Albert Freixas cut his teeth in the jazz scene of his native Barcelona before spinning off into other genres. Chroma, his third solo venture, shows us both the foot inside the door and the one stepping out. He calls his music “hard bop” and John Coltrane comparisons pop up, but Chroma covers too much turf for that. The “Every Time We Fall” video opens to rising smoke. It has a pop vibe and we witness Freixas playing a lap electric, a straight up electric, and a bass guitar. We notice his smooth voice and well-patterned melody lines. By contrast, “Personal Light” is atmospheric and enigmatic, a blend of pop and elements of Catalan jazz. “My Well” is soulful, and “I Call” a short a capella with backing vocals. “Broken Song” is bluesy, moody, and supplemented by spoken word, rap, and horns. Get the point? Freixas is always controlled, but seldom constrained by categories.
Delgrès is a dynamic “power trio” based in France, but with Caribbean roots. Most of the songs on 4:00 am are sung in Creole, and the band is named for mulatto French officer Louis Delgrès, who switched sides during an 1802 rebellion in Guadeloupe. “Mo Jodi” (“I’ll Die Today”) is where funk meets swamp blues and a New Orleans funeral band. As you will hear, most of the songs are just Baptiste Brondy’s drums, Rafgee’s sousaphone-acting-as-bass, and Pascal Danaë’s guitar and booming vocals. “Lundi Mardi Mercredi” has a more delicate opening, but it doesn’t take long till they unleash the grunge that backs Danaë’s singsong rap-like lyrics. You’ll not make out most of them, as Delgrès is more about groove and move. They so deemphasize clarity that a song like “L’ecole” evokes lo-fi music. (Could we say they give it the old-school try?) Mostly it doesn’t matter, but on “Just Vote for Me” it would help to hear the lyrics more clearly. The video is ironic and poignant. Watching world leaders past and present (including George W. Bush, Trump, Yeltsin, Putin, Boris Johnson, Theresa May, Kim Jong-un) trying to prove their “commoner” statuses via “dance” moves is hysterical, but Delgrès makes a deeper point by juxtaposing white candidates making rather obvious overtures to people of color. Newsreel footage of violence drives home the message. Still, it would be nice if we could make out lyrics like these: If you give me your hand/I can take you anywhere/You know I am your friend….
Alisa Amador comes from solid musical stock. Her parents founded the award-winning pan-Latin Sol y Canto, of which Alisa is a sometimes member. She is, though, very much her own person and possesses the chops to grab your attention in English or Spanish. On Narratives, she serves delights such as “Burnt and Broken,” an exploration of the fragility of life and love. “Timing” is shot through with vintage Motown, and, yes, she can pull it off. If you want to hear something in Spanish, listen to “Nada quever” (“Nothing to See.”) You’ll notice that Amador likes to loiter on chanteuse benches. She also tosses in occasional notes that skirt the borders of atonality. The latter make them moodier than a lot of folk music.
Left Vessel is the stage name of Nick Byron Campbell, and was inspired by being plunked on the noggin by a falling pine cone. It’s also the name of his former band. On One (and Driftless), Campbell exchanges his rock and roll duds for a shaman’s soft goods and an ever-present knit cap. The music is often atmospheric and electronically New Age-like, as heard on “Arrival” or “Empty Frame” in which his voice climbs into the falsetto range. One (and Driftless) is a concept album that Campbell calls “sound art.” I generally dislike such made-up appellations, but it fits, if we allow room for songs such as “Your Winter” and “Hold Your Laughter,” which some might label folk. I wouldn’t. Both are a bit too oblique, but Campbell is up to some intriguing things. He won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, though, so listen and see what you think.
If need to get loud, Colorado’s Dirty Snowman Society is a potage of punk, psychedelic, and arena rock. Its recent record is called Snowblind. If titles like “Kiss Me or Kill Me,” conjure grunge, you wouldn’t be wrong. It’s where big bass, wailing guitar, high-octane, pounding drums, attitude, and danger collide. “Once” sounds softer, but not really. The instrumentation throttles between simulated vibes and jam band riffs that stuff Frank Costantini’s vocals into a wall-to-wall sound envelope. “Mirror” is everything you’d ever want, if you like your decibels high. Slide the volume to the right and rock on. This one reminded me of Black Sabbath with a better singer. (Yeah, Ozzie was always overrated.)
Looking for something different? Try Anuang’o Fernando and Maasai Footsteps. It’s an appropriate title as Fernando is as much dancer as musician. I wish there were more videos of him dancing, as the songs draw inspiration from the traditional music of Kenya’s Maasai people. “Source” (and source-like) recordings are often less interesting out of context. Movement is crucial for the Maasai, whose dance styles are at once grounded but airy. Watch this video if that statement sounded contradictory. The songs are often drone-like behind keening lead vocals. “Emburkoi” and “Mukula” are in this vein, though “Eranjoi” has what could be incongruously labeled an old-time revival sensibility.
Grace Womack is a junior at the University of Texas. Her Yellow Cowboy Hat introduces a voice with promise that’s not yet ready to graduate. The title suggests country music, but Womack mixes of pop, R & B, and piano bar jazz inevitably draw comparisons to Lake Street Dive, Kacey Musgraves, and Billy Joel. I’d call these aspirational rather than descriptive labels. “Pity the Fool,” an infatuation-gone-bad tale, showcases songbird vocals and piano, but the melody fails to land. “Oblivion,” her second single, has similar virtues and drawbacks. We must go to the title track before Womack’s soulful tones and energetic backing music command attention. In a word, Yellow Cowboy Hat lacks solid hooks, which is precisely what a new singer needs in a market flooded with pretty voices.
Rob Weir
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