Here’s an odd way to begin a review: Halfway through my first listen of the opening track of Aoife Nessa Frances’ Land of No Junction, “Geranium,” I switched to another album by another artist. It was early morning – aka still dark outside – and I was on my way to work, yet to be fully caffeinated, and I found the track too languid. Frances’ vocals were thick and omnipresent, akin to fog draped across a misty field.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
The next afternoon, however, the staccato rhythm from “Geranium” began bouncing around my head. Her vocals clogged my inner-ear. On my way home, I clicked play on the album again and let the music flow. In the words of the bard Bob Dylan circa the Byrds on Younger Than Yesterday, “Crimson flames tied through my ears, rollin’ high and mighty traps pounced with fire on flaming roads using ideas as my maps.”
In other words, as the wafting rhythms and cloudy vocals of the second and third tracks – “Blow Up” and “Here in the Dark” – drifted from the speakers during my commute home, the music began to make sense – as did my initial reaction. I’d noticed a four-star review for the album in Mojo, but hadn’t read said review; all I knew was that Frances was (Northern) Irish. I expected something more celestial and traditional, singer-songwriterish…
…and traditional the music is, actually, just not traditional Irish. Instead, it conjures the Byrds and textured, psychedelia-tinged pop of the mid-1960s, as well as the Paisley Underground of the ‘80s. Check out “Libra,” the most upbeat song on the album, which would be at home on the Notorious Byrd Brothers or aforementioned Younger Than Yesterday:
The title track is another highlight:
Now that I’ve listened to it numerous times, I find Land of No Junction quite compelling and hypnotic. It possesses a strong undertow that pulls you under its seemingly calm surface. It’s more of a late-night album than an early-morning affair, more Opal than Mazzy Star, but regardless of when you listen, you’ll be glad you did.
When I was a teen in the early ‘80s, I often rode my 10-speed bike from Hatboro to Memory Lane Records in neighboring Horsham, a 50-minute round trip, as it traded in used (aka less expensive) vinyl, and left balancing a small stack of LPs and 45s on the handlebars. Around the same time, for a spell, I belonged to the RCA Music Club, which featured insane deals a-plenty. It wasn’t uncommon for me to receive two, three, four or more cassettes in the same shipment.
Some titles were new; others were new-to-me. Either-or, it didn’t matter. I played them and played them again, winnowing the wheat from the chaff, and then, in a few weeks, rode my bike back to Memory Lane and started anew with another batch of LPs and 45s. Or maybe, instead, I stopped at the Hatboro Music Shop or Sam Goody’s in the Village Mall, which stocked imports – though the prices at both were such that I rarely left with more than one LP. The summer before my senior year, I made the hour-long train trip from my suburban enclave into Philly every so often just to explore the esoteric stores on South Street.
By the end of the ‘80s, when I managed the CD departments at two video stores, it wasn’t uncommon for me to leave work with several CDs I’d sold to myself – and then head to the (relatively) new Tower Records on South Street or down to Jeremiah’s Record Exchange in Delaware to splurge some more. (In between, I was trading tapes with customers. Found lots of great music that way. To the left is one I made around that time. I was obviously in a bit of a country state of mind.)
I’m sure the same basic process played out for many folks reading this: We jumped feet-first into music fandom and obsessiveness, forever compelled to seek out new and new-to-us sounds. Sometimes we (or, at least, me) obsess over one artist or album for weeks or months on end. And then we move on. While there were and are many upsides to the process, there was (and is) one major downside: Some great music got (and gets) lost in the shuffle.
But given that most budgets bust from time to time, and spending must be reined in, you eventually re-acquainted yourself with the one-spin wonders and realized you were too quick in your initial assessment. In the age of streaming media, however, one’s budget is no longer an issue. Whether you subscribe to a streaming service or make do with ads, there’s never a reason to give something a second listen if it didn’t hook you on the first.
Which, in a roundabout way, leads to this: Paul Weller released Other Aspects, Live at the Royal Albert Hall on March 8th, 2019. It came to be thanks to Weller’s sublime 2018 release, True Meanings, which is a laidback acoustic set accented by orchestral backing. Taking an orchestra out on the road is a tad expensive, however, so he booked a couple nights at the iconic Royal Albert Hall, hired an orchestra, and plotted out a 25-song set that matched the new tunes with past classics, and…voila! A live album was born.
