Invoke
Arto Lindsay
(Righteous Babe)
If you consider the pleasures to be found among the numberless
strains, variations, and sub-genres of
“American music,” it’s hard to look at the
term “world music” without a raised
eyebrow. For a genre that allegedly covers
every other kind of music outside of the United
States (but usually ignores a country’s successful local sub-genres, like
Scandinavian death metal or Japanese hip hop), a
reasonable definition of world music for sale in this country sounds both
irritatingly vague and rigidly stereotypical. To
many minds, world music consists of swarthy folk or folk playing cultural
dress-up, crafting music with weird drums and vocals that aim to be more pretty than
forceful. Not only is this definition narrow and ethnocentric and a perfect example of
the way Americans look at the rest of the world, it leaves little room for folk
like Arto Lindsay, a Brazilian-born New York No Wave alumnus who has been
crafting pretty-to-breathtaking Southern-hemisphere pop for nearly 10 years.
If they sound like anything, the 12 songs on
Invoke are reminiscent of the late-afternoon groove on Lindsay’s
much-praised 1997 album Mundo
Civilizado. Lindsay’s main gifts are subtle and
mature, and his greatest one may be the way in which he covers up his most
overwrought lyrics with a voice that sounds like a
gentle, melodic combination of sighing and daydreaming. He may write
something like “All those hidden
variables/Make my life terrible/Dexterity itself
yields/All those numbers,” but when he sings
the words in either English or Portuguese, the supple waves of percussion and guitar
wash all the pretensions away.
So is he “world music” too? Naw.
He’s more like a nerdy, bespectacled solo traveler trying to carve out a tiny niche in
a crowded Third World cathedral so he can marvel at the wonder of the angels in
the architecture. For not much effort at all, you can share some of this peculiarly
private beauty that is, if you can figure out where it’s kept at your record store.
Addison Engelking
Grade: B+
Heathen Chemistry
Oasis
(Epic)
In 1995, Oasis was the reason so many Americans started listening to
British bands like the Verve and Blur. The band grafted Liam Gallagher’s punk sneer
onto Beatles-esque pop songs to create arena-ready rock that didn’t skimp on melody.
In 2002, Oasis is the reason so many Brits are listening to American bands
like the White Stripes and the Strokes. By beating us over the head
with Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, the brothers Gallagher Liam
and Noel have descended to the depths of self-parody. Copies of
their albums should come with ironic detachment free with purchase.
Oasis’ joyless sixth album, Heathen
Chemistry, sounds identical to its three previous
albums. The only discernible difference here is that
Liam, perhaps on a dare, has decided to sing
everything through his nose, which makes his tracks
sound like late John Lennon er, later John Lennon.
But he fares better than his brother Noel, once the brains (I use this
term loosely) of the outfit. His bland vocals sound like a cross between Andy
Partridge of XTC and Billy Bragg but with a
strange inflection that would sound right at home on Top 40 Country radio.
And then there are the songs, which might be the brothers’ weakest batch
yet and that’s saying a lot. Lyrics range from the asinine to the stupid. The
first line of “Little By Little,” which
might be about 9/11 or about, um, relationships, goes “We the people fight for
our existence.” And from “She Is
Love,” which isn’t about 9/11 but rather
about the personification of love in a woman with great hooters: “And she is love,
and her ways are high and steep.”
Perhaps we have been indulging these two boobs their Beatles fixation for
far too long. Perhaps it’s time, my fellow countrymen and -women, to take
up arms against our common enemy. We can start by throwing boxes of
Heathen Chemistry into Boston Harbor. Who’s with me?
Stephen Deusner
Grade: D
In the Morning
Joe Louis Walker
(Telarc)
Joe Louis Walker knows how to work a song. He’s been playing
guitar since he was 14, honed his talent under Mike Bloomfield’s
tutelage, fronted some of the best blues bands on the San Francisco
scene, got involved with gospel along the way, and has more than 10
albums to his credit. But nothing can prepare you for the opening riffs
of “You’re Just About To Lose Your Clown,” the first track off
In the Morning, Walker’s latest, where
he sets an instant groove with chunky guitar riffs, then soars
Carlos Santana-style backed by a sultry Latin beat. Walker stretches
the number for more than five minutes, taking so many
musical twists and turns that your head will spin
long before the final fade.
Walker ably switches gears for the gospel-tinged title track then gets
the party moving again on “Joe’s Jump,” a real foot-stompin’ and
hip-shakin’ blues tune. Fresh and inventive, his licks cut through the shuffling
beat like a well-aimed whiplash. Walker shines the brightest, however, on
a frenzied take on the Rolling Stones’ “2120 South Michigan Avenue.”
He exchanges gritty guitar riffs with an unnamed organist, while his
formidable rhythm section (G.E. Smith on rhythm guitar, T-Bone Wolk on
bass, and drummer Steve Holley) hold down the backbeat. Their
six-minute jam, which veers from hard-driving rock to dirty, funky R&B, is
utterly transcendent. Andria Lisle
Grade: B+
St. Arkansas
Pere Ubu
(SpinART)
One of the great contributions that
rock-and-roll has made to world culture has been the way its
practitioners have demolished a homogenous definition of “vocal talent.”
From Tom Waits’ shots-of-gravel-with-Pennzoil-chasers croak to Liz
Phair’s cool, thin girltalk monotone, rock artists have changed the
qualifications for melodic vocal communication to prize above all the ability to sing
or say what you need to say however you need to sing or say it.
Therefore, it could be argued that esteemed postpunk futurists Pere
Ubu will be remembered more for lead singer David Thomas’ genial,
quivering friendliness than for their initial late-’70s outbursts of synthesized
industrial racket. Though he’s mellowed, Thomas’ voice is still as
alien as his band’s music, but it also continues to humanize their sound.
Embrace his yips and quirks, and you’ll discover one of the most
intriguing frontmen around.
St. Arkansas is easier listening
than touchstones like Dub Housing or The Modern
Dance, but the music remains thunderous and disjunctive,
mixing up Mission Of Burma squeal and whine with Gang Of Four
rhythms and stray sound effects telephones, radio tunings, maybe even
photocopiers. Through it all, Thomas exults in the joys of wearing a suit,
watching the river, and hearing himself sing or say what he needs to say however
he needs to sing or say it. AE
Grade: B+