To say Devendra Banhart’s newest album is eclectic wouldn’t suggest anything unexpected, given the eccentric artist’s atypical revamping of the folk genre. From a musician who has been accredited to the New Weird America Movement, along with artists like Jana Hunter, Six Organs of Admittance, We the Royal, and Jack Rose, you can expect nothing but a genre-hopping album with its own quirky sensibility.
Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, Banhart’s newest release, both fulfills and denies these expectations. By recycling his vintage influences Devendra Banhart creates an album with a surprising maturity in its production, compared with the lighthearted, free style of Cripple Crow. More importantly, Smokey proves that when the novelty fades, Banhart’s bizarre breed of folk rock seems to resonate with a variety of influences, without being buried in any one.
After spearheading 2004’s The Golden Apples of the Sun compilation along with CocoRosie, Iron & Wine, and Joanna Newsom, Devendra Banhart gained notoriety as one of the authors of the New Folk genre. His previous releases, including Cripple Crow and Nino Rojo, have followed suit, although Banhart shirks his Freak-Folk title in favor of his own label, “Naturalismo.”
In Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, the only label that seems to apply is the latter. Unlike his previous albums, which took Naturalismo to a primal simplicity, Smokey has a sort of understated refinement, using production to create a more antique mood. The whole album echoes like old vinyl playing from another room, with the unobtrusive power of Banhart’s vocals ranging from big band to old country western. Beginning with “Cristobal,” a soft, Spanish-guitar ballad bolstered with brass and orchestral accompaniment, the album develops into what could easily be the soundtrack to an art-noveau film.
Growing up in both Caracas, Venezuela and Los Angeles, California, Banhart is no stranger to the Spanish music tradition he employs. Tracks like “Cristobal,” “Carmensita,” and “Samba Vexillographica” sound like a luxurious accompaniment to drinking mojitos on the coast of South America. The big band sound of “Samba,” sustained by heavy brass and Banhart’s powerful, airy vibrato, reverberates against the jungle sounds that follow, creating a lighthearted blend of elemental and refined. “Rosa” sets the mood with similar subtlety. Sultry and eerie, “Rosa” slinks along like a tango, with a faint drumbeat, classical piano, and a quiet passion in the harmony.
The really unexpected quality in Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon is in its far from innocent flirtation with a score of styles. Because Banhart’s voice can carve a niche from country to funk, each track comes off as an authentic piece of his history, rather than a disjointed compilation. He can just as easily testify, with a full choir, to the church organs in “Saved” as he can ramble along with steel guitar and woodblock tempo in “So Long, Old Bean.”
“Sea Horse,” one of the notable tracks of the album, is more of a bastard child of Miles Davis and The Doors, if Jim Morrison voiced his longing to be a sea creature. The propelling jazz tempo and breaths of organ and flute gives way to the clean guitar riffs that could easily be sidled with any classic rock legends. Rather than attempt to master the many genres present in Smokey, he presents caricatures of them; the pumped-up James Brown funk “Lover” and the malt shop ballad “Shabop Shalom” proves Banhart hasn’t lost his lighthearted sensibility.
Those expecting a continuation of the Cripple Crow folk style can find traces of Banhart’s organic origins, but may, in the end, be disappointed. Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon reflects the expansion of Devendra Banhart’s Naturalismo brand of folk rock. Through classic elements, Banhart creates an album with layers, sophisticated in its construction, modestly executed with a simple, effortless appeal. If anything, Smokey proves to Banhart’s listeners what they already knew: to expect nothing but the unexpected.
Enough Noise. Check out Devendra Banhart.
February 9, 2009
Smokey Proves, His Weirdness Prevails
Dib's on Asian-Fusion
After passing up a slew of Asian food restaurants on a long stroll through Little Vietnam, settling on Dib seemed, at first, like choosing an upscale Taco Bell for authentic Mexican cuisine. The quality of the food proved one of a few pleasant surprises, that evening. Nestled in a strip mall in Uptown’s theater district, Dib aspires to be one of those well-kept secrets of trend-spotting Chicagoans. The real secret? Dib offers a hip ambience and an authentic menu, but reasonable prices, for those who know that spending a week’s paycheck on a night out is so passé.
From all angles, Dib’s décor and atmosphere succeeds in being both practical and chic. With soft white drop lights, pale, crisp, linen curtains, and a black tufted wall-seat, one may be thoroughly wrapped up in the ambience without noticing the natural limitations of the space, like the weathered drop-in ceiling tiles and awkward alcove of restrooms. Circular mirrors of various sizes bubble up above the sushi bar, complete with retro brushed metal stools. From the sleek menu to the chopsticks, which look as if they’ve been carved from driftwood, the design is cohesive, modern, and, save the nauseatingly funky adult contemporary droning the background, pleasantly minimalist.
