Sound Salvation Army

It’s amazing how music recorded in one of the most beautiful places on earth can sound so cold, fragile, damaged, and miserable. It’s also more than a little amazing how that music with those traits can still ingrain itself so deeply into your brain.

Mike Angus is one of the two singer/songwriter brothers that make up the creative core of The Wheat Pool, a band long-time readers should be intimately familiar with by now. From the sound of his first solo album, however, it seems like he could maybe use a hug.

I saw him perform back in July at The Artesian in Regina, opening for The Wheat Pool. From the first struck chord there was no looking back. Angus spent the entirety of his solo set at center stage wielding only his acoustic guitar, not even so much as a pick to accompany him. It set a starkly dour mood, one not very far removed from the tenor of Hymns, his debut solo album released earlier this summer.

“Italy” was a stand-out on The Wheat Pools’ literally perfect album Hauntario but surrounded by the rest of Angus’ compositions here it loses some of that luster. Well, perhaps it’s just the fact that I’ve heard the song a minimum of literally 475 times (according mostly to my iPod, iTunes, and iPad playlists, plus a small number of CD play estimations). This version, however, restores the pastoral majesty of a YouTube video that documents the song (and really, the album’s) genesis. In it, Angus is seen performing the tune on a rocky cliff-side, the roaring sea heard audibly in the mix serving as the only real indication of where the performance is taking place until the camera pans out at the closing to reveal the water itself, crashing upon the rocks. It only hints at the visuals the song’s lyrics so vividly describe, but it speaks to the blatant clash and contradiction seen in the songs contained versus the setting in which they were recorded.

You can call this a folk album, but it has absolutely no optimism or sunny side. There is no positivity here. The disc was recorded in a barn in the Italian countryside and it defies that locale in virtually every way possible: it’s a minor chord-laden, coolly atmospheric set of songs detailing romantic disappointment, the occasional cold comfort one takes in western Canadian winters, and the flagging or non-existent faith felt by both the songwriter and society at large (the death of Jesus even gets a pretty straight-forward analysis on one song).

As he does on record, Angus began his set back in July with the pessimistic “Be There (You Won’t).” It’s a contemplative number with Angus singing about how he’s been left alone with his guitar because, as the chorus makes quite clear to his lady love, “You won’t be there anymore.” His acoustic is capably finger-picked in a folky style that sets the tone for the album, but that’s where the live set and the record diverge; on the album the song actually begins with a chilly, almost ethereal ambient sound, potentially some well-controlled and filtered feedback, maybe a synthesizer. It’s a sound that pops up repeatedly on the record that almost gives the listener a sense of unease. A plodding bass joins in as well, with a distant kick drum and tambourine providing a rhythmic backbone that is simultaneously ghastly and removed from the proceedings.

But, as is generally the case on The Wheat Pool’s albums, it’s the vocals that really sell the song. Angus harmonizes with himself on a melody that is towards the bottom of his register but still rich and compelling. The man just has a gift for crafting a vocal melody that cries out to be sung along with — they’re consistently the most compelling part of his songs.

While the album runs just eight songs and little more than 25 minutes Angus focuses on keeping some variety in the mix. The delightfully-arranged “Oh, Rodeo!” comes in with a peal of feedback, a few strummed acoustic and electric guitar chords, and sleigh bells for accompaniment. But just as quickly as they’re introduced all those elements drop out, with Angus’ angelic falsetto singing the first verse along with intermittent piano and guitar chords. The remainder of the song sees all of the instruments used in varying combinations, but nearly every note is played on the beat. It creates an absolutely hypnotic musical bed that grows and grows, constantly on the cusp of a revelatory crescendo. It’s a delightful piece of song craft.

