CD Odyssey Disc 1815: Amyl and the Sniffers

Once again we have an album hand-picked to match up with a concert review. This also happens to be – fun fact – the second Australian band in a row!

Disc 1815 is…Cartoon Darkness

Artist: Amyl and the Sniffers

Year of Release: 2024

What’s up with the Cover? The band, presumably responding to the photographer’s direction to “do something wacky!” Let’s see – how did everyone do… Guy on the left? Wearing socks and sandals. Horrible, but all too common in these troubled times. Middle guy – solid approximation of hanging in space. I imagine he had to pogo like that multiple times to land it just right. Kudos. Guy on the right? Looks like he’s in a seventies cop movie and getting ready to beat some information out of a perp.

And as for Amy Taylor – aka Amyl herself? Ye olde boob flash. As wacky camera moves go, it’s a classic.

How I Came To Know It: I discovered the band through my buddy Nick. This album was just me checking out their latest release when it came out.

How It Stacks Up: I have all three Amyl and Sniffers albums released so far. They just keep getting better, and “Cartoon Darkness” comes in at #1, supplanting “Comfort to Me” which was not easy. Here’s the full recap:

1. Cartoon Darkness: 5 stars (reviewed right here)
2. Comfort to Me: 5 stars (reviewed at Disc 1628)
3. Self-Titled: 4 stars (reviewed at Disc 1683)

Ratings: 5 stars

“Cartoon Darkness” is the best album of 2024. After I gave 2021’s “Comfort to Me” five-stars that was a tough statement to live up to but along comes “Cartoon Darkness” to elbow its way to the front of the line.

“Cartoon Darkness” manages to celebrate every facet of rock and roll, and still turn everything the colour punk. Previous Amyl and the Sniffers records have been more visceral and raw, but the amazing feat achieved here is to lose exactly none of their signature snap and snarl and still add new ways to bite you.

The band is savvy enough to start with some of the purest of the punk stuff. “Jerkin’” is a song that features Amy Taylor spewing a litany of insults to lame assholes the world over, who are left with nothing to do but pull their own puds in the shadow of her awesomeness. If that last sentence made you uncomfortable then you should definitely not listen to this song, because I was being positively euphemistic to how Amy tells it. If, however, you don’t mind graphic imagery that is the point and then some, then this is punk rock goes, this is grade A+ stuff.

The album also knocks out some great guitar riffs, as the Sniffers show that punk rock can be tight and well played and still sound nasty. Songs like “Bikini” take coy sexual notions and supercharge them with aggression, turning the male gaze back on itself so hard it’ll give you a slap.

Not unlike the last album I reviewed by Camp Cope, we once again have some great expositions on men behaving badly. “U Should Not Be Doing That” is about women staying faithful while their jerk boyfriends make bad decisions. Amy’s got no time for the double standard and this song makes it clear that when she gets home from tour, you should be packed and gone. She’s done the work, and the upshot is, you’re done.

That’s a few of the punkiest tunes on the record, by Amyl and the Sniffers show range on “Cartoon Darkness” with the melancholy “Big Dreams”, that is a slow and swaying mood piece that would be at home on a nineties grunge record.

They drop a guitar riff that demands horns in the air on “Doing in My Head” before breaking it down into a downward spiral of the harshest mosh tune imaginable. All that up high/down low combo takes a bit longer to roll out, and at 3:00 this is one of the record’s longest songs.

That’s right, Amyl and the Sniffers know that punk rock done right, gets in, throws some fists about, and then gets out and onto the next song. The sheer energy of jumping from one great track to the next – each different, but each more furious than the last – is liberating and energizing. The record is over and all you want to do is play it again.

Along the way, you’ll feel a little Black Sabbath, a little Black Flag and a lot of black humour, and each time you think “they can’t add that in here and make it work,” they do.

The album’s final song is the tongue-in-cheek (but still clench-fisted) “Me and the Girls,” a song about a girls’ day out at the airport. Drunk. Musically this song features a guitar riff that is the confluence of dancing, driving, and fighting, and just when you think this modern masterpiece can’t add one more sound and get away with it there it is – some Peter Frampton style talk box. And yes, this also works.

Best tracks: all tracks

The Concert: March 26 at the PNE Forum, Vancouver

For the second time in a month, Sheila and I found ourselves sufficiently motivated to fly to Vancouver to see a show. Before the show we had dinner at the awesome heavy metal/punk inspired restaurant “Jackalopes” which I heartily recommend. Good food, good service, great ambience.

The concert location this time was also in East Van but in a venue many times larger than the Biltmore – the PNE Forum.

The Forum is an old but grand building Built in 1931 it holds about 4,000 concert-goers. This is about four times as many as the Commodore Ballroom holds, which is critical, because Amyl and the Sniffers have apparently “blown up” as they say in show biz, and had the event moved to the Forum when the Commodore could not accommodate demand.

And so, on an overcast but pleasant Wednesday evening we found ourselves outside the majestic Forum, its wall lighting artfully showing off its art deco archictecture. She’s an aging beauty, but a beauty all the same.

Sheer Mag

The opening act was Philadelphia hard rock band Sheer Mag. I was pretty excited about this, as I have been a fan of the band since 2017 (I reviewed “Need to Feel Your Love”, their album from that year, back at Disc 1309).

Despite my love for their studio records, I was a little disappointed in the live show.

Things were off to an optimistic start. The band is a five-piece and they lean into to their driving, crunchy rock and roll with intent. Lead singer Tina Halladay is one of my favourite band leaders, but the energy of the performance, while honest, didn’t reach down and lift the crowd up like you have to do in a bigger venue. As one of our party accurately noted, the room felt a bit big for them.

I will admit that part of this was sound quality. Openers often suffer from a bit of mud in the production – the result of all the effort going into the headliner’s needs. Also, at a punk rock show I use ear plugs to save my hearing. I don’t put them all the way in – I want the crunch – but it can take me a few songs to figure out just where I need them to feel the dynamics of the music and avoid permanent damage. I hadn’t perfected that until the last couple songs in Sheer Mag’s set. That’s on me.

They worked their way up into songs I knew and loved, but ended with a fairly average cover of Slade’s “C’Mon Feel the Noize”. Not terrible, but not enough to win me over.

As you can see from the photo, their stage had a bunch of giant white dice props piled about the place. At the end of the show they saucily knocked one pillar over. While this action was very punk rock, it left me just wanting MORE dice-knocking action. Alas, it never happened, and the show ended as it began, with just a tap-tap of violent intent where I wanted a few hammer-swings’ worth.

Amyl and the Sniffers

After a bit of a lengthy sound check, Amyl and the Sniffers invaded the stage.

I say invaded, because it accurately describes the whirlwind of fury and glory that is frontwoman Amy Taylor.

Taylor is a force of nature. Wearing nothing but a bikini top and short shorts she stands 5’4” but holds the presence of a 12 foot tall goddess in full battle armour. Yes Taylor pranced and danced around, but it was very clear it was for her benefit, not because she was pandering to some external sensibility to “perform”. She doesn’t perform so much as she unleashes her creative energy, and lets the audience hold on for the ride.

It is hard to describe the charisma that rolls off Taylor in waves. I felt it hit me like the front edge of the hurricane before she even sang a note, and the gale force only intensified once the songs started. I immediately felt in the presence of greatness. Taylor has the visceral don’t-give-a-fuck attitude of Wendy O. Williams combined with the natural showmanship of a pop diva.

