I often champion remastered recordings because I want to believe that enhanced sonic detail makes for a better listening experience in this age of pristine digital. But sometimes a deliberate unrefinement can add to the mystique of a classic recording, and such considerations are tossed up by this newly remastered edition of The Rolling Stones’ finest hour Exile on Main Street. Without ever having heard the original version, I gather that a cultivated gritty consistency might have been the right stuff all along. Nevertheless, full band arrangements are allowed breathing space on this meticulous remaster, and it all sounds good.
Exile was originally released in 1972, and its murky, back alley vibe suggested free reign given to experience and experimentation with a lot of musical ground covered from the original Delta blues onwards. Prior to recording, the band had decamped to southern France which brought on a useful spell of sordid sex and drugs, but from decadent environs great art emerged now revealed in sparkling high fidelity. As for the much anticipated bonus tracks, I would place the remarkably polished reworking of a number of unreleased tunes from the original sessions in the good but not great category. The alternative version of Loving Cup is, however, a real treat that reveals a particularly loose swagger from a band usually so careful about image and presentation. But all that really matters is Exile itself, and its bloody fantastic opulence.
The Dead Weather - Sea of Cowards [Third Man Records]:
4 out of 5
Dead Weather’s (Jack White, Alison Mosshart of The Kills, Dean Fertita, and Jack Lawrence) sophomore release Sea of Cowards is sex. Sex in the shape of a CD. Horehound was a dirty, bluesy beast and their second effort sees the same sweaty and smoky sounds – with some development.
The subject matter may be dark and depressing, but this time it’s a little more pop. The rustic edge remains, but is played against a futuristic feel, courtesy of Fertita’s experimental guitar work.
Opening song Blue Blood Blues introduces the rest of this red-blooded album, and although White leads vocals here, Mosshart sings most songs: she purrs, snarls and shrieks her way through the album. The harmonies between White and Mosshart, their voices twisting around each other, are still what make their songs so damn sexy. Stand out track The Difference Between Us is almost a touching love song – if love songs were often characterised by dysfunction, distortion and demon woman vocals, with Mosshart crooning, “You can cry like a baby / Just let me do what I need to / It might be to me or to you”. Lead single Die By The Drop is all dirty bass, while Gasoline gets frankly funky.
One might question why Jack White needs so many goddamn side projects, but this album should answer that question: it’s good. It’s all snake-hips, snarling lips and swagger. Take me now, Dead Weather. Each and every one of you.
Against the backdrop of the early nineties alt-rock boom, Scotland’s Teenage Fanclub always seemed like a band slightly out of time. While contemporaries were wringing all kinds of abrasive tones out of their Fender Jaguars, The Fannies were marrying walls of overdriven guitars with three-part harmonies and covering The 1910 Fruitgum Co. with genuine affection, rather than nineties-style irony. From the beginning, the Glasgow four-piece always had the heart of a classicist pop band. Over the years, Teenage Fanclub has attracted constant comparison to Big Star - an influence they wear proudly on their sleeves - but it has to be said that the Glaswegians have frequently ‘out-Big Starred’ the seminal ‘70s band themselves. Since 2000’s fantastic Howdy, the group have hit upon a reliable formula, mixing the glistening power-pop of 1995’s Grand Prix with a hint of 1997’s folk-rock excursion Songs from Northern Britain. The shoegazery bluster of their beginnings may be gone, but what they’ve lost in volume they make up for in gold standard songwriting. On Shadows, the writing duties are, as ever, democratically assigned, with four tunes apiece from the group’s three songwriters Norman Blake, Gerard Love and Raymond McGinley. Love in particular is very much on form: his orchestral-backed contributions Sometimes I Don’t Need to Believe in Anything and Shock and Awe are as good as anything the band has ever done. Another reliably excellent LP of sun-drenched pop from grey Glasgow.
Gemma Ray - Lights Out Zoltar! [Bronzerat Records]:
3 ½ out of 5
The second album from UK singer songwriter Gemma Ray is unlike anything else you’ll hear this year. It pays homage to vintage pop, with a style harking back to the ‘50s and ‘60s, but the tone has morphed from the chirpy tunes of that era to a much darker atmosphere. This sombre feeling comes across in spades, although the nature of the threat is sometimes obscure. There’s a nameless terror in Death Roll and a smothering depression in the bluesy Dig Me a River. It’s not all gloom though, as Gemma lightens the tone with the use of a toy piano and there’s a tale of drunken romance in 1952.
