four Plus One, into a powerhouse seventeen-piece ambassador for what he accurately calls “America’s classical music,” and done it in an unusual way: by incorporating the band as a 501c3 nonprofit organization.

Fear not, however – far from being a dry, academic exercise in preservation, the B.R.E.’s new CD (and, I would imagine, its concerts) is living, breathing jazz. Precisely energized ensemble playing, sophisticated Ellingtonian arrangements, quirky solos, un-everyday instruments (vibes; tuba and euphonium; a French horn and a mellophone), and buttery vocals from Tulivu-Donna Cumberbatch add up to a redolent hour-plus of satisfying music.

The band’s spare take on “Blowin’ in the Wind” opens the CD straightforwardly, deep brass pulsing. Delicate solos from pianist John Nam and guitarist Yoshiki Miura, along with Cumberbatch’s semi-operatic vocals, turn the folk classic into a meditative cloud. The other familiar tunes are a smooth partially sung “Stolen Moments” featuring clarinetist McDonald Payne, and “Body and Soul.”

Subtle polyrhythms underpin Barnes’s own “Passive Volition,” which features vibraphonist William Ware, III among others. The leader’s other compositions incline towards the meditative – they have titles like “The Power of Feeling” and “The Power of Thought” – and do not feature vocals, but there’s always something on the surface to tickle the ear and Barnes’s gossamer drumming driving everything along. “Little Big Sis,” in 5/4 time, builds into a pentatonic scale rave-up and may be my favorite track in spite of its melodic (though not rhythmic) simplicity.

Hear extended clips of this unusual set at CD Baby.

We’re all over the place this week, musically speaking. So to avoid getting us all dizzy with mood swings, I’ve put these selections in order starting with the darkest and progressing to the most upbeat. It works out nicely, because if you only have time to read one of this week’s reviews, let it be that of…

The National Lights, The Dead Will Walk, Dear

Looking at the song titles on the debut CD from this Virginia trio – like a song called “O, Ohio,” and the traditional “The Water Is Wide” – I expected folk music.

But no. It wasn’t the old “The Water Is Wide” that everyone in the world seems to have covered. And, although the CD has a hushed, subdued sound, plenty of acoustic guitar, and no drums, it’s not folk music.

Then again, maybe it is. Certainly in the “it’s all folk music” sense. Or if you look at the whole ten-song, 28-minute opus as one long American Gothic murder ballad. Because every song is about hurting and dying. Beautiful women or children are killed with shotguns, or drowned – one way or another enholed. Often there’s water. Sometimes the singer is alone, sometimes not. Sometimes he sees the victim as deserving of her fate:

We’ll wait ’til dark to dig that hole outside
Big enough for you to fit inside
All those hearts you broke are still beating
This is helping, honey this is healing

Other times she seems innocent:

There’s a hole in the river
Where they put your body down…
I’ll hold in my bones
That sweet little heart of yours
It’s not big enough to beat for two anymore
I’ll grow for us both

The creepy thing is the way these doomy lyrics are set, not to death-metal grinding sounds, but quite the opposite – in gently rolling little songs, miniatures really, sung in grey, half-whispered tones by songwriter/mastermind Jacob Thomas Berns. Shades of Sufjan Stevens, ghosts of Nick Cave.

Berns’s sparse guitars are padded by multi-instrumentalist Ernest Christian Kiehne, Jr. (Ernest Christian, get it? Oh wait, that’s his real name…), who adds more guitars, some bass, and lots of keyboards, including weighty organ parts on several songs. And the icing on this devil’s food cake: smooth, eerie harmony vocals by Sonya Cotton. Descended, I imagine, from Cotton Mather.

There’s no need to mention which songs have what, though. This CD plays as a single sad, strangely pretty, discreetly paranoid, glittery-eyed work. Of which you can get a good taste at their Myspace page. Go. But watch your back. For “look at what we’ve become/A black heart and a loaded gun.”

Black Diamond Heavies, Every Damn Time

This duo of self-described “vagrants/citizens of the world” makes gruff, scratchy, lo-fi blues and soul music like there was nothing else they ever wanted to do. It ain’t pretty, but it’s got balls. Like Hillstomp, they make a big sound for two people, but it’s dark and electrified and loud.

While his left hand covers the bass parts on a bass keyboard, singer John Wesley Myers pounds a distorted sound out of his Fender Rhodes electric piano with his right, which provides the hoarseness that hard music normally gets from guitars. On vocals he sounds as much like Howlin’ Wolf as any white man I’ve ever heard, particularly on “Might Be Right” and the frenzied opener “Fever In My Blood.” The Doors – another keyboard-heavy band that (live, anyway) relied on keyboard bass – come to mind when listening to “Leave It In The Road,” and there’s an element of punk fury in song titles like “White Bitch” and “Guess You Gone And Fucked It All Up.”

