The Grand Bounce - Gord Downie

The Grand Bounce

Gord Downie
Maplemusic Records.

SCQ Rating: 78%

The relationship between Gord Downie’s solo output and his parent catalog as lead songwriter in The Tragically Hip has to be one of modern radio-rock’s strangest. Whereas most artists gone-solo tend to spotlight what’s attributed as their best contributions to a band’s democracy, Downie’s non-Hip output has been just that; a complete break from the tried-and-true legacy of Canada’s contemporary powerhouse, Coke Machine Glow – and, to a lesser extent, Battle Of the Nudes – prided themselves on existing without the commercial expectations that have slowly eroded The Tragically Hip’s versatility. And for open-minded listeners unafraid of distinguishing Gord Downie from his famous band, these records are exhibits A and B in unraveling Downie’s soul.

When ‘The East Wind’ bounds into its full-band awareness with polished, radio-ready guitar strums, many of these fans will dread counting the years in which Downie has let his solo trajectory languish. That’s seven years which, if you’re a member of The Tragically Hip, mean fairly little given how their last two LP’s have only cemented their preexisting fanbase. To contrast, if you’re a member of Death Cab For Cutie, seven years mean everything. So maybe it’s logical that The Grand Bounce’s accessible folk-pop opener and each album track thereafter is produced by Death Cab guitarist Chris Walla. By covering everything from polka to bluegrass, Downie’s two prior works have swept him up a generous pile of tags, everything from poet to patriot, so why not jump the proverbial shark with The Grand Bounce’s relative directness? Adhering not only to dependable verse-and-chorus songwriting but also accepting his bread-and-butter skills, Downie gives up Hip-ish rock songs (‘The Drowning Machine’, ‘Night Is For Getting’) alongside layered folk songs (‘As A Mover’, ‘Retrace’) which Walla adequately spit-shines with some indie-modernism. The results of Downie and Walla working together are too organic to sound as if they’d calculated this beforehand, and no production polish could ever disguise Downie’s idiosyncratic approach to, well, everything. Lyrically and vocally, Downie’s as unpredictable and affecting as ever, especially on a few black sheep tracks that scathe the sequencing. ‘Moonslow Yer Lashes’ is pretty much as quirky as its title suggests, but you’ll find its silver lining the same way you probably had to on previous solo records. We’re not supposed to get too close to Downie, after all, and The Grand Bounce tows us between cleverly quaint and unfamiliar even despite its radio-ready intentions.

First impressions will likely resound with uncertainty for fans of Coke Machine Glow or Battle Of the Nudes, but in time The Grand Bounce feels as solid – if less ambitious – in league with his predecessors. Some introspection in Downie’s lyrics has subsided, or at least become more imperative and action-oriented, but he’s almost merging his solo work to The Tragically Hip’s reliable Can-Rock material. In this strange case where Downie fans and Hip fans can be split into two camps of equal pride and loyalty, think of The Grand Bounce as the bridge.

Magnetic North - Aqualung

Magnetic North

Aqualung
Verve Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

Matt Hales, the Brit behind the curtain of Aqualung, has been an unpredictable surprise for SCQ in recent years; his 2007 game-changer Memory Man found his syrupy rep taking on a sinister understanding of electronic-rock, not to mention making a gift for my girlfriend suddenly a gift for myself. Hales is also a bit of a paradox for this particular writer, my praise launched at dark-horse sophomores countered by a wrath (in the form of this open letter) spewed toward his subsequent backpeddling. The accused, 2008’s Words & Music, felt less like a half-hearted collection of cutesy, white picket-fence singalongs and more like bittersweet justification on my behalf that Aqualung’s deserving spot on this website (Memory Man landed respectively on SCQ’s Top Twenty of 2007, even) was born of fluke.

Magnetic North proves otherwise, clarifying Words & Music’s sub-album classification in its very press-release and citing this as the official follow-up to Memory Man. Now that’s more like it! And Hales makes good on his crafty rewriting of history with a collection of tight melodic songwriting that, like that 2007 surprise, marries the sincere with the cloying, the studio polish with the piano balladry. ‘New Friend’ earns its title thanks to a small army of Hales friends’ singing over its refrain, even if it’s hopelessly hackneyed, while surefire single ‘Fingertip’ over-romanticizes every cliché. Yet the majority of it works, given you check your cynicism at the door, and gains credibility next to Aqualung’s more somber offerings. The combination of Hales’ Bono-with-range vocals and delicate piano immediately raises hairs on the succinct ‘California’, the relationship-on-edge-of-collapse meditation ‘Remember Us’, and – perhaps one of this year’s finest songs - ‘Sundowning’. Although it lacks the spirited experimentation that shaded Memory Man with urgent undertones, Magnetic North showcases Aqualung’s softer takes on love and longing; ultimately Hales’ safer side.

Vancouver - Matthew Good

Vancouver

Matthew Good
Universal Music.

SCQ Rating: 87%

In April of 2008, I posted some rough first impressions on a series of demos leaked to the internet, all of which were purportedly conceived and considered for Matthew Good’s follow-up to Hospital Music. While the post has been a regular attraction for curious Matthew Good fans this past year and a half, I hadn’t bothered to re-read those demo-inspired sentiments until tonight, as I expected to disagree now that those songs have been studio-recorded and widely released as Vancouver. Yet of the demos that made it to Good’s fourth solo album (‘Bad Pennies’ was wisely nixed), who could deny what convincing mannequins they are when compared to their finished compositions? Due to my usurping of those downloaded demos, Vancouver lacks a ton of surprises one would expect from a new release… meaning two things: (1) the many things I loved about the demos are bigger and better on this finished LP, and (2) a few aspects of the demos I shrugged about remain largely unchanged.

Skirting those speed-bumps for now, however, let’s get to Vancouver’s considerable punch; that after Hospital Music’s acoustic and autobiographical intimacy, Good has fought forward with his first unabashed rock record since 2004. Better yet, it’s his most impassioned set since Avalanche, again neighbouring personal reflections with political call-to-arms and sounding positively indebted to his subjects of choice: the state of human decency, the state of Matthew Good. It seems like a disclose and destroy strategy, touching upon his private life in delicate detail while swinging his social viewpoints wildly, but given the BC city’s recent lack of human decency (in a coarse nut-shell: the impending Olympics have instilled city workers with the “right” to forcibly displace homeless people, some of whom Good knows), Vancouver is a well-planned platform for Good to combine his seething disbelief with nearly two decades of lived-in memories. The weight of this back-story isn’t required reading but it provides additional chills for long-term Good fans. ‘Empty’s Theme Park’, for example, stories Good’s early adulthood living out of a basement apartment in Port Moody but beneath the surface level - of a rearview look at him and his city, growing up – ‘Empty’s Theme Park’ is a microcosm of many Vancouver themes, outlining Good’s own mental illness, then undiagnosed and torturing him, and how it connects him to a tragic percentage of homeless people. How deeply one wishes to tread into the record's subject matter is as optional as how much one chooses to read on his prolific, oft-outspoken website, but what’s important is that Good’s return to rock isn’t without purpose or real emotion.

That said, Vancouver doesn’t forget to bundle up some newborn Matthew Good classics. True to the demo’s potential, ‘The Boy Who Could Explode’ is a thrilling masterwork; grinding as if Good was scratching palm-stiff guitar strings like a train over tracks, the song blossoms into a symphonic anthem of unblinking assuredness. In fact, coupled with the intensity of opener ‘Last Parade’, this latest album nearly overwhelms in its first third. Luckily its mid-section settles into meat and potatoes rock on ‘Us Remains Impossible’ and the twilight acoustics of ‘On Nights Like Tonight’ (think a more personal, concise ‘Avalanche’). Considering Vancouver’s multiple candidates for “classic” status, the track that screams out the clearest is ‘A Silent Army In the Trees’, which digs into the gray area separating childhood war fantasies and real military life with some of Good’s most powerful lyrics to date. Interesting enough, ‘A Silent Army In the Trees’ and nearly every song on Vancouver is longer than it needs to be… yet as a testament to the songwriter’s charisma, the songs don’t suffer from their seven or nine minute lengths. If anything, their longer gestation time uncovers added significance for listeners, further removing Good’s work from radio-rock’s narrow-minded limitations and warranting him an audience all his own.

