Mike
Bennett Reviews,
June, 2004

Scroll down for reviews of the latest releases by Wilco, Chris Stamey, Poor Luther's Bones, The Zombies, Reining Sound and The Delays

Wilco
A Ghost Is Born

(Nonesuch)

nonesuch.com

About five or six years ago, if I had written that Wilco was nothing more than a really good bar band that had not fulfilled the legacy of Uncle Tupelo, such a comment would have met with resistance from some, agreement from quite a few, and outright rancor from others. In 1999, things changed forever when Wilco dropped the stunning Summerteeth, where Jeff Tweedy and his supporting cast tore up the alt-country rule book and added in a whole new set of influences to depict a group of songs that ranged from sublime pop to surreal folk poems.

Still, it wasn't until Reprise Records made Wilco rock and roll martyrs, by refusing to release Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, that the band was lifted by the populace to a place amongst rock royalty. This follow up album provides ample support for two propositions: 1) Wilco is a great band, and, 2) Wilco is an overrated band.

As I type this, the latter contention seems the stronger of the two. That's because I'm listening to "Less Than You Think", a Wilco sycophant litmus test. It starts as a mournful piano piece, minor but decent. It ends with 10 minutes of sustained instrumental feedback. And not Neil Young or Sonic Youth rugged feedback -- it's slow and drawn out.

To me, this confirms in a most exaggerated way what I felt was the main problem with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot -- that its use of found sounds and keyboards and other whatnot was more often smoke-and-mirrors and was usually not connected to the song. It was self-indulgent, but in a positive way. I certainly laud Tweedy's attempts to further play with texture and atmosphere. I just found that they often came off as mannered, which was not helped by some lackluster songs.

However, with "Less Than You Think", the self-indulgence inadvertently (I believe) almost becomes contemptuous. I've tried to sit through this song more than a few times, and still can't suss out what the fuck the ten-minute slow death feedback finale is all about. At least with some of the other major failed experiment on this album, I can figure out what's going on. The marathon track, "Spiders (Kidsmoke)", a near 11-minute epic, tries to juxtapose Krautrock inspired electronic sections with fairly standard early Wilco rock and roll. The problem isn't the juxtaposition, but just that neither of the musical ideas are strong enough to sustain the length of the song. Cut in half, it probably would hold up better.

So 26 minutes of this disc are occupied by two songs that don't work. Once you get past those two, the remaining 10 generally fare better. In fact, there's enough on here to show the foundation for a great album. This effort magnifies the dichotomy that has surfaced with this band. The best material here sounds like it is following the in the wake of Summerteeth. Not that Wilco is now required to add all sorts of effects and noise in the wake of YHF, yet it is striking to hear how the best tracks eschew most of the experimental soundscapes of that album. Or, awkwardly try to tack it on.

This is exemplified on "Handshake Drugs", which is quintessential Wilco. By that, I mean it combines a classic compact Tweedy melody that is perfectly designed for his words. The melody is augmented both by the piano and a wonderful supporting bass part from John Stirratt. The lyrics mix Tweedy's opaque side with his cut-to-the-chase side. So, on one hand, you get lines like "I was chewin' gum for something to do/The blinds were being pulled down on the dew" contrasting with the refrain of "oh, it's okay for you to say/what you want from me/I believe that's the only/way for me to be, exactly/what you want me to be." The song simply locks into its groove, and finally devolves into a maelstrom of Tweedy guitar. Not surprisingly, this feedback laden squall goes on a bit too long, but it can't diminish the accomplishment of the song.

Tweedy wields his axe much more effectively on the opener "At Least That's What You Said." Gently starting off with Tweedy's voice and a piano, the economical lyrics are some of Tweedy's best, using just a few strokes of observation here and there to give a full portrait of a crumbling relationship. After the languid verses, Tweedy's sharp guitar kicks in, followed by the band in syncopation with his repetitive chords, with the song finally providing release in the form of a fluid and wonderful guitar solo. Suddenly, Mission Of Burma's Roger Miller (or Neil Young) must have taken over Tweedy's fingers, as he starts going ape shit. Meanwhile, Glen Kotche's drumming drives things along perfectly – sometimes it's hard to tell whether he's responding to Tweedy or vice-versa. The ending of the song (does it portend the release of pent up rage by the spurned protagonist?) is four minutes of fury and may be the best instrumental section on any Wilco record.

