PopMatters Music Short Takes

Matthew Perryman Jones, Swallow the Sea

It might be easy to sleep on Matthew Perryman Jones. The Nashville resident has organically built a steady following through the undeniable strength of his soul-baring live performances and the quality of his songcraft. To embrace Jones would have taken the effort to investigate what can be rewarding about an under-the-radar artist.But, to listen to Jones’ third full-length is to know that his talent can’t be ignored. A songwriter’s songwriter with a voice that sounds as if he was raised on U2, there is both a grand presence about the artist and the intimate familiarity of an old friend.

Swallow the Sea reconciles Jones’ great charisma and his great tenderness. Tracks like “Don’t Fall In Love”, the title track and a wholly modern take on the timeless “Motherless Child” are awash with pure waves of emotion, dynamic crescendos and moody yet melodic guitars. Some of the album’s best cuts, however, tread more gently and simply. Perhaps the record’s crowning achievement is the buoyant “When It Falls Apart”, a mix of Beatle-esque joie de vivre and a more modern folk rock palette. Other tunes like “Save You” prove that Jones can even do a cinematic power ballad without it sounding paint-by-numbers (in fact the song approximates the tenor of U2’s “Bad” while maintaining some adult contemporary cred).

With songs like these, delivered both with power and grace, Jones’ solid fanbase looks ready to explode. Fortunately, he seems the type of artist who could rise like a meteor with losing what made him special in the first place. [Amazon]

Nethers, What the Wind Will Never Tell (Trade Root)

On What the Wind Will Never Tell, the new disc from Washington, D.C.’s Nethers, the band is out to trick you. The simple strummed chords, barely-there percussion, and lilting vocals of opener “Esprit de Nethers”—not to mention that precious title—set us up for an album of fey, folk-touched pop. Music that is pleasant but lacks the presence to have any lasting impact. But, by the time you hit track three, “Green Jean Jamboree”, you’ve caught yourself and dismissed your first reaction. That track, full of crunchy guitars and wailing harmonicas under Nikki West’s full-bodied vocals, shows the band’s infectious combination of pure-pop fun and soulful emotion. “The Night, The Soul” is the best example of Nethers’ darker side, where West’s sweet vocals turn haunting, and the band burns slow and heavy behind her. The album moves seamlessly between lush pop songs and brooding ballads, ending with the simple and brief “Grace’s Pond”, a quick acoustic number that has West singing the final line, “I will be grateful for all I’ve ever known.” And judging by the breadth and weight of emotion we hear throughout the record, this final line—sung as the narrator has fallen into a cold, wintery lake—sounds like a hard-earned lesson; a lesson Nethers brings us to with ghostly beauty on What the Wind Will Never Tell. [Amazon]

Dream Bitches, Coke and Spiriters (Recommended If You Like)

If you can excuse the corny title (possibly chosen after one too many Rum and Cokes) there’s much to love in the second album from New York’s Dream Bitches. The jangling, gnarly guitars and infectious, intertwining, harmonies will no doubt receive many Sleater-Kinney references, but Dream Bitches lush, retro-pop has more in common with the wordy, sussed lyricism of New York neighbors Jeffrey Lewis and Kimya Dawson. By far the best song here is “Sweet Anneth”, a cute, intoxicating, story of “the cutest boy I ever saw” who teaches Anneth to “sip some cider through a straw,” before being left with “sixteen brats who call me ma.” Breaking between That Dog-style kooky verses and a full-on Babes in Toyland on-the-dance-floor hooks, Anneth discovers that the “the moral of this story is don’t drink your cider through a straw.” [Amazon]

Poolplayers, Way Below the Surface (Songlines)

Atmosphere, baby—smoke and mist and the camera moving slowly in dim light. Colors shifting and unidentifiable flickers of light. You’ve seen this movie—what music ought to go with it? Some tumbles of drums—brushes in neo-noir pifffff-ing against snare. Electronics that fill the void in a mystical way, but nothing to clear, please. The tinkle of piano as if from another room—NO, another galaxy, another time. Trumpet, but not trumpet. Muted or aching or… like Miles Davis but not too soulful. Like the highlands. Like Paris at night.

Here are the musicians: Arve Henriksen on trumpet, vocals; Benoit Delbecq on piano; Lars Juul on drums; Steve Arguelles on who knows what—“Usine, delays, Sherman filter”—which I guess means really cool electronics and production stuff. For jazz fans, this sounds a bit like an ECM record, with a Scandinavian chill of indecisive ruling most tunes as the musicians improvise for texture and (say the liner notes) “nebulous sonic territories”. It’s a kind chill music, maybe—something to dig when life just doesn’t seem ominous enough. It’s the stuff they put beneath really weird stories on This American Life, maybe, or the music you would pad beneath your celluloid hero as he walks down an alley. In Norway. Or Paris. Or in whatever pretentious locale you may choose. [Amazon]

Reks, Grey Hairs (Show Off/Brick Records)

Boston’s underground rap scene isn’t typically mentioned in hip-hop circles. Yet, rappers from Beantown have been consistently killing it since Edo G first came up. From Akrobatik to Edan to Reks, hip-hop heads certainly have plenty to choose from, but for whatever reason, they keep sleeping. While Ak and his rhyming partner Mr. Lif share some time in the limelight here and there, the only emcee people usually name from Boston is GURU. And we all know how he doesn’t exactly flaunt that. Yet, the aforementioned rappers don’t let their city’s lesser-known scene hold them back. Ak dropped the fantastic Absolute Value earlier this year and now we are treated to Reks’ Grey Hairs, a consistent, moody, and ultimately solid album.

