The new benefit album from Neil Finn’s 7 Worlds Collide collective, The Sun Came Out, doesn’t aspire to the sorts of Grand Gestures that mark so many multi-artist charity compilations. Instead, its charms are subdued and homespun, and its songs (such as “Learn to Crawl”) are intoxicating in their low-key tunefulness. Those same qualities, along with an enormous generosity of spirit, are the ones that have sustained Finn through three decades as a recording artist — perhaps the most underrated artist of his era, as wearepronetosuggestfrequently here at Popdose.
The album comes by those characteristics naturally. Finn and his family opened their home (and his home studio) in New Zealand for three weeks last Christmastime to most of the crew from the previous 7 Worlds incarnation — Johnny Marr, Ed O’Brien and Phil Selway from Radiohead, Sebastian Steinberg, Lisa Germano — as well as newbies including Wilco, KT Tunstall, and down-under singer-songwriters Don McGlashan, Bic Runga, and Glenn Richards. The sessions were, by all accounts, full of frivolity, on-the-spot collaboration, and various forms (this being the holiday season) of good cheer; they also marked a musical reunion for various Finn family members including brother Tim, sons Liam and Elroy, and — singing on record for the first time — Neil’s wife Sharon.
In addition to preparing and publicizing The Sun Came Out (which emerges tomorrow in the U.S.), Finn has been readying a new Crowded House album for release this winter and has recently found time to play a few gigs (with and without his 7 Worlds compatriots) in London and Los Angeles. His interview with Popdose, patched in from New Zealand through his U.S. publicist’s office (thus saving your intrepid interviewer a whopping phone bill), found him answering queries about the minutiae of long-past Crowded House gigs as well as reader questions ranging from the profound to the ridiculous. (Sadly, dear reader who calls himself “maxus,” he had no answer whatsoever for the question, “Imagine if writing songs in flat keys suddenly became a major felony. How would you imagine a day in Neil Finn’s Violent Life of Crime, circa September 2010?”) Here’s a live clip from the first 7 Worlds Collide project:(more…)
Reader questions are becoming almost de rigueur for our higher-profile Popdose Interviews, so we thought some of you might like to be part of our upcoming conversation with one of our very favorite artists, Neil Finn. Submit your questions here before midnight on Monday, and we’ll fit in as many as he can (or is willing to) answer. Feel free to touch on the Split Enz years, the Crowded House era, his solo work, or his many collaborations with Tim, Liam and the whole Finn brood — including the new 7 Worlds Collide album, The Sun Came Out, which itself dawns on September 29 and benefits Oxfam.
The coolest thing about 7 Worlds Collide’s The Sun Came Out is also its biggest flaw: Namely, that “group” founder Neil Finn brought the whole damn thing together — all two discs and 24 tracks’ worth — in a scant three weeks.
7 Worlds Collide, as the Finn fanatics among you will remember, was the name Finn gave the stupidly awesome live album he released in 2002 — a name derived from the fact that he was joined for its performances by his brother Tim, erstwhile Smith Johnny Marr, Lisa Germano, Radiohead’s Phil Selway and Ed O’Brien, and Eddie Vedder. (And yet it wasn’t a huge hit. Go figure.) Seven years and one Crowded House reunion later, Finn has decided to revive the 7 Worlds banner for something even cooler than a star-studded live compilation: A star-studded charity compilation, assembled to support Oxfam.
For the occasion, Finn re-enlisted his old friends Johnny Marr, Phil Selway, Ed O’Brien, and Lisa Germano, as well as a multitude of Finns (including Tim, Sharon, Elroy, and his son Liam) — and then went further, recruiting Jeff Tweedy, K.T. Tunstall, Bic Runga, Glenn Richards, John Stirratt, Pat Sansone, Don McGlashan, and Sebastian Steinberg to take their own turns in front of the microphone. This sprawling collective (which was actually even bigger — I only named the vocalists) holed up Auckland for a few weeks and emerged with The Sun Came Out. (more…)
Let’s get the hyperbole out of the way early, shall we? This, for my money, is the best album Crowded House never made. And it pisses me off to think that I very easily could never have heard it.
