Category: Folk (Page 8 of 23)

Jay Farrar & Benjamin Gibbard: One Fast Move or I’m Gone: Kerouac’s Big Sur


RIYL: Neil Young, Greg Laswell, Hem

It’s fitting that this modest film based on the life of one of America’s most iconic authors would garner a soundtrack composed and performed by two of today’s most compelling alternative musicians, Jay Farrar and Benjamin Gibbard. Jack Kerouac, of course, helped define the underground subculture of the late ‘50s and early ‘60s with his novel “On the Road,” influencing a generation of displaced and rebellious individuals who dared defy the norms of a placid society. While they may not be quite so influential, Farrar and Gibbard’s efforts with Son Volt and Death Cab for Cutie, respectively, have nevertheless had a lingering impact on other artists who have ventured away from the tried and true and immersed themselves in similarly adventurous realms.

Arousing both literary and musical interests, One Fast Move or I’m Gone: Kerouac’s Big Sur documents its subject’s subsequent retreat from a culture he helped create, a period when he hid himself away at poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s cabin in Big Sur in an attempt to cope with his doubts and depression. Using Kerouac’s own words, interspersed with commentary from surviving contemporaries and such avowed devotees as Patti Smith, Tom Waits and Robert Hunter, the film explores his shattered psyche and sad circumstance that led to the author’s eventual downward spiral.

In that context, Farrar and Gibbard weave a lilting musical tapestry, one that emphasizes low-lit harmonies, a predominance of acoustic guitars, gentle melodies and a sweep of pedal steel. The 12 songs create a weary ambiance that fits the film’s somber pastiche; fitting midway between the somber sensitivities that characterize Farrar’s usual demeanor and the more effusive sounds that characterize Gibbard’s Death Cab duties, songs such as “California Zephyr,” “Low Life Kingdom” and “These Roads Don’t Move” give the soundtrack an amiable sway and an unobtrusive appeal. Kerouac may furnish the narrative, but Farrar and Gibbard help manipulate the mood while providing the score with its easy appeal.

After one look and a single listen, Gone is not easily forgotten.

One Fast Move webpage

Radney Foster and the Confessions: Revival


RIYL: Steve Earle, Rodney Crowell, Ryan Adams

No doubt about it – Revival is quite an apt title for this latest effort from Texas-bred singer/songwriter Radney Foster. Formerly half of the country pop duo Foster and Lloyd, he’s come a long way towards establishing an Americana brand since initially venturing out on his own in the early ’90s. That said, Revival finds him significantly raising the bar and setting a new standard as far as his own output is concerned. An uplifting, soul-defining statement of unadulterated affirmation, both the messages and melodies linger long after the final notes fade away. The songs soar like expansive anthems, and on tracks such as “A Little Revival,” “Forgiveness” and “Shed a Little Light” those stirring sentiments evoke a spiritual ferocity and unbounded optimism in a manner that’s genuinely affecting. “I Made Peace with God” and “Suitcase” are especially revealing, each a testament to a new-found faith that Foster invokes without hesitation.

Still, it would be misleading to dismiss him solely as a would-be Bible thumper; the rowdy and rollicking “Until It’s Gone” and the carefree abandon of “Trouble Tonight” show Foster still solidly ensconced in secular realms. Newcomers ought to consider this an excellent place to begin, while Foster fans will find this his most indelible effort yet. Clearly, this Revival rates a solid hallelujah and an unqualified amen. (Devil’s River Records 2009)

