High Bias aural fixations
December 1, 2002

CATHEDRAL
The VIIth Coming
(Spitfire)
If anyone in the current underground metal scene can lay claim to the term "legend," it's Cathedral. Lee Dorian's long-running heavy rock crew has been a major influence not only on the stoner rock hordes with which it's usually lumped, but also on the extreme metal combos who share the band's predilection for horror movies and naked aggression. The VIIth Coming (the band's seventh album, natch) finds Cathedral in fine form, slamdancing across the ice in its combat boots, like a thug doing ballet. Bassist Leo Smee and drummer Brian Dixon lumber across the landscape with surprising grace, occasionally pausing to yank the rhythms back from the brink of destruction like a dog-walker using the choke-chain to prevent the bulldog from being splattered by an oncoming car. Guitarist Garry Jennings imbues his muscular six-string skullduggery with enough finesse to carve arcane symbols on an apple with a broadsword, though he's perfectly adept at swinging wildly and smashing everything in a ten-foot radius to bits. But the focal point is and always has been frontman Dorrian; his melismatic howl rides this burly dragon with enough discipline to keep it in line but enough slack to keep the sound loose and organic. Thus fortified, the band unleashes the beast on explosive cuts like "Skullflower" and "Nocturnal Fist," doing a cement-booted tap dance on your eardrums while beheading zombies with one hand and hoisting a pint with the other. "The Empty Mirror" splits its time between barreling down the highway in a brake-less 18-wheeler and rumbling through the muddy exit lanes in a filth-encrusted tank. Everything is thrown into a gunny sack, handed to an ill-tempered abattoir worker and shaken down until it pounds. Then things get ugly. Some may not grok Cathedral's merciless updating of the classic Black Sabbath sound; for others, The VIIth Coming will be like unto nectar from the metal gods. Put down the hammer and make your choice. Michael Toland [buy it]

For fans of: Celtic Frost, Orange Goblin, Danzig

JOHN CUNNINGHAM
Happy-Go-Unlucky
(Parasol)
Nearly 20 years ago, Elton John could be heard belting "Sad songs say so much." How right he was, especially if those sad songs are coming from the mouth of British singer/songwriter John Cunningham. Happy-Go-Unlucky, his fifth album, first to be released in the states and the follow-up to the lovely but difficult to find Homeless House, makes a strong case for the beauty to be found in sorrow. "Trouble seems to follow me around wherever I go," he sings softly in "Way to Go," "Waiting in the sodium light with its knife in my shadow." Other tunes like "Losing Myself Too" and "Can't Get Used to This" ("Things could be so good/Imagine that they could") express similar sentiments, as Cunningham works through his issues in that sedate English way of using gentle, folk/pop melodies to accompany abject misery. Surrounding his guitars and soulful British croon with tasteful strings and horns, a polite rhythm section and harmony singer Medhi Zannad, Cunningham makes depression sound lush and delightful, as his irresistible tunes make the heavy despair buoyant. Besides, he's not completely lost. "You Shine" finds solace in love with the words "All I needed were the words you gave me/So let those clouds bring rain/We'll shelter from the sane." "Welcome to the World" starts out quietly defiant with the lines "You won't always bring me down" and "You do what you want to do/Even the tide is tired of you." Cunningham is smart enough to break up the clouds with some sunshine; he uses his songs to work through his despair, not wallow in it. Happy-Go-Unlucky is morose and brilliant. Michael Toland [buy it]

For fans of: Nick Drake, George Harrison, the Pernice Brothers

DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE
You Can Play These Songs With Chords
(Barsuk)
One has to admire Death Cab For Cutie's body of work of late. In the space of three plus years they've cranked out two albums, a few EPs and crossed the globe a few times touring. They've capped off all the recent activity by going back into their archives and unearthing some older material that had been long out of print, throwing in a host of other material to boot. The end result is 18 tracks worth—good news for long-time fans and the casually curious. The centerpieces of You Can Play These Songs With Chords are the first eight DCFC tracks that Ben Gibbard and Chris Walla put together on an eight-track recorder. The duo would expand to a foursome later but the songs from those sessions would eventually be released as a cassette that has turned into a highly sought collector's item. The last ten tracks are culled from 7-inch singles, studio outtakes and experimental tracks that help balance out the rougher early material.

