teabowl

A review of Madagascar Slim’s Good Life Good Living

Sometime in September or October 2009, I woke up – as I always do – to the sounds of CBC Radio 1. I’m not always sure why I listen to it, but it has something to do with all other options on the dial being much, much worse. Andy Barrie, the host of ‘Metro Morning,’ has a sort of dignified, grown-up way about him, a seemingly sincere desire to pander to my shrinking highbrow demographic, and so I get my tax dollar’s worth every morning between 6 and 7. Very occasionally, Metro Morning plays music; to introduce something the editorial team has deemed worthy of our rarefied ears. That morning, I encountered Madagascar Slim, an exceptionally talented Canadian singer, songwriter and guitarist, originally from Madagascar.

Now, Madagascar isn’t a geography I’m familiar with musically, despite having lived in Southern Africa for 20 years. This was perhaps a sign of South Africa’s disconnection from the rest of the region (culture, like foreign currency, wasn’t allowed to flow freely during the Apartheid years, and rebuilding regional relations since has been slow). In terms of widely recognized African music, West Africa (Mali, Senegal…) and South Africa itself always seemed to dwarf everyone else’s output, especially since the Western market for ‘world music’ isn’t known for its ability to differentiate sounds or appreciate the subtleties of regional inflection.

Madagascar, the world’s 5th largest island, had been a proudly independent seafaring monarchy for centuries before being invaded and colonized by France in the 1880s. It was a crucial trade gateway between East Africa and Southeast Asia, and – perhaps this is purely in my head – some of these influences can be heard in Slim’s music. For me, the recognizable elements are similarities to a certain South African ‘folk’ – I hear early Johnny Clegg (when he was still playing with his original band, Juluka) and Vusi Mahlasela. There’s a simple lyricism with very distinct Southern African elements here (I would call them kwela rhythms, but I realize that that’s just nomenclature). There’s also a “Latin” tinge, perhaps echoing the deep influence salsa, son and cumbia have wielded in other African coastal economies (such as Senegal, whose music is deeply influenced by Latin American sounds imported by sailors). While I can’t really hear an Asian influence, I sense elements of European folk song – evidence, no doubt, of the missionary colonialism present everywhere in historical Madagascar; this is similar to Waldemar Bastos from Angola, say. In this sense, Madagascar Slim’s music is an amalgam of his country’s history and geography.

Known as a Canadian world music guitar virtuoso, Slim also has another set of influences. Much has been made of his early discovery of Hendrix and his desire to play Jimi’s and B. B. King’s music. And certainly, there are tracks on Good Life Good Living (such as the cleverly named ‘Take Me Home (Slight Return),’ the name an homage to Hendrix’ ‘Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)’) that feature electric, blues-inflected guitar work. In essence, though, this is largely an acoustic, melodious, low-key affair that’s a lot less austere than a blues record, and it has absolutely nothing in common with West African ‘blues’ like Tinariwen, Ali Farka Touré or Boubacar Traoré. (I find myself wondering whether the “Malagasy kid discovers Hendrix, takes up guitar” origination story is maybe one of those self-perpetuating PR myths that don’t really serve to shed any light on an artist’s work but rather obfuscate the complexities of heritage and the richness of influence.)

There is much on this CD that is both immediately accessible (for someone open to world music) and benefits from repeated listening. Slim is an outstanding acoustic picker (witness the instrumental ‘Neny Malala,’ for example) whose simple picked chords propel everything here. There’s a heaviness of spirit here, a sadness of love and loss, underscored by strong and simple harmony vocals (‘Fankahalana’). Since I don’t understand the Malagasy lyrics and don’t have access to the CD cover (bought it on iTunes), I can’t say if it’s longing for lost love, home or a resolution of Madagascar’s complicated politics and poverty, but it’s touching in its simplicity and earnestness.

