In the grace of your love / I see you shining inside / In the grace of your love / No one can ever die

“In the Grace of Your Love” by the Rapture seems to be another album that slipped under (my) the radar in 2011 from another very well-known band of some repute. Will we look back at 2011 and think of its amazing richness of music as a landmark year? Sometimes I think not because there was just too much going on…

I know The Rapture best from the title track of their 2003 album “Echoes”.  I’m a massive fan of Misfits and can listen to that song ad nauseum. “Pieces of the People We Love”, their album after that, I know was lauded amongst some of my friends as one of the albums of the decade. Yet I didn’t/couldn’t really get it into it.

Seems a good time to try and rectify the Rapture balance by giving ITGOYL a good listening to (they’re fans of long album titles aren’t they?).

The album opens with the disco-punk stylings of “Sail Away” which is Magazine meets Donna Summer – I can see why people like them, they blend the best of different genres and come up with something totally fresh. It’s pretty meteoric in scale and it’s certainly a statement of intent, as album openers go. The only thing that slightly annoys is the tone of his voice, he does have a slight shrieking quality in his voice from time to time (and not only in this song). However, with the last minute to go it slips into something that sounds like a Turkish piece of music or perhaps an homage to Phillip Glass imitating the music of the sea. It’s almost as if the band is saying “Yes we’re a pop group, but we’re also something more and something avant-garde.”

“Miss You” and the crazy Russian-punk-disco (that’s the beats and accordion) “Come Back to Me” signal a lovelorn theme to the album, not dissimilar to The Walkmen’s Lisbon. However, the lyrics in “Miss You” seem to suggest that while the narrator misses the person they love, but “broken dreams and broken faces/I've run all the darkest races” suggests that there has been a toxicity or destructive quality to the relationship. “In the Grace of Your Love” and “Never Die Again” continue the lovelorn feeling – all of these songs point to this being a struggle with God and with Death, rather than a lover who has left.

I love the falsetto in “Blue Bird” – the song definitely has a Beach Boys feel to it (well, Beach Boys crossed with The Only Ones). It’s the surfing song of the album, the repeated line “I’ll see you on the other side” (as if it’s the other side of the wave), compelling us to look at the album cover in its 60s black and white glory.

“Children” is definitely a crowd-pleaser – and comes pretty close to a pop song. Is he saying that he and his girlfriend should have kids together? Nice way to win over the girl. Indeed, most of the songs are beat-heavy and head-nod-worthy, until you get to the final song “It Takes Time to Be A Man”. It’s almost like a coda: the song has a rockabilly feel to it, perhaps it’s the piano and guitar, but the drums are muted and quiet and then there’s the choir at the end, complete with hallelujah’s, taking you upwards.

“How Deep Is Your Love” is the best song on the album (no doubt it’s the first single). The piano is bombastic and the beats as good as any house tune out there. You get the feeling (redolent in other songs) that there’s almost a religious feeling to the song – it’s incredibly joyful and hands in the air. “Give me what I need to live/Let me come to you”.

On the whole this is an album I shake my head at – and wonder why I didn’t pick up on it earlier. It’s foot-stamping good fun, yet there is a depth and quality to it too that makes me question; the lyrics are enough to make me wonder, what does he mean? Is there something more? There’s a definite dance versus punk feeling going on as good as any LCD Soundsystem album. As Pitchfork say it so well: “This album is about sustained, earned love, as well as the forgiveness inherent in it.”

The Rapture @ Wikipedia

In the Grace of Your Love @ Metacritic

Pitchfork Review

Guardian Review

Think it's not what you say, what you say is way too complicated / For a minute though I couldn't tell how to fall out

I first heard Birdy on a mixtape at the 8 tracks website. It was her cover of Phoenix’ “1901”, a song I knew but not very well (despite friends who are so connected to Phoenix it’s almost like the band is a life support machine).  I liked it very much – her voice was like glass, delicate but strong, shattering and crystal-clear.

So I thought I better investigate the rest of her album, self-titled and released last year.

A covers album rests on the choice of songs (are they so well-known so that they can’t be covered? Or, on the other hand, does it become like a Saturday night at the karaoke bar?) and how they are interpreted (is it possible to be fooled into thinking it’s an original piece of music because it’s so different?) For example, a man covering a typically female song or vice versa, like Travis’ startling cover of Britney Spears’ “Baby One More Time” or James Blake’s reinterpretation of Feist’s “Limit To Your Love”; or artists from different genres taking older songs and making them new, like Run DMC andAerosmith’s “Walk This Way”.

