The Gold Edition of Jessie Ware’s debut album reveals her talent more than the standard one. The ‘live from London’ acoustic versions of songs including Devotion, Wildest Moments and Running are a real bonus.
They sound different, almost beyond recognition in places, and prove Ware can sing, very nicely indeed. She’s been likened to Adele (a friend) and Sade, and I think there’s a bit of Lisa Stansfield in there too.
And listening to the stripped-back tracks made me appreciate the produced versions better. Soul inspired music for the end of the night.
One doubt I can’t shake off – the lyrics seemed a bit simple and clunky in places.
‘You’ll be my night light, there when I go to sleep’.
Ping! A child’s bedroom appears in my mind’s eye, softly lit maybe, but I couldn’t make it go away. The ‘shadow man’ she sings about pops to the kitchen for some warm milk, resigned to reading another bed-time story.
Perhaps I was listening too closely for this review. Just let Jessie Ware wash over you, and it gets better and better.
Solid Air John Martyn Nominated by Clive Featherstone
You shouldn’t listen to Solid Air while you’re doing the ironing. It demands your full attention, and it definitely improves after a glass of wine.
This folk-jazz album is one of the most critically acclaimed British records of the early 1970s and the guitar playing is fantastic, but I struggled to really enjoy it as a whole, even after the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo. Can I say it was good, but that I didn’t really like it?
Let’s be clear – it’s not him, it’s me. He’s an electrifying guitarist and singer, who blurred the boundaries between folk, jazz, rock and blues. The recorder was the peak of my musical accomplishment. What do I know?
I wanted to shout ‘stop mumbling!’. I got annoyed when a well-formed song dissolved into a dubby free-form … something. I almost really enjoyed a lot of it – much of the music was brilliant – but the vocals kept tripping me up. Where are you going? Come back, that was good!
I always like to know where the exits are, and I guess I like to know where songs are going too. This album needs more time, and probably more red wine, to reveal its form and fire escapes to me. I’d recommend you try it.
As an aside, the album cover is an example of schlieren photography, which demonstrates the ‘solid’ nature of air. I think I can grasp that.
In the Lonely Hour Sam Smith Nominated by Aoife Nowell
Sam Smith has endured more than a lonely hour, judging by his debut album. It’s been a lonely eternity for him, very bitter-sweet and simply beautiful in places.
Always wanting and waiting, confused and defeated, but keeping on. I can see why he’s got lots of teenaged fans. The lyrics are grasping for a romantic paradise that’s always out of reach.
But this isn’t packaged angst pop. Smith is a good songwriter who’s testing his amazing soul voice.
Money on my Mind, Stay with Me, Like I Can and La La La (I’m covering my ears like a kid) are big, passionate songs.
Some tracks take me back to the 80s, when I was a teenager into pop. Slap bass and sophisticated funk soul was music for ‘older’ people then, so it automatically sounds ‘older’ now. How can I de-programme myself and hear those sounds for the first time?
I prefer it when voices like Smith’s keep it simple, steering clear of ‘over-souling’ which squeezes lots of notes into each syllable.
Which brings me to my favourite song on this favourite album, I’m not the Only One, which is simply perfect. Piano, a persistent back-beat tying it together, and brilliant lyrics.
You say I’m crazy, ’cause you don’t think I know what you’ve done But, when you call me baby, I know that I’m not the only one.
Sam’s lonely but his songs are truthful and it’s worth keeping him company.
David Bowie’s Life on Mars? has become bound to time travel, thanks to the synonymous TV series.
And the album it came from, Hunky Dory, has thrown me back nearly 25 years too.
I didn’t think that I knew Queen Bitch and The Bewlay Brothers, tracks on the more challenging B-side. But I did. They took me back to my first weeks at university and my then new friend, the wonderful Eleanor Parker. She’d been in a play about Myra Hindley in her A-level drama course, and she loved David Bowie (He was new to me, apart from the scary Ashes to Ashes video of 1980. ‘We all know Major Tom’s a junkie…’ gulp, I didn’t).
The Queen Bitch is ‘In her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat’. It’s the ‘bipperty-bopperty hat’ that I can see and hear Eleanor singing. So full of energy – you’d all love her. We’ve lost touch, so big hugs to you Ms Parker if you happen to Google your name and find this.
