Scroll down for reviews of the latest from Neko Case, Ray Davies, Wisely, My Dad is Dead and Hawksley Workman

Neko Case
Fox Confessor Brings The Flood

(Anti-)

anti.com

Neko Case is becoming a genre unto herself. Her torch songs are built on her country music roots, the Southwestern sound exemplified by Calexico (who backs her on much of this record), classic vocalists ranging from Peggy Lee to Aretha Franklin, and her own distinctive intelligence. Without moving into Julee (Twin Peaks) Cruise's outright wigginess, Case's tunes have an otherworldly feel, aided by her lyrics which blend religious and folk imagery with a streak of romanticism and wonder. To think that when she debuted with The Virginian, she was simply a superb honky tonk singer, brimming with potential. Although the world can never have enough great honky tonk singers, what Case is doing now is thrilling and very special.

This is established from the get go, with the story "Margaret v. Pauline". The song puts Case's vocal up front (where else should it be), with a hint of acoustic guitar, light drums and a filigree of piano. Case is reserved, telling the contrasting tales of two friends. Pauline is the girl for whom "everything is easy,"and Case notes that "fate holds her firm in its cradle/and then rolls her for a tender pause to savor." Then there's working class Margaret, whose path is more difficult. She is "the fragments of a name" and will "never be as clean/as cool side of satin Pauline." As is often the case on this disc, everything on this song sounds like it has a slight reverb, making the song a touch airy. This backing gives just the right support for this lesson in the cruel aspect of class, romanticizing and dramatizing what could have been mundane.

There's nothing mundane about "Dirty Knife". Case has been obligated to tell every journalist how this tune was inspired by a tale told to her by her mother. This is a gothic torch song about a man killed by his wife, who has gone mad. The song builds from the spare sound of Case and an acoustic guitar and a bass guitar, as Case sweetly intones, "the blood runs crazy." During the second verse, the guitar picking gets more intent, the tempo picking up, with a cello figure played by Joey Burns creating a dark, foreboding feeling. Yet Case then stitches in an angelic melody, totally contrasting the creeping chaos being described in the words. Powerful.

The title cut doesn't wait to build the drama, as the lead guitars pierce the ether and the forlorn melody immediately capture the air of myth and legend that pervade the song. Case is not specific, but the Confessor has shown her something. Something that she can't quite tell us about. The rise and fall of the melody and Case's precise phrasing – where she draws out notes, and where she reins herself in – are framed by steady drumming and the guitar playing of Howe (Giant Sand) Gelb and Paul Rigby. The picture created by this combination of words and music is elusive, yet it creates quite the impression.

Case can ground her songs in more normal subjects. "That Teenage Feeling" is a Neko variation on the ‘50s rock ballad. This song is potentially the coolest prom theme ever, if there were any student committee cool enough to choose it. Okay, the song isn't about having that teenage feeling while still in high school. It's about aching to have it when one is older, with a heart that "is green as weeds." This pithy composition is merely two verses, which swell up into the chorus. The song ends with Case filled with regret about possibly missing out on true love. She then takes the song into an unexpected place, taking the phrase "it's hard," and sending it soaring in an incredible vocal performance.

Each song here takes on its own life, creating a miniature world. "Star Witness" is another murder ballad, with typically lovely accompaniment. Case tells the tale of a murdered boyfriend and pines for him, singing that she would "do anything to see you again." The song is so sweet and seems to evince hope...until the last verse. The song "Maybe Sparrow" finds Case joined by Garth Hudson of The Band on organ and Kelly Hogan on backing vocals, with Jon Rauhouse on Hawaiian guitar. This might just be the quintessential Case song, with its allegorical lyrics, the deceptively complex arrangement of the various instruments, and moments where Case just lets her voice exude a passion and beauty that electrifies. There's a gospel interlude on "John Saw That Number", which combine a traditional song, with Case adding to the story of the original. This religious tale has the most conventional music on the LP, as it definitely has a church-like feel. A very hip church. This track probably features Hudson's most significant contribution, and more splendid backing vocals from Kelly Hogan.

Case may not be prolific, but the care with which she crafts her songs and then records them is evident throughout. This album only confirms what most of us knew, that she is one of the major singers and songwriters of this generation.

