New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Tag: iggy pop

Breathtaking Grandeur and a Feast of Guitars on Noctorum’s Latest Brilliant Album

Marty Willson-Piper is best known as this era’s greatest twelve-string guitarist, but he’s also a brilliant songwriter, an aspect that was often weirdly overlooked during his long tenure alongside another great tunesmith, Steve Kilbey, in iconic Australian psychedelic band the Church. Willson-Piper has also put out several great albums under his own name and with Noctorum, his project with Dare Mason. Noctorum‘s richly orchestral, mesmerizingly jangly latest album, Afterlife, is streaming at Bandcamp.

It opens with The Moon Drips, a slinky, seductive, bolero-tinged ballad: imagine Nick Cave at his lushest, with a brass section. The carnivalesque, hurdy-gurdy style bridge is delicious.

High Tide, Low Tide is a mighty, jangly, propulsive rocker that would have been a standout track on a late 80s Church album. Mason sings this cautionary tale to a high-flying party animal who’s heading for a fall.

Willson-Piper returns to lead vocals for the album’s first single, Piccadilly Circus, a bleakly gorgeous, syncopatedly swaying portrait of quiet working class desperation in real estate bubble-era London. A lusciously icy blend of six and six-string guitars anchor Show, a grimly metaphorical breakup narrative set to vamping, Television-like janglerock. Willson-Piper’s incisive, climbing bass punctuates the lush, dreamy, pulsing sonics and baroque elegance of A Resurrected Man.

The album’s loudest track is A Girl with No Love: choogling, raging 70s riff-rock verse, lushly jangly chorus. “I don’t know if I’ll ever dream again, all I know is I can,” Willson-Piper croons in Trick, a surreal blend of Iggy Pop and the Cocteau Twins. Head On (not the Stooges classic but a duet between Willson-Piper and his violinist wife Olivia) rises out of incisively rhythmic riffage to a sultry, sinister peak and eventually an outro straight out of Jethro Tull: “See you at nine-ish where we first met, me and my Sunbeam, you and your Corvette.”

The album’s title track is its most amorphous number, Willson-Piper’s narrator waiting in the netherworld for loved ones amid the guitar swirl. The final cut is the unexpectedl whimsical, bouncy In a Field Full of Sheep. Good to see these guys, with careers that go back to the early 80s, still going strong.

It’s the New Iggy Pop Album!

Have you heard the new Iggy Pop album? Full disclosure; Jamie Saft’s Loneliness Road – streaming at Spotify – is the closest thing to a new Iggy Pop record that you’ll hear until Iggy makes his next one.

And what could be more perfect for Halloween than Iggy’s weathered, sepulchral croon?

Saft set out to make an elegant piano trio album with the formidable rhythm section of acoustic bass guitarist Steve Swallow and drummer Bobby Previte. They sent three tracks to Iggy, who improvised lyrics and did all the lead vocals in a single take. The result is as fresh as anything the Stooges’ frontman has done in decades.

The first number is Don’t Lose Yourself, a bluesy, One for My Baby-style nocturnal ballad that strolls along with a nifty implied triplet groove. “When it’s Halloween in your mind, fight them with crime…we’re racing with death, baby…” Iggy intones.

He goes way up the scale over Saft’s slow, brooding, latin-tinged swing on the title cut. You have to wait til after Saft’s darkly blues and gospel-infused crescendos for the best part, where Swallow rises briefly for a solo and Iggy talks about being at “The corner of Desperate Avenue and Loneliness Road.”

The third track is Everyday, another moody, bluesy one that Swallow introduces with a plaintive solo; Iggy makes it a sobering ballad. “My love is not a book of jive,” he asserts.

Obviously, if you’re working with an icon, your instrumentals without him are bound to be upstaged – but Saft’s night themes are vivid and inspired. The music is less about tradeoffs or interplay than intense focus. Saft, a multi-instrumentalist and member of John Zorn’s inner circle, is better known as an organist with a torrential attack, and there are a lot of places here where his chordal approach reflects that.

