Reviews

The title is to be taken seriously, yet a way back is a chance to savor the past experience.

If the name sounds soulful, there's a heart full of soul and a voice that's pure gold.

These days it's England that gives birth to the greatest soul singers, and while her name instantly reminds of Sam Cooke, Jem Cooke's the best thing on the scene since the other Sam: Sam Brown. Yet "The Next Best Thing" isn't boasting, it's rather a toast to the future, but there's a panache in her delivery worth a true star, and Jem's future is undoubtedly star-ridden. The title track of this, her debut album etches itself on your memory like a tattoo she's singing about; The Qube producer team may have contributed to the synthesizers and beats mix but it's ultimately the lady who's all frontal, vocally and lyrically: the blues of "God's Asleep At The Wheel" burn hot, while "Didn't I?" is as confessional as it gets even though the cut takes a listener to a modern disco floor. Too much going on for Ms Cooke - and more to come. Kneel down - a star is born!

*****

Nothing regal, or fairy-tale-ey, but the buzz is alright.

Third album is a quirky beast, a point to prove yourself worthy, and Ryan Rosoff, a man behind El Paso, TX's LITTLE KING has a lot going about his music, even the lyrical concept: an anonymous man's moved to change the world having heard of the Columbine high school tragedy. If only there were hooks in this lot... From the opening "All I Need" it's a radio-friendly fodder with a soft folky undercurrent, but that's the American radio, and if you don't get your kicks off Americana you can only respect the substance yet not get the form. The guitar work on display is amazing, though, on par with the prog rock's best; still, melodies are too elusive to prop the six-string magic against. Until meandering "Second Wind" slithers in, with its sitar-like backdrop and lulling tones that, unfortunately, break into alternative screaming again, and then "Antibodies" which can really jostle its way into one's head. A quirky beast, indeed.

**

The hushed comeback of the thunder master.

Having disappeared from the public radar twenty years ago, Andy Fraser is back - but not with a vengeance. Not that he's mellowed - Fraser's always been very lyrical, which shows in any of the FREE tunes he took a part in writing, a new ballad "Someone Watching Over Me" on par with any of those - Andy's just different, and that's a natural progress. And it's not just his perception of life has changed, maybe it's America that does this to people; Terry Reid, another blues legend, took a similar musical path. A path which buzzes with polyrhythmic excitement where the famous bass rumbles only in telling "Too Far To Turn Back Now", while a lead-in single "Healing Hands" gently kicks a jungle feel under the skin. Sting must beware, as there's a real contender coming whose lyrics, filled with shocking candour as in "Yours Faithfully" that tackles Fraser's illness, could hit much harder if not for the light-hearted reggae groove. This groove, so delicious in "All I Want Is You" (no, not the one by Andy's former sparring partner, Paul Rodgers), hardens, roots-style, when "Jungle" brings forth the issue of intolerance. Yet there's a fun in there, the joy oozing out of the brass-splashed rap of "Family", and "Standing At Your Window", one of Andy's several co-writes with Frankie Miller, is surely chart-bound. He's unleashed, Mr. Big, he's happy and he shares this feeling. Thumbs up!

****4/5

Streaming thinking for everybody to join in.

A quarter of the century after the first bloom, the thorns are still as sharp.

No self-loathing, only shapes of things to come.

No retro and no looking back - but there's a real headiness.

What a misleading thing it is. If the band, out of Norway, come from the past, it's only an attitude - that meticulous '70s attitude which has a thought laid out in wonderful detail - applied with a great skill to this, their first album. The opener, "Earthsong", gives a good taste of things to come: Tore Bo Bendixen's silky voice, wrapped in complex honeyed harmonies, revels in a guitar web cut across with gentle synth layers. It's as atmospheric as it gets without causing the vertigo effect, just a misty-eyed reverie, where even some riffarama feels spicy. Especially when followed by acoustic textures of "Man" and bop-pop-experimentation of "Judgement Day". And here's a game called "Guess what's the next turn is?" - a losing game and, therefore, addictive. It's easy to get hooked but quite hard to find any substantial humor in this pot o'gold. Definitely a weak spot it is, even though swinging and majestic instrumental passages of "World Reveal" present themselves in an unusual combination. The punch is packed, yet the album's a couple of tracks too long, so a certain dissipation can't be denied. Then, it's the first album, and if this is only a beginning, perspective looks bright.

