COLD CHISEL – Circus Animals

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If you live in Australia and happen to be reading this, chances are you own a Cold Chisel album already. Their brand of music, largely stemming from no-nonsense pub rock, made them megastars in their home country; for the rest of the world, however, Cold Chisel’s work is far less known, although they retain a strong cult following throughout the world.

Their early work showcases three chord rock ‘n’ roll, played in a hard rock style. From early on, white reggae influences were a strong part of the Cold Chisel sound, but it their third album, ‘East’ – released in 1980 – which saw the band branching out even farther. This was their most commercial disc to date; the earlier influences were still there, but were more often fused with radio friendly pop/rock styles. While not as raw as Chisel could be, it was a near perfect album. With ‘East’, the band truly came of age.

As a reaction to the commercialism of that album, Cold Chisel’s follow up, ‘Circus Animals’ (released in April 1982; produced by Mark Opitz) was harder, occasionally angrier and often more adventurous. The anger and passion within its ten cuts is obvious right from the off, as lead single ‘You Got Nothing I Want’ tears from the speakers. Written in response to the lack of promotion ‘East’ received from their US record label, the number presents Chisel at their most brazenly angry.
Jimmy Barnes is captured in full-on rasp as he delivers slightly spiteful lines regarding the band’s position. The music has plenty of punch: while slightly more sophisticated than some of Chisel’s earlier work, it captures the essence of their rock ‘n’ roll ethic, with Don walker hammering out almost boogie-woogie piano lines underneath Ian Moss’s raucous chords. It’s from here on, though, that ‘Circus Animals’ becomes more interesting.

‘Taipan’ features one of the album’s most interesting arrangements. Prestwich’s pounding drums lend an almost tribal atmosphere, which when combined with Walker’s piano and an almost spooky vocal from Barnes, couldn’t be farther away from the pub rock which bought Chisel’s early popularity. Occasionally, the band breaks from this for more of a rock section, where naturally, Barnes lets rip vocally – and although that’s far more in keeping with the traditional Chisel sound, it sounds out of place here, especially when followed by gang vocals – again in a tribal-ish style (although the tune chosen has a touch of the Disney’s about it…). By the time Ian Moss adds a solo at the end, the listener gets a proper feel for the breadth of the band’s talent. His solo is vibrato-filled and full of anger and passion (with only a couple of moments stepping to far into overtly aggressive territory), which when backed by Walker’s heavily pounded piano chords, really helps bring the track to a superb climax.

‘Bow River’ – a number written by Moss, whom also steps up for lead vocals – has Chisel’s rock ‘n’ roll as a base. Moss’s vocal is a soulful one, a complete contrast to Barnes’s insistent and uncompromising approach. It’s particularly effective during a atmospheric intro, accompanied by Walker’s sparingly used piano chords, but it more than holds its own, even once the band hits full stride. Walker’s piano launches into pub-rock piano solos leading the band into a full-on, sweaty hard rock workout. As Moss and Barnes begin to harmonise, backed more than ably by Walker, Prestwich and a rock-solid, yet surprisingly busy bass line from Small, the listener gets to feel the full power behind Cold Chisel at their best – a sound almost unmatched by their peers.

‘Numbers Fall’ showcases Chisel in a moody, bluesy vein. Each member of the band contributes something of note. Moss’s guitar work doesn’t stretch his talents, but lays down a few pointed, vibrato filled notes here and there while Don Walker’s quasi-aggressive organ work gives a sense of volume. The rhythm section is hard, particularly Phil Small’s unshakable basslines overlaying Prestwich’s heavy thud. It’s during this number Jimmy Barnes really comes into his own; his raspy, ragged voice – like a hard rockin’ John Fogerty – ringing passion from almost every word.

‘Houndog’ brings anger back into Barnes’s performance, opting for a full on, full-volume delivery. The band counterbalance this with a very interesting arrangement. Moss’s guitar work leans towards a 60s twang full of reverb and Walker’s bar-room piano is high in the mix. For the mid section, there’s an about-face; a similar spaciousness to that of ‘Taipan’ creeps in and Moss and Barness share vocal duties as Small keeps things together with a decent bass line. When you first hear the track, it’s not something you ever expect. As the track builds to a close, the band reverts to the original musical arrangement, slowly getting more intense. Underneath the growing tension, Phil Small’s bass playing is very accomplished – he’s certainly someone who deserves far more credit for his musicianship.