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Ray Davies
Other People's Lives

(V2)

v2records.com

There are so many expectations that inevitably arise with Ray Davies's first solo album. After all, the leader of The Kinks has an incredible legacy. Moreover, it had been more than a decade since the last Kinks album. We've been waiting a long time.

This record is not a major artistic statement. It's a fairly relaxed effort. The title is so appropriate, as Davies is the king of observational lyrics. These are primarily acoustic guitar driven ditties, with Davies sounding in fine voice. The music is probably closer to the band's late ‘70s work than the golden age from 1967 through 1970. Which is fine -- those halcyon days can't be repeated and this music fits Davies so perfectly, as this stage of his career.

Indeed, you can't really make comparisons here -- the best I can do is say that these sound like Ray Davies compositions. The only unique signifier is that quite a few songs have some R & B underpinnings. But you can also find that in early Kinks classics. Probably the one thing that may disappoint is that there are no tight, pithy pop songs. While I would have loved something on par with the last great Kinks single, "Did Ya?", the overall tone of this album is such that the absence of potential 45s is not a major flaw.
The songs are a mix of observations about relationships and such and foibles, fancies and problems in society. The former songs are touched by a warmth and empathy that has been evident in Kinks songs dating back to numbers like "See My Friends". One good example of this is "Creatures of Little Faith". The song is definitely in the ‘70s mid-tempo acoustic singer-songwriter mold, yet cast differently with Davies's distinctive voice. The song is about jealousy, and how it messes with our minds. While this song isn't chock full of the specific details that are common in his Kinks work, it is direct and hits the right emotional tone.

Things aren't much better in "After the Fall", which has a instantly familiar melody – Davies clearly writes to his voice. This song sounds like a good ‘80s Kinks number, in the vein of "Working in a Factory". This is a song that tells you to look on the bright side, even if you're only fooling yourself. This track shows that Davies still has a sharp wit: "I cried to the heavens/and the vision appeared/I said, "Can you help"/it replied, "Not at all."

In listening to these early tracks on the disc, I was struck by how Davies, whose ruminations on the glory days of England when he was in his twenties, has gone from being wise beyond his years to wizened. He is the true cynic, full of skeptical observations about mankind. Yet deep down, he's only so negative because he's sure we could do so much better.

Other top tracks on the first half of the album include the whimsical "Next Door Neighbour", which probably comes closest the pastoral Kinks sounds of the ‘60s, and "Things Are Gonna Change (The Morning After)", which features spacious guitar chords that sound like they were borrowed from David Gilmour's closet. Through the first six songs, this is a very good album.
The second half of the disc is more of a mixed bag. "The Tourist" is a New Orleans inspired song that has a loping mid-tempo groove, intermixed with some good old fashioned pounding guitar chords. I'm not sure if Davies is fully successful at expressing his message, but the outline is here – it's about being an outsider trying to soak in the authenticity of a place. Davies observes that not everyone is that way, some are content to get drunk at the bar while listening to "La Vida Loca". Davies captures one aspect of holiday travel, noting in the bridge: "Let's go to the Mardi Gras/let's kiss the Blarney Stone/let's hear the Wailing Wall/oh the Empire State Building is very tall." This may seem overly critical, but Davies recognizes that he's done the same thing. You can go somewhere, but that's not the same as being somewhere.

Two other observational songs, unfortunately, fall rather flat. "Stand Up Comic" and "Other People's Lives" are an uninviting combination of strident, cranky and obvious. Hearing Davies sing "and the clown does a fart/and everybody farts back" (on "Comic") is wince inducing. "Stand Up Comic" is an inept commentary of the lowering of the lowest common denominator that borders on misanthropic. Meanwhile, the title cut wastes a nifty Eastern folk motif for a rant about the tabloid press that is appallingly lacking in novel insight. These songs make Davies sound like a bitter old man. It makes me fear that we're next going to hear Davies come up with songs like "Get Off My Lawn" and "Turn That Loud Rap Music Down, Young Man".

Thankfully, other numbers on the second half quell those fears, to a large degree. On "The Getaway (Lonesome Train)" and "Over My Head", Davies and his band stretch out a bit. Every great songwriter should pen one train song, and "Getaway" has a light blues motif and some reverb swamp guitar. The lyrics aren't really that special, but the melody is very strong and the overall atmosphere and mood of the song carry the day. Davies gets back to the more personal themes of the first half of the album on "Over My Head". By the time I got to this track, which is also characterized by a mild R & B rhythm, it reaffirmed to me that Davies has two classic themes as a songwriter – how crazy modern society is, and how things were better back in the past. Neither is unique, but very few have made them sound so meaningful. This is especially true on "Over My Head", which has one of the strongest choruses on the album.

