Staff Picks – Madison Bloom: Under-heard/Under-sung Releases of 2016

The year-end list is a tricky politic.  You want to be fair, objective, and omnivorous.  You want to be unexpected, but not too unexpected.  Every December, Grammy nominations and Best Albums lists are released within weeks of each other, and while I’m no conspiracy theorist, I can’t help but suspect that the former informs the latter (along with sales figures, hype, etc.).  Just reading through the big names in music journalism, there is a pattern that would be silly to ignore.

This year, Lemonade, The Life of Pablo, 22, A Million, A Seat at the Table, Blonde, Anti, Coloring Book, Puberty 2, Blackstar and A Moon Shaped Pool have dominated the top slots.  I take no issue with this, as these are all great records worthy of praise.  But it does make me suspicious…while I do not conspire, I frequently suspect.  The big music pubs bear their differences, and vary in their positioning of said records.  But isn’t a different configuration of the same set of data kind of like…switching up the seating chart at a dinner party?

(I won’t pretend to understand the process editors and staff writers undergo when making their year end lists.  I’m sure it is far more complicated and arduous than I am alluding to.)

I am actually grateful for the big guns writing about the same records, because it means I don’t have to.  It’s done!  What I’d rather do is share with you some music that flew under the radar this year, despite its wonderful wingspan.  And with that, I give you the Under-heard/Under-sung Releases of 2016.       

LPs

Timber Remixed-Michael Gordon, Mantra Percussion, Various Artists

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When I reviewed this album in November I likened it to a vibratory massage – something you felt as much as heard.  For that fact alone this record is worthy of a listen…I’ve never heard anything like it.  What Michael Gordon began in 2009 with six 2x4s has been re-sculpted by Mantra Percussion and some of the most interesting contemporary musicians and producers out there.

Tim Hecker, Fennesz, Hauschka, and Oneohtrix Point Never are just a few names that can be found on this record, but despite the strong point of view each guest producer brings to the table, none of them overpower the original, resonant beauty of percussive wood.   

Open To Chance-Itasca

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Is there a sweeter songbird than Itasca’s Kaya Cohen?  Not that I’ve heard in a while.  But Cohen is no mere voice – she is also the core songwriter of the band, and that delicately plucked guitar gracing the LP is hers as well.  Open to Chance is an album in full – one that maintains a gorgeous sonic texture throughout.  Here you’ll find country drums, twanging guitars, and the shining cry of the pedal steel.  Favorite tracks include “Buddy,” “G.B.” and “Daylight Under My Wing,” the latter of which calls to mind the airy arrangements on Bill Callahan’s Dream River (think: flute).

Open to Chance is a seemingly fitting title for this record, as it is open to interpretation as well.  At times hopeful and others forlorn, the record floats in a lovely shade of grey. 

2013-Meilyr Jones

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2013 could be hastily summed up as a baroque pop love letter to Rome.  But it is so much more than that.  In 2013 Meilyr Jones left his moderately successful band Race Horses, went through a painful breakup, and in an attempt to revitalize himself, moved to Rome for several weeks.  He didn’t really have a plan, which often leads to the kind of open-mindedness necessary for creative catharsis to blossom.  And oh, it did.

Though released three years after Jones’ excursion, the majority of the songs on 2013 were written in the ancient city, later recorded in the U.K. with a ragtag team of Jones’ musician friends.  Given its dense and lovely instrumentation, one could easily think that this was an expensive record…but Jones is a resourceful man.  Five of the twelve songs were recorded live in a single day with his last minute, 30-piece orchestra.  And the songs aren’t only lush in arrangement – Jones covers lyrical ground that spans love lost, refugees, and the fallacy-ridden art world.  A beauty.   

Mirage Dreams-Breanna Barbara

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Oh, what a belter this woman is!  If you were to guess what Mirage Dreams sounded like by its wistful cover, you’d be real surprised when you pressed play.  Breanna Barbara has a voice that reaches the breathy low of Hope Sandoval, and the shaky soprano of country sirens.

