Vanessa Peters April 2019 Artist of the Month

VANESSA PETERS

Foxhole Prayers

Texas-based Vanessa Peters was a literature major in college who once entertained the idea of becoming a short story writer. Instead she opted for a career in music, but it her songs are short stories in their own right. Foxhole Prayers took shape when she was re-reading The Great Gatsby and realized that we seem to reliving Fitzgerald's era with–in her words­–"Trump as some sort of PT Barnum-meets-Warren G. Harding character."

Peters mixes fear and pain with hope. On the title track, sirens swell and cacophony rises before giving way to echo effects that frame Peters' vocals. There's a lot going on in this song. A sample lyric: we're all just children hurried out of school/holding hands and told to keep our heads low/and all of this just makes me weary/the woman in the backseat screaming/yes sir yes is yes sir/can't anybody hear me? It is at once a beautiful song–which is true of anything that comes out of her mouth–but also one that makes the hair rise on the back of your neck. And she sure doesn't believe that Trump will save us from any of this. On "Carnival Barker" she sings: but there was this carnival barker we were all warned about/they told us to steer clear of him when he came to our town/you'll get a circus, history told us, if you vote for a clown/but the grifters pitched their tents and the good word got drowned out… This song also showcases how well Peters works with a band. She commands the stage like a young Emmylou. Peters isn't letting anyone off the hook for what went wrong. Check out "Just One of Them." Her observation: and this ragged dream is full of holes poked through/and the threads left behind don't hang true/and I’m deafened by my silence in the face of so much need/I thought I was an honest man but truth be told/I'm just one of them. Well, damn, that's just good songwriting–the kind that impresses and makes you cringe at the same time.

Not all is hopeless. On "Fight" Peters sinks low but rises to tell us, get out there and fight girl, don't be afraid to bleed crawl back towards the light. Peters also takes time to realize that she's "Lucky" and has things that go beyond money and running races that don't matter. That message is made even more poignantly in "Get Started," another one in which she really works the band–Frederico Ciancabilla (lead guitar), Andrea Colicchia (bass), John Dufilho (percussion), Rip Rowan (keys)–on a piece that's on the pop side of folk rock. This one is serious, but with plus side possibilities.  

Still, Peters frets over the "Trolls," their "poisoned darts" and the "wizard (who) sold us out."  She wants us to wake up "Before It falls Apart." Good stuff from a singer/songwriter unafraid to speak truth to power or to critique her own actions.

Rob Weir

Collateral Beauty: Decent, Overlooked Take on A Christmas Carol

COLLATERAL BEAUTY (2017)

Directed by David Frankel

Warner Brothers, 97 minutes, PG-13

★★★

Collateral Beauty doesn’t rank high on the originality scale, but it’s a surprisingly goes-down-easy film for its tragic subject matter: losing a child. It came out at the very end of 2016 and garnered middling reviews. Many moviegoers expressed disappointment that its star, Will Smith, spends much of the film in wordless depression rather than dominating the screen as he usually does. There are reasons to overrule their judgment.

Collateral Beauty is essentially a remake of A Christmas Carol. We open to a somewhat improbable scene of Howard Inlet (Smith) stoking a large gathering as if he was the CEO of Apple at a rollout talk. He’s actually a cofounder, leader, and majority stockholder of a hip advertising company that seems to employ more people than Google. In his pep talk, Howard pontificates about the three most important concepts in both business and life: love, time, and death.

Move the clock forward three years and the firm is perched on the brink of insolvency. Howard is divorced, clinically depressed, and Zen-like in his solitude–all the aftermath of his young daughter’s tragic death. He no longer courts clients or develops new strategies; when he shows up in the office at all, he builds elaborate domino-like structures that he knocks down and builds anew. His partners–Simon (Michael Pena), Claire (Kate Winslet), and Howard’s best friend Whit (Ed Norton)–need cash to save what’s left of the firm and its employees, but they can’t go forward with a sale of the company without Howard’s approval. Howard isn’t talking, not even to Whit. The only outward sign of life of any sort is that Howard considers sitting in on grief counseling sessions led by a woman named Madeline (Naomie Harris). Mostly he stands outside of the session and stares vacantly.

