Reviews

Record #368: Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons – The Greatest Hits of Frankie Valli and the Fabulous Four Seasons (1974)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Okay, let’s get this out of the way.

​This has fifty-five songs on it.

If you’re going to call something a greatest hits compilation, it stands to reason that you might not want to just release everything that artist has ever done. This is supposed to be a collection of their best songs, not every song. It seems an act of hubris to include more than a single disc of music. Especially since the first three songs (Sherry, Big Girls Don’t Cry, Walk Like a Man) stand so tall above the rest of them. Especially when put so close to their bizarre cover of Bob Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, I’m Alright, where Frankie Valli changes the line “I wish that there was something you could do or say/to make me change my mind and stay” to simply “I wish that there was something you could do.” Like…did you not realize in rehearsal that those lines don’t rhyme?

​But when this collection is on, it is on. The combination of the Four Tops huge harmonies and Frankie’s growling falsetto (famously homaged by Elton John’s Crocodile Rock) is one of the most iconic sounds in rock ‘n roll. And since I picked it up off of the curb, it’s still worth it even if there’s only one good disc (I didn’t have time to listen past side one).

​Record #367: The Four Tops – Motown Superstar Series, Vol. 14 (1980)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald

Every once in a while, a brand will so dominate their market that their name becomes synonymous with their product. Things like Band-Aid, or Kleenex. Motown achieved the same sort of notoriety, in which its name has actually become a genre marker. And that’s not by accident…
iIproducers, recording engineers, session musicians, and songwriters they could find and churned out hit after hit after hit after hit. They became so successful that they began an artist development program that trained up performers with choreography, wardrobe, and etiquette training. This excerpt from Wikipedia is too good not to share: 

Motown artists were advised that their breakthrough into the white popular music market made them ambassadors for other African-American artists seeking broad market acceptance, and that they should think, act, walk and talk like royalty, so as to alter the less-than-dignified image commonly held of black musicians by white Americans in that era. Given that many of the talented young artists had been raised in housing projects and lacked the necessary social and dress experience, this Motown department was not only necessary, it created an elegant style of presentation long associated with the label.

While it’s true that Motown’s model is to blame for the mass produced saccharine pop dominating the airwaves now, there’s no denying the label’s success. Acts like The Supremes, Marvin Gaye (who bypassed artist development), Stevie Wonder, and The Jackson Five came through their doors, creating indelible hits. 

Speaking of indelible hits, consider this Four Tops compilation. This disc blisters through the Tops’ hits at whiplash speed, opening with a twelve minute medley of their top-charting singles (“I Can’t Help Myself” and “I’ll Be There” both make an appearance). And after that, the album only slows down because there’s a fade between songs. Every second is filled with the most blissful Rhythm&Blues/Soul music this side of the Temptations. And the fact that this is the fourteenth entry in a series of Motown’s best artists and that this compilation is this good is only further testament to Motown’s exceptional legacy.

Record #366: Cult of Luna – Salvation (2004)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
As much as I love Isis, it’s amazing I haven’t come across Sweden’s Cult of Luna sooner… 
Any article about post metal mentions both of their names (and Neurosis, whose discography is a little more impenetrable). I may have come to their seminal record twelve years too late, but its punch isn’t diminished any.

Rather, Salvation displays a group with an unmistakable mastery of patient composition–maybe even more patient than Isis. While the songs are built on repetition and slow builds (read: post metal), they never languish in tepidness. Rather, they traffic between ambient lows and punishing (midtempo) highs with a cold calculation.

Record #365: Gayngs – Relayted (2010)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Bon Iver surprised some people with their new album, 22, A Million, a glitchy masterpiece that relied more on synthesizers and saxophones than acoustic guitars. Some of us, however, heard Gayngs, the supergroup he assembled to write an album completely composed of 69bpm soft rock ballads all honoring “I’m Not In Love” by 10cc. 
Relayted is carried by almost trip hop dated electric pianos and synths, sung by several different voices blurred into one by Vernon’s favorite vocal manipulation techniques. Smooth jazz saxophone and the occasional makeout guitar riff peaks through the haze, betraying the lack of seriousness that the collective took this project.