“Scaffold Christ” follows in a similar vein, a song that again features something like full-band instrumentation despite the fact that it was entirely written on a computer, a first for Angus. Here the snare reverberates in a coolly digital way, a precursor to the vocal reverb and the ambient digital feedback that swirls in the song’s middle third. The simple sounds here, let alone the lyrics, are an extremely effective allegory for the dismissive attitude an ever-growing number of people in the modern world have for religion and the story of Christ (an aspect of the album’s lyrical component that is present in all of these songs to a larger or more minor extent, depending on the track). For his part, Angus never explicitly states which side of the fence he’s on (though during the show he did reference time spent in churches during his youth as an influence on the album and its content, and the record’s press materials reveal that he’s moved away from faith as an adult) but he seems to be completely in tune with the connotation and expectation that goes along with such references. That much is clear in the ensuing “Gsus Minor,” a song that lays out Christ’s tale from a personal level, casting him as a “broken lamb, nails driven in your hands.” He also refers to a “weary mother” that even the most fair-weather student of the gospel writings will easily recognize (I should say that I HATE songs named after guitar chords; it seems like a lazy cop-out most of the time, but this album is so good I’ll give Mike a pass).

The downcast tale of a murdered savior is a poignant lead-in to the album’s most sombre highlight, the starkly elegiac “Cold, Cold Ground.” The song was written after Angus returned home from Italy, arriving back in Edmonton in the middle of a particularly frigid winter and feeling particularly alone. “I was down and out,” he admits, “I took comfort somehow in the cold, cold ground…the cold, cold ground.” In contrast to the savior mentioned in the previous song Angus goes on to illustrate his own last wishes, imploring that he be laid to rest without an extravagant ritual, “just some friends gathered around a hole in the ground…the cold, cold ground.”

If I’ve spoken at great length about so few songs I assure you it is only because these brief numbers carry a corresponding weight, a melodic melancholy that borders on ennui at times and strikes directly at the heart and the mind. Like the best folk songs Hymns speaks to the absolute truth of the human condition, the simple fact that no matter what luxuries are presented to us we can’t escape our minds. We can’t escape the fact that sometimes life just hurts and the only way to get over that pain is to acknowledge it and move on. If this album doesn’t do that for Mike Angus I don’t know if anything will.

Regardless, he’s created an album of perfect songs to be sung softly along with on a day where you can’t help but wallow in your own misery. This is an album that should not be missed.

 

 Mike Angus - Cold, Cold Ground: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Mike Angus - Swallow It Whole: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

You can and should get your copy of from the Shameless Records web store or iTunes.

Pat entries acoustic, Canadian content, Edmonton, folk, going solo, Hymns, indie, Mike Angus, Shameless Records, solo material, the Wheat Pool

In the run-up to the release of her new solo album, Are You My Mother?, Calder released two songs from the record onto the interweb: lead track “Slips Away” and fourth track “Arrows.” Those two songs are probably the best on the album, but the margin is pretty thin; ALL of the songs are amazing.

For me it’s kind of a surprise. Not because I thought Calder wasn’t capable of it, I just didn’t consider the possibility. I wasn’t blown away by the few releases I’d heard by her previous band, Immaculate Machine, and Kathryn Calder is not the first thing you think about when you consider the New Pornographers. In a way this is my introduction to her but I feel confident in saying I’m now a big fan.

Context here is everything; as has been widely noted, Calder recorded the album in a makeshift studio in her childhood home while caring for her terminally ill mother. The project was suspended when her mother passed away. Knowing that going into the first listen, I was devastated right from the opening line: “Read a story from your sleep and tell me everything I need to know.” It’s just one of many incredible lyrics that Calder rolls out over the course of 36 minutes.

The video above also sets a wonderfully elegiac tone for the most aggressively sombre song on the album: the mostly-piano “Arrow” is a devastating listen that is unequivocally about loss and how it can shatter a person. The dark tones of the animation and the spare movement perfectly mirrors the fragility of the song. It’s also perhaps the best example of how captivating Calder’s voice is; it has a very human element, not as unique or bombastic as Neko Case, her New Pornographers bandmate who offers backing vocals on a handful of tracks. You can relate to her. That is invaluable on an album with such a universal element behind it.

Closer “All It Is” also hews close to the bone for Calder. She openly laments how time passes quickly when it’s least expected to, how before you know it weeks and months are gone and loved ones are starting to become missed. I can only imagine how hard it must be for her to perform that song live.

