Of Note: CD Reviews

Here in the bright-white dawn of the twenty-first century – and the twilight of the traditional studio era – recording artists are armed with such an arsenal of digital technology that those effects which once took days to create can be achieved in seconds with the click of a mouse. A "wall of sound," which once evoked the image of a tight group of creative individuals led into the wee-hours by a sleep-deprived production genius, as they build an impenetrable fortress for the masses to admire, has been replaced by simple drag-and-drop functionality. When I hear records these days that sound as though a battalion of perfectly-synchronized musicians are crusading through sound waves and inspiring all to support their quest, I am often surprised, usually impressed, and possibly even a little disappointed to learn that behind such a behemoth lies just one person and a computer. It's almost too easy. It's almost as though the opposite is true; one person who lacks both the strength and confidence to stand tall in his or her own merits without the manufactured safety of many. And then the magic starts to leave. And the critic in my opinions creeps up. I become selective over what I choose to accept and numb to usurpers who fail to display any differentiating characteristics. In essence, I get bored. But then an artist or record comes along which makes me realize the true beauty that will always exist to overcome this almost scientific process. It's the moment where I am interrupted from my musically narcissistic fantasy land by something so disarming that I am whisked away in reminder of all the reasons I truly love music. More often that not, this disruption to my expectations is an artist who swims upstream from overly described flow - with strength and confidence – unabashed and unashamed.  Today, this artist is Brindl.

From the opening second of Acoustic Heart you're whole world is enveloped by one of those voices. Lying so comfortably beside your ears she promises you're the only audience who really matters. Tender in strength, sweet with experience and always compelling you to actually listen. While so many singers develop their voices to disperse ideas through melody as a second – or sometimes third – language, it's as though singing is Brindl's native tongue.

The musical arrangement of the 12 songs that sit behind Brindl's very prominent voice is sparse to the point where there are times you almost forget there is anything else. Whether this is a testament to the tasteful production of Acoustic Heart or the melodic strength in her songwriting are purely semantics. Any collection of songs from one artist that could be as satisfying performed a capella as they are with accompaniment is a rare feat that she achieves with natural panache.

Equally as noticeable is the diversity of influence with which Brindl sings from one song to the next. "Love's Great Fan" could be well placed among Joni Mitchell's finer moments, "Time on My Hands" is the Golden Delicious next to Fiona Apple's Granny Smith, "Light of Love" beckons you toward the stage of Diana Krall's sultry late-night jazz… And those are just the first three tracks. The imagery in mood with which each song swings from one to the other is also fascinating; while "Nice Girl" sidles-up to the bar and offer some cold comfort while you stir your drink, "Serenade" will place you aboard the sea-shanty of H.M.S. Love Sick.

If Brindl speaks through her singing, she emotes through her lyrics as it is at once humbling and inspiring how naturally love, loss, and learning undertone her delivery. "Strength" has become a recurring theme of my thoughts toward this record during its repeated listens and her words bare no exception; as well as the refreshment found in her strength as an artist, her strength in spirit and the wisdom that speaks from her soul also translate with paralleled clarity.

My only sadness in the overall presentation of Acoustic Heart comes in the tone of Brindl's accompanying instrumentation. Although barely noticeable in the car, the headphones told a slightly different story. Whether it was due to the quality of the instruments used, an engineer overly zealous with compression, or rushed decisions over microphones and their placement during the sessions, Brindl's talent truly deserves technical guidance as strong and open as her voice to which reverb could be used more sparingly as it requires very little enhancement.

Despite this, Acoustic Heart is still a joy to listen to. Whether you're easing into a weekday morning, lost in thought on a lonely weekend afternoon, or feeling as though nighttime hours double those found during daylight, you may discover a good friend through this recording. Kind, funny, sassy, and understanding, Brindl's heart truly beats through acoustic music.

Americans have always loved their flip flops, but 30 years ago Jimmy Buffet single handedly took the item of footwear and made it not just a fashion statement, but an emblem of a pop music style. Aimed at adults who were chagrined to keep their Led Zep LPs on the platter, Buffet's pleasant melodies and easy rhythms supported themes of middle-aged irresponsibility and appealed to the inner beach bum and slacker in all of us. It's clear, even from the funny "island" scene on the cover of On an Island that Charlie Imes casts himself in the mold of a latter day Buffet. He sings like the Chief of the Parrot Heads too, with a breezy and easy baritone. With a tip o' the hat to the master, he even covers one of Buffet's better tunes, "Stranded on a Sandbar," which has Buffet's characteristic understated self reflection and sadness.

