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Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears
Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears
Tell ’Em What Your Name Is!
(Lost Highway, 2009)
Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears have been tearing up the clubs of Austin, TX for about two years with a sharp, horn-driven sound that recalls the glory days of American soul music. At last year’s SXSW, they started a buzz that resulted in a deal with Lost Highway, and their self-titled debut, a four-song EP—on vinyl, no less—promised great things. The standout track of Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears was “Bitch, I Love You.” Its title was deliberately provocative, but it was a finely tuned piece of retro soul. If you closed your eyes, you’d swear that you were in the presence of James Brown and the Famous Flames in their early days, all the rough edges still intact. Lewis shrieked the lyrics with a sexy, dangerous aura that was show-stopping. The raw power of his vocals and the force of the Honeybears was brilliant, with the searing lead guitar of Zach Ernst giving Lewis the kind of support every singer dreams of.
Tell ’Em What Your Name Is! follows up their promising EP with 10 tracks that smoke and sizzle like the fuse on a stick of dynamite. They don’t always ignite, but even the tracks that sound tossed off display a solid mastery of groove and grit. Most of the album was cut live in the studio, and the tracks have the feel of a live gig. “Gunpowder” leads off channeling Junior Walker and the All Stars, with a hint of Chuck Berry and Otis Redding tossed in for good measure. Lewis, who belts out an incomprehensible lyric with unrestrained energy, leads this blistering Motown-meets-Memphis mash-up. Ian Varley’s big ominous organ, Ernst’s clattering guitar, and Grupo Fantasma’s sharp horn parts ride a sweaty, dinosaur stomping beat. “Big Booty Woman” is swinging Chicago blues gone country with a hint of Cab Calloway’s big band panache in the call-and-response between Lewis and the band. Bill Stevenson’s bluesy bassline, Grupo Fantasma’s unruly horns, and Varley’s organ build to a satisfying climax. “Boogie” sounds like an improvised jam, a three-minute frenzy of hip-shakin’ South Side jive with a punky blues vibe. “Get Yo Shit” is another showcase for Lewis’s Memphis soul style—a half-talking, half-screaming scorcher with a shot of nasty humor on the side. When his back door woman tells him he never buys her anything, Lewis replies, “I bought you a box of chicken, uh, but I ate it on the way over…” He heads for the door with a wink and a smirk while the band plays a stinging getaway groove.
Morrissey
Morrissey
Years of Refusal
(Lost Highway, 2009)
More has probably been written about Morrissey’s public persona than his music. While the two are inextricably enmeshed, there is just something uniquely fascinating about an ambiguously sexual, unabashedly British, gladiola-loving 49-year-old (!) loner. He remains a paradox. His lyrics let us know he’s painfully alone, while his boastful croon let’s us know he’s confident—awesomely, arrogantly confident.
At this point in his career, it’s easy to accuse him of self-parody. Anytime a dude who is almost as old as my dad sings about how “nobody wants my love”, like he does on the lead single “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris”, I become a little incredulous.
But let’s not play the authenticity card here. That would detract from the real issue at hand: Relevance. As long as there are 16-year-old kids alone in their bedrooms lamenting their lack of a prom date, Pretty in Pink style, as long as there are shy collegiate girls in cardigans studying their weekends away in library basements, as long as there is someone out there feeling remotely inadequate, this guy will be relevant. Morrissey’s career endures because our personal lives do not.
His recent millennial career resurgence continues with Years of Refusal. His vocal prowess is stronger than it’s ever been, and his backing musicians sound less and less like a Smiths tribute band and are coming into something of their own as well. This translates to an even higher, and more paradoxical, level of confidence. For the most part, the album is composed of tight bursts of catchy rock songs with the lyrical quips we’ve come to rely on for over the past 20 years. And chances are, fans will fall for these battle cries of confident loner-ism all over again.
Years has got him dizzied up in a fiery black cloud. The rampage of “Something Is Squeezing My Skull” and the spaghetti Western pizzazz of “When I Last Spoke to Carol” suggest Morrissey-the-persona is beyond pissed per usual at the trappings of his loner status. For “there is no love in modern life, it’s amazing I’ve made it this far” he dramatically declares. There’s no doubt that tried and true fans will eat this shit up.
