Alexi Murdoch: Time without Consequence (2006)

(Zero Summer)

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

What is it about Alexi Murdoch that's so inspiring? In the abstract, he's a bit of a Nick Drake knockoff in aesthetic style if not thematic attitude. It comes down to pop, maybe; what Murdoch's work consistently is, fast or slow and reflective or melancholic, is appealing at base level. Perhaps no current singer-songwriter so deserves the irrational adoration he inspires; there is no way to define just why and how his breathtakingly beautiful music connects so flawlessly, and who knows if there's some level of mania that makes those of us under his spell so subservient. But the truth is that the songs on this debut album and, perhaps even more so, on the earlier EP 4 Songs constantly -- despite their pervasive sadness -- teem with life and suggest a coalescence with the listener. It's subjective rather than manipulative, a key difference between Murdoch and the '70s legends that founded the singer-songwriter genre.

Emotionally, Murdoch's work bears closer resemblance to R.E.M.; compare, for instance, the ethereal family-strewn "Orange Sky" (miles better on the EP than here, I'm afraid, this version too fast-paced and Mrazian) to Automatic for the People's "Sweetness Follows." The same estrangement lament, the same pall of death, the same cloudy redemption. Better yet, how "All My Days" plays out as such a lovable piece of Americana despite Murdoch's fundamental Britishness -- the travelogue, the lost-world personal journey feel of it all; and how the sadness of "Blue Mind" seems steeped in a kind of resignation that can only signify the shedding of a long depression. But one feels it isn't so personal for the singer himself. He's a showman. All of the bloody injections of life and love experience are brought in by the listener. It's the Thalbergian variation on folk music; what you get out of Murdoch's music is what you bring to it.

What I'm getting at is that this is immensely comforting music, in a time of loss or just a certain mood or whenever, and Murdoch arrives at this in such a selfless (cynics would say commercially viable) way. The purity of this romance and loss, recorded so effortlessly, is note-perfect in its lonesome undercurrent. But does Alexi Murdoch suffer for his art like Nick Drake or Elliott Smith or some other solo iconoclast? Likely not, though who can say for sure? The music is too giving, too lacking in idiosyncracy and telling detail. But that doesn't mean it isn't sophisticated. The key is that we bring the sophistication -- we bring the suffering. Yeah, I don't know how he does it -- and he's still doing it -- but this is a force apart from convention or scenestering; it's just bloody gorgeous. It's Hollywood desperation that works, never superficial, always moving, always perfect for Those Times. And to his credit, Murdoch has scarcely harnessed the power all this gives him, refusing the many aveues of entrance to the L.A. scene he was offered. He remains content to stand strumming and let us flock to him. One suspects he won't have any trouble for a good long while.

The War on Drugs: Slave Ambient (2011)

(Secretly Canadian)

!!!!! AVOID !!!!!

Read my CRANK review at Metro Times.

The question of which is more horrendously boring, Kurt Vile or his former bandmates in War on Drugs, is one that frequently crosses my mzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ray Charles: Genius + Soul = Jazz (1961)

(Impulse!)

All my life I've heard "Look, I know seeing the words 'Ray Charles' and 'jazz' on an album cover sounds really really appealing, but the album is famous chiefly because so many people bought it with that thought and it's actually really boring and copies of it flood the used marketplace." But did I listen? No, because if it says "Ray Charles" and "jazz" it has to be something fucking amazing.

It's not, but in fact the album is decent enough, if enormously disappointing by mere virtue of being incredibly generic, with only two Ray vocals and a lot of Ray organ, and one stone classic in the form of "One Mint Julep." But listening to a bunch of Count Basie Band performances is never a hassle or a bore, it's just not the reason most of us turn to Ray Charles. In many ways this is a more relevant monument in Quincy Jones' career than in Charles'. Still, nothing I can possibly say will deter you from satisfying your curiosity; I'm proof of that. The album is unceasingly pleasant, and even worth having, but it isn't remotely as fine as its title suggests.

[SEE ALSO:]
Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962)

Radiohead: TKOL RMX 1234567 (2011)

(TBD)

Read my CRANK! review at Metro Times.

Instead of this or any of the 12" remix singles, I say you should pick up the recent 12" "Supercollider"/"The Butcher" with two excellent new non-LP Radiohead tracks.

Edit: Also checked out the subsequent TKOL 8 EP. Despite the hype for certain high-profile contributions, it's really more of the same.

