Deborah Harry

Koo Koo/Def, Dumb & Blonde

(BGO Records; US: Import; UK: 1 Jun 2009)

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Deborah Harry’s solo career has often challenged those who just want her to warble, “Once I had a love.”  The record company’s commercial considerations usually struck an uneasy balance with Harry’s artistic aspirations. They sought some semblance of Blondie, and she wanted to carve her own identity independent of the million-selling group. Underscoring this polarity, BGO Records serves up a set of two solo albums, Koo Koo (1981), and Def, Dumb & Blonde (1989), that find the artist breaking convention, and at the record company’s urging, aiming for that elusive hit

Koo Koo, her first solo outing, is a truly fascinating effort. Produced by Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards of Chic. and perhaps a little too ahead of its time, Koo Koo shocked audiences expecting another “Heart of Glass”. While still an acquired taste, its edgy mix of funk, new wave, rock, and Middle Eastern motifs, is best experienced with ample amplification to maximize the effect of Chic’s rhythm section. Rodgers and Edwards lay down some prime licks on “Surrender” and Harry howls over the driving post-punk energy of “Under Arrest”. Pseudo-Beat poetry, horns, and helicopter sound effects make “Military Rap” worth the price of entry, and the rest of Koo Koo for that matter.

Jumping one Blondie album (1982’s The Hunter) and solo album (1986’s Rockbird) later, Def, Dumb & Blonde reunited Deborah Harry with hit Blondie producer Mike Chapman, and teamed her with the Thompson Twins on a pair of tracks. The bright-pop sheen of “I Want That Man” and “Kiss It Better” indicate a concerted appeal to a pop audience that confine the songs to 1989. “Maybe for Sure”, written by Harry with Chris Stein, has aged better in the years since while “Sweet and Low” remains a guilty dance-floor pleasure. (Note to collectors: four additional songs from the original album, including the solo classic “Bike Boy”, are mysteriously absent on this version of Def, Dumb & Blonde.

The packaging of the albums is just this side of a budget release—the striking cover art of Koo Koo is reduced to a quarter-page square—but the liner notes do offer a crash course in Deborah Harry’s solo career for those who only know the Blondie story. Any excuse to hear Koo Koo, a most rewarding curio in the oeuvre of both Deborah Harry and Chic, is good enough to take the plunge—with caution.

—Christian John Wikane

Karuna Khyal

Alomony 1985

(Phoenix; US: 15 Sep 2009; UK: 7 Sep 2009)

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This Japanese obscurity from the 1970s has been something of a fetish item since its release. Subsequently celebrated by purveyors of talismanic treasures of psychedelia like Julian Cope, Alomony 1985 was introduced to Western audiences on a short-run re-release ten years ago by Paradigm records, along with the lone release from potentially connected labelmates Brast Burn. Now, the album is being released in a limited run of 1,000 from Phoenix Records in casing that precisely duplicates the vinyl’s original sleeve, depicting a domed frau projected over half a major metropolitan city on the front and a married set of little people on the back. 

The album art seems to indicate a kind of feminized empowerment derived from divorce and alimony, but the music inside is a phallic, onanistic, and noisy mess. Probably best poised somewhere between the bluesy dirges of Captain Beefheart and the collectivist jammy experimentation of Amon Duul I, and certainly exhibiting the pre-post-punk DIY ethic of those acts, the Karuna Khyal still succeeds in being, like that liberated frau, sui generis and a priori to nothing, particularly impressive since it came from the homogeneous land of Japan. If it were about 50% fuzzier (distortion-wise you can still feel the beards growing off this one), one might mistake the capricious harmonicas and hellish dronescapes for an Acid Mothers Temple plant, suspect to its chronological origins like Bernard Fevre’s Black Devil. With a record with this much occult mystery to it, it has the inevitable potential to disappoint upon actually cracking open the thing. Though the distended focus on several key phrases can be exhaustive at times, the improv disharmony of Karuna Khyal is likely to be welcomed by any psych fan

—Timothy Gabriele

Forro in the Dark

Light a Candle

(Nat Geo; US: 13 Oct 2009; UK: 12 Oct 2009)

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Forro in the Dark knows how to party, and its regular New York City shows—including its long-running Wednesday night residency at Nublu that stretches well into the wee hours— provide plenty of spice. You’d expect nothing less if it’s true forro—the popping, pulsing party music derived from African and Brazilian strains—but you’d also expect a lot more than what’s offered by Light a Candle, which doesn’t so much feel like a triumphant scream as it does a pleasant shrug with occasional cause for celebration. Were it that everything on here throbbed like “Caipirinha”, a percussion showcase as primal as visceral, or burned like “Silence Is Golden”, which features half-sung, half-breathed vocals by the Brazilian Girls’ Sabina Sciubba. However, too many wind up somewhere long or short of “Just Like Every Other Night”, which is sung in English and aims for a light, laid-back groove but feels downright wimpy—lazy, even—next to what you know these cats can put out there. It’s pleasant and unessential.

—Chad Berndtson

Tubers

Anachronous

(No Idea; US: 19 Jan 2009; UK: 19 Jan 2009)

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iTunes lists Tubers as “Alternative & Punk”, whatever that means. When you actually hear Anachronous, however, the latest from Tubers, you realize that this record can’t be contained, for it’s full of life and a pressing urgency. Consider it the sonic equivalent of Evander Holyfield knocking your teeth out. Tubers convey the grit and dirt that exists deep within the soul, and does it amidst furious, charging guitars and percussion that might make lesser beings call for their mother. The band’s sound can be tough to digest at times, especially on “Expense of Flight”, which moves with Fugazi-like speed and resonance. If traditional hooks don’t get your blood flowing, then Anachronous certainly will.

