The first thing that will attract you to Duffy’s gently rousing blue-eyed soul ballad “Warwick Avenue” is a simple guitar lick. Opening up the tune and appearing here and there throughout, it’s presence is teasing. Why? ‘Cause it sounds like it’s going to reprise the memorable bass groove behind The Temptations’ “My Girl” before it suddenly backs away and ventures down a totally different path. Each time it pops up, you think that this will be the time it follows through on it’s classic Motown reference, but, alas, it never does.
Don’t think that that lone musical flirtation is the only thing to treasure about “Warwick”, though, as the record totally succeeds in further building up the hype for the adored Welsh singer. Taking a step back from the infectious “giddy in love” spirit and old-soul jig of “Mercy”, “Warwick” finds Duffy once again walking away from a romance gone awry.
Initiating a meeting on a street corner with her on-and-off lover, Duff reveals that this time when she leaves, she won’t be coming back. “You think you’re loving/ But you don’t love me/ I want to be free/ Baby you’ve hurt me,” she states, plainly, over a chorus of crisp, ascending strings added for their reliable dramatic effect. Fed up with waiting for their union to work (“Seems like we never started,” she reflects), Duffy leaves him standing alone on the sidewalk to face a new future rescued from the imprisoning hold he had over her.
Acoustic-kissed when displaying her aching vulnerability and grandiose pop when illustrating the sigh of relief from confessing long held-back emotions, “Warwick Avenue” continues to showcase the singer’s expert use of charming old-school songcraft techniques that turn her music into mini-events. Fleshing out the lyric’s story with well-executed instrumentation and an engaging vocal performance, “Warwick” proves to be another solid entry from the 2008 favorite. Expect the obvious mash-up of it and “My Girl” to emerge sometime soon.
Listening to “Cherry Tulips” from indie Illinois act Headlights, it becomes immediately clear why they’ve been adorned with the “dream pop” tag. Supported by a lush, cotton candy soundbed that brings to mind the sugar-sweet shuffle of 1950’s bubblegum pop, “Tulips” sounds like the musical equivalent of a child’s fantasy land.
Within it’s cheery context, Erin Fein’s light vocal gleams with an opaque airiness as she happily explores the flower-lined Eden realized in her unconscious imagination. Romancing visions of her prancing amidst a sea of crimson-colored tulips with her true love warm the heart; especially on the chorus, which is delivered in unisex harmonies that feel like they were FedEx-ed directly from the heavens above.
It’s ambiance is so preciously orchestrated, that the idea of it’s sunshine ever dimming (we all know such happiness rarely lasts) seems cruel and heartbreaking. A pleasant foray into the naive, “happily ever after” idealism that truly only exists in our heads, “Cherry Tulips” lands as one of those dreams you’ll definitely never want to end.
Pre-releasing Bad Boy R&B songbird Cheri Dennis’ debut solely as an Itunes exclusive last fall might have seemed like a smart way for the Diddy-helmed label to keep up with the Joneses’, but once again he failed to muster up any excitement for the album, with few even aware of it’s existence if they weren’t already a fan. With the project, entitled In and Out of Love, now set for a “normal” physical release next week, Dennis is still lacking in the promotion department, a situation made even worse with the bewildering middling reception to her last single, the enticing “Portrait of Love”. It’s a shame, especially since for those longing for those Bad Boy days of old (when then-signees 112 and Faith Evans pulled off solid R&B discs), Dennis’ premiere entry accomplishes the urban contemporary sound quite well.
Album track “Pretend” emerges as a standout, thanks to it’s whiz-bang electro-soul production and Dennis’ sorrowful cry for more attention from her grind-focused partner. While fully appreciative of his trap hustle and all the nice things it has brought them, Cheri can’t help but yearn to be given as much dedication as he gives the streets. With “broken promises taken a toll”, she sits alone in their six-bedroom crib, knowing full well her love is too strong to run away, but not sure she can handle being trapped in this lackluster situation for too much longer.
Woozy keyboards and breaks into rapid-fire vocals emote the distress of her inner turmoil. “Sometimes we kick it/ Checkin’ your phone/ I almost feel like we ain’t alone,” she explains, his troubling behavior leaving her near-frantic inside, while on the surface she refuses to let her boiling disappointment show (“I be missin’ you so very much/ Don’t show it, I-I don’t show it”).