Fortunately, the band has the musical talent to back all that up. The songs were crisp, fast, and ferocious and since most of them are only three minutes long at most the band was able to play a lot of them. If there was a favourite of mine from any of the three records I didn’t hear, I can’t think of it right now.

Highlights included old faves like “Knifey”, “GFY” and “Security” and newer singles like “Jerkin’”, “Tiny Bikini” and “Me and the Girls”. These weren’t only favourites because I love these songs so much – they were played exceptionally, infused with all the force and presence they require.

The sound was definitely fully recovered, so the lengthy sound check paid off as well.

The crowd at the show was also a delight. Mostly (but not exclusively) under 35, there were plenty of folks that were true devotees to the punk aesthetic, making for great people watching in between sets. Everyone was well behaved, but in the good “it is still OK to shove each other in the mosh pit” kind of way.

Full marks to the merch table as well, which was fast and efficient, with plenty of awesome selections. I got a shirt for both bands (hey, just because I didn’t love the Sheer Mag portion of the show doesn’t mean I don’t still love the band)

As for Amyl and the Sniffers – I would see them again in a heartbeat. I just worry that at this pace the next time will be at a venue even larger than the Forum. I have no doubt they’ll be able to fill the room with energy just as effectively.

CD Odyssey Disc 1814: Camp Cope

Greetings, gentle readers. Before the review, a personal note. I come to you today from a place of great happiness and contentment, as I celebrate my wedding anniversary this weekend with my lovely wife, S.

Thanks for being the absolute best life partner a man could ever wish for, darling.

OK, on with the music.

Disc 1814 is…How to Socialise & Make Friends

Artist: Camp Cope

Year of Release: 2018

What’s up with the Cover? Frontwoman Georgia Maq is too cool to ride in the car with rest of the band, but everyone looks to be having a lot of fun with her antics. While I’m sure riding untethered on the roof of a moving car is totally safe, I must warn you about that cigarette, Georgia! Cigarettes cause cancer!

How I Came To Know It: I read a review of this record and decided to check it out. I liked what I heard and ended up a fan of the band.

How It Stacks Up: I have all of Camp Cope’s records, but that’s only three. They have now broken up, so barring an unexpected reunion, three is all there is going to be. “How to Socialise & Make Friends” is my second favourite, despite the presence of that repulsive and unnecessary ampersand in its title (use your words!).

As this is the last Camp Cope album to review, here is the full recap:

1. Running with the Hurricane: 3 stars (reviewed at Disc 1581)
2. How to Socialise & Make Friends: 3 stars (reviewed right here)
3. Self-Titled: 3 stars (reviewed at Disc 1722)

Ratings: 3 stars but almost 4

“How to Socialise & Make Friends” is a downer, but downer albums can be beautiful too.

On their sophomore record, Camp Cope double down on their unique indie rock/throwback eighties Goth sound and create a record that is both emotionally raw and thoughtful. It’s hard to stay thoughtful when you are feeling the feels as much as singer Georgia Maq is on this record, but they manage it. Even in the depths of despair, Maq is able to find the artistic space to critique both an unkind world, and her own place in it.

The album starts with the viscerally angry “The Opener”. If you believe that anger is one of the seven deadly sins, then expect Camp Cope to sin a lot on this tune. Maq sings about the unfair treatment of women by gaslighting boyfriends, soulless record execs, and condescending concert promoters. She takes a shot at pretty much every man who has ever done anything shitty ever and then hulked off into the darkness, oblivious to the harm he’d done. If you’re a dude and find this song offensive then congratulations – it is probably about you.

I should note at this point that everything is cathartic when sung by Georgia Maq. She possesses a ‘blow down the walls of Constantinople’ kind of vocal power. Her voice is the kind of wind that can wreck ships, and topple trees, deep, raw and coming from some deep well of hurt and hellfire most singers simply can’t plumb.

If you’re angered out after the “Opener” don’t worry, a few songs later you can wallow in the sadness of lost love on “Anna”. It starts with:

“She packed all her bags and went on her way
Back to Adelaide
The cat's been crying out
Wandering all alone around the house, saying
I really hope you're happy where you are now”

As if the breakup wasn’t hard, Georgia, but did you have to bring the cat’s separation anxiety into it? You can’t even explain to the cat why Anna’s no longer around.  Maybe the best metaphor available for love lost. Sometimes it just fucking happens, and cry all you like the universe isn’t going to give you any explanation for it.

A big part of what makes Camp Cope exceptional is the bass guitar work of Kelly-Dawn Hellmrich and she is at her best on this record. Hellmrich is the perfect complement to Georgia Maq, playing big, round notes loaded with emotional undertow. You need a low and powerful counter to Maq, lest the record descend into melodrama. Hellmrich is the balance holding things together at the low end, and around which the vocals can orbit.

There are times when the record can veer toward the maudlin, and while the talents of the band are sufficient to hold things on the road most of the time, listening to this record full-through is an experience, and not always an easy one.

The over-sharing is brave and has the flavour of that weird girl in your Grade 9 class who’s always writing poetry during English class. But then you befriend her and get to read those poems and realize, “holy shit, these are really fucking good.” That’s Camp Cope.

Best tracks: The Opener, Anna, The Omen, UFO Lighter

CD Odyssey Disc 1813: Jack White

I’ve never been through a desert on a horse with no name, but I have been through a few work commutes with an album called that.

Disc 1813 is…No Name

Artist: Jack White

Year of Release: 2024

What’s up with the Cover? I thought this was water droplets at first, but my good wife observed that it is actually a picture of a cement wall.

Whatever it is, it is a whole lot of nothing. If I wanted some random texture for an album cover, I could pick from any number of stock background fill effects in MS Publisher.

How I Came To Know It: I am an avowed Jack White fan through his many iterations (White Stripes, Raconteurs, Dead Weather and solo work). When this came out I immediately checked it out, even though I then had to wait a while to acquire it (more on that later).

How It Stacks Up: Despite my aforementioned fandom, there was a brief window where I was not picking up what Jack was putting down. As a result I have only four of his six solo efforts and no plans to get the other two. I am happy to say that Jack is back in my good books. Of the four I have, “No Name” comes in at #1.

Ratings: 4 stars but almost 5

“No Name” is pure, cask-strength, double-distilled Jack White. Over the years Jack White has tried on a number of different hard rock styles, and with each one he kept what he liked, crossed it with his unique guitar style and compositional genius and then moved on to the next challenge. “No Name” feels like Jack coming full circle, as he brings in elements of everything he’s learned (or created) over the past twenty-plus years, finding the elemental core of its being, and applying amplification.

The quintessence of Jack White is grimy, blues-rock guitar, played like a man wielding a hammer in a marble quarry, with violent but controlled aggression. There is a garage punk element to his playing at times as well, but above all else it is defined through grit and crunch. The riffs are inspired and feel timeless.

“No Name” has thirteen songs, and nary a one disappoints on the riff meter. Rich and aggressive and loud no matter how low you set your volume. Jack White has never sounded crunchier.

There is also a joyful abandon to White’s playing on this record that made me think of his earliest work with the White Stripes. Rock for rock’s sake for seemingly no other reason than – to reference one of the song titles - because that’s how he’s feeling right now.

