Showing posts with label Blur. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blur. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

DAMON ALBARN


HISTORICAL FRICTION: Damon Albarn looks to the Elizabethan era for inspiration

By: MATT ASHARE |

Damon Albarn, Dr Dee (Virgin)

RENASSANCE PLAN: Albarn scores and opera of sorts
At some point — several years, months, or maybe just days from now — people will look back in bemusement on the mid-’90s at an ultimately meaningless battle that broke out in England to see who might be crowned King of the Brit-Pop Hill. In one corner stood Oasis, a ruggedly handsome, dour gang of ruffians who chiseled monolithic melodies out of big hooks cadged from the Beatles catalogue, added a little punk snarl to the mix, and created their own hit parade of fairly meaningless anthems. (Seriously: I'm still not sure whether a wonderwall is that not quite floor-to-ceiling partition you'll find between most respectable bathroom stalls, or some mysterious Stonehenge-like structure erected by ancient astronauts as fodder for a fascinating History Channel special. And I have yet to come across a cocktail menu that lists a beverage called a "Champagne Supernova," although I'm pretty sure it would be awesome.) On the other side of the ring lurked Blur, a cagier bunch of louts who quickly moved on from the druggy Manchester dance grooves of their 1991 debut Leisure to the eccentric social critiques that characterized Modern Life Is Rubbish and Parklife, a pair of smashing Anglocentric successes that never stood a chance of gaining much traction here in the US.
       In retrospect, the outcome of this particular clash of the titans was fairly predictable. Oasis went on to conquer the greater part of the known world, complained about the rigors of stardom (i.e., drugs and alcohol abuse), and ultimately imploded in painfully public fashion, as singer Liam Gallagher and his brother, guitarist/songwriter Noel, became increasingly annoyed with one another, as siblings in the spotlight are wont to do. Meanwhile, Blur emerged as O Britannia's favorite sons, while garnering little more than critical acclaim on these shores until they accidentally hit something close to paydirt in 1997 with "Song 2," a charmingly churning shout-along that rose to the level of a sports stadium staple and is probably best remembered for its "yoo-hoo" choruses. Although Blur essentially ceased all military operations after guitarist Graham Coxon called it quits and singer Damon Albarn drifted into the virtual world as the de-facto leader of a cartoon splinter group known as Gorillaz, they've remained friendly enough to reunite from time to time, most recently in 2009.
       As for who won the epic showdown, well, let's just say that it remains an open question that's probably not worth debating for more than a few minutes. (It's a little like arguing the relative merits of the Who versus the Stones: Who fans pick the Who; Stones fans pick the Stones; and the rest of us happily don't care one way or the other.) However, in the wake of the Oasis collapse and Blur's slow disintegration, the clear victor and reigning champion has gotta be Albarn, especially now that Liam (with his poorly named band Beady Eye) and Noel (who's now backed by his own High Flying Birds) are currently in the business of trying to recapture past morning glories by out Oasis-ing one another.
       Albarn, on the other hand, has grown into something of a postmodern pop Renaissance man. His Gorillaz, a collaboration with visual artist Jamie Hewlett (the creator of the Tank Girl comic book series), have synthesized brilliantly stylized pan-cultural mash-ups that have drawn on the talents of San Fran turntablist Dan the Automator, Oakland rapper Del Tha Funky Homosapien, Japanese actress Haruka Kuroda, Chicago's Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, former Clash guitarist and bassist Mick Jones and Paul Simenon, soul singer Bobby Womack, and, ah, Lou Reed, to name just a few. The group has won all kinds of awards on both sides of the pond, including a 2006 Grammy. And, at least two of their four albums have been certified platinum in both the UK and the US. Beyond that, under Albarn's stewardship they basically established themselves as one of the most interesting, forward-thinking multi-media musical projects in the galaxy, both online and off. Oh, and Albarn also married African rhythms and dub-style production with Brit-pop hooks on a self-titled, kinda solo album credited to the Good, the Bad & the Queen back in ’07.
       So Albarn has definitely been keeping himself busy. But the story doesn’t end there. With Liam and Noel Gallagher currently doing their honest best to promote the debut albums by their respective bands, Albarn has upped the stakes yet again with Dr Dee, another sorta solo album that’s actually credited to Damon Albarn, although it has its roots in a collaboration with British theater director Rufus Norris.
       Dr Dee may indeed be the first album the elusive Albarn has put his given name to in the two decades since the beginning of Blur, but it is defiantly — perversely, even — not at all what fans might expect from the man behind the Gorillaz mask. The soundtrack to an operatic stage musical based on the life of a rather mysterious magus/mathematician who played a controversial advisory role in the court of Queen Elizabeth I, the disc is a mélange of spare organ drones, pastoral British folk, symphonic arrangements by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, and African percussion. And, yes, there’s also an opera singer. To suggest it’s all over the place, or even a bit incomprehensible, would be an understatement.
       Not that there aren’t moments when the pop savvy Albarn emerges with what might best be described as song sketches that might work as b-sides to an actual single. The sadly sung “Apple Carts” works well enough as a folky rumination, replete with fingerpicked acoustic guitar, a flute solo, and a bittersweet melody, as does “Cathedrals.” And, let’s face it, Albarn has done more than most rock dudes to earn the artistic license it takes to go off on an obscure excursion like this. Let’s just hope that Dr Dee makes more sense on a stage than it does as an album, and that Albarn has something a little more accessible in his nifty bag of tricks ready for his next project.
      