Myers’s growling might get a little monotonous, but its combination of anger and humor keeps the CD fun. Meanwhile, Van Campbell’s half-crazed drums and splashing cymbals fill out the rest of the sonic color-by-number.

An exception in several ways, the eight-minute opus “All To Hell” adds a bass player, a Hammond B3 player, and horns. Its severe, gritty soulfulness makes it a standout. But the more modest “Stitched In Sin” proves the duo can also put across an affecting ballad without reinforcements. Maybe there’s something dense and scary in the water of Port Arthur, TX – Myers’s hometown, and Janis Joplin‘s.

Hear a couple of tracks at their Myspace page or their band website.

Erin Sax Seymour, Good Girl

Erin Sax Seymour’s new seven-song set is a mix of old-time country and modern country-rock. Three tracks were recorded live with her band, the rest with producer Stephen Joseph and other studio musicians. Her voice has a little-girl side that suggests the Dolly Parton school of country singing; she also unloads stronger timbres when needed, like in the waltz ballad “What You See In Me.”

The songwriting is a little maddening. The CD sounds gorgeous, but the dry syntax of Seymour’s lyrics tend to distract attention from her gutsy melodies and vividly emotional music. It makes me think of some other artists, also with female vocals, whom I’ve written about recently – such as Laura Vecchione and the sadly dormant Great Unknowns – artists who make music in a roughly similar style, but who are more in touch with the raw side of language. Now and then, Seymour’s tricky lyrics come across as sharp and clever: “Was the letting go worth the getting over?” But more often, her catchy up-country numbers like “Peace Tonight” as well as her pretty, sensitive singer-songwriter fare (like the title track, which sounds like something off of Dire Straits’s Making Movies) suffer from a scarcity of strong words. The musically soulful “Substitute” declares rather meaninglessly, “Ain’t no substitute for a broken heart/And drawing that line is so damn hard,” and culminates weakly with “Somewhere between your heart and mine/Lies the answers [sp] that we’ve been denying.”

This doesn’t prevent me from respecting Seymour’s talent, or liking the music. It’s just that following the lyrics cuts down on that enjoyment.

The band on the three Dixielandish live tracks is so energetic and fun, and Seymour’s singing so sprightly, that after three listens they’ve emerged as my favorite tracks. “Signs How This Ends” and “The Gift” are especially good.

Hear MP3s at Erin Sax Seymour’s Myspace page.

Spanic Boys, Sunshine

On the heels of the new Bill Kirchen CD comes another Telecaster blast, this one from the father-and-son team known as the Spanic Boys. Their new, heavily Beatles-influenced set focusses as much on the duo’s close vocal harmonies as on their dueling Fender guitars. Like many family singers, their melded voices can sound almost supernaturally in synch, rather like the Everly Brothers, but they do more sliding around, which makes for slightly weird effects.

Many of the songs – all written by the Spanics – seem expressly written to feature their vocal harmonizing, sometimes at the expense of other important aspects of songwriting, like dramatic effect and hookiness. Songs that transcend that limitation include the slow waltz “What Will You Do,” whose harmonies suggest both the early Eagles and the Byrds’ version of “Satisfied Mind.”

“Secret” sounds like a lost, slow Beatles track if Robbie Kreiger had been invited to play a guest guitar solo. There’s not much to the song itself, but the sound is like a slow burn from the underworld. The title track is essentially a tribute to specific Beatles sounds and songs, especially “Rain,” to which it might be construed as an answer. As we reviewers can get tired of saying, you could do a lot worse than to use the Beatles as a touchstone, if you can get away with it. The Spanic Boys aren’t remotely the songwriters the Beatles were, but their expression of the deeply layered mid-period Beatles guitar sound is sure.

Our heroes can’t entirely avoid coming across a bit academic. But at least it’s the Ivy League. And it’s not all Beatles all the time. My favorite tracks are “Bigger Fool Than Me,” a two-minute snarl of 1960s rock and roll power, and the raw garage-rocker “Broken Wheel.”

“Didn’t Love You Anyway” is hard-edged country rock of the sort those pesky Beatles coopted decades ago for songs like “Dr. Robert,” and the CD closes with the jittery, bass-and-drums-driven “You Don’t Worry Me,” which effectively grafts the Spanics’ trademark, lazily moving harmonies onto a fast, insistent beat.

MP3 clips here.

Jill Cunniff, City Beach

The sunny side of New York City life peeks through the froth in this, the solo debut of Luscious Jackson’s Jill Cunniff. Described by Cunniff as a “mood record made to bring the beach to caged up city dwellers,” the CD lives up to that in several early songs and two at the end. The light, bright, sophisticated arrangements are like bubblegum with beats. But I enjoyed the CD a lot more at a modest volume at home while concentrating on something else, than I did in the car, where I want my music loud and ear-important. Want edgy? Go elsewhere. Want nice? This is nice. Maybe, for some Luscious Jackson fans, a little too nice.

