|
 It’s
All You Need
By
John Brodeur
Lenny
Kravitz
Let
Love Rule (20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition)
It’s
hard to think of Lenny Kra vitz as anything other than a caricature
at this point in time. Through the prism of his truly lazy
latter-day output, he appears to be nothing more than a rehash
artist shilling fancy vodka and spouting “yeh yeh yeh” over
thrice-recycled riffs. But when his debut album dropped some
20 years ago, dude was actually kind of important, his unabashedly
retro funk-rock a welcome alternative to the dominant pop-metal
and prefab dance schlock of the day. After more than a decade
of critical drubbing, perhaps the Kravitz legacy is due for
reassessment. It certainly couldn’t hurt.
And what fortuitous timing: Virgin Records has issued a remastered
deluxe edition of Let Love Rule, its Summer of Love
vibe not only intact but bolstered by a handful of unreleased
tracks, as well as an entire disc of live performances. (Meanwhile,
the performer has taken to the road on a tour that places
the album’s deep tracks alongside such Top 40 bunk as “Fly
Away.”) The record’s earthy sounds still carry that weight—it
sounds as refreshingly human in comparison to the polished
turds that dominate today’s radio as it did when played back-to-back
with C+C Music Factory back in the day. There’s no gloss or
frills, just bone-dry drums, over-loud bass, fuzz guitar,
and Kravitz’ multitracked, warts-and-all voice.
The highlights are in the details: The foot-tap and voice
crack that open “Sitting on Top of the World” set a warm,
intimate tone; the bass licks are playful and enthusiastic.
“Let Love Rule” is just one of a handful of Kravitz-penned
rock tracks that rank among the greats, while the omnipresence
of tenor saxophonist Karl Denson gives the music a Family
Stone lean that would otherwise be muted. Even the Big Moments
have their place: The Lennon-for-Dummies “Does Anybody Out
There Even Care?” is a charmingly self-important reminder
that Kravitz once thought himself a capital-A Artist, before
he settled into irony-free Guess Who covers and tin-eared
Stones knockoffs like “Dancin’ Til Dawn.”
The demos included here are little more than rough sketches
of the songs they’d become, though a basic mix of the title
track is worth skimming to hear Kravitz ape the not-yet-tracked
sax solo. Meanwhile, the live tracks fill in the not-so-dotted
line between Kravitz and his obvious influences. The takes
on the Plastic Ono Band (“Cold Turkey”), Love (“My Flash On
You”) and Hendrix (“If 6 Was 9”) have some bite, while the
live versions of his own tunes take on a soulful sheen. There’s
fire and heart in the young man’s performances, and while
this does nothing to forgive such later half-assery as “Dig
In,” it at least helps to explain why people liked him in
the first place.
 The
Fiery Furnaces
I’m
Going Away
Amazingly,
this is the eighth album in just about as many years by the
Friedberger siblings. Eleanor and Matt wrote the songs together,
and this is a new highpoint in a career of many head-spinning
moments. They’re still happily layered, veiled and fractured
in their sensibilities, and I’m Going Away crams all
those impulses squarely down the throat of pop music. Hook-filled,
yet brimming with obtuse words and sounds, the set is rooted
in traditional forms, especially in the taut arrangements
and gutsy vocals. The album is downright funky, with robust
drum fills, saucy keyboard fills and guitars—guitars aplenty.
Matt’s production inclinations keep the grooves rolling forward
while taking gleeful liberties whenever an opportunity appears.
His guitar solos in particular are loopy excursions into the
realm of deadpan stereo hijinks. Eleanor sings her lyrics
with star-power confidence, all the better to lodge mysterious
phrases in your head forever.
—David
Greenberger
 Father
Murphy
.
. . and He Told Us to Turn to the Sun
Shrouded
in mystery are the Italian trio Father Murphy. No info is
provided as to who among the three plays what, and even their
names have some obfuscation: Rev. Freddie Murphy, Chiara Lee
and Vicar Vittorio Demarin (GVitron). That said, this nine-song
disc moves along with it own organic and thematic identity.
Vocal lines owe their melodic character to everything from
Gregorian chants to simple folk mel odies, and are utilized
as just another sonic element in the mix. Few lyric phrases
form themselves into any sort of continuous narrative or even
fragmented narrative. Rather, the words are a tumble. Revealed
in the accompanying booklet, they have a poetic bearing that
dances into and around issues of faith or the lack thereof,
and the consequences and struggles to find a footing in a
fractious world.
The most ready comparison is to British band This Heat, and
particularly their defining Deceit album. Like that
work, Father Murphy’s set is part relentless tumult, part
earthy timelessness. It sounds like a nugget of avant-garde
freedom dug up from the base of a 400-year-old tree.
—David
Greenberger
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