As the dinner hour got off in full swing, the lights dimmed, the music got a bit jazzier, and the waitress brought out tea lights to adorn the simple wooden tables. Our appetizer of Crab Rangoon came out on a triangular white dish, complete with carrot shavings and a small bowl of sweet and sour sauce. Easily the highlight of the experience, the divine texture of cream cheese and crab meat melted pleasantly with crunches of fresh celery, dropped generously into a dumpling of crisp wonton. While anywhere from Panda Express to P.F. Chang’s boasts the best in fried wonton, Dib offers a signature take on an American-Chinese favorite.
But perhaps what makes Dib a real gem among Uptown’s pan-Asian dining is the split menu, presenting both Thai and Japanese cuisine. The juxtaposition of these two breeds of ethnic food reflects a restaurant that’s well aware of its customers’ love of the unique. While my companion opted for the spicier side of the Thai menu, I delved into the unfamiliar world of sushi, selecting a maki that wouldn’t leave my tastebuds screaming from all the spice. The Philadelphia roll boasted smoked salmon, cream cheese, and avocado, tightly packed within a steamed rice and seaweed roll. Whisked to my table, within twenty minutes, in square china dish, accompanied by a dab of wasabi and pickled turnip, the final presentation was carefully crafted, reflecting the simple elegance Dib was reaching for. Though the room temperature sushi tainted the overall texture of the maki, the robust flavor of the tender salmon lingered on my tastebuds, sidled with cool, fresh avocado and delightfully whipped cream cheese. If you can take the heat, Dib advertises a handful of signature sushi, including the Halloween maki, which features a zesty black tabiko and festive orange honey miso sauce.
My other half’s Mussamun curry, however, left something to be desired in its unremarkable beef, though slathered with a welcome revival of mussamun curry. Served with lightly steamed rice, carrot, and potato, the carmeled sauce was tinged with an aromatic melding of herbs and spices, with a sweet hint of coconut milk. Despite the tough, flavorless meat, the curry proved rich and decadent almost made up for it, revealing Dib’s surprising ability as jack of both trades.
With friendly, attentive staff, more than helpful in selecting the right flavors for every palette, Dib welcomes even ethnic food amateurs into a world of savory authentic dining. It’s fortunate that the eatery continues to fly under the radar of the fine-dining masses; the hype would inevitably soil the comfortable, intimate atmosphere crafted in the confines of a commercial lot, seating just under forty. Yet Dib’s well-honed image doesn’t possess any illusions of grandeur. Well aware of its target audience, the BYOB restaurant won’t break any budget on expensive wines, and offers both delivery and carry out options to the Uptown region.
Enough noise. Check out:
1025 W. Lawrence Ave
(773) 561 0200
Hours: Mon-Thurs: 11:30 a.m. - 10:00 p.m.
Fri-Sat: 11:30 a.m. - 10:30 p.m.
Sunday: 12:00 p.m. - 10:00 p.m.
BYOB
Entrée Prices: $7-20
Credit Cards: Accepted
Reservations: Optional
Noise: Minimal
Lighten Up, Lifeline.
It’s not uncommon for burgeoning modern rock bands to attempt to accomplish something epic, especially facing the specter of carbon-copy radio rock. The Lifeline’s debut album, For All Who Triumph, is no different in its grandiose ambitions. Offering a powerful punch of alternative angst, coupled with the sophisticated weavings of Rebecca Faber’s violin accompaniment, the Chicago quintet certainly packs the musicianship to support their lofty aims. The various movements in each song seem to take a page from the classical handbook, building anticipation and creating both a dark and intense atmosphere; coupled with the traditional new-metal anthemy vocals, the album presents itself as more of a call to arms than a polite introduction.
From the elegant and dark duet between piano and strings on “Beginnings,” The Lifeline establishes their flair for the traditional, before the clean, driving guitar riffs burst forth on the second track. The grace of the strings, while providing a sophistication for the grating guitar melodies (complete with heaping helpings of feedback), often create a superfluous force in some of the album‘s already heavy tracks. Piled in with a dynamic rhythm section and the occasional screamed vocals, the classical effect becomes as disastrous as putting the Phil-Harmonic orchestra in the middle of a mosh pit.
