RIYL: Concrete Blonde, PJ Harvey, the Dead Weather
Jonneine Zapata is a femme fatale out of LA’s famed Silverlake district, but she’s taking a much darker road than recent peers like Jenny Lewis or the Watson Twins. Zapata’s sound is much more reminiscent of LA’s early ’90s alt-rock breakout band Concrete Blonde. Zapata often sounds like she could be a sibling of Concrete Blonde vocalist Johnette Napolitano, which is classy territory.
But Zapata needs to crank up the rock factor a notch, because eight of the ten tracks here are ballads or slow blues. She has a compelling voice and powerful charisma, as evidenced on lead single “Good Looking,” a simmering tune where Zapata’s mournful voice grabs the ear. But the song never takes off, which is unfortunately the case with most of the songs. “Worry” has the same problem – the intro is entrancing, but you keep waiting for the song to kick in and it never does. Still, many of the tunes have a cinematic sort of appeal, as if taken from the soundtrack of some dark, twisted David Lynch flick.
A notable exception is “Burn,” a mid-tempo rocker composed of just a basic riff over a basic beat, but that’s all Zapata needs to propel her voice to a higher realm. The other rocker is “Cowboy,” which is downright heavy, features burning psychedelic guitar and has some serious punk attitude from Zapata. The smokey “2, 3, 4” is a highlight too, a slow burning blues song with some shimmery guitar that showcases Zapata’s mesmerizing quality when singing about what seems to be unrequited love.
Why there aren’t a few more rockers on this album is a puzzling mystery, especially considering the powerful set that Zapata and her band threw down at the Red Eyed Fly during Austin’s SXSW Festival in March. Zapata seems to come from a haunted place, so maybe she needed to cast these demons out before she can really open up. But it would be nice to see her hook up with a producer and/or creative partner who can help her fully realize the rock goddess that is clearly within. (Laughing Outlaw Records 2009)
To call 100 Miles from Memphis Sheryl Crow’s “soul” album would be a little misleading. It isn’t like the songwriter/songstress/Grammy favorite hasn’t always had something of a soulful streak running through her music. This latest effort just emphasizes that streak more explicitly than any of her previous albums. More importantly, it catches Crow (most of the time) in a playful, lighthearted mood. It’s a sharp turn from the heavy-handedness that’s made much of her last couple of albums a bit of a challenge to listen to, and it results in her best album in at least a decade.
