Thursday, December 27, 2007

Best-Ofs: LEO critics tout their Top 5

1) Wax Fang "La La Land" (Don't Panic) — The exciting disc by the exciting band is now available for everyone to discover. I’m talking to you, scouts at Sub Pop or Merge or whomever else can help this trio spread their sound around the world. (We still owe the world a giant apology for Days of the New, anyway.)

2) Radiohead "In Rainbows" (Radiohead) — For the first time in 10 years, they play to their strengths — a bunch of really good songs, played extremely well.

3) "You’re Gonna Miss Me: A Film About Roky Erickson" (Palm Pictures) — I don’t know why Daniel Johnston gets more lip service from the kids today (Is Kurt Cobain’s influence really still felt? Or is it Bright Eyes now?). Roky was and still is the much more musical, fascinating Texan crazy freak. You don’t love him yet? Watch this inspiring, bewildering story unfold.

4) Battles "Mirrored" (Warp) — Older and younger dudes joining forces, melding heavy rock and weird electronics. It shouldn’t work but it does, uniting trendy girls who just wanna have fun and awkward guys with no social skills who want the girls to appreciate how smart they are, god damn it.

5) Marissa Nadler "Songs III: Bird on the Water" (Kemado) — Suddenly elvish girls who do the opposite of rock are everywhere, and most have already been sent back to their local Ren Fair. Marissa Nadler pulls off sounding ancient and modern simultaneously, can compose songs that offer lovely substance over hip attitude, and can even cover a Leonard Cohen song without embarrassing herself.


C. 2007 LEO Weekly

Friday, December 21, 2007

Merle Haggard

The Bluegrass Sessions
(McCoury)

Plenty today pay lip service to Johnny & Hank and ask, “Why can’t nobody do it like they used to?” Yet the same people can’t be bothered to keep up with the likes of Merle Haggard, unless he’s being promoted by a punk rock label.
Perhaps Hag himself is partly to blame: He releases a new one annually, like Neil Young or Woody Allen, though he’s more consistent. He might not reach as high, but you can be sure that he’ll never collaborate with Madonna or go crazy with robots.

Here, he revisits old songs, sings some new ones, and finds himself unable to stay within the strict parameters of bluegrass regulations, in the best way.
Willie Nelson might have proven to be more versatile (ever hear his reggae disc?), but Haggard keeps returning as the most emotionally and instinctually awake songwriter left amongst what used to be called country music.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Friday, December 14, 2007

Tiny Vipers

Hands Across the Void
(Sub Pop)

Sub Pop’s website helpfully describes this album by Seattle-based singer and guitarist Jesy Fortino as Tiny Vipers as “acoustic/goth.”
Fortino is a guitarist seemingly more inspired by the ambient textures of John Fahey and British psych influences that have inspired fellow “goths” Current 93, than by anyone else more interested in catchy pop hooks.

Without any other musicians around, there is a constant sparseness to the songs on Void that can often leave one wanting more. Perhaps, for example, a more pleasing voice to help make the crazy go down easier. Fortino’s voice is similar to, but not as horrifyingly atonal — sorry, “artful” — as Joanna Newsom’s. When she stumbles onto a catchy verse, in the song “Swastika,” no less, it goes away quickly.
In an 11-minute song performed by her alone (could she be a Jandek fan?), it requires more patience than usual. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, of course. Except when it is.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Thursday, December 06, 2007

"Louisville Babylon 2"

Louisville Babylon 2
(Louisville Is for Lovers)

In high school in Florida in the 1990's, my (few) friends and I had what we thought was a secret love - the comically over-the-top, doo wop-inflected horror punk of a band from New Jersey who had broken up before they got too boring or, worse, popular. What we didn't know then, in those awkward days between the fall of Communism and the mainstreaming of the internet, was that the Misfits were a secret shared by kids everywhere.

Up in Louisville, a 1994 Misfits tribute was lovingly complied and now, 13 years later, the new generation is at it. The new versions of old favorites range from hillbilly to goth synths to preppy pop. While it's interesting to hear My Morning Jacket reduced to a too-reverential copycat, the collection peaks when Ronnie Mack and Ponty's Camper put some Kentucky on 'em, and Dave Pajo and Wax Fang slow 'em down like 30-somethings should.

