(Ever Records)
Cyann & Ben are a four-piece from the grey, rainy, provincial French town of . Sweet Beliefs suggests the depressing climate has taken its toll on their state of mind. Folks in may still be a miserable crowd but Cyann & Ben moved to jolly to guzzle overpriced beer as soon as they could. They have, however, internalized the rain and it still informs their music.
Their sound comprises ethereal choral sounds, held organ notes, pensive piano lines, swelling band surges, chiming guitar work and vocals that often just drift rather than hook. Imagine if Radiohead, Mogwai and a depressed Chris Martin had been stuck down a well for five years then somebody finally threw them a rope and a recording contract. Actually, it’s not that good.
The opener, “Words,” sets the mood with its sinister chugging rhythm, dark changes and fluttering organ arpeggios. The title track is perhaps the strongest on the album with Cyann’s vocals giving the song some lift away from the moody piano part and the song climaxes with a baleful guitar riff.
But many tracks just don’t get off the ground. “Somewhere in the Light of Time” and the fraudulently titled “Sunny Morning” amble in and out, never fully developed. “In With…” is sparse and fragile with random scratching guitar noise intruding into the free time sprawl.
Sweets Beliefs isn’t for everyone but even if melancholy is your hit of choice you may be disappointed here. The main problem is that the words are difficult to decipher (all in English, though) and the vocal lines rarely rise out of the doldrums. For the most part, the ‘depressing high’ you love in other bands music just isn’t there.
Originally published on: www.theredalert.com
The El Rey
Theatre is an attractive but a tame venue.
Don’t take water or chewing gum inside.
Don’t stand the wrong side of the two black lines that run down the side
of the main floor. If you do, expect an
El Rey minion to swoop in and oblige you shuffle over a couple of inches. Rock and roll decadence, El Rey style.
Before the main
attraction takes the stage, Los Angeles is treated to a little English
eccentricity. Adem (AH-dem) is a
songwriter from London and a confirmed
multi-instrumentalist. No kidding. He gives us Beach Boys classic God Only Knows
on the ukulele then sings a children’s fairy tale accompanied by bells.
Badly Drawn Boy (aka: Damon Gough) is nearing the end of his tour. Arriving at the west coast, Damon makes clear his affection for Los Angeles tonight. He explains he spent a lot of time in LA while clinging on to his songwriting job on the About a Boy movie. His tenacity aided his career greatly.
Gough is a likeable character and his songs have a broad appeal. The scratty beard, the absurd woolly hat, the chuntering northern English accent and the plain-spoken emotion in his songs all add to his charm. Plus, while introducing his b-side ditty Don’t Ask Me I’m Only the President, he tells GW Bush to f-off several times. A definite crowd pleaser.
Although the El Rey would probably prefer people to watch gigs via a web link to eradicate the need for people to make their venue look untidy, Gough gives LA folks reason enough to come out tonight. There’s a mixture of old and new from Gough and his excellent band. Tracks from his new album Born in the UK are here (Journey from A to B, Nothing’s Gonna Change your Mind) as are the obligatory crowd pleasing oldies.
Gough encourages the crowd attempt a sophisticated clap-along for his charming Once Around the Block – and El Rey punters don’t disgrace themselves. Soon after, Gough hears someone in the crowd jamming on harmonica. He lowers the microphone to jam along. Moments to cherish. Gough himself likes playing more intimate venues because they present more opportunities like this.
However, in
fairness the El Rey staff should have asked Gough to put out that ‘cigarette’
he was smoking, ban him from playing in the US and forced him to go back to
touring Britain’s most popular fish and chip shops…
(Wednesday Records)
The phrase “Cinematic Americana” conjures up visions of the Marlboro Man galloping across the endless American plains. Musically, you might recall Ryan Adams banging out “Scars of Love.” Perhaps you’ll think fondly of a Counting Crows tune playing over a particularly moving episode of Friends. Basically, The Little Heroes have given themselves a rather grandiose album title to live up to in their songs.
Opening track “Flight Plans for Airplanes” is a down-tempo country tune featuring some great wispy vocal overlaps and the occasional piano plink. It sounds like it could have been lifted straight from the Cash Brothers’ 2001 release How was Tomorrow. That’s not a criticism.
Single “September Falls” is a thumping slice of Americana. In the verse, James Lombardo’s vocals show Michael Stipe’s influence on his melody and timbre, but when he opens up in the chorus, he makes the song his own. (There are lots of Document-era R.E.M. flavors on this album.) The middle eight half-time works well and swells into a great outro complete with call and response vocals. “Teeth” sounds like super-charged R.E.M. and, further into the album, “Come On” has a Pete Yorn vibe.
They can all play their instruments,
not least drummer Adam Caldwell, who puts in an ultra-tight performance.