This album isn't a major comeback effort. It's more like Ray Davies reestablishing that he's still vital. Musically, there are no innovations here, but he still crafts good tunes. Lyrically, he is no longer at the top of his game, but he can still pull out some witty or thoughtful stuff from time to time. This is a good LP and a worthy addition to his canon. I'm not sure if we can expect any more classics from Raymondo, but I hope he continues giving it a go.

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Wisely
Parador

(Not Lame)

notlame.com

I've written here before that someday, there will be a great Nuggets-type box set chronicling the ‘90s power pop scene. What a fertile time, with great bands like The Shazam, Love Nut, Ross, The Posies and (to some, but not me) Jellyfish, among others. Personally, I think that era is the golden age of power pop. And now that we are more than halfway through the aughts, I can be a wee bit nostalgic for an era that was hopping just about a decade ago.

Willie Wisely was part of that great era (I'm making it sound like it was a long time ago...) and has been quiet for a while. He is quiet no more, and this album is up to the gold standard that he and others set in the ‘90s. Working with a sympathetic producer, the brilliant Linus Of Hollywood, Wisely makes a gem of a disc.

So what does Wisely sound like? He brings to mind Jason Falkner, but with a bit more adherence to rigid power pop standards – maybe Falkner with some Cliff Hillis mixed in (and these comparisons are made only because of a general similarity – kind of the Recommended If You Like type of comparison). He has a deceptively terrific voice. He tends to sing in his midrange. There is a real normal guy quality to his voice. Only when he gets into the higher end of his range is it obvious what a talented vocalist he really is.

The Wisely sound is displayed in its full glory on "Stayin' Home Again". The track begins with a strummed acoustic with the accent of a lead guitar. The song has a tried-and-true rock structure, with the melodic verse leading into a chorus that takes the melody higher, with an accompanying added energy. This fits the lyrics to a ‘T,' as the song is about a guy who's been looking for love. Now he's finally found it, a woman worth staying home with for the night. Wisely sounds like someone who's finally found the right woman, exuding a mix of weariness or uncertainty, spun into joy (colored by slight disbelief).

Whereas "Stayin' Home" builds, the structure is reversed on "Altitude". This song bursts right out of the gate, with Wisely singing these memorable words over frisky guitars: "Some call her quiet/others call her just plain weird." The song then simmers down, to a pleasant mid-tempo pace. The melody moves gracefully, ascending in just the right spots. Wisely sketches in just enough details – his woman apparently tried to do herself in, and he's waiting by her hospital bed. The only time to crunchy guitar riff comes back in is when he confronts her father: "I visit her father/silent in his wheelchair/told him I know what he'd done/to her sophomore year." This is a song with an array of moods, from the initial happiness of falling for the girl to the despair of seeing her helpless.

It's songs like this that exemplify what makes Wisely so special. He crafts songs that are immediately appealing. But some songs clearly have a lot more going on, whether it's the layers of instruments, or the depth of the lyrics. For example, listen to all the different elements that coalesce on "Joke", a percolating rock tune that Owsley would be proud to call his own. This song is a real testament to the production, as the song is dominated by the guitars of Wisely and Paul Gilbert, but there's lots of interesting stuff going on underneath, from the bass playing to the backing vocals, none of it obscured in the mix, put in just the right place.

This attention to detail doesn't suck the life out of songs, often a problem when so much effort has been expended, it instead enhances the effect of the song. While the aching "Too Quick to Love" would sound great if it were just Wisely playing it on his acoustic, the precise drumming of Peter Anderson and the subtly integrated cello part played by Peggy Baldwin enhance this tale of a busted romance. The subject of the song, set forth in its title, is familiar. Wisely simply does a great job of describing the situation, which may hit close to home for many.

