“You Know What You’re Doing” – Orbis Max and Tim Izzard

Smartly crafted, accomplished pop rock

“You Know What You’re Doing” – Orbix Max and Tim Izzard

This is a community service announcement to remind you that there are plenty of interesting and accomplished people doing interesting and accomplished things, online, that do not attract the attention of the viral-infatuated masses and/or clickbait-oriented websites. I would venture to say that some if not most of these people may be entirely satisfied avoiding the harsh glare of virality. At least, I hope they are. Me, I remain maddened as ever by our collective penchant for assessing worth via instant popularity. And I grow increasingly intrigued by talented souls plying their trade in the relative dark.

Take Orbis Max, a so-called “internet recording collective” that, as it turns out, long predates the internet. Launched as a regular, in-person band in California back in the 1970s, Orbis Max band members drifted into different locations over time, but re-formed once the internet made recording separately from a distance a viable option. The band retains two original members, has four ongoing bandmates, while also working collaboratively with a rotating cast of outside musicians as the spirit moves. And no, they are not setting the world on fire in terms of streams and views. But they put together something like “You Know What You’re Doing” and yes, it’s clear from the opening guitar riff, jaunty and melodic, that Orbis Max themselves know what they’re doing. The melody, with its well-placed minor chords, shimmers with an early-rock’n’roll nostalgia even as it sounds fetching in the here and now. Dw Dunphy’s vocals are at once sturdy and vulnerable, with the tone of a classic rocker wandering into vaguely unknown territory.

And what a smartly crafted song, the construction of which includes, by my estimation, not merely a robust bridge (in these bridge-deprived times) but a bridge that arrives early in the song, where the second verse might otherwise be. At this point, on the words “Even now” (1:08), the voices become layered, gang-vocal style, with an unexpected but congruous whiff of Springsteen in the mix. (Dunphy is based in Monmouth County, New Jersey; could be something in the water.) The early bridge, if that’s what it is, is in any case, aurally, part of the song’s ongoing sense of continuing development; listen in particular to the intermittent sprinkles of lead guitar (including an incisive coda) and to the changing nature of the backing vocals.

“You Know What You’re Doing” was co-written by guitarist Don Baake and guest musician Tim Izzard, who is based in the UK. Recurring core Orbis Max members are currently located in Texas, California, and the aforementioned New Jersey; other regulars are located in North Carolina, Arizona, and Liverpool, among other places. Dunphy is new to the band in the scheme of things, having joined in 2022, following a long stint as a singer/songwriter/one-man-band. “You Know What You’re Doing,” was released as a single at the end of March. A new single was just released on May 1, entitled “Fields,” which you can check out on Bandcamp. Thanks to the band for the MP3.

“Blue Tuesday” – Francis of Delirium

Propulsive and vulnerable

“Blue Tuesday” – Francis of Delirium

How is it that some singer/songwriters sing about their personal angsts and it comes across as kind of small and whiny while other singer/songwriters sing, as well, about their personal angsts and it soars into something weighty and inspiring? It’s a mystery. And obviously my personal perspective on any given musician is just my own, and often at odds with cultural consensus. But Jana Bahrich, who fronts the project Francis of Delirium, strikes me as the real deal. Nothing small and whiny about what she does.

From the ringing guitar and pulsing backbeat of the intro, “Blue Tuesday” propels us forward with itchy resolve. We are pushed directly into the middle of a story via the opening line’s unusual kickoff: “And it starts in the back of a cab.” This demonstrates the kind of stout assurance that supports the song beginning to end–an assurance perhaps best epitomized by the audacious slant rhyme upon which the chorus pivots:

It’s a blue Tuesday
I could use babe some of us

In another setting, in someone else’s hands, this (sort of) near rhyme might seem an awkward blunder; here it feels sly and subversive. She’s kind of daring you to call her on it and not caring if you do. Throughout, the 22-year-old Bahrich sings with a tone alternating between airy and grounded, between vulnerable and assertive. You buy what she’s selling; the underlying bash and drive leaves you almost no choice. This a concise song both musically and lyrically, with a seemingly straightforward meaning: the narrator is feeling down and desires her partner’s presence as a balm. But being down often leads to passive indecision, while in this case, the singer knows what she wants and asks for it, not something everyone has the presence of mind to do. She offers a second slant rhyme in the process, in the second half of the chorus: “It’s a blue Tuesday/I could use babe some of your touch.” It’s an even slantier slant, matching two syllables (“your touch”) against one in the previous line (“us”), so the lyrics scan differently too, with Bahrich hesitating on the second word, landing it on the backbeat of the next measure, sweeping us back into the song’s adamant flow.

