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Long-lost Eighties recordings from late country legend see the light of day
Unlike pop, country music is not exactly youth-obsessed. In 1980, Johnny Cash became the youngest person to ever be inducted into the Country Music Hall Of Fame. He was 48. Ironically, his relationship with Nashville hit the skids soon afterwards and his record company of three decades, Columbia, pretty much lost interest in him, finally dropping him in 1986. It’s a bittersweet irony that the songs on this shelved album, recorded in 1981 and 1984, were rejected by the same label that is now heralding their release.
Produced by Billy Sherrill, who helped usher in the countrypolitan style popularised by Glen Campbell, Tammy Wynette and Charley Pride, it’s a collection that has aged well and encapsulates the many sides of Cash. There are the wry story songs with a twist – the quite literal last drive with a former sweetheart on “I Drove Her Out Of My Mind”; the saucy wordplay about a singing star he won’t identify in “If I Told You Who It Was”. There’s the social commentary of the title track, where a kid with nothing left to lose holds up a liquor store knowing he will get caught and probably die. There are two warm and lusty duets with wife June Carter Cash and a rave-up on “I’m Movin’ On” with Waylon Jennings.
He closes proceedings with “I Came To Believe”, a plain-spoken declaration of surrender to a higher power after admitting he can’t manage the mess he has made of his life. This last one plays out like a prelude to Cash’s celebrated final years, when Rick Rubin recognised that the man in black should be recorded with that tombstone voice front and centre. Rubin treated Cash with the respect he wasn’t afforded when these songs from Out Among the Stars were recorded. It’s a pity the man had to die and be re-evaluated before they saw the light of day.
British upstarts continue journey towards maturity
After outgrowing their scrappy mid-'00s New Fellas phase and maturing into the UK's cult indie rock godfathers, here's another sharp turn: the Cribs taking a leaf from Weezer's playbook, infusing power pop into each possible seam of their woozy garage punk. Hell, the stunning "An Ivory Hand" is the Cribs damn near writing a Blue Album-era Weezer tune. Which, considering For All My Sisters was overseen by Blue Album producer Ric Ocasek, feels perfectly apt. It's an ideal mix with classic Cribs shout-alongs on "Diamond Girl" and "Finally Free" and the croon of "Pacific Time" and "Spring on Broadway" – making for a fully-fledged indie pop Cribs experience, trademark scrappy weirdness intact.
Second LP for Felice Brothers founder is a family affair
Open-heart surgery gave Simone Felice the impetus to forge a solo career – and that’s pretty much how he’s been making records ever since: Like his life (and aorta) depended on it. Strangers trades in the intimacy of his 2012 self-titled album for something a little more expansive, with guest artists and friends – including his old band the Felice Brothers and members of ubiquitous alt-folk trio the Lumineers – dropping in and bringing tracks such as “Molly O” and “If You Go To LA” to a rousing close. Felice’s voice is as real as it gets, especially when his quivers are punctuated by a trumpet and strings on the heartbreaking lament, “The Best Money Can Buy”.
German house purist keeps the beats smooth on his first album
Hamburg producer Tensnake is part of the same heavy-hitting label roster as superstar DJs like Sebastian Ingrosso and Eric Prydz, but he’s not really EDM. On his first full album, he makes sharp-lined, song-oriented house music that draws heavily from strutting early-Eighties electro-disco, like an all-synth version of Brooklyn’s Escort. Nothing here bounds as joyously as Tensnake’s club-ubiquitous 2010 single “Coma Cat”, but “Feel of Love” (featuring Madonna producer Jacques Lu Cont and Brit crooner Jamie Lidell) and the Nile Rodgers-feature “Good Enough to Keep” add some well-timed jolts to a collection that flows, at times, a little too smoothly for its own good.
After years as a sideman, Pharrell grabs the spotlight with a bubbly party record
2013 was the year of Pharrell. Sure, he’s been lacing the pop charts for more than a decade, composing beats and singing hooks for everyone from Snoop Dogg and Jay Z to Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears. But last year, he finally capped his transition to centre-stage stardom with Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky” and Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” – two megasmashes driven to ubiquity by Pharrell’s lighthearted cockiness and free-range funkiness. Pop music can get pretty overbearing and self-serious in the era of Drake, Kanye and Lorde. Compared to them, Pharrell’s records are like the big, goofy-arse hat he wore to the Grammys and the Oscars.
Despite being ludicrously consistent in supporting roles, he’s never had much success as a leading man: N.E.R.D., the early-’00s rap-rock band he led with fellow Neptune Chad Hugo, and his no-fun 2006 solo album, In My Mind, are mostly best forgotten. That bad luck ends with Pharrell’s second solo disc. Girl is a simple, even slight record – and that’s definitely meant as a compliment. Everyone in pop owes him a favour, but the superstar cameos are few and easefully turned: There’s Timberlake harmonising on the mirror-ball fantasia “Brand New”, and there are the robots of Daft Punk vocoding along to the spiralling astral-groove come-on “Gust of Wind”. The music is just as uncluttered as the track list, riding the light, euphoric vibe Pharrell established on the album’s Number One hit, “Happy”. The only requirement for getting into this club is admitting your own joy.
The 10 songs on Girl are steeped in sunshine, air and the most natural, universal strains of Seventies and Eighties R&B. The thick, juicy beats are full of hand claps and falsetto sex; the overall vibe is less $300 champagne behind the velvet rope than Corona on the rooftop in summertime. Where Jay Z big-ups his Basquiats and Kanye name-drops Le Corbusier, Pharrell plants his flag on the stanky soil of American pop culture at its most goobery: “Duck Dynasty is cool and all/But they got nothing on the female’s call,” he teases on the elegantly asinine “Hunter”, a daffy blast of disco slapstick.
When Pharrell first tickled our collective trunk 15 years ago with genius-establishing Neptunes cuts like Mystikal’s “Shake Ya Ass”, his go-to beat was dirty and Southern. Lately, he’s drawing from a broader, smoother palette: “Hunter” evokes New Wave sophisticates Kid Creole and the Coconuts, and the high-gloss strings and jazz-kissed keyboards on “Gush” could give 1979 Quincy Jones the vapours.
Girl plays like a concept album, the concept being that Pharrell likes girls a lot. But he’s never pushy or gross about it. On opener “Marilyn Monroe”, he includes OG strong woman Joan of Arc in his historical canon of hot chicks. And the album’s most charming song, “Lost Queen”, is a Lion King doo-wop valentine with trace elements of South African mbube, beautifully sung with a lovely sentiment: “Though my planet’s full of warfare, you make it feel like a dream.” Times like these, it’s nice to see such a good dude winning.
More lo-fi hijinks from prolific Victorian ensemble.
King Gizzard's third album in under a year turns the focus from oversaturated psych to rickety pop. "Focus" may be the wrong word, as these tunes relish a loose lo-fi aesthetic. But the band's songwriting is coming along, even if they quote "Surfin' Safari" on "Hot Wax" and pen what's basically a jingle for Vegemite. New terrain is explored with the folky "Homeless Man in Adidas" and the crate-digging drum breaks of "Alluda Majaka", while several tracks evoke Tame Impala and "Stressin'" comes close to Unknown Mortal Orchestra. Strangely enough, it doesn't sound like the work of a seven-piece until the 25-second joyride of a title track.