Interview: Pete Pidgeon of Arcoda, part two

In part one of my interview with singer/songwriter Pete Pidgeon of Arcoda, we talked about his musical approach, his insights into the Front Range music scene, and how his career has developed, both here and on the East Coast. Part two finds us discussing his influences, some of the recognition he's received and exactly what to do (and what not to do) if you find yourself face to face with Paris Hilton or Trey Anastasio.

Enjoy part two of our conversation, which has been condensed and lightly edited.


Earlier, you mentioned that the legendary Levon Helm of The Band contributed to your upcoming album. How was it playing with him?

Pete Pidgeon: It’s still number one. It’ll probably always be number one. One of my earliest memories, my parents were big music fans. They had a huge vinyl collection, which really influenced where I came from. Randy Newman, Bonnie Raitt, Paul Simon, Billy Joel...all these great singer-songwriters. They had Big Pink and they put on “Chest Fever” and I remember this distinctly. I would crawl up on the couch and jump on the couch when they’d play music. So I remember doing that and then “Chest Fever” coming on and being completely terrified, because it was the scariest sounding organ. It was this huge, monstrous Garth Hudson organ sound. It was overwhelming how powerful this tune was. From my earliest memories of music, I’ve been exposed to The Band and Levon’s playing.

The biggest thing about Levon is that, of anybody in the last 50 years or so who cared more about music, I think he’s probably the number one dude. I don’t think anybody cared more about playing as hard as he could every single night and really giving everything he had to the music. There was this story that Larry Campbell said, if I’m not wrong. [ed: Theresa Williams mentions it in this interview on For the Country Record] In his last days, when he was playing a show, he was sitting in the corner of the room and he wasn’t even talking to anybody. He was talking to himself and talking to God, and saying, “All I ask for is just these 90 minutes on stage. That’s all I ask for. The other hours of the day? Whatever. You want to make me sick, that’s fine, but I need these 90 minutes right here to go out.” You can’t get bigger than that. So, the honor of being able to make music with him, to have him play my music? Come on. That’s just the biggest honor of all time.

Your bio includes things like the Jeff Buckley tribute, which I think exposed you to a lot of bigger named people and gave you some public visibility. I’ve also seen that you were in the running for some Grammys in 2012.

PP: Yeah, ‘11-’12. The ceremony was in 2012, but it was for the 2011 Grammys.

What categories were you considered for?

PP: It was for the EP called Growing Pains. There was a single on there called “Will” and we did a music video for it.

Oh yeah, I saw that on YouTube. Didn’t you write the storyline?

PP: I directed it. I co-wrote the story with Wes Mock, but I wrote the screenplay for it. And I did all the fieldwork for it and financed it.

That was a pretty heavy video.

PP: Thanks. It was dealing with some serious issues. I was volunteering at the time at Road Recovery, which helps children dealing with addictions. A lot of those kids were going through suicide problems and really major stuff. It was actually written about this girl, I’m sure she was suicidal, but I can’t tell you that for sure. But going through a major breakup: outside the lines of regular people breakup. Major stuff. She just had a huge impact on me and I wrote a few tunes about her and that was one of them. “I am more than the sum of my mistakes;” that’s the lyric that everyone responds to. She made these mistakes, but they weren’t really her fault, necessarily. It just had a big impact.

So, that video got nominated for Best Short Form Video, the single, “Will” was nominated for Song of the Year and Record of the Year. And then I was also up for Best Rock Performance and Best Rock Song.

But I’m very clear to mention that these were Grammy-recognized. That’s because a technical Grammy nomination only refers to the top five people that go to the awards ceremony. We made the second round of three, with the third round being the Top Five nominations.

I also noticed that you’re teaching guitar here, which is a good way to make ends meet as a musician. What’s your teaching philosophy?

PP: My curriculum is based on the individual student. Some kids want to learn theory, some kids don’t want to learn theory. Some kids want to learn how to play heavy metal, some kids want to play folk songs or pop tunes. When I came up, I didn’t have a teacher. My brother and my father taught me how to play guitar, but they weren’t sitting there saying, “This is how you’re supposed to do it. You need to learn these songs and do this.” It was more like coaching. So, with my students, I try to incorporate that into the lesson.

I’m glad you brought up your roots. I was wondering what your family background was with music. You mentioned your parents’ vinyl collection and now that your dad and brother both play.

PP: Yeah, my dad and my brother both play guitar. My dad was a campfire folk singer: Everly Brothers, Beach Boys, that kind of thing. Even way back in the day, when he was in high school and college, he had a couple of bands and was doing that style of music. My mom played piano and sang. My dad sang and played guitar. And my grandmother, my mother’s mother, she loved playing piano, too., She played at Christmas and I think she played at church at one point. Her husband, my mom’s father, was in the church. He played hymns and stuff on the piano. He died before I was born, but my grandma played a lot of those tunes. So there was a lot of music in the house. We had a music room in the house...My family called it the living room, but I called it the music room because it had baby grand piano, a bunch of guitars, xylophones, percussion instrument, trombone, violins, trumpet, recorders, flute. There was just all sorts of instruments, plus the record player, the reel-to-reel player. I couldn’t ask for more, you know.

Do you just have the one brother? Does he play as a hobbyist?

PP: Yes. The first live gig I ever played in public, I played bass in his progressive rock cover band. It was Yes, Rush, Triumph and maybe a couple of other groups, but that was the core of it. I was either 13 or 14. They were playing “Yours is No Disgrace” [by Yes] and the bass player couldn’t hang with the bass part. It wasn’t necessarily technically difficult, but there’s a lot of notes to memorize, and there’s a bass solo and stuff. A walking bass thing. So I just picked it up and played it. So, my brother brought me on because I could play the whole thing. They called me the Iceman, because I just stood in one place, staring at the bass, not moving, not looking at anybody.

Total shoegazer...

PP: Exactly. A shoegazer before shoegazing. So he was a shredder into progressive rock and shred: Satriani, Malmsteen, and Vai, Paul Gilbert, that kind of thing. He was a major influence. Probably the biggest influence. He had a bunch of bands. He doesn’t gig out as much now, but he definitely gave it a good go for a long time.

What other influences would you cite for your music?

PP: Oh, Man. it’s been a long road. The first exposure was the singer-songwriters that I mentioned. The first band I liked on my own was Huey Lewis and the News. There was this one live performance of "The Power of Love", where he’s playing onstage and he gets on his knees and he’s just yelling. I was like, “That’s amazing. That the coolest.” I must’ve been around 7 or 8.

I saw Robert Palmer when “Addicted to Love” came out and he had that video with all the girls dressed in black and doing their thing. I didn’t know what love was at the time or what any of the lyrics were about, which my parents found amusing, but I saw that video and I connected with it right away. I thought, “This is the greatest music I’ve ever heard.”

And there was a black and white Kiss show that I remember from when I was super young. Just the fact that I remember these things means that my brain was hardwired for music. I’m barely an infant and I recognize what’s going on.

So that was the earliest stuff. Then my brother got me into progressive rock and shred and then that graduated into jazz in high school and college. Then that graduated into jam bands: Allman Brothers, Phish, Dead, Santana, that kind of stuff, which taught me how to improvise. Coming out of progressive rock and shred, there’s no improvisation. Although there was some in Yes, I’ll give them some credit because they were an organic progressive band.

So I did the jam band thing. After that, I started getting back into my roots of songwriting, around ‘03. I’ve sort of been in that scene for the last ten years: song craft, how to write better tunes. Definitely more stripped down, trying to make it more compact. That’s one thing New York definitely taught me: you got to have a three minute tune. maybe a four minute tune if you can, but no more of this 7 or 8 minute progressive, long form stuff, That was sort of the purpose of the Growing Pains EP. How can I be concise and write a hit tune or a radio tune? And it’s still too progressive for most people, but it’s the best I could do without sacrificing my creative interests.