Whit stumbles upon an idea when he impulsively trails a woman to whom he is attracted into a theatre where she is rehearsing a play. Okay, that’s kind of creepy, especially these days, but he begins to court the mostly uninterested Amy (Keira Knightley) and learns that the play she’s working on won’t see the light of day without an infusion of cash. What if, somehow, two birds could be knocked down with one stone? Whit convinces Claire and Simon to take part in an outwardly outrageous plan. He hires Amy and two fellow actors, Raffi (Jacob Latimore) and Brigitte (Helen Mirren) to accost Howard while in the ghostly roles of Love, Time, and Death.

There are various layers and subplots to all of this and a final resolution that will strike some as contrived and others are unanticipated. I underscore my remark that this is Dickens re-imagined and transplanted to Midtown Manhattan. In other words, we’re not talking realism–documentary, dramatic, magical, or otherwise. You simply have to buy into the setup, or steer clear. Nor will I pretend that this is any sort of innovative retelling of Dickens. Collateral Beauty is certainly open to criticism for being an adaptation that doesn’t quite gel–one that’s neither drama nor comedy, though it has elements of each.

It might have collapsed altogether without subtle but strong performances from Smith, Scott, and Harris; a charming one from Latimore; and a superior turn from Ms. Mirren, who is the sort of actress that would be brilliant simply walking across the street. It’s not one of Norton’s finer hours; he’s competent, but seems to be waltzing through his performance rather than stretching himself. Knightley–who sometimes seems to be doing a bad Tina Fey imitation– isn’t very convincing as Love, but she at least looks the part. (I’m beginning to think there’s about as much talent in her as there is flesh upon her frame.)

For all of the film’s shortcomings, it has a rough charm that manages to take us beyond Howard’s despair and provide a modicum of uplift. Collateral Beauty–the title’s meaning will be revealed–isn’t likely to make anyone’s hidden masterpieces list, but it’s certainly worthy of making one of overlooked movies. There are far worse ways to spend an hour and a half, and let’s give Will Smith some love for playing against type and expectation.

Rob Weir 

Music from Steve Earle, Matthew Mayfield, Lost Leaders, Tony Lucca, Kelly Augustine, Jonathan Stevens

Let's start with some big news. When Steve Earle moved to Nashville in 1974, he was an unknown 19-year-old writing songs and working a series of dead-end jobs to make ends meet. Who knows where he would have ended up had he not met outlaw country legend Guy Clark. I've only heard two tracks from Guy, Earle's take on some of Clark's classic songs. Let's just say that this project is long overdue and that I can't wait to get my hands on the rest of the record. Guy Clark must be smiling down from Heaven.

Sample: "LA Freeway "

I've also heard just two songs from Gun Shy, the just-released new album from gravely voiced veteran rocker Matthew Mayfield. If "Broken Clocks" and "Our Winds" are any indication, he's turned down the volume a bit. To me, it suits him well. We hear the lyrics better but more importantly we feel them. These two have a Richard Shindell vibe.

Lost Leaders, Extra-Ordinary, The Collection

Lost Leaders have recently dropped a new recording, the band's third. You can hear their single "I'm Gonna Win" on YouTube and sample older material on Extra-Ordinary. If you don't know of this New York band, you might have heard the name of bass player Byron Issacs, who was a member of the Levon Helm Band and now sometimes plays with The Lumineers. In Lost Leaders Issacs also plays guitar and shares vocal duties with guitarist Peter Cole. The best way to describe their music is to think of what you'd get if you crossed a retro pop/rock outfit with the post-punk sounds of The Lemonheads. "Horizontal Man" certainly evokes Bob Dylan's lyrical approach to vocals, though Lost Leaders rock out more cleanly than Dylan. What they do best, though, is wry-but-pointed commentary on modern neuroses. "Probably Why We're Here" is at once edgy and poppy, with Issacs laying down some bouncy thick bass lines. It's about a relationship on the rocks that's possibly terminal: We talk and talk but never speak/I never though we'd need a referee. I really like the collection's title track, a 21^st century musical take of Riesman's The Lonely Crowd: But I can't complain/It's good to be like everybody/I'm hiding just the same/It's good to be like everybody. No worries about these guys becoming extra-ordinary. ★★★★

