Album of the Month: ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL by John Moore

I have always believed in a certain distance between the artist and the audience. Which was why it puzzled me so much when a professor of English Literature at my university once said that she admired the works of John Fowles to the extent that she actually wrote him a letter. On telling us that, she blushed profusely. She was actually glowing. That John Fowles replied was merely an afterthought, not the punchline of her story. James Joyce, young and arrogant, wrote a fan letter to Henryk Ibsen. A classmate of mine was so enamoured with the lyrics of a little known metal band from Belarus that he crafted a passionate message to their songwriter (I was the one who sent it - this was in 2001, and I had the Internet). I guess at some point - this happens to everyone.  

To me it occurred back in 2014 when John Moore released Lo-Fi Lullabies and Floral Tributes. Those two albums spoke to me - and in a day or two, I wrote a letter to John. Why? I guess it was all so simple in the end: I just had to tell him that his songs were fucking amazing. 

Since then, John Moore has released three albums. In 2018 came the playful Knickerbrocker Glory and in 2019 came the moody and 'difficult' It's Hell Out There that paired an upbeat melody with lyrics about life being a 'fucking fiasco'. The mood of this new album, ambiguously titled All's Well That Ends Well, is this constant interplay between joy and regret. Which, in many ways, is classic John Moore. 

"Things To Do In Hastings In The Rain" is a downbeat opener. We start with the miserable sound of English rain, and the emergence of the acoustic guitar brings little relief. If the melody comes off murky and laborious, then the waltzy "Old Father Time" is pure undiluted joy. "Bells Catalogue Blue" is elegant and understated and the infectious "35 Different Kinds Of Snow" is a toe-tapping delight. To avoid name-checking every song, I will say that the biggest highlights are the chiming (literally, not figuratively) "Everybody Dies A Little On Valentine's Day" with brilliantly acerbic lyrics and the anthemic, personal "It's Actually The One I Use Myself" which ends the album on an inspired and uplifting note (I first wrote 'Dylanesque', then changed my mind, then checked John's brief notes - and saw the very word: 'Dylanesque').

Waltz or rockabilly, accordion or harmonica, this is unmistakably a John Moore album - fragile, sincere, endearing. Many could start this review by saying John Moore used to be in Black Box Recorder. That he used to play drums and guitar for The Jesus and Mary Chain. Me, I just think he is a great songwriter.

June Round-Up

I like Regina Spektor. Her music may appear cutesy and contrived on occasion (kitschy, too), but she is a talented songwriter. Songs like "Us"  and "All The Rowboats" have melodies that swirl and charm. With albums, however, it has never quite worked out between Regina and me. There is little cohesion, and while none of the songs are bad (or even mediocre - she always knows what she is doing), I grab highlights and abandon the ship. There are several of those on Home, Before and After (★★★½), with the soaring "One Man's Prayer" being a personal favourite. Also, the title of the album just has to be a reference to her disgraced homeland. 

Having said that, my appreciation for cuddly indie-pop does not stretch too far, and increased doses of Soccer Mommy's Sometimes, Forever (★★★) may result in hyperglycemia. Also, Soccer Mommy - what the hell kind of name is that? Sadly, I did not quite detect enough charisma in Michael Head's latest either. Dear Scott (★★★) is well-written and well-played - but it lacks a punch. Remember that trumpet from Pacific Street? It was subtle - but it blew you away.

As ever, Andrew Bird has no intention of blowing you away - and with Inside Problems (★★★½), he does what he does best: beautiful arrangements, insidious melodies and lots of clever experimentation that never quite overwhelms you (although "Atomized" certainly tries). This is witty chamber pop with a twist - even if nothing here is as spectacular as some of his earlier albums. Perfume Genius, on the other hand, released his career best with the difficult new album Ugly Season (★★★½). An artistic triumph? Pretentious crap? I'm still torn. It is difficult and uncomfortable - but there is primordial beauty to these songs. Just look at the cover. The cover gives it away. 

Дневник польской культуры. Komeda Unknown 1967.

Польская религиозность проявляется в самых неожиданных вещах. Это не только запрет на аборты. Это не только буквы "С+M+B" на дверях домов и квартир. Это не только вымершая Варшава по воскресеньям. Это еще и момент джазового концерта, когда внезапно пианист начинает наигрывать мелодию - и после двух или трех нот зал взрывается от восторга. Это мелодия из фильма Романа Поланского "Ребенок Розмари" (пожалуй, единственного фильма, после которого я на протяжении нескольких ночей боялся закрыть глаза). И мелодию эту написал Кшиштоф Комеда. 

