It’s no secret that tribute albums and charity compilations can be hit-or-miss affairs at best. In the case of the latter, all you can really do is be happy that you’re supporting a good cause, and hope that the music is more hit than miss. Two important charity albums have recently appeared, and when I say important, I don’t just mean for the causes they’re helping, but also for the virtual who’s who of contemporary indie artists that has contributed tracks to them. If you could somehow assemble all of the buzz that these artists have collected, you could light the universe. In other words, to the naked eye, it’s a music blogger’s dream.
The Red Hot Organization has been using pop culture to fight the good fight against AIDS since 1989. They have released 14 albums together with related television shows and media events, and have raised $7 million to date. Their most recent project is called Dark Was the Night (4AD Records). It’s an enormous 30-song effort that has been curated by brothers Aaron and Bryce Dessner of the National. In addition to a track from the National, contributors include Bon Iver, The Decemberists, Arcade Fire, Sufjan Stevens, Grizzly Bear, Andrew Bird, Feist, and a host of others.
Let me say right up front that apparently Bon Iver can do no wrong. From Justin Vernon’s nearly perfect debut album, For Emma, Forever Ago, to his recently released Blood Bank EP, and now, this album’s best track “Brackett, WI,” there have been few, if any, missteps. Vernon is also involved here in an intriguing collaboration with Aaron Dessner called “Big Red Machine.”
Sufjan Stevens’ contribution, “You Are the Blood,” reminds me that it’s been too long since we’ve had new music from him. Antony and Bryce Dessner duet on a beautiful version of the traditional “I Was Young When I Left Home.” Yes, Feist is here, combining with Ben Gibbard of Death Cab For Cutie on “Train Song,” and with Grizzly Bear on “Service Bell.” (more…)
He’s 67 years old now. The still-full head of hair is graying. There are a few extra pounds around the midsection of the once lanky frame. His eyes reflect a sadness that most of us will never understand. Remarkably, especially given his tragic history, Brian Wilson is writing and producing some of the most vital music of his career these days. His most recent album, That Lucky Old Sun, is a nostalgic look back at the southern California of his childhood, a place defined by a mythos that no one was more responsible for creating than Wilson himself.
To call Brian Wilson a cult figure seems a little odd considering how many records he’s sold during his career, and yet to some extent, that’s what he is these days. Yes, there are Beach Boys fans, a surprising number of young people among them, who will come out to hear the hits, and Brian and his stellar band deliver those every night. These same people are likely to go to a show by the band, led by Mike Love and Bruce Johnston, that tours as the Beach Boys these days. But there are hardcore Brian Wilson fans who want nothing to do with Mike Love. They are there to hear Brian’s newest music, and not just one song, but the entire album, start to finish. Over the last few years, Brian has rewarded those fans with full takes on his masterpieces, Pet Sounds and SMiLE, and now, a performance of his latest opus, That Lucky Old Sun.
Until recently, the Wellmont Theatre in Montclair, NJ, was a down-at-the-heels old movie theater surrounded by a community that was rapidly gentrifying. New ownership entered the picture, and they have done a miraculous job of restoring the old place, which re-opened in October. Not only is the theater looking and sounding great, but get this, the staff is actually polite and seems grateful for your business. Imagine that if you can. The Wellmont is a perfect example of the fact that we don’t need to cover every inch of ground space with new buildings when wonderful older buildings are awaiting restoration. (more…)
It’s the curse of the debut album: the artist, unsure of who he/she is or what he/she ought to sound like strikes out in all directions — a power ballad here, a blues grinder there, a piano pop-tune way over yonder. The artist can be forgiven for their somewhat schizoid aim since the label has put all the weight of the company, as well as one’s own career path, down on their freshman shoulders. With that in mind, W. Axl Rose is the oldest freshman in the history of music, as his magnum opus Chinese Democracy has finally seen the light of day. The good news is that it isn’t the unmitigated failure we expected, yet it is far from the triumphant return from exodus his handlers would like you to believe.
It is the equivalent of time travel wrapped in aluminum, or vinyl if you so desire, as songs that gestated through the 15-year span in between it and the previous covers album The Spaghetti Incident? (1993) have not been updated to any semblance of modernity. Rose’s flirtation with industrial rock in the early nineties, plainly NIN-fluenced, are left intact and instantly dated as are the tracks that are NU-fluenced. Korn should be proud to hear the presence of down-tuning, hip-hop loop beats and scream chants on a GNR album, but even Linkin Park jumped that train and caught a taxi to emo-town. I suppose we dodged a Rose-colored, mascaraed bullet on that.