The brilliance of Jack White is never in question, and the list of what he’s done for modern hard rock – production, guitar style, vocal delivery, and songwriting – is long and distinguished. But there is also a bit of Dylan in Jack, in that when he decides he’s going to go and do something, he’s going to go do it, and whether you like the new direction or not feels very secondary to his journey.

Whether by design or accident, “No Name” is nevertheless a crowd pleaser through and through. Long time fans will welcome back the pure Jack of their youth. People hearing him for the first time will stop and shake their heads and exclaim, “this guy has over ten other records? Sign me up!”

Throughout it all, White’s love for the history of rock and roll is evident. You’ll hear echoes of Motorhead, the Who, and a host of old blues masters besides. White’s charm is that he can pay such beautiful homage to the musical history of rock and roll and still surf the front edge of the wave.

There are so many favourites on this record, and for the most part it is the riff you will fall in love with first, last and always. Some songs have two or three complementary riffs, but for the most part “No Name” is like great Italian cooking: three or four ingredients, artfully mixed and produced just enough to bring out the flavour, while retaining the bite.

Lyrics feel secondary on this record, although I do appreciate a few lines from “What’s the Rumpus?” where White provides a nod and wink to critics and record execs along the way that may have doubted his journey:

“What’s the rumpus?
When will the label dump us?
They tried to stump us
Now in what genre will they lump us?”

The sly dog knows he’s got a hit record on his hands and he wants the doubters and haters to know that he knows. Well played, Mr. White.

My only gripes are not about the music at all. First, I loved White’s soft release of the record by sneaking unmarked copies into shoppers’ bags. But then he took his sweet time toying with whether he’d let the rest of us get a copy. I think he toyed with us a bit longer than was polite, but I suppose that’s rock and roll.

Second, once finally out, the CD release does not list the tracks on the back, just more ‘cement’ background. Sure the liner notes have the lyrics (kudos) there is no good reason to not let me follow along with the song titles during a listen.

None of that is a reflection on the music, however. If anything the reason it was frustrating to wait for is because it is so brilliant. That’s a good problem to have.

Best tracks: Old Scratch Blues, That’s How I’m Feeling, It’s Rough On Rats (If You’re Asking), What’s the Rumpus?, Underground

CD Odyssey Disc 1812: Big Daddy Kane

Another family-themed album, as we go from the Handsome Family to Big Daddy Kane. Will the Secret Sisters be next? Mother Mother? How am I supposed to know – this happens randomly.

Disc 1812 is…Daddy’s Home

Artist: Big Daddy Kane

Year of Release: 1994

What’s up with the Cover? Big Daddy is up and enjoying a morning coffee, thinking about all the ladies he will bed, and all the emcees he will murder. That covers fuck and kill, but what about marry? We must assume Big Daddy is married to the music.

In other news, I am writing this review on Saturday morning in my bathrobe while having a coffee, so me and Big Daddy are wearing the same outfit and doing the same thing – just 30 years apart.

How I Came To Know It: As I’ve mentioned on previous reviews, I naturally found Big Daddy Kane through other rap artists based on references and reputation alone. “Daddy’s Home” was me drilling through his later catalogue, but I was already hooked.

How It Stacks Up: I have four Big Daddy Kane records and I’m on the hunt for a fifth. Of the four I have, “Daddy’s Home” comes in at #3.

Ratings: 4 stars

Long-time readers will know that I consider Rakim the greatest emcee of all time. I stand by that, but Big Daddy Kane is a very close second. While “Daddy’s Home” is a later entry in his studio albums, his excellence with both rhyme and flow are as strong as ever.

Writing Big Daddy Kane reviews difficult, mostly because I listen to albums while I write, and Kane is so good he is distracting. Here I am literally trying to string some words together for effect while there is some dude in my ears that is stringing words together in ways that are so intricate and engaging they brook no room for competition.

That’s fitting, since Kane is one of those old school rappers who spends a lot of his time talking about how he raps better than his competitors. There’s nothing better than a song claiming I rap better than you, which simultaneously proves its point while making it.

Kane can deliver that early rhyme at the end of the bar action (and does) or he can throw in a furious four or five internal rhymes into a single line. He can drop a reference that makes you smile and nod that no one thought of it before, and he can do it all going as fast and slow as the beat requires without ever missing the pocket. The whole while he enunciates as clear as day – take note modern mumble-rappers – it can be done.

There were countless moments time listening to this record I would smile at one of Kane’s turns of phrase and vow to quote it later in my review, but frankly there are so many my memory was quickly overwhelmed. Even when they come back to me, it wouldn’t do them justice because the flow of Kane’s delivery is half the magic, and without it the experience would be lost. Listening to Big Daddy Kane is about laying back and letting it happen to you. You aren’t able to keep up, but that’s OK, few can.

When Kane isn’t testifying about outrapping his competitors, his topics include sex, where he also brags about his prowess. In this case we have to take his word for it. He ventures into gangster/crime topics only in terms of opposing that kind of life. He’s from an older school where rap battles replaced street battles.

I like all the topics, but Kane is often his best self when he is sticking to the “I am the best at this” themes. It feels like in these moments he rises up to another level (“Let Yourself Go” and “That’s How I Did ‘Em” being two strong examples).

The record has the usual experience of the time with multiple guest rappers lending their talents, notably Big Scoob (who I think is next on my list for exploring) and an early guest appearance by Jay-Z (who appears here as J.Z.) two years before he released his first record. He only gets a few bars, but the talent is already evident. Is he as good as Big Daddy Kane? Hey, no shade on the indisputably great Jay-Z, but read the opening paragraph for the answer to that.

Best tracks: Daddy’s Home, Show and Prove, Lyrical Gymnastics, That’s How I Did ‘Em, Somebody’s Been Sleeping in My Bed, Let Yourself Go

CD Odyssey Disc 1811: The Handsome Family

As long-time readers will know, when I go to a live show I like to pair a review of that show with their most recent album. That’s what we’ve got here! So if you like just studio album reviews, here you go and if you are wondering “yeah, but what are they like live?” that follows immediately after.

Disc 1811 is…Hollow

Artist: The Handsome Family

Year of Release: 2023

What’s up with the Cover? In addition to being a talented musician Handsome Family member Rennie Sparks is also an artist, and this cover is one of her paintings.

Here we have a snake in a reed-clogged culvert. This is a fine place for a snake, unless you happen to also be hiding in that culvert, maybe after a jailbreak or bank robbery gone wrong. Then you’ll wish the snake would just move along. Then again, maybe local law enforcement would take one look and remark, “he’d be crazy to go into that snake-filled culvert” and go search elsewhere, thus securing your escape.

Unless you get bitten and die while waiting them out.

I guess what I’m saying is whether a snake in a culvert is a good thing or a bad thing is highly circumstantial.

How I Came To Know It: I have been a Handsome Family fan for about ten years and buy their albums as they come out. This proved more difficult than usual with “Hollow” as I couldn’t find a CD version anywhere. I bided my time, however, and eventually was able to snap it up from their merch table at a show last weekend.

How It Stacks Up: I now have 13 Handsome Family albums, which, given their penchant for dark, ill-omened tales, feels right. Of those 13, “Hollow” comes in at #11. This is not a bad thing it is just that the Handsome Family have a lot of great records.

