Category Archives: Pop

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“Old Sock” by Eric Clapton & “Electric” by Richard Thompson

Eric Clapton
Old Sock
Surfdog Records
1 star (out of 5)

Richard Thompson
Electric
New West Records
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

Eric Clapton’s place as the godfather of rock guitarists is undisputed—of course because of his brilliant early work, but also because he seems like a nice guy who has outlived greater talents like Hendrix and Duane Allman—but as a solo artist his work has been erratic, reaching a new low with the fittingly—and frighteningly—named Old Sock. All of the adjectives it brings to mind apply to this 12-track, 53-minute set that nearly put me to sleep on a recent road trip.

There are only two new songs here—more about them later—and the remaining 10 are don’t seem to have been chosen for any other reason that the minimal effort they required. A folksy “Goodnight, Irene” and a syrupy “Born to Lose” (from Ray Charles’ country and western phase) would be bad enough, but tossing in three chestnuts from the so-called Great American Songbook in as well, all with shimmering strings and Roy Conniff-style backing vocals, is just painful, surpassing even the dreck that Rod Stewart has been shoveling for the last decade or so.

“Further on Down the Road” (Jesse Davis/Taj Mahal), “Till Your Well Runs Dry” (Peter Tosh), and “Your One and Only Man” (Otis Redding) sound like faux-reggae rejects from the 461 Ocean Boulevard sessions, while the late British blue guitarist Gary Moore’s “Still Got the Blues” is most assuredly devoid of any trace of the purported blues. A soft arrangement, a lazy vocal, and a brief guitar solo that could have been pieced together from three or four other solos from different songs just doesn’t cut it.

Neither of the new songs did Clapton write. “Gotta Get Over” almost comes to life, but not quite. It’s a decent song, with a decent vocal and lots of those familiar guitar fills that Clapton does better than anyone, but which have been done to death. The other original is “Every Little Thing,” which may have already wrapped up the award for worst track of 2013. Not only is it another of the faux-reggae lot, complete with a faux-Marley title, but its chorus halfway in assaults the listener with the worst sound that can be captured by a recording engineer: a children’s chorus. After this debacle, I’d be surprised if we ever got a good new track out of Clapton again.

However, the constant stream of great work from Richard Thompson continues. Electric was recorded in Nashville with Buddy Miller producing, with Thompson including, for the most part, just Taras Prodaniuk on bass, Michael Jerome on drums, and, occasionally, Siobhan Maher Kennedy on backing vocal. Without anything to hide behind, Thompson’s strengths as a singer, songwriter, and guitarist—both electric and acoustic—continue to amaze.

“Stony Ground,” “Sally B,” and especially “Stuck on the Treadmill” have the thump and heft of the sort of rock songs that aren’t getting made much these days: a cranky guy belting out pointed lyrics and driving the point home with guitar solos that sound like the gleam on a shiny new barbed-wire fence you glimpse as you’re about to hit it face-first after being thrown over the handlebars.

“Salford Sunday” and “Where’s Home?” have the folk tinge that Thompson’s work has had since his days with Fairport Convention, the latter featuring the incomparable Stuart Duncan on fiddle and some of the Buddy Miller sound that one might have expected on the rest of the disc. (I also wanted a Thompson/Miller guitar duel, but I guess Buddy knew better). “Straight and Narrow” is another rocker that Thompson does well—a grungy look at an unattainable, frustrating vamp—but I’ve never cared for the Farfisa organ sound.

Another Nashville luminary—Alison Krauss—lends her translucent voice to “The Snow Goose.” Though it’s only for a couple of slight passages, the two voices together are as as gorgeous as a summer sunset sliding through the clouds.

Thompson has always been able to write about the bitter and the sweet of mature relationships as well as anyone, and “Another Small Thing in Her Favour” and “Saving the Good Stuff for You” are two more that resonate more deeply than anything new I’ve heard lately.

“My Enemy” and “Good Things Happen to Bad People” are aptly situated near the middle of Electric, and they amount to 11 devastating minutes of haunting melody, harrowing guitar work, and a vocal/lyric meditation on self-hatred and contempt for the world that holds everyone to account. The effect is not quite cathartic, leaving the listener to deal with the scab that’s just been scraped off.