Поклонение Комеде в Польше - это почти религиозная история. Каждая нота изучается под микроскопом, о его саундтреках пишут книги и научные диссертации, в его честь называют музыкальные лейблы, его музыку изучают все молодые польские группы, ему посвящают альбомы, и в своей автобиографии Полански пишет о Кшиштофе Комеде больше, чем об Анджее Вайде. Возможно, я даже смогу избежать обвинений в богохульстве, если скажу, что Astigmatic для Польши - это что-то наподобие музыкальной Библии. И это при том, что Комеда умер в возрасте 37 лет, и не реализовал свой талант даже наполовину. 

В этот раз в клубе Jassmine Петр Шмидт и его квинтет играли свой новый альбом Komeda Unknown 1967. Это было не просто посвящение - это были неизданные, неизвестные вещи Комеды. Часть того, что в 1967 году, за несколько месяцев до своей нелепой смерти в пьяной компании писателя Марека Хласко, он записал для проекта немецкого журналиста и продюсера Йоахим-Эрнста Берендта. Проект назывался Meine Süsse Europäische Heimat и включал европейскую поэзию и джаз Комеды. В то время Комеда работал в Голливуде над "Ребенком Розмари", и лишь из его писем Берендту стало известно, что некоторые вещи Комеды не попали в окончательную версию альбома (изданного уже после смерти музыканта). И вот наконец вещи эти были найдены - их семь, и для поклонников польского джаза (да и джаза вообще) это все равно, как если бы любители импрессионизма нашли подвал с десятком неизвестных работ Клода Моне. 

Разумеется, билеты были раскуплены задолго до дня выступления. Как всегда, Jassmine был прекрасен: свет, люди, коктейли. И вот, наконец, сам концерт. С группой Петра Шмидта играл потрясающий композитор и пианист Кшиштоф Хердзин - тот самый, который и наиграл в какой-то момент мелодию из "Ребенка Розмари". Трудно представить чувство ответственности и счастья - играть по неизученным нотам Кшиштофа Комеды 1967 года. Хердзин играл с характерной польской стойкостью, граничащей с одержимостью. И однажды так увлекся, что сбросил мокрый пиджак и даже добавил голос - и это тоже добавило эмоций в и без того эмоциональный вечер. 

Меня бы нисколько не удивило то, что кто-нибудь захотел бы выделить трубача или саксофониста - они все были прекрасны. И в какой-то момент, во время "Just The Two Of Them", в самом конце первого отделения, музыка достигла той самой высшей точки, которая случается на любом хорошем концерте. Мы все испытали средневековый экстаз, и на минуту или две было приятно стать частью этого культа (отсылка к "Ребенку Розмари" совершенно случайна). Во втором отделении Петр Шмидт играл свои вещи, и хоть это могло показаться святотатственным ввиду всего того, что случилось ранее, цепляющие мелодии "Dark Morning" и "Never Give Up" привели к пламенным импровизациям, которые долго еще потом стучали в висках и не давали уснуть. Или, возможно, все это было послевкусием, постэффектом мелодии из фильма Поланского, с такой легкостью наигранной Кшиштофом Хердзиным.  

Paul McCartney, 80

In an old interview with Jann Wenner (of Goddess In The Doorway fame), Bob Dylan confessed that if he was jealous of anything - it was of Paul McCartney's songwriting talent. Praise does not get any bigger than that. And while Paul McCartney was not my favourite Beatle, and his best solo albums have all been frustratingly imperfect (I find "Mrs Vanderbilt" to be unpalatable) and in need of an outside opinion (Nigel Godrich did good), the man is a songwriter of singular talent. In my world, "You Never Give Me Your Money" alone would be enough to validate that statement. 

He has been writing great songs for sixty years now, and despite occasional missteps and harrowing lapses of taste, he has never really lost it ("Women and Wives" from his latest album is case in point). The way Pete Townshend has lost it. The way Ray Davies has. And today Paul McCartney is 80 years old. 

