CD Reviews by Geoff Parkes

Artist: Daft Punk                   Title: Digital Love
Label: Virgin                        Stars: None

What happens when you take away the french-eccentricity, the cheesy-as-all-fuck riff, and the general shake your booty bumpiness from a Daft Punk song?  You have a Daft Punk single that barely reaches into the late 70s of Disco dudness.  Not nearly worth it for the remix of “Aerodynamic”.  Prefer my own digital manipulations, thank you very much.

Artist: Danzig       Title: Live On The Black Hand Side
Label: Shock/Restless       Stars: ***1/2

Glen Danzig’s a funny man, isn't he?  Not content to take the Rollins Road to Redemption, nor the Joey Ramone Rocks option, the former member of seminal punk outfit The Misfits took a turn towards the darkside somewhere in the early eighties and never really looked back.  But despite such poetically gloomy titles such as “Satan’s Child”, “Deep Belly of the Beast” and the chipper “Going Down to Die”, it's hard not to feel a sense of warmth and inner love for a man who's apparently so tortured that his voice on this live double CD seems as if it's being beamed direct via satellite link-up from Hades, aka Hell itself.  I mean, imagine what a hug would do for old Glen, nearing 40 and realising his stock options in Satan.com are bust.
To tell the truth, which is something I rarely advocate, Danzig’s always been a guilty pleasure for me.  The lyrics are unimportant, which is a good thing considering the sound quality of these recordings from 92, 94 and 2000.  It's the thrilling campness of his rabid roar, a siren song for he gutted abyss, ably abetted by the band who tear their instruments apart with scattered Slayer-styled riffs and thrashy drum beats to set your balls on fire.  All your favourite Black-mass karaoke tunes are here, including Glen’s biggie (well, you do get a few nice topless shots on the sleeve) Mother, though whether he kisses his Mum with the same mouth is anyone's guess.  Heartily recommended, if only for the punkness of a major release that sounds as if it was taped on a Tandy mini-recorder.

Artist: Snow Patrol           Title: When It's All Over                                             We Still Have To Clear Up
Label: Jeepster                Stars:   1/2

I should have known by the title that I was in for a shocker.  If you can give me one thing worse than pretentious indie shite that takes itself way too seriously, I will in turn give you this CD.  On the same label as Belle and Sebastian and Ian McCullough, “When It's All Over “ marks the Glaswegian trio's second long player and has seen them hailed as inheritors to the throne of Ash and Coldplay.  Fuck it - these guys couldn't inherit my outback throne.
What in particular is wrong with this “gentler, intelligent, profound heartbreak pop”?, I hear you ask.  Firstly, it ain’t profound, unless you worship at the undergrad alter of lyrics like "Something told me we'd be happy forever/I don't see how this could change any of that.”  Secondly, there is nothing intelligent about a band whose musical tones, drowning in over-synthed attempts at harmony, stagger through the gutter of soulless, bland Brit-crock, like Noel Gallagher with a joint and a pint of melancholy gin.  I've given this shiester 3 full listens, and that's two and three-quarter more than it deserved. Steer clear unless you need a new coffee-cup coaster.

Title: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon      Stars:***

Original Soundtrack, featuring Yo-Yo Ma   Label: Sony

Ang Lee’s Oscar win for Best Foreign Film was one of the highlights of an often tepid and banal academy ceremony, along with Sir Zimmerman’s looks of puzzlement and bemusement as he strangled his way through “Things Have Changed” via a satellite linkup.  One of the elements that made Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon such a sensuous experience was the rich and often haunting music.  The evocative lilts of traditional Chinese instruments fused spectacularly with the on-screen visuals, at times soft, subtle and at others, like a rushing waterfall cascading out at the audience.
As such, it's a sonic treat to have the score released on CD, featuring the Shanghai Symphony and National Orchestras and Percussion Ensemble.  Far too often soundtracks are pumped with ditties bearing little or no connection to the film they represent, a cash-cow to milk with a mixture of hip-hop and nu-metal inanities.  Composer and Conductor Tan Dun takes the orchestras and weaves a magical web that spirals and spins, drawing you closer into the heart of Ang Lee’s ravishing epic.  For those who like to dim the lights and journey into auditory ecstasy, you won't be disappointed. 

