by James Cassara

At the time I write this 2012 is not yet a month old and we’ve already been blessed with many a fine new release. This month is highlighted by a much deserved reissue, a local artist of note, and one of the great female pop bands of our era. As always be sure to frequent one of our local independent stores. Support those who support the music!

Alex Chilton

Free Again: The 1970 Sessions

Omnivore Music

Alex Chilton’s untimely death in March of 2010 ended one of the most eclectic and unpredictable chapters in American pop music. From the start, be it as the presumed front man (a role he never wanted not fully embraced) for the Box Tops, his wildly uneven solo excursions, and up through his seminal Memphis Soul Meets Garage Rock days with Big Star, Chilton rarely gave the people what they thought they wanted. But he always gave them what they needed, even if they didn’t know it at the time.

Unlike many departed-too-soon rock stars, since Chilton’s death there’s not been much released in the way of tributes or back catalog. Yet one suspects that, given the fits and starts nature of his recording style, there’s probably an abundance of material (much of it already bootlegged) waiting to be culled. Whether or not it is worth putting out is another matter. To that end Free Again: the 1970 Sessions takes a look at his earliest years.

It was a time of both artistic growth and perpetual frustration for Chilton: his eerily soulful voice made him a natural but Chilton desperately wanted to sing his own songs, something producers Dan Penn and Chips Moman would never allow.

The Box Tops were a gravy train, and one they were certainly not going to let go of. But in between Box Tops sessions Chilton would sneak off, grab a few musician buddies, and in clandestine fashion cut a few tracks. The history of these formative efforts can be a bit convoluted; some were tied up by contractual issues while others were never meant for proper release, but they eventually did see the light of day when Ardent Records released them on CD in 1996.

This welcome reissue, given a new and far more appropriate title, adds a few tracks, cleans up others, and presents a wonderfully accurate portrait of the 20 year old artist, one still deeply in love with blue eyed soul but increasingly enamored by psychedelic Brit pop. Of course there are elusive hints of country music and raunchy veneered rock & roll (the slow burn abandon of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” is particularly effective) but for the most part the songs here retroactively give us a logical bridge between the Box Tops and Big Star. There are also a few hints of the post Big Star years – a period in which Chilton would swerve gleefully from the cantankerous musings of Like Flies on Sherbert to the meticulous pop craft of High Priest.

In that regard, Free Again may not quite be a revelation but as both a musical document, albeit a rather haphazard one, or historical artifact, it is for Chilton’s obsessive followers (and I have never met any other kind) nothing less than essential. ****

Joe Henry

Reverie

Anti Music Records

Since the turn of the century Joe Henry has recorded five critically acclaimed albums and become a Grammy winning producer. That’s a more than decent track record for any artist and yet among all but a few, Henry remains a relatively obscure figure. That is in part due to the mercurial nature of his artistry – he rarely taps the same vein twice – and the ambitious yet cautious temperament of his albums.

His strongest albums are usually fixated on a specific theme, one which he explores to its fullest, which is great fodder for those of us who think and write compulsively about music but doesn’t always make for great listening. Reverie is a collection of 14 songs that spiral around the concept of time: the chance glimpses of memory that construct our perception of pleasure, pain, loss, redemption, and the myriad ways in which we continually injure ourselves and those we allege to love best. If all that sounds stuffy, not to mention more than slightly daunting, don’t worry.

Fresh from his work producing Mose Allison, Henry has clearly learned a trick or two about keeping things light. Despite the serious tenor of the songs this is the loosest and most lively record he’s ever made. Recorded at his home studio (according to the liner notes Henry was dead set on leaving the windows open) Reverie is a breezy stroll through everyday life but at a level of intense scrutiny that is to music what Terrence Malick is to film.

The sounds of traffic, barking dogs, mothers summoning their children and chainsaws cutting firewood saturate the album. But they do so in subtle fashion, pouring into the songs but never intruding upon them. It‘s an audacious move but one Henry pulls off with confidence and ease. Yet for all its off handedness the songs reveal the sturdy and intentional craftsmanship of Henry’s songwriting.

Accompanied by his longtime band of drummer Jay Bellerose, pianist Keefus Ciancia, bassist David Piltch, and guitarist Marc Ribot, the songs are brilliantly constructed and unforgettably imaginative. The opening track, “Heaven’s Escape (Henry Fonda on the Bank of America)” is pure Henry, a joyful Prohibition-era romp that evokes the music of that era without being constricted by it. The gospel piano and incessant snare of “Odetta” evoke the jubilation of Sunday church, as sinners rally around one another for comfort and absolution. Guest vocalist Jean McLain kicks off the torch ballad blues of “Sticks and Stones” while Henry’s strutting guitar counters with a frenetic 4/4 tango that has to be heard to be believed.

