(Down There)

stevewynn.net

Somewhere over the past few years, Steve Wynn hit a lofty plateau that is the home of a select few artists who somehow age gracefully. Let's face it, most fans have unrealistic expectations for artists -- many only have a limited number of ideas and only have a few good singles or albums in them. Those who can continue to entertain and challenge for more than a decade are exceptional. These are generally artists who are no longer bound by commercial considerations and have built a large enough audience to sustain a career. More importantly, they find a way to maintain the passion and find new things to say.

This doesn't mean that every album takes a radical new direction, but just that one way or another, whether it's a new chord progression, or inspired lyrics or new collaborators, the artist maintains a spark and stays true to his or her abilities. The best example of such an artist is the amazing Mark E. Smith -- really nothing can compare to The Fall for sustained quality over the course of a career. The baseline for this type of artist, to me, is Graham Parker -- year after year, he keeps putting out good music, sometimes hitting a grand slam. Van Morrison and Neil Young are more popular versions of this type. And Steve Wynn fits right in with this group.

This new album will not surprise anyone who has followed his career. He simply goes about his business, with his wonderful band, putting together a varied album that spotlights everything he does well. Steve Wynn does a lot of things well.

It's no mystery that he can throw down a song that fits somewhere within the confines of The Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan and Neil Young that sounds as good as any of those antecedents. He does so a few times on this record. On "Cindy, It Was Always You", Wynn taps into the vein that he has been mining successfully since "Caroline" on his debut solo album. It definitely has a bit of Lou Reed vibe, mixed with some rootsiness. Moreover, he crafts a winning chorus, making the song instantly memorable. Meanwhile, "Freak Star", which follows, has a spacious acoustic sound, and is the type of song he could have done at any point in his career, even back in his Dream Syndicate days.

Wynn doesn't just stick with the tried and true. "All the Squares Go Home" grafts a Sir Douglas Quintet/? and the Mysterians vibe onto his patented rock style. David Decastro and Craig Schumacher both play organ, and whoever plays those faux Farfisa runs is the MVP of this track. The song takes garage rock to the wild side, as Wynn sings of a woman reveling in decadence. Wynn nods towards roots rock with "Bruises", which sounds like a mid-point between prime Tom Petty (with a Byrdsy melody) and the grittier sounds of Marah.

As good as those songs are, three tracks really stand out for me. There's the burning "Wild Mercury", which starts with Wynn exorcising demons with his six-string and he continues squalling throughout the song. The song is dynamically structured, with the verses all venom and vigor and the chorus cooling things off and adding a bit of melody to the proceedings. This song really showcases the brilliant interplay between Wynn and guitarist Jason Victor. It also conjures up memories of prime Eleventh Dream Day.

On "Killing Me", Linda Pitmon modifies the Bo Diddley beat on another hot track. The beat heavy music is oddly jaunty, considering this a song about going for a ride. Not a casual ride to the country, but a ride of the Lucky Luciano variety (see www.rotten.com/library/bio/crime/mafia/lucky-luciano/). Wynn rattles off the lyrics in a very Dylan-ish fashion: "Bobby hit the lock, he made damn sure I couldn't get to the door/childproof, Red Roof, rear-view mirror, I passed out on the floor." This sucker cooks.

But nothing can hold a candle to the big time closing track. "No Tomorrow" starts off innocently enough, an intent acoustic number, with Dave DeCastro moving the track along with his bass line. Wynn sings about a woman who has apparently given up a long time ago, mired in a fatalistic attitude. Wynn and Victor show off some more soloing skill during a thrilling early instrumental interlude. This sets up one final verse from the point of view of Wynn's depressed lover, who wants to "crawl in a hole and fade away," Wynn shouting this over screaming guitars. The song suddenly shifts gears, musically and emotionally. Wynn wants to bring his lover back from the dark place she's in. The whole tone of the song is suddenly encouraging. The first lines of this section are telling: "Now you say the end is near/well, I've been hearing that for years." I think a lot of people in relationships with depressed partners can relate to that. The second half of the tune has a much more joyful guitar break. Wynn keeps the lyrics direct throughout, and it pays off in a song that has a full emotional arc. One of his best.

This disc is also one of his best -- it's almost up there with Dream Syndicate's debut and *Here Come The Miracles*. The Miracle 3 is a great band and Wynn sounds as inspired as ever. So the results really shouldn't come as a surprise.

