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Jason Crawford
A couple of months ago, I was having a hard time finding new records I was interested in owning, let alone discussing. I felt like I was wading through a sea of mediocrity and afterthoughts, but then the winds suddenly shifted, and now I’ve crashed upon a glorious shore of infinite records to explore. I’m having a hard time keeping up. It helps that Wilco is back with its first studio release since the Fall of 2016. This one’s called Ode To Joy. I think they’re cheeky. They’re always cheeky. I mean, if you’re expecting a feel-good record to play on the beach and kick your flip cup championship into warp drive, you’ve come to the wrong place. It’s still a good place if you can stand the stillness.
These are the first lyrics on Ode to Joy: “I don’t like / The way you’re treating me.” There are two consecutive songs that start with “I wish…,” and another with “I’m surprised, staring at the knives / Lying silent in the drawer.” All on side one. All in the first person. All a little to the left of contentedness. Oh, the joy. Jeff Tweedy has always seemed fearless in his self-expression, and his lyrics have gotten even closer to the bone since he published his memoir and two albums as its soundtrack. After emptying his emotional war chest, I wondered if the next Wilco release would be a raging party record, but Tweedy’s still mining the same dark cave. And it’s pretty in here. He’s adopted an unusually intimate vocal delivery over the last couple of years and almost conversational approach that on Ode to Joy, at least, lies atop pillowy, rich sounds that the band turns out effortlessly. It’s the sonic equivalent of petting a cat in your lap while seated deep in a beanbag chair. Until Nels Cline does his freak-out routine during “Citizens.” Then, it’s time to move.
It seems like the critics are going gonzo about Ode, and I’m glad. I wish nothing but good things for this band. But it feels a little bit like when a venerable thespian finally wins the Best Actor Oscar after having been overlooked while giving stronger, more nuanced performances in the past. Lots of writers weren’t on board with Star Wars and Schmilco, but I liked them both a lot. Still do. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find myself loving Ode more than I already do once I’ve spent more time with it. It’s a lovely recording.
And it’s of a reasonable length. It seems like bands are trending this way. Why bother filling up a CD with 80 minutes of uneven music when no one buys CDs or listens to entire albums anymore anyway? Give your fans 42 minutes of fuzzy, glowing, strummy goodness and save the rest for B-sides and bonus tracks. I opted for the pink pressing available only at independent record stores. Mine is dished and not all that silent. A couple of scrubbings helped, but this isn’t the most excellent vinyl in the band’s catalog. Maybe the black pressing is better. I’d try that. If you’re a Wilco fan, you already have this. If you’re not, there are probably better places to start. But Ode to Joy is an excellent place to end up. It’s certainly better than having no Wilco at all.
I wonder what Sturgill Simpson fans are thinking right about now. He just released his fourth album, which debuted at number three on the Country charts, and it has about as much to do with Country music as American politics have to do with civil discourse and logic. I’d heard rumblings about some Sturgill-related content on Netflix, and when I finally thought to do an online search, I saw that he had released a new album with a corresponding animated film available to stream on the television screen. Hot damn. Never saw that coming. Don’t know if this was a surprise release or if it had been anticipated. I know it’s ten tons of fun, and that it’s called Sound and Fury. And it rocks — all the way.
If the horn section was the surprise element in Simpson’s last long-player, I’d say the synthesizer occupies that spot on Sound and Furry. It’s pretty ubiquitous, but never obnoxious, which is a neat trick in 2019. I mean, it’s great when any popular artist makes music that’s not obnoxious in 2019, but a rocking synth-heavy soundtrack to an animated film seems damn near impossible. Sturgill did it, though. He went big, and he won. And if the synth is the record’s secret weapon, Simpson’s guitar is the obvious one. It’s the battering ram that they roll up to the fortified gate to knock it the hell down. It wasn’t always so clear that Simpson was capable of wielding one with such authoritative force, but he’s the only guitarist credited on this recording, so I think the honor is all his. Maybe I should subscribe to the guy’s newsletter or something because I whiffed on a live show near my neighborhood a couple of weeks back too. It was in a small venue with his full band, and he played the new album in its entirety. My buddy said he shredded his six-string all night. And listening to Sound and Fury, I believe him. I wish I’d been there.
