The Prodigal Son - Ry Cooder

Musicologist, composer and renowned guitarist Ry Cooder’s last album (2012’s Election Special) was an entire record of songs about current affairs. Primarily a swipe at the Republican Party and its supporters, the album covered the many things Cooder finds wrong with America and its political system, in a style not dissimilar to the folk and blues tunes of old that he has so readily drawn from in the past. In hindsight, Election Special may have been better saved for the next election cycle, when Cooder would have had a much deeper well of hypocrisy and horror to draw from. But many of the points he makes on that album and its predecessor, Pull Up Some Dust and Sit Down, hold up well enough to re-appear on his new record The Prodigal Son.

Cooder gets right to down to business with Gentrification. As a track heavily influenced by African guitar playing builds behind him, Cooder decries the spread of coffee shops and “Googlemen” buying up poor urban areas and forcing the inhabitants out of their homes. It’s delivered with a wry sense of humour, though the argument he’s making is honest. And one that has weighed on his mind for years, as evidenced by his 2005 album Chavez Ravine, which focused on a particularly brutal example of gentrification where a Latino neighbourhood in LA was bulldozed completely to make way for a baseball stadium.

You can’t revisit old blues and folk music as much as Cooder has over his long career, without including some religious songs in your repertoire. Christianity features heavily in The Prodigal Son, from the title of the album, through to the dark, dirge-like version of Blind Willie Johnson’s Nobody’s Fault But Mine. Whilst in his haunting original, Johnson’s fear of losing his soul to the devil and was palpable, Cooder expands on Johnson’s unease here. Soft, but menacing sounding strings and brass sit under Cooder’s plaintive, moaning vocals, like some distant terror, simply biding its time. A loan slide guitar interjects a minute or so into the track and reminds us that this is a blues song but it does little to ease the discomfort. A choir softly joins in with Cooder’s singing and I’m torn as to whether this chorus is trying to help him save his soul or if it is made up of the voices of the damned calling him to join them. The result is stark, thoroughly disquieting and as atmospheric as any of Cooder’s much celebrated soundtrack work.

Having memorably covered his How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times And Live in his early years, Cooder again revisits the catalogue of American folk singer Blind Alfred Reed. You Must Unload is presented here as a hymn against hypocrisy reinforced by Cooder’s simple yet powerful arrangement. Written in 1927, the song’s message rings true over 90 years later. Perhaps even more so. When Cooder, backed by a less sinister chorus this time, sings lines like “You money loving Christians who refuse to pay your share / You must unload”, it’s hard not to think of the myriad of televangelists and political figures in the present to whom these lyrics apply. 

Cooder again mixes religion with politics in Jesus and Woody. Here he imagines a conversation between Jesus and Woody Guthrie, with Christ seeking some solace in Guthrie’s “Oklahoma poetry”. It’s a tender tribute to Guthrie, whose political folk songs have had an obvious effect on Cooder’s own work but it also takes aim at the same targets as You Must Unload, with Jesus’ admission that he “like(s) sinners more than fascists”. 

For all the references to God and the Devil on this album, it’s left unclear as to whether this is an expression of Cooder’s own faith or if he’s simply using the religious imagery to make a political point. His inclusion of Budha in the lyrics to Nobody’s Fault But Mine, is perhaps a clue that Cooder’s personal beliefs are somewhat more complex and varied than the music lets on. 

Whilst Cooder’s legendary guitar skills are not at the forefront here, his work as a producer and arranger makes up for it. Whilst the production isn’t sparse exactly, Cooder has defiantly tailored the sound of this album to focus on the songs rather than the instruments playing them. With The Prodigal Song, Cooder’s contemporary take on American folk and blues pays loving tribute to its roots as well as taking a stern, critical look at where America is today and how much hasn’t changed.

The Prodigal Son is out May 11^th on Fantasy Records. You can listen to it here (via NPR) until then. 

Years - Sarah Shook & The Disarmers

There is a distinct weariness to Years, the new album by Sarah Shook and The Disarmers. Shook’s songs are full of angst and disappointment over failed relationships and the people on both sides of those relationships. But along with the anger there is a sense that every break up and argument catalogued here is, understandably, wearing her out. 

However, this album is anything but tiring to listen to. It may not be anything new to combine elements of country and rock, but Years has a sound that’s very much it’s own. It’s clear that Sarah Shook and the Disarmers take some inspiration from a diverse range of classic country music, though Shook’s delivery and lyrics are clearly not the overly polished stuff of Nashville past or present. Tracks like New Ways To Fail have a touch of the Bakersfield sound to them, whilst Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don’t  has a Rockabilly meets Honky Tonk feel. But despite having the hallmarks of some classic country sounds, the tone of the record is grittier, more rough around the edges than a lot of country music and really fun to listen to as a result. 