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Robbie Williams
Intensive Care

(Chrysalis)

emichrysalis.co.uk

Prior to making this album, Guy Chambers, Robbie Williams's guitarist and long-time songwriting collaborator, left the fold. Would Robbie be able to replace him? Would he be exposed as a fraud, as we'd find out that Chambers was the man primarily responsible for Williams's success? Well, Williams has found a replacement who makes the answers to those questions much easier. Stephen Duffy of The Lilac Time has been writing swell pop songs since his Tin Tin days. So the good news is that Robbie Williams still sounds like Robbie Williams.

Yet this is also not such good news. Duffy has clearly stepped in and adapted to Williams's established style, rather than move him into some new direction. While Williams's mix of Britpop, retro Elton John-type songs with a little dance music and balladry thrown in has served him well, the formula is becoming, well, formulaic. It's not that the music here sounds uninspired so much as it sounds professional and could use more spark.

This is exacerbated by the fact that although there's not one dud in the bunch, there is no killer track on this disc. Three songs come close. "Ghosts" is the lead track on the album, and is well placed, as it probably instantly assured Williams's fans that everything was going to be alright. It begins with a typical Robbie boast: "Here I stand victorious/the only man who made you come." But things go downhill from there, as love came to an end, and it hangs over his head like a spectre. This is a mid-tempo track with one of those Williams melodies that is kind of anthemic and kind of ballady. A banthem? An anth-ballad?

There is no such cross-pollination on "Advertising Space". It's a radio-friendly ballad that showcases Williams's effortless range. While this doesn't reach the massive heights of "Angels", it has a big swooping chorus that will light thousands of cigarette lighters (or whatever they do at his concerts). The song is about a legend selling out. Based on some of the lines ("A special agent for the man/through Watergate and Vietnam"), makes me think it might be about Elvis Presley. Though I wish it was more clear who this was about, it doesn't diminish the quality of the song. He does these so well.

The other top notch track on the record is "Random Acts of Kindness". This is pure post-Oasis Robbie rock. Session pro Matt Chamberlain lays down the beat, while one of three guitarists on the track plays a robust lead. Though the title might indicate a classic piece of Williams sarcasm, this is actually a sincere plea for people just to be nice to each other. Williams sings with great empathy. Again, his words are a bit too clever for their own good, which almost undercuts the track. Almost.

Beyond these three tracks, there is nothing on the album that really goes beyond pleasant. Well, maybe the ‘70s R & B underpinnings of "Please Don't Die" make it somewhat different, but everything else here indicates that Williams is in a holding pattern. Songs that sound nice on the surface, but don't have strong choruses and/or don't build to anything. Moreover, he is still way too concerned with showing what a clever lyricist he is. Although he can turn a phrase, too often he does so at the disservice of both the tune he's trying to mesh with and the general meaning of the song.

At times, this can be pretty irritating. The mid-tempo rock song "Your Gay Friend" could be a sly, entertaining wink at the tabloid rumors that have dogged Williams for a while. Instead, the song is half-assed, neither shedding light on the real Robbie, nor offering an interesting angle or story unto itself. "Make Me Pure" filters his Elton John sensibility through his Oasis arena rock leanings, and it never lifts off the ground. And "A Place to Crash" has the structure to make for a ripping rock number, but instead of another "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting", it sounds more like "Sunday Afternoon's Keen For Napping". A wasted opportunity.

Williams exemplifies the problem for a big time commercial artist. He is torn between pleasing his fans and pleasing himself. With his success, any incentive to push himself and take risks (or criticism) must come from within. As long as he keeps selling and doesn't make records that completely suck, the chances of that are slim. This is frustrating, because, at his best, he is a rarity -- a true pop star who actually has some substance.

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Mudhoney
Under A Billion Suns

(Sub Pop)

subpop.com

Mudhoney is back and this time, they're pissed off. The grunge rock veterans still play scuzzy blues and garage rock. However, they haven't really touched on social concerns until now. On their latest, Mudhoney channels their inner MC5, to create an album that may not have much in the way of innovative songwriting, but is full of passionate rock with some compelling rants and pleas.

"My burden is my sense of smell/I smell bullshit from miles away" sings Mark Arm on the heavy rocking closer "Blindspots". This is followed by the refrain "Second guess is the best defense." This effectively summarizes what is at the heart of this album. The Mudhoney guys are tired of the deceit and doublethink that emanates from the heads of the American government and want change. Rather than call out names or provide Clash-like specific examples, Mudhoney sticks with general concepts.

The band sets, as usual, them to riffs that have been collected from Blue Cheer, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and Music Machine records. Steve Turner has a field day, burning off a number of blistering guitar solos, and almost always adding some lead guitar squall to each song. Drummer Dan Peters and bassist Guy Maddison give each song the right amount of bronto-stomp lurch, and a few songs are augmented by horns. Practically every tune would sound great coming out of an 8-track stereo in a 1973 Gremlin.