Now is a dangerous but also interesting time to be releasing covers records, depending on your perspective. With X-Factors, Pop Idols and various other talent shows blocking out our weekend schedules, she is either making a fantastic commercial decision. Or aligning herself with these 3-minute famers and selling out. But which is it?

It’s also interesting that it’s her first album… on the final song, an astonishing cover of Mew’s “Comforting Sounds”, she sings “nothing is pure anymore”.

Her approach is a little bit Adele, a little bit underground, a little bit indie, a little bit haunting as she seems to be described most – so she’s either doing some reverse psychology on us by getting us to think she’s cool, but really going for the lowest (laziest?) common denominator or she’s trying to bring back the cover song into the auspices of cool. Hmmmm.

It often depends on your perspective, or your emotional connection to the original song; Fleet Foxes’ “White Winter Hymnal” loses its Apalachian folk feel and becomes something close to mainstream female pop. Do you love the original too much to appreciate her version? Has she destroyed the feeling and/or authenticity of the song? “Skinny Love” doesn’t have the damaged delicacy of Bon Iver’s original version. Is this integral to the song? In some ways she brings something different to the National’s “Terrible Love” because the song is a strong female voice, rather than a gruff, gravelly man’s, and the song is sped up in tempo so becomes more a lighters-in-the-air number (complete with climactic end with layer upon layer upon layer of sound) rather than a quiet, introspective look at love gone wrong. What does the song suit best?

Some of the songs are very listenable and stand out in bright lights. They would make interesting excursions on mix-tapes or if you want to impress someone by putting on her cover of “Shelter” or “1901”. But the nagging feeling is that there is no cohesiveness. What brings the album together?

Her version of The Postal Service's “The District Sleeps Along Tonight” is ace though (interesting she didn’t cover the oft-covered “Such Great Heights” but the far more ‘difficult’ TDSAT) – it’s the rounds of voices and the way she chooses to approach the song that make it memorable. There was an element of unapproachability about the original – Birdy gives it a warmth and depth that didn’t come through in the original. That felt more stretched, more threadbare – hers is richer and perhaps more compelling, because it is so different, so far from the original.

Her version of The XX’s “Shelter” as well is pretty damn cool. Or is it the song making her cool? It’s still far from the original – but it has its breathy, ethereal feel. But again it sounds like something you’d hear on BBC Radio 2, rather than walking in Hoxton.

In many ways, a covers album has to work harder to impress you; you may like it more instantly, but in order for it to stick it has to do more than just be good. Birdy’s album is interesting and developed and makes me ask lots of questions of her interpretations and the songs – but I can’t help thinking she’d be saying more about herself and her outlook and her thoughts on music by releasing some original material. You don’t really want it to go all Joss Stone on her…

Birdy @ Wikipedia

Birdy @ Metacritic

BBC Review

Guardian Review

Early in the morning, i’ll come calling, i’ll come calling after you / Darling if you answer, oh we’ll wander, down the garden where it’s cool

I was first introduced to James Vincent McMorrow via a recommendation on a blog. I remember that he was touted as someone who wanted to bring a hip hop/R n B sensibility to his folky/singer-songwriter output.

To some degree, I guess, singer-songwriters do have it difficult carving out their niche and making themselves stand out from the crowd. On James Vincent McMorrow’s “Early in the Morning” it’s very much the timbre and cadence of his voice, the instant likeability of the album, the choice of arrangements with voice and instrument, his implicit religious themes, the warmth of his Irish accent and yes a less-pronounced but definite urban feel to the album that makes him different.

 

This is best evidenced on “We Don’t Eat” – the piano maintains itself on the off-beat, almost like a piece of jazz music, and is used like a drum to keep the pace going. It builds and builds from a soft start to a crescendo of layers of instruments and voice by the second half; the devil is mentioned as well as redemption, faith, saviours and upholding a family commitment of eating together and throughout it all it is McMorrow’s voice which warms the tune, keeps it interesting and unusual. He also talks about two thousand years of history and fishing, which is a Christian trope.

There’s a variety on the album too within the parameters of where McMorrow wants to go with his music – some are soft, some are loud, some have beats, some explode at the end. Obviously there’s no reggae, dubstep or punk, but filters of this music do seep through from time to time.