Electric is my frontrunner for this year’s best album, and it’s going to take something remarkable to change that.

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“1945″ by Brad Mackeson

Brad Mackeson

1945

BradMackeson.com

4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

By the time one arrives at track three of Brad Mackeson’s second album, a substantial journey has already occurred.

“They say love is for gamblers and broken hearted fools,” is the phrase that Mackeson has crafted to open this stunning sliver of perfection entitled “Love Is For Gamblers,” but it isn’t the only memorable statement that goes into this impressively written reflection—”My scenery may change, but I will never forget your name” and “Freely I give my love, you owe me no debt”—each verse contains additional poetic affirmation of his lover’s perfection.

Like the finest songs from Bruce Hornsby, Mackeson’s are full-bodied testimonials, gently revealed.

At 23 years, the Nashville-based songwriter from Portland, Oregon creates songs that he has no business being able to even relate to; his is an expansive view of his surroundings, with infatuation and obsession walking hand-in-hand with love and emotional devastation.

His voice, his phrasing is his own, although one can’t help but hear echoes of Dylan, Springsteen, and Petty within a spare couplet, a harmonica fill, or an extended syllable. “Thousand Drums” could be mistaken for a mind-expanding Mumford & Sons track, catchy and pristine. Thoroughly modern with roots that run through my middle-aged experiences, side one of this collection provides one of the most satisfying listens I’ve experienced in quite some time.

It is bold and complex, fuzzy and ripped with poignancy.

Flip to side two and things are entirely different, and no less acutely satisfying. The rest of the world drops away a bit here, and Mackeson appears more isolated and the music speaks to this altered reality.

“I’m too afraid to check my own reflection…what if I’m not who I want to be?” Mackeson challenges within “Gonna Be Fine;” like George Harrison and Harry Nilsson did for a previous generation—and I don’t know why they popped to mind, but they seem apt—Mackeson frequently creates complexity from simplicity. Side two is more free-wheeling than the first side, with added vocal effects that remind one of psychedelic-influenced performances heard on long ago, late-night radio. None of which interferes with the connection Mackeson has established with his audience.

Danny Schmidt. Joe Pug. Mark Erelli. Lee Harvey Osmond. John K. Sampson. Leeroy Stagger.

If those names are on your iPod, you had best add Brad Mackeson.

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“The Colored Pencil Factory” by Astrograss and “Blue Couds” by Elizabeth Mitchell & You Are My Flower

Astrograss
The Colored Pencil Factory
Foggy Borough Records
4 stars (out of 5)

Elizabeth Mitchell & You Are My Flower
Blue Clouds
Smithsonian Folkways Recordings
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

I was made an uncle almost four years ago, and since then I have started thinking about music for children for the first time. The first question to ask is whether there should be any difference in music children listen to. I guess there has been literature and music for children as long as adults have had the disposable income and free time to make it—and it would make sense that some subject matter isn’t appropriate for certain ages—but should music for children sound any different? Do silly voices and jumpy tempos appeal to children more? Why do they make versions of already juvenile pop music sung by insipid choirs of children?

I would suspect that most of the worst music for children is simply marketed toward their parents with no thought to the children themselves, but, happily, two recent examples of good music made especially for children have reached me recently.

The first is from Brooklyn-based Astrograss, who bill themselves as “NYC’s premier bluegrass band for all ages.” The Colored Pencil Factory looks to be their third recording for children, and its 16 tracks and 49 minutes are a fun listen even for a curmudgeonly bachelor. Their musicianship is truly first rate, with Dennis Lichtman’s mandolin kickoff to “Hey Blue Dog” worthy of Monroe himself, Jonah Bruno’s banjo on “Playground” influenced by Monroe sideman Rudy Lyle’s famous “White House Blues,” and standards like “Sawing on the Strings,” “Shortenin’ Bread,” “Cluck Old Hen,” and “Sail Away Ladies” presented with great fiddling by Sarah Alden with pretty much the same attitude one would find on any old bluegrass or old-time record.

