Santigold

SANTIGOLD

MASTER OF MY MAKE-BELIEVE

ATLANTIC

When Santi White released her debut album back in 2008, it felt like the ideal 21st century rock star had arrived. Under her previous moniker, Santogold, the Philly-raised and Brooklyn-based musician waved all her aesthetic influences in the air, flipping from indie rock to ’80s new wave to dub like it was the most natural thing in the world. A former A&R rep and songwriter for the likes of Ashlee Simpson and Lily Allen, she’d logged enough time in the pop trenches to know how to reel off one killer hook after another (see singles like “L.E.S. Artistes” and “Lights Out”), all while bolstering her cool-girl cred in collaborations with acts like Spank Rock.

Plus, Ms. White rocked a pair of gold door-knocker earrings like no one’s business.

Four years later, Santigold is back with Master of My Make-Believe. Aside from the first track, “Go!” in which she brags about her singularity (“people want my power/and they want my station/stormed my winter palace but they couldn’t take it”), the songs don’t assert themselves with the same smart-alecky boldness as her first record.

That’s not a bad thing, though. After a few listens you start to realize this may be the more accomplished album.

On the single, “Disparate Youth”, you can hear how much Santi’s loosened up and allowed her music to breathe. There’s enough space for Nick Zinner of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to swoop in and inject some of his warring guitar lines — jagged and lush melodies each taking a turn. It’s unexpected, and a creative counterpoint to the reggae-tinged beat.

Thanks to guys like Dave Sitek of TV on the Radio, Diplo and Switch — a hipster Dream Team if ever there was one — the production feels a lot more imaginative all around. But all this would be pointless if Santi’s songwriting savvy had atrophied. No worries there. Set to an urgent beat straight out of Kate Bush’s playbook, “The Keepers” takes all of 40 seconds to get to a catchy-as-shit chorus.
Combine that with ominous lyrics like “While we sleep in America, our house is burning down,” and you’ve got a good example of what makes Master of My Make-Believe worth listening to.

 

Mastodon returns to Van City

Mastodon at the Orpheum Theatre (May 1, 2012)

Review – Madonna

Madonna

MDNA

Interscope

Madonna’s genius has always been her mutability. On Ray of Light, she was the new age mama reflecting on her good fortune with William Orbit’s shimmering production washing over her. On Confessions On A Dance Floor, she was slinking around in a leotard and feathered hair to a soundtrack of classic disco and modern Euro-dance beats. And so on.

MDNA – her twelfth studio effort – feels like an album in search of an aesthetic. Who is Madonna this time around? It’s hard to say. The songs range from forgettable drivel (the banal cheerleader chants of “Give Me All Your Luvin”, featuring M.I.A. and Nicki Minaj) to pretty good club music (“Some Girls“) to self-preservation anthems (“I Don’t Give A.”) Vocally, she’s all over the place: one minute, Madge is doing her “Lucky Star” coo and the next she’s emoting in the ultra-serious Evita trill, leaving no cliché untouched (“like a moth to a flame”, “like a thief in the night”, etc.)

On “Gang Bang“, we’re introduced to a new voice in Madonna’s arsenal: a cold, dispassionate chick who fantasizes about shooting her lover dead. By the end of the song, the rage bubbles to the surface and she’s seething and snarling “Die Bitch!” over a tense beat. The production is fantastic, but it’s a head-scratching song on an album largely devoid of darkness.

Overall, MDMA feels like a grab-bag of material – a bid to reinforce Madonna’s legacy and remind us of her ease in inhabiting so many different personas.

New Yorker article – “The Song Machine”

Rihanna's 2011 album, Talk that Talk

Ever wonder how a multi-platinum pop single gets made? In the current issue of the New Yorker, writer John Seabrook spends some time observing the creative team behind Rihanna’s biggest singles – a group that includes production duo Stargate, the two Norwegian guys who write the beats and chord progressions, and singer Ester Dean, who writes the “top line” vocal melodies.

As soon as I finished reading the article, I had to jump on You Tube and search for one of Dean’s original demos on You Tube. For instance, it’s interesting to compare her rough, raspy version of “Rude Boy” with the slicker Rihanna hit.

When Dean spoke in the article about wanting to pursue her own singing career, I couldn’t help but think of the wonderful Allison Anders film, Grace of my Heart. It stars Illeanna Douglas as a Brill Building-era songwriter who has a knack for writing hits for other people, but wants nothing more than to make her own big artistic statement someday. If you haven’t seen it, I recommend seeking it out on iTunes or Netflix.

