Canadian Audiophile’s Mishaps and Misadventures

Visions of Martha making her way down a fire escape frantically with the strap of a high-heeled shoe in her mouth and a wadded-up pair of panties gripped in her hand temper I Know You’re Married But I’ve Got Feelings Too with a sense of urgency and a sense of treachery and a sense of peril.

Part broken-hearted, part howl-at-the-moon, part soulful-shitstorm, the stellar youngest Wainwright is often noted for being a ball of emotion (most of it directed at the shitty parenting skills of Loudon Wainwright III) and a citadel of profane and unrefined impulse. She’s also despairingly needy and distressed; a true trickster with a hiked-up skirt and a wounded soul attached to the bottle.

Aw hell, it’s light and shade for all of us in the end anyway.

I Know You’re Married But I’ve Got Feelings Too exemplifies the gloomy patterns we fall into in hopes of finding pleasure. By focusing on our lost wishes and our frantic, obsessive dreams, we’re able to give a blessing to a small splinter of sunshine before once again shrinking back into the shadows to bear witness to our own devices.

It’s not surprising that the cover of Martha’s second album – and can you believe that? – features her prone on a sofa, legs bare, ready to victimize or be victimized. This record is that openness, it is that austerity, and it is that discrimination.

Take for instance “Bleeding All Over You,” fierce title and all. She messily lays her soul out and suffers the wounded results: “My heart was made for bleeding all over you/And I know you’re married but I’ve got feelings too/But I still love you.”

Martha seeks implicit approval incessantly and is incessantly frayed or flung by love and living, it seems. On “So Many Friends,” she bemoans the direction her life has taken. “I have lost so many friends/I have gained so many memories.”

Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Thankfully, dear Martha has found her way through the depths of her tormented choices and the directions her life has taken her. She is more than willing to look forward and courteously assembles what she can. “Comin’ Tonight” lets us know that she’s still searching for that encounter and is willing to forget it when it’s done.

But in the end, what can Martha do?

A tempest of bad choices – that’s why we love her – and a throng of heroic attempts rush through her life in song with frankness and audacity. She’ll get up again. She’ll climb down another fire escape. And we’ll be there, every step of the way.

8/10

Some bands contain so much energy that it’s hard to imagine sitting still while listening to their music. The Futureheads match that description better than most alt-rock bands in recent memory, with the exception of perhaps Franz Ferdinand or The Hives.

The band cites Devo, The Jam, XTC, and Kate Bush among their influences and the impact those performers have had on this Sunderland band is perceptible from the first few rapid notes. This is express music, double-timed for your pleasure.

This Is Not The World marks the band’s first work on their own label, Nul Records. After being dropped from 679 for not selling enough records, The Futureheads decided to make their own label and get to work on selling how they want, when they want, where they want.

This defiant attitude plays out on the record in its speed and in its addiction to energy, but isn’t there in the structure or variety of the songs. Each one pounds through similar power-pop-rock melodies, which both helps and harms this album. Mostly harms.

The damage comes when each song unfolds in comparable fashion, much like most power-pop-punk stuff. Fist-pumping choruses follow somewhat downturned verses, with a bridge ripe for light guitar tinkering floats into the last third of the song. Each song follows a related pattern, which is great for predictable pop-rock but not so great for innovation or for a band that so daringly left the confines of familiar labels to revolt on their own. When that rebellion sounds like “Sale of the Century,” an underwhelming mechanical rock tune, it loses its sting.

The pacing helps in other places, though, and the certainty becomes easier to bear on the album’s catchiest tune, “Radio Heart.” Other songs walk the same scaffold, but lack the wallop.

Unfortunately, This Is Not The World lacks the quality of 2006’s great News & Tributes and features very little by way of forward-thinking rock. “Hard to Bear” is a moving enough track, but even its rigid dive takes the clout away from the song and degenerates it into a lukewarm power ballad.

And the similarities between “Sleet” and the album’s title track serve to drive home the sameness of the album in rather noticeable terms.

Overall, This Is Not The World is a sub-standard entry in the annals of The Futureheads. This is a step backward, in my view, and the band’s originality seems to have been left back at 679 somehow. Perhaps a follow-up effort will capture more intensity, but this one’s simply too much of the same to be very interesting.

