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           George Clinton’s P-funk got serious with Funkadelic and Maggot Brain, his acid-frazzled mind directing the outfit to absorb issues of race, drug use, and poverty from a different angle, and while doing so, he came up with arguably the greatest funk album of all time. When a record opens on one of the most worshipped guitar solos (following the words: “I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe / I was not offended / For I knew I had to rise above it all / Or drown in my own shit.”), you know a juggernaut of an album is headed your way. At this point, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’ve found the Afro-American counterpart (or predecessor, perhaps) to Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon.” With the title-track, Clinton instructed Eddie Hazel to drop a guitar solo like he’d just found out that his “mama had died,” before making the second half of it u-turn, lifted with the idea that she was still alive. The results were such that the solo became the song; after Hazel ripped through a spectrum of colour all on his own, the other band members’ music was dropped from the mix because it simply paled in comparison. Instead, a softly picked guitar figure is the only accompaniment present, making it feel as if complete darkness is all that exists outside of that gamut.

            Twisting acoustics, raining funk drums, reverberating rubber bass, call-and-response vocals that play off each other as if it’s soul versus gospel… “Can You Get to That” is without doubt one of the most brilliant songs ever made – it’s a veritable sermon of funk, and typifies beautifully everything that Funkadelic were capable of. There’s a real Band of Gypsys feel to the racing, funky-as-hell “Hit It and Quit It,” Hazel’s Hendrix-like wah-soaked riff crashing into a rhythm held afloat with a Buddy Miles-esque harmony, before a soaring, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it chorus briefly steps out. Here, Hazel’s trademark guitar sound has the solo sounding like someone walking further and further down a dark, battered studio hallway. Although perhaps overly simple, “Hit It and Quit It” is effective nonetheless – see if you can try and stop yourself from singing along.

            The Sly and the Family Stone-inspired “You and Your Folks, Me and My Folks” resonates with a powerful thud. Billy Nelson’s bass falls like a heavy weight, bouncing along as the drums are phased and panned out to give the track a shaking, extra strength, while the soulful “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” weaves through to help write funk history. Another roaring riff, “Super Stupid” slams Black Sabbath into Hendrix, pushing at the funk, keeping things simple as all the right ingredients (keyboard, flying solos, great percussion) are mixed together tightly.

            The watery “Back In Our Minds” (a brilliant title, but a state that’s hard to believe, especially given the nature of the next song) sounds as if it’s been sampled by a hundred different West-coast hip-hop tunes, decidedly more Parliament than Funkadelic, but head-bobbing magic all the same. “Wars of Armageddon” brings things to the boil by fusing power-funk and experimental sound collages, riding an extended groove while trying to satisfy a wandering curiosity with any random sound-bite that floats along. As we hear babies coohing and the sound of protest demonstrations mixed up with superb drum fills, “Wars of Armageddon” cements the notion that Maggot Brain is an accompaniment for an out of body experience…or a trip through the outer-perimeters of the mind, at the very least. In terms of funk, this album holds regal status; in terms of psychedelia, it’s a bastard son… together, there’s arguably nothing in either style of genre that can quite match Maggot Brain’s quality pound for pound.

Popularity: 1% [?]

            The White Stripes aren’t up to their old tricks, and more’s the pity. Although artists are regularly crucified for either sticking to the same tried-and-tested formula or changing their direction after a critically acclaimed album (in other words, you’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t), I think it’s safe to say that shelving the presence of Jack White’s guitar sound is chiefly responsible for making “Get Behind Me Satan” somewhat of a letdown, losing the kind of thrusting punch the duo were capable of displaying on “Elephant.”

             Starting the album with the rocking “Blue Orchid” (and releasing it as the first single some time in advance) is quite a misleading move, and perhaps even cynically so. Kicking things off with a hook-laden, gritty slice of pop-rock in the same vein as the best that “Elephant” had to offer, while still managing to keep things fresh, “Blue Orchid” promises to deliver exactly what most of their fan base will have been waiting for. What follows, however, is an album largely made up of piano-based tunes, stripping down an already sparse sound even further.

             The problem with this alteration is that the songs aren’t as filled out on the piano as one might expect; it sounds as if it’s being played like a guitar (note by note, as if the piano only has enough keys for one octave), the riffs being merely transferred from one instrument (the one they were most likely written on) to another with the hope that it’ll translate effectively. A notable exception is the superb “Red Rain,” which, although experimenting with effects on the vocals, is conducted within their more favoured dynamic, and reassuringly nails down their brand of distorted blues with aplomb.