Five of the eight songs that were done for the cassette would see the light of day on the proper debut Something About Airplanes, but these earlier versions are worth listening for more than historical perspective. The echo-laden "Pictures In An Exhibition" has just as much impact as the later cleaner version, and the stark "Champagne From A Paper Cup" contains the blueprint of the band's sound—tightly wound emotions paired with pensive, melodic arrangements. Like most compilation albums, the offbeat tracks provide a lot of interest as well. Although it may make purists cringe, the slightly garbled cover of the Smiths' "This Charming Man" boasts a bouncier bass line and Ben Gibbard's best stab at a Morrissey impression. Said impression falls somewhat short of the mark but it comes off as irony-free and that, in and of itself, is a welcome change. More interesting (although not as memorable) is the tape-spliced frenzy of "Flustered/Hey Tomcat!," an analog experiment of Walla's that could easily be a Kittycraft outtake and which sounds nothing like anything DCFC has done since. The closing "Army Corps of Architects" is rescued from B-side obscurity and given a fresh mix to bookend the early experiments. "Army Corps" adds another layer of organ and tinkling percussion in with the trademark guitar sound that wafts along and fades gently into that good night. It's easy to be wary of discs such as this, since many are a tired exercise in squeezing the last drop out of a gasping franchise of a band, but the efforts here are earnest, heartfelt and a lot of fun to listen to. Boon Sheridan [buy it]

For fans of: Built To Spill, Red House Painters, Low

HAVEN
Between the Senses
(Radiate/Virgin)
"I have heard," sang Waterboys leader Mike Scott nearly 20 years ago, "the Big Music/And I'll never be the same." Scott was probably alluding to his spiritual faith, but the term "Big Music" has come to mean the kind of huge, widescreen vistas of anthemic melodies, open chords and powerhouse vocals with which the Waterboys and U2 were filling arenas at the time. Modern day examples include Jeff Buckley's Grace and Radiohead's The Bends, both of which have been extremely influential on a young generation looking for musical self-expression that doesn't depend on irony. It's a sound adored by some for its emotional immediacy, ridiculed by others for its overwrought pretension. You either love or hate this stuff, usually with no in-between.

Great Britain's Haven definitely play the Big Music. On Between the Senses, lushly produced by ex-Smiths/The The guitarist Johnny Marr, singer Gary Briggs has a large-lunged, sinuous voice like Radiohead's Thom Yorke or Buckley, and he has no qualms using it to sweep through the arrangements like a wave crashing against the shore and soaking the beach bunnies. He and co-guitarist Nat Wason construct miniature cathedrals of six-string majesty, while bassist Iwan Gronow and drummer Jack Mitchell provide wide-bottomed but unobtrusive support. The melodies ebb and flow to match Briggs' passionate crooning, as he celebrates love's recent arrival or bemoans its imminent departure. It's mostly business as usual for this style, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. The group is clearly in its element, and the heartfelt melodrama and overpowering dynamics of tunes like "Beautiful Thing," "Outside" and "Let It Live" is hard for any softie to resist. Haven may not add any new bricks to this imposing edifice, but it sure looks good standing on the ramparts. Michael Toland [buy it]

For fans of: Starsailor, Ours, Remy Zero

LES SANS CULOTTES
Faux Realism
(Aeronaut)
Les Sans Culottes ("those without undergarments") is a bunch of New Yorkers who wave the French flag high and rip through a set of 60s-soaked party music that pilfers from Strawberry Alarm Clock as much as Serge Gainsbourg or Jacques Brel. True Francophiles may grimace at the approach taken by the band but it's hard not to enjoy it for what it is. Musically the group swings from cocktail party jazz, keyboard-accented pop and gypsy-flavored torch songs. "Demimonde" sounds like it could be the background music for a Eurospy movie scene in a swinging cabaret or casino, with murky keyboards and a bongo frenzy that will make one want to dig out a beret and a pack of Gauloises. "The Tongue Of Romance" pulls the Gainsbourg influence out to fun effect, complete with accordion flourishes and smoky vocal, even if the aforementioned tongue is planted firmly in cheek. Not to denigrate the vocal work on this album but the lyrics really just blend in with the music and add another layer to the tracks. Sure, you might wonder what they're saying, but it's just as much fun to listen to the building chorus of "Sa Sabine" or the "pa-pa-pa-pa" choruses and gasps of "Non Merci Oncle Sam." The icing on the cake is a punched up remix of "Funky Peripherique" from an earlier EP that adds a full-on horn section and wah-wah guitar to bridge the gap between sixties and seventies with glee. It's not high art—it's hard to say if it even qualifies as art—but it's a lot of fun. Boon Sheridan [buy it]

