Of Bobby and the Band
Written: Feb 28 '08
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Product Rating:
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Pros: Music From Big Pink is a really great record.
Cons: Someone already made Music From Big Pink.
The Bottom Line: Don't quit your day job. Yet.
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| headlessparrot's Full Review: Here's To Being Here - Jason Collett |
In 2003, I claimed – in response to Broken Social Scene’s sophomore album You Forgot It In People – that “rock was not dead.” Ignoring the fact that claiming rock was ever dead – or even on life support – was a positively inane assertion (one that I hope can be forgiven in light of the fact that I was sixteen when I made it), I remain firmly convinced that You Forgot It In People was (and remains) one of the best records that I’ve ever heard: gorgeous pocket symphonies, the curious tango of lush, baroque instrumentation, pop hooks, and chaotic beauty combining in the form of an album that has to be a strong contender for the best of the decade. But my feelings about You Forgot It In People are mostly well known. Less well known is my stance regarding the post-You Forgot It In People output of the indie rock collective and its (as many as) fifteen members. Their 2005 eponymous follow-up was a solid affair that only appeared tarnished next to the lustre of its elder sibling. And the B-sides/outtakes collection Bee Hives is more or less what you’d expect from a collection of B-sides and outtakes.
Far more relevant to the discussion is a (mostly) meaningless theory that I’ve been developing since the collective’s personally operated label – Arts & Crafts – began unleashing a torrent of BSS solo albums and side projects: that for all their elegance as a loosely-affiliated team of indie rock ne’er-do-wells, the members of Broken Social Scene, individually, can’t record a good solo record to save their lives. It’s a consistent pattern; from the pan-Cuban indie-rock of Apostle of Hustle (Andrew Whiteman) to the innocuous folk-rock of Jason Collett, and even the (so far) wholly unsurprising manner of the Broken Social Scene Presents... series (Kevin Drew’s 2007 release under this banner, Brendan Canning is currently working on the next), there’s a path littered with rusted parts, underachievement and disappointments – one that makes me wonder, incidentally, why I bother getting excited about Broken Social Scene side projects anymore. They don’t suck; they’re just unsatisfying, as though there’s a paucity of ideas whenever this collection of fifteen minds aren’t in the studio together. What’s unusual, though, is that it’s not a strict collection of fifteen pre-selected minds – aside from the core of the group (which numbers anywhere from two to eight, depending on how charitable your definition of ‘core’ is), it’s almost as though any assortment of (preferably underappreciated) alt-rockers will do. So long as there are a lot of them. Thus explaining the unusual representation by a couple of groups – never mind side projects – that aren’t so good. In the long run, it’s mostly just remarkable that fifteen people in the same room can achieve anything, let alone something so wonderful. Any time that I’ve ever been in a room with fourteen other people, the only collective accomplishments have been blind drunkenness and (occasionally) hate speech.
But apparently, I’m not the only person to consider this theory of Broken Social Scene gravitational awesomeness. Noel Murray of The Onion A.V. Club noted a similar observation in passing, in his “Popless” column. This appearance of my theory in the wild both vindicates and depresses me; the latter not because it confirms that my theory is not especially unique (I never suspected that it was), but more because it tells me that there are a whole host of others out there, all equally intent on navigating the minutiae of not-quite-so-pop culture. But whosoever expounds it, there’s still one glaring flaw with it, in the form of one Leslie Feist, who has been making wonderful music for as long as – or longer than – she’s been associated with the Broken Social Scene collective. The question becomes whether it’s possible to interpret the evidence in such a way that it doesn’t effectively refute the theory. And the instinctive solution – to divorce Feist from her peers and soldier on, undeterred – just feels like the haphazard construction of a false dichotomy. Sure, she’s not officially an Arts & Crafts performer outside of Canada (her international distribution rights revert to Interscope), but that’s an absurdly semantic argument.
So it comes down to a meaningless distinction that the biggest difference between Feist and her peers – moving beyond the relative merits of their solo work – is that I’ve always reflexively (and unscientifically) just thought of Feist as a solo artist first and a Broken Social Scene member second. I can’t say the same for Kevin Drew, Brendan Canning, or even Andrew Whiteman, evoking Broken Social Scene as immediately as they do. Perhaps lending credence to the theory, I can say the same for Emily Haines (of Metric), Torquil Campbell, and Amy Millan (both of Stars), all of who create great music apart from Broken Social Scene, but who do so as independent acts rather than ‘side-projects.’ Our theory lives! And with an added wrinkle: while Broken Social Scene side-projects inevitably disappoint, albums by artists (and bands) that are affiliated to the group only secondarily and/or tangentially... well, they tend to be pretty great.