You brought up the jam band thing, which is a good segue, because I wanted to talk briefly with you about your book, Hampton '98: The Dephinitive Experience about the Hampton shows and Phish. I read the interview you had with Glide and I found it really intriguing. I wanted to ask you was about a teaser quote from that Glide interview. You talked about getting experience meeting the guys in Phish and that you finally learned how to meet and talk to famous people. So what’s your advice for people? What is the proper way?

PP: (laughs) It’s exactly how you and I are talking right now. That’s exactly how you do it. You’re just another dude. “Hey what’s going on? What do you have happening? How’s the road been? What’s up?” and not get overtaken. It’s easier said than done, but not get overtaken by -- there’s almost a palpable energy that comes off of people that are famous. I don’t know why. I’m theorizing that it has something to do with their influence and also how they’ve been influenced. The amount of energy that they can play in front of 100,000 people and affect 100,000 people simultaneously by playing one note on their instrument or them being influenced by those 100,000 people giving all their energy back to them. They’re very electric people.

If you can talk to your brain and say, “Just be cool, man, it’s just a normal person,” have a regular convo, keep it on the level. I think that breathing and pausing is a big part of it. Because your brain’s on fire, “Oh my God, I’m talking to this person, this is so amazing! Keep talking, keep talking!” But if you can have that natural flow of conversation, you have to consciously put that pause in between your sentences, so you’re not just blasting this poor person the whole time. That’s what makes them anxious and not want to really hang out and talk. You’re just throwing so much at them, so fast.

One of the hardest parts is that there’s so many things that you want to tell this person and you don’t have more than probably 15 seconds to get it out and you’re probably going to screw it up and you’re probably also going to forget all those things and just say something, The first time I met Trey [Anastasio] was like that. I met him outside of his lodge at Sugarbush in 1995. I was just, “blah, blah, blah”, you know. I couldn’t really form sentences and said stupid things. I gave him a hug and he was all freaked out. Good for him, because I freaked him out. Over the years, I’ve tried to tone it down.

But battling the energy field is still difficult. Like being at the Grammys on the red carpet with Paris Hilton and Sting where you are right now. Just being cool, “Hey what’s up Paris, How are you doing?” “Oh, I’m a little cold.” “Have you got a sweater?” “No, I didn’t bring one…” Just bullshitting, but that goes a long way. Just be a normal person, you know.

Thanks for being a normal person for this interview

PP: (laughs) Hopefully, I can be one for the rest of my life.

Interview: Pete Pidgeon of Arcoda, part one

A relative newcomer to the Front Range, singer/songwriter Pete Pidgeon moved here from the busy New York music scene. In the few months he’s been here, he’s fallen into the local music community and also made strong connections on the business side. Part of what makes him fit in so well here is his earnest, engaging nature and his open stylistic approach that includes pop, Americana, jazz, and even some funk.

I had the chance to talk with Pidgeon at DazzleJazz club in Denver, before we both enjoyed listening to his Arcoda bandmate, pianist Adam Bodine, lead his jazz combo through a solid set.

This is part one of our conversation, which has been condensed and lightly edited.



How would you define your music, if you had to do it?

Pete Pidgeon: I usually say songwriting because that’s really the core of it. If you listen to Bob Marley or Paul Simon, or if you listen to Whitesnake, all of those bands are songwriting. It’s based on form and a verse-chorus and lyrics and all that kind of thing as opposed to jazz or jam band, which are mostly instrumental.

If you took Billy Joel, for example, he’s got a genre of songwriting, but his style changes from tune to tune. So, he can do a doo-wop '50s song and then he can play a straight out pop tune, and he can do piano ballads. He has these different styles within his own genre. So when you think Billy Joel, you think Billy Joel. You don’t think he’s a reggae guy and then he’s a world music guy

I think we - we meaning the band and myself; I write the tunes -- we sort of fall into that category. There’s a genre for the band, which is the umbrella of songs. I may write a song in a reggae style or an R&B style, but the genre is based on this verse-chorus type of organization.

I do hear a lot of different influences in your music. I can hear some some Phish on a few things. I can even hear a little bit of Moxy Fruvous. Certainly I get what you’re saying about songwriting because you have that kind of singer/songwriter stage presence. Listening to your songs, you tap into that to either tell a story or create a mood.

PP: No matter what the style is that you’re conveying, you can still get a similar message across. If you listen to Tesla’s albums, like their Five Man Acoustical Jam record and you break that down, it’s straight ahead songs. You think of them as a hair metal band or whatever, but really, if you strip all that stuff away, it’s just song forms. And part of the genre aspect of that was hair metal '80’s, but stylistically, they’re pretty much a songwriting band. Whether it’s disco or pop. It makes it more fun and more flexible as a musician to be able to do different stuff and keep it interesting and not be limited.

With the kind of eclectic sound that you have, do you think that’s it harder or easier for you?

PP: I think it’s 50-50, but in the long run, it’s easier. Because, for example, we could open for Leon Russel or Bonnie Raitt and do a stripped down show. We could do a straight ahead rock show because of songs like “Will” and “Whirlwind” and “She’s Right”. We could play a folk situation, like Newport Folk Festival or something like that. I could play solo acoustic. I just did that “Wharf Rat” performance for JamBase, for the GD (Grateful Dead) 50 “Songs of Their Own” series.

I saw that on YouTube.

PP: So, it gives me all these opportunities to do different things with different people and different areas of the field rather than being limited. If we were only a folk band, we can only play in that little niche. I also have so many songs at this point. I probably have 120, or 130 tunes that are completely finished, recorded, polished and everything. Within that set of a hundred or so tunes, say we do thirty on a gig, that gives me almost four or five complete sets of music that we can play in these different venues. If we did a show at Dazzle, I’ve got a jazz instrumental set. If we did a show at Cervantes or at OneUp, we have enough jam band style material that we can make that show a success and get people off.

You said that it was 50-50, though. What’s the downside?

PP: The downside is probably just when you book shows or when you’re asked to define yourself in very limited circumstances, you have to come up with a thing. Like with ReverbNation: they ask you to come up with your genre. I think currently our genre is Americana. That’s what the new record is for the most part. So, if we’re focusing on what’s one thing we are right now, I have to come up with a response and coming up with that response is sometimes difficult if I don’t have a defined situation. I think Americana is what we’re doing in 2015 and where we’re headed with the new record and everything, so it’s a little bit of an easier answer, but if you had asked me three years ago…we’re rock. I guess, because there’s no songwriting genre. Coming up with that definitive answer can be difficult at times.

Talking about the different kinds of gigs you say you can do, though, doesn't it make it harder to have an identity that you fans can connect to? Your fans have to work a little bit to figure out what is it that makes you their thing.

PP: I think that’s what is so great about Denver that’s not really present in a lot of other areas of the country is that the fans here will go to an EDM show one night, the next night they’ll go to a country show, then they’ll go to a folk show, they’ll go to a rock show, They’re almost tuned into accepting the eclecticism of these bands. So, here we’ve been very successful. We can do different styles of music and people aren’t going to say, “Oh, this isn’t what I thought you were.” And they’re not only accepting of it, but they like seeing that diversity. It makes it an interesting show. We’re not going to come out and play the same show every time. It’s always a different setlist, depending on who’s on the bill or what room we’re playing in. I think that’s probably our biggest asset. Because if you’re a hard rock band and you end up playing a rockabilly club, you’re kind of in trouble. But if we play Little Bear in Evergreen, for example, we’ll play rockabilly for two sets and people will love it.

So, what brought you to Colorado? You’re pretty much an East Coast guy -- New York and Connecticut.

PP: Yeah, I was born in Connecticut and then I spent a few years in New Jersey at Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers. Then I moved to New Paltz, NY, about an hour and a half north of Manhattan. It’s out in the woods. It was the hippie town of hippie towns in America when I was there, anyway, between ‘95 and 2000. I lived in a house called the cloud house, which was yellow when I lived there, but it used to have clouds and sky painted all over it like a Peter Max painting. It was like the San Francisco of the East Coast, but in very small, subtle town.

