More Florence, because I’m kind of in love with her after seeing her sing live. In a very packed weekend of great performances Florence gave Iggy Pop a run for his money for most impressive stage presence. There are lots of performers who impress you with their talent, or their beauty, or their nice personality, but you still think of them as normal people with normal lives. There aren’t that many who simply blow you away in every regard, being so larger than life that you have to wonder how such a person can even be real. Florence Welch is the latter type. She absolutely has the rock star thing down. She has the voice, the presence, the looks, the style, the personality, the songs, and the ability to muster it all together in one seamless, glamorous image. It’s what I’ve always said – image makes the difference between mere talented musician and bona fide rock star. Florence has found her image, one half Pre-Raphaelite Ophelia, one half bohemian rock chick, one hundred percent cool Britannia. Also, red hair. I love red hair.
Howling is what I want to do right now, in happiness, because I am going to see Florence herself and her Machine later today. Austin City Limits season is upon us. That means wallowing in mud on a feedlot with thousands of disgruntled hipsters or baking in the sun with those selfsame hipsters, kicking and stomping on hipsters to get anywhere near the show areas, waiting for hours between the acts you want to see, sipping overpriced lukewarm beer, standing in line to use the putrid latrines aka Port-a-Potties, and all the other hazards of the music festival. Music festivals are in many ways quite miserable. On the other hand, music. All the music you can shake a drum stick at. It’s an overload of experience. If you have some free time in which you’re not waiting and/or fighting to see your favorite headliners, you can stumble upon awesome new things you didn’t expect to see. Also, this being Austin, we’ve got the best food vendors in the city to choose our munchies from. Since today I only want to see Flo and Esperanza Spalding, I will have plenty of time to wander about, eat food and check out new acts.
This is a very stripped-down version of Heartlines - Florence Welch usually aims for maximum epic. The acoustics aren’t great either. There’s audible talking on all sides. But the shortcomings of an amateur video job can’t dull the impact of Florence + the Machine. There’s a lot to be said for her; her style, her red hair, her dark sensibility. Lots of things to love, but it’s all about one thing: that voice. A gift like that is rare enough, and to do something interesting with it is even rarer. Florence Welch is one of those once in a blue moon characters who come along complete with amazing talent, style, image, originality – someone with a vision. It’s always very sad to hear someone who is technically a good singer who allows themselves to be molded into a generic pop star shape and has no concept of themselves as an artist. Then there’s Flo, who sings about reading fortunes in animal entrails, among many other morbid and occultish things. ‘Witchy woman’ is a pretty flaccid label, regularly applied to hippies of all shapes and Stevie Nicks, and hopefully Flo won’t fall headfirst into that stereotype. But there’s something witchy about her alright; a little witchy, a little Romantic, a little Bohemian, and just by virtue of denying contemporary reference points, contrarily modern.
To summarize the year in the bluntest way possible: January and February were awful; March and April were alright; May, June and July were amazing; August and September were torture; October was ok, November was boring and December was good. That all the highlights of 2011 were sex, drugs and rock’n'roll is either great or humiliating, depending on what view you take on such things. I didn’t achieve jackshit, but I wasn’t trying to either, and I got some of what I wanted, though not nearly enough. Just like the year before. I saw an amazing line-up of concerts: Robyn, Diamond Rings, Gogol Bordello, Brownout, Love Inks, Bobby Birdman, YACHT, The Kills, The Decemberists, Liza Minnelli, Lucinda Williams, EMA, CSS, Morrissey. There were some sad moments; saying goodbye to Elizabeth Taylor, Amy Winehouse, Clarence Clemons and Cesaria Evora. Also upsetting, Jack White’s triple whammy of betrayal; breaking up the White Stripes, divorcing Karen Elson and associating himself with ICP. He’s got some major making-up to do. In the end, the uneventful nature of 2011 should be taken as a good thing. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt, almost.
1) In music, Lady Gaga has been the guiding light of the year. I’ve had to swallow my elitist tendencies (that’s ok, they were unattractive anyway) and admit that I’ve fallen in love with Gaga and her messianic gospel of self-love. Her boundless enthusiasm for all things theatrical - be it haute couture, lengthy videos, half-crazed TV interviews, opulent arena shows, or those inescapably memorable hit singles – is a blinding blast of sincerity in an ocean of staged, wooden, pre-scripted and impersonal ‘stars’ who have nothing to present of themselves besides their glossy backsides. All of which would be null and void if it weren’t for the most vital thing: she can sing circles around nearly every one of her peers and many of her elders too. Her songs might be lyrically incoherent but that doesn’t stop them from delivering, with the cutting efficiency that only a pop song can have, her message of paws-up! empowerment. Which would be intolerably cheesy, except that she believes it so hard, and that makes us believe it back. Therefore, Born This Way, album of the year.
