CDs of the week

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Wilco

The Low Anthem

Nouvelle Vague

Moby

La Roux

Baptiste Trotignon

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WILCO
Wilco (the album)
(Nonesuch)
****
There must be reasons why a rock band as assured and talented as Wilco have not achieved greater popularity and a higher profile. One of them must be that the combo are a tad too unpredictable for a world that dislikes surprises. They have been prone in the past to follow a song of unsurpassed melodic loveliness with 10 minutes of horrible droning noises, up with which many will not put.

Or perhaps it's something as mundane as the leader's name. Songwriter and singer Jeff Tweedy may as well be called Ken Pullover for all the charisma his monicker exudes. In every other respect he is the ideal frontman: perfectionist, spiky, controlling, sufferer from (and occasional dispenser of) migraines, sometime painkiller addict. The good news is that the group's seventh studio LP finds him in good health and the best of spirits.

Perhaps because it was partly conceived in Neil Finn's studio in balmy New Zealand, rather than the bleakly windy environs of hometown Chicago, Wilco (the album) is a record of great warmth. One Wing, You And I, Country Disappeared, Solitaire and Everlasting Everything are all carefully crafted, deceptively gentle songs, whose beauty reveals itself by stealth. All are impeccably performed, with special mention going to the atmospheric guitar stylings of Nels Cline and the firm yet subtle drumming of Glenn Kotche.

Wilco (the song) is a wry rocker, while Sonny Feeling affects a gentle swagger. Best of all is Bull Black Nova, the guitar-drenched tale of a killer on the run that summons up the ghost of Television. Set aside your misgivings, be not afraid — there are no monsters here, only joys.
PETE CLARK

THE LOW ANTHEM
Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
(Bella Union)
***
The Low Anthem are another gush from that inexhaustible wellspring of bands that feature clever urban lads going wholegrain, embracing roots music with the fervour of organic pioneers. There are elements of folk here, rumblings of garage rock, nods at Simon & Garfunkel and Bob Dylan, and hints of hoedown. Somewhat to my surprise, it all works rather well. The gentle beauty of songs like To Ohio fits neatly with stompers like The Horizon Is a Beltway. Ben Knox Miller and Jeff Prystowsky may be respectively painter/poet and baseball scholar, but their passion for what is loosely termed Americana is unmistakable and infectious. And as for Charlie Darwin, well, I suppose you might call this evolution by means of reverse.
PETE CLARK

NOUVELLE VAGUE
3
(Peacefrog Records)
***
Nouvelle Vague are a French collective who specialise in obscure interpretations of well-known songs. Their first two albums included bossa nova versions of staples such as Teenage Kicks and The Killing Moon; their third effort — imaginatively entitled 3 — has taken the country road. This time, they're joined by a number of big names. Depeche Mode's Martin Gore booms bawdily on Master & Servant; Echo and The Bunnymen's Ian McCulloch sings dolefully on All My Colours. Elsewhere, a folksy take on God Save the Queen is audacious even by their standards. Purists will balk and cry blasphemy; the rest of us will appreciate the craft behind these covers.
RICK PEARSON

MOBY
Wait For Me
(Mute)
****
In the decade since Play made him an international star, Richard “Moby” Hall has been trapped, unwilling to make Play II and unable to emulate it. Wait For Me, allegedly cheaply made at his home studio, might offer some sort of escape route. It's an eclectic affair, ranging from deviant instrumentals such as Shot in the Back of the Head to the unashamedly Play-esque Study War. Along the way he dips into church music, post-punk, techno and all-out rock. The most curious but rewarding aspect is how well the whole exquisite mish-mash holds together, underpinned by Moby's trademark hopeful melancholy. Artistically, it's his finest work since Play; commercially he purports not to care, but he might find himself having to.
JOHN AIZLEWOOD

LA ROUX
La Roux (Polydor)
**
Almost indistinguishable in terms of attitude and attire from Lady Gaga and Little Boots, Brixton's Eleanor “La Roux” Jackson is in unashamed hock to 1980s synthpop, even as far as her Flock of Seagulls hairdo. Her debut pitches her limited, android-esque squawk midway between Erasure and Hazell Dean, although the silly, Thriller-esque spoken verse in Tigerlily suggests her aspirations are slightly higher. There's an almost complete absence of passion, but she won't be troubling us for long and she's mostly harmless. Still, long before the halfway point you're so desperate for a change of pace that the London Community Gospel Choir steal the show when they arrive to work heavenly wonders with Cover My Eyes.
JOHN AIZLEWOOD

BAPTISTE TROTIGNON
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(Naíve)
*****
How this prodigious young Frenchman manages to remain in obscurity defeats me, but his fellow musicians have clearly recognised how remarkable his talents are, both as a pianist and a composer. Five American stars — Tom Harrell (flugelhorn), Mark Turner (tenor sax), Matt Penman (bass) and Eric Harland alternating with Otis Brown (drums) — have elected to appear on his latest album, which tells its own story. His playing conveys a sensual touch: he has elegant yet hip timing and a profound sense of beauty. His compositions are strongly melodic and really sing. They beg for lyrics. Catch him at Charlie Wright's next month (7-8 July) when trumpeter Jeremy Pelt, no less, will fly in to join the group.
JACK MASSARIK

 

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