There is a heaping helping of subtlety at play here. On “Castor and Pollux” the line, “Take a look at my heart, you’ll find/The chambers are blown wide open,” could be interpreted a number of ways. The rest of the song tells about a pastoral, secluded, even agrarian setting where two people are becoming reacquainted after a time. Meanwhile, the nearby city is burning down and crumbling. Is her heart blown wide open out of love and adoration or grief for those dwelling inside the surprisingly fragile urban structures? I expect she answers her own question in the last verse: “They built the walls too tall, they built the walls too strong/Well so much for strong, things only last so long.”

But despite the weighty set of circumstances the songs aren’t as mired in sadness and darkness as one might expect. While “Slip Away” starts with a quiet, almost ominous tone it also has a melodically buoyant, wordless chorus that is just the first of several instances of full-out rock and roll. “A Day Long Past Its Prime”, “Castor and Pollux,” “If You Only Knew,” and “Follow Me Into The Hills” are all up-tempo, perhaps even sprightly numbers that are the furthest thing from brooding.

Plenty of ink has been spilled by people opining on the validity of intensely personal songwriting as opposed to vacuous, mindless party songs. This is not the place for that argument. But there can be little doubt that the circumstances that surrounded this album ensured that Calder would settle on nothing less than absolute perfection (or at least absolute satisfaction) with the finished product. I hope she’s happy with Are You My Mother? because she’s come damn close.

 

 Kathryn Calder - Slip Away [4:47m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Kathryn Calder - Arrow [2:52m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Digital downloads can be found through iTunes and Calder is directing people to Amazon for physical copies (although she also encourages people to ask their local record store to bring it in).

Pat entries Canadian content, home recordings, Kathryn Calder, singer/songwriter, solo material, videos

Sometimes it just feels like you’re listening to something special.

In the last year or so I’ve written about a number of current/former punk rockers that have made the shift to acoustic singer-songwriters. So many, in fact, that even writing those words kind of makes me want to roll my eyes a little bit. Just sayin’.

But Matt Gaud is something else, people. He’s the genuine article, the real deal, the bee’s knees. If the cat wore them, he would be it’s pajamas.

Gaud is a former member of Means, a Regina-based Christian hardcore/metalcore band (no joke, that’s a thing) that did quite well for themselves, having toured through Canada and the U.S. more times than I have (to be certain). After that band’s dissolution he’s played his rootsier, folksier solo material under a couple of different names, including his own.

I had intended to write about his latest iteration back in February after seeing him open for Library Voices, a show that was recorded for broadcast by our friends at CBC Radio 2 (stream that business at their website; you might as well, you’re paying for it, right?). Seated before a half-full Exchange, Gaud fired up his throaty vocals and got to playing a set of mostly-downtrodden, lovelorn, and longing numbers. His melodies and playing are natural and unforced and he’s an understated performer, his great, bushy beard hiding the face of a poet.

Admittedly, I was at first drawn in more by his insanely-good cover of Hot Water Music’s “Trusty Chords” than the originals, but once I heard the cover my attention was piqued.

Like early Dylan or Iron & Wine or Bon Iver he relies on his acoustic guitar and a harmonica for his live performances, choosing to flush out the recorded tracks subtly with bass drum, bass, some electric guitar, and some phenomenal trumpet work. Seriously people, it isn’t that easy to make trumpets sound this plaintive and downtrodden.

Those horns are one of the focal points on the first track featured here, “Energy.” The trumpet melodies swell in the intro and chorus, setting up Gaud’s pained lyric about a patient potential paramour waiting for a shot at love. The percussion is lower in the mix, but the subtle cymbal work also provides some build and cresendo of it’s own. “Wheels,” the other standout track you’ll find below, makes use of an insistent kick drum that propels the song’s tale of an unexpected wrench being thrown into the minutiae of everyday life. The wailing harmonica recalls Springsteen’s Nebraska, but with the benefit of a proper studio to record it.

This record has emotional heft, but Gaud presents it in a relatable, everyman kind of way. No frills, no unnecessary wording or calculated metaphors. He lays it bare and relies on the quality of his songs and his raw talent to carry the results to the listener’s ear. “Worry” is perhaps the best example of this, hinging on the plainly-stated admission, “I don’t know where we’re going/but I like where we are.” Simple and direct but poignant nonetheless.