C. 2007 LEO Weekly

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Pissed Jeans

Hope for Men
(Sub Pop)

Overheard at a Pissed Jeans gig:
“My mom thinks that me and my boyfriend Tony are having sex, which we completely are. And when I turn 18, we’re getting married. Tony’s not the first guy I’ve been with. That was Omar, this total skank counselor I had last summer at Camp Okeechobee. I didn’t really want to screw Omar, I just wanted to do it with somebody, and he promised to buy me a 4-track. What a liar. He didn’t buy me anything, he just laughed at me. That’s why I had my friend Jessica key his car while I was screwing him the second time. What a loser.

“I need a 4-track so bad! My band, Abortion Barbie, needs to make a demo and get the fuck out of here! This town is so dead! Thank God for Spencer, my meth dealer. He thinks he’s all from the hood. He’s a douche bag, but he gets the best drugs. He wants to screw me. Gross.”

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Friday, November 09, 2007

Tomahawk

Anonymous
(Ipecac)

If you have followed Mike Patton’s journey from late-’80s backward-baseball cap-wearing, funk-rocking frontman for the never truly understood Faith No More on to Century 21 middle-aged, experimental, underground art screamturbator, then you’ve been witness to an ever surprising, uniquely inspiring voyage of risk-taking and discovery.
Tomahawk has existed, arguably, under the beer-belly shadow cast by Patton’s other heavy music supergroup, Fantomas. The latter, under Patton’s direction, has had more unique concepts. Tomahawk, led artistically by guitar ace Duane Denison (Hank III, The Jesus Lizard), has stood out as a (relatively) more subtle prog/jam/space project.

Anonymous bills itself as a collection of early 1900s songs from Native American tribes, found while researching their culture. Representative song titles include “Ghost Dance” and “Song of Victory.”
Most vocals are predictably wordless and/or screamed, at times chanted. When the vocals are understandable, as in the suggestive “Mescal Rite 2,” they seem inauthentic as native hymns. While respectful in general, the band often brings their fast and heavy rock sledgehammer to the ceremony, which might be misunderstood by teen boy fans as mockery.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Bryan Ferry

Dylanesque
(Virgin)

While some folks might consider Bryan Ferry’s biggest blunder of 2007 to be his ill-stated comment about how much he admired Hitler’s influence on fashion, I prefer that to this collection of Bob Dylan songs, surprisingly not recorded for Starbucks.
Comments about Hitler’s coats might also miss the point, but at least they don’t last an hour. Ferry, long known to baby boomers as a stylish and once purposeful man, tackles some of Dylan’s less obscure songs with the same finesse that a Bahamian hotel lounge singer might while slightly buzzed on Bartles & Jaymes.

The backing band, led by the expected British never-weres likely to show up at the next Live Earth concert (Paul Carrack, Chris Spedding, Robin Trower), speeds through most of the material as if eager to finish the session by lunch time.
Finally, before Brian Eno fans get excited about his “electronics” on “If Not for You,” let me save you the trouble of continuing that feeling.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Pinback

Autumn of the Seraphs
(Touch & Go)

A still point in the rapidly shifting world, Pinback returns — officially — with its fourth studio album, Autumn of the Seraphs. Officially because singer Rob Crow has been perhaps the busiest band whore in the Western world recently, jumping from project to project like the dealers on “The Wire.” Fans worried that Crow’s extra-curricular efforts (especially a solo disc that dropped mere months ago) might take away from the quality of Pinback’s records need not worry.

The band, always a bit wispy, is a bit more muscular this time around. Rest assured, though — while the album title might suggest heavy metal (a genre that Crow has tackled recently), it’s not — it’s more like Skinny Jeans Pop.
With Pinback, Crow and partner Zach Smith have built an almost enviable machine: a band that always sounds pretty much the same. Rarely better, rarely worse, but always consistent. It wouldn’t be an impressive power on “Heroes,” but it’s comforting.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

"Kurt Cobain: About a Son"

"Kurt Cobain: About a Son", Music from the Motion Picture
(Barsuk)

We can blame Nirvana for the existence of so many bad bands. On the other hand, leader Kurt Cobain’s consistent name-dropping of dozens of favorite bands helped introduce a generation to numerous artists that could have been otherwise forgotten. A.J. Schnack, director of the equally unlikely They Might Be Giants doc “Gigantic,” has crafted “About a Son” from audiotapes of Cobain talking to his biographer, Michael Azerrad. The film features visual footage of the Washington state towns in which Cobain spent his life.