If there’s any miscalculation to be mentioned, it’s that some tracks feel longer than they are on account of tepid backing-band arrangements. When Good announced ‘Champions of Nothing’ would open Hospital Music at over ten-minutes in length, he was the first to comment that it was his longest composition. And while no single track on Vancouver crosses that milestone, their stationary performances (the unwavering percussion, the carbon copy guitar lines) lack spontaneity as if there was no backing-band, as if some of these tracks never evolved beyond the measured tracking that laptop recording insists upon. In that respect, a great song like ‘Vancouver National Anthem’ is reduced to a decent take and ‘Empty’s Theme Park’ borders on overkill. Yet ‘Champions of Nothing’, still Good’s longest song, feels far shorter than both of these tracks thanks to its shifting, surging dynamic; a few songs on Vancouver’s back-end could’ve used more of that.

Bearing in mind how bleak Hospital Music was, it’s something of a double-take to realize that Vancouver might just be the darker record. Brooding strings and ominous synths, while shaping the album’s sonic mood no differently than how the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra filled out Avalanche’s sound, menace beneath every track and Good’s lyrics recapture the visceral, angry mentality of Beautiful Midnight (granted, with a more mature, justified approach). The key to this permeating darkness is wielding it effectively, whether needling it into goofy social commentary on ‘The Future is X-Rated’ or sacrificing it altogether for vulnerability on ‘Empty Road’. Although Vancouver is most certainly his easiest solo album to get excited about, Good’s instrumental moodiness nearly gets the best of him.

Ursa Major - Third Eye Blind

Ursa Major

Third Eye Blind
Mega Collider Records.

SCQ Rating: 86%

Six years is an eternity for a pop band. It’s longer than most bands’ hiatuses, however indefinite, and longer than any artist has taken to write their masterpiece. Upon the release of Red Star EP last fall, I detailed how frustrating a six-year wait can be for a fan but personal complaints aside, this lengthy absence was downright dangerous for the band. If there was ever a serendipitous marker in their career screaming “get your shit together”, it should’ve exploded like a cherry bomb under Stephan Jenkins’ pillow following the commercial disappointment of Out of the Vein. Forget that it remains their best album; Elektra was folding in 2003 and 3eb, stuck with a dying label’s marketing prowess (only ‘Blinded’, the unlikely first single, received video treatment), were left to fend for themselves. Derided by many journalists as a 90s band, that should’ve been the end of Third Eye Blind, capped predictably by their greatest hits package in 2006. So it’s worth looking back over six largely unproductive years in the life of a time-capsule band when the long-delayed, nearly fictitious Ursa Major arrived in stores last month and landed on the Billboard’s Top Three. If you listen closely, you'll hear the clatter of journalists spinning through old rolodexes for 3eb's press agent.

Of course, I’d forego the crude history lesson and fist-pumping had Ursa Major become the letdown everyone was expecting. Yet this long-awaited fourth album not only avenges the tragic mismanagement of Out of the Vein commercially, it reinstates Third Eye Blind in all its rocking, quirky, guilty-pleasured glory. ‘Summer Town’ evokes everything you first loved about Third Eye Blind, from its catchy, San Fran-soaked chorus to Jenkins’ hopeless love for rapping, while ‘Can You Take Me’ reclaims the lost art of legitimizing power-pop with, you know, quality songwriting. As surely as Ursa Major contributes several new hit singles to their catalog (the unforgettable drum-fills of ‘Don’t Believe a Word’, future hit ‘Bonfire’), Jenkins and Co. also bare gifts for the dedicated fans who recall ‘Motorcycle Driveby’ or ‘The Red Summer Sun’ as their classics. ‘Dao of St. Paul’ captures all the intimacy and unsung details of Jenkins’ traumatic lovelife, sewn tightly with the same lyrical strengths that made ‘Good Man’ or ‘The Background’ so irresistible. And like those songs, the most pressing catalyst for Jenkins’ turmoil goes unnamed here… an omission that inevitably points to him. Still, ‘Dao of St. Paul’ and ‘Monotov’s Private Opera’ together showcase a growth for the songwriter, whereby regrets and outrages presented on past albums are here given a silver lining of self-understanding, even redemption, on well-assembled chorals which close both songs.

Gushing aside, Ursa Major isn’t perfect; in fact, it’s the band’s first record that feels a tad disjointed, as between every handful of superb, 3eb tracks, there’s a nagging track destined to disrupt momentum. Prime example ‘One in Ten’ somehow evades the cutting-room floor with a well-intentioned but hopelessly lazy ode to a love guttered by lesbianism. At least ‘One in Ten’s greatest defense is its brevity, whereas ‘About To Break’ is just plodding, boasting no obvious strengths or weaknesses. These are minor imperfections unlikely to warrant the skip button but associative to the record’s patchy groove, even when Ursa Major, by percentage, has the most balladry of any 3eb record.

When, two years ago, Jenkins stated that Ursa Major - at that point, still titled The Hideous Strength - would be a very political record, I couldn’t help but cringe. Such an idea was topical during George Bush’s first run and exploitive during his inexplicable second term, so when ‘Non-Dairy Creamer’ arrived - complete with Jenkins’ ironic jab on Bush’s “mission accomplished” moment - after Obama had won the presidency, I had thoughts of throwing in my 3eb towel. Politics move too quickly for someone carrying six years of writer’s block, and mercifully, this full-length rejects the leftist’s pop-culture handbook with Jenkins’ progressive but non-preachy commentary. It’s one of many aspects to this collection I didn’t expect to enjoy, yet another that cements Ursa Major as an uncompromising comeback.

Reach For the Sun - The Dangerous Summer

Reach for the Sun

The Dangerous Summer
Hopeless Records.

SCQ Rating: 77%

It’s somewhat disheartening when you find a bright young band and all the press they’re garnering is strictly from emo websites. Nothing against their writer’s merits – I’m sure they’re a well-articulated bunch – but attaching their pride of emo to The Dangerous Summer isn’t really helping the band. Labels are a drag, oftentimes misguiding and detracting listeners who actually take such superficial categorizations seriously, while the people who get hurt are usually the same cool folks who dreamt of taking their garage band on the road. Long has SCQ lamented the effect of such labels (art-rock, Intelligent Dance Music, other nonsense…) while carefully avoiding emo; the greatest offender. Among the most flighty of accusations, emo is the kind of thing I’ve ignored because truthfully, the majority of artists I dig have never been associated with it. As far as I’m concerned, what divides a rock record from an emo record comes down to conviction. I’m familiar with the pose-striking nature of most emo artists – long-sleeved, make-up clad and heartbroken to the point of suicide-exploitation – and I’m aware that a certain percentage of thirteen year olds are thrilled with it. That’s great. Thankfully, nothing about that scene has anything to do with The Dangerous Summer, whose new disc, Reach for the Sun, is a powerful blend of radio-worthy rock that melds Stephan Jenkins’ vocal delivery to Jimmy Eat World’s crushing melodics.

Standout tracks are littered generously throughout but what binds each highlight is the vocal power of AJ Perdomo, who regularly trades brooding reflections for speaker-blown bellows with equal confidence. Both ends of his throaty spectrum are on display in ‘Northern Lights’, capturing all the grit and pitch-perfect details of a relationship on the outs. It’s also a rare case where The Dangerous Summer (backed by Cody Payne, Bryan Czap and Tyler Minsberg) leash up their high-energy pop hooks, contrasting how propulsive the majority of Reach For the Sun is. From the mission-statement of ‘Where I Want to Be’, this Maryland quartet singlehandedly keep the dated union of pop-rock relevant with anthemic choruses and endless hooks (‘Surfaced’, ‘This Is War’). In fact The Dangerous Summer are so adept with their sound, my first listens nearly verged on the side of overload; tracks began to sound too similar, Perdomo sang about his head too much. Yet with further listens Reach for the Sun clicks, with each song proving itself not only enjoyable but integral to this twelve song collection.