There’s one moment that borders on a misstep: ‘Take Me Home,’ a beautiful melody and a perfectly executed mid-tempo number, is apparently about every immigrant’s nightmare of living abroad, away from home, and about being sent home, deported. Suddenly, in the middle of the song, there’s a very Canadian voice (presumably meant to belong to an immigration official) announcing Slim’s deportation. It’s jarring… presumably deliberately, but uncomfortable nonetheless. At the end of the track, we hear a female voice waking the singer from his nightmare. It puts this track uncomfortably close to the ‘novelty song’ category. On the other hand, it’s these idiosyncrasies that make us remember and cherish certain albums, so I’m choosing to interpret it this way.

All is well the minute the next track comes on – a rollicking party of a song called ‘Sitaka’ that blends Malagasy roots, Quebec folk (or maybe Zydeco?) and intersperses it with a beautifully executed 12 bar blues seemingly out of nowhere. It’s effortless and demonstrates why Slim is in high demand as a sideman in Toronto’s blues scene.

I can wholeheartedly recommend this if you’re at all interested in world music. It’s one of the freshest things I’ve heard in a while, particularly since African music on CD has become so heavily oriented towards West African desert blues in recent years.

Madagascar Slim’s Good Life Good Living is available on iTunes, Amazon.ca, and Amazon.com. He also had a self-released (?) earlier album called “Omnisource” that is out of print and has sketchy availability.

Yellow Moon

The Neville Brothers. A&M 1990, Audio CD, $5.29

A review of The Neville Brothers’ Yellow Moon

Sometime in the late 80s or early 90s, I become interested in Daniel Lanois‘ music. Here was an enigmatic producer who had worked with Brian Eno, U2, Peter Gabriel, Robbie Robertson, Jon Hassell and Bob Dylan. For each, he had forged important, sometimes career-changing records, yet somehow he had put his own unmistakable stamp on each record. Regardless of genre differences, it’s quite possible to immediately identify a Daniel Lanois produced album when you hear it. It’s a very specific style: there’s a groundedness, a deep connection to all archetypal American music, a solid base in folk, funk and the blues, an earnest honesty, a certain electronic sheen- slightly industrial, but never jarring, a lo-fi hiss, a generous and well-balanced depth of field, a core musicality that shines through everything. Above all, Daniel Lanois has a deep repect for each performer’s musicianship.

The Neville Brothers – best known to most listeners because of brother Aaron’s unusual high tenor – had a patchy history of local New Orleans success prior to constituting themselves as an R&B outfit in 1975. Commercial success, however, remained elusive through subsequent studio and live albums. In 1988/89, they teamed up with Daniel Lanois and his then-engineer Malcolm Burn (now a renowned producer in his own right) to record what would become their career-high.

A deeply unique record in many ways, Yellow Moon is an atmospheric CD. Full of percussion, Lanois’ trademark dark synth pads and Charles Neville’s saxophone, the sound is a sort of lo-fi funk with a strong pan-African identity. There’s a definitive version of ‘A Change is Gonna Come’ here, two out-of-left-field but excellent Dylan covers (‘With God On Our Side’ and ‘The Ballad of Hollis Brown’) and a number of brilliant self-penned tracks.

While the radio single ‘Sister Rosa’ sounds slightly dated today due to its ‘early rap’ vocals, the most outstanding piece of music here is of course the title track. ‘Yellow Moon’ is a brilliant piece of sophisticated, bluesy, swamp-reggae, carried by Hammond licks, a tireless, lively bass line and propelled by Aaron’s plaintive, longing vocal.

Is she hid out with another? | Or is she trying to get back home? | Is she wrapped up in another’s arms? | Or is the girl somewhere all alone?

Like all the best pop music, this is pure emotional pain wrapped in transcendent musical beauty. It’s the kind of song that you have to play again and again when you first hear it. The sort of song that you’ll have in your headphones, late at night, and suddenly you’re standing in the middle of your living room swaying, with your eyes closed. The rest of the record – which is truly excellent, fantastic even – does fade slightly against the bright shooting star of this song. It’s a traditional R&B track at heart, something Sam Cooke might have written, timeless and traditional despite its electronic touches. Lanois, as always, finds how to be the conduit for this music and elevates great R&B to become part of the canon of classic American music, transcending the genre.