There are some standouts. Cunniff goes deep in “Warm Sound,” copping the tune from “Horse With No Name” and layering it on top of a thick atmosphere and syrupy beat drawn from Tori Amos’s “Cornflake Girl.” The baubles “Eye Candy” and “Exclusive” are tangy, catchy melodic pop – if you can ignore the lame lyrics.

“Love Is A Luxury” has a big build that Cunniff’s modest vocal chops don’t quite measure up to. But “Future Call,” an intense little ska-tinged rocker, gets the blood going some; if Mr. Roboto-era Styx got together with Martha & the Muffins and had a baby band, it might sound like this.

can you hear the future call
valley boy, repo girl?
We’re tearing down the shopping mall…
can you hear the future call
wild boys and west end girls?
read the writing on the wall

A portion of the proceeds from the CD are going to benefit the Surfrider Foundation, a non-profit that works to fight ocean pollution and preserve beach access.

Hear clips here.

Pete Levin, Deacon Blues

The new CD by Pete Levin, the venerable New York synthesizer and Hammond organ specialist (and brother of bass and Chapman stick legend Tony Levin), is a set of pleasant, energetic Adult Contemporary jazz with occasional bursts of fusion energy. It’s all very classy, but clean and unthreatening, which isn’t how I generally like my jazz. Some situations do call for this kind of music, though, and there’s certainly plenty of talent on display here.

Levin’s solid, tasty touch on the Hammond organ is the constant, but longtime collaborator Danny Gottleib’s pastel-colorful drumming – listen to his inspired, in-time solo on “Icarus” – anchors the group on most tracks. Tony Levin’s rubbery bass leads the Jimmy Giuffre mood ballad “Sad Truth,” which also features a deep, delicate organ solo by Pete.

“Eclipse,” composed by the feathery-fingered guitarist Mike DeMicco, is probably my favorite track – it goes just a bit further out, and is the more satisfying for it. “Dragonfly” (another Giuffre tune) brings the fusion, with even a little touch of prog-rock. There’s a selection of classic songs too, adroitly given the smooth-jazz treatment. The Steely Dan hit “Deacon Blues” and the Beach Boys’ beautiful “Sail On Sailor” both come out well, as does the standard “Mean To Me.” I could have lived without the overdone Satie piece – jazzing that one up only makes it even more overplayed than it already is. But on the whole, if you’re in the mood for this kind of music, this CD could be just the thing to soothe your spirit without putting your mind to sleep.

The Bloody Hollies, Who to Trust Who to Kill Who to Love

I’m not going to dredge up any comparisons for the Bloody Hollies. The trio’s hybrid of punk rock and hard blues really, really works. High-energy rock with good songs is pretty rare these days. With stratospheric vocals, take-no-prisoners guitar work and a rhythm section that won’t quit, this crunchingly produced CD is one of the best hard rock albums I’ve heard in a while. Also they have an awesome name. Bloody Hollies – get it? Works on so many levels. Bloody… Effin’… Hollies. Kick-ass.

You can hear some full tracks at their Myspace page. Then buy the CD and listen to it loud in your car. Don’t have a car? Rent one and then listen to the Bloody Hollies loud in it. The Power of Rock commands you.

Stepanian, Wait Out the Rain

Then, when you need a break from the harder stuff, Stepanian’s smooth pop-rock could be the ticket. Easygoing vocals and bright saxophone lines couch some fairly pessimistic lyrics, but cheery arrangements and solid, if not spectacular, songwriting give the first four songs of the EP an upbeat feel. Only the closer, “Caroline,” feels truly sad, but it has a strong hook and is in fact one of the highlights. My other favorite is “Falling.” Starting off in a soft, innocuous bed of eighth notes, it subtly builds pop momentum, supported by a sharp, loping guitar riff over the choruses.

“Everything” jumps between funky, sparse verses and strong, power-pop choruses with a little heartland harmonica added. “Beautiful,” the opener, is sweet but a little too clichéd for my taste.

Agreeable and unthreatening without being boring, Stepanian is a band you could take home to your mother.

Available with extended clips at CD Baby.

Mofro’s sizzling new CD – their first on Alligator Records – goes deep-fried with a panful of swampy blues and Stax-Volt soul. JJ Grey’s direct, concise songwriting has sharpened, while the band’s incantatory live shows translate better to disc here than on past recordings. The triumphant result strengthens Mofro’s position as the most important rock force to come out of the deep South in a while – maybe since Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Many bands think they can make magical songs out of repetitive grooves; few can. But Mofro comes out swinging with the midtempo rocker “War.” Muscling through any and all distractions with its borrowed 1960s sounds, it pounds out a twenty-first century message: “There’s a war going on/And the ones about to die are safe at home/There’s a war going on/And the world stops feeling now.” Grey doesn’t have to preach about the destruction of the environment and the degradation of a people’s soul, however much those issues may weigh on him. It’s all there in a plain image and a single insistent riff.