      

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Arctic Monkeys

Music review: An artfully composed Arctic Monkeys orchestrate a breakthrough on new album

By The Burg Staff on Jun. 08, 2011
By Matt Ashare
In 2009, Britain’s Arctic Monkeys took a fairly unexpected left turn — not to mention a long plane ride — when they left the cold comfort of Sheffield for Josh Homme’s sun-baked Southern California desert enclave, where America’s reigning king of neo-stoner rock helped produce the foursome’s third disc. It would be wrong to assess the resulting release, Humbug, as an artistic failure. But for a band whose 2005 debut, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, came out of nowhere to become the fastest selling album in British chart history (in the process all but eclipsing Arctic Monkeys’ like-minded Domino label mates Franz Ferdinand), it certainly marked a modest commercial setback.
     Homme, best know as Queens of the Stone Age’s fearless leader, is back to lend a hand on Arctic Monkeys’ new album. Only, this time, his role amounts to little more than adding some nondescript background vocals to the noisy, supercharged, and willfully dumbed-down “Brick By Brick,“ a lumbering power chord rocker featuring guitarist Jamie Cook on vocals and a rather Homme-y blast of guitar-god soloing by — and I’m guessing here — singer/guitarist Alex Turner. The song, which was leaked via a YouTube video back on March 4, was conceived, I suspect, as a puckish prank or smokescreen to mislead fans and critics alike into assuming that the rest of the disc would be much in keeping with the dark density of Humbug, rather than a return to the infectiously playful, hyperkinetic post-punk intensity of the band’s first two albums.
     None of the above: that would be the most accurate assessment of Suck It And See (yes, that’s what the disc’s called). To suggest that a band who have chosen a title that’s caused more than a little consternation in the boardrooms of big-box retailers like Wal-Mart for their most accessibly melodic disc to date have “matured” might invite something along the lines of, say, ridicule. And, although it wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate to characterize the disc that way, I’m gonna play it safe and suggest that, minus “Brick By Brick,“ Suck It And See — an album well poised to be Arctic Monkeys’ big American breakthrough — is better described as a recording that’s more clearly composed, in both senses of the word, than their previous efforts.
     There are echoes of the bash-and-pop punk that propelled the quick-fire blasts of Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not and 2007’s Favourite Worst Nightmare, most notably in the reeling and rambunctious first minute of “Library Pictures.“
There’s even some bark in Turner’s voice as he bites into meaty bits of lyric like “Draw some ellipses to chase you round the room/Through curly straws and metaphors and goo.“ And then the clouds of distortion fade, the drums stop pounding, and Turner turns to a croon for the impressionist, vaguely psychedelic verse/bridge — “Been watching all the neon blossoms flickering/You look like you’ve all forgotten where you’ve been.“
     Turner’s always been a cynical romantic with a peculiarly persuasive way with words that brings to mind former Blur front man Damon Albarn. “I pour my aching heart into a pop song/I couldn’t get the hang of poetry,“ he cheekily acquiesces against the melancholy tug of Cook’s Johnny Marr-ish, Smiths-style arpeggios on the title track, before deploying one of the disc’s most arresting images: “That’s not a skirt, girl/That’s a sawn-off shotgun/And I can only hope/You’ve got it aimed at me.“
     With Cook brandishing his guitar to paint colorful figures around Turner’s never less than vivid lyrics, and bassist Nick O’Malley and drummer Matt Helders holding back just enough to give Turner the room he needs to employ a purer tone of voice, Arctic Monkeys, at their most composed and, yes, accessible, have begun to take on aspects of mid-period Echo and the Bunnymen. Except, I’m pretty certain Ian McCulloch never wrote a lyric as alluringly oblique, emotionally evocative, and playfully pointed as “Home sweet home, home sweet home, home sweet booby-trap/I took the batteries out my mysticism and put ’em in my thinking cap”. . . At least not in the context of a song as sing-along catchy as “The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala.“