Author: Jeff Giles (Page 11 of 41)

Various Artists: Crazy Heart: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack


RIYL: Stephen Bruton, Ryan Bingham, T Bone Burnett

At the turn of the century – just about the time the record industry was experiencing its Wile E. Coyote moment before plunging into its recent sales abyss – Jeff Bridges decided to start a label, Ramp Records, and release a Michael McDonald album alongside Bridges’ own solo debut, Be Here Now. Neither release received much attention at the time, but as vanity-plate recording projects from actors tend to go, Bridges’ wasn’t bad; he had a rumpled, Dude-like charm as a vocalist, and although his songwriting tended toward the ponderous (“Buddha & Christ at Large,” anyone?), the songs communicated the same calculatedly offhand attention to craft as his acting. Point is, Bridges’ critically acclaimed turn as the booze-soaked songwriter at the center of “Crazy Heart” isn’t wholly revelatory – and Be Here Now might have stood a better chance at being a hit if he’d surrounded his songs with stellar, downbeat performances from artists like Buck Owens, Sam Phillips, and the Louvett Brothers.

And okay, so Bridges didn’t have much of a hand in writing “Crazy Heart’s” original songs, but he does steal the spotlight on the soundtrack – no mean feat when you’re sharing the stage with the aforementioned artists, as well as young Americana lion Ryan Bingham, who’s already won a Golden Globe for one of his contributions, “The Weary Kind.” There really aren’t any bad songs here, but it’s Bridges’ performances that’ll draw you in the most – when he sings “funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’ for a little while,” sounding for all the world like a more tuneful John Hiatt, you’ll flash back to every heartbreak you’ve ever suffered and every shitty bar you’ve ever been sorry you sat down in. If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll want to own this, without question – but even if you haven’t, it’s the best cross-industry soundtrack we’ve seen since John Mellencamp starred in Falling from Grace in 1992. Pour yourself a strong one, sprinkle some sawdust on the floor, and get carried away. (New West 2010)

Crazy Heart MySpace page

The Villains: The Villains


RIYL: The Eagles, Poco, One Flew South

Don’t let their name fool you – pinup on the album cover notwithstanding, there’s very little that’s even slightly villainous about this six-piece Atlanta outfit. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you, especially for fans of the country-tinged Laurel Canyon rock of the ‘60s and ‘70s; in fact, at times, this eight-song self-titled effort suggests what might have happened if strands of DNA from members of Poco and the Eagles were stolen by a mad scientist 30 years ago and used to create a new band. The Villains’ strongest material boasts all the tight harmonies, spotless guitars, and sunny hooks you could hope for, and the album’s weak spots – like the shudder-inducing, Jimmy Buffett-esque “Where We Began” – are pleasantly few and far between. In a perfect world, an album with only eight tracks would kick ass top to bottom, but for Eagles fans weary of 25-year waits between albums – or country fans stuck between Willie Nelson and Rascal Flatts – The Villains will hit the spot quite nicely. Crank up “Let’s Forget About It Tonight,” pour yourself a cold beer, and be glad rock & roll is still alive. (DCM Records 2010)

The Villains MySpace page

Corinne Bailey Rae: The Sea


RIYL: India.Arie, Des’ree, Roberta Flack

Corinne Bailey Rae’s self-titled debut was a Starbucks hit, selling nearly two million copies on the strength of the immediate chord it struck with fans of vaguely jazzy, vaguely folky pop singers like Norah Jones. It also took its share of lumps for being yet another in the chain of politely soulful albums that have flooded the marketplace over the last five years or so; though it showed flashes of real talent, VH1-ready singles like “Put Your Records On” put Rae across as pleasant at best.

Well, whatever else you might be able to say about it, Rae’s sophomore effort, The Sea, isn’t pleasant – like the body of water it’s named after, this is a collection of songs that might sometimes seem placid on the surface, but which boast unfathomable, often stormy depths. It’s an album steeped in grief, shadowed by death, and wrapped in yards of delicate, folk-and-jazz-tinged arrangements. Even on the album’s more up-tempo tracks, such as “Paper Dolls,” there’s an overwhelming sense of something – probably Rae – about to break. Even if you just play The Sea in the background, you’ll catch hints of its disquieting vibe.