             The same can’t be said for the uninspired “Instinct Blues,” however, which covers worn-out templates and helps cement the impression that “Get Behind Me Satan” is certainly the White Stripes weakest effort lyrically. Similarly, the Motown-jingle of “My Doorbell” could have been brilliant – the soulful breakdown of “you don’t seem to come around, push your finger and make the sound…” is inspired – but the song’s main spit is repetitive to the point of being criminal, and in the end, feels a little too improvised. While Meg’s inability to sing is unnecessarily indulged on the filler of “Passive Manipulation,” thankfully, it’s followed up by the much needed highlight “Take, Take, Take,” with some Jimmy Page-like acoustic strumming padding out the pounding, beaten-up piano.

             In terms of production, the White Stripes have gone for a rough and unpolished, live “demo” feel for the recording of “Get Behind Me Satan,” with glasses smashing in the background, and one element always being left higher up in the mix than anything else. Stylistically, the same charming element of White’s song-writing is still there, but this time out, it’s an album full of “I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother’s Heart,” only softer, more acoustic, and without zest. Although I’m sure the album will achieve commercial success purely on the back of their former glories, the White Stripes will need Satan to help them out if this is to make any kind of lasting splash in the grand scheme of their career.

Artist / Group:
The White Stripes
Album:
Get Behind Me Satan
Label:
V2
Released:
7th June 2005

Popularity: 1% [?]

1. Iron & Wine – Woman King – Woman King
2. Rufus Wainright – One Man Guy
3. José Gonzélez – Slow Moves – Veneer
4. Arcade Fire – Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles) – Funeral
5. The Black Keys – Girl Is On My Mind – Rubber Factory
6. Sonny Boy Williamson – Bring It On Home – The Real Folk Blues
7. Antony and the Johnsons – For Today I Am A Boy – I Am A Bird Now
8. Modest Mouse – Dig Your Grave – Good News for People Who Love Bad News
9. Modest Mouse – The Devil’s Workshop – Good News for People Who Love Bad News
10. Dave Cavanaugh – The Beast – Mulholland Drive OST
11. Nina Simone – Be My Husband – Pastel Blues / Let It All Out
12. Andrew Bird – Opposite Day – The Mysterious Production of Eggs
13. Ted Hawkins – Sorry You’re Sick – Watch Your Step
14. Brendan Benson – Metarie – Lapalco
15. Róisín Murphy – Off On It – Ruby Blue
16. Bruce Springsteen – All I’m Thinkin’ ABout Is You – Devils & Dust
17. Caribou – Bees – The Milk Of Human Kindness
18. John Fahey – Let Go – Let Go
19. M. Ward – One More Goodbye – Old Enough 2 Know Better: 15 Years of Merge Records Merge
20. Santo & Johnny – Summertime – Instrumentales de Siempre
21. The Beatles – Cry Baby Cry (outro) (0:36) – The White Album

Popularity: 1% [?]

           Often is the case with stalwarts of the music industry that, twenty albums down the line, when the grey hair has long since begun to set in, the artist will tell us that they’re “getting back to basics” by delivering a “storytelling” album written in the third person. So it is with Bruce Springsteen’s latest release, “Devils & Dust,” a familiar, unremarkable album intended to act as a collection of specific narratives about people who put themselves at risk in life on a daily basis – people who have something eating them up, but just aren’t quite sure what.

             On the accompanying bonus DVD, Springsteen takes to a beaten-up room with a beaten-up acoustic to play the album’s scant highlights while offering a few words of explanation (a wonderful idea that would be welcomed with any new release), but even then, there are slight overdubs added to the songs. So it was with a slight sense of apprehension that I attended this “solo and acoustic” gig, wondering whether or not it would work in a venue as big as the Point, stripped of the album’s back-up singers, percussion, strings, and horns. However, watching him stand alone on the massive stage, there was one point when a flash went off right below Springsteen, and for a split second, it projected his guitar-straddled silhouette fifty metres high behind him. It fires out a quick reminder of the stature of his presence, and it’s then that you realise why you’re there: to see what this icon of stadium rock will do without the dynamic and chemistry of a big ensemble to work with.

             From the outset, it’s clear that the Springsteen’s strategy is to keep things as varied as possible, cycling through pump organ, acoustic guitar, electric piano, harmonica, Rickenbacker, twelve-string, and banjitar. Opening proceedings as if attending a wake, an elegiac version of “My Beautiful Reward” floated out from the pump organ, followed by a rendition of “Reason to Believe” performed solely through a harmonica behind a filtered distortion a la Charlie Sayles, with just a pounding foot to keep rhythm.

             The between-song banter is frequently entertaining (remarking that the Flintsones would be banned today: “The Neanderthal setting, and that whole homoerotic subtext to the Fred/Barney relationship…” before recounting his meeting with Roy Orbison), often informal and charismatic (“I’m divorced. That kind of does it – I’m screwed, right?”), but occasionally bordering on world-weary life lessons, punctuated with a nervous laugh.