The intensity actually mounts with a shift to a more personal theme in the deliberately paced “Circles.” Pushed along by Grey’s rolling electric piano, the song builds to a chorus that hangs on one desperately tense, off-rhythm, one-note melody: “There’s no way I can change the past or your pain/I don’t want to fight walking in circles.” The bitter narrator of the title track doesn’t want any handouts or “Hollywood words”; “The only voice that speaks for me speaks from this clay.” And the slow-building, persistent guitar and harmonica almost sound like clay.

The delusional, drug-addled figure in “Tragic” (“Are those FBI agents still hiding in his pine trees?”) isn’t so different from the protagonist of “By My Side,” where Grey uses his most powerfully soulful singing to declare humbly, “Now you know just how feeble/and how weak a man can be.” The slow, tribal-sounding “On Palastine” – about rapacious, early twentieth century timber barons – evokes a violent past with place names and earthen imagery, musically akin to Peter Matthiessen’s Florida novels. The mostly instrumental “Footsteps” is like a lost Doors jam with shades of Fleetwood Mac.

The blues-rock caterwaul of “Turpentine” takes you “deep in the piney woods” both in its lyrics and its oppressive rhythm, and then, just when you’re starting to think that Grey and Co. might have milked all they can out of simple grooves, along comes a complete change of pace, a soul ballad about love called “A Woman.” (Grey wrote it for Cassandra Wilson but she didn’t record it.) Then Grey shows off his vocal versatility by channeling Dr. John in “Mississippi” and Sam Cooke in “The Sun Is Shining Down.” The latter, characteristically, sets his most optimistic lyrics to slow, somber music that ramps up into a triumphant gospel chorus. In the epilogic “Goodbye” Grey breaks out a melancholy, distant falsetto for an appropriately musing signoff.

Among the excellent musicians who support Grey’s multi-instrumental talents, drummer George Sluppick deserves special mention for his easy, deep-pocketed beats. But JJ Grey is the man of the hour.

This week’s round-up includes a couple of CDs that are notable enough to deserve their own articles. First we go way back with country music legend Charlie Louvin. Then we look to the future of the blues with The Soul of John Black. Finally we return to the present state of country music with the multi-talented journeyman musician Ted Russell Kamp. Time travel is our middle name here at the Indie Round-Up!

Charlie Louvin, Charlie Louvin

You can teach new tricks to some old dogs. Johnny Cash and Rod Stewart revitalized their careers by going in unexpected musical directions. Country Music Hall of Famer Charlie Louvin ain’t one of those guys. Louvin, all 79 years old of him, has a new CD out that should please both longtime fans and younger ones, but that’s because of his weathered, fragile, but still expressive voice, and these great old songs. This music goes back to the fifties and sixties, long enough ago that it surpasses nostalgia and becomes educational and – for younger folks, anyway – something like new again. A Louvin Brothers tribute album won two Grammy awards in 2004.

For this project Louvin and producer Mark Nevers re-recorded some tracks from the singer’s early days as half of the Louvin Brothers, like “The Christian Life,” along with some other country chestnuts like “Kneeling Drunkard’s Plea.” Louvin sings the latter – a song Cash also recorded late in life – exquisitely, with harmonies from Bright Eyes’s Alex McManus. In fact every song but one has a guest artist or two, making this yet another “duets” album, but that’s appropriate considering how well known the Louvin Brothers were for their close, gospel-derived harmonies. The simple, traditional arrangements make the CD seem organic, not contrived (as long as we agree not to talk about the silly feedback sounds on “Great Atomic Power.”)

Not all the pairings work equally well. Contributions from Will Oldham and Paul Burch make for sweet listening, but Louvin’s soft, deep, grainy voice makes Tift Merritt and Clem Snide’s Eef Barzalay sound like lightweights, and George Jones sounds weak on “Must You Throw Dirt In My Face.” Dianne Berry contributes angelic harmony vocals, Marty Stuart’s light touch on the mandolin is a joy, and Elvis Costello, who has evidently signed a contract with the Muses guaranteeing him an appearance on every duet or tribute album ever made hereinafter and throughout the Universe, has a surprisingly touching turn on “When I Stop Dreaming.”

The only new song is a tribute to Louvin’s brother Ira, who died in a car accident in 1965. It’s good to know that Charlie can still summon the magic in the studio even with his weakened voice. On stage, he’s very frail these days, but commands it nonetheless like the old pro he is. You can catch this true living legend on tour this Spring.

The Soul of John Black, The Good Girl Blues

The new CD by The Soul of John Black – the band project of John A. Bigham (Fishbone, Miles Davis, Nikka Costa) – opens with a spectacularly strong statement. “The Hole,” a field-holler-inspired postmodern wail of blues anguish, tells the oldest story ever told:

I went down in the hole to see what I could see
When I got down in the hole, wasn’t nobody but me

Shades of Townes Van Zandt’s song of the same name – but only shades. Lyrically there isn’t much more than the two lines quoted above to the nearly six-minute song, and it doesn’t need any more. A elemental expression of the human condition, “The Hole” speaks of the urge to explore, the need for escape, and man’s essential loneliness. I had to listen to the song three times before I could leave it and go on to the rest of the CD.

