Some electronica producers spend their entire careers building up a roster of instruments, legions of samples, and more gear than any bedroom studio could possibly fit. Jamie Lidell has apparently been reducing not only his equipment list to its basics, but his production style, so it includes a minimum of things that you need to program (much less plug in).
Of course, that jives with his gradual blossoming as an unhinged soul singer on 2005's Multiply, which has only blossomed further for 2008's Jim, a neo-soul record that sounds like it was recorded live, in the kind of studio that each of the album's seven to eight musicians actually could fit into. Part of this is the result of Lidell and co-producer Mocky's ability to record so well that the production doesn't stand out by itself, but simply works as a vehicle for the songs.
On a performance level, Lidell mostly avoids the pitfalls of Multiply, where he sounded faithful but not always sincere. On Jim he's not only writing better songs, but performing them as though he's lived them (this is where a good hands-off production can improve the proceedings). It doesn't really matter whether Lidell's rebirth as a soul singer is an example of an artist following his muse or simply looking for a way out of electronica, when the results motivate your body as well as "Out of My System" or move your heart as well as "All I Wanna Do."
Jim is most reminiscent of the Southern deep soul of the late '60s, although recorded so well (and so dry) that it betrays its lineage. That sound is a good complement to the other British soul stalwarts with retro-soul and -funk leanings, from Lewis Taylor to Jamiroquai to the Cinematic Orchestra (and, for that matter, including Joss Stone and Amy Winehouse as well). Add to that an assortment of unobtrusive guests (including Nikka Costa, Gonzales, Peaches, and Alex Acuña) doing great work, and the result is a record that reveals soul and sincerity.
With just a couple of cursory listens to the few tracks that popped up all over the Internet through 2007, comparisons were made between Adele, the much-hyped brassy British songstress, and Amy Winehouse, the...much-hyped brassy British songstress. However, after a solid listen to 19, the first full sampling by the up-and-coming Adele, listeners are forced to throw all comparisons to the wind; Adele is simply too magical to compare her to anyone.
Bluesy like it's no one's business yet voluptuously funky in a contemporary way, Adele rocks out 19 with a unique voice and gritty sound that dazzle endlessly. Synthesizing blues, jazz, folk, soul, and even electric pop, Adele mystifies through her mature songwriting skills and jaw-dropping arrangements. As the album opens with "Daydreamer," Adele's illusionary instrument -- over minimal sounds -- engulfs the listener with a gorgeous feeling of awe and wonderment.
On "Melt My Heart to Stone" and the bona fide hit "Chasing Pavements," Adele allows herself to soar over the strings and power her way through these incredible songs. The upbeat "Right as Rain" is just wonderful, with clear Ashford & Simpson influences speckled all over it in an upbeat set. Nearly all the tracks seem to have been nurtured to glory over months as labors of love. What's simply awesome on 19 is its capability to capture the listener through mere teasing; Adele doesn't shout for attention, and doesn't rely on anyone but herself to prove she's worth it, in the same vein as Sara Bareilles, another heavily praised artist of 2007.
The jazzy "Best for Last" is as retro as the tunes get on the album, yet it still manages to steer away from being boring or old-fashioned. The only awkwardness throughout all of 19 is the overly poppy galactic "Tired," which sounds as though it might have fallen off a Lily Allen track list, something that doesn't suit Adele as a musician. As far as artistic drive goes, it seems as though Adele is hoping to capitalize on the sounds of 2007 by borrowing elements of Feist, Regina Spektor, Norah Jones, and even, yes, Amy Winehouse; yet Adele blends all the artistic pizzazz of all those ladies into her own set of manipulative, glamorous wonder. Plus, as a terrific songwriter at merely 20 years of age, the Brit has so much room to expand her artistic dimensions into a full-fledged artist that it's no wonder most critics see her as the top new talent of 2008. This debut isn't an empty promise of a great career; 19 is a fleshed-out stunning portrayal of a young woman with a talent beyond her years who deserves immense credit for a unique style that never fails. A beyond stellar debut in both quality and originality.
At this point in singer Carla Bozulich's career, an album stewing in this much unrefined emotional sludge is pretty surprising. Then again, with a résumé as expansive and convoluted as Bozulich's, there's little use in trying to plot out her next logical step, let alone identify what sort of creative stage, if any, you can consider her in right now. In a little over a quarter century, Bozulich's dabbled in such areas as industrial (Ethyl Meatplow), alt-country (the Geraldine Fibbers, Scarnella), elaborate performance art, and, on the 2003 re-imagining of Red Headed Stranger, even Willie Nelson. So, an avant-garde blues/metal/classical album dripping with bloody catharsis? Sure, why not?
