Goo Goo Dolls: Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 CD review (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

It’s difficult to say that the Goo Goo Dolls have done anything “cool” since they abandoned their brash, sloppy, early-Replacements roots. But the fact that their first compilation — 2001’s What I Learned About Ego, Opinion, Art & Commerce — didn’t include their biggest hits and instead focused on album cuts from the group’s first decade of existence was, well, sort of cool, if only because it meant the band hadn’t totally forgotten its past. The possession of the Dolls’ first two albums has always been somewhat shameful for those who got to know the Buffalo-based group in its early days; those discs’ raw power is as undeniable as it is incompatible with the soppy balladry that’s come to make “Goo Goo Dolls” shorthand for “middle of the road.” But, there it is: The band that recorded “Don’t Beat My Ass With a Baseball Bat” can now proudly proclaim to be the artists with the most Top 10 hits on Hot Adult Contemporary radio, which is cognitive dissonance at its finest. Twelve of those hits are on this 14-track collection. Though most everyone who’s been in a dentist’s chair since 1998 can probably sing more than half of these songs from memory, there’s something patently reassuring about hearing “Iris” and “Name” taken completely out of their album context and put onto a CD for people who don’t buy CDs. There’s no reference here to the band’s early work, and thus there are no uncomfortable thoughts of what could have been. Taken in tandem with Johnny Reznik’s role as Paula Abdul on The Next Great American Band, this compilation makes it clear that these guys have always been a little bit cheesy, but, more important, they’ve also been astoundingly effective hit-makers.

First appeared in the Nov. 29, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

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Pixar Short Films DVD review (Orlando Weekly)

In many DVDs, the commentary tracks and bonus documentaries are of interest only to diehard fans of the film. In the case of the Pixar Short Films Collection, the commentary and appended feature “The Pixar Shorts: A Shorts History” are the primary reason to purchase the DVD. The first five shorts represent the pre–Toy Story phase of Pixar’s history, when animation was produced specifically to demonstrate the capabilities of the hardware and software the company produced. (The animation department was but a miniscule component of the original Pixar company.) Hearing director John Lasseter and his co-creators talk about the start-up days is illuminating, and though the animation on several of the early shorts is strikingly rudimentary, it’s important to consider how technologically groundbreaking these pieces were at the time. Of the post–Toy Story shorts, Jack-Jack Attack (an appendix to The Incredibles) is the best, both in terms of animation and comic-timing genius, but all 13 films – and their associated commentaries – help define an evolutionary history of this remarkable studio.

First appeared in the Nov. 29, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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This Is England DVD review (Orlando Weekly)

Set against the backdrop of the financially and emotionally drained England of the early ’80s, This Is England is a tale of sweet, humane, well-rounded and entirely believable characters. The main protagonist is 12-year-old Shaun, whose dad has died in the Falklands and who is something of an outcast at school. Finding solace in a group of new friends, Shaun blossoms and looks for an outlet for his natural preteen angst. Oh, yeah – those friends? They’re skinheads. Director Shane Meadows does a marvelous job at not only painting in the far corners of what life was like in the Thatcher era, he miraculously has his characters move along the same trajectory that the skinhead “movement” did during the time. What started out as a smooth-shaving, reggae-loving extension of the mods splintered into nationalists, then outright racist hooligans. Meadows lets Shaun glide unaware into this more virulent era, all while presenting even the hard-hearted “Paki-basher” as a complex human being worthy of investigation, if not sympathy. The wide swaths of gray that the director uses in defining the movie’s moral center are a big part of why it succeeds; by simply telling the story as it was likely to have happened – rather than pausing to make judgments along the way – Meadows makes This Is England less a cautionary tale than a simply riveting one.

First appeared in the Nov. 29, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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His Name is Alive: Sweet Earth Flower CD review (Orlando Weekly)

Many fans of His Name Is Alive may be struck by the oddity of their favorite dreampop act delivering an album of cosmic free-jazz. But HNIA main man Warn Defever’s studio, Brown Rice, isn’t named after a Don Cherry album for nothing. As the participant in many non-rock-oriented extracurricular activities involving jazz, noise and theatrical ridiculousness, Defever is far from limited by the expectations listeners may have of His Name Is Alive. Regardless of how diverse that group’s albums have been, Defever’s always kept them firmly within a modern-pop framework, leaving his more out-there tendencies for other projects. Putting the HNIA moniker on this project, then, is something of a surprise. Even more surprising is how Defever and the nine musicians performing with him manage to successfully channel the rootsy, psychedelic ambience of Marion Brown’s best work, without ever trying to directly mimic it. It’s a tribute album in the truest sense: one that captures the essence of the artist being honored, but without resorting to rote renditions.

