It is possible for a diligent and resourceful musician to create a professional-sounding recording in a modest bedroom studio, nowadays.  Then, there more »]]> Small Black
Small Black EP
(Jagjaguwar)

It is possible for a diligent and resourceful musician to create a professional-sounding recording in a modest bedroom studio, nowadays.  Then, there are those who prefer to make no attempt to hide the fact that their recordings were made in a home studio, to maintain a certain cozy, unpolished appeal.  Small Black consists of the core duo of Ryan Heyner and Josh Kolenik, who recorded their debut EP in a Long Island attic, and it’s full of the sounds of electronic instruments that could have been thrift-store purchases.  They’re shameless about it—some rhythm tracks unmistakably come from a Casio keyboard—but any novelty aspect of the release fades and is quickly overshadowed by the tunes themselves.

The opening track, “Despicable Dogs,” weaves keyboard melodies that are gingerly distorted, as if to intentionally sculpt sounds that might never be precisely recreated.  In a way, it could be an econo, hazy combination of ’90s noise-pop with early synth-heavy material by the Magnetic Fields, and it doesn’t overextend itself, using a tried-and-true pop song structure and saving its best vocal hook for the chorus.

The recording style is crucial to Small Black’s sonic identity; sounds aren’t articulated and sharply defined, and there isn’t a great deal of frequency separation, causing everything to end up in a big, swirling maelstrom.  “Weird Machines” is a heavier number, with a fuzz guitar anchor and simple, layered note patterns, and an easy trick that works for the band is having instruments drop out of the mix at various times, to emphasize their presence when they re-emerge.  Shoegaze fans might be drawn to tracks like “Bad Lover” and “Lady in the Wires,” which have a few things in common with the more pop-oriented material by My Bloody Valentine.

The EP was self-released last October, and this reissue on Jagjaguwar appends two extra tracks, including the dual-personality, low-rent new wave track “Baby Bird Pt. 2.”  Listeners who don’t already listen to this kind of stuff might not find the rough, homemade sound palatable, but for those in the club, it’s a satisfying release with overdriven goodness and hard-to-dislike melodies.

Small Black will perform at 412 Market on March 13 with Washed Out and Pictureplane.

Joanna Newsom
Have One on Me
(Drag City)

One might view the latest Joanna Newsom album as an indulgent stunt.  Newsom’s astounding previous full-length album, Ys, was widely acclaimed, featuring lengthy, lyrically ambitious songs with extravagant arrangements by Van Dyke Parks.  It’s tough to follow an album like that, and the two-hour, triple-disc Have One on Me could be seen as Newsom trying to outdo herself with sheer volume.  It’s certainly a lot to swallow in one sitting, but patience is rewarded, as the songs steadily dig their way into the listener’s memory.

The gently coaxing Have One on Me is one of those albums that’s best savored with devoted attention, preferably while sitting in a comfortable chair, with the lyric booklet in hand and a warm beverage nearby.  As a lyricist, Newsom is known for her quaint vocabulary, peppered with words about animals and arcane romance, and not many people these days can get away with a line like, “Her faultlessly etiolated fishbelly-face: the muzzle of a ghost.”  But what might not be apparent is her meticulous care in crafting her words; the opening stanza of “Easy” is a brilliant example, with multiple rhyme-threads, partially obscured by her vocal rhythms.

Newsom’s distinctive voice—nasal, clenched, and squeaky—seems to be a little less affected on Have One on Me, and most prominently, she reveals a rich, finely controlled vibrato.  As expected, many of the songs are built upon Newsom’s harp playing, and now she also plays the piano, with a discreet manner that sometimes dances freely on tracks like “Soft as Chalk.”  She’s also branching out stylistically, beyond the quasi-Ren Fair/folk approach, and the gorgeous “Baby Birch” unfurls in an endearingly odd way, with startling percussion and muffled electric guitar skronks, followed by an Appalachian/Irish hybrid.