Barbara’s music is whiskey soaked, revved up, lit-cigarette blues.  There is no shortage of pain on this record, especially on tracks like “Sailin’ Sailin’,” which seems to address the loss of a parent.  It’s heavy stuff from that soft, wheat-framed face on the cover.  That’s a contrast I welcome wholeheartedly.

The Gamble –Nonkeen

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Remember that line in Zoolander when Jerry Stiller’s character says that Mugatu “is so hot he can take a crap, wrap it in tin foil, put a couple fishhooks on it, and sell it to Queen Elizabeth as earrings”?  It’s a crass example, but that’s pretty much how I feel about Nils Frahm – though he’d never have to stoop so low to stoke intrigue.  But seeing as I will devour anything with the Nils Frahm stamp on it, I leapt at the chance to listen to The Gamble by Nonkeen, of which Frahm is 1/3. 

The other 2/3 are made up by Frahm’s childhood friends Frederic Gmeiner and Sebastian Singwald, who have been making music together on and off for decades.  That level of intimacy is palpable on The Gamble; you can certainly hear the Frahm touch, but the composition as a whole is collaborative and progressive.  There’s guitair, piano, synthesizer, tape loops and a whole host of sounds I love but sruggle to identify.  A gorgeous soundscape in which to lose yourself.

Suicide Songs –MONEY

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MONEY’s second LP entirely defied the sophomore slump, instead soaring upward to dizzying heights.  These Manchester-based lads, lead by singer/songwriter Jamie Lee, might be melodramatics, but in a world where things like “chill wave” exist, I’m sometimes in the mood for a grand overture.

And Suicide Songs is ripe with them.  Piano, strings, synths, guitar, drums, gospel choir…it is a BIG record, and I ain’t mad about it.  The dense arrangements could be too much at times, but they are undercut but Lee’s rakish, imperfect vocal performance, which often sounds like a drunken man on the brink of tears.  Perfect.     

Flames & Figures –The Seshen

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Don’t worry; I’m not going to just give you sad bastard music.  It’s time for a little homegrown soul, at least, homegrown in the Bay Area that is.  The Seshen is the musical marriage between singer/lyricist Lalin St. Juste and producer/bassist Akiyoshi Ehara.  St. Juste, Ehara, and five other band mates churn out the synth-pop, R&B soul jamz I’ve grown to love this year.

Flames & Figures is a syrupy, textural pop gem that doesn’t skimp on well-placed drum machines and synths – but nothing tasteless or in your face here.  Favorite tracks include “Spectacle,” “Periphery,” and the funky “Distant Heart.”  Pour it on.   

Along a Vanishing Plane –Christopher Tignor

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Christopher Tignor, the acclaimed violinist and composer behind Along a Vanishing Plane, achieves his unique sound through varying techniques with tuning forks and electronic manipulation.  His music is spacious, emotive and contemplative.  So when I learned he is also a software engineer, I was a bit surprised.

Then again, maybe it makes all the more sense.  There is something so deliberate and organized about Tignor’s music, despite its space.  “Artifacts of Longing Pt. 1” reminds me of a pared down Dirty Three number – awash in refined synths, that is.  Closing track “The Will and the Waiting” is closer to Tangerine Dream with glittering, atmospheric synth effects and the *ping!* of Tignor’s beloved tuning fork.  A striking record that would be best played when you have time to really sit and listen.

Changes –Charles Bradley

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Charles Bradley is a man that, like his late label mate Sharon Jones, has challenged industry ageism, starting his career at an age well past most.  Unfortunately, Bradley also bears a more frightening similarity to Jones: in October of this frustrating (dumpster fire?) year, he was diagnosed with cancer.  But that hasn’t stopped him from sharing his phenomenal, soul revival record Changes, which seems to embody all of the wisdom Bradley has amassed in his years outside of the spotlight.

The title track is tragic, even more so as it was released seven months prior to Bradley’s diagnosis.  “I’m goin’ through changes/It hurts so bad,” he wails.  It upsets the ear and the heart to hear, as the dramatic irony of the painful change to come is too intense.  A beautiful, soul-bearing effort from a man I hope will stick around a while. 