Turner's aforementioned lead guitar work keys one of the catchier songs on the album, "On the Move". This song is probably the most evocative of the MC5, as the song rides a lot of momentum generated not just by the guitars but by Maddison's bass, which pushes things along. The song itself is a defiant call to arms, warning the Man to look out.

Mudhoney realizes that no one is entitled to anything, and that people have to fight for the rights we're allegedly guaranteed. This is clear from the get go, as the ominous "Where Is the Future" notes that rose-colored forecasts of what the world would be like back in the ‘60s and ‘70s didn't come close to coming true. Rather than The Jetsons come to life, things seem to be regressing: "I want a world run by giant brains/instead of small minded (garbled)."

However, they aren't just yelling for the sake of yelling, and not simply pointing fingers. Perhaps knowingly, Arm paraphrases Walt Kelly, singing that "You see the enemy/and it/is us" (from "It Is Us"). This song is very typical of the album, in that no wheels are reinvented. The rock is familiar. What makes this worth hearing is the energy and piss and vinegar that can't be denied. The music is the perfect vehicle for the simple protest lyrics. There's a melodic middle eight, with Arm singing over and over, "happy days are here again" and his sarcasm floods out of the speakers.

The boys see the glass of not merely being half-empty, it's just about all gone. "Empty Shells" is a lead coated R & B number, noting how so much passion has been removed from life. It's a life of routine, going to church, watching ballgames, going to work and on and on. The instrumental interlude contrasts the negative thoughts -- it's fairly bright and evinces hope. So the band must think that this is a temporary condition and the song is intended as a wake up call.

I don't harbor any illusions that this is a great album. However, I think that Mudhoney has succeeded on their own terms in creating a very special mood piece. The mood, of course, is angry. With each track, what Mudhoney might not fully convey with their words, they manage to get across with the furious, vitriolic playing that is too often missing from rock these days. They mean it, man.

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The M's
Future Women

(Polyvinyl)

polyvinylrecords.com

And they drunk themselves blind to the sounds of old T. Rex. I don't know if I could adequately describe the music of this Chicago band without making the comparison to Marc Bolan and Co. It's not that The M's are copying T. Rex note for note, but their syncopated rhythms and fey melodies immediately bring the glam rock kings to mind. But much like the more pop-oriented The 88, the influences of The M's are just that, a jumping off point, and the band certainly has its own ideas. The primary idea appears to be making a real rock and roll record.

This is the band's second full-length disc, and it is quite apparent that they have gigged a lot. There is muscle here, there is groove. The rhythm guitar riffs are thick and robust. The guitar leads pierce and drive songs into new places. The rhythm section keeps everything moving. Every song on this record is played very well. They know what they are doing.

The songs have a veneer of catchiness, with some grabbing immediately, and others taking a few plays to work their magic. One of the songs that captured me right away was "Never Do This Again". The song has a lengthy intro, in which each of the components of the song is introduced. After a false start, the main riff is contrasted by the main lead guitar line. The song then breaks down to just drums, then back to the riff, and then the vocals kick in. The song sounds like a glammed up folk rock number (hmm...that's what Marc Bolan was doing) -- the verses sound like Stealer's Wheel all tarted up in glitter. The rhythm is insidiously hooky, and once the first verse concludes, the drum beat, riff and cascading guitar lead work their magic. The verses are just a respite between flights of instrumental fancy revolving around these components, with some smart arrangement choices. This is one of those rare songs where the hook isn't in the form of a chorus, but an assemblage of bits, which are played around with to maximum effect.

The best M's songs demonstrate a compositional sophistication that has been enhanced by playing out a lot. When I listen to the closing track "Darling Lucia", I can imagine this group of musicians shaping the song in rehearsal and live performance, trying things out, before settling on the brilliant version on this album. This is a song of various movements which builds to a grand conclusion. The song has an intro that leads to a delicate melodic interlude, as Josh Chicone sings, "you can start it all over". The song then heads into some extended verses that nod in the direction of the pastoral side of The Kinks and The Move. Supergrass fans may dig the mix of bright guitars with an underlying melancholy melodic edge. This portion of the song mutates into a repetitive psych-pop motif, and then moves into a jaunty Beatle-ish middle eight, before an instrumental break leads the song back into the "you can start it all over" part, with strings and horns in the background. This is an ambitious piece of work that fully succeeds.