The song arrangements feature a number of plucked and bowed strings, brass, winds, and percussion, but wisely, they’re rationed over the course of the album, making it not as orchestrally dense as Ys.  The first disc of Have One on Me alone would make an impressive album, but having three discs worth of new, consistently excellent material is pretty awe-inspiring, with ample charms that gradually unveil themselves.

Fingerstyle guitarist Jack Rose died of a heart attack at the maddeningly young age of 38 last December; his newest more »]]> Jack Rose
Luck in the Valley
(Thrill Jockey)

Fingerstyle guitarist Jack Rose died of a heart attack at the maddeningly young age of 38 last December; his newest album, Luck in the Valley, had been completed at the time and now must serve as his first posthumous release.

Rose was in the mind-expanding drone-folk band Pelt, which alternated between being wearisome and fascinating (mostly the latter, thankfully), and Rose’s solo work drifted away from Pelt’s adventurous abandon, focusing more on pre-war blues and ragtime.  His approach was similar to that of inspirational guitar mavericks John Fahey and Robbie Basho, who both understood folk and felt no qualms about infusing eclectic flavors from other continents.  For example, the excellent opening track of Luck in the Valley, “Blues for Percy Danforth,” is between Appalachian folk and an Indian raga, with drone notes meshing with mouth-harp twangs and slide guitar flourishes; it’s not a fast song, but there’s a compelling, disciplined insistency to it.

The rest of the album covers more familiar territory, from the fiddle-enhanced mountain music of “Lick Mountain Ramble” to the country blues of “When Tailgate Drops, the Bullshit Stops,” fortified with a forceful-yet-quivering piano.  There are a few covers, including a Blind Blake song and a take on the W. C. Handy standard “Saint Louis Blues”; it eschews the haunting atmosphere of Bessie Smith’s immortal version for a barroom blues swagger, with an impish harmonica and a mid-song boost of energy.  Folk and the blues are about structure, not variation; however, this reviewer wouldn’t have minded a few more diversions, or another raga number or two, and the low oom-pah notes of the fingerstyle method act as a not-quite-stern but certainly rigorous pulse for the album.

The timing of Rose’s death only raises people’s expectations for the album, as it must serve as some final artist’s statement, although, of course, it wasn’t recorded with that intention.  The good news is that it stands up well—it’s a solid release from a guitarist who was in control, carried a few torches, and last but not least, displayed ample chops.

Various Artists
Pomegranates
(Finders Keepers/B-Music)

When you hear about entertainers from the non-Western world attempting to take on Western cultural idioms, let’s face it—the bad ones are the ones that often get our attention:  those cheesy, off-kilter or hilariously awful results.  Example A: Turkish Star Wars.  Example B: search on YouTube for “Korean karaoke fail.”  Pomegranates is a new compilation featuring funk and pop hits and obscurities from Iran in the ’60s and ’70s, before the revolution in 1979 and ban on female singers.  This is a collection that deserves attention, and not out of any sense of irony or kitsch.

The immediate standouts are the deep funk grooves found throughout the disc.  These are the kinds of vamps that you can’t ignore; they’re impossible to hear without at least nodding your head along.  Sima Bina’s “Naz Kardanet Vaveyla” starts off sounding like an early ’70s blaxploitation film soundtrack, wah-guitar and all, before it breaks out the strings playing Middle Eastern scales while Bina sings her notes with a matching passionate release.  The album opener, “Helelyos” by Zia, begins with some odd, unhinged human beatboxing before sliding into a 6/8-time Afrobeat jam, horns a-blazing and playing call-and-response with each other.  Indian influences reveal themselves on Soli’s “Negar,” with fluid tabla rhythms, and on the powerhouse groove of “Soul Raga” by sitar player Mehrpouya, with a killer organ/horn vamp (borrowed from Santana’s “Hope You’re Feeling Better”) and a fierce (yes, fierce) flute solo.

