Reviews by kuvien

This is middle-of-the-road-ology-I-have-no-music-taste-ology-but-think-I-do music.

The quirky, semi-operatic vocals are always a welcome treat, to say nothing of the infectious (but not *too* infectious) melodies, the kind of tunes that stick in your head only for a little while and then evaporate, not maddening you with their continual playback in your head. After all, only Sparks can turn the sound of sneezing into an anthem! And what a send-off, that last track. *Bon voyage!*

The satirical classical crossover elements of this album really sell it for me. There’s so much beauty and intensity in the classical music right alongside funny, hypnotic musings on self and others.

In an interview on the Arsenio Hall Show, Zappa expresses his disdain for songs sung by the likes of Luther Vandross and his whole "just stay the night with you, baby" euphemisms. Zappa asks why Vandross doesn't just say what he really wants to do that girl... He's talking about stripping away the veneer of pop songs and getting to the often gritty (and even sometimes dark and uncomfortable) heart of pop music. That's what's happening here. Remember, kids: soft passages get you into trouble.

As an aside, remember the bizarre treatment Sparks gives "Do Re Mi" on A Tweeter in Wolf's Clothing? Well, they get up to their shenanigans again, this time with a wonderfully inappropriate sexual metaphor using "The Star Spangled Banner". I'll take two helpings of Sparks, please!

Sparks, immune to silly mortal passions, is looking down on you all and clucking their tongues as they watch you run around in lust-filled confusion with your pink thing hanging out.

On this their second album, Sparks has only two missteps, one being the predictable “Do Re Mi”, but I guess if you think of the track as an aural intermission, it works in the context of the album. The other tracks are typically Sparks schizo in their experimentation and eclecticism. Carefree in their music making, a complete lack of self-consciousness. Sarcastic as ever, of course. They’re not afraid to do their own thing, and of course they follow their own formula, something no one can replicate. The multi-track overlapping vocals also demonstrates their superlative talent.

When I queue up an album, I rarely check the Spotify tracklist and compare it to the actual album tracklist, but here I am, at the time of this writing, nearly 8,700 albums into my hobby, so certain warning signs raise alarms in my head. You named your band "Sparklehorse"? You make indie slacker rock? Early 2000s? Oh yeah. You're gonna suck, and you're gonna try to torture me with bonus tracks, aren't you? (I go check.) Yep. Just what I thought.

I love the energetic vocals, the fiery, off-kilter vielle (a Medieval stringed instrument similar to a violin), the dancing cabrette (bagpipe), and the droning concertina (accordion), but the band's Bandcamp page for this release is a load of hogwash that makes Alice Coltrane sit up from her grave and applaud. Soil. That's what this album makes me think of. Dark, rich soil. Whatever's planted in it is sure to flourish.

This is good shit, but it's definitely more afro than jazz. It's like the jazz is just incidental, a way through which Soumah disseminates his music, sounds very much rooted in his Guinean experience and cultural traditions. Saxophone is beautiful, but for me, it's the passionate flute that is truly wonderful. The percussion rumbles and thumps throughout, and he's not afraid to let the balafon and the djembe carry the complex rhythm. Such bright sonic themes on the harp offset by his gruff vocals as a striking counterpoint.

Aged like milk. Go to the club when you're young, sure, but then burn your records when you're older and never talk about your embarrassing youth.

As I listened to this, I kept mentally doing the DiCaprio finger snap and point as another super familiar part of the game was brought once again to my mind by the music. Good stuff. As a game. Who gives a fuck about listening to this in isolation?

As jaunty as the magenta hat sitting skewed on my bald head.

I had to look up the birthdates of Everlum and Molina to see who got shat out by the sad vagina first.

Nobody cares. There's way better music out of Mali.

Although I prefer the Johnny Depp film, if I'm just listening to the music, I put on this CD. Michael Ball does the best Sweeney: creepy, intense, powerful--he's got it all. And Imelda Staunton is brilliant. You can really "see" her Shakespearean training come through in her stunning interpretation of Mrs. Lovett.

Look. The British just don't do neofolk well. And that includes Current 93.

I imagine two dudes, one young and one old, sitting in the studio recording this album. Their ages don’t matter. They give each other cues in the form of quiet nods of respect, the old man on the flamenco guitar, the young on the cello. Sometimes the guitar provides the structure while the cello invokes the atmosphere, and at other times they switch. They have a sheet music they often follow, but sometimes they go off script and delve into moments of free improvisation, leading to something quite experimental in the final track.

Who’s that kid laughing at the beginning? One of the telepathic Martians trying to keep the Earthling away? Gloating about its superiority? This album is a synthetic symphonic exploration of The Martian Chronicles. There are many humorous moments in the book, and I think that levity is captured conceptually in the playful synths and flutes. Overall, there is a stronger sense of adventure in the music than actually exists in the novel.

This album is a curious scaredy-cat walking high, thin walls between back gardens, jumping from tree branches to low roofs slick with sickly-sweet fruit rot, jumping three feet up and ten feet back at a random loud noise, crossing five lanes of traffic, hunting bowls of milk. Strings lead side A, saxophones bring home side B. And all along is that off-kilter, stop-and-go piano playing interpreting Magne's compositions through Vannier's arrangements.

The confidence of this band is astounding, the way they have these short, clever spoken-word parts mixed in among the unpredictable turns of music, perfectly dual-wielding quirky delicacy and percussive chaos.

A helluva debut album but a helluva band, one of the original building blocks of prog rock fearlessly incorporating jazz elements into the mix. Intelligent, creative, playful, whimsical.