Alex Lloyd
Watching Angels Mend
(Nettwerk)
By Jess Minnen
Sometimes an album is so good, so effortlessly enjoyable, that to review it seems a waste. These albums deserve the “just buy it for God’s sake” stamp of approval, and Alex Lloyd’s Watching Angels Mend is one.
The second release from Australia’s latest export, and his debut album in America, Angels is pure Brit-pop wonderment from its lilting, eyes-upturned beginning, straight through until its wrenching end. Obviously influenced by the Beatles (who isn’t?) and taking melodic pop cues from Beck, Eliot Smith, and Badly Drawn Boy, Lloyd’s latest is destined to become a classic. Hear it and believe it.
With help from producer Magnus Fiennes (yes, that’s Fiennes as in Ralph and Joseph) Lloyd crafts one of the best albums of the year, lodged somewhere between pop, rock, and electronic folk. He is heads above his nearest competitors, including Phantom Planet and Badly Drawn Boy. We’re not talking pop as in Britney and Christina, this is what pop music was before MTV contaminated the genre and sent it straight to silicon hell. This is beautiful, melodic, ethereal music, with tangible and accessible lyrics. In a day and age when deep lyrics are “ooh baby / give it to me / oh yeah just like that,” Lloyd offers the homegrown Aussie-pop alternative, “if you want to be free / please don’t fall for me / I could be anyone / but your friend.” Lloyd pulls at the heart strings without resorting to whiny angst, and sets even his sad, reflective lyrics against whimsical trip-folk harmonies and effects.
The first single, “Amazing,” features a fifteen-piece string section that is reminiscent of the Verve, and went platinum in Australia earlier this year. Other highlights include “Green,” featuring Pink Floyd bassist Guy Pratt, and “My Friend,” with BJ Cole on steel pedal guitar. The only realistic criticism of Angels is its length. With a running time of only forty-three minutes, Lloyd leaves us wanting more, much more. But that was probably part of the plan.
Lloyd is currently on tour in the U.S. with Beth Orton, and I caught the end of his opening set at the Pageant earlier this month. Unfortunately, the layering and production that makes the album so rich and gives it its indelible texture, was lost in Lloyd’s solo acoustic performance.
The album’s strength was still audible in his voice, but hopefully more success in the U.S. will mean a bigger tour for Alex Lloyd, a tour with a band and the kind of production that will do both Lloyd and Watching Angels Mend the justice they deserve.
Red Hot Chili Peppers
By The Way
(Warner Brothers)
by Taylor Upchurch
In its current state, the pop music industry doesn’t really know what to do with the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It’s too focused on hyping the Avril Lavignes, Puddle of Mudds and Fat Joes to account for a career horse like the Chili Peppers. They’ve already had their moments in the sun and have reached the point (18 years and counting) when they’re supposed to start slowly declining in quality and relevance-in other words, because sex appeal starts being less of a factor-resulting in the musical equivalent of riding off into the sunset, a la R.E.M. or U2.
Instead, the Chili Peppers have put out By the Way, the album that should re-conquer the world. They just keep sticking around, like that sketchy WU graduate who just won’t leave campus. The MTV and VH1 coverage of the By the Way-era Chili Peppers won’t do much to distinguish them from any other flavor of the month, but the truth is that Anthony Kiedis and company have improved by leaps and bounds with each of their last three albums.
Californication, their most recent album and itself a delightful effort, was largely a spotlight on Keidis and his improved vocal performance. That hasn’t gone anywhere on By the Way, but the kicker this time comes from the backup vocals, courtesy of Flea and John Frusciante.
Pick a song-“By the Way,” “Dosed,” and “The Zephyr Song,” to name just three-and you’ll find the harmonies stealing the show. There’s still the occasional catchy Frusciante guitar riff or rumbling Flea bass line sidling up next to the verse, but their chops are no longer the focus. The Chili Peppers’ improvement of one area of their product after another, album after album, reflects the work ethic that makes the difference between a career giant and a flash in the pan.
This record is as cleanly produced and meticulously arranged as anything you will come across. Its occasional song-structural predictability aside, it’s a 16-song clinic on how to write popular music. Praising one song over the rest doesn’t do it justice, because at least ten of the songs have the potential to climb seriously high on the charts. With By the Way, the Chili Peppers are sitting on the best album of the year, and a frickin’ gold mine. What they do with it is up to them.