I was spurred to actually write this piece after reading an incredibly lauditory review on another website. While it’s likely a little premature to agree with Frank Turner’s assessment of Gaud as “a fucking legend,” if you’re a fan of this style of music then Borrowed Chords, Tired Eyes is a pretty fucking good start.

 

 Northcote - Energy [4:19m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Northcote - Wheels [3:50m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

It’s worth noting that Northcote is on the bill for the massive, amazing, incomparable indie rock wank-fest that will be Sled Island Music Festival in Calgary the week of Canada Day. I’ll be there, cheering Matt on from the front row. Help him get there:

Physical: Maple Music
Digital: iTunes is a thing

Pat entries acoustic, Canadian content, local music, Northcote, Regina, solo material

When reviewing albums at the University of Regina’s Carillon student newspaper, I had some really great times and passed harsh criticism on a lot of terrible, terrible music. Lil’ Romeo, Downset, Hair of the Dog, Guttermouth…kind of like a bad dream, in retrospect.

One of few brightly-shining exceptions was the debut album from Montreal melodic rockers the Frenetics. I greatly enjoyed These Mistakes Took Years of Practice, in particular the opening track, “Are You Waiting?” At the time I wrote something mildly hyperbolic, especially considering the mid-tempo pace of a good number of songs: ‘The energy of the band comes through immediately, causing one’s head to nod uncontrollably and their foot to tap like it’s going out of style.” Very insightful, younger me.

The follow-up, Grey Veins To The Parking Lot, did little to advance their prominence, despite being a fairly flawless album. Surprisingly, even in a year when the Arcade Fire trumped just about everything else in music as far as the attention of most people, the Punknews website lavished a tiny bit of praise on them, recommending it for fans of Ted Leo, Elvis Costello, and the like. “the Journalist” made my best songs of the year mix tape, though I would soon realize that “the Bitter Years” is the most perfect song on the album and also a flawless summation of the bands abilities.

A break-up followed shortly after, relegating the band to the list of groups I never managed to see in person before their time ended. Malcolm Bauld eventually headed out on solo tours intermittently, but I was never able to catch those shows (and I still haven’t). But as soon as I heard New York-based label Art of the Underground would be putting out his debut solo LP I got a copy. Hell, if we’re being honest I got two copies.

I haven’t been disappointed. Bauld has gone from writing mature pop rock for grown-ups to writing mature music for grown-ups. Opener “Charity” features the stomp of his former band, albeit in an acoustic manner. Pretty much the rest of the album is far more subdued, a great number of the songs gentle, hushed numbers with acoustic guitar, piano, and a smattering of cello, accordian, and harmonica. Lyrically, Bauld remains a vivid and compelling storyteller, as showcased on the lyrical centerpiece of “Royal Road,” the b-side’s first track. He tells the story of a man who tamed a wild woman, settling down only to one day discover that she hasn’t quite settled. Fleeing her infidelity, he enlists in the army, serving in an unspecified desert conflict for years before returning to New Brunswick’s Gagetown military base. It’s there, late one night, his wife emerges from the darkness, inexplicably, returning to his arms. It might sound a bit sappy, but the telling of the tale is rich and compelling.

“Royal Road” also leads off an incredibly somber hat trick of songs with gorgeous, minor key melodies about searching for lost love and trying to find your way home. The final track is a elegiac piano-only closing number that closes out the album in a very appropriate fashion, some downright funereal trumpet and cello offering the perfect accompaniment for such a sad tune.

I really can’t recommend this album enough. One of my favourite all-time Canadian songwriters has only gotten better with age.

 

 Malcolm Bauld - Royal Road [4:32m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 the Frenetics - the Bitter Years [3:10m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 the Frenetics - Are You Waiting? [3:56m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Malcolm Bauld’s debut solo joint can be found here:
Art of the Underground: on CD and LP.

Pat entries acoustic, Canadian content, singer/songwriter, solo material