[SEE ALSO:]
In Rainbows (2007)
The King of Limbs (2011)

B.T. Express: Best Of (1974-80)

(Rhino)

RECOMMENDED

Don't even try to make head or tail of commercial disco-funk mavens B.T. Express' history -- the B.T. stands for "Brooklyn Trucking," the band having been an offshoot of a celebrated Brooklyn unit called the House Rockers known for local dance parties. Somewhere in between all that they were a trio known as the Madison Street Express. The details of these convoluted origins are eclipsed by the nights the group fired up during a short-lived but huge (in R&B terms) period of commercial success. The consistency of the band's work during its prolific mid-to-late '70s peak is captured quite nicely by this extremely fun and listenable Rhino compilation.

The seven-piece blazed onto radio with the casual, contained energy of "Do it ('Til You're Satisfied)," a hook-filled soul pastiche that sets the stage for much of what's to follow, particularly a sonic fullness with a robust dual attack of saxophones, contrasted by a slightly generic quality in the arrangements. To be frank, this is all very mainstream studio pop, which is why the Express had so little trouble consistently nearing the top of the R&B charts and making a constant presence in black clubs -- but without a serious, protracted break into the mainstream, perhaps unfairly denied them. They never gained the air of Legitimacy, whatever that means, that would've lent them the critical acclaim afforded someone like Chic. It's no longer possible to really understand why, now that '70s sheen just sounds cool to us.

Unfortunately, for all the heights they reached in the '70s, B.T. Express haven't been able to glean much of a revivalist audience in recent years either, perhaps because their work is unabashed pop that doesn't fit with the "eccentric soul" material now in vogue. That's a pity because this music has as broad an appeal as any of the great '70s soul; you hear this CD and don't feel like moving your ass and raising the roof, consider yourself bloodless. What's most endearing is how well B.T. Express can take a cornball idea like the novelty train song "Express," sort of a watered-down Rufus Thomas thing, and turn it into a disco juggernaut -- the kitsch, the fun, the sex all hang together like in the best and most intellectually dubious pop music. And the sci-fi R&B move "Mental Telepathy" might be ridiculous, but try to deny it's more fun than a night at the drive-in. Catchier, too.

The only serious objections one can have to these songs are largely based on tweaks that could have made the singles a bit tighter; for instance, "If It Don't Turn You On" is a strong, well-written James Brown-like funk number marred solely by a vocal performance that's all too calm for the title, subject matter, rhythm, and gist. Luckily, the same idea is fully realized later on the enormous "Can't Stop Groovin' Now, Wanna Do It Some More," which makes no qualms about its expert and infectious capturing of 1976 as an aural drama for the ears. Few disco tracks come to life so uproariously, so effortlessly, while still capturing their era this precisely. I think the most impressive song Rhino's included, though, is the uproariously ballsy, insane cover of the Carpenters' "Close to You," which demolishes the original the way Al Green singing "Light My Fire" demolishes the Doors. An insipid pop song dripping with manipulative banality somehow becomes a monstrous soul firecracker -- never has it been more clear that pop greatness is all in the performances. I never thought I'd say this in any context, but: "Close to You" smokes.

Anyone with a taste for this period of soul music is advised to give a churn through The Best of B.T. Express, and anyone in need of a perfect party disc will find it irresistible, largely because Rhino's sequence is so expert -- the intensity never flags, and the comp stays remarkably steady from start to end for a full eighty minutes. It's easy to imagine that the band has enough great material to keep going for a second disc, too. The most wholehearted utility, though, for B.T. Express is as a bit of steaming comfort. They aren't one of the top '70s groups but their reliability makes their work addictive and warmly refreshing. This music is so easy on the ear it can prove therapeutic; think of it as bubblegum funk. And what's wrong with dancing in the living room as a form of therapy, I ask you?

Björk: Biophilia (2011)

(Nonesuch)

RECOMMENDED

Read my Metro Times review.

Here's how it works:
1) Vespertine
2) Post
3) Homogenic
4) Medúlla
5) Debut
6) Selmasongs
7) Biophilia
8) Volta

Disagreements welcome in comments.

Also, Dancer in the Dark is the best movie of the 2000s.

Al Green: Definitive Greatest Hits (1967-2007)

(Capitol)

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

You know how it is, boys. The lights are down low, you sink yourself down into the couch, you want to set the mood so you can get in a sensual supersexy mood while you work on your trigonometry homework. Or, you have speakers whose dynamics you want to check, something with soft tones and complexity and a boom-kick, right? Well, these are the two purposes for which this compilation -- an update of a legendary predecessor with the same cover -- is primarily useful. Oh, and sex, if you're into that sort of thing. One thing it's not great for, no matter how much you love Al Green (and I love him a lot), is hunkered-down detailed listening. In fact, this is the sort of greatest hits compilation (along with Prince's The Hits and the Beatles' Red and Blue albums) that causes such widespread disdain for the format.

