This Week in Music: September 2011 Volume 5

Every week, we come back to give you the heads up and the straight story on what albums are out on the shelves. Are they worth your hard-earned cash? Do they represent a turning point for the artist? Is an album great except for a few songs? We let you know right here.

Wilco – The Whole Love

The truncation of the term “rock and roll” into just “rock” came in the wake of the 60?s triumvirate of Beatles/Dylan/Wilson, with the idea that working in the form carried with it the expectation of growth, development, change-ideas that had previously been associated more with jazz than with pop music. No band working today seems to take that more seriously than Wilco; you can argue whether the move from their alt-country roots into studio psychedelia, MOR pop, the occasional touch of prog-lite, and back again, actually constitutes anything resembling growth or development, but change it certainly is. And no matter which version of Wilco is your favorite, you’ll find at least a touch of it here.

… no matter which version of Wilco is your favorite, you’ll find at least a touch of it here.

The Whole Love is a particularly good choice for those leaning toward the longer, somewhat meandering aspect of the band. “Art of Almost” sets the tone right from the start with churning, pulsating layers of effects before giving way to some choice Nels Cline shredding, and the album concludes, forty minutes later, with the 12-minute” One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley’s Boyfriend),” a stark meditation on the eternal struggle of fathers and sons, and the choice between difficult acceptance and bitter regret. “I Might” and “Born Alone” reaffirm Tweedy’s knack for the pop hook, and “Open Mind” reminds us that he can skew familiar country tropes like few of his peers: “I could base my whole existence / Upon the cherry strings of your gold hair / I would ask, almost insist / Upon treating you kind and fair / Oh I could only dream of the dreams we’d have / Our hearts would be entwined / If you would let me be the one / To open up your mind.”

As much as anything else, this is John Stirratt’s album: his bass anchors the disparate musical styles and motifs, never letting even the most discursive track venture too far from the point. I sort of doubt this will be anyone’s favorite Wilco album-they’re just trying to touch too many bases at once for that-but no one with a love of the band will want to miss it, either.

Matthew Sweet – Modern Art

“Memories never stand the test of time,” Sweet sings on “Oldendaze,” whose valedictory tone and slow, reflective beat would normally find placement at the end of an album, rather than as the leadoff track to Sweet’s first collection of new songs since 2008. Instead of opening with the chiming guitars and bracing harmonies that made Girlfriend among the most influential albums of the 90?s, Modern Art launches itself with the introspection of maturity, rather than brash adolescence. That’s followed by the growling samba of “Ivory Tower,” and for much of its brief running time, Modern Art takes its title to heart, with sonic experimentation stretching the (admittedly narrow) confines of Sweet’s previous work: the sound is more Big Star than Badfinger. “She Walks the Night” blasts out with the familiar Byrdsian jangle, but its bridge devolves into a swirl of White Album psychedelia, the main melody finally fighting its way back before drawing to a murmuring close. “Ladyfingers” is a T. Rex-ian blues stomper, while “A Little Death” dances around chattering guitar figures looking for a hook that is always just out of reach. “Late Nights With the Power Pop” crunches out a tale of romance on the road, abruptly shifting time signatures with the narrator’s perspective.

Modern Art launches itself with the introspection of maturity, rather than brash adolescence.

The only real miss is “My Ass is Grass”: it’s the sort of goof that doesn’t exactly grow with repeated listening, and would be better off as a B-side, not ten percent of the album’s running time. Apart from that, if Modern Art has a drawback, it’s the studio insularity: save some bass by Velvet Crush’s Rick Menck, Sweet plays all the instruments himself; not a first, but the interplay he used to have with guitarists like Richard Lloyd and the late Robert Quine is missed. I understand that Sweet is planning a 20th Anniversary (good god) tour for Girlfriend this fall, and assuming that he finds time for some of these songs, as well, I look forward to hearing them with the expanded sound of a full band.

Dum Dum Girls – Only in Dreams

Seems odd that this is only the Dum Dum Girls’ second album: their constant stream of EP’s, singles, tribute contributions and one-offs has kept them in the public eye and ear pretty consistently for the past year, which makes for fascinating comparative listening as the proto-Sleater-Kinney of their first sessions gives way to the current version, which resembles nothing so much as Ronnie Spector fronting Portishead, driven by thrumming bass lines borrowed from Peter Hook.

The six-minute “Coming Down” does a surprisingly good job of sustaining its length, building and reverberating…

The biggest leap seems to come in Dee Dee Gundred’s singing: she’s reaching for vocal effects that stretch her instrument this time, and hitting them so often that even when her reach exceeds her grasp (“Heartbeat,” “Wasted Away”), she gets over on will and sheer enthusiasm.”Always Looking” kicks things off with a rush, with a great stop-time chorus. Gundred and Bambi combine for sleek and sultry harmonies on “Bedroom Eyes;” “Just A Creep” is a sharp and sneering kiss-off, propelled by chiming guitar and a lithe, skipping drumbeat. The six-minute “Coming Down” does a surprisingly good job of sustaining its length, building and reverberating, and only finally releasing its climax as it gives way to the “oh-oh-oh’s” of the Pretenders-like “Wasted Away,” the brisk quaver that glides over the top of “Teardops On My Pillow,” and wrapping up in the Phil Spector drumbeat and dreamy ache of “Hold Your Hand,” Dee Dee’s latest remembrance of her late mother. No sophomore album slump here.

Bill Frisell – All We Are Saying

Frisell’s a busy guy: this is the fourth new release of his I’ve heard over the past year or so, and it might be the most inspired of the lot: as much as John Lennon’s loss still leaves a hole for a lot of music fans, his death provoked a particular sense of vulnerability and identification with a lot of his professional peers, and while last year’s “70th birthday” Lennon celebration produced a rush of tie-in product, none was any more heartfelt or affecting than collection of Lennon tunes arranged for jazz quintet: a year “late,” perhaps, but powerfully moving. Following on from Lennon memorial concerts performed with violinist Jenny Scheinman and steel guitarist Greg Leisz a few years ago in Paris, Frisell has tinkered with the material, adding bassist Tony Scherr and drummer Kenny Wollesen to flesh out the sound to something more rock-oriented.

As much as John Lennon’s loss still leaves a hole for a lot of music fans, his death provoked a particular sense of vulnerability and identification with a lot of his professional peers…

Frisell’s choices are true to our familiar vision of Lennon: “Across the Universe” and “In My Life” are the kind of heart-on-the-sleeve expressions that call up the cracked honesty of John’s singing voice, while “Revolution” and “Come Together” evoke the restless musical exploration that drove him. There’s more than just simple transcription going on, too: “Imagine” pares down the lush orchestration to a clear, precise trio; Wollensen drives a ployrhythmic “Give Peace a Chance” to the building swirl of Frisell and Leisz’ guitars, and “Please Please Me” jumps and brims with the wild enthusiasm of those early Fab Four days. For all the technical perfection of Frisell’s other recent releases, any of them would have benefited from some of the spirit and spark that his memories of Lennon evoke here.