If dorks had parlors, they would listen to Dr. Dog’s We All Belong in them. Partially, this would be to play rousing games of spot-the-reference, to see who could be the first to pick out the George Harrison guitars on the title track, or the “Sloop John B” response in the chorus of “The Worst Trip.” But, mostly, it would be because Dr. Dog makes exceedingly suave psych-pop (the better for giving the turntable a break). On We All Belong, joyous harmonies tumble atop one another like the Three Stooges. Often, it’s all too much, like on the essentially plaintive “Weekend,” but it’s never anything less than good, clean fun. “My Old Ways” recalls British music hall (now evoking sentiment for three generations!), without ever approaching The Beatles’ hookiness. But that’s okay. If Badfinger successfully gave people their Beatles fix in the early ‘70s, then Dr. Dog can sure-as-Ringo do it now.
THE GOOD, THE BAD & THE QUEEN
The Good, The Bad & The Queen
Virgin
It’s not uncommon for musicians once made popular for a specific sound, to decide to reinvent and broaden their sonic horizons. Generally, this only illustrates how limited the performer is—but there are instances where the expansion takes, exposing a new vision. Let’s call it ‘Paul Simonization.’ Damon Albarn has already proven himself adequately Simonized with the rise of Gorillaz, the dark junglepop group he conceptualized on a break from his day job, Blur. But with his latest project, The Good, The Bad & The Queen—also featuring his new righthand man, Simon Tong (nee The Verve), Africa 70’s Tony Allen, The Clash’s Paul Simonon and producer Danger Mouse—Albarn aims for a fresh fusion. More akin to the sound of Blur’s Think Tank than Demon Dayz, TGTBATQ’s mellow reggae-style basslines pair with plinky piano melodies that often seem to take a page out of the Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons songbook. Mixed along with Albarn’s signature talkcrooning and otherworldly atmospherics, the album ends up a series of 12 ambient, often jaunty, jams. These aren’t Gorillaz-style hit singles, but they weren’t crafted to be. TGTBATQ attempts something new— and ends up as, simply, an impressive debut from unlikely comrades.
One of many bands to follow Phish’s lead, the Disco Biscuits express themselves through improvisation with long instrumental jams. Live is the best way to experience them, and this relic from their New Year’s 2005 show at The Hammerstein Ballroom in New York will not disappoint Bisco fans. The night was fraught with emotion, as original drummer Sam Altman had decided to bow out of the group following the show. With this in mind, the band “recommitted themselves to producing the sickest, most insane music ever made while they still had all four original cylinders,” Relix contributor Benjy Eisen opines in the liner notes. That may be a bit of hyperbole, but Eisen is right when he acknowledges the power of this performance. Twelve minutes into the 32-minute opening opus, “Magellan,” guitarist Jon Gutwillig goes off on a run of jazz chords that truly astounds. The pace is quick and nimble, with bassist Marc Brownstein, keyboardist Aron Magner and Altman complimenting Gutwillig. Later, Magner’s piano elevates “Frog Legs,” which segues into “Crickets” (37 minutes total!). As for Altman, who according to Eisen had a good cry after the show, the drummer’s propulsive beats dominate this lengthy live disc. He may be gone (replaced by Allen Aucoin), but he’s not forgotten.
When talking singer/songwriters, it’s no easy feat to encompass the kind of visceral and organic energy of a full-fledged, plugged-in band, but Australian born Xavier Rudd proves one man can match that lofty level of organic combustion. Sounding something like a young Paul Simon with the slightest of Australian drawls, Rudd becomes a singular music machine, craftily meshing reggae, folk, rock and jazz with a special eye for what sparks absolute fire. Lyrically, Rudd proves he is really that good, spinning poetry as if born to do so all in an entrancing and calming tone. Syncopated guitar work serves as the backbone of Food in the Belly, but this is hardly an album about one single instrument. Adding impressive didgeridoo skills to the mix along with djembe, stomp boxes and banjo makes for a truly worldly sound. From the first track, “The Letter,” Rudd takes off, laying into the jazzy guitar sound that envelops Food in the Belly, and the glacial emotion only builds from there.
Whoever bears the conch (remember The Lord of the Flies?) keeps order and command. moe.’s seventh album, symbolic in name, pits the traditional fist-pumping moe. rock anthems up against dark melodies that rise from the moody sublime. Compare the ‘70s-inspired high falsetto bop of “Blue Jeans Pizza” and the suck-you-in tornado whirl of “Tailspin” to its opposite, but just as rocking, smokerising, demonic draw of “The Pit,” a GPS instructional that brings you “all the way down to the bottom.”What you get from The Conch are continuous exchanges between high and low, and the 17 tracks will keep you swinging back and forth in pendulum purgatory.
After shedding its basic beat and melodic Moog drone, “Wind It Up” meanders like an Arabian night— sliding up and down the chromatic scale, finally unwinding in a Queen-esque, no-holds-bar finale. “She,” a light-hearted lilt, dips into the ether of mid ‘90s alt rock with wistful lyrics that follow the moments of a young girl. moe.rons will undoubtedly take notice of the debut of “Another One Gone,” a deconstructed dirge that overlays a simple bongo with an offbeat Jimmy Cliff rhythm and hauntingly inquires “how are you going to go?” moe.’s foray between the dim and the dark works for them— these are not the satanic sounds from Slayer, but an easier listening graveyard rock. Check out “Brittle End” which remains a far departure, from say, anything off of the sugary sweet No Doy.
Similar to Wormwood, which combined the best of both worlds (live takes from the road and additional work in the studio), The Conch capitalizes on the same recording evolution. This secret key is documented and heard on “The Road,” one of the songs performed during moe.’s two-night stand in 2005 at The State Theatre in Portland, Maine. As far as moe. tunes go, “The Road” covers all bases: carefully constructed space-reaching jams brimming with threatening guitar solos that cohere to the bands vocal harmonies and bring it full circle. “Down Boy,” about the breakup of a one-sided friendship, ain’t so easy to do, especially when it’s that leach of a friend you just can’t shake. After “six years time” it’s time to take back control—or in moe. speak, if you will, the conch.
