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Lee Fields and the Expressions - My World

Truth & Soul Records, 2009

On the opening track for his 1999 album, Let’s Get A Groove On, Lee Fields told us that he made that album to remind “some of you how soul used to be back in the day…before synthesizers and drum machines…when it was rough. And nasty. And genuine.” Those were fighting words, but ones you could stand by, which he did, and ones that would prove their worth over the course of that record. It wasn’t idle talk either: Fields had been recording since the 70s, before disappearing in the 80s and re-appearing in 1997. Listening to either that past record or My World, you’d be probably be forgiven that in fact he died in the 80s and his current output has been post-humorously released. Or something involving a time machine, which would be cooler.

My World is steeped in 1970s soul. It stands unashamedly anachronistically against today’s current soul output and shows it for what it really is: poor imitations. Winehouse’s songs are shown up to be a poor dilution of the real soul sound—soul blended in with pop and r&b until all that’s left is a distasteful mash of any other singer. With trumpets.

On the first sound though, people who have listened to Field’s work before could be disappointed. There’s a price to pay for sticking by the original soul sound—it’s all been done before, and by you. Field has always been a solid soul artist, and this is a solid album, but does it add anything to the table? The art of ‘re-invention’ has always been rated highly among musicians, and with music that is already out-dated, you could be scared that Field just isn’t progressive enough to survive.

But unlike other ‘one-sounded’ bands such as Oasis, who could swap songs from any album around and not be found out, Lee Field has obviously been paying attention to himself. Lyrically he has grown much stronger: compared to the empty and meaningless words from previous records, this album is a revelation. Unafraid to speak out, Fields philosophises on all aspects of life. Okay, it’s mainly women and love. And okay, it’s all been said before. But goddammit, when he opens the album with a screaming What can a man do! When a woman is all he’s got! you can feel the anger and pain behind the words. Similarly on Money I$ King, Fields is never saying anything new, but he sings it with conviction and heart, like a souled-up Son House

It’s a comment that can pass over to the music. On the first listen it’s pure classic soul, but give it a second or third try and you realise the band is so much better than that. They’ve not been hiding under rocks all these years, but rather, carefully sticking their heads out every so often to listen about. On Ladies, underneath the tradition porn guitars, the drumbeat is fresher than anything from his previous work: they’ve heard hip-hop beats, and decided they’ll take some. The vocals on My World Is Empty Without You are pure gospel or rhythm and blues, but the ever-escalating string section and slowly increasing maraca beat is something straight out of any contemporary love-ballad.

It’s this track that defines the album: mournful and nostalgic, but not quite aware why, and at the same time strong and defiant. Of the few true soul artists around, perhaps only Fields can really grab any media attention now-a-days. But he hasn’t made this album as some sort of desperate lunge to ‘save’ the music, nor is it a farewell call to the sound he grew up with and recorded over all the years. This album isn’t making a statement with anything but the music: this isn’t a tribute or a callback or a funeral march. It’s just a soul album, and all the better for it.

7/10
Review by David

1. Do You Love Me (Like You Say You Do)
2. Love Comes And Goes
3. Honey Dove
4. Money I$ King
5. My World Is Empty Without You
6. Expressions Theme
7. My World
8. Ladies
9. These Moments
10. The Only One Loving You
11. Last Ride

DJ Shadow - Endtroducing….

Mo’ Wax 1996

Roll a phat one.  The DANKEST shit you’ve ever seen.  So grossly appealing, yet exhausting that while your baggy sits in your lap, you’re oddly more sexually aroused than you are seeing Ashlynn Brooke service the luckiest bastard in the world.  You sir, own the night.  The night is young, for that fact.  You’re going to pick up your buddies on the other side of town, and the three of you will rule the night, right from your car, as you all aimlessly drive around town, looking for fun.  Light that phat one.  Create an atmosphere out of nothing.  Control your atmosphere, and learn to love its ambiguity.  The ambiguity is almost like a voyage to the moon: full of mystery, shrouded in heavy smoke, and whizzing lights that steak by like stars overhanging an extended shutter, going largely noticed, along with your buddies, and the bassy riffs of the music.  You own the night.