After 2009’s wondrous Blood From Stars – an effort that was my favorite album from that year – I truly thought Joe Henry could at best hope to maintain the high bar he had set for himself. With Reverie he has done the seemingly impossible by surpassing it, keeping alive a string of five absolutely brilliant albums in a row. I honestly don’t know how he does it, or how long he’ll be able to keep up this pace. Every hitting streak must eventually end but when Joe Henry somehow releases an album that is less than marvelous I’ll only look back, shake my head in disbelief, and marvel how he did it in the first place. *****

The Little Willies

For the Good Times

Milking Bull Records

The music Norah Jones makes with her pick up band the Little Willies seems the perfect antidote for the often too mannered textures of her own albums. Hers are immaculately produced, theirs are intentionally casual. Hers are models of meticulous arrangement while The Willies would much rather strum a few cords and see what comes of it.

Neither approach is better than the other. Both demonstrate the offhanded charm that makes Norah who she is, and while For the Good Times seems designed in part to take the spotlight off her there’s no doubt that Jones is the star attraction. The jazzy warmth that dominates gives even the most light weight numbers – and For the Good Times is nothing if not light weight – as smooth as good scotch palpability that befits the material and allows the musicians to tug and twist such numbers as Ralph Stanley’s “I Worship You” and Scotty Wiseman’s “Remember Me” into new and unexpected terrain.

That’s the upswing of the album, and while nothing else here offers any such surprises it is still the type of off the cuff effort that keeps things interesting. It is by no means a statement album but that’s entirely the point. Much like the Warren Zevon/R.E.M. one shot of Hindu Love Gods For The Good Times is Norah Jones and company’s opportunity to kick back and have some fun. And most likely so will you. ***

The Bangles

Sweetheart of the Sun

Model Music Group

Since reuniting nearly a decade ago the Bangles have at times seemed a bit lost, delicately trying to capture a balance between the impeccable jangle pop that made them famous and a desire to avoid sounding so terribly dated. Having decided to dance with the one that brought them Sweetheart of the Sun smartly dispenses with any pretence of relevancy and chooses to instead reinvestigate the sound that they work so well.

To that end they’ve enlisted a most logical conspirator in the form of one Matthew Sweet, whose own career (including the two cover albums he recorded with Bangle Susanna Hoffs) has been a lesson in keeping up with the past. The album oozes with Beach Boy like vocal harmonies, Byrds fashioned guitars, and production tricks that echo everyone from the Beau Brummels to the Swinging Medallions.

But what really drives Sweetheart of the Sun are the songs themselves: Solid and smartly crafted (and yes, a bit goofy) ditties about parenthood, sagging relationships, and the inevitable reality of being dragged into middle age. They stylistically flirt with all the trademark Bangles sounds: the steady thump rock of “What a Life” is a fine compliment for the tender moments of the title track. The balance of ballads to up-tempo numbers is perfect, and another testament to Sweet’s influence. And a couple of cover tunes (perhaps considered for the Under the Covers sessions) nicely serve to round things out.

“Sweet and Tender Romance” is a delightfully obscure pop tune first done in 1964 by the British girl group the McKinleys while their take of the Nazz’s familiar “Open My Eyes” is a testament to the Bangles own gorgeous way with harmony. Sure the lead vocals have gotten a bit rough over the years but that only serves to make Sweetheart of the Sun more authentic.

I’m sure Sweet and company were tempted to smooth those edges out but in this case I think instinct won out over fixation. It may not be a classic Bangles record in the order of 1984’s All Over the Place but it is a darn solid effort from a most unexpected source. ***1/2

Dave Desmelik

Deep Down the Definition

Stereo Phonic Records

Dave Desmelik has always been known for the complexity and instinctive smarts of his lyrics but with his latest release he’s delivered the complete package, songs whose measures and musical accompaniment reflect the same precision as the words. That isn’t to say the songs at any time seem labored or over analyzed.

Part of what makes Deep Down the Definition such a joy is in the ways Desmelik works so hard yet makes it sound so damn easy. As is often the case with his work there’s no tangible recurring theme running through the album, but rather a gathering of whatever thought processes are running through his head. Desmelik ruminates about fatherhood, friendship, tough choices, hard luck, and the ways in which we somehow summon the strength to smile at the end of the day, but as always his laconic delivery belies the gravity of the situation.

Tough times aren’t just around the corner, they’re already here but we don’t yet know it. But it’s not all the bitter without the sweet. “He Won’t Go Down” is a lovely nod to Desmelik’s son Holmes, while “Success” is a clever warning to be careful what you wish for. The arrangements are sharp – credit co-producer Vinnie Constantine for channeling Desmelik’s instincts in all the right directions – and the efforts of Josh Gibbs and Andy Gibbon are remarkably sympathetic to the songs.

What it adds up to is a complete package of Dave Desmelik the songwriter, musician, and (dare I say it?) poet. It also adds up to a compelling and absorbing work that demands and, more to the point, deserves your attention. ****