I remember listening to it on the way to work shortly after its release and then on my way home that same night…and returning to the Day-Glo sounds of the Paisley Underground, which had been swirling in and around my head since the release of the 3×4 compilation earlier in the year, the next day. Part of that was due to nostalgia, another part due to escape. And, soon, Lucy Rose’s remarkable No Words Left caught my ear. And then another new release. And then an Oasis jag. And then something else…
I forgot about Other Aspects, in other words, until late December, when I pulled up my Apple Music library in order to listen to Weller’s solo debut for this Essentials piece. I saw Other Aspects listed with the other titles and clicked play…
…and was instantly hooked. How could I have not returned to it sooner?! It’s contemplative, which is where my head’s at right now. Taking life in. Pondering my present and future.
If you listened to “One Bright Star,” you’ll hear the initial strains of an orchestra, applause, and then Weller and his band kick off with the 22 Dreams track. It’s mid-tempo, lush, and anchored by Weller’s weathered, soulful vocals. That sums up the album in full, actually, which features 11 (of 14) songs from True Meanings, a handful of Jam and Style Council tunes, and gems from his solo years. Here’s “Strange Museum” from his solo debut, for example:
Another highlight: “The Soul Searchers” from True Meanings. It’s a tremendous song in the mode of his classic “Wild Wood.”
And speaking of “Wild Wood”… yep, that’s here, too.
As is (obvious from the album’s title) “Aspects,” another stellar True Meanings tune.
Another favorite: “Private Hell,” the Jam song from Setting Sons, which swaps its fiery and frenzied foundation for an orchestral underpinning. The picture Weller paints with his pointed poetry stings, still. (In some respects, life in the 21st century isn’t all that different than the pre-Internet age.)
In short, one’s headspace can make or break an album as much as the music itself. Such was the case here for me, upon first listen. But upon the second, third and fourth listens, which occurred nine months later? If I knew then what I knew now, it would’ve been in my Top 5 albums of the year. It’s a wondrous, magical set. Check it out now… or when you’re ready to receive it.
One Friday’s eve in March 2005, Diane and I made our way to the World Cafe Live in West Philly to see the double bill of Keren Ann and A Girl Called Eddy. It was our first or second time there, I believe, as the venue first opened its doors in late 2004, and winter being winter, who wants to slog into Philly? As I remember it, our seats weren’t the best – closer to to the bar than the stage – and yet we came away enamored of A Girl Called Eddy.
Alone on stage, she delivered stripped-down renditions of the songs from her self-titled debut, which was released in August 2004. For those who’ve never heard the sublime set, imagine Dusty Springfield produced by Burt Bacharach. Now swap out Dusty for Chrissie Hynde, and substitute Richard Hawley for Bacharach. (Or maybe just imagine Mazzy Star with a more mainstream pop sensibility.) Live, that fuller sound was missed – yet we still found her set mesmerizing.
(Bill from the Music & More Blog was there, too, though he enjoyed Keren Anne’s set more than A Girl Called Eddy’s due to being already familiar with the French-Israeli singer-songwriter.)
Anyway, at the time, both Diane and I imagined we’d be enjoying new albums from A Girl Called Eddy every so often for the rest of our lives, and seeing her in concert whenever she came to town. Who’d have thunk we’d have to wait 16 years? (For the whys and wherefores of the long delay, read this insightful 2014 post from the Recoup blog.)
In 2018, she did collaborate with Mehdi Zannad, aka Fugu, as The Last Detail. Here’s one of their songs, “Lazy.”
Anyway, flash-forward beyond 2018 to this past Friday, January 17th, and the release of A Girl Called Eddy’s sophomore set, Been Around. “Girl, where you been?” asks someone at the record’s start. What follows, the title track, is pure Eddy, with knowing lyrics that share her gained wisdom: “Been around enough to know I’m broken/been around enough to know nothing’s sure/been around enough to be a little grateful/been around enough to miss my heart when it was pure…”
The second track, “Big Mouth,” is atmospheric, melancholic and exquisite all at once, with sadness seeping through every chord and note. “Pick apart the feelings like shadows on the ceiling/I stop before I start/All your judge and jury it’s tearing me apart/I just can’t win.”