by Car1

Disc: 1    
1. Best Foot Forward  
2. Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt  
3. The Number Song  
4. Changeling (**Transmission 1)  
5. What Does Your Soul Look Like part 4  
6. Stem/Long Stem (**Transmission 2)  
7. Mutual Slump  
8. Organ Donor  
9. Why Hip Hop Sucks In ‘96  
10. Midnight In A Perfect World  
11. Napalm Brain/Scatter Brain  
12. What Does Your Soul Look Like part 1 - blue sky revisit (**Transmission 3)

Disc: 2    
1. Best Foot Forward (Alternate Version)  
2. Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt (Alternate Take w/out Overdubs)  
3. The Number Song (Cut Chemist Party Mix)  
4. Changeling (Original Demo Excerpt)  
5. Stem (Cops ‘N’ Robbers Mix)  
6. Soup  
7. Red Bus Needs To Leave  
8. Mutual Slump (Alternate Take w/out Overdubs)  
9. Organ Donor (Extended Overhaul)  
10. Why Hip-Hop Sucks In ‘96 (Alternate Take)  
11. Midnight In A Perfect World (Gab Mix)  
12. Napalm Brain (Original Demo Beat)  
13. What Does Your Soul Look Like (Peshay Remix)  
14. DJ Shadow Live In Oxford, England, Oct. 30, 1997

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Electric Light Orchestra - Time

Jet Records, 1981

He stood before the ivory-fronted headquarters of the company. He had no idea why he had come here. They couldn’t help him and he certainly wasn’t welcome any more - not after his failed attempt to run away to the colony on the moon. Perhaps he was here because this place had been the beginning of his end, or, to put it more aptly, the final phase of his final phase.

The sun came out, one of the few reminders that he was still on Earth, one of the few things that hadn’t changed since what he now called his “old life”. The rain was another one of those things, rain that had beaten down upon London yesterday just like it had back in 1981. The ivory facade glinted as the rays hit its polished surface. So clean. So… Sterile.

‘We’ve made remarkable progress in environmental protection solutions since your time,’ Mark had replied when he had asked him about this. ‘It really took off in the early 2010’s, but even then the world was so polluted it took us a few decades to clean it all up. Science is a marvellous thing, don’t you think?’

No, he had wanted to reply, I don’t. Science is what’s trapped me here, what’s stopped me from going home. He picked up his suitcase, turned from the building and descended the steps onto the street. Charing Cross Road was as crowded as it had been in his time, except now the trundling double-deckers and belching black cabs were gone, replaced by their eco-friendly descendents. People spewed across the road on the zebra crossings, a few insubordinate souls ran across in the middle of the road. It had been his biggest surprise - disappointment, at first - that people hadn’t changed considerably in the hundred years he had skipped past. Fashion was more or less the same; he didn’t stand out in his tweed suit. People weren’t wired permanently to computers, nor had they evolved alien feelers or elongated ears. Except, Thomas reminded himself, some of them were androids.

He crossed Charing Cross Road and headed towards Leicester Square. The ticket booths was still there, the queues as long as ever, however the bars and cafes had all changed. He stopped by the Odeon and looked over the ticket prices. This was a pointless task, as he had no idea how much the Euro was now worth and how prices related to each other; it was more an attempt to regain normality than to obtain useful information. He turned back to the square. The pigeons took to the sky and he heard, in his head, how she would laugh at the silly birds. It made him wince.

‘You can’t go back,’ Mark had said. ‘I’m sorry. We’ve not yet developed the technology. Going forwards is relatively simple, you see - some fiddling about with your molecular structure, then break the speed of light and you’re on your way - but we’ve not found a way to go back. Our company has been working on it since we’d developed the machine that brought you here.’

‘So what do I do?’ he had asked.

‘Wait,’ Mark had replied. ‘I’m sorry.’

He fished out the piece of paper Mark had given him. The company were willing to put him up with somewhere to live and provide false documents for him, but he would have to manage on his own from there. As he unfolded the paper to re-read his new address, a one-pence coin fell from it and toppled to the pavement. He watched it trace circles on the scrubbed granite, then come to a halt at his feet. He picked it up, gave Queen Elizabeth one last glance, then pocketed it. He made his way towards Piccadilly Circus, from where he would catch the Tube and make his way to his new home.