That’s where Arcoda started. I sort of made this band thing and tried to sort of congeal all of these ideas to one name and one direction. The lineup continually changed, but just having that idea of a band that’s a repository for all these songs that I’m writing. No matter who’s in the group, we’re going to do these songs and play out.

I graduated SUNY New Paltz with a Jazz Studies degree and then moved to Boston until the end of ‘07. That was a great time. From 2000 to ‘02, '03, there were a lot of great bands on the scene: The Slip, and Percy Hill, and Madison Project, and Uncle Sammy. There was this great vibe but then the dynamic of the town and the clubs changed and a lot of the bands broke up and the clubs started shutting down or being bought out by corporate companies and stuff. Then I moved to New York City, I lived in Brooklyn for three and a half years and that was great because it was the kick in the ass I wanted about just learning the hardcore business aspect of everything and getting to meet some of the big names and work with bigger people.

Unfortunately, the skyrocketing rent and ability to live in that town became impossible. So, I moved back home for a little while and back to Connecticut to sort of figure out what I was doing. I bounced between Millerton, NY and Canton, CT, and Boston for a couple of years, just trying to make some money and save up, figure out where I wanted to go. I did a lot of research. I had come to Denver in 1996 for the Phish concerts at Red Rocks. I thought it was amazing. It was just the coolest town and a great buzz. I knew I always wanted to get back here. Then I was the lighting director for The Slip in 2000 and we played the Gothic and the Fox on that run. Just incredible people, great vibe, great music scene. So, I knew some people out here. Eric Imbrosciano, who was one of the drummers in Arcoda back in the day, he ran the funk jam at the Armoury on Wednesdays. So, he brought me down there and introduced me to a bunch of people during the Phish concerts at Dick’s in 2014, Labor Day. So, I hung out here for a week and I loved it and I came out and it‘s been...It was the right move, it’s been amazing.

You mentioned the changing lineup for Arcoda. Did you come here alone and then build the current version?

PP: Right. The band I was playing with in North Hampton, Mass, they were some of the most talented young players in central Mass. Really, really good players and good people. The trouble was that there aren’t any paying gigs in central Mass. That whole scene is very difficult to get paid as a musician. We did a few gigs, but they weren’t paying much money, if any money, and they were getting a little frustrated that the bread wasn’t there, and I was getting frustrated because I was paying out of pocket and losing a whole bunch of money. So, I knew I had to get out of there and make a change and move. I just came out here and with Eric’s help, he introduced me a lot to the scene and I got my feet on the ground. Slowly but surely, I met all the musicians and found out the ones that would work.

I’ve seen you open for Atomga’s CD release party for Black Belt at the Bluebird [review] and then I saw your recent show headlining at the Fox [review]. I think you’re getting out and about well in the area. Does this feel like where you want to settle in for the duration?

PP: It blows my mind. A lot it has to do with the talent buyers here being human beings. Like Chris Peck and Jake Nixon for example, who do Z2 [Entertainment]. They had faith in the band and in myself. I’m not used to people either taking a chance or having faith in us. I have a great bio, of course, but in New York City, everyone has a great bio. So, I was used to this sort of brick wall mentality. Where I’m just beating this wall until my hands are bleeding. I’d say, “Look I’m good, I’m really good. I’ve played with these famous people and I’ve been at the Grammy Awards and I’ve done these great things.” They’re like, “So is everyone else who’s trying to apply here. So why are you any different?” Being out here, where people are actually receptive, that’s been the biggest difference. It makes me work harder as a performer to live up to their expectations. If they’re going to believe in me, then I’m going to work hard for them and try to make sure that they’re going to get their money’s worth out of it. It’s a great symbiotic relationship. I’ll definitely stick around for that.

It’s interesting to me to hear about a musician coming to our market with intention. Coming from a hothouse scene like New York, and then seeing your performance of “Just Like a Woman” at the Jeff Buckley tribute show - your cover of his version is just fantastic…

PP: Thanks.

Your phrasing and the emotion you brought to it was really sharp. It was his version, but you made it your own. I respect that.

But you were in that sort of crowded environment, where people can get discovered, so moving to Denver is surprising. There are a few bands out of Colorado that have moved up, but I’m not used to people coming here to do that.

PP: In general, if you have money in New York, you’ve got a great shot. If you can get a publicist that can hype every one of your shows and get you into big time media, then you’re probably going to do well, if you’re a good artist. But the hustle on the ground to get the gigs, to get paid for playing your gig, and then retain that audience for your next performance in a city where you have people playing at Madison Square Garden… You’re going up against Billy Joel, you’re going up against Phil Lesh and Friends, you’re going up against these major artists that are playing for tens of thousands of people. And it’s not just one venue, you have Barclays Center, all these huge spots. So, no matter what you’re doing, your competition is so enormous, it’s so hard to draw in New York.

By coming out here, you don’t have that overarching pressure where you have to be in the New York Times tomorrow in order to get anywhere. or if you’re not spending $4000 on a publicist, you can’t play and get gigs. There’s enough of a grassroots scene here. If you do hustle and work hard, you can get the fanbase energized and get people out to your show and get people out to the next show, which is the biggest hurdle. No matter how many people came out to that first show, if they can bring a friend to the next show, and you keep growing on it, that’s the whole point. I think that’s possible out here.

Also the venue sizes are manageable. There’s a ladder here that didn’t exist in Boston. In Boston, there are very few mid-range venues.  You skip right up to 4000 at House of Blues and even, the Paradise, which I think is 600 people, is a generously sized room, but it’s considered a lower tier room in that town. Getting from ground one to the Paradise, you might have Church, which I think is a couple of hundred people, a couple of venues. Two or three venues, literally, and then you skip right up to 600, then after that, you skip to 4000. The ladder’s all messed up. Out here, you can play the Walnut Room for a hundred and something people or the Armoury for one hundred, two hundred people. All these clubs, there’s so many options where you can get on at a certain level to get up to the next rung of two or three hundred people, and then you’re at the Bluebird for 500 people. and then 800 at the Boulder Theater, 1000 people at the Gothic.

It makes the business much easier. And it’s not as expensive a town, so I can pay my band, which I couldn’t really do out East, unless I was really taking a hit. Also, literally the fans. What blew me away on day one, was that the fanbase in Denver is so energized. They go out to shows on a Monday at midnight. You can go to a show and there’ll be 100 people there. Meadowlark jam on Tuesday night or the funk jam that I do at the Armoury every Wednesday, we get people out at midnight in the middle of the week and that does not happen in Boston. Because the fans here love going out, they love supporting music, seeing music, being part of the scene. That’s the number one reason I moved here. It’s got an energy to it.

How do you see this playing out? In your dreams, how do you want things to go from here?

PP: Considering that the Arcoda launch party was at the Walnut Room in February -- in a little more than four months, I’ve already done more than I expected to do in four or five years. I’ve played the Fillmore, I’ve played the Boulder Theater, Bluebird, headlined the Fox., I’ve worked with a bunch of great musicians in town. So, my expectations have not only been met, but exceeded through this period of four months.

I mentioned those recent shows, but I know you have also some busy weekends lined up. By the time this interview has posted, you’ll have played the Colorado Brewer’s Festival in Ft. Collins and Crested Butte later that same day.

PP: Yeah, the Brewer’s Festival, there will be 20,000 people. We’re playing the mainstage. We got offered to headline that festival, but because we’re playing Crested Butte, we have to play an earlier slot, but still, it’s a great opportunity.

And you’ve already got things lined up in July, too, right?

PP: We have the Bluebird District Music Festival. Going back to what I was saying about the talent buyers, Tony Mason and Drew Gottlieb have been really supportive of our band and believed in what we’re doing. they put us on the inaugural Bluebird District Music Festival, which a huge honor and we can’t appreciate that enough. We’ll work really hard for that. And we just got the direct support spot for Anders Osborne at the Breckenridge Brewery Hootenanny after-party at Cervantes. And we’re co-headlining the Rialto Theatre July 17 with Miles Lee Band. He’s a really good friend.