3/10

There are bands which borrow so much from other sounds and acts that their own sound is hard to distinguish. Phantom Planet is one of those bands, melding tones from White Stripes, early Radiohead, and Muse to formulate a sound that gets less and less compelling by the second.

With the band’s debut, Phantom Planet Is Missing, the group toyed with redoing Beach Boys songs with infusions of (surprise!) surf rock. The follow-up contained the single “California” and brought the group some mainstream popularity c/o The OC and Mischa Barton.

With their latest, Raise the Dead, Phantom Planet heads right into the sphere of dull pop-rock humdrum in search of instant gratification and big radio hits.

Early on in the recording process, the band’s contract with their record label expired and they signed a new deal with Fueled by Ramen, the home of such boisterous characters as Fall Out Boy, Paramore, and Panic at the Disco. Having played on TV shows like Sabrina the Teenage Witch and appeared on the soundtrack for Not Another Teen Movie, one can easily get a sense for the audience Phantom Planet aims for.

Raise the Dead takes Phantom Planet’s evident influences and stuffs them in a whizzer for less-than-tempting results. Songs impersonate their influences outright, like the crusty White Stripes drive of “Geronimo” or the Muse-inspired-mania of “Dropped.” Eventually the influences all crowd each other out and it feels like a compilation album from better bands as opposed to bright new material from this Tony Berg-produced “effort.”

If one is able to get past the omnipresent copycat sound of the majority of the songs, Raise the Dead does aim somewhat at being a amusing little summer album. The funky Dave Gahan-esque “Too Much Too Often” is a respectable tune, as is the unusually conventional but satisfying “Do the Panic.”

Overall, however, Phantom Planet’s latest simply lacks the originality and ingenuity required to stand alone as a good rock album. The compositions are simply too rented to have any lasting meaning.

Raise the Dead might make the deceased flinch a little, but it won’t be raising any corpses any time soon. Too morbid? Nah.

3/10

“The absence of much advance notice or information might seem a little strange and perverse but the record was made so quickly that I didn’t even tell myself about it for a couple weeks,” Elvis Costello told Billboard back on April 22, 2008 as he marked the vinyl release date of his newest album Momofuku.

According to the Billboard interview, the songs on Momofuku were inspired by the work Elvis did on Jenny Lewis’ upcoming solo record.

Costello works with the Imposters on Momofuku and the tone is fresh and exciting while still maintaining the base of their sound. By adding the harmonies of Jenny Lewis, who stepped over to help Costello, Momofuku is full and unreserved. Packed with elegant melodies and lots of toe-tapping goodness, this may well be one of the best records of the year.

With the album title serving as a tribute to Momofuku Ando, the inventor of the Cup Noodle, Costello and the Imposters wanted the tone of “just add water” to infuse the record and create an raw sound. The speed of the recording and the untreated character of the players work wonders, as each tune unfolds naturally, rapidly and vigorously.

That vigour is the driving force of Momofuku. The wonder of the record is how it works with such ease to create such depth. Made in six days in Los Angeles, it is truly a work of Ramen-esque proportions.

Costello comes across as tranquil and pleased, even when he’s storming through convincing near-polemics like “American Gangster Time” and “Stella Hurt,” both of which serve as charming visions into the sort of “putdown rock” that he can do so well.

Originally set for a release purely on vinyl, Momofuku eventually saw its CD release at the beginning of May. By the time it hit compact disc, the record and Costello’s cheekiness had garnered the recording a great deal of attention. While the CD is a more than satisfactory way to listen to this record, I can only imagine how much more the music would come alive through the cracks of vinyl.

Costello’s moving glimpse inward on “My Three Sons” goes to show how much the man has changed through time and with fatherhood. At 53, he sounds worn but far from worn out as he runs the gamut of emotions and stands as strong as ever in front of the Imposters.

“Turpentine” has an addictive melody and its almost uncontrollable joy threatens to pop out of the speakers and instigate some sort of jubilant riot in the living room. Costello certainly has softened the edges a little bit and, as such, he comes across as more intuitive and less self-conscious.