The creamy, slow “Moon Blues” follows, and then the darkly erotic “I Got Work”:

I got some work I got to do
And it starts right here with loving you
Anyway you want me, anyway you need
I’m gon’ put in some work, girl, and bring you to your knees

Yes, among other virtues, this CD is nice and dirty. But there’s a good deal more to it than that. Imagine if Lenny Kravitz fully outgrew his fixation with adolescent rockstar posing and listened to nothing but Bob Dylan and Johnnie Taylor for a year – maybe he’d come out with something like this music. (Maybe Lenny has – who knows? I can’t say I’ve been following his career lately.)

“Good Girl” finds J.B. running trance-influenced beats under Chicago-style blues-rock, all swollen with thunderous soul harmonies. The more directly trance-y “Fire Blues” is a good showcase for the buttery Al Green tones in Bigham’s vocals. Neither song has much structure. They’re like the insistent crashing of waves as the tide comes in. “Moanin’,” which is just that – wordless vocalizing, with acoustic guitar accompaniment – makes a very good entr’acte between the five songs that go before it and the five after. (There’s an added short version of “The Hole” at the very end, for radio play I assume.)

The low-cut instrumental “Slipin’ and Slidin'” (sic) smartly mixes acoustic guitar noodling, trance beats and feedback-y effects. “Swamp Thing” has elements of R&B and a suggestion of rap but sounds most of all like an acoustic interpretation of early ZZ Top. “Swamp thing, try to put your thing on me – Not this time.”

The gentle, folksy drug-overdose tale “One Hit” echoes and updates Brewer & Shipley’s classic “One Toke Over The Line” musically and thematically, while “Feelin’s” dresses up Sly Stone funk in a coat of swampy soul, with irresistible results. Finally, “Deez Blues” gives the obligatory nod to Robert Johnson. “Oh Mr. Blues won’t you leave me alone, oh get out of my home.”

Don’t take the assortment of historical references and comparisons above to mean that The Soul of John Black is just a pastiche of styles. Obvious influences and uneven songwriting don’t take away from the force of originality that Bigham is massing here. It’s blues for a new generation, crafted by a mature spirit who is adept at acoustic, electric, and slide guitars as well as soulful singing.

The CD puts Bigham and his crew at the forefront of a small but (one can hope) potent movement that’s bringing blues up to date without sacrificing authenticity. To put it more positively, he’s working towards a truly new sound, solidifying the fragile resonance between today’s machine-tooled talent and the flesh-and-bones musical traditions of the past. Heady stuff, highly recommended.

Available with extended clips at CD Baby.

Ted Russell Kamp, Divisadero

All that time on the road with Shooter Jennings must have given multi-instrumentalist Ted Russell Kamp some mixed feelings about the life of a touring musician. His new CD contains a lot of lyrics about traveling, rootlessness, and the attendant sadness. But the standout track is the opener, a clever, perfectly catchy country-roots song about lost love called “Swinging Doors.”

“The Last Time I Let You Down” is a fine country power ballad, the kind of song someone like Faith Hill might have a big hit with. “So tonight I’ll be drivin’/’Cause I’m past the cryin’/It’s the last time that I’ll let you down.” “Maria” is a pretty love song, while the waltz-ballads “Music Is My Mistress” and “Looking for Someone” draw on the heartache that made Hank Williams so powerful: “A life lived alone, it ain’t no life at all/Like a broken-down van or an unfinished song.”

Kamp’s nasal, weatherbeaten voice isn’t the strongest in the world, but like Steve Earle (and Waylon Jennings, for that matter), he knows how to bring the pathos without getting cloying. Not all the songs are as good as “Swinging Door” or “The Last Time I Let You Down,” but a variety of styles keeps things moving. “Another One Night Stand” and “Better Before You Were Big Time” dip into New Orleans funk (Kamp even plays the brass parts), while “Can’t Go Back” does, in fact, go back – to 1970s soft rock, a la Atlanta Rhythm Section.

Kamp seems to be a modest virtuoso at just about every instrument that uses strings, keys, or air. Shooter Jennings and Jessi Colter make guest appearances, and a number of sidemen contribute, but this strong collection is essentially a one-man show, and in spite of maybe one or two too many songs about being a musician on the road, it’s a fun, well-played trip through the picturesque back roads of American country.

Available with extended clips at CD Baby.

It’s time to give the bass its due.