One of the more successful singers here is Googoosh, represented by three tracks; her voice is full and ardent, yet nimble and nuanced.  Noosh Afarin’s contribution is a dramatic whirlwind dance-funk number, and she has an adept control of her voice, alternating between ending her notes with vibrato or a sultry delivery.  The pop and folk moments are, quite honestly, overshadowed by the funk tunes, but notably, the track from Ramesh (whose face is on the collection’s cover) is a nice highlight with a psychedelic pop undercurrent.

Describing a song from Pomegranates might sound like a joke—say, for example, “Iranian sitar-funk”—but this is seriously good music.  These singers and musicians could hold their own and even teach the rest of the world a thing or two, with inventive blends and soulful performances.

Getting rock-and-pop-centered listeners into jazz requires some kind of gateway.  Some will respond to Duke Ellington’s big bands, Charlie Parker’s bebop, or more »]]> Miles Davis
Isle of Wight
(Columbia)

Getting rock-and-pop-centered listeners into jazz requires some kind of gateway.  Some will respond to Duke Ellington’s big bands, Charlie Parker’s bebop, or vocalists like Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holiday.  Starting with a tried-and-true classic album isn’t a bad idea, such as John Coltrane’s Giant Steps or trumpeter Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue.  But, to reach  rock listeners who are particularly attracted to its visceral, charged aspects, it might be fun to take an aural sledgehammer to them, with the jaw-dropping, intense music of Davis’s electric period.  After his adventurous second quintet in the mid-’60s, Davis shifted to an even more daring fusion style; acoustic instruments were replaced with electric ones, such as the Fender Rhodes electric piano and the electric guitar.  His landmark 1970 album Bitches Brew alienated jazz purists, but for each jazz fan he lost, he probably gained a couple in the rock realm.

The long overdue CD at hand documents the August 1970 set Davis played at the Isle of Wight Festival, which concentrated on folk and rock acts, like Jimi Hendrix, the Who, and Joan Baez; gauging from the receptive response from the 600,000-plus audience, people didn’t blink an eye at Davis’s appearance.  The official name of the 36-minute long piece is “Call It Anything” (Davis’s response when asked what it was called); however, based on some recognizable motifs, the set may be divided up into six pieces, reprising themes from recent albums.

The opener, “Directions,” dives right in with a tight, funk groove from drummer Jack DeJohnette, bassist Dave Holland, and percussionist Airto Moreira, and it packs a wallop in seven minutes, with piercing staccato notes from Davis; it becomes increasingly busy and ends with some blistering, downright sick keyboard sounds from Chick Corea.  Keith Jarrett on electric piano and saxophonist Gary Bartz round out the solid lineup, and it functions like some hectic, yet ultimately cohesive juggernaut of sound.  The whole set never fails to be engaging, from the slow-burn vamp of “Bitches Brew” to the spark-spitting “It’s About That Time.”  The sound quality is excellent, and after doing an A-B comparison with the 2004 DVD Miles Electric: A Different Kind of Blue (which features the same set in entirety), I conclude that both use the same source recording.  Unfortunately, the only way a person can purchase this CD at this time is as part of the recently released, massive 71-disc The Complete Columbia Album Collection.

With Sly Stone as a model, Miles Davis wanted to be a badass rock star in 1970.  For all practical purposes, he was, and this CD has proof.

Various Artists
Stroke: Songs for Chris Knox
(Merge)

Beloved songwriter and musician Chris Knox, un-questionably one of the most important figures of the indie scene in New Zealand, suffered a stroke last June, leaving him unable to speak normally and temporarily immobile.  There was an outpouring of support and tributes—even Eddie Vedder sang one of Knox’s songs at a Pearl Jam show in New Zealand—and the most organized and abounding tribute yet comes as a double-album entitled Stroke: Songs for Chris Knox, with all proceeds going towards Knox’s recovery.  Stroke may seem like an oddly stark title, but it’s in line with Knox’s willingness to tackle demons in song; here’s a man who is epileptic and names one of his albums Seizure.  Few musicians can credibly cover the range that Knox covers, going from incredibly affecting songs to lighthearted ones to the more grotesque numbers with biological fixations, and he’s known as a must-see live performer, able to be simultaneously charming and goofy.