The Dylan covers mentioned above are quite incredible, too. ‘With God on Our Side’ becomes a gospel meditation, all low synth pads – the music itself is self-effacing here, almost not there at all – as a frame for Aaron’s heartfelt vocal. It’s a genuine surprise to hear this song – part of the core folk repertoire – so significantly transformed here. The Nevilles make it their own. ‘The Ballad of Hollis Brown’ is a lo-fi blues track, a dark, driving story song with an excellent slide guitar. Both tracks are great examples of how Aaron Neville’s voice, so fraught with adult contemporary meaning post Linda Ronstadt and one too many Christmas albums, can sound organic and authentic in the right context.

The Nevilles also do a version of A.P. Carter’s ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken,’ at first glance a hard-to-believe pick. But in the context of Lanois wall of amorphous synth sounds and a simple heartbeat thud as the backbeat, the brothers’ four-part harmonies affirm what you already know: American music really vanquishes racial boundaries and is rooted in a single sound. Johnny Cash and Elvis knew this, and so do the Neville Brothers and Daniel Lanois.

Hearing Yellow Moon 20 years after it was released continues to be a great joy. For those of you who don’t know it, this anniversary is a good time to get acquainted with a classic of the American repertoire.

Bible Belt

Diane Birch. S-Curve Records 2009, Audio CD, $6.91

A review of Diane Birch’s Bible Belt

It almost didn’t happen, my finding out about Diane Birch. My friend and coworker P. and I decided to visit our local Sunrise Records yesterday, on our way back from lunch. You know, two old people looking at CDs. And while I was mildly interested in seeing that Rodrigo y Gabriela have a new release out, the store guy kept telling us about what he was playing on the speakers: Diane Birch. How she was the new Norah Jones, “if this next song doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will,” that sort of thing. He was an older guy, too. And he was zeroing in on the only demographic that still buys CDs. It was a job well done, really, until he started telling us about how good-looking Diane Birch is. Neither of us could quite figure out why that should be a deciding factor, but I dutifully took a look at the CD cover where she appears dressed like Twiggy and gazes back at us with serious big eyes. I wasn’t buying it, or anything else for that matter.

P., on the other hand, rolled the dice and bought it. And so, back at the office, I made a copy, just to see if my on-the-spot judgment had been wrong.

And it was. Diane Birch is quite amazing, and this is a great record. The bio on her website summarizes the story to date: born in Michigan, spent her life in Southern Africa until she was about 10 (her dad was a missionary pastor), returned to the US, learned to play the piano, grew up, moved to LA to become a film composer, supported herself playing standards on the piano, learned to sing, learned to write songs, got a record deal, moved to New York. That’s the really short version. But since she’s only in her mid-20s, perhaps it isn’t really much longer than that.

The record is a remarkably likable blend of 70s female singer-songwriter styles with some pure r&b thrown in for good measure. Music people like to classify things by offering comparisons, and I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday. Everyone is comparing her to Norah Jones. There’s certainly something to that idea: she’s a singer-songwriter who got a young start, sounds mature beyond her years, plays a style that’s not “of her generation,” and uses authentic-sounding retro instrumentation. So that’s certainly one legitimate point of comparison. But it’s lacking in some core ways: this is the album that Norah Jones could have made instead of The Fall, her own new outing (which I’m not done listening to yet, but it certainly didn’t seem to provide the same level of immediate emotional resonance this has).

Other points of comparison might be Katie Melua (same clarity of voice, but Diane Birch has 1000% more substance and writes her own songs), Joss Stone (there’s some serious r&b singing going on here – Diane Birch is not in Joss Stone’s league but then again, that’s neither her game nor how she’s being marketed), or perhaps some of those white British retro-r&b singers, like Adele or Duffy.