Imes praises the simple pleasures of life for what they are: the simple pleasures of life. His songs and lyrics are uncluttered by irony or attempts at cleverness and are as straightforward as any of the old Beach Boys hits about cars and girls. Imes has different priorities than these adolescent fixations, but he is still enchanted by the easily accessible treasures of the good life. When he repeats the line "It's 75 degrees outside" in one of the disk's songs "Summer Days," he is saying precisely that it is 75 degrees outside and suggests nothing more than putting on a tee shirt a pair of shorts and basking in the sunshine. This is a great disk for cracking a couple of Coronas with friends after a few hours of boogie boarding.

In the music business you have to always make sure that you work with the best. Imes follows this dictum from beginning to end. Exceptional performances from bassist Rob Thorsen, multi-instrumentalist Dennis Caplinger, guitarist Laurence Juber, Chris Klich, and a number of others make this disk shine. We even get Gilbert Castellanos adding his trumpet a time or two. Imes also shows his smarts by sharing the production with Jeff Berkley and handing over to Berkley the recording and mixing duties. Berkley's a total pro.

And speaking of working with the best, Imes covers two tunes, "Second Chance" and "Clone," penned by Bordertown alumnus Dave Beldock, who has established himself as the ninth greatest songwriter in the history of western civilization. In particular, "Clone" is wry, clever, and funny. The icing on the cake is Cindy Berryhill, who plays to a fare-thee-well the part of self-centered wife who is more than happy with the attentions of her husband multiplied twice over. It's a crack up.

"Worst Presnadent Ever," the final cut, is the most pleasant protest song possible. The one tune that gets political, calling out Bush for his misdeeds, remains in the same breezy style of the rest of On an Island. We're treated to voice-overs by James Adomian in character as Cheney and Bush. Like the earlier work by Berryhill, these jabs at the veep and his sidekick will bring a laugh or at least a grin even from the staunchest right-wing neocons.

Eclecticism is a double-edged sword. On the one hand it can be a source of great variety that can challenge listeners and keep their interest. On the other, it can create the impression that an artist is unfocused. On his new album, Breakfast in the Sunroom, multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Christopher Burgan skillfully manages to sidestep that latter pitfall. He presents a wide palette of sounds and styles while keeping things unified with his singular vision. The opening number, "Intimate Encounter," is an acoustic workout for guitar that might give one the impression that this will be a Celtic folk instrumental album, but it simply sets the stage for a very satisfying collection of songs. The track that follows is an enthusiastic cover of the Yes radio classic "Your Move/All Good People" that puts an interesting spin on this well-known prog-rock chestnut. It's stays true enough to the source material to be recognizable, but Burgan introduces interesting differences that turn it into a unique statement.

Listeners can identify numerous points of reference. In addition to Yes, one can easily come to the conclusion that Burgan is an admirer of many diverse artists and musical styles. "India Rising" features an exotic melody and world percussion. It could very well be one of Led Zeppelin's acoustic explorations into ethnic folk music. "Running Water" is a percussive guitar exercise whose sharp rhythms and melodic recursions are reminiscent of the late Michael Hedges‘ best works. In all honesty, I didn't recognize the album's second cover tune at first. It's John Waite's song "Missing You", a number one hit in 1984. Burgan chooses to interpret it in a looser acoustic style, and he sometimes sounds like Neil Diamond when singing it. With its light percussion and summery arrangement, it takes on a rather tropical mood. It's an interesting contrast to the original's more straight ahead pop/rock style. A peek at the liner notes reveals that guitar virtuoso Laurence Juber (a highly respected acoustic player and a veteran of Paul McCartney's Wings) contributes his signature licks to the track.

While primarily a guitar album, the songs are anchored throughout with the fretless bass, mostly played by Burgan himself. His touch and sensibility are greatly influenced by the great practitioners of the instrument like Michael Manring. It gives the songs a very organic foundation that is wholly appropriate for the acoustic instrumentation. Other guest musicians contribute cello, alto flute, piano, and backing vocals to various tracks. These are incorporated into the arrangements with great sensitivity and taste. The sound is well-balanced and clear, allowing each instrument and voice to interact with the other elements of the mix. As one listens to the album, the ebb and flow of moods becomes somewhat hypnotic. Breakfast in the Sunroom is smartly produced with strong and varied songwriting. The performances are crafted to perfection, giving Burgan a great opportunity to fluently express his artistic vision through music.