Alden trades vocal duties with Jordan Shapiro and Tim Kiah, one of whom has a voice that favorably compares to Darrell Scott’s, though from the liner notes I can’t tell which. Though they’re aiming for happy enthusiasm rather than subtle blends, their harmonies are usually quite good, and the lyrics on the original tunes assume far more intelligence on the part of children than most other stuff I’ve heard.

Elizabeth Mitchell’s Blue Clouds is just a bit better and is as good as I can imagine a children’s album getting. Mitchell and husband Daniel Littleton are part of the indie band Ida, and with daughter Storey, who looks to be about 12 now, mom and dad form the band You Are My Flower, who have now released seven albums for children.

Blue Clouds is gentle, quiet, and melodic, with Jay Ungar and Molly Mason contributing their talents, and Storey and a handful of other children singing backup. None of the vocals from adults or children here are hokey, with the effect that children who listen are drawn into a sound that has a deeper meaning than just having fun or getting silly.

Indeed, Bill Withers’ “I Wish You Well” is a song that will deeply touch both parents and children. Other musical giants are adapted here: David Bowie’s “Kooks” speaks to the virtues of being different, Jimi Hendrix’s tender “May this Be Love” is a showcase for Littleton’s gorgeous guitar playing, the Allman Brothers’ “Blue Sky” (with a “Little Martha” intro) is an acoustic version as beautiful as the electric original, and Van Morrison’s “Everyone” may be the best cover ever done of one of the grumpy Ulsterman’s  songs, with flute and children’s harmonies filling out the playfulness of the original.

Throw in some originals, a couple of American folk songs (“Hop Up, My Ladies” and “Froggie Went a-Courtin’”), songs from Korea (“San Toki (Mountain Bunny)”) and Japan (“Yuki (Snow)”), and the 13th-century English tune “Summer is Icumen In,” and you’ve got an incredibly well-laden pallet of music that this curmudgeonly bachelor has listened to a few times for no other reason than it’s a great record.

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“Daylight” by John Driskell Hopkins

John Driskell Hopkins
Daylight
Brighter Shade
4½ stars (out of 5)

By Larry Stephens

Hopkins has put together an excellent group of songs that fits somewhere in the acoustic country/indie/roots area.

Hopkins, a founding member of the Zac Brown Band (one of country music’s newer bands, making quite a splash on the country scene), makes no pretense of being a bluegrass singer. So, when making plans to record, Hopkins makes the obvious choice of Balsam Range (see their review) as his backup band.

Country rock meets bluegrass: it turned out to be a good match. Mix in some special guests and you have an appealing sound even if it may prove difficult to define a massive demographic for it.

Hopkins often has an eerie vocal resemblance to Mike Reid, a former pro football player turned Grammy winning songwriter (Ronnie Milsap’s “Stranger In My House”), pianist and singer whose solo career unfortunately went nowhere. (Reid co-wrote “I Can’t Make You Love Me” which was a hit for Bonnie Raitt.) “I Will Lay Me Down” (featuring Zac Brown) is an excellent example of the resemblance to Reid. But Hopkins can also turn out a growling, swamp-rock sound in songs like “Runaway Train,” featuring a bluesy resophonic kickoff by Jerry Douglas. He comes back with that same growl later in the CD, talking his way through “It’s Not Ok” while Balsam Range eats up the instrumental solos.

A song with a different persepctive on booze is “The Devil Lives In a Mason Jar” with guest performer and self-described turkey hypnotist, Richard Foulk.

The devil lives in a mason jar

His face is clear but his soul is dark …

The devil makes you ten feet tall

Swimming around in the ethanol

The song doesn’t leave much doubt about the perils of moonshine and has a mesmerizing beat that holds your attention. Hopkins can charm you with ballads, too, like “How Could I,” featuring his co-writer Levi Lowery on fiddle and vocals. This is a touching love song and such a change of pace from “Runaway Train.”

“Shady Bald Breakdown” is the CD’s instrumental and it’s a good ‘un. Balsam Range tears the strings off in this fast-paced blues number.