First appeared in the Nov. 22 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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Art of Field Recording, Vol. 1 CD review (Orlando Weekly)

FROM THESE ROOTS
Reconnoitering gold from America’s outer edges

In 1956, Pete Seeger told a budding folk-music fan named Art Rosenbaum: “Don’t learn from me, learn from the folks I learned from.” That fan took the advice to heart, and more than a half-century later, Rosenbaum has amassed an astonishing collection of field recordings capturing the raw roots of various folk styles from across the United States. That collection is so vast that it’s housed in the University of Georgia library in what Dust-to-Digital label founder Steven Lance Ledbetter calls “dozens, if not hundreds of white boxes.”

Atlanta resident Ledbetter debuted Dust-to-Digital in 2003 with a now-legendary box set called Goodbye, Babylon. That set – six CDs with a 200-page book, packed in a wooden box with raw cotton – established a fairly high bar for roots-music collections, both in revelatory content and artistic presentation. With Art of Field Recording, Volume 1, the first in D-to-D’s series of Rosenbaum’s recordings, the accomplishment is not so bold, but is no less enticing.

With “only” four CDs and a 96-page book within its cardboard box, this set is, on its own, not as hefty as Goodbye, Babylon. But as an initial installment in a series that’s sure to top the dozen-disc mark by its three-year conclusion, Art of Field Recording is likely to stand as tall as Rounder’s recent digital reissue campaign of Alan Lomax’s field work.

It’s difficult to approach this collection without comparing it to the pioneering work done by Lomax. While Lomax certainly devoted a considerable amount of his time in the field to documenting American music, a substantial portion of his work involved international ethnomusicology. That global approach has colored the impression his American recordings leave, making Gullah music and Appalachian folk songs seem as foreign as Rajasthani bhajans. Conversely, the more accessible studio recordings compiled by Harry Smith in 1952 in the landmark Anthology of American Folk Music may strike some listeners as overly polished and removed from their source.

Rosenbaum’s approach splits the difference. He’s obviously fascinated by American folk forms, but as a New Jersey-born child of Polish and Jewish descent, banjo picking and gospel singing weren’t exactly part of his native cultural surroundings. But the curiosity, intense joy and near-obsessive desire he brings to his far-flung approach to field recording is less that of a documentarian and more that of a ravenous fan.

Accordingly, the selections on this first volume are diverse, grouped roughly onto discs marked “Blues,” “Religion,” “Instrumental and Dance” and, oddly, “Survey.” The first disc – “Survey” – is just that: a far-reaching summation of the outer edges of the musical styles Rosenbaum has encountered in his years of recording. Gospel choirs that sound like Bulgarian choruses (the Sacred Harp Singing Group of Villa Rica, Ga.), chatty, piano-playing old ladies (Laethe Eller, from her rural Georgia home, saying “I learnt it mah-self” of the beautiful song she rambles through), Mexican blueberry pickers singing about guns (Epifanio Sanchez, recorded in a Michigan general store) and the lone vocalizing of Iowa’s Arthur Vandeveer on “A Melancholy Sound” are just some of the more esoteric entries on the disc.

It’s an interesting entry point for the set, as it sets up the listener to be surprised. With the seemingly predictable sets of “Blues” and “Religion,” though, Rosenbaum manages to keep confounding expectations. Digging up unusual and individual takes on sacred songs like “Do, Lord, Remember Me,” “Walk With Me” and “Teach Me, Master,” as well as well-worn blues numbers like “Going Down the Road Feeling Bad,” the variety of performance is remarkable. The collection closes with 36 ridiculously upbeat tracks on the “Instrumental and Dance” disc. Waltzes, square dances, rags, “Turkey in the Straw” and three different versions of the banjo classic “Shout, Lulu” make for one hell of an old-timey dance party.

Rosenbaum’s diligence and passion is omnipresent throughout these 110 tracks. Thankfully, he was also equipped with recording gear of reasonable quality; the fidelity on all of the songs is stunning. While the voices may be rough and the instrumentation raw, there’s a real sense of being in the room while they’re being played. It’s also worth noting the importance of Rosenbaum’s preservation of so many obscure numbers documented on these discs. This is where the documentary aspect kicks in; were there not someone out there willing to drive throughout rural America with a tape recorder, all of these songs would likely be lost forever, making this as important as it is enjoyable. Which is probably just as Rosenbaum intended.