—Joshua Kloke

Daniel, Fred & Julie

Daniel, Fred & Julie

(You've Changed; US: 5 Jan 2010; UK: 1 Dec 2009)

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Daniel, Fred & Julie is folk music at its finest. Born out of friendship and supported by the emotions that encompass the human condition, this collection of folk songs from the public domain and stirring original compositions is powerful in its simplicity. Daniel Romano, Fred Squires, and Julie Doiron, accomplished musicians in their own right, gathered in Sackville, New Brunswick in the summer of 2009. After a tape machine was set up in Squires’ garage, the three musicians recorded ten delicate and sombre tracks. Using precious finger-picking as a bountiful currency, Daniel, Fred & Julie manage to breathe new life into songs heard a thousand times previously. With stirring three-part harmonies, the record tells the tales of the disenfranchised and underachievers alike, which is ironic, considering what a beautiful achievement Daniel, Fred & Julie truly is.

—Joshua Kloke

Richard Youngs

Under Stellar Stream

(Jagaguwar; US: 20 Oct 2009; UK: 26 Oct 2009)

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In J.D. Salinger’s 1961 novel, Franny and Zooey, the former title character attempts to ceaselessly repeat the words to a simple prayer, hoping that after time they will eventually synchronize her internal psyche with the external peace of God. With a similar premise in mind, Scottish composer Richard Youngs, one of the most prolific and daring artists on the independent scene, composes his latest album, Under Stellar Stream. Featuring a collection of only six hymns fixated on the seemingly simple, mundane aspects of daily life, the release comes off initially as dull, uninteresting, and, yes, obnoxiously repetitive. After a few spins, Youngs’ repetitive chanting, which alternates between the solemnity of a Gregorian chant and the tonality of a Tibetan throat singer, begins to sink into the subconscious. Cushioned by minimalistic, often barely audible melodies, Young’s overt lyrical clichés transform into meditative hymns to the repetitiveness of habit and daily life so much so that when Youngs sings, “My mind is wandering / My mind is changing” on “My Mind Is in Garlands” over just a few plunked organ chords and an oscillating celestial drone for the third or fourth time, it’s tough not to feel the album’s hypnotic tug on reality.

—Ryan Marr

Chuck & Albert

Énergie

(Self-Released; US: 29 Sep 2009; UK: Import)

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“Il Était Une Bergère” flirts with a tune that English-speaking listeners will probably identify as “Turkey in the Straw”, and if you want to imagine the spirit of Énergie in a nutshell, then think of that with breezy French overtones. This is Acadian country music, all leaping, fiddling, whooping, harmonica, spoons, chicken noises (“Set à Mon Père”), and high-spirited toes a-tapping that only pauses in “La Fièvre” to show off some serious fiddling. Overall, there’s much glee, some guitar, and vocal repartee. Somewhere outside the album, partners are being spun and swung. Chuck and Albert Arsenault have worked the live circuit for years, and they play like men who see an impatient audience seeking an opportunity to dance. This distinguishes them from contemporaries who prefer their folk a little more formal, Le Vent du Nord, for example. The tunes are traditional ones, collected by a walking encyclopedia of a Prince Edward Islander named Georges and adopted and played with enthusiasm.

—Deanne Sole

Kevin Hearn and Thin Buckle

Havana Winter

(Six Shooter; US: 28 Jul 2009; UK: 28 Jul 2009)

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The Barenaked Ladies have a funny streak 100 miles long, but keyboardist and multi-instrumentalist Kevin Hearn’s is different—more whimsical, less yuk-yuk dopey—than those of Ladies frontman Ed Robertson and former singer Steven Page. It comes as no surprise, then, that Hearn’s Thin Buckle project, which while you weren’t paying attention has now been around for almost a decade, is an appealing showcase for his solo songs and pop sensibility. He has a lighter, mellower touch than other pop tunesmiths like Ben Folds, but his songs have almost surprising depth at times. They’re light, and they don’t force; they don’t come to you. You go to them with a nugget of curiosity, and then you realize they’re not as light as you think.

Havana Winter continues that streak and is Hearn’s best solo album to date. He’s joined here by drummer Great Bob Scott and bassist Chris Gartner—both former bandmates from the Look People, one of Toronto-based Hearn’s many regional side projects—along with guitarist Brian Macmillan and guest guitarist Mike Rathke, known for his production work and as a Lou Reed sideman. Together, they offer plenty of world-weary-but-still-smilin’ fare like “Coma” and “Reeling”, which cover distraction and loss and “On the Runway”, which suggests either adventure or regret but probably isn’t about either.

Not all of it is strong: “In the Shade” and “Huntsville, CA” are both throwaways, harmless as they are, and Hearn has a tendency to mistake vapid for ethereal with some of the arrangements. But the fun part is listening to Hearn escape pigeonholes. “Coma” seems like it’s going to wrap up by petering out, and then it burns to a close with an angry, stabbing guitar solo that changes much of the song’s tone. “Luna,” which contains the line, “If you were lost at sea / What kind of a lighthouse would I be?” suggests a Barenaked Ladies cut, but it’s about the pain of a departed loved one, more gauzy than dreamy. It’s these unique touches that find Thin Buckle approaching Broken Social Scene territory—fitting, as Hearn’s worked with plenty of the BSS ranks, too—and loading these quirky songs with unexpected resonance.

—Chad Berndtson