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Pop Rock Nation

Category: Reviews

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  • Taylor Hicks’ “The Distance”: True To No One But Himself

    taylor

    Taylor Hicks by far received the most derision of any “American Idol” winner in the show’s existence. He wasn’t “young”, he wasn’t “cute”, he wasn’t “pop”, and there was the whole screaming “Soul Patrol!” thing that rubbed a lot of folks the wrong way. But I’ll put my musical reputation on the line and say that Taylor was the most musically sound “American Idol” winner in the show’s history. With years of singing in smoky bars and clubs behind him, Hicks personified a musician’s musician. Which also explains why he butted heads with the major-label suits who didn’t know what to do with him and wound up releasing the worst-selling debut album by an “American Idol” winner in history (although with a not-too-shabby shiny Platinum record, we shouldn’t cry for Taylor too much).

    Despite the relative lack of success of Taylor’s debut, it was still the first album by any “Idol” contestant that I ever bought with my own money, and I enjoyed it a good bit. Hicks would have been right at home on the charts with Steve Winwood, James Ingram and (the singer he most resembles) Michael McDonald, on the charts back in 1986, and since that’s an era of music I’m particularly fond of, his music sounded just fine for me. However-it didn’t sound just fine for his label, and Taylor and the folks at 19 Management and RCA Records agreed to part ways.

    So now Taylor Hicks is an indie artist, which is probably right where he wants to be, making the album he wants to make. That album, “The Distance”, shouldn’t be much of a surprise to those who’ve been following the grey-haired crooner since his “Idol” days. The music is straight-ahead pop/rock, with no trendy bells and whistles. The production, helmed by British pop legend Simon Climie, is solid if a little too clean (and completely recorded on “live” instruments! Barely a synthesizer to be found!), and then there’s Taylor’s husky voice. While he’ll never be the soul singer he fancies himself, it’s fairly obvious that this man has the right set of influences and has listened to his share of Marvin Gaye and Ray Charles.

    So, here’s the thing about Taylor, right? You know the guy’s going for the obvious, hokey cliché, but you go there with him anyway because he obviously believes what he’s singing. Take the track “Nineteen”, one of several songs on “The Distance” with a bit of a country flavor to it. You’ve heard songs like this a million times before-kid witnesses 9/11 and decides to enlist to serve his country. Despite the obviousness of the song concept (and here’s a spoiler-the kid doesn’t die), Taylor infuses the song with such a personal investment in the lyrics that you can’t be mad at him.

    Ultimately, that’s “The Distance”’s saving grace. Taylor takes boilerplate lyrics about topics like racism (the well-intentioned but kinda cheesy title track) and the media’s celebrity obsession (the cheeky rave-up “Keeping it Real”) and, by virtue of his delivery (which nevertheless skates around Michael Bolton aneurysm territory a couple of times) makes them listenable. However, don’t let another soul singer get within sniffing distance. Fellow Season 5 finalist Elliott Yamin shows up for a cover of 2009 Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Famer Bobby Womack’s classic “Woman’s Gotta Have It”, and his warm, Stevie-inflected delivery leaves no doubt as to who should have really won “Idol” that year.

    In a time when we have previous “Idol”s tucking their tails between their legs and kissing corporate butt for a hit (hi, Kelly Clarkson. I’m talking to you), I’m backing Taylor Hicks just on principle. The kid (and I can afford to say “kid” because he’s younger than me) came in with a plan to get himself heard, accomplished it and then went back to doing what he loved best, only with a bit more fame to carry his name. Something tells me he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  • Who Stole Thievery?

    Who Stole Thievery?

    No one doesn’t like Thievery Corporation. They’re funky, they’re groovy, they’re just plain cool. They flip basslines to the sitar, they trade the traditional drumset for bongos and wood blocks, and their sexy lounge rhythms could form the soundtrack of a jewel heist movie. They’re on my “top ten favorite bands of all time” list.

    It’s a sweet moment when you find out that a group you absolutely love is playing in your town. Especially if it’s Thievery. Even the long wait until showtime is sweet.

    They opened the sold out show with Lebanese Blonde, which they pretty much had to do given how many people saw Garden State. Even though it’s their most well-known song, it’s a legitimately great song – that sitar charms you like a snake.

    Thievery Corporation doesn’t just play a concert – they put on a real show. For the first fifteen minutes, I was literally agape at the sheer awesomeness of the spectacle: the slinky-scarved Persian dancer; the woman in what looked like a cross between a fairy costume and a French maid outfit; the guy jamming on the sitar; the block player; the bongo guy; the deadpan and afroed horn section; the bass player who danced and slid around in his socks; the DJ on an elevated stage behind them, at the top of the pyramid, lit from behind by a screen panel that dimmed until he looked like a god, illuminated and conducting this enormous orchestra. That was all sweet as hell.

    Then they started playing songs off their latest album, Radio Retaliation, and they lost me. This is by far my least favorite of their cds – Mirror Conspiracy is my favorite, with DJ Kicks and Richest Man in Babylon not far behind. Radio Retaliation marks the shift from groovy lo-fi to full on reggae.