On "Who Blew Out the Sun", Wisely conjures up a song made for a jazzy French cafe, with a melody reminiscent of Paul McCartney. This song has a melody that begs for a cover by a French chanteuse (maybe one of the Nouvelle Vague gals could have a crack at it). The tune sounds like a standard. It sets up the album closing title track. This is a big pop number, which could be called ballad-y, I suppose. It's another sad and lonely night, and Wisely is left to playing a Mario Lanza album to try to keep his mind off an old flame. Clearly, she's the most recent old flame. This song has one of those choruses that is big and expansive. And heading into the final chorus, Wisely raises the emotional temperature. He wants to be with her, he knows that it's wrong, and he doesn't want to think about her, but he is thinking about her...the break up Catch-22.

Like the best pop records, even in the face of heartbreak, the quality of the melody and the songs provides some degree of uplift. This is a guitar pop album for grown ups, showing that you can be catchy and mature at the same time.

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My Dad Is Dead
A Divided House

(Unhinged)

mydadisdead.com

I'll have to be up front here -- I'm an unabashed fan of My Dad Is Dead. Cleveland's Mark Edwards has been making records under this name (an actual tribute to his deceased father) for around 20 years. Each album is grounded in the tradition of bands like Joy Division, The Velvet Underground and Television, among others. Edwards puts his stamp on his material with three things -- his plaintive straightforward lyrics, distinctive guitar playing and his unique regular guy voice.

The voice is something I must dwell on for a paragraph, since rarely has an artist gotten so much mileage out of such a seemingly unremarkable vocal ability (okay, he can sing better than The Fall's Mark E. Smith...after that...hmm...). Kind of like Smith, Edwards has found a way to not only write to his voice, but has managed to do so without limiting where he can go musically. Moreover, the normalness of his voice accentuates his songs, since he is such a direct lyricist. Everything Edwards does is awash in sincerity.

The other quality about My Dad Is Dead that I must mention is that every album develops its own identity. Some LPs are more rock oriented, some more melodic. Again, The Fall probably is a good comparison, as My Dad Is Dead, though not quite as versatile as the Manchester post-punk legends, does a pretty good job of turning the ‘always the same, always different' trick.

This album trends a bit towards the more melodic and (relatively) upbeat side of Edwards's muse. This does not mean that what Edwards is singing about is all sunshine and light. There are a couple of pure love songs, but most of the numbers that deal with personal relationships are firmly grounded in reality. Edwards has grown older and has a very mature take on matters of the heart. He now reserves his righteous anger for the political climate in the United States.

But let's look at the personal side of Edwards first. Early on, he hits a key theme – how hard a relationship can be and how having someone can make things easier, making the hard work worthwhile. "The Ladder" is a mid-tempo rush, with strumming acoustics and a melodic lead guitar ushering the song forward. Edwards notes how you can't dwell too much on the past and should focus on the here and now. The chorus features Edwards singing over a snippet of a melody, and sounding serious and somehow romantic: "You are the ladder to reach my potential/I'm going nowhere without you/in this world we're all so defenseless/I only feel strong when I'm with you." A declaration of vulnerability.

The next song, "My Safe Place", is a softer take on a similar theme. Edwards strong lead guitar playing has a ringing tone, while he admits his many shortcomings to his love. Again, Edwards focuses on the work that needs to be done: "As long as we can cut up all our ties to the past/and give ourselves entirely up to the task." This song still has the underlying intensity of typical My Dad Is Dead (i.e., like a Rust Belt Joy Division), yet the positive vibes shine through.

On "The Well", Edwards sings: "Sometimes it may seem our life is a boring life/but you know I really love it yeah." On this song, Edwards plays a bluesy lead guitar line and the tempo slows down a bit. This track looks at romantic love as a marathon not a sprint. It is a tribute to togetherness and contentment. With the slower tempo, it is apparent how vital Edwards's guitar playing is in carrying his simple melodies, since he can't always make his voice do so. Hearing his precisely and delicately played leads, while he plainly sings his declarations, I am struck by the subtle power of the music. I don't think this could be improved with a more traditional singer.

Edwards's voice is particularly well suited to the political tracks. On these songs, the melodies sound a bit darker, while Edwards details his gripes. On the mid-tempo "Down Is Up", Edwards assails the ascension of simplistic thought in these complex times. He is fed up with the Orwellian qualities of the Iraq War (among other things): "The bully with his bullets, creeps in secret meetings/they shower us with lies and lie about the meanings." The media is also on Edwards's radar, and he assails them in "Novocaine". This song reminds me a bit of Mission Of Burma, as Edwards sings the truth: "It seems we love our liars/looking smart and acting dumb/under a corporate thumb/is where we're gonna stay."