             Brilliant moments were aplenty, however; a piano re-working of “Real World,” an electrified “Part Man, Part Monkey,” and a captivating “Promised Land” that included a brilliantly tapped out percussion on the base of the guitar. Such was the silence that Springsteen commanded during the songs, that halfway through “The Hitter,” he found himself competing with the sound of the thundering rain soaking the top of the Point Depot, resounding like a strange, ghostly applause still lingering on. After he begun the encore by laughing his head off though “Ramrod,” a section of the crowd left their seats and began to file up through the aisles like converts drawn towards the preacher, but like more lemmings following one entranced nut who decided to advantage of the lax security.

             However, these memorable instances were to act as pillars to bridge the two and a half hour set over the weaker moments, which unsurprisingly, came from the new material. In particular, the dreary “Jesus Was An Only Son,” although interrupted by Springsteen’s own musings on child rearing, still couldn’t help but bore, and the overly-long “Matamoros Banks” was met with no less than three false-applauses — a clear hint from the audience to wrap things up. Here, and in several other places, Springsteen was guilty of “hoo-hooing” the end of a number of songs in the exact same way: like a giddy, drunk owl deciding to soldier on in the face of isolation. One might also find it strange that the throwaway simplicity of “All I’m Thinking About Is You,” one of the better cuts from “Devils & Dust,” was not deemed worthy of inclusion in the run of the things.

             Although a set of such length gives you more bang for you buck, so to speak (and it would want to, with such a staggeringly high price tag), it’s rare to come away from a gig thinking that a shorter length may have been more effective. While Springsteen’s solo show was a better performance than the teeth-pulling storytelling that marred Neil Young’s last Dublin performance (although Springsteen did request a similar despotic code of rules for the crowd to follow), it’s still not quite up there with the mesmeric mystique that the world of Tom Waits’ live shows inhabit (and one gets the impression that these two artists were in mind at the birth of “Devils & Dust”).

             Despite the fact that the entire show was crystal clear (the notable exception being the decision to drown the finale, “Dream baby Dream” in a droning reverb), and that it was received with a pin-drop respect, the “magic” would certainly have been far more tangible in a smaller venue such as Vicar St. or the Olympia. As Christy Moore will tell you, intimacy is not always something easily found in front of 7,000 fans, but if Springsteen can’t find it in himself to turn down the revenue of the larger stadium-like buildings, then perhaps in future he could do a Bob Dylan and play both types of venue on consecutive nights. Regardless where he chooses to perform, Springsteen’s “maturer” sound is doubtless a long distance travelled for someone who once wrote brilliant songs about cars and girls.

Popularity: 1% [?]

           Do albums have sequels? Aidan Moffat’s latest release, “Touchpool,” is certain proof that such a thing exists. A direct follow up to the sleepy sanctuary of 2002’s “Hypnogogia” (a tour de force of ambience designed to be the perfect album to fall asleep to), insomniacs who’ve since worn out their copies will be glad to see the return of warm, sweeping synths and lulling rhythms.

            Though containing no surprises, there are a few notable differences this time out: while sounding less panoramic than “Hypnogogia,” the beats behind each track on “Touchpool” have a more natural feel and don’t stick out quite as much as the dated drum-machine sounds of the previous release, which is a definite plus. Also absent is anything resembling a vocal sample (such as the chanting of tribes or the sounds of the rain forest), and, perhaps as a consequence, there are less memorable moments or standout tracks here. Instead, “Touchpool” makes these subtractions inconspicuous by being delightfully cohesive and working that little bit harder to achieve its merits, particularly with songs such as “Jim Dodge Dines at the Penguin Café,” a surreal but wonderful blend of bossanova beats, classical strings, sliding country guitar, and a Mariachi band’s horn section.

            The same dynamic of shimmering string sections and whispered, marching percussion successfully conjure up the sounds of some cloudy, far-off dream land that’s tranquil enough to beckon you to sleep, but be warned: the idea behind these songs is based on repetition, so if not being played when trying to sleep, they should always be listened to when doing something else.

            As serenity takes centre stage once more, Touchpool’s cohesion is by far its most appealing feature, ensuring a seamless flow into its calmer, more blissful moments, such as the album’s extended closer, the fittingly titled “Total Horizontal.” Sounding like Amon Tobin’s “Permutation” on downers, “Touchpool” will have you nodding of to sleep with a smile on your face, and though it’s difficult to separate it from “Hypnogogia” aside from the reasons already mentioned, Lucky Pierre’s army of converted insomniacs will agree that that’s not such a bad thing.

Artist / Group:
Lucky Pierre
Album:
Touchpool
Label:
Melodic
Released:
14th February 2005

Popularity: 1% [?]