ART OF SONG
Emma Pollock
“Hug the Harbor”
The Law of Large Numbers
Chemikal Underground | 2010

Emma Pollock is a very trusting lady. In “Hug the Harbour,” she refers to you, yes, that’s right YOU. And though you should have “hugged the harbour,” which would have “avoided all the disaster,” there are still “all the people that are dear to you / sitting right behind / and trusting you. / My trust lies in your precision.” There is a neat little piano flourish that really drives the point home.

That’s just stanza one and already it’s more positive than most songs I end up reviewing for this column. People? Being nice? TRUSTING? Unheard of, really.

There is something about this song that reminds me of Neko Case-led New Pornographers songs. Although there is more pounding drums rather than tinkly bells, the floaty imagery and the strong-but-sweet female narrator is still there. And believe me when I say this, Miss Pollock and anyone else who may stumble across this article and wish they never found it, that’s a compliment. Of the highest degree. New Porn is very close to my heart.

The instrumentals are, for the most part, forgettable. Though the way they pick up towards the end is admirable. You can tell Pollock is amping it up to keep this from being just another slow-moving song about the choices you make.

It gets dark before that though. Literally. You, our intrepid adventurer, have to meet the dark. And your knowing leaves you. And now this is starting to turn into a Death Cab song about following people into dark places or something like that. There is no greater metaphor here, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Hug the Harbour” is cute. It’s neat, and polished. The lyrics are deep, though they get repeated often. It seem like Pollock wrote a really good stanza, and decided to turn it into a song. But hey, it’s been done before, and done successfully. And Pollock seems to really believe what she’s throwing out at you, and sometimes that makes the difference.

“Hug the Harbour” is available to stream on Emma Pollock’s website: http://www.emmapollock.com/

by allison levin

THE NINETIES-IST
Welcome to another edition of Brook Pridemore’s The Nineties-ist. This edition discusses 2003 and the good old days when kids took the time to ride their bikes to record stores to pick up new albums instead of downloading songs with a simple and thoughtless click. For earlier installments, go here.

If the moment upon which the music industry gave up the ghost for real can indeed be pinpointed to a single date, I would posit that it came with the release of Good News for People Who Love Bad News, the commercial breakthrough from Modest Mouse, long beloved Washington indie rock darlings. And I can’t even blame the death of the industry on Modest Mouse: while Good News is not nearly as good as the albums upon which Modest Mouse’s reputation was built, the album is still quite good. I would posit, though, that the end of the old standard came with Modest Mouse’s crossover because I can’t for the life of me think of one other new album that’s had anywhere near the impact of Good News.

(Before you get started in on me about music over the last seven years, let me just say: Animal Collective, M. Ward, Rilo Kiley, Bright Eyes, Bon Iver, !!!, Neko Case, My Morning Jacket, Screaming Females, etc. I know. Shut up.)

But given that I promised to wrap things up in 2003, let’s just go ahead and say that any events dating after December 31, 2003, are epilogue. I would point out that 2003 is the year Radiohead, previously the bastions of adventure and limit-testing in modern rock, first failed to live up to the hype surrounding them. Where moments on each of their previous albums carry unmistakable resonance to this day (discounting 2001’s Amnesiac, which was more of a companion piece than actual album), 2003’s Hail to the Thief was the first more or less unmemorable Radiohead album. Considering that Thom Yorke and Co. are hailed in the media as industry saviors on a more or less daily basis, I would guess that a lot of guys who wear ponytails and $1,000 suits started bucketing water out of the higher floors of the Capitol Records building when Hail to the Thief failed to reinvigorate the industry.

More on #20: 2003

HIDDEN GEMS

Here’s 4 songs you may or may not know well, re-done by four of the best acts in Country music.

