Acoustic » Turntablr

On Jack’s Turntable: Ours / Joe Pug

Sep 172012

YouTube Link: Ours, Joe Pug
Sometimes it can be detrimental, or even dangerous to love a set of songs too much. This happened to me with Joe Pug’s Nation of Heat EP, which I became so attached to that I found myself illogically predisposed to reject any new songs that Joe put out. Maybe its an effect of being burned too many times in the past decade by disappointing Springsteen albums, but I instinctively approached Joe’s new album The Great Despiser with weary skepticism when it came out. I assumed it couldn’t possibly match up to the wonderful songs in his back catalog. After all my cynicsm though, I turned out completely wrong. The new songs, against all odds, are just as good as his older ones, if not better. Joe’s ability to develop and grow as a writer and performer is pretty astounding, especially as he gets slowly more famous. Rather than basking in his modest limelight it seems to be motivating him to dig deeper, leading him to explore what makes him so good as a songwriter and vocalist.

This song, “Ours,” has everything I’ve always loved about his music: insightful lyrics that pack meaning into every carefully selected word, original and clever melodic patterns and a general feeling of unadorned, bare elegance that holds your attention without distracting from Joe’s poetry. Somehow he speaks in everyday language, employing universal description to relate sentiments that resonate far below the surface. He says things we’ve all thought and we all understand, but only someone with his talents can form into words. The ability to resist cliche and formula without resorting to drastic experimentation sets Joe apart from the droves of other meek guitar-strumming amateur philosophers out there, a feat much more impressive than most can appreciate. Listen to this whole album, its near flawless.

On Dan’s Turntable: Think About It / Flight of the Conchords

Posted by Dan Kipp 2 Responses »

May 292012

Think About It, Flight of the Conchords

Always entertaining but often forgotten, this post presents to your turntable the glory that is Flight of the Conchords. I’ll let them, in characteristic Australian accents and self-effacing style, introduce themselves: “We are Flight of the Conchords, formerly New Zealand’s fourth most popular folk parody duo… Unfortunately another folk parody duo’s just slipped above us in the charts… Like of the Conchords, a tribute band. They do our songs just slightly more popular than us.”

The guitar-playing lyric-geniuses are as hilarious as they are humble. An instant classic of a contemporary comic duo, Bret and Jermaine make up Flight of the Conchords. The smaller of the two, Brett, a scruffy, high-pitched, baaaad mutha ucker, plays seven instruments: guitar, bass, piano, omnichord, xylophone, ukulele, and drums. Jermaine is more of a buck-toothed burlesque baritone with big beautiful black bushy eyebrows, which he tends to bounce around. Their songs are often situated in every day situations gone absurd, and the targets of their parody range from the hip-hop game to David Bowie.

In Think About it, the duo assumes a groovy style of smooth concern for serious societal issues similar to Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” but instead ask trivial questions that derail all consequence. Like Woody Allen interrogating, “Why does man kill?” and expounding, “He kills for food. And not only food: frequently there must be a beverage,” Bret and Jermaine lament, “They’re turning kids into slaves just to make cheaper sneakers. But what’s the real cost? Cause the sneakers don’t seem that much cheaper. Why are we still paying so much for sneakers when you got them made by little slave kids? What are your overheads?”

Despite asking the tough questions, Flight of the Conchords never forgets to break it down and keep it light. Indeed, it is in their unique ability to put heartwarming wit to catchy melodies that makes this band worth a turn on your table.

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

Posted by John Boudreau No Responses »

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 Jack’s Turntable: When We Were Happy / Rob Giles

Posted by Jack McManus No Responses »

Feb 212012

When We Were Happy, Rob Giles
One of the most beautiful and emotionally crippling things about language is how some short phrases can have such huge connotations hidden in their phrasing. My favorite example of this idea comes from Sam Beam’s lyrics to his song “The Trapeze Swinger,” when he says “someone told me you’re still pretty” in the second verse. I’m always amazed at how clearly this short phrase so concisely presents such a complicated situation- the verb tense alone carries more emotional weight than most entire songs. Somehow those six words tell an entire story, without any need for detail or explanation. It might just be the best-written sentence I’ve even encountered. The title/refrain of this song by Rob Giles of The Rescues might come close though. With two less words, the phrase “When We Were Happy” rivals the connotative pregnancy of that Iron and Wine quote, immediately explaining the entire song before you even hear it. That phrase, which is also the title of Rob’s new solo album, quite literally says it all. As one could easily extrapolate from the title, the track centers on a painful romantic breakup, delving into the immensely complicated emotions that fill the void when happiness fades away in a relationship. Giles has fantastically expressive vocal style, and the simple guitar and bass parts have a painful throbbing to them that reflects the sentiment of the lyrics. The recurring string theme adds just enough beauty and tragic elegance to the situation, sonically capturing the feelings that Rob must have been struggling with when he wrote this song. Lyrics like these can only come from fresh painful experience, and the clarity in the title of this song alone is the mark of a great writer.