Me, I love greatest hits compilations; I am pretty sure the three finest CDs ever pressed are Chuck Berry's The Great Twenty-Eight, Pet Shop Boys' Discography and the Beach Boys' Endless Summer, and such a list would rank at least six or seven compilations and even the Big Star twofer package #1 Record / Radio City above any straight studio album. But where I split with the compilation tradition is when it applies to artists whose albums are not only essential but very carefully paced -- and chopping them up and stacking their peaks one after another isn't as persuasive and ingratiating as one might expect.

To elaborate a bit, Greatest Hits was for years my go-to Al Green CD. A coworker had it at my old job and we blasted it from our little boom box in the deli at least three times a week for months. And this was in a place where Green was a common fixture on the overhead Muzak system anyway. Still couldn't get enough of the ballsy, pressing seduction and harsh brass hits of "Let's Stay Together," the swampy groove of "Take Me to the River," the voodoo orgasm of "Call Me." I left that job and no longer had the disc, then miraculously a teenaged library volunteer who (!) didn't know who Al Green was found a copy stuck in a young adult novel called The Book Thief. After I spent a few frustrating minutes trying to explain to the poor girl that Green was not just "some guy," I realized this was a Major Score and took it home and pretended I had a girlfriend to sit on the couch with over some red wine and trig and, yes, Al. Of course then track two comes up, "Tired of Being Alone," and it's so succinctly accurate I have to put my head on the pillow and drift off.

This is superlative music, not just in the context of soul which would be enough -- as a leading arbiter of pop itself, Green was peerless in his prime, his incredible voice and the muscle and velvet of his songs seemingly engineered to appeal across all cultural and color lines (a capability brilliantly illustrated by a scene in Steven Spielberg's Munich). Not to be confrontational, but if you don't like Al Green, you're probably not a very fun person. If you don't like these songs, you're just a nutter. At least fourteen of these twenty-one tracks are masterpieces; none of the others are anything less than delightful, and that includes the two cuts from the 2000s, especially 2004's "I Can't Stop," which fit in without any kind of strain.

So why isn't this an A+? Because in the last year I've begun to investigate Al Green's albums, of which much more will be written here in the future, and as much as I hesitate to make such a bold proclamation I think his career in the '70s can be compared to the Beatles', or to Prince's first decade -- the LPs are that consistent, powerful, well-crafted. Once you know them, as much as the flawless lineup of "I'm Still in Love with You" into "Look What You Done for Me" into "Here I Am" into "Love and Happiness" might make you momentarily religious, it makes a massive fucking difference hearing these songs the way Green initially put them together in albums, albums easily among the best of the '70s. I'm still processing the entirety of Green's career in that period, but I can already feel Greatest Hits fading in prominence for me. I discovered Prince through the aforementioned two-disc Hits, the Beatles eons ago through the Red and Blue LPs, but I honestly can't imagine listening to any of those now. The Beatles' non-LP singles are more logically collected elsewhere and condensing any of their albums seems brutal and pointless; the same goes for Prince's delirious (n.p.i.) run of artistic triumphs in the '80s -- clipping "When Doves Cry" and "Little Red Corvette," or "Eleanor Rigby" and "In My Life" seems beside the point. And I say that as someone generally very skeptical of how much "album context," sequencing, pacing matter as an artistic Statement.

But my point is simply -- when all of an artist's albums are so consistently pleasurable and well-balanced they could easily be best-ofs themselves, said best-of can quickly lose its purpose. With that said, I will add absolutely unequivocally that this is the introduction to both Green and to 1970s pop music. The songs are universal, playful, evocative, so much more than just fucktime soundtracks, though that's fine too; and the revelation today is for one, the crunchy, hard-soft production, which makes you want to keep listening for eternity and the likes of which we're unlikely ever to hear again -- music, R&B and otherwise, has simply never sounded so good, before or since. And for two, Green's voice, standing with Aretha Franklin and John Lennon as the finest rock & roll has managed to record; and in terms of his command of his voice and its nuances, he may be the best of all. The perfect collision of masculinity, androgyny, sex, and pain, he can turn you around on everything; he can make you believe again, in rock & roll or soul or singing or sex or life or love or whatever. You need him if you don't have him already. Start here.

[SEE ALSO:]
Al Green Gets Next to You (1971)