This disc serves as an intro to the bands whose influences were fused together by Cobain to create the Nirvana sound: sugary pop, weirdo singer-songwriters, children’s songs, classic rock, folk rock, blues folk, hillbilly psych, fiery punk, glitter, sludge, Iggy and grungy, heroin-shooting peers. A fan with a huge appetite, Cobain absorbed everything from R.E.M. to Scratch Acid, Leadbelly to Bad Brains. A few snippets of him speaking add context, and equally unlikely pop star Ben Gibbard acknowledges the debt his career owes to Cobain’s example.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Friday, September 28, 2007

The Brunettes

Structure and Cosmetics
(Sub Pop)

First, I’ll tell you what this band sounds like: Belle and Sebastian, The Cardigans. Rilo Kiley, Stars.
Do you like those? Will you buy this because of that? Then buy this, and move along.
Are you intrigued but need more insight into this New Zealand cute overload misfire? Here’s some:
Throw in a thick load of Beach Boys, a smattering of J-Pop and ABBA and a little Go! Team; I’ll go on to tell you more about a band who would've been trendy in 1995.

Do individual songs even matter? Yes, as always.
OK: The opener, “B-A-B-Y,” aka “Brunettes Against Bubblegum Youth,” is the worst.
In “If You Were Alien,” a women who sounds like Kim Gordon asks, “But what if the world went pop?” as if she were serious. In 1990, Kim Gordon and Chuck D traded lines on a Sonic Youth record about race and gender. The Brunettes declare, “Sha-la-la-la-la.”
This is the kind of record that Laura Bush would like.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Will Garrison interview

Singer-songwriter Will Garrison makes a sort-of hometown return
appearance this weekend. Never heard of him? Let's hear what some of
our best singer-songwriters say about him:

"Absolutely the best songwriter who ever lived in the Deer Park
neighborhood and high, high in the running for best from this city
ever. Seriously." - Joe Manning.
"His music strikes me as independent among independents - at once
removed from fashion, and plugged in to a vast, peculiarly American
cultural landscape." - Joe O'Connell of Elephant Micah.

I asked the man himself to address some important issues:

Q: Do you consider yourself to be a Louisvillian?

A: Well, I moved around a lot growing up. So I guess I've never really
associated myself with any one place geographically. There is
something special for me about Louisville, though. It's where I spent
my earliest and arguably most formidable years artistically.

Q: What are some things you like about Louisville?

A: It's a humble place. It has a sharp wit and uses that to keep
itself as unpretentious as possible. People in Louisville know they
have something special but they'd never make a person feel small for
it. Oh, and I like that everyone enjoys drinking.

Q: You're touring with The Absent Arch, also from Minneapolis. What do
you like about them?

A They're willing to throw everything they've got into this. I've
found that to be something that's really hard to find. To me, their
sound is sort of how it would sound if John Prine was fronting
Calexico and they had a really solid jazz drummer. But they aren't
defined by their sound. They want to go all over the place, always
trying to go farther and reinvent themselves.

Q: We're having a huge heat wave. Do you wish that you were in
Minneapolis this month?

A: All of us are just happy about being on the road. No matter the
weather, we're really excited about Louisville. I'll be able to see
some family and friends that I haven't seen in too long, show the guys
some great guitars, and get a chance to play with The Commonwealth.
The Commonwealth is one of my favorite bands. (Bandleader) Daniel
(Duncan) has been a friend of mine for, I guess, seven or eight years
now. His style of writing has always inspired me and stuck melodies in
my head.

Q: How would you describe your music to, say, a friend's mother?

A: We're trying our best on an acoustic guitar and a cello.

Q: Will you have the cello guy with you?

A: Yes, absolutely. His name is James Waldo. He and I come from such
different directions. His classical background has left him unfamiliar
with music that has been highly influential to me, and allows him to
bring a variety of musical ideas separate from my own self-imposed
limitations. James doesn't think in verse-chorus-verse or in
traditional song structures. So we have a lot to learn from each other
and we're both so excited to learn.