How anyone can reduce such young talent to the vilified ranks of emo-hood either isn’t listening to the record or is hung up on how young these guys really are. No doubt and no surprise: all four members of The Dangerous Summer hover around the tender age of twenty. It’s audible, if only in the odd lyric, but nonetheless impressive to think that this band can already rival their idols on a level playing-field. Where they’ll go from here is a theoretical that makes me squirm, having watched other likeminded bands like the Get Up Kids recycle themselves against the brick-wall otherwise known as pop-punk. Either way, The Dangerous Summer have made a believer of me and released one hell of a summer album.

Back and Fourth - Pete Yorn

Back and Fourth

Pete Yorn
Columbia Records.

SCQ Rating: 73%

As a thorough Pete Yorn fan, I’ve always been slightly irked by the knowledge that so many of his songs – many of which, my favourites – were written from the perspective of someone else. Perhaps I’ve grown accustomed to my self-obsessed songwriters of choice but it was difficult to understand someone’s interest in being a musician if they honest-to-god had nothing personal to say. Now I’m accepting of some wayward inspiration, like how 2006’s ‘How Do You Go On’ was written with his 90 year-old grandfather in mind, but it’s hard to pretend I didn’t once read an interview in which Yorn discussed how ‘Sense’ (my favourite off MusicForTheMorningAfter) was written to empathize with Hailey Joel Osmond’s character in The Sixth Sense. I know, deep down inside, I still haven’t made peace with that. So I was thrilled to read that Back and Fourth featured lyrics close to Yorn’s heart, written during a difficult period of relationship anxiety and self-imposed isolation. The results, first heard on single ‘Don’t Wanna Cry’, are a turning-point for a somewhat middling career, displaying the only perspective I want to hear on a Pete Yorn record – his.

What makes ‘Don’t Wanna Cry’ (and Back and Fourth as a whole) a success involves far more than a simple shift in songwriting perspective. Yorn made decisions: he abandoned his studio digs in Los Angeles for the rural plains of Omaha, Nebraska and enlisted producer Mike Mogis. As much as I kinda blamed Mogis for Cassadaga’s blatant overproduction, I was relieved to hear the album would be unified by one producer (as opposed to the FIVE who jumbled up Nightcrawler). With Mogis, who provides a breadth of instrumental wisdom, and a studio band in tow, Back and Fourth is the first Yorn record in which Yorn doesn’t play just about everything. The difference is unmistakable, particularly on ‘Four Years’, as haunting piano notes creep about a tragic narrative, and ‘Close’, where cautiously employed strings compliment Yorn’s sweetest track since ‘Crystal Village’. Each decision made – the change in scenery, in musicians, in songwriting and production – make this the artistic statement I feared impossible, one so cohesive it makes his “morning, day and night” trilogy seem positively coincidental by comparison.

What works so well here can be attributed to what went so wrong on Nightcrawler, a record that was both overproduced and undercooked, polished up and sloppy. Songs like ‘Vampyre’ and ‘Maybe You’re Right’ were undernourished while older, previously released tracks (one from the first Spiderman soundtrack, the other a Warren Zevon cover) were inexplicably tossed in. Some light was shed on this period in a recent interview, where Yorn reflected critically, insisting he had some “rockstar” tendencies he needed to grow out of. Whatever demons he needed to exorcise, Yorn sounds more dedicated to a sound than ever before; from the breezy escape of ‘Paradise Cove’ to the meditative loneliness of ‘Thinking of You’, Back and Fourth encompasses an acoustic plateau of scarred hearts, dusty memories and, eventually, some emotional redemption. Thematically, these feelings either show progress or withdraw. ‘Country’ reflects on the carefree, endless drives of a blossoming love, ‘Social Development Dance’ breaks it down to empty picture frames. Back and forth, indeed.

“You know I’d never lost before,” Yorn repeats at one point, and it’s a line that resonates like a riddle across his discography. Most critics would insist Yorn lost with Day I Forgot, a sophomore panned by all but his true fans. Others would claim Nightcrawler sealed his career with a public indifference, ensuring his early promise would never reemerge. As someone who enjoys all of Yorn’s work, I can’t deny that I’ll miss Yorn’s “rockstar” side, the persona that wrote ‘For Us’ and ‘Policies’… but I wouldn’t trade anything off this record (well, maybe 'Shotgun'...). However Yorn truly lost, the occasion clearly bolstered him with renewed energy, encouraging him to take risks beyond his control and seek inspiration from within. For these distinctions, Back and Fourth is easily Yorn’s darkest album, mourning the past as often as Yorn tries to deny it.

The Open Door EP - Death Cab for Cutie

The Open Door

Death Cab for Cutie
Atlantic Records.
Myspace

SCQ Rating: 74%

Nearly a year since Narrow Stairs divided fans, sold well, took the band on a world-tour and to another stratosphere of fame, Ben Gibbard and Co. bookend their biggest chapter with The Open Door; a lean but powerful EP of tracks recorded during the Narrow Stairs sessions but inevitably excluded. As Coldplay insisted upon the release of their Prospekt March EP late last year, Death Cab for Cutie have repeatedly asserted that none of these songs are B-sides, that their exclusion was decided solely on their upbeat – and therefore polarizing – nature in relation to the LP’s mood. Far be it from me to contest their claims; aside from a quaint demo of ‘Talking Bird’, these four previously unheard tracks sound as well-produced and nurtured as much of Narrow Stairs’ final tracklist. And even if leftover EPs need such excuses to avoid recognizing the cash-grabs they commonly are, there is much to enjoy here.

‘Little Bribes’ earns its recent college radio attention as an atypical Death Cab composition; open chords strum over a jaunty tempo as Gibbard unleashes yet another lyrically impeccable pop song. The EP finds its footing by second track ‘A Diamond and A Tether’, which lumbers romantically (with a killer Wilco-esque guitar solo) between Gibbard’s two passions: love and being alone. That gray area between commitment and freedom is as prevalent here as it was on Narrow Stairs, colouring dulled anxiety into the blueprints of ‘My Mirror Speaks’ and ‘I Was Once a Loyal Lover’. The latter is especially anthemic for those unwilling to leave their ideals for the average adulthood, as Gibbard announces:

“All my friends are forward-thinking/
getting hitched and quitting drinking/
And I can feel them pulling away/
As I’m resigned to stay the same.”

It’s a call-to-arms that even casual fans still obsessing over Transatlanticism can relate to (hell, it was six years ago already!), and while The Open Door offers little validation for fans bothered by the direction of Narrow Stairs, Gibbard’s consistent nerd-god charms are capable of softening their fan forum-bound slurs. Still, reality check: since when was Narrow Stairs some kind of mood-piece album? How can ‘A Diamond and A Tether’ be excluded on the basis of mood and not ‘Your New Twin Sized Bed’? Wouldn’t ‘My Mirror Speaks’ be a fine replacement for ‘No Sunlight’? And what am I complaining about?

Avalanche - Matthew Good

Avalanche

Matthew Good
Universal Records.

SCQ Rating: 95%

“It’s funny, I’ve been doing this for so long that going in to make a record is no longer an ominous prospect. These days it’s just another step in the evolutionary process, another blank canvas to fill, another experiment that will be followed by further experiments. When you are a new artist you feel the weight of all or nothing on your shoulders. After almost fifteen years of making records you know that a single album will never be able to define you, that each is a part of the whole, and that each new release adds a new chapter to the story.” – Matthew Good (from his website/blog)

Speaking about his mindset going into recording sessions for his yet-to-be completed fourth solo album, Vancouver, Good reflects above about the pressure on an artist hoping to change the world with a debut album. He doesn’t implicate any album as evidence but if I had to wager, Last of the Ghetto Astronauts wouldn’t be the first on my list. As far as fighting to assert one’s artistic purpose, Avalanche was his statement, an attempted summation of his musical evolution and political standpoint. Beyond proving consumer culture as detrimental to society or American foreign policy as the unethical global cop it is, Good needed to prove himself; after the lukewarm Audio of Being, the breakup of the Matthew Good Band, and his freshly inked contract with Universal Records, Good must’ve had “the weight of all or nothing” dangling over him.