The early aughts were dark, dark times for fans of what is now called classic pop. Radio was a wasteland, and online social networking was in the zygote stages – chat rooms, eeeek! – so it was quite difficult for most bands to find their audience, and vice versa. I subscribed to CMJ Monthly for the CD of the month and the dozens of reviews, and when I needed a power pop fix, I went over to NotLame, Bruce Brodeen’s utopia for all things Beatle-y. It was there that I found a three-year-old album by an Australian trio that did a wicked impression of a certain New Zealand trio. I could only hear the songs in 30-second samples, but they did the trick. I plunked down the coin for Sweeter Than the Radio (1999), and suddenly felt like I had been let in on the best-kept secret in the world. That’s what every band wants, right? To be the best-kept secret in the world? What? They all want to sell millions of records? Ugh. Fucking musicians. It’s all about them, isn’t it?
All kidding aside, Charles Jenkins, the singer and primary songwriter for Icecream Hands, wrote one hell of a batch of songs for this album, with bassist Douglas Robertson contributing a few key tracks as well. Of all the tributes to Crowded House that grace Sweeter Than the Radio, though, there is none more Finn than “Dodgy,” a bouncy slice of guitar pop with a fittingly neurotic lyric to counter the joy (”Feels like it wouldn’t be right if it were wonderful” is the opening line to the verses). Even the guitar solo sounds like it was ripped straight from Crowded House’s first album. “Rise, Fall and Roll” plays like a reworking of the “new” Beatles song “Free as a Bird,” while Robertson’s “Yellow and Blue” borrows a riff from the Squeeze catalog. Here is a side-by-side comparison of the riff in question, for the curious. (more…)
Jonatha Brooke is one of those artists whose name always sounds familiar – if only because, really, how many people named “Jonatha” do you know? – but whose music you may not be familiar with…though, frankly, you really should be. She’s a talented singer-songwriter who first got her career rolling in the early ’90s as a member of a duo called The Story, with collaborator Jennifer Kimball, but Brooke soon stood on her own two feet and has trotted out album after album … some on major labels, some on indies … to critical acclaim and a decidedly diehard following. Popdose had the opportunity to speak with Brooke, and we took full advantage of it, asking her about as much of her back catalog as time allowed, quizzing her about how she recently came to collaborate with the late Woody Guthrie (and whether she could even concentrate with the awareness of what Billy Bragg and Wilco had already done with the man’s lyrics), and wondering where she stands on the state of the music industry today.
Late. I was late getting to the damn airport. If I hadn’t stopped by the library to renew that Le Carre book, I would have been on the road already. During the long drive on the constricted freeways, I spun the music of Neil Finn. It was the spring of 2007; Finn’s solo works and the music of his underappreciated band, Crowded House, had been providing me the soundtrack through a terrible three-month depression. I had experienced dark clouds over my head many times in my life, but nothing like this. I could not shake my sadness. Each morning, I awoke on the verge of tears. Not a day went by when I didn’t feel like Holly Hunter in Broadcast News, having to find a secluded spot at work just to cry for a few minutes.
I wanted it to end, yet I couldn’t figure out how to make it end. I had my music, yes, but the melancholy melodies of Neil Finn and company only seemed to open the floodgates. One particular song accompanied my spiral downward and was there when I felt the weight of the world begin to ease, when I could feel myself beginning to heal. That song was “Last to Know,” from Finn’s second solo album, One All (or One Nil, if you bought the original release). It’s just about one of the most beautiful tracks you’ll ever hear. It seemed to capture the exact way I was feeling. The way the music shuffled around was like the way I got through my days. I wasn’t so much alive, but just shuffling about. And when Finn cries out during the bridge, that was my like my aching soul trying to break free.
But it was Finn’s composition, through repeated listens, and a surprise visit by my closest friend, Steve, that helped ease my pain and lift me from that dreary haze.
