Tyrannosaurus Chicken, Attack of the Chicken
Tyrannosaurus Chicken is a two-person folk/bluegrass band, which means that everyone plays everything, but generally speaking, Smilin' Bob Lewis is the one on the banjo with the gruff bluesman's voice, and Rachel Ammons is the one on the fiddle with the twangy voice. And as might be expected, their album Attack of the Chicken is pretty unpolished: the percussion (foot drums and hi-hats only) lags, and Ammons has absolutely no idea when to come in with the back-up vocals on one of the tracks. Of course, if you care that much about polish, then "two-person folk/bluegrass band" is probably not a descriptor that appeals to you. Tyrannosaurus Chicken has it where it counts: both of them are damn good at their favorite instruments, and the songs are a charming mix of bluesy sentiments - which, in my experience, are rare to hear from a female vocalist, and Ammons does a good job with them - and apocalyptic imagery.
A must for: people who put III as their favorite Zeppelin album (really? over Physical Graffiti? huh.)
For the rest of us: Hey, III was still a great album. Plus, they're named Tyrannosaurus Chicken. That is awesome.
Randall Shreve, The Entertainer
Ponderous, bloated, and self-indulgent, Randall Shreve's The Entertainer staggers onto the stage already inebriated, slumps at the piano, and attempts to bang out a song or two. He gets through them alright, but he has to slow them way down, and it's painful to watch. The music's devoid of energy, and pulls listlessly from stereotypical carnival music on the one hand, and the worst posturings of Muse and Radiohead on the other. The lyrics are narcissistic and can't decide if the conceit of the album is carnival or cabaret or Hollywood. If the album had a bright spot, it would be "Karma Girl", which is reminiscent of Radiohead in more than just the title. "You make color out of all my gray/ I can't repay that with a cheap cliché," Shreve sings, and apparently the conclusion he reaches is that if he could just get enough cheap clichés, they'll eventually add up to something worthwhile.
A must for: self-obsessed teenagers in tight pants and eyeliner, whom no one understands, and who think that Thom Yorke would be a better vocalist if he sounded just a bit whinier.
For the rest of us: Unremarkable in every way except its mediocrity. Pass.
Candy Lee, The Gate
My first experience with Candy Lee was opening the lyrics booklet for this album and saying, and I quote, "Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is this shit?" Then I actually listened to the album, and let me tell you, never has music this good been paired with lyrics this bad, and yes, the music and the lyrics are all from Lee. It sounds vaguely like Sixpence None the Richer, but Lee's voice is more given to rococo turns and Andrews Sisters-type harmonies. It's a voice which, impressively, can pull off lyrics like "What makes this reality/ Any different from a dream?/ Well, maybe the truth is/ That things aren't always what they seem," a gem from "Existential Dilemma". (Note: Existentialism and Solipsism are not the same thing.) The songs make extensive and good use of strings and winds, and are musically complex enough that I could almost overlook the lyrics if it weren't for the fact that - did I not mention this yet? - they're so damn preachy with their inane sentiment. I had to invent the word "sophomoralistic" just so I could adequately describe them. Still, for every failing of the lyrics, there's a corresponding triumph of the music. Very confusing.
A must for: people who are legitimately surprised by the fact that what the speaker of "Another Island" really needed all along was inner peace.
For the rest of us: I mean, the music's worth loving, and the lyrics are worth hating, so I'm gonna say that's a win all round.
Hardaway & The Commoners, Off the Record
Hardaway & The Commoners were introduced to me as "not the best hip-hop group, but certainly the best local one". Now, I know very little about hip-hop, and even less about local hip-hop, but I'm inclined to believe that claim. Off the Record bills itself as "certified organic hip-hop", a phrase whose meaning remains obscure through the radio static intro and minimalist lead-in track, until you hit "Automatic" where it becomes clear: this is fresh. The guitar/keyboard hooks are great, the saxophone solo is excellent, the lyrics are almost always interesting and tight, and by the time a digital voice informs us that the sounds we are listening to are "certified 100% organic. Live MCs, no gimmicks", we've pretty much already figured out what it means. Mostly, the album's laid back, with occasional bursts of manic energy. Highlights are "Automatic", the beat poem "21st & Forever" (which contains the lines "Mediocrity called, and asked us to turn down the music/ Because they keep a nine-to-five to stay alive"), the cool groove of "Tangible Thoughts", and "Leave It at That", which is one of the best examples of Off the Record's laid-back, minimalist attitude.
A must for: I dunno, people who really like good hip-hop? Ain't got snark for this one, it's good.
For the rest of us: I said it's good. Listen to it.
2 comments:
Intriguing. The only local band I ever got into was David's Pegasus. Unfortunately, Mr. Wolf left them and the moved to Little Rock. Anyway, I'll check out these outfits.
Hr'm. Well, one of the albums I'm reviewing next happens to be David's Pegasus, and they seem quite good, so thanks.
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