Tony Lucca, Ain't No Storm

Americana artist Tony Lucca surprises. At first his tenor seems light, almost pretty. Don't be deceived; his is a mighty voice that ranges widely. Listen to him on "Frame By Frame" and you can really hear him stretch it. Or "Restless Heart," where you'll hear just a splash of Dylan here and there before his natural smoothness takes over. Lucca also has interesting takes on things, as befits a guy who came to Nashville by way of Detroit and (seriously) The Mickey Mouse Club. I guess this combo taught him something about picking up the pieces and knowing when it's time to move on. In "One Less You," Lucca copes with absence by noting: one less road I have to travel/one less burden to bear/two fewer hearts/tangled up and torn apart/one less you is just one less me to repair. "Everything is Changing" is a song that is likely to turn some heads. It showcases Lucca on piano and it opens soft and wistful, as if it's going to be some wholesome country folk song. Nope! It's a mix of soft and hard, as Lucca mixes it up with a band and rocks out. It's also a poignant reminder of how individuals and couples must both grapple with ancient wisdom from the philosopher Heraclitus: "Change is the only constant in life." Or, as Lucca puts it: …dreams/weren't meant to remain dreams/merely a road map/to where you're 'sposed to be… This is one helluva record and Lucca is a talent you should discover if you've not done so already. ★★★★

Kelly Augustine, Light in the Lowlands

Kelly Augustine grew up in Oklahoma. Although she now lives in Denver, she knows that happy endings are not a given. Her country/folk debut is a good one that highlights her fine writing, a seriously powerful voice, and an outlook that evokes that of Lucinda Williams. "Debbie" is a honky-tonk styled song about a down market woman who cooks meth because she likes it. It's also a good way to feed her kids while her old man is in jail. "Can't Get Enough" is about loving an alcoholic, though you know you shouldn't. One of the album's more powerful songs is "Hurt Too Big," a needed corrective to the way we have glamorized the military. Her take is of a soldier whose idealism is shattered on he battlefield, where he learns that killing others is a sin: On his knees he cries out for forgiveness/God used to talk, but He's gone silent these days… and the solider is left with a Hurt too big for a heart too small. Augustine switches from folk and country to an Appalachian vibe for "Thunder on the Mountain," which takes the nonsense out of "clean coal" and probes the effects of mining, job loss, poverty, and grime. A few love songs take the edge off the gloom, the most affecting of which is "Second Chances," with its hope that act two will surpass act one: I think I'm looking at my best second chance/When I'm looking at you. ★★★ ½ 

Jonathan Stevens, Bread & Butter Songs

 

People in Western Massachusetts know Jonathan Stevens as a baker (Hungry Ghost), a poet, and an advocate for sustainability. If you've lived there long enough, you also know he's singer/songwriter. Bread & Butter Songs is a throwback to the 1970s when musicians made concept albums without a lot of studio gadgetry. The theme of this one is mostly related to what he does most days: bake bread. There are songs about bubbling dough, biscuits, pouring batter, and grain–sometimes as metaphors, sometimes straight up. Stevens wears his values on his sleeve and strums them out on his guitar: "Root for Soup," "Vidalia," Taste of Love." His "Every Kitchen" is an indirect look at food waste. There's even a song for black bears. This record is like his bread: homemade. Alas, there are no full-length YouTube videos currently available for this record, but there is a snippet of "Sweetness" on the Hungry Ghost Bakery Facebook page, and you can hear "Ballad of the Hungry Ghost" on YouTube to get a flavor of his music. If you like what you hear, make queries through Facebook. ★★★