Review – Yukon Blonde

Yukon Blonde

Tiger Talk

Dine Alone Records

“There’s nothing on the radio,” sing the boys of Yukon Blonde on the group’s second full-length album. You could take it as a mission statement in the sense that the Kelowna-bred, Vancouver-based band seems intent on reviving the kind of punchy pop-rock made famous by acts like The Cars – music that leapt out of even the crappiest car stereo. The aforementioned “Radio”, with its insistent, economical riff and glossy vocals, has a slight “Just What I Needed” vibe, minus the ’80s keyboards. Bouncy opener “My Girl” with its “whoa ohhh ohhh” chorus and the hook-tastic “Stairway” are both tailor made for an iPad commercial (just wait!). Clocking in at a concise 37 minutes, the album’s filled with snappy songs that deliver a nice jolt of energy. But musically, there’s nothing shaking you by the shoulders with its ingenuity, no “how’d they do that?” moment. That’s fine though. Yukon Blonde’s goals are modest; for now, they’re content to bang out fun little earworms that recall the glory days of rock radio, without being too retro.

Greetings from Wellington, New Zealand

Photo by Naya Blues Photography

At the risk of sounding like the president of the St. Vincent fan club, I wanted to share a dispatch from one of her recent shows in Wellington, New Zealand courtesy of my boyfriend, henceforth known as Mr. The Bonus Track. Of her gig at the San Francisco Bath House on March 19th, he reports:

It was pretty rad.  The stuff off her new album sounds really good live — you should definitely go see her if she comes back to Van. At one point she jumped into the crowd and tried to start a mosh, but I think the Wellingtonians were too polite to bump into her, or maybe afraid of knocking her over. It was awkward/awesome.  I also forgot what a polite, respectful audience is like — you could hear a pin drop between her songs, and the place was packed to the rafters. Well done, Wellington.

If you’ve seen an amazing live show recently, drop me a line and let me know about it. I’m planning to check out at least three Vancouver gigs this spring, so I’ll be sure to post some reviews in the coming weeks.

Best Albums of 2011

I promised you my Top 5 Albums of 2011 list, so here we go! My favourite records last year were:

1. St. Vincent, Strange Mercy (4AD): Read my review from back in October. 

2. Mastodon, The Hunter (Reprise Records)

Brent Hinds in the studio

I’m not sure why Mastodon aren’t one of the biggest bands on the planet right now. I swear on my ’56 Les Paul you don’t have to be a hard-core metalhead to appreciate what’s going on here. Pop music fans can hum along to the “whoa oh” chorus in “Curl of the Burl.” Classic rock guys and girls will adore the searing solos. Technical nerds will dork out to Brann Dailor’s insanely complex drum fills. Teenage boys will find that lyrics like, “I burned out my eyes/I cut off my tongue” are suitably grotesque. Everyone wins!

I marvel at this band’s ability to put crushing riffs, shifting time signatures, dark subject matter and delicate melodies into their musical mortar, grind it all up and  produce something tasty, tuneful and awesomely bizarre.

Their previous album, Crack the Skye was beautiful, but byzantine in its construction, with a closing track that pushed past the 13:00 mark. Let’s be honest – that’s a daunting listen for the uninitiated. But on The Hunter, the songs are noticeably more succinct and insistent; it doesn’t feel like a big commitment to sit down and take it all in from start to finish.

Guitarist Bill Kelliher performs live

The band lost some people close to them around the time of the recording and one of them was Brent Hinds’ brother. The album is dedicated to him and the title track is a mournful elegy that will tug at the tear ducts of even the hardest dude out there. Though the lyrics aren’t explicitly about grief, but there’s no mistaking the emotion in the guitar playing. Then there’s “The Sparrow”, a poignant tribute to a close friend of the band who died of cancer. The sole lyrics of the song, “pursue happiness with diligence”, are a reference to that friend’s motto.

There’s so much to love on this record, I’m even willing to overlook oddball experiments like “The Creature Lives”, the only track that didn’t really work for me. Can’t wait to see where this band goes next.

3. Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues (Sub Pop Records): Read my album and concert review from May.

4. Wild Flag, Wild Flag (Merge Records)

It’s getting so pathetic/I’m so restrained/I need it to be hectic/and rearranged. (“Boom”)

One of the reasons I responded so strongly to the Wild Flag album is that you can hear Carrie Brownstein rediscovering her love of music. She yelps and attacks her guitar as though her life depends on it, lets melodies wobble and wander off the rails, before steering everything back on course. In a recent New Yorker profile, Brownstein opens up about the post Sleater-Kinney years, describing how she was too sad to play guitar because it “felt like trying on an old wedding ring.” Even though I didn’t play in one of the biggest indie rock bands of the 90’s, I can relate to this feeling. After my own band broke up after university, I didn’t have any desire to pick up my instrument. Playing guitar only reminded me that those days were long gone and it was time to focus on my career and being a grown-up. (Or so, I thought.) Now more than six years later, I’m in the process of learning a new instrument (drums) and reconnecting with the joy of making noise. It’s slow going, but I’m inspired to see the women of Wild Flag prove that rock isn’t just for the young. Us 30-somethings can still shake off the pressures of the day-to-day by making “things go boom.”

5. The Weeknd, House of Balloons (Independent): This buzzed about Toronto singer is getting a lot of high-profile mentions, including a piece in the Guardian last month.