But don’t let the punchlines keep you from thinking this album doesn’t rip. It achieves its goals with complete gusto. Never once does the album slum it up. Instead, every player commits to the project 110%, even if they’re winking under their Ray-Bans. This album reclaims sounds and styles long judged uncool with deft, unironic coolness. And dude, it works.
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Also the only concert they played was called The Last Prom on Earth and was MCed by Prince. And that’s just rad.

Record #364: Caspian – Dust and Disquiet (2015)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Strange that despite my affinity for post rock and Caspian’s position as one of the scene’s most consistent voices, it took me until last month to listen to them at all. 
And I’ll admit, I didn’t start with this album (I believe it was Waking Season). My first listen through, I thought to myself, “ah yes, this is good. Borrows enough from Explosions in the Sky and classic era Sigur Ros to be a good listen but not so much so that it’s a blatant ripoff.” It was not terribly groundbreaking or important, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Then someone recommended this record instead, and let me tell you–it blows the other out of the water.
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Where as Waking Season was a pretty by-the-book piece of guitar-based, climax-chasing post rock, Dust and Disquiet is a massive work that harmonizes post rock’s sprawling threads into a gargantuan, cohesive statement. The album opens with “Separation No. 2,” a gentle atmospheric ballad awash with tape delay and muted trumpet. “Ríoseco” carries the same mood through it’s opening minutes, and you might be tempted to think the entire album will follow suit. Then, in “Ríoseco’s” third act, it takes a heavy, minor turn, closing as a metal song. “Arcs of Command” adds electronic beats to the fray; “Echo and Abyss” adds vocals. Then, the album collapses into “Run Dry,” a decidedly non-post rock acoustic guitar song, complete with sung verses and choruses. And that’s only half the record.

After wrenching the record from any and all expectations, Caspian continues to explore. The second half doesn’t get quite as heavy, but it is just as fearless. “Darkfield” plays with rhythm with Battles-like exuberance. The title track closes the album with strings and horns. All in all, Dust and Disquiet is an album that not only shows the breadth of post rock, but also Caspian’s mastery of that expanse.

Record #363: Fire At Will – Life Goes On (2016)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Full disclosure: I did not buy this record for myself. My friend Curtis is part owner of Chorus of One records and handles their Stateside distro. I designed some promos for him when this record was coming out, so when the vinyl came in, he gave me a copy for my efforts.
That said, I didn’t expect to like it this much. (I didn’t know what to expect, actually). All I had to go on was his vague description of them as a French hardcore band. These days, “hardcore” is a pretty broad moniker, covering everything from early-mewithoutYou-soundalikes to screamy shoegaze bands (I’ve heard plenty of both at local basement shows). Fire At Will however plays the kind of hardcore that I would have loved in high school in the early ‘00s. Teeming with pop punk energy and a great sense of melody, this record lives somewhere between early Thrice and the Ataris–there’s some Rufio in there too. Which, fifteen years ago, I would have flipped for.

Record #362: Analecta – Aes Sidhe (2016)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
Let’s disclose the potential for bias right here: the two dudes in Analecta are close friends of mine. Patrick is in my ska band, and we have worked closely putting on shows both at the venue he manages and my own living room. Calvin and I probably have the most musical overlap (both in listening and style of playing) of anyone I know. My band has played more shows with Analecta than we have anyone else (we’re one of two bands thanked in the liner notes). I recorded their first demo over seven years ago (it’s still on their Bandcamp page). I even suggested the final track listing of this album when the limitations of vinyl required the songs be rearranged.
All that being said, I can imagine how you, dear reader, might see a glowing review and think that I’m just shilling for my friends. But I have a lot of friends, dear reader, and some of them make bad music, and you don’t see me writing about them here. My friendship merely lets me see this work in context, appreciating it from a birds eye view.

