The Good

• As an EP with only five tracks there is little filler. Polite Dance Song benefits immensely from live drums and a sarcastic, near parody vibe, and manages to squeeze in a chromatic piano run similar to Paul McCartney’s Maybe, I’m Amazed. Man combines funk with baroque instruments effortlessly with a killer chorus.
• So You Say is a weaker track but still has a dippy, trippy vibe similar to Puffy Ami Yumi, but it explodes into a divine syncopation during the chorus.
• Last is a cover of the Bee Gee’s How Deep Is Your Love but with all the disco stuff stripped away, turning the AM radio standard intimate and heart felt, highlighting Inara’s vocal range.

The Bad

• The Races is the weakest track with fuzzy intent, mostly in comparison to the killer stuff surrounding.

Conclusion

The Bird And The Bee make pop music for sure, but the sort where the verses contrast impeccably with awesome choruses, and Greg Kurstin’s flawless production surrounds a crystal clear voice of Inara George. What more can one ask for? I’ll pick up their next album for sure.

Here’s a video for Polite Dance Song:

iTunes Store Link: Please Clap Your Hands — EP — The Bird and the Bee

When I bought Whatever I didn’t expect much, but Aimee Mann was actually on the cusp of a brilliant reinvention from the ashes of Til Tuesday (stereotypical hit wonders) to a “serious singer-songwriter” (a stereotypical cliche). Luckily, Mann had the good fortune to team up with Jon Brion, an unusual producer also on an upswing. A former member of the cult band The Grays, Brion would go on to produce Fiona Apple and the Punch Drunk Love soundtrack.

Whatever contains melodic, Beatle-esque musical diversions — melody-over-chords based songs with cynical lyrics, given complex, layered production. Spaces between every phrase are filled with unusual instruments and hooks.

The warm experimental instrumentation can’t help but evoke the sixties on several tracks. I Should’ve Known bristles with Beatley invention, from background harmonies, chiming organ, trumpet, with pokey oboes on the bridge evoking memories of Pet Sounds. There’s a beautiful George Harrison-esque guitar solo. From there, Fifty Years After the Fair takes us to the world of the Byrds, complete with chimes.

Overall there’s a dejected, resigned break-up vibe to the lyrics. Stupid Thing is especially cutting as Mann describes to her former lover the hopes that have been dashed. “It wasn’t me that you outsmarted,” implying the one lost is the accused.

Now that I think about it, Whatever contains many moments I could live inside of: the “never mind” background vocals of Stupid Thing, the double-meaning of the ode to lost fame I’ve Had It, and the frozen-steel, knife’s edge guitar solo in the slightly spooky, stalker tune Say Anything. Some cruel lines to a know-it-all former lover appear in that song: “If you were everything you say, things would be different today… now I’ve heard everything.”

As always, there are some weak tracks, and for me they’re the ones where Mann puts on a happy face, possibly for unneeded balance. Put Me On Top is a misfired hit song, declawed and repetitive. Mr. Harris sounds strangely gloating. And I skip the pseudo-vaudeville showboating of the final track Way Back When.

But that leaves nearly eight tracks that I would lock in a time-capsule for when I’m 64. This album deserves more than just a passing “whatever.”

iTunes Store Link: Whatever — Aimee Mann

Wikipedia: Whatever

Doubtful I would have chose to listen to this on my own. I was offered it as I was lending another co-worker the France Gall CDs I recently bought. Anyhow, it’s neat stuff, which I’d sum up in with these words: instrumentation, originality, and ambition. I can already tell from one listen that this is the sort of album that will stand up under repeated, enjoyable listenings for me.

Instrumentation: For a great example, the song Sons & Daughters in the most reductive sense, is just two chords over and over, but the range the group displays is impressive, using instruments from harmonium, acoustic guitar, bass, drums, three voices, and finally congealing with electric guitar and drums. All standard instruments for sure, but the way it all builds is expertly done over five minutes.