You may not know this, but your intrepid reviewer is also a bass player, and he’s tired of reading about the greatest guitar riffs of all time. With very few exceptions, rock just wouldn’t be possible without the electric bass. So let’s investigate some of the greatest bass parts of all time. These are lines, or riffs, that made a hit a hit, or that inspired thousands of kids to pick up the instrument, or both.

Here, in chronological order, are my picks for the greatest rock bass riffs of all time.

The Animals, “We Gotta Get Out of This Place” (1965)

Bass doesn’t get more fundamental, and fundamentally important, than this. The bass line pretty much defines the song, and the song (along with the band’s famous version of “House of the Rising Sun”) pretty much sums up The Animals. And the Animals pretty much sum up the British Invasion, which in turn inspired the expansion and longevity of rock music worldwide. See where I’m going here? It’s all about the bass.

Cream “Sunshine of Your Love” (1967)

Sure, Clapton doubles this famous part on guitar when he’s not soloing, but really, who needs ‘im? This is Jack Bruce all the way. I was too young to ever see Cream, but when I eventually did see Bruce play live – with Ringo’s All-Stars – I realized that I’d copped more bass tricks from him than anyone else. And speaking of Ringo…

The Beatles, “Come Together” (1969)

Paul McCartney, the father of melodic rock bass playing. ‘Nuff said. Except I’ll note that this song received the 1969 Grammy for best-engineered recording. George Martin and the band were inspired to studio greatness by Paul’s bass part. Obviously.

Jethro Tull/J. S. Bach, “Bourée” (1969)

“Lead bass” came into its own with Tull’s arrangement of this well-known Bach tune. Of all the jazzy “walking” bass lines that have been put in the service of a classical piece played by a blues-based rock band that would go on to win a heavy metal Grammy, this was the finest. And the chordal solo near the end blew my mind when I first heard it.

Sugarloaf, “Green-Eyed Lady” (1970)

Sugarloaf got a couple of other songs on the charts, but only this psychedelic gem had real staying power. Why? The kick-ass bass part, of course. It’s so much fun to play that bass players often kick into it during jam sessions. And thus is the greatness that is this bass line passed down from generation to generation of unsung four-string heroes.

Lou Reed, “Walk on the Wild Side” (1971)

Bass chords: drug-fueled New York City multitasking at its best.

Bob Marley, “Stir It Up” (1972)

The quintessential reggae bass line, this one turned a simple, happy three-chord pop tune into an anthem for the ages that went way beyond the specificities of its national character.

Pink Floyd, “Money” (1973)

Psychedelic bass heaven, in 7/4 time.

Barney Miller theme (1975)

The opening bars of this jazzy number (written by Jack Elliott, who also composed the bass-heavy theme for Night Court) inspired many a fledgling bottom feeder. Thanks to the bass, this TV theme song was hip in an era when TV theme songs usually weren’t.

Fleetwood Mac, “The Chain” (1977)

Sure, classic disco music had a lot of excellent, prominent bass playing, but it wasn’t till decades later that we could look back and admit that disco – the real stuff, played by actual musicians – was pretty damn good. No, for kids growing up in the late seventies it was this haunting anthem that made the bass a full citizen of the musical universe. The exposed bass line at the end, with the drums and electric guitar creeping in over it, symbolized as well as anything the rumbling angst that seemed to define this band’s very existence.

Elvis Costello, “Pump It Up” (1978)

This one did exactly that for many bass players, proving that you could drive a great pop song with a fast, original and extremely active bass line that no one had ever heard before.

The Police, “Walking On the Moon” (1979)

Sure, the song is only pseudo-reggae, but the bass line helped make it an instant classic. All hail the Stingster!

Pete Townshend, “Gonna Get Ya” (1980)

To most bass players who admire him, John Entwhistle is more of a god than an actual influence – and that’s a good thing. It also partly explains why there are no Who songs on this list. (Entwhistle’s famous fills on “My Generation” are a solo, not a riff.) But Pete Townshend makes his mark anyway with the bass-driven jam at the center of this 1980 classic of over-the-top, theatrical, non-syncopated rock, inconceivable without the bass line.

Interregnum: The 1980s. Musically, I missed most of the 80s. In college, in the first half of the decade, my friends and I weren’t listening to the radio, and in any case, Journey, Van Halen and the like didn’t float my boat. Then, in the late 80s, I was too busy learning to play the bass – or something. I really don’t remember. If there are important rock bass parts from the 80s, feel free to fill me in in the comments section below. Just don’t call me late for dinner.

Green Day, “Longview” (1994)

This one inspired a new generation of bass players, and it’s a helluva lot of fun to play even if you can’t quite get Mike Dirnt’s sharp, clangy sound.

Beck, “Devil’s Haircut” (1996)

The fuzzed-out guitar insists on playing along, but the unforgettable four-note bass line is what makes this song a hit. Four strings. Four notes. Kozmic, man. OK, it’s Beck – probably used a synth bass. It’s still cool.