The other rocker on the record is "I'm a Wheel". To some it may be a trifle, and it may the closest the band will every come to the Steve Miller Band, but it is fun and playful and yet still fits comfortably within the canon. Another particularly fun number is "Hummingbird". This song bears a bit of a Beatles stamp, due in large part to Kotche's Ringo-esque drumming at the end of the song. The middle-eight of this song is sublime (and The Beatles would have been proud of this one), and I'd have to quote the entire lyric to display its perfection, which I won't do, but suffice to say, it again shows Tweedy at the top of his game.

I have to modify my conclusion from earlier in this review. Wilco is not overrated. The experimental side of Wilco is overrated. I certainly understand Tweedy's quest to find music that can match the unique nature of some of his words. But he and his talented bandmates (whoever they might be as I write this!) often cross the line from art into pure artifice in their quest for this sound. Thankfully, the band's distinctive take on Americana (both the genre and plain ol' American music in general) allows them the freedom to take these detours, since even with their failures they can fall back on so many great songs. Perhaps not every listener will be initially jarred by the two epic tracks as I was – it took me quite a few plays to get a handle on this disc because of them. I have to conclude that is three-quarters great album, one-quarter bullshit. Which is a pretty good encapsulation of Wilco nowadays.

Chris Stamey
Travels In The South

(Yep Roc)

yeproc.com

Just hearing Chris Stamey sing again is a pure pleasure. Over the last few years or so, he has focused his energy on producing a lot of fantastic records by various rock and alt-country performers. But the former dB hasn't lost his performing touch, as shown on this winning 12-song disc.
This album fits in well with his prior solo work. As a dB, Stamey was strongly influenced by Big Star and various British pop. He developed two distinctive writing styles. One was quirky with odd notes and chord changes and led to masterful songs like "Espionage". The other was infused with warmth, as shown on classic songs like "From A Window to A Screen".

As a solo artist, that latter side has taken over completely. Not to sound cheesy, but there is a lot of love in Stamey's sound. When he sang that "It's a Wonderful Life" on his first solo disc, he wasn't being ironic -- he meant it. And he still has that perspective, which manifests itself immediately on the opener "14 Shades of Green". This is a reflective jangle rocker, with Stamey cataloging a trip back to the ol' hometown, looking at all the places he and his significant other went and the associated memories. The song seems to be directed at the fine line between empty nostalgia and learning from the past, with Stamey asking "what are we waiting for?" It's hard to express on paper the majesty of this song -- it sounds just plain big.

Stamey hits similar heights on other cuts. On "Alive", Stamey's lead guitar part in the verses seems to have come from a Phil Spector session. The song is a challenge to a friend (or a lover?), who seems to be stuck on something. Maybe a love gone wrong, or a tragic incident. Whatever it is, Stamey is telling the friend to let go and move forward and start living again. With the soaring music and cutting lyrics, this is a tough love anthem.

He's considerably more tender on the blissful "In Spanish Harlem". Opening with the line "Kenny Burrell/doesn't know how to play out of tune", Stamey initially pays tribute to the brilliant Drifters' classic. But then he shifts forward to the present tense, as he wants to go to the setting of the song. Stamey has composed music that is in the vein of the classic tune. The song exudes a joy -- by going to Spanish Harlem, he can truly connect with this immortalized place. The point isn't that the place is idyllic, it's just the fact that the connection has been made.

Expressing a similar joy in a beautiful fashion, Stamey has a real winner in "There's A Love". This is the type of song that could end up played at more than a few weddings. This song has at least a couple of spine chilling chord changes. And the way it builds to its big chorus is sublime. One song I would compare this to, in its utter devotion to the object of its affection, is John Lennon's "Woman". But I think this is even better. If you're in love, this is the song for you. If you're single, this song will remind you how great it is to be in love (without making you feel crap for not being in love -- that's hard to do).

Stamey's voice sounds terrific throughout. While he does not have a technically great voice, his distinctive drawl is compassionate and sincere and he hits all the notes just right. Throughout the record, his guitar playing is top notch -- since he's known so much as a songwriter, this is often overlooked. And he gets great support from his core group of musicians (including Superchunk's Jon Wurster on drums) and folks like Ryan Adams and Tift Merritt that he has met over the years. This might be Stamey's best solo record to date.

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Poor Luther's Bones
Inside The Outsider

(Heavy G)

heavygrecords.com

Last year, I was finally introduced to the world of Garth Forsyth. He's the frontman for this veteran band, and he has waxed over a dozen albums, either with the Bones, or solo. Whereas last year's That The World May Sing Far Away Music, Honky was like a ride through a spooky funhouse, mixing blues based rock with psychedelia and occasionally veering into harrowing Tom Waits-type territory, this album plays much differently. But for a couple of songs, it barely resembles the same band.