The compelling “Jody” paints a colorful portrait of a friend who moved away back in 2003 that she misses, still. “I never saw his face again,” she laments.
To my ears, “Charity Shop Window” is a whimsical, McCartney-esque ode to a charity shop “where the past lives on at a bargain price.” (In the old days of mixtapes or mixCDs, I’d marry it to Paul’s “Vintage Clothes” from his 2007 Memory Almost Full album.)
Another highlight: “Two Hearts.”
I could go on, but instead I’ll settle for this. “I love this f-ing album,” my Diane said a few moments ago. Kinda says it all. Give it a listen – and don’t be surprised when, after it’s over, you play it again…and again…and again.
A few weeks back, I upgraded our meager 20-channel cable package to include ACCN, the cable network that provides coverage of the ACC – a necessity for a Tar Heels basketball fan like my wife. Cable companies being what they are, however, it wasn’t just a matter of adding the one station; I had to add bunches, most of which we’ll never watch.
That same day we discovered one of our favorite TV series of yore in a “binge-worthy” marathon on one of those new additions, WEtv: the original Law & Order. For those who’ve never seen it, the Dick Wolf-produced crime procedural followed a well-hewn pattern: cops investigate in the first half; and ADA Ben Stone or Jack McCoy prosecute the suspect(s) in the second half. Personal stories involving the principal characters are generally pushed to the periphery, though their personalities are on full display thanks to their interplay, wisecracks and conversations. There’s something oddly comforting about its predictability. Bad things happen; and good generally wins out in the end.
Which leads, in a roundabout way, to this:
Why certain artists and bands connect with some listeners but not others is one of the universe’s true mysteries. I had, have and will always have a wide range of likes and loves, for example, from pop to rock to country to R&B, from gritty to kitschy and all stops in-between, and can reel off many favorite artists and bands within each genre. And, as many other music fans, I had and have artists and bands that left and leave me…eh. Which is to say, when the Police came on one of Philadelphia’s rock radio stations, I sometimes tuned away but, as often, just bided my time. I didn’t actively dislike them, as I did other acts of that and other eras, but every little thing they did was not magic to my ears.
The Police, for those not in the know, were one of the few new wave bands embraced by the mainstream rock world during the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. In retrospect, it’s understandable: The three principles (Sting, Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers) were clean-cut, conscientious, peppy and preppy – aka the kind of young rockers one could bring home to the folks and older siblings without setting off any alarms.
As political and pointed as they may have been on album cuts, their singles told another, less controversial story. In fact, as I wrote a few months back, when I was 14 in late ’79 or early ’80, I liked what I heard on rock radio enough to buy the “Message in a Bottle” 45 (which featured “Landlord” on the b-side). If they were sending out an SOS, like many other kids, I was listening.
And then I stopped.
Others of my generation, however, obviously heard something compelling in their music. Juliana, for instance, included a cool cover of “Every Breath You Take” on a bonus CD single that came with the two-fer bundle of her Beautiful Creature and Juliana’s Pony CDs back in 2000. I’m sure it left some fans walking on the moon, just about.
Anyway, Juliana Hatfield Sings the Police hews close to the peppy and preppy side of the Police, and mostly includes songs I’m not familiar with and/or just don’t remember. (I saw a headline somewhere describe them as “deep tracks,” a phrase I generally deride, but I suppose it’s accurate.) I have no inclination to seek out the originals and A-B them against Juliana’s versions, as – for me – Juliana’s versions are enough. “Hungry for You (J’Aurais Toujours Faim de Toi)” is my favorite of that bunch, as Juliana singing in French is a delight…
…and “Murder by Numbers” and “Landlord” rock with righteous abandon. (“Landlord,” actually, should have been the lead single. It’s killer, and the message remains as relevant today as ever.)
Of the four songs I do remember: “Can’t Stand Losing You,” “Every Breathe You Take” (a new recording, not the 2000 one) and “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” are good fun; even if she wasn’t, I hear Juliana smiling through the microphone during each of them. But the guitar in “Roxanne” annoys me to no end.
In summary: By and large, cover songs and albums are akin to procedural affairs. If you like Juliana, you’ll enjoy this; and if you like Juliana and dream the Police, you’ll be in heaven.