The opening number, Ten Nights, features darkly, latin-inflected block chords underpinning jaunty righthand flourishes while Swallow dances and Previte takes a triumphantly stormy tangent with his cymbals. In Little Harbor, Previte hints artfully and sparely at a clave as Swallow vamps uneasily and Saft slowly expands on a starry soul theme.

Bookmaking is as darkly spacious and suspenseful as anybody taking shady bets could want, an atmosphere that Saft revisits later in Nainsook. By contrast, Henbane is the closest thing to a straight-up swing tune here, Previte having a great time chewing the scenery, Saft spicing his ripples and glissandos with the occasional eerie, lingering accent.

There’s also Pinkus, a slow, austere, Summertimey blues ballad; The Barrier, which echoes a few things famously appropriated by Coltrane; Unclouded Moon, with its gritty, percussive, rubato rumble; and Gates, a soul-jazz waltz. Beyond its jazz appeal, Iggy completists won’t want to be without this album.

Playlist for a Crazy Monday

You know this blog’s steez: busy day, no time for a whole album? How about a playlist of some of the coolest singles to come over the transom lately? Click the links for each track, ad-free (at least at most recent listen – youtube is problematic like that).

Over a pretty standard Rich James-style funk groove, The Porchistas’ Mr. Chump raises a middle finger to the American Boris Yeltsin, the “draft-dodging scum” who “beats on little girls and cheats on Monopoly.” Then the girlie chorus chimes in. “Eats shit!”

What’s left of legendary Detroit band Death – the African-American Stooges – has just released the similarly relevant  Cease Fire, a politically fueled soul-rocker with crunchy guitars and unexpectedly swirly Stylistics orchestration.

Here’s Metallica backing Iggy Pop doing TV Eye live in Mexico. Who knew the world’s most popular late 80s/early 90s metal band – still going strong – would have an affinity for the Stooges?

Electric Citizen-like female-fronted metal trio Seven Day Sleep’s Red Lipstick Murders is twisted circus rock/metal…but listen closely and you’ll discover it’s really a roots reggae song!

Aussie folk noir chanteuse Woodes’ Bonfire is a field holler turns into lingering, uneasy, glossy new wave midway through. Believe it nor not, it works.

On the art for art’s sake side, Calvin Lore’s Sugar Hives is closer to Sean Lennon than his dad, but it’s catchy. It starts slowly –  hang in there.

Let’s wind this up with the uneasy, ambient Cuando El Misterio Es Demasiado Impresionante, Es Imposible Desobedecer from La Equidistancia by Leandro Fresco & Rafael Anton Irisarri. More about that one soon here!

Lounge Lizard Jack Ladder Brings His Rakish 80s Persona to Town Next Week

If you’re going to steal from someone, you might as well rip off somebody good, right? Unlike a lot of crooners from Down Under, singer Jack Ladder isn’t trying to be Nick Cave. He’d rather be Leonard Cohen. Which isn’t such a bad thing, in a very stylized, 80s, Everybody Knows kind of way. His latest album Playmates, with his band the Dreamlanders, is streamng at Spotify, with a trio of tracks up at Bandcamp as well if you want a taste and don’t feel like riding the fader to kill the ads. Ladder and the band have a couple of New York shows coming up: on December 1, they’re at Baby’s All Right at around 10 for $14. Then they’re at the Mercury the following night, December 2 at 7:30 PM for two bucks less if you get tix in advance. The Mercury box office is open Tuesday through Saturday, noon to 6 PM.

Sharon Van Etten guests on ethereal backing vocals on the album’s opening track, Come On Back This Way. It’s a good story, one that pretty much everybody’s known. A guy and a girl leave the bar, under “the magnesium moon, the streets all smell like piss…if tomorrow never comes, I wouldn’t ever care at all,” he says. She’s drunker than he is. She’s taken a glass from the bar, probably wonders why the creep she’s with won’t leave her alone and is pissed off about it. She does something reckless that she shouldn’t – a few things, actually. And the ending is less pat than you might expect.