Dolly Parton | “Stairway to Heaven”

Great: it’s a bluegrass version of Led Zeppelin’s inescapable, nonsensical anthem about buying heavenly stairways and bustling hedgerows. Did the world really need this? Well, actually, I’d be inclined to argue yes. Dolly Parton is in good voice (frequently multi-tracked) on this cover version, from her 2002 album Halos & Horns, and she delivers one of her most passionate performances. Plus, it helps that she is backed by an intricate band arrangement that never explodes into Zep-ish bombast, but builds and climaxes satisfyingly, with a choir providing the intensity previously provided by loud rock guitar. And, as this track makes clear, Dolly’s high notes beat Robert Plant’s any day.

Rosanne Cash | “I’m Movin’ On”

For her newest album, Rosanne Cash has done a covers record that comes with an interesting backstory. Her father, Johnny Cash, made up a list of 100 Essential Country Songs for her in the ‘70s, to make up for gaps in her music education, and she has taken 12 of those songs and re-done them on the album, titled appropriately The List. There’s a lot of good tracks on The List, but her cover of Hank Snow’s “I’m Movin’ On” stands out for its atmosphere. Sounding like a less-clanky Tom Waits ballad, the band shuffles casually, while the slide-y lead guitar part evokes movie images of desolate highways and diner jukeboxes. Cash sounds laid back, sometimes breathy, and full of swagger in her vocal delivery, a chanteuse-y approach that folds nicely into the recording.

More on Country Women Do Covers

HIDDEN GEMS
From wholly original soundtracks like Curtis Mayfield’s work for Super Fly to iconic oldies compilations like American Grafitti, the 1970s was the first golden age for the movie soundtrack.

After a glut of ’80s crap, the art form of the movie soundtrack bounced back in the ’90s. Pulp Fiction is the key example of a soundtrack that was not only essential to the movie it supported, but became essential listening on its own (although the soundtrack to Tarantino’s follow-up, Jackie Brown, gets my vote for soundtrack of the decade). Other soundtracks were so popular (Lost Highway, Empire Records) that more people had them in their CD collections than had ever bought a ticket to see the movie. The following 4 selections were not so popular, but they remain worthwhile listening experiences whether you’ve seen the movie or not.

Out of Sight | Music From the Motion Picture
1998 was the moment when DJs were making their biggest impact as solo artists in mainstream music, thanks partially to Fatboy Slim’s “Rockafeller Skank.” One DJ who got a leg up in this climate was David Holmes, whose first 2 albums were more often groovy than glitchy. Hired to do the music for Steven Soderbergh’s French New Wave-style take on an Elmore Leonard novel, Out of Sight, Holmes delivered a super-cool score that’s funky without being hectic and is ambient without being somnambulant. The soundtrack album seamlessly blends Holmes’s music cues with dialogue from the film and classic hits by The Isley Brothers, Dean Martin, and more. Twelve years later, it still sounds fresh and unembarassing in a way that those Fatboy Slim records sadly don’t.

More on Hidden Gems: Second Golden Age of Movie Soundtracks

THE NINETIES-IST
Welcome to another edition of Brook Pridemore’s The Nineties-ist. This edition discusses 2002,  the melancholy mood of the year, exemplified in the album releases by Beck, Wilco, and the Flaming Lips (with a healthy dose of Brook’s own nostalgia thrown in, as he set off for the Big Apple to pursue his personal musical ambitions). For earlier installments, go here.

On September 1, 2002, I made good on my as-long-as-I-can-remember dream of leaving Michigan for New York City. Like senior year of high school, (and the subsequent summer) those final Midwest summer days crawled by, like sweet tea tectonic plates. I worked something like ninety hours a week, “saving” money—but really spending most of it on crazy record store finds, things only I could care about—like the Meat Purveyors’ “Madonna Trilogy.” A big part of my problem has always been that no one around me can match my enthusiasm for miniscule little records by cheeky, insurgent bluegrass bands (and, in fairness, I’ve come to realize that a bigger part of my problem is that I care less about the music than I do about the acquisition). I have long had a reputation for only caring about music, which until recently felt like a character flaw, something to be pilloried for. Unhealthy obsession with those twelve notes and the multitude of possibilities within has permeated every aspect of my life for as long as I can remember, and acquisition of music (and arcane knowledge of its minutiae) has taken precedence over friendships, food, shelter, education, you name it. The list goes on.