One thing that I really like about The M's is that for all the thought that goes into their songs, they also bring along a certain urgency to their performances. I think this is reflected on "Trucker Speed", another one of the top tracks on the album. This is another song which is firmly grounded in rhythm, with prominent bass figures and busy drums. Chicone's insistent vocals are somewhat comparable to Win Butler's vocalizing for The Arcade Fire. Adding to the controlled frenzy of the track are more strings and horns. While not used on every track on the album, when The M's deploy the strings and horns, they are integrated into the song, and not mere ornamentation.

This disc is not all flash. "Light I Love" is a delicate acoustic number which is indicative of how strong these songs are at their core. A basic melody, simple declarations and a sympathetic performance make this a standout amongst the more typical M's material. While rock is The M's raison d'etre, as exemplified by the one-two punch that kicks off the album ("Plan of the Man" and "Shawnee Dupree"), they should delve more into this softer side.
This album demonstrates that The M's are realizing the potential exhibited on their debut EP. Even better, the band not only remains true to its core sound, it has found ways to expand upon that sound, leaving The M's plenty of territory to explore on future releases. And best of all, it's a fun record.

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Canasta
We Were Set Up

(self-released)

canastamusic.com

The first full length album from this Chicago band is a slice of happiness, with the band playing a sprightly take on contemporary indie pop, integrating strings and an array of keyboards which add color and texture to the proceedings. Musically, Canasta falls somewhere between Beulah and, I dunno, maybe Belle and Sebastian or The Delgados. Frontman Matt Priest is friendly and engaging.

If any song sums up what Canasta is about, it's the ode to their hometown, "Slow Down Chicago". For one thing, it has a sunny, winning attitude that infuses some of their best songs. It also has quintessential Canasta lyrics -- they are detailed and quasi-journalistic but have a personal touch. The melody is simple and ebullient, while the arrangement is dense without being busy or fussy. This Windy City anthem lays the melody on top of a jaunty rhythm. What is so intriguing about the song is that on one hand, the upbeat music and geographical references give it a celebratory air, showing pride in this on-the-go metropolis. But the heart of the song is about someone who is swallowed in the crowd: "From the 95th floor, I prayed/"Chicago, slow down"/but the teeming streets shrugged off/the plea that I made." Priest realizes "this town/it breathes on its own/with or without me." Rarely has insignificance sounded so delightful.

Things are a bit more mysterious on the somber and elegant "Shadowcat". This track is grounded in a spare piano part and Priest's precise vocals. Priest observes how people distort the words and message of Jesus. Apparently, someone close to him did so, and they went their separate ways. What is unsaid is specifically what was said. In the end it doesn't matter; what matters is that God was wrongly invoked, and it split them up. This song boasts a sharply composed chorus, compact and memorable, and some splendid instrumental sections, where the band's facility with strings comes to the fore. The performance justifies the song's seven minute plus length.

Things aren't going much better on "All This Dust". This is another mellow number that brings to mind classic ‘70s singer-songwriter fare married to the sophistication of Belle and Sebastian. Again, Megan O'Connor's piano is prominent, complimented by Ben Imdieke's acoustic guitar. The reflective music is a perfect backing for a song about not dwelling on the past and trying to map out a future. From the sound of things, Priest has already charted his course, and isn't waiting around: "the moment to decide is getting nearer/sometime between this stoplight and the next one." This song builds into a sumptuous instrumental ending, which is enervating and sad.
Elizabeth Lindau takes center stage on the stately "Sympathetic Vibrations". The track is predicated on Colin Sheaff's shuffle drumming and the weaving parts played by pianist O'Connor and keyboardist John Cunningham. This song evinces an urbane ‘60s soft-pop sophistication. When Priest comes in on the chorus, Lindau's voice is a fantastic compliment.

Another ‘60s influence pops up on one of the best songs on the album, "An Apology". Priest lays down a nice Motown bassline, as talks about dealing with bigotry as a teenager. This is one of the most perceptive tunes I've heard in a long time. Priest notes how young folks are quick to stereotype and judge due their fear of the unknown. Then he takes this notion of fear further, to the personal level, where he was scared of girls and felt like an outcast in school. The chorus has a brilliant melody, keyed by Lindau's violin: "but somehow/we turned out all right/for a while they had to wonder/if our fear would pull us under." This song is smart pop nirvana.

Indeed, you could say that about a number of songs on this album. Canasta has a sound that fits in easily with a lot of contemporary acts -- for example, they'd sound great stacked next to The Decemberists or Death Cab For Cutie -- but stands out by having established a specific personality and sound, aided by a winning frontman. It's good this album is coming to everyone's attention at this point in time, as it is an album that you can live with and hear new things from throughout the year.

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