White Stripes, “Seven Nation Army” (2003)

Goofy and raucous, this song had the first unforgettable rock bass line of the twenty-first century – from a band without a bass player. (One other major rock band didn’t have a bass player: the Doors. But that was because Ray Manzarek played organ, including the bass line. Jazz organ trios don’t have bass players either, for the same reason.) Local H was another two-person band that managed without a bottom-ender, but the White Stripes are the only one that became huge. And this bass line is the reason they’re not a flash in the pan.

And there you have it – my non-definitive, incomplete, subjective, but staggeringly brilliant list of great bass parts. Think about how empty and meaningless your favorite music would be without the bass. And never forget the immortal words of Spinal Tap:

Big bottom
Big bottom
Talk about bum cakes
My girl’s got ’em

See? You gotta have that bottom end.

Want to comment on this article? Go over to Blogcritics, where the discussion has already begun…

Ah, Valentine’s Day. Day of kitsch, day of sentimentality, day of trash. It may be named after two saints, but nowadays it’s a Hallmark “holiday” – an excuse to sell cards, candy and flowers to ardent (or guilt-ridden) lovers, a time for the lonely to feel even worse.

Valentine’s Day is even more important for schoolchildren, as an early lesson in status-seeking, social humiliation, and bitter disappointment. Other holidays seem trivial in comparison: Easter, which teaches children the essential skill of painting eggs; Hanukkah, when Jewish kids learn to lie to their Christian friends about getting “eight presents;” Labor Day, a mysterious Monday off work with distant origins shrouded in myth.

Mostly, though, Valentine’s Day is big business, and specifically the big business of bad taste. For every lady coming home to a nice bunch of roses, ten others are getting garish heart-shaped boxes of awful “chocolate.” For every couple having a romantic dinner at a nice restaurant with white tablecloths, ten others are buying each other cheap, stuffed animals plastered with purple and pink mylar. So who better to spend the day with than the King of Kitsch, the Champion of Trash, the Baron of Bad Taste himself – John Waters?

OK, maybe we can’t actually personally hang with the man. But the new CD A Date With John Waters could be the next best thing. The legendary indie filmmaker (and unlikely Broadway mogul) has compiled a set of favorite love songs, cock-eyed Waters style. It all makes a nutty kind of sense. The CD starts with the vaguely threatening teen-infidelity tale “Tonight You Belong To Me” by Patience and Prudence. It also covers sexually ambiguous (and not-so-ambiguous) territory with Josie Cotton’s timeless novelty tune “Johnny Are You Queer?” and Elton Motello’s delightfully dirty punk-rock classic “Jet Boy Jet Girl” with its unforgettable line, “I’m gonna make you be a girl.”

Clarence “Frogman” Henry’s “Ain’t Got No Home” is, according to Waters, “the first tri-sexual song ever recorded,” and he may be right. Demonstrating that music was kinky before the Fabulous Fifties, Mildred Bailey’s “I’d Love to Take Orders From You” swings like there’ll never be another war: “I know that rules were made for fools, that’s one thing I have learned/But I’m goin’ in for discipline wherever you’re concerned.”

Tina Turner’s early tour-de-force of anger and jealousy “All I Can Do Is Cry” illuminates the dark side of weddings. Two of Waters’s wacky repertory actors, Mink Stole and the late Edith Massey, contribute delightfully nutty takes on, respectively, a song called “Sometimes I Wish I Had a Gun” and the oldie “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” Syrupy selections from the likes of Dean Martin and Ray Charles are less surprising but still fit the theme, while John Prine and Iris Dement betray the sentiment underlying the shock and trash: “There won’t be nothin’ but big ol’ hearts dancin’ in our eyes,” they sing in the simultaneously kinky and corny “In Spite of Ourselves.”

Really now – who could possibly want to die for art with all this great music to listen to, and auteurs (and characters) like John Waters to give it extra context? (He personally delivers the liner notes in a video.)

Good fun.

Blogcritic Bill Sherman has also posted a review of the CD, and Gothamist has a good interview with Waters about it.

Cross-posted at Blogcritics

A friend who regularly reads this column remarked on how rarely I publish negative reviews. It’s true, I tend to feature stuff I like, and that’s because I do this for the love of music (and writing). It’s a source of satisfaction to me to be able to give some exposure to good new indie releases that can use all the help they can get spreading the word.

No one’s paying me to write about any specific releases. I request only releases that look like they’ll be up my alley, or at least interesting. And when it comes to unsolicited stuff, I focus on what I consider to be the best of the pile. I have boxes full of CDs that didn’t inspire or interest me enough to write about.

When I do publish a negative review it’s usually because a recording interested me in some way even though I didn’t like it. Sometimes I’m using it as an excuse to rant about my more general opinions and prejudices. Other times I’m mad at a CD that disappointed me and I want to yell at it in public.