But don’t let me convince you that this is a shredding affair. All of the whacky sounds and thunderous notes somehow coalesce into pleasing melodies and skillful song-craft. Check out “Make Art Not Friends” if you’re unsure. That’s my favorite tune on the record, but one of the great things about this disc is that it reveals itself to you in its own time. It has its own gravity and orbit. It is not the sound of a recording that was made with a mind towards increased sales or radio-friendly unit shifters. By the time it’s done with me, I’d imagine that most of the songs will have been my favorite at one time or another. “A Good Look” is making its case for the throne as I type. It’s a straight-ahead bulldozer with a whiny synth accent that would make Chuck D smile. If he smiles. I think I saw him do that once.
And the vinyl itself is mostly delightful. Booming bass and a squirmy soundstage that seems about ready to burst under the weight of the players stomping across its floorboards. The pressing is pretty silent too. Somehow, a download code was not included, but that’s alright. I’m hearing it the way it sounds best. None of the three Sturgill Simpson records I’ve heard sound at all alike, but Sound and Fury have taken things out a whole new door. It’s a brave new world, y’all. Don’t let it scare you.
I didn’t have the Queens of the Stone Age on my radar until their Like Clockwork record was released in 2013. That means I was unaware of what frontman Josh Homme was doing with his whacky Desert Sessions collective when they were working because the last release bearing the Desert Sessions moniker was from 2003. Until 2019. They recently unveiled volumes 11 and 12 (one volume represents a single side of a single disc). They called them Arrivederci Despair and Tightwads and Nitwits and Critics and Heels. Glad I didn’t miss this boat. I needed a little shot in the arm of Rock and Roll love. This counts.
For those who don’t know (author glances around the classroom, almost raises his hand, then gets embarrassed and starts nervously tapping foot instead), the Desert Sessions have involved a rotating cast of characters that have somehow found their way into Homme’s musical orbit. For example, Stella Mozgawa plays drums on the latest release. I saw her band, Warpaint, open for Homme and the Queens of the Stone Age when the latter was touring in support of their Like Clockwork record. I saw vocalist Jake Shears, of Scissor Sisters fame, sit in with the Queens at their Halloween debacle in Los Angeles a few years ago. Other names that I am familiar with on this record belong to Carla Azar (saw here play with Big Jack White), Les Claypool (duh), and ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons. Let’s talk about him.
Gibbons kicks the record off with “Move Together.” It’s unlike anything I’ve heard him do. He kinda softly sings in this falsetto thing for the quiet first half of the song before it suddenly morphs into the damndest Soul Groove that I’ve heard in ages. It’s a Frankenstein of a song, made of found components and manufactured elements alike. I can’t imagine how fun it must have been to invent this song and then to document it in a recording studio. You can practically hear the creativity oozing from the players’ pours. Must have been a blast. Homme’s own “Noses In Roses, Forever” sounds about like something leftover from his Them Crooked Vultures project. (Can we get a new one from those guys, please?) There’s a cool Eastern-inflected instrumental and a weird misfire called “Chic Tweetz” that’s too cute for the more “legitimate” rockers. Would have been better on a Phish record, maybe. “If You Run” is a standout written and performed by Libby Grace, amongst others, and I don’t know who she is. So, the record can serve as a jumping-off point for further explorations if you’re into that sort of thing. And if you’re not, what are you into?
That’s just a quick sampling of some of the more exciting tunes available on this short release. Shears “Something You Can’t See” is great too. So is “Crucifier.” There are others, and the individual songs will appeal to a wide variety of listeners and likely cause discussions and arguments about which songs are best and which could have been left on the cutting room floor. It’s a remarkably even album despite the vast array of styles. It’s well-sequenced and it flows. The vinyl is noisy in all the wrong spots. I think it was pressed at Pallas USA. I haven’t been impressed with Pallas over the last few years, but it’s worth the ticks to get the vinyl. It includes a fun book with credits and crazy art — no download code.
I wanted to be Slash when I was a freshman in high school. I couldn’t get enough of the guy. I’d never seen anything like him. It seemed like he arrived fully formed. Like he was already in the Hall of Fame despite his relative newness on the global stage. I started wearing distressed denim jackets and Batman pins, but I never cut the sleeves off and wore one over a leather motorcycle jacket because I didn’t have the money for one of those. I did enjoy walking around, pretending that I was strung out on whatever it was that gave Slash his fantastically blotto appearance. I took it too far though, and one of my teachers roughed me up in a lecture one day before class about the drugs I was doing. Etcetera. Except that I had never done any drugs up to that point. But I couldn’t tell him that because then I’d be denying my own Slash-ness. No thanks, I’ll take the damaged reputation instead, thank you. Anyway, I grew out of all that, but my admiration never wavered. I’ve been fortunate enough to see the guy play live a few times, and I’ve never regretted having gone. Slash’s latest release is called Living the Dream Tour, it features Miles Kennedy and the Conspirators, and it’s a live document of a tour the band uncorked earlier this year while I wasn’t looking. A lot is going on here.