More on #19: 2002

HIDDEN GEMS

No, you won’t find anything about Sufjan Stevens here.

Loudon Wainwright III | High Wide & Handsome: The Charlie Poole Project
Maybe this gem isn’t quite so hidden—it did just win the Grammy for Best Traditional Folk Album—but I doubt you’ve heard it yet. Loudon Wainwright and some of his famous family (son Rufus, daughters Martha and Lucy, plus the ex-wife’s kin, The Roches) create an odd sort of tribute album to Charlie Poole, who was an old-time banjo player from the 1920s. You see, Poole wasn’t a songwriter, so Wainwright and Co. instead perform old-timey-sounding original songs inspired by Poole’s life, along with various other songs that Poole made famous with his recordings. The tales of boozing and hard living contained within wouldn’t seem out of place on an average Loudon Wainwright album, making the resemblance between the old-time picker and the modern-day musician who is paying him tribute a bit uncanny..

More on Hidden Gems: Banjo Pickers

THE NINETIES-IST
Welcome to another edition of Brook Pridemore’s The Nineties-ist. This edition discusses 2001, specifically 9/11/2001, and the significance of four albums released on that day. For earlier installments, go here.

So, our exploration of music in the 1990s has come to a close. Things were “bad” for creative rock music at the beginning of the 90s, then they were “good” for a while, then by decade’s end, things were “bad” again. The modern record industry didn’t die entirely on January 1, 2000, though; things crutched along for another couple of years, and so we’re still here, trying to figure out exactly when the industry hit critical mass.

Rather than do a serial exploration of 2001, as we have about other years in this column, I’d like to talk about one specific date: September 11. Many New Yorkers who were living here on the day have insinuated to me over the years that all things New York City can be divided into two categories: “pre”-9/11 and “post”-9/11. I was still living in Kalamazoo, MI, at the time, staring at my watch through my last year of college, obsessing over alt. country, and doing my small part to run one of the nation’s few remaining freeform independent radio stations, 89.1FM WIDR Kalamazoo.

WIDR’s director’s staff, myself included, were booked and all set to attend that fall’s CMJ Music Marathon, four days of music and conference all across Manhattan’s greatest clubs and shitty bars. Sure, it’s corny now, but we’d attended the year previous (my first visit to the city), and I’d gotten to meet some of my heroes (David Lowery, John Flansburgh), see shows that I still talk about to this day (Low, PJ Harvey, Sean Na Na) and left what was supposed to be my last pack of cigarettes on the bar at CBGB (the actual physical sight of the marquee made my breath stop in my throat). I was hooked, and my (then) girlfriend and I swore we’d be living in New York as soon as we could.

More on #18: 2001

ART OF SONG
The Routes
“Do What’s Right By You”
Do What’s Right By You
Dirty Water Records | 2010

In my blind, ignorant times, as I held fast to 2003 and prayed the Soledad Brothers would get back together, I sometimes felt that garage rock was dead. It’s not, obviously. But bear with me for a second here, and take my mental journey. “All the Detroit groups I love have changed or become culturally irrelevant!” I wailed. “All the other music journalists make fun of me!”

But of course I was horribly wrong. Garage rock is still alive and well, in a couple of different forms. Now I’m all for Thee Oh Sees and other indie lo-fi bands who keep that garage rock sound alive while still being acceptable to reference in the ‘I know cooler music than you’ game, but I’ve found, when you want pure, unadulterated garage rock…classic, 1960’s style garage rock, you need to step outside the country.

Like to, oh, I don’t know…Japan?

The Routes are an interesting bunch. Founded by a Brit, Chris Jack, joined by Shinichi Nakayama (drums) and Toru Nishimuta (bass) in Japan, they are currently signed to a British record label. And their songs are in English…a fact which both delights and slightly disappoints me. I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for group sounds.

More on The Routes | “Do What’s Right By You”