This CD is as much ballads as rocking country and the inclusion of Balsam Range’s (and guests’) acoustic backgrounds go well with the ballads. Tony Trischka is a guest on the title song, a reflective song about life. “Be My Girl” is a love song as is “Bye Baby Goodbye” (with guests Joey & Rory) except the latter is full of pain because he’s leaving on tour again (akin to IIIrd Tyme Out’s “Erase The Miles”).

Another change of pace is “DJ.” It’s philosophical about life with an engaging rhythm, jazzy with a touch of reggae. Hopkins is obviously comfortable with a wide range of styles and is able to carry off the changes. With “The Grass Don’t Get No Greener” he switches to a western swing sound, at least for awhile. I’ll just say the song has a surprising switch or two. Then there’s “She Don’t Love Me Today,” humorous and very much bluegrass with a ringing banjo throughout.

If you drew line graphs plotting the changes each song brings to a CD – tempo, subject, mood … – some CDs would flatline and the majority would show moderate spikes up and down. Daylight’s graph would look like the EKG of a person on speed, and every song is a good one. I hope Hopkins is already planning his next CD.

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“Sweet Talk” by Miss Tess & the Talkbacks

Miss Tess & the Talkbacks
Sweet Talk
Signature Sounds
4 stars (out of 5)

By Larry Stephens

Sweet Talk is a delightful CD of swing music with influences of Western swing, country and jazz. The first bars of “I Never Thought I’d Be Lonely” have you expecting Junior Brown while “This Affair” smacks of Latin influences. There’s a long guitar solo in the latter that alone makes the track good listening along with a driving percussion, and it’s introduced by the 1:04 track “Introduction,” (of course), a solo on the upright bass.

Miss Tess’ vocals show jazz influences and are authoritative. She takes charge of the songs and is never overwhelmed by her backing music. If you can imagine a scale with Patsy Cline on one end and Janis Joplis on the other, she’s about at mid-point. She’s best at a number like “Everybody’s Darling,” a swinging number that could have come from Bob Wills’ repertoire, featuring a long guitar intro by Will Graefe and a lap steel solo by Raphael McGregor. This is great swing music.

She switches modes with “Save Me St. Peter,” a waltz-time number that seems to be a religious appeal to Saint Peter (Simon Peter, one of the apostles). It seems like a rambling misfit in the middle of all this other good music. Off in another direction is “Adeline.”

Tkae me down to the dirty black water

Take me down to the shore

I got a handful of rocks in my overcoat pocket

You won’t see me anymore

The verses are done in a fast paced, talking rap and the musicians are prominently featured. I can imagine it appealing to a swing-dance crowd but it seems like an odd fit to me.

“Don’t Tell Mama,” on the other hand, is sultry and promising of some earthly delights, a warm buzz of pleasure. The subject may be a different, but you’ll hear that same voice, a hint of sensuality, in her praise of “New Orleans.”

Miss Tess composed seven of the songs and co-composed two more. She is a talented writer and singer and the way the band is featured throughout is a big plus. The only outside song reaches way back to 1941, the Ink Spots’ “I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire.” You can easily imagine her caressing the microphone in a dimly lit ballroom while couples dance to the music.

If you’re a fan of swing, if you like records that feature the instrumentalists with great solos and intros, if you like a touch of jazz, you need to meet Miss Tess.

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“Who’s Feeling Young Now?” by Punch Brothers

Punch Brothers
Who’s Feeling Young Now?
Nonesuch Records
2 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

When Nickel Creek disbanded, I was excited that Chris Thile, the greatest mandolin player in the history of the universe, would be free from trying to please the modern country market and let his talent and creativity take acoustic music fans places they had never been.

How to Grow a Woman from the Ground, his 2006 solo effort featuring three members of the current Punch Brothers lineup (Chris Eldredge on guitar, Noam Pikelny on banjo, and Gabe Witcher on fiddle), came the closest to fulfilling that potential, though Thile at times did stoop to doing a mawkish John Mayer impression.