#steveearle

@matthewmayfield

@Lost_Leaders

#Lucca

@hungryghostbread

Currently On View at Mt Holyoke: Not Enough Info

Like/Life: Photography by Martine Gutierrez

Promise of the Infinite: Joan Jonas

Afterlives of Objects/Conflict and Commemoration

Mount Holyoke Afire

Mount Holyoke Museum of Art

Through June 2019

Readers of this blog know that I often prefer smaller, more intimate exhibitions to brain-numbing blockbusters. Is there such a thing as too small? Yes. Several shows at Mount Holyoke College (MHC) cross that line.

Let's start with what Mount Holyoke does right. MHC has always prided itself on being a teaching museum that uses its collection to supplement what takes place in the classroom. An exhibit titled Afterlives of Objects uses the permanent collection as "biographies;" that is, it discusses the object, its origins, and how it ended up in a college art museum. Good idea. The most powerful statements concern adaptive reuse of materials, such as what appears from a distance to be an African-style mask, but which is actually an assemblage of shoes. The overall theme, though, is an important one in an age where hard questions are asked about the appropriateness of collection methods. Does a Mende dance mask teach us about traditional cultures in modern Sierra Leone, or does it exoticize in patronizing ways?

This struck me as a much more profound strain of inquiry than another teaching exhibit Conflict & Commemoration. I breezed through this one because it seemed so obvious. It purports to look at loss and the aftereffects of war. The paintings and objects chosen tell us little that we don't know. The message is that war is a bad thing that kills, destroys, and has lasting impact. Duh! Other than neo-fascists and Nietzsche junkies, who would argue otherwise? The exhibit mostly sidesteps the question of whether conflict is necessary in the first place.

The museum's current featured exhibits underwhelm. Eighty-two-year-old visual artist Joan Jonas, a Mount Holyoke alum, is considered by many to be the "Mother of all Performance Artists." Perhaps she is, but this form of art runs into meta problems when it's on display in a museum. Put simply, once stripped of its very nature–performance–the artistry is easily lost. How interesting is grainy footage of naked people standing in a row while other semi-naked people don mirrored assemblages that refract the view of the lineup? Not very.

The featured MHC show at present is Life/Look, a collection of photographs by Martine Gutierrez (b. 1989), a transgendered Latinx. Hers is a thought-provoking display, but it's also a classic one-trick pony. Gutierrez wishes us to analyze our own gaze, as well as explore gender roles and boundaries. To that end, she poses flesh-and-blood women–often dressed in retro style–in a variety of poses: languid, sensual, whimsical, vaguely erotic, ironic…. She juxtaposes her living subjects with life-life mannequins that call attention to the Life/Look title of the show.

I liked Gutierrez's work, but the show is too small and is tucked away in vest-pocket-sized gallery. The images are strong but once you "get" it, there's not much more to whet the appetite. Her past work provokes thoughts on race, fashion, disembodiment, and fluid sexuality. She infers these themes in Life/Look as well, but the show's small size reduces Gutierrez's politics to the realm of novelty. In a word, what we need is: more.

I also couldn't escape the fact that the most extensive feature show is "Mount Holyoke Afire," which shows the aftermath of three disastrous campus fires. The one in 1896 destroyed the college's original seminary building. Those in 1912 and 1922 also wiped out some of the college's past. It is a nicely done exhibit that looks at those who battled the blazes as well as campus remembrances of the fires. Would that several of the other shows been equally well curated.