First appeared in the Nov. 22 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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Om Shanti Om movie review (Orlando Weekly)

(four stars out of five)

From its introductory scene – an impressive homage to Shubhash Ghai’s 1980 disco bonanza Karz – Om Shanti Om defines itself as a sloppy wet kiss to Bollywood-with-a-capital-B. “Indian cinema” isn’t what director Farah Khan fetes with this three-and-a-half-hour movie. Instead, she puts Om Shanti Om into masala overdrive, putting musical numbers and belief-suspending plot twists to work gently poking at the machinations and silliness that drive the Bombay movie machine. Even the buzzed-about debut of star Shahrukh Khan’s shirtless abs is done in an ironic way: an ego-driven song about “the pain of disco.” With references from the subtle to the obvious, most scenes find a way to tip their hat to the movies and stars that keep Indian theaters full, and it’s done in a way that’s smart and playful. While Om Shanti Om loses steam by its last act, the stylish, smart, hilarious ride to that point is rewarding enough. After all, it wouldn’t be Bollywood if it weren’t maxed-out, now would it?

First appeared in the Nov. 15, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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Aretha Franklin: Unreleased recordings (Orlando Weekly)

FORGOTTEN FINERY
Even the Queen of Soul’s outtakes are worth celebrating

Aretha Franklin is the Led Zeppelin of soul music. And no, that’s not a fat joke. As artists whose best work exists as perfect expressions of their respective genres’ transcendent capabilities, Aretha and Led Zep have become shorthand for what people mean when they talk about “soul music” or “rock & roll.” If you were trying to introduce the concept of either musical style to an alien, would there be any more exemplary representation?

There are unwelcome side effects to such dominance: Both artists have had their music overplayed to the point of numbness. (That someone’s first response to hearing Aretha belt out “Think” could be, “What commercial is that from?” is as good an argument as any for banning the use of pop songs in advertising.) Furthermore, it goes without saying that, outside of a well-defined “golden era” for each, their reputations outweighed their work. (Again, not a fat joke.)

For Aretha, that golden era is defined as the years between her 1967 debut on Atlantic Records and her 1972 decision to record a concept album with Quincy Jones. During that time, the Queen of Soul released eight studio albums, two live albums, one recorded-in-church gospel album and two collections of her Atlantic hits.

That body of work is a crystalline representation of soul music at its best. Incorporating bluesy piano, delicate balladry, swinging jazz, epic spirituality and that legendary Muscle Shoals take on rhythm and blues, the music produced in these five busy years is peerless in its perfection. And that’s ignoring the unignorable: Aretha Franklin’s precision-tuned typhoon of a voice, an instrument so often examined and marveled at that any further attempts at dissection or description would be redundant.

So why is it that, while both she and Led Zeppelin have been treated recently to reissues – Aretha with a previously unreleased live album and a two-disc compilation of unreleased session recordings, Zeppelin with a remastered version of a live album released 30 years ago and a two-disc compilation of their best-known songs – it’s Page and Plant that are getting so much attention? Nothing against those folks who are excited about hearing the 27-minute version of “Dazed and Confused” in improved fidelity, but the opportunity for a look at what got left out of the best soul albums ever recorded is worth celebrating.

Rare & Unreleased Recordings starts, appropriately enough, with three Aretha-at-the-piano demo recordings. Two of the songs – “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)” and “Dr. Feelgood (Love Is a Serious Business)” – were rerecorded for inclusion on her Atlantic debut. The other, “Sweet Bitter Love,” is a song she recorded for Columbia in 1965, the year before she signed with Atlantic, and would again record for Arista in the ’80s. All three of the songs are stunningly forceful, especially given their simplicity and the variable fidelity of the recordings. Aretha’s voice evinces the rough, raw edges of a practice session, but still manages to evoke the room-filling authority and warm range for which she is known.

From there, it’s four songs recorded during the sessions for Aretha Arrives and Aretha Now, two albums that, stylistically, are of a piece with her debut. Accordingly, the outtakes share a similar vibe: piano-driven rhythms and bluesy undertones, with That Voice driving the bus right through your heart. Why they didn’t make the cut 30 years ago is a mystery. Less puzzling is why “Talk to Me, Talk to Me” didn’t make it onto Soul ’69. That album put Aretha in a big-band setting (along with top-notch players like Pepper Adams, Ron Carter, Grady Tate and others); this cut is all down-and-dirty soul.

For all the cover versions that made it onto Aretha’s albums, there are even more to be found on this set. While it’s tough to comprehend the decision-making behind having her sing “My Way,” the versions of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On,” “The Fool on the Hill” and “You’re All I Need to Get By” stand as solid proof that the Queen could truly make any song her own.

As the unreleased collection wends its way from Muscle Shoals beginnings through her Donny Hathaway–assisted early-’70s period, the changes in style are overshadowed by the sheer power of Aretha’s voice. Riveting numbers like “I Need a Strong Man (The To-To Song)” and “You’re Talking Up Another Man’s Place” (from the Young, Gifted and Black and Spirit in the Dark sessions, respectively) could have slotted easily onto the remarkable albums from which they were omitted.