And so it is that Costello’s finest work in quite some time is an invigorating revelation of what happens when a group of amazingly talented musicians gather in a room and “just add water.” Momofuku is inventive, sharp, lively, and potent. It is a gorgeous piece of work that deserves repeated spins, preferably on a favourite record player. But hey, we take what we can get!

9/10

Filled with contagious grooves and bouncy piano, Jukebox the Ghost’s Let Live and Let Ghosts is a sparkling 60s pop revival sort of record. The DC-born, Philly-based three-piece is skilled at conducting themselves with relentless glee, adding triple harmonies to songs and bounding around like a bunch of crazed preschoolers with immense musical talent and endless optimism.

Let Live and Let Ghosts sounds like a sort of amped-up Ben Folds record, with bouncier piano and more liberal doses of electric jubilation. Serving as an excellent introduction to an incredibly fun new group, this debut rekindles the joy of sing-along pop without sounding dorky or forced.

Pushing straight through the geek rock of bands like Weezer and into a more delicate sense of composition, Jukebox the Ghost is here to stay.

Featuring Ben Thornewill on piano/vocals, Tommy Siegel on guitar/vocals, and Jesse Kristin on drums/vocals, the setup for Jukebox the Ghost is humble and pleasant. Thornewill’s classical piano training is evident from the get-go, spicing up songs like the enchanting “Victoria” with tantalizing notes and scales.

Let Live and Let Ghosts bounces joyfully from miniature rock operas to dreamy multiple-movement pop songs, allowing Thornewill and Co. to really show their stuff.

The repetition of piano on “Good Day” imposes the band’s glee on the listener and the lyrics encase the song with a sense of cheerfulness, letting the chorus’ “Whoa-oh-oh-oh” backdrop take the listener to a happier time.

Composing music that soaks the soul in a balm of often-ridiculous merriment, Let Live and Let Ghosts is a peppy album that doesn’t lack depth. The compositions mosey through tempo changes on the stirring “Beady Eyes on the Horizon” to calm balladry on the affectionate and moving “My Heart’s the Same” with a gentle sense of control, giving the listener a continually developing experience.

All in all, Let Live and Let Ghosts is an exciting album filled with remarkably sunny and alluring sing-along-pop righteousness. Thornewill, Siegel, and Kristin are a taut unit who seem born to deliver records like this.

Set against a sea of comparisons to Queen and They Might Be Giants, Jukebox the Ghost might have a lot of living up to do, but I think they’ll fare rather well.

7.5/10

Spiritualized’s sixth studio album is a special one. Coming five years after their previous album, Amazing Grace from 2003, and following frontman Jason Pierce’s near-death experience after he contracted an inflammation and infection of the eyelid and bilateral pneumonia, Songs in A&E is a dramatic set of sweet delights.

The album’s title takes its name from the long period of time Pierce spent in the Accident and Emergency ward and the songs are dedicated to the staff at The Royal London Hospital where he received treatment. While most of the songs were written before Pierce fell ill, the sense in which he vocalizes the sentiments gives each track an added weight through his experiences.

Instead of glooming it up with senseless foolishness, Pierce conducts things skilfully and turns out a stunning record. The soundscapes are complete and fascinating, unfolding with tenderness and a sort of considered calm as though Pierce is reminding us of the preciousness of life without getting sappy.

Indeed, much of Spiritualized’s Songs in A&E has poignancy embedded in the structure. Pierce isn’t afraid to cut deeper, though, and some of the songs contain copious amounts of ache and resentment (“You Lie You Cheat”). For the most part, though, Songs in A&E is a life-affirming and gorgeous record with a strong sense of humanity to it.

Inspiring music is often tough to rate, especially when so many bands in search of the perfect uplifting record are prone to venture into a sort of Coldplay-on-steroids feel. With Spiritualized, however, it feels authentic.

“Death Take Your Fiddle” is, all at once, bleak and rousing. When Pierce sings “So Death take your fiddle/play a song for me,” one can’t help but flinch.

Pierce’s small, conked-out vocals are what tie each track together. Musically, things are accurate and on-point but not overly unique. It is the broken words and intonations that make Songs in A&E something significant, as Pierce often sounds like a prophet that’s been to the other side and can’t decide whether it’s heaven or hell he prefers.