Rob Weir

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Frida Kahlo and Graciela Itrubide at MFA

Frida Kahlo and Arte Popular (through June 16)

Graciela Iturbide's Mexico  (through May 12)

Boston Museum of Fine Arts

{Apologies for the orange tint on some photos. Someone forgot to reset the white balance on the camera!}

 

Did you ever go to a museum psyched to see a particular exhibit only to be blown away by another that you hadn't given a second thought? This was my experience at a recent trip to Boston's Museum of Fine Arts (MFA). There's nothing at all wrong with the MFA's Frida Kahlo blockbuster, but photographer Graciela Iturbide steals the show.

Frida Kahlo and Arte Popular is the MFA's entrée into "Fridamania," a term coined in the late 1970s to describe the robust interest in (and soaring prices of) Kahlo's art and unorthodox life. Perhaps some of you have seen Julie Taymor's film Frida (2003) that cast the glorious Salma Hayek in the title role. Kahlo (1907-54) was born in Mexico to a German father and a mestiza (European/Indian mix) mother. She was an artistic wonder and a committed communist by the time she met and married Diego Rivera in 1928. The two had a tempestuous on/off relationship marked by sexual libertinism (bisexuality on Kahlo's part), political involvement, professional jealousy, mutual independence, and alcohol-fueled arguments, but they were also drawn to each other like moths to a flame. Kahlo's life was cut short by the ravages of polio and a degenerative spine condition that led to amputation of part of her right leg. She was in such pain that many consider her death to have been a suicide.

No fairy tale ending for Frida Kahlo, but few would doubt her artistic genius. The MFA considered it a coup when it was able to purchase her Dos Mujeres (Two Women), and its current show is an attempt to build off that acquisition. The problem, of course, is what to say about Kahlo that hasn't already been revealed during the various waves of Fridamania. The MFA opted to explore the influence of Mexican popular culture–arte popular–on her work. They present her as someone akin to Georgia O'Keeffe, whose time in Taos, New Mexico was marked by immersion into indigenous cultures. Kahlo was also of a middle-class background, but she presented herself as the embodiment of Mexican folk culture. Her very clothing was a canvas upon which she called attention to Mexican folkways, hues, and designs. If one wished to be uncharitable, one could say hers was fashionista peasantry, though my take is that was bohemian to the core.

 

The MFA spotlights Kahlo's inspirations: toys, icons, art, effigies, and retablos (religious art).  Kahlo was fascinated by Day of the Dead pageantry and it shows up in her art. The surrealist movement, especially the works of André Breton, also entranced her. The MFA was able to borrow several Kahlo paintings to supplement its exhibit. I really enjoyed it, but I wouldn't call it revelatory. Mostly it's a testament to Kahlo's influences and a reminder–if anyone needs one–of her talent. I suppose one might also say it's also a case study of how art imitates life.

Graciela Itrubide was a revelation. I had previously seen a famed shot of a woman wearing iguanas

in her hair, but had no idea it was taken by Itrubide (b. 1922). After seeing more than 125 of Itrubide's black and white photos, I felt embarrassed that her name previously rang no bells. She covered some of the same terrain as Frida Kahlo–she even took shots inside Kahlo's bathroom that spotlighted her physical struggles–but Iturbide sees herself as a realist who shoots what she sees without composing her subjects. Her take on life is unvarnished, but she see also captures the magic and beauty of the plebian.

This Iturbide show features some of her work with indigenous peoples in areas such as Seri women from Sonora and those from Juchitán (Oaxaca). Her Mujer Ángel is a stunner. A ghostly veiled figure has her back to us, her skirts billowing in the wind. She appears to be staring across the barren landscape in front of her. But if she's an apparition, she's traveling with her favorite tunes. Note the boom box in her right hand! 

