Reviews

Michael Houstoun: Inland

Michael Houstoun

Inland

Rattle

This version of Inland is a reissue of 2007’s double-CD with a bonus DVD, the Keith Hill-directed feature, Michael Houstoun: New Zealand Pianist. The film collects footage from the recording of Inland, Houstoun plays and talks about the pieces; about his playing and development, about his connection to the works, his rapport with New Zealand composers, his motives. He is sincere and engaging and the film works as a lovely portrait of one of New Zealand’s greatest musicians.

The album sounds as fresh as it did when I first heard it nearly six years ago now. It was nice to be reintroduced to it in this context, having soaked up the recent Lilburn album and a lot of Houstoun’s playing it’s with fresh ears for Houstoun that I returned to Inland.

This double features a handful of New Zealand composers creating works for Houstoun. We start with Douglas Lilburn’s long piece and a sequence of Five Pieces For Piano from Kenneth Young. Houstoun doing Lilburn is New Zealand’s version of Glenn Gould doing Bach. Across the second disc Houstoun tackles works by Gao Ping, Victoria Kelly and John Psathas (at the time of the recording Houstoun had featured on Psathas’ Rhythm Spike and View From Olympus albums). The centrepiece of the album – or of the second disc at least – remains the twelve short pieces from the pen of Mike Nock. These contemplative exercises in solo piano allow Houstoun to showcase another side of his playing, from dizzying flurries to soft tones – allowing plenty of space.

Inland remains an incredible showcase for Houstoun’s range, the breadth of his playing and knowledge; it’s a showcase too for New Zealand composers, so generous is Houstoun in the way he’s dedicated so much of his time and playing to New Zealand writers. And this version of the album is worth collecting for the documentary portrait. The film includes versions of many of the pieces from the album.

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March 27, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Red Jacket Mine: Someone Else’s Cake

Red Jacket Mine

Someone Else’s Cake

Fin Records

Someone Else’s Cake is the third full-lengther from this Seattle power-pop quartet. It’s 2013-meets-1979 with obvious Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe, Squeeze, Graham Parker influences. And then there are the American bands – everything from Big Star to The Minus 5, I thought, too, of The Grays (that wonderful Ro Sham Bo album).

Bursting out of the box as if it’s Lincoln Barr (RJM’s chief writer/singer) leading a new version of Elvis Costello’s Attractions, you’ll be thinking of slightly punked-up Ben Folds Five and remembering just how magic that early Joe Jackson stuff was (is). But for all of the obvious references and influences – Red Jacket Mine is most certainly making a version of Record Collection Pop after all – it never feels like the songs on Someone Else’s Cake have been done before; these aren’t copies, they aren’t fakes, this is heart-and-soul songwriting, full of fire and wit and guts. Call it a by-product then that in and around playing this album you’ll also be heading back to Armed Forces and This Year’s Model, to Jesus of Cool and to Rockpile.

Barr’s songs never stick around too long, here 11 of them bolt from the gate in just a little over half an hour, but there is a soul to the sound, there’s craft in the urgency and this is a tight unit too; a killer-good band nailing each tune.

So I’ve been playing this a fair bit – and I have been back listening to Joe Jackson and (always) the early Costello and a bit of Graham Parker, some Bruce Cockburn too. The Grays. And the first Ben Folds Five record. But I don’t want any of that to be Red Jacket Mine and I don’t think Red Jacket Mine want that either. They just know all of that stuff. Inside out. And round and round. Never spoiling their own songs by throwing too much at them. Allowing you to hear a new thing in each song each time. Because, you see, they prove you can have Someone Else’s Cake and eke it too.

It’s very early to be calling this the best pop record I’ve heard this year – it might not mean a lot. (Just yet). But it is, easily, the best pop record I’ve heard this year; I’ve got well hooked on this. I love it. It’s full of the flavours I love.

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March 27, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Sam Hunt: Knucklebones – Poems 1962-2012

Knucklebones: Poems 1962-2012

Sam Hunt

Craig Potton Publishing

Sam Hunt is not only this country’s greatest ambassador for poetry; the one taking it to the people – poetry is of and for the people and Sam knows this better than anyone, his poems come from the people and are for the people – but he’s also, if there’s a difference, and I guess there (usually) is, one of New Zealand’s greatest songwriters.

He’s been touring his road-songs up and down the line for nearing in on half a century; he’s been making up his poems for over 50 years and here with this new collection; this new career-covering selected poems we have a close enough to definitive take on all that makes Sam great on the page. Too often he’s been written off as just a bard, a performer, a singer offering his “songs for the tone-deaf”.