“If I Had a Boat” is just about the perfect love song – as well as the perfect song for Desert Island Discs. It’s about commitment as well as overcoming injustice and things that stand in your way when you want to find your way back. “If I had a boat/ I would sail to you /Hold you in my arms, ask you to be true … Now I’m pointing north/Hoping for the shore”.

In contrast, where the first song has a clarity and decisiveness to it, “Hear the Noise that Moves So Soft and Low” is delicate and sweet, the lyrics mumbled and almost indecipherable. There is a Bon Iver quality to it (well, “For Emma, Forever Ago” Bon Iver) but this could be me making connections between the falsetto of McMorrow’s vocal. “Follow You Down to the Red Oak Tree” has a similar quality – but also feels timeless, or indeed out of time, ephemeral and fey.

“The Sparrow and Wolf” has its roots in disco or dance music – it has an up-tempo beat and tells a tale recalling old fables or parables, discussing elemental forces like the weather, the earth, love, hate and warmth. “You should choose to go, please remember what/ You have learned from the little bird/ Always dear, always dear to my heart”.

“This Old Dark Machine” is perhaps the closest to folk music, opening with McMorrow and a guitar – but McMorrow’s vocal soars at least an octave throughout the song and compels completely with his voice. “Early in the Morning, I’ll Come Calling” invokes the old folk tradition too – the use of rhyme and telling a story, as well as the familar line from many other folk songs, but it is the mandolin-sounding guitar gives it a unique feel, something old reinvented to be something new.

My favourite song is “From the Woods” because of the spine-tingling surprise toward the end of the song where McMorrow ups the tempo, vocal range and volume as if imitating the fear of what is coming from the woods. “And If My Heart Should Somehow Stop” is the perfect antidote to all this madness, a beautiful love song that makes you want to hug your beloved and hold them tight.

It is particularly hard to put out an album that sounds different and say something different, but I think James Vincent McMorrow’s “Early in the Morning” does a creditable job of this – it’s extremely listenable, and more importantly relistenable and he has a charming quality to his voice and music and arrangements that leaves you wanting more.

James Vincent McMorrow @ Wikipedia

Early in the Morning @ Any Decent Music

Guardian Live Review

bone-shaken, bumped at speed ... everything and nothing spoken *

I was first introduced to James Rhodes by a documentary he made for the BBC about the life and loves of Frederic Chopin.  He appeared such an enigmatic and passionate character that I decided to review one of his albums, “Bullets and Lullabies”.

There’s a mixture of composers on the album – from the stratospheric Beethoven, Debussy and Rachmaninov to the less well known (at least to me) Moszkowski and Alkan. Chopin gets a mention twice as well, which is always very nice.

These are all piano pieces, but if Blumenfeld’s “Etude for the Left Hand, Op.36” or indeed Moszkowski’s “Etude de virtuosité Op.72 No.6 in F,” are anything to go by, the thing that binds the pieces together (other than Rhodes’ picking them) is that they are all about exhibiting his astonishing piano playing, whether at frenetic, breakneck speeds or slowly, carefully bringing out the elegant timbre of the piano. Well, perhaps it’s all about showing off too.

Most are fast-paced and /or require moving across octaves in the span of one hand movement. It’s one hour of dexterity and delight; rather than a movement or a study of one composer’s work, it’s the greatest hits of the piano at its chaotic, train-crash, crazy best.

Greig’s “In the Hall of the Moutain King” displays this best. We’re tiptoeing into the hall bit by bit until we gain momentum and bravery, and we’re moving up the piano keys and increasing in volume until we get to the bombastic end. What Rhodes does best is to create story-telling with each piece; amidst the madness or calm of each piece he creates a strong sense of musicality and a drama and a poetic to each piece of music.

Alkan’s “Grande Sonata, Op.33, 'Les quatre ages', first movement” is bonkers; it would be an amazing piece to see live, and you could imagine Rhodes reaching the end, having scaled up and down the piano keyboard, exhibiting craziness and calm, planting the last note, and watching the sweat drip off him, the room filled with awe and thunder. It’s very much like a bullet from a gun, speeding at the sound of light.