Corinne_Bailey_Rae_01

All for good reason, of course – as you may recall, Rae’s husband died unexpectedly in 2008, and many of these songs find her coping – seemingly quite directly – with her loss. It’s always a mistake to treat albums like these as the artists’ personal diaries, but when the first track is titled “Are You Here” and features lines like “Are you here? Because my heart recalls that it all feels the same”…well, you get the idea.

So yes, The Sea is a rather dark and stormy record, but it’s never maudlin; partly on account of Rae’s vocals, which are lighter than air at their heaviest, the music’s grief never threatens to overwhelm the songs. That being said, a little overwhelming might not be such a bad thing – Rae’s aesthetic is one of slight shifts and slighter melodies, and if you’ve previously dismissed her work, it’s hard to hear much here that’ll change your mind. Perhaps more importantly, if you loved Corinne Bailey Rae, this album’s darker tone might be off-putting. Rae deserves applause for pouring so much of herself into these songs; still, even after you’ve plumbed its depths, it’s hard not to wish The Sea’s surfaces weren’t so calm. (Capitol Records 2010)

Corinne Bailey Rae MySpace page

Findlay Brown: Love Will Find You


RIYL: David Mead, Roy Orbison, Paul Carrack

With his debut, 2007’s Separated by the Sea, U.K. singer/songwriter Findlay Brown penned a love letter to ‘70s MOR pop with a modern sheen, delighting fans of artists like Ron Sexsmith and Josh Rouse. Those fans might be a little perplexed by Brown’s sophomore effort: Recorded after an auto accident left him with nothing to do but spin old records while recuperating from his injuries, Love Will Find You is a conscious step back – back about a decade, to be specific, toward the Sun Records school of reverb-laden lonely hearts fronting angelic choirs with lead vocals to match. To modern ears, Brown will come across here like a sock hop-headlining version of David Mead; older listeners, meanwhile, will hear more than a hint of Roy Orbison in Love’s tremulous refrains. And as far as pastiches go, this is pretty smart stuff – thanks in part to producer Bernard Butler’s way with a tinny AM string section and perfectly cavernous reverb, Brown comes across as legitimately steeped in the music of the era, rather than just another cheeky coattail-rider. Nonetheless, it’s still a pastiche, and no matter how smoothly Brown and Butler have honed it, Love floats away like the scent of your grandfather’s Old Spice once it’s done. At best, it’ll make you want to get a hold of a list of the albums that inspired Brown; at worst, it’ll keep you suspiciously tugging at its seams, looking for the real Findlay Brown behind the pompadoured façade. It’s to Brown’s credit that Love Will Find You never unravels, but it’s hard not to wish he’d brought a little more inspiration along with his sterling sense of songcraft. (Verve Forecast 2010)

Findlay Brown MySpace page

Eels: End Times


RIYL: Grant Lee Buffalo, Parthenon Huxley, Jonathan Rundman

Here’s a record that lives up to its title. Eels frontman Mark “E” Everett has never exactly sounded peppy, but on the band’s eighth album, End Times, he sounds like a hollowed-out husk, strumming his guitar while he patiently waits for the sweet relief of the apocalypse. And despite Everett’s well-earned rep as a fairly dour dude, he came by this set’s crappy mood the hard way – yes, friends, End Times is the latest addition to the time-honored rock & roll tradition of the divorce album. Where some divorce albums sound angry or sarcastic, E copes with his pain pretty much the way you’d guess – namely, by opening his miserable veins all over these 14 songs. The story starts, appropriately enough, with “The Beginning,” a wistful look back at what almost was; 11 tracks later, E’s curled into the fetal position, telling us “I Need a Mother.” Alternating between haunting ballads and howling psychobilly stomps, all topped off by Everett’s not-quite-tuneful vocals, Times is relatively harrowing stuff; the closest the album comes to a single is the vaguely jaunty “Mansions of Los Feliz.”

EELS New Photo

Musically, End Times might be the Eels’ sparest collection; according to the band’s press release, it was largely self-recorded, on an old four-track in Everett’s basement, and it shows. Though some arrangements tend toward the fleshed-out (“A Line in the Dirt” even includes a little brass), the overall effect is that of a solo confessional. This is wholly appropriate, given the material, but it also means that, even in the context of the Eels’ other albums, End Times is the kind of thing you really have to be in the mood to hear. Hear it one way, and it’s just morose noodling; hear it another way, and it’ll slay you. Not quite as good as Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, in other words – but depending on your taste for heartbreak, it still might end up being your favorite Eels album. (Vagrant 2010)

Eels MySpace page

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