Discourse
Published June 6th, 2007
Aggrolites
1/2
What sets the Aggrolites' previous releases apart from the current crop of ska/reggae acts like Westbound Train (who seem a bit effete) is that the quintet sounds as if it's capable of beating your teeth in for causing trouble. The band's second release for Hellcat was purportedly written on the road and finished in the studio. From the onset, there's a different approach to the entire affair. The keyboard sound on "Work It" recalls a latter-day, lesser Gregory Isaacs effort. Even the vocals reflect a bit of a softening. It's not that Jesse Wagner isn't believable, but a bit of the grit is gone."Lucky Streak," however, still sounds tough and convincing even if the lyrics recall "Trapper's Got a Bird" by the Test Tube Babies. The Morricone-influenced "Rhythm and Light" easily surpasses everything else on the album. It's not quite "Man from M.I.5.," but the twang is welcomed. But unlike their last effort, most of the vocal numbers are clunkers. Nothing's horrible, but again it sounds more sentimental in comparison to the delivery in the past. And fortunately, the chant of the title track is eclipsed by a keyboard solo which is the constant that keeps the aggro in the Aggrolites' sound.
Sullivan
1/2
Cover Your Eyes, Sullivan's sophomore album, is like a beautifully wrapped gift with nothing inside. Once you get past the perfectly tied ribbons and tightly wrapped paper, you'll merely be disappointed. In other words, the band's production and guitar tones shine more than its content. Much like The Academy Is , the guys in Sullivan are the emo kids who suddenly decided rock music is cooler, but can't quite make the transformation. The vocals are still whiny and breathy while the songs are still maudlin rather than cathartic. They're trying to force the histrionics here, and it doesn't work.If Sullivan does succeed at anything on this album, it's crafting vocal hooks. Much of the record could simply be described as "catchy" while most of the choruses are get-stuck-in-your-head caliber. But again, the beautiful-gift syndrome applies here. While the lyrics may be delivered in an easily digestible manner, they are for the most part forgettable and packed full of clichés. No, being a straightforward poppy band isn't the worst thing you could possibly do to music, but there are just so many other bands currently inhabiting the same space that you need some sort of individuality. Unfortunately, Sullivan doesn't have it.
Circa Survive
From the strike of the first reverberating note on Circa Survive's sophomore effort, the anticipated follow-up to its compelling debut, Juturna, the talent and vision of the Philadelphia fivesome is glaringly apparent. While this record, again recorded with producer Brian McTernan in Baltimore, is technically just a more practiced, expanded rendition of the swirling progressive rock on Juturna, Circa Survive's greatest gift has perhaps always been the unique voice and vision with which it infuses its songs.On the surface that distinctive voice is exactly that - singer Anthony Green's helium-tinged, borderline girlish howl that soars and twists through the group's melodies with unmatched urgency. But upon further listen, it's actually the layering of a double dose of swooping guitars and a rhythm section that never misses a beat that melds the music of On Letting Go into the aching, memorable tracks that resound and echo through your head long after the album has ceased to spin. This disc is a logical step to follow Juturna, and although it never meanders too far outside the sonic territory the group set about to explore upon its inception, there's a strong sense of what is possible for Circa Survive in the future.
Dappled Cities
1/2
It took a few listens to Granddance to fully realize it, but it's become pretty obvious we're in the middle of a revival of psychedelia in rock music. It's no longer a niche market. Think about it. My Morning Jacket ditched the Southern roots rock and made a record (Z) that sounds like the Flaming Lips, a band that cultivated the psychedelic vibe long before the ebbing tides of the music world made it fashionable again. More minor successes by bands like Dungen and the now defunct Grandaddy, coupled with the endless press releases from record companies about how new bands sound like they came from '60s-era San Francisco, pretty much prove the thesis.Australian quintet Dappled Cities is a bit different from your average psych-rock customers, however. Instead of using the Nuggets box set for inspiration, it clearly was more interested in the grandeur of Peter Gabriel-led Genesis, as well as the later works of the aforementioned Lips and Grandaddy. "Holy Chord" starts the album off with a swagger that's a little reminiscent of the new Kings of Leon album. Singer Tim Derricourt's falsetto vocals sound a lot like Blur's Damon Albarn in this song, as well as on the album's best track, "Vision Bell." It's the most perfect moment that Dappled Cities has crafted here, and one that's a perfect amalgam of their influences. Other tracks on the album come close to that perfection, particularly the watery reverb of "Beach" and the minor-chord dramatics of "Eve the Girl."
Porter Wagoner
Although Porter Wagoner is a 50-year veteran of the Grand Ole Opry and an honored inductee into the Country Music Hall of Fame, he's rarely afforded the same kind of respect and recognition that is lavished upon his more famous contemporaries. Wagoner conceived the first nationally syndicated country music television show where he launched and guided the early career of Dolly Parton. He's charted over 80 singles, won three Gospel Grammys, championed the garish suits of country tailor Nudie long before he was fashionable, and never compromised his country tradition with crossover attempts. With all this accomplishment, Wagoner's name rarely comes up in the short list of legends who shaped the genre in the latter half of the 20th century.None of that much matters to Wagoner, who teams with producer/country superstar Marty Stuart to present Wagonmaster, his first album of new secular country music in seven years. Wagoner is like a time capsule of everything that made country music great, from pervasive weepy pedal steel to creepy lyrical subject matter ("Be a Little Quieter," "Late Love of Mine") to powerful recitations that rumble through the consciousness like hillbilly Shakespeare soliloquies ("Brother Harold Dee"). One of the most affecting moments on Wagonmaster comes with Wagoner's reading of Johnny Cash's "Committed to Parkview," an ode to a mental facility where both singers booked engagements and a song that Cash had intended for Wagoner to sing a quarter-century ago. Without resorting to cheap drama, Wagoner plainly details the ward's denizens and their ills, a chilling reminder that rehab has a long and unglamorous history. Wagoner's strength is and always has been a complete belief in the song he was singing. Every note, every lyric, every moment of Wagonmaster rings true as Porter Wagoner distills his long experience with, and love for, country music into one incredible recording.