As far as goals go, though,  the next big goal that I want to do is play at Red Rocks. I’m trying to get into the Film on the Rocks clique and hopefully we can get a call on that someday. We have an album coming out, called All the Little Things, probably in October, which has Levon Helm from the Band on it and Chris Pandolfi from the [Infamous] Stringdusters, and Ryan Zoidis from Lettuce, who just sold out Red Rocks

We finish our conversation in part two of my interview with Pete Pidgeon of Arcoda

What's cool - Geographer, "I'm Ready" (acoustic)

Unplugged, but the vocals are electric

Geographer's Mike Deni starts out with soft, simple fingerpicked line, but misses his second chord to blow the take. A whispered, "I'm sorry" of self-admonishment and he tackles it again. That false start humanizes his performance, but he's convincing enough on his own. While he doesn't engage with the camera, his singing is lush and warm, and the dynamic build to the chorus strum is powerful. I love the effortless way his voice slides into its upper register when he gets soulful. Geographer is known for solid songwriting and emotional depth and this version of "I'm Ready" plays to those strengths.



It's really interesting to compare this stripped down arrangement to the full band version. Aside from toning down the sharper extremes of soft and loud, the solo version has a looser sense of rhythm that adds a rueful edge to the wistful mood. The original is a beautiful song; the chiming synths and delicate strings add a lot, but it's nice to get a better sense of Deni as a solo artist.

"I'm Ready" is on Geographer's upcoming release, Ghost Modern, due out on March 24.

Recording review - Tori Amos, Unrepentant Geraldines (2014)

Unrepentant, but that's how she's always been

With a recent foray into classical music on Night of Hunters (2011) and Gold Dust’s orchestral interpretations of her back catalog in 2012, it seemed like Tori Amos had left her contemporary pop days behind. Last year’s musical staging of I for the National Theatre in London suggested that this was how she planned to grow old gracefully, abdicating her earlier career and setting herself new challenges outside the image and age conscious pop world. This new work was worthwhile, but lacked the visceral punch of Amos’ heights of righteous indignation, sly sedition, and her richr inner life.

Unrepentant Geraldines is so satisfying because it proves that Amos has not given up on pop music. More moody than confrontational, the album recalls both Little Earthquakes (1992) and Under The Pink (1994), its storytelling lyrics rooted to an inner truth, its intimacy and connection reliant on her piano and rich voice. From the very start, Amos weaves a spell that shuts out the rest of the world. The Beatlesque opening of “America” weaves a fine tapestry for her breathy sighs and vulnerable vocal catches. Her stylized singing stretches out, creating a dreamy detachment that complements the oblique lyrics. Her protagonist, “the other America,” is sketched with the barest of details, and it’s not until the flashy psychedelic pop of the bridge that her political message creeps in. Then the hypnotic lethargy of the piece becomes a commentary itself. The protective shell lingers even as she shifts gears and throws off the languor for the work-song cadence of “Trouble’s Lament”. It’s a strong lead single for the album, offering a frisson of dark abandon in her knowing tone as she sings, “If danger wants to find me/ I’ll let him in.”

At this point, the album seems to promise a roster of allegorical woman characters, but Amos breaks the pattern with “Wild Way” and this is where Unrepentant Geraldines moves into deeper currents of confession and disclosure. Although the arrangement gradually fills out, it starts out as a stripped down ballad of piano and voice that showcases her painful emotional ambiguity. Amos conveys the weariness of being worn down by the broken chemistry of her relationship, yet she’s still wistful for what once was. She sidesteps the wordplay and clever conceit of the first two pieces with lyrics that are stark and direct, “I hate you/ I hate you, I do/ I hate that you’re the one who can make me feel gorgeous/ With just, just a flick of your finger/ It is that easy.” It’s a powerful moment that shows that Amos can still capture the raw truth of songs like “Mother” or “Me and a Gun”, but with more clarity.

The album flows smoothly from this auspicious beginning, with plenty of notable moments. The duet with her 13 year old daughter, “Promise”, calls back to Amos’ smart pop and infuses it with modern R&B swoon. The title song is a stripped down, lazy evocation of “Cornflake Girl” and “God”, from Under The Pink. But my favorite track looks more forward than back. “16 Shades of Blue” is built upon Amos’ archly precise vocals and light piano accompaniment, but the production is thoroughly up-to-date. Producer-collaborators Mark Hawley and Marcel van Limbeek apply a heavy hand, twisting the initial recording into an arty remix. They add electronic fills and sound effects, program an understated beat and mutate the vocals. The contrast is particularly apropos because the lyrics are a jaundiced take on aging and relevance. The piece walks a fine line; it would be easy to slip into pastiche, but it works because it preserves Amos’ pensive and poisonous intent. Although this is one of two outliers on the album, the artistic risk pays off, even as she almost sneers, “There are those who say/ I am now too old to play.”

The other odd duck, “Giant’s Rolling Pin”, doesn’t fare nearly as well, more for context than content. It’s a whimsical potshot at the spooks and spies of the world, with the jaunty feel of early pieces like “The Wrong Band”. It doesn’t mesh with the rest of album, and might have worked better as a bonus cut outside the tracklist flow. Despite that minor quibble, Unrepentant Geraldines is a remarkably consistent, strong album. On “Oysters”, Amos sings, “‘Cause I’m working my way back/ I’m working my way back to me again.” It’s been a long time since she started, but she’s definitely still herself.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Tom Brosseau: Grass Punks (2014)

Stripped down, but emotionally distant

Few things are more direct and personal than a solo singer with his folk guitar. Everything is in plain sight and there’s little cover for emotional vulnerability. Traditional singer/songwriters like Nancy Griffith, Todd Snider, and Billy Bragg each offer different paths to entertainment, with sincerity and flashes of humor, but they all share an openness that grounds their music and touches audiences. On the surface, Tom Brosseau follows the same guide star. Grass Punks is a stripped down album, with most songs relying on a single vocal and paired instrumental tracks. But Brosseau keeps his cards close to his chest, using his pretty guitar to deflect the audience from delving too deeply into his stories.

The standout tune, “Cradle Your Device”, will be the one that everyone remembers. A commentary on our screen-filtered life, Brosseau passive-aggressively gestures to the technology as the root of his failed relationship. At the same time, the matter of fact accompaniment is objective and his singing is more wistful and musing than bitter or hurt. He’s covering some kind of a raw wound, but it suggests that the disconnection has its own backstory, one that he doesn’t want to deal with. The song is full of contrasts: the music provides a logical order, layered with staccato rhythm and counterpoint guitars, the words are pained and accusatory, but the vocal tone seems uninvested in the message and untouched by the rejection. I like the song, but that cognitive dissonance turns the piece into a Rorschach test. The more I listen, the more convinced I am that the breakdown in communication has little to do with his lover’s iPod.

Grass Punks eventually codifies Brosseau’s approach into a recipe. The musical surface is elegantly rendered. Two guitars find interlocking melodies and complete each other’s phrases with dexterous simplicity and light flourishes. In one case, “Gregory Page of San Diego”, he breaks it up by substituting a mandolin for one of the guitars, but that merely shifts the tonal center a touch higher in pitch. Brosseau’s vocals are similarly simple, with a touch of Marc Bolan falsetto. Occasionally a plaintive element creeps in, but he keeps his emotional connection shallow. A track like “Tami” may dwell in memories of a first kiss, but he doesn’t seem particularly moved, robbing the song of its full impact. Completing the formula, Brosseau’s lyrics often rely on an oblique sketchiness, where the subject is may actually just be a metaphor. That vagueness leaves the songs in a gray area. For example, in “Today Is A Bright New Day”, it’s unclear whether he’s revisiting the past in his mind or physically going back to the places he references.