But before you know it, three tracks later, what do you know, surprise, surprise (that’s sarcasm folks), Moz is reveling in his self-imposed exile, throwing his arms around Paris with flamboyant aplomb. For only “stone and steel accept [his] love.” Later, on the album closer, he tauntingly sings, “I’m okay by myself / And I don’t need you or your morality to save me.” But whom he’s taunting remains unclear. The joke, however, is probably on all of us. After all, Morrissey has made a career invoking our insecurities, while simultaneously relying on that audience to elevate his existence to living sainthood. With an artist and audience so inextricably linked, no one is okay alone. So he’s not stopping now. He won’t. He can’t. Not when all we need is him.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
Tags: Morrissey, Years of Refusal, Lost Highway Records, The Smiths
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Ryan Adams & the Cardinals
Ryan Adams & the Cardinals
Cardinology
(Lost Highway, 2008)
Throughout this decade, there has perhaps been no solo artist more prolific than Ryan Adams. Since departing from Whiskeytown, Adams has released 10 albums and posted hundreds of tracks on his website. The albums he has made with the Cardinals, for my money, have been his best and most enjoyable, and this new album, Cardinology, may be Adams’ most confident and assured release to date.
While it’s no secret that Adams has battled excessive substance abuse of various kinds, he has recently cleaned up his act, and the results are perceptible on this new album. Although Adams has always been a great songwriter, his vocals here sound sweeter, stronger, and more confident, and display a range of nuance not previously evident. In past efforts, Adams has exhibited a melancholic pain in his vocals, and while I wouldn’t say there is an outright joy throughout, on many Cardinology songs he seems more content than ever before. The Cardinals have had a shifting lineup of players, with Brad Pemberton the only holdover from the original lineup. Surprisingly, the overall sound of the band has not changed much, although the dobro work of Cindy Cashdollar gave Cold Roses a little something extra.
The album’s opening track, “Born Into a Light”, with its acoustic, pedal steel-heavy sound, initially does not appear to be much of a departure from previous efforts by Adams & the Cardinals, but the second track, “Go Easy”, sets the tone for the rest of the album. The power, confidence, conviction, and above all, control with which Adams sings are a real leap forward. The song is aided by some melodic keyboard work, and is probably the nearest to a mainstream pop song that Adams has written and recorded in years. “Fix It” is a complete departure with an almost R&B feel. Another bid for gaining a wider audience without making artistic concessions is “Magick”, which, musically and lyrically, has an LA pop rock, radio-friendly approach. It sounds, at times, almost like a cross between Joan Jett & the Blackhearts and Lenny Kravitz with Dave Stewart behind the boards producing and playing guitar. The production is excellent and, like many songs on the album, it is very concise.
“Let Us Down Easy” again has an R&B sound but also is buoyed by creamy chorus harmonies. On the next track, the gritty “Crossed Out Name”, the R&B approach continues. The tempo finally slows down on the dusky and haunting “Natural Ghost”, which effortlessly blends electric and acoustic guitars in a way that has been the hallmark of Adams’ best music. Ringing pedal steel and nice harmonies make “Evergreen” one of Adams’ most timeless recordings, and “Like Yesterday” is almost like the B-side of “Evergreen” with its deceptively simple approach. The album closes with the sparse, piano-based “Stop”, one of the sadder songs on this mostly uplifting set.
Adams is really at a musical peak. He writes great songs while appearing to have complete command of his talents, and it’s been a thrill to watch his career unfold.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
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Classic Vantage: Life After Whiskeytown: Ryan Adams and Caitlin Cary
Elvis Costello
Elvis Costello and the Imposters
Momofuku
(Lost Highway Records, 2008)
Most of the ink spent on Momofuku thus far has concerned two items: 1. The marketing technique of the release, in which they blew some smoke up our asses by insisting that it would be limited to vinyl and digital formats before admitting that there would, in fact, be a CD released at a later date. (I recommend the double-LP, which comes with a “Momofuku” stencil—that would never fit in a jewel case—for you to launch your own guerilla marketing campaign with.) 2. Speculation about whether the name was borrowed from the East Village trio of Momofuku restaurants, which has gained a cultish following in recent years. A liner note, anticipating the likeness, says, “This album has no connection with the restaurants of the same name but Elvis Costello does recommend their cooking.” Both entities share the namesake: The “Noodle Papa,” Momofuku Ando, who invented the world’s first instant noodles, and died in 2007 at the ripe age of 96. David Chang named a noodle shop after a noodle man; but I don’t hear any overt hints in the lyrics that shed light on Costello’s use of the name Momofuku. However, an explanation does come by way of a letter he wrote for his website: Comparing the record to the Cup O’ Noodle, Costello writes, “Like so many things in this world of wonders, all we had to do to make this record was add water.”