Opposing that, and ending the bullets section whilst also, to my mind, beginning the ‘lullabies’ section of the album, the piece that follows is Blumenfeld’s “Etude for the Left Hand”, a moderate and mellow etude (but with craziness, grandiloquence and EXTREME virtuoisity thrown in to the mix as well) which you would expect with its deeper, fleshier tones; it’s a nice contrast to make after all that craziness, a piece of music that makes you pause and conjure and makes your head spin at how only one hand can achieve this. Rachmaninov’s “Prelude in G flat, Op.23 No.10” is heart-breaking in its simple beauty; the way that Rhodes creates such depth and warmth in this piece of music is monumental. As with Debussy’s “La plus que Lente” which follows, it’s interesting to have such calm and serene pieces of music at the halfway point as if to catch our breath.

Chopin’s “Piano Concerto No.1 in E minor, Op. 11 second movement (Romanza)” for me is the highlight – all ten and a half minutes of it. While it does emphasise and embellish the quieter elements of the second half of the album, it dances with delicacy and delight, and a bit of pomposity, all over the keyboards. It’s like the soundtrack to an important moment in your life – opening you up to revelation, lifting you up, laying you down, quietening you, absorbing you. It’s beautiful and awe-inspiring in its simplicity, and how Rhodes makes it sound so simple.

The Ravel, Debussy’s famous “Clair de Lune” and Brahms which round off the album add a quiet contemplation that the first half has missing – it’s as if the action of the first half is squared off with thought and reverie. Reaction then impression. It’s an interesting way of halving an album – and it shows that not all classical music is loud and bombastic, nor all quiet and full of emotion.

There is certainly an element of virtuosity to the album – a showing off, that were he singing or rapping might become annoying and stale after a few listens. But by doing something that few others can achieve creates in the listener a magnetic impression.

James Rhodes @ Wikipedia

Guardian Review

BBC Review

* The title of the blog post (again, because no lyrics) is taken from Seamus Heaney's "Chanson d'Aventure", a poem from his collection "Human Chain".

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate / A poet, a pawn and a queen / I've been up and down and over and out / And I know one thing / Each time I find myself, flat on my face / I pick myself up and get back in the race.

Friday the 13^th obviously got to me … I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did on an album a day, but there was a wee blip in services. Let’s hope I continue on for another straight fortnight…

Today, rather mournfully, is the final of the brilliant BBC version of Sherlock Holmes. Woe. They do rather toy with our affections by only having three episodes per series; but the idea is to make each episode so exceptional and so filmicly amazing in its 3 x 90 minutes of lengthy brevity that you’re left wanting more.

Anyway, to celebrate, commemorate or mark this, I thought I’d review Aretha Franklin’s “Aretha Arrives”. I came to this album via the judiciously circulatory route due to Martin Freeman, who plays Dr John Watson, being a massive fan of American soul music. More specifically he was part of a rather special Culture Show, er, special on Motown music. And here is a nice link about his love of soul music.

When I first dipped into this album, I found it strange to approach Aretha Franklin’s music in a way that she herself had put together; I know her music very well, but I’m afraid it’s the compilation & Greatest Hits way of knowing her music.

The album certainly doesn’t diminish because it’s not jammed pack with hit after hit after hit; absolutely not. But it somehow strikes me as an unusual approach to such a well-known artist from forty years ago.

The title seems to suggest that this might be her first album, but a quick scan of Wikipedia tells me not. (In fact, it was her second album of the year!) The theme of the album seems to be about hanging on to a man; on “Never Let Me Go”, “Prove It” and “That’s Life” the man certainly seems to be on the side of grey when it comes to between good and bad, but there’s also the unstinting love that Franklin shows. “I Wonder” is the most evocative with Franklin imaging her man with another. Even a brief awareness of her biography hints at this being about a no-good husband, who she’s prepared to stand beside in spite of this. The song, “Night Life”, examines the consequences of misplaced love, but all the while Franklin asserts it’s better to have loved and lost, than not at all. “Listen to the blues and what they’re saying … but it’s my life, yes it is.”

The album opens with a cover of the Rolling Stones “Satisfaction”; commonplace amongst 60s artists to cover tracks by other artists (weirdly, I know this song better by Otis Redding’s version than that of the Stones). It always makes me shake my head to think of the cycle of this song; the Rolling Stones who were inspired by Muddy Waters giving back to soul singers like Franklin and Redding. Despite the fact that this song is about girls not giving out, Aretha makes it seem almost her own.

“You Are My Sunshine” is a slow burner: it starts off like a gospel, showing off Franklin’s tone, voice and range to great effect, and when it gets going just before the 2 minute mark, I can imagine it being a hit on the Northern Soul scene and rows of people kicking their feet and twisting their bodies in time to the beat.