Artist: Sheà Seger                  Stars: *

Title: The May Street Project    Label: BMG            

This site operates on a star-based system of acclamation for its music reviews - here's a lesson in how performances obtain that final rating.  Lose one star for being an enhanced CD that bores the viewer witless with sub-mid western juvenilia.  Lose another star for the attached promo sheet that somehow draws a line between Janis Joplin and this below-Alanis, high school confessionary pap.  Lose another star for an interlude, entitled “Rooftop Animals”, that contributes absolutely nothing to the sheer dullness of this debut enterprise.  And, for good measure, lose another two stars for dragging singer/songwriter Ron Sexmith into this joyless attempt at music and for a list of thanks that begins with “My heavenly father” and ends with a dotted line for the listener to include their name in the credits..
However, Ms Seger gets half a star for including an androgynous kid in a bikini-top emblazoned with the US flag on the front cover, although I doubt the irony is intentional.  And, lest it be said that I'm a careless reviewer who never listens to an album the whole way through,  the intellectually-devoid neo acoustic trip-hop discourse on Vietnam vets on “May Street”, the final tune, helped cure me of a three-day long pseudo-manic insomnia that even sleeping pills wouldn't kick.  My pillow-bound head offers you thanks.

Title: 10 Kickin’ Tracks               Stars: **
Artist: Various                          Label: Festival

A funny thing happened on the way to this review's metaphorical coliseum - I had an existential crisis that made me ponder ala Camus on life's grand ethical problems.  How do you react when a commercial, cable TV channel (V) releases a compilation consisting of what it describes as “a selection of the hottest new talent from across Australia and New Zealand”, featuring a swag of up-and-coming artists trying to get their break in what is really a bastard of an industry, full of sycophants and poseurs - and that's just the last episode of Popstars?  Do you rave about the quality of the antipodean music scene, as displayed on these ten tracks, knowing full well that you're lying.  Or, understanding that somewhere out there someone actually might read your review and purchase said album, accepting your articulate praise, do you tell the truth, and allege that what's on show here are bands lacking in originality, whose tracks weep the pus of years spent listening to Triple M?

Two coffees later, and several hundred milligrams of Camel 16-filtered nicotine coursing dangerously through my blood, I tossed in my lot with JP Satre and co, deciding that life has no inherent meaning apart from the one we create.  As a result, I sincerely recommend that you steer clear of an album that opens with 10 Fold’s ode to whining 15 yr olds, “Stay Young”, continues with a Sebastian Bach-like thrash tune “Touche Sucker” by Dragwire and concludes with a Neal Armstrong-sampling tuck-in-your-titties techno track called “Leap” that manages to massacre the inherent grace of a well-played sitar.  It's not all Jebediah/Screaming Jets crossover though - Jilted’s “3:31” works well as a guitar-led slab of gorgeous melancholy and Culture Connect's It's All Good” provides an interesting albeit slightly sexist hip-hop analysis of Darwin's night life.  I can't help feeling a little depressed after all this - 15 years ago we boasted bands like the Church and the Go Betweens, well-and-truly worthy of world-wide acclaim....what happened?  I know quality music is on show every weekend in the pubs and clubs of our sparkling cities - but how did V manage to miss it? 

Artist: Mark Kozelek                   Stars:  *****
Title: What’s Next To The Moon    Label: Badman

After reading this, most people who know me will probably think I should be re-committed to the psychiatric clinic where I spent four long moths pondering the colour of white.  Sorry folks, I haven't flipped and what I say next is heartfelt truth - let's make ACDC Australia's first poets laureate!  Forget the fact they've been playing the same three power chords, amps cranked at 13 for the last twenty years.  Messrs. Young, Young and Scott (RIP) are poets, lyricists of immense talent whose words of woe are buried by the thrash-und-throng expected by their 40 yr old fans.  Don your berets folks - I feel a petition coming on.
What the fuck does this have to do with the new album by the lead singer of San Francisco’s auteurs of slow-core, the Red House Painters?  Well Mr Kozelek has released an album of acoustic Acka Dacka tunes, a series of songs so aching in loss and longing that it's able to provoke in me feelings of national pride not seen since Kylie joined St Nick in ‘95.  On What’s Next To The Moon, Kozalek takes “Bad Boy Boogie” and strips it bare, revealing the naked phrasing of a proud man in trouble, on the outside and lonely.  “Walk On Over You” is a serenade to subtlety,  “You Ain’t Got A Hold On Me” is a falsetto plea for freedom and “Riff Raff” is a softly-strummed mourning, a foreboding tale of coming troubles that now can challenge Dylan’s “All Along The Watchtower” for duality of tone and temptation, regret and possible redemption left hanging in the air with the final, acoustic chord.  Hunt this album down, fork out the 37 Australian rupees and discover for yourself what for me may well be the album of the year.  An eye and an ear opener for all concerned. 