Despite all of that, he conjures up several interesting moments, largely based on the musical mood he creates. On “Love High John The Conqueror Root”, he creates a satisfyingly uneasy scaffolding, built from a touch of ragtime guitar, a steady restless rhythm and a light veneer of discordance. The title line chorus doesn’t seem to tie to the verses, but the package is intriguing. “I Love To Play Guitar” offers another flavor of dissonance, pairing the music-box clockwork guitars with his lyrical theme of escaping life’s travails through music. Maybe this song and others are just a subtle joke and the mechanical feel is intentional.

Brosseau is certainly a talented player with a knack for wonderful folk guitar arrangements. But he seems to want it both ways: he hints at emotional complexity and introspective thoughts, but he’s unwilling to expose these feelings to direct scrutiny. Without that grounding, the pretty playing seems a bit sterile.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Mark Mulcahy, Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You (2013)

Band versions of singer-songwriter material, but punctuated with perfect lyrical moments 

Mark Mulcahy and his band Miracle Legion made a small splash on the college rock scene back in the 1980s. They developed a small coterie of dedicated fans and opened for a number of well-known bands, but their most lasting ripple in the national consciousness was when they reformed as Polaris to do music for the 1990s Nickelodeon series “The Adventures of Pete & Pete”. After the show was canceled, Mulcahy continued as a solo artist, still opening for larger acts and releasing the occasional stripped down album. He patiently recorded his latest project, Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You, over the course of a year, with a rotating cast of friends backing him. Just like his Miracle Legion days, he still writes a very catchy tune, but these songs feel like they were intended to be solo singer/songwriter pieces. His ever-present acoustic guitar keeps one foot in that space even as the tracks are scaled up by his band buddies. The resulting album is almost a period piece, channeling early ‘90s indie rock and evoking artists like Dada and Michael Penn.

The first single, “She Makes the World Turn Backwards” (non-album version), is easily the album’s strongest track. While the title and chorus music rework various snippets of Roky Erickson’s garage psychedelia, the verses have a fatalistic desperation borrowed from Penn’s sophomore album, Free-for-All (1992). Mulcahy captures the same mix of acoustic guitar and bass decorated with tripped out electric guitar fills. His relaxed vocal phrasing also echoes Penn’s, with off-beat pauses that oddly emphasize particular words. The call-and-response section of the chorus, “Where does it hurt?/ Everywhere!,” is heavy-handed, but the piece is powerful enough to overcome the melodrama.

This collection of songs reflects the loosely directed flow of the recording sessions; each of the 11 tracks stands alone, without any real relationship to the others. This juxtaposes the strained surrealism of the Pavement-like “Let the Fireflies Fly Away” with the stripped down synthpop of “Bailing Out on Everything Again” and the Tom Petty Americana of “Poison Candy Heart”. Despite the odd transitions, Mulcahy consistently throws out lines that stick. Deceptively simple, it’s immensely satisfying to savor lines like, “Creeping toward the end/ Waiting on my man/ All I can do is what I do best/ And that’s taketh away” (“I Taketh Away”) and “You’re happiest when I’m not/ I can live with that” (“Poison Candy Heart”).

Sometimes, like on the Dylanesque “He’s a Magnet”, the initial lyrics promise more than the song can deliver, in this case opening with, “It all starts with the alphabet/ ‘A’ is for all I can get” before drifting into a mishmash of disjointed ideas, from Bible-readers to the cliché that “…weed will get you through times of no money.” But it’s a good-natured, drunkard’s walk and the closing assertion that “I’m positive we’re the ones that we’ve been waiting for” somehow wraps the song up with a non-Euclidean bow. On the other hand, “The Rabbit” is near perfect as it sketches out a tale of codependence, but for all his cynicism about his lover’s motivations and ambivalence about their dysfunctional relationship, Mulcahy tags the chorus with desperate longing.

Over the years, Mulcahy has collected a core of well-known supporters, like Thom Yorke, Dinosaur Jr. and Michael Stipe. They even pulled together a benefit/tribute album, Ciao My Shining Star (2009), to raise money for Mulcahy and his two daughters following his wife’s sudden death. His scattered fans will undoubtedly embrace Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You and its return to something more like Miracle Legion’s sound. Hopefully, the album will swell their ranks.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review: Steve Earle & the Dukes (& Duchesses), The Low Highway (2013)

Progressive icon brings humanity to his social themes

Steve Earle makes it look easy on The Low Highway as he transforms from modern-day Woody Guthrie to gritty, soulful rocker, with side-steps into bluegrass and new country. Although his gravelly voice has a limited range, he’s a strong performer and his writing continues to be impeccable. Many of his songs present interesting, realistic characters, from a meth head loser in “Calico County” to the poignant father in “Remember Me”. More than just character sketches, their stories touch on larger themes. Given his progressive politics, Earle relates a number of these tales to the economy and social issues but he shows a defter hand for crafting the songs on this offering than previous albums. In particular, his backing band is chameleon-like, adapting to the shifting genres that Earle selects for the tunes. Beautiful folk arrangements are packed with subtle detail but the group is also up for rough and tumble rock ‘n’ roll, bluegrass twang, or retro Gypsy jazz.

The Low Highway begins by showing off Earle’s troubadour side on the title cut. His voice wheezes, backed by a simple acoustic guitar before the bass steps in behind him. Light touches of fiddle and steel guitar sidle into the background to join the march. An ode to the 99 percenters, the tune revisits Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land”:

I saw empty houses on dead end streets
People lining up for something to eat
And the ghost of America was watching me
Through the broken windows of the factories 

The country instrumentation and folky feel are simple but not simplistic. The fiddle and steel guitar fill in the spaces between the verses but refrain from taking full-on leads. This maintains a somber tone that fits the dark State of the Union lyrics.

The next two tracks drop in on some characters along Earle’s Low Highway. The rocking “Calico County” features a solid riff and guitar tone borrowed from the James Gang. The meth-cooking lead character is trapped in his hometown:

Out of here someday
Ain’t that what I used to say?
Army wouldn’t take me
So, I guess I’m gonna have to stay 

His backstory lays out all the cards stacked against him, but the relentless vamp tells us that, like it or not, life just goes on. The protagonist in “Burnin’ It Down” is even more resigned, but he’s found a target to vent on. Sitting in his pickup truck, he’s working up the energy to burn down the local Walmart: “It doesn’t matter much how long I wait/ The door’s always open and it’s never too late.” Earle uses the lazy country arrangement and weary, slurring vocal to convey the scene of a man smoking his last cigarette. Neither of these characters is looking for sympathy but the songs hint at the stories behind what we hear about in the news.

The Low Highway isn’t all dark despair. Despite its mournful beginning, “Warren Hellman’s Banjo” is a celebration of the billionaire banker/bluegrass impresario who started the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in San Francisco. Full of references to classic folk and bluegrass songs, it’s a fitting tip of the hat as it alludes to the long musical chain running through the American songbook. Its traditional feel fits nicely with tunes like the bluesy cut-time of “Love’s Gonna Blow My Way,” which harks back to a 1930s sound. Like the songs in O Brother, Where Art Thou?, the lyrics acknowledge life’s difficulties but they show a resilient backbone of optimism. The jazzy violin accompaniment and solo seem inspired by Stéphane Grappelli. This is one of the three tracks on the album that Earle wrote for the HBO series “Treme”, along with the Cajun boogie duet “That All You Got?” and the moody “After Mardi Gras”.