He is his very word – and every word – when he struts his two hours on the stage, shrugging words out with a flick of the arm as they dribble out to announce themselves.

But his words stand proud on the page. And it’s been too easy to call him just a performance poet (not that there’s anything wrong with that – or easy about that). If it was easy to do what Sam does there’d be more than him doing it, there’d be others in the hunt. But there’s only one Hunt.

Since I first discovered Sam Hunt’s words and worlds I loved reading his yarns. They’re perfectly formed – he gives them life, sure, and I love hearing them but they are not just stage creations, they are not staid in recreation. The best of Sam’s work stands up on the page, so much so that the truly great poems, the “hits” if you like, the double fist-full of knockout poems, announce themselves when you’re reading. My Father Today, Birth Of A Son, Beware The Man, My Father Scything, New Words, Wave Song, Bottle To Battle To Death, Fire As Always, Old Flames, Floating Poem, Fucking Poem, Naming The Gods, A New Plateau Song, Doubtless – there are many more besides, you’ll have your favourites, I have mine – Sam has his. Sometimes we all meet in the middle. But in this book the truly amazing poems really shine, they dazzle. And they sit in good company with so many other great poems, ones you’ve heard before, ones you never noticed at a gig – or hadn’t heard or hadn’t thought to think of.

Since 2008 Sam has really connected with the printed word, new books, a memoir, new poems – and so this volume follows a documentary and many other taking-stock/brand-(re)building exercises. Where previously he was just a guy with a head full of stories he’s now wearing glasses and reading poems from the page.

But it’s not just marketing and it’s not just revenue collecting. And it’s not just a rebrand. These poems are us. They are New Zealand. They are the Hello Sailor performances and the Grahame Sydney paintings. They are the songs of McGlashan and Jordan Luck, the spirit of Baxter and they are the journeys of Sam and Minstrel. They are so much a part of this country. And such a huge part that I love.

Every home should have one. Every heart should hear some.

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March 26, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Nataly Dawn: How I Knew Her

Nataly Dawn

How I Knew Her

Nonesuch

This is Nataly Dawn’s debut album proper, in that she had already self-released to iTunes a set of songs that had been worked up but this is the collection (of new songs) that has been shaped and made as an album. And it’s a nice album too. It will bring to mind Regina Spektor at times; that’s very clear. And Dawn has lyrics that aren’t dissimilar to some of the places Spektor goes, but it’s more a case of the phrasing, the musical arrangements and the feel that take us to a world similar to Regina Spektor’s.

Dawn is one half of the duo Pomplamoose, known for YouTube covers of pop songs, and here her band-mate /partner Jack Conte produces and plays and the band is really something, Matt Chamberlain on drums (he knows this landscape via Anika Moa’s debut and Fiona Apple’s material) along with Ryam Lerman (Ben Folds) offering guitars, banjo and mandolin and jazz bassist David Piltch (Bill Frissell).

It’s fresh and lively and sophisticated and sharp and Dawn feels like she might have something – even though the album doesn’t really feel like it will have the (probably) requisite runaway pop hit. So this is either the start (proper) of big things or you’ll never hear from her again. Either way this album doesn’t deserve to be discarded; it’s worth a look and definitely worth a listen.

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March 25, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Rhian Sheehan: Stories From Elsewhere

Rhian Sheehan

Stories From Elsewhere

Loop

Rhian Sheehan’s new album continues his search for higher musical ground, away from the electronica tag that hung over his early work as the first artist to release a full-length album for the Loop label. In fact what is consistent about Sheehan’s music is that each album improves on the overall sonic, each album builds on the ideas first hinted at on the record it follows. But it’s clear that Standing In Silence was a rebirth; a beat-less chill-out music that didn’t actually deserve the marketing-line of being “chill-out music”, a mix of moody Eno soundscapes and the emotional high points of Sigur Ros, with traces of the film composer version of modern classical music – Cliff Martinez and Clint Mansell likely heroes.

In between Standing In Silence and Stories From Elsewhere there was the EP, Seven Tales Of The North Wind. That carried over parts of Silence’s feel but was an altogether different listening experience. Now Elsewhere hints back to Seven Tales while being different again.

Here it’s more pronounced that Sheehan is approaching his music as composer/arranger/conceptualist first, musician second. Calling in again Jeff Boyle (Jakob) for the crucial tonic, using the strings from the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra for some Richter-esque rising swells. And there are vocals here to assist the emotional climax. Once again the music builds, starting out with almost naive tinkering in and around a worldview that’s best seen via the telescope; you can imagine that Sheehan imagines his elsewhere as being so many worlds away and this is the ethereal soundtrack he’s created, these are the field recordings he’s shaped with Raashi Malik (Rhombus), Andy Hummel (Rosy Tin Teacaddy), Ryan Prebble (The Nudge) and Steve Bremner (The Adults) helping also to twist the sounds.