Shook’s lyrics also incorporate a twist on classic country tropes, and she happily plays around with gender roles and perspectives. Women rarely get to be the hard drinkers in country music but Shook is willing to take on that role, claiming that booze is “the only thing left that I got that I can / Make me feel the man I used to be” in The Bottle Never Let’s me Down. Also, the pleading, locked out drunk on Damned If I Do… is a familiar figure in country lore (think Hank Williams’ Move It On Over) but one that, again, has usually been played by a man. Obviously Shook doesn’t shy away from self criticism here. And it’s that honesty when it comes to her own faults that makes songs like Good as Gold, where she takes a soon to be ex-lover to task, seem even more cutting. 

Whilst it’s Shook’s songwriting that stands out most on the record, the Disarmers deserve some credit for the fantastic job they do backing her up. The intertwining lines of pedal steel player Phil Sullivan and guitarist Eric Peterson in particular provide some of the most memorable moments of the album and work perfectly with Shook’s melodies. It’s the cohesive sound of a band that’s been playing together for sometime and know just what they’re doing.

Years is above all, an honest album. It’d be easy to categorise these songs as well written works of fiction if it wasn’t so easy to hear the weariness in Shook’s voice. That’s not to say she’s not giving it her all in her performance here, she clearly is, but Sarah Shook means every damn word of this record and it shows. 

Years is out now on Bloodshot Records

Give A Glimpse Of What Yer Not - Dinosaur Jr

Dinosaur Jr are one of American indie rock’s most interesting stories. Loud, loose and noisey but with a strong sense of melody, not to mention some some of the best musicianship in the punk scene, they were one of the most beloved bands of the late 80’s underground. Along with many other groups of the era, they signed to a major label and had some commercial success during the early 1990’s when alternative rock was thrust into the mainstream. However by that point, the original band had crumbled due to clashing personalities. So for most of their major label period, the band consisted of guitarist/singer J Mascis and various session musicians, before Mascis finally retired the Dinosaur Jr name in 1997. The story of the band has been well covered and for an engaging and more detailed account of the early history of Dinosaur Jr, I can thoroughly recommend the band’s chapter in Michael Azzerad’s “Our Band Could Be Your Life”.

In the early part of this century, after both J Mascis and bassist Lou Barlow (also of Sebadoh and Folk Implosion) had embarked on decent solo careers and Azzerad’s book had generated some renewed interest in the band, the original line up of Dinosaur Jr reformed and have just released the 11th studio album with the band’s name on it.

Give a Glimpse of What Yer Not, is not an album that you could mistake for a record by any other band. Even down to the cover, toned with copious amounts of purple (Mascis colour of choice), this is clearly a Dinosaur Jr album. Even before the first note, you know what you’re in for. “Goin' Down” has all the hallmarks of a classic Dinosaur Jr song. Chugging power chords, a strong drum beat, Mascis' slack vocals and the beguiling guitar flourishes that he uses to punctuate his songs. As expected there is a powerful solo, delivered in Mascis’ signature style. In fact it’s so much of that style that it seems eerily familiar, perhaps plagiarised from one of the band’s earlier records?

“Tiny” again harks back to the band’s earlier work, this time taking on some of the smoother edges that the band adopted in the 90’s. With it’s catchy, memorable melody it’s easy to guess why this was chosen as the album’s lead single. Whilst “I Told Everyone” and “Good To Know” both serve to prove that Mascis hasn’t lost his ability to write fantastic guitar riffs, his best guitar solo in the first half of the album is reserved for the Lou Barlow penned “Love Is…”, one of Barlow’s two contributions to the album. Not surprisingly, it’s Barlow’s songs that depart the most from what would be considered “The Dinosaur Jr Sound” and feature instrumentation that, in a rare move, steps ever so slightly away from the guitar, bass, drums formula of most of the band’s other songs.

“I Walk For Miles” find’s the band exploring early Black Sabbath territory with a heavier sound than usual. It’s not an unwelcome change of pace and serves as a bit of a break because as soon as “Lost All Day” starts, we are back on familiar ground.

“Knocked Around” and “Mirror” don’t deviate much from what you would expect, though the first half of “Knocked Around” is far softer than the rest of the record. Mascis’ signature guitar tone is still present though, leading the listener to expect (correctly in this case) that soon the gloves will come off and the volume will go up.

The most surprising cut on the album is saved for last. Lou Barlow’s “Left/Right” is a bit more experimental than the rest of the album. There’s some synthesiser drones mixed in and whilst it’s not a total departure from what we’ve come to expect here, there is at least some room for movement.

Overall, I like this album. It fulfils what I want and expect from a Dinosaur Jr album in pretty much every way. But, inevitably perhaps, it’s not their best work. There is nothing here to truly surprise me. The lyrics that focus on social isolation and lost love are the same as they’ve ever been and each song on this album has a well worn, familiar feel to it. The album’s title, Give a Glimpse of What Yer Not, seems almost prophetic in that there really are only brief glimpses of the musically unexpected on this record.