Because this is not Analecta’s first album: their first, Janus Bifrons, was released five years ago as a three piece. Then, they were a pretty conventional three piece–guitar, bass, drums, maybe the occasional keyboard, and a lot of loopers (this has not changed). Shortly after, Kevin, the guitarist, left (I joked about joining), and Pat and Calvin restructured as a two piece. Lots more keyboards were added, Calvin, who was not a guitarist, now switching from guitar to bass between recording loops.

​By design, their compositions grew more patient and carefully constructed. This album is the culmination of years of regrouping and self evaluation, yet it doesn’t suffer an identity crisis. Aes Sidhe bears no resemblance to a band struggling to find their voice, but rather to a group that’s been through a crisis, found themselves in it, and are screaming more loudly than ever.

Record #361: Emmylou Harris – Evangeline (1981)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
To paraphrase Arrested Development, if you’re picking through discarded collections, “you’re gonna get some [Emmylou Harris].”
The legendary country starlet has an absolutely massive catalogue of solo records on top of frequent collaborations and guest appearances (in the ‘00s, she supplied guest vocals for both Ryan Adams and Bright Eyes), and as one of the more popular country singers in the business, her records aren’t hard to come by.

This, her eighth album in twelve years, is made up of outtakes from previous recording sessions that didn’t quite fit on previous records. The result is as disjointed and splintered as you’d imagine. Especially considering how her regular studio albums aren’t exactly the most cohesive projects put to tape.

Emmylou made a career out of her masterfully arranged covers of other artists’ work (which is somehow much more forgivable in country music), and this album is no exception. Moodwise, she has always been the most successful singing mournful, midtempo ballads, and the ballads on this disc are truly spectacular. Opener “I Don’t Have to Crawl,” with its minor key and phased guitars is among the most affecting things she’s done, and closer “Ashes By Now” (both penned by Rodney Crowell) is almost apocalyptic.

But between them sits a number of uptempo numbers–some of them deftly executed “(How High the Moon,” which I know from Les Paul; “Mr. Sandman,” featuring Dolly Parton and Linda Ronstadt; “Hot Burrito #2,” by her late duet partner Gram Parsons), and some of them clumsier (CCR’s “Bad Moon Rising”; Bill Payne’s “Oh Atlanta”). This makes for an uneven record that nevertheless has a few shining moments.

Record #359: David Bowie – Blackstar (2016)

/ Nathaniel FitzGerald
black star

Death has a funny way or altering an artist’s work. Often when a musician dies close to the release of an album, listeners pore over the lyric sheets as if with a magnifying glass, instilling even the most circumstantial phrases with a sense of gravitas the artist didn’t intend. Joy Division’s Closer will forever be heard through the filter of Ian Curtis’ suicide. Johnny Cash’s American V: Hundred Highways will forever feel like a sage elder handing down his last piece of wisdom.
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In the same way, it is impossible to separate Blackstar from Bowie’s death.
 In this case, however, that’s by design. David Bowie knew he was dying. He knew this would be his last album. And it is just as mercurial and forward thinking an album as the man was himself. Nearly fifty years after releasing his debut, it would have been perfectly acceptable to release a sort of retrospective sounding disk, echoing any of his past versions: Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust, The Thin White Duke, The Man Who Fell to Earth, or even the blue-suited dancefloor master that dominated the 80s. But Bowie has always been one to sidestep expectations, and releasing a genre-stretching magnum opus two days before his death is the perfect Bowie move.
The sounds on here run the gamut from dark jazz with ominous saxophones and skittering drums to to frenetic rock and roll, coated with the occasional Broadway dramaticism. Girl Loves Me pairs industrial bass thuds with one of the strangest melodies Bowie has ever sung (and the most surreal lyrics–“where the fuck did Monday go?”). I Can’t Give Everything Away waxes melodramatic over an electronic pop beat. There are shades of Berlin’s fierce adventurism and Ziggy’s theatricality, but this is largely new territory for Bowie. And if anyone can use their impending death to usher in a new period of their work, it’s David Bowie.