Ratings: 3 stars

“Hollow” is the first album by the Handsome Family (aka husband and wife team Brett and Rennie Sparks) in seven years. I’m good with artists taking as much time as they need to make great art but man, that was a long wait.

It is hard to wait on a new Handsome Family record, because while you are waiting there isn’t anything else that’s going to fill that gap (other than relistening to old Handsome Family records). Their mix of folk/country with Gothic horror is a style all unto itself. As Rennie Sparks herself noted at the live show (reviewed below), when she wants to hear a song about the sound a cement truck makes, and there isn’t one, she’s got to go write it herself.

Rennie is the lyricist of the pair, and while there are no cement trucks on this particular record, there are plenty of oddball and unexpected images to go around. Sparks’ imagination is deep, weird and dark in equal measure. If you like those kinds of things in your writing you will have a very good time listening to their latest.

It is hard to pick a favourite image from a record dripping in this much poetry, but I offer this little tidbit from “The Oldest Water”:

“The first living cell
Growing fat in the shallows
Met the first stranger
When it split down the middle

“But once made separate
There’s no going whole
Water loves melting
Flesh eats alone.”

No one makes science and nature quite so cool as Rennie Sparks. In addition to science, this bit of joy also introduces us to the notion that the same moment that birthed companionship for the first time, also introduced the awareness of isolation. A little body horror is thrown in for good measure that would make David Cronenberg proud.

In other places Rennie shows her softer side, with the pastoral “Shady Lake,” that is an immersive journey into the mystery and wonder of nature.

As poems alone this would be a joy, but Brett Sparks brings prodigious musical talent to the songs that adds layers and emotionally complexity. The best melody on offer is the album’s opening track, “Joseph” principally because of how it creates a hymn-like quality even as it tells the tale of what I think is serious bit of haunting, and maybe a summoning. Brett takes Rennie’s ever off-putting (but delicious) words and generates an unexpected feeling of elation. You won’t be afraid of Joseph’s arrival, but only because Brett’s reassuring baritone lets you know it’s going to be OK.

I should note at this time that I don’t definitively know what any of these songs are about. I learned at the concert that the inspiration of the work can vary from the final product when the Handsome Family get their writing hats on. I prefer to confront art directly without a lot of backstory whenever possible, so this is just what I took from it all after a few listens. Whatever Brett and Rennie tell you these are about is correct – the stories are theirs.

If there was anything negative, I think it is only that the record suffered unfairly from familiarity. I know exactly what the Handsome Family are going to sound like, and my soul is already overstuffed with favourites, making it hard to add more. “Joseph” felt the newest in terms of approach, but otherwise it was more of the same, although here and here I longed for the more stripped-down approach from previous records. This is a minor quibble, and for the most part it was great to get another helping of Handsome Family magic after so many years away.

Best tracks: Joseph, The Oldest Water, Shady Lake, Good Night

The Concert: March 8, 2025 at the Biltmore Cabaret, Vancouver

The Handsome Family is one of a few bands I’m willing to undertake an overnight plane ride to Vancouver and back just to see live. By the time you count airfare and hotel, this is an expensive outing, so my desire to see the band has to be significant.

This was my first trip to the Biltmore cabaret, which is in East Vancouver and generally described by online reviewers as a “dive bar”. I have known many a dive bar in my time, and was not deterred by such descriptions.

Upon arrival I did find it a bit divey, but not in a bad way. More of a neighbourhood local kind of way, with sumptuous red velvet bank seating along the walls and a few high stools here and there. The crowd was rough at first sight, but universally friendly and welcoming as soon as you got to know them.

Case in point: we arrived a bit later and all the primo seats were taken, but Sheila fearlessly approached a couple of women in their sixties and asked if we could join them in their banquette. We were welcomed with open arms.

After hitting the merch table a bit hard (I’m a sucker for merch) we settled in for the show.

Early on, singer Brett seemed to struggle a bit with his mic work (or the mic was touchy) and we’d lose him if he leaned out too far, but like a true professional within a song or two he had the range down and was making magic happen.

After many years he and partner Rennie have their banter down to an art form, and if the bits they did between songs were rehearsed they sure sounded organic to me. Open-hearted, opinionated and warm, Rennie takes the role of delightfully weird Goth lady with Brett playing the crotchety straight-man. It was just the right amount of chatting to whet your appetite for the next song without ever over-explaining.

The Handsome Family have a catalogue as expansive as it is dark and creepy, and they played music from throughout their career, with a good mix across the years that satisfied the ravenous fanboy within me.

They played many of my favourites, including “Bottomless Hole”, “The Loneliness of Magnets”, Weightless Again” and “24-Hour Store”. Yeah, I was disappointed not to also get “Cold, Cold, Cold”, “Gold” and “Arlene” but expecting only my favourites felt greedy, and frankly the songs they selected instead were also great.

There isn’t a lot of stage antics (if any) with the band staying glued to their spots throughout. The most physical they got was a bit of aggressive strumming on the heavier tunes. You are instead held by the magic of Brett’s vocals and the apocalyptic poetry of Rennie’s lyrics pouring out of him.

The sound was excellent, even along the side of the venue in the banquette, which was just as well because as you can see from the photo above, we could see very little. Mostly the front half of Brett’s head and most of his guitar (the rest being obscured by a large, suspended block speaker). This did not bother me in the slightest. I’ve been reading a lot of Seneca and Epictetus of late and all that stoicism had me well-prepared to accept and enjoy the circumstance.

There was briefly a very tall dude in front of us, but the ladies at our table brooked no detractions from their concert going experience. One remarked, “I’m going to move that man six inches to the right” and following a polite but firm exchange of words managed to move him a full foot and a half.

After the show, I met Brett hanging around talking to fans in front of the merch table. He looked like he could be anyone’s unassuming but cool uncle, sipping on a tall can of Budweiser and we briefly shot the shit about life, music and stuff. I disengaged before too long though, as my Canadian politeness kicked in.

Overall, it was a fine show, well performed and memorable and ere we left, Sheila exhorted them to come and play in our hometown one day. I hope they do.

CD Odyssey Disc 1810: Son of the Velvet Rat

We’re getting a couple similar sounding album titles here at the CD Odyssey this week. My last review was an album called “Colorado” and now we have an album called “Dorado”. How does this happen?

Read the rules – it’s random!

Disc 1810 is…Dorado

Artist: Son of the Velvet Rat

Year of Release: 2017

What’s up with the Cover? A desert scene, with black clouds looming low over the flat expanse. As we see here, deserts can be both beautiful and foreboding.

How I Came To Know It: I read a review of their 2024 album “Ghost Ranch” and I was intrigued. “Ghost Ranch” was just, but I found their back catalogue incredible. I’ve since bought two studio albums and a live album, and I’ve put another five studio albums on my “to get” list.

How It Stacks Up: While I will one day rank “Dorado” out of seven studio albums, this section compares only records already in my collection. Of the two studio albums I have, “Dorado” is #1. I expect it will be hard to ever displace but never say never.