Unfortunately, the theory is a moot one anyway, because 2008’s Here’s To Being Here – the fourth album by (yes, we’re finally getting to the matter, 800 words later) regular Scenester Jason Collett – is also a pretty good record. Not epic. Not grand, or magnificent, or awe-inspiring. Just pretty good. But framed against five-plus years of underwhelming, middling, and downright unacceptable BSS-lite, ‘pretty good’ feels like the possibility of Barack Obama after eight years of George W. Bush: namely, fucking awesome. By planting its seeds of ‘pretty good’ – however fragile – Here’s To Being Here does a lot of things: it confirms the legacy of Broken Social scene without overpowering it, and it generates hope that future BSS solo albums aren’t necessarily doomed from conception. Of course, the cynical response to this is twofold: that a) one flash of hope is just enough to keep you buying – sight unseen – five more years of disillusioning records and, b) with four solo albums under his belt (at least two of which pre-date his official Broken Social Scene membership) and a sound that’s rather distinct from the collective, isn’t Collett as much of a solo artist “first and foremost” as Feist? To which I respond, “Maybe.” But I’m not above cherry picking in the crucial matter of rock and roll.
Here’s To Being Here makes it abundantly clear that Collett, wherever his primary allegiances lay, is first and foremost a singer-songwriter – a pretty great one – and an adherent to the cozy folk rock aesthetic. This makes him an interesting juxtaposition to one of the other Canadian indie-folksters, Hayden, who conveniently also released an album in the first quarter of 2008 (In Field & Town). But given that neither artist is especially well known outside of Canadian indie circles, it might be best to fall back on a more universal contrast. Both are folk artists, but it seems as though Hayden is in many respects the Donny to Collett’s Marie Osmond: he’s a little bit country; she – or in this case, he (the other he) – is a little bit rock and roll. To explain – Hayden owes his greatest debt to Neil Young’s country rock roots, primarily Harvest, a record that has effectively been the blueprint for at least three of Hayden’s five albums.
But Collett – though he certainly channels glimpses of Canada’s singer-songwriter statesman on Here’s To Being Here – owes his greatest debt to Bob Dylan. And to some extent, like with Hayden, this could conceivably be an admission that Collett’s existence as a solo artist is more than a little redundant. To be compared (especially so closely) to Bob Dylan is very likely the kiss of death – a compliment that every singer-songwriter strives for, but one that immediately renders their work as simultaneously good and entirely futile in anything but the most limited of contexts. Because if Dylan’s already done it, what’s the point?
The point, at least in the case of Here’s To Being Here, is that for all of everything he owes to his folksy precursor, Collett has the chops to get by as his own artist. Here’s To Being Here is a good record because it manages to overcome its influences, as much has it does wear them on its sleeve. And wearing its influences on its sleeve is, appropriately enough, also the reason it’s not a perfect record. But in the end, it is what it is: an interesting counterpoint to Collett’s participation in the chaos of Broken Social Scene – a twenty-first century synthesis of folk-rock forbearers. And, oddly, a surprising measure of George Harrison.
I guess a big part of the problem (if there is one) is that Collett starts from a disadvantage. His voice sounds, certainly on first inspection, immeasurably close to Dylan’s: raspy, weary, tentative, and roughshod – a kind of half-musical speak-sing that is (ostensibly) a purely utilitarian instrument. But even Collett’s harmonica playing – and there’s a lot of harp on Here’s To Being Here – sounds positively Dylan-esque. This is in contrast to Hayden, whose harmonica parts, I’ve always thought, were very distinctly indebted to Neil Young (see Young’s “Out on the Weekend” versus Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changing” for a more tangible look of what I’m experiencing). It’s not a difference that I can verbalize. And I’m not knowledgeable enough to know whether there are unique ways to play the harmonica that account for this difference, or whether it’s merely a subjective trick of influential shadows creeping into my listening experience, but it certainly seems worth mentioning.
But back to the voice thing, because I think there’s an important caveat to be made. While Collett’s voice resembles Dylan’s, there’s something more to it, something that becomes apparent the more I process to it. More polish, and less uncertain, as though Collett were consciously reining himself in. It’s not an objectively pretty voice, but it’s a voice that wonderfully combines Dylan’s self-consciousness with a kind of musicality that tweaks the formula, adding enough flavour to give the proceedings some legitimacy. What’s more, his sound is otherwise just fantastic – a laidback blend of breezy electric and acoustic guitars, occasional organ, earnest harmonicas, ragged harmonies, and exotic rhythms, that sounds more authentically tropical than Andrew Whiteman’s Cuban-influenced Apostle of Hustle solo project. It’s almost like a whole album of low-key re-interpretations of Broken Social Scene’s “Pacific Theme,” only paired with the Dylan-esque road warrior narratives that I’ve always felt “Pacific Theme” secretly yearned for. Collett’s lyrics are not, admittedly, up to the standard set by Dylan. But this is an unfair criticism given not only that… well, whose are?, but also because Collett’s well-rounded musicality gives Here’s To Being Here worth as a record that simply sounds good, even stripped of its lyrical content. In fact, I think that there’s a compelling argument for Here’s To Being Here as a beautiful – if somewhat understated –instrumental album.