For fans of: Serge Gainsbourg, Strawberry Alarm Clock, the Sugar Twins

JAMES MCMURTRY
Saint Mary of the Woods
(Sugar Hill)
A lot of people seem to forget this, but James McMurtry is not a folksinger. Despite his longtime presence on acoustic-oriented label Sugar Hill, the Austin-based son of author Larry McMurtry is most definitely a rocker. The crackling electric sounds of his sixth album Saint Mary of the Woods testifies to McMurtry's true musical calling, as his tough, raw guitar work enhances the spell woven by his dry, plainspoken vocals and compelling tales of disenfranchised Southwesterners. He definitely inherited his storytelling skills from his dad (whether he'll admit it or not); character studies like the rolling "Valley Road," small town portraits like the balladic "Out Here in the Middle" and spotlight narratives like "Gone To the Y" bring you into the lives of their protagonists with the skill of a master novelist. The hard rocking "Lobo Town" makes you almost feel sorry for its increasingly blackhearted main character, while the epic length "Choctaw Bingo" tells a fascinating tale of a family reunion of crystal meth producers on the Texas/Oklahoma border. McMurtry also excels at the art of the love-gone-wrong song, as the luminous "Gulf Road," melancholy "Broken Bed" and ugly "Red Dress" demonstrate. There's nothing fancy about Saint Mary of the Woods—it's just a damn fine collection of songs by a damn fine songwriter. Michael Toland [buy it]

For fans of: Richard Thompson, Warren Zevon, John Hiatt

SONS OF THE NEVER WRONG
4 ever on
(Gadfly)
On 4 ever on, Chicago's Sons of the Never Wrong is a group fully formed and baked, ready to be pulled out of the oven. There is no more developing to be done, or promise to come. It is all here and it's just a question as to whether this is your thing or not. Comprised of three whole singer-songwriters, and prodigious singers at that, the Sons are greater than the sum of their parts. Case in point: in 1997, founding member Nancy Walker left to embark on a solo career, a move that one could presume any member of this group could easily make at any point.

I would describe the Sons as an adult contemporary vocal group with folk, roots and rock tendencies. They show ease and versatility in switching between musical styles. Ever present are bold wall-to-wall harmonies where everybody really sings and plays (Bruce Roper: guitar, keyboards; Deborah Maris Lader: guitar, banjo, mandolin; Sue Demel: guitar). I'm not talking about back-up vocals. I'm talking about three lead singers going at it all at once. For this reason, the Sons have a little bit of gospel aesthetic. Furthermore, I say "adult contemporary" because there is a focus on beauty, finely wrought poetry and themes that reflect their years of experience with occasional "been-there-done-that" ironic sentimentality, as in "Everybody's Gotta."

The Sons are joined by a cast of studio pros from the get-go, like on the epic roots rock of "Long Way to Go," where every singer gets a turn on their own verse. Strains of Edie Brickell can be heard in the lilting intro, which gives way to writer Sue Demel's twangy belting and wont to literally chew on words. On the choruses and on the ending, all three singers join as a Broadway caliber tour de force. The ending especially showcases the mercurial dominance of the two female voices where adult folk meets Alanis Morrisette. Bruce Raper's elegant piano ballad "Witness" paces passionately. Seeing the vocal play in this softer light leads one inevitably to comparisons of early McGarrigle Sisters or the Roches.

"Looks Like Illinois" introduces straight-off-the-boat Irish music to the impeccable studio recordings on display. Complete with reverberating saxophone, Maris Lader's "Mobile" is a dramatic and slightly new-agey foray into John Martyn's Solid Air territory, marred slightly only by her nasal singing. Like many of the songs on this album, the lengths go well into the four or five minute territory so carefully avoided by most pop music. The oh-so-mature, coffee house cha-cha-cha of "Everybody's Gotta" annoys with the kind of smarmy vocal overload that would go over best on a Meow Mix commercial. Demel's riveting "Queen of Today" is a stunningly romantic love song that would fit nicely on Richard and Linda Thompson's I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight. It also contains a lyric that damn near makes me cry every time: "If I had one wish back down on the earth/I'd fly back in time to the place of my birth/And I would live the whole thing over, make all the same mistakes/If it meant it would lead me to the day I saw your face." That's not even half the album, and there's not a song that doesn't deserve comment, good or bad. There is no angst per se, or youth culture, but rather a joi d' vivre. This CD would probably appeal to my father more than to me, but then, my father has excellent taste in music. Jonathan Donaldson [