Love Yes –TEEN

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How could we resist a little local love for the ladies of TEEN?  If any of you have seen this adept foursome live (perhaps at an Audiofemme event), you will know what fabulous musicians they are.  But their prowess doesn’t end with musicianship; they are also exceptional performers and complex songwriters who understand as much about writing hooks as they do constructing dense music.

Love Yes did get some thumbs up this year from the likes of Nylon and Pitchfork (to name a few), but I would go so far as to say it is one of the under-noticed records of 2016, and it is definitely deserving of more praise.  This electro-pop opus nods at the ‘80s but doesn’t drown in references.  A favorite track is “Animal” for its grimy, Tubeway Army-esque synth riff that will surely stay stuck in your head until 2017.  

EPs

Eskota – Catch Prichard

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Watching the slow yet steady rise of Catch Prichard’s Sawyer Gebauer (FKA
Brittsommar) has been both gratifying and frustrating.  Having championed his music for the past two and a half years, it was rewarding to see his first EP as Catch Prichard accrue praise from publications other than ours alone.  NoiseyImpose, and American Songwriter were just a few who took note of his unique sound.  But despite Gebauer’s upward mobility this annum, the Wisconsin-born troubadour remains largely unknown.  And that’s a darn shame, because I’ve yet to find a soul unstirred upon hearing “Eskota,” the sorrow-washed meditation on love, loneliness and the impermanence of home.

  While Gebauer had largely looked to European influences in the past, he found his country-lovin’, Americana roots in “Eskota,” which was recorded in an abandoned general store in a west Texas ghost town.  Pedal steel, brushed snare, and late Springsteen era synths dance under Gebauer’s lead weight baritone throughout.  An under-sung stunner for sure. 

Tunnel Vision On Your Part – Happyness

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It’s no secret that I’m a massive fan of London trio Happyness.  So when they popped out a new EP this year, I was flat out thrilled.  I was slightly bummed it wasn’t an LP (which they are working on currently, by the way), but Tunnel Vision On Your Part doesn’t disappoint, despite its length.  Clocking in at a curt twenty minutes, Tunnel Vision reminds me that an EP can be a beautiful lesson in brevity.  Much like a short story or novella, ya gotta pack a lot more into 5 songs.  There’s no space, no meandering instrumental track, no filler.

If I had to be just as brief describing Happyness, I would say they are three things above all.  Subtle, understated, and catchy-as-all-hell.  I guess it’s no surprise that a band so understated would go under-noticed throughout the year, but it pains me, because sometimes the most interesting people at the party are the shy ones, hardly saying a word.  The most interesting person is rarely the loud guy dancing shirtless – but he seems to get all the attention anyway.    

Earrings Off! – Adult Jazz

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Earrings Off! is rife with difficult moments that fill me with unease.  Therefore: I love it!  And it seems as though I’m on the right track with that reaction.  As Adult Jazz’s vocalist Harry Burgess said to The Guardian in 2014, “When you come up with a part that’s pretty, you need some obstruction…technology is good for shifting things to a more awkward place.”

I find great comfort in that awkward place, so thank you Adult Jazz.  I have no idea where to shelve this little oddity, but that’s partially what I like about it.  This twisted cacophony from the Leeds foursome contains multitudes, and can be described with just as much. A pop assault.  Combat funk.  A no wave, free jazz, synth-psych freak out that marries Arthur Russel, tUnE-yArDs, Dirty Projectors, and Animal Collective, but puts them all on speed.  It’s a wild ride, and I suggest you hop on. 

Don’t Call Us We’ll Call You – Dickicker

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Don’t be fooled by the silly name (and album cover) – the nascent New York foursome may not have access to a gilded studio, but they certainly have the songs.  One might not expect a band called Dickicker to be capable of sophisticated lyrics, and yet the writing partnership between lead vocalist Jim Freeman and guitarist Gray Hurlburt is an alchemic one.  Often simple in their banal frustration, poetic truths drift in unexpectedly.  In the EP’s opening cut “Alibi,” Freeman strains his hoarse voice while ruminating on past ambitions shattered:

“Going to the place we know/To dig up everything we sowed/Turn the soil over, let the water boil over/And burn the precious things we’ve grown.” Freeman has a phlegmatic scream that amplifies the palpable devastation in tracks like “Old Soul” and “Black Wine.”  I’d hate to know how many cigarettes he’s smoked to acquire such a voice.  But I want one just listening to him.