The marketing bio on her website draws careful historical comparisons to Laura Nyro, Karen Carpenter and classic AM radio. I won’t comment on those alleged parallels, but this is big, friendly music with accessible melodies that had me humming more than once. The playing is tasteful and thoughtful throughout – she’s surrounded herself with the cream of the crop of New York session musicians, and the collective experience shows.

Ultimately, though, Diane Birch’s voice is the real star here: not too high, not too low, not too gritty – she has an everywoman voice, like Carole King perhaps. The most beautiful thing about her voice is that she never oversings, never strains, never becomes shrill. She displays a remarkable economy in her vocals that’s both admirable and really surprising in a singer so young. Her phrasing’s impeccable, too. Like other singers who don’t think of themselves as singers primarily, she knows how to shape her vocals with a self-effacing restraint that complements her music beautifully.

The songs are lovely, open, accessible and likable by the broadest cross-section of listeners. They are the sorts of songs you catch on the AM radio of your mind when driving on your imaginary California freeway. Another reviewer has said that the record should have been shorter by about three tracks but couldn’t really say which ones should have been cut. I’d counter that perhaps they all belong there. There really isn’t a weak song here. Even the slightly indulgent ones are charming and somehow work as part of the whole.

I, too, didn’t really want to like Diane Birch. I think her label’s marketing is not doing her justice, and the cover images (often the first and only thing you have to go on in a record store) produce some very strange cognitive friction. But the music is – unequivocally – glorious and deserves to be heard and loved.

The Beatles Stereo Box Set

The Beatles. EMI 2009, Audio CD, $137.99

Is there a more valuable, interesting and diverse catalogue in popular music than this one? In twelve records, the Beatles changed the entire face of music several times over, imprinting their songs on our culture in a way that transcends generations, politics, location and taste preferences.

I think of music as belonging – at the very highest, surface level – to one of two categories: music bought by music lovers, and music bought by people who don’t buy music. People who don’t buy music may listen to the radio or encounter music in other ways in their daily lives, but they never purchase music. Their CD collections, even when they are adults, consist of roughly 15 CDs, most of which were birthday presents from well-meaning but misguided friends. You’ll find an alarmingly high density of artists like Queen, Dire Straits and Hootie and the Blowfish in their CD shelves; also U2, Coldplay and maybe an older Radiohead CD that’s a little dusty.

The Beatles are the one act that consistently and powerfully transcends both types of musical public. The fact that their career together was so short and eventful, of course, contributes immensely to this: even people who aren’t particularly interested in the biographies of musicians know, in broad terms, the story of John, Paul, George and Ringo. The Beatles created their own archetypes.

The music is peerless in more ways that I can enumerate here. I’m not going to describe each record because – if you haven’t – you simply need to hear them all. Even the Beatles’ throw-away album filler tracks are extraordinarily evolved compositions, well-produced and fabulously entertaining.

The remasters, so memorably released on 09-09-09, are tastefully and carefully done. They are subtle in ways that other remasters are not: following a careful audio restoration process that took several years to complete, they are not just louder but provide new insights into the music. As a general rule, it does feel as though audio cobwebs have been removed. Where the previous, 1980s CD reissues sounded tinny, thin and frequently harsh, these sound full, balanced and well-rounded while never lulling you into a false sense of security. There’s more space here, better stereo imaging, more depth of field. The vocals are clearer and have less sibilant distortion. And McCartney’s Höfner bass is a revelation on most pieces, as these new editions finally do it justice and allow it to anchor the music properly, something the old CDs never managed to convey.

I have spent many days listening to the Beatles remasters over the last two months, and there have been any number of new discoveries and insights. I’m particularly impressed by the many ‘new’ album tracks that I wasn’t as aware of before. I suppose this is a good illustration of how the 1980s CDs gave me listening fatigue. I feel as if there are many songs that I’m really only encountering fully now that I have the remastered discs.