Track two is Her Hands, an icy 80s downtempo number awash in trippy/cheesy synth patches, a portrait of a femme fatale. The cynical goth-pop Model World is where “The streets are alive with picket fences,” and “Where we need to know everyone is safe…this shit wasn’t built to last, the water’s overflowing, and privacy is a thing of the past, everybody knows it, you can’t escape what you create.”

Reputation Amputation reaches for squizzling industrial ambience, a dirtier take on what Iggy was going for on the Idiot, maybe. By contrast, lingering Lynchian guitars echo in from the shadows on the bolero-tinged Let Me Love You. Van Etten adds her wounded understatement on To Keep & to Be Kept, a new wave update on angst-fueled Orbison noir 60s pop. With its dry-as-a-bone drum samples and warptone synth, The Miracle is period-perfect late 80s new wave.

Ladder takes a stab at heavy-duty stadium goth grandeur with Neon Blue, while Our Ascension brings to mind Billy Idol with a worldview. The final cut is the aphoristic ballad Slow Boat to China and its shameless Leonard C. quotes. While the album’s production is cold and techy, there are some neat touches, like the faux Hawaiian guitar licks oscillating from the portamento lever here and there, and a decent approximation of gritty guitars. And a look at the red-jacketed Ladder (not his real name, obviously) on the album cover suddenly makes twisted sense: OMG, that’s Rick Springfield! And wasn’t he Australian? Are we ever going to escape the 80s or are they going to be stalking us forever?

Newborn Bring High-Voltage Guitar-Driven Tunefulness to the Mercury This Saturday Night

If Metallica was a Coney Island High band (you have to go back to the late 90s to get the reference), they’d be Newborn. Hearing the power trio – who happen to call the real Brooklyn Coney Island their home – playing Broken Virgo, you’d think that they’re a metal band at heart. The song is a big stadium anthem, an interesting mix of what could be latin rock (Caifanes at their early 90s peak, maybe) with Baba Yaga fanning the flames from behind her Russian peasant broom.  The band name sounds suspiciously like a pun that doesn’t translate from what it means in the old country – that, or just plain old sarcasm. They’re playing this Saturday night, Jan 31 at 10 at the Mercury for $10 if you get tickets in advance (they sell them there from 5-7 PM Monday through Friday).

With Uma, the second track at their soundcloud page, they tease you with what seems like a ballad but then they segue into what’s essentially The Passenger by Iggy Pop – ok, if you’re going to rip somebody off, you could do a lot worse. The third track there is Pulse, another teaser: for a second: you think you’re getting 80s hair-metal until guitarist Allen James kicks in with yet another tasty, brooding, allusively chromatic solo. Rhythm guitarist Eric Ross and drummer Blake Suben give him a roaring backdrop for the pyrotechnics. They’ve working on an ep lately and they sound like they kick out the jams live.

The Skull Practitioners Bring Their Tuneful Noiserock Assault to Grand Victory

The Skull Practitioners are just about the ultimate Halloween band – but not in a campy way. There’s no way any other group could have played as genuinely menacing, or deliciously noisy a set as the trio of guitarist Jason Victor, bassist Kenneth Levine and drummer Alex Baker did that night at Pine Box Rock Shop in Bushwick. The reason that their reverb-drenched noiserock assault works so well is because their songs are so catchy. They’re always going off the rails in one way or another, but there’s always a tune somewhere – even if it’s about to come unglued. They’re bringing their mix of savage jams and deceptively tight tunesmithing to Grand Victory in Williamsburg on December 9 at around 9:30.