Big Fugitive Life – Ezra Furman

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So far I have loved everything Ezra Furman has recorded.  No amendment to that love given his latest EP Big Fugitive Life.  This energetic collection of rock n’ roll tunes is a sweet seventeen minutes, packing in as much saxophone as possible.  Furman’s voice is lovably shabby as usual, and at times (see: track five, “Splash of Light”) it seems that the band opted for a less-produced effect intentionally.

But Big Fugitive’s ragged nature doesn’t demean the richness of its songs.  And that is a truth applicable to all music; that no matter the quality of the recording, you can’t rob a well-written song of its greatness.

ARTIST INTERVIEW: Meilyr Jones

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Earlier this year a gorgeous, baroque, oddball record came out by Welshman Meilyr Jones, formerly of Racehorses repute. The album entitled 2013, was written during a sabbatical in Rome Jones took that very year. In its many rotations on my record player, 2013 continues to stun me, and will certainly be high up on my year-end list. While I still eagerly await Jones to tour the U.S., the best I can do is envy his U.K. fanbase, as he’s just added a handful of tour dates to his schedule. Oh, and I guess I could ask him about God, his Grandmother, and the pros/cons of the contemporary music industry. Read on!

Audiofemme: You’ve spoken at length about the impact of your trip to Rome. Do you have plans for returning? If so how do you think the experience will differ or affect your creativity? 

Meilyr Jones: That’s interesting. I will return but I have no idea what will happen. That is the magic of the place.

You recorded 2013 on a fairly tight budget – youʼd never know it from listening – yet you still managed to feature a 30 piece orchestra as well as some unexpected instruments. What would you dream of doing if money were no object in the studio?

I think I like the fact that music/art and what you make doesn’t scale up with money. 
I’d probably end up making a 4-track record with a small group of people. Haha. Part of the fun was not needing a big industrial model to achieve things. I am really firm in that. Imagination, support, and passion can achieve things of big scale. I was lucky to meet so many able, and kind and talented people that I worked with. It wasn’t an already put-together orchestra; I brought the group together with help from my friends.

Looking back what are you most proud of with regards to this record? 

I am most proud of my determination to complete it.

How has Welsh culture influenced your music or your way of approaching your craft? Do you feel a lot of solidarity with other Welsh artists?

I feel very lucky to have grown up in Wales and very fortunate to have bands such as Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci around when I was growing up, who were from down the road in Pembrokeshire. I saw them when they came to the Student’s Union in Aberystwyth. There’s a lot of fun in their music as well as an uncompromising and individual attitude and freedom, I and other bands in Wales were lucky to grow up with that around as an example. I was also lucky to grow up with the Eisteddfod in a way, and Welsh poetry. There was also Ankst Music which was a record label and management company who worked with Super Furry Animals and put out SFA, Datblygu and Gorky’s records who fostered a certain kind of ethos. So from all angles, good.

You clearly have a lot of passion for and knowledge of the fine art world…if music wasn’t your profession what would it be? Perhaps painting or sculpting?

I love it, but I have no skills or much of an aptitude for drawing or sculpture I don’t think. I can’t imagine not doing music. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps I would be a gardener or something.

There seems to be some discussion about authenticity in art on the record, particularly with the opening track. What does your idea of an authentic artist/work of art look like? Is there such a thing?

I think it will always take a different shape. But something you feel, that makes you want to return to it, that a work of art grows and moves you. Maybe sometimes first by remembering, then revisiting it.

As an artist, what is the greatest thing about the contemporary music industry? The worst thing? Why?

The best thing is the breakdown of it, and the fact that there is less of an attraction for big companies so there is less of a hold. The hard thing is the self-consciousness because there is so much history that we are always around. I think that our history is the best thing and the hardest.

Youʼve worked with a lot of incredible musicians in the past – your own band Racehorses, Cate Le Bon, Gruff Rhys…if you could collaborate with any living musician who would it be?