“I Gotta Fire” sounds like a barn-burning rock nightmare, while “Baby I’m Just a Fool” brings the tenderness back into the scenery. Most of Songs in A&E feels like forlorn thoughts cast out from a hospital bed when the future isn’t certain but optimism still reigns supreme.

Spiritualized’s Songs in A&E is perfect music for listening to the end or the beginning of your life. Its CD booklet contains a powerful visual theme of intravenous drip catheters designed to serve as deliverance, but it’s the music that really offers spiritual cover here.

Containing moving songs with genuine soul and passion, this is Spiritualized’s best album to date and a wonderful study of the extremes of the human experience.

9/10

I have this recurring dream where Paris Hilton is getting her ass kicked while trying to sing “Stars Are Blind” to a crowd of a couple hundred confounded onlookers. The Heiress is trying to make her way through the ironic line “Some people never go beyond their stupid pride” with that silly backing track coming out of a tape recorder perched on the stage behind her when she’s knocked right square in the face by a Converse shoe. In my dream, someone roundhouse kicks Paris Hilton in the face. It’s the single greatest visual I’ve had of her that didn’t take place in night-vision green.

When the dream ends, I have no idea who roundhouse kicked Paris Hilton and I wake up with a Cheshire cat grin on my face. My wife gives me a look and says “You had that dream again” and I nod.

One day while making my way through MySpace, I came across FARCHILD and knew instantly that she was the owner of that Converse shoe. Something about the way she looks, about the way she appears to defy convention by her very existence, tells me that she’s the one who roundhouse kicked the Heiress.

Now after checking out her debut, Chivalry Has Died, I’m more than convinced she’s the one. FARCHILD (or Jane C.) is the personification of the do-it-yourself grassroots indie artist. She is the executive producer and the sound engineer. She wrote, produced, arranged, programmed, and engineered all of Chivalry Has Died. She plays guitar, keys, drums, bass, and electronics. She sings, raps, screams, and growls.

FARCHILD does it all.

Chivalry Has Died contains music written and created between 2006 and 2008 and represents the arrival of FARCHILD as the quintessential ass-kicking female out of Seattle with a story to tell and an attitude that chews up pop princesses and spits them out. Her lyrics are audacious and clever, providing a nice breather from the usual worthless pageantry. When someone can use words like “lascivious” without flinching or sounding glitzy, something special’s going on.

The musical tapestries of Chivalry Has Died are incredible. Songs emerge out of the fog and contain walls of sound and stunning pieces of melody. Tunes dip in and out as FARCHILD experiments with the disposition of her instruments, never scared of venturing outside the box and always adeptly toying with the elements. The album is bookended with a couple of instrumental tracks (“Quite a Bomb” and “Peter Piper”) which add a sense of obedient ambiance to the project.

With just eight tracks, Chivalry Has Died is unhappily a touch on the short side. Luckily it doesn’t lack any of the impact of a full album and FARCHILD manages to say in eight songs what many artists couldn’t say in twenty.

The striking and haunting composition “Red Moon” sets things in motion and FARCHILD’s dazzling vocals intone such poetry as “Now so potent, skulking stale scent nestled under my tongue” with philosophical openness.

Other songs are a bit more mischievous, like the standout “Ey, Papi.” The track takes aim at the club pick-up game, with FARCHILD steadily in control of the game and threatening to knock some poor sap’s tooth out if he doesn’t submit to her demands for respect and honesty. “I am anything but docile, so don’t bend me,” she says.

FARCHILD takes aim at consumerist culture and quick fixes on tracks like “Timmy’s a Rebel” and “Quo,” the latter of which describes people who go to great lengths to cheat Father Time but couldn’t care less about the state of the nation as it sinks beneath their feet.

FARCHILD means business and she demands your attention but won’t beg for it. A thrilling project with equal parts art and accessibility, Chivalry Has Died contains a literary compendium of lyrics and a vigorous dose of attitude wrapped up in vastly entrancing compositions. Jane C. is a remarkably gifted individual with a lot to say and an unbending attention to detail that allows her to turn out some of the most compelling music of the year thus far.

Chivalry Has Died is available for purchase through FARCHILD’s website and you can drop by her MySpace page for a glimpse into her mad, mad world. Watch out for her Converse, though. I hear she’s got a lethal fucking roundhouse.

8.5/10