Don't Stop

With the recent crop of female indie and electronic pop artists, there seems to be a longing to embrace a multimedia music experience. Many of these artists, such as Róisín Murphy, Ladyhawke, Yelle, Elly Johnson (of La Roux), the well established Kylie Minogue, and especially the inimitable chanteuse Annie Lennox (despite her veteran status and not being a 'recent' arrival on the scene), exult in the harmonious melding of music, fashion, videography, and publishing. The surprising miracle in this trend is that the quality of songwriting not only thrives, but excels. So it is with Norwegian singer-songwriter Annie in her second album, Don't Stop, which was released 19 October in the UK, 26 October in Norway, and 16 November in the U.S.

The album consists of an assortment of shoegaze and new wave-tinged pop tunes featuring jangling guitars, sweeping synthesisers, whispering vocals, eerie melodies, and poignant lyrics about love and loss. All throughout, the listener becomes aware of the intelligent combination of instrumentation, lyrics, song structure, and stylistic trends. However, each song stands out as an individual, memorable tune which can be listened to as easily in the living room as in a really cool dance club in Berlin or San Francisco--one is almost glad that the album's release was delayed a year due to record label issues. The chief commercial single seems to be I Know UR Girlfriend Hates Me, which recalls Top 40 artists such as Lady GaGa, but the rest of the album--such as I Can't Let Go--smacks uncannily of edgier material by the Ting Tings or Magic Wands. Perhaps the most standout track is the ethereal Songs Remind Me Of You, which shows not only raw demo video footage, funky fashion, and trance-inspired hi-nrg synthpop, but also a similar theme to that of Erasure's Phantom Bride:

Once upon a time there was a girl
Met a boy that said he'd change the world.
Promises he only made for me
Vanished into what he could not be.

Annie leaves the listener gasping, panting for fresh air after a frenetic display on the dance-floor, all the while sending the simple, cynical message of hope and betrayal. Don't Stop shows a smart combination of lyrical wit, orchestral elegance, and sweet, soft vocal techniques; it is a refreshing reprieve from the whiny, banal conventions of Top 40 R&B and a markedly androgynous retreat away from the hypersexual, hyperfeminine stars which dominate the U.S. pop charts.

Phantom Bride EP

Inimitable synthpop duo Erasure, consisting of keyboard wizard Vince Clarke and soulful vocalist Andy Bell, released the Phantom Bride EP 12 October 2009, realising a fourth single from their best-selling album, The Innocents. The original version of Phantom Bride not only possesses a sweeping melody and sophisticated arrangements which are timeless--epic--in their appeal, but it also serves as a social commentary which is uncannily relevant today. Come on. You have no excuse to like La Roux but hate Erasure.

As always, I will look first at the worst parts of the work. And please note that the EP is definitely worth buying, since most of the tracks are delicious--and, besides, every purveyor of melodic synthpop markets itself with dated and generic club mixes for the average Corona drinker to gyrate to.

The EP is plagued with generic, clubby dance-floor fillers which cannot be liked even if one is drunk--or, if I can like them after a few drinks, it is only because I am drunk enough to lower my standards. The worst offender is the obnoxiously over-driven, silly Wayne G and Porl Young 'Betty and Ford' mix and mix edit of the venerable Chains of Love, which consists of a stupidly concussive bass drum drowning out a fart-like and insipid bass guitar (in typical club-shit tradition), and inane, repetitious piano riffs which recall banal early '90s pop house. This track is an offense to all of the moderated, precisely punctuated, restrained, rigid, formal, flamenco-influenced, suspense-driven, weird, quirky, otherworldly synthpop sensibilities for which I believe Vince Clarke stands. Thank goodness it was relegated to a promotion-only edition of the EP; it means you'll never find it in the shops, and, to find it, you'll actually have to hunt for a copy on the internet. The second offender is the Wayne G and Andy Allder mixes of the inviolable A Little Respect, the best song ever written, which forces me to re-examine my stance on capital punishment. This sublunary remix is a generic hi-nrg/trance perversion of a perfectly sublime, soaring anthem; it suffers from immaturity, impatience, and attention deficit-hyperactive disorder, and so do its promotion-only edit and dub mix. Less disappointing are the Almighty mixes of Chains of Love, including the CD-only 'Essential' and digital-only 'Definitive' mixes, which show a melodic and well-orchestrated, if boorishly thumping, rendition of the song.

But these are the butcher-tracks of money-hungry remixers and record labels who belie the original genius of the artist. Let us now focus our attention on the complementary interpretations, those which take heed of the original conception; let us return to the world of good pop song-writing, rock 'n' roll edginess, gospel-inflected, almost spiritual, vocals, mantric basslines, and cynical, world-weary British savvy:

She was a shy girl from a lonely street. She had no job to do and no friends to meet.
She'd sit in silence in her rented room, dream of her childhood and invented truths.
And in her mind she'd drift away--a secret place to steal away.
[ . . . ].
He was a good boy from the other side of town, said he could treat her right, said he could win her round.
Her morning sickness and the kick inside. The phantom kisses of the phantom bride.

Not only does the original version of Phantom Bride exhibit lavish, elegantly punctuated riffs, but it poignantly exposes the plight of the disabused single mother, unexpected pregnancy, and abandonment by a seemingly 'good boy'. Perhaps one of the reasons the song is so popular among the fanbase is the feminist subtext and the intimate portrait of a young, well-meaning woman who has sown nothing but woe and regret in her eagerness for love and salvation from her mundane, working-class world. Andy Bell, functioning almost as an oracle, conveys the story of this woman with eery empathy, as if she were one's next-door neighbour. And this is a good thing, since it reminds us of other people's secret forlornness.