Itrubide delights in everyday unintended irony, a bicycle tricked out as a bull, birds circling a crossed-shaped telephone pole as if heralding the apocalypse, a man resting in front of a mural of the Bride of Death. Like Frida Kahlo, Itrubide knows that death is woven into the fabric of everyday life–she lost a six-year-old daughter–and presents Day of the Dead costumed figures, but she also films literal death. Itrubide always asks for permission to film and two of her more distressing subjects are of the sacrificial slaughter of lambs and of a funeral procession of a family burying a small child. Along the route lay an anonymous dead man–murdered. As she explains in a superb video, when she's away from the camera she weeps, but when looking through the lens she detaches and shoots what she sees. If such subjects are too hard for you, rest assured that Itrubide also shoots gardens, birds, and other such subjects. As noted, this is a large retrospective. 

Now that I know about Graciela Itrubide, I can't stop searching for more images. Hers is truly astonishing work. Get yourself to the MFA before this show closes on May 12. 

Rob Weir

Puzzle: Missing Pieces = Mediocre Film

Puzzle (2018)

Directed by Marc Turtletaub

Sony Picture Classics, 103 minutes, R (language)

★★

In the age of blow-‘em-up/shoot-‘em-up movies, I wanted to be charmed by a low-key tale of a suburban housewife who finds her Mojo through putting together crossword puzzles. Alas, Puzzle is all heart, but no body. Watching it is, if I may, about as interesting as watching someone assemble a jigsaw.

Agnes (Kelly Macdonald) is a good smalltown Catholic girl who has always done what she’s supposed to do, which is to attend church and take care of her home, her husband Louie (David Denman), and her two nearly grown sons: Gabe and Ziggy. Her life is one filled with such predictability that when the morning alarm goes off she knows exactly what each household member will say and how her day will unfold.

Agnes gets a small jolt on her birthday when she receives a cake she baked herself, an iPhone, and a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle. It’s the last that alters her, not the food or the (unwanted) phone. Agnes zips through the puzzle and is so hooked that she takes the train into New York City to buy more. There she sees a flyer from a person seeking a partner for an upcoming puzzle competition. Who knew there was such a thing as competitive puzzling, let alone a doubles category? Agnes is shy to the point of being socially inept, but she screws up her courage and meets Robert (Irrfan Khan), a rich, recently divorced inventor who lives in a fabulous New York City townhouse. The two connect on several levels.

Agnes lies to Louie so she can commute two days a week into New York instead of having dinner on the table when he comes home from working in his debt-saddled garage. Working-class dynamics are the best thing about Puzzled. Louie’s not a bad egg, just a boring one. He and his family live within commuter rail distance of Manhattan, but they are a million miles away culturally, socially, and economically. None has been to college and it doesn't look like there will be enough money for Gabe to attend—not that he cares all that much. Ziggy works with his dad in the garage and hates it; he thinks he’d rather be a chef. None of this makes sense to Louie, whose ambitions stop at paying bills and getting some down time to go fishing. He certainly doesn’t understand why Agnes is so obsessed with puzzles, so Agnes tells him she is taking care of an aunt when she’s actually seeing Robert for puzzles and more.

Right away we have a problem. Puzzle isn’t a thousand-piece drama; more like just four. Will Agnes and Robert win the competition? Will Gabe stop being a slacker? Can Ziggy escape the garage and follow his bliss? Most of all, now that Agnes has tasted forbidden fruit, can her marriage survive? It would take powerful performances to transform such thin material. Alas, this is not in the offing.

Kelly Macdonald simply isn’t dynamic enough to carry the picture. She is called upon to be naïve, dutiful, and dull. If anything, she is too good at those tasks. Her affect is so colorless and flat that there’s nothing about her that would attract a guy like Robert. Nor is there much there to suggest that any sort of change is possible. We see small amounts of pique here and there, but Macdonald's overall performance seems more suitable for a film about accountancy. Khan isn’t much more interesting in a role that calls upon him to be, at turns, exotic, mysterious, mentoring, and (mildly) libidinous. He seems much better at moping, actually. The less said about Martin Abrams (Gabe) and Bubba Weiler (Ziggy), the better. Each is little more than (ahem!) a cutout whose back-stories feel like script padding.

