Beirut: No No No
Most reviews
would mention that this is Beirut’s fourth “studio” album (as opposed to all
the albums they made in a stadium, or in the bath). In a small concession to the standard style,
this review will mention song names as evidence of points made. The review will not use the word “track” as a
substitute for “song”.
(This review
will make brisk reference to the writer’s fondness for inserting the band’s
name into conversation with unsuspecting people, to wit:
“Do you like
Beirut?”
“….the
capital of Lebanon?”
“No, the
band. Well, either, really.”
“Oh. I don’t know of the band.”
Cue smug
superiority (and/or discussion about Lebanon).)
The Balkan
influence of their first album (The Gulag Orkestar) is mostly gone now, but Europe
remains a source of inspiration and song names.
(From this album, see Gibraltar, August Holland and Perth – unless the
last is a reference to Perth in Australia, in which case, humble apologies are
offered.)
This band
grabbed me in a way few have in recent years, from the very first listen. (I remember the occasion, and I have the
singer Rachel Dadd to thank; we both played a live session on a local radio
station and chose a few songs to play; Rachel chose Beirut; I think it was the
excellent Lon Gisland EP. I always say “Hello”
when I see her, just before reminding her who I am.)
No No No carries
on where the last album, The Rip Tide left off, but also takes the band to a
newer sound, more pop than any previous release. Where Rip Tide was heavy on the ballads and
slower songs, the new album is surprisingly upbeat, especially on Perth
and opening song Gibraltar.
Where The Rip Tide used no mandolin or ukulele, which are also used heavily on earlier albums (especially The Gulag Orkestar and The Flying Club Cup), No No No has less horns than all previous Beirut albums. It makes for a more subtle, less dramatic sound. The horns are still there, but they are less central. Piano and keys now dominate. The album even features guitar, a first for the band.
So, it’s a slight departure, but the basic elements are still there: singer/band leader Zach Condon’s understated vocal and lush brass backing.
This is
really good – I liked it a lot the first time I heard it, and it’s grown on me
more from subsequent plays since then.
It’s
probably not as good as The Flying Club Cup album or Lon Gisland EP, which
remain (for now) my favourite releases of theirs; time will tell.
Sufjan Stevens: Carrie & Lowell
Most
reviewers would say in a roundabout way that the title of the album, as well as
its inspiration, comes from Sufjan Stevens’ parents.
And make a
comment on the unpronounceability of his first name.
And mention
the artists’ abandoned project to write an album for every state in the
USA. (Or that the two he did release,
for Michigan and Illinois, are long, expansive, and very very good.)
Not this one
though.
This album
is a stripped-down ode to Mr & Mrs Stevens (if that is their real
name). It’s quiet and it’s lush and
there are a couple of absolutely perfect songs on it, particularly opener Death
With Dignity.
For all the
quiet understatement, there is still some of the ambitious, ethereal melancholy
created on the aforementioned Come On Feel The Illinoise, especially on Fourth
Of July, which ends with the cheery refrain “We’re all gonna die…”.
The lyrics
are mostly on this theme, not in a purely Death Is Sad kind of way, but all
reflections on family, possibly following the death of one or both of the
eponymous Carrie And Lowell. (Yes, this
review used “eponymous”. Disappointing,
isn’t it? Not nearly as annoying as
using “sophomore effort” to mean “second album”, though, is it?) This reviewer has not discovered exactly by
reading press releases or other reviews or wikipedia, not because of laziness,
but because of a conscious choice to come to a conclusion not based on the
interpretation of others. It’s not like
coming fresh to hieroglyphics, or Impressionist painting or the Bible.
In case
you’re reading this review to discover if the album is any good: YES. Yes, it
is. Very good, in fact. Perfect for a Sunday afternoon, but listen to
it if and when you feel like, you’ll know best.
Thanks to
Gray Rhymes for introducing the record to the reviewer on a Sunday afternoon.
Talib Kweli: Train Of Thought: Lost
Lyrics, Rare Releases &
Beautiful B-Sides Vol.1
This review
will not declare that this album is not like “most” “usual” Hip Hop albums in
that it doesn’t talk only about materialism and violence, because the reviewer
has some understanding of Hip Hop.
And the
artist in question, without reference to the album press release, which can
presumably be found somewhere. Since the
group Black Star (Kweli and Mos Def)’s only album, Kweli has been a
self-consciously conscious MC, less stylish than his former bandmate, but also
with less acting to distract him from his lyric-writing. That said, this review must mention that on
that one album, Def shines brightest of all the black stars, as well as
releasing one of the best Hip Hop albums of all time with his solo debut Black
On Both Sides. Not to say Kweli was in
his shadow…over the last fifteen years, Kweli has established himself as one of
the better-known “conscious” (as opposed to unconscious, you understand)
rappers, along with the likes of Common and Black Thought (of The Roots).
This review
will not display the “usual” ignorance that “most” mainstream publications tend
to when reviewing Hip Hop albums, because this reviewer has some understanding of
the history of Hip Hop.
As a method
for ending gang violence, Hip Hop as practised in the USA from the 1970s to the
1990s was very successful. If those who
wrote about Hip Hop understood this history, Hip Hop would have enough good
writers and would not be so regularly dismissed and marginalised culturally,
who might think to discuss this occasionally.
In fact, the EP Hip Hop For Respect (2000), released in response to the shooting of
Amadou Diallo by the NYPD, reflected the history of violence and struggle faced
by urban Americans and particularly New Yorkers in the non-tourist
boroughs. Hip Hop For Respect was put
together by Talib Kweli and Mos Def. The singles Self Destruction (1989) and Self Construction (2008), recorded with several MCs and put together by KRS-One are another good example. The best illustration is Universal Zulu Nation, founded by Afrika Bambaataa in the 70s as a way to end gang violence and promote peace and unity in New York City and beyond.
This review
is also judgmental enough to note that if more of those who make Hip Hop music
understood this history better, the quality of Hip Hop music would be much
better.
Like this
album.
(Judging Hip
Hop by the three rappers everyone who doesn’t like Hip Hop has heard of is like
judging all classical music by the William Tell Overture. Assuming that Hip Hop is all about money is
like assuming that all jazz is about cool suits and Reefer (whatever that is).) Indeed, the amount of money Hip Hop makes dwarfs the GDP of small nations; this amount of money and influence will be consistently wasted (or worse) if those who practise and consume the products of this culture do not understand it – or, indeed, allow writers to (wittingly or unwittingly) misrepresent and underestimate it.
(Incidentally, this review is aware of its pomposity, and wonders how you have made it this far?)
In a
concession to the necessity of basic information, however: this album is dope. As the ungainly title indicates, it’s a
collection of unreleased, rarely-released, compilation-only released and previously-released-as-b-side
songs. It plays like a history of
Kweli’s output, showing development as well as an impressive consistency. An album like this could easily make a
reviewer ask: if the songs were that good, how come they’re rare or unreleased?
But not this
one.
Shit is
dope.
No comments:
Post a Comment