Individual tracks on the album offer immersive moments that show off the range and depth of Earle’s songwriting. Although The Low Highway is not a concept album per se, there is a narrative arc that ties these songs into a richer fabric. The dystopian snapshot of America in the title song provides the context for the dead end life in “Calico County”. And where that character sees no choices, he’s followed by a man determined to at least strike a blow, if only against a faceless corporation. From there, it’s a small step up to the defiance in “That All You Got?”, where the characters are beaten down but unbowed. Through denial, optimism, and a reminder of the alternatives, these songs eventually find strength in the universal story of tradition and a forward-looking present, even if “21st Century Blues” casts some doubt on the future. But Earle recognizes that the objective idea of a historical connection isn’t satisfying as a final philosophical answer. Instead, he ends with the elegiac tune “Remember Me”. Written from an aging father to his young child, it humanizes that generational chain. Regardless of whether we’re society’s outcasts or not, whether our problems are public or hidden, each of us loves and all we can really ask for is to be remembered, hopefully fondly

(This review originally appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Concert review - Jonathan Coulton with Paul and Storm

22 January 2011 (Soiled Dove Underground, Denver CO)

Jonathan Coulton and his perpetual openers, Paul and Storm, have stumbled onto a perfect chemistry. Paul and Storm create the wise cracking, comedy shtick that loosens the crowd. Then Coulton comes out and adds depth with his technical playing ability and thoughtful lyrics. The balance is perfect.

The Soiled Dove seems to be Coulton's favorite venue in Colorado. It's an intimate venue, with reserved seating and an old style cabaret feel. This room is another factor in what makes Jonathan Coulton's show work so well.

Paul and Storm

Paul and Storm are regular contributors to the Bob and Tom Show and a host of other internet and radio outlets. Comedy is a tough business. Once someone has heard the joke, it's harder to get a good laugh out of them again. Musical comedy seems even tougher: it's either stretching out a single joke or creating a related series of jokes. Paul and Storm have thrived in this world for a some time, as part of a capella wonders, Da Vinci's Notebook, and now as a duo.

Last time JoCo was here, Paul and Storm opened and were hysterical. Even with many of the same songs and jokes, they killed again. Part of this was that much of the crowd was already primed to participate. So, during their usual opening song, Opening Band, the crowd was prepared to throw panties (and one pack of 'tan peas') on cue (see 1:46).

They breezed through favorites, like the Gregorian chanted Nun Fight and a set of one sentence songs. They also pulled out a couple of newer pieces, including I Will Sing a Lullabye and Frogger! The Frogger Musical. Throughout their set, they kept a loose, improv feel, riffing off the audience and pushing what turned out to be their new catchphrase, "_____ is the name of my ___________cover band". So, in response to the Opening Band panties, one commented that "this is like Panty Christmas for us", prompting the response, "Panty Christmas is the name of my Spice Girls cover band."

They closed with the perennial favorite, The Captain's Wife's Lament. That it's just an extended setup for a juvenile punchline didn't matter. The crowd's pirate participation took it over the top.

Jonathan Coulton

Jonathan Coulton's first job when he came out was to battle the remaining pirates in the audience to take control of the show. Within a couple of songs, (Millionaire Girlfriend, Shop-Vac, and IKEA), he had us on board. Part of the difference from Paul and Storm is that Coulton creates a more personal connection with the audience. His humor is more sardonic, but he can also mix in deeper themes with the laughs.

His flow of songs smoothly moved the audience through a set of moods. His version of Code Monkey was more wistful, emphasizing the pathos at its heart. This led into Big Bad World, continuing the focus on socially inept characters. Just as that mood started to inch towards being too heavy, he riffed on the idea of celebrities suffering from the horrible crushing burden of fame to set up Tom Cruise Crazy.

Aside from all the favorites, JoCo pulled out some songs from was an upcoming album (produced by They Might Be Giant's John Flansburgh). Coulton was apologetic about sharing new songs instead of playing more of the older material, but the crowd was eager to hear the new tunes. They ranged from the passive aggressive Alone at Home to the poignant Now I am an Arsonist. Down Today featured Coulton playing the ukulele, but getting a blues guitar feel.

Another treat was Soft Rocked By Me, from his old Thing a Week set. The subtle humor was nice, but the treat was the medley of songs referenced by Paul and Storm, from Gordon Lightfoot to Alanis Morissette. We all learned that Bob Seger is the eye at the center of the soft rock storm: everything kept coming back to Like a Rock. The sing along ending was priceless, ending on Hey Jude: "Na-na-na na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na like a rock!"

This was my second time catching Jonathan Coulton live and this show had a different vibe from the last one. Not better or worse, just a different flavor from the range that he can offer. Sip a homebrewed beer and revel in the taste you got this time.

More photos on my Flickr.

CD review - Emily Shirley, Tiny Truths (2010)

Sometimes, an EP is the perfect size. An artist accomplishes her goal in a small handful of songs and it's enough. There are no second rate songs thrown in to fill out the album: perfect artistic focus. Heck, some artists just release singles as they record them. On Tiny Truths, Emily Shirley has created her latest demo. It's a loose collection of songs designed to show her range and every song is strong. Consequently, it's a great listen, but it's frustrating because it's too short. I want to hear more of what Shirley has to offer beyond these five songs.

Like many female singer-songwriters, Shirley's strong voice is the focus. It's all too easy to look for signs of Tori Amos or Suzanne Vega - you could find traces here - but Emily Shirley is closer to Johnette Napolitano (Concrete Blonde). Some of that is due to the material and well planned (and well executed) arrangements.

The high point is Taking the Sun. At one level, it's a breakup song, but there's a depth beyond the obvious interpretation. It starts out sparse and open. After this intro, it takes on a degree of strain and the music builds. Then it hits a chorus that sends shivers:

I'm taking the sun and you can't have it back
I'm taking the moon and I will paint it black

Her voice is calm and a little sad that it's come to this. There's a powerful psychic energy buried in this song that comes out as the guitars throw a little bit of distortion against the wistful sound of Shirley's voice. Taking the Sun is the song that evokes Concrete Blonde the strongest on Tiny Truths. Like the album, I wish the song lasted longer, just so I could wallow in it.

Later, Blueberry Song pulls off a Tom Waits sound, primarily with an arrangement that creates a carnival feel along with some interesting instrumentation. The mood here couldn't be more different from Taking the Sun, but it's also compelling and original. The solo version doesn't quite hit the same spot, but it's still good.

I'd love to see Emily Shirley break out of Austin and take on the world, if only so I can hear more of what she has to offer. Tiny Truths is available on Amazon, buy it here and help make that happen.

Now I'm longing for a Celis Grand Cru (from when Pierre was running things).

CD review - Vincent Minor, Vincent Minor (2010)

"Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it"...Well, those who know the past can often improve it. Vincent Minor's new self titled CD (due out September 21) expands upon the classic piano based singer/songwriter model. With inspirations like Harry Nilsson, Paul Williams, and Tori Amos, Minor has created a unique sound using piano and orchestration. Many of his songs are moody with a kind of clingy darkness, but they're not whiny. In fact, the overall sense is one of documenting or overcoming, not wallowing.

The album opens with The Trap, which pulls a play from the Wilco songbook. There's a tone in one ear, a clock tick, and sparse piano intro. Minor's voice has a plaintive Jeff Tweedy quality. The sound swells as the song accrues elements. If Minor had put more guitar on it, I might have mistaken this for a Wilco cover. Like Tweedy, the lyrics here a bit abstract, but the song satisfies, even as it ends with a more hopeful musical tone.

Jack and the Waltz sounds like some of Janis Ian's earliest work or Paul Williams crossed with Tori Amos. It's piano driven pop from a singer/songwriter point of view. While it starts out introspectively, it opens up into more of a wistful mood. The arrangement is clean with a lush piano and slight accompaniment on the verses. The chorus has a stronger pop focus. The bridge also reminds me of Rufus Wainwright, who comes from a similar place.

One of the more upbeat tunes is Heavy Metal Lover, which comes from somewhere between Tin Alley and the Brill Building. It's a different flavor of retro pop than the standard sources. The lyrics are clever and amusing as Minor sings of a misguided obsession:

Pseudo dictator, handsome Hitler
Putting drugs in my tea again
Arsenic for flavor, you're a heavy metal lover,
Why can't you just say you don't want me around.

The feel is relentlessly cheery, despite whatever might happen to the singer as he sticks with his bad choice.

Be sure to look for Vincent Minor once his album is out and try to catch one of his shows. He's been organizing a Craigslist tour, with pick up musicians in each city. I might try to catch his Denver show, sipping a Manhattan.