Will Garrison and friends will play an all-ages show at the 930
Listening Room (www.the930.org), at 930 Mary St. in Germantown, on
Friday August 31st, at 8 pm. Tickets are $5.




c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

"A Tribute to Joni Mitchell"

A Tribute to Joni Mitchell
(Nonesuch)

A well-compiled tribute to the music of Joni Mitchell is a welcome and necessary thing. To discuss her in full takes a book, or at least a well-lubed long night at a bar - issues of gender, race, nationality and psychology all become intertwined. This record merely hints at such themes, but helps spotlight her influence on some surprising artists.

Bjork - a fellow icy Northern country oddball who also paints her songs outside of the lines of pop music - makes "The Boho Dance" her own. Cassandra Wilson, Emmylou Harris and Elvis Costello demonstrate how much she freed them to also travel outside of their genre borders.
Brad Mehldau beautifully reminds the listener of her years spent playing with jazzbos. Caetano Veloso makes sense of the Afro-tribal drums that outpaced her in "Dreamland". Prince takes "A Case of You" and proceeds to melt panties and makes gay hearts flutter simultaneously. Sufjan Stevens misses his mark, but should at least give young hipsters a reason to examine her catalog.

C. 2007 LEO Weekly

Mark Olson

“Can you hold on a minute? Victoria is on the other line.”
It’s unclear which is more surprising — the fact that the musician on the phone assumes that I know about his personal life, or the fact that the musician is still friendly with the woman whom I, in fact, know to be his now ex-wife.

The musician, Mark Olson, is hardly a household name, though he has spent the last two decades accumulating fans around the world with a mature, heartfelt blend of folk, pop and rock music.
From 1986 through 1996, he led the Minneapolis-based band The Jayhawks with partner Gary Louris. On the way to gaining some minor radio play with the single “Blue,” The Jayhawks had become an unfortunate embodiment of the excesses of the major record companies. Expenses for recording albums and filming videos had put the band in debt for more than $1 million. Though Olson had been the main songwriter in the early days, Louris had become an equally strong leader, pushing the band in a poppier direction than Olson had envisioned.

Olson married singer-songwriter Victoria Williams, and the couple moved to the California town of Joshua Tree. “It’s gotten more commercialized, more strip malls, but in general, it’s still a very beautiful, more relaxed, small-town kind of place,” he says.

Williams had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. As they dealt with her health, Olson continued writing songs that were more folk-based than the increasingly Beach Boys-inspired, polished songs of The Jayhawks. While the Louris-led band continued on for three more albums, Olson and Williams formed a new band.

The Original Harmony Ridge Creekdippers found the Olsons joining collaborator Razz Russell. Cassettes appeared through mail order, and then CD issues signaled Olson’s return to the music business.
“I’ve had a bunch of other jobs — teaching, working with students with special needs — but, yes, I’m able to do this full-time, and I’m glad. I enjoy the technical aspects of playing with the instruments, tuning and finessing the strings.”

With more than seven releases, the collective formed a hub for the Palm Desert roots music scene. After he divorced Williams, Olson became unsure of what to do next. He found shelter from friends while traveling in Europe, like Jason Bourne with a guitar.

“My band now has friends of mine from all over. There are a lot of great people to work with over there.”
The album he came back with, The Salvation Blues, is his first true official album. Rather than give in to the unhappiness he had experienced, he wrote songs celebrating the struggle. Some people come here to die/We came here to live, he sings in “Clifton Bridge.” The formerly reclusive, 44-year-old Olson is back in sight, even filming a video that can be seen on his MySpace page. He has co-written with both Williams and Louris, and the former Jayhawks plan to spend 2008 writing and recording together.

Olson was here last month for WFPK’s Waterfront Wednesday. He returns for a show at the 930 Listening Room, at 930 Mary St. in Germantown, Saturday at 8 p.m., and earlier that day at ear X-tacy (1534 Bardstown Road, 452-1799) for a free in-store appearance and signing at 2 p.m.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Kentucky Prophet interview

Where do you live?
I live in Fordsville, Kentucky. A small town about a half hour south of Owensboro, which is the closest "big" city in Kentucky. I live in a trailer with a family member like all good white rappers.

What is the Hip Hop scene like there?
Fordsville is more of a bluegrass/country town. Every Friday night, they have music at the local community center. I'm the only rapper in town, so I have to travel to perform.

