Jarvis Cocker [2009] Further Complications

[01] Further Complications
[02] Angela
[03] Pilchard
[04] Leftovers
[05] I Never Said I Was Deep
[06] Homewrecker!
[07] Hold Still
[08] Fuckingsong
[09] Caucasian Blues
[10] Slush
[11] You're In My Eyes (Discosong)



amg: Perhaps it was inevitable that Jarvis Cocker would find no peace in domesticity. It may have treated him well for a brief period, resulting in the quite brilliant mature pop of his 2006 solo debut, but no other pop star has been as singularly sex-obsessed as Jarvis, so it was just a matter of time before his attentions wandered elsewhere...and so they have on his wildly depraved second album, Further Complications. Right from the start with the thumping "Angela," Jarvis has flesh on the mind, just as he did during the days of His 'n' Hers with its songs about sisters, virginity, and fetishes, but where those songs were underscored by the vague melancholy of somebody who has only glimpsed his fantasy and frets that he will never see it again, the songs here pulsate with perversion, a middle-aged man making damn sure that he's going to get with a tight 23-year-old body yet again; it's the sound of a fetishist turned sexual omnivore. Fittingly, the sound of the record is completely changed, with only the closing "You're in My Eyes (Discosong)" echoing back to the louche, languid urban fantasies of "Deep Fried in Kelvin." The rest is all gnarled, ugly hard rock, dredging up ghosts of the Stooges and the Spiders from Mars, dressing them in stylish second-hand clothes that are razored to ribbons by Steve Albini's typically unflinching production. Under his cold glare, all the madness of Further Complications is pushed right to the surface — all the stuttering, slashing guitars, Steve Mackey's wailing sax, Jarvis' obsessive, compulsive carnality. If he has any regrets leaving the settled bohemian pop professor of Jarvis behind, it only surfaces on "Slush," a dirgelike meditation on global warming overshadowed by the hedonistic riot of Further Complications at large, a record that does its best to live up to Cocker's "never said I was deep, but I am profoundly shallow" proclamation. He's denied his id for too long, so the dam bursts here and it's impossible not to happily wallow in the flood of filth unleashed by Further Complications.
(amg 9/10)

Joanna Newsom [2006] Ys

[01] Emily
[02] Monkey & Bear
[03] Sawdust & Diamonds
[04] Only Skin
[05] Cosmia



amg: The Milk-Eyed Mender was a striking debut that set Joanna Newsom apart from her indie folk contemporaries. Its simplicity and depth, and the way it sounded timeless and fresh, made her a singular figure in that scene. On her second album, Ys (pronounced "ease"), she continues to move in a very different direction than her peers, and even a different one than what her audience might expect. The Milk-Eyed Mender's 12 gentle vignettes sounded like they were basking in sunlight; Ys is epic, restless, and demanding, made up of five dazzling, shape-shifting songs that range from seven to 16 minutes long. Newsom embarks on this adventure of an album with help from talents as diverse as engineer Steve Albini, arranger Van Dyke Parks, and producer Jim O'Rourke (who, come to think of it, is the perfect meeting point between Albini and Parks). Ys' boldly intricate sound plays like an embellished, illuminated, expanded version of Newsom's previous work. Parks' lavish, but never intrusive, orchestral arrangements sometimes make the album feel -- in the best possible way -- like a Broadway musical based on The Milk-Eyed Mender, particularly on the album closer, "Cosmia." Crucially, though, Ys isn't any less "real" than Newsom's other music just because it's more polished. The nature and craft imagery in her lyrics, the transporting sense of wonder and the one-of-a-kind voice of The Milk-Eyed Mender are here too, just in a much more refined and ambitious form: Ys is a gilt-edged, bone china teacup to Mender's earthenware mug.

Along with the beautifully filigreed arrangements and melodies, which mingle strings, jew's-harps, and spaghetti Western horns with Appalachian, Celtic, and even Asian influences, the album shows Newsom's development as a singer. She has more nuance and control, particularly over the keening edge of her voice, which is recorded so clearly that when it cracks, it tears the air like a tangible exclamation point. Ys' daring, plentiful wordplay makes it even more of a rarity: an extremely musically accomplished album with lyrics to match. On "Only Skin" alone, Newsom goes from rhyming "fishin' poles" with "swimmin' holes" to "heartbroken, inchoate." These songs are so full of words and plot twists that sometimes it feels more like you're reading them instead of listening to them, and indeed, actually reading the lyrics in the book-like liner notes reveals that Ys has a library's worth of children's stories, myths, romances, and of course, fairy tales woven into its words. As the album unfolds, it seems like Newsom can't get more ambitious (and more importantly, pull it off), but with each song, she does. Two of the best moments: the darkly whimsical fable "Monkey & Bear," a forest romp that boasts some of the album's best storytelling and some of Parks' liveliest arrangements, and "Sawdust & Diamonds," which is surreally sensual and coltish, with surprisingly direct lyrics: "From the top of the flight/Of the wide, white stairs/For the rest of my life/Do you wait for me there?" Ys isn't exactly a reinvention of Newsom's music, but it's so impressive that it's like a reintroduction to what makes her talent so special. Its breathtaking scope makes it a sometimes bewildering embarrassment of riches, or as one of "The Monkey and the Bear"'s lyrics puts it, "a table ceaselessly being set." Yes, Ys is a demanding listen, but it's also a rewarding and inspiring one. Letting it unfold and absorbing more each time you hear it is a delight.
(amg 9/10)

Joe Walsh [1978] But Seriously, Folks

[01] Over And Over
[02] Second Hand Store
[03] Indian Summer
[04] At The Station
[05] Tomorrow
[06] Inner Tube
[07] Theme From Boat Weirdos
[08] Life's Been Good



amg: As far as studio albums go, But Seriously Folks is Joe Walsh's most insightful and melodic. But Seriously Folks, released in 1978, was the album the Eagles should have made rather than the mediocre The Long Run. It captures a reflective song cycle along the same thematic lines of Pet Sounds, only for the '70s. The album's introspective outlook glides through rejuvenation ("Tomorrow," "Over and Over"), recapturing the simple pleasures of the past ("Indian Summer"), mid-career indecision ("At the Station," "Second Hand Store"), and a melancholy instrumental ("Theme From Boat Weirdos"). The disc's finale, "Life's Been Good," is a sarcastic and bittersweet ode to Walsh's "rock star-party guy" persona which reached the Top 10 on the pop charts and became a staple of FM rock radio. The only way But Seriously Folks could have been improved, was to include "In the City," essentially solo Walsh, which unfortunately ended up on The Long Run instead.
(amg 9/10)