CD review - Joemca, 16 Devils (2010)

At some point, categories break down. On 16 Devils, Joemca (pronounced "jum-ka") has drawn a clear line of self expression, where his voice and his words are paramount. At the same time, the music transcends genre, building an edifice with elements of pop, soul, soundtrack, and electronica without really leaning towards any of them.

Fundamentally, this is singer/songwriter material with none of the folk or indie rock that usually implies. The instruments are all secondary to Joemca's voice, which has a lot of Bono -- sometimes theatrical, sometimes husky, but often proclamatory. There's a lushness that also recalls David Bowie (Diamond Dogs/Young Americans era) and Roxy Music's Bryan Ferry. Every word is clearly enunciated, which is fitting because his lyrics are fairly polished. The music is often brooding, serious, and a little world weary.

Big Dreams serves as a good example of the music. The instruments are all pushed back, although the drums are relatively forward. Like many of the other songs, some of the instruments are intentionally low-fi take (in this case, it's the guitars), while other elements are cleanly layered in. The lyrics are very personal and anecdotal:

I was walking through the neighborhood
I had a picture of my big dream
You came wandering across the street
You were the only one in red shoes
And you said, "hello, isn't this a strange time?
All the neighbors have locked their window and closed their blinds
Shouldn't we run down to the station and catch the next train
Should we head down to the next town and find our big dreams"

While they look prosaic in print, Joemca's voice imbues them with a more symbolic depth.

Later, Down Down Devil offers up the album title in its lyrics. Brooding, bluesy, with a contrasting electronic element, it starts out bassy and dirty. Great imagery:

She's like a comet in your eye
16 devils to take down
Your jewels don't sparkle anymore
16 devils arrive
We go dreaming in the fire
launch our missiles in the night
Save me mama, oh oh oh
16 devils by my side
Then you go down down down...

It's a little haunting and raw. Still, every word stands out.

This is followed by Ancient History, which takes a taste of David Bowie's voice from Heroes (and a fair amount of Bono) and mixes it with sound of the Church's keyboard layering from Under the Milky Way. Its wistful and moody feel forge a connection with me somehow.

16 Devils is rich and interesting like Moroccan spiced coffee (cinnamon, cardamom, and a touch of black pepper). Savor all of the impressions. 16 Devils is due out June 22.

CD review - Pete Francis, The Movie We Are In (2010)

There is power in collaboration -- Singer/songwriter Pete Francis (ex of Dispatch) has taken a new approach on his latest album, The Movie We Are In. He's surrendered some of the production duties, which led to working with a more varied set of musicians. Left to his own devices, he has a simpler sound that works well for his material, but this album has a richer feel than his self produced material. Jeff Trott (Sheryl Crow and others) brought a different sensibility that expanded the musical possibilities.

Songs like the album opener, Glue, showcase the change. It starts out with a wash of electronica behind the jazzy acoustic guitar. Layers of additional parts slowly develop through the course of the song, while still maintaining a dreamy quality. As a contrast, check out this solo version. It's not bad, but the album version is much more interesting.

Francis maintains a poetic flow of slightly obtuse lyrics throughout much of the album. The songs are catchy enough that it doesn't distract too much, though. Without being derivative, Francis evokes other singer songwriters, like the Bruce Cockburn sound of Light Years, the Willie Nile groove of Good Man, or the laid back ballad, Greg Brown feel of Light Up My Day. This last song is finely crafted. Stripped down to its essence, it's moving and catchy. But the album version has perfect dynamics and some great accents, from the horn punches to the subliminal organ work. Even the guitar tone adds an element of depth to the song.

I'll close this with the first official single, Love Shakes You Down. It's a simple retro rocker, with bell chimes out of 1963. The vocals and sound structure remind me of John Wesley Harding or Billy Bragg. It's a memorable tune. Pete Francis is a fine songwriter and The Movie We Are In is a good vehicle to show off his songs in an interesting context.

A bottle of my homebrewed vanilla-cardamom mead would fit Francis' music: unexpected and intriguing.

CD Review - Wakey! Wakey!, Almost Everything I Wish I'd Said The Last Time I Saw You (2010)

If the Eskimos have 50 words for snow, then Wakey!Wakey! has at least as many uses for lyrical repetition. Perhaps it's the iterative reassurance of Almost Everything ("It feels bad now, but it's gonna get better..") or the amused dwelling of Feral Love ("I bet you don't go crazy like you used to..."), maybe even the obsessive Car Crash ("At least you were thrown clear, cause I'm still stuck in here...").

It might even be repetition for the mere sake of sounding cool as in Square Peg Round Hole or the earnestness of Dance So Good. Over time, the echo becomes a little distracting, but the indie pop groove of Almost Everything I Wish I'd Said The Last Time I Saw You... is still engaging.

Dance So Good is a great example of where the lyrical repetition and music come together perfectly. It paints a picture of disintegrating relationship, a sense of what was there (and is now slipping away).

You're so beautiful...
So, tell me why we're talking when we dance so good...

This is a tight three minutes of ache, where no explanation will ever be enough. It takes me back to 17 years old, where the real world imploded what used to be a sweet thing. This conveys an emotional truth, well beyond clever lyrics.

The music is bright and open throughout the album. In some ways, there's a Celtic rock sensibility underlying the songs, maybe it's singer Michael Grubbs' accent or the way the lyrics echo. There's also a slight sense of Billy Joel buried somewhere within the songs, which have a singer/songwriter feel, despite the band adding their voices.

This is a perfect CD to mix with a nice Pinot Gris (King Estates?) - earthy, with hints of honey and citrus. "I hope you know it's a miracle, a miracle, a miracle..."

CD review - Vienna Teng, Inland Territory (2009)

Shallow comparisons are such a waste of time. If it's a male singer-songwriter with a guitar and obscure lyrics, he's the next Dylan. The slightly self-indulgent jam band is like Phish (or maybe the Grateful Dead). And, of course, a female singer-songwriter with a piano is emulating Tori Amos. In Vienna Teng's case, the mapping goes a little deeper because her vocal tone often mimics Amos and the backup vocal arrangements are similar. Still, she has her own approach, for better or worse.

On the positive side, Teng has done a good job of integrating in some electronic sounds and percussion. She also shifts gears and throws in some interesting old-timey sounding material. On the other hand, those gears can grind a bit when the transitions between songs don't work, such as the jump between the dreamy coasting of Kansas and the jaunty bounce of In Another Life. Either song is good on its own, but they break the flow of the album.

Another problem is that, while her voice is very pretty, it's also a bit detached and impersonal. Like Tori Amos, Vienna Teng uses that trick to contrast with more personal storytelling lyrics, but Amos often follows that up with a fierier song to prove her connection to the material and her audience.

The standout track here is Watershed. This starts out with a tentative solo piano start and cool ambient sounds. This section is very close to the Who's Love, Reign O'er Me, as reimagined by Tori Amos. Moody, it grows into a sense of majesty, much like the Who's song. The flow is gripping: waves break before a confident, defiant island, then the waves come again. The link here is for a live version with a fairly long, detached, ironic intro.

There are other decent songs on the album. White Light has a Suzanne Vega feel on the verse, but a catchier, poppy chorus. Stray Italian Greyhound has jerky piano rhythm that lurches forward as it intrigues the ear. None stand out as much as Watershed, though.

Inland Territory is a Long Island ice tea of an album: there's a lot going on here, but it's not for everyone.

CD review - Julia Nunes, I Think You Know EP (2010)

Julia Nunes is the new kind of popular phenom. She built a following for her quirky ukulele based songs on YouTube, playing a mix original songs and interesting covers. This attention eventually scored her a chance to tour and open for Ben Folds. She hasn't let it go to her head, though. She's still a full time student in college and she still responds directly to her fans regardless of how strange the questions get.

I Think You Know is a new EP (due out Feb 2), with 5 songs. Like most EPs, it covers a range of material, without a strong musical theme. It's short enough, that I'll run down the tracklist.

