ANDREW BIRD'S BOWL OF FIRE
The Swimming Hour
(Rykodisc)
Chicago-based Andrew Bird (violin/lead vocals) leads his Bowl of Fire on a genre-crossing musical romp on The Swimming Hour. The classically trained violinist and his band move effortlessly from modern grooves and smoky ballads to country blues and fiery rockers without ever diluting the album's theme or failing to convey the integrity of Bird's songwriting.
The glue that helps to hold it all together is the versatile timbre and tone of Bird's tenor voice. At times it's a sarcastic and self-effacing sneer, at others it's a dark and husky croon. Bird genuinely convinces that there is no other way to sing or say what he's feeling than the way he does it, and several times it comes out downright beautiful.
"Two Way Action," the album's rocking opener, sounds like the musical love child born out of a tender three-way between Beck, Stephen Malkmus and Beth Orton (and that's not a bad thing). It's a perfect album opener, showcasing Bird's penchant for turning clever rhymes, his versatile voice, and his schooled (and cool) violin playing. And "How Indiscreet" will set your hair on fire with its fevered drums, loose stand-up basslines and Motown backing vocals. Both songs stand above the rest, but the entire album is worth your hard-earned dough.
Listening to The Swimming Hour, you get the feeling Bird doesn't care what's cool or not. His lack of pretension and his love of the craft ooze from the songs. And it's always refreshing to hear the bow with a violin instead of a Les Paul in a rock song. Benjamin Johnston [buy it]
For fans of: Beck, the Squirrel Nut Zippers, the Replacements
THE BLACK WIDOWS
Arocknaphobia
(Vital Gesture, PO Box 46100, Los Angeles, CA 90046; vitalgesture@hotmail.com)
The Black Widows are a mysterious instrumental rock 'n' roll band from SoCal whose lineup bears suspicious resemblance to members of the BellRays and the Streetwalkin' Cheetahs. But who can really tell what evil lurks underneath those pantyhose masks? Besides, you don't need to know the identities of the perpetrators to recognize the perfect crime. The band's second album Arocknaphobia is old-fashioned guitar rock par excellence. Drawing more from the Link Wray school rather than from surf music (though the influence of Dick Dale makes itself known, but nobody really thinks of Dale as just surf music anymore, do they?), the Widows make magic with the most basic elements: two guitars, bass, drums and a cheap organ. The slight Latin tinge of "Que Mala," the tribal rhythms of "War Dance," the good-time rollicking of "My Least Favorite Martian" (what a great title!), the mysterious vibe of "Black Sea," the dissonant bridges of "Parazone," the near-metal stomp of "Vlad the Impaler," the everything-but-the-kitchen-sink explosion of "Burnout"...these are the things of which dreams are made for anybody waiting for wordless rock 'n' roll to be taken back from the hands of the shred-metal wankers. This is an instro combo that knows how to write honest-to-god songs, the kind of near-perfect marriage of melody and rhythm, beauty and beast, that technically brilliant pickers like Yngwie Malmsteen could never perform. So give a round of huzzahs! to the Black Widows, though you might want to keep an eye on your girlfriend and your wallet. Michael Toland [Arocknaphobia is available for $10 post paid from Vital Gesture.]