There are moments, of course, where The Lifeline’s trademark sound serves them well, in producing an understated, haunting melody, which blends fluidly with Ryan T. Hope’s Coheed-esque vocals. On tracks like “…and Still They Search,” and “Resolution,” the call and refrain style of guitar and string melodies allow each sound to flourish as they weave in and out of one another. When the bombastic rhythm section and heavy chords subside, an intricate string harmony lingers in the interim, leaving a lasting impression as it drifts effortlessly into the chorus.
Surely the up-and-coming Chicago band is aware that it’s not creating a revolution. From Metallica’s Black Album to Evanescence’s Fallen, throwing in an orchestra has become a commonplace cop-out to build drama on any rock ballad. The band’s classical influence, however, works wonders creating catchy, evocative tracks, like “Moth to Flame,” that cross gracefully into various movements, leaving listeners eager for the grand crescendo. With a little lightening up, it’s possible that The Lifeline can create an epic, and more importantly, original first impression.
Too Many Cooks in Amrita's Broth
Undoubtedly to the excitement of many fans, ex-members from bands such as The Academy Is…, WHITE|CLAUDIA, Blacktop Mourning, and others have come together to produce what nearly typifies the genre of a “concept album,” Amrita’s Innertides. The collaboration, however, seems to fall prey to the curse of overreaching, as many themed musical excursions tend to produce. Innertides presents itself as an exemplary demonstration of contemporary rock, with experimental influences competing for attention in the margins. Inevitably, complications arise.
Based on an overarching storyline, similar to Coheed and Cambria, Amrita’s lyrics read as a conversation between characters, as in “Come My Way,” with the call and response “Oh, what have I done?/Nothin! Boy, you’ve done nothing out of the ordinary.” The context is mysterious, which sidles well along the enigmatic, seemingly incohesive movements of songs on Innertides. The album’s title track opens with a stabbing tempo, frenzied cymbals, and indistinct vocals echoing in the background, against Patrick Riley’s principal vocal melodies. Building in and out using a throbbing rhythm section, and interludes of instrumentation from funky, tribal drums to grating electric guitar, “Innertides” creates atmosphere and movements that, although cluttered, prove worth delving into. In the ballad-style “Shallow Soul,” melodic synth pours over echoing vocals, while a driving guitar solo attempts to take center stage, noticeably out of place. And playing with genres from traditional rock, funk, and prog make an epic effort out of “In Death, A Tribute,” though, in the end, the melding of choral vocals, strings, and cock rock guitars seems akin to compiling various incompatible tracks on a seven-minute mixtape.
It’s clear that Amrita lacks little in talent and ambition. With strong guitar solos drawing back on the flair of seventies rock, a keen sense of atmosphere, Innertides attempts to break apart the hard lines separating genres, and arguably succeeds in doing so. In being a jack of all trades, however, Amrita’s concept album obscures listeners from its multiple bright moments. Rather than letting the ambiance of instrumentation resonate, each track crams together an overabundance of sonic layers, each competing for attention. As a result, the bulk of Innertides seems to have confused conceptual with just plain complicated.
Enough Noise. Check out Amrita on Myspace.
Counter Intelligence Leaks Clever Commentary
This comes as a remarkable feat from the humble origins of Hauck’s album, primarily self-recorded in a University of Illinois dorm room. Hauck’s vocals, ranging from whisper soft to rich and sultry, blend well with the delicate acoustic melodies that make up the heart of Counter Intelligence. In both “Herrick, You Devil!“ and “Selfish Duet,“ the female vocals (provided by Molly Robinson and Caroline Younts, respectively) are reminiscent Damien Rice’s pairing with Lisa Hannigan. The fresh instrumentation ranges from a powerful violin accompaniment in “Selfish Duet” to a pedal-heavy piano, which makes “Herrick, You Devil!” sound as if the song itself echoes out from the belly of a baby grand.
“The Rebel,” Hauck’s ten-minute epic about the maddening journey of a soldier, rings of the playful style of Andrew Bird. With frenzied ragtime piano and harmonica, the circus of sound takes a giant gasp of breath about three minutes in, allowing Hauck to build a crescendo, with delicate acoustic guitar and bright piano accompaniment. The distant echo of a saxophone solo, from a droning to a jazzy interpretation of “America the Beautiful” suggest a statement, rather than providing any heavy-handed proclamation. With lyrics in songs like “Detail Man,” where Hauck whispers “And on our bombs we’ll paint the words/ ‘to whom this may concern,’” Counter Intelligence offers shrewd, poetic commentary, which comes as a welcome contribution not only to the dialogue of current affairs, but also to the acoustic music scene.
Enough noise. Check out Carl Hauck on MySpace.
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