Luka Bloom - This New Morning

Luka Bloom

This New Morning

BigSky Records

As socially idealistic and summery as this most recent release from the Irish singer/songwriter Luka Bloom is, it still resonates with a certain panache and honesty.  A facet that ought hardly be surprising, especially considering Bloom is the younger brother of Christy Moore. 

To be sure, the thirteen songs on This New Morning do much to promote and pronounce something of a feelgood factor, even though the album's opener 'How Am I To Be?' can only be deduced as being a very brave track with which to open.  This is all the more substantiated by the fact that the first four lines are fundamentally sung accapella (with just a hint of background guitar):  ''How am I to be/When so much is new?/So much feels broken/And falling through.''

Having musically set the tone of the album forthwith, Bloom decides to deflect issues by another relatively proud piece, 'A Seed Was Sown.'  I use the word proud with caution here, as it all depends on where one stands in relation to the monarchy (yes, that right folks, an Irishman singing of today's Royalty!).  In the sleeve notes - before one reaches the actual lyrics - Bloom writes:  ''May 2011, for the first time in 100 years, a British monarch visited Irish soil. Queen Elizabeth stood in the Garden of Remembrance in Dublin at the side of President Mary McAleese, and bowed before a monument remembering fallen Irish heroes.'' 

The actual song itself might not be as melodic as the opener, but the sentiment on the second bridge in particular, more than makes up for this:  ''I've been holding on/To hurts from long ago/I've been holding on/Like its all I really know/A seed was sown.'' 

I'm not really sure why, but I do feel compelled to say that This New Morning really couldn't have been recorded by anyone other than an Irishman.  Apart form the accent, it's also the sentiment(s) at play, which substantiates my thinking.  And this is especially true in the case of such tracks as the oddly titled 'Heart Man' (dedicated to a friend by the name of Shane O'Neill), the ethereal 'Capture A Dream,' and perhaps one of the more powerful songs on the album, 'You Survive.' 

Having been asked to ''write a song about surviving suicide,'' Bloom most certainly and defiantly delivers with the most utmost of poignant declarations.  For on the penultimate chorus of 'You Survive,' he tenderly declares: ''You survived/You survived/You're here another day/Of precious life.''

If nothing else, this is probably one of the most heartfelt albums I've heard so far this year, and as usual, I look forward to his next work(s).

David Marx

www.davidmarx.co.uk

Joshua Ketchmark - List of Regrets

Joshua Ketchmark

List Of Regrets

Self Release

This eleven-track album by Joshua Ketchmark, is a full on, roller-coaster ride through the back pages of downtown potential and West Coast Americana. In other words, List Of Regrets is a high-octane, smorgasbord cross betwixt mid-nineties Matthew Sweet (circa Girlfriend) Ryan Adams (circa 29) and the mighty under-rated Dramarama (circa Hi-Fi Sci-Fi).

So, lots to ponder and riddle upon.

The slow build of the blues based opening track ‘How 2 Let Go’ (replete with Prince spelling), compellingly sets the stage for what’s in store. Its kloof like musicality, wholeheartedly lending itself to the rather lyrically pensive follow-up, ‘Never Beautiful.’ A song that’s as equally introspective as it idiosyncratic, one would indeed be wise to traipse with considered caution, especially when Ketchmark sings: ‘’I can see you scatter/Breathing misconception/Into all of your answers.’’

Gadamer with a guitar (German philosopher, who, by way of Truth and Method, tried to clarify the phenomenon of understanding)? Or, inadvertent sage with a mighty list of pronouncements to make, by way of rock’n’roll?

Either way, what we have here and throughout the album as a whole, is a compelling assortment of niftily crafted toones; replete with well-constructed words and measured production by Ketchmark himself. Prime examples being the backwards Beatlesesque guitar on ‘On Your Shoulder’ and the distorted avalanche of guitars (care of Greg Ripes) throughout the alluringly titled ‘Maybe.’

To be sure, when the singer/songwriter moves away from the more obviously clinical rock stuff, the embryonic intensity of drama in such a song as ‘It Doesn’t Mean The Same’ is invariably allowed to breath and shine. A line such as ‘Spanning time between cigarettes and rosaries/And claiming that it’s/The only way,’’ might, in some quarters, be considered as good as it gets. But, because it’s partially and unfortunately smothered with superfluous clutter, it doesn’t quite hit the mark. This is a shame really, because as mentioned at the outset, List Of Regrets has oodles of potential.