For all of ‘Circus Animals’s adventurousness, it features two of the most commercial tracks in the Chisel back catalogue. ‘When The War Is Over’ and ‘Forever Now’ (both written by drummer Steve Prestwich and released as singles in Australia) are fantastic, unashamedly radio-friendly pop/rock tracks – the kind ‘East’ hinted at so often. During the ballad ‘When The War Is Over’, the listener experiences Barnes and Moss singing in great harmony – their contrasting voices working exceptionally well. Musically, the smooth simplicity of the number is the thing which makes it so unashamedly brilliant, with Walker’s piano providing some great moments. Moss’s guitar work, meanwhile, never steps out of line – his long flowing notes drifting to fade. ‘Forever Now’ shows the band’s fondness for pop/rock with a reggae slant, which coupled with a simple chorus made it an obvious choice for a single. Also here, Prestwich takes an opportunity to write himself a great drum part. It’s not great due to any flashiness; it’s it’s sparseness which is most striking. Throughout the verses, Prestwich concentrates on percussion and hi-hat, only using snare and toms for fills, saving them for impact on the chorus. While it’s the rhythm section moments which provide the best musical aspects (Small’s bass line also more than delivers), Moss’s lead solo coming at the tracks end is masterful albeit without diminishing the pop sensibilities of the track.

These tracks are so good, it’s almost possible to forget about the equally commercial ‘No Good For You’, which also comes with plenty of hit single potential. While a little lightweight musically, once again, Small’s bass playing is exemplary and the vocal harmonies throughout the chorus are among the album’s best. The AOR leanings here certainly have an influence upon the direction Barnes’s solo career would take by the late 80s. Don Walker’s ‘Wild Colonial Boy’ is one of the album’s weaker numbers, but even so features a top performance from Barnes and provides another Prestwich drumming highlight. Sadly, so much focus has been put upon these two factors, there’s very little else to back them up. There’s certainly no real chorus, and even a section which lends itself to the most obvious hard rock moment comes and goes without making too much of an impression.

The closing number, ‘Letter To Alan’ is a another Chisel tour-de-force, beginning with Barnes singing in a relatively restrained manner against Walker’s atmospheric piano work. Ian Moss then joins with some ringing guitars, while Prestwich (at least in places) favours a percussive style, similar to that of ‘Forever Now’. Moss’s soloing is busy and angular, lacking the bluesy vibrato so often heard from his work. Instead, he attacks his fretboard in an almost unrestrained way, pulling back slightly just before his fiery playing becomes in danger of careening completely out of control.

While ‘Circus Animals’ may not always have the all-round enjoyment of ‘East’ – and certainly isn’t a Cold Chisel album for first time listeners – it arguably captures the band at the peak of the powers. Like so many Aussie bands, though, it’s unlikely even at their best Cold Chisel will ever gain more than a cult following (albeit a large one) outside their home country.

[A remastered version of the album adds three bonus tracks]

January 2011

CANDY BUTCHERS – Hang On Mike

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There are so many under-rated geniuses working in the power pop field, but none more deserving of huge recognition as Mike Viola, whose fourth full length release ‘Hang On Mike’- released under the Candy Butchers moniker – captures the singer-songwriter at his absolute best.

The album begins with ‘What To Do With Michael’, a tale of a hit-and-miss relationship, set to an almost guitar-less, bouncing arrangement with the piano firmly upfront. Its purely seventies arrangement features the best elements of early Billy Joel crossed with the sunshine vibe of ‘Love Will Keep Us Together’ by Captain and Teneille. It’s one of those tracks which sounds eternally fresh; something about that particular style of stabbing piano is consistently pleasing (Let’s be honest, ‘Allentown’ by Billy Joel…it never gets old, does it?). ‘Nice To Know You’ continues the seventies vibe but has extra focus on vocal harmony; while ‘Hang On Mike’ showcases better songs than this, it holds up as a great example of how Viola knows how to write a simple, yet effective melody and how although fashions may change, the kinds of pop Viola loved in the seventies have an almost timeless appeal.

‘Not So Bad At All’ captures a perfect punchy pop feeling, hovering somewhere between Jellyfish at their most direct and New York’s Mark Bacino, but if it’s an instant pop frenzy you’re looking for, the Jellyfish meets Brian Wilson-isms of ‘Let’s Have a Baby’ will provide instant joy. The stabbing piano should be enough, but when combined with a quirky chorus vocal featuring potential baby names, the song hits a whole new level of infectiousness. At just under three minutes, the moment is gone before long, but it should be more than enough to leave you smiling. ‘Sparkle!’ is even more upbeat, with camp overtones as Mike’s trademark pop is driven towards show tune territory with a wry grin.  That wry grin is hosted by the “untrustworthy narrator”, since although this is a number which sounds flippant and happy upon the surface, its lyrical content is somewhat steeped in sadness.