Well, a couple of songs and the fact that, like its predecessor, this album is pretty diverse within the parameters that the band has set for itself. But I can't easily describe those parameters -- all I know is that Forsyth is a terrific songwriter with a great band. I will say that the one common element that binds the two albums is Forsyth's demonstrated fluency in blues based music. He also shows equal acumen with folk and country, which touches some songs.

I suppose in spots, this might be compared to bands like Sparklehorse and Grandaddy. Right now, I'm listening to "Jagged Cut-Melody", which lives up to the title -- the melody is sort of Kinksy and Forsyth warbles it into a triple thick guitar riff in the chorus. The use of dynamics is obvious, but it works. And Toby Martin's drumming is rock solid, giving this song an insistent pulse. Scoring even higher in Kinksiness is "Isobel", which sounds like it somehow straddles the sound of Village Green Preservation Society and Muswell Hillbillies, with an appropriately fey tenor vocal and some pounding piano.

Forsyth also shows a flair for rustic music that is at times haunting. "Black Nanny" floats in on Rachel Lamdin's quiet violin part, which is then joined by Forsyth's acoustic guitar strum and his expressive vocals. This song is a look back at an independent woman and exudes a feel of doom for a tragic heroine. I actually hear traces of the Rolling Stones's "Wild Horses" in the melody of this song, but it certainly stands on its own. This song truly resonates.

Ms. Lamdin is also a welcome presence on "Love Is Danger", a delicate and lovely piece where Forsyth sings at the top of his range. This makes his voice as fragile as the music itself. The closer "Losing a Blue" is even lovelier. This dreamy track makes good use of horns, courtesy of P.J. MacIntosh. The intimacy and feeling on this track are readily apparent, as Forsyth pines for a lover -- or maybe a woman he wishes were his lover. This song is as good a sonic replication of heartache as I've heard in a while.

While Forsyth excels on the personal numbers, he's just as good on his backwoods smackdown of the self-righteous, "Holy of the Holiest". He also can rock out. "Hang Jaw" is a runaway train of a song, with the guitars and piano hurtling down the tracks, reminding me of an Americanized Mott The Hoople or Faces. The band also rocks on "(That's What Keeps You) Goin' On", a psychedelic buzzer that is the only song that could have appeared on the last Poor Luther's Bones album. The guitars are laden with effects, Forsyth's voice sounds appropriately anguished as he sings "so help me, God/it's the firing squad" and the backing vocals shouldn't work, but they contrast the bitter anger of the lead vocal very well. There's even a song that will grab Wilco fans, as "She Ain't You" is in the same vein as the bouncier material on Summerteeth.

I could go on and on. I just hope I'm conveying a sense of how accomplished a work this is. This is a great record from a great band who deserve tons more recognition.

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The Zombies
As Far As I Can See...

(Red House)

colinblunstone.co.uk

There is one ringer on this disc (by which I mean, a track that was not specifically written for this album). Here, on the first new album to officially carry the name The Zombies in 36 years, the band covers one of Colin Blunstone's ‘70s solo hits, the sublime "I Don't Believe in Miracles". This song has been a staple of the Blunstone and Argent live sets for the past two years, and why not? This Russ Ballard composition was good enough to have been on an old Zombies album.

To the credit of this 21st Century version of The Zombies, the version here is outstanding and does not pale beside the original. It certainly helps that it's road tested, but let's face it, musicianship isn't a problem here. The father-son rhythm section of Jim (bass) and Steve (drums) Rodford is outstanding, and Keith Airie is a skilled guitarist who at times might reveal his session musician roots a bit too much.

On "Miracles", the splendor of The Zombies sound hits with full force. Blunstone is still an amazingly powerful singer, who belongs at the top of any list of great British rock vocalists, with Paul McCartney, Steve Marriott and Steve Winwood, among others. Argent is still a master of the keyboards, whose jazz and classical influences provide a different dimension to the otherwise R & B based Britpop. And the harmony vocals (in particular Jim Rodford, who is Rod's cousin, former bandmate in Argent and has also played with The Kinks and The Animals -- what a c.v.) are perfect. This is the peak moment on the album and best captures what is good about this record.

To a small extent, it also highlights the biggest flaw on the album, and that's the lack of enough great songs. Don't get me wrong, Rod Argent whipped up some fine numbers, but the bulk of them are on the front end of this album. The last two songs in particular, "Together" and "Look for a Better Way", are pretty ordinary.