What do you think about the East Coast / West Coast wars? Do you think Biggie & Pac will ever stop fighting with each other?
I hate it when talented people die over something stupid as a turf war or something equally insignificant. Biggie & Pac are not fighting anymore. Rather, they are chillin' in Rap Heaven, where all beefs go to die with the rappers who carried them.

Whom inspired you to become a Hip Hop artist?
I would say Public Enemy, because their albums inspired me to create, but the real answer is rock music, because it got so awful that I wanted to listen to something else. At least, mainstream rock which was all I knew at the time. "They got no balls, they got no roots." - Frank Zappa, 1965.

Do you get a lot of groupies?
I have a few girls who really like me and the music, but no backstage sluts.

What do you like to do with women?

Beyond the typical clinical/glandular stuff any boy likes to do with a girl, I like simple stuff. Spending quality time with someone special, whether that's going out or staying in and listening to music.

You emphasize your physicality in live performances. Can you describe your body to our readers?
Well, for starters, I have what some Britishers might refer to as a "stylish pot", or a pot belly. Some people have six-packs, I got the full keg. I'm about 6'2" with medium-length brown hair and hazel eyes. I have legs like tree trunks and arms like cannons. My belly is as pronounced as that of the average 9-months-pregnant woman.

Do you think that you exploit yourself?
The subject of my weight is the elephant in the room, so I think it's best if I exploit it for laughs rather than some heckler.

Do you think you'd have the level of popularity that you've achieved if you weighed 300 pounds less?
I'd like to think so. There's a certain amount of entertainment in watching me make a spectacle out of myself, but deep down I think people enjoy the musical and comedic aspects of what I do.

Do you have a favorite Kool Keith line or verse?

The most obvious one is "keep it real, represent what? My nuts", but I also like "You drive a Dodge truck - I don't believe you."



c. 2007 Bejeezus Magazine

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Dmonstrations

"Night Trrors, Schock!"

(GSL)


The truth about reviewing handfuls of CDs in a brief period of time is that after 1 or 2, said reviewer starts to realize how short life is.
CDs begin to fall into 1 of 2 categories: 1) discs that immediately grab attention and never let up, and 2) Rhett Miller.

The incorrectly
spelled Dmonstrations is the kind of band that makes you dance in your seat before you even realize that you are moving your cheese-filled American ass. And by dance, I'm referring to the Captain Beefheart, Pere Ubu, Boredoms type.

C. 2007 Bejeezus

John Denver

The Essential
(RCA/Legacy)

There’s absolutely no good reason for this collection to be released now. No, and especially not as a two-CD set. There’s nothing “freak” in his “folk” — for Devendra Banhart or Joanna Newsom to cover one of his songs wouldn’t be fun or kitschy, and besides, it just won’t happen.
I’m sure of only a few things in life — like, Barack Obama will not be elected president in ’08, but my love of fish tacos will continue to increase — and none of today’s fashionable musicians will pay any sort of tribute to John Denver anytime soon.

In fact, they already did seven years ago, when a tribute album was released featuring Louisville’s own Bonnie “Prince” Billy, among other independent spirits. Hey, I like John Denver pretty good (and this isn’t the first time I’ve been paid to mention that in print in the 21st century), but just like his fellow sweater-wearers Jimmy Carter and Mr. Rogers, you already have your opinion.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Ted Leo / Pharmacists

Living with the Living
(Touch & Go)

It pains me to have to report that this album, the fifth by the politically inspired, melodically punky Ted Leo, is not his best. By continuing to focus on war being bad and corrupt leaders being corrupt and all that, Leo seems to be going through the motions, lyrically, this go-round.
Musically, his usual reference points are there — from Springsteen to the Jam — but an attempt at reggae, “The Unwanted Things,” only brings to mind The Clash’s cover of Junior Murvin’s “Police and Thieves.” Another unwise use of falsetto propels the big ballad “The Toro and the Toreador,” which will sound eerily familiar to anyone who’s ever heard Jeff Buckley sing — and then rips off Big Star in the same song.

“Bomb.Repeat.Bomb” here doesn’t just sound like something Rage Against the Machine would do, it sounds like them, too.
Worst of all, the disc is broken up into 90 45-second bits.
So, if you’re making a mix for a girl named “Colleen,” good luck adding this song, Romeo.