For fans of: Huevos Rancheros, Link Wray, Davie Allan & the Arrows
THE BROUGHT LOW
The Brought Low
(Tee Pee)
New York's the Brought Low keeps the power trio flame burning, and brightly at that. Presenting sort of a Northeast urban take on Southern rock, singer/guitarist Ben Smith, bassist Dean Rispler and drummer Nick Heller keep the melodies rough-edged, the riffs suitably down-home and the volume way past eleven. An obvious admirer of Keith Moon, Heller constantly pushes the rhythms forward as if he can't stand not to hit every piece of his kit at least twice a measure; it's all Rispler can do to hold him in line. Smith's thick-toned Les Paul spews out variations on every classic rock lick you've ever heard, but with a no-bullshit skill that cuts the fat and prevents anything even approaching noodling. His tunes meld arena rock melodicism with punk attitude and intriguing, seemingly deeply personal lyrics, and never indulge in crowd-pleasing singalongs that would become annoying after a dozen repetitions. Delivered in a good-ol'-boy twang that nimbly balances an aching sincerity with an enigmatic sneer, Smith's songs rock mightily while inviting closer in(tro)spection. You'll be wondering exactly what Smith is on about in tunes like "Kings & Queens," "Outer Borough Dust Run" and "Goddamn God Bless," even as you find yourself air-picking the riffs, and you'll happily give yourself dozens of listens in order to figure it out. Fascinating in its cryptic wordplay and instantly engaging for its classic guitar rock sound, the Brought Low makes old-fashioned rock 'n' roll into newfangled art. Michael Toland [buy it]
For fans of: Raging Slab, the Black Crowes, Drivin' n' Cryin'
CRY BABY CRY
Jesus Loves Stacey
(Skoda)
Consisting of D.C. scene veterans from bands like Trusty, the Norman Mayer Group and a proto-Jawbox, Washington, D.C.'s Cry Baby Cry plays pop music that would be sickly sweet if it wasn't so amped up. The quartet writes nice, almost sugary melodies that take inspiration from the top 40 music of the 60s, then flails the hell out of them with feedback, synth noises and the caffeinated attack of a java junkie taking his first cup after a month of abstinence. "A Sad Song of Needless Complication," "Wake Up Now" and "The Last Days of Tarzan the Ape Man" would almost be bubblegum but for the relentless squawk of James Brady and Kathy Cashel's guitars, the tribal whomping of drummer Jenn Thomas and the steel knives embedded in the lyrics. "Metropolis" and "Chemical Castration" prove the band can do ballads as easily as rockers, while "The Fast-Assed Sumbitchie" throws accessibility to the pavement and dances a dinosaur stomp all over it. "Calling Out" is pure punk rock, except for the inadvisable black metal-style screeching. Apparently to further prove their range, the album also includes a sound collage-cum-dance track and some sort of sub-Gary Numan synth-rocker hidden after the final song. But the record's best number is "Monkey's Darling," a magnificent, emotion-scarred anthem that drops the indie rock eclecticism and makes the most of its dramatic melody and Brady's boyish tenor. It may not be cool to do so, but following the lead of that song would give Cry Baby Cry a brighter future. Michael Toland [buy it]
For fans of: the Pixies, Sincola, Idlewild
DRESSY BESSY
Sound Go Round
(Kindercore)
The first thing that comes to mind in listening to Dressy Bessy's Sound Go Round is a visual image of the late 1960s: color-patch mini dresses worn with white go-go boots, and helmet-hairstyles before a background of huge painted daisy petals in springtime colors like orange, blue and yellow. This band sounds like a cross between the Cowsills and the Partridge Family meets very early Blondie and the Go-Go's. They are all sweet and light and airy and spun sugar. Can they get any more flower-power-pop? The album breezes by in a seamless blur of sing-songy tunes, perfect for a ride in a convertible Mustang perhaps, the wind ruffling the dainty paisley scarf tied around lead singer/songwriter Tammy Ealom's hair. It's all a bit like fluffy pink cotton candy, really, and at times quite like those lovely Japanese cartoon characters—you know the ones: all big doe eyes with impossibly perfect features and legs that go on for days sticking out from under micro mini skirts. The tunes are so simple, the production so clean, the musicianship so deceptively plain you would almost think this was recorded by one of the competing bands at a high school talent show. But therein lies the charm! How refreshingly back-to-mono of the band! You'll find yourself bobbing your head rhythmically to "There's A Girl" or "I Saw Cinnamon" and, before you realize it, even singing along to the repeating choruses and phrases on "That's Why." There's nothing complicated or deep here, no hidden meaning or agenda, no preachy philosophy or religious message. It's all just cute cute cute—cute music, cute words, cute pictures on the CD package. What's not to like? The world cannot return to the simpler, more innocent time of the late 60s, when it looked like pop music would change the world—we're too far gone for that now. But Dressy Bessy can take you there, if only just for the length of time it takes you to listen to this album, and if only in your mind. Judee Gould [buy it]
For fans of: the Apples In Stereo, the Go-Go's, Shonen Knife
JOHNNY JONES
Blues is in the House
(NorthernBlues Music)
Johnny Jones is a guitarist and singer whose career has been primarily spent as a sideman for the likes of Junior Wells, Freddie King and Bobby Bland. Here and there he had his own band or more prominent gigs, but by the late 70s he'd all but left the music business due to monetary frustrations.