The resulting album - a near-seventy minute exploration of orchestral swells, multi-dimensional textures and Good’s best kept secrets - is likely his best, merging his growing political awareness to wiser reflections of personal strife. ‘Lullaby for the New World Order’ and ‘In a World Called Catastrophe’ thrive on Good’s audible passion for electing change (from others and from yourself) while ‘Avalanche’ and ‘The Bright End of Nowhere’ are frankly among the best songs he’s ever written; private and chocked full of ideas that were only superficially investigated on previous releases. Sometimes the political and personal intersect so perfectly you can’t discern what Good’s truly singing about; a lyrical vagueness which is considerable more purposeful than some of his classic yet empty MGB one-liners. The fate of oneself, one’s relationship, one’s attachment to humanity and humanity itself all live or die by the same unsaid conflict in these songs: those who are ruined but still building in ‘Avalanche’, the ship of fools who console you while you drown in ‘Near Fantastica’, the you and I in ‘The Bright End of Nowhere’. Good and his characters are all in peril of blind progression, be it our affairs, nature’s or our government’s.

As thematically loaded as Avalanche is – especially compared to his previously addictive but one-note intensity – every idea and sentiment owns its own stereo territory here. The arrangements on ‘Avalanche’ seem to reflect his sort-of-a-protest urgency and most are new to Good’s repetoire: the electronic textures of ‘Near Fantastica’, the cut-up vocal climax of the title track, and some gorgeous back-up by the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra on ‘While We Were Hunting Rabbits’, among others. As well as sharing a newfound sense of sonic-adventurism, each of these just-mentioned songs detail Good’s first pushes away from commercial success by crafting eight-minute epics that appealed to neither radio nor casual fans.

Although I expect his forthcoming album to challenge his best work as forcefully as Hospital Music did in 2007, Avalanche remains a turning point and his hard-fought salvation. Years after its release, Good would mull this record over and decide that had he created it all over again, he would’ve cut ‘Double Life’ and ‘Long Way Down’ from the album’s back-half. And although I completely agree that it would’ve made a wonderful album damn-near perfect, even the rough edges of Avalanche have grown, albeit more sluggishly, into the lush folds of its majority. Like Good said: all or nothing.

4:13 Dream - The Cure

4:13 Dream

The Cure
Geffen Records.

SCQ Rating: 82%

Given the bands I’ve adored growing up (from early Smashing Pumpkins to Mogwai), it’s insane to look back and recognize how many times I heard one of them site the Cure as their greatest inspiration, or Robert Smith as their idol, and then never followed through. Unless someone intervened, there’s a probable chance I would’ve drifted endlessly along the fringes of the Cure discography, touching only infrequently upon the ‘Friday I’m in Love’ or ‘Just Like Heaven’ singles. Mercifully I was found by two saviours; one who lent me the gorgeous Bloodflowers, another who got me hooked on their self-titled 2004 effort. After those two, I backtracked through their minimalist era (Seventeen Seconds, Faith), their commercial turn (Head On the Door, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me), as well as their universal masterpiece Disintegration. How strange, then, to admit that 4:13 Dream is the first Cure album I’ve had the good fortune of actually looking forward to. Still, after several line-up changes and deadlines pushed back, had The Cure finally reached creative exhaustion, where new explorations are abandoned in favour of yesteryear nostalgia?

The Crawley boys waste no time in effectively making me feel stupid about any fearful doubts with ‘Underneath the Stars’, a track better suited to Bloodflowers or Disintegration with its dramatic crests of guitar and Smith’s heavily reverbed vocals. After that opening track’s epic nature comes first single ‘The Only One’, and at once, Smith’s talk last year (or was it the year previous?) about this new material taking on the bipolar guise of Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me is evident; between these two tracks alone we’re treated to the best of the Cure’s late 90s period, the emotionally damaged marathons and quick pop hooks. Although most of these tracks can be reference-points to earlier career-markers, 4:13 Dream’s independence is assured by confident songwriting - making this a stronger album than any of their 90s output – thanks to the simple tweaking of the re-energized formula tapped on their 2004’s The Cure. As that record was incendiary in its electric heaviness, 4:13 Dream’s similar approach deviates only in its pop ambitions. Smith has managed to recreate the euphoric feeling of his best love-songs on ‘The Perfect Boy’ and ‘The Only One’ while branching into less Cure-owned territory with ‘The Hungry Ghost’ – a send-up riff to late 90s alternative rock that becomes immeasurably Cure-ish by its lush chorus. And while a few songs here even rival the piercing onslaught of The Cure, the production softens their impact; guitars are less pronounced, pushed back into the mix. 4:13 Dream is certainly the better record of the two, but those hard-rock dynamics that made The Cure into such a late-period statement are suspended here.

For their stellar reputation as creators of mood-albums like Faith or Pornography, which fluctuate on a central temper, variety rules the Cure in 2008, permitting acoustic reflection (‘Siren Song’) and distorted screams (‘It’s Over’) with equal rights. And while Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me is a classic album for pushing the band’s sonic boundaries as well as possibilities for the LP format in a digital age, it’s still comparable to 4:13 Dream as proof that variety creates internal conflict, where one side of a band’s sound can outweigh or outclass another side. While the conflicting sides of Kiss Me… made it a classic largely because of its imperfections, the material here is less impervious, finding their pop side far greater than the heavy-rock end. Although these opposing ends are well-integrated into a cohesive album, I can’t deny that the opening three songs (all pop songs) share accomplishments beyond, say, the last three songs (all hard-rock numbers) which tend to choose volume over songcraft.

With elements audible from a half dozen previous Cure albums, from the anthemic qualities of Head On the Door to the twisted hooks of Wish, 4:13 Dream is an accurate summary of The Cure’s maximal period (roughly 85 – present); occasionally spotty, commonly exciting and always curious. There’s an intangible emotion to The Cure, somewhere indefinable between lovelorn and suicidal, that Smith routinely defies then embraces, yet after thirty years and thirteen albums, it’s an emotion that not only outlives globe-trotting trends and once-loved music genres, but a sound as timeless and significant to culture as Elvis Presley or The Beatles. 4:13 Dream may not aspire to such lofty (and arguable) statements, but it’s the latest achievement in a sound that only The Cure can own and operate. Lucky for us, it’s a sound that’s as potent as ever.

Prospekt's March EP - Coldplay

Prospekt’s March EP

Coldplay
EMI Records.

SCQ Rating: 67%

The memory of hearing Viva La Vida might come flooding back upon first listen of this eight song cycle, most immediately because both share, at least in theory, the same lead track. Where ‘Life in Technicolour’ off that summer release was the band’s first instrumental, clocking in at two and a half minutes, here we are introduced through ‘Life in Technicolour II’, the actual song from which that former snippet was taken. As discussed by Martin two months back, such is the purpose of Prospekt’s March EP; an appendix to flesh out the full scope of the Viva La Vida sessions and reveal songs that were excluded not because they were inferior, but because they didn’t fit in.

Timing would indicate otherwise, as this EP’s late November release (not to mention new black-clad, deluxe edition) suggests holiday season cash-grab. However before anyone launches into a rich-rockstar tirade, they should listen to ‘Glass of Water’, a tour-de-force guitar anthem (well, as far as Coldplay are capable of) that begs the reconsideration of Viva La Vida’s final tracklist. Or the cut-up, flamenco rhythms of ‘Rainy Day’, which create a pseudo-dance song and give credence to Martin’s claim the album would be inspired by traditional Spanish music. If anything since Parachutes has left you twitching in the fetal position, test out the radiant ‘Prospekt March/Poppy Fields’ or the acoustic ‘Now My Feet Won’t Touch the Ground’; both of which are subtle (but still glossy) glances back at comparatively folky beginnings.