C. 2007 LEO Weekly

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Oldham's County


Cover Story


He's an acclaimed actor. He's Bonnie 'Prince' Billy. He's the best songwriter Louisville has ever produced. But who is Will Oldham, really?

You would not have to look far to find someone who believes Will Oldham is the most profound songwriter of his generation. Björk asked Oldham to open for her at the Hollywood Bowl. Johnny Cash asked him to join him for a cover of Oldham's song "I See a Darkness" on Cash's death-rattle of a final album. P.J. Harvey, Nick Cave and Charlie Louvin are admirers. His influence is everywhere and unmistakable: on alt-country bands steeped in the South, on the urban freak-folk scene that's all the rage and on lo-fi indie-rockers who find themselves pushed to poetry. There are even those who think he should have been nominated for an Oscar for his role in last year's acclaimed film Old Joy. This Sunday, the Louisville singer-songwriter will play the album "I See A Darkness," the instant classic he recorded as Bonnie "Prince" Billy, at Wild and Woolly Video's 10th anniversary party at Headliners.

It's a rare local appearance for a wayward genius who hides among us in plain sight, whose bald head and dirty blonde beard make him look like either a cherubic teen or a country grandfather, depending on the lighting. At times in concert, he augments his rural appearance with too much eye shadow. Once, I passed by him bicycling past Mid-City Mall wearing a pink, short-sleeved button-down shirt with short-shorts and flip-flops. He is very supportive of other musicians. He has contributed songs to locally released compilations. He sings songs by obscure English folkies and AC/DC. He is a fan of R. Kelly, and he is a fan of Merle Haggard. One thing he is not a fan of is explaining himself or his songs. Most interviews he has granted are painful to read; when the British newspaper the Guardian sent an award-winning music journalist to talk to him, Oldham did the interview while running errands in the Highlands. "I'm kinda busy," he told the writer as he checked his post office box.

So I was almost relieved when Oldham declined my interview request. (In its review of Old Joy, the Village Voice called Oldham "brilliantly annoying." Perhaps there's never been a truer two-word review.) I don't want to be the guy asking irritating questions about why he does what he does. And his obfuscation would take some of the fun out of wondering about how he makes his beautiful music. "He does represent the starting point for a whole generation of songwriters; he's the most popular and influential folk song writer of the '90s indie wave," said New York anti-folk musician Jeffrey Lewis, who was even moved to write a song about his idol, "Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror." "Even the recent 'freak folk' scene of Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom and Coco Rosie, etc., the idea of a weird-voiced folk singer who seemingly has 'outsider art' status while in actuality being a hip insider, all of this seems to have grown out of Will Oldham's influence."

A (reluctant) star is born

Will Oldham was born in Louisville on Dec. 24, 1970. As a youth, he trained as an actor, first at Walden Theatre, then at Actors Theatre of Louisville. At Actors, he auditioned for writer-director John Sayles, who put him in his movie Matewan. The script called for a Southern-fried teenaged Appalachian preacher - more country than any true Louisville boy, and a great opportunity for an actor. While his Brown School classmates were smoking their first joints, Oldham was co-starring with James Earl Jones. "He was a cute little crazy kid and obviously very talented," said James Roemer, the former general manager at Actors, now the administrative director of the Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, D.C. All that early success, however, didn't sell him on the craft. In an early indication of Oldham's discomfort with the machinery of celebrity, he grew frustrated with things like posing for headshots.

At 20, he dropped out of Brown University, bought a cheap guitar and landed in New York. On an album by a forgotten group called Box of Chocolates, his distinctive, surprisingly pretty voice can be heard in its early stages, though no one noticed at the time. So Oldham returned to Louisville, where the guys he had gone to school with were building one of the 1990s' most exciting indie-rock scenes. It was Oldham who shot the photo of Slint swimming that appears on the band's classic 1991 album Spiderland, an image that would be recreated years later for the "New Slang" video by seemingly everyone's favorite new band, the Shins. The born performer almost fell into the indie rock world, where he made an impression even before he started recording. "I have a real strong memory of seeing Matewan, and I thought Will was great," said director Phil Morrison, who lured Oldham back to the movies with a bit part in the 2005 indie sleeper Junebug. "Back then, movies were this other province. Even an indie movie like Matewan was from a bigger, more glamorous place. So to go to CBGB to see Rapeman, or whatever Steve Albini was doing at that moment, and see the kid from Matewan get on stage and, in my recollection, fart into a microphone, well, that was bananas."