But when the wall of outtakes from 1973’s Hey Now Hey (The Other Side of the Sky) is hit, it’s clear that this diva’s glory days were coming to a close. While her voice is in full, poetic form, the overstuffed arrangements – courtesy of Quincy Jones – do her no favors. A total of eight songs from the sessions are included; none will do much to change anyone’s mind about the album they could have been on.

But, tucked between those leftovers and some middling, late-period outtakes is a duet between Aretha and Ray Charles on Duke Ellington’s “Ain’t But the One.” Recorded in 1973 for a television tribute to Duke, this is remarkably one of only two available collaborations between these two soul music titans. (The other is the two of them doing Aretha’s “Spirit in the Dark” on her Live at Fillmore West LP.) The release of this sort of gem is the kind of news that would qualify a Led Zeppelin reissue for front-page treatment. Here, it’s a footnote on a stellar package that is unlikely to generate the attention it should.

First appeared in the Nov. 15, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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The Number Twelve Looks Like You show preview (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

The bands Drop Dead, Gorgeous; Alesana; The Number Twelve Looks Like You; and Idiot Pilot are touring as a package titled “Fathers Guard Your Daughters.” As most of the metal-core musicians here are just past the age of consent themselves, the implication is clear: They want you to think they’re debauched and dangerous. Not quite. Headliners Drop Dead, with help from producer Ross Robinson, thread calculated rage through their polished sound; there are no sonic surprises here. They’re not, sexy and they’re not scary. New Jersey’s the Number Twelve are the bill’s real highlight, a raging, iconoclastic screamo band with art-punk underpinnings. Punk rock aches when it tries to stretch its atrophied muscles. It’s always good to see a band like the Number Twelve tossing the old man out of bed and into some suicide sprints.

First appeared in the Nov. 15, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

Pain Principle: Waiting for the Flies CD review (Orlando Weekly)

For more than a decade, Pain Principle has been thrashing around the Orlando metal scene, gathering up a rabid following of fans who appreciate the band’s intense, modern take on golden-era thrash metal. With their first international release, Waiting for the Flies, the group finally has a chance to prove to the rest of the world what Orlando metalheads have known for quite some time: They’re one of very few bands that can live up to Central Florida’s reputation as an American metal hotbed. With a vision of metal that involves considerable doses of hardcore speed and rumbling, low-end aggression, Pain Principle nonetheless bears little resemblance to the death-metal forefathers that defined the Florida sound. Instead, their attack more resembles the revved-up revisionism of bands like Entombed, with all the visceral wallop implied by that comparison.

Thankfully, Waiting more than captures their energy and heaviness; the production job by Hate Eternal’s Erik Rutan (who also worked the boards for Cannibal Corpse’s most recent disc) is thick, angry and spacious. The nine songs (and obligatory instrumental intro) on the disc are tightly composed and brutally effective. If you only know one thing about this album, know that, according to the liner notes, “No pointy guitars were used.” That about says it all.

First appeared in the Nov. 15, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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Henrik Schwarz: Henrik Schwarz Live CD review (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

It’s not every compilation of house music that starts out with a Sun Ra track. In fact, this may be the only one. Still, coming from Henrik Schwarz, this isn’t all that surprising, considering that he opened his 2006 DJ-Kicks set with a number by Moondog and wove a slew of other free-jazz/soul-jazz tracks into it. The freedom and rhythmic vitality of ’60s and ’70s jazz and soul is a fundamental component of Schwarz’s DJ style. Although many other house DJs would certainly say the same thing — that R&B and soul are primary influences on their style — it’s often quite hard to hear any trace of Memphis or Motown in their tracks beyond the occasional diva-esque vocal run. Thankfully, Schwarz’s method of being “jazzy” and “soulful” is less about directly referencing his influences than it is the simple act of coating his club-ready digital thump with a bit of skillet grease. With plenty of improvisational flair and sonic warmth, Schwarz delivers his house sets with an easy, organic approach that occasionally allows for a sonic surprise or two. This album, while not technically live, is compiled from recordings of several of Schwarz’s live mixes over the past year, and it showcases his improvisational skills and his electro-facility. Besides the opening Sun Ra cut, Schwarz never ventures outside of the electronic realm on this disc; even the cuts here attributed to James Brown and Mandrill (!) are heavily reworked new versions. But the fact that Schwarz is choosing to remix Mandrill rather than some anonymous white label tells you where his heart is truly at.

First appeared in the Nov. 8, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

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