That said, the rest of this is certainly cash-in, superfan-only fodder: a virtually unchanged, single-edit of ‘Lovers in Japan’, a pretty forty-eight second piano ditty, and most obnoxiously, the Jay-Z “remix” of ‘Lost!’, which is identical to the original besides an extended instrumental section for Jay-Z to spit on. One interesting surprise is how flexible ‘Lost!’ is by nature, and how its determined beat fits perfectly to MCing. The opportunity for an unlikely crossover success is smeared, unfortunately, by Jay-Z’s inability to say anything of interest (… so that's how he and Martin became friends!). Referencing the usual dead rap artists and comparing them to Jesus is common hip-hop jingoism, I know, but can you blame me for hoping this would be an actual by-definition remix, with perhaps some exchange between the two vocalists? I mean, if you’re carrying through with the awful idea of bundling a rap MC in with the king of schmaltz-rock, well... shit, at least try to bend our low expectations.

For those who found great things in Viva La Vida (and you really didn’t have to look that far), Prospekt’s March EP is a must-buy. The new material adequately fills any shadows left by its full-length, and more stirring are the few tracks that surpass their usual boundaries, giving a question mark to whatever direction Coldplay take next. Of course, according to Chris Martin last week in an interview picked up by every bored, post-election news-rag, he’s planning to drop Coldplay by the end of 2009 because he’ll be 33 years old. So maybe this uncertain direction will be their destination. In completely unrelated news, SCQ is betting every dollar owned that Martin will be uttering headline-grabbing nonsense, while active in Coldplay, for many years to come. Any takers?

Red Star EP - Third Eye Blind

Red Star EP

Third Eye Blind
Self-Released.


SCQ Rating: 68%

Hearing the first new Third Eye Blind in five and a half years presents a certain dilemma… one identical to what I faced in May of 2003, hobbling across my hometown mall’s parking lot with a fresh copy of Out of the Vein in hand. Crossing to the nearest bus stop, I suddenly said aloud: “Wow, am I even going to like this band anymore?” A fraction of reasoning for this outburst was likely due to a mono/strep-throat combo that kept me fevered and under house arrest for days but, for the most part, I was recognizing that Blue, their previous album, was my favourite new record five years earlier. When confronted with a band like Third Eye Blind, whose sound is singular and unlikely to fiercely change, five years is forever; imagine all the friends, records, opinions and love interests passing through those years that shape and refine one’s musical tastes? Out of the Vein more than satisfied my doubts, eventually being crowned as my favourite of Third Eye Blind’s output and #1 record of that year. So another half decade later, another gauntlet is dropped; this time in the form of Red Star EP, a teaser for their long-awaited full-length, Ursa Major, due in February.

Even for fans who caught on to the San Francisco band last week, hearing ‘Non-Dairy Creamer’ for the first time is disappointing. What deems the lyrics so lame and occasionally embarrassing is how much vocalist Stephan Jenkins tries to cram, as if the song’s a social commentary on every headline missed during his extended vacation. Covering school-shootings, the occupation of Iraq, breast implants, STDs and the authenticity of KFC chicken within its first minute, ‘Non-Dairy Creamer’ defines a b-side’s penchant for aimless lyrics and jam-oriented instrumentation. The melody itself is fine, if a bit recycled, but the mix sounds off and I personally hope this track is exclusive to Red Star EP.

‘Red Star’ is thankfully better, cleansing the awkwardness of the lead track away and finding Jenkins and Co. at their best with this hazy rock song that marries Jenkins’ lyrical love-letters to steady drums and moody swells of guitar. Closing the disc is a live take of new song ‘Why Can’t You Be’, which, rip-off aside (c’mon, the EP is three tracks and one is live? Us fans deserve better than this!), suggests a poignant ‘How’s It Gonna Be’-style ballad, but with better lyrics and lacking the 1997 hit’s overwrought anthemic quality. Like the EP itself, ‘Why Can’t You Be’ hints at greatness that, upon the release of Ursa Major, I hope is realized.

This isn't an actual EP, comprising songs connected by time or theme, but as a teaser, this accomplishes a small feat. After a shaky start, Red Star EP is convincing on two fronts: the band remains committed to its core-sound but adventurous nonetheless, and Jenkins hasn’t lost his flair for memorable lyrics. Despite this EP’s brevity and one regrettable track, Third Eye Blind have likely passed another litmus test with patient fans, holding our disgruntled gaze for a few months longer. No matter how Ursa Major turns out (or if it comes out at all), Red Star EP has reminded me, once again, that I’m an ardent fan, willing to drag myself through sickness to hear their music at any cost.

Hypnagogic States EP - The Cure

Hypnagogic States EP

The Cure
Geffen Records.

SCQ Rating: 37%

I need a minute to get this right. So the Cure, having been broadening out to a more youthful audience since their 2004 self-titled effort and collecting the fans of every imitating, generation-skipping indie band, decide to drop a remix EP featuring eternal emo-undergrads My Chemical Romance, AFI, and Fallout Boy. Let’s forget for a moment that these boys share nothing in common with The Cure musically – make-up and misconstrued understanding of The Cure’s relevance to Goth notwithstanding – and for the sake of argument, let’s assume they somehow gained an extraordinary breadth of skill on soundboards and remixing. Is this still a good idea?

For those emo-remixers, absolutely, what do they have to lose? For the Cure, it won’t make much difference beyond providing an unnecessary black eye for their discography. My primary squabble is that Hypnagogic States EP is under the Cure name, which after twelve albums and a billion tours, is a brand I thought I could trust. Had they issued this as a Geffen Presents: Hypnagogic States, The Cure Remixed, like The London Philharmonic Orchestra plays Pink Floyd, I wouldn’t be bothered. Yet under the Cure name, much of this material is as offensive as if all the people in your life that drive you mad showed up to your house unannounced, walked right in, and toyed with all your most precious belongings. This feels violating, to say the least.

Strangely, the disc opens promisingly – so long as you’re familiar with the product – with 30 Seconds to Mars’ remix of ‘The Only One’, giving their ecstatic first-single a slightly sinister edge before some drum-machines and overdubbed vocals combine with Smith’s yelping for an excellent chorus. It’s an impressive remix, keeping the merits of the original while adding flourishes that compliment and morph its tone and tempo. Unfortunately it’s immediately followed by Jade Puget’s (AFI) regrettable stab at ‘Freakshow’, resulting in dance music you’ll only hear at the sleaziest, cheapest, underage club, in 1997. Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance fares slightly better with a new-wave synth-athon that is, in the least, a propulsive alternative vision of ‘Sleep When I’m Dead’ while Fallout Boy merely act as Robert Smith’s imaginary backing-band, adding brisk percussion and lame rhythm guitar to the verses of ‘The Perfect Boy’, which generously leaves the original largely intact.

There’s an ‘Exploding Head Syndrome’ remix of all four singles from 65 Days of Static, which shifts between interesting and syndrome-inducing, but overall Hypnagogic States EP does more to deter 4:13 Dream’s hype than the four CD-singles that built its momentum. Of course, Robert Smith and the Cure are classy and turn pure evil into something sweet by surrendering all artist royalties to the International Red Cross, making my criticisms, as a result, look pathetically low-class. Seriously though, wouldn’t this EP be way more credible and buyable had the Cure taken all the B-sides from their four independent singles and tied them into a package? Now that’s something the Cure name belongs on.

Back On Top - Van Morrison

Back On Top

Van Morrison
Virgin Records.