The sort of which, warrants both recognition and respect.

David Marx
www.davidmarx.co.uk
www.myspace.com/davidmarx

Grinderman - Grinderman 2

Grinderman

Grinderman 2

Mute

A tough onslaught of bonkers and irresistible mayhem, this second Grinderman album is not only a swaggering statement of malevolent menace, it’s all things one has come to expect from Nick Cave and assorted Bad Seeds - plus a whole lot more besides. Indeed, hornier than an Italian erection convention, most of the songs on this nine-track CD, cum replete with counter-insurgency wordplay, skewered, shredded (backwards) guitars, a kick in the bollocks rhythm section and an overtly defiant, psychedelic, post-apocalyptic cabaret persuasion.

As one may recall, the original Grinderman manifesto was: ‘’no God, no love and no piano,’ which, depending on one’s own schismatic shaboogie, the blues/punk infused foursome fully adhered to on their debut.

But Grinderman 2 is a different animal altogether - with the emphasis on animal.

There may well be something of the continued deconstruction of Cave’s masculinity throughout, although his ravenous, lizard-brain persona is herein, far more agonistic. For instance, the gnawing guitars and persistent bass drum’n’tambourine on current single ‘Heathen Child,’ are expressively beast-driven, not to mention a little sympathetic to that of a Lennonesque inflection; especially when the lyrically ebullient Cave sings: ‘’I don’t care about Buddha/Care about Krishna/Don’t care about Allah.’’ Admittedly, some may consider the song’s construction as a simple re-working of ‘No Pussy Blues,’ but once one has taken the head-rush of imagery on board, this comparison with the latter’s tongue-in-cheek sensibility will probably fall by the wayside.

That said, it’s the musical foreboding of the album’s two opening cuts ‘Mickey Mouse and The Goodbye Man’ and ‘Worm Tamer’ that truly invigorate.

The fairytale perversion of the former, finds Cave and his three bad Seeds as bad as bad can be - wherein idiosyncratic intelligence looms and smacks its way out of any pre-ordained (trusted) parameters. Ace intermittent drums amid an equally ace, inexorable bass-riff, reveal the true grit of Grinderman’s propensity for full-throttle mayhem in the extreme. And what a fucking great, perpendicular porn like noise it is too. One can’t help but feel swept up within it’s contagious and nigh hypnotic current; for such is the velocity of the song’s initiation and invitation. Likewise, the grinding Perspex emancipation of ‘Worm Tamer,’ itself a wizened whirlpool of extraordinary sound - within which Cave magnificently reveals: ‘’My baby calls me the Loch Ness Monster/Two great humps and then I’m gone.’’

Talk about swiftly severing the warped tentacles of rock’s elongated, pregnant paralysis.

However, if it’s a great couplet you’re after, you won’t find anything more immediately enticing than: ‘’The spinal column of JFK/Wrapped in Marilyn Monroe’s negligee’’ on one of the album’s strongest pieces of work, ‘Palaces Of Montezuma.’ A tad reminiscent of The Rolling Stones’ ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ (which ain’t necessarily a bad thing) said song is thus annoyingly hummable and simply littered with such great lines as: ‘The custard coloured super dream of Ali McGraw and Steve McQueen.’’

The lyrical flip side of the above is the sparse and sinister ‘When My Baby Comes,’ in which it sounds as if Cave sings from the standpoint of a rape victim. Just like the quietest song on the band’s debut album ‘Man In The Moon,’ this too is the most severe (in terms of sexual/social analysis and provocation). It succinctly states its case before moving on.

While ‘Evil’ is akin to intelligent Motorhead and ‘Kitchenette’ is psychedelically reminiscent of nineties New Jersey outfit The Iconoplastics, the album’s closing track ‘Bellringer Blues,’ is, like many of the singer’s closing tracks, an exercise in Cave by numbers.

Other than that, Grinderman 2 is as much a divine racket as it is essential listening.