Kate Bush.

I read in an interview that you consider yourself a religious person. Would you mind expanding on that? What does religion and/or God mean to you?

I’m not sure exactly. I think there is a lot of wisdom in the past that is lacking now, also a dominance of reason and the physical/visual. I certainly believe in more than chaos, and feel more than just what I can see.

2013 suggests quite a bit of Romantic and Classical influence and I know you have a lot of affection for poets, artists, and composers of those eras, but who are some contemporary musicians that you admire? 

I like Neil Young and also Serafina Steer.

Iʼm curious about something you mentioned in an interview about your grandmother being a huge source of inspiration for you. Can you tell us why?

Yes. She was full of excitement. She was imaginative and musical and encouraging. Also the character in the way she played the piano came from a different time – wartime and a mix of Welsh chapel music…it’s hard to describe the combination, but I remember it distinctively. She was a link to a past with a really clear and warm feeling. The ‘30s and ‘40s in music…

I loved learning about your reading Hector Berliozʼs autobiography, and the intense passion with which he experienced all forms of art. Sometimes I feel like modern- day audiences or “listeners” are far less engaged in the music they are surrounded by – it is merely background music and no one has the time to listen to an album in full. What is your take on this? How do you reconcile with that as an avid an active artist and art appreciator alike?

That’s a really good question. I find it hard to listen to albums. I think slowing down the pace of life, or at least spending more time doing things without too much of an intention is important. If you see everything as a goal to be achieved, things can’t grow or seep in. When you are a teenager and have fewer expectations it’s easier for things to grow on you, and to be open to listening to things I think. I think we expect to be won over in 10 seconds or we’re on to the next thing. Maybe that’s why a lot of contemporary art is quite bold, and pop music is getting harder and more reactive because the impact is more valued than growing.

A lighter question to follow that one: what instrument are you eager to learn, and why? 

Haha. I’d like to learn the violin. I’ve never learned an instrument with a bow.

What other aspects of the music industry would you like to someday tackle? Are you interested in production? Film scores? Musical theater?

I’m not interested in production so much. But continue to do what I’m excited about, wherever that takes me.

Lastly: any plans to tour the U.S.? Weʼre dying to see you live!

Yes! I’m making sorts of plans at the moment for it. I hope to be with you soon.

Check out the video for Meilyr Jones’ “Strange/Emotional” below!

ONLY NOISE: The BBC and Me

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Three years ago, on a dim June morning at 6 AM, I sat next to some toast at a shoddy Formica table.  The table was in a damp, smelly kitchen exploding with mounds of used tea bags, soiled dishes, and sagging cilantro.  Only, the latter wasn’t called cilantro, it was called “coriander,” because this kitchen was in Hackney, East London.  Clapton Pond to be exact.  And you couldn’t find “cilantro” in all of England, let alone in Clapton Pond.  These early hours were perfectly serene for me.  The moments before my two hour bus commute to the Southwestern tip of the city were quiet and sad, but most importantly calm.  Sometimes I would see a little fox in the garden, foxing around.  Other times I would sit with a journal and stare at its blank pages as if my retinas could burn words into them.  Whatever occurred on a given morning, silence was crucial for peace.    So there was a real hiccup in this pre-work routine when my affable flatmate Tom would bounce into the kitchen, pour himself a stout cup of coffee, and flip on the radio to BBC 6 Music

There couldn’t have been a more disruptive gesture with which to stab my lame little ritual.  It made me uneasy, serrated with nerves – until I took a moment to actually listen.  When I did, it struck me that what was playing was good.  Really good.  It wasn’t an online podcast, or a publicly funded radio station with biannual pledge drives.  This was the BBC, once the home of John Peel.  A government subsidized program, playing the likes of Wire, Kiran Leonard, and Stump at six in the morning.  Was it for real?

Before long I was the one turning the dial to 6 Music at the crack of dawn, beating Tom to the punch.  On weekends, all of my desire to get out of the neighborhood was extinguished by that four hour round trip commute Mon-Fri, and I would often sit in the kitchen for half of the day with a notebook and the radio.  I pretended it wasn’t 2013, pretended that the DJs were my only source of know-how, like when Peel ruled the airways.