Artist: JJ72                       Stars: **1/2
Title: JJ72                        Label: Lakota/Warners

The English should all be rounded up from the wastelands of Bondi Beach and shot.  It's because a bunch of backpacker poms had raved to me about JJ72 that I was so excited, my expectations raised in a way my penis hasn't been for years.  After all, these 2 lads and lass, none of them yet 20, were the new Joy Division, so I was led to believe over one destructive coffee-swilling session on Glebe Pt Road.  At last, I thought, music to hold my hand as I waited for the sun to rise and send me off to sleep, music to dream of the sodden motherland, where it rains every day and even the sheep are depressed.  But no, it was not to be.  JJ72 don't sound like Joy Division, unless you toked really hard on some prime-grade reefer and contemplated what a group would sound like if Joy Division were a boy band in the post-Spice apocalyptic pop land we inhabit daily.  JJ72 are the new Suede, and as nice as Brett and the boys are, we don't need another load of cockfarming arse turkeys to pollute our fragile air ways.
Hang on, I hear you say, give the fellas a go, it's their first album and all the friggin rest.  Well fine, I gave it a go, I wanted so badly to like these guys I played this album 3 times in the one day, making sure I’d taken my Efexor first thing in the morning to put me in what I'm told is my “nice” mode.  It didn't work at 12a.m, and Springer was far more interesting.  It didn't work at 7 as the night encroached upon me - the lyrics seemed sub-Placebo, the guitars just a throwaway from a Bowie outtake, and I don't fucking like David Bowie.  Last but not least, I blew out the puff of my final cigarette at around 3 a.m. and tried again.  It put me to sleep half way through “Oxygen”, the third song.  for some small mercies, I am grateful indeed.

Artist: YouthGroup                Stars: ****1/2
Title: urban&eastern               Label: Ivy League

I'm in love - with the sounds of swirling guitars and pounding drums, with the melancholy sounds of singer Toby Martin, vocals and lyrics that match the winter gaze staring back at me from my bedroom window.  YouthGroup’s debut release, urban&eastern hits me in a different spot with every new listen.  At times I'm drawn to stubborn superlatives that make me want to crown these locals the down-under offspring of Sonic Youth and The Posies.  Other times their tender plucking, their sullen strumming, it all becomes too much and I sink back into this sonic glory like, awash in a sea of melodious guitar that makes me feel as if I'm 17 again.  Oh yeah, this album is good.
Its the 7-minute plus opener “Blue Leaves, Red Dust” that sets the tone for the 50 minutes of articulate pop-bliss that follow.  Guitarist Paul Murphy makes love to the rhythm section, ably abetted by drummer Dan Allen and bassist Andy Cassell.  “Happiness’ Border” is quick to follow, establishing Martin as a lyricist to honour, a mad chorus that comes to its terrible end, “She will be left lonely, but she will be right.”  Call it defiant, call it prophetic, either way it's enough to make me reverse my conclusions on abysmal Australian music trends, led by spotless-pimped popstar freaks.  “Guilty” sees the boys shift a gear, launching straight into a Soft-boy's soundalike meditation on a recently-released con, hung up on past mistakes and murmerings.
To create an album that sounds equally good cranked to the max or turned down low enough so you can still hear the next-door neighbours arguing at 3a.m. is astounding.  To make it your debut album, your opening move in the chess game of the soul known as the music business is brave, audacious and sheer bloody genius. 13 tracks to make you wish that summer would never come again.

Title: Any Other City                 Stars: ****1/2
Artist: Life Without Buildings       Label: Trifekta