The covers on Stroke are arranged chronologically, beginning with tracks originally by his punk-inflected, late-’70s band Toy Love before moving to songs by his duo Tall Dwarfs, his solo material, and his most recent outfit the Nothing.  Knox’s music often has certain recognizable elements, such as the frequent use of weird rhythm loops, his fuzz rhythm guitar sound, or his Omnichord (an electronic autoharp), and most of his music was taped using home recording equipment.  The artists on Stroke for the most part don’t try to emulate Knox’s sonic styles, which keeps things interesting.

As expected, his fellow kiwis come out to play, including his Tall Dwarfs partner Alec Bathgate and the Neil Finn (of Crowded House and Split Enz) family band the Pyjama Party capturing Knox at his catchiest on “It’s Love”; Flying Nun label mates such as the Chills, the Bats, both David and Hamish Kilgour (from the Clean), and the Verlaines are all present in fine form and impart their own methods over Knox’s songs.  The North American contingent is also strong, with artists such as Yo La Tengo and Lambchop dealing out their acoustic serenity, and AC Newman and the late Jay Reatard provide concise, 2-minute contributions with sharpened hooks.  Perhaps the most anticipated contribution on Stroke is the one from Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum, and his acoustic-guitar-and-voice take on the Tall Dwarfs track “Sign the Dotted Line” is pretty straightforward yet certainly welcome.

Most artists play it safe on Stroke, with a few exceptions, like Pumice’s ultra-low-fidelity static/fuzz piece “Grand Mal” and the wonderfully overloaded, off-kilter synthetics of “Beauty” by Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields, actually recorded in 1988.  Knox himself even appears on the final two tracks of the compilation, providing mostly wordless singing that shows that his musical abilities are still intact.  Stroke is a celebration born of misfortune, highlighting the durability and distinctiveness of Knox’s songwriting and returning the favor of his inspiration with a deluge of love not given lightly.

What more »]]> I constantly write about local bands and what they are up to, or what national acts might be doing in our neck of the woods.

What I would like to do now is interview a new, up-and-coming band in Chattanooga, to see how and what it takes to become a performing band around town.  What are the steps you have to follow?  Perhaps some of our readers are starting a band of their own, or thinking about it and would like to know what to expect.

First, obviously, you must learn how to play an instrument, find others to play other instruments in your band, and decide which type of music you want to play.  The next step should be regular practice and writing of original songs.  But then what?  How do you actually become a band with a draw?  I will take you through it step by step with Jack Brooks, a member of a fairly new band, 476, and see how they got their start.  Feel free to take notes.

Hellcat:  So, what made you want to start a band?

Jack Brooks:  For the creative side of it, for the love of music.  It sure wasn’t for money, I know that.

HC:  How did you come up with the name?  Often bands have trouble agreeing on what to call themselves.  Was it a pretty easy process for you guys?

JB:  It wasn’t my idea to call it 476, it’s actually the number that has been on my motorcross bike since I was a kid.  Where we practice, 476 is everywhere on bikes and old stuff of mine, so my bandmates suggested we use it.  I didn’t want to at first because I didn’t want to come across as egotistical.  But they convinced me to, as the name doesn’t sound like it is from one specific genre, and neither are we.

HC:  How long did you practice before you started trying to get gigs around town?

JB:  We were actually a band probably about three months.  We had a few months of practice before our first opening show.

HC:  Where was your first show?

JB:  The Boro, in Murfreesboro.  It was just an opening spot.

HC:  How did you land that?

JB:  My singer lives in Tracy City, and had some connections up that way, friends of friends I guess, that took his word for it, and gave us a shot.

HC:  How did it go?

JB:  We were received really well.  I think some people were surprised.  So many people judge you and how you will sound by how you look, and we didn’t sound anything like they thought we would sound like and people really dug it.  We had a good time playing it.

HC:  Where is your favorite venue you’ve played and why?

