I was originally going to write about the CDs I was given for Christmas, but someone told me that they were fed up with me writing about David Byrne, Ryan Adams and Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore. Plus I'm keeping the comments on the excellent new Githead album (Landing) and the compilation of Nick Cave and Warren Ellis film scores (White Lunar) I was given by Santa for the Documentary Evidence website.
Instead I'll write about Contra, the follow up to Vampire Weekend's eponymously-titled album. The teaser track 'Horchata', which was given away free last year and which opens the album, provides a clue to the overall sound of Contra – odd little rhythms, elliptical lyrics, African percussion sounds deftly-deployed synths and sweeping strings. It's certainly a positive progression on Vampire Weekend, and certainly avoids any of the second-album hang-ups that beleaguer lots of heavily-hyped bands. Lead vocalist Ezra Koenig masterfully delivers his David Byrne-esque (whoops) lyrics with an occasional lilting edge that comes close to Paul Simon.
My personal favourite track is 'Giving Up The Gun', which has a shimmery, luminescent summery feel to its bold pop strokes; but it also embodies my only criticism of this album. It's not its genre-defying musical skittishness; after all their New York musical contemporaries like MGMT and Dirty Projectors, and forebears like Talking Heads (whoops again), have made it their sound business to restlessly hop around the musical landscape like they own the entire sonic spectrum. No, it's more the fact that this album is far, far too optimistic and fuzzily warm for this time of year. As criticisms go, I guess that's not bad. On the strength of Contra, 2010 is going to be a vintage year for music.
Back in the summer I mentioned a New Jersey band called Real Estate, whose 'Fake Blues' single was on heavy rotation for a good few weeks on my iPod. Real Estate's debut album was released by the low-key Woodsist toward the back end of the year, and was perhaps a couple of months late in coming since, like Contra, Real Estate is way too cheerful for the bleak weather we're having here in the UK.
Best described as a more lo-fi Fleet Foxes, Real Estate combine brushed cymbal-heavy percussion with delicate filigree guitar sections and the sort of dreamy melodic hooks that makes the whole alt. folk axis so appealing right now. Martin Courtney's vocals are delivered with an air of cursory, otherworldly detachment on songs like the opener 'Beach Comber', while instrumental tracks like 'Atlantic City' propel themselves forward with some of the most innocently beguiling guitar sections you'll probably ever hear.
The same can not be said for Pat Metheny's ominously-named Zero Tolerance For Silence, an album whose title probably passes the fabled Ronseal test in saying all you really need to know about what's contained on the five tracks here. For me, this out-of-print 1994 album has a near-mythical status. I first borrowed the CD from my local library, and was initially attracted neither by Metheny's guitar dexterity nor his vast and prolific back catalogue. It was two things – the photograph of a neon striplight on the sleeve (don't ask me why; it just appealed) and a typically enthusiastic display of gushing praise by Thurston Moore (whoops; I swear that wasn't planned) on a sticker afixed to the case.
Zero Tolerance For Silence is a challenging listen from the off. Metheny, a jazz guitarist by trade, here delivers five tracks that have much in common with Sonic Youthers Moore (that just keeps happening!) and Lee Ranaldo's excursions into free improv the world over. When I first heard it in 1994, I wasn't ready for the ear-shredding sonic onslaught that Metheny conjures from his electric guitars, and so I never made a recording. Since then my musical tastes have broadened ('worsened'?) and I have tried to track this down for the best part of a decade. Essential music for anyone interested in the locus between total punk anarchy and free jazz.
And look Neil, I didn't mention Ryan Adams once. Oh, actually...
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