Majestically produced by Nick Launay and the band themselves, one cannot help but wonder what the next Grinderman release will entail (not to mention the effect and influence these albums will have on future Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds recordings). Great stuff.

David Marx
www.davidmarx.co.uk
www.myspace.com/davidmarx

The Overdue EP

Peregrine
The Overdue EP
Private Practice

Effervescent and ethereal, cerebral and conclusive, Peregrine are of the quintessential singer/songwriter persuasion - as in songs with considered words; which, when aligned with a certain delicacy of touch, makes for more than compelling listening. Something, which in this day and uber age of petulant pout saturation, is mighty refreshing to say the least.

Along with the likes of David Gray and perhaps early Elvis Costello circa ‘Allison,’ this five-piece Australian outfit from Sydney (although drummer Mat Smith is from Liverpool) are as equally deft at listening to one another as they are conveying the musical vision of singer and chief Peregrinian, Brett Winterford.

Having recently seen the band perform six songs at Berlin’s Jägerklause, The Overdue EP, while reasonably well recorded (mastered at Abbey Road no less!), doesn’t quite hit the mark of experiencing the band live. To be honest, this is hardly surprising, for with the (possible) exception of Bruce Springsteen, ninety-nine per cent of recording artists fall short of hitting the mark and reproducing their onstage live performance. Which in and of itself, explains why the likes of Robbie Williams and Madonna - unlike this lot - feel the need to employ several hundred (nigh) naked and superfluous dancers, several snakes and tanks, whippets, murderers, paraplegics and perverts, simply because they’re so fucking dull, vacuous, insincere and awful live. But I digress…

The EP’s opener ‘Curious’(the band's current single) is a lovely song, sung with all the illustrious persistence of someone who essentially knows what he’s talking about. The same might be said for the follow-up and perhaps strongest song on the EP, ‘The Usual Thing.’ But having watched the band perform both songs live, I have to confess they were a tad more beguiling, if not conversational in execution amid said setting.

The epic ‘Love Lost’ is something of a musical drama (replete with Gilmouresque guitar care of Felix Akurangi), the soul drenched ‘Sunshine’ truly benefits from its inclusion of what sounds like a Hammond organ, while ‘Overdue’ bequeaths the listener with a much warranted confidence and profound sense of tumultuous, groovy things to come.

David Marx
www.davidmarx.co.uk
www.myspace.com/davidmarx

Richard Hawley - False Lights

Richard Hawley

False Lights From The Land

Mute

Inspired by the sea and all things nautical, False Lights from the Land is (perhaps) something of a stopgap release by Richard Hawley that finds him casting an ever increasingly wider net unto quintessentially familiar waters. For while the Sheffieldonian may be looking to bolster his audience as a direct result of his recent BBC Radio 2 series, ‘The Ocean,’ these four-tracks, while randomly eloquent, really are nothing new.

Released on 10” Vinyl or as a Download through Mute, said EP arrives replete with all the usual Hawley hallmarks of sparkling production, wondrous song construction and shimmering guitars - but very little else.

The elongated opener ‘Remorse Code’ from his last album Truelove’s Gutter - which clocks in at just under ten minutes - is indeed a rich tapestry of textured beauty and tranquillity. All resolute and brave and reverb drenched with a plethora of tracked, Gretsch guitars, it’s a song, which bestows an entire new meaning upon the oft used, yet little understood phrase: less is more - surely another Hawley hallmark. And although reminiscent of the classic Fleetwood Mac track ‘Albatross’ (only without the melody), it’s a song that adamantly refuses to linger.

Unlike the EP’s only other original ‘There’s a Storm a Comin,’ which simply reeks with that of a melodious persuasion.

To be sure, when Hawley stumbles upon something good, one instinctively gets the feeling he knows about it. As such, this early sixties sounding, existentialist tale of romantic woe - during which the singer comes clean with: ‘’There’s a heart a breakin’/I think it’s mine’’ - convincingly steals the show.

In so doing, it takes the wind out of the sails of the remaining two covers, ‘Shallow Brown’ (a rather staid and repetitious a cappella rendition of the West Indian original) and the Hughie Jones original (yep, he of The Spinners) ‘The Ellan Vannin Tragedy.’