To celebrate this date, I am not going to post his greatest Beatles songs. It has been done to death. And I am not going to post his greatest Wings songs. Again, there would be too many. Instead, I am doing a list of post Beatles songs that have not received the attention they deserve. It is a very short list, just five songs, but such is the stature of Paul McCartney. He does not deal in obscure. However, like any artist, he has to sometimes deal in underappreciated. So here it is, a list of five Macca songs that fame forgot. 

1. "I'm Carrying" (1978)

London Town was the only Wings album with meaningful contributions from other band members. Still, while "Deliver Your Children", "Children Children" and title song were all brilliant tunes (co-written by Denny Laine), it was Macca's sweetly orchestrated "I'm Carrying" ballad that was the best. A melody of striking simplicity and of equally striking beauty. 

2. "The Pound Is Sinking" (1982)

Tug Of War may have been slightly overrated over the years, but it remains McCartney's only good album of the 80s. However, it is not about "Take It Away" or the title song for me. It is all about the brilliant "The Pound Is Sinking" mini-suite. A terrific onslaught of melodies and intriguingly untypical lyrics. How in God's name did he put so many great ideas in one song and then released something as anemic as "Ebony and Ivory" that same year? Baffling.

3. "She's Given Up Talking" (2001)

Well, and how about this? A dark, sinister song that trumps everything else on the admittedly decent Driving Rain album. Busy instrumentation, spooky lyrics (petrifying if you consider the recent death of Linda Eastman) and spine-tingling vocal effects. A total triumph. I wish he did this sort of disturbing stuff more often. 

4. Travelling Light" (2008)

Over the years, Paul McCartney has taken part in quite a few collaborations - with varying degrees of success. Arguably, three albums under the Fireman moniker were the best. Released with the Killing Joke bassist (!), they gave Paul the chance to experiment (some people tend to forget that he was the principal disruptor in the Beatles). To me, Fireman's best album was the last one, titled Electric Arguments. "Travelling Light" was a five-minute ballad - atmospherically dark and melodically uplifting. 

5. "Hand In Hand" (2018)

I'm only including "Hand In Hand" here because I honestly believe that this is one of his greatest tunes in years. Maybe decades. However, most reviews I have read of Egypt Station barely even mention it. Classic piano chords, effortless melodicism and a haunting flute solo to top it off. Sweet, not cheesy. Should be on any meaningful Paul McCartney compilation. 

***

Most importantly, though, my life in music could have been entirely different (dull and empty, I'm guessing) had I not heard "The Fool On The Hill" back when I was seven years of age. Happy birthday, Paul McCartney. And thank you.

Fontaines DC in Warsaw, 13.06

Since this quote never gets old, here is what Johnny Marr said on the matter of people who film at live concerts: "They are dicks". 

Now that I got this off my chest, a few words about Fontaines DC's recent concert at a Warsaw club called Proxima. Somehow, Fontaines DC had always been a band I wanted to see live. There was something about their brand of literate post-punk that simply had to translate well to strong live performances. And on June 13, I came away with ears bleeding - but I came away content. 

There is an unspoken rule about club concerts: you do not complain about the sound quality. I did once, back in 2006 in London, when I saw a friend's band perform at the once legendary but now defunct Madame Jojo's club in Soho. As we walked out onto the sleepless pavements of London night, he asked me my opinion and I said the songs were probably okay but they could hardly come through the horrendous sound that made everything come off muffled and meaningless. "But", he said - curing me of my high expectations once and for all, "clubs always have appalling sound". Over the years, there have been a few exceptions (Cold Specks sounded excellent in Ampere in Munich - which may have been the effect of German absinthe), but mostly it has been the rule. It is not about the sound. It is not even about the songs. In a club... it is all about charisma. 

Fontaines DC have it. You knew it the moment they walked onto the stage and the singer, the sort of exuberant Ian Curtis in a football T-shirt, started pacing the stage in a manner of someone who was trying to psyche himself up. A recent Uncut interview betrayed a certain degree of self-consciousness but his stage antics are powerful and hypnotic. No words beyond a brief and lonesome 'thank you' were spoken between the songs, and I have never had a problem with it. Choosing between saying too much and saying too little, I would always go for the latter. 