"Here's to St. Anne, who's gone mad" sings Bozulich on the nearly a-rhythmic opener "Winds of St. Anne". On Hello, Voyager, Bozulich mines more from her 2006 solo album Evangelista than a new name for her new band. Voyager further explores the omnipresent female dementia of Evangelista, this time with an even fuller sound and an increasingly tortured performance from Bozulich. Nearly every track here occupies its own realm, tenuously connected by Bozulich's vocals or similar string arrangements but otherwise completely alien to each other. Nothing demonstrates this better than the cold shower effect of "The Frozen Dress", a post-rock instrumental wasteland, coming after the blistering two-minute stoner metal of de facto single "Truth is Dark Like Outer Space".
As the only American artist on Montreal label Constellation, Bozulich introduces touches of country and blues to the label's signature apocalyptic symphonies. Considering the popularity of Jonny Greenwood's recent There Will Be Blood score, there's probably no better time than now to juxtapose a grimy blues ballad like "Lucky Lucky Luck" with the chillingly out-of-tune violins of "For the L'il Dudes". However, Voyager doesn't simply run its listeners through a gauntlet of extremes. Bozulich provides flashes of her inner country songwriter, particularly on the surprisingly tender "The Blue Room". With a lead guitar imitating a dusty old music box, Bozulich herself waxes equally delicate, at least in comparison to Voyager's darker, tortured narratives: "So I fold you like a dead poem/ And stick you in a teacup/ With a crack in the broke-off handle."
Despite these eclectic tracks, Bozulich doesn't just genre-surf for pleasure. Voyager gradually deposits its bitterness into the final two tracks, the epically bleak dirge "Paper Kitten Claw" and the title track, a twelve-minute evangelical tirade from hell. The latter in particular stands as the most memorable track here, even if its discombobulated cymbal crashes and call-and-response preaching would hit harder as live performance art. Of course, Evangelista make it pretty clear from the get-go that their artistic aims are not solely focused on recording songs in a studio. Rife with suspense, drama, and a grisly cast of characters, Voyager's probably more likely to ignite your inner playwright than get your foot tapping, but it's still a cathartic rush all the same.
All of the Stars is only Secret Shine's second full-length album in the nearly 18 years since they first formed. Even taking into account the nine-year layoff between 1995 and 2004, that's almost an Axl Rose like level of indolence. What's impressive about this album is that in every way, it's of a piece with the Secret Shine releases that preceded it by 15 years or more.
Clairecords could have claimed that these songs were completed in 1995 but remained unreleased due to the folding of the band's old label, U.K. cult indie Sarah Records, and few would have suspected otherwise. Secret Shine were philosophically aligned with the shoegazer side of Sarah Records, as opposed to the winsome twee pop side, and these ten songs are, as they should be, drenched in effects, echo, and reverb, with Kathryn Smith and Jamie Gingell's completely deadpan vocals buried deep in the mix à la My Bloody Valentine.
Alternating between pastoral dream pop like "Another Day" and the shimmering "All That's Left," and slightly more aggressive tracks like "Hate You When You Smile" and "The Sound of Light," All of the Stars has all of the elements that made Secret Shine what they were, and absolutely nothing more. Whether or not this is enough to make All of the Stars a worthwhile return is due almost entirely to the listener's fondness for their old material, but this is that rare reunion album that does nothing to tarnish the band's reputation.
Bun B is discovering more sides to his story. The rap elder statesman’s second solo album shows growth and maturity, positioning him as a multifaceted stylist. While his solo debut, Trill (Rap-A-Lot, 2005), showcased collaborative clout, II Trill affirms his versatility. Hungry for Street Bun? See Another Soldier,” where he fires off a warning shot to suckers. Happy Bun? Try the syrupy “Good II Me” with R&B songbird Mya. For a mournful dose, there’s “Angel in the Sky,” a warm paean to his UGK partner, the late Pimp C. “Get Cha Issue” will satisfy conscious fans, as he rails against a corrupt justice system and proselytizes about religious responsibility. “Pay your tithes, put rings on your fingers and rims on your ride,” he raps.
The most arresting manifestation though, is Hopeful Bun, which shows up on “If It Was Up II Me.” Accompanied by slow-rolling church organs and a powerful Junior Reid chorus, the Port Arthur veteran dreams of a world where “everybody’s gettin’ money and everybody’s smiling.” II Trill draws its cohesion from its production, a sonic stew of juicy grooves, synth patches, and gumbo-thick basslines. But what makes the album tick is an emotional complexity: Like an old sage, Bun B gracefully vacillates between raw fury and weathered wisdom.
