Monday, 2/24/97
The Dear Janes "No Skin" (Geffen) Bands like this make it worth
wading through all the contrived, derivative crap that comes into
The Bruin. Randomly chosen from a pile for their cool sounding
name, the Dear Janes had low expectations on their side. Until the
second song. By then, the onus of a solid album was put on their
backs, and they delivered it, heart and soul. They throw in a bit
of everything — folk harmonies and vicious acoustic guitars,
fierce yet intimate female vocals, enough reverb and attitude to
keep them from sounding soft, and enough talent and originality to
keep them from sounding like everyone else. The first half of the
record is especially strong. "Angry," a refreshingly 3:4 time tune,
is definitely one of the best songs released this year. Despite the
’90s sonic drudgery one may associate with the title, it’s
surprisingly uplifting with amazing vocal harmonies (they run
throughout the album) and an unusual rhythm that’s at once lilting
and forceful. "Grace My Table" follows with "barefoot in the park"
moods and instruments and a rare combination of grace and energy.
The beautiful and intimate "Totem Poles" takes things way down with
minimalist vocals, minor acoustic scales and seventh chords. There
seem to be an oboe and a xylophone in there somewhere, but they’re
nowhere to be found in the credits. Many of the songs have an extra
amount of "texture" to them that remains wonderfully indefinable.
"Oh Dear John" picks up the pace again and ties with "Angry" as the
most rocking song and potential single. The rest of the album flies
high and low in a similar fashion, though it’s generally slower and
not as infectious. The Dear Janes are a happy alternative to the
glut of average folk-inspired rock spewed out daily. They may not
be doing anything really new, but they make you believe they are,
with a sincerity and strikingly live sound. They’re not as
groundbreaking as Beck or as inscrutably cool as Sonic Youth, but
they’re certainly leagues above the many transparent pseudo-folk
bands with sharp haircuts and Dockers. In other words, you’ll
probably like them on first listen … and still like them on the
50th. Kristin Fiore A
Sky Cries Mary "Moon Bathing" (Warner Bros.) SCM’s major-label
debut will hopefully give them the credit they deserve as one of
the most intense, spiritual and diverse bands around. Their album
titles — "A Returning to the Inner Experience," "This Timeless
Turning" and now "Moon Bathing" — exquisitely describe their music
and the mood they induce — something like an aural aurora
borealis. This album does not seem to reach as far into musical
hyperspace as its predecessors — no one may ever fully understand
the second half of "This Timeless Turning." But even with that
album, their most bizarre and pretentious-sounding songs drop their
clues one at a time and, like a puzzle, form a cohesive, if
indecipherable, picture. That is the beauty and lesson of all of
their albums. Many of their songs seem too discordant upon the
first listen, but eventually they grow on you like a strange new
food or a James Joyce novel. SCM start with more familiar sounds
and then delve deeper into madness, pulling you with them one step,
one song, at a time. This technique makes cohesive albums that are
best played as such, and not as singles. Consequently, SCM doesn’t
receive much airplay. The timid and uninitiated might wish to get
their feet wet with the title track, not because it’s pedestrian,
but because it’s more penetrable and catchy than the others. While
many of their songs seem almost aimless, formless and, at times,
keyless, this one is more easily followed and almost new wave. The
next song, "Grey Eyes," seems to swim a bit farther from shore, but
it’s not totally out there. More hard-edged and straight-forward,
it might raise an eyebrow or two if KROQ played it (they might —
rumor is their spine may return with their dropping ratings), but
that’s about it. The next song, however, is where the door slams
behind you — it’s too late to turn back. "Queen of Slug Theater"
enters with a pulse of shamanistic drums and ends with singer Anisa
Romero’s cooing howls of pure sound. She and the guitarist use
augmented fourths (so does Danny Elfman, to get that creepy, eerie
sound) and traipse the harmonic minor scale with effortlessness.
Romero can sing circles around any so-called diva alive today, and
she doesn’t have a cord in her back you can pull to make her belt
out something like "I Will Always Love You." She is the sorceress
around which the melodies and chaos rise. At times they overpower
her; other times they quiet and let her have the stage.
Unfortunately for us, she doesn’t call much attention to her
flawless pipes on this album. Getting into bands like SCM can be
frustrating, but discovering their pearls is much more rewarding.
Popping Weezer into your CD player and screaming with joy at "Buddy
Holly" may be fun, but not as transcendent as finally connecting
with Tori Amos’ "Talula." You’re in college … you get up at 10
a.m. … you’ve got the time to ease yourself into a great new
band, don’t you? Kristin Fiore B+
Odds "Nest" (Elektra) Though the process of over-thinking has
landed many in a state of perilous disillusionment, sometimes it
provides the sting any good musician strives for. However, Odds’
new album seems to have fallen short of the mental brainstorming
required to achieve musical notoriety. But, at times, they get
really close. The song "Nothing Beautiful" relates how "first I
drank insecticide/ A little more each day/ Followed by dirty and
sugary food/ Grown where the light was gray." The lyrics intensify
into the description of a ghost town, always returning to the
chorus, "’Cause nothing beautiful/ Nothing beautiful lasts." Yet,
after having spent the effort to compose such crisp words, no such
energy appears in the chords. Every tune buzzes around the stereo
speakers in an equally inane rhythm of drum machines and guitars.
Nothing screams of the emotional suffering infused in Odds’ stellar
lyrics. Strip the album "Nest" of its lyrics and the whole work
falls on its face. It reminds you of those insipid people who play
soaps in the background while doing homework, just because they
don’t want to be alone. Do yourself a favor — don’t be at odds
with Odds, just turn the stereo off. Vanessa VanderZanden C
Soundbites runs Mondays and Wednesdays.