Review by Llama

Track list

1. Prologue
2. Twilight
3. Yours Truly, 2095
4. Ticket to the Moon
5. The Way Life’s Meant to Be
6. Another Heart Breaks
7. Rain Is Falling
8. From the End of the World
9. The Lights Go Down
10. Here Is the News
11. 21st Century Man
12. Hold on Tight
13. Epilogue

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I Wrote Haikus About Cannibalism - 8 Song Demo

[No album art.]

Unsigned, No Release Date

I Wrote Haikus About Cannibalism are a bit of an enigma. Little is known about them, except that they hail from Antioch, California, and they are a four-piece. Their only known recordings are collected on the unofficially-titled 8 Song Demo, a simply stunning collection of screamo mini-masterpieces taken from their myspace page. Now, this is not your typical Hot Topic-core band; this is not My Chemical Romance; this is legitimate emo music. However, Haikus stray away from the formulaic, vapid garbage that makes up the majority of their genre. They take screamo songs, and sort of tint them through a jazz-and-ambient filter. Instead of simple power chords or double-bass drum blasts, I Wrote Haikus About Cannibalism opt to use unusual jazz chords and short ambient segues. This is especially apparent in Untitled 4; beginning with what may be the greatest ten seconds of music ever, three simply stunning chords, and followed by a wall of hardcore for perhaps twenty seconds. Then enters a sparse, perhaps minimalist section using those beautiful chords, which in turn transitions into a sort of bridge section. All this happens in two minutes exactly, and they are two incredible minutes indeed. These are not long songs by any means; the longest, Untitled 8, is a mere 2:54, the shortest (Untitled 2) is 1:09. The entire demo/EP is probably under 20 minutes. Overall, this is a unique and wonderful piece of screamo-jazz goodness.     8.5/10

Review by Jake

Track List:

1. Untitled 1 (2:53)
2. Untitled 2 (1:09)
3. Untitled 3 (1:45)
4. Untitled 4 (2:00)
5. Untitled 5 (1:57)
6. Untitled 6 (2:40)
7. Untitled 7 (2:05)
8. Untitled 8 (2:54)

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Wesley Willis - Greatest Hits, Vol. 1

Alternative Tentacles, 1995

Since the big boom of Christianity, people have been fretting over the return of Christ. People poured over their holy scriptures, drowned their children in water basins, made collection baskets heavy with their life savings, and knelt by their beds like begging whores to someone they have never seen to save their souls forgetting that some guy they all love has already done that for them. In their naiveté, they try to convince themselves that their Lord will come back and save their sorry asses a second time instead of taking responsibility for their wastefulness and destructive nature and make the world a truly better place. Why the hell would Jesus come back for their selfish asses?

Of course, no messiah would come right back and actually tell anyone that he is the Lord reincarnate. Jesus learned that the first time he went spouting out about how he’s the Son of God and all that fun stuff. Nobody likes a gloater. Nobody really likes crazy people all too much, either. We have to deal with crazy people, evangelists, PETA, and all things Disney. If Jesus came back, and he did, he’d get lost in the dredge of this crazy world, and he had. So what did Jesus do when he came back as a six-foot-plus, schizophrenic black man? He would spit in our face. And that’s what he did.

Wesley Willis is the voice of our times. We just don’t know it yet. I guarantee that sometime in the future someone will recognize his greatness and undergo a transformation of faith and write about it. All it takes is one push. Who wouldn’t want to worship such a man with such insight into the gluttony of America (“Rock n Roll McDonalds”) and the triumph over the darkness (“I Wupped Batman’s Ass”)? Listen and rejoice!

Review by Aaron

1. Rock n Roll McDonalds (2:29)
2. Larry Nevers / Walter Budzyn (2:44)
3. Rick Sims (2:30)
4. Outburst (2:47)
5. Chronic Schizophrenia (3:12)
6. Urge Overkill (2:10)
7. Skrew (2:07)
8. Tammy Smith (2:11)
9. Vampire Bat (2:42)
10. Elvis Presley (2:29)
11. The Chicken Cow (2:31)
12. Kris Kringle Was A Cat Thief (3.26)
13. Eazy-E (2:07)
14. Jesus Is the Answer (with the Wesley Willis Fiasco) (4:02)
15. He’s Doing Time In Jail (with the Wesley Willis Fiasco) (3:37)
16. I’m Sorry That I Got Fat (with the Wesley Willis Fiasco) (4:03)
17. Aftab Noorani (2:31)
18. Northwest Airlines (2:47)
19. I Wupped Batman’s Ass (3:29)
20. Who Killed John Columbo (3:14)
21. Stabbing Westward (2:21)
22. Richard Speck (2:26)

