Music: New Releases, August 18 2011 Volume 3

Jeff Bridges

Jeff Bridges

One of the most impressive things about Bridges’ performance in Crazy Heart was his ability to convince the viewer that he’d once been a big country music star: he did it mostly with attitude and perspective, because Bridges’ singing voice, while pleasantly light, has little heft behind it, and is sufficiently free of quirk and character that it’s hard to picture it ever rousing an audience or breaking through on the radio; it didn’t help that he was matched with Ryan Bingham, whose vocal characteristics are pretty much Bridges’ polar opposite. Given that, a Bridges album is going to rise or fall on his choice of collaborators: last time out (2000’s Be Here Soon), it was cheesy ersatz soul man Michael McDonald; this time, we get T-Bone Burnett, Bingham, Roseanne Cash and Marc Ribot, among others… guess which album rises and which falls.

Bridges album is going to rise or fall on his choice of collaborators…

Bridges’ good taste extends to his choice of material, skipping over less obvious cover choices for the likes of John Goodwin, Greg Brown, and the late Stephen Bruton, whose “What a Little Bit of Love Can Do” opens the proceedings in rollicking fashion, buoyed by harmony vocals from Bingham. From there, the sound of the album is vintage Burnett: while stripped-down trad country prevails, there’s hints of psychedelia on “Blue Car,” a quiet folkiness to “Slow Boat,” and some down-and-out Nashville schmaltz on “Everything but Love” and “Maybe I Missed the Point.”

When considering this album, I’d planned to avoid obvious Lebowski references but in fact, much of The Dude’s characterization is informed by Bridges’ zen perspective, and there are more than a few echoes on this album in Bridges’ own composition, the jazz-inflected “Tumbling Vine (“Here is the freedom I have been sent / I’m alive and I’m Buddhist-ly bent / Wonderful moments / The past is a dream / The future is hiding“) and the contented resignation of album’s closer, “The Quest” (“My memories will stay / But my body must go / Back to the thunder, the rock and the field / And the truth of my life / Only time will reveal“). The roots music field is pretty crowded these days (hell, the “produced by T-Bone Burnett” field is crowded enough), and I’d characterize this album as more pleasant than essential, but it has a purity and an honesty that bring Bridges’ fans just that much closer to… well, to The Dude.

Sly Stone

I’m Back! Family & Friends

Sometimes, you just gotta trust the knee. The knee-jerk reaction to the idea of yet another Sly Stone comeback (this is at least his third album with “I’m Back” somewhere in the title) is that the guy who, even at his peak, proved unable to handle success, was (and remains) notoriously unreliable about performances (or even showing up for them), and who seemed to have burned out as a writer decades ago, would be cause for dismissal if not outright despair – particularly since he seemed to be going the played-out “duets” route, with guest artists ranging from the obvious (Bootsy Collins) to the absurd (Ann Wilson?). Well, sure enough, despite all the goodwill I can muster, and all the slack I can cut, this is the most useless album by a 60’s icon since last year’s “Carlos Santana Plays Guitar Hero” collection (or whatever the hell it was called).

…despite all the goodwill I can muster… this is the most useless album by a 60’s icon since last year’s “Carlos Santana Plays Guitar Hero” collection…

And, really, Santana’s album at least had a kind of perverse purpose: if you’d ever cared to imagine what, say, “Sunshine of Your Love” or “Smoke On The Water” might have sounded like with a Santana solo stuck in there, well, at least it would satisfy your curiosity. But we already know what these songs “would” sound like with Sly at the helm, because we’ve heard them all before: with the exception of three (pretty dull) new compositions, the album consists entirely of carefully-executed remakes of Sly’s greatest hits, with him adding raspy, erratic vocals. And the notion that anyone had ever wondered what Ray Manzarek’s beach-boardwalk organ would add to “Dance to the Music,” or had dreamed of a version of “Everyday People” with Ann Wilson droning all over Rose Stone’s vocal part is as unlikely as it is appalling. I hate to completely dismiss a new album from as important a figure in music as Stone, so I’ll say that fans of Jeff Beck or Johnny Winter may enjoy hearing them stretch out on “(I Want To Take You) Higher” and “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)”, respectively, and while Carmine Appice doesn’t add a whole lot to “Stand!”, it’s nice to know that he’s still working. Really I guess the title of the album is actually pretty accurate: the Sly Stone of the past thirty years or so, is, in fact, back. I kinda miss the one from 1968, though.