These days everybody agrees that Victor is the best guitarist ever to play in Steve Wynn‘s band – and now, also in the Dream Syndicate, considering that Wynn has resuscitated his legendary 80s paisley underground outfit. And since Victor is always out on the road dueling with Wynn, he hasn’t had much time off for this project until the last couple of months, when they’ve been playing out a lot. That probably explained why they were as tight as they are their twisted debut cassette (which is also streaming at Bandcamp).

At the Halloween show, they got in and got out, Ramones style: seven songs in half an hour, then called it quits. Levine’s catchy bass riffage in tandem with Baker’s tersely bounding drums anchored Victor’s smoldering, anguished bends and swoops laced with shards of feedback when he wasn’t burning through a catchy chorus with the kind of rich Telecaster roar that few other guitarists – maybe Orville Neeley of the OBNIIIs – can generate. A tight, purposeful groove anchored the opening instrumental, Victor leaping through a cloud of reverb into a furious chorus and then winding his way through a rattlesnake of a string-wrenching solo.

A couple of friends of the band took turns hollering vocals that might or might not have been made up on the spot, just like much of the music. The band worked a biting, minimalist early 80s postpunk Gang of Four/Wire riff on the second song, but with more gravitas and edge than either of those bands. They segued into the ominous, Dream Syndicate-influenced third number, Victor flailing around wildly until he’d found his footing as the band took the song doublespeed and then back to a careening sway. The song after that had a chugging Train Kept a-Rolling style rhythm, Victor alternating between savage bluesmetal and raw, reverb-drenched noise. From there they hit an insistent, metalish attack, like a punk take on early Iron Maiden, then did a couple of numbers that could have been James Williamson-era Iggy Pop but more unhinged, Victor ripping his way through catchy Kinks-ish riffage, tense Dream Syndicate jangle, a funny Link Wray quote and a teeth-gnashing tremolo attack that pulled and eventually ripped away from the song’s central riff. So no matter how far out he went, the song never got lost. Listening back to a cheap recording of that show, along with a bunch of equally savage tracks the band cobbled together in the studio recently, is reason to believe the Grand Victory gig could be even more intense.

Vicious Austin Garage Punks the OBNIIIs Hit New York For a Couple of Shows

The OBNIIIs may be from Austin, but their sound is a lot more Detroit, 1979. Or for that matter, Sydney, 1979. They’re one of a select few bands who’ve been able to capture the ferocity and menacing, chromatically-charged brilliance of legendary Australian-via-Detroit garage punks Radio Birdman. They get one of the best guitar sounds of any band on the planet, a deliciously screaming, natural distortion-fueled burn. And as you would expect, they’re a volcanic live band. They’ve got two recent albums out, one a delicious live set, and a couple of NYC shows coming up. On Oct 24 they’ll be at Baby’s All Right in south Williamsburg guessing at around 11 (the club calendar doesn’t say) and the following day, Oct 25 at Cake Shop at 5 PM for free. Much as they deserve to headline a venue like Bowery Ballroom, there’s nothing like being up close to their overdriven amps in a small club.

The Live in San Francisco album – streaming at Bandcamp – is the latest one. They open with Off the Grid, which draws a straight line back to the Stooges’ Search & Destroy. Runnin’ on Fumes opens with an unhinged Tom Triplett lead guitar line straight out of the Cheetah Chrome playbook and pounces along with a Train Kept a-Rollin-on-crank intensity. So What If We Die takes the Iggy vibe a couple of years forward toward the Kill City era: “California smokes too much weed,” frontman/rhythm guitarist Orville Bateman Neeley III randomly informs the crowd as the song nears the end.

New Innocence mashes up  garage-rock changes with more off-the-rails leads from Triplett. After putting a heckler in his place, Neeley leads the band into more post-Yardbirds stomp with Damned to Obscurity. “I gotta get me a new line of work ’cause this don’t exactly pay,” he muses on the stomping Birdman-style party anthem Uncle Powerderbag. The band jams raggedly while Neeley taunts the crowd – the guy is funny – and then winds up the show with No Time for the Blues, the most evilly Birdman-ish song of the night.