The influence of Sigur Ros and Helios is obvious; touchstones for Sheehan since Standing In Silence and its live reworkings.

But where Silence was stoic and sombre, Elsewhere is more playful, there are rock-out moments and on Nocturne 1985 it’s as if Jan Hammer is on hand to break the mood. There are more moments that take the breath away on the new album. It constantly wows. It moves through more moods. Its journey is bigger.

Ultimately Stories From Elsewhere might seem less cohesive than Standing In Silence but I hear it as more expressive, the screen is wider, the lens captures more. Standing In Silence was reflections on the same shot; the same scene. This is a series of vignettes, they take their power from working together as separate vestiges, different feels, different focuses.

As such I think it’s the finest thing Rhian Sheehan has done (so far). I like that he improves with each album – and redefines his sound with each album. Stories From Elsewhere contains so much heart and soul. It has the power to blow you away.

To hear a sample click here.

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March 25, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

V/A, Cliff Heard Them Here First

Various

Cliff Heard Them Here First

Ace

This compilation should appeal to both Cliff Richard fans – and people who like music (make your own joke about them being mutually exclusive if you must). But I think you’d struggle to find a reason to not like at least some of what’s on offer here, the original versions of many of the songs that Cliff had a hit with in his early career. So it’s mostly rock’n’roll, rockabilly and teen dance-craze pop music fare. But there’s also touches of country and folk via Neil Diamond and The Everly Brothers and there are plenty of big-name rockers here: Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Bill Haley and Bobby Vee to name a few.

The church is present with Ruth Brown and Little Stevie Wonder providing links – and all up it plays through as a fascinating document; a groovy wee playlist-idea.

But all of this music was covered by Cliff – in many cases he was the hit-maker; the one who took these songs to the charts. But you don’t have to be a Cliff Richard fan to enjoy this.

Praise must once again go to Ace – the record label that cares. Here the compiler is Tony Rounce and he provides liner notes which are a crucial part of the journey, individual song info and credits with contextual thread regarding Cliff Richard’s treatment/approach. There’s even an apology mentioning a handful of songs they would have liked to include but were not able to license. In an era of serve-em-up/hit-and-hope this is an extra-care compilation designed for record-buyers, collectors, music-lovers; people who perhaps treat their own collection like a mini-museum. Well there’s lots for archivists here, from Peggy Lee singing Looking Out The Window (from 1959) to Dick & Dee Dee covering The Rolling Stones’ When Blue Turns To Grey (1965) and Bobby Helms’ opening Schoolboy Crush.

Great tunes, 24 tracks in total and a fascinating story when heard in this context.

You really don’t have to like Cliff at all but I just can’t imagine music fans not loving the work that Ace does.

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March 25, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Sound City: A film by Dave Grohl

Sound City

Director: Dave Grohl

Gravitas Ventures

The documentary Sound City will be gushed over by many simply because Dave Grohl is the director and narrator; it’s his pet-project. It is – for the most part – a well-intentioned look at the titular recording studio, a hovel that helped to create some of rock’s enduring classics. It never mattered that the carpet was stained and people might pee in the corner of a room; the place had a kick-ass drum sound. And it is the stuff of legend for many of the hook-ups that happened – so in that sense Grohl taps into the music-as-community motif/motivation also. The Buckingham Nicks album was being made just as Mick Fleetwood was shopping for a studio and looking for a new guitar player. Stevie and Lindsey were a package – next thing Fleetwood Mac had two new members and was on its way to global superstardom.

These sorts of stories are known of course, but it’s interesting to see the place that’s always been little more than a footnote. To see artists like Rick Springfield and Tom Petty through the mirror of where their classic albums were cut; Grohl’s connection of course is that Nirvana’s breakthrough album, Nevermind, was one in the long list of classics that was worked on at Sound City.

So far, so good.

And Grohl is goofy-but-charming; his default setting it would seem. And there is a strong focus on gear and tech-geeky stuff without it ever getting too geeky and techy to put non-boffins off.

The studio closed its doors for good in 2011 and Grohl purchased its Neve desk for his studio.

So part two of the documentary is Grohl recording music for music’s stake with some Sound City heroes (Springfield, Nicks) and Sir Paul McCartney in a somewhat scene-stealing rock-out finale.