Originality: Having went to college in Portland, Oregon, it seems the music from the Pacific Northwest keeps getting better and better. When I was at school there, the common criticism of Portland bands was they sounded like lesser copies of better bands from Seattle (I sadly must mention Everclear). With Eliot Smith and now The Decemberists, this reputation has been obliterated for some time.

The singer sounds a little like Michael Stipe, so some songs remind me of early R.E.M., while others are built around funky grooves, strangely reminding me of Fleetwood Mac and seventies-era Paul McCartney, ornamented with seventies-era organ noodling. Then there are some straight-forward, eighth-note barrages recalling Interpol or an acoustic Coldplay. But there’s more: the aforementioned instruments are largely unplugged with hardly any electronic production tricks. So at times there’s a retro-revisionist-history vibe, as in Gillian Welch, later Sam Phillips, or even The Band. But please note: all these similarities are probably more due to the type of music I usually listen to — the resultant mix is refreshingly unique.

Ambition: I guess there’s a concept behind this album, but I haven’t gotten far enough to figure it out. But I did notice some songs’ length: The two songs The Island and The Crane Wife 1 & 2 are basically rock operas, at over twelve minutes long each. It’s neat to hear a group try to stretch things out in this day of the short attention span, two-to-three minute pop compression.

The contrast between long, contemplative songs and compact, hit-friendly ones like Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) is part of the album’s charm. This tune features a female vocalist and some twelve-string, determined rhythm.

So The Decemberists were name-dropped on the most recent episode of Gilmore Girls — one point for that. Another for not sounding like any other band I’ve heard recently, and a last for basic nerve. They’re trying to create something more substantial than straight pop songs, and aren’t afraid to sound unique. I support some bands just for those reasons alone, even if the music isn’t my cup of tea. But in The Decemberists’ case, the tea certainly is.

Note: Here’s a recent interview with Colin Meloy (lead singer) at NPR.

iTunes Store Link: The Crane Wife (Bonus Track Version) — The Decemberists

I have to thank reader Podophile who told me about France Gall, in a comment on my earlier review of April March’s Chick Habit. France Gall is the original, sixties-era French pop chanteuse, with a few songs written by Serge Gainsbourg. I guess this brand of cutesy, flippant girly wimp-rock stuff is called “Ye-ye”. Who knew?

Anyhow, this whole sugary parfait a hoot, and while my respect for April March’s Chick Habit is somewhat lessened (it’s an English version of a France Gall song Laisse Tomber Les Filles) in other ways it survives, as I prefer April’s sweeter, romantic version of Cet Air La to the strange, frenetic one on this album (that features a dippy organ and some teasing girl-group background vocals).

But each song is its own, self-contained music box behind a lace curtain, with a separate mood and luxurious feel. I don’t understand a lick of the lyrics, but while listening to this stuff, I think of Francois Truffaut, chocolate, cats, knee socks, and canaries in cages. All this means “I like it.” Ye-ye!

Wikipedia: France Gall

And as Crowded House existed in the realm of smart, vocals and guitar pop, Everyone Is Here largely delivers. There are four or five really strong tracks, namely the opening salvo of Everyone I Know Is Here, Nothing Wrong With You, and Anything Can Happen.

Some of the middle tracks are a bit odd but still have moments to offer, such as Edible Flowers. The verse is a somber descent, a bit like XTC’s Boarded Up, lending a dark shadow to the common yet sorrowful phrase “Everybody wants the same thing, to see another birthday.” The middle, presumably written by Neil is by contrast exuberant, hopeful, and soaring. These two differing halves form a really interesting whole and bear out the promise of the two musical minds working together as the Finn Brothers.

Other neat tunes are Luckiest Man Alive, which has everything going for it except for an awkward Italian Plastic–like key change and coda. Also interesting is the David Bowie-esque All God’s Children. Most similar to Neil’s solo work is Gentle Hum, with its nearly atonal stack of piano chords over a quiet ticking, and a chorus resembling a Christmas carol.

The other tracks aren’t as memorable, but seeing how I’ve already felt the need to mention seven songs by name, that’s a definite thumbs-up.

iTunes Store Link: Everyone Is Here — The Finn Brothers