I want you, but I want you to be happy, the way we were happy, when were happy

On John’s Turntable: Février / Vincent Vallières

Posted by John Boudreau No Responses »

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 Jack’s Turntable: All Through The Night / Tyler Ramsey

Posted by Jack McManus No Responses »

Feb 132012

All Through The Night, Tyler Ramsey
In September I wrote about this song for Cover Me (you can check out the post here), and ever since then it has haunted me- never getting boring no matter how often I listen to it. There’s something astonishing about how Tyler’s guitar picking follows the core melody while simultaneously picking the bass line and adding pretty little flourishes, especially since this attached version was recorded live. His voice has a roughness to it that gives the performance a tear-jerking sense of emotional sincerity, making the romantic situation believable and real-sounding. The tempo and nocturnal imagery in the lyrics fit Tyler’s understated style perfectly, capturing the essence of the tune far better than Cyndi Lauper did on her more famous cover of this track. For all of its other merits, though, this song just has a gorgeous chorus. The melodic building and lyrical desperation captivate both the listener and performer, gripping our attention and provoking beautifully-strained wails from Ramsey. Also, even though the performance overshadows them for the most part, the lyrics of this track have a serene elegence to them that I really like.

We have no past, we won’t reach back, stay with me forward on through the night

On Jack’s Turntable: Silent Night / Lisa Hannigan

Posted by Jack McManus No Responses »

Dec 252011

Silent Night, Lisa Hannigan
Merry Christmas to everybody celebrating! I’m taking a decidedly unconventional approach to this holiday post. While I earnestly hope that all of our readers are having joyous celebrations today, the holidays can also be a viciously sad time. Its unfortunate, but realistic. Accordingly, I have a gift for anyone who might not be feeling their best today: quite possibly the saddest song in the world. A hidden track on Damien Rice’s classic album O, this startling revision of the holiday classic “Silent Night” turns it into an absolutely heartbreaking tale of loss and resentment. Rice’s female vocal partner Lisa Hannigan preforms it with haunting, empty beauty and without accompaniment, driving home the loneliness that pervades this track. I actually find this song strangely comforting whenever I feel sad myself, because, no matter how depressed I am, my own emotions never seem as bad as what the character in this song feels. It pretty much contains the maximum possible sadness that you can fit in 1:28 of recorded music. If you’re having a blue Christmas hopefully this will ease your pain a bit, and if not, save this song for the next time you need to shed a few tears.

On Jack’s Turntable: A Little Bit of Everything / Dawes

Posted by Jack McManus No Responses »

Oct 282011

A Little Bit of Everything, Dawes
Starting from the first solemn piano notes this track carries an emotional weight that any listener can relate to. I first heard it played by frontman Taylor Goldsmith by himself on an acoustic guitar in a YouTube video, so when I first heard the formal and almost military salute-style intro I saw the song in a completely different light. In some ways the idea of salute fits the song, as it pays tribute to three individuals who each face the crushing weight that builds up on all of us at times in our lives, occasionally leading to internal crises like these.
The first anecdote sets the grave tone with the story of a man about to commit suicide on the Golden Gate Bridge, explaining his motivation as a combination of all the little things that he just can’t take anymore. Its really heavy and serious, so much so that the first verse sometimes distracts me from listening to the rest of the lyrics. In the second vignette Goldsmith turns to a less extreme and more relateable scenario, as an elderly man is suddenly struck with nostalgia and regret while waiting in line for a buffet. As he wrestles with the missed opportunities of his life he finally finds a glorious little spark of ambition, symbolically asking for everything the way he regrets not doing earlier in life. While the things he ultimately recieves are limited to food (because he’s at a restaurant), the idea of just going for it and striving still fells very satisfying. At this point Taylor takes a very nice guitar solo, then turns to the third episode. The last part is the mushiest and most uplifting, as a bride-to-be explains to her future husband in detail why she’s so excited to be married, even in the face of stressful wedding planning. Its a beautiful explanation and ode to love.
I’ve just started listening to Dawes after seeing Taylor play with Middle Brother this summer, but he’s quickly becoming one of my favorite lyricists, and charming songs like this one are exactly why.

On Jack’s Turntable : Star Star (Live) / The Frames

Posted by Jack McManus No Responses »

Oct 242011

Star Star, The Frames
There are a few sure-fire ways to win me over as a music listener, and Glen Hansard seems to know all of them. Not only does he write subtle, beautiful and emotional songs but he proves himself as a music fan by frequently covering and teasing other artists’ songs that he likes. This track includes both of those things, and also deserves bonus points for being one of the most pristine live recordings I’ve ever heard. Either the crowd was perfectly silent during the performance or whoever recorded this has some damn impressive microphones.

Songs about the stars always appeal to me, as someone who has spent many hours looking into the night sky. They’re an aspect of the natural world that can be immensely difficult to describe verbally, and Glen does a phenomenal job. The song itself has a really intimate quality to it, perfectly capturing the stillness and serenity of a starry night. The first live surprise comes when The Frames drop out completely and let their violinist play the iconic melody of “Pure Imagination” from Willy Wonka, then joining him for the first line, pointing at a feeling of purity, whimsy and innocence, all of which relate to the lullaby qualities of the song. After a passionate chorus the band drops out again, and through the silence Glen and another vocalist start percussively chanting the lyrics of a song that I didn’t recognize at first, but discovered to be “Hotel Lounge (Be the Death of Me)” by the Belgian alt-grunge band dEUS, which offers a perspective of disillusionment that contrasts the Wonka tease but still relates to the song thematically. Looking at the stars can be both an act of childlike wonder or adult escape, appealing to these larger celestial entities out of either curiosity or desperation, and this medley captures that beautifully.

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

Posted by John Boudreau No Responses »

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]