Indeed, the overall feel of this record is extemporaneous. It was recorded in a week and a day, and while it doesn’t sound disjointed, the brief recording exposes itself: Costello cues the band into the bridge on “Flutter & Wow”, and after he says, “We’re rolling,” he cues the opening riffs on “Go Away.” Both of those numbers feature fades that draw enough attention to themselves to probably not be the original intention, but rather the result of some improvisation. Conversely, the sharp editing of the melee at the end of “Stella Hurt” is well accompanied by a backwards piano riff that leads into the next song, “Mr. Feathers.”
Ryan Adams
Ryan Adams
Easy Tiger
(Lost Highway, 2007)
I suppose I could start this review by talking about the varying aspects of Ryan Adams’ exhaustive catalogue of music… and, then, what all the respective material means in the grand scope of space and time and the aqueducts there within his career. And then I could talk about where this one blip of an album resides amongst all of that. But, you know what? I don’t really feel like it. You can go read that somewhere else… probably everywhere else, in fact. The fact of the matter is that I woke up this morning feeling kind of shitty. Call it a cumulative thing. Nothing specific. And Ryan Adams’ Easy Tiger was a good album to put on and wade through the shit.
This record feels blithe, easy, even when we’re dealing with downtrodden matters. The simplicity of the music is a beauty of a backdrop for his disparate voice which carries me through track after heartfelt track. Oftentimes it’s these middle-of-the-road songs (considered throwaways by some folks) that are particularly soothing and familiar to me, where occasionally moments of brilliance shine through. I’m good with that, and I don’t know how much more I’m supposed to ask from someone who’s already given so much. To be brilliant all of the time at this pace would be ridiculous. His musical hooves might not be moving mountains, but the music here is still rife with a deluded sort of pain and passion… the kind of opaque emotion that was drowned too long in drink.
Album Review: Johnny Cash, American VI, Ain’t No Grave
by: Angela Zimmerman
American VI, Ain’t No Grave
(Lost Highway, 2010)
When the organ lifts behind sparse guitar and Johnny Cash sings, “There is a train that’s heading straight to heaven’s gate, to heaven’s gate / And on the way child and man and woman wait / Watch and wait for redemption day” on the second track of his latest posthumous album, American VI, Ain’t No Grave, it’s a powerful moment. That song, “Redemption Day”, is just one of 10 included on this Rick Rubin produced collection, and like others in the American Recordings series, this album showcases a range of hand-selected covers reworked through Cash’s singular, striking baritone.
It’s his delivery that never fails to touch me, that voice worn but always defiant. Johnny Cash helped put a name and a face to Outlaw Country and singlehandedly opened my ears to the “real” country movement, the one of authenticity, of real life cowboys and honky tonks and the Grand Ole Opry. The movement that found their singers in prison or drinking their woes away in a small town on the outskirts, capturing the feel of hard living and harder loving on record and bringing it back to us listeners in our suburbs and coastal cities. The outlaw country movement and with it Johnny Cash defines authenticity.
At the time of me writing this review, the record’s been out a week, coming out on what would have been Cash’s 78th birthday, and the response has been overwhelmingly positive. But despite the fact that the album, according to a press release, debuted at Number 3 in the States and in the Top 10 elsewhere in the world, it still presents Johnny Cash in way that’s removed from any care of expectations, in a way that when you listen to it, lacks any external significance, any posthumous attachment. Cash’s comes from the soul, is about soul, and is for the soul… I find it easy to forget that I share him with the rest of the world when I hear him sing. He makes me feel like I’m the only person within earshot.
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by: Angela Zimmerman
published: March 5, 2010
in column: Reviews, What Goes On
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