Third Time to Harm – also streaming at Bandcamp – is the studio album before that. To their credit, it sounds just as live as the concert album. The version of No Time for the Blues on this one has Triplett ripping through volleys of chromatics like Deniz Tek back in the day. And the version of Uncle Powderbag has studio-clear lyrics, which helps – we all know somebody like this guy. Maybe it’s us…yikes.

The band gets slightly more calm on The Rockin’ Spins, a Flamin’ Groovies soundalike. They go in an unexpectly metalish, growling direction with the long instrumental intro to Queen Glom until bassist Michael Goodwin goes way up to the top of the fretboard and signals a turn into Brian Jonestown Massacres-style murk. They follow that with Beg to Christ, a macabre mini-epic that brings to mind Blue Oyster Cult or the Frank Flight Band – or the Radio Birdman classic Man with Golden Helmet.

From there they segue into the similarly ghoulish, goth-metalish Brother, propelled by drummer Marley Jones’ brontosaurus thump. Parasites goes in more of a snide roots-rock direction, like the Del-Lords. They bring back the Birdman savagery with Worries, a sarcastically apocalyptic number that’s the the best one here. If adrenaline is your thing, it doesn’t get any better than this.

JD Wilkes Brings One of His Great Bands to the Knitting Factory

Isn’t it cool when a band lives up to the name they have the balls to call themselves? From the early zeros through about the turn of the past decade, high-voltage Nashville gothic band the Legendary Shack Shakers became a cult favorite and a popular draw on the midsize club circuit. Lately frontman JD Wilkes, one of the real mavens of punk blues and Americana, has concentrated on his other, more blues-oriented project the Dirt Daubers. Wilkes’ latest Cheetah Chrome-produced recording, Wild Moon, features that appropriately named band (a dirt dauber is a particularly vicious wasp native to the Bible Belt), but most recently he’s been back with the Legendary Shack Shakers for a couple of tours, with an upcoming show on 9/11 at around 10 at the Knitting Factory. Tix are $14.

The new Dirt Daubers album – which other than a single Youtube clip of the title track, isn’t due out til Sept 24 – opens with a brief, brisk instrumental, Rod Hamdallah’s frenetic guitar intertwining with Wilkes’ Little Walter-style chromatic harp. Wilkes’ wife Jessica sings the swinging, snarling, noir gutter blues Apples & Oranges, with its Iggy Pop references and vernacular lyrics:

You can follow me down, hold my feet to the fire
Turn my pockets inside out
You know I’m in for a penny, down for a pound …
I’m taking my debts to the afterlife

With its screaming, bent-note Hamdallah guitar and twisted fire-and-brimstone imagery, the album’s title track continues in a careening noir blues vein. Drive brings to mind New York gutter blues band Knoxville Girls, but with better production values, another droll Iggy quote and a brief, gritty Wurlitzer solo from the frontman. His wife sings the shuffling No Rest for the Wicked, her seductive lyric contrasting with all the creepy guitar chromatics.

Wilkes’ low, haphazard minor-key piano adds to the doomed ambience on the suicide ballad No More My Love. Angel Crown brings to mind early Jon Spencer in simmering, low-key mode, with a creepy lyric about a dead baby underscored by echoey chromatic harp and Hamdallah’s broodingly rustic series of chords. Let It Fly is much the same but faster, followed by the torchy, lurid Clairy Browne-ish shuffle You Know I Love You, with more of that red-neon piano and smoky baritone sax from Tom Waits sideman Ralph Carney.

The macabre stomp Hidey Hole is the album’s creepiest track – what’s down in that hidey hole, anyway? – an appropriate place for Hamdallah to fire off his most memorable, menacing guitar solo. Throughout the album, there’s more than a hint of hypnotically unwinding Mississippi hill country blues, especially on Don’t Thrill Me No More, which is basically a long, moody one-chord jam.