‘Unexpected Traffic’ demonstrates the flipside of Mike’s song craft. An acoustic based, introspective number, you get a sense of Mike’s voice cracking under emotional weight. In a similar vein, although lyrically far more direct, ‘Painkillers’ is heartbreaking, as it tells of the death of someone very close and the daily struggles of coming to terms with deep sadness. While the album’s acoustic numbers often give Viola more gravitas as a songwriter, it’s his poppier works which provide the album with its long lasting appeal and most memorable moments. ‘Kiss Alive II’ shows a sly humour, not unlike Ben Folds, where Mike tells the tale of musical discovery as he attempts to turn a friend on to the piano based mastery of 1970’s Elton John (specifically ‘Bennie and the Jets’) and in return gets a copy of KISS’s double live opus [It’s up to the listener to decide whom gets the best deal there]. The song’s structure is based around simple but fairly dominant piano chords – likely meant to evoke classic Elton, but somehow ending up a little more Billy Joel…which, of course, is more than fine.

The title cut features a slightly strained vocal on fragile verses, but is balanced by a perfect pop chorus in an autobiographical tale (“Hang on Mike, if there’s one thing you’re good for, it’s holding on / Hang on Mike, if there’s one thing your good for, it’s another song”). No-one is in a better position to recognise fame isn’t always an overnight success than Viola. He may have written the songs in the “Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story” movie and provided vocals in the Tom Hanks flick “That Thing You Do”, but somehow the accolade of being a true household name seems to have eluded him.

When his second album (‘Falling Into Place’) was released, Mike sounded as if he had the chops to be one of the greatest singer-songwriters to come through in a long while – and this fourth album leaves absolutely no doubt about his talent. If you still hanker after the days when things were as well crafted as Todd Rundgren’s ‘Something/Anything’, then this is essential.

July 2010

THE GO! TEAM – Rolling Blackouts

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Back in 2005 when the Go! Team’s debut (‘Thunder, Lightning, Strike’) was released, there seemed to be a genuine buzz of excitement among the indie/alternative community. However, despite having a broad musical taste, I just couldn’t take to their mish-mash of guitar pop, dance loops and occasional cheerleader-esque vocals. Within a few months of its release, I forgot about them. Their sophomore album (‘Proof of Youth’) bought them bigger chart success, and yet its release passed me by at first; even though I was mixing with the same people, for some reason, they’d stopped talking about the Brighton sextet.

At the beginning of 2011, The Go! Team returned with their third release, which presents a similar mix of styles as before; some parts of which, naturally, work better than others. The opening track ‘T.O.R.N.A.D.O’ mixes blaxploitation sounds with a danceable groove and ends up sounding like a Beastie Boys cast off. While that end groove has something of appeal, the beats are hard and the sampled horns are potentially headache inducing; this drowns out the vocal line – though I suspect Ninja’s bad rap stylings are of an empty sentiment. A swift u-turn in sound follows with ‘Secretary Song’(featuring Satomi Matsuzaki of Deerhoof)- a track which brings a mix of twee indie pop (a la Saint Etienne) and fuzzy guitar lines. There’s a sweet tune hiding within the hard beats and, once again, the vocals are a bit fudgy sounding, but there’s enough here to get a sense of what the band were aiming for musically.

The instrumental cut ‘Bust-Out Brigade’ really hits the spot with its huge (sampled) horns and general funkiness. There’s a sassiness which would befit a 1970s cop movie, even though the sounds of a glockenspiel occasionally gives the feeling of a marching band! As a long time fan of the Beasties’ ‘In Sound From Way Out’ compilation, this really appeals to me and I wish The Go! Team would do this sort of thing more often. Featuring a guest vocal from Best Coast’s Bethany Cosentino (very much the indie/alternative pop flavour of the month by the end of 2010), the lead single, ‘Buy Nothing Day’ is a decent slice of guitar-driven indie-pop, all ringing guitars and sunshine – the kind you’ve heard hundreds of times before – but stylistically, it really suits The Go! Team.

‘Voice Yr Choice’ is a proper dud. Against a very synthetic sounding arrangement (bar some live drums, rather loud in the end mix), Ninja delivers a really awful rap performance. It’s the kind that’s so bad, you realise that maybe Betty Boo wasn’t so bad after all. Luckily, it becomes a distant memory quickly; as soon as it ends, The Go! Team swiftly move on to something more enjoyable. ‘Yosemite Blues’ is a busy (mostly) instrumental number which fuses funk, banjos, more glockenspeils and live drums in a way which sounds like a cross between alternative rock/pop and a 1970s theme tune for a western.