    Thievery has been dabbling in reggae sounds for a while – some of the songs on the aforementioned wonderful albums explore Rasta sounds and slants, and they work because the voices and beats add layers to the grooves rather than hijacking them.

    It’s not bad music – I don’t think Thievery is capable of that. Objectively, it’s decent reggae/dub, complete with laudable anti-war, anti-Bush themes. The guys who performed these songs dressed in white pressed pants and navy blue overcoats. They’ve got dreadlocks and damn, can they move. The problem is that they sounded more like Fela Kuti than Thievery. They sounded almost ordinary.

    Regardless of their song choices, Thievery has an amazing energy that vibed really well with the crowd at the House of Blues.

    So hey, the Boston House of Blues is open! It moved from Cambridge to Fenway, where Avalon used to be. It’s bigger than Avalon – apparently it can hold about 3,000 people (it didn’t seem like there were that many people, but the third level of the place is reserved, so I have no idea how many people can fit up there. I hear there’s bleacher seating).

    I hung out on the second level, where the Aztec and black and white paintings make it feel like a museum. Water costs $4. The bathrooms are big and clean. The sound system thumps and envelops without ever reaching a cringe-inducing volume, and the lighting verges on psychedelic. The floor was so jammed that people had to settle for collectively swaying, but a little dance party up on the balcony wing. An impressive venue, all things considered.

    The line up is impressive too. George Clinton played the night after Thievery, and there are dozens of other big names in rock, blues, and alternative music on the calendar. The downside is that HOB is owned by a subsidiary of Clear Channel, which makes me feel like a sellout, but I figure that selling out in the name of experiencing great live music is sometimes necessary and always forgivable. Right?

    Thievery put on nothing short of a fantastic show. I just miss the old days when they went to town with a sitar, some horns, and a block of wood, and showed us all what it meant to get down and funky.

  • First Listen: The Fray

    frayEvery couple of years, along comes a mega-successful pop/rock band that has catchy tunes but no discernible identity at all…think Matchbox 20 before Rob Thomas developed a personality. The most recent example of this phenomenon would have to be The Fray. On the back of two mega-successful singles, the Denver-based quartet’s debut album, How to Save a Life, came out of nowhere to sell nearly three million copies. This happened despite the fact that the band had nothing to market themselves with except for their songs-no gimmicks, no outspoken members, no hot lead singer for the chicks to fawn over. Nope, The Fray were the brown paper bag of pop/rock groups…

    …and now they’re back for round 2. Their self-titled sophomore effort follows the template set by their debut. Midtempo piano-based tunes with a bit of a rock edge, angsty lyrics, and hooks that are incredily catchy and easy to sing along with are the order of the day. You’ll hear these songs coming out of radio stations and advertising TV shows for some time to come.

    First single You Found Me is cut from the same cloth as the band’s earlier hits like Over My Head (Cable Car) and How to Save a Life, only with a stronger guitar sound. The piano isn’t as front and center, and The Fray sounds like an actual band instead of a showcase for tortured lead singer Isaac Slade. Never Say Never will definitely be a future single, with the refrain of “don’t let me go” giving the song a lighter-waving vibe as well as an immediate hook. Absolute is another winner, with a pretty falsetto chorus, while Ungodly Hour is a more spare, almost Tori Amos-like piano ballad. Slade’s fragile higher register is a good fit for this brittle song.

    The Fray trips up on account of its’ anonymity. It’s taken me three weeks of listening in order to be able to differentiate songs. Even though the album is incredibly compact (10 songs, 43 minutes), there are 3 or 4 tracks that don’t have anything to separate themselves from the pack. They’re pleasant enough to listen to, but there’s nothing unique about them, and they’re not hooky enough to stand out. Then there’s the issue of Slade’s vocals. While his voice (which occasionally sounds like it’s about to crack) definitely packs an emotional wallop, there’s only so much angst you can take. I also remember reading a review of this album that noted the fact that Slade’s vocals are often garbled. Glad to know I’m not the only person that notices that.

    There’s not a lot of experimentation to be found on The Fray, which I guess is a good and a bad thing. Good because they know what they do best, and bad because the songs have a definite similarity to one another-especially because they fall under two tempos-slow and slower. It’s actually nice to hear the band stretch out a little on the album’s final two songs. We Build Then We Break has an anthemic, thundering U2 vibe, while Happiness brings in a gospel choir for emphasis.

    At the end of the day, if you dug How to Save a Life (which was a reasonably enjoyable record), you’ll dig this album. The Fray doesn’t exactly have anything exciting going for it, but it’s dependable, radio-friendly pop, sort of like the love child of Coldplay and 3 Doors Down. Much like the band’s debut, there are a couple of standout songs as well as a couple of completely generic ones, and while I recommend it with reservations, I still think it’s a worthy addition to a pop/rock fan’s music collection.