I had not seen him in several years; the last time was during a Christmas trip to Ohio. His unexpected visit came on the heels of a conference he was attending up north. He opted to fly down to Los Angeles on a Friday night and stay the weekend with our family. We were to take in a Dodgers game the night he arrived, and a large gap in time existed between when his plane landed and the first pitch. We’d have some time to kill before fighting traffic through the heart of the city. Of course, I was running late. In the stop-and-go surges of rush hour, I cranked the volume on Neil Finn. I wanted whatever sorrow lingering inside me to push itself out. Luckily, Steve’s plane was later than I was, and I parked the car a mere few minutes before my lanky pal walked into baggage claim. Man, he was a sight for sore eyes. There are people in my life that, when we get together, we don’t miss a beat. It’s like we saw each other yesterday, and when they leave, it never feels like a true goodbye. It feels like I’ll see them tomorrow or the next day. That’s how it’s always been with Steve. (more…)
2007 was a pretty good year for music, all in all. Maybe not great for the actual industry of selling music, and maybe not fantastic on the Top 40 charts (unless you intended on hiding beneath an umbrella-ella-ella or Supermanning that ho), but few years in recent memory have kept me truly engaged in looking for what was coming out next. Iron And Wine put out a great, hi-fi stunner in The Shepherd’s Dog, The New Pornographers broadened their stylistic pallet with Challengers, Radiohead roared back with In Rainbows. Why Crowded House’s Time On Earth isn’t similarly heralded, I’ll never know.
Coming through Dave Matthews’ ATO imprint, the band is as intact as one could honestly expect. Paul Hester’s death prompted, in part, the band’s original dissolution, and Tim Finn wasn’t exactly a full fledged member, although the Split Enz pseudo-reunion was rather cool. With Neil Finn and Nick Seymour back on board, this is a more complete reunion than, say, The Zwaning Pumpkins. Regardless of staffing, had this been a Neil Finn solo effort, I would still call it painfully overlooked, as there were few pop/rock albums from last year as catchy and accomplished as Time On Earth. (more…)
The new benefit album from Neil Finn’s 7 Worlds Collide collective, The Sun Came Out, doesn’t aspire to the sorts of Grand Gestures that mark so many multi-artist charity compilations. Instead, its charms are subdued and homespun, and its songs (such as “Learn to Crawl”) are intoxicating in their low-key tunefulness. Those same qualities, along with an enormous generosity of spirit, are the ones that have sustained Finn through three decades as a recording artist — perhaps the most underrated artist of his era, as we are prone to suggest frequently here at Popdose.
Reader questions are becoming almost de rigueur for our higher-profile Popdose Interviews, so we thought some of you might like to be part of our upcoming conversation with one of our very favorite artists, Neil Finn. Submit your questions here before midnight on Monday, and we’ll fit in as many as he can (or is willing to) answer. Feel free to touch on the Split Enz years, the Crowded House era, his solo work, or his many collaborations with Tim, Liam and the whole Finn brood — including the new 7 Worlds Collide album, ![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=e93b2baf-9e35-401d-8f4d-88ed55a0c529)
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The early aughts were dark, dark times for fans of what is now called classic pop. Radio was a wasteland, and online social networking was in the zygote stages – chat rooms, eeeek! – so it was quite difficult for most bands to find their audience, and vice versa. I subscribed to CMJ Monthly for the CD of the month and the dozens of reviews, and when I needed a power pop fix, I went over to NotLame, Bruce Brodeen’s utopia for all things Beatle-y. It was there that I found a three-year-old album by an Australian trio that did a wicked impression of a certain New Zealand trio. I could only hear the songs in 30-second samples, but they did the trick. I plunked down the coin for 
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Late. I was late getting to the damn airport. If I hadn’t stopped by the library to renew that Le Carre book, I would have been on the road already. During the long drive on the constricted freeways, I spun the music of Neil Finn. It was the spring of 2007; Finn’s solo works and the music of his underappreciated band, Crowded House, had been providing me the soundtrack through a terrible three-month depression. I had experienced dark clouds over my head many times in my life, but nothing like this. I could not shake my sadness. Each morning, I awoke on the verge of tears. Not a day went by when I didn’t feel like Holly Hunter in Broadcast News, having to find a secluded spot at work just to cry for a few minutes.