2) Proceeding in no established order, then. Recent years have shown a heartening trend of artists growing gracefully older, making great work from a mature perspective, and proving that if you’re never too old to rock’n'roll if you’re too young too die. One example was the comeback of Lucinda Williams, who finally made her album of happy woman blues. She’s still preoccupied by past loves who wronged her, haunted by old friends who died, and concerned with the regular hardships of life, but age (and presumably, married contentment) has taken the edge off. The very title, Blessed, hints at her contemplative attitude this time around. I think it’s her best since World Without Tears, only without tears.
3) The Kills have made their best album yet. Blood Pressures is their most professional sounding record, which is no detriment. They don’t rock any less hard for having learned to use the studio to better advantage. The album is dark and mesmerizing, like Alison Mosshart’s persona. She’s become a leading light for me, a new rock icon who deserves to be remembered as one of the great frontmen. She and Jamie Hince have great chemistry together but how far will the duo go, I don’t know. But I’m certain that someday Mosshart will be subject of many ‘I saw her when’ tributes.
4) SuperHeavy definitely takes the cake for best surprise of the year. Just when it seemed that Mick Jagger would only get off his pile of money to marshal another greatest-hits tour for the Rolling Stones to amass more money, here he comes with something entirely fresh and off-the-wall. Jagger’s choice of super group was seemingly random, but turned out to be impeccable. With the help of Dave Stewart, Damian Marley, A.R. Rahman and Joss Stone, Mick gets to indulge his taste for the exotic, combining flavors of Bollywood, Kingston, rap, funk, soul, and the blues-based rock’n'roll he helped invent. It could’ve been weird, it could’ve been self-indulgent, it could’ve not worked at all, but it work it does, and how. I can’t stop being delighted to get such a treat.
5) Again with older people rocking out like there’s no tomorrow. Tom Waits is another veteran who suddenly found his creative spark burning brighter than ever. Waits has never really had a slump in his career, he’s been consistently himself for decades, staying in character and undistracted by passing fads or the winds of fashion. Though he’s never let us down, it feels like he’s upped his game. Bad As Me stands out for sheer relish and for that has brought on a bout of critical and commercial success. The old devil has grown in stature from fringe-dwelling eccentric to a figure of such coolness he can not only write a song sending up The Rolling Stones, he can then compel a certain Mr. Richards to come play on it.
6) More of oldsers doin’ it like it’s new. Paul Simon was never given to childishness anyway. Come-ons, double entendres, party anthems, glorification of drugs and cars, none of those things were ever his thing. He’s written some great love songs, which all are somehow tinged with mournfulness, as if every love was already heavy with regret. On So Beautiful Or So What he’s right on track with the formula he mastered with Graceland, a combination of African and Latin beats, equal parts blues, piano pop and gospel, and a view of the world as a place of sadness and beauty, redeemed by love. And of course, a little humor at his own expense, as in The Afterlife, where he’s an ordinary schlub trying to get into heaven and finding that it’s a bureaucracy, and the girls still don’t like him.
7) I know I’m the only person on the planet to say this, but I really liked Lulu, Lou Reed‘s collaboration with Metallica. The record got blisteringly bad reviews across the board. It topped many a critic’s worst list. Clearly not one of those critics was a Lou Reed scholar. They all complained that it’s too weird and doesn’t sound like regular Metallica. No one saw it in context of Reed’s career or noticed the many references to and parallels with Berlin. Admittedly, I can’t recommend it for everyone, but for lifelong followers of Lou Reed, it’s a must. It’s hard to listen to, yes, but it’s not the first time Lou Reed has been hard to listen to. There have been many moments in his career that I find unlistenable. For example, Lulu is considerably less painful for me than The Blue Mask. Reed continues to be a challenging, uncompromising experimenter. I had misgivings about such a strange mash-up, but found myself getting thoroughly drawn in by Reed’s storytelling, his powerful lines, and his wrenching delivery.
8) This year I fell for Florence. The first Florence + The Machine was good, but Ceremonials was epic. Florence Welch has come into her own on this one. She knows the power of a big emotional climax, and provides climax after climax, every song a cresting wave. I can only describe the music as opulent. A minimalist she is not. There’s layers of tumbling sound, everything and the kitchen sink it sounds like, but expertly marshaled for maximum effect. And of course, the style, the look the personality. Red hair!
9) Speaking of epic and convoluted, the Decemberists were just those things on their 2009 album The Hazards of Love. That album was a musically and lyrically dense concept album. Now, on The King Is Dead, they’ve taken the opposite track, making it stripped down and folksy. Though I love the highly ambitious and complex concept album, the simplicity of songs for their own sake is its own charm too. It looks like this might be their last album in the foreseeable future, so enjoy it thoroughly. It’s sad that the most literate and intelligent band going has gone on hiatus. Perhaps Colin Meloy has an as yet untapped future as a novelist, and music was just a youthful pursuit, or perhaps they’ll make it back together after a restful year or two. Either way, not a bad note to bow out on.