Ratings: 5 stars

Every now and then you are late to discover an artist and are upset you’d missed them until now. That was my experience with Austrian folk/rock duo Georg Altziebler and Heike Binder, who go by “Son of the Velvet Rat.” As I soaked in the collection of moody, somber and altogether beautiful songs that is “Dorado” my thoughts kept alternating between “where the hell was I while THIS was happening? and “oh, the beauty…”

It was mostly the latter, because the songs of “Son of the Velvet Rat” require your full attention. Even multiple listens in, I know I am missing so much that I’ll discover only through even more iterations. Long-time fans will read my meagre offerings today and say ‘pshaw – that’s only the surface of what his happening.” Probably true, but allow this new devotee his moment of discovery.

You can triangulate Son of the Velvet Rat’s sound somewhere between Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, and a splash of Bob Dylan. These are songs for those who love poetry set to music and so if you prefer lyrics as little more than  a delivery vehicle for the melody, you should look elsewhere.

The record starts strong with “Carry On” and “Copper Hill”, two mournful ballads. “Carry On” is a song about the very late hours, and the dark and wearisome thoughts we have in those moments as the dawn approaches, grey and uncertain. For all that, the refrain of ‘carry on’ tells you what you knew all along you were going to have to do.

“Copper Hill” is its natural partner, exploring a similar emotional state but in place of the dark, we have the isolation of the hilltop. Sometimes being able to see far away just makes connection all the more distant. Best of many good stanzas:

“You might say I'm a coward
But I think of myself as a clown
If I make people smile
Maybe they won't let me down”

These tunes are followed up with the (slightly) more upbeat, “Blood Red Shoes”. This song is just as dark and moody as the first two but, aided by a swaying and sexy rhythm, it is clear that this time the narrator doesn’t face the world alone. At least for the length of a dance, all the sadness is replaced with romantic connection, however brief. Life’s full of blood and terror, but there’s a beautiful movement to it all.

All these early references to the themes of the music might lead you to wonder if Son of the Velvet Rat is all about the lyrics alone, but that couldn’t be further from the case. They have an exceptional ability to apply the right musical structures and arrangements to elevate what they are singing about. If this record were just the music, it would still be exquisite, but the combination is even better, done with deliberate care so every tune advances in a way where each element both serves and masters the other.

Case in point, “Shadow Dance,” which like “Blood Red Shoes” sees life through the metaphor of a dance. On “Blood Red Shoes” there is a connection in observing, but on “Shadow Dance” the partnership is the moment. As Altziebler sings:

“Sweet ally
Wherever you may be
On dry land or with the sirens of the sea
In my band or with the enemy
None of us are free
I'm not without you
And you're not without me
None of us are free
That's what love must be”

The music lilts along waltz-like and let’s you know that the dancers here frame one another in a moment where each loses the other, and so we are when we’re in love.

All the songs on “Dorado” hold a deep romanticism. “Surfer Joe” is the most carefree of the tunes, but even here the title character is so bigger-than-life that he is positioned as someone timeless and able to inhabit any one of his with his spirit should we let it. “Sweet Angela” is about watching a riot on TV, but in the hands of Son of the Velvet Rat it becomes a romantic notion of a beautiful woman moving through the commotion, not the riot itself. Altziebler even admits near the end he doesn’t even know if the name of the character he sees is Angela. It just felt right, and he went with it.

While I earlier triangulated Son of the Velvet Rat amid three of my favourite singer-songwriters, that was just to give you an idea of what sound to expect. Immersed in them directly you quickly realize that their sound is unique.  Altziebler’s low and raspy tenor has the ability to sound both poet and singer at the same time, every word chosen with precision and confidence, every note hanging heavy in the air to lead us through the song’s emotional journey.

There aren’t a lot of 5-star albums on the CD Odyssey that take me eight years to discover but, well, here we are. I encourage you to check “Dorado” out and hope you enjoy it even a little bit as much as I did.

Best tracks: all tracks

CD Odyssey Disc 1809: Neil Young

On a positive note, of the 23 Neil Young records I own or have owned, I only ever parted with three of them. This next album is one of the unlucky ones.

Disc 1809 is…Colorado

Artist: Neil Young and Crazy Horse

Year of Release: 2019

What’s up with the Cover? The shadowy figure of Neil Young lurks here, alongside an artistic rendition of a soundwave (or maybe a seismic wave) and an upside-down horse. Why is that horse upside down, you ask? It’s CRAZY!

As for the shadowy figure, perhaps he’s come back from the grave. If he did it proves you can’t take much when you crossover into the afterlife, but they will allow a hat.

How I Came To Know It: Back in 2019 I was still trying out pretty much every album Neil Young put out. I bought this one without listening to it first.

How It Stacks Up: I have (or have had) 23 Neil Young albums, and I’ve gotten rid of two. “Colorado” makes for a third, coming in at a lowly and generally unloved #22.

Ratings: 2 stars, but just barely

Neil Young is old, rich, and talented, and he does whatever the hell he wants with that talent. I applaud his approach to art, and most of the time what he does is amazing. Sometimes, like in the case of “Colorado” it falls flat. So flat it irritates me.

Neil won’t care that I feel this way, and I hope the many people who positively reviewed this record won’t care either, but A Creative Maelstrom is one man’s opinion. And in my opinion, this record is a bloated mess.

Irritating and insufferably droning was how I experienced “Colorado”, mostly while fidgeting in the seat of my car and glancing over and over again at the stereo’s display screen and wondering “how much longer…” for almost every song.

After a passible old hippy tune (“Think of Me”) got me cautiously optimistic, things went off the cliff and stayed down there in the ravine for a long time. “She Showed Me Love” is the most painful of the record’s many painful tracks. At almost 14 interminable minutes long, this song drones and noodles its way along, with most of the tune being Neil singing the track’s title over and over again.

You know how a catchy song can become an earworm long after it is over? Well, “She Showed Me Love” defies logic by making a not very catchy song into an earworm, just by sheer force of repetition. Long after this tune mercifully faded into the aether, I was left with that damned phrase ringing in my head.

I should note that “She Showed Me Love” is a song about the importance of our natural environment, so there’s a positive underlying message. “Colorado” is mostly songs about environmental or social justice, but the topic isn’t what makes for a good song. There are plenty of great protest albums out there delivered by some of music’s greatest: Woody Guthrie, Steve Earle, Billy Bragg and Neil Young himself on multiple occasions. This just ain’t one of them.

Instead this record feels rambling and unfocused, as though Neil thought the topic choice alone was enough and then was content to turn things loose to Crazy Horse to noodle around with presumably bottomless studio time as they saw fit.

Some of that noodling hints at Young’s greatness, particularly his talent on the guitar. The grimy and yearning tone Young pulls out of a guitar is singular, instantly recognizable and beautiful. He is one of music’s least appreciated but great axemen. “Colorado” also welcomes back fellow guitar legend Nils Lofgren to Crazy Horse for the first time since the early seventies, and his work and talents are also welcome.

But tone and talent only go so far, and saturating the production with a wall of noise may work for Crazy Horse much of the time, but here it just felt self-indulgent and inchoate. Ideas are started and then left to wander like unruly children at a mall food court, bumping into stuff, dropping food on the floor or wandering up to your table to stare at you too long from close range. Go back to your table, kid, and take that song with you.