But while this has been embraced by most reviewers and fans – it’s really a whole other documentary. A non-story, an ego-stroke, Grohl should have made two films really – arguably he did, simply slapping them together to save thinking of a way to end one or a reason to start the other.

So it all depends on how you see Grohl really – if you view him as one of rock’s legends of the last two decades then you’ll choose to see this as him shining a light on a crucial studio and its story; he can – of course – do no wrong.

If you see him as a lucky kid and talented drummer – right place, right time – and member of one decent band who has gone on to have a very forgiving platform for his goof-off follies then you’ll ignore that the real story here could have been his efforts to save the studio rather than just buying its desk to furnish his own indulgence; the real story could have been follow-up around the staff of the studio feeling lost but banding together in the wake of losing their jobs, not Grohl-as-Willy Wonka, not Grohl jamming with a Beatle maaan!

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March 24, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Jim Gaffigan: Mr. Universe

Jim Gaffigan

Mr. Universe

Comedy Central Records

Jim Gaffigan is note-perfect, a comedian with his shtick locked-down, he does observational humour – but it’s not a Jerry Seinfeld act. It’s more Bill Cosby, or aspiring to get there, in that it’s not the detached stand-and-point observations that Seinfeld popularised, this is comedy borne of experience, the mistakes have been made by Gaffigan – allowing him to comment on them. He’s never detached from the routine – because he is the routine. Life as experienced by him. Now this is not all that unusual (anymore). This is almost a default-setting for comedians – so sure they’re what’s important. But Gaffigan’s skill is that he’s still passing judgment, he’s still observing, casting the net wider, critiquing society – this is not just the Gaffigan show and what happens to him.

It’s rare for a comedy record to hold up these days – but this manages that rare feat, and all without resorting to offensive material.

Gaffigan might not be edgy but he’s most certainly not trying to be – he is astute and entertaining. Check out this McDonald’s bit. He loves to expose the hypocrite in us all too. Again, that’s fairly standard comedy fodder, but it’s reassuring to hear this trick in the hands of someone who has done the time, who has honed the skill.

Mr. Universe made me laugh, made me think, made me sure I’ll play it again. That’s all I’m looking for in a comedy record. Those are things I hardly ever find from comedy records. The good ones are great though – and this is up there.

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March 24, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

The Raveonettes: Observator

The Raveonettes

Observator

Vice Records

With six albums across a decade Sharin Foo and Sune Rose Wagner have been consistent in making strong music; following their own path from retro-rock fetishists – tied to the marketing as much as anything – out to post-Spector, punk-influenced fuzzy power-pop. It’s not so much that the music is retro-rock as a case that Wagner’s musical heroes are all in the past. The music he’s creating might trace around 60s ideals – more so than actual ideas – but it is still modern enough for now, even if it sticks to conventional songwriting and production ideas, normal instruments, the standard pop-song approach.

Observator is great – for many reasons, probably most of all for sticking to the tried and true three-minute pop-song approach (and, in most cases, nailing it). I like that it’s just nine songs long. And just half an hour in length – it never outstays its welcome. I like it because every track is a winner, there’s no filler and no chance for anything to drag the chain. It reminds me of the Cat’s Eyes side-project from one of the guys from The Horrors; it’s not as melodramatic, maudlin and moody – and, frankly, it’s not quite as good. But it is a great record, one that rewards. I might seem late to the party reviewing it now but that’s because I just keep listening to it. Round and round it goes and I’m hooked from the opening Young and Cold through to closing track, Til The End. (Make a short album and if it’s good it will get played twice-over and three-times-over in one go; that’s far more likely than if it’s some overbearing monster album that threatens to swallow your stereo).

The best elements are in place, bits of surf guitar merging with a shoegaze feel – and it all feels lived-in, tested, true, honest, that was always my complaint with bands like The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club; I didn’t quite believe them. The music felt like slogans, like graffiti quips, bag tags, the smart thing you think to say only after – but the music on Observator, like a lot of the music from The Raveonettes, feels true. And real. And composed in the moment, thought of and actioned. And that’s why I keep listening to this album. That’s why I like this album. And that’s why I have a whole new appreciation for a band I have to admit I have, from time to time, written off as a bit of a fad/prank. Not the case. I see that now. I hear that now. And though I’m hooked on Observator right now it’s made me also go back through the band’s catalogue to find all the other gems.

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March 24, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Lapalux: Nostalchic

Lapalux

Nostalchic

Brainfeeder/Border

It might be a bedsit identity, but 25 yo Stuart Howard, aka Lapalux, has thrown everything at the music, in tiny, cramped conditions – kitchen-sink and all. Nostalchic is released on Flying Lotus’ Brainfeeder imprint.