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Sufjan Stevens - The Avalanche

Asthmatic Kitty, 2006

You’re a painter. You paint landscapes, mainly. The paintings are beautiful and extremely detail: you use the thinnest brush you have to individually paint in each blade of grass. Your paintings are full of life: there’s often a herd of deer dancing in the background, the trees are filled with birds, mice hide in between the bushes. Your paintings are vibrant, painted with the brightest of colours so that, when you cover your studio with them, it feels like you’re in the middle of summer, even at night. What amazes people the most is that you don’t even live in the countryside—you live in inner-city Chicago. Your days are filled with the choking fumes of mid-day traffic. People ask how you manage to draw such detailed pictures without a reference, but you don’t understand—all you have to do is close your eyes, and the pictures are right there, even more beautiful than you can ever realise. You slowly build up a small following, getting places in some major galleries, but you don’t really like the attention.

Your brother died a year or two ago. The police said it was an accidental death—but you’re not so sure. He was always such a good boatsmans, and he always wore his life jacket. It just doesn’t seem possible. Somehow, he keeps appearing in your pictures. Your brother is there, drowning in the lake, his body soaking in the harsh blue water. You don’t know how, you swear you don’t draw him. Sometimes you swear you didn’t even mean to draw water, but his body is still there, floating in the river, wearing his blood-red Arcade Fire tee shirt. In your heart, although you try not to think about it, you know it was probably suicide.

You draw another parade of rabbits, hopping across the front of the forest.

5/5

Reviewed by David.

Tracklist:

1. The Avalanche
2. Dear Mr. Supercomputer
3. Adlai Stevenson
4. The Vivian Girls Are Visited in the Night by Saint Dargarius and His Squadron of Benevolent Butterflies
5. Chicago (Acoustic Version)
6. The Henney Buggy Band
7. Saul Bellow
8. Carlyle Lake
9. Springfield, or Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in His Hair
10. The Mistress Witch from McClure (Or, the Mind that Knows Itself)
11. Kaskaskia River
12. Chicago (Adult Contemporary Easy Listening Version)
13. Inaugural Pop Music for Jane Margaret Byrne
14. No Man’s Land
15. The Palm Sunday Tornado Hits Crystal Lake
16. The Pick-Up
17. The Perpetual Self, or What Would Saul Alinsky Do?
18. For Clyde Tombaugh
19. Chicago (Multiple Personality Disorder Version)
20. Pittsfield
21. The Undivided Self (For Eppie and Popo)

Trouble Over Tokyo - Pyramides

Schoenwetter Schallplattent, 2008

Somewhere out there in an alternate universe, the bassist from Radiohead (Colin Greenwood) came into the recording studio, where Thom Yorke was playing a dead kipper to the band, and said, “Haha! Hey, guys, guess what I just heard!? Some British indie tosser is going to record an album with Justin Timberlake!” and then the whole band laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea. But the bassist from Radiohead (Colin Greenwood), whilst clutching at his sides, lest they split, caught a glimpse of Thom’s eyes and saw the humiliation and embarrassment that tore through them, and then he knew. He knew. Not for the first time, Thom’s timid nature cost him an unique collaboration, and the world of music suffered just that little bit (although, admittedly, not much.)

Luckily enough, there are many alternate universes, and in one of them Thom Yorke and Justin Timberlake were involved in a horrific genetic accident a la The Fly and came out melded in some glorious pop mutation. Also, they were Belgian (but singing in English and living in London) and named Christopher “Toph” Taylor. Science does that sometimes.