Read my interview with Life Without Buildings

Ever wondered what a Glaswegian band would sound like if you took the rhythm section from Television and the guitar-work of the Velvet Underground, put a vocalist out the front who has the esteemed quality of a vox like Patti Smith and the elocution of Bjork and then threw in some of the most astounding/confounding lyrics you've heard all year?  Fucking excellent, that's what.  Taken from the title of an obscure Japan song, LWB are post-punk to the extreme, spinning and whirling all over genres in their quest for the perfect sound.
Apparently the vinyl release has the lyrics printed on the sleeve, but me - I was left to wander and at times drown in the rampant meanderings of vocalist, Sue Tompkins.  Whilst the opener, “PS Exclusive” gives nothing away with its “Monday Tuesday, Tuesday Tuesday” chorus, but when Tompkins comes out with I'm looking in your arse” on “New Town”, I’ll be damned if I'm not gob smacked.  What can you say when that phrase is repeated several times, each time bringing with it a different emotion with an even-greater force?  The final track, “Sorrow” is the most affecting.  Beginning like a Go Betweens song with Maureen Tucker at the helm, Tompkins uses her stream-of-consciousness lyrics to their inevitable conclusion, and Robert Johnstone’s soft guitar strummings seem lifted straight out of Lou Reed’s scrapbook, circa “Transformer”.  On the internet, debate is raging as to whether these guys are equal to, or better than, The Velvet Underground.  I'm reserving judgement for the moment, but if this debut is anything to go by, we may well have a contender for first great band of the new millennium.

Title: New Directions           Stars: **
Artist: Lynda Bacon             Label: Eggs Management

It's a sad day when someone's liner notes interfere with your appreciation of music - if you're after what I thought of this local's jazz tunes, see the second paragraph.  in the meantime, how the fuck am I expected to take seriously someone who dedicates her album to L fucking Ron fucking Hubbard on the inside sleeve.  I mean shit, we're talking about the same guy who inspired John Travolta's crime against humanity, Battlefield Earth.  We're talking about a guy who wrote hideous sci-fi pulp, thought about how he could make some cash then went out and started his own religion with his novels as the basis, making followers pay large sums of money to read the material.  We're talking about a religion that believes evil spirits on this planet are caused by a bunch of marauding extraterrestrial visitors, a religion that attracts people like the afore-mentioned Travolta and spouse, Lisa Marie Presley, Juliet Lewis and Tom-I'm-Not-Gay-Cruise.  Nicole, be glad you're gone from the stinkpit that is scientology!  And while I am it, no, I don't take seriously performers who go about thanking the Lord JC or Hare Krsna in their liners either - Whitney Houston and Boy George are just two who come to mind.  Give it up - separate the church from the turntable and let's get grooving.
Phew!  Now that's out of the way, what we have here are 9 slabs of smooth trumpet-led jazz from a woman who has established a fine reputation around Sydney for great live gigs, not to mention recorded with, among others, You Am I and Neil Finn.  A mixture of originals and covers, New Directions is relaxed, moody without the melancholia, and charming enough to have on while you're dining and wining with friends, or bonking and honking with whoever dragged you home at the end of the dinner party.  However, it's this appropriateness that drags the album down - it all seems a little too clean and no risks are taken, which is what jazz was and hopefully still is all about.  A nice gift for your Mum that won't offend you when she puts it on, but maybe if she kicks the Hubbard on the back we might look forward to a whole new presence on the national jazz circuit.

Title: The Gift - Music from the Motion Picture

Stars: ****       Artist: Various         Label: Shock

After seeing Point Break years ago, I made it a personal mission to never pay for entry into a Keanu Reeves movie.  I've heard him say “woah” enough times that I'm now prepared to submit to an ear-bashing by a National Party  member rather than sit through 2 hours of his turgid attempts at acting.  So I haven't seen The Gift and I'm not about to.  What I can do though is recommend this soundtrack to any fans of country music with a mournful soul; verandah dwellers who like nothing better than to sit with a stubbie on a Saturday afternoon and wonder why they shot their dog and left their wife in a drug-fueled binge the night before.
The CD’s 15 tracks are a mixture of tunes from the grandparents of alternative country and newer artists like Neko Case, who sets things rolling with a plaintive howl on “Furnace Room Lullaby”.  The song's about as comfortable as the title implies, twisted melodies wrapping themselves around Neko’s vocal cords and crushing the sorrowful notes out into the fresh Autumn air.  Willie Nelson pulls his mouth off the bong to bash out a lonesome ballad, his “Great Divide” sounding as if it were coming from deep in the Grand Canyon.  Loretta Lynn gets a double twirl, first trying a hackneyed explanation to a son why God has taken his Daddy - the kid keeps pissing her off by asking “Mama Why” - and later on “Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven”, a tune Kasey Chambers fans will know well.  Outlaws like Waylon Jennings and Merle Haggard, fresh from his signing with Epitaph, reel their way through “Wastin’ Time” and “If I Could Fly” respectively, the later a wish to escape that Eddie Vedder could be proud of.  The bar-owner in The Blues Brothers was proud of saying, “This bar plays two types of music - country and western.”  Somehow I think even he would enjoy this.