In honor of the holiday (though honestly there’s less to celebrate than normal, which is saying something after the bruising past few years) thought I’d pop in with a few recommendations to get you through the long weekend — four of them, in fact, as the day off warrants. Instead of me doing all the work this time, though, I’m enlisting the help of a few helpful readers and highlighting their suggestions to share with the rest of you. In the end only one of the four is mine (forcing the thoughts/likes of a mere 25% of the population on everyone feels appropriate lately), but unlike the recent news cycles I’m respectful of the other recommendations and reasonably confident they won’t get anyone killed. (Or require you to travel across state lines to enjoy them.)
We’ll start with the strangest of the four (unsurprisingly suggested by Socks), which fittingly gives a nod to our former overlords in the UK as extra icing for Monday’s celebrations. It comes in the form of Ian Dury, the heavily accented former frontman of Kilburn and the High Roads and later of Ian Dury and the Blockheads, who enjoyed a lot of success in the Queen’s empire but never really took off here in the US. That’s probably due to Dury potentially being the most quintessentially British thing I’ve ever listened to — besides the accent, his sense of humor, showtune style bombast, and spoken word style of performing just scream “English.” (Not that all Brits are like this, mind you, more that ONLY Brits are (to paraphrase an old David Cross bit) and Dury couldn’t have come from anywhere BUT the UK.)
There’s cheesy double entendres, puffed up machismo, and just plain weird stuff scattered across the albums, but occasionally he wins you over to his exceedingly unique charms. (Which aptly describes my relationship with Socks, as well, for what it’s worth.) One such instance is the single “Clever Trevor” (or “Cleeevvaahhh TreVVVVaah” in Dury’s thick Cockney accent), which is the suggestion Socks sent in that got him started on this latest strange path. (Honestly part of the enjoyment is picturing him listening to Dury at his house, attempting candy-fueled pullups after a nap and then making himself a cocktail while Dury sing/talks out of the speakers like the drunk chattering suggestively next to you at the pub. The fact that he now has a wife to watch over these proceedings makes the picture even better, whether you know him or not.) It’s definitely not for everyone (just like Socks!), but give it a try and see what you think below:
We’ll stay in the UK for the next suggestion, too, though this one thankfully is far less limited in its enjoyment solely to residents of the kingdom. It comes courtesy of Kymbers and as with the aforementioned is fittingly similar to the suggester, in this case calling out emotive singer/songwriter Sam Fender. His two albums toggle between quieter ballads and full-throated/-hearted pop songs in the vein of early U2 and Gerry Cinnamon (or maybe Springsteen thanks to the sax (#RIPClarence) and the Killers thanks to Fender’s vocal similarities to the latter’s Brandon Flowers.) Whatever the sonic touchstone, Fender offers up some solid songs that’ll get the blood pumping.
From the War on Drugs-ish “Getting Started” to slightly less glossy tracks like “Get You Down” and “Spit of You,” Fender keeps things moving on his sophomore outing (2021’s Seventeen Going Under), I’m sure whipping the youth into a bit of a froth (top and/or bottom) on the festival circuit. The lyrics strike a personal tone, probing things like his relationship with his father as well as less sunny fare such as the caring, benevolent people in power. It mostly works, as on the title track, which finds Fender reminiscing about his struggles dealing with anger as a teen. Marries the melody nicely to some meaningful lyrics — give it a spin here:
Up next we’ll travel back to the States for a suggestion from coworker Dr Eric (he provides free skin care advice to folks in the office — spoiler alert, he’s a BIG fan of bronzer — but thankfully has less questionable musical recommendations) whose highlight hails from the Midwest, albeit a little further north than yours truly. His pull comes from Minnesota in the form of former Kenyan crooner Ondara whose debut album Tales of America has some really solid songs on it. Ondara’s story is interesting in its own right — born in Nairobi, he moved to Minneapolis for college where his childhood love of Dylan inspired him to teach himself to play guitar, start recording songs, and begin performing.