For example, I’ve enjoyed Magical Mystery Tour tremendously, including such album tracks as ‘Blue Jay Way’ and ‘Your Mother Should Know,’ neither of which I had consciously encountered before. I’ve also reconnected with Let It Be, which – contrary to popular opinion – I think is the better record in the Phil Spector version (rather than McCartney’s revisionist release from a few years ago). For example, I think that ‘I Me Mine’ is an extraordinary song that should get far more attention than it does.

On the whole, the remasters have brought the Beatles into the digital age, made them digitally listenable, and have provided countless hours of enjoyment. The subtlety and skill applied in the creation of these new versions cannot be praised too highly.

I think this is essential music, and every household even remotely interested in popular music should own these records. You will find that they transcend age, taste and personality differences.

–

Despite the ongoing controversy over the remaining Beatles’ reluctance to see their music released digitally, a digital version of sorts will be released just in time for Christmas:

The Beatles [USB]

The Beatles. EMI 2009, Audio CD, $289.99

I simply bought the individual CDs on the day of release, instead of the box set. I felt that I didn’t particularly need the box and the poster.

Finally, there’s also The Beatles in Mono, a box set of the original ten or so records that were released in mono. It appears that the Beatles themselves only attended the mono mixing sessions of their LPs. EMI has made these mixes available as a separate limited edition box set whose packaging is more elaborate and historically authentic. I’ve heard some of them and can’t say that I was all that impressed. They are great-sounding remasters, too; it’s just that I’m used to the Beatles in stereo.

The Weather Network is a portal to another reality. It’s a 24-hour cable news channel where everything revolves around the weather, all the time. Every bulletin and every story segment is about the weather, climate change, or about the weather’s impact on traffic or other aspects of people’s lives (cars spinning out in deep snow, homes destroyed by falling trees or floods).

There is no irony in the Weather Network’s flow: it’s as if the anchors and journalists aren’t even aware that there’s another world out there, one where the weather is merely a small part of people’s lives. Presenters are professionally dressed in business attire and have all the mannerisms of CNN or BBC World: they say things like, “Up next!” or “What an interesting story there.”

During the frequent “news bulletins,” there are even ‘chatty’ parts where two anchors (!) share some informal banter with the viewers, like this:

Anchor 1: We thought we’d start this newscast by showing you some pictures of warm, sunny Toronto yesterday.
Anchor 2: Let’s do it!

Since nothing actually happens during the news bulletins, they are filled with B-roll images from around the country, showing iconic scenes from Vancouver, Calgary, Edmonton, St. John’s, Toronto… catalogued (in a very large media library, one presumes) by season and weather condition, so that the appropriate clip is shown. For example, one of today’s stories was “Vancouver has Winter Woes of Its Own,” where we learned that winters are hard even in Vancouver because it always rains there:

One of my favourite parts is how the Weather Network has its own weather report. Just after the news, the actual weather report comes on, with a country-wide review of meteorological conditions, followed by an exhaustive local forecast. Of course, there’s also a traveler’s forecast that talks about a number of US cities.

The Weather Network also runs house promos where it tells us why it’s the best Weather Network out there (there are no others). It claims to have “40 meteorologists” on staff who anticipate and report on storms and other extreme weather conditions, and the promo is filled with dramatic images of floods, hurricanes and cars sliding on highways during blizzards.

The high production values of The Weather Network make it eerily similar to the Onion News Network, the Internet’s most brilliant video news satire, where everything is just like real television, only much, much funnier.

Now, you can sort of work out why the Weather Network is the way it is. This is a channel most reasonable people will only flip to for a quick weather check before leaving the house in the morning. Its ‘bounce rate’ must be very high. So the idea of creating ’sticky’ viewers by offering interesting stories, opinions and banter to hang on to that viewer just a little bit longer must have made sense to someone.

But I like to imagine that there are home-bound people somewhere for whom the Weather Network is a main source of information about the world. Who are continually amazed at the astounding goings-on in Canada’s weather, who are delighted with the “international news” items about tropical storms and Canadian travelers stuck at airports due to white-outs.

In popular culture, the weatherman is typically the newsroom underdog: an aspiring journalist who doesn’t quite measure up to his news anchor brethren and who wears flashy jackets (it’s a waist-up sort of world) or does wacky things to catch our attention.