SCQ Rating: 87%

Like James Taylor, Neil Young, Rod Stewart or countless others, Van Morrison was one of many singer-songwriters of the 70s faced with joining the corporate-thirsty clutches of 80s pop radio. Unlike some of his colleagues who ventured that path, Morrison continued his own mystic journey and found religion; a theme that would shadow most of his unpopular 80’s output. It wasn’t until 1995’s Days Like This and his work with The Chieftans that Van the Man found his groove again; a return-to-form that first peaks with 1999’s Back On Top.

Always one to pay tribute to his R&B heroes, Van kicks off with ‘Goin’ Down Geneva’, a standard blues tune that is immediately recognized for his vibrant vocal performance, before settling into the softer, autumnal pace of ‘The Philosopher’s Stone’. Back On Top, as a whole, is sequenced as such – relaxed, acoustic songs nestled into the upbeat material – and in conjunction with Van’s strong backing-band (veteran studio musicians, plus brass and strings) ensures no room for a dull moment. Best of all is the middle couplet: ‘When the Leaves Come Falling Down’ is a classic, a stunning ode to Autumn that manages to evoke Van’s best balladry and something Otis Redding could’ve pulled off, backed by ‘High Summer’, an uptempo harmonica-breezy track that captures all the lust and loss of August’s end.

Despite some newfound enthusiasm, Morrison’s contrary personality is still large and in charge, taking shots at those who attempt to connect his dots in ‘New Biography’ and dismantling his 80s spiritual leanings (that many fans blindly followed). These growing pains would be a drag if not for their catchy, appealing nature. Even in ‘Golden Autumn Day’, the record’s elegant finale, where Morrison recounts an attempted car-jacking that left him face-down on the concrete, his focus is on the splendor of the season, and “taking in the Indian Summer”. As he escapes his ordeal and the song’s dusk approaches, Van bows out, letting the guitar and drums fade so only the accompanying orchestra remains, like a dying sunset on his favourite season.

The Seldom Seen Kid - Elbow

The Seldom Seen Kid

Elbow
Fiction Records.

SCQ Rating: 56%

I own every Elbow album but I don't know how it happens. Each time I read about an imminent Elbow recording, a metronome act that occurs every three years, I feel compelled to read any upcoming details out of some posthumous respect. At some point, the band that once had me reveling in such intermittently brilliant releases like Asleep in the Back and Cast of Thousands became predictable, passe even, to the point where I believed myself to have grown beyond their blend of sorry Britrock and prog flourishes. So then why do I own 2005's Leaders of the Free World? And now The Seldom Seen Kid? As time, critics and myself have proven, Guy Garvey and the Elbow crew don't get the respect they deserve, often considered "the drinking man's Coldplay" when much of their discography is brilliantly unique. Yet with each approaching release, I've found myself doubting them still. Leaders of the Free World was a brash guitar record and a worthy entry into SCQ's Best Records of 2005. The Seldom Seen Kid, however, might be my Id's long-awaited 'I told you so'.

Having proven that they can create epic prog-rock, still-life melancholy and bar-room rockers with each respective album, it's almost self-explanatory why Elbow, despite many incredible moments, have never made an addictively listenable record, front to back. The Seldom Seen Kid sees an attempt to reign these marginalized strengths into one conducive whole, and early buzz claimed, like all Elbow records before it, that this was their masterpiece.

Better keep on trying. The Seldom Seen Kid still boasts the off-kilter arrangements and lovely harmonies that make an Elbow album such, but lacking the dark undercurrent that infected Asleep in the Back's tone, the wide-eyed romance of Cast of Thousands, and the bite of Leaders of the Free World, Elbow have castrated nearly every hook they possess. Take 'The Bones of You', a semi-love song without any longing or interest, or 'On a Day Like This', which featuring a Gershwin-borrowed orchestra and rides that sap all the way to the six and a half minute mark! For a band as well-versed in mid-tempo rock as Elbow is, The Seldom Seen Kid is plodding; dull songs embellished to disguise themselves and, worse, uninteresting lyrics. Yes, Guy Garvey, the man I once claimed could graffiti any of his lyrics on a wall and it would look amazing, has faltered several times over here (when "Holy cow, I love your eyes" is the heavily repeated chorus of your record's first single, I suggest going on hiatus).

As always, there are highlights but unlike before, where we were treated to unnervingly beautiful moments, here they merely hold our attention. 'Weather to Fly' proves that Elbow have maintained some of their ambient touch from Cast of Thousands, while 'An Audience with the Pope', despite being about nothing of grand interest, is perfectly arranged and classic Elbow, from the tip-toeing piano lines to Garvey's weathered croon. Best of all is 'Grounds for Divorce', which is the name of a drink Garvey created, and stands to be the only track that inspires energetic response with its soccer-ready vocal chants and vicious guitar work.

Until 2011, when the next Elbow album will likely fall into my lap somehow, I trust the boys will wrestle back from what I consider to be their first low point. The Seldom Seen Kid contains enough potential that it could've been great had someone else arranged and performed it, but I'm not about to start giving Elbow any excuses. Mid-tempo, sorrow-filled Brit-rock is their territory; let's not pretend they aren't capable of it.

Faith - The Cure (Remastered Double Disc)

Faith

The Cure
Fiction Records.


SCQ Rating: 90%

Arriving late to the majesty that is The Cure discography, I was fortunate enough to discover their 1981 classic Faith twice. February 2006: I found myself ending each night burrowed deep in my basement room of a shared house, playing Faith from beginning to end while drifting in and out of sleep. Lights out and letting those hollow basslines feel around the room, I memorized that record like a blind man counting steps around his house; 'The Holy Hour' was an open invitation to fully connect with sorrow, 'Primary' and 'Doubt' were the two post-punk rebels I held in anticipation (or else they'd scare me half to death), 'Drowning Man' was my echo-drenched favourite, the title track my nursery rhyme of the highest merit. November 2006: Moved cities, changed jobs and found myself working a nightshift job. Each night I worked in repetitions, hands over the same objectives and mind cycling the same thoughts, but took solace in my humble MP3 player which, among many artists featured Faith in its entirety. Its dirge-style percussion, unforgettable basslines and Smith's tormented vocals had stolen me once again - this time assuring me that I'd found a personal favourite record - although I had a good idea why it needed that encore to fully sink in.

Even without the guidance of those two vivid, month-consuming memories, Faith is a nocturnal record... the kind people could hear once, cast off as boring, and feel completely at peace with their opinion. At first listen, these eight songs are as monochromatic as the artwork; barren and nihilistic by nature, similar in mood and content. For those who found peace and understanding beneath Smith's dark allusions, however, Faith is a bittersweet collection, nurtured together with a grace that The Cure have yet to top since. The back alley paranoia that occasionally unsettles 'Other Voices' builds upon a bass hook, tightening to a sinister groove, while 'Primary' reminds us of The Cure's roots as post-punk pioneers alongside Siouxshie and the Banshees and Joy Division. Best of all are 'All Cats are Grey' and 'The Funeral Party', the back-to-back centerpiece that finds the band exploring musical and studio space; delving into keyboard atmospherics and gothy dreampop. Such subtleties are best felt in the night, when you're alone and open to every nuance; both of my Faith discoveries (the first, enjoying it, the second, adoring it) were courtesy of Smith and Co.'s focus and vision. The fact that they were experimenting heavily with drugs at the time makes these results all the more baffling.

And now, with the release of Faith in remastered, double-disc form, I've owned it twice. A record this crisp, when remastered, runs miles around the analog-recorded original and unearthed a few keyboard shimmers and vocal loops I'd missed in the past. The real ticket here is 'Carnage Visors: The Soundtrack', a nearly half-hour instrumental that, placed lovingly at the end of Faith, completes the record in a way Smith had always intended. Compared to the brevity of the original record, 'Carnage Visors' is a bit of a marathon, but it's a suite that's undeniably tied to Faith in aesthetic and mood. Its companion disc, a collection of demos and outtakes from the Faith session, is less immediate but contains all the curios that fans will theorize over as well as the single 'Charlotte Sometimes' - a favourite that was only available on their first greatest hits compilation until now.