That’s the power of music. Two bars and you can be zipped back to a time, place or person, whether you like it or not.
But back to Bowie. This album is packed with big songs, Life on Mars?, Changes and Oh! You Pretty Things… are ‘best of’ must-haves. The chorus to Pretty Things is so catchy, it’s one of my very favourite little bits of music.
Do these seem better songs than the rest of the album because they are so familiar, or because they are actually quite amazing, compared with anything? Discuss…
There’s no duff tracks on Hunky Dory, Bowie’s fourth album, though and for me lots of pop references. Song for Bob Dylan is funny – a homage, or a parody? He certainly mimics the singing style. Is there a bit of the Kinks in Kooks? (‘Don’t pick fights with the bullies or the cads ‘Cause I’m not much cop at punching other people’s Dads’. Lovely). And some Velvet Underground in Andy Warhol?
It’s funny to think that I didn’t quite exist when this record was released in the summer of 1971. It doesn’t seem old enough. I guess time travel keeps you young.
La Historia del Tango (Disc 1)
Astor Piazzolla Nominated by Juan Ganduglia
Astor Piazzolla is so big in Argentina there’s an airport named after him. He revolutionised tango in the 1950s, bringing in new instruments and musical structures, to create Tango Nuevo.
(Last Tango in Paris? Tango and Cash? I don’t know anything about tango and I’m a little adrift without lyrics to write about, but I’ll give it my best shot.)
On Strictly Come Dancing, the Argentine Tango is all about sexual frustration and fierce expressions. There are many more emotions and feelings here – joy, sadness, hope and excitement – and the pace is less, hmm, melodramatic?
This music is jazzy and free-form, without being free-form jazz. It could be a film soundtrack, a backdrop for scenes of love, escape and danger.
To pick a few tracks:
Caliente is lively and cheery, getting faster and faster, like a merry-go-round, which then slows to a halt.
Resurection del Angel is a mournful mood that gradually picks up and decides the day isn’t so bad after all.
And Adios Nonino starts as the jazziest of the lot, before melting into a lovely romantic ripple of piano and violins.
Graffiti on the Bridge The Stereophonics Nominated by Christine Fielden
I’ll start at the end with this album. The final track, No-One’s Perfect, opens with:
If I could, you know I would
I’d give up and be free.
This sparse song was written with the music, rather than the lyrics, at the forefront apparently. It’s funny how songs can do that, how words that are an afterthought can inadvertently say something ‘just right’, in this case about people’s struggles with their demons.
If that sounds a bit downbeat, then buck up, the rest of the album isn’t. Album number eight from the Stereophonics has its serious moment but it rocks.
The opener, We Share the Same Sun, is a gutsy winner, and Violins and Tambourines is like Graeme in the MoneySupermarket ad – truly epic. The five-minute running time seems to stretch and soar to the proportions of a Bond theme, in a good way.
It all compelled me to sing along, loudly and with feeling, straightaway.
I’ve never been won over by lead singer Kelly Jones’ distinctive voice – I’ve enjoyed the singles, but I’ve held back from really ‘liking’ the band. There’s lots in this record to change my mind.
‘Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well … live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.’
It’s the infectious and slightly scary hook from the brilliant Bad Girls, on Mantangi, the fourth album by British-Tamil rapper-songwriter-artist-director Mathangi ‘Maya’ Arulpragasam.
Her voice is strangely cute, and she sounds a bit ‘London’, like a much more talented version of Lily Allen, with fangs. She’s much more successful than I realised (ok, I’d never heard of her – she’s facing a million-dollar lawsuit from the NFL for making a gesture in the half-time performance at the 2012 Super Bowl. Who knew? ) and probably among younger and hipper souls than me.
This is a great album, with its jumble of rap, world music, distortions, and very broken down middle eights. It’s energising and very, very danceable.
And don’t underestimate the power. M.I.A is sexy (Watch out! Parental Advisory Lyrics!) without being submissive. She’s in charge.
My first contact with Bob Dylan was when I scratched my Dad’s copy of Blood on the Tracks. It was 1975, I was four. How did I know I’d ruined a masterpiece?
I’ve listened to bits of Bob since but today was my first encounter with Desire, his 17th album, from the following year. The biggest song? Hurricane – which I did recognise – a powering protest song about the wrongful imprisonment of boxer Rubin ‘Hurricane’ Carter that made me angry, as it should.