Radney Foster MySpace page

The Echo Falls: The Echo Falls

The Echo Falls is a lesson in simplicity – the debut album from this San Francisco based trio features three guys (including front man and songwriter Alex Mandel) who will remind you of both ‘70s pop (think Loggins & Messina or Seals & Crofts) and current lo-fi hipsters (think Death Cab for Cutie). Delivering songs using only an acoustic guitar, upright bass and sparse drums and percussion will do that, but the tracks themselves have an endearing vibe that is a refreshing counterpoint to what passes for adult album alternative these days. Mandel waffles between tenor and falsetto and does it with ease, and the songs range from the triumphant kickoff “Road to Parnassus” to the (you have to hear this to believe it) They Might Be Giants-meets-Suzanne Vega quirky vibe of “Watchtower.” There’s other elements at work here too; breezy college rock (“Every Second Thought” and “You Have it All”) and ‘70s folk (“Fall Asleep in the Sand”). But the best track of all is “Love Over Time,” which could be the best guitar song Ben Folds never wrote. There’s enough to please many folks on this debut – it’s not like you can vary things a whole lot with sparse production, but the Echo Falls do a pretty decent job of it. (The Echo Falls 2009)

The Echo Falls MySpace Page

Without a Face: Worst Debut Album Ever


RIYL: Avett Brothers, Daniel Johnston, They Might Be Giants

When you’re setting yourself up for failure by dubbing your first effort the Worst Debut Album Ever, suffice it to say you’re putting the bar so low that any redeeming quality whatsoever makes it seem as if you’ve succeeded. Then again, considering Henry Dillard’s self-deprecating sense of humor, any pronouncement to that effect is relative anyway. On the surface of it, Without a Face, Dillard’s nom de plume, purveys a slacker mentality, all strumming guitars, unruly ranting and a decidedly irreverent and irrepressible attitude. However, there’s something to be said for the entertainment derived from raucous revelations about substance abuse (“Druggie Love”), obsession with an older woman (“31”) and an ode to the dangers of dairy products (“Lactose Intolerance”). And with a goofy hillbilly phone chat (“Worst Intermission Ever”) tossed in for good measure, it seems that Dillard’s guile resides in his ability to play the fool and make the lowest common denominator appear a form of high art. Okay, so Worst Debut Album Ever may not aspire to be anything more than what its name implies, but its unabashed honesty conveys a charm all its own. (Redbird Records)

Without a Face MySpace page

Devendra Banhart: What Will We Be


RIYL: Donovan, Marc Bolan, Veviter

Toiling within the ranks of the indie underground, Devendra Banhart has managed to elevate himself into the highest ranks of the so-called “freak folk” hierarchy. His last album, Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, made a pitch to expand that tag, with Banhart attempting to meld his obtuse approach with the idyllic imagery of the L.A. environs that spawned such ‘60s lynchpins as Neil Young, CSN, the Mamas and the Papas, Joni Mitchell, and various others that made music in those hallowed hills. Likewise, his recruitment by the majors – in this case, Warner Bros. records, home to many of those aforementioned icons – seemed to indicate a concerted effort to break through the barriers.

Indeed, while Banhart’s new label affiliation might seem a concession to commercialism, in truth, the results are every bit as eclectic…and, for that matter, every bit as eccentric…as his earlier efforts. The songs are sung in both English and Spanish, and rather than the clear, coherent melodies identified with the so-called Southern California elite, Banhart still shifts his set-ups – often radically and in the space of a single song. Consequently, “Rats” has a somewhat foreboding start before segueing abruptly into a state of kinetic jubilation. The jazzy inference of “Chin Chin & Muck Muck” morphs several times before the song hits its stride. Likewise, “Angelika” might have succeeded as a soothing serenade had it not accelerated midway through into a sizzling Latin samba.

Still, for all his abrupt turns, Banhart retains a decidedly old school stance. His melodies may seem somewhat amorphous, but his quivering vocals and loping tempos frequently recall the pixie-like warble of Donovan and Marc Bolan. A couple of tracks might bode well for future sing-alongs, specifically “16 & Valencia Roxy Music” and the gentle Spanish serenade called “Brindo.” As an album that’s magnified by ambition and grand designs, What Will We Be may well be his best yet. (Warner Bros. 2009)

Devendra Banhart MySpace page
Click to buy What Will We Be from Amazon

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