But there are a couple songs that I didn’t mind listening to. In fact, if “Better” came on the radio, I might not turn the dial. It has a semblance of the old attitude the band once had, and not too much of the stylistic shout-outs that bog down the rest of the album. “Shackler’s Revenge” survives a disheartening opening to reveal itself as one of the stronger tracks, and because I do have a soft spot for proggish bombast and consider “November Rain” my favorite GNR tune, “There Was A Time” survives the time trials. But where I finished Metallica’s Death Magnetic and thought, “I’ll still listen to Justice and the black album more, but I’ll revisit this occasionally too,” I can only bring myself to clicking off my favorites in Chinese Democracy’s jumble and dumping them into a hard-rock mixtape. The rest of the album is skip-fodder and, considering the majority of my music listening happens in my car, I’d rather play a different CD and keep my eyes on the road. (more…)
Christmas Eve, 1970. I was at the Fillmore East to see Laura Nyro. A month earlier, Nyro had released her fourth album, Christmas and the Beads of Sweat, and it had taken up more or less permanent residence on my turntable, alongside all of her previous albums. There I was, about to see the artist whose music spoke to me more profoundly on a personal level than any other, and by my side was the woman for whom I’d been nurturing a deep crush for several years. In other words, it couldn’t have been a more perfect evening. Did I mention that it was Christmas Eve in New York City? If you’ve been there, you know the silent magic that the holy night brings to the great city.
All was right in my world, but that was certainly not true of the world as a whole. Nixon was in the White House; Vietnam was raging on. Bobby Kennedy and Dr. King were recently dead. A few lines from the album’s most powerful statement, “Christmas In My Soul,” pretty much summed up the condition of the world in those days:
“Black Panther brothers bound in jail
Chicago Seven and the justice scale
Homeless Indian on Manhattan Isle
All God’s sons have gone to trial
And all God’s love is out of style
On Christmas.”
“Genius is the ability to make something very complex seem very simple.”
There goes my lead. Brian Wilson speaks to The Guardian, and all of a sudden my starting point is gone. I was going to begin my review of That Lucky Old Sun by saying that it isn’t a work of genius, but rather a very accomplished songwriter, producer, and arranger. I based that statement on the fact that the album is a group of well-written pop songs, beautifully arranged and produced in a fairly straightforward manner.
The problem is, by Wilson’s definition, That Lucky Old Sun is genius. I am reminded once again that only the greats manage to make it look easy.
This album is easily Wilson’s best solo work apart from Brian Wilson Presents SMiLE, and is certainly more accessible than that historic album. Most importantly, That Lucky Old Sun continues Brian’s unlikely but determined comeback as he continues to battle the lingering effects of drug abuse and mental illness. His singing, and speaking (more about that later), are more assured and self-confident than they have been since the glory days of the Beach Boys, and he has surrounded himself with a band that loves his music, and has the talent to prove it. I’ve seen numerous Brian Wilson shows over the last few years, and I have never failed to be impressed by the band’s ability to turn the respect that they have for the composer into musical bliss for the audience.
That Lucky Old Sun also marks Wilson’s return to the scene of some of his greatest triumphs, as well as some of his most profound tragedies, Capitol Records. It was recorded at Capitol’s Hollywood studios, where he first recorded in 1962.
The album itself is a series of songs, co-written with multi-instrumentalist and band member Scott Bennett, created in tribute to Wilson’s hometown of Los Angeles. The songs are linked together by four short narratives, written by longtime Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks and spoken by Wilson. According to Wilson, he found himself singing the 1949 classic song “That Lucky Old Sun” last summer. He went out and purchased the Louis Armstrong version, and that became the seed for the work that had its world premiere at Royal Festival Hall in London last September. (more…)
It’s no secret that tribute albums and charity compilations can be hit-or-miss affairs at best. In the case of the latter, all you can really do is be happy that you’re supporting a good cause, and hope that the music is more hit than miss. Two important charity albums have recently appeared, and when I say important, I don’t just mean for the causes they’re helping, but also for the virtual who’s who of contemporary indie artists that has contributed tracks to them. If you could somehow assemble all of the buzz that these artists have collected, you could light the universe. In other words, to the naked eye, it’s a music blogger’s dream.
He’s 67 years old now. The still-full head of hair is graying. There are a few extra pounds around the midsection of the once lanky frame. His eyes reflect a sadness that most of us will never understand. Remarkably, especially given his tragic history, Brian Wilson is writing and producing some of the most vital music of his career these days. His most recent album, 
It’s the curse of the debut album: the artist, unsure of who he/she is or what he/she ought to sound like strikes out in all directions — a power ballad here, a blues grinder there, a piano pop-tune way over yonder. The artist can be forgiven for their somewhat schizoid aim since the label has put all the weight of the company, as well as one’s own career path, down on their freshman shoulders. With that in mind, W. Axl Rose is the oldest freshman in the history of music, as his magnum opus Chinese Democracy has finally seen the light of day. The good news is that it isn’t the unmitigated failure we expected, yet it is far from the triumphant return from exodus his handlers would like you to believe.
Brian Wilson – That Lucky Old Sun