An Olympic future? A few locals are worth watching
August 1, 2012Title bout headlines wrestling event
August 7, 2012
When the stupor of summer’s dog days can’t be staved off by snowballs or swimming in body-temperature pools, you could do worse than shake things up with music that’s unexpectedly excellent. The familiar and the rituals are fine – sometimes we need a kick in the head, (or further down) though. These records will oblige.
When we think about things Australian, stock images of kangaroos, boomerangs and Foster’s Lager may come to mind, but stone-cold gritty Meters & Motown-inspired funk probably isn’t high on the list. Yet here are THE BAMBOOS to confound and astonish.
Formed in 2006, they are students of soul who’ve earned their Ph.D.s over the course of six albums and a score of singles. They began as a small combo concentrating on instrumentals but now are a 10-piece machine of unstoppable R&B.
Their latest, MEDICINE MAN, is a party record. The astute among you know that such an album can turn rote housecleaning or driving into a party opportunity. No less than seven guest vocalists appear here on its 11 tracks, and there’s not a dud or throwaway in the bunch – there’s only good, better and best.
In the first category are “I Never,” with fellow Aussie Daniel Merriweather riding a wave of chugging rhythm and staccato organ. His crooning falsetto is double-double-tracked to create interlocking calls and responses; “Midnight,” featuring Bobby Flynn’s flexible pleading vocals in a setting that gets close to Rickrolling; and “Eliza,” a driving Motor City girl group rave-up featuring the supple instrument of Megan Washington.
Better still are “What I Know,” where the gruff and tough Kylie Auldist takes the mic and hits the mark, while the boys in the band hit square on the one with funk ferocity and blasts of horn; the title cut, where Ella Thompson creates danger when addressing her lover who’s the cause of her confusion; and “Hello Stranger,” where Ms. Auldist and Thompson step back a bit from the mic to sing from above about a spacy newcomer, with sitars and a circular melody.
Taking top honors are the opener, “Where Does the Time Go?,” wherein the budding star Aloe Blacc gets inside a percolating groove, asks his melancholy question and hits it out of the park; “The Wilhelm Scream,” where Ms. Washington perversely near-whispers in a husky alto, buoyed by strings and horns over one of the slowest (and welcomed for its contrast) beats; “Cut Me Down,” one of the filthiest, low-down hunks of soul heard on any continent, featuring Auldist at her baddest; “I Got Burned,” Tim Rogers’ falsetto lament fronting on the slinkiest backing on the record; and the closer, “Window,” in which Auldist gets to showcase her soul diva bona fides in a Chi-lites-like dramatic narrative.
Yes, I quite like this record. If you do, too, then by all means delve into their other albums and those of Alice Russell, a frequent collaborator – especially her latest, Look Around the Corner, with Quantic, a grease-and-polish mix of soul and Latin.
For the adventurous with more than minimal patience, THE DIRTY PROJECTORS could be the cure for any jaded complacency that August might inflict. David Longstreth is the undisputed leader – writing, singing and playing dazzling guitar over all the songs. But the rhythm section and otherworldly harmonies of Amber Coffman and Haley Dekle are indispensable.
Their sixth record, SWING LO MAGELLAN, is actually their most “normal” album, which could surprise the newcomers. Quirks abound, mainly in the form of the occasional melodic cul-de-sac, skittish beats (sometimes two at once) and odd instrumentation. But believe me, newbies, it can get a whole lot weirder than this. Their last effort, Bitte Orca, was a fractured fairy tale of ugly beauty that was widely praised; it could leave one cold because of its frequent cerebral distance.
There is much to admire and even love here. Longstreth holed himself (and then his band) up in a cabin in the woods to create this, and its mid-fi homemade intimacy is the result. His voice is easy on the ears, earnest (unlike the detachment of so much indie pop) but not striving.
With the exception of “Maybe That Was It,” all the songs have actual hooks, gorgeous singing and discernible structure. My current favorites are “Offspring Are Blank,” “Impregnable Question,” and “Gun Has No Trigger,” but I can tell I’ll be shifting my attention with more listens. The lyrics are decipherable but tantalizingly dense. Their challenge is your reward, if you take the journey.
Last stop this month is THE LATEBIRDS, from that hotbed of Americana, Finland.
These Finns have obviously been studying Yankee alt.country – and at close range when it comes to Wilco, whom they toured with and sound quite a bit like.
Their third is their first U.S. release, LAST OF THE GOOD OL’ DAYS. It’s got four bonus cuts recorded at the late Levon Helm’s Woodstock barn.
This is extremely likable heartland (even if the land is in Eastern Europe) rock, and these guys play it with gusto. The vocals don’t betray the nation of origin, but they sound like Jeff Tweedy’s, sometimes too often.
If they can establish more of their own identity, they could make real inroads here in the States.
The familiar and the rituals are fine – sometimes we need a kick in the head, (or further down) though. These records will oblige.
The Bamboo’s Ella Thompson, Lance Ferguson and Kylie Auldist pose in this courtesy photo. The band’s latest release, “Medicine Man,” can turn “rote housecleaning or driving into a party opportunity,” writes reviewer Dave Norman.
“Medicine Man”
“Swing Lo Magellan”
“Last of the Good Ol’ Days”