Ollabelle

Neon Blue Bird

Given the level of polarization along religious lines in this country, it’s not surprising that gospel music tends to be ghettoized in the “roots” subculture: young, typically liberal, white musicians comfortable with every other form of black music are frequently reluctant to dig deeply into an art form steeped in articles of faith, tending to admire gospel music from afar rather than absorbing it. There was something of a breakthrough last year, when Jeff Tweedy masterminded Mavis Staples to a long-overdue Grammy, and the latest album from Levon Helm’s daughter and her band (their first since 2006) remains rooted in their love of gospel music, while expanding its possibilities into bluesy, country-flavored pop that, at its best, recalls Amy Helms’ old man’s outfit, or a gospel-infused Wilco.

The latest album from Levon Helm’s daughter and her band… remains rooted in their love of gospel music, while expanding its possibilities into bluesy, country-flavored pop…

In fact, the opener, “You’re Gonna Miss Me,” is just one of several songs that blend intricate vocal parts in a way that was very much a signature of The Band, while “Be Your Woman” and “Brotherly Love” lay some Willie Mitchell funk under the group’s insistent, churchy vocals and slashing guitar from Jimi Zhivago. There’s a few detours into more or less conventional pop balladry: “Wait For The Sun” might be the work of a dark-voiced Carole King, while “Record Needle” and “Lovin’ in My Baby’s Eyes” roll over their occasional clichés with a convincing passion. But most of the album resists conventional choices: “Butcher Boy” is a traditional tale of quiet tragedy told in an ominous slow burn, while “Dirt Floor” has some of the breathless acoustic-rock feel of Rod Stewart’s classic early-70’s stuff. And it’s an interesting year in pop music when we get two covers of “Swanee River”: in comparison with Hugh Laurie’s rambunctious piano-driven outing, Neon Blue Bird ends on a gentle, rolling lullabye of the familiar tune.

Various Artists

Johnny Boy Would Love This (A Tribute to John Martyn)

I’ll give them this: the talent assembled on this tribute to Nick Drake’s one-time flatmate doesn’t lean on big names, but goes for musicians who have an aesthetic/spiritual connection to Martyn (or, in the case of Phil Collins, a former mate and accompanist); when, aside from Collins, Beck and Robert Smith are your marquee names, you can pretty well bet that the project (assembled by producer Jim Tullio ) is being done for the right reason: to pay tribute to a late, great British songwriter and guitarist, who deserves to be remembered, and mentioned with guys like Drake, Bert Jansch, and Richard Thompson.

Like most tribute albums, though, there’s a mixture of stronger and lesser material; and spread over two disks, the proportion is naturally going to be heavily weighted in favor of the decently listenable rather than the truly exceptional: not surprising, given that Maryin himself sometimes had trouble finding just the right blend of folk, jazz, and blues. Standouts include Smith’s lush, heavily reverbed version of “Small Hours,” Morcheeba lead singer Skye Edwards stepping out for a moody, haunting performance of “Solid Air,” and glorious harmony vocals from the Swell Season on “I Don’t Want To Know” and Blind Boys Clarence Fountain and Sam Butler on “Glorious Fool.” Even Joe Bonamassa manages to exercise a bit of restraint as he nimbly works out on “Easy Blues.” Martyn himself makes an appearance on some guitar tracks recorded before his death, including a charming set of false starts before accompanying Cheryl Wilson’s version of “You Can Discover.”

Martyn himself makes an appearance on some guitar tracks recorded before his death.

As with most tribute albums, it’s less remarkable for what it has (including a 40-page booklet and DVD with contributor interviews and rare Martyn performances) than for what it’s missing: Martyn’s idiosyncratic, loping guitar style (hard to recapture without simply imitating it) and his insistence on pronouncing the letter “s” as “z” (which is actually kind of a relief). If you know Martyn, all but a few tracks here will feel like pale copies of the original, but you might want the book and DVD. And if you don’t yet know John Martyn, find a copy of Solid Air or Bless The Weather. And thank me later.