Following a slightly out of tune instrumental played on an old upright piano (‘Lazy Poltergeist’),the title track brings with it plenty of punch and fuzzy guitars. A hushed vocal gives the performance an odd contrast. Listening to it, it’s hard to believe it’s the work of the same band that has a penchant for bad rap, sassy horns and busy sampling. That diversity is either very cool, or The Go! Team’s biggest weakness, depending on your personal viewpoint.

For almost pure pop, ‘Ready To Go Steady’ is a standout, with twee sixties influences and almost surfy vibe. The sampled drum fills are put to good use and its simple vocal hook is effective, creating something sounds like The Postmarks meets Saint Etienne. Also, fully exploring kitsch, a short instrumental, ‘Super Triangle’ utilises a simple retro synth tune over acoustic guitars. To those of a certain age, its hard not to listen to this and visualise the old BBC Testcard.

Occasionally, you’ll get a track where all of most of The Go! Team’s elements come together, as they do during ‘Apollo Throwdown’. The live drums are punchy, the sampled beats drive things along and the music has a very retro vibe, echoing the disco era. The rap elements aren’t as embarrassing (though not entirely to my tastes) and a chorus employs an almost cheer-leading aspect. These elements feel far more natural here than on some other tracks.

As before, it’s sometimes difficult to work out at whom The Go! Team are aiming their smorgasbord of sounds. Listening to ‘Rolling Blackouts’, I like them far more than I ever did before (even being inspired enough to revisit their previous works). There’s a lot here to enjoy, providing you can get past the often claustrophobic nature of the end product. As good as some of this is, though, there’s still a feeling that The Go! Team still haven’t fully realised their potential.

January 2011

VAN MORRISON – Inarticulate Speech Of The Heart

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After his late 60s albums ‘Astral Weeks’ and ‘Moondance’ established Van Morrison as one of the greatest singer songwriters of the age, he entered the 1970s in very high regard and with great confidence. The rhythm and blues led ‘His Band and Street Choir’ kick started Morrison’s greatest decade, during which he released a string of superb albums – all strong in their own way and each one featuring a handful of genuinely classic tracks.

Like many of his peers, Morrison appeared to be out of step with the 1980s. He began the decade with the release of ‘Common One’, an understated collection of largely ambling and, at times, almost directionless songs. The largely forgettable ‘Beautiful Vision’ followed, although that’s very much worth checking out for the upbeat ‘Cleaning Windows’ featuring Mark Knopfler on guitar. In 1983, Van released the keyboard heavy ‘Inarticulate Speech of the Heart’, an album considered by some to be the nadir of his career.

The main problem with ‘Inarticulate Speech of the Heart’ is obvious right from the start, as ‘Higher Than The World’ begins with a wash of keyboards (somewhat akin to those that Simply Red would drench their albums in a few years later) leading to an easy-listening mulch, not far removed from Sade or something similar. Given an arrangement that would befit a restaurant, Morrison does his utmost to create interest, as his gruff voice moves from moody mumbling to lumbering loudness at the drop of a hat. By a couple of minutes in, there’s a feeling that he may be over compensating, as he warbles off key in his “enthusiasm”.

Initially, the synthetic eighties sound is quite suited to ‘Connswater’, the first of the album’s instrumental numbers, but soon it becomes obvious that the eighties production comes at the expense of one of the track’s key features. The tune has a distinctly Irish feel, with Davy Spillane making a guest appearance on Uileann pipes. The jig element of the number is very pleasing, but the bridge sections – featuring a pounding drum – are lacklustre, due to the drum being far too low in the mix. You guessed it – the dominant sound over that drum is a keyboard, not too dissimilar to the one featured during the previous track. The sax driven ‘Celtic Swing’ follows suit and, as you’d expect, has a jaunty quality. Production aside, there’s nothing overtly dislikeable about either of these instrumental numbers, but they feel rather like filler – and if you consider that amongst ‘Inarticulate Speech’s eleven tracks you’ll find four instrumentals, that’s a lot of padding. I can only assume with the inclusion of these instrumental numbers, Van was hoping somehow to create a successor to ‘Common One’.

‘Cry For Home’ is a mid-paced soul pop number which appears well written, but loses a lot in delivery. ‘River of Time’ – although far from essential Van – is much better, due to the drum kit having a little bit of oomph behind it and the bass work sounding more live. As you may expect, Van’s delivery on these songs lacks subtlety – drowning out most of the backing harmonies at various points – but quite often, it’s the force of nature that is his love-it-or-hate-it voice which carries this album’s songs, especially when the music is pedestrian. Considering the great session musos who stopped by to lend a hand on albums like ‘Tupelo Honey’, you have to wonder how Morrison got saddled with the bunch of people featured here who sound like they’d be better suited to performing library music for TV wildlife documentaries.