Based in Luxembourg, Francis of Delirium was previously featured on Fingertips in April 2022. “Blue Tuesday” is a track from the outfit’s excellent debut album Lighthouse, which was released in March. I like by the way that the song is the fifth track on the album–another move, in a world of side-one, cut-one singles, that speaks to Bahrich’s underlying confidence. MP3 via KEXP.

(A sad side note: KEXP’s “Song of the Day” feature, which has fed Fingertips a significant number of free and legal MP3s over the years, has been discontinued. The MP3s they’ve uploaded still seem to be online at this point, but it’s unclear how long that will last.)

“Jacket” – Sam Evian

Affable, McCartney-like tunefulness

“Jacket” – Sam Evian

“Jacket” has an affable tunefulness about it, with a loose-limbed, Ram-like vibe bespeaking on the one hand singer/songwriter/producer Sam Evian’s long-standing adoration of the Beatles, and on the other the fact that he recorded this latest album in his idyllic-sounding studio in the Catskills, in a renovated barn, live on vintage tape–“No headphones, no playback, minimal overdubs or bleed,” in his words. The guitar sounds are straight out of the 1970s, as is the perky, midtempo, Nilsson-esque melody, with its easy-going wanderings up and down the scale.

Structure-wise, the song has a sneaky convolution to it, with a verse and chorus that sound somewhat but not precisely alike; it’s especially easy to get disoriented when a song starts with the chorus, as this one appears to. Bonus bewilderment points here for removing the first line of the chorus after one iteration, thereafter replacing it with a cheerful set of female-voiced “La-la-la”s. Lyrically this is one of those songs where the words are at once legible and incomprehensible: you can read along with the song and still have little sense of what’s transpiring. And then, in the middle, a verse pops as meaningful, even though it has no apparent relation to anything previously sung:

I trace it back and find a twisted memory
A loose end coming back to haunt me, it’s getting older and older
You know our trouble has a way of finding more
Like we were soldiers in a war so long ago

First off, he traces what back, exactly? We don’t know, pushed as we abruptly are into the middle of a thought without any context. Listen next to how perfectly “A loose end coming back to haunt me” scans with the music; it’s the parade of iambs in the lyrics that does it–except for the “it’s getting older and older” addendum, all the lines here offer perfect one-TWO stresses. The words glide effortlessly, all but forcing our attention to the stanza’s gloomy conclusion, contradictorily presented with the song’s ongoing peppiness. I’m not sure what it all adds up to–by the way, there’s not a single mention of a jacket–but it keeps me listening, and re-listening. Perhaps the song is being sung to an old jacket? Or by one?

Plunge, Evian’s fourth album, came out in March, and is the first he’s released on his own label, Flying Cloud Recordings. Collaborators on the album include El Kempner (Palehound, Bachelor), Adrianne Lenker (Big Thief), Sean Mullins, and Liam Kazar, among others. Meanwhile, Evian has for some years been an in-demand producer, having recorded albums with a wide variety of indie rock acts, including Widowspeak, Cass McCombs, Blonde Redhead, Cassandra Jenkins, Big Thief, and Hannah Cohen, who happens also to be Evian’s partner.

Mystics and statistics

Eclectic Playlist Series 11.03 – March 2024

The two Grateful Dead-adjacent songs that have rather randomly wandered into this month’s mix happen, both, to be songs that are not available on Spotify. Let this serve as a gentle but important reminder of the value of owning your own music, the value of having songs and albums that are yours (even if “just” digitally). These, then, become songs that are yours regardless of how good a Wifi connection you have, yours regardless of the vagaries of licensing arrangements and other capitalism-generated obstructions that keep songs off of streaming services (any one of which may go out of business someday). I have a rather extensive digital music library and while it’s a (much) more unwieldy beast than my CD and LP collection were, and are, it’s still a roped-off, self-selected aggregation of music that is easily and directly accessible, without the pesky barriers of menus and suggestions that streaming services build, purposefully, into their interfaces. I can organize my library according to my own sense of order, and find things instantly. And, as a bonus, I’m not feeding the Big Tech data machine every time I click on something; within the bounds of my own library, I escape the implacable eyes of the algorithm, the relentless fog of the feed.

