2K7 in Review: My Favorite Albums, #3

Well, I ain't gonna be done looking back at 2007 before half of 2008 has passed. C'est la vie, as Robbie Nevil used to say. To answer an obvious question, yes, I have kept up with some new music, but not nearly at the pace I did last year. The time and resources just aren't there anymore. Yet the instant-info nature of the blog medium dicates that while this endeavor drags out, I must provide some fresher recommendations. Therefore, your friendly neighborhood SoulReaper recommends such 2008 releases as Equilibrium's Sagas, The Mars Volta's The Bedlam in Goliath, Man Man's Rabbit Habits, Woods of Ypres' Woods III: The Deepest Roots and Darkest Blues, They Might Be Giants' Here Come the 123s, Testament's The Formation of Damnation, Tokyo Police Club's Elephant Shell, Protest the Hero's Fortress, Dismember's Dismember, Murder By Death's Red of Tooth and Claw, Alestorm's Captain Morgan's Revenge, Foals' Antidotes and Nachtmystium's Assassins: Black Meddle Part I. Now, before I head off to Portland for my cousin's wedding tomorrow, here's another retrospective review. Have a kick-ass 4th!

3. Primordial, To the Nameless Dead (Metal Blade)
Let's return to this whole folk metal business, which has ballooned to the point that a band doesn't need to be from any given area to play a style influenced by that area. You've got Brazilians doing Celtic metal, Russians doing South American metal and Spaniards doing viking metal (even Ukrainians howling about Christian themes within a viking/black metal framework!), so it's clearly anything goes. One might cry foul at the lack of perceived authenticity in such a phenomenon, but that's the nature of phenomena. In metal or not, talent and ingenuity always trump "true" ethnic ties; just ask a pancultural American musician like Ry Cooder, Mickey Hart or Zach Condon. Our own melting pot has no monopoly on panculturalism, which exists in places that have more identifiable indigenous cultures. Naturally, metal is no exception, as seen in the aforementioned examples and in such globally-minded acts as Germany's SpiRitual, Belgium's Ancient Rites, Austria's Hollenthon and the subject at hand, Ireland's Primordial. The latter's craggy, combative, creative thunder is the most unique sound currently distributed by Metal Blade Records, America's longest-running heavy metal label. Having ditched the traditional folk instruments that remain a crucial component of other Celtic metal acts after album number one, the quintet maintains a strong ethnic atmosphere through the typical guitars/bass/drum setup, their combination of mood and bombast unlike anyone else's. As the album's liner notes state, the themes running through To the Nameless Dead are nationhood, what makes someone give their life for such a vague concept and what happens to their culture when a nation's borders change or disappear. Not your typical "I must fight the Christians" claptrap, but this has always been one of the pagan metal movement's most cerebral bands.

The band's previous masterpiece of ferocious melancholy, 2005's The Gathering Wilderness, squeezed torrents of outsized emotion through its quiet, muddy mix. Its follow-up sounds much clearer and louder, and in turn, even the dirges on Dead are less contemplative, more direct and assertive, at times brilliantly triumphant. Take the deceptively simple "Gallows Hymn," loping along with dejected militarism, building into a massive waltz that cracks open with intensity when the double bass drums kick in, or "Failures Burden," which begins as a fuzzily melodic downhearted rocker in the Katatonia vein but ends up rocketing along at a rousing yet spiteful clip. Opening anthem "Empire Falls" gains immediate points by backing up Ciáran MacUiliam and Michael O'Floinn's typically dark Celtic riffing with a rigid gallop that gives steel edges to the somber melody. More controlled and confident than ever, A. A. Nemtheanga bellows a crackling chorus that might serve as Primordial's statement of intent: "Where is the fighting man?/Am I he?/You would trade every truth/For hollow victories." The quintet's old black metal blast makes a welcome return on the defiant "Traitors Gate" (what do these guys have against apostrophes?), which along with the tribal pounding of "As Rome Burns" makes excellent use of Simon O'Laoghaire's ever-busy war drums. My favorite track is the very Irish-sounding "Heathen Tribes," which sincerely salutes their loyal fans across the globe in a non-Manowarian manner, topped with guitar solos that will swell any folk metal lover's heart to bursting. Primordial chooses to close with the slow, stately gait of "No Nation on This Earth," wherein Nemtheanga's croon brings home the album's theme ("Tell me what nation on this Earth/Is not born of tragedy?") with clear-eyed intensity. Leading through example, Primordial transcends the Emerald Isle's borders while retaining their identity, their less hermetic viewpoint befitting global domination.

