The Errant Charm is Vetiver’s fifth full-length release since their self-titled debut back in 2004. The first two largely lived up to the freak-folk moniker that rubbed off from a productive symbiotic relationship with Devendra Banhart, playing The Band to his Dylan, before Vetiver’s songsmith Andy Cabic flaunted his musical erudition with Thing Of The Past – an unassuming but sublime collection of covers of the folk-pop of yesteryear (c. ’68-’73). 2009’s Tight Knit bore the fruits of this back catalogue-mining, and Cabic’s latest collection continues the trend; it’s an exquisitely mellow crop of chillaxed day-glo pop.
Opener ‘It’s Beyond Me’ sets the tone, with Cabic “just a passerby” watching “shameless games”; “I used to understand them / til the rules were changed” he sings, vocals blending inconspicuously into the mix, washed over by quavering licks of pedal steel before Cabic ultimately admits defeat with a bemused smile in the face of the world’s fickle moods, remaining aloof in a world of his own. Things don’t stay downbeat for long, as Cabic muses on receiving the blunt end of reality’s stick (‘Wonder Why’) or getting ready to fight back (‘Can’t You Tell’), with both tracks benefiting from his talent for concocting instantly catchy hooks.
Elsewhere, ‘Right Away’ exhibits pleasing country inflections, though nowhere near the degree of the pounding stomp of ‘Ride Ride Ride’ – it would be difficult to accuse Cabic of originality, but that’s hardly the purpose of the exercise. Before its dissolution in the lava-lamp-lit glow of ‘Soft Glass’, The Errant Charm manages to encapsulate the spirit of searching whimsy that’s suggested by its title.
The Errant Charm is a record that demands to be lived with, its depths slowly revealed a dozen spins down the line.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 417, June 20th 2011
Showing posts with label Bob Dylan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bob Dylan. Show all posts
Monday, June 20, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Jethro Tull @ The State Theatre, Thursday April 28
Jethro Tull were just one of the many grey pilgrim acts putting on post-Bluesfest sideshows as part of their nostalgia tours tonight. One woman, who had bought tickets to both tonight’s show and that of Mr Robert Zimmerman, was anxiously trying to offload one or the other in the queue, while simultaneously trying to decide which to use. "Keep the Tull", we advised, it probably being the last chance to catch them before Ian Anderson’s voice disintegrates completely and he’s forced to retire. Not that he’ll be on the streets anytime soon, what with cluey investments in fish farms ensuring he’ll be rolling in it once global ocean stocks collapse.
The Tull milked it for all they’re worth, with a still spry, bandy-legged Anderson capering around the stage with as much energy as might have been exhibited back in the band’s heyday – although at 63, the move from tights and codpiece to black jeans was a welcome one. Less welcome was the mimed flute masturbation; what might’ve been risque in 1969 now seems just a little… unnecessary. That said, half the entertainment tonight was in enjoying Anderson’s antics, as he played to the expectations of his audience with a knowing twinkle (although the fact that he’s also a genuinely superb flautist was occasionally overshadowed by his exaggerated showmanship). There was an element of musical history lesson at work in the setlist, with Anderson’s chatty interludes placing each song in context. Barely playing any material post-1974, songs from each of the group’s major releases from their debut to that point were featured, with highlights including ‘Thick As A Brick’ and ‘Farm Freeway’ – though it was the chunky riff of ‘Aqualung’ that remained stuck in our heads for the ensuing 36 hours.
To be honest though, it became difficult not to drift off in the second half. While innovative for their time, the group’s proggier excesses began to seem rather dull after a while, with everything fading together into a blur of angular hooks. Not that a predominantly baby boomer audience minded too much, one gentleman in particular growing so agitated with excitement that rhythmically thrashing around in his seat proved inadequate in expressing his passion of the moment, rising during the encore to throw himself around the front centre aisle. Good times.
The Tull milked it for all they’re worth, with a still spry, bandy-legged Anderson capering around the stage with as much energy as might have been exhibited back in the band’s heyday – although at 63, the move from tights and codpiece to black jeans was a welcome one. Less welcome was the mimed flute masturbation; what might’ve been risque in 1969 now seems just a little… unnecessary. That said, half the entertainment tonight was in enjoying Anderson’s antics, as he played to the expectations of his audience with a knowing twinkle (although the fact that he’s also a genuinely superb flautist was occasionally overshadowed by his exaggerated showmanship). There was an element of musical history lesson at work in the setlist, with Anderson’s chatty interludes placing each song in context. Barely playing any material post-1974, songs from each of the group’s major releases from their debut to that point were featured, with highlights including ‘Thick As A Brick’ and ‘Farm Freeway’ – though it was the chunky riff of ‘Aqualung’ that remained stuck in our heads for the ensuing 36 hours.
To be honest though, it became difficult not to drift off in the second half. While innovative for their time, the group’s proggier excesses began to seem rather dull after a while, with everything fading together into a blur of angular hooks. Not that a predominantly baby boomer audience minded too much, one gentleman in particular growing so agitated with excitement that rhythmically thrashing around in his seat proved inadequate in expressing his passion of the moment, rising during the encore to throw himself around the front centre aisle. Good times.
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