To be clear, I’m not arguing in favor of abandoning Spotify or Apple Music. While I have (very) mixed feelings about the company, I still do lean on Spotify to check out music I’m curious about, either old or new. But then I buy the albums that move me. (I just this month picked up the Katie Von Schleicher album–see below–as an example.) And believe me, I know that one uninfluential person’s quirky behavior vis-à-vis the 21st-century music scene is not going to make a whit of difference to the way music is “consumed” (ugh, I hate that word) here in 2024. But so-called “influencing” in our world is a performative sham, a virtual maelstrom of thankless activity. I’ll settle for the idea that two or three of you out there are paying actual attention, and perhaps I’ve given one or two of you some food for thought, as opposed to facile images to “like” and immediately forget.

End of soapbox; meanwhile, the playlist!:

1. “For Emma” – Bon Iver (For Emma, Forever Ago, 2007)
2. “Overjoyed” – Katie Von Schleicher (A Little Touch of Schleicher in the Night, 2023)
3. “Living on Borrowed Time” – Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band (Express Yourself, 1970)
4. “Cemetery Gates” – The Smiths (The Queen Is Dead, 1986)
5. “Floating On A Moment” – Beth Gibbons (Lives Outgrown, 2024)
6. “Hold (Alternate Take)” – Nubya Garcia (Nubya’s 5ive, 2017)
7. “Martha My Dear” – The Beatles (The Beatles, 1968)
8. “Friend of the Devil” – Lyle Lovett (Deadicated, 1991)
9. “Undone” – Amy Cooper (Water/Fire, 2005)
10. “Since You’ve Been Gone” – Cherie and Marie Currie (Messin’ With the Boys, 1979)
11. “Barbara H.” – Fountains of Wayne (Fountains of Wayne, 1996)
12. “Balboa” – Eileen Allway (Love Water, 2024)
13. “Irrésistiblement” – Sylvie Vartan (La Maritza, 1968)
14. “Too Many Losers” – Bobby and the Midnites (Bobby and the Midnites, 1981)
15. “This Time” – Land of Talk (Life After Youth, 2017)
16. “Who Is It” – Björk (Medúlla, 2004)
17. “Something About You” – The Four Tops (Four Tops Second Album, 1965)
18. “4316” – Isobel Campbell (Bow To Love, 2024)
19. “Aimless Love” – John Prine (Aimless Love, 1984)
20. “Desperadoes Under the Eaves” – Warren Zevon (Warren Zevon, 1976)

Addenda:

* Pretty much everything Beth Gibbons sings sounds iconic. She just hasn’t been very widely heard in a long time: believe it or not it’s been 16 years since the last Portishead album, with the band performing only sporadically since then, and releasing only two stand-alone singles during that time. Although Gibbons did give us a non-Portishead album, in 2002, it was a collaboration with Talk Talk’s Paul Webb, who performs as Rustin Man. And so the forthcoming album, Lives Outgrown, will be the 59-year-old Gibbons’ very first solo offering. The album’s 10 songs were recorded over the course of 10 years; it comes out May 17.

* Lyle Lovett’s plaintive take on the Grateful Dead’s “Friend of the Devil” is impeccable, an all-time great cover. While there’s nothing wrong with the original, it sounds over-caffeinated and tossed-off by comparison. Lovett keeps the heartbeat moving but gives the song space to breathe; the spotless arrangement enhances the poignancy. This version can be found on the 1991 Grateful Dead tribute CD Deadicated, which was one of the earlier and more commercially successful tribute albums, of which since then there have been countless. And yet Deadicated is out of print and is not available on the standard streaming services, although of course is floating around on YouTube. The Los Lobos cover of “Bertha” is another highlight from that album.