Saying that this isn't a record for everyone might qualify for understatement of the year - I know Cure fans who've never really taken to it - but for those in need of a personal, wintry comedown record, Faith is truly an original artifact of the slowcore and post-punk scenes colliding. One of the most elegant crashes I've heard.

Consolers of the Lonely - The Raconteurs

Consolers of the Lonely

The Raconteurs
Third Man Records.

SCQ Rating: 65%

Warning: if this review seems overly concerned with Jack White, it’s because this may as well be his solo project. Sure, Benson and the crew are still in tow but everything else that made Broken Boy Soldiers such a welcome distraction has disappeared up White’s sleeve; its clean, modern production and songwriting pitted the Raconteurs against the stagnant radio rock scene, while suggesting a clear aesthetic path away from the analog blues of the White Stripes. With Consolers of the Lonely, we instead find all the White Stripes trademarks sans Meg White herself: produced by Jack White III for his label, Third Man Records, and to boot, Consolers… boasts the same schizophrenic approach to songwriting. Both the enthralling 2005 effort Get Behind Me Satan and to a lesser degree, last year’s Icky Thump, featured song-cycles loaded with unpredictable left-turns; marimba-chiming prog-rock, traditional bluegrass, piano ballads, Zeppelin-scorchers and bagpipe-epics all rolled into one impossible whole. Get Behind Me Satan still gives me shivers because it found White purposefully working on the outskirts of his comfort zone, testing himself with rewarding results. Icky Thump, on the other hand, incorporated those rewards into his devious classic-rock tendencies, making one of his most well-rounded statements to date. While Consolers… contains a similarly eclectic mix and pulls it off, that feat is at the sacrifice of any identity the Raconteurs may’ve had without White’s dictatorship in effect. These resulting fourteen tracks, without any interweaving themes or logical sequencing, compete for attention instead of complimenting each other.

Still, Benson and the other Raconteurs give us moments to savour, chiming in on the troubled romance of ‘You Don’t Understand Me’, the Americana-infused ‘Old Enough’ and, best of all, Benson’s horn-heavy ‘Several Shades of Black’. Those tracks being Raconteur-highlights, so to speak, don’t mean the rest of Consolers… is a one-man show. To look at this band from a different angle, Benson, Keeler and Lawrence are an ideal unit to fill out White’s rock-ability, which they flesh out on ‘These Stones Will Shout’, a track that they instill with a progressive rock pulse.

So even if The Raconteurs are no longer in league with contemporary rock, instead opting for classic-rock aping, what’s the damage? Surprisingly little, beyond what initially drew us to the idea of White sharing a band with three other guys in the first place. Large and in charge, White makes good on his blues-rock addiction with ‘Top Yourself’, the Led Zeppelin guitar-rock of ‘Rich Kid Blues’, his Dylan-esque storytelling on ‘Carolina Drama’ and his, um, White Stripes dynamics with ‘Salute Your Solution’. Playing in the shadow of such great rock pioneers is hardly shameful – Jack White has proven over the course of several albums that there’s plenty of room to make the old new again – but when the Raconteurs become suggestive of the White Stripes, I think finding a new producer is top priority.

What has always thwarted me when reviewing Jack White records is how singular yet constrained their impact is. Although the man throws a ton of lyrical twists and musical surprises into the mix, Consolers of the Lonely joins the majority of White efforts that are ideal for social gatherings and Friday afternoon celebrations, but unlikely to be heard during the greater scope of human emoting or stereo-time. If I was somehow able to spend my life sipping Coronas on a cottage deck while playing air-guitar, Consolers of the Lonely would rank highly on SCQ's Year-End list. However, as reality would have it, this record stands among most of Jack White's productions as a wonderful summer album, ragged and ruthless, that no classic-rock purist should miss. You really can't ask too much of a good time.

Viva La Vida or Death and All of His Friends - Coldplay

Viva La Vida

Coldplay
Parlophone Records.

SCQ Rating: 74%

Remember when your friends could say “I really like Coldplay” without that apologetic tone in their voice, as if they’d committed some horrific fashion-error that might injure your friendship? When you could state your appreciation of Coldplay’s efforts without prematurely retaliating with a smirking ‘fuck off’? Since I first heard ‘Yellow’ in my graduating year of high school, Coldplay have always held a position on my music radar: I caught their first Canadian show, was in a record shoppe on the day of A Rush of Blood to the Head’s release, casually listened to my brother’s copy of X&Y for a year before I bought it, and recently bought Viva La Vida for my girlfriend. OK, so as that timeline indicates, Coldplay have kinda slipped from the forefront of my radar since 2002; no foul there. Point is, liking Coldplay has never made me an insecure audiophile; even at X&Y’s anthemic, bloated worst, one could identify a few solid rock numbers that my friends would’ve loved had Coldplay not written it. So would I be standing proud as a regular Coldplay fan if Viva La Vida was complete rubbish? Yes… although my review would be about to take a drastic left turn.

Thankfully, Viva La Vida rebounds from the stale songwriting that resulted in X&Y’s epic bulkiness; a record that makes no attempt to offer grand statements or undercooked themes. And what do you know, even without looming blocks of production or a specific musical ideology in place, Viva La Vida is a well-sequence and fluid album, the kind where each song is its own territory. That these songs own their space so concretely gives extra cred to the album, given that these ten tracks support at least fourteen actual songs, the majority of which pick up when their title song fades to black. That ‘Chinese Sleep Chant’, an echo-based rock song skips in after ‘Yes’ like someone rolled a frequency dial, manages to fit between two customary Coldplay songs is bonefide proof that Coldplay can evolve as a band. These hidden tracks scattered throughout Viva La Vida unquestionably make it a better album, and give it a complementary uniqueness in the Coldplay discography.

Besides that, the focus here is restraint and the four Brits pull it off in several key songs: ‘Life in Technicolour’ is all the melody and romance Coldplay are known for, delivered in a mean and instrumental two and a half minutes, while ‘Lost!’, their best song in years, is an intricate and considered improvement on their regular songcraft. Among several upgrades is Chris Martin, who remains challenged in the lyrical department, but really, with his range, no voice could better sell his occasionally schmaltzy material. The rest of the band is also on board, with ‘42’ branching out in some dirtier guitar and more assertive arrangements. What makes this focus a surprise is also in direct opposition to what made Viva La Vida such a curiosity for me; that with Brian Eno on deck, and all his production talents and vision, Coldplay have zeroed in instead of playing around. Eno knows exactly what aspects of their sound to accentuate, giving those guitar bits in the chorus extra morning dew and providing ample soundscapes for each song’s foundation.

By the time ‘Death and All of His Friends’, the best Coldplay finale since ‘Amsterdam’, codas into the ethers, I’m proud of the boys. Few bands take flak from the music press with the venom that Coldplay swallows, yet here they’ve succeeded, not only by venturing beyond their safety zone but by sticking to their guns. Rarely have I witnessed such cowardice when dealing with music appreciation, a subject that is supposed to be exciting for its diversity, by those who would kick a dead horse because people have been kicking it for years. What this pessimism toward Coldplay boils down to isn’t fame, but optimism; their “lifestyle music”, as once coined by Thom Yorke, has garnered so many devotees because its message is uplifting in a vein no different than the Beatles’ was. I’m glad Coldplay are here and I’m happy they aren’t perfect. People would only hate them more.

Hospital Music - Matthew Good

Hospital Music

Matthew Good
Universal Records.

SCQ Rating: 93%

Let’s rewind a decade to Canada’s teenage recording boom, when bands like Econoline Crush, I Mother Earth, Our Lady Peace, Moist and Matthew Good Band fought for our airwaves. In these pre-downloading days, each of these bands sold platinum records, yet how many songs from this would-be golden age can you honestly claim have survived the test of time? The two most definitive singles that should come to mind are ‘Naveed’ and ‘Apparitions’; the other bands, whose hooks and choruses said all there was to say, haven’t aged half as gracefully. Now consider the turn of the century, when Nickelback, Sam Roberts and Finger Eleven hold the Canadian Content ring; one of these bands having become tantamount to faceless American hick-rock, the other two as good as their next single.