Covers of Jack White’s “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground” and the Strokes’ “Heart in a Cage” had an angry young man with Jaggeresque charisma pouring his heart out with impassioned, raw vocals and shredding mandolin lines. Covers of Gillian Welch’s “Wayside (Back in Time)” and Jimmie Rodgers’ “Brakeman’s Blues” had Thile and the band delivering well-known material with freshness and elan, while a couple of the instrumentals were both tuneful and intricate.

Sadly, on this, the third Punch Brothers effort, the emphasis is solely on the latter, with arrangements that simply make your head hurt as you try to stick with the time signatures and nimbly picked scales as they fly past or, more frequently, just lie there.

Exhibit A is “Kid A,” a perfectly played cover of an unlistenable instrumental track by the obnoxiously pretentious Radiohead. That a band as supremely talented as Thile’s would waste their talents and our time on such a soulless exercise is a waste.

The rest of the 11 tracks on this disc have promise, but none of them reach it. They’re full of jaw-dropping instrumental passages that never join up to go anywhere. The whole experience is like being seated next to a beautiful woman at a dinner party only to find out during the salad course that she’s incapable of talking about anything but herself.

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“Follow Me Down” by Sarah Jarosz

Sarah Jarosz
Follow Me Down
Sugar Hill Records
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

Listening to this 20-year-old Texan’s second album, it’s hard to believe she isn’t a bigger star. She’s gorgeous, a multi-instrumentalist (mainly mandolin, guitar and different styles of banjo here) and possesses a voice that moves comfortably through higher registers while maintaining a rich beauty at moderate pitches.

And she can write, having a hand in nine of the 11 compositions here, with one of those being a “cowrite” with none other than Edgar Allan Poe on “Annabelle Lee,” on which her clawhammer twines with Stuart Duncan’s fiddle to evoke just the mood the late Bard of Baltimore was aiming for. The other two songs are by Bob Dylan—she, Jerry Douglas and Vince Gill make the apocalypse sound inviting on “Ring Them Bells”— and Radiohead—she renders “The Tourist” intelligible and evocative with help from the Punch Brothers.

Jarosz’s own creations do not pale in comparison. “Come Around” is perfect progressive bluegrass, with Jarosz laying a groove on octave mandolin that enables Bela Fleck’s banjo to double the gentle insistence of the lyric.”Run Away,” which opens the 40-minute disc, is well chosen: it signals that, in spite of the rustic setting, there is something much more many-layered going on here.

Co-producing with Gary Paczosa, Jarosz has given Follow’s aural texture the same supple warmth inherent in her material and performance. This is one of the best releases of any genre this year.

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“House on Fire” by Brian Wright

Brian Wright
House on Fire
Sugar Hill Records
3.5 stars (out of 5)

Texas-born singer-songwriter Brian Wright, who plays most of the instruments on this record, says on his website that he says he’s “somewhere between Woody Guthrie and Velvet Underground,” and the unnamed promo writer adds “there is also hints of Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark fused with a bluesy slide guitar and a simple, but enchanting Paul McCartney like bass line.”

I didn’t really detect any of those notes, apart from the bluesy slide guitar on several tracks, most notably “Rich Man’s Blues,” which takes much of its tune from “Sittin’ On Top of the World,” and the obvious McCartney/Beatles influence on “Striking Matches,” “Blind April” and “The Good Dr.,” all pleasant pastiches.

Far more striking resemblances for me are Wright’s voice as a softer, more laid back version of Kings of Leon’s Caleb Followill (especially on “Mesothelioma”) and many tracks’ sound and feel much like those on Tom Petty’s Wildflowers, such as “Accordion,” “Had Enough” and the easy, simple “Mean Ol’ Wind.”

“If You Stay” is the album’s one big misstep, with a weird bass backup singer marring a potentially interesting song. Indeed, the simplest songs here, and those with the least instrumentation, are by far the best. Along with “Mean Ol’ Wind,” there’s the near-perfect Americana breakup of “Live Again,” the darkly sweet “Maria Sugarcane,” the slice-of-life “Pretty Little Pennies” and the album-closing, heartfelt “Friend.”