The Weather Network is the revenge of the weatherman: it’s all weather all the time. Because if you can’t join them, just create your own.

A beautiful Fall afternoon on Toronto Island. Ramshackle houses, yards full of unwanted junk, falling leaves, and deserted beaches. A cyclist’s and walker’s paradise.

Many of the houses on the Island are pretty basic but artistically adorned. This one’s shack is festively decorated with a universal pagan symbol.

This home struck us as the most modern and architecturally advanced on Centre Island. The view of the city skyline must be spectacular.

This seemed to be like a little Freecycle station: islanders appear to use this open air closet to get rid of unwanted junk.

The ‘parking lot’ outside the Rectory Café.

Footprints in the sand.

The Island seems to suffer from a high density of cast-off things stored in people’s yards. Here: a still life with Fender Rhodes. Fetching.

The Lake Ontario waves on a windy day.

Bicycles parked at the ferry dock, on our way back to Toronto.

Definintely Not The Opera (DNTO) is a magazine show on CBC Radio 1 that comes out every Saturday. It’s one of my most treasured Canadian cultural institutions. Originally named Brand X, it was first broadcast in 1994 and later renamed to Definitely Not The Opera to signify that it ran opposite Saturday Afternoon at the Opera on CBC Radio 2.

Host Sook-Yin Lee is a former MuchMusic VJ who took over DNTO in 2002. She’s also an accomplished actor, musician and filmmaker. Known for pushing her own limits (and, as a result, ours), Lee was involved in a controvery in 2003 when she acted in the film Shortbus which showed her having unsimulated sex. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation threatened to fire her in response, but a number of international media personalities supported her strongly and the CBC backed down.

DNTO is unusual in the current media landscape. A salon-style magazine program resolutely aimed at Generation X, it entertains and informs not by commenting on current affairs or the entertainment industry, nor by decorating itself with celebrity interviews. Instead, DNTO picks a topic (for example, “What do you believe in?” or “What didn’t you learn in school today?”) and provides 2 hours of thoughtful and intelligent analysis, narrative, humour and commentary.

The ‘talking heads’ are an eclectic mix of (mostly local, Canadian) artists, writers, scientists and other cultural producers. The style is a Sook-Yin Lee-led conversation, interspersed with incidental music. Quite unlike a more traditionally oriented interviewer, Lee asserts her opinions strongly in most segments – each episode has a story to tell and a point to make, and ‘getting out of the way’ doesn’t really support that objective.

Stories, in fact, are what DNTO is all about. Stories from when we were kids, stories about love and sex, stories about memorable embarassing moments, about accomplishments and failures, about the intrigue of the world. Stories about life.

Lee, in a way, is the show: many of DNTO’s most memorable stories are from her own life. She has a strong sense of wonder, an awareness of the magic of ordinary events, and is entirely fearless of disclosing too much (or at least that’s what we allow ourselves to believe). She professes that she’s “private” and a “prude” (her Chinese background, perhaps), yet we have weekly evidence of her need to share her most private experiences on air.

DNTO is very Canadian. The spirit of Trudeau’s children permeates every moment of programming. Cultural differences are acknowledged and respected, shared school experiences celebrated. The Canadian melting pot is discovered and surfaced in the ordinary events of everyday life. Somehow, DNTO manages to be wildly entertaining in its ordinariness; more so than, say, many of NPR’s magazine shows which are oriented around cultural events (books, films, music releases) and their associated producers.

DNTO is available as a weekly podcast from the DNTO website.

Humbug

Arctic Monkeys. Domino 2009, Audio CD, $8.09

A (brief) review of Arctic Monkeys’ Humbug (2009)

In 2005/2006, the Arctic Monkeys were the British rock world’s most-hyped new rock ‘n’ roll sensation. Before they had ever released an album, the tornado of media opinion preceding them ensured they’d sell a vast number of their first release, and they did. This first offering was followed by diligent touring and a second album that was, by all critical accounts, possibly even better than the first.

