8
Thursday, February 15, 2001
Locals SAD Rock Out; White Turns Out Strange, Southern Album
Jim White
No Suck Place
■kirk'k
Sometimes artists try to be bizarre
simply so they stick out from the crowd.
Other times artists are truly bizarre.
Such is Jim White.
To roughly approximate his sound,
try mixing Beck’s rambling, mumbling
lyrics, Neil Young’s passionate folk
influence and an upbringing in the rural
South. Then do acid.
There is no effective way of describ
ing White’s sophomore effort without
accompanying audio samples, but his
poetically descriptive lyrics might serve
as an introduction to No Such Place:
“God was drunk when he made me,
but that’s OK/ ’Cause I forgive him,” he
sings in one song.
“You got no choice but to learn to
glean solace from pain/ Or you’ll end up
cynical or dead,” he warbles in another.
“My Trans-Am is missing/1 guess no
more kissing the girl who loved my car.”
If one were to attempt to categorize
the music of Jim White, it would be
something like gospel-influenced,
Southern country rock. This description
doesn’t take into account, however, the
bundle of contradictions that make
White so interesting. This includes com
bining White’s rural lyrics with modem
British production, and the fact that
White is obviously strongly influenced
by Southern gospel despite the fact that
he appears to distrust God.
White’s first album, Wrong-EyedJesus,
met with critical confusion. Some pro
claimed it strangely beautiful while oth
ers simply felt it was strange. No Such
Place continues in the same vein, with
the additional help of a host of contrib
utors that are almost as unexpected as
White himself. They include producers
from such varied acts as trip-hop veter
ans Morcheeba, R&B chanteuse Sade
and a member of the Japanese under-
"" hlllllllil
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ground country group World Standard.
Although the beats of the first and
fifth tracks are obviously the result of
Morcheeba’s influence, White personal
izes each song with narratives about
missing Trans-Ams and gas-station
attendants. He shows a talent for creat
ing vivid scenes of the rural South with
his words on tracks such as “Christmas
Day” and “Covair.” Unfortunately, the
majority of the scenes he creates are
vividly depressing.
But though many of White’s songs
describe depressing situations, the
underlying message is often one of suc
cess when you least expect it. This mes
sage ends up being an apt description of
No Such Place.
Trafton Drew
Sorry About Dresden
How the Cold War Began
■*★★★
Somewhere amid the songwriting and
recording process exists a small window
of time when a song’s newness spurs
intense excitement that spills from the
individual and creates an electric force.
Rarely do bands capitalize on that explo
siveness in the studio, as endless repeti
tion makes songs lose their potency.
Enter Sorry About Dresden.
The latest EP by this local four-piece,
How the Cold War Began, captures that raw
passion most bands squander all too
quickly. And boy, is it a beautiful thing.
The opening track is an acoustic song
with dual vocals. Warm keyboards and
a recorded thunderstorm make a perfect
prelude to the dynamic rock that strikes
like lightning on the next track.
“The Cults of the Famous and the
Dead” begins with a quiet, anticipating
intro that quickly burgeons into an all
out rock assault. The sometimes-shout
ing and always-straining vocals are, well,
odd. But not odd in a “turn this off” way,
but an “mmm ... tell me more” way.
The chorus does just that, as SAD
breaks into a perfectly crafted bridge to
an infectious refrain that almost surely
results in head-bobbing from live audi
ences. And the curious “tell me more”
turns to a demanding “give me more.”
The EP continues to overflow with
personality and sincerity, as SAD colors
outside the fines, serving up rock songs
XK r’Ti'ili
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DIVERSIONS
that flaunt creativity in a manner remi
niscent of the late Archers of Loaf. Its
uniqueness makes this EP a little hard to
swallow at first, especially considering
SAD’s tendency to pour out a song and
throw away the mold.
Although track three is another full
on distortion rock song, the second half
of the EP is more experimental. Only
for a few rough minutes do the endeav
ors give way to dissonant improv noise
sessions. But even the mellower “The
Store You Deserve” and “The Mayor
Will Abdicate” have build-ups that rock
out Dresden style.
Armed with hyperactive drumming,
rebellious pop vocals and snazzy lead
guitars, these Chapel Hill rockers have
taken it upon themselves to carry a torch
that has been dimming ever since the
last regime of local indie legends called
it quits. And while that flame still needs
a lot of fanning, this EP is gas on the fire.
Jason Arthurs
Regatta Sixty 9
SKAttered, SMOTHered,
COVERed
★
Regatta Sixty9’s latest album,
SKAttered, SMOTHered, COVERed, is 16
tracks of pure ska hell. It’s a fine exam
ple of what happens when you give clar
inets to a flock of geriatric ducks and tell
them to blow. (Remember, ducks don’t
even have lips.)
In its press material, Regatta Sixty 9
bills itself as “a great band with a fun
sound and a subtle message.” This self
proclamation of excellence and virtue is
a hyperbole, to say the least, and a
downright factual error, to be honest
SKAttered, SMOTHered, COVERed is a
crack attempt at producing an album full
of cover tunes, five tracks, compilation
works and previously unreleased materi
al. The result is a bunch of songs that
should never be taken in a ska context.