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“Paper Airplane” by Alison Krauss & Union Station

Alison Krauss & Union Station
Paper Airplane
Rounder Records
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

The woody guitars of Dan Tyminkski and Ron Block, the occasional driving banjo from the latter, the slashing Dobro of Jerry Douglas, the expertly chosen, arranged and sequenced songs and, of course, the voice. All these are hallmarks of what we call an AKUS album, Paper Airplane being the latest example of an all-too-infrequent occurrence.

The title track, written by longtime Krauss tunesmith Robert Lee Castleman, is a fine choice to get things started, with the title metaphor of a precariously borne relationship supported by Krauss’ famously diaphanous vocals.

Tyminski, as seems to be the custom, takes the lead vocal on the second, and heavily bluegrass, track, seemingly to remind the faithful what a powerhouse AKUS can be when they want to. It doesn’t hurt their cause that here Tyminski turns in perhaps the best vocal of his career on a sinewy take on Peter Rowan’s “Dust Bowl Children.”

“Lie Awake,” with its brooding guitar figure, could have been written by Richard Thompson—more on him later—and shows that Krauss can be sweet and lonesome at the same time. “Lay My Burden Down” also has the sweet/sad thing working for it, so much so that it cries out for a spot in the next Southern melodrama to get the major motion picture treatment. “My Love Follows You Where You Go” is a break-up song having a bit more of an edge to it as the previous two tracks and about as close as we’re going to get this time of Krauss singing bluegrass.

Richard Thompson’s “Dimming of the Day” is next, the album’s centerpiece literally and figuratively. Even more vulnerable than Linda Thompson’s original performance, Krauss can now claim the definitive cover of this much-done song.

Tim O’Brien’s “On the Outside Looking In” has Dan and the boys back at the bluegrass plow, with a particularly strong turn by Barry Bales on upright bass framing precise work from Block’s banjo and Douglas’ Dobro.

“This angel’s bound to stray,” Krauss unapologetically sings on “Miles to Go,” yet another tearful goodbye number, though by no means unwelcome. “Sinking Stone,” whose melody oddly matches his title, presents Krauss with a bit more of a challenge, one which she of course conquers with ease.

Apparently because Block has no lead vocal on this project, Tyminski gets a third turn, and “Bonita and Bill Butler” is the happy result, an insistent seafaring ballad that’s also crying out for the big screen treatment.

“My Opening Farewell” is another perfectly chosen tune, perfect to close another perfect album (though wouldn’t you like to hear Krauss take a shot at “The Pretender?”) of gorgeous music that belies the pain in the material and heals the real pain that such material reflects.

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“The Bootleg Series Vol. 9: The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964″ by Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan
The Bootleg Series Vol. 9: The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964
Columbia Records
2.5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

The main character in Nick Hornby’s novel Juliet, Naked is a woman whose boyfriend is obsessed with a Dylanesque musician who made a few albums about 20 years ago, including one masterpiece, before fleeing fame and becoming a recluse.

One day, she opens her boyfriend’s mail to find a promo CD for a forthcoming release of an unplugged demo version of that masterpiece, Juliet, which is to be sold as Juliet, Naked.

The boyfriend greedily devours the disc, declaring it superior to Juliet in a rhapsodic Internet posting that is eagerly read by the other members of the online cult devoted to Tucker Crowe.

The girlfriend disagrees, posting her own critique that dismisses the unplugged version as an incomplete version of a great work.

Bob Dylan has been generous with his vault material, releasing now the ninth volume of his Bootleg Series, this one titled The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964. But I don’t think anyone could take the boyfriend’s position on this two-disc collection of 47 tracks.

Not that there’s not any great music here. Click the link, look at the track list. The songs you recognize are good solo guitar versions of the great solo guitar version from Dylan’s albums.

The track names you don’t recognize are songs that weren’t good enough to be included on those classic albums, and for good reason. They just don’t have the wit, craft and flow of the work we know from him. It proves that he was a great editor and judge of his own work, and that that work was so great that some feel there’s a market now for that which was once unreleasable.