The title cut closes the album and sums up a lot of Edward's views. The title is a reference to Abraham Lincoln's famous quote, "A house divided against itself cannot stand." This song begins with fuzzy guitar and a metronomic rhythm, over which Edwards goes over a (rhyming) laundry list of what's wrong with what's going on now. This could be retitled "Talking Bush Administration Sucks Blues". The chorus is simple and memorable: "can't we stop acting like kids fighting all the time." Edwards layers on the guitars and builds the intensity for a compelling end to the disc.

This is yet another fine My Dad Is Dead album. It's not quite up to the standard of Let's Skip The Details or Everyone Wants The Honey But Not The Sting, but it carries on My Dad Is Dead's post-punk tradition.

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Hawksley Workman
Treeful Of Starling

(Universal/Isadora)

umusic.ca

Hawksley Workman is an artist bursting with so much talent, that choosing a direction to explore must be quite difficult. In 2003, Workman made what sounded like a calculated move towards rock stardom. The Lover/Fighter album was a mixed bag. Though some of his attempts at rock grandeur hit the mark, the overall product was a bit too slick and managed to obscure Workman's personality.

You see, so much of what makes Workman more than a decent singer-songwriter is his personality. Workman manages to negotiate the path between sheer cleverness and utter sincerity about as well as anyone. He's not afraid of the strained pun or silly wordplay. Yet he can pen a love song that is aching and real. No matter how big his music gets, he's at his best when he doesn't forget the small details.

Workman significantly retrenches on this effort, going back to simple piano based tunes. This album may initially seem underwhelming, since it is so low key. Workman's craftsmanship is so spot on, it took me a few spins to fully grasp it. It's really Workman's Sunday Morning album, or maybe it's his attempt to be the Canadian Stephen Merritt. It's a sweet and tender piece of work.

A number of songs are in the vein of Workman's best piano ballads, like "Safe and Sound". He also expands into a Hawksleyesque take on the Great American songbook. "Rain" reminds me a little bit of Randy Newman musically, especially in the refrain. The lyrics are ridiculously simple, as Workman wants falling in love to be as simple as the rain falling down. The mood of the track is enhanced by a melancholy trumpet solo. This song sounds like it could have been written in the ‘40s or ‘50s.

That could also be said of "You Are Too Beautiful", but for the lyric in the chorus, "You are too beautiful/to be in bed with me." This slow song has Workman singing in his most sensitive mode, varying from a delicate vibrato to his startlingly wonderful high range (think Jeff Buckley – yes, he's that good). This may be the ultimate self-deprecating love song, and if we were still in the age of the long distance dedication, this would be garnering tons of requests.

"You said I'm wise, but I'm not so sure/maybe my lies were just that good" Workman sings at the beginning of "It's a Long Life to Always Be Longing". Though the title may make it seem like a honky tonk trifle, Workman fully engages this emotional song. The melody is classic – in the verses, it sounds like a traditional folk song. Only the chorus acknowledges 20th Century pop music. The slow tempo of the song exacerbates the sadness, as Workman captures the essence of a man who is doomed to not be with the one he loves.

These are just three of the exceptional songs on this disc. There are other highlights. On "When These Mountains Were the Seashore", Workman concocts a country shuffle that involves the sweep of creation and two fish dreaming of flying and love. Really. The opener, "A Moth Is Not a Butterfly" is another classic Workman piano piece, as he looks at how some things are simply different: "A desert's not a mountainside/and I know why, yeah, I know why/'cause one is vast and one divides/a desert's not a mountainside." The poppest track on the whole album might be "Goodbye to Radio", which is a musical cousin of "You Me and the Weather". Come to think of it, that's means it's not that pop. The song has an instrumental break that begins with Workman whistling and ends with another fine trumpet solo.

This disc is only nine songs and about 37 minutes long. Nowadays, that seems quite short, and may make the album seem insubstantial. I think this is actually a reflection to how naturally these songs have been crafted. They sound like they've been around for a while, and Workman finally got around to recording them. Indeed, I almost think that he could record albums like this ad infinitum. However, I suspect that this intimate gem will be followed by something totally different.

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