John Boudreau

John Boudreau is currently a student at Hamilton College in Clinton, New York. He began to write for Turntablr because he saw it as a great way to continue and expand the dialogue about what makes “good music” to a wider and more diverse audience. In addition to his nascent blogging career, he accounts himself a freelance writer and musician. John cut his teeth on his dad’s classic rock collection before coming under the sway of pop-punk, garage rock and third-wave ska in middle school. After taking up the guitar, he became acutely interested in American roots music—blues, jazz, rock & roll, classic soul, and R&B. He likes anything with loud guitars, a fat horn section and a strong backbeat.

On John’s Turntable: North Side Gal / JD McPherson

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Jul 072012

North Side Gal, JD McPherson

When I first heard this song on my favorite local radio station, I expected the DJ to say: “That was a deep cut from Big Joe Turners’ 1956 album Boss of the Blues.”

Imagine my surprise when he said it was a new track from JD McPherson’s album Signs & Signifiers. JD McPherson? What record vault did they dig him out of? I thought. The sound of “North Side Gal” so successfully channels the late ‘50s sound that I bought into McPherson then and there.

The most immediately arresting thing about the record is McPherson’s voice. His timbre, right from the first line, is spot-on. It’s warm and brassy but at the same time brittle and ragged—reminiscent of a tenor sax. He sounds like a man on the edge, the way Ray Charles, Joe Turner, and a host of forgotten greats from the late ‘50’s sounded. Until McPherson, I’ve never heard a modern singer who has been able to so perfectly replicate—consciously or not—the tone of those recordings, and I suspect that McPherson isn’t disguising his singing voice in any way. It’s simply how he sounds, and he sounds great.

Everything else is spot on for a fantastic early rock & roll/rhythm & blues track. Great tenor sax solo? Check. Horn hits? Got ‘em. Sparse, Ringo-esque drumming? Also there. Although the instrumental performances are repetitive, they have an undeniable motion that propels the song from the opening drum roll. It’s a seriously fun song that immediately evokes images of tailfins, soda fountains, and those weird poodle skirts.

In some ways, McPherson reminds me a lot of Pokey LaFarge—both channel a vintage sensibility in music, dress, and stage persona, which I enjoy but occasionally find troublesome (is it more about playing dress-up than making music?).

Nevertheless, McPherson has taken all of the best elements of a single decade of American music and wrapped them up into a 2:31 package that’s one of the most authentic and most fun performances you’ll hear this summer.

On John’s Turntable: The Great Filling Station Holdup / Jimmy Buffett

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Jun 162012

Jimmy Buffett, The Great Filling Station Holdup

Say what you will about country music in general, and rant away about Jimmy Buffett in particular, but please concede this point: a certain tribe of country singer-songwriter (of which Buffett, Lyle Lovett, and Guy Clark are members) can tell a damn good story without reverting to the “dog died and/or my truck broke down before/after my woman left me” stereotype.

“The Great Filling Station Holdup,” the first track on the 1973 album A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean (the title is a send-up of Marty Robbin’s 1957 hit “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation”) tells the story of two dumb-as-life criminals who rob a gas station and then quickly repair to a nearby bar to celebrate: “We’re wanted men/we’ll strike again/but first let’s have a beer.” Buffett apparently wrote the song after reading a news item in the local police blotter, again proving that truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

The entire story feels appropriately drawn from life, with humor and tragedy side-by-side, something that my favorite lyricists have always been able to do. You can see that contrast right in the chorus, where Buffett sings: “That Great Filling Station Holdup/It cost me two good years.” There’s the inherent humor of referring to the failed petty crime as “great” right next to the bitterness of losing two years of his life in jail. This is essentially a fable: entertainment and a nugget of morality.

Buffett’s lyrics take precedence, but let’s not neglect the ensemble. Doyle Greshamn’s pedal steel guitar is the standout here, as it can whine and chuckle right along with Buffett’s lyrics. The classic “huck-a-puck” harmonica part in the intro is also great.

Look past “Margaritaville,” everyone, and dig one of America’s best storytellers.

On John’s Turntable: Somebody That I Used To Know/Gotye

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Apr 072012

Gotye, Somebody That I Used To Know

After I listened to Walk off the Earth’s innovative cover of this song with a guitar-playing friend of mine, we both decided to check out Belgian-Australian* artist Gotye’s original version. Turns out it’s just as good as Walk off the Earth’s cover, which is a testament to both the original and the cover.

