The groove train has arrived and Black Grape is on board.
With a sound that blends `70s funk and percussion heavy soul, It's Great When You're Straight...Yeah effectively hooks us into the catchiness of it all.
On "In The Name of the Father" the song is saved from oblivion only by Emma Day on backing vocals. Day wails In the name of the father and the holy ghost a la a seasoned gospel singer. Sadly, that is her sole appearance on the album. Whether the move to have Day on "Father" was solely a marketing ploy to make the song more "radio-friendly" or if it was simply an artistic decision, it is still a brillant one.
While "Father" and some other tracks do show some ingenuity in bass and creative choruses, most of the album is utterly repetitive. The feeling of "been there, done that" creeps up on us about three-quarters into the album. The lyrics are mostly contrived and seem tossed together as they were recorded in the studio. While that may work for others, it doesn't work here. B
--Keith Caulfield / Diversions Editor
(Black Grape will perform at the Roxy tonight and Thursday)
After seven years of being mislabeled, you can't blame Chicago's Coctails for calling it quits with their eponymous sixth album. The band has always been grouped with the whole space-age pop resurgence when in fact, musically, they bear little resemblance. The Coctails may dress the part of early `60s throwbacks and they incorporate elements from a number of musical styles (including fake jazz), but the end product is distinctly `90s indie rock.
The Coctails works well as a final album. The overall mood is somber and reflective--not dissimilar to slow-rockers Low, but a step up in tempo and with more diverse instrumentation. Unlike some final albums that serve as a good reason for that band's demise, The Coctails shows a band in its prime.
Perhaps the most stunning track, the album's opener, "When I Come Around," sets the pace with a melody line that will shape your day clean guitars with Sterling Morrison-esque accents, a slight swing to the calm rhythm section, soft, though directed vocals, and a clarinet and piano for good measure.
The Coctails' varied use of their instrumental bank is one their strengths. Instruments that are unconventional in an indie- rock environment like mellotron, organ, harmonica, bell piano, marimba, vibraphone, pump organ, flugelhorn, violin and bowed bass fit perfectly into the Coctails' sound. The songs, especially the instrumentals, seemed to be written for these instruments, as opposed to simply throwing them in for an added touch. In this sense, the songs seem sculpted rather than thrown together. And even though the album was recorded over four distant sessions--from late `93 to late `95, the album has a strong sense of continuity. Those who haven't heard of the Coctails would do well in starting from here, the sad end. A-
Jeff Martin and the rest of his band Idaho sing songs vaguely reminiscent of Toad the Wet Sprocket and others, meaning that it might as well be labeled "dream pop" because it just seems to float in midair without ever committing to anything tangible.
Three Sheets to the Wind is well-crafted, well-produced, well-everything. But there's not much to really grab hold to here. "Stare at the Sky" illustrates this as well as any song on the album. It's a lovely melody, and Martin's vocals do the job of presenting the singer as a hopeless romantic with lines like There's nothing I can do / I need to feel I could breathe you someday. But though this is one of the album's best tunes, it's almost a little too dreamy and it never really tears you apart the way a strong love song can.
"No Ones Watching," "Get You Back, "If You Dare"--these are songs positioning the protagonists in heated confessionals with their ex's. It's a tricky genre because you've got to connect with your listener so that your own pain feels real to the outside world. If not, it just comes off as whimpering.
Idaho is a competent enough band not to let that happen. But a little more energy wouldn't have hurt. With Three Sheets to the Wind, it's a little too much of the same old song. B
@:<*R*h"Standard"*kn0*kt0*ra0*rb0*d0*p(0,9,0,9.5,0,0,g,"U.S. English")*t(9,0,"1 "):
PIs100t0h100z9k0b0c"Black"f"Palatino-Roman">--Tim Grierson / Staff Writer
(Idaho will perform with Low at the Troubadour on Thursday)
Personality goes a long way for new artists who have to make their mark one way or another. Maybe that's why Marlee MacLeod's album of slightly southern-flavored songs, though not all that impressively innovative, demand a listen. MacLeod, who wrote all the material for Favorite Ball & Chain, makes music that seems to come from a real person, not someone writing about pain second-hand from other songs.
Starting at the end, the album-closing "Frances" puts MacLeod's weary voice front and center, accompanied by expressive piano playing. As she does on other tracks, she's singing directly to her problem, but with an honesty and emotional authenticity that's hard to describe but is unmistakably there. On the opening cut, "Las Vegas," MacLeod and the rest of her loose-limbed band kick out a kiss-off with a wit that homogenized "popular" country musicians should take a cue from.
MacLeod has that rare talent at expressing a unique voice through her lyrics and singing. Even when the music's a little on the stale side--such as on the otherwise heartfelt "Telling Me the Truth"--she puts flesh and blood behind her tunes. And a person with her own slant on life is one to keep tabs on if and when she eventually makes it big. B+
--Tim Grierson / Staff Writer
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