His debut was the culmination of years of effort and grass-roots support in the area, and the backing he got on that first album is nothing to sneeze at — site fave Andrew Bird, as well as the Goldsmith brothers of Dawes, and Milk Carton Kid Joey Ryan. In spite of those auspicious aides, the star of the album is Ondara’s lovely voice, still lightly flecked with his Kenyan cadences, and his simple, straightforward lyrics. Tracks like “Days of Insanity,” “Torch Song,” and “Lebanon” are all lovely little showcases of the former and even when the latter sometimes verges on the repetitive as on the opening “American Dream,” Ondara’s spare playing and sincere urgency keep you interested. My current fave is “Saying Goodbye,” which is a little gem of a gutpunch. Check it out below:
Last up comes the call from yours truly and a fantastic little discovery from down under, the garage rock quartet Los Tones. Despite being around for over eight years and dropping a pair of albums in that span (2014’s ripshit Psychotropic and 2017’s solid follow-up What Happened) there’s not much out there on these guys. (Even Wikipedia and the venerable AllMusic.com don’t have an entry for them, instead routing you to versions of the Lost Ones. (shoutout to Ms Lauryn and Samuel Beckett)) A spartan entry on Last.fm fills in a couple of blanks — formed in Sydney in 2013, “comprised of vocalist/guitarist Bodie Jarman, bassist Shaun Sprowles, drummer Leigh Welsh, and guitarist Nick Clifford, performed with a handful of local bands — and that’s it. Not even their Bandcamp page has more to offer.
Thankfully the music doesn’t need much in the way of explanation. I found them (and a couple others — more on those in future posts) as a spillover to a band I highlighted on the ‘Gram a few Fridays ago, fellow Aussies The Frowning Clouds. When the Clouds’ albums ended, the Spots suggested these guys and I was even more wrapped up with them than with the previous band. They’ve got a similar vibe — part 60s psychedelia, part sweaty, raw garage band — and they remind me of throwback bands like the Allah Lahs and Black Angels, among others. (I swear a couple of licks are lifted straight from the Lahs and there’s also some Troggs, Trashmen, and more in there — but they never come across as mere copycats, rather those keen to channel the energy of those tunes and resurrect that era anew.) It’s a real fun listen — I’ve been spinning their debut a bunch lately, with the title track, “Cry,” Speed Boat,” and “Buchanan Hammer” whipping things into a frenzy. The aptly named “Can’t Get Enough” is the current fave, though — just a fast, furious little gem on an excellent album. Crank it up and give it a spin below:
We’ll close with a nod to the ever excellent MMJ, who I had the extreme pleasure to see again last night. Down on the lake, the breeze flowing over our shoulders while my glorious city stretched out behind them, the band ripped through a ridiculous setlist, including ripping versions of “Black Metal,” “Holiday,” and “Wasted.” (Longtime fave “Steam Engine” got the sax extension last night, entering mini epic territory by the time it was done.) There were three separate dreamcoat/cape sequences with Jim stalking the stage and belting the words out sans guitar, there were fireworks exploding in the background during several of the songs (“Spring (Among the Living)” and “Never in the Real World,” as if those two needed any extra punch). It also included maybe the best encore I’ve ever seen from them, dishing out four flat out classics that normally show up elsewhere in the set, but were absolute head smashers packaged as a unit at the end (all killer, no filler, indeed!)
The last of which coincidentally was the track I had in my head leading up to the show — normally not one of my go to’s for these guys, for some reason YouTube popped a video of it up in my Recommended section the other night (either because it’s reading my thoughts/texts or because I’ve been diving into old Letterman clips the past few months — maybe both) and it promptly got stuck on endless repeat the following 72 hrs. For it to land as the final thing I heard for the night — at a show I almost missed in the first place (somehow it eluded my two concert-tracking apps and were it not for Jim getting COVID and mentioning his hope to recover “in time for Chicago on the weekend,” I would have totally missed it) — felt strangely fortuitous, so for that (as with so many other things lately) I’m tremendously grateful I was there to see it. See what you think, below:
I also finally got around to creating a list for my time in DC, since my travel section is still very sparsely populated (I really gotta type up places like New Orleans, Baltimore, etc that I loved going to — can’t find my notes still…) Hopefully it hits enough bright spots to counterbalance that place’s maaaaaaaaaaaany, many negatives. (I’m not gonna drag it — anyone of you who knows me knows my feelings about that place, so no need to belabor it.)
That’s it for now — have a great weekend aside from that, my friends…
–BS