A pleasant nuff reminder of a talented artist, floundering betwixt albums.

David Marx
www.davidmarx.co.uk
www.myspace.com/davidmarx

Crowded House - Intriguer

Crowded House

Intriguer

Mercury Records

Interspersed with tiny kernels of sparkling potential, Intriguer is nothing other than an album of (really) strong B-sides; which, given the majestic calibre of some of Crowded House’s previous work, is both surprising and disappointing.

Their sixth album in a career that has spanned the best part of twenty-five years - and the second since reforming, following the suicide of original drummer Paul Hester - these ten songs, although bristling with ambition, merely meander amid the slipstream of cloying comfort.

In other words, what we have here is song-writing by numbers.

All correct and relatively inventive boxes are fundamentally ticked: considered arrangements, lush harmonies, impeccable musicianship etc; but the end is result is yawningly average. There’s no real anguish, no turmoil and (perhaps a little disconcerting so far as one of this band’s major strong points is concerned) no real melody! Admittedly, the likes of the McCartney induced ’Falling Dove’ and ’Even If’ might be the exception to the rule; yet even here, said songs fall amazingly short of the mark.

No where on this album is there anything that comes remotely close to the brilliance of ’Fall At Your Feet’ or ’Four Seasons In One Day.’ And while ‘Amsterdam’ did indeed sound rather wonderful when the band recently performed it live on Radio 2, herein, it sounds horribly flat and bereft of either intensity or drama. Like much of this album, it just is, which, as hinted at the outset, for a band of Crowded House’s stature, isn’t the norm and isn’t good.

In truth, Intriguer ought to have been terrific as it certainly has the potential. Such idiosyncratic tracks as ’Isolation’ and ’Elephants’ depict a certain urgency, sorely lacking throughout. But where the former evolves into ghastly heavy metal mush by way of an endless guitar solo, the latter is unfortunately lacking something. Perhaps gravitas. Perhaps truth.

Perhaps both.

Avid fans will probably love it.

David Marx
www.davidmarx.co.uk
www.myspace.com/davidmarx

Rip It Up

Rip It Up

Rip It Up
Ankh Music

These eleven, rather eclectic songs, are, if nothing else, a curious concoction of whiz-bang potential amid a slipstream of rock’n’punk’n’surf drenched familiarity. A musical ménage a trios if you’ll pardon the expression (but not necessarily the image), that bequeaths the listener with an abundance of cerebral induced sounds, many of which trigger many a moment.

Formed in the summer of 2006 and named after the classic Orange Juice hit of the eighties, Rip It Up’s same named debut introduces itself by way of a deft, delicate and somewhat surprising rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Angel.’ Going by the song’s opening guitar riff, one instinctively knows one’s in for a perpetual roller-coaster ride through the back pages of Messrs. Al Gregg and Rashid Ali’s (s)punk, drunk celebration, which in and of itself, snuff to procure many a wondrous musical waif in waiting. That said rendition consists solely of voice and guitar - neither of which outstay their respective welcome(s) for a moment - plays testament to the duo’s divine dogma of propulsive brevity.

The uber distortion of Penetration’s ‘Call It A Day’ and the title track itself, admittedly reveal closet limitation and something of a rogue like quality, although the drum-machine aesthetics throughout both, do much to inject the album with that of a (much sought after) spit’n’wit naivety. And depending on yer viewpoint, such drama can occasionally teeter upon the precipice of petulance and innocence: simultaneously. Yesireeeeeeeeeeee, this is more than substantiated by the eventual swathes of Gregg’s intuitively, distorted guitars.

While ‘Trash’ is reminiscent of a Prince out-take and the cod-reggae of ‘I Think You Ought To Know’ (replete with guitar harmonics) isn’t exactly a hundred miles removed from that of third division noo-wavers, The Members - who, for some reason or another, are still strutting their stuff - the strongest and most cohesive track on display has to be ‘Out Of Control.’

Once again, it does that teetering thing - which, if truth be qualified, is the one thing that’ll irrevocably set Rip It Up apart from the several hundred thousand other albums upon release this week.
http://www.reverbnation.com/thebandripitup

David Marx
www.davidmarx.co.uk
www.myspace.com/davidmarx