Spontaneous greatness

Still in his early 20s, at that delicate point where those prone to breakdowns begin to fall apart, Oldham lost the plot. He retreated to his brother Paul's home in Virginia. There he began writing the songs that would make up his first album. One could've assumed at the time that Oldham might have attempted an adventurous rock record like his friends in Slint or his heroes like Albini, the studio guru behind some of the most admired albums of the last decade. But that would mean underestimating the general oddness of Louisville. Like Ethan Buckler, who left Slint for the absurdist faux-blues of King Kong, Oldham went away from rock. With his first record, There Is No-One What Will Take Care of You, he made a very rural declaration. Teamed with Slint bassist Todd Brashear (now the owner of Wild and Woolly), a yelping Oldham used banjoes to fill in spaces where electric guitars and synthesizers might go. He sang about family, about good and evil, about drink and the Devil. He also began challenging audiences. He claimed Washington Phillips' '20s blues song "I Had a Good Mother and Father" as his own, as he had with his first single, "Ohio River Boat Song," a localized re-write of the Scottish folk song "Loch Tay Boat Song" with new lyrics referring to his home (Floyds Knobs, Smoketown, Oldham County).

He also challenges basic notions of family, as his band name - the Palace Brothers - referred not to actual brothers, but rather to whomever was playing in his band at the moment, which changed almost constantly. "(He) chooses the people he's going to play with shortly before the session, so everyone is playing by the seat of their pants, and the music is at constant risk, subject to the weaknesses of whoever's in the room," said Albini, who recorded many of Oldham's best albums, including Palace's Viva Last Blues and Arise Therefore. "But he gets absolutely spontaneous moments of greatness you couldn't rehearse."

A constant chameleon

Like Bob Dylan, Oldham continues to re-interpret not only folk songs but also his own songs. In recent years, he released his first live album, Summer in the Southeast, which featured surprising versions of his songs, as well as Bonnie 'Prince' Billy Sings Greatest Palace Music, on which he re-recorded lo-fi '90s Palace Brothers songs backed by slick Nashville studio veterans. "Playing with him has always been an extraordinarily loose and fun experience," said Louisville guitarist Dave Bird, who has played with Oldham off and on. "Will puts a lot of trust in the folks he's playing with, and that's generally the way I like to roll as well."

Oldham continues to surprise. Critics who pigeonholed him as a bluegrass-infused type after his first album were forced to come up with a new explanation when he followed up with a solo acoustic record. Later records were filled with pianos, then (relatively) harder rock. His breakthrough album came in 1999. Released under yet another moniker - Bonnie "Prince" Billy - I See A Darkness caught the attention of famed producer Rick Rubin, who included the title song on a tape he sent to Johnny Cash. Cash invited Oldham to sing it with him on what would end up being one of Cash's last studio albums. "He has a great voice - very identifiable," said country legend Charlie Louvin, who invited Oldham to sing "Knoxville Girl" with him on his new album of duets. "If you ever heard him one time, you would pick him out of anything he'd done. That's a great asset for anybody to have - don't just sound like everybody else that they've heard."

Still keeping his distance

In 2002, Oldham told England's Guardian Unlimited that he does not want "a personal relationship with my fans. Or to do anything that encourages them to think they have one with me. They can have a personal relationship with my songs. That's fine, but they don't know me." And at one point in Old Joy, Oldham tells a friend, "I'm at a whole new place now, really." It looks like he's actually been in the same place for a long time. By shifting personas and styles so effectively, he's turned reinvention into an art form on darkly revealing albums that nevertheless reveal little about the man behind them. And the more you talk to his friends and those who have worked with him, the more the mystery remains. Even people who have gotten to know Oldham can't really explain him. But then again, we all have friends like that. Morrison, the movie director, struggles to reconcile the Oldham he calls "surprisingly regular" with the inscrutable performer who is constantly changing his stage name and sometimes sings covers of Mariah Carey songs. "It's classic Will - everything I say about him, I have to throw in some contradictory caveat," Morrison said. "That's entertaining and interesting. What's funny is how balled up we all can get over it. What do you mean? What's the truth about you? It makes people mad."

c. 2007 Velocity Weekly

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Boz Scaggs

"Silk Degrees"
(Columbia)

Somewhere in the sweaty chest hair of the nadir of the ’70s, there was a most moist and sleazy sound where pop, disco and jazz met. My friend Savoir Faire used to call it "Jacuzzi Jazz." I believe the kids today refer to it as "Yacht Rock." This movement provided a soundtrack for men and women who got together in hot tubs to drink wine coolers, inhale cocaine and have orgies.