Across the 20 tracks on Grey Hairs, there is nary a subject Reks doesn’t hit with full force. He jumps seamlessly from slavery and materialism, “Black Cream (The Negro Epidemic)”, to teenage pregnancy, “Cry Baby”, to throwing verbal darts, “Pray For Me”. And none of it sounds contrived. Reks spits with passion and fervor no matter the topic and it only helps that the production on here is also stellar. For the flawless “Black Cream (The Negro Epidemic)”, Statik Selektah laces the beat with a somber vocal sample and drums that knock. As a counterpoint, Statik provides a street anthem background on “The One” that gives Reks the chance to flaunt his skills on the mic while tackling societal issues. Oh, right, DJ Premier and Large Professor also crafted beats for Reks. That alone should at least make you eager to listen to this album at least once. But after one spin I can guarantee that you will be going back for more. [Amazon]

Anthony Rother, My Name Is Beuys Von Telekraft (Telekraft)

Let’s clear something up: the music that is labeled “electro” these days isn’t really electro, at least not in the lineage of the proto-techno created by Kraftwerk, Cybotron, and Afrika Bambaataa. This isn’t to suggest that the current crop of overcompressed and overdriven house doesn’t have its merits (its damn fun and usually funky), but that the subtly and science fiction rigidity of the original electro has been largely tossed aside.

Enter Anthony Rother, a modern electro purist if there is one. His latest release, My Name Is Beuys Von Telekraft, finds him assuming the titular alter-ego, a futuristic scientist prone to either madness or genius; the lyrics don’t really explain this much further. Narrated in both English and German (perhaps a nod to Kraftwerk, who recorded their albums in both languages), “My Name Is Telekraft” explains the origins of the titular character over a minimalist backdrop of pouncing 4/4 bass drum and claps, and arpeggiated synthesizer. This tried-and-true electro formula—so stiff it’s funky, to paraphrase Carl Craig’s observations of Kraftwerk—works to make interesting phrases and beats, but it can’t always sustain the long track lengths on Telekraft. “Digital Vision” starts out with promise, but its peaks and valleys are too subtle to easily distinguish, and do little to justify its nearly eight-minute run time. Rother’s tight beats and bass synth rhythms can trap him too early on in a track, though he saves himself by breaking free of these molds, such as on the excellently intricate “City of Legends”.

Things get much more interesting on the bonus disc, a flipside journey through the darker realms of classic electro called Geomatrix, laid out in 10 parts. These drum-free pieces of synth ambience are descended from Vangelis’ brilliantly eerie Blade Runner soundtrack, and Geomatrix plays out as an intriguing aural glimpse at the dark, technology-ridden alleys of the elusive future. Listening to “Geomatrix Part 5”, it’s easy to picture Telekraft chasing a rogue replicant down a rain-soaked, flashing light-drenched city street. Meanwhile, Parts 1 and 2 instill a sense of majesty, employing dizzying chime progressions that are vaguely reminiscent of the “something is off” feeling of the soundtrack to City of Lost Children. From concept to execution, Telekraft would make a lovely soundtrack, but at times, the story could use a tweak. [Amazon]

Old Man Luedecke, Proof of Love (Black Hen)

Old Man Luedecke (who’s given name is Chris) is a Canadian banjo player who has taken Americana folk music north of the border to show us how it’s done. With all that wide open land up there, it makes sense that a Canuck would take so well to rural sounds. The style he performs might be most commonly associated with the hills of Eastern America, but the plink-plonking twangs of his four-string tenor banjo and his even voice seem especially resonant when imagined against the hard tundra and endless expanses of the Nova Scotia countryside Luedecke calls home. On his sophomore album, Proof of Love, he and his minimal backing band pick and strum their way through 11 warm-yet-moody and keenly observed original tunes, plus two traditional numbers that blend in seamlessly with Luedecke’s timeless sensibilities. [Amazon]

Ed Askew, Rainy Day Song (Spinning Gold)

Ed Askew honed and perfected his craft from last album to this one. Of course, seeing as his last one was issued in 1968 you would hope it’s honed. But age at times can be a bit cruel. Askew’s voice is strong but has that elder warble in it that seems to run through songs like the opening, piano-driven title track and the ensuing “Hey Joe” that is decent but really nothing more. Perhaps the song best exemplifying the record is “Spinning Tops”, a song part sung and part spoken that resembles a song Lou Reed and David Byrne would collaborate on. Another such little nugget is “Blue Eyed Baby”, a reflective and melancholic piece that grows on the listener. As the album continues, there’s a fondness for most of the songs, especially “A Waltz in the Dark” which recalls a past love Askew had or pined for. There’s a tinge of sadness in a lot of the songs, especially “Climbing To The Top” and “Morning Comes Again” as he sings of waking up, looking at children playing and just basically people-watching. When Askew elects to sound contemporary on “A New Song”, it’s a hit and miss affair. [Amazon]