Mariee Sioux – Faces in the Rocks
When not bickering about the solipsism (no, I had to look it up too) of the American people and comparing Diana to Osama Bin Laden, Campfires and Battlefields and DC can agree on one thing: Mariee Sioux is absolutely bloody gorgeous. This was a joint recommendation before Christmas and it’s only now I am able to catch up and write my reviews.
In a similar vein to the truly inspired Alela Diane, this leans more towards hippy folky loveliness, complete with wizards and magic and all the rest of it. I can’t imagine being able to have a conversation with someone like Miss Sioux without deeply outraging her more or less once a sentence, but that’s an entirely unfounded impression and musically at least, she scratches my back most wonderfully.
It is certainly all a bit on the magic and fairies side for me in many ways, with blissful flute quite prevalent, but her voice dances tantalisingly between the airyness and pathos in a way that is truly arresting. The songs themselves roll in a way that reminds me of a lot of the hippy stuff in the 60s that drew a lot of inspiration from an imagined Middle Ages, and the imagery of the songs complements this approach. Bows and arrows and sunlit glades abound, as do magical creatures of all sorts.
In that sense it does its best to put me off actually, because that sort of stuff really can get on my tits a bit, but not here. There’s something in the emotive undercurrents of her voice coupled to the fact that the music is never indulgently intricate, in that way that music of this style can be on occasion, that means this is an album that I can make that little stretch and really enjoy.
Mariee Sioux – Wizard Flurry Home
Mariee Sioux – Buried in Teeth
There is something of the bark of the tree & the taste of iron in the dirt about this album & MS’s earlier tracks.
Marvelous stuff indeed.
Particularly like “The Rifle” + “Oh Mama” — a voice that sounds like it’s bent over washboards & mangles, fed by corncob & sugarcane.
I know I keep plugging her, but I really do recommend the Canadian Christine Fellows, especially her brand new album, Nevertheless, which is peppered with dexterous but minimalist orchestration of a folk-pop bent. A voice with comparisons to Joanna Newsom, but not as sugary, & just a deliciously light, skittish, intelligent humor in her lyrics that make my bloodpump very glad indeed.
For a sneak preview of the LP, try her website http://www.christinefellows.com & listen to the opening tracks on the auto player. I heard this & was sold immediately.
DC
Gorgias. (snigger)
I like it, despite myself. Reminds me of Hugo Largo.
DC, aren’t they Alela Diane songs mate?
And I will get round to Christine Fellows, I promise. But I am overflowing with new stuff at the moment, and nice emails from bands asking politely if I’ve had the chance to listen to their new album yet. If only they were bastards I could just delete it!
That was great. Thanks Matthew.
Bringin’ the loveliness!
I just gave these two songs their first listen, and I must have stopped paying attention to the music. My thoughts had drifted to memories of the four South American gentleman who used to stand on Queen Street in Cardiff, wearing ponchos and playing panpipes. I think I may have even checked if there was any work I was supposed to be doing, being as a certain international corporation are currently paying me to sit here and gaze into the middle distance.
I got through the first track thinking so-far-so-Ipod-advert, clicked into Buried in Teeth, and settled back into my pleasant torpor. Then at just around 02:39 I was snapped back to attention. The moment that insistent rhythm guitar returns, emerging from under the swirling mists of the bridge section really is rather special, isn’t it?
They pull the same trick later in the track, with a bit of added hand-drum for good measure.
Quite beguiling. Even if the few lyrics I can decipher do seem to have been written by Tolkien during his magic mushroom phase.
I think that, overall, I approve.
OH THANK FUCK FOR THAT!
(Beer in Leith this evening old chap?)
YES!
(Or even: delightful suggestion, old chap.)
Top. I’ll give you a buzz.
I bet the owner of this site will be well pissed off with people making social arrangements when they should be having weighty discussions about music or something..
I’m surprised more bloggers aren’t praising this wonderful album. I know Moka posted a review around the time that I did, but haven’t noticed any others. Like you, I’ve become jaded by the magic faerie indie gimmick but this one rises far above it.
Glad you like this. It’s beautiful innit? Just thought I’d mention that the fellow who plays flute is named “Gentle Thunder.” Yes, you heard me right. And Mariee’s Dad is Gary Sabonya (Yes! THE Gary Sabonya), mandolin God if one can conceive of such a thing. Is it just me, or is there something slightly, well, “labial” about the cover art? Good, but labial.
Here’s hoping that your beer in Leith quickly becomes beer in Lethe.
Well I get to the point where too lovely and other-worldly gets a bit on my nerves but this, for all it flirts with this kind of territory, never quite gets there. I’m not sure why though – the rhythms are a little slower perhaps.
C&B you utter pervert. Yes, is the answer.
Terry Woods of The Pogues is Mr. Mandolin as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve had a looooooooooooooooooooooong fucking week & I was actually listening to Alela Diane when I was writing my comment. So, to confirm, I really like: Buried In Teeth & Friendboats.
Fuck, do I,/b> need a fucking beer.
I get what you’re all saying about the wood nymphearie flirtation of this kind of musical endeavour (we’re dangerously close to that soppy, clothsack + sunrise folk of the mid 70′s, folks) & both Alela + Marie fall into the habit of the almost too worms+root-like ethereality. There are others, too, but I concur with Mr. T. & Muruch, MS just keps her pixie nose above the magic dust long & confidently enough to miss the classification as weedy warbling.
&, oh, Dylan, those four gents are still lpying their tape-backed trade – indeed, it would appear most major cities have them now (or, at least, an identikit four/threepiece avec wares to ply); last time I was in Ediburgh for the Festival, there they were, a-tooting & a-thrumming away on Princes Street, smack dab in the middle of Tourist salmon.
Now, where’s that fecking bourbon…
DC
…the fellow who plays flute is named “Gentle Thunder.”
You see, life just doesn’t contain enough fabulous sentences like that.
DC, glad to hear the panpipe clones and their ghetto blaster are still keeping Cardiff erm.. whistley.