Musically, the Monkeys played a sort of nervous New Wave/classic rock blend on their first two offerings – derived, in equal measure, from Franz Ferdinand, the Clash, the Jam and – maybe – Oasis. They were a precise band that wrote decent songs and had a healthy postmodern disregard for even the most recent rock history: they were kids in the 90s, when rock was post-rock and popular music had already entered its permanently relativist state. Their music was likable, but perhaps no more so than, say, Ash or the Subways once you stripped Arctic Monkeys of their immense media profile.

For me, their first two records lacked a certain grounding. Entertaining enough to listen to, clever in many ways, both Whatever People Say I am, That’s What I’m Not and Favourite Worst Nightmare had great tracks but, in the end, left me a little cold. Maybe in the same way that Franz Ferdinand’s weaker album tracks leave one cold.

Enter Humbug in 2009. The Monkeys have retained the services of Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age fame to produce their new album. While I’m not that closely familiar with Homme’s output overall, his music in Queens wouldn’t in any obvious way suggest that he’d be a good match for producing the nimble, light-footed, hardworking, nervy Monkeys. Queens of the Stone Age is all about lowdown, heavy grooves, growls and drones; music that has tons of bottom end.

And yet, on Humbug, something magical has happened. Homme has helped Arctic Monkeys find an anchor of gravity, has tied their music down and bolted it into the floor. While other reviewers have pointed out that this record is so much more experimental than the first two, I think the main achievement here is actually the songwriting that’s resulted from the new lower frequencies: there’s a darkness, or rather many of the tracks are darkly funny in the same way that Nick Cave or recent Morrissey is.

In fact, I was surprised by how sonically similar this CD is to Morrissey’s You Are The Quarry, 2004’s formidably rocking (and funny) comeback record.

Humbug, then, is the Arctic Monkey’s sonic coming-of-age record. It’s immensely listenable and quite brilliant, although – I suspect – it hasn’t gotten the right kind of media attention this time around because it doesn’t comply with our preconceived notions about the band, and because change is not always welcomed. I, for one, am thoroughly enjoying the darker textures, weirder lyrics and harder orientation.

Two recent Arctic Monkeys videos to round out this brief posting: the first is the single from Humbug, the second is a fabulous cover of Nick Cave’s ‘Red Right Hand,’ released, apparently, only on the web.

Two sepia-toned videos today from Britain’s Elbow, a favourite over the years (I liked them when they released Asleep in the Back and everyone thought they were Peter Gabriel prog-rockers). Both from The Seldom Seen Kid, one of 2008’s best albums (which I, sadly, only heard in 2009).

Guy Garvey is a fabulously poetic lyricist and also a BBC Radio 6 DJ/presenter, but – alas – the BBC won’t allow downloads of his show outside of the UK.

So I’m there
Charging around with a juggernaut brow
Overdraft, speeches and deadlines to make
Cramming commitments like cats in a sack
Telephone burn and a purposeful gait

When out of a doorway the tentacles stretch
Of a song that I know
And the world moves in slow-mo
Straight to my head
like the first cigarette of the day

There’s a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late I cannot help but fall

(Ugh, not sure why embedding was turned off on these videos… sorry, you’ll have to click through to Youtube to watch them.)

“I sometimes channel Robert Nesta up above.” I had mentioned in my previous review of K’naan’s work that there was more than a little Marley in his voice and words. Now teamed with J.Period (DJ/producer for Lauryn Hill, The Roots, Kanye West, Q-Tip and Mary J. Blige), he drops the first three tracks of a new mixtape release channeling and interpreting Fela Kuti, Bob Marley and Bob Dylan. Full of great rhymes and fabulous, familiar music, these three tracks explore what meaning the music of the previous generation’s musician-messengers holds for today’s MC. Love the references to Google and Nova Scotia. You can always tell a smart Canadian’s on the mic when those two appear in the same song less than 30 seconds apart :)

Download three tracks here.