No official videos were made for Primordial's To the Nameless Dead, but here is an "unofficial" live multicamera recording from Dublin in January.

"Empire Falls"

2K7 in Review: My Favorite Albums, #4

Today, I humbly present the only band which made my top 5 for 2006 and returned for a spot there in '07...
4. Beirut, The Flying Club Cup (Ba-Da-Bing!)
Continuing the theme of the last couple of albums in this list, here is another ethnically-enhanced group, but one with some distinct differences. Beirut is a much quieter band than Gogol Bordello or Moonsorrow, and none of Beirut's members hails from the European soil in which its music is planted. It doesn't matter that they're Americans, as bandleader Zach Condon has such a global imagination, it's hard to believe he's just a 22 year-old kid from Albuquerque. The Eastern European folk duo A Hawk and a Hacksaw assisted Condon on Gulag Orkestar, his astounding 2006 debut as Beirut, but he mostly recorded it himself at his parents' house. Upon its summer release, the blogosphere sizzled in tribute to its arresting mix of Magnetic Fields-inspired indie pop and Balkan folk. By winter, the whirlwind of attention and touring had left Condon hospitalized with exhaustion. Yet he and his new eight-member group managed to get the Lon Gisland EP out before year's end, and two more shorties followed quickly in early '07 (Pompeii via internet sources, Elephant Gun in physical form). By the time the second Beirut long-player hit stores, Condon had already hinted that he was shifting focus away from gyrating gypsy rhythms. A distinctly French flavor had seeped into b-sides like "Napoleon on the Bellerophon" and "Transatlantique," and a live Jaques Brel cover - the same song that was hijacked for sappy '70s snoozer "Seasons in the Sun," actually - sealed it. As predicted, The Flying Club Cup sets its sights on another region, and its lush recording is certainly less ragged around the edges, but it swells with the same woozy, romantic juices that made the first Beirut disc such an instant winner. If anything, it's even more convincing than the celebrated debut.

Considering the full band now in tow and Condon's newfound fascination with the music and culture of France, it doesn't differ too much from Gulag except that its swooning strains more often evoke a lonely Parisian café than Borat weeping in his borscht. Well, the pumping accordion certainly does. Owen Pallett of Final Fantasy contributes lush string arrangements, adding to the disc's professional sheen and warm depth. The odd one-man-electro-pop tunes are also gone, making for a more consistent immersion (just like Gogol Bordello). At the top, "Nantes" offers gentle countermelodies from two separate groups of horns and a brief dialogue sample from some old French film during the interlude. Condon's David Byrne-on-absinthe croon assures the bittersweet waltz "Forks and Knives (La Fête)" resounds with ragged-edged warmth, while his quaver is absolutely heartbreaking on the downbeat beerhall sing-along "A Sunday Smile." Pallett, sounding like a soft rock radio version of Condon, takes lead vocals on the soaring "Cliquot," which concludes with a lovely swirl of strings, accordion and mariachi-like horns. Sure, many of the songs follow the ol' post-rock formula (quiet beginning/slow build/giant crescendo/quiet resolution), but Beirut remains intricate, erudite, adventuresome and sincere, and for all their ambition, they keep it concise. From the mandolin-dominated "The Penalty" to the moody, dramatic tango "In the Mausoleum," The Flying Club Cup is another must-hear masterpiece of worldly indie folk-pop, one that easily trumps The Arcade Fire's underwhelming (but much more hyped) sophomore album. This is music for drizzly afternoons, for congealed memories, for souls born in the wrong time and place.

No official videos were made for Beirut's The Flying Club Cup, but La Blogothèque filmed intimate performances of every song and posted them here. Also, here's a sweet bootleg performance from Toronto last October, which includes a guest we didn't get at the jam-packed Chicago show...