The other cover is “96 Tears”, originally recorded by Question Mark and the Mysterians, only a year before Franklin’s album was released. It’s quirky and cool and I love the call and response between Aretha Franklin and her backing singers.

The album ends with the only single from it, “Baby I Love You”. It’s an unusual way to end – not just for leaving the (supposed) best to last, but also the song has a slightly different feel to the other songs. It starts like a country and western song (well, almost) and it's the most upbeat (though “Ain’t Nobody”’s jazzy feel comes a close second) and less lovelorn and mournful. It doesn't seem quite as indulgent as the previous songs; but gets to the point in less than three short, sharp minutes. It’s almost as if it’s signposting things to come – lifting us up for what is coming next and leaving us wanting more.

Certainly what the producer of Sherlock Holmes have in mind too!

Aretha Arrives @ Wikipedia 

A popstar is a popstar / Don't go in the crazy car

“Innundir Skinni” opens with just Ólöf Arnalds voice, and in some ways that’s an apt way to begin – Arnalds uses her voice as an instrument so well and so effectively on each song. There is a delicate, see-through beauty to the album. It’s definitely best as a late-night album – it’s the perfect come-down album. (Do those things still exist? What happened to that genre? Did it get swallowed by the millennium?)

 

Anyway, it’s the perfect album for the wee small hours of the morning or for wintery Sunday afternoons when the sunlight is watery and thin.

The title track (the second song) is my favourite track – the wonder of Arnalds’ voice is that there is a strength *and* a brittleness to it. The music travels up and down the octaves, and while I can’t understand what she is saying, I feel connected to it nonetheless.

“Crazy Car” is one of the few English language songs – but the lyrics are a bit nonsense. “Please please think inside the box, we have made it circle-shaped”. She is joined on the song by a male singer – it’s about urging a friend not to choose the crazy car aka going to America. The lyrics are a bit mad and at times indecipherable – it seems Arnalds takes her stand about remaining true to her roots. (In fact, this is the first ever English language song she has sung.)

While the majority of songs are sung in Icelandic, they have a direct and commanding quality to them that demands your attention. The music compliments and augments the way that Arnalds voice soars above it.

“Vinkonur”’ has a harp accompanying the singing, determined plucking sweeping up and down the octaves with a glockenspiel joining later on – I find the song has a wonderful reminiscence of the sea and the movement of waves. It also reminds me of folk songs from northern European coastal countries, like Scotland and Ireland. Both this song and “Svir Birki” have a timelessness quality about them, perhaps it’s the fact that I can’t understand the lyrics, but it feels like it could have been written 1,000 years ago. The latter song reminds me of listening to Old English tales, like Beowulf, the up and down sing-song quality enhancing this feeling.

The phrasing of “Jonathan” is again reminiscent of a poem – rising and falling as if telling us a story. The nautical theme returns with “tooraloora”s as good as any old sea shanty and a boat dipping and driving through the waves appear early on in the lyrics. This song probably has the strongest backing – guitars, drums, a harp, possibly a piano echoing and reverbing in the background – and the lyrics are lighter and less (although in English) than in other songs.

“Madrid” has Arnalds’ voice almost breaking in parts; it feels translucent and sad, while a guitar plucks in the background, sounding slightly flamenco (albeit very slowed down). A violin is added at the end to complement the mournful tone.

“Surrender” opens with a harp and the tune that is plucked later becomes Arnalds’ melody against which her guest vocalist, Björk, sails over the top. Again, the song is English-language (so only the third out of nine) but the lyrics are almost absorbed into the music, and become washed against the wall of harp music. It is a very interesting move to have Björk as a guest vocalist, indeed she only appears 2 minutes 39 into the song. She sings almost a completely different song, her voice sounds distant as if she is in a different room. Björk’s voice is strong and incredibly recognisable – but it’s as if Arnalds is saying ‘Here is Björk, and here is me. We may both be Icelandic female singers but we are still quite different.’

“Allt i Guddi” closes the album as a mirror to the opening track, there are no lyrics just “la de dum de dum”s and the harp is strong and clear, while the singing is muffled and secondary. Again, the voice is one of the small quartet of instruments on display in the song. The song builds and builds toward the end and then just quietly finishes, leaving a peaceful space.

It’s a gorgeous album, perhaps not to everyone’s taste, but it opens a world which grows with each listen.

Ólöf Arnalds @ Wikipedia

Innundir Skinni @ Metacritic

Pitchfork review

Guardian interview