JB:  We haven’t played that many, we’ve played Riverhouse and Ziggy’s.  I think I like Ziggy’s the most because we had a really good crowd and the sound is pretty decent.  It’s been limited to where we can play in town as a new band.

HC:  What is a venue you haven’t played yet, but you have set as a goal, and why?

JB:  In town, Rhythm and Brews because it’s an awesome venue with really good sound.  It’s a cool place for people to come and hang out.  Out of town, The Tabernacle in Atlanta.  You make that place, you are doing something.

HC:  How do you guys promote your shows?

JB:  The singer and I do the standard Facebook and Myspace, we mass text, and recently I’ve been posting flyers at all the media sales places, and tattoo shops.  Basically, anywhere that will let us put up flyers without getting us in trouble.  Although…maybe we should start graffiti.

HC:  Does any particular way of promotion seem to work better than others?

JB:  I think just getting out there and personally talking to people, or handing out flyers.  The one-on-one, personal approach seems to work the best.  It makes it better if people come to you and ask you personally to come instead of a mass mailer.

HC:  How do you plan on keeping up your momentum?

JB:  Playing shows as much as we can and try not to disappoint.  We make sure they have a good time, and they’ll come back.  Some people only get out once a month, and we want to be that reason they come out, so that if they had a good time once, they’ll come back next month.

HC:  What about professional band photos?  How does one go about getting those done?

JB:  I’m in that dilemma right now. There are some people in town that take pictures, you have to just get out there and find them.  We are about to get band photos taken, so I’ll let you know how that goes.

HC:  Do you guys have merch?  Do you think that is something that you will be looking into?  What sort of merch are you thinking about?

JB:  We have T-shirts and we sell them at the show for $10, and we have a few different sticker designs, and we should have CDs available next month.

HC:  What about recording?  How do you get your music in the hands of local fans?

JB:  We are recording, but we are trying to figure out if we want to record in or out of town.  We are playing shows now to save up and decide which route to go.  So come to our shows and buy our shirts and stickers, and we’ll record!

HC:  Do you have any advice for the hopeful musicians coming up in our little scenic city?

JB:  Yeah, never give up.  Don’t get discouraged when the only people at your show are your immediate friends or girlfriend.  Always keep plugging at it.

HC:  When are you playing next?

JB:  We should be at JJ’s Bohemia in March with Double Dick Slick.

There’s something endearingly ghetto about the configuration of a performance from the Philadelphia outfit U.S. Girls.  Megan Remy, the sole member, kneels or more »]]> U.S. Girls
Go Grey
(Siltbreeze)

There’s something endearingly ghetto about the configuration of a performance from the Philadelphia outfit U.S. Girls.  Megan Remy, the sole member, kneels or crouches over a cluster of guitar pedals and clutches a microphone, sometimes accompanied by a reel-to-reel tape player.  She doesn’t even afford herself a card table, providing a wholly make-shift, even primitive (by today’s standards) imprint on the proceedings.

One might presume it’s some sort of anti-refinement statement—sitting among the dust mites—and her music certainly must be.  Remy sings pop melodies in a manner that channels the spirit of Ronnie Spector, but her sonic style is the opposite of slick, as she runs her vocals through an effects gauntlet, often making them distorted and barely comprehensible.

Like the debut album Introducing…, the second U.S. Girls album, Go Grey, is a brief outing and is only available on vinyl and as a digital download; it’s an improvement over its predecessor, as it seems to have fewer moments that are directionless.  Remy continues with her haunting lo-fidelity approach, with sparing instrumentation and beats that are so sonically overdriven that it’s often hard to tell what she’s hitting exactly.  “Red Ford Radio” is somewhere between a dirge and a pop song, and its lyrics are actually discernable; Remy sings “Can’t breathe in this red Ford anymore / I’d do anything to get out, get out” as if it were a chain-gang chant.  The six-minute “Sleeping on Glass” (practically an epic, by U.S. Girls standards) begins with Casio beats followed by a dirtied-up ditty; it’s chased by some nightmarish noise and echoing minimal guitar notes that go in and out of phase with each other.  I go back and forth between really digging it and thinking that it sounds like some 12-year-old who just discovered what a delay pedal is.

