It doesn’t exactly sound anything much like a rock opera, this album, but in some ways it rather inexplicably feels that way to me.  Equally inexplicably, although the sound is cohesive and quite unified, it still seems like a somewhat sprawling album veering wildly from one style to another.  This is probably why it has taken me so long to write my review.

His background is in avant garde composition and free jazz saxophone, so I suppose the fact that the record retains some of this blood is no surprise.  It is still basically an album of songs, as we narrow-minded indie kids would describe them, but if you think of them as composed rather than written that might help build the right sort of picture.

For all the foundations of the album might owe a lot to rock operas past – I’m thinking smatterings of Andrew Lloyd Webber, back when he genuinely was cutting edge, and yes there was such a time before you say anything clever – the actual sound itself reminds me more of the Canadian indie collective bands of a couple of years back.  So yes, Andrew Lloyd Webber writing an early Wolf Parade album, or Broken Social Scene, or something like that.  Clear as mud, isn’t it, but that’s about the best I can do.

Recalling Samamidon’s recent  performances at the Bowery and his free jazz-rooted fiddle reels, it seems there is a kind of music that builds up the levels of difficulty just about until the point where nervous laughter starts to percolate through the audience, and then breaks into brilliant melody once again in a sort of explosive catharsis of deliverance.  This album treads such a path on numerous occasions, and sometimes I wonder if it has always been judged quite right, because occasionally it kind of leaves me a little wanting.

Often, however, this is really very good.  Abyssinia is long, but sustains every one of its ten minutes.  There are pop songs too, sprinkled in amongst the more ambitious moments.  It can be difficult, at times, but if you have the patience to let it sink in and make sure you listen to it as a whole album as often as possible, then I think there is a lot of this album that you will really enjoy.

Scott Pinkmountain & the Golden Bolts Of Tone – Lucy

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Scott Pinkmountain & the Golden Bolts Of Tone – Abyssinia

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This is just an overspilling of all the shiny new things I have in my inbox this week.  It’s so fabulously up to the minute that there are songs in here which only landed in my inbox yesterday.  There’s a slightly sneaky legend making an appearance as well, in the shape of Jason Lytle.  Jason was the lead singer of Grandaddy, a legendary group who disbanded back in about, erm, 2006 or so, leading to Jason moving to a house out in Montana and apparently giving up on the idea of making a living out of music altogether.

The thing is, music is an art form, and no-one makes a fucking living out of making art.  The only exceptions are deplorable cunts like Tracey Emin, Damien Hirst and fucking Bono, so please can we dispel the idea that art is a profession.  It’s not a job, nor a career, it’s a fucking calling; an obsession.  Of course, the good news for us fans is that, because it’s a calling rather than a job, Mr. Lytle was never likely to stay away forever.  If you care about something it’s almost impossible to stop yourself doing it.  Believe me, I know – I feel the same way about masturbation (sorry, not that funny, I know).

Oooh, by the way, I was very macho this evening.  I got home and I opened the gate to find some random chump sitting on our steps drinking beer.  So I bellowed with rage, grabbed him by the lapels and flung him out into the street, shouting angry man things like ‘get the fuck out of my fucking house you cunt or I’ll fucking batter you fucking senseless’ and other well known aristotelian arguments.  Unfortunately, as is often the case with fighting, one proved vastly less capable than the other, and he apologised and asked for the rest of his beer back and acknowledged that he was in the wrong.  Christ that made me feel like a prick and a bully.  So I ended up pointing out that my wife was small and that if she came home and found someone sitting on our steps drinking beer she’d have been scared, and that I was sorry for being so violent and please just bugger off etc etc.  He agreed and apologised and basically took all the fun out of being an alpha male, the bastard.  Christ, I might have to wait ten years to be that macho again, why did he have to ruin it for me?

Toadcast #53 – Shiny!

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01. Orouni – A Greased & Golden Palm (05.47)
02. The Gillyflowers – Country Boy (09.25)
03. Trips & Falls – And in Real Life He Wears Corduroy Pants (16.45)
04. Ragged Claws – On the Death of an Emperor (25.00)
05. Findo Gask – Wrapped in Plastic (Live) (32.00)
06. Enfant Bastard – Landscape Painting is Easy (36.23)
07. Scuff – Sailing Three Sheets to the Wind (40.56)
08. Jason Lytle – Birds Encouraged Him (Live at Maps) (47.34)
09. Auld Lang Syne – Where My Fortune Lies (51.01)
10. Scott Pinkmountain & the Golden Bolts of Tone – Abyssinia (58.24)