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Volume One, Issue 15, January 5 - 11, 2007
Epic Records Tenacious D, still foul-mouthed after all these years Albums of the New Year Singer Lee Ann Westover sounds off on six CDS worth hearing Doll Hospital Self-Released When I was trying to finish my last semester at The University of Texas, crunch time would often find me procrastinating at the apartment of my two best girlfriends. Within minutes of my arrival I would have a stiff gin and tonic in my hand and “The Thin Man” would be playing on the VCR. Since then I’ve had a soft spot for funny noir, and listening to Heather Eatman’s Doll Hospital, I feel as if I have walked into one of those “Thin Man” movies. All hard shadows and cocktails, her songs are populated with drunken housewives, misused old ladies, revenge, mystery and murder. Stylistically, Doll Hospital sits somewhere between pop and jazz and features solid playing on all sides of the four-person band — drums, guitar, bass & vibraphone. Heather Eatman’s voice, which oscillates between an Eartha Kitt purr and a Rickie Lee Jones wail, can at once be intimate and ferocious as she spits out the narratives of her often hilarious songs, with punch lines like: “No you did not make me cry, you got your cigarette smoke in my eye.” She plays this Sunday, January 7th at Rockwood Music Hall (196 Allen St., 212-477-4155, www.rockwoodmusichall.com).
When it comes to liking Gwen Stefani, I don’t have much of a choice. It’s as if she hired a team of producers and psychologists to fill her music with subliminal programming that forces me to love her every track. Her latest album finds me equally vulnerable — particularly in the face of those dancing Harajuku girls that populate her videos and public appearances. Intellectually, I think that including samples of “The Lonely Goatherd” into her first single “Wind it Up” is absurd and annoying. Still, I can’t stop listening to it or picking it apart to find out why it sticks in my brain the way it does. I absolutely love the title track “The Sweetest Thing,” which sounds scarily like a cross between Madonna’s “Cherish” and Bananarama gone bad. I have a powerful compulsion to tell you to buy this album. Just like a 1980’s mix tape, each song is danceable, catchy and on the whole, utterly irresistible.
One of the best reasons to listen to Tony Bennett’s new album, “Duets,” is to hear how our brightest and biggest stars measure up to a legend. Every track is beautifully arranged and a lot of fun, but Streisand and Stevie Wonder seem to be the only ones who can truly meet him in the middle. That is not to say that other artists don’t shine when shoved into the studio with the icon. K.D. Lang, who partnered with him on his last album, is of course a favorite. She balances his seasoned tone with her pure, smooth vibrato on “Because of You.” Billy Joel and Bennett sound so similar on “The Good Life” that they could be older and younger versions of the same person. The Dixie Chicks pose as The Andrews Sisters on the opening track, “Lullaby of Broadway,” and although Elvis Costello’s rumble can’t compete with Bennett’s dulcet tones on “Are You Havin’ Any Fun,” he makes a wonderful partner, full of laughter and enthusiasm. Tony had better start making some more room on his Grammy shelf. More than a few are on the way, I am sure.
I am not a big fan of overblown pop-Broadway productions full of melismas and ear shattering high-notes. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer Marlene Deitrich’s low, sexy rumblings. The 2006 cast recording of “Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris” stands apart from the modern crowd. Most of Jacques Brel’s songs tend toward the darker moments in life: loss of innocence, aging and dying, disappointment and futility. The cast has captured the music with so much life though, that the songs become uplifting and even more beautiful, with all the drama of Edith Piaf and the wry, dark truths of Bob Dylan. Nastacia Diaz’s soothing soprano is bell-toned and steady in the reverent “Old Folks,” while Gay Marshall’s heart-wrenching rendition of the famous “Ne Me Quitte Pas” in French transports me to a dark, smoky garret along la Rive Gauche. Translations of the lyrics by poet Eric Blau and lyricist Mort Shuman are literal and foreign-sounding, yet maintain Brel’s intensity and poeticism. Like Brel himself, the songs are iconic and no doubt quite an undertaking to interpret, but with the backing of an intimate and talented three-person band, the cast succeeds brilliantly. You can hear them live too, particularly on Jan. 9th, when Constantine Maroulis of American Idol fame joins the cast at The Zipper Theatre (336 West 37th St., 212-563-0480, zippertheater.com).
(ROUNDER)
If the F-word makes you uncomfortable, then not only should you steer clear of the album, you should probably stop reading this review right now. But if hearing Jack Black drop it nine times in the first 60 seconds of the opening track sounds hilarious to you, then, dear reader, run on out and get yourself a copy of the soundtrack to “Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny.” The lyrics are silly, and they contain an amazing amount of foul language that I can’t quote verbatim for obvious reasons. That said, the guitar work is extravagant and technically gorgeous at times, borrowing from metal greats of the 1970s and ’80s. Dave Grohl appears both as a solid and rocking drummer on all tracks, as well as a demon in both the film and the soundtrack. Guest spots by both Ronnie James Dio and Meatloaf in the opening track “Kikapoo” bring it on home as the most wonderfully ridiculous album since “This is Spinal Tap.”
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In the loose social circle of musicians in New York City, I have run into Madeleine Peyroux a couple of times, and have found her to be intense, subtle and lovely — an equally apt description of her latest album. Like her previous releases, “Half the Perfect World” is a mix of standards, originals and covers of songs by the likes of Serge Gainsbourg and Leonard Cohen. It’s just as hypnotic as her earlier efforts, and Joni Mitchell’s “River,” and the reverent “Blue Alert” by Cohen and Anjani Thomas showcase my favorite side of Madeleine Peyroux: contagiously, profoundly and deliciously sad. But she has introduced a few funny touches this time around. The first track, “I’m Alright,” is filled with lines like “He got drunk, he fell down, he threw a few of my things around, but I’m alright,” which she lightens and punctuates by what seem to be a few genuine giggles.