River Song brings back a punk blues bounce, like a more lo-fi take on what Dylan did on Love & Theft. The album winds up with God Fearing People, which sounds like Smokestack Lightning at triplespeed. Dark, offhandedly savage, lo-fi electric blues doesn’t get any better than this. It wouldn’t be out of the question to hope for some of this stuff at Wilkes’ show at the Knit with his old band.

Gord Downie & the Sadies Conquering the Bowery

[Thanks to Bowery Ballroom’s smart, energetic house manager, Amanda, who took the extra effort to make sure that this review happened]

Canadian crooner Gord Downie told the crowd at Bowery Ballroom last night that his show with the Sadies was their second gig “with lights and a soundcheck,” but the chemistry and energy was through the roof. Airing out most of the songs on their brilliant new album, Gord Downie, the Sadies & the Conquering Sun, they veered from surreal, sunburnt southwestern gothic rock, to hypnotic psychedelia, to the richly jangly, Americana-tinged rock that the Sadies have honed to a knife’s edge over more than a decade.

Has there ever been another rock brother combo as spectacularly true to their name as guitarists Travis and Dallas Good? Ray and Dave Davies, maybe, in a completely different idiom. Travis played deliciously clanging, ringing lines – and a sizzling electrified bluegrass solo toward the end of Los Angeles Times, a swaying Highway 61 revisitation. Dallas played slinky paisley underground leads, searingly high, sustained, reverb-drenched ambience and the occasional descent into frenetic, low-register roar on a couple of Telecasters. Their bassist stuck with a simple, muscular, low pulse in an attempt to cut through the mix over drummer Mike Belitsky’s artful shuffles and counterintuitive rolls across the toms, nonchalantly reasserting himself as one of the half-dozen best drummers in rock. He’s Keith Moon without the wrestlemania persona and more swing.

They opened with a couple of deliciously ringing spaghetti western-tinged numbers, Crater, then the album’s title track, the latter with the first of Dallas Good’s keening, paint-peeling leads. A little afterward, they gave the Who’s So Sad About Us an energetic workout that recalled the Jam’s version, but more elegantly. Later on in the set they did a stinging version of the Gun Club’s Goodbye Johnny, a strikingly apt choice of cover considering the resemblance between that band and this project, and encored with a frenetic, furiously riffing, extended take of Iggy Pop’s I Got a Right, Dallas Good firing off acidic layers of Ron Asheton sustain in place of James Williamson’s proto-glam attack on the original.

But it was the originals that resonated the most. Reaching up from his ominous baritone with an unrestrained angst, Downie completely sold the crowd on Budget Shoes, a grim, metaphorically loaded narrative about two desperados making their way across a desert “valley of ghosts.” The sardonic One Good Fast Job went down into snarling swamp rock; a little later, Downie dedicated the antiwar anthem Demand Destruction to antinuclear heroine Dr. Helen Caldicott – it sounded like the Who covering the Pogues. Devil Enough morphed electric bluegrass into Blonde on Blonde clang, while I’m Free, Dissaray Me went off into lingering Brian Jonestown Massacre-style psychedelia, a vivid contrast between the two guitarists’ styles. They wound up the set by stretching out the low-key soul ballad Saved into a similarly psychedelic anthem with several playful false endings.

Watching Downie strain to talk to the audience between songs was almost comical: as fans of his long-running band the Tragically Hip know, he’s actually a very articulate guy. As a diversion, he’d swing a big yellow spotlight from the back of the stage like a yo-yo in reverse. How he managed not to burn the skin off his fingers – those things get HOT – was the mystery of the night.

Downie and the Sadies continue their American tour with stops at Lincoln Hall in Chicago on May 10 and then at the Magic Stick in Detroit on May 11. Then the Sadies are at Beachland Ballroom in Cleveland on May 17 – if you’re there and this is your thing, don’t miss them.