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Her
Aim Is True
Diana
Krall
The Girl in the Other Room
(Verve)
Rue becomes Diana Krall. So, apparently, does marriage. On
her eighth, best and least-jazz-oriented recording, the Canadian
singer animates tunes by Mose Allison, Tom Waits, Joni Mitchell
and Chris Smither with winning inventiveness, unveils herself
as coproducer with longtime mentor Tommy LiPuma, and debuts
her recent alliance with Elvis Costello, the eclectic punker-turned-pop-icon-turned-crooner.
Krall wrote the music, new husband Costello the lyrics, for
most of the tunes on this exquisitely produced and almost-as-exquisitely-paced
album. Costello does not sing here, but his words are as pointed—and
poignant—as ever.
The best tracks are the enigmatic title tune, the jewel-like
“Abandoned Masquerade” and a smoky, bluesy take on Waits’
“Temptation,” all suggesting Krall is entering a new, maturer
phase. No longer does she have to rely on standards to showcase
her jazz personality, and she’s willing to put her voice,
sultrier and wearier than ever, more up front. On “Black Crow,”
her homage to touchstone Mitchell, Krall sounds acerbic and
energized; on the original “Narrow Daylight,” a patient meditation
on celebrity and privacy, she sounds confident enough to be
understated. And on “Love Me Like a Man,” a Smither tune long
associated with Bonnie Raitt, she pumps the piano and sings
close to bawdy. Plunking “Love Me” midway through seems jarring
at first, but it sets off the quieter tunes bracketing it—and
indicates Krall can rock. So does her rendition of Allison’s
funny, tangy “Stop This World.”
Krall lost her mother in late 2002; last year, the great bassist
Ray Brown, who nurtured her early career, died. The Girl
in the Other Room isn’t downbeat, but it’s seasoned, and
for perhaps the first time, Krall sounds wise. Her decision
to collaborate with Costello and to highlight tunes largely
associated with pop and folk was a good one, making her far
more than a Norah Jones for grown-ups or a jazz chanteuse
wannabe. Will the jazzers buy this? Their loss if they don’t.
—Carlo
Wolff
Mark
Lanegan Band
Here Comes That Weird Chill (Methamphetamine
Blues, Extras and Oddities) (Beggars
Banquet)
If this single-gone-eight-song-EP is to be trusted, Mark Lanegan
took his fleeting presence in the hard-rocking Queens of the
Stone Age to heart. Here Comes That Weird Chill finds
Lanegan’s music still gloomy, but its edges seem sharper,
and it’s harder than much of his solo work, which is usually
more stark and windswept.
The release originally was intended to just be a teaser single
in anticipation of Lanegan’s forthcoming late-spring release
Bubblegum, but turned into an eight-song prequel. Most
of the songs find him matching sludgy, low-end factory noise
with sweet harmonies and piano, and even harken back to his
days fronting Screaming Trees.
The one track also slated for the album, “Methamphetamine
Blues,” is classic Lanegan, just with more synthesized bells
and whistles. His grisly vocals are matched with sinister
clanging and steam-engine rhythmic punctuation. The song would
be ironclad if it weren’t for the cheesy insertions of a girl’s
voice saying things like “Hit it” and “I’ll do it, Daddy.”
The rest of the EP, however, finds Lanegan tromping through
the more familiar thematic territory of lamenting wicked behavior
and yearning for a fresh start, all accented by his voice’s
deep, resonant timbre.
Lanegan’s voice has always been able to make my backbone shiver,
and this EP is no exception. “Wish You Well” makes him sound
like Leonard Cohen (and provides the EP’s title) while “Lexington
Slow Down” is an unadorned piano gospel that has Lanegan channeling
Nick Cave.
With his rendition of “Clear Spot,” Lanegan delivers an appropriately
weird Captain Beefheart cover coated with taut guitar lines
and vocal distortion, highlighting a similarity between Lanegan’s
and Don Van Vliet’s voices that I never noticed before.
Guests in Lanegan’s recording lineup include Afghan Whigs’
Greg Dulli, Dean Ween, as well as his former QOTSA mates Josh
Homme and Nick Oliveri, with whom Lanegan cowrote “Skeletal
History.” And all told, it’s a sweet aperitif for what Lanegan
plans to serve us later this spring.
—Ashley
Hahn
 Scarlet
Cult
Classic (Ferret)
The last public hanging in Albany was in 1827, but if Scarlet
ever come here, what say we bring it back one more time for
old times’ sake? OK, that’s a bit harsh. But this is exactly
the kind of music that makes me want to hang myself, music
that endeavors to be everything that it can never be. It has
nothing to do with musicianship—obviously the men are immensely
talented, adroitly nailing preposterous time signatures beneath
cracked-out jazz chords and steamy, extra-chunky riffs. But
they sound like Voivod meeting Shai Hulud at some bizarre
ProTools troubleshoot, and the soundtrack is skipping in the
player to boot.
Despite its brutality, its sheer temple-bursting power, the
music is barren. You know what I mean. It is forgotten as
soon as the stop button is hit, and the most serious challenge
the collection presents to the listener is how to endure all
16 tracks in one sitting, especially given that the entire
CD is sung by vocalist Jon Spencer (no, not of Blues Explosion
fame) in one big incessant, prefabricated scream. It’s so
contrived my face hurts. No dynamics, no lilt, no personality,
no gates of hell opening up to swallow me, no nothing. Not
even the sometimes-intriguing lyrics can save it. Songs like
“Sinning By Your Side” and “Get Your Gun” do nothing to inspire
rage, defiance, happiness, sadness, gladness or badness. Rather,
one listens with a sort of annoyed indifference, which is
the most dangerous place to be.
You can’t really even give them what I call the “Captain Beefheart
catastrophic experimental booby prize,” because it’s been
done before, by far greater men. There are literally thousands
of metal bands who employ such avant-garde interludes in their
craft, such wicked, teetering and sometimes blathering lucky
strikes, but the ones who do it best ensure that the music
has a heartbeat. Even the most awkward prizefighters need
it. The heart of a lion. You’ll be waiting a long time if
you look for it here. Anthrax’s Scott Ian was right—this is
the first generation where the metal is wimpier than the one
before it. I feel sort of bad because the band’s handlers
sent this one to me personally to review. But not that bad.
—Bill
Ketzer
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