“I Don’t Have a Mind of My Own” is a departure, with a drums-and-guitar setup that channels garage rock, but the distorted sound treatment gives it an even more raw sound than typical garage rock—think Guitar Wolf, but more basic and without the musicianship.  One of the album’s best and most eerie tracks is the disquieting “The Mountain’s High,” dominated by reverberating drum beats and Remy’s ghostly vocals, which sound like they’ve been run through a pitch-shifter, to allow her to harmonize with herself.  The coarseness of Go Grey will be too harsh for most ears, but for those with both a tolerance for noise and a fondness for off-kilter pop wanderings, it reaches an itch that rarely gets scratched. — Ernie Paik

Anais Mitchell
Hadestown: A Folk Opera
(Righteous Babe Records)

Anais Mitchell takes a trip to Hadestown with some well-known musical guests on her latest album Hadestown: A Folk Opera. The album is a true compilation of original songs that tells a story from beginning to end—specifically, the tragic Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Orpheus’ story—his descent into the underworld, musical entrancement of Hades and Persephone, and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to rescue of his dead wife—has been the subject of many operas and ballets over the years. Folk opera is a medium which translates familiar—in this case, mythical—folklore into the context of local culture. It defines who “folks” are (through simple and repetitive lyrics) and uses the “opera” format (where all ideas are sung) to tell a musical story. Perhaps the most well-known folk opera is Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess.

Mitchell succeeds beautifully in the medium, assigning well-known indie folk/rock artists in the parts and an eclectic orchestra (with every instrument from guitar to accordion to banjo) to perform a poetic musical epic that is both mythic and modern at the same time. Justin Vernon of Bon Iver plays Orpheus; Greg Brown is Hades, Lord of the Underworld; Ani DiFranco is Hade’s defiant wife, Persephone; and Mitchell herself is Orpheus’ doomed wife Eurydice. The Fates (or Greek chorus) are the Haden Triplets and Ben Knox Miller of The Low Anthem is the messenger Hermes.

“Way Down Hadestown” could come right out of the ravaged New Orleans music scene, with jazzy, nasty instrumentation and a whole cast celebration of Orpheus’ impending journey into the seductive, sassy underworld created by Mitchell. “When the Chips are Down” is swinging salsa, complete with monophonic stereo, sung by the powerful Greek girl chorus. “Why We Build the Wall,” led by the gravelly-voiced Greg Brown and supported by the Greek chorus, sounds like both an African American spiritual and a tribute to Barry White, supported by a wonderfully heavy-plucked bass, organ and rock’n’roll drums.

All in all, the album is a soulful journey through the musical mind of the gifted Anais Mitchell. Fearlessly personal and irresistibly harmonious, Hadestown is an absolute must-have, folks. (www.anaismitchell.com, release date: March 9). — Stephanie L. Smith

The latest Magnetic Fields album, Realism, is intended to be a counterpart to its predecessor, the feedback-drenched Distortion, and Stephin Merritt, the group’s more »]]> The Magnetic Fields
Realism
(Nonesuch)

The latest Magnetic Fields album, Realism, is intended to be a counterpart to its predecessor, the feedback-drenched Distortion, and Stephin Merritt, the group’s songwriter and primary singer, even wanted to title one of them True and the other False to signify recording styles.  Merritt stated that he couldn’t decide, however, which would be which; I would go as far to say that both albums would be called False.  Distortion is obviously false (think of the sound manipulation as “a distortion of facts”), and while Realism was more-or-less recorded cleanly, using acoustic instruments, its title and execution show that Merritt is playing games with the listener.