It is rare that we ingest contemporary culture alongside a hearty helping of surprise.  We know the T.V. schedule, we oversee our own Netflix and HBO viewings, we cherry pick song by song on Spotify.  Independent radio stations-not Top 40, but rather the few programs that exist outside of the mainstream-are true arbiters of surprise.    You never know what will come next, and that is a scarce thing to come across today.  The anticipation that perhaps the following track will be by your new favorite band…there is some dose of fate in that, even for someone who doesn’t really believe in fate.

I eventually became obsessed with the station, rolling into work a little later because I simply had to hear the end of that song, and find out who sang it.  I began making unwieldy lists of everything I heard, a habit I maintain to this day.  The dawn’s greatest priority was still coffee, but the radio was a close second.  I was transfixed…how could something so perfect, so seemingly tailored to my tastes exist?

Founded in 2002, BBC 6’s slogan claims that it is “The place for the best alternative music. From indie pop and iconic rock to trip hop, electronica and dance with great archive music sessions, live music concerts and documentaries.” Somehow that statement still seems to be putting it lightly.

Their roster of DJs boasts names like Iggy Pop, Jarvis Cocker, The Fall’s original bassist Marc Riley (my personal favorite) and John Peel’s own flesh and blood: his youngest son Tom Ravenscroft, who turned me on to the likes of Girl Band and Maribou State.  This is of course, the tip of the proverbial iceberg, as every host I’ve come across is either a renowned musician, journalist, or producer of some merit.  Brush gently at the surface of any 6 Music presenter and you will uncover a rich history in popular culture.  These aren’t merely critics, but fans; giddy enthusiasts with the entire BBC archives, Peel sessions, and exclusive interviews at their fingertips.

Their 24/7 programming spans every genre imaginable, sometimes encapsulated in more flavor-specific shows like Stuart Maconie’s Freak Zone and Nemone’s Electric LadylandOther times musical styles seem to be picked at random, the only consistent link being the superior quality of each track.  One time I heard The Fall in the same set as Tribe Called Quest, which was only to be followed by Kate Tempest.  It’s this kind of unfaithfulness that I can appreciate when it comes to record collecting.

If you and I have had a chat about music since June of 2013, chances are you’ve endured me waxing fanatical about this radio station.  Not everyone dove right into it, but those who did always mention it when we cross paths.  And often, they’ve found their own pocket of programming that I myself have yet to explore.  One such convert informed me that he is hooked on Jarvis Cocker’s Sunday Service, a real Christmas dinner of a show featuring not only oddball tunes, but short stories, bits of radio plays, off-kilter sound effects, and of course, Jarvis’s velveteen voice to guide you through it all.

It seems safe to say that if it weren’t for 6 Music, it may have never occurred to me to have a crack at music journalism.  Beyond that, I wouldn’t know or enjoy as much, and this goes for contemporary as well as veteran bands.  My world would very likely exclude newcomers such as Happyness, Ezra Furman, and Meilyr Jones, all of whom have cropped up on my “Favorite New Artists” list.  Some I’ve seen live, others I’ve interviewed; all have moved me to write about them in the hopes that some searching eye will come across my enthusiasm the same way my ears heard the excitement  of the 6 Music DJs.

Although the more obvious takeaway has been finding more music to cram in my brain, there has been a much greater reward from listening to this station, and that is the optimism it’s restored in me as a music lover.  A good decade of my pre-college life was dedicated to the discovery and devouring of music, and yet when I moved to New York something snapped.  I assumed everything was over.  There would never be another Smiths, blah blah blah.  It was a juvenile stance to take, and one I hope I’ve completely scrubbed myself of.  Because if there is anything that BBC 6 has taught me, it’s that people will never stop making music, and through the science of probability, there will always be at least some good music, some great music even.  There never was a “day the music died,” just a constant costume change in a perpetual sonic play.  There will never be nothing to listen to.  You’ve just got to look harder.