Unsurprisingly, the highlights were from the last album. "Big Shot" sounded gutsy, "Jackie Down The Line" sounded like the high-octane single that it really is and "Roman Holiday" had the sort of guitar line that could work in any club. Only "Nabokov", the song I had been anticipating the most, did not quite measure up. "Nobokov" is utter perfection in its studio form so the murkiness did not really become it. It has to be perfect or nothing at all. Other than that, there was little I could criticise here. After all, with everyone in the club getting absolutely raving mad, it would have been too insensitive of me to demand "No" or "Dublin City Sky". I was happy to get "Boys In The Better Land" for an encore, though, as I had almost forgotten what a great song that is.  

Interesting for a band who started out with a two-minute single titled "Big", Fontaines DC are actually getting quite big now. There is a huge tour bus, there is a performance at Glastobury later this month, there are millions of views on YouTube, and there is a certain monumental sound to their latest album that means they know exactly where they are now and they are embracing the moment. There is also a desperate battalion of Polish fans screaming 'we love you' as Fontaines DC charge into the final song of the evening. Titled, handily, "I Love You". It is a special song, and should be the perfect closer for them for many years to come. It is a bitter love letter to Ireland, with lyrics good to enough to overshadow the inevitable fact that they are all living in London now. 

Three albums. Anna von Hausswolff, Mary Lattimore, Faten Kanaan.

2020 saw the release of three instrumental albums I am obsessed with to this day. All three were composed by supremely talented female artists, and all three were released over the course of one season. Autumn. Anna von Hausswolff's album came out in September. Mary Lattimore's album was released in October, and Faten Kanaan had her album out in November. 

Anna von Hausswolff. "All Thoughts Fly" (2020).

Anna von Hausswolff. If this was a pseudonym, this could be the world's most pretentious pseudonym. As it happens, Anna von Hausswolff is the real name of this remarkable artist from Göteborg. She has been around for more than a decade now, and while the big critical breakthrough came with Dead Magic in 2018 (once looking at that cover, you will never forget it), her albums before that had been just as accomplished. Ambient, dense, majestically morose soundscapes for those who want their Gothic music burdened with depth and creativity. 

For me, however, it all started with All Thoughts Fly. Seven pieces of colourful minimalism which are by turns scary and absolutely beautiful. The songs are called things like "Sacro Bosco" and "Persefone" - but, again, if that sounds pretentious, wait till you hear the music. Those titles do befit the music. Anna plays a huge pipe organ that dominates the sound and weaves striking images into your brain. To me, the highlight is "Dolore di Orsini" whose organ melody is like an epiphany stretched to four minutes. Truly, all thoughts fly and this is dark magic - but all the devils got the sense of beauty just right. 

Mary Lattimore. "Silver Ladders" (2020).

The album opens in a mellow, almost lethargic manner that nevertheless manages to keep you completely engaged. The same pattern continues with the title song whose melody creates pastoral beauty virtually out of nothing. Which is typical of the whole album. A guitar line here, a harp ripple there, a heavy bass line in the distance - and you are enchanted. It is hard for me to say how many short stories and texts I have written while listening to this music. Silver Ladders is one of those albums which work both as a focused and a background listen.

Within the repetition and the minimalism, she is adventurous. When you take a piece like "Chop On The Climbout", you notice how expertly Mary juxtaposes a slightly sinister drone-like backbone with that lovely, hypnotic fingerpicking that almost sounds too fragile by comparison. Finally, the closing "Thirty Tulips" provides drama and tension and gets increasingly complex until the whole thing gets drowned in the sound of organ and tubular bells. 

Faten Kanaan. "A Mythology of Circles" (2020).

Faten Kanaan is a little known artist from Brooklyn whose 2020 album might well be my favourite of the three. I think it only took me ten seconds of the choral singing that opens the record to get under her spell. Because if in case of Anna von Hausswolff it was a curse and in case of Mary Lattimore it was charm, then it has to be a spell in the case of Faten Kanaan. A most friendly, slightly mystical spell.

Repetitive choral/instrumental music with not a second wasted. Indeed, despite the minimalism, A Mythology of Circles is a very busy album. There is always something going on. There are build-ups and there is a remarkable sense of diversity in the way she constructs these textures with the help of the full spectre of mostly electronic keys. She is playful and she is inventive, and she knows exactly where she needs to release the tension. "Hesperides" in particular is a piece overflowing with two complete opposites: simplicity and complexity. The song, as well as this whole album, never quite understands which of the two it wants to achieve, and we as listeners should be grateful for that. This is strange, quietly astounding music.   

This is the last piece from the last album. It is called "Ishtar Terra":