For his retooled version of Aphex Twin/Boards Of Canada/Squarepusher electronica he’s very clearly hip-hop and dubstep inspired but through that has a mind’s eye for pop-song melodies, song-lengths, structures and feels – even if none of this is heading toward the pop charts.

Through his experimental EPs Howard has honed a sound that has the lushness, fullness and depth required in this post-Burial musical world.

It feels like happy Aphex Twin music, like the music from Drukqs shaking hands across Eno’s ambient template, only ever the hint of menace. Too bent for radio, just a little too twisted for the nightclubs.

There are glitches and twitches and it’s never a giant bow to accessibility – but none of it feels so far removed from the Brainfeeder/Warp elements that entice listeners; occasionally creepy almost, often close to overwhelming in the way the melody unfolds, full of grace and charm and musically adventurous, Lapalux has offered up Nostalchic and it has become my go-to album over the last couple of months; particularly in the car. It’s been a great driving companion. I love it.

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March 24, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

50 Licks: Myths and Stories from Half A Century of The Rolling Stones

50 Licks: Myths and Stories from Half a Century of The Rolling Stones

Pete Fornatale

Bloomsbury USA

Pete Fornatale died in April 2012. This is his final book, a gushing oral history comprised of interviews Fornatale conducted in his role as a DJ at WNEW in New York – and he’s taken from the books that Bill Wyman has written as well as other biographies on individual Stones, most recently Keith Richard’s Life.

Unfortunately there is very little in the way of thread, little context behind and around these ‘key’ events – and so it’s just the same old stories and the same old quotes. Charlie talking about being in a band equating to 20 years of hanging around and five years of working, Keith referring to his blind angel who saved him when he was facing jail in the mid-70s, Mick painted as (only) the businessman face of the Stones, Keef (always) the heart and soul.

And it’s boring. And laboured. And though this is not in any way the fault of the Stones this, like many of the activities surround the band’s 50^th Anniversary actually do the opposite of what’s perhaps intended, in that no new light has been cast, no new stories are unearthed and in some cases it’s a crafted re-writing of history that irks.

Also Fornatale is too desperate to flash his I-was-there cred, desperate to put himself right there in the story, best footnote forward style. He makes Murray The K seem laidback and reserved at times.

Fornatale wanted to celebrate the Stones – and his connection – that’s understandable from a man nearing the end of his life. Wanting to read it is another thing entirely. Well intentioned or not this book must be avoided.

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March 23, 2013 by Simon Sweetman

Eric Clapton: Old Sock

Eric Clapton

Old Sock

Universal

You almost have to see Eric Clapton’s solo career as a prolonged exercise in self-sabotage – he had it there, on a plate and slowly, surely, he drifted toward the middle of the road and though there have been some peaks – particularly live and, interestingly at the start and end of each decade – it’s for the most part of the middle of the decades that he’s most happy in the very boring middle of the road – it really is remarkable that he’s as popular as he is now; he’s the very epitome of a has-been; he has been talented, he has been put to (far) better use, he has been worth listening to…

Old Sock is old hat and it chases Paul McCartney’s recent Kisses On The Bottom in not just the awful album-title stakes but in its very make-up, mostly covers concealing two new originals. Clapton guested on Macca’s album – and that was actually a nice surprise and some vital playing and that favour is repaid here. There are other guests, heroes for Clapton that he is paying back (after always paying it forward): Taj Mahal and J.J. Cale. And he teams back up with Steve Winwood – which worked well live but is forgettable on record.

And this is the thing – there are glimpses, just, of how he could still make a good new album. But it all falls over. Track four on Old Sock, Gotta Get Over, is in no way awful – in fact it’s arguably the best thing on the album, hints of that first Clapton solo album and – from right around the same time – his Derek & The Dominos cover-up/facade-band. But it’s timid and not at all exciting and most people will have completely tuned out by the time it gets to Gotta Get Over because the cod-reggae grooves and lazy summer-strum approach to standards is almost infuriating – at best it’s (mercifully) forgettable.

I want to like each new Eric Clapton album that arrives; a childish notion – I know. But this guy meant a lot to me in my childhood and the best work from his first decade in action is still a revelation to my ears – and a gateway-drug for a lot of great music.

But now he’s beyond coasting. To the point where it’s embarrassing. At its absolute best Old Sock feels like a belated, dated sequel to 461 Ocean Blvd. But it doesn’t sound that good (and I never thought that album was anything special anyway). At worst it’s an album called Old Sock!

Here the old sock has been scraped for a few fusty leftovers – all those tossed off onanistic shrieks. And it stinks.