There is no remaining doubt, commercially or artistically, that Matthew Good has surpassed all of his 90s alt-rock contemporaries. And if it wasn’t already obvious that Good is poised to join Robbie Robertson, Neil Young, and the late Jeff Healy as treasured Canadian songwriters, Hospital Music assures it. Without the assistance of Universal Records, who offered little to no promotional efforts to Good’s last LP in their contract – ‘Born Losers’, one of the most heavily spun songs on Canadian rock radio last year, was never afforded a music video – Good still rivaled all the current competition. Two sold-out tours, a #1 selling debut week on I-Tunes for ‘Born Losers’, and an obsessive fanbase, and all for a record which deals exclusively with addiction, loss, collapse and (maybe a bit of) redemption.

After the ho-hum White Light Rock and Roll Review, which tread modern rock waters as well as some of those aforementioned Canadian bands, Hospital Music opens with ‘Champions of Nothing’, a nightmarish ten-minute dirge that leaves listeners with the knowledge that Good’s ambition is entirely reinvigorated. Despite the goosebumps, this track is a risky move; the kind of desperate and fatalistic opener that first-time listeners will either fall in love with or quickly turn off. Slipping comfortably into ‘A Single Explosion’, Good’s acoustic relaxes as he sings an anti-love song about pills and overdosing that somehow retains all romance when it bursts into a piano-assisted release that seems to give closure to both songs. A striking couplet, lending its weight to the following tracks until it’s snowballing; each song feeding melancholy into the next, creating a mood piece that the Cure would be proud of.

Although Hospital Music is a turning point for Good, creatively and critically, it can be compared to Avalanche in terms of scope and aesthetic. Where Avalanche focused primarily on the plight of humanity and the politics of consumerism, Hospital Music finds the same complex issues but inherently, its songs somehow decoding the condition that nearly ended Good’s life in the fall of 2006. Aesthetically, this latest effort is linked as well, but whereas Avalanche filled its lush sound with live orchestra and subtle electronic soundscapes, Hospital Music is predominantly pillowed by keyboards, synths and archaic samples – grainy vocal loops, vinyl fuzz and ambient sounds – that paint a more isolating aural picture. When all the chips are down, Hospital Music is the better album because of its personal nature; our interest in Matthew Good – the confrontational artist, the defiant humanitarian – is what has earned him such a loving following. It’s also the dividing line between Good and his peers.

Narrow Stairs - Death Cab For Cutie

Narrow Stairs

Death Cab for Cutie
Atlantic Records.

SCQ Rating: 78%

For all its hype of displaying muscular guitars and matured rock songs, sixth album Narrow Stairs opens like their last two: a heavenly bed of ambience quickly topped by comforting guitar tones and a memorable lyric hooked by Ben Gibbard. The song, ‘Bixby Canyon Bridge’, is an encouraging establishing shot, fitting tight to the DCFC mold but lovely in that well-worn skin. Then, a minute-thirty-something in, that polished balladry jumps the cliff in favour of an undercooked electric powerchord and a rising sheet of white noise. That the song survives and rebounds from what initially appears to be the band’s intentional destruction of a typical DCFC template is revealing; this is a band willing to tear themselves apart (let’s face it, ‘Bixby Canyon Bridge’ could’ve been the sad-bastard successor to ‘Transatlanticism’ with drooling fans in tow) and more importantly, rebuilding themselves as something greater.

Not to say that Death Cab for Cutie are unrecognizable here in the least. At their most rebellious, of which the eight-minute lead single is likely the best contender for controversy, the band remain melodically centered and Ben Gibbard sounds ever so pitch-perfect. The change is most apparent in their direction, as songs like ‘You Can Do Better Than Me’, ‘Grapevine Fires’ and ‘The Ice is Getting Thinner’ present a musicianship too laid-back to be labeled emo and themes (the wisdom and regret that come with age) best-suited to their actual generation. Where Plans often felt like a cloning exercise on past achievements, Narrow Stairs is refreshingly honest, a see-sawing work of considerable depth and resonance.

Word is that Gibbard isolated himself along the west coast to write these lyrics, and despite the black period that encouraged this decision, songs like ‘Cath…’ feel well-worth any painstaking travels. ‘No Sunlight’, by far the most poppy, backward-looking track on record, is perhaps the most depressed; a poignant ode to losing the vigor of youth with each passing year. In these instances of Gibbard’s gloom, his band steps confidently forward, adding appropriate doses of eeriness on ‘Talking Bird’ and grandeur to ‘Pity and Fear’s heavy mantra. Even when Gibbard’s trademark nerdiness peers through on ‘Long Division’ in a chorus that worries about becoming “the remainder” of a relationship (get it?!?), the band’s propulsive rhythm will make you sing those locker-scrawled lyrics without hesitation.

Where most bands seek integrity by changing their sound to challenge listeners and perhaps weed out the casual ears, Narrow Stairs takes on an opposing doctrine: rework their faultlessly addictive sound into a record that proves they’ve earned it, so that the only complaints haters can muster is that they’re too easy to listen to. The hype’s half right. Narrow Stairs isn’t the most important record of their career because it’ll make or break them. It’s their most important record because it’s their best.

White Light Rock and Roll Review - Matthew Good

White Light Rock and Roll Review

Matthew Good
Universal Records.

SCQ Rating: 68%

If you feel like this record sticks out like a sore thumb in the Matthew Good discography, it does: it’s the only MG full-length to forego a well publicized marketing pitch, written lyrics in the liner notes and his mug on the front sleeve. Although none of these factors are telling on their own, the combination of the three explains much about Matthew Good circa 2004. Married, settled and, for the first time while under public scrutiny, visibly self-satisfied, Good had accidentally settled his career in a similar fashion: the material was still unmistakably his, but the delivery felt complacent. Like countless artists before him, the romance and money that Good’s success afforded him had stolen that passionate craving that wrote such intensely personal songs, and thusly, the talented songwriter looked backward.

As the record’s premise and title suggest, Good opted to engage the history of rocknroll head on; the classic Who-affected riffs of ‘Ex-Pats of the Blue Mountain Symphony Orchestra’, the modern Strokes-appeal of ‘Poor Man’s Blue’, and all the meat-and-potatoes rock he’d virtually laughed at through the Audio of Being era. Although these genre exercises rarely rival his past work, White Light Rock and Roll Review offers a decent cross-section of worthy Good compositions. Like the majority of Avalanche, his political oeuvre is reinforced by ‘Alert Status Red’ and ‘Blue Skies over Bad Lands’, both fine additions that surpass their obvious opinionated leanings (unlike ‘North American For Life’, which by comparison feels scrawled down like a bar-band’s effigy).

While his dedication to troubles of the world at large remains fervent, Good’s ever-potent lyrics of reflection save this album from becoming another blasé set of protest songs. The pedal-steel strummed ‘Empty Road’ is unmatched here, a lovely, idyllic song about growing into the world we’re faced with, while ‘It’s Been Awhile Since I Was Your Man’ strikes a nostalgic nerve that finds Good at his most candid. Neither of these highlights approaches the heart-wrought beauty of classics ‘Bright End of Nowhere’ or ‘Life From the Minimum Safe Distance’, but to Good’s credit, the majority of recording was completed in nine days – an intentional decision that helped capture these songs at their rawest incarnation.

After Loser Anthems’ experimentation and Avalanche’s lush arrangements, White Light Rock and Roll Review comes as a middling point; neither revisiting conquests won nor stepping forward with anything particularly new. Due to recording constraints and being pressed between two far more attention-grabbing albums, these songs have taken on a dark-horse status, occasionally ill-advised but splendid for a change of pace.