The album’s title track appears in two parts. The first part is an atmospheric instrumental with a piano at the fore. The piano work is simple and is counterbalanced by human voices used as instruments (a technique re-employed at the end of the album, but achieving a far weaker result). The end section of part one features a loud drum sound, which is very welcome, especially considering the subdued role the drums play on most of the songs. The second part brings in Morrison on vocals, but there’s not a great deal to get excited about as, over a gentle, waltzing arrangement he repeats the same three lines (“I’m a soul in wonder” and “I’m just wild about it, I can’t live without it”) between a repetitive refrain of “Inarticulate speech, inarticulate speech of the heart”. There’s a decent organ solo midway, but it’s so low in the mix, you’ll wonder why John Allair bothered playing it at all.

‘Rave On, John Donne’ begins with a spoken vocal, delivered by Van with a typical Belfast brusqueness. The music lulls as Mark Isham’s synth creates a blanket of sound and Chris Michie’s guitar overlays a simple chord structure with a ringing tone. Once again, the eighties production cannot be avoided, but here, it’s very well suited to the overall feel of the track. When Van’s lead vocal begins, it has all the effortless power of his mid-late seventies work. Similarly, the better known ‘Irish Heartbeat’ (covered by Billy Connolly as the theme to his ‘World Tour of Scotland’ travel programme) captures Van in a confident mood, his vocal steeped in a soulful power. His unmistakable tone gives the song an uneasy beauty, which loses none of its appeal despite a thin arrangement and even thinner sounding drum kit. ‘When The Street Only Knew Your Name’ is the album’s most upbeat moment. David Hayes lays down a fabulous funky bassline, although thanks to the eighties production techniques, it sounds unnaturally compressed and almost like a keyboard. Van’s delivery harks back to his early seventies work from ‘Band and Street Choir’ and as such, it’s one of the only times on this album where the band step outside of middling balladry and actually sound like they’re having fun. By the song’s end (as with ‘Rave On, John Donne’ and ‘Irish Heartbeat’), you’ll likely find yourself wondering how much better it certainly would have sounded had Morrison written and recorded it a decade earlier.

With a little more care, the instrumental ‘September Night’ should have been as good as ‘Connswater’. Its majestic keyboard chords could have provided the album with an atmospheric closing number, but that atmosphere is ruined by the use of a wordless vocal. I’m not against the idea of using the voice purely as an instrument – and the female vocals give the track an almost European cinematic quality – but once Morrison’s vocal begins, the atmosphere is quickly broken as he wanders into tuneless abandon.

While it’s easily understood why ‘Inarticulate Speech of the Heart’ is so disliked, it’s more confusing as to why 1985’s ‘No Guru No Method No Teacher’ is so highly regarded. And what’s more, it’s absolutely bewildering as to why ‘Inarticulate Speech’ is so enjoyable despite it’s thousand faults. Maybe it’s because ‘Rave On, John Donne’, ‘Irish Heartbeat’ and ‘The Street Only Knew Your Name’ could have been classic Van. Sadly though, those good songs have had the life sucked out of them by too many unnatural sounding keyboards and an over-production which makes everything sound way too clinical. In addition, four instrumental numbers is far too many, when you consider that Morrison is best known for his status as a singer-songwriter. Somehow though, especially considering it’s extremely flawed, ‘Inarticulate Speech’ manages to stay more memorable than most of Morrison’s other works throughout the 1980s.

July 2010

“Steve Prestwich: 1954-2011”

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It is with sadness I make this post, having just heard about the death of Steve Prestwich. For those of you who don’t know, Steve was best known as being the drummer with Cold Chisel throughout most of their career in the 1970s/80s and subsequent late 90s reunion. Between his work with Cold Chisel, he recorded two solo albums and also worked with The Little River Band.

In January 2011, Steve was diagnosed with a brain tumour. He underwent surgery on January 14th, but passed away two days later.

Cold Chisel are a fabulous band and one that has meant a great deal to me for many years. While their keyboard player Don Walker was their principal songwriter, other band members wrote songs during the band’s career. Steve Prestwich wrote two of the bands hits and contributed to a third – as a tribute to him, I’m posting the videos for those songs.

‘Forever Now’ and ‘When The War Is Over’ were both written by Prestwich and featured on Chisel’s 1982 album ‘Circus Animals’. ‘Flame Trees’ was written by Prestwich/Walker and featured on 1984’s ‘Twentieth Century’.

January 2011