This week: Soundtrack minimalism, low-key covers, and vegan gangstas
Dracula
Music by Philip Glass, Performed by the Kronos Quartet (Nonesuch Records)
In theory, the choice of protominimalist composer Philip Glass to write a latter-day score for the 1931 classic horror film Dracula (the one with Bela Lugosi) doesn't make a lot of sense. But hearing this soundtrack recording, performed by the Kronos Quartet, is believing. It actually works.
Anyone who's halfway familiar with Glass' repetition techniques will recognize his style from the first cadence of the opening track. Thankfully, Glass takes the good ideas from his minimalist background while creating music with buildups, variation, peaks, and valleys. If you're expecting his usual unobtrusive sonic wallpaper, this recording is not for you. Dracula follows more in the tradition of standard quartet compositions, with plenty of drama, tension and release. Sure, it's "modern," but many progressions have more in common with the sounds of Bach, or even, in the more chaotic passages, Benjamin Britten. And the Kronos Quartet's playing is, as usual, flawless.
The 26 short compositions on the disc follow the movie script, and we all know the story. So it's no surprise that the final track is a culmination of a buildup of themes and arpeggios repeated throughout the score. Glass isn't breaking any new stylistic ground on this disc, and that's just fine. Instead, he uses traditional compositional techniques to create music that is tuneful and accessible. Dracula is an experiment that succeeds, producing quality music that stands on its own or as a soundtrack.
—John Sewell
Cat Power
The Covers Record (Matador)
The new Cat Power CD, The Covers Record, opens with Chan Marshall singing perhaps the most unlikely cover of the bunch. If you don't read the song title or listen closely to the lyrics ("I'm watching my TV and a man comes on to tell me how white my shirts can be but he can't be a man because he doesn't smoke the same cigarettes as me"), you'll likely not even notice that this is one of the most famous rock 'n' roll songs ever—"(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" by The Rolling Stones.
Such is the music of Marshall and her one-woman outfit: If you don't pay attention, it just slips by you. But there's something haunting about Marshall's voice that lingers with you, as did 1998's brilliant Moon Pix. Despite the relatively sparse musical accompaniment, Marshall sounded almost possessed at times. Her effectiveness at conveying her own nightmares and surreal visions made the CD a compelling listen.
Cover albums by established songwriters are interesting because they can give you insight into the musician's influences and tastes. Artists as diverse as Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Guns 'n' Roses, and Yo La Tengo have all tried them, but rarely do they stand up to the artists' own work. That's the case here.
Marshall tackles a range of different artists: Dylan, the country artist Michael Hurley, the low-fi indie group Smog, as well as folk, blues and gospel standards like "Kingsport Town," "Salty Dog" and "Sea of Love." She does a credible job with the material, but rarely takes it anywhere new. Moreover, these performances just aren't as interesting as listening to Marshall's own compositions.
Stripped of its trademark guitar riff and chorus, "Satisfaction" is turned from urgent to mournful, focusing more on the consumer-culture saturation than on the original's lust. Given that the song's been so over-played for the past 35 years, it's not an unwelcome twist.
Similarly, Marshall's pretty voice transforms the protagonist of the Velvet Underground's "I Found a Reason," from a frightening suicidal creep to a broken yet determined soul. It's nice, but the original seems smarter, more complex.
And while she does an admirable job with "Wild is the Wind," anyone who has ever heard Nina Simone's version—superior in both singing and playing—will fight the urge to eject this indie version from the CD player and put in the real deal.
—Joe Tarr
Dead Prez
Let's Get Free (Loud)
Early on in their muscular debut, Stic and M1 of Dead Prez posit themselves as "somewhere between NWA and P.E." It's an apt summary of their approach: enlightened gangstas, ganja-loving vegans with guns. When they fantasize about bombing an NYPD precinct in "Police State," it's an explicitly revolutionary act, not random rage. Let's Get Free lacks the force and imagination of either NWA or Public Enemy in their prime, but it's energetic and smart enough to signal the emergence of some new voices.
From the strident cadence of "I'm a African" ("never was an African-American") to the New Agey tantricisms of "Mind Sex" and the dietary advice of "Be Healthy" ("Curry for life/ Or barbecued tofu"), these guys have agendas for just about everything. Fortunately, at least half the album boasts lyrical flow, jazzy word games, and brooding funk that take the edge off the dialectic. Not many groups would attempt a hip-hop rewrite of Animal Farm ("Animal in Man"), much less get away with it. The rhetoric can be ham-handed, sure, but even the dubious "They Schools" makes the clear-eyed observation that, "The same people who control the school system control the prison system."
And when the ominous synth bass that underlies much of the CD comes to the fore on "It's Bigger than Hip-Hop" (which is good enough to warrant both of its versions here), Let's Get Free finds the perfect marriage of intent and execution. It's telling that for all the ambitious geopolitics, the most convincing track is a discourse on the music biz. Like the man says, write what you know.
—Jesse Fox Mayshark
April 13, 2000 * Vol. 10, No. 15
© 2000 Metro Pulse
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