Denman is the strongest actor in the cast. He does a deft job portraying Louie, a blue-collar worker who strips life to its basics. Louie is the kind of individual I knew well when growing up. He works hard and tries to do the right thing, but he understands duty and routine far better than desire or nuance. Denman does this so well, that we both like him and want to slap him to make him to wake up.

There is nothing remarkable about the cinematography or direction, so this affords a perfect opportunity to vent about a few other things. First, this film is rated R for language. Isn’t it time for the MPAA to join the 21^st century? Partial nudity can still obtain a PG-13 rating but, though the word “fuck” is ubiquitous these days, a single F-bomb can bring an R rating. It’s as if it’s okay for bare breasts or a naked behind to suggest sex, but heaven forbid anyone use a word that connotes it.

Rant number two is that Puzzle is actually an English-language remake of the 2010 Argentinean film Rompecabezas. It’s not exactly a shot-by-shot remake, but it’s worth asking why the American film industry wastes so much time and money badly remaking foreign films instead of coming up with some interesting new ideas. Puzzle is indeed puzzling, but not in a good way. Like its poster, there's a piece–or two or three–missing.

Rob Weir

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Jared and the Mill, Blue Dahlia, They Might Be Giants, Sean McConnell, Frances Cone, Johno

Jared and the Mill, This Story is No Longer Available

Jared Kolesar has a sweet tenor voice that might first put you in mind of someone like Josh Ritter. Don't be fooled; Kolesar and his band delight in opening soft and then jarring you to attention by catapulting themselves onto the loud side of the sound spectrum. Take a song like "Feels Like." Its quiet acoustic-driven opening sounds like maybe Kolesar is about to unwrap a folk ballad. At the end of every few bars, though, there's a bit of a sneer and brief swelling of the instrumentation. That's your cue for what's about to happen. Soon, the percussion and bass will boom, the electric guitars will wail, and the room will start jumping. About the time you think the piece is ending, there's a swirl and we are taken to new places. Or maybe it's old ones. When this five-piece rock band from Phoenix starts to crank, it can feel like 1968. You will hear this soft-to-hard technique throughout the album. Sample "Break in the Ether" for another example, or "Soul in Mind." The latter is a terrific song that opens with such seeming vulnerability that it's a small shock when Jared sings, "I don't give a fuck/If you don't think I'm good enough." Then once again, it's bring on the noise. No need for Kolesar to worry. Jared and the Mill are plenty good enough. ★★★★

The Blue Dahlia, Le Tradition Américaine

What a fun album! The Blue Dahlia is a Brooklyn-based "project" by Dahlia Dumont and seven or eight friends. Dumont is a first-generation American and the title track honors immigrants through the eyes of a small girl who seldom sees her father because he is working hard to support his family. It's a testament to what it really means to come to America. The songs on this album are in English and French, but this multicultural/multiethnic band draws upon everything from French chanson to reggae, ska, jazz, folk, klezmer, and Big Band stylings. How about, for starters, both an old-time/bluegrass version of "I See Things Differently" and the same song with a reggae backbeat? Dumont has a strong voice to go with her scrappy approach to singing. She airs out her chops on the soulful, torchy "Reasonable," but goes full bore French café singer on "Canal Saint Martin." "Le Reve II" is a joyous number that could be at home at a community dance somewhere in Mexico, or maybe the southern Pyrenees. Dumont propels herself into the heart attack-paced "Blah, Blah, Blah," a giddy number of trying to make big decisions when there's just too much in her mind. On "Plantation," she goes calypso. This is a kitchen sink kind of album in all the best ways. You can do a lot when two saxophonists, a trombonist, a trumpeter, a cellist, several accordionists and percussionists, bass, guitar, violin, and ukulele are laying down the grooves. ★★★★