But it’s also a good example of what is great about this album, which is the instruments and the orchestration. Forget The Times They are a Changin’ acoustics, this is bouzouki, accordion, mandolin, violin, congas, piano, all layered tracks and crescendos.
And the beautiful women singers Emmylou Harris and Ronee Blakley do much more than accompany, especially Emmylou on my favourite track, One More Cup of Coffee.
There’s a flavour of Mexico too, with Spanish guitar alongside the harmonica. He’s gone a bit cowboy. Dylan’s having fun. He’s sharing, and the collaborations pay off.
Music was my first love, and it will be my last.
Music of the future, and music of the past.
To live without my music, would be impossible to do.
In this world of troubles, my music pulls me through…
STOP! Fine principles but that’s not me, it never was.
I’ve been a careless, vicarious music fan, latching on to the likes and loves of best friends and boyfriends (and the music died with the relationships).
I enjoy it music. I find it moving, exciting, fun. It is good for you, without a doubt. And I love singing along – damn, I’m good at that. But left to my own devices, I can just forget to listen to it.
It’s got a bit worse since my MS diagnosis. Maybe I’m thinking ‘I can’t be seen to be enjoying something, not now. Got to keep the chronic-illness-victim facade intact. Must be serious’. How puritanical. How noble. How utterly wrong.
Or sometimes I don’t want to listen to something that might make me cry. There’s been a lot of emotions swilling around and they’ve been liable to spill out on the slightest chord change. And I need to keep distractions to a minimum if I’m feeling cognitively challenged and music can feel like uncomfortable noise.
But that’s changing in September. Music’s coming back, with a vengeance, because #Ichallengems by listening to a different album every day of the month, and reviewing it.
I’m inviting colleagues, and anyone else who knows me, to suggest their favourite album. If I’m not already a fan, I’ll give it a go and publish my efforts here.
The final word goes to Vanilla Ice… ‘All right stop, collaborate and listen…’
My great-granddad Pop was a kind man who encouraged me and my sister to have a treat after we’d been out playing on the beach.
Taking off our matching anoraks in the snug middle room of his and Nan’s Tenby cottage, we’d be told ‘Go on, have a Welsh cake’. And there would be a plate of freshly made Welsh cakes to enjoy. With butter, yum. Sometimes it got a bit tricky. Pop would be insistent that we enjoyed more cakes, while Nan, from the kitchen, would shout out ‘DON’T spoil your tea’, in a warning tone that seemed risky to ignore.
I’ve internalised this call and response from 35 years ago. Nan saying ‘stop, think’ when I reach for food. Which is handy with MS, because – as with any chronic illness – there are so many times when I feel I ‘deserve’ a treat. Sometimes I fight the urge; many times I give in.
Hospital appointment that used up four hours in travelling and waiting? Go on, have a Welsh cake…
Weekly injection of Avonex. Aren’t I brave? Go on, have a Welsh cake…
Just making it through a day at work and getting home… Go on…. you get the picture.
Unfortunately, there are no calorie-free Welsh cakes, chocolate eclairs, ice-creams, peanut butter sandwiches, or gin and tonics (though, as a fat-free 50 calories a measure, spirits have their place. Of course, staying Drinkaware).
Comfort food hits the spot better and more quickly than any ‘why not spoil yourself with a relaxing bubble bath and a few scented candles’ alternative.
But nobody said life was fair. For me, being overweight would add to the MS burden, so I’m trying to avoid it. Fatigue and problems with walking can make it harder to be active – and it’s even harder to be active when you’re overweight.
So in the meantime, someone, please invent a special harmless treat for people with chronic illness – Go on, you know you want to.
I’m posting early this week because we are off to be the ‘support car’ for my big sister Laura Wright on her 100k Isle of Wight Challenge walk this weekend. She’s setting off about now and I wish her lots of luck, though if anyone can do it, she can.
She was the one who clambered up the cliffs in Tenby, while I assessed the risks from below. She’d always be ahead on the path, disappearing into the distance at speed, in pursuit of the next adventure. When her mind is set on something, it gets done, and always with care and without complaint, however tough the challenge.
She is raising money for Diabetes UK, a great charity for another chronic condition, where Welsh cakes have to be very strictly rationed.