skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Greg Duli of the Afghan Whigs / Twilight Singers may not have a great voice but he knows how to use it. I should pull up here and mention that Duli has nothing to do with this band or the album nor does this album sound even remotely like anything Duli had a hand in, but hang with me for a second. He (Duli) has two registers: low, the seductive and a little creepy spoken whisper; and high, the Marlon Brando wail wherein all hell and lamentations are released from his tortured soul. A complete album of one or the other would be monotonous, the two Dulis need each other to create the simultaneous allure and danger of rock-n-roll.
Jeremy Bolen provides vocals for c.u. c.u. and his breathy sing-talking is a lot like Duli in low sans cigarettes and inuendo. Sadly Jeremy has no high. I'm getting this out of the way now because it's impossible not to address - the guy needs to sing these songs and he simply doesn't. With improved vocals this album shoots up to a solid 8 in my book. It's got all the hallmarks of today's digitally tinged indie rock done right; emotive guitars, lots of energy from the drum kit, inventive breaks and musical swells with smart sounding lyrics... just no one to deliver them in a convincing manner. Sorry Mr. Bolen. Awesome title, though.
I don't think there's much disputing Devendra Banhart's status as the reigning king of freak-folk. However the definition of the genre itself is easily up for discussion. Afterall, one man's freak is another man's (insert adjective here). Banhart is decidedly a freak of the smelly self-taught hippie throwback variety, and if this is the man who would be king then let "Cripple Crow" stand as his Declaration of New Bohemianess.
However hippies as a social group aren't terribly adept at making formal declarations and "Crow" proves no exception. What seems at times to have been intended as a yellow smoke and green tea festivus remains too low-key and singer-centric to feel truly inclusive. Much of Banhart's previous work sounds as if it might have been recorded alone in a spaceous room somewhere inside his own head. Here he invites the whole co-op to join in with sitars, bongos, a dusty detuned piano and lots of casual background noise, though they are kept largely in supporting roles to DB's off-kilter vibrato song poetry. A few spanish launguage numbers add a genuine sense of the exotic, but the air of maturity established by sensually rolling "R's" is trumped by an accidental goofiness and/or purposeful infantility in which he quietly revels throughout the record.
Banhart might benefit from a more expansive and collaborative process, maybe linking up with an equally freakish band (Animal Collective) or another artist who might complement and balance (Liz Janes). As a solo folk album this isn't bad, but on a socio-musical level "Cripple Crow" plays more like Charles Manson & The Manson Family Singers than Bob Dylan & The Band or Sargent Pepper.
Whatever grrrly Seattle punk politics you might associate with them do not be mistaken, Sleater-Kinney is a rock band and they're a hundred feet tall.
Skip the first track "The Fox." Go back to it later when you're good and ready. "Wilderness" gets things started right with swampy John Fogerty backing and a wailing Jefferson Airplane bridge. Next comes "What's Mine Is Yours," and if you think you hear a little Robert Plant in Carrie Brownstein's voice it's probably because the whole band is channeling Zeppelin's metallic Anglo-blues right down to window rattling bass and big bad Bonham drums.
Brownstein still manages to scream more melodically and coherently in the higher registers than any of her peers. Sleater-Kinney can sometimes come off as high strung, racing through numbers and teasing at tasty hooks without bothering to reel you in. "The Woods" is cohesive, heavy, hearty, low-slung and brazenly confident. Immediately catchy leads are supported with the right mix of indulgent murky abandon and flawless team work.
This isn't a rock revival, it's simply and seriously Rock done right.
