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Recorded
Music
Reviews of new releases from Godspeed You
Black Emperor!, Curtis Salgado, and Blur.
Blur albums are always subject to frontman Damon Albarn's
mental state. The staunch Englishness on 1993's Modern
Life Is Rubbish reflected his dissatisfaction with grunge
and the band's marginalization in its homeland; The Great
Escape's daydreams stemmed from Albarn's fame-induced
depression and downing of Prozac. Much has been said of Albarn's
broken heart, caused by his split with Elastica's Justine
Frischmann, and that's what's at the center of 13,
Blur's sixth album. To call it a record of sad love songs,
though, would be a disservice. 13 is an attempt to
portray sonically what it feels like to be jilted. It is dark,
mysterious and challenging. The opener, "Tender," uses gospel
music to capture the exultation and self-pity in love's dissolution.
"1992" creeps like the heavy drag of not being able to get
out of bed. "Trailerpark" depicts a lover succumbing to the
lure of the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, meanwhile creating what
sounds like reverse rock with quiet guitars and undefined
vocals. "Caramel" slows to an almost frozen pace, while the
melodic "Trimm Trabb" explodes with an angry outburst three-quarters
in. 13 is downtrodden throughout, and its experimentation
is disconcerting for the first several listens (particularly
given Blur's poppy past). There is hope in the sadness, however,
and the songs have to be unraveled to find the gifts inside.
If you stick with it, you'll find 13 is a soothing
balm for anyone who's ever felt the same. Just don't expect
listening to it to be easy--no breakthrough this meaningful
ever is. Jamie S. Rich
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Wiggle
Outta This
Curtis
Salgado
(Shanachie)
Of related interest: Paul deLay, LB Lenoir, Delbert
McClinton
Curtis Salgado, Lloyd Jones
Gemini Bar and Grill 456 N State St., Lake Oswego, 636-9445
9 pm Wednesday, March 31 $5 |
Curtis Salgado is best known as John Belushi's inspiration
for his Blues Brothers character, Jake. The actor met
Salgado in Eugene while making Animal House, and Curtis
showed him the blues and R&B ropes. So what would Jake
be doing 20 years on? Playing the same music, the same way,
just like Salgado. In fairness, his new disc represents what
he does best: white roadhouse soul. Like his contemporary
Delbert McClinton, Salgado has a throaty tenor equal parts
New Orleans Johnny Adams soul, the Kansas City shout of Jimmy
Rushing and the Chicago blues of Little Walter. He's worked
his sources since the '70s with the Robert Cray Band, through
the '80s with Roomful of Blues and into the '90s with Santana.
We get a good listen of his harp playing on J.B. Lenoir's
"I Feel So Good." There are some okay originals ("Sorry Don't
Mean Nuthin'" and "Why Don't I Care") and some bad ones, such
as the title track and the painful-to-listen-to "Cookie Dough,"
which is kind of a take on Jellyroll. Ouch. When he sticks
to the well-chosen covers, Salgado's talent shines. But, frankly,
with all that's happened in music in the last 20 years, this
stuff can't help but sound clichéd and dated. Bill
Smith
"Let's build quiet armies, friends," invites experimental
Montreal entourage Godspeed You Black Emperor! on its new
EP. "Let's march on their glass towers...let's build fallen
cathedrals and make impractical plans." While this fiery image
of collapsing buildings burns on the screen of your closed
eyelids, Godspeed's ash-gray instrumental creations serve
as a requiem for the millennium. The collective's previous
album, f#a#(infinity), was a soundtrack-like masterpiece
that reveled in Ennio Morricone's spaghetti-western scores
and apocalyptic reveries. Slow Riot trades that work's
dust-blown desert atmosphere for two epic songs with the cold
starkness of a Canadian steppe: Chilly violins, chimes and
sonorous guitar whines hang on frozen wires, gradually collecting
ice until a monumental blaze erupts. "Moya" is like Vivaldi
played in reverse, a sad, shimmering vision of lost souls
and--according to the liner notes--cats. "Blaise Bailey Finnegan
III" thickens the mix with the title character's paranoid
anti-government rants whirling into a storm of percussion,
feedback and string crescendos. At the 25-minute mark, a brief
reprise of the record's funereal beginning completes the loop,
insinuating that the embers' glow is eternal, merely awaiting
a stoking blow. John Graham
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Willamette Week | originally
published March 31,
1999
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