New York Music Daily

No New Abnormal

Tag: not waving but drowning band

A Dark, Surreal, Original, Carnivalesque Romp by Fable Cry

Nashville band Fable Cry play what they call “scamp rock.” It’s an interesting, original, frequently creepy sound. Lickety-split, theatrical noir cabaret gives way to roughhewn Irish punk rock, or darker Appalachian-tinged sounds. Sometimes all of that in a single song. Among current bands, the Dear Hunter – who’ve got a new album of their own – seem to be an obvious influence, but Fable Cry are their own animal. Since their debut a couple of years ago, the group have expanded from brother-sister multi-instrumentalists Zach and Kirstie Ferrin to include cellist Joshua Dent, violinist/singer Jo Cleary, bassist Scott Fernandez and drummer Rachel Gerlach.

Their album We’ll Show You Where the Monsters Are – streaming at Soundcloud – kicks off with Onion Grin. The frontman’s stage-whispery, Brecht/Weill-inspired persona comes through immediately, although the grossness implied in the title isn’t part of Zach Ferrin’s shtick. Dead Or Alive (For Now) would be a period-perfect 80s goth anthem if it wasn’t anchored by growly, rattling bowed bass and cello: “You won’t think I find eyes at the top of the hill,” the narrator leers. Cleary eventually caps it off with a savagely shivery violin solo.

The Good Doctor alternates between a sea chantey-ish waltz and a vastly less cartoonish, quieter theme: it’s sort of a mashup of Kotorino and Not Waving But Drowning. The pirate-anthem vibe continues, with a Pogues-ish punk rock edge, in From Myth To Moon: “What’s beyond is better than what’s behind,” Zach insists. Once again, it’s Cleary’s witchy, swirling violin pushing the track to peak velocity.

You Ain’t My Baby No More is a bouncy, cheery punkgrass number. Fancy Dancing has a creepy, balletesque sway, Gorey-esque call-and-response between band members and a refrain that might be either “hide your fear,” or ‘hide your beer.” Both make sense in context.

The Zoo of No Return is just plain kooky, a surreal blend of Weimar cabaret, Romany punk and hip-hop. Set Me Loose brings a return to waltz time, jumpily stabbing strings and an escape theme (about time, from the looks of things). The Train Song shuffles and shambles along, taking a familiar railroad theme completely over the top and off the rails. The album winds up with the mostly-instrumental Slow Down, part bluegrass, part garage rock. There seems to be a central concept here: a journey across land and sea is involved. Where it leads is open to interpretation, but it’s a fun ride all the same. Fable Cry sound like they’re a great live band. Watch this space for future NYC appearances.

An Overlooked Lorca-Inspired Art-Rock Treasure from Rima Fand

Much as this blog’s raison d’etre is to keep an eye on what’s happening now, the past is littered with unfairly overlooked albums. One recent one, from 2011, is Rima Fand’s Sol, Caracol (Spanish for “Sun, Snail”). It comprises many of the songs from her theatrical project Don Cristobal: Billy-Club Man, which sets Federico Garcia Lorca poetry to frequently haunting, flamenco-tinged original music. This is the closest thing to an original soundtrack recording that exists, part dark flamenco rock, part noir cabaret, part chamber pop. Besides playing violin, the Luminescent Orchestrii co-founder distinguishes herself on mandolin and keyboards as well, accompanied by an all-star cast from many styles of south-of-the-border and Balkan music.

Although Don Cristobal and his sidekick Rosita are a Spanish version of Punch and Judy, there’s very little here that’s vaudevillian, consistent with Garcia Lorca’s full-fledged rather than one-dimensionally farcical depiction of the characters. The opening track, Midnight Hours, sets a dramatic lead vocal by David Fand over a spiky blend of the bandleader’s mandolin with Avi Fox-Rosen and Chris Rael’s guitars, a soaring choir behind them. You might call this art-flamenco. Lucia Pulido sings the dynamically charged Replica, Rima Fand doubling on mandolin and accordion. Cicada, a shivery, hypnotically suspenseful string piece, blends her violin with those of Sarah Alden and Not Waving But Drowning’s Pinky Weitzman and Matt Moran‘s vibraphone.

Justine Williams
sings the creepy, marching Rosita’s Song. The choir returns for Don Woodsman-Heart, a moody flamenco vamp lit up by Quince Marcum‘s alto horn, morphing into a dreaming, longing waltz. Pulido takes over the mic again on the terse, minimalistic Confusion over My Brightest Diamond cellist Maria Jeffers‘ bassline. David Fand returns to imploring lead vocals on the insistent Abre Tu Balcon (Open Up Your Balcony – that’s Don Cristobal imploring Rosita to have a word with him). They follow that with a cartoonish miniature, Te Mate and then Hat-Ache, another flamenco-tinged, angst-fueled, love-stricken ballad.

The album’s centerpiece is the macabre, carnivalesque Billy-Club Ballet, the bandleader on piano with guitar and percussion, Fox-Rosen’s jagged electric incisions adding menace up to a twinkling piano interlude and then back down. They follow a brief mandolin waltz with La Monja Gitana (The Country Nun), rising from another austere 3/4 rhythm, with a rich, bittersweet vocal from Rima Fand.

Eva Salina Primack and Aurelia Shrenker a.k.a. innovative Balkan/Appalachian duo AE sing the sweeping, tensely moonlit Lullaby for a Sleeping Mirror, building to a lush, anxious round. The album ends with the towering overture La Cogida y la Muerte, sung pensively in English and Spanish by Abigail Wright, the acidic close harmonies of the string section contrasting with Katie Down‘s anxiously dancing flute and the distantly circling trumpets of Ben Syversen, Sarah Ferholt, JR Hankins and Ben Holmes. Surreal, sad, eclectic and vivid, it more than does justice to Lorca’s equally surreal, sad, ironic poetry. The album comes with a useful lyric booklet including English translations.