Gemma is incredibly versatile, playing many of the instruments and co-producing the record at home. It’s a very plush effort, with heavy use of special effects and strings to create a dreamy, theatrical effect. In Snuck a Peek the drone guitar sounds like a record being played at too slow a speed - weird but attention grabbing. The frequent use of layered voices contributes a choir effect and theatricality comes to the fore in Goody Hoo, which could be the soundtrack to a Western.
Top tracks are 100MPH, Fist of a Flower, No Water and album highlight So Do I. The CD’s style is an acquired taste, but it does have a special charm all its own.
Mike Patton and the Metropole Orchestra - Mondo Cane [Ipecac Recordings]:
4 ½ out of 5
From the artfully distorted Morricone-esque guitar strains of Ore d’Amore, I knew I was in love. I must admit, I’d heard many things about Meister Mike Patton, mostly from some of my hilariously obsessed friends; they extol the virtues of Patton-ism at the drop of an ironic accessory. Oh lordy, never did I expect the swelling strings of its Italian orchestral grandeur, virtuoso crooning and wailing from a seemingly infallible vocalist, while a brass section as fearsome and powerful as the bearded visage of Thor himself punches you with the vicious insistence of, well, Thor. Mondo Cane is a covers album of Italian fifties/sixties pop, brought to life by the Metropole Orchestra and arranged by Patton himself, a hopelessly romantic, swooning collection of wildly beautiful music that screams and caresses all at once. Sometimes, in the breathless, claustrophobic rush of Che Notte, you can feel Italy breathing around you.
Close your eyes for second and imagine a chase through the paved alleys of floral Italy; a tanned, olive skinned protagonist willing his spluttering scooter faster from the relentless clutches of Mafioso types, as they comically get tangled up in hanging laundry and scream obscenities as the charming lead winks and steals away. This record is that kind of soaring portraiture of Italian life and its wonderful culture, evocative soundscapes formed from impassioned string arrangements and heart-rending brass, topped with Patton’s immaculate delivery. Yeah, I’m a believer now.
Every techno purist in town is probably still arguing the electronic pop invasion that was Booka Shade’s Donut, the only single released off this album so far. But god dammit you need to listen to the rest of this album. More! is above and beyond any other dance release I’ve heard this year.
Don’t get all antsy-pantsy when I tell you this, but there are a few vocal guests and collabs on the playlist. Luckily, they’ve added only a twist of their unique sound to the melodies and atmospheres that are undeniably Booka Shade (like track six, Divine, where Booka made French electro group Yello go progressive. Ha!). This is not one of those collaborative bombs where ‘guests’ perform an unsubtle takeover.
Arno’s comments on the album say it best: “The album takes you through every stage of the night out; the excitement before you go out, the party, the late, late night, a bit of paranoia...” I wish this magazine was like one of those birthday cards where, when you open it, More! would start playing obtrusively in your face (I’m working on it, Dan Dans - Ed.). Words can’t fully express the multi-layered perfection. So this’ll have to do: BUY BUY BUY!
Finnish all girl gothic pop bands aren’t exactly ten a penny, so, whilst Indica are undoubtedly large fish in a very small pond, they are still really rather spiffing – and they pack enough crossover appeal to conquer the mainstream if handled the right way. For their fifth release they’ve decided, for the first time, to record in English and, whilst this decision means some of their quirky (to the English-hearing ear at least) charm is immediately removed, there’s still a huge amount on A Way Away to become enamoured with.
Album opener Island of Lights sees the girls at their heaviest (think: some of Nightwish’s poppier moments – Amaranth f’rinstance), whilst elsewhere the pure pop sensibilities of Scissor, Paper, Rock won’t fail to get you grinning like a loon. But the band is at its best on a pair of aching, melancholic ballads, the second of which, the album’s title track, is so good it wouldn’t have gone amiss on one of Kate Bush’s late seventies/early eighties ouvres. The other, Lilja’s Lament, is pure whimsy, containing a compelling performance from vocalist Jonsu that will delight and unsettle in equal parts. Add all this to the likes of the strangely insistent Straight and Arrow – an eerie, blackened nursery rhyme that wouldn’t seem out of place on the soundtrack to something directed by Tim Burton – and you have a surprisingly enchanting, beguiling release. I’m hooked.