The other mixes are mediocre and more contemporary than the thumping, mainstream mixes. Joebot's "Ounce of Bounce" mix of the gorgeous Heart of Stone is a choppy and disjointed convulsion--a confusing attempt at British urban beats; Frankmusik's 'Ghostly Groom' dub mix, despite being somewhat grating and frenetic, and a dub mix no less, is more catchy, bouncy, and melodic; Phantom Bride (Dogmatix's 12'' Tearless Mix) is weirdly abstracted from the original with an incongruous melody and psychedelic trance sound; the Plastic Operator mix of Chains of Love is very pleasing, preserving much of the original melody, chords, and vocals of the original version in a slick, quick, relentless glide which balances low-frequency basslines, middle-frequency strings, and high-frequency twiddle-dee-doo-dee sounds in a wash of glory, especially in the last two minutes of the track; but the diamond in the crown of the Phantom Bride EP is a remix by Erasure themselves: Hallowed Ground (Vince Clarke's Big Mix). The track begins with an eery, almost inaudible, primeval chant followed by a faint recorded voice chanting "nothing has changed" and Andy singing: "Everybody's intent on killing someone / The streets are closed, and there's a kid on the run. / The bullets scream out from gun to gun. / Everybody's intent on being someone." The chorus is introduced by a sudden, alarming burst of bass drum, bass guitar, and middle-frequency synthesisers which echo eerily in the background.

If even for this one remix, which is truly an improvement on its original version (a very rare accomplishment), Phantom Bride EP is a delightful foray for Erasure until the much-anticipated release of their next album, as well as Andy Bell's latest solo release.

Glass Candy

Every so often I will give a general summary of a band I have been following and with whom I have fallen in love. The first such overview is of Glass Candy, a quirky, chameleon-like project formed in Portland, Oregon, in 1996 and consisting of Vancouver, Washington singer Ida No and producer Jimmy Jewel, of Austin. I first discovered the duo in 2008 during my perennial search for well-written, more song-like alternatives to the inane repetitiveness and abrasiveness of late '90s house and trance and their twenty-first century derivatives, which still seemed to dominate the mainstream dance music scene. Their work is available through Italians Do It Better, a fine New Jersey label which releases records by other exciting, Italo-disco-influenced outfits such as Chromatics, Desire, Farah, Mirage, and Professor Genius.

While the band's earlier releases feature such rough-hewn stompers as Excite Bike, their later endeavours include such sumptuous romps as Poison or Remedy and Miss Broadway, a splendid cover of the '70s disco hit by Belle Epoque. Rather like Blondie, Dead Or Alive, and other new wave artists who probably constitute their chief source of inspiration, Glass Candy have evolved from their raw, dissonant (yet somehow concentrated and alarming) punk roots into a glamorous, alluring carnival of melodic disco. At times the band even venture into hip hop territory, as with the irresistibly funky Geto Boys, while they show off their skill in penning ethereal Italo-disco anthems with the haunting, otherworldly gambol of Life After Sundown. Meanwhile, No's soft but whispery vocals careen seductively (if at times off-key) over the rich, scintillating textures of Jimmy Jewel's gorgeous orchestration. To double the pleasure, simply see the band in concert and marvel at No's writhing, serpentine dance moves juxtaposed with Jewel's dynamic assault on the keyboards.

It is refreshing finally to discover music which simultaneously boasts clever lyrics, elegant arrangements, and dance-friendly spiritedness--classically structured, well-written dance songs which do not require drug use to be enjoyed. Both Glass Candy's earlier dance-punk and later disco incarnations please the listener since both boast appealing chords, arpeggios, notes, and so on (while remaining bizarre and twisted), but it is a pleasure to follow an artist growing out of its chaotic roots into a refined and luxurious creature.



Image ©2009 John Londono

Review of 'No. 2'

Swedish band JJ released their first full-length album, No. 2, on the Swedish record label Sincerely Yours in July, 2009. The moment I first played the album, I was smitten. With the recent incorporation of dance-oriented sounds into indie music, which has broken down the unnecessary and artificial barrier between dance and rock music, new bands have poured forth a cornucopia of works which reflect the aesthetics of disco, electro, and synthpop. I will not expound on how this trend may already be five or so years old, because I believe good music is perennial and that it should be an ongoing experiment.

No. 2 shows off a set of sweet songs with soft cadences characterising a sound termed by some as Balearic disco (as distinct from late 1980s and early 1990s Balearic beat), which, at least in its twenty-first century manifestation, serves as a sort of traditionally-written after-thought to the harder, more monotonous sounds heard in the clubs of Spain's Las Islas Baleares, specifically the famous party resort of Ibiza. Most of the songs feature unassuming vocals which coast gently and carefully from key to key without vulgar vocal acrobatics, while a loping four-to-the-floor beat trips lightly in the background, interrupted occasionally by an invasive yet playful conga drum. Meanwhile, eerie violins create a fantastic, ethereal backdrop. The final effect is a bouncey, luxurious romp through the subtropics reminiscent of other Balearic and Cosmic disco acts such as Norway's Hans-Peter Lindstrøm or Prins Thomas.

Listening to No. 2, one is reminded of Culture Club's Do You Really Want To Hurt Me or Erasure's Blue Savannah; Masterplan even sounds uncannily like a mid-tempo track from the latter band's 1997 album, Cowboy. The wash of plaintive, distant vocals, light guitars, shrill strings, and soft drums create a refreshingly unpretentious, care-free atmosphere which anybody can enjoy over a mint julip on a humid summer day, or even over a double Long Island iced-tea at one of the more daring discotheques of the night.

Image ©2009 Sincerely Yours