On Blues is in the House, Jones' second solo CD, he knocks out a respectable set of Chicago-flavored blues. "A Fool Never Learns" opens the set, with loose, swinging funk, and a catchy sax part (courtesy of Dennis Taylor). No direct mention of writer's credits are in the liner notes, but the lyrical style is so consistent in theme and phrasing that the tendency is to guess Jones wrote all or most of these. And the predominant theme is, to put it mildly, the allure of the opposite sex (well, except for "Girlfriend Blues," a tongue-in-cheek lament about the fact that "my girlfriend's got a girlfriend too"). "Stacked in the Back" is a footstomping shuffle with choice lines such as, "I like you all over, but I love your big ol' behind" and "It must be jelly, cuz jam don't shake like that." On "Farm Boy," Jones sings, "I've got the right equipment for all the seed I've gotta sow."
Blues is in the House is sweet and sassy, and the real surprise is saved for the final song, the standing-room-only title track. On what virtually demands to be a show opener, Jones unleashes an upper-range shout that redefines what this man can do as a vocalist. Producer Fred James should have had Jones cut loose with that voice more often, as it's a joy to hear. Still, Johnny Jones is infectiously fun. Brian Briscoe [buy it]
For fans of: Eddy "The Chief" Clearwater, Jimmie Vaughan, Robert Cray
RAY LEMA & TYOUR GNAOUA
Safi
(Tinder)
Congolese composer Ray Lema has been eagerly cross-pollinating his African multi-instrumental facility with a number of different cultures for 30 years; one recent album showcased his collaboration with the director of the Bulgarian Voices choir. Safi finds him in the company of Tyour Gnaoua, a group of six musicians and dancers taking the sacred music rituals of the Gnaoua (descendants of former African slaves with brotherhoods in Morocco and Essaouria). The Gnaoua rituals involve a master musician, called a mââlem, on the gimbri (three-stringed lute) and a collection of dancers with iron castanets called crotales performing an all-night trance ceremony that summons spirits to possess their adepts. Tyour Gnaoua is unusual for a group of Gnaoua musicians in that it takes the sacred messages to stages all over the world, instead of confining them to its own tribe. While maintaining tradition, Tyour Gnaoua and its leader Abdeslam Alikkane welcome cross-cultural feedback and the influences of the outside world—much like Ray Lema.
The veteran performer clearly loves insinuating his swirling electric guitar, percussive keyboards and husky croon into the ritual chants and percussion of the Gnaoua. Anyone unfamiliar with the group's native language will be at a loss for subject matter, but the infectious joy of the performances and the rhythmic sizzle of the arrangements will overcome any barriers. The insistent Afro-Cuban groove of "Manandabo" (an Alikkane original) moves the hips and feet almost before you realize it; the soukous of "Mimouna" spreads its joy the same way. "Sidi Hammou" features spirited interplay between Alikkane's gimbri and Lema's organ, as well a call-and-response singalong, while "Jilala" concentrates on the percolating percussion and chants. A fascinating pan-African fusion, Safi blithely ignores genre definitions for an irresistible spiritual dance party. Michael Toland [buy it]
For fans of: Hassan Hakmoun, Habib Koité, Fatala