10) Amid all these heavy hitters there’s room for something more out of the blue. The five-man duo YACHT combines high-energy electro-pop with an endearingly earnest New Age sensibility. Led by the androgynous Claire L Evans, they’re at one spiritual, cerebral and fun to dance to. Shangri-La takes as its topic dual visions of utopia and dystopia. But to call it a concept album would be reaching. YACHT has their worldview and iconography, but they’re still more interested in playing fun music than drawing out big ideas. If Evans isn’t a star now, she certainly deserves to become one soon. She’s got the stage presence of a guru, with the laying-on of hands for her following of devout fans.
Now this is much more what jealous rage feels like. Florence Welch quickly became, in the last months of 2011, our resident MVP on the strength of her second album. On her first, she established herself with a song called Kiss With a Fist, and then this. Not one to be messed with, obviously, she’s got a morbid streak as red as her hair. I don’t know if she’s talking about a romantic rival or misbehaving lover, but the punishment she metes out is Biblical. What girl fantasizes about gouging out her enemy’s eye? And after that, what girl writes a song about it? I may know a few people who are unequivocally disgusted by acts of depravity, but for the rest of us, Florence speaks. About stabbing the eye out of the girl who made you cry. Evoking the Bible, and Shakespeare, and our own primal monkey need for revenge, she’s made an epic out of being evil. And makes it sound normal.
So happiness is like a bullet in the back… I think I see where this Florence is going. The video of her dancing in fur amid puffs of smoke is pointing the way. She going to be the pagan goddess for girls who want occultism and magic but can’t stomach the conformity of Hot Topic goths. Which I say as a compliment. Florence is dark without making darkness her image. She is dark and she is hopeful.
A year ago I didn’t give Florence Welch a second thought, and now I think she’s a new classic. I guess I’m just not the fastest gun in the west. But look at her. Look how beautiful she is and look at that dress she has on! And she brought a harp, for god’s sake. The thing is, when you can sing like that the world’s your oyster, if you want it. I was getting tired of songwritey chicks with wee little high-pitched girly voices, to say nothing of what’s in the charts. Although you have to admit some hit pop singers actually do have good voices, but with an unfortunate lack of any shred of good taste or creativity. I honestly kind of like Rihanna’s voice, but she’s the new Madonna (not Lady Gaga) – she sings of nothing but kinky sex, prances about in bondage outfits and thinks it’s somehow ‘empowering’. While the serious singer-songwriter types are just so twee, and indistinguishable. An interesting personality comes along so rarely. So the reaction when somebody who doesn’t suck becomes popular is incredulity followed by amazement.
More from Florence + the Machine, who I’m suddenly really into, overnight. One from her first album, which for some reason didn’t make a bleep on my radar when it came out. I’ve just listened to it and it’s just as good as the new one, except maybe a little more restrained. Lungs is a tiny bit more conventional sounding – she’s holding back her instinct for drama. On Ceremonials it’s everything and the kitchen sink, here it’s still near genteel. I don’t want to use the adjective ‘witchy’, but it suits. Florence is a little bit morbid, fixated on drowning and fortune telling, if she didn’t have red hair they’d call her a goth. Her music is simmering with private passions and obsessions, and I admire that. Honesty of vision is priceless. And doesn’t she just look like a way hotter Virginia Woolf?
“Like Enya mixed with Ophelia” I just read on a comment thread. I agree with the part about Ophelia. I can just see Florence Welch floating downstream with flowers in her hair. I noticed her image before I noticed her music. She has an out of time look. I would say Ophelia, or the Lady in the Lake. Florence has garnered some comparisons to Stevie Nicks too, mainly on the basis of liking billowy sleeves. Comparisons are a cheap measure of worth, anyway. Especially for someone who’s shown some self and originality in her image. The look isn’t worth much either if it’s not backed by some substance. In that department Florence delivers – her voice is an astounding instrument, and she’s already kicked a recognizable style into shape, with her love of powerful crescendos and cresting waves of sound.
Decided it’s time to catch up a little on new stuff that’s come out over the year, and maybe some other stuff I might’ve missed. More logically I should start this reviewing after the new year, but I don’t feel like waiting and it should take me until then. Then I’ll compile a best-of.
One of the new records I love this year is the new Florence & the Machine. I liked the first one alright, but it didn’t blow my socks off for some reason. The new Ceremonials does that with a vengeance. It’s epic. Since Lungs came out in 2009, I’ve become increasingly aware of Florence Welch. I’ve noticed that, with her red hair and carved jaw, she’s a dead ringer for Elizabeth Siddal. Which is only appropriate, because her music sounds exactly like what a Rossetti painting would if paintings came with a soundtrack. It’s pop music for Pre-Raphaelites, all lavishly romantic and heavy with dark symbolism. Welch has a thing for images of drowning, all consuming water, and ghosts. The better for an image of a post-modern pop Ophelia.
Recent Comments