Take, for example, Regatta Sixty9’s
cover of Bob Marley’s “One Love.”
Regatta’s version is weak, with depress
ing horn hits and vocals that are com
pletely lost in the noisy mix excluding
the chorus. There have been better cov
ers in the Hobday Inn piano lounge.
Marley must be rolling over in his grave.
Moving on to the cover of “Damn It
JAN jK
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Folky, blue-haired English export Eliza Carthy fuses the modern and the traditional on her debut album,
Angels and Cigarettes, using both a fiddle and synthesizers to sometimes good, sometimes ill effect.
Janet” from that cult classic, “The Rocky
Horror Picture Show,” Regatta Sixty 9
further illustrates that the creative forces
behind the band aren’t exactly geniuses.
“Damn It Janet” was decently catchy the
first time around, but a.) it’s not the best
material for a cover, and b.) it’s certain
ly not ska, no matter how hard you try.
Theoretically ska blends reggae with
rock, calypso and jazz influences to cre
ate a horn-driven, spunky mix. Ska is
that kind of music that’s good for annoy
ing the neighbors or violently dancing
across the lawn in your underwear.
Regatta Sixty 9 doesn’t quite have this
concept down yet. The band’s energy
level is a far cry from that of Fishbone or
the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
Unfortunately, Regatta offers very little
to compensate for its general mediocrity.
“Lonesome Track,” recorded live in
Little Rock, Arkansas, features one
notable trumpet solo and “I Wanna
Smack You” has a relatively decent set
of lyrics with one semi-interesting,
though often repeated, guitar riff.
Regatta Sixty 9 actually manages to
drum up some enthusiasm on
“Someone to Cling to;” however, such
minimal redeeming qualities can quick
ly be tossed out the window in the face
of the inanely stupid “Micro Bus.”
SKAttered, SMOTHered, COVERed
does not speak well for Regatta Sixty 9
and its (assumedly hidden) talents. With
a lot of work and stronger chops in the
horn section, the band might be worth
the box its CD comes in. Until that hap
pens, the most hard-core ska addict
O^n
One Card!
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All movies shown In Carolina Union Auditorium.
might find Regatta Sixty 9 somewhat
entertaining, but anyone else is best
advised to leave the album on the
record store shelves.
Sarah Kucharksi
Eliza Carthy
Angels & Cigarettes
★★★
Eliza Carthy, like her music, is a study
in contrasts. She’s got the blue hair and
and multiple piercings of a punk rocker,
but she’s an avid folk traditionalist who
plays a mean fiddle, not a loud guitar.
Carthy is one of the recent folky trip
hop exports from Britain, along with
Dido and Beth Orton. But Carthy differs
from them in pedigree - her parents are
elder statesmen of British folk and vocal
performance -and her approach.
Traditional tunes of an almost medieval
flavor suit Carthy’s fiddle and earthy,
soulful voice; she’s more Renaissance
and less Joan Baez, with whom Carthy
toured the U.S. in 1999.
On the appropriately titled Angels &
Cigarettes, her major label debut, Carthy
turns in a sincere set of folk fusion that
owes as much to Portishead as it does her
British folk music. It’s a strange brew that
doesn’t always come together pleasantly.
“Whispers of Summer,” the sunny
opening cut, tumbles along with a bright
melody and an unobtrusive marriage of
fiddle and drum machine. It’s a won
derful, successful song.
But songs like “Beautiful Girl,” a
lament on the trials of a pretty woman,
vAday
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Late Seating at the Discretion of House Manager
Ufa? Daily alar Mrrl
and “Train Song,” the obligatory Latin
influenced track, are mired by their
thick electronic pulses. Some otherwise
fine songs are crushed under the weight
of the pretentious production.
On a large portion of the album, a
soup of synthesizers and violins clash in
an off-putting manor; call it Enya meets
the Dust Brothers. The lush and con
temporary-sounding production makes
her songs, which dip into love, longing
and self-image, more muscular than they
ought to be. “Fuse,” about a world-weary
woman, stands out as the most affecting,
gentle track because of its more sparse
arrangement. You have to wonder if the
whole set would be better if Carthy were
alone in the studio with her fiddle.
A number of good songs still find
their way to the surface. “Whole,” a
sweetly sincere take on love as obses
sion, is that much more soulful and love
ly because of the jazzy beat. “Poor Little
Me,” a very Dido-sounding trip-hop
song championing self-pity, is a song so
cold in meaning that tfie disconnected
accompaniment fits perfectly.
Angels & Cigarettes might not have the
immediacy of some of Carthy’s earlier
work, when her folk fusion experiments
were fresher, but her new album is an
engaging listen nonetheless.
Carthy’s major label debut is mosdy a
success; the overly self-conscious produc
tion might not be the apt forum for her
talents, but she manages to shine through
the muck with fiddle firmly in hand.
Brian Millikin