Take Five: Rediscovered sounds
It's not always clear why something comes to mind, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a number of dusty records still hold up: Robyn Hitchcock, Spoon, Joe Henry, Loudon Wainwright and Sand Rubies
“Take Five” is posted each Friday, and offers five things I spent some time with over the course of the previous week. No criticism, no in-depth analysis, just a few things I think you might be interested to check out. When the spirit moves me, I’ll post other things at other time times.
This is pretty much all about rediscovering music today. I listen to so much new music that old favorites can sometimes gather dust for years before something leads me to revisit it. It's not exactly like discovering something new, but I do find that time offers a sort of reset that allows me to hear things that might have escaped notice in the first blush of infatuation.
Looking for something to watch on the treadmill recently, I found the Jonathan Demme documentary Storefront Hitchcock on Amazon Prime. The 1998 film documents a Robyn Hitchcock performance shot in December 1996 in an abandoned NYC clothing store. The conceit of the film is that Hitchcock is clearly visible through the windows as the city walks by, the pedestrians largely oblivious to the music within. Hitchcock performs solo for the most part, joined on a few tracks by one of two accompanists. I have had the soundtrack since it was released and must admit I never listened much. Given the limited release of the film itself at the time, I had never seen it. It's an oddly compelling film, focusing mainly on his then most recent work, with nine of the 14 songs coming after what I would consider his critical and commercial heyday of Remain in Light, Globe of Frogs and Queen Elvis. As such, while casual fans might not connect, for deeper fans these are revelatory performances made all the more compelling by the (admittedly limited) visuals. There are many more recent Hitchcock concerts on YouTube should you watch this and want to seek out more.
One of my favorite music podcasts offers the regular opportunity to revisit older albums. "The Life of the Record" features interviews with people associated with the creation of classic indie rock albums. Host Dan Nordheim interviews his subjects and then edits himself out so the artist is the one telling the tale. The most recent episode covers Spoon's 2014 album, They Want My Soul, recently given the 10th anniversary reissue treatment. Thinking of Spoon leader Britt Daniel, I think about singer-songwriter Nick Lowe. I'm not sure why, but I can see a post-Spoon Daniel as a suave crooner like the second-act Lowe. If he follows that path, however, he's already behind. Daniel is 53. When Lowe was 53, he had just released The Convincer, the third album in what was seen as a trilogy that fully established him in the new, more mature sound that left behind the playful pub rock of his past. Explaining his shift, Lowe said in 2002, "I think getting older has suited me. I mean, I do feel my age, but I don’t feel like I thought I was going to feel. I feel like I’m just starting to get the hang of this songwriting thing." I had thought wheels had been spinning a bit for Spoon since 2007's Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, but this podcast episode has given me a new appreciation of They Want My Soul. Maybe there is life left in Spoon after all. If so, I'll just need to wait to see how gracefully Daniel slides into old age.
Joe Henry's 2007 album, Civilians, was my favorite of that year according to the list I posted at my old blog, Things I'd Rather Be Doing1. At the time I said:
Any time Joe Henry enters the studio, you ought to clear a spot in your top 10 list. When he does so with a batch of his own songs, there’s little point in considering anything else for the top spot. With Civilians, Henry may well have crafted his best disc, one that seems a culmination of every twist, turn and blind alley of his career without rehashing any of it. He surrounds himself with different players each time out, and no two albums sound alike. Despite that, he has created an inimitable, yet readily identifiable sound of his own, and Civilians is a shining example of that excellence.
Yes, younger John, but what does it sound like? That comment about it being a culmination of what came before is slightly accurate. It feels like a more logical successor to his more country-leaning albums from the early 1990s, yet with the more adventurous instrumentation of his later work. It is more stripped down, less mannered, and lets his strong melodies and tight-wound narrative lyrics shine through. A new reissue adds a few demos that show he knew what he wanted right from the start. Listening yesterday, I would say I stand placing it on that lofty perch in 2007.
Listening to the Henry album also brought Loudon Wainwright III's Strange Weirdos album back to my ears. Henry produced this 2007 album using essentially the same group that he used on Civilians, including guitarist Bill Frisell, pedal steel guitarist Greg Leisz, and drummer Jay Bellerose. The album is both a Wainwright solo album — his 18th — and the soundtrack to Jud Apatow's film, "Knocked Up." It's a late career (or given that Wainwright continues to tour and record, perhaps late mid-career is more accurate) highlight. It shares a sensibility with the Henry album, but it is looser, more playful as befits the work of a prankster like Wainwright. It features one of my favorite Wainwright tunes in the opener, "Grey in L.A.," as well as some wonderful guitar work from frequent Wainwright collaborator and tour mate Richard Thompson on tunes like "Lullaby." Wainwright and Henry co-wrote "You Can't Fail Me Now," and each took a crack at it giving listeners the best chance to hear the similarities and differences between the two albums.
I’m not sure why I pulled out my old albums by The Sidewinders, but I’m glad I did. Their two albums for RCA— 1988’s Witchdoctor and 1990’s Auntie Ramos’ Pool Hall — hold up, their guitar rock that was categorized as alternative because of the lack of polish still hitting hard three decades hence. The real rediscovery, however, was the core duo’s debut as Sand Rubies. After being sued by another band named Sidewinder, the Arizona-based Sidewinders changed their name. This never goes well, and that was certainly the case here. After bouncing around labels and losing two members, the rechristened group issued what was essentially its fourth album in 1993. I had lost interest at the time, and the more polished, expansive sound didn’t scratch the same itch as those earlier albums. But listening now, the Neil Young influence (overt as it was given their cover of his “Interstate” and their use of his frequent producer, David Briggs) is much clearer, and the depth of the songs much more obvious. The album went nowhere, the band trudged through the sands of indifference for a few more years before splitting up, and this album was forgotten. Rescued, it will stay in rotation for a while.
Fittingly, Spoon’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga came it at no. 8 on that 2007 list, while Nick Lowe’s At My Age followed it at no. 9.