* Amy Cooper was featured on Fingertips so far back in the day (circa 2005) that I can’t find the post: over the course of various site updates and platform changes, some items from the first few years here have vanished. No great loss, perhaps, but there are some excellent songs involved, including this, the lead track from Cooper’s debut album, 2005’s Water/Fire. Turns out Cooper is in general a bit hard to track down. She released the follow-up EP Mirrors in 2006 (or 2007, depending on your source), and that’s where the trail goes cold. (It doesn’t help that she shares a name with the internet-famous “Central Park Karen,” of bird-watching-related notoriety.) Some extra poking around led to the discovery that our musical Amy Cooper has more recently been part of a duo called Naked Hearts, a band that began in the early ’10s but with songs online as recently as 2020 (including the appealing “Only For You”; it’s nice to hear her again–check it out!). She should ideally link her disparate Bandcamp identities together, but I am in any case happy to see that she isn’t one of those talented singer/songwriters who simply faded without a trace.

* Sylvie Vartan is a veteran French superstar, associated most closely with the yé-yé movement of the 1960s. Born in Bulgaria, she’s had a long-lasting and wide-ranging career as both a singer and an actress. Her most recent album is 2021’s Merci pour le regard.

* Eileen Allway is an L.A.-based singer/songwriter that I featured here with an MP3/review this past November. While I have a long-standing policy of not featuring an artist more than once within a 12-month period when it comes to the review section, that doesn’t prevent me from following a review with a song on a playlist, especially when the artist in question has released an album as packed with excellent songs as is Allway’s 2024 album Love Water. “Balboa” calls to mind the incandescent Canadian singer/songwriter Jane Siberry, which is a high compliment in my book. I encourage you to check the whole album out on Bandcamp, and buy it too (it’s reasonable!).

* The other Grateful Dead-adjacent track in the mix this month is as noted another one that you won’t find on Spotify. This is the unusually riffy (for him) “Too Many Losers” from Bob Weir, fronting the ’80s band Bobby and the Midnites. They put out two albums, in 1981 and 1984, and went their separate ways. Interestingly, the band’s drummer was Billy Cobham, a renowned jazz/fusion musician who played with Miles Davis, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, and many other notables.

* Careful readers might remember a Katie Von Schleicher reference earlier this month (she produced the Max Blansjaar song featured in the last batch of downloads). I mentioned at the time that I had featured Katie as a singer/songwriter back in 2013. What I did not mention is that she continues to record wonderful music herself; a particularly fetching album is the one she released in October of last year, the archly titled A Little Touch of Schleicher in the Night (look up the reference if you don’t recognize it). I had a hard time deciding which song to feature, so I encourage you to check out the whole thing over there on Bandcamp.

“Right Back To It” – Waxahatchee (featuring MJ Lenderman)

More tuneful thoughtfulness from K. Crutchfield

“Right Back To It” – Waxahatchee (featuring MJ Lenderman)

Katie Crutchfield is operating in an impressive groove in recent years; everything she touches strikes me as some version of awesome. Even as she is working with new collaborators–including, as seen here, MJ Lenderman, from the band Wednesday–she sounds as herself as ever on this song from her new album.

The banjo here quickly conveys a country flavor, but the deliberate pace of the finger-picking runs counter to cliched expectations. There will be no hoedown today; the mood is pensive, the melody earnest, alternating between double time and half time, as Crutchfield ponders the forces at work in relationships, albeit allusively, as is her wont. (Like many gifted songwriters, she always gives the impression that she knows exactly what she’s talking about even if the words defy straightforward understanding.) One particularly brilliant line, presented off-handedly, is: I lose a bit of myself/laying out eggshells, which is an eye-opening way to acknowledge one’s own contribution to an unhealthy interpersonal dynamic.

Lenderman’s harmony vocals add poignant texture to the chorus, which resolves–typically a downward movement–via a repeating ascending melody line. This sounds natural on the one hand, but registers as somewhat unusual. Chalk it up to her aforementioned songwriting prowess.

Katie Crutchfield is a solo artist performing since 2010 as Waxahatchee, with a rotating supporting cast. “Right Back To It” is a track from her eagerly awaited new album Tigers Blood, coming out this week on Rough Trade. This is Katie’s first solo album since the brilliant Saint Cloud, a release that arrived, on March 27, 2020, as an oasis of tuneful thoughtfulness in the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. I leaned on it heavily during the lockdown’s disconcerting first weeks and months, and still revisit it regularly. MP3 via KEXP.