 

ALBUM REVIEW: Meilyr Jones “2013”

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It doesn’t matter if you’ve never heard of Meilyr Jones, or his former band Race Horses. It doesn’t matter if you think Jones is English, when in fact, he’s a Welshman. It doesn’t even matter if you’re stumped on how exactly to pronounce “Meilyr”-because an authoritative voice tells you within the first 30 seconds of 2013’s opening track “How To Recognise A Work of Art.”

These things cease to matter, not because they are uninteresting, but because it is such a great record that it speaks for itself. It stands on its own two feet.

2013 is many things-a contemporary foray into baroque and renaissance influences, a brilliant pop record, a sonic odyssey with innumerable peaks and valleys. But it is also a love letter to Rome, the breeding ground for many of songs on the album. After the disbandment of Race Horses and the end of a relationship, Jones romantically fled to the ancient city, catalyzed by reading art history texts and Byron’s Don Juan. “I got really taken over by the feeling of adventure and passion in Byron, and some of Shelley’s poetry and Keats as well. And they were all people who went to Rome.” Jones mentioned in a press release.

And so along with everything else, 2013 has yet another incarnation, as a scrapbook of Jones’s time in Rome, and everything he loves in general. “I wanted to make something that felt right to me and expressed my interests, which are classical music and rock ‘n’ roll music, and films, and nature and karaoke, and tacky stuff,” Jones says. “And I wanted to capture that feeling in Rome of high culture and low-brow stuff all mixed together.” For a record so difficult to nail down, it is comforting to know that such a stew of influences went into making it.

It might amaze you, as it did me, that five of the twelve tracks on 2013 were recorded live in all of one day with a 30 plus piece orchestra that Jones assembled himself. Jones told press that he “wanted to record it completely live. The idea was doing it like a Frank Sinatra session.” And that idea certainly comes across in the grand arrangements Jones has served up.

He’s a songwriter with big ideas, delivering lofty compositions of the finest kind. “How To Recognise A Work Of Art” confirms the pop chops Jones has been refining since his days in Race Horses, the sweeping orchestral arrangements bringing a whole new dimension to otherwise infectious hooks.

 

 

“Don Juan” slows the record down to a honeyed melancholy, which is the only place to go after a banger such as “How To Recognise A Work Of Art.” Inspired by the same poem that led him to Italy, “Don Juan” is a nod to the baroque with subtle harpsichord and recorder riffs. The opening notes remind me of the exoticism found in The Stranglers’ “Golden Brown,” a similar genre-bending track. While straying from gimmick, “Don Juan” does render a lush image of open-bloused sirs flung upon velvet divans, drinking not from cups, but goblets.  

One of the most compelling aspects of Jones’s songs is that they behave more like Classical compositions or film scores than traditional pop music. They never end where they began, and traverse twisting paths the whole way through. “Passionate Friend” thumps along like the opening number in a sinister musical, the first words to which are nearly whispered by Jones: “Sometimes I am with the witches//on fire, fast and ruined//sometimes all around, with the honey in me, I quicken.”

“Refugees” is the emotional core of 2013, seemingly the most obvious breakup song. The leading single off the record, it is the first song I heard by Meilyr Jones, and it continues to resonate deeply with me. It is spare enough to exhibit his incredible talent; there are no bells, whistles, or harpsichords, just Jones at the piano with his striking choirboy voice.

 

 

2013 is an album in two acts, bisected on either side of “Rain In Rome,” an instrumental that melds organ with pattering raindrops and violent applause. It is a joyous palette cleanser, as the remainder of the album will volley from straight up rock with “Strange Emotional” to classical dramas such as “Return To Life” and “Olivia,” the latter of which features an operatic choir. There is a lot going on here, but I wouldn’t change it a bit.

I could all too easily write a synopsis of every track on this record, which is something I am rarely compelled to do…but 2013 is that wonderful. There isn’t a mediocre song on it. If you like Kate Bush, Van Morrison, The Zombies, if you like classical, eccentric, baroque, chamber, psychedelic, garage, or just slickly written pop, I recommend, beg, entreat you: give Meilyr Jones a chance. You will never be bored again.

2013 is out now via Moshi Moshi Records.

 

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