People who’ve read me for a long time will know that while I have a very wide range of musical styles I enjoy, across them all I have a bias for clean production and simple arrangements. I wear this bias on my sleeve and make no secret of it. So that’s one big reason this record annoyed me, and if you like a saturated wall of sound type thing, then that criticism for you might be an invitation to something you’ll enjoy. Fair enough.

Near the end of the record, we once again get an uplift with “Rainbow of Colours.” In addition to a lovely message of tolerance and acceptance this song marries that guitar tone I lauded earlier to a lovely lilting melody that makes it easy to sway along. It is the structure I was missing through most of the record, but it came too late in my listening experience to save the day.

As for the majority of this record, it can ramble its way out of my collection to someone who will enjoy it more than I did – that will not be a hard person to find.

Best tracks: Think of Me, Rainbow of Colours

CD Odyssey Disc 1808: Halestorm

I got out for a few runs this week and as a result this next album got a lot of consecutive listens (‘running’ is a variation of ‘walking around’ so counts for listening purposes under Rule #5).

Disc 1808 is…Into the Wild Life

Artist: Halestorm

Year of Release: 2015

What’s up with the Cover? The band hanging out with their equipment. Lzzy Hale looks a bit guilty here, like maybe this is the opening band’s equipment, and she’s putting gum on one of the trunk handles or something.

The rest of the band is looking away which means they either don’t know what’s going on or they are totally in on the prank and playing lookout.

How I Came To Know It: I don’t recall, but it was recent – some time last year. I then did a bit of a deep dive, put a bunch of records on my “to find” list and then encountered pretty much all of them in a record store…in the mall. Anyone who says mall life is dead is wrong. It is only mostly dead.

How It Stacks Up: I have five Halestorm albums. I had reserved a higher spot for this record, but it ended up displacing “Back from the Dead” for last place so…5^th.

Ratings: 3 stars

For Halestorm, it is all about that voice. Lzzy Hale is one of the great rock voices in the history of the genre. Multi-octave range, plenty of growl and power to blow the doors off an armoured car. But even when it is all about the voice, a record needs more than that. “Into the Wild Life” is polished to perfection, but like a sphere that perfection makes it hard to get a grip on. It is too much in the lane and needs a little bit more pothole and gravel to be a truly great rock record.

There are plenty of reasons to like this record, which is a baker’s dozen rock bangers great for driving, head bobbing and all manner of fist pumping action. These songs are easy to enjoy. They are a collection of anthems that you would sing along to but – alas – keeping up with Lzzy Hale’s vocals is not a thing that will happen. Better to just lip synch and feel like you can make those sounds (you cannot – they are reserved for rock goddesses and Valkyries).

The biggest anthem of them all is “Amen” which takes us all to the church of rock with a bunch of easy-to-remember rhymes and a hard hitting, in-the-pocket delivery that lends itself to guilt-free moshing. If listening to this song doesn’t make you want to pray at Halestorm’s altar, then something is wrong with your earholes.

It is followed by the record’s signature ballad (and single) “Dear Daughter”. No screeching guitar riffs here, just some echoing piano chords and that goddamn perfect voice again. “Dear Daughter” is a song of intergenerational female empowerment. Lyrics like:

“Dear daughter
Don't worry about those stupid girls
If they try to bring you down
It's ‘cause they're scared and insecure
Dear daughter
Don't change for any man
Even if he promises the stars
And takes you by the hand”

Are pretty standard and obvious, frankly, but Hale follows them up with an affirming:

“These are words that every girl should have a chance to hear.”

Hardly Shakespeare but a Goddamn lovely sentiment. Moreover, when Hale sings this stuff, you will feel the feels. This is not an option. There may be a small part of your English Literature-trained brain that wants something more innovative, but you will feel this stuff. Also, it feels good.

Hale sings plenty of “bad girl” anthems on this record as well (with much more electric guitar, of course) and those are fun as well, but there’s an inner balance of character that makes for an uplifting listen. “Bad Girl’s World” is about excelling in the face of jealousy and ignorance. When sex is mentioned on some tracks (and it most certainly is), she’s sex positive. When things aren’t positive (“The Reckoning”, “What Sober Couldn’t Say”) they come from a place of telling some jackass off in exactly the way jackasses need to be told off.

The musicianship on “Into the Wild Life” is strong, and the band is tight and precise. Frankly, I could’ve used a little hint of sloppy here and there. Hale would’ve soared over it just fine, and the perfection of the playing makes songs that don’t have the strongest lyrics sound a bit too sanitized.

The production has that turn of the oughts “loud” quality as well. Crisp and clean but again, maybe a bit too on the mark. Rock and roll needs a thin coating of grime over the all that excellence. The record is squarely in the hard rock style, my inner metal head wanted more crunch and grind.

The melodies on “Into the Wild Life” will not win awards for innovation, and the lyrics are often predictable but Halestorm delivers it well, and even when you know it isn’t anything music hasn’t seen before you’ll still have a good time. And if nothing else lands, there’s that voice, worth the price of admission and then some.

Best tracks: Amen, Dear Daughter

CD Odyssey Disc 1807: Led Zeppelin

It has been just over 10 years since I last reviewed a Led Zeppelin album, but we’re back to celebrate the iconic band with this last album of theirs in my collection.

Disc 1807 is…Presence

Artist: Led Zeppelin

Year of Release: 1976

What’s up with the Cover? A perfect nuclear family gathers around the dining room table to fixate on…something.

Little Girl: “Daddy, what is it?”

Dad: “It’s something that daddy brought back from his last trip to Antarctica.”

Mom: “Is it dangerous, dear?”

Dad: “No, not at all. It will change us all in wonderful ways. It whispers the most incredible knowledge to those who serve it.”

Little Boy: “I don’t hear anything.”

Dad: “You will, son. You will.”

Later, three professors from Miskatonic University were convicted of breaking into the house and killing and dismembering the entire family with axes. The object was never found, and the professors went to the electric chair refusing to say where it was, or utter a single word about why they had done what they had done.

But I digress…

How I Came To Know It: I am of a certain age and I am surrounded by fellow music fans so every Led Zeppelin album at some point has been the subject of conversation several times over.

“Presence” is another of those, although I think it was my friend Chris D. who put “Presence” on and convinced me that I had to have it. Up to that point I had ceased my journeying with “Houses of the Holy.”

How It Stacks Up: Led Zeppelin released nine studio albums over their career, but I only have six. This is by design, as “Physical Graffiti”, “In Through the Out Door” and “Coda” have never appealed to me. Sorry not sorry, Zeppelin zealots.

Of the six I do have, “Presence” is a late-breaking treasure. I rank it at #2. As this is my last Zeppelin review, here is a full recap:

1. IV: 5 stars (reviewed at Disc 342)
2. Presence: 4 stars (reviewed right here)
3. II: 4 stars (reviewed at Disc 72)
4. I: 4 stars (reviewed at Disc 27)
5. Houses of the Holy: 3 stars (reviewed at Disc 707)
6. III: 3 stars (reviewed at Disc 607)

Wow – those are some early reviews. Some even predate my decision to do a “What’s Up With the Cover?” section which I started around Disc 100.

Ratings: 4 stars

A friend (and huge Zeppelin fan) this week remarked to me that Zeppelin was one of those bands where you can listen to it differently every time and still love the experience. This is because Zeppelin is one of those rare bands, like Queen or Blue Oyster Cult, where every member in the band is bringing the top of their game.