A winning cut, it’s sad that because of her minimal label support, it won’t get it’s due shine, amongst other likable tracks from the album. Guess she’ll have to initiate her own MTV reality show for her career to get the proper backing it deserves.
Launching with promise on their 2007 self-released debut, Slingshot Echoes, Los Angeles’ Mezzanine Owls entered the blogosphere earning much positive feedback, with many reviewers noting the band’s impressive grasping of self on only their first outing. With a growing buzz established (alongside a new label deal with JAXART Records), the Owls have returned with a new self-titled vinyl/ digital-only EP, led off by the alluring “Snow Globe”.
Hidden behind an intense barrage of fuzzy guitar and pummeling drums, Los Angeles’ Mezzanine Owls capture a wintry melancholy on “Snow Globe” that is so breathtakingly compelling, it nearly lifts you off your feet in it’s ever-swelling scope.
Matching a dense amalgamation of indie rock grandeur with frontman Jack Burnside’s wiry-voiced (though barely audible) proclamations, “Snow Globe” miraculously manages to escape sounding uber-depressing, it’s spirited drive attracting an inspiring sense of hope that gives it’s heavy layers a weightless, ethereal-like glow (think Arcade Fire, with a tad more streamlining).
Praised for their live show, check them out when they play at SXSW in March.
Hands down, “Tracks of My Tears” is like the best pop song ever. A perfected synthesis of melody and lyrical content, there’s a reason why the song has survived what feels like a billion different incarnations (My favorite: the Gladys Knight & The Pips’ rendition) without losing it’s innate charm.
Quick to self-mock country icon Dolly Parton helms the latest (from her upcoming return-to-mainstream country album, Backwoods Barbie) and it sounds as pleasant as you think it would. In the center of banjos and fiddles shrouding the classic in a sunny twang and moving gospel-tinged moments that peek through every now and then, Parton’s familiar delicate lilt sounds as if she actually is choking back tears in certain parts. While it would have sounded even better if it was just a tad bit under-produced, it’s hard to really dislike anything Miss Parton ever does.
With TI on house-arrest, his label Grand Hustle’s best bet, Young Dro, takes the chance to step outside the shadow of his CEO and prove that there’s more to him than being a Clifford Harris clone.
With “Makin’ All The Money”, a joint from his recent mixtape release, I Am Legend, Dro succeeds in establishing a nice distinctive flair for himself, latching onto the spacey R&B/ dance sound that’s excitingly become quite commonplace in hip hop these days. A nod to strippers that surprisingly avoids the overt misogynist slant that songs like these usually toil in, “Money” instead offers appreciation of an exotic dancer’s hustle (“Girl you makin’ all that money/ Don’t let nobody cheat you, cheat you,” the breezily sung hook advises).
It would’ve been nice if Dro could have fleshed out this perspective a bit more (rather than spend so much time rhyming about flashy rides), but we’ll give him credit for, if only sporadically, adding a different spin to the “make it rain”-type anthem. Plus, he didn’t go for the easy “Sensual Seduction” rewrite others would have attempted with a beat like this.
There are some songs that just make you want to lick the face of the person standing next to you. That’s the feeling that comes over you when you hear “Seventeen”, the Chic-flavored, “my shit don’t stink”-strutter from LA up-and-comers Casxio.
With it’s funky guitar and bass jig and lead vocalist Lucas Cueren’s featherweight falsetto whispering desperate romantic pleas in your ear (“I just want you to know-I just want you to know just how I feel”), “Seventeen” forces the inner freak out of you, it’s sleazy disco hustle pushing your body into a feline-esque sway as you scan the room searching for those two hot chicks to stage the ménage à trois to top all ménage à trois’.
The song seems to be sung from the perspective of some hopeless, pimply-faced teenager mooning after his MILF of a math teacher (“I want to write you a note/ That you’ll never read/…I’m only seventeen, but my love is for real”), but that barely registers, the track’s spellbinding groove (a dead-on study of late ’70’s/ early ’80’s R&B-funk) far too captivating to focus on it’s (awesomely) goofy poetics.
Interestingly, “Seventeen” isn’t some one-off Studio 54 spoof from another hipster indie rock act, as a venture over to Casxio’s MySpace reveals plenty more goodies within the same glitter-funk vein. From the stop-start thrill of “Dance” to “Broken Kiss”’s jerky, unpredictable rhythm, it’s as if Prince (of the “I Wanna Be Your Lover” years), Cameo, Rick James and David Byrne collectively squirted their juices into the same petri-dish and birthed the tunes themselves.