Still, despite the fact that I've been dazzled by these folks live in the past couple of years, I never expected that their album would be as good as it is. Of course, whether this is truly a Zombies album can be debated, but I suppose Argent and Blunstone make up The Zombies as much as Townshend and Daltrey make up The Who. Argent explains in the liner notes that because this was the first batch of songs he penned specifically with Blunstone's voice in mind since the band's dissolution, this project essentially evolved into a new Zombies album. And Chris White even contributes some backing vocals on a few tracks.

The most convincing argument for this being a Zombies album is that there are plenty of bits in these songs that are trademarks of the band. For example, on the R & B charmer "Time to Move", the way the band drops out, leaving Blunstone alone as he soulfully shouts "It's too much for heaven's sake!" -- shades of the band's classic "Just in Time"! Or on the album opener "In My Mind A Miracle" (the song which uses the phrase "Odyssey and Oracle" in the lyrics), the last two lines of the verses, which bridge into the chorus have a drama that is so characteristic of the band's past. The essential Zombie-ness factor is even higher on the next song, "Memphis". Here, Rod Argent has really rediscovered the melodic mojo that was at the heart of so many Zombies songs. And what I really like about this song is that it sounds thoroughly contemporary, while falling solidly within the band's legacy.

Other highlights include "With You Not Here", another display of Argent's still considerable tunesmithing abilities. It's a mellow piano piece with wonderfully delicate harmony vocals and a melody in the chorus that takes the listener on a very pleasurable journey. Argent shares the lead vocals with Blunstone on the boogie-woogie "Southside of the Street". And "I Want to Fly", which has been featured in the band's live set, sounds just as achingly beautiful in its recorded version, and showing off, yet again, how awe inspiring Blunstone still sounds after all these years.

Certainly, it would be asking too much to expect this album to match the brilliance of The Zombies amazing ‘60s work (which is chronicled on the incredible Zombie Heaven box set). After all, it's rare for any artist who has been around this long to match their best. Yet, after spinning this a dozen times or so, I can say that this is pretty darned good, particularly considering that it has been 36 years. These guys make a great sound together, and while it might not sound exactly the same, the essence remains.

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Reigning Sound
Too Much Guitar

(In The Red)

intheredrecords.com

Can there ever be too much guitar? Or, to put it another way, could Reigning Sound have added any more guitar to this record? This is another dose of terrific R & B fueled rock and roll from this Memphis band. What is particularly striking is the heavily stylized production. Apparently, frontman Greg Cartwright took his label's name to be a mandate. Not only does Cartwright pile on the guitars, he allows for a lot of overmodulation. The result is a record that is very trebly, with some bottom and the vocals crammed in the mid-range.

In the wrong hands, this could have been a disaster. But it is done just right -- this record explodes with life. How they managed to mix it in a way that it manages to be just clear enough, I don't know. But Cartwright's vocals find a niche, his guitar licks are stinging and Greg Roberson's drumming is captured in all of its cymbal bashing, beat pushing fury.

The two bands that come to mind when I hear this record are The Fleshtones at their live rowdy best and The Saints, in their early bluesiest phase. Both those bands rocked to the maximum, even when the tempos weren't fast. Reigning Sound does precisely the same here. Listening to this puppy may just induce profuse sweating.

Moreover, the songs here are uniformly awesome. Cartwright penned 10 pure rock numbers and interspersed four covers, most of which are sufficiently obscure that only the geekiest Bomp! list member could, in a blindfold test, identify them. Even the sequencing is sublime, with just a few slower numbers to allow the listener to slow down his or her heart rate.

The album starts off with the furious R & B scorcher "We Repel Each Other", which is Motown bathed in hellfire, the happiness of the melody swallowed by the swarms of guitar as Cartwright is besieged and tormented by his cheating lover. Musically, things stay hot, and emotionally you have to do a 180 degree turn on the instant classic "Your Love Is a Fine Thing". Here, the stylized production hits its zenith – this is Treble City, all guitars, cymbals and backing vocals that come from another dimension.

Then it's time for a slower bluesy rant, "If You Can't Give Me Everything", with Cartwright doing his best Jagger (not so much in the way his voice sounds as the way he draws out syllables and keeps the words in his mouth just a bit too long at times) and the rest of the boys their best Stones. Then it's back to the rock party, as the band storms, like the motherfuckers they are, through Sam and Dave's "You Got Me Hummin'" Here is where my earlier Saints comparison is so apt, because like those Aussie legends, the band here manages to be 100 % rock yet they never lose the groove. You can bang your head, shake your ass, or do both, if you are so inclined.