“Presence” is a particularly good example of the principle. Its complex arrangements, and the way the songs organically spin into further and further fractals of a song’s structure without ever losing the melody, are the perfect breeding ground for these masters of their craft to show off a little.

The opening track, “Achilles Last Stand” exemplifies this. Over the galloping insistent drumming of John Bonham, Robert Plant warbles and wails away somewhere between stoner messiah and high priest of weird. You always believe Plant because even when his vocals are at their most excessive, he remains fully lost in the song.

Over around and through all of this is the guitar work of Jimmy Page. “Achilles Last Stand” is over ten minutes long but it never gets stale, and a big part of that is Page’s guitar threading its way in and out of the melody and playing more killer solos than most guitarists could write in their lifetimes. His work on “Achilles Last Stand” is mysterious and dreamlike and pulls you into a state of heightened reverie where worlds converge and all things are possible.

And John Paul Jones? He holds everything together, there for you when you want some low notes, and never getting in the way.

“Presence” is the proggiest of my Zeppelin albums, but it also mixes in bluesy riffs more common to their early work. The best of these is “For Your Life” which is a bit more “Zeppelin straight up” and the perfect chaser to the hi-test complexities of “Achilles Last Stand”.

My favourite song among many good ones is “Nobody’s Fault But Mine”. This tune mixes the proggy goodness of “Achilles Last Stand” with the bluesy elements of “For Your Life” and pumps out what we expect from Led Zeppelin – excess and excellence, and a whole lot of musical ideas all jostling one another and making each other better.

This is also my favourite Robert Plant performance of any Zeppelin song (this record or any other). Plant finds a new way to sing the refrain “nobody’s fault but mine” ten different ways, each one greasier than the last. You get the impression that Plant has fully explored the fact that he is at fault here, internalized the crap out of that and, that deep down, he still likes whatever it is that he did. It’s an admission of culpability, yes, but the way he sings it, it’s also a brag.

The only song on the record that didn’t blow me away in some way is the last one. At 9:25 “Tea For One” is just a bit too long for a tune without much to say. It is that aspect of Zeppelin where their excess feels self-serving. Like they invited you over for drinks but didn’t tell you it would just be you sitting in the kitchen while they jammed for three hours.

Without that one blemish this would be a five-star album. As it is, it is still pretty damned amazing. It isn’t the first album that people mention when they talk in hallowed tones about Zeppelin (that is, of course, “IV”) but it oughtta be second.

Best tracks: Achilles Last Stand, For Your Life, Royal Orleans, Nobody’s Fault But Mine

CD Odyssey Disc 1806: Bodega

I did some of the listening to this next album love on headphones over the weekend and some more in the car on the commute to work.

Disc 1806 is…Our Brand Could Be Yr Life

Artist: Bodega

Year of Release: 2024

What’s up with the Cover? It is an ATM. Not an ATM machine, damn it. Just an ATM. Say it properly.

How I Came To Know It: I read a review which caught my attention enough to give a couple of songs a listen. The initial post-punk groove was in my wheelhouse, so I took the plunge.

The review I read (Paste Magazine) hinted at this album revisiting songs written earlier, but I’m not one for biographical background so what you’ll read here are the observations of someone who knows very little about this band, and nothing about their former releases. I’m just here for the music, ma’am.

How It Stacks Up: Bodega has three albums, but this is the only one I own, so it can’t stack up.

Ratings: 2 stars

If “Our Brand Could Be Yr Life” were an actual bodega it would be one where the front of the store is full of fancy candy and high-end beef jerky, but the back is mostly expired milk in a failing refrigerator. By which I mean that things got less appetizing the further I explored.

Bodega is a post-punk indie pop band and true to that earlier metaphor the record starts out with them strutting their best stuff. The band is more post- than punk, with the punk being more the frantic delivery and anti-establishment messaging. The post- part of the experience shows early signs that these folks really know the art of the hook.

“Dedicated to the Dedicated” could have climbed right off a classic New Wave record from the late seventies or early eighties, all the way down to singer Ben Hozie’s perfect but edgy phrasing, like a latter-day Joe Strummer.

They follow this up with the very different (but also very fun) “G.N.D. Deity”. Here we have Hozie’s co-vocalist Nikki Belfiglio bringing a dance edge to the experience with just as much talent and phrasing precision as her partner.

By the time “Tarkovski” rolls in at Track 4 with its rock edged guitar careening around visuals that (I think) are inspired by Soviet film director Andrei Tarkovsky, I was feeling pretty positive about where this record was going, and yet…warning sides had emerged that it was all about to be deconstructed. Deliberately.

First of all, there had already been at least one instance of interjection of non-musical element (a robotic AI voice at the front of “G.N.D. Deity” saying “our brand could be your life” that seemed purposefully designed to knock me out of my listening experience and remind me at some meta level that this was a listening experience. This would be repeated in various iterations and phrases throughout the record and got progressively more annoying.

Call me old fashioned, but I like to enjoy art, not enjoy the idea of enjoying art while looking at it ironically from an emotionally safe distance. Barf to that – I wanna feel the feels.

As for Andrei Tarkovski films, my experience is they are unwatchable and overly aware of themselves. I’ve tried and failed twice to get more than 30 minutes into Tarkovski’s “Solaris”. As “Our Brand…” unfolded I found a similar experience unfolding.

First was the droning “Stain Gaze” which was some sort of saturated noise situation that pulled me down from the previous pop/New Wave/post-punk energy I had been grooving on. It further demonstrated the band’s stylistic range, but not in a way that was enjoyable.

By Side Two (or Track 8 for us CD listeners) you start getting songs that feel more like snippets of ideas, joined to one another at awkward angles. There is promising stuff in much of this concept soup, but they aren’t explored fully, or are deliberately terminated with a jarring new beat, melody or even a non-musical element.

Bodega are super talented but it felt that having proved they could write a radio hit or two, they wanted to just explore the space and challenge our preconceived ideas of music. At some level I admired it, but it was successful only in fits and starts.

By the time I arrived at tracks 12-14 (aka “Cultural Consumer I”, “Cultural Consumer II” and “Cultural Consumer III”) they had fully lost me. Small snippets of songs loosely connected into something bigger can be inspired (see Side Two of the Beatles’ “Abbey Road”) but it ain’t easy to do well. By the end of “Our Brand…” I didn’t feel inspired, I felt lectured at.

Perhaps the record is best summed up on the lyrics to one of its better songs. On “Protean”, Hozie sings:

“She said there’s nothing ever new in the arts
Right then I knew we would start to break way
That thinking is lazy.”

True, but throwing everything at a wall and seeing what sticks is also lazy. Disassembling something just to show the pieces is as well, and that’s how the record felt by the end. I fully expect this was the plan, and that I’m just not the target audience for this approach to art. Hey, that’s OK – it takes all kinds - but I still knew that the breaking away was going to be mutual.

I’ll now pass this album along to someone who will enjoy it more than I did.

Best tracks: Dedicated to the Dedicated, G.N.D. Deity, Tarkovski, Protean

CD Odyssey Disc 1805: Great Grandpa

What is rock vs. pop and where’s the dividing line? Things can get a bit fuzzy, particularly in the indie world. This next record is a bit of both.