With a lil’ extra finessing from a genre expert (Paging Nile Rodgers!!), Casxio have the potential to raise the freak flag for a whole new generation.
So this is what happens when a Canadian pop-”punk” outfit take on Southern hip hop fury?
Found in the middle of Simple Plan’s musically muscular 2008 eponymous release, “Generation” pairs two Top 40 producer favorites known for their bombastic sound, longtime pop hitmaker Max Martin and Timbaland disciple Danja, for a loud and raucous celebration of…what else, teenage stubbornness.
Sonically, the track is a definite attention-grabber, lifting the rough-and-tough horn fanfare of TI’s blood-thirsty“Hurt” and pairing it with mega-sized metal rawk riffs and Ramones’ vocal play. Pummeling and anthemic (it’s many explosive sections land it as a fairly solid fist-pumper), “Generation” would serve as the perfect backdrop for political-fueled rage. Alas, such a topic is too heavy for a group named Simple Plan, who waste the track on continued lazy musings of the defiant youth (“HEY HO LET’s GO!!/ It’s going down tonight/ HEY HO LET’s GO/ We’re gonna do it till we die/ Cause I–I’ve got no reason to apologize”).
We’ve come to expect SP to never give up their attachment to teen angst, but connecting the song’s rap/ rock ferociousness to the frustrations of a more worldly concern (especially with the political race as heated as it is now), would carry a far more stronger impact. Three albums deep and the band are thankfully following a maturer sound, but this would have been the perfect chance to raise the level on their lyrical game as well and show their audience that there’s more to rally against than nagging elders.
Luda has proven in his growing acting career and through rares occurrences in his own music, that his entire artistic reach doesn’t solely revolve around XXX-rated banter and cartoon-y violence. The man can get serious when need be (even if he’s appreciated more as a randy goofball). He also has the ability to make any song better with one of his brilliant sixteens; but despite these approving attributes, the man can’t do everything. Like the idea of him co-signing the tender lyric of Alicia Keys’ Prince-influenced weeper “Like You’ll Never See Me Again” with straight-faced Valentine proclamations of his own; as awkward as it sounds on paper, it totally misfires musically.
The entire collaboration already highly unnecessary (this is one song that doesn’t beg for a hip hop touch-up), Luda fails to justify it’s purpose, completely disrupting “Again”’s mood with an animated rap style that never gels with the track’s dreamy melodics. If he had to jump on the song, this would of been a good time to employ the subdued tone he gave “Runaway Love”, not to practice more loopy flow acrobatics. He gets some points for not delving deep into his kinky bag of tricks, but the initial criticism remains, this remix was entirely unneeded. If anything, the original video’s featured guest Common should’ve been tapped. Now he could’ve made this worthwhile.
Temporarily out of ideas for any new kooky sex metaphors, the Pied Piper reverts back to the tried-and-true on the delectable “Kiss Your Candy”, which finds him subbing dessert treats to describe his favorite part of the female anatomy.
“I’m like a kid in a candy store/ Girl whenever I go low on you,” he sings in a lightly processed voice, while a bass-heavy steppers’ groove throbs beneath him. Further references to her no-no zone include “a box of cherries” and a “bag of treats” full of varieties that he can “nibble on”. That’s taking “trick or treat” to a new level, ain’t it? His sweet tooth isn’t the only thing driving this tune as admiration of her coin slot (“In your jeans so tight/ I can see your little crack/ Wanna hit those drums”) and a sung description of ass-smacking (only Kells can make that sound so charming) fill out the rest.
What’s amazing is how likable “Kiss Your Candy” is despite the fact that it does little that we haven’t heard from the man before (take last year’s “Freaky In The Club”, throw in the sticky dialogue of his JS production “Ice Cream” and add the entire Happy People album in the mix and you basically have “Candy”). The same could be said for everything else that’s come from him post-Chocolate Factory. Kelly has been re-stitching old beats and lyrics for years and it’s likely he’ll only continue do so for the rest of his career. Are we complaining? Hell naw, but you can’t help but be in awe at the brainwashing power he holds over us.
As nice as it is to get free music, think of how much better your soul would feel if you purchased it the old-fashioned way.
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