"Cliquot (feat. Owen Pallett)"

2K7 in Review: My Favorite Albums, #5

Oi, mates! Sorry about the long break, but you know how it is. Here's a Smoking Popes chat in honor of the suburban pop-punk legends' first album since reuniting in 2005, along with some punk of a more exotic variety... happy Friday the 13th!

5. Gogol Bordello, Super Taranta! (SideOneDummy)
When you think about it, the archetypal punk rocker is pretty much a "gypsy," at least in the non-ethnic sense of the word. Both groups of unkempt highwaymen are eternally subject to mainstream society's mistrust and disgust, even as the rogues squat among the refuse abandoned by the status quo. Thus, they form clannish, secretive, itinerant subcultures, outwardly marked with signs of their allegiance, always on the move toward a more romantic and daring tomorrow, never missing a chance to gob in the eyes of the upper crust fucks who push them to the fringes. "Gypsy punk" makes perfect sense to me, especially as a musical entity wherein Eastern European folk and simplistically powerful rock can get together and cause a scandalous scene in a chic Big Apple nightclub. Thankfully, Ukraine-born political refugee Eugene Hütz had the spark of genius to bring it into existence with his pioneering troupe Gogol Bordello. The outrageously mustachioed vocalist has emerged as a regular fashion plate, his glitzy thrift-store visual style accidentally born of perpetual displacement and resourceful scavenging. Having moved past hipster world-fusion DJ to increasing mainstream influence (even Madonna's using him as a prop), Hütz is the American dream personified, but unlike the majority of vacantly attractive models, he uses his visibility to comment on the American experience in ways that Andrew Warhola could never have predicted, although he would have understood them. I think that my fascination with ethnically-influenced rock acts has something to do with not knowing what my own ethnic heritage is, and like Eugene Hütz, finding joy in the juxtaposition of cultures that the United States represents rather than the dissonant, irritating jumble many are too often inclined to see. Super Taranta! expresses that with as much enthusiasm - and deceptive intelligence - as anything out there.

Because the band's influence from dodgy electronic club music is almost entirely obscured here, Gogol Bordello's fourth LP (fifth if you count J.U.F.'s Gogol Bordello vs. Tamir Muskat) has a more organic and cohesive feel than their past work. Rather than revealing a disappointingly limited palette, the addictive results are laser-focused on the band's drunken sing-along personality. About a minute and a half into opener "Ultimate," they take off at a breakneck speed-punk tempo that announces this is first and foremost vibrant rock music. They converge on incredibly accessible tunes such as thumping single "Wonderlust King," the jaunty "Zina-Marina" and "Tribal Connection," a sort of Balkan-reggae-Muppet-campfire jam. After a few runs through the disc, you'll be singing these in your head everywhere you go. Even slower moments like the hungover "Alcohol" and the percolating rhythms of "Dub the Frequencies of Love" contain an edgy energy into which one cannot help but be drawn. As frontman, Hütz hollers, chatters and whoops in his charmingly accented, intentionally incorrect English, simultaneously playing into and flouting immigrant stereotypes. He takes on religion ("Supertheory of Supereverything"), political exile ("My Strange Uncles from Abroad") and homogenous U.S. culture ("American Wedding") but he's really just the ringmaster of a dramatic, dynamic circus of accordion, violin, horns, percussion and voices. The tracks that really push Taranta! over the top are the ones where the assemblage of musicians are allowed to really strut their stuff, such as the frantic and somewhat metallic "Suddenly... (I Miss Carpaty)" and "Forces of Victory," the delirious "Harem in Tuscany (Taranta)" and the title track, where after about a minute Hütz limits his vocalizing to the occasional "ya-da-da-da" and lets violinist Sergey Ryabtsev close out the disc with a marathon of Romany revelry. To date, Gogol Bordello has pretty much cornered the Gypsy punk rock market, and this is their best set of smart, gregarious party music yet. I challenge listeners of any taste, age, social class, sexual orientation and national background to come out of it less than totally exhilarated.

Two videos were made for Gogol Bordello's Super Taranta!... see below.

"Wonderlust King"


"American Wedding"