Disc 1805 is…Four of Arrows

Artist: Great Grandpa

Year of Release: 2019

What’s up with the Cover? I would say some astral travel is going down here. This lady has gotten herself in the right frame of mind with some ritual and has laid down to go for a float on the astral plane. Um…cool.

Personally, if I were going to go for a float in the astral plane, I’d pick a more secure place to leave my body. What’s going to stop some wandering bear or troupe of ants from messing with my physical self? Maybe the arrows provide some sort of mystical barrier that vermin and predators can’t cross.

But I digress…on with the review.

How I Came To Know It: I read a review when this album came out, gave it a listen and liked what I heard. But because I couldn’t find it on CD I didn’t buy it for the longest time. Then, during COVID I discovered downloading music wasn’t so terrible after all, so I went back through my old wish list for records I couldn’t get on physical media. I got this one off Bandcamp, which is a great way to support smaller independent artists, because they get the lion’s share of the sale.

I just took a look at Discogs and apparently you can get this album on CD. If so, I haven’t found it yet and until I do, my version will have to do.

How It Stacks Up: Great Grandpa has three studio albums to their credit, but I’ve only got this one, so it can’t stack up.

Ratings: 3 stars

“Four of Arrows” is one of those albums that benefits from a listen on headphones. The growl of my car engine was unkind to the subtlety of Great Grandpa’s music, which is a rock/pop mix that relies on mood over boom.

It all starts with lead singer Al Menne, who has a sweet pop quality that sits on top of arrangements that sometimes get a bit too heavy for their own good. Menne’s vocals aren’t powerhouse, but she has a nice lilt and even a bit of growl when she cuts loose. The combination allows her to spin like a satellite around music that goes from very sparse to very rich in the space of a single song.

This quality is what often makes the songs on “Four of Arrows” interesting, but it can also lend itself to being overwrought. The line is thin, and the band tends to fall on both sides of it, sometimes within the same song.

A good example is “Digger”, which starts out light and gentle and ends boisterous. Indie bands often make the mistake of letting the arrangement mask over the failure to resolve a song’s melody. At the same time, this is one of the record’s best songs, because while it doesn’t end well, the dynamics between soft and hard along the way make for some unexpected but welcome choices. Just know how to wrap it up.

Of late I’ve been finding myself surrounded by Japanese art and philosophical concepts. A few months ago I learned about the imperfect beauty of wabi sabi. Here Great Grandpa’s song “Mono no Aware” introduced me to that concept of wistful impermanence. At least I hope that adjective/noun combo captures it. Like many great ideas from other languages and cultures it doesn’t neatly translate. That’s the best part about it, frankly. Embrace seeing things differently!

It is also one of the record’s strongest songs, itself an exploration not just of mono no aware, but also the uncertainty of whether you can ever truly feel what someone else is feeling. Not really, but it is always worth the effort.

Many of the songs have an upbeat pop radio quality but with a coating of sadness and uncertainty. The effect leaves you with a restless energy and a desire to go for a walk in the rain.

When I first heard “Four of Arrows” it made a strong impression. Five or six years later the bloom was off the rose, but after a few listens some of the old magic came back. Now if I could just find it on compact disc…

Best tracks: Digger, Mono no Aware, Bloom, Rosalie, Split Up the Kids

CD Odyssey Disc 1804: Ronnie Montrose

Because my reviews are from my own music collection, they tend to skew positive. But every now and then something terrible manages to surface.

Disc 1804 is…Open Fire

Artist: Montrose (specifically, Ronnie Montrose)

Year of Release: 1978

What’s up with the Cover? Ronnie Montrose’s Giant Head, obscured by a bunch of circuitry and targets or dials. Perhaps this signifies that Montrose has been replaced by a terminator, on a mission to exterminate all good music it can find.

How I Came To Know It: My friend Spence introduced me to the band Montrose, but not this particular album, which was the last entry in a 5-disc set, and one I hadn’t heard when I bought it. The set was a good deal though, so how bad could it be?

How It Stacks Up: I have five Montrose albums. This is easily the worst one, and it is not even close.

Ratings: 1 star

You know that scene in Animal House at the toga party where Bluto smashes that dude’s guitar and then says “sorry” and walks away? That’s what I wanted to do to Ronnie Montrose’s “Open Fire” album from the opening note. The feeling only grew through what would become 35 very long and very hellish minutes.

On his first solo album away from his namesake band, Ronnie Montrose acts like he is finally free could do exactly whatever he wanted. Really show the fans that all that kick-ass, hard-rockin’ Montrose stuff was only the beginning! That he, Ronnie Montrose, could do anything, blend any style, and make any creative choice he desired without consequence. Well, I give full credit for the ambition.

The result is a record that manages to predict the soft yacht rock snoozefest of the early eighties, only with the guitar playing the role of villain usually reserved for the saxophone. The opening track, - unimaginatively titled “Openers” - sounds like the soundtrack to some early eighties cop-show drama, or maybe a low budget TV movie. “Town Without Pity,” similarly takes no pity (on its listeners) with some mix of easy listening and jazz that you’d expect to be playing in an elevator where you find yourself trapped.

The title track is particularly overwrought. Yes, the song has a groove, but it’s not a particularly interesting one. This song feels like the sad soundtrack of a car chase between a 1980 Mustang and a 1994 Camaro. Nothing is moving too quickly, and it ain’t pretty to look at either. The guitar solo on “Open Fire” is like that jam session where there’s the makings of a happy groove going, but then the guy on guitar decides to go apeshit and play a solo all his own for eight bars. When he’s done, he looks up with a big grin like he’s done everyone a favour, only to find the others staring at him in sullen silence. You can’t even fire him; he owns the band.

Things don’t improve when the guitar takes a back seat. Yes “Mandolina” has a mandolin, but it mostly features a sequencer and a synthesizer front and centre. The song feels like when you visit your buddy on Boxing Day and find out he got a programmable Casio for Christmas. No, he has not learned to play it yet, but in the rush of discovery that is not going to stop him from trying out all the buttons.

Seeking something positive, I lighted on “Leo Rising”. Yeah, it feels a bit like you’ve stumbled into a Renaissance fair, but Montrose plays with good tone and you can hear the vestiges of what makes those early Montrose records so awesome. There are moments of this in other songs as well, but they are fleeting.

More often than not, the record had me in a state of diffuse and unfocused agitation. In addition to reminding me of Bluto’s act of guitar violence, I found myself wishing for that scene in Monty Python’s Holy Grail where they eat the minstrels. Sadly, it was not to be. There would be no rejoicing.

Instead, we are left with a meandering directionless, self-congratulatory record that. It is all the more infuriating because I really like Montrose, the band. Those guys made some killer music, and Ronnie Montrose’s writing and guitar are a big part of the reason why. He is a gifted player, and to hear that talent spent on this easy listening wankery was doubly difficult.

The last song on the record is called “No Beginning/No End”. There is another word for that, Ronnie: interminable. Ordinarily I would send it on its way, but it is part of that great 5-disc set of Montrose classics, so instead I’ll keep it as part of the set. I’ll just remind myself never to play it.

Sorry for the uncharacteristic negative vibes, friends. This rarely happens, but I’ve got to keep it real. I encourage you to check out Montrose’s early catalogue – just steer clear of “Open Fire”.

Best tracks: nope. “Leo Rising” is the best of a bad bunch