****1/2

Revisiting your back catalogue with an orchestra isn't a new idea, but there's a different concept.

Hushed and humble, a new shoe-gazing star is born.

"In-here" rather than "out-there", the chaos steps out before the smooth order.

There's no need for too much complication if the music flows naturally. That's how it goes along "Eternal Light Avenue": given that this, the Canadian quartet's second, album is out some ten years after the debut and twenty years after the band came to be, the lead-in could have been taken with a good pinch of irony, if not for the delicious blend of guitar, sitar and violin it serves - and that's only the string department. There's an edge, yet pop hooks are scattered throughout, even in a pure prog of "The Wall Of Silence", whereas "Crawl" might be an early '80s dancefloor filler. An energy in the music's ebbing is matched by immense tunefulness, while a dark undercurrent never falls far, be it a fiddle in "The Waves" or organ of "Say To Me" that turn ballads into poignant moodpieces, with Bernard Ouelette's vocals no more than another colorization instrument. The second part of the record feels a little bit squashed into the traditional art rock form, still melodies and humor - a smell of rock steady for the catchy title track! - carry it all up to where the greatness resides.

*****

Want some real ambience? Get the sound from the very bottom.

Prophetically drumming into the future: insights and delights.

While most of the music becomes stolid, ethnical is solid - that's where the creative action is today, with drums playing an extremely important role in. Drummer Vladimir Badirov might not be well-known outside Uzbekistan, so shame on the West, then! The East is drawing near in the drones and guitar harmonies of "Dreamway To Scotland", yet there's nothing apocalyptical about his music, but this stew of beats and strange sounds which come out of both traditional and electric instruments is red hot. Call it an Uzbek scat, the vocal line of "Nomad In Time", and you're indeed feeling your way into that miraculous, jazzy miragey world. It entralls, it lulls, it scares - and you can't help but enjoy traveling the dunes of Badirov's mind. Whether it's a funky fusion of "The Heart" or "Mechanical City" skewed anxiety, the groove is leading the melody - to the grandiose effect in "Artificial Paradoxes" snake-like slithering of oud and the four-part "Greetings From Nostradamus", the most Oriental-flavored of all and, in "Bottomless Abyss", most spacey. Mind-boggling stuff that leaves you begging for more soul food.

*****

Pathetic paganism out of Russian gloom.

It's dark therein. This kind of music usually comes from Scandinavia, but Slavic lands have no less backlog in their woods. And if this sort of style regularly appears entwined with metal, TUMULUS indeed arose from the ruins of SCALD who folded after their singer's death. Enough for dark doom - but metal is still here, ringing around art rock dances like in magnificent "Odolen-Trava". Sung mostly in Russian - the lofty title track and ethereal "The Thread" that are in English strange exceptions - the songs have quite an organic feel to them, with flute and acoustic strumming gently placed amidst the heavy riffing, yet space between vocals and music make it all rather artificial. That's why "Sviristeli" just doesn't register, no matter how beautiful its motif is - which can't be said of the insrtumental passages mix. When it eschews metal, though, a folk masterpiece such as "Yavir", the band's vocalist's Kuchma's duet with a prominent singer Marina Sokolova, steers its way into a listener's memory, stripped bare of the pathos which wraps most of the tracks, while All of this is typical for anyone's debut, and "Winter Wood" is TUMULUS' first outing. Enough for dark doom, then: don't miss the bonus cut, "Obereg" - there's a bright tomorrow in sight.

**1/2

Unicorns are known for attracting chastity, and the Unicorn Records' music can't be anything but pure.

Reflections of the lands uncharted - for who can fathom bottom of their heart?

A rocky road with no bumpy ride, with an escape velocity to keep you on your toes.