Faint electronic blips on album opener “Roll On Oblivion” offer perhaps Here’s To Being Here’s only glimpse of Collett’s Batman/Bruce Wayne alter ego as a Broken Social Scene co-conspirator. But it’s a beautiful song with or without the blips, hinging on its click-heavy beat, maracas, and deliberately plucked acoustic guitar accompaniment. The song shambles along, shimmering with instrumental flourishes, a perfectly subdued road trip anthem that reveals most distinctly Dylan’s influence (Collett’s lyrical riff, “Roll on Southern gentlemen / And your Bonaparte ways” sound as though lifted right out of the Dylan songbook). “Sorry Lori,” on the other hand, reveals the glitter of George Harrison, its oft-repeated, bright and bluesy guitar phrase, and sha-la-la backing vocals distinctly echoing a fusion of All Things Must Pass to Harrison’s post-mortem swansong, Brainwashed.
“Out of Time” is a lax guitar-driven shuffle, made memorable by its “oooh-oooh-oooh” call-and-response chorus, while “Papercut Hearts” is fuelled by it’s soaring “Running wild” refrain. And “Charlyn, Angel of Kensington” is a brilliantly infectious sketch of Toronto’s Kensington Market – a famous multi-cultural neighbourhood – set to pan-African percussion and deliberate, vaguely flamenco guitar licks. Amidst its boogie, Collett enumerates the neighbourhood’s wonderful settings and curious characters (“On the sidewalk café / Where the street preacher quotes Old Testament”); he tells its subject, in the repeated final line, “This is your family.”
Here’s To Being Here is at its most sweeping, though, when it’s at its most subtle. See, for example, the pure folk of “No Redemption Song,” a uniquely Canadian harmonica and guitar highway tale (“Staying stoned on Highway 401”) whose narrator laments over the beautiful interplay of strummed and plucked guitars that he’s running “Into the flaming edges / With no ‘Redemption Song.’” “Through The Night These Days” follows with fuzzy guitar fills and the cynical sentiment that “Every little lie / Helps us get through the night, these days.”
“Not Over You” is the album’s lyrical Achilles heel – the repeated chorus of “I’m not over you” emphasizing its reliance on a painful cliche – but the indistinctly retro accompaniment is pretty enough to redeem the affair. Dominated by faintly swirling organ, its dynamic percussion and evocative guitar flourishes give the song an urgency deeper than its lyrics would suggest. “Somehow” is a lumbering, morose throwaway that drags on for over five minutes. Album closer “Waiting For The World,” however, is a beautifully languishing, lingering ballad that is all but perfectly suited to hazy and lazy summertime listening, the perfect soundtrack to the inevitable battle of August humidity on your front porch, or of a campfire gathering. And actually, the same can be said for large portions of Here’s To Being Here. Maybe a February release date was an unwise decision for an album that smells so strongly of freshly cut grass and firewood smoke. The song, in any case, pairs harmonica with a simple acoustic guitar, juxtaposed by maracas and the leisurely rhythm of bongos. The lyrics are not his strongest, but there’s an earnestness about the song that’s totally disarming.
Upon further reflection, maybe Jason Collett would more justly compared to Bob Dylan only indirectly, through the lens of the Band, with whom Collett seems to share an unspoken affinity. They’re (mostly) Canadian, but seem keenly focused on Southern mythology – folk tradition, more accurately – that legitimizes their languid musical excursions. Here’s To Being Here doesn’t offer up the bucolic glimpses of Americana that the Band were so good at, but it does take these sensibilities and incorporate them into classically Canadian, multi-cultural narrative: combining the soul of the American South with the folk traditions of the Canadian Prairies; fusing Island and African rhythms to beautiful road stories; and stirring the pot with a drizzle of hipster urbanity.
Like the other singer-songwriter I’ve reviewed in 2008, I can’t say that I’m sure Jason Collett’s Here’s To Being Here will ‘last’ long enough to leave any kind of indelible mark on my record collection. I am confident of a few things, however. I’m confident that – despite the equivalent rating – it’s a better record, all things considered, than Hayden’s In Field & Town. Moreover, I’m confident that Here’s To Being Here will hold up at least through summer, a time when it’s breezy melodies and relaxed tenor should really be able to flower – out windows and into backyards. But most of all, I’m confident (insofar as one can be confident regarding something about which they’re completely unsure – but about which they’re hoping really, really hard) that Here’s To Being Here will be the turning point for Broken Social Scene solo albums. They shall, henceforth, never disappoint again.
Unless – as I previously pointed out – we’re going to consider Jason Collett, like Feist, as a solo artist first and Broken Social Scene member second. In which case I’m screwed.
Related Reviews:
Broken Social Scene - You Forgot It In People
Broken Social Scene - Bee Hives
Recommended:
Yes
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headlessparrot
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Member: Bryan Jansen
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