Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week?s major label releases.
Tired of all the political nonsense? Course you are.
Well, come on in here, pull up a chair and take a slice out of our fruity flesh. Go on: cut us. Cut us like you’re Danny Dyer and we’re a recalcitrant lady.
Go on. We deserve it. Probably even enjoy it, too, truth be told.
Firstly, Slash, Slash. Really, Slash by Slash? You’re going to go ahead with the self-titled album thing, are you? But Slash by Slash, you are the product of a man who has already ascended to Rock Valhalla, where he sits sipping tea and smoking Marlboros with Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and Clive Dunn.
Self-titled albums, Slash by Slash, are for musicians who don’t have a big following already, or who do but are currently so beanwhacked on drugs that their own name is the only thing they can mumble when the company man asks for an album title.
So, Slash by Slash, let’s see what you’ve got for us behind that silly name.
This is really bizarre. Slash, on his new solo album (Slash by Slash, by the way) has become little more than a session musician.
It’s true: all of the songs are sung by famous singers (Ozzy, Lemmy, Iggy), while Slash just chugs away in the background. Oh, of course when he gets to the solos, his Les Paul sings as beautifully as ever (particularly the almost atonal squawling of Watch This). But for the most part, all we have here is a procession of famous blokes singing straight-out-of-the-box rock songs in their famous vocal styles.
After all, and to be fair to Slash, there’s probably not much point trying too hard on the music when you’ve got people like Ozzy and Lemmy singing; they’re so distinctive, and have such committed followers, that nobody’s listening to anything but their voice.
This point is most obvious when listening to Nothing To Say, which features a guy called M. Shadow. Because we’ve no idea who he is, and because he chooses to sing this song in the style of Use Your Illusion-era Axl Rose, the listener is able to mentally combine the singing with the (super-fast) riffing into an enjoyable whole.
Slash by Slash: proof that the old hound still has a rock ‘n’ roll heart, but that these days it beats a little slower. It’s represented by the thought:
Maybe next time I’ll get Liam Gallagher to sing all the songs. That way, people will concentrate desperately on my axe skills, trying to block out the sound of the whiny guy.
I call guitars ‘axes’. Deliver me immediately unto Slash by Slash.
Secondly, Letting Go, Jennifer Knapp. Jenny has not previously appeared on our music radar. Wikipedia tells us she’s had several Grammy nominations, but still… nada.
Well, that’s a shame because she has a really lovely voice and strong songwriting skills.
Half of these songs are purely acoustic. That’s certainly where she’s at her best, because when she tries to get heavy (Letting Go, If It Made A Difference), things become a little to close to all the rest of the power-country currently emanating from Nashville.
No, Jenny: stick with things of beauty, like On Love, and ditch the shouty stuff.
We’d buy the acoustic MP3s, and put them together into a lovely little sad-moments EP. Here’s it’s thought:
Well, here I am, having a lovely old time getting all maudlin about past loves. What’s the next song? Oh. Oh dear. Now I feel like I should have an American flag around my shoulders. How confusing.
I’m well up for a bit of sitting around and contemplating the past once in a while. Take me to Letting Go.
Thirdly, High Violet, The National. Ooh, a little gem this week. With a defiantly ‘indie’ sound backing the deep, understated vocals of Matt Berninger, we’re reminded of Ugly Beautiful-era Baby Bird (that’s a good thing, in our book).
Now, this is not an album to load into the “Rock This Party!!!!“? folder on your iPod. But, when you’re feeling a little melancholy, or somewhat dispirited, or just somehow not quite with it, then stick this album on and have yourself a little glass of wine.
Bask in the beauty of the stately horns and subdued drums of Runaway. Bathe in the gentle violins and tasteful drums of England. Get energised by the sudden, spirited entrance of Conversation 16.
Wonderful stuff. It’s represented by the thought:
Well then. My job is tedious, my dog’s taking his final visit to the vet’s tomorrow, and the phrase “my girlfriend” is quite possibly an oxymoron. Time for a bit of The National and a chilled bottle, I reckon.
That’s so weird! MY job is tedious, MY dog is dying, and I am more likely to catch ebola than a girlfriend. Take me straightaway to High Violet!
See you next week, Mangons. It’ll be another good one. And to all you? beautimous PR folk: get your music heard by a stupidly large number of people by writing to us here: TheGibbo[at]gmail.com.
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