If Dinosaur Jr were a younger band, this would be anathema. But as a band that have been going for over 30 years on and off, they’ve created a legacy and a signature sound. One that is often imitated but never equalled. It’s not that they’ve never deviated from the formula (check out the trumpet part on 1997’s “I’m Insane”) but after decades together and apart, they seem very much aware of where their strengths lie and they’re going to keep playing to them.

Three Reviews On The Sampler

Over the last couple of months, I've been writing and recording occasional reviews for Radio New Zealand's much loved music review show The Sampler.

The venerated Nick Bollinger, The Sampler's producer, writer and host, has very kindly made room for my reviews and has been incredibly helpful and patient in showing me how to write a decent review for the radio. It turns out that writing words to be spoken out loud is a rather different task than writing them to be read on the page.

Given free reign to pick the new releases I wanted to talk about, I picked the records that resonated with me most in the last few months.

The Driver-By Truckers' American Band, is the political album that 2016 seemed to need. Though it mainly deals with the social pain that America has suffered through over the last few years, it seemed eerily prescient in this of all years. You can hear my review here.

After 2 long years of waiting, the D.D Dumbo album came out this year. Initially I found it difficult to get to grips with, as I was rather attached to the live versions of tracks like "Walrus" (to hear those versions, I highly recommend this great video from NPR). But it grew on me and soon I was happily lost in the dense production and myriad sounds on Utopia Defeated. You can hear my review here. There is also a rather enlightening interview with D.D Dumbo himself by Kirsten Johnstone that is well worth your time.

Finally, I talked about Flock Of Dimes' If You See Me, Say Yes. I've long been a fan of Jenn Wasner's work with Wye Oak, as well as the early Flock Of Dimes singles. She's a brilliant songwriter and musician and this album was a great showcase for those skills as well as, for the first time, her talents as a producer. You can hear my review here.

Engine - American Music Club

American Music Club’s Engine is an album made of  small tragedies. From broken relationships to injured alcoholics, each song catalogues a dark moment in somebody’s life. Right from the very start there is a sense of foreboding. “Big Night”, is a cello and acoustic guitar dirge, that describes a battered but ultimately loving and functioning relationship. Despite the dark, minor key of the song and the opening line of “Big nights are black and blue”, there is a sense of hope in this story, unlike many of the other tracks on this record. 

Whilst Mark Eitzel’s poetically melancholy lyrics throughout Engine serve as the unifying feature of the album, the sound and structure of each song is different from one track to the next. From the rich cello drones of “Big Night” to the sparse guitar of “Mom’s TV” to the feedback squeal of “Art of Love” to the accordion on “This Year”, each song has a unique sound and energy to it. Despite the variance, the different styles and instrumentation work wonderfully with the lyrics and Eitzel’s voice, helping to keep, what at times can be a very dark album, from becoming overwhelming. Credit is also due here to producer Tom Mallon (who went on to work with Thin White Rope as well as engineering Chris Isaak's Wicked Game), for managing to craft the diverse sounds and styles of Engine into a fully cohesive album.

“Outside This Bar” is the album’s stand out song by quite a distance. An energetic (at least in relation to the rest of the album) anthem of angst and booze, the lyrics are an almost Bukowski-esque tale of drunken pain and confusion. With the line “Outside this bar how does anyone survive”, the narrator perfectly demonstrates his sense of entrapment and confusion at how anyone lives a lifestyle different to his own alcohol fuelled existence. The instrumentation and vocal delivery of this track also lends a feeling of anger to the song. It’s as if the desperation on display would lack the impact it has unless it was delivered with such force. The song also features the odd combination of a distorted sounding rhythm guitar and a clean lead guitar, cleverly reversing the classic sound combination that rock bands have used for decades.

“Clouds” traverses similar compositional territory to “Outside This Bar”, with layers of fuzzy guitar sitting below the barely contained contempt in Eitzel's vocals. The gentler “Nightwatchman” has an almost shoegaze feel to it with strummed acoustic chords beneath a chiming lead guitar. “Art of Love” on the other hand is a heavy, chugging monolith of a song that would not have sounded out of place on any number of records coming out of Seattle around the same time. 

The depth and melancholy on display here are a prime example of why American Music Club have the dubious honour of being called the progenitors of “Slowcore”, an overly simplistic term for a series of introspective american indie rock bands. Whilst it's plain to see what inspiration bands like Red House Painters and Idaho have taken from them, the music on Engine is too wide ranging to be held under a single sub-sub-genre. 

This was the San Francisco based band's second album, released in 1987. It marks a significant leap forward from their debut (1985’s The Restless Stranger) presenting them as a band with incredible musical and emotional depth. Whilst it may not be a go to party record, as a listening experience it is completely engrossing. Each song serves almost as a short story and the album as a collection of them.