First up is August. This is an older folky song. This is the sound and feel of a new, fresh love. The simple guitar arrangement is pretty and little details are added in. The harmonies are sweet.

Comatose radically shifts the mood. The choppy beat is anxious, which fits the disjoint nature of the lyrics. It's not clear whether this is about the fear of love or something darker. A little bit of studio talk tacked onto the end punctures the seriousness.

The bass and drums provide a perfect bed for the indie folk sound of Grown a Pair. It's a reflective piece. The lyrics start out wanting to be cared for, then slide into paranoia. This "push me-pull you" theme flows smoothly. This is one of the best songs here.

I Think You Know returns to the simpler folky sound. With a theme of moving beyond a relationship, the intensity builds, but the lyrics don't quite live up to the emotional weight of the vocals. There's a lot left unsaid here. The bridge is particularly sweet, when the arrangements falls back to vocals and ukulele.

Through the Floorboards should have been a Barenaked Ladies song. It has the rhythm, the instrumentation, the lyrics, and the vocal delivery. It's a tight arrangement, with some nice musical sections. The chorus loosens up the driving beat, leading into a great sonic opening with retro shifting harmonies. Then, it drops suddenly into the next verse:

I don't mind burning bridges
To the bitches I used to live with
But I'm all about forgiveness
So I'll take this tape and run

Unwinding yards
To mend these shattered hearts
Doing circles round the shifting ground
That's tearing us apart

I don't get what changed
But you're not the same
I doubt I'll ever get the chance to explain, given the circumstance

I kind of feel you through the floorboards...

Every time I listen to I Think You Know, this is the song that sticks in my ear.

Even with the darker moments, this a cool mint tea collection of songs.

CD review - Tom McRae, The Alphabet of Hurricanes (2010)

Tom McRae first appeared on the British music scene about a decade ago and has been gathering fans ever since. He has a melancholy, confessional sense that avoids self-indulgence and moaning. His latest album, The Alphabet of Hurricances, is due out in February or March of 2010 (sources differ). This served as my introduction, but I've combed through YouTube, looking up his earlier work. I must say, I'm impressed. The Alphabet of Hurricanes doesn't have a single off note. The klezmer inspired clarinet band instrumental, A Is For... is only odd bit, but it flows perfectly into the next song.

In fact, the first three songs form a perfect triptych. A Is For... acts as a bridge between what sounds like two pieces of the same story. Still Love You is moody with a sense of loss, which becomes so threatening in Won't Lie. There's an older aesthetic here and the use of strings to add tension is common theme, both here and throughout the album. Won't Lie has some wisps of Kate Bush's Never For Ever haunting the edges.

The album's sound evolves from here: the Leonard Cohen soaked sound of Summer of John Wayne, the Richard Thompson Celtic folk current of Told My Troubles To The River, the nostalgic Billy Bragg feel of American Spirit, the Peter Gabriel syncopation in Please, and the evocation of Springsteen Darkness on the Edge of Town in Fifteen Miles Downriver. These songs are all great, primarily because they rise above these facile comparisons to be something that is pure Tom McRae. Summer of John Wayne takes the Leonard Cohen style lyrics and vocals, along with a sense of smoke and darkness, and adds a dreamy touch of Ebow guitar. The whole creates a compelling, visceral feel. The descent as the vocals are buried in washes of music and noise resolves into a return to the clarity of the sparser chorus. This is a beautiful moment.

There aren't a lot of examples from The Alphabet of Hurricances floating around the net yet, but here are a couple. Out of the Walls has a sad, weary piano and desperate vocals. Can't Find You is a simple folk sound, where the echoed piano sometimes comes in and adds a vulnerable touch. These are fine songs, but they don't represent the whole of this album.

Get this when it comes out and listen in a dark room with a nice tawny port. Can I recommend the Sandeman 20 year?

CD review - Regina Spektor, Far (2009)

Regina Spektor is a quite interesting piano-based singer/songwriter with her own vocal style. She is usually direct, often playful, and occasionally coy. Her voice reflects Rickie Lee Jones, Joni Mitchell, Bjork, and Tori Amos. The Tori Amos link seems most relevant for Far, given some of the edgier arrangements, but Spektor mines a brighter vein than Amos.

A great example of the contrast is on the first single, Laughing With, which could easily be a Tori Amos song. The piano arrangement is simple and clear. It's a song about irony: "No one laughs at God in a hospital...", "but God can be funny". It's really more about us humans than about God. If Amos had written this, the focus would have gone the other way.

Another cool song was Blue Lips, which has a nice collection of sections from simple to orchestral to pop. The vocals convey an emotional distance that matches the lyrics. It also has the best line of the album: "Blue - the most human color".

Machine features material recorded with David Byrne's art sound installation, "Playing the Building". The vibe is detached and slightly threatening; the ghost of Laurie Anderson hides in the background. It's very interesting, but it doesn't really fit the flow of the album. Especially coming right after the retro feel of Folding Chair.

This is symptomatic of the problem with Far: there are too many producers. Spektor worked with several great talents here, like Mike Elizondo and Jeff Lynne, and she wrote some good songs, but the album lacks a coherent feel or flow. This is easier to accept on a greatest hits album. Instead, the main consistency is her quirky voice, which is not enough to make Far stand up well against her earlier work.

This is best paired with an aromatic herbal tea, maybe something like a cardamom tisane.

Concert review - Jill Sobule, Erin McKeown

27 November 2009 (The Walnut Room, Denver CO)

This show promised something familiar and something new. Jill Sobule was here in July with John Doe and the Sadies, but I hadn't seen Erin McKeown before. It became clear that the two of them have developed a good tour chemistry.

The Walnut Room is an interesting venue. It has a normal bar with seating out front and a fairly intimate performance room in the back. With a scattering of tables and not much open space in front of the stage, a more raucous crowd wouldn't have fit. Last night, though, this wasn't a problem. The audience was enthusiastic, but fairly polite.

Jill Sobule

Jill and Erin kicked off the show together, singing a one-off theme song for Denver. It was a good start, reminding the crowd that Jill is a home town girl. Her set list ran through familiar paths, with several songs from California Years. As I've come to expect, Jill brought an uncompromising sincerity along with a slight vulnerability to her songs that built a strong connection to the audience.

Erin sat in on a few songs, adding a nice electric lead touch to Where is Bobbie Gentry? and a Riders on the Storm-influenced low-key organ backing for When My Ship Comes In. This last was probably my favorite song of the set. Jill was loose and funky with the rhythm; the song had a really fresh feel. Jill's friend, Eric Moon, also sat in on accordion for several songs -- another nice local touch.

In a lighter moment, Jill reworked her Kathie Lee song of a hidden lesbian relationship to take aim at Condoleezza Rice. This served as the perfect sweetness before her last song, Sonny Liston, which captured an aching sense of nostalgia and loss.

Erin McKeown

I recently reviewed Hundreds of Lions, McKeown's latest CD. It's a great listen, but how well would it translate to a stripped down solo performance? It turned out that the live energy and stage presence easily made up for the missing musical parts of a fuller band.

With no break between sets, Erin dove right into a sing-along version of Slung-Lo. Acting out the lines to teach the audience, McKeown was playful and fun. Then she shifted into an up tempo rockabilly vibe for Queen of Quiet. Then came the bluesy groove of The Taste of You, complete with the lead in story about living across from a strip club.


From song to song, including several from Hundreds of Lions, it was clear that the crowd knew the material well. The mood evolved throughout the set, but Erin's warm interactions with the audience were constant.

Jill Sobule returned the favor from her set and sat in on several songs. Their styles were so different, yet complementary. They ended with a huge encore of Neil Diamond's America, which had both women competing on who could channel Neil the best (I'd give it to Erin). The crowd joined in and closed out the night on a great show.

The Black and Tans I had were the perfect match for the music: two contrasting parts that fit well together.

Many more pictures at my Flickr.