Boz Scaggs hit his artistic peak — at which point, it must be noted, he still sucked — around 1976’s Silk Degrees, a flaccid mixture of Philly disco and Southern roadhouse rock. A former member of the Steve Miller Band who’s presumably trying to sound like Otis Redding via Eddie Hinton, one can assume that this is a comedy record and not necessarily be wrong. It could’ve
been worse — his name could’ve been Scoz Baggs.

c. 2007 LEO Weekly

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

!!!

Myth Takes
(Warp)

opening - cinematic - Massive Attack meets Morricone.

"All My Heroes Are Weirdos" -
very largely indebted to '80's Clash and Gang of Four, ESG and
Blondie; they try to fix the Clash (capturing the best elements of the
beating-on-trash-can rhythms, the thickly plucked peak funk and
post-punk guitars and bass; stylized and stylish if too
fashion-conscious vocals which betray deeply middle-class Western
roots) while not repeating the mistakes (i..e., sides of "Sandanista")

"Must Be the Moon" –
phone call and response, implied cowbell.
sense of urgency - tightened, if not focused.

"A New Name" and "Heart of Hearts" –
Miami sweaty disco diva.



"Sweet Life" - Meters in Nigeria chicken scratch riffs 'n' grooves,
lots of letters (musical notes?)
post-Beck falsetto.

"Yadnus" -
implied industrial sounds / subway car.
T. Rex crashes car into John Barry James Bond theme.

"Bend Over Beethoven" –
Is this a different song? For realz?

"Break in Case of Anything" –
Breakin' 3: Electric Dub Vegas.

"Infinifold" -
end credits. Grab yr jacket and toss your popcorn bag.

C. 2007 LEO Weekly

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Entrance

Prayer of Death
(Tee Pee)

Young, middle-class whites have been taking the music of their darker-skinned favorites and selling it back to other young, middle-class whites for many years. From Led Zeppelin to the White Stripes, we keep falling for it. This week, they call themselves Entrance.
"Prayer of Death" tries too hard to utilize the heavy sounds of Led Zeppelin without repeating the cliches that have ruined many metal bands. From Zeppelin, Entrance (primarily singer-songwriter Guy Blakeslee) also derive third-hand inspiration from authentic, exotic music such as Indian ragas. Indeed, songs like "Requiem for Sandy Bull (R.I.P.)" seem to exist primarily to prove how awesome his obscure record collection is.

Blakeslee's reluctance to just sing - without cracking his voice to prove how "real" he is - is unfortunate. The most captivating song on this record, the title song, works exceedingly well when he's singing but less so when he's wavering. Someone should tell dude that we're not going to believe that you're an 82-year-old sharecropper, so maybe just relax and play it right.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Karling Abbeygate

Karling Abbeygate
(Dionysus Records)

When someone tells a joke at a party and it falls flat, it's a painful experience for the joker and for their audience. When someone makes a joke of an album but gets to avoid seeing the discomfort and annoyance on the face of the audience, it's even sadder.
English lass Karling Abbeygate fancies herself to be a honkey tonk singer tucked conveniently between the saucy sass of Wanda Jackson and the silky sadness of Patsy Cline. A former model who isn't much to look at, but poses in her album photos as undressed as Tara Reid in Ibiza, Abbeygate might fool the casual listener but wouldn't last very long at Robert's Western Wear in Nashville. Her singing reminds one of Tammy Faye Messner's speaking voice.



Most disappointing is that her L.A.-based band, led by veteran lounge bandleader Joey Altruda, is crisp and adept. While laying down the foundation for a torch singer in a Best Western in Boise isn't the worst gig a band could get, they deserve a singer who doesn't sound like Betty Boop at karaoke, too tired from her office job to offer a performance worth paying attention to for more than ten seconds.