The band occasionally rely on creating driving rhythms with heavy, regular
strumming when memorable hooks and a little space may have yielded even better
songs. But this is a strong debut album and the band would be well worth
catching live. Although it doesn’t entirely conjure up the epic scale
suggested by its title, you may find yourself really warming to this album.
Originally published on theredalert.com
by David Lynch
177pp, Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin
If you didn’t know, the man who created gas-sucking masochist Frank Booth in Blue Velvet visits bliss twice a day. In 1973, filmmaker David Lynch tried transcendental meditation for the first time and slipped into ‘an ocean of pure consciousness’. He’s not missed a day’s bliss since.
Lynch’s new book is a meandering collection of thoughts on
the relationship between his meditation and his art. The title refers to Lynch’s view that ‘ideas
are like fish’ and ‘if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go
deeper’. Normal states of consciousness
just won’t do for Lynch.
(Full disclosure: this reviewer travelled to northern and visited several gompas. The region is suitably spiritual but the monks I encountered wore trainers, chewed gum and turned up to work in a VW van. I skimmed a book about Kundalini tantra in vain. In spiritual matters, I’m still on the outside looking in.)
To Lynch, his meditation is his source of creativity. He sees it as a holistic experience that we
rarely experience in our fragmented lives.
In a wider sense, Lynch implies that the meditation gives him an
openness to ideas that others do not possess.
He describes how, struggling to complete Eraserhead, he read a sentence
in the bible that made the entire film clear – and then refuses to share the
chapter and verse.
This openness, for example, is seen again in the way he casts his films. He doesn’t get actors to read. That’s far too conventional. He just gets them to speak while he runs the script through his head. He creates a space of possibility for them in the part.
Lynch doesn’t buy into the tortured artist as genius. That kind of suffering is not in his creed. He wonders whether Van Gogh (and others) would have been ‘even greater if he wasn’t so restricted by the things tormenting him’. To Lynch, it makes more sense to know about anger and misery but to ‘nurture the place where strength and clarity and energy come from’. Bliss is like a ‘flak jacket’.
This is fine but as I walked away from a recent Lynch book reading in I was left asking this question: Where is the bliss in his movies? I can’t recall seeing this manifested in his work. Yes, intriguing puzzles. Yes, disturbing dreamscapes. But where’s the transcendental bliss? In the book, he acknowledges he’s asked this question often – and then dodges it completely.
Lynch believes in the power of meditation as a way to inspire children too. He writes eagerly about schools that incorporate meditation into the syllabus. Indeed, the author’s proceeds from the book go to the David Lynch Foundation for Consciousness-Based Education and World Peace. I know what you’re thinking: ‘Not ambitious enough. Couldn’t you take on a little more, Dave?’
There’s enough trivia here for his fans. He describes how he’s turned away from film in favour of digital cameras (but uses a cheap one that doesn’t capture a perfect image). He’s scathing about commentary and extras on DVDs. To Lynch, they destroy the magic of the director’s vision. (It’s difficult to disagree with him here. How does watching alternative ending enhance your experience of a film?) He writes of his thirty second consultation with a shrink. Lynch asked him if the process might reduce his creativity, the shrink said it might. Lynch shook his hand and walked out.
We never quite discover enough about how Lynch transcends
everyday life and ‘goes fishing’ to create memorable films. Ultimately we’re still on the outside looking
in.
David Lynch’s book Catching the Big Fish is published by Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin
If a three piece get things right, lock in together and get a groove, great things can happen. The trio format has had a bit of a boost recently with those Aussie Ozzy/Led Zep clones Wolfmother. You can think of more of your own examples. It looks like freak beat kids The Makes Nice want to add their tuppence worth to this mini-resurgence. Candy Wrapper is their first album: a little bundle of energy and shows great promise. If it’s derivative, the blend works.
The band early in 2004 when Guitarist Josh Smith and tub thumper Jack Matthew started kicking out some jams. After seeing The Mothballs perform in and poached bass player Aaron Burnham.
Sun’s opening riff sounds like the one we all know from the Friends theme tune. It kicks into a sixties power pop thang with plenty of yeah yeah yeahs and a revved up neck pickup lead. As Long As I Can reminds me of Baby Please Don’t Go and Nothing Left to Say’s verse riff conjures up the rigid groove of The Hives. In November Girls the boys opt for hard retro riffing that we’ve heard recently from Jet. Despite its name, Cop Killer provides a harmless little ditty with its palm-muted riff tiptoeing through the tune.
This is a good album that nods to its influences with
pride. But some of the songs feel a
little under-developed. Sometimes there
are few choruses that get stuck in your head.
Ditto for the riffs.
The Makes Nice are recording their second album. If they retain the great energy they capture
on Candy Wrapper and come back with more memorable hooks and choruses they may
warrant some serious attention. In the
meantime, they’d be a great band to see live.
Label: Frenetic Records