Realism is ostensibly the band’s folk album, inspired by orchestral British folk and Judy Collins’s early variety albums, and a track like “We Are Having a Hootenanny,” a cheerful, strummy sing-along, recalls the structure of public domain folk songs like “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain.”  But the tidy, layered recordings of Realism belie folk music; in a way, the notion of “orchestral folk” itself is an absurdity—how can you fit an orchestra on some rickety, backwoods front porch?  The album’s title makes the most sense when considering “realism” in the visual-arts context.  Art is intrinsically false, and Magritte’s painting of a pipe, with the caption “This is not a pipe” comes to mind (of course it’s not a pipe—it’s a painting) as well as Picasso’s quote, “Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth.”  It’s part of Merritt’s sense of humor, like the running joke on 69 Love Songs, which disguised certain romantic tunes as ersatz punk, gospel, or even civic-pride songs.

OK, so is it any good?  It’s very much in line, quality-wise, with the previous two albums, i and Distortion, and on first listen, a few tracks seemed like trifles, like “The Dolls’ Tea Party,” with a toy piano accompaniment, or “Everything Is One Big Christmas Tree.”  But, the melodies have a way of sticking with the listener, and more than a cursory glance at the lyrics reveal further themes of artificiality—the German-sung chorus of the latter track acknowledges the singer’s delusion, saying “No, maybe it’s not all a dream.  It’s all a nightmare?”  The gorgeous “I Don’t Know What to Say” contains a pointedly non-folk ending fadeout, which actually is a vital and clever part of the song; the singer, unable to express his feelings, pushes the love interest off a cliff, so the fadeout corresponds to what the falling person might hear.  An attentive listener’s appreciation will likely grow with each listen to Realism, and the irresistible “The Dada Polka” (not a real polka, by the way) ends with a perfect recap of the album’s deception: “Do something a little out of character: do something true.”

Gil Scott-Heron
I’m New Here
(XL Recordings)

Gil Scott-Heron and early ’70s contemp-oraries the Last Poets are often credited with being forefathers of rap.  Sonically, however, the two acts’ early work is ostensibly a bit like open mike night at a beatnik coffeehouse, with spoken poetry over bongo accompaniment, and not much like rhythm-loop-heavy rap as we know it.  If you pay attention to the lyrics, then it’s a different story—it’s angry, thorny, uncompromising stuff that was in line with the concurrent Black Power movement.  Scott-Heron shifted to a mellower soul-funk approach, and his most well-known number, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”—his anti-couch-potato call to action—was updated from a bongo-infused rant to a superb funk excursion.  While Scott-Heron’s music became more satisfying, with much credit to collaborator Brian Jackson, his pieces became less visceral and agitated; also, his talents as a singer became clearer, particularly on standout tracks like his reverent “Lady Day and John Coltrane.”

It’s been more than 15 years since Scott-Heron’s last album, and they’ve been rough years for him, with drug troubles and time in prison; perhaps echoing this, his new effort, I’m New Here, has a pointedly dark mood, often with electronic arrangements.  It’s largely nonpolitical, and even more surprising is that the title track is a cover of a song by Smog; it rambles without dips or peaks, with a finger-picked acoustic guitar pattern and Scott-Heron sounding appropriately lost.  Other covers include Robert Johnson’s “Me and the Devil,” with shadowy synth chords and beats that sound vaguely mid-’90s; the mysterious arrangement for the Bobby Bland cover, “I’ll Take Care of You,” had more potential, with a piano and strings, but it’s apparent on that track that Scott-Heron’s singing voice is shot.  Scott-Heron revisits his old piece “The Vulture,” renamed here as “Your Soul and Mine,” but the background electronics already sound dated.

Overall, the album seems a bit thin, clocking in at less than a half-hour, and four tracks are spoken “interludes” that are each less than 20 seconds long.  The album begins and ends with him in storytelling mode, with familial reminiscences, but enough time isn’t provided for him to explore the stories.  Earlier Scott-Heron material worked best when the music was as strong as his lyrics and singing, but here the music isn’t up to snuff; simply putting an old-timer in a modern sonic setting isn’t enough.  While his singing voice is rough, his speaking voice is possibly more compelling than ever; it’s deep, weathered, and fascinating and would have served a straight-up spoken word album well, with ample room for nuanced storytelling.