Derek Papa's first solo album, I Will Get to You, certainly does just that – it unobtrusively weaves its way into your subconscious like the slow, deliberate unfolding of a road map. It's romantic, lonesome, and highly cinematic. An apt comparison is to imagine hearing a David Lynch or a Cohen Brothers film set in the gothic Southwest but with brighter tones or a less whispery Sufjan Stevens, but without the orchestral accompaniment.

The album's title track is an old-fashioned love song with lyrics suggesting the chivalrous nature of medieval times mixed with the Old West: "I will get to you/when the river's fast and rushin' head high/with bullets flying by/I will get to you/If I was a king/I would send for you/a coach with petals floating around/you at all times."

Papa sings with a plain, soft-spoken poetry, but oftentimes his phrasing is not succinct. The songs are full of atmosphere but some of the words are almost entirely lost on the listener. It's frustrating to have a song with intriguing lyrics like those in "Radioactive Waste" ("I can feel upon my shoulders a pacing devil/I can feel upon my feet a passed out saint") and not be able to decipher much else of the song. On one hand, the muffled singing creates added mystery; on the other hand, it dampens the moods Papa so effortlessly creates.

Despite this drawback, Papa's voice has a wonderful ease to it, one that reclines into its melodic soundscape like cumulus clouds across a desert sky. There is a quietness, a beautiful simplicity that floats above the fluttering guitar strings on "Don't Get Sad" and within the ambling, dreamy pensiveness of "Oh, Lady Bug." "Mountain 1" and "Mountain 2" are variations on a woodsy theme, complete with crisp banjo and the natural warmth of a light rainfall.

One other disappointment is the album's length. It's more of an EP than a full album, with only seven tracks running just barely over 22 minutes. In a sense, it's a compliment that the record is so short. With all of its assets, you want to hear more of these emotive, sonic landscapes and the stories they tell of Derek Papa's musical journey, whether they are on two-lane highways cutting through desert or nestled in the cool, dark hills of Appalachia. I'm certainly not ready to fold up my map quite yet. I'm still enjoying the ride.

Of all the musical instruments, the human voice remains the most idiosyncratic. The natural timbre and range of a singer, along with the singer's delivery, are almost the entire sum total of how a tune comes across. This rule runs the gamut from old jazz standards, to country, to emo.

For pop music there was a time when it was good enough to simply sing. Glen Campbell sang of the phone lines in Wichita; for better or worse, Ringo Starr sang about life on a yellow submarine; and the greatest voice of all, Johnny Cash, let us know what it was like when he "shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die." These were voices plain and simple, no gimmicks or funny techniques.

About 30 or 40 years ago things changed. No longer content to just sing, pop vocalists started to embellish their tunes with touches of rock ‘n' roll roughness, even when they were singing a ballad. R&B and soul performers began to stylize their singing in such an ornate way that it became unusual to hear a note sung sustained for more than the heartbeat of a craven record executive.

With this in mind, Pair of Sirens by Matt Haeck is a welcome breath of fresh air. With an open, free style, Haeck sings in a clear tenor, using the power of his voice and the lyrics of his songs to convey the thought or emotion that he's shooting for, instead of relying on the overwrought – and by this point trivializing – pop singer styling. Audra Franz sings backup harmony on a couple tunes, but otherwise it is Hacek's voice, and his alone, that carry this recording. Believe me, this disk has no embarrassing Don Henley moments. There is not a hint of Michael Bolton faux drama or excess. It's just singing as the Good Lord intended.

While not sparse, the instrumentation remains simple, with the pleasant timbres of mandolin, guitar, fiddle, banjo, and cello filling in behind Haeck. The cello is featured quite prominently and quite well from time to time. The instrument comes across so strongly that I started looking around for the rosin by the time the disk was over.

Haeck falls into the tradition of the singer-songwriter from the time when that moniker meant that the writer was shooting for a profound statement, that the person strumming the guitar in the coffee shop had something important to say. The overall mood of all the songs on Pair of Sirens is ponderous, not downer sort of stuff like early post-Beatles John Lennon Plastic Ono depression, but Haeck has a few things on his mind – sometimes these thoughts are about relationships, sometimes about himself, or sometimes about the great country that we live in – and wants to be taken seriously. If this disk were to be played in one of Downbeat's blindfold listener tests, no one would mistake it for the soundtrack to Mama Mia or Hello Dolly.