They Might Be Giants, My Murdered Remains

It's no scoop to declare that They Might Be Giants (TMG) is the heir apparent to bands like The Mothers of Invention and Captain Beefheart. In turn, TMG gave birth to other tongue-in-cheek groups such as Flight of the Conchords and Lemon Demon. There are no surprises on My Murdered Remains, the 21^st album released by John Flansburgh and John Linnell, which is to say you'll either like their shtick or you won't. As always, offbeat observations are on full display. My favorite track is "The Communists Have the Music," a riotous take on being apolitically political in which TMG explains: I got handed an Ayn Rand sandwich/Straight from the can, it tasted so bland/I asked a lass to pass me a glass/ Of Engels' Conditions of the Working Class/ Right away they dragged me to the committee/To explain my un-American activity/They're gonna see they made a mistake/If they'd only let me play my mixtape. Musically "The Neck Rolls Aren't Working" feels like a mash of early 60s rock and an overwrought cinematic score, and the song is either a series of non-sequiturs and open to interpretation. The album's least ambiguous song is "Best Regrets," which is about a busted relationship–sort of. In this case there's a touch of acid rock. But if it's too tame for you, try "Selectionist," which what you'd get if robots went to the disco. The new album is TMG's latest in the Dial-a-Song network of free music. Flansburgh and Linnell always make me smile, but in my reviewer role I'd have to say My Murdered Remains is similar to other TMG albums. But these guys have been cranking it out since 1982, so whadda I know? ★★★

Sean McConnell, Here We Go

He has a Celtic surname, but don't expect any diddly diddly music from Sean McConnell. He's from Massachusetts, but again you might not know it, which is to say he's more Nashville than Newtownabbey or Newburyport. "Here We Go" is a well-crafted song with a pop-influenced folk rock vibe and hooky repeating lines. McConnell has a warm inviting voice with a touch of nasality. Check out his tender duet with Lori McKenna on "Nothing On You." (Ten thousand angels can't keep from coming back home.) Or "Shotgun" with Audra Mae, a sweet acoustic country love song. McConnell busts out a band and choir (The McCrary Sisters) for the gospel-tinged "Shaky Bridges." McConnell has been around since 2000, so he's not exactly a newbie. He is, however, an artist to catch if you get the chance. ★★★ ½

Frances Cone, Late Riser

Frances Cone is another Nashville (via Brooklyn) artist who has started to attract attention. That's understandable as Christina Cone and Andrew Doherty are not cookie cutter artists churned out by a Tennessee factory. (The group name is in honor of Cone's musician father and grandfather, each born on September 11.) "Wide Awake" opens to electronic looping and gadgetry from Doherty, but cuts to Cone's piano and bird-like vocals. More synth and effects make up the bridge and then Cone lets it rip. "Arizona" is similarly wrapped. Although Cone's vocals might put you in mind of Robyn on this one, the latter never put this much atmosphere in a song. She picks up an electric guitar on "Failure," a song that might put you in mind of something from Nanci Griffith's back pages, though Griffith seldom climbed the scales like Cone does on this one. My only critique of this talented duo is that Ms. Cone is often more impressive than clear, hence it's often hard to know what she's singing. With her voice and presence, you might not care. ★★★ ½  

Johno, The Road Not Taken

Did you ever sketch a plan that was way better on paper than in reality? Such a project is Johno's The Road Not Taken. Johno (John Keating) is a trained jazz musician who plays several instruments and is best known as a composer, arranger, and instrumentalist. The concept of this album is a good one: take poems and soliloquies from Blake, Byron, Frost, Shakespeare, and others and set them to music. Toss in some pop/jazz/world music remakes of hits such as "CountryRoads,"  "HomewardBound," and "The Long and Winding Road." Mix with musicians (and influences) from the Balkans, Turkey, the Middle East, and Turkey and mess with time signatures. The flaw in the ointment is that Johno is simply not a very good vocalist. Johno tries whispery tones, growls, and techniques that blur the line between singing and spoken word, but there's simply no hiding the fact that he's an uninteresting vocalist. He should have taken the more traveled road and handed the mic to a skilled vocalist. ★   

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