Also – and particularly when it comes to real do-it-yourself indies – my philosophy is to give weight to the positive aspects of a recording even when there are significant negatives. I feel justified in doing this since readers can generously sample virtually all releases online before they lay out any cash. Who buys music without sampling it first these days anyway, regardless of whether they’ve read a review?

And now for some music.

Bill Kirchen, Hammer of the Honky-Tonk Gods

The guitarist Bill Kirchen, the “King of Dieselbilly,” first made his name with Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen back in the late 60s and early 70s, and has since played with everyone from Gene Vincent to Ralph Stanley to Elvis Costello to Emmylou Harris. He is both a musicians’ musician and an accomplished, warm-hearted singer and songwriter.

Mr. Kirchen’s new CD stops at just about every station the Telecaster master has visited in his career – from Texas swing (“One More Day”) to Motown (“Soul Cruisin'”), from desert blues (“Rocks Into Sand”) and good old rock and roll (“Working Man”) to gritty rockabilly (“Heart of Gold,” the masterful “Get a Little Goner”). The title track – a churning ode to the Tele, “born at the junction of form and function” – is the only hint of the self-referentiality that sometimes swamps recordings by journeyman musicians more known for their skills than their personalities. This CD covers a lot of musical ground but is showoffy in only the humblest possible way. Kirchen’s easygoing, woody hum of a voice unites all the tracks, while his guitar playing is best appreciated over multiple listens, since the songs roll so smoothly from your speakers that you tend not to notice how they are made – which is, after all, the prime sign of good music.

This CD is a strong reminder of what makes – and who made – American music great. As Kirchen sings in the self-penned “One More Day:”

I’m gonna live it up like there’s no tomorrow
Crank up the love and turn down the sorrow
Get my ducks in a row for one more day
I’m gonna lay my head on the railroad track
When the whistle blows, I’m snatchin’ it back
I’ll be needing it for one more day.

Among the tracks that Kirchen didn’t write, highlights include his groovy take on “Devil with the Blue Dress On” and his old-fashioned country arrangment of Blackie Farrell’s “Skid Row On My Mind.” But Kirchen’s own, philosophical “Rocks into Sand” is my favorite track on the CD. “Before fish ever walked on land/Time was turning rocks into sand…Sand that sifts through the hands of man…All I’ll take is what I brought/And I may not get what I sought…That’s up to the shifting sands after all.” Check out this CD before all your own sand falls through your fingers. You won’t be sorry.

Michael Jantz, Snapshots of the Universe

Michael Jantz’s folk-rock songs boast some McCartney-esque melodies and changes (“You,” “Better Than You”), along with a light, soaring sound that’s sometimes reminiscent of Jeff Buckley, especially in the slow-moving “Turn on the Radio” and the sweetly simple melody of “Always On Time.” Adding stylistic variety to this, Jantz’s second release, is a folksy, blue-eyed-blues strain, like that of a John Sebastian or Randy Newman, evident in “Sierra” and “Mama’s Comin’ Home.” Jantz’s clear but distinctive tenor voice – buttressed by a creamy falsetto – is a strong point. Another is a knack for precise hooklets, like the wordless chorus of “Love is But an Ocean” and the slithery Robert Plant echo in the chorus of “You.”

The CD sags a bit in the middle under the weight of some less inspiring material, and Jantz’s lyrics range from appealingly minimalist (“Like breathing/I believe in you”) to inexplicable (“Until the mountains resolve to stand their ground/And the children they’ll just eat anything”). But this is the sort of pop music in which lyrics are secondary anyway – with the possible exception of the ska-influenced political song “Livin’ On Sunshine.” Overall, this CD is highly enjoyable, with plenty of good songwriting and a distinctive enough sound to be a little different. Recommended.

Available with extended clips at CD Baby.

Ernie Halter, Congress Hotel

Ernie Halter is part of the recent movement of singers – think Norah Jones, Amos Lee, John Mayer, Kevin So, Alicia Keys, and the granddaddy of the style, Keb’ Mo’ – who try, with differing approaches (and levels of success), to mix singer-songwriter intimacy with soul-music intensity. Unfortunately in Halter’s case the result of the recipe is a pretty bland stew. One problem is that he has the stuffed-up vocal delivery of a punk singer. Elvis Costello gets away with singing soulful ballads and sophisticated, jazzy pop with that kind of voice, so there’s nothing wrong with it in principle. But Halter’s limited instrument just sounds thin in this setting.

Second, most of the songs seem generic, as if written by committee. The best of the “up” tunes is the opener, “One You Need,” and even this chunky, otherwise satisfying New Orleans-style soul bopper suffers from colorless singing. “Better” (a cover) is another decent, energetic number. The lovely ballad “Lisa,” based on Beethoven’s “Für Elise,” is a keeper, and Halter’s muted style works well in the sweet “Love in L.A.” But they’re specks of pepper in a generally bland gumbo. All the horns and Hammonds in Memphis won’t draw you in if the songwriting is merely competent and the vocals don’t rock with the ages.