And much of what’s happening revolves around Kennedy’s vocals. Slash doesn’t sing, and these three discs aren’t comprised of instrumentals, so reinforcements were brought in. Kennedy’s a powerful vocalist. He’s a tightrope walker. He gets right up against the edge of Metal Histrionics but never goes over the edge. He’s as tasteful as this formula allows. And Slash’s playing is as exemplary as ever. He can cut you with speed or romance you with those long sustained notes like he’s soloing on a windswept landscape in front of an abandoned church or something. Much of the material is reminiscent of Slash’s other band’s punkier material. Fast and thrashing, but always within sight of the Blues. Like a precocious kid driving his mother mad by always playing just at the edge of her sightline. He can hear her call, but he’s onto this new thing, and it’s going to make him late for dinner. It’ll be worth the lecture, just like pretending to be Slash was worth it to me when I was 14.
It’s tough to get a handle on these songs as individual pieces of a larger scene. I kinda take albums in as a whole these days more so than I pay attention to the discrete components. But that’s not true of Slash’s audience. You can hear them singing along in the background in multiple spots throughout this set. Not in an annoying way, though. It’s nice to know that one of my childhood heroes is still turning out tunes that his fans latch onto and hang on like I did way back when. There are plenty of dynamics and changes to keep these songs interesting. If you’re a fan of Metal, there’s plenty here for you. Punks too. And if you’re more of a Blues rocker, those same thrashy songs will somehow work within your framework. It’s a neat trick, and there’s a ton to explore over these six sides. Records are well made, so there’s nothing to do but jump in the ring if this is your thing.
Alright, y’all. Last month, we explored Al Green Explores Your Mind, and I threatened to follow up soon with another review of Al Green Gets Next To You. And here we are. I didn’t think it would come to pass so quickly, but there’s no time to waste. There seems to be plenty of time to waste as the three audiophile Green reissues that I’m aware of have all been available for years. And, as a side note, one of those three titles, Call Me, was recently given the audiophile treatment yet again by Vinyl Me, Please. I’ve not heard any of their records, but that one has been universally praised by people who know about these things — supposed to rival the Speakers Corner release (which I have) and best it for transparency. So, we have one stellar Al Green title that has seen two separate audiophile releases on vinyl, and two of what I would consider his lesser albums that have gotten the Pure Pleasure approach. That means I’m Still In Love With You and Let’s Pretend We’re Married are free agents. Ready for someone with good sense to come along and do whatever is required to get them back in front of the audiences they so richly deserve in a presentation that does them justice. Someone do something! Until then, let’s check-in for a second on Gets Next To You.
I should state right off the bat that I like this album just fine. It involves Al Green singing over the Hi Records Rhythm Section’s arrangements and Willie Mitchell’s production of some mostly great songs. One of which is “Tired Of Being Alone.” We can all celebrate that. I get more excited by “I’m a Ram,” which hooked me back in college. It’s close to being Funk. It’s greasy and groovy in all the right ways. Get a little mud between your toes, gang. “Drivin’ Wheel” is a fun one too, same deal. But there are a couple of covers on here that don’t stack up as well against Green’s other work or the work of the artists that initially produced them. We’re talking about the title track, which was thirty times heavier in the Temptations’ capable mitts, and “Light My Fire,” which is outright poor. The production isn’t as buttery as it would become by the time Let’s Stay Together was uncaged a year later either.
The mix gets overloaded to the point of distortion at times, which is less than ideal, but not a deal-breaker for me. I mean, I listen to music that is intentionally distorted all the time. I might not even mention it if it weren’t for those other Green titles languishing in the vaults crying out for an audiophile debut. It’s the equivalent of reissuing Rod Stewart’s Disco Schlock instead of his Crotch Rock. Where is the justice for Al in 2019? Hopefully, waiting for a 2020 unveiling, but I think I’d have heard about those plans if they’d been made. All I have is my wishes, at this point.
Pure Pleasure did the best they could with this record. It sounds as good as it’s going to. Pristine pressing and mastering that gets you as close to the studio’s vocal booth as is possible. I’ll pull it off the shelf, dust it off, and give it a spin at least as often as Explores Your Mind. But I’ll reach for my Speakers Corner copy of Call Me first. And I’ll mourn the absence of the other two until I don’t have to anymore.