Trouble Over Tokyo, then, is the name of Taylor’s project. It takes the introspective nature of British indie, dabs in electronica-goodness and slathers a good helping of thumping beats, falsetto vocals and generally amazingly pop sensibilities (from Belgium. Again, science). Pyramides is a hard album to place: Save Us starts out like an outtake from The Eraser, with a simple piano melody played out over electric drumbeats. Taylor’s voice is strangely powerful here, especially on the second verse—probably one of the most emotive vocals laid down in the past year. But by the time you get there, something in the back of your head is thinking, “this ain’t quite raite, lads.” All you wanted was a nice album containing indie-ballads about a man who likes a lady, and maybe some gentle ‘la-ing’ would be nice too. The first two tracks have pretty much delivered that, although you’re wondering why you’re compelled to twitch your body so much. Then The Liar strikes in with a violent violin intro and swooping vocals, track three, and here’s the chorus with jerky singing, layed vocals, echos, dancing bass, off-beat dru—shit, we’ve been had, guys, this is a fucking pop album.

Once you’ve reached that point, you might as well give in. Taylor certainly does. By the time we reach My Anxiety (containing some of the finest “whoops” ever caught on record) the record has become a self-parody of angsty R&B. Digital melancholia. A slice of pop pie coupled with the cream of depression. Because, if there was one thing to make Trouble Over Tokyo’s alternate universe collapse into our world, it must’ve been all this angst. On the first few tracks it’s barely noticeable. It becomes annoying around My Anxiety but that track’s so deliriously fun with it, so you can forgive it. But by the end of it, you just want to hug the poor guy and buy him an ice-cream and tell him to forget about the poor girl. This is an album where you’ll probably stop listening around track 7, only to come back later and accidentally here those last few songs and realise they’re just as good. But it’s such a tiring journey to get there, what with all this torment.

It’s by no means a perfect album. Slotting as it does between Thom Yorke and Justin Timberlake, there’s always the chance that it’ll slide too far in one direction—most often in the direction of Mr. Yorke, but by that point there’s still an undercurrent of Mr. Trousersnake that the pop bits stand out like some musical Uncanny Valley. And Eyes Off Me is just that awful bit of beauty teetering on the edge of cringing embarrassment. Maybe for the next album, he’ll have a nice girlfriend who wears woolly cardigans and flowery dresses and he’ll have a song about how awesome kisses are, and this limited run will be some sort of collector’s album. I certainly hope so, because while this album never fully embraces you, it gives a lingering kiss on the cheek that makes you wistfully think, what if?

7/10

Review by David

Tracklist
1. Start Making Noise
2. Save Us
3. The Liar
4. 4,228
5. Eyes Off Me
6. Washing Away
7. My Anxiety
8. No Handed (Part II)
9. The Dark Below
10. Pyramids

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CocoNot - Cosa Astral

Ever wonder what would happen if you put Animal Collective into a blender with Tito Puente, some ganja, and some reeeeally good rum? Neither have I, but i’d imagine it’d sound like CocoNot.

This li’l ensemble from Mexico, or some place down there, puts out some ridiculous grooves under a tropical, trippy, yet fairly accessible melody section that brings to mind the above combination to a ridiculous degree. These guys are like a friggin’ Royal Caribbean cruise, sans cheesiness and fat people with obnoxious kids, and rich brats who have eluded their parents and are currently lowering your faith in humanity one way or another. No, these guys are what is good about the tropics. Each song sounds like either :

A.) A delicious fruit
B.) Sitting in a hammock
or
C.) Having a kickass rhumba party

Broken down, CocoNot takes from the new psychadelia movement happening farther north, Afro-Cuban rhythms, quirky synth sounds, and whatever the main guy, El Guincho, is smoking. Theres also a strange sense of a wall of sound feel, even though its distinctly absent save for wonderfully lush reverb, and the production is definitly not lo-fi by most means. The production sounds like having a really shitty radio turned down low, but your ear is right next to it.

CocoNot’s quazi-sparse arrangements and light upbeat feel is both familiar and exotic, like most fruits for lack of a more eloquent metaphor. Different language aside, these guys are doing something as refreshing as a nice caipirinha on the beach of Costa Rica at sunset with the view of a carnival off in the distance.

Reviewed by Squishy

Track List

1. Conservad El Reyo (3:56)
2. Te Tenia En Cinta (2:43)
3. Verbena De Los Delfines (3:28)
4. Si Apuntos y No Matas Todo (2:33)
5. Tao (3:07)
6. Polen Muchacha! (3:14)
7. El Final De Sonido Tropical (3:08)
8. Miles De Ojos (3:00)
9. Ibiza (4:35)

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