Canadians LIGHTSPEED were, then they were not, now they are again - and, hopefully, for long. Formed in the '70s, split and reformed in the next decade, the band seem to have never lived through streaked and bleak twenty years that followed. It's not bad - quite the contrary. This, their third album was worth the effort, a titular "Waves Of Emotion" taking in everything the ensemble master: an exquisite balance of progressive harmonies, hard rock impulse and emotive serenity. Here's the puzzle complete, but any of its pieces is a diamond in itself, and there's a game in guessing what's round the bend. "One Last Time" may be a ballad too banal, if only one could escape its poignancy, but the angular "Razor's Edge" simmers wildly on Rod Chappell's bass rumble. And while three acoustic guitars and a CSN&Y-esque backing to John Persichini's lead vocals in "Young At Heart" cool it down, the spicy rawness of "Things To Come" and a vigorous interplay between Gene Murray's guitar and Gary Chappell's organ make LIGHTSPEED's world comfortable. Growing into it, waving, is a great feeling.

****1/3

No shoegazing, no emptiness - and being watchers of the skies is great.

If your influences are right, there's nothing to be ashamed of. The Italian band's love to GENESIS is too obvious to blame them for it - more so, it would be a crime because all the time changes introduced in "Damage Mode" serve the tunes. The music complexity and, in "Goddess", quirkiness get behind the melodies, drums ringing delicately thoughout, but there's a palpable feeling of a group balancing on the brink of good pop, frightened to toe the line. Well, the feat takes an ASIA pedigree to perform. Still, all the elements are in place: emotive voice and gentle flute, loping bass and extravagant keyboards ram "Shining Bald Heads" irony straight home; take the guitar attack out of it and leave the strumming, then cut in three separate songs - and voila! Here goes the hit for everyone - and lush soulful ballad "Deeper Still" is the one - whereas overall there's a joyful immersion for the serious folks. Shaving the head is not required, though.

****

First release of the re-launched label sees its fire burning gloriously. Ivory hot!

True blues pianists are rare these days; the more sensational, then, seems the advent of this 24-years old English maestro. Superficially a link between Otis Spann and Jools Holland, there's much more deeper classicism in Paddy Milner's music - in broad terms - and those in need of reference points should stick to Jack Bruce in his ivory-tinkling stance. And it's the melodies and vocal delivery which draw such comparisons, not the fact that on half of the tracks Paddy's tunes demanded lyrical verve of Pete Brown's. Add here the talents of, among others, guitarist Robbie McIntosh and legendary harmonica player Marc Feltham... and then forget it all for sheer pleasure of the music.

Easing in on samba-tinctured drama of the title piece, Milner breaks out into a scherzo-boogie, and his velvet twilight feels rather warm than neon-cold - more so, the barrelhouse whirlwind of "You Think You're So Damn Funny" or "Dreamtime" is served hot. And it's a real fun, when Stax-like brass makes room for waltzes that pull the strings in "Can't Escape The Song" and "After The Rain" to zoom out from the streets into a star-strewn sky and back home to savour "The Awakening" lull. Paddy's heart and nerve naturally counter-balance his effortless playing - otherwise, there'd be no playful blues like instrumental "Unsquare Dance" and Gershwin-ish "Beware Of The Groove" or poignant "Run For Cover" where you can't help but share the man's loss. That hits much harder than hushed-down, gently jazzy readings of "Rollin' & Tumblin'" and "Lazy Monday", yet they - as well as gracefully funky "Falling For The Moon" - are for another, grey mood.

Paddy Milner's album is a multifaceted thing, so many fantastic colors springing out of seemingly monochrome setting, most furiously in "Back To The Real World" - that's the way it should come from the black and white keys! There's a tremendous confidence in his stride on such a fragile matter as eggshells, but ghostly his presence ain't. The guy came to stay.

*****

The Scottish rock colors fly higher and higher - look it up over the wall.

There's no stagnation while the contract's still to be inked, and this young band turn up a new recording every now and then. Quite logical, as their lava-hot blues-rock best exemplified by "Remember Your Manners" which opens the bunch of songs etched onto tape in September 2004, shouldn't be cooled. It is cool already. The first glance may reveal no sophistication in its embullient brew, sometimes - like in "Romantic Violence" - careening into the Britpop, but that's until the tunes crawl into your psyche and guitar web undercurrent makes it to the conscious level. Still, who needs conscious when the visceral packs a punch here, with bass-propelled rock 'n' roll of "Chancers" burrowing down the spine to make the feet do the shimmy? Well, retain enough consciousness to play it loud, because even "Secret Life Of He", building intensity from the acoustic breezing, clinches to your lapel to not let you go. Why bother? - you don't want to walk away anyway.

****