Waxahatchee was previously featured on Fingertips in May 2017.

photo credit: Molly Matalon

“Victoria” – Unproductive

Rough-edged and melodic and maybe slightly unhinged

“Victoria” – Unproductive

A rough-edged stomper with appealing personality, “Victoria” carries on with a bit of a screw loose. The song’s simple, head-banging backbeat thuds out an intro that belies the playful nature of the melody and lyrics to follow. It’s a tale of woe, but an off-kilter one, which lead vocalist Declan Hills splutters out sounding only intermittently unhinged (in a good way). Pay attention to the words, which alternate between the bleak and the cheeky. At one point he sings–

Oh Victoria take your hand in mine
And we won’t let those white collar criminals
Make off with those reduced mortgage primes

–which is one of the more unorthodox ways to say “We’ll be great together” that I can think of. But the aforementioned Victoria is neither an easy catch nor necessarily a healthy one for our narrator, who, later, sings: Don’t make me compromise/My morality for hydrated skin. It’s that kind of relationship.

The lyrics call for and reward attention due to the song’s unconfined melodicism, featuring leaping and descending intervals, and spurts of (at least) double-timed lines to accommodate the garrulous declarations of the song’s narrator. And despite its vaguely manic ambiance, the song’s structure is rock solid, with verses that lead logically into the distinct but complementary chorus, and a chorus that both frays at the edges and resolves with clarity. Oh and be sure to tune into the squalling guitar break, starting at 1:51, which epitomizes the song’s half-crazed gusto.

Unproductive is a quartet based in Saskatoon, comprised of Hills singing and playing guitar, Nathan Henry on percussion, Steven Adams on bass, keyboards, and backing vocals, and the surname-free Zoë on keyboards. “Victoria” is the lead track off the band’s debut EP, released this month, which is, according to Hills, either actually untitled or titled Untitled; they’ve been leaving it open to discussion. You can check it out, and buy it for any price you’d like, over on Bandcamp. Thanks to the band for the MP3.

“Anna Madonna” – Max Blansjaar

Perky yet melancholy

“Anna Madonna” – Max Blansjaar

Crisply mixed and brightly melodic, “Anna Madonna” offers just enough major- to minor-key transitions to read as bittersweet, despite its foot-tapping vibe. Blansjaar’s voice is particularly clear in the mix, which steadily acquires layers of sound–first just a muted guitar, then some snappy drum (machine) beats, later a glistening keyboard, all leading into a kazoo-like synthesizer solo halfway through this perky yet melancholy composition.

“Anna Madonna” turns out to be coincidentally related to the Waxahatchee song likewise featured this month, being another tune about the value of holding onto a long-term relationship. Mature thinking for a 21-year-old, but singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Blansjaar is nothing if not precocious, having begun performing and recording at 15.

Born in Amsterdam and raised in Oxford in the UK, he released two self-recorded and self-performed EPs of lo-fi indie pop in the late 2010s. For his first full-length album, he worked with Katie Von Schleicher, a singer/songwriter/producer with her own recording studio in Brooklyn, along with her frequent producing partner Nate Mendelsohn. The producers have done a spiffy job maintaining Blansjaar’s quirky energy while adding some shrewd dynamics to his repertoire, such as the stripped-down moment we get at 1:42. (Von Schleicher by the way was featured on Fingertips back in 2013.)

“Anna Madonna” is a track from the forthcoming album False Comforts, due out in June.

You might not recognize me tomorrow

Eclectic Playlist Series 11.02 – February 2024

The extra day this month allows me to sneak February’s playlist in under the wire, if just barely. Running out of time here, I’ll keep the introduction to a minimum. Here’s what you’re in for this month:

1. “Sometimes, I Swear” – The Vaccines (Pick-Up Full of Pink Carnations, 2024)
2. “Love is Gone” – Carlene Carter (Carlene Carter, 1978)
3. “Alpha Shallows” – Laura Marling (I Speak Because I Can, 2010)
4. “Miami” – Randy Newman (Trouble in Paradise, 1983)
5. “I Don’t Know What to Do” – Richard Anthony (single, 1965)
6. “The Turning Ground” – Tara Clerkin Trio (On the Turning Ground, 2023)
7. “Holland, 1945” – Neutral Milk Hotel (In the Aeroplane, Over the Sea, 1998)
8. “Firewalker” – Liz Phair (Liz Phair, 2003)
9. “Anna (Go To Him)” – Arthur Alexander (single, 1962)
10. “Greatest Dancer” – Nadine Shah (Filthy Underneath, 2024)
11. “Strange Angels” – Laurie Anderson (Strange Angels, 1989)
12. “Rod’s Song” – Shelagh McDonald (Stargazer, 1971)
13. “I Don’t Want to Let You Down” – Sharon Van Etten (single, 2015)
14. “Walk a Straight Line” – Squeeze (Play, 1991)
15. “Someone Great” – LCD Soundsystem (Sound of Silver, 2007)
16. “Goodbye” – Dusty Springfield (originally unreleased, 1970; much later available as a bonus track on Dusty in Memphis)
17. “Charlotte Anne” – Julian Cope (My Nation Underground, 1988)
18. “Poem for Eva” – Bill Frisell (Good Dog, Happy Man, 1999)
19. “Our Time” – Dear Euphoria (single, 2019)
20. “Carpet Crawlers” – Genesis (The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, 1974)

Random notes:

* Short anthemic rock’n’roll is still occasionally being delivered here in the 2020s, and few late-stage rock bands are as adept at it as the London-based Vaccines. Their new album, Pick-Up Full of Pink Carnations, released last month, is a candy box full of reverby nuggets of succinct catchiness (longest track time here is 3:49). Check the whole thing out, and buy it if you like it, at Bandcamp. I particularly like “Sunkissed” and “Another Nightmare” as well.

* I’ve said it before but it always bears repeating: no one in rock history has written songs like Randy Newman. Above and beyond a fluky hit single or two, his albums over the years are sprinkled with offbeat musical treasures that have been largely forgotten by now, including “Miami,” from the 1983 album Trouble in Paradise. “I Love L.A.” was that album’s big hit, and is surely fun, but “Miami” is the real pièce de résistance. The arrangement alone is stunning, a wonderful match for a song that masks its complexity via effortless melodicism. The structure eludes easy explication–there’s a verse, and a sort of secondary verse, and then also maybe a pre-chorus, leading to a chorus that cuts the rhythm abruptly in half and offers one of Newman’s great instrumental countermelodies–a musical gift that no one in the non-classical world would even think to do, never mind have the arrangement chops to pull off. He’s so good at it that he even uses this instrumental refrain as the basis for musical joke later in the song, when the motif delivers a false entry into the chorus at 3:00.

* A somewhat indescribable ensemble from Bristol, the Tara Clerkin Trio traffics in atmospheric jazzy folk, or maybe folky jazz, with elements of electronic music and, even, classical music thrown in for good measure. “The Turning Ground,” hypnotic and captivating, is from their five-song EP On The Turning Ground, released last year. I found this one via Said the Gramophone’s annual list of favorite songs, always an enlightening read.

* Liz Phair has I think (I hope) had the last laugh regarding her self-titled 2003 album. Lambasted by hipsters at the time for how it supposedly abandoned her lo-fi roots, the album 20 years later sounds like a pretty wonderful batch of well-produced songs. And, sheesh, doesn’t anything she sings sound great? That voice. The one thing that stands out in retrospect about the haters is that the idea of “selling out” was apparently still something you weren’t supposed to do back in 2003. Times have surely changed.

* The young Shelagh McDonald was either an early fan of the young Joni Mitchell or was tuned into a similar wavelength over there in Scotland; in any case, “Rod’s Song” is a wonderful, energetic, Joni-like creation (think “Chelsea Morning”). McDonald’s is an odd story: she released two albums in the early ’70s, when she was in her early 20s, and seemingly a rising star on the British folk-rock scene. In the middle of recording her third album, in 1971, she disappeared. As in left the business, no contact info, whereabouts unknown. Fast forward forty-some years, to 2005, when a reissue of her first two albums prompted some newspaper coverage, which she eventually saw. She decided to tell her story to a Scottish newspaper, revealing that her departure from the music scene was due to the after-effects of a bad LSD trip. It wasn’t until 2013 that she at long last released a new album, but it was sold only at her concerts, and isn’t available digitally. Another album was reported to be in the works around 2017, but has yet to see the light of day.