Finally, the album shows off some low end. My first thought – man, can Greg Roberson lay down a beat. And I note that Cartwright blows some mean harp, and fires off a stinging guitar solo. "When You Touch Me" shows that even a mid-tempo song can rock – it bobs and weaves like a top flight featherweight prize fighter. Next, Cartwright bares his soul, acoustic guitar in hand, on the lament "Funny Thing": "love/is a funny thing/don't know it's real/'til it's caused you pain/until it's caused you pain." Amen, brother Gregory. This song feels good because it feels so bad.

But why stay down for long? Get your Cavern Club dancing shoes on, while the band breaks down on Hank Ballard's "Get It!" Here Roberson bashes, while Jeremy Scott works his bass so hard, you'd swear he had ten fingers on his left hand. Then it's more maximum rock and R & B on "I'll Cry". "Drowning" is a bass heavy mid-tempo cut that has one of those great bridges that you only get in Memphis (reminds me a bit of the melodic lift on William Bell's "Trying to Live My Life Without You").

If Reigning Sound can't pull off a song called "Uptight Tonight", then no one can. This sounds like the Sonics doing a lost Elvis Presley classic from the ‘50s. The band's sound almost verges on the funky cool of Afghan Whigs on the slinky yet sloppy "Excedrine Headache #265". It smolders and smokes.

The album ends with three more great rockers. "Let Yourself Go", is attributed to The Carpet Baggers, and I'm a garage fan, not a fanatic, so all I know is that they wrote one hell of a tune and it sounds great here. Then there's the Fleshtones-ish (if they were a bit more punk, maybe?) "So Easy" (props to Scott for his backing vocals). The album concludes with the most rock and roll number on the whole shebang, the cyclone of piano, guitars, bass and drums that is "Medication" – this is concentrated and compressed beyond belief, as if all of the players are all in a race to the finish line – three minutes of rock greatness compacted into 1:18.

I don't know what else to tell you. Reigning Sound live up to their name yet again. They play America's greatest form of music with intelligence and passion, commitment and spirit, sinning for your rock and roll salvation. Buy this. Now.

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The Delays
Faded Seaside Glamour

(Rough Trade)

roughtraderecords.com

Though it was not released in the summer, this album is pretty much a perfect summer album. The Delays are a tribute to the immortality of the great British pop sounds of the ‘60s. While they are not the best practitioners of the form (though that's not out of the question, someday), the pleasures offered here are manifest. This is aural meringue, where the style is the substance.

Most of the songs are pretty and fey, all the better for Greg Gilbert's ultra high voice to suspend itself in midair. A singer in the tradition of Russell Mael and Suede's Brett Anderson (and, for that matter, Jimmy Sommerville), you might, like me, spend your first listen wondering if this is for real.

It is. And the guy knows how to sing. On "Stay Where You Are", Gilbert shows off his considerable talents. The song is a departure from the more ‘60s inspired tunes on the disc. The track is initially keyed by Colin Fox's sharp bass line, and it ends up in the mold of Suede and Roxy Music, illustrated best by the nifty instrumental break. Here, Gilbert lets his falsetto out in the bridge to the chorus. What is remarkable is his control, so smooth it's the vocal equivalent of a championship surfer riding a 50 foot wave as if it were no challenge at all.

Gilbert uses his voice to great effect to express joy and happiness, even when the chips are down. When this guy sings a love song he sounds totally in love. This comes across in spades on "You Wear the Sun" which is a love letter-slash-lament for the perfect woman who is too good for him: "if I could/I would leave you alone." The song has multiple hooks, from the rhythm guitar part to the lilting melody in which Gilbert sings the title to the Aaron Gilbert's mid-song repeating piano line. This song is the essence of hurts so good.

While Gilbert is soulful on "Sun", he's appropriately angelic on "Nearer than Heaven", which is the most La's-like number on the disc. The song starts with a simple jangly lead guitar part, but then the melody cascades through the speakers. Fans of the band Astrid may dig this, as this song has some similarities. Here, the song is designed to let Gilbert's falsetto rule, and rule it does.

It's not just his vocals. The harmonies are fantastic too. They augment the finale "On", which actually has a spiritual U2 feel at the beginning -- maybe this is U2 meets the Housemartins during their a capella phase. On "Long Time Coming", The Delays lay down a pea soup beat (though it's not quite discotechque material) and handclaps on the driving "Long Time Coming". And "Hey Girl" is the type of British sunshine that has gone down a storm for The Hollies ("Carrie Anne"), XTC ("The Mayor Of Simpleton") and so many others.

As Don Meredith would say, this is dandy tasting. A smile inducing debut.

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