|
Reviews for Sunday at Devil Dirt Uncut Gainsbourg and Birkin, Hazlewood and (Nancy) Sinatra, Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop: say it how you will, but there was something a little too calculating about Campbell & Lanegan’s first collaboration, Ballad of the Broken Seas. It had its moments, but the songs relied too heavily on the contrast between the roughness of Lanegan and the sweetness of Campbell to be truly convincing. Sunday At Devil Dirt inhabits the same scorched earth, but is a more confident record. Ironically, this confidence manifests itself in an understated vocal performance from Campbell, leaving the spotlight on Lanegan’s dusty baritone. He still sounds at times like a man who is lower than the heel of Lee Marvin’s left boot, but there’s a lovely tenderness to his singing, and he’s never sounded sweeter than he does on the brooding Trouble. (It’s traditional to compare Lanegan to Johnny Cash, but in this world-weary mode he’s closer to Kris Kristofferson, inhaling the fresh air on Sunday Morning Coming Down.) If Lanegan dominates vocally, the bouquets should go to
Campbell. She wrote the songs (with the exception of Jim McCulloch’s
Salvation), and produced the record, and must take the credit for the
album’s mood, which mixes the mystical eroticism of The Raven with
the Dr John-inflected rhythms of Back Burner; a sultry tune which –
in ways that would take years of therapy to explain - made me think of
a dancing Elvis Presley. There’s a whistling solo, and car horns, and