* I used to think I didn’t like LCD Soundsystem’s music, but I finally realized I mostly just haven’t connected to how unnecessarily long James Murphy’s songs tend to be, at least to my ears. I just don’t think one needs quite so much repetition if you’re not on MDMA in a club at three in the morning. So when I stumbled on a sub-four-minute version of the song “Someone Great,” I could enjoy it without getting to where I’m just waiting for it to end. An excellent song, when properly lengthed.

* As a FYI, the well-known Genesis song that closes out the mix here has been alternately titled “Carpet Crawlers” and “The Carpet Crawlers,” at various points of release, re-release, and re-recording. There was, among other things, a new version recorded in 1999 as “The Carpet Crawlers 1999.” And while it was (sort of) fun to hear Peter Gabriel reuniting with Genesis, and sharing lead vocals this time with Phil Collins, the cover, with its series of small but annoying changes, was entirely unnecessary, to my ears. Stick with the awesome original, which appeared without the “The” on the 1974 double LP.

“Mirrors” – Babel

MInimalist synth pop

“Mirrors” – Babel

Introduced over a series of delicately fingered piano chords, “Mirrors” begins as a minimalist, moody ballad before refashioning into a sprightly piece of (still) minimalist synth-pop. It’s a lucid, appealing song start to finish, with slowly accumulating parts and no sound wasted or out of place. What holds everything together, to my ears, is the recurring sidestep the melody takes, a motif first heard at 1:00 when vocalist Karin Mäkiranta sings the phrase “where nothing goes wrong.” This quiet but potent musical moment seems both to resolve and not resolve at the same time, and weaves through the piece like a shy friend.

While the piano continues underneath, the synthesizers move to the center of the song beginning at 1:23, when an electronic tone with the feel of a plucked string provides a syncopated pulse that picks up the pace. At 2:00 a synth wash begins to fill the back of the mix, while at 2:24 we get a descending synthesizer countermelody; both are elements that keep the vibe electronic but also light-footed. An extra payoff arrives at 2:55, when Mäkiranta begins cooing a wordless vocal line, which continues underneath the song’s coda-like final verses.

Babel is the duo of Mäkiranta and Mikko Pykäri, who are based in Helsinki. Each of them have been involved with other musical projects; this is their second release as a twosome. “Mirrors” is the title track to an EP that came out back in August. You can check it out, and buy it, over on Bandcamp.

“Monts et merveilles” – Le collage de France

Easy-going, wistful, French

“Monts et merveilles” – Le Collage de France

“Monts et merveilles” is an easy-going French-language head-bopper with an unhurried backbeat and a wistful undercurrent. While acoustic at its core, the song is enhanced by soft and knowing electric touches–a plucked guitar here, a chiming synthesizer chord there. The title is part of the French idiom promettre monts et merveilles, which literally means to promise mountains and marvels–in other words, to declare that you’re going to deliver something especially awesome to someone. If this is akin to the English expression about promising the moon, the phrase likely has a baked-in sense of disappointment about it: no one who promises the moon, after all, ever delivers the actual moon. In translation the song’s lyrics evade close explication, offering instead a general sense of resignation at the whims of the universe and the injustice of so-called civilized society. Front man and songwriter Rémi Nation tells me the song has to do with the failure of trickle-down economics as well as the more general failing of Western society in its relentless equation of success with wealth. Still, the more I listen to the music, the more I sense, maybe, an insouciant sort of fortitude in the overall vibe.

A highlight among the song’s charms is the sing-song-y chorus, which finds Nation backed by Marie Pierre singing in unison rather than harmony, an effect one doesn’t often hear, especially with a male-female combination. I also really like the guitar break (2:21 to 2:41), in particular the low-register solo that begins at 2:32. It’s from the “less is more” school to be sure, but the tone and character is precise and, in this day and age, quite refreshing.

Le collage de France is the latest musical project helmed by Nation, who delighted us here while leading the band Orouni, featured on Fingertips in January 2017. Le collage de France’s bio reveals love and politics and language, and the ambiguities inherent in all three intertwining arenas, as areas of focus for this intriguing endeavor. “Monts et marveilles” is a track from Le collage de France’s debut LP, Langage Ment (“Language lies”), which was released late last month. Check it out, and buy it in various formats, on Bandcamp.