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Roy
Big
City Sin and Small Town Redemption
(Fueled By Ramen)
Rock and country used to seem like such strange bedfellows.
Those big-city rock & rollers just couldn’t understand
the small-town subtleties of down-home country music, could
they? Sure, there were groups that toed the line—the Byrds
and Buffalo Springfield were some of the earliest to do the
mash, and the Eagles could have made a career out of it if
it weren’t for all that coke—but those acts generally fell
to one side of the proverbial fence. So, in the early ’90s,
when Uncle Tupelo fought their way out of Belleville with
a blend of front-porch plucking and punk rock’s two-fisted
rebel yell, the results were striking enough to spearhead
an entire movement. Call it what you will, but that whole
“No Depression” thing was as, if not more, groundbreaking
than the rap-metal that emerged around the same time. I guess
country and rock get along better than we first thought they
would.
The debut full-length from Tacoma, Wash.-based rockers Roy
is another entry into the big bucket of Kentucky-fried rock
we’ve seen over the last decade or so. Formed from the ruins
of Northwestern post-hardcore bands Botch and Harkonen, these
scruffy indie boys have made a complete stylistic 180-degree
turn on Big City Sin. Mix the twang and hurtle of the
Refreshments, Old 97s and Lemonheads with a liberal dash of
the Wedding Present’s sonic moroseness, and you’re in Roy
country, baby. The album opens with a lo-fi piano stanza that
blooms into the supremely poppy cowpunk of “Something That’s
Real,” and it’s all over the map—at least the middle part—from
there. “Better Head North” is a classic long-drive-on-a-desolate-moonlit-desert-road
song, brought into the 21st century by a thick layer of electronic
gurgles that wallpaper the background. The music gets Camper
Van quirky on “They Cut the Cord” and “Darryl Worley Forgotten,”
and lead singer Ben Verellen is not afraid to get topical,
tackling the difficult subject of homosexual unions on “Never
Getting Married” and chastising our country’s profit-driven
health-care system on “Prescription Drugs.”
Matt Bayles’ (Pearl Jam, Deftones) production is clear and
distinct; big, chimey Telecasters brushing shoulders with
bright acoustic guitars throughout, and the drums burst through
the mix like firecrackers. On some of the more fleshed-out
tunes, Verellen’s lead vocal nearly gets drowned out by the
flood of guitars, and his melodies occasionally fall flat,
but this doesn’t detract from the overall quality of the album.
The band’s delivery also has a certain tentativeness, which
is not surprising—we’re talking about a bunch of punk rockers
trying to play it straight here, and it doesn’t always seem
like they’re doing what comes naturally. At times, it feels
like the Roy boys just want to bust out and go crazy, but
it’s their loose, somewhat mellow vibe that points to their
ability to succeed as musical chameleons. Big City Sin
is just a little bit country and a little bit rock & roll,
and that’s all right by me.
—John
Brodeur
Katrina
& the Waves
The Original Recordings 1983-1984
(Bongo Beat)
Katrina & the Waves took shape after the demise of the
Soft Boys in 1981 when Kimberly Rew reconnected with Alex
Cooper. They had played together in the mid-’70s in the Waves.
With the addition of husky-voiced Katrina Leskanich, Rew’s
songwriting took flight with a new vigor. Combining Beatle-influenced
pop smarts with R&B swagger, the band embarked on a well-deserved
run of hit singles and international touring in the ’80s.
The
Original Recordings 1983-1984 combine their two albums,
originally released in Canada on the Attic label. These releases
predate the band’s signing to EMI/Capitol worldwide, at which
time they rerecorded many of the songs. Hearing these sides
20 years later, it’s easy to see why they were plucked from
the world of indies into the major leagues. Their biggest
hit, “Walking on Sunshine,” sounds as fresh as ever here in
its original form (a distinctive horn part was added to the
later chart-topping version). The smaller production budget
they had to work with serves these recordings well, as none
suffers from any of the excesses of the era that have dated
the works of some of their contemporaries.
—David
Greenberger
Count
Basie and His Orchestra
America’s #1 Band!
(Sony Legacy)
Back in the LP days, a corner- stone of any jazz collection
was the Super Chief set, offering 28 selections on
two records. Until Sony Legacy’s recent retrospective, we’ve
had no CD equivalent to cover Basie’s Columbia years. Don’t
ditch Super Chief yet—it has a few unique tracks—but
at last there’s a four-CD set that mines the Columbia sessions
and presents the result in a nicely restored, well- annotated
box.
Basie’s earliest recordings were as a sideman with bands led
by Walter Page and Bennie Moten; when Moten died in 1936,
his group regrouped under Basie’s leadership and attracted
the attention of producer John Hammond, who hurried to sign
them with Columbia. But Decca nabbed Basie first. You’ll also
want the Decca recordings, available in a three-CD set, if
for no other reason than the bounty of Lester Young solos.
Start with this set, however. It roars into being with the
four sides recorded on Nov. 9, 1936, as Jones-Smith, Inc.
(this was to protect the already Decca-signed Basie), in which
jazz meets swing and you hear playing that’s at once tight
and loose, as improbable as that sounds. Only five instrumentalists,
but it has all of the power of a larger unit.
Disc one and half of disc two concentrate on small-group recordings,
and also offer sessions from 1939 to 1950. Young is heard
in the “Basie’s Bad Boys” session from Feb. 13, 1939, and
is back for big-band studio sessions in 1939 and 1940 and
a bunch of previously unreleased aircheck recordings from
the same years.
That much Lester is more than worth the price of the set,
but don’t overlook the other featured artists, from the trombone
virtuosity of young Dickie Wells and trumpeter Buck Clayton
to the effortless vocals by Jimmy Rushing, Helen Humes and
Billie Holiday.
Although the later players in Basie’s early bands haven’t
attracted the same adulation, it’s a treat to hear the likes
of Clark Terry and J.J. Johnson in the beginnings of their
careers.
There’s not a bad session on this set, and, completist that
I am, I only regret there wasn’t room for more. The sound
quality varies tremendously, reflecting a variety of source
material, but the digital cleanups don’t sound as if too much
intervention was used. The annotations by Loren Schoenberg
are invaluable.
At their best, the well-known bands of Benny Goodman and Artie
Shaw could swing with the best of them, but Basie at his best
transcended everything around him. This is a must-have jazz
cornerstone.
—B.A.
Nilsson
eN-DoR-PHin
3 Greater Than 4
(self-released)
EN-DoR-PHin’s 3 Greater Than 4 is soaked with a powerful,
ashen soundscape. Careful use of electronics works for the
band, as they resist the temptation to painfully futz about
in such follies like so many other “experimental” metal bands
do when they try to do something they obviously can’t. Thankfully,
it’s a nonissue for eN-DoR-PHin. Lyrically, we see that the
band have grown into a very intriguing metaphorical poesy,
which sheds its disturbing lamplight on American life, converging
at times upon desperation, others at an almost resigned disgust.
Drummer Aaron Wray is, as always, a monster here, with a good
ear for keeping busy without killing the blood flow with unnecessary
fodder. Along with bassist Shlyke, he bolts the tempo of songs
like “Just Another Miscarriage“ fast to the floor with industrious
reports. Jack-of-all-trades Chris Masse is at his resonant
best when barking out lyrics in an almost-hiphop fashion (as
in “Tips For an Ergonomic Workspace”) as opposed to the lengthy
harmony threads up and down the song’s base key. Maybe it’s
because the vocals, seemingly very loud in the mix for John
Delehanty being at the knobs, tend to draw the listener away
from his own guitar when doing so. All in all, however, a
worthy missive.
—Bill
Ketzer
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