This track is off his 2011 album Making Mirrors, and I think I mostly dig it for the same reasons I like Zero 7’s “In the Waiting Line”: it’s got a solid acoustic guitar background coupled with some electronic flourishes that meld together the organic and the synthetic pretty successfully. Gotye’s voice is raw and emotive enough to inject a real current of longing into the lyrics, which contrasts very nicely with New Zealand singer Kimbra’s detached vocal delivery. The most hear-wrenching line? “No you didn’t have to stoop so low/have your friends pick up your records and then change your number.” Images of John Cusack in High Fidelity can’t help but leap to mind.

“Somebody That I Used To Know” succeeds with a great mix of varied instrumentation (acoustic guitar, xylophone, synths, etc.) and an expansive production that makes the track sound like it was recorded in some weird aquarium. My buddy and I decided there’s kind of a Peter Gabriel vibe at work, which Wikipedia seems to agree with, though I like this a lot better than Peter Gabriel.

This is gonna be a hot song this summer—look for it.

*On a side note, can anyone name me another Belgian-Australian musician? Preferably a famous one? This guy’s got quite niche carved out.

On John’s Turntable: Février / Vincent Vallières

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Feb 182012

Février, Vincent Vallières

Even though we’re well into February, we still don’t have much snow in Central New York, so maybe this post is a little ironic. Actually, in case you can’t understand the lyrics, take my word for it: it’s ironic. The name of the song translates as “February,” and the lyrics are sort of a free-wheeling association of all things wintery, from “February, little red nose/Februrary, a bit drunk” to “Febuary, lose your gloves/February, on skis.”

In three minutes, Vallières provides a great ode to “the little month that never ends” backed by strong handclaps and some random whooping. The song sounds like something he recorded in the midst of a booze-soaked night with a bunch of friends in a cabin—natural, and above all, fun. It’s an incredibly simple mix of musical elements that just works. There’s definitely a little sense of humor in thrown in too: from the cough in the background at 0:35 that accompanies the lyric “Frileux et gripé” (roughly translated as “chilly and sick”) to the low whistle that sounds when Vallières mentions “le vent du nord” (“the north wind”) at 0:39.

Perhaps the reason why I enjoy this song so much is because I can actually understand the lyrics—it’s tough sometimes to appreciate songs in foreign languages, especially if you’re big into lyrics, although I hope you’ll get a kick out of this nonetheless.

DISCLAIMER: My love for Quebecois music is entirely the fault of one of my high school French teachers, so if you’re reading, Ms. Noll, merci beaucoup!

On John’s Turntable: Wild West End / Dire Straits

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Jan 282012

Wild West End, Dire Straits

God knows it’s sometimes tough to get posts up here on Turntablr during the semester. But I absolutely have to gush over Dire Straits, and I don’t mind staying up just a little later to do it. “Wild West End” sits among an album of spectacularly lean and muscular songs, which only serves to make its early Sunday morning groove feel even fresher. From the opening strums of the resonator to Mark Knopfler’s orchestral opening lick, this song feels warm and utterly relaxed.

Perhaps it’s the major key, or Knopfler’s ability to find lyrical beauty in the mundane: “My conductress on the number nineteen, she was a honey…/Greasy greasy hair, easy smile/made me feel nineteen for a while.” You can hear him smile in the vocal delivery. Knopfler doesn’t show off his full guitar hero chops here, and every note he plays is perfectly placed and perfectly tasteful, which is something I admire even more than an ability to play fast. Dig the last few seconds of the track (from about 4:35)—how else could it possibly end?

As I said, this song sounds like a perfect Sunday morning—maybe it’s because Knopfler starts by singing about “Stepping out to Angelucci’s/for my coffee beans,” but I bet it has more to do with the instrumental performances: understated, they are simultaneously incredibly dry and expansive sounding. Most of all, they sound clean. If my adjectives are a little hard to identify with, it’s because this song appeals to me on a purely sonic level, and I might not hear “dry” the same way you do.

This is one of those songs where I almost hate to write about it, because I fear that analyzing it will rob it of its magic. Maybe you should have just started reading this review here, but I wanted to share it with you, because “just ain’t no way/you and me, we can beat/ Walkin’ in the Wild West End.” Enjoy.

On John’s Turntable: Top Ten Songs of 2011 #5-1

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Dec 242011

Here’s the second part of my Top Ten Songs of 2011 (you can find part one here). I can’t guarantee that you’ll know all the artists listed, as my Top Ten was based solely on my own tastes and preferences. This list is 100% all-natural: no formulas, sales figures, or chemical modifiers were used. These are the songs that defined my 2011.

5. “Head to Toe,” Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three

One of my favorite discoveries of the year was Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three, who imbue a 1930s musical ethos with timeless lyrical themes. This is probably not music for the dubstep set: washboard/bicycle bell percussion and hot bass solos abound, and the reedy, slightly warm timbre of LaFarge’s voice is reminiscent of an alto saxophone. “Head to Toe” manages to evoke early country & western and traditional string bands with a vaguely Django-esque sensibility. It’s unabashedly traditional stuff.

4. “Million Dollar Bill,” Dawes

Taylor Goldsmith can write one hell of a love song: “When it hits me that she’s gone/I think I’ll be an astronaut/Make the moon my home and leave this world behind/So when she steps out to the night and finds the light that makes her pretty/She’ll be facing me every time she shines.” The melancholy and ambiguity bound up in that verse alone seem to encompass the entirety of human relationships. With all their nuanced longing, the lyrics are rightfully the centerpiece of this track, while the acoustic guitar and piano provide just enough support to punctuate Goldsmith’s voice effectively. Lyrically, this is the best song of 2011.

3. “Pumped Up Kicks,” Foster the People

If the first 34 seconds of this song are the best part, what makes me keep listening to the other three and a half minutes? I haven’t been able to figure it out yet, but I think it’s got something to do with the exquisitely layered synths, muted guitar lines, and the spaced-out echo on the vocal. Also, there’s a whistling interlude. Who doesn’t love whistling? Upon closer listen, the seemingly inconsequential lyrics reveal a pretty dark tale, which manages to feel simultaneously like a twisted spaghetti western and a terrible story on the six o’clock news. Although this song was everywhere this summer and fall, it always managed to sound fresh to me. I don’t think we’ll hear anything from Foster the People again—they’re a one hit wonder if I ever heard one. But what a hit, right?

2. “Lonely Boy,” The Black Keys

I occasionally get to believing that rock and roll on the radio really is dead. Then the Black Keys came along. I didn’t immediately like their previous album, Brothers, but I loved “Lonely Boy” from the start. Although the opening riff is great, it’s the squelch of Dan Auerbach’s guitar at 0:29 that restored my faith in modern rock and roll. It’s certainly not classic Keys, but that doesn’t make it bad—this sounds to me like a natural evolution for the band. Pat Carney’s drums have an adrenal pulse, and Auerbach’s vocal delivery sounds causal and tossed-off. He’s reminding everyone that a singer doesn’t have to be Pavoratti (or even Adele) to get the message across—heck, a rock and roll singer should be more Mick Jagger than Freddie Mercury anyway. The video, thankfully, proves that you can in fact dance to something other than the Black Eyed Peas. The Black Keys single-handedly made rock and roll cool again this year, and that’s why they get the number two spot.

1. “Middle Brother,” Middle Brother

When I first wrote about this song in August, I had no idea how completely Middle Brother would control my life for the next four months. Almost every song on their album has gotten heavy rotation on my iPod, on my computer, and in my car. “Middle Brother” is the song that started it all. In August, I said that this song “is what a rock and roll song should be. Relaxed, rollicking; a little boozy, a little crude.” That still holds true four months later. No one sounds like they’re trying too hard (despite the shout of “we did it motherf*ckers!” at the end of the track): the harmonies aren’t mind-blowing, some of the lyrics are incomprehensible (2:24), and a do-it-yourself ethos permeates the whole track. Above all, it is a supremely human and organic piece of music, which is what I love most about this track. If The Black Keys made rock and roll cool again this year, Middle Bother reminded us that it was never uncool.

So that’s it for another year of music. Hopefully you found something you liked, or maybe something you hadn’t heard before. If you did, please go out of your way to buy or download the track legally. Record contracts may not be the fairest thing in the world, but your favorite artists aren’t making any money if you just steal the music, right?

Thanks to everyone who has been following along here on Turntablr over the past few months. See you next year!

On John’s Turntable: Top Ten Songs of 2011 #10-6

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Dec 232011

Over the next two days, I’ll be going through my top ten songs of 2011 here on Turntablr. I can’t guarantee that you’ll know all the artists listed, as my Top Ten was based solely on my own tastes and preferences. This list is 100% all-natural: no formulas, sales figures, or chemical modifiers were used. I’ll do numbers ten through six today, and then give you the top five tomorrow.

10. “So Beautiful or So What,” Paul Simon

Although he’s now a septuagenarian, Rhymin’ Simon has still got it. 2011 has yielded some of his strongest and most critically acclaimed material in years. It’s gratifying to hear such vivid new tunes from one of America’s greatest songwriters, and amazing that his voice has remained relatively unsullied in 40 years (for contrast, see Bob Dylan, Levon Helm). This tune features an undeniably catchy hook—it’s jittery and funky, a perfect manifestation of the gumbo that Simon invokes in the first line. Although Simon’s vocal delivery is laid back, he manages to simultaneously sing with both conviction and a strange urgency.

9. “Back Down South,” Kings of Leon

So this album was technically released in 2010, but the band didn’t release this as a single until this year, so I think this counts as a 2011 song—this was certainly the first time I’d heard it. I’m only a casual Kings of Leon fan, but I turned this one up whenever it came on the radio this summer. The lyrics suck (“I’ve got something here/if you give me one more beer”) but there’s something very down-homey and endearing about it. The fiddle is understated, and the one or two electric guitar licks around 2:42 sound more like a pedal steel—very cool. It works as a great counterpoint to their full “Sex on Fire” bombast. With regards to the video, I’d like to point out that no rural town in America contains that many good-looking, nubile young people.

8. “Rolling in the Deep,” Adele

2011 was the Year of Adele. The heir apparent to Dusty Springfield’s legacy, Adele has the kind of talent that transcends genre. “Rolling” may have gotten way overplayed, but with good reason—it’s a damn good piece of music. Adele’s voice is obviously the centerpiece: rich, mournful, and undeniably powerful. Credit should also go to producer Paul Epworth, however, who brings this four minute symphony together: the balance between piano, drums and backup vocalists is fantastic, and it’s this solid support that give Adele the opportunity to let her voice soar. This song is also home to the year’s best breakdown (at 2:30).

7. “Rabbit in the Log,” Chris Thile and Michael Daves

I don’t always listen to bluegrass, but when I do, I prefer Chris Thile and Michael Daves. This tune is spectacular—two incredibly talented musicians going at it full force. Guitar and mandolin rattle off runs at an absolutely mind-boggling pace, and Daves’ harmonizations perfectly reflect the “high and lonesome” sound of traditional bluegrass harmony. Raw talent courses through the song, and they maintain the relentless pace with both grace and humor. As the cliché goes, they’re having fun with it. Isn’t that what’s important?

6. “Forty-Four,” Wynton Marsalis & Eric Clapton

My mom bought this album for me, and I initially thought this pairing was one of those collaborations that looked good in theory but not in reality. Then I listened to this track. Marsalis and Clapton (backed by a sizable band) manage to re-invigorate an old Howlin’ Wolf tune through a New Orleans mojo that the Wolf never had. There’s a delicious interplay between Clapton’s straight blues and Marsalis’ NOLA soul, and this tension makes the song rather than breaking it. Marsalis and Clapton manage to highlight the commonalities between the two genres instead of the differences, a testament to their musicianship. Dig the clarinet solo at 3:10 and Clapton’s hits at 4:38.

That’s it for the first half. Now it’s time for a brief intermission before we get to the really heavy hitters tomorrow–the songs that defined my 2011. Interested in what my number one song was? Do a little detective work on Turntablr, because there’s already a review of it on here. Think you figured it out? Post your answer in the comments section and stay tuned.

On John’s Turntable: The Surrey With The Fringe On Top (Live) / The Marsalis Family

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Nov 052011

The Surrey With The Fringe On Top, The Marsalis Family

I like jazz. The typical reader of this blog may not, so I promise to not go all out on jazz terminology in this post. Like dubstep or indie folk, jazz is a genre that takes a while to wrap your head around and appreciate. So you have an excuse if you don’t dig this right away, but give it a few listens before you dismiss it entirely.

The name Marsalis is big in jazz circles—trumpeter Wynton is already a living legend, saxophonist Branford regularly packs concert halls, and their father Ellis taught for many years at the University of New Orleans. In 2001 the entire Marsalis family (including trombonist Delfeayo and drummer Jason) got together in New Orleans to lay down this live album. I actually saw them on their subsequent tour, but since I was nine, I didn’t really appreciate it.

This track features Ellis on piano and Jason on drums, backed by Roland Guerin on the bass. Ellis takes a corny showtune (originally from Oklahoma!) and imbues it with a deeply funky energy.

People looking to understand what makes a song “jazz” should play the original version of “Surrey” first, and then play this version. The difference is in the phrasing: Ellis deletes notes he doesn’t like, repeats ones he does, and gets lazy with it when he wants. It’s all about feel.

Guerin sets the tone with his bass entrance at 00:46—if you don’t have speakers with good clear bass, you might miss some subtleties. Ellis opens the track up at 00:59 with an incredibly lush two-handed chord before stating the main theme at 01:22, which he swings hard.

A word, if I may, on Jason’s drum solo at 04:09. It’s not Neil Peart, that’s for sure—for starters, Jason probably has four or five drums compared to Neil’s 20+. It’s not a technically mind blowing solo, but it’s not supposed to be. Jazz drummers prize the “groove” above everything else: steady, pulsing tempo. That’s exactly what Jason does here: he locks in to a groove, and then manipulates it all over the place. It’s a different type of technical mastery.

So there you have it. That’s jazz. There’s a lot of subtlety here, and I still pick up on new stuff every time. My current favorite is Ellis’ outro at 07:42—the way he turns the melody into some sort of jazzy doorbell. They’re having fun, and that’s evident no matter how much you know about jazz.

On John’s Turntable: Nine Pound Hammer / Tommy Emmanuel

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Oct 142011

Nine Pound Hammer, Tommy Emmanuel

I don’t usually go out for musical gimmicks. I like my musicians to play their music, and that’s about it. You don’t need to put a takeout container on your head, brag about how many caps you’ve popped in various people, or prostitute your technical talent so people will pay attention to you (i.e. playing fast just because you can).

Tommy Emmanuel does this (not the cap-popping or bucket-wearing), so I really shouldn’t be praising him in light of my previous statement. He’s an immensely gifted technical player, but he uses his talent as more of a curiosity than anything else. Maybe I’m just not hip to what he’s playing, but most of his songs seem overly technical to the detriment of emotional content, with the notable exception of “Nine Pound Hammer,” a Merle Travis cover.

Emmanuel’s technical mastery is evident here: he keeps his picking perfectly staccato and fluid, which lends a sophisticated polish to Travis’ down-home country lyrics. His solo break at 2:00-2:43 almost veers into virtuosic egotism, but he manages to reel things in just in time.

At 3:09 the tune takes a decided turn for what I would typically describe as “gimmicky,” but in this context it comes off as purely innovative. After exploring the percussive elements of his guitar, Emmanuel resolves into an interesting technique: brushing the body of the guitar with one hand while fingering notes on the neck with his other (check out the video below). It’s a distinctive sound that almost succeeds in convincing you that there’s a rhythm section behind him.

When Emmanuel says “I love this tune,” I can’t help but believe him—and he doesn’t need to play real fast to convince me.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pC6m3A0ve3A&w=560&h=315]

On John’s Turntable: Lovers in a Dangerous Time / Barenaked Ladies

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Sep 092011

Lovers in a Dangerous Time, Barenaked Ladies

I’ve liked Barenaked Ladies ever since 4th grade.

Sorry, I should clarify.

I’ve liked the Canadian pop band Barenaked Ladies ever since 4th grade, when a very good friend and I spent approximately seven days memorizing all the fast bits in their first major U.S. hit, “One Week” (I can still spit ‘em on command). I was first exposed to the Ladies via All Their Greatest Hits: 1991-2001, which also contains a Bruce Cockburn cover: “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.” For their version, the band stripped back all the electronic noise and re-imagined the song in a more traditional manner.

This song always sounds like autumn to me. Maybe it’s the way the piano floats in and out like leaves or the peculiar melancholy of the double bass solo at 2:02, but there’s something undeniably autumnal about the song.

The Ladies take a page from the Beach Boys in this song—their harmonies, while perhaps not always perfect, are incredibly rich. They counter the subdued longing in singer Steven Page’s voice and give the song kind of an ambiguous tonality: it seems to be both minor and major. It’s maybe not surprising that another Barenaked Ladies song is called “Brian Wilson”—his influence is obvious here.

My favorite part of “Lovers in a Dangerous Time,” however, is the lyrics. “Nothin’ worth havin’ comes without some kind of fight/gotta kick at the darkness til it bleeds daylight.” The imagery is vivid and visceral, and embodies a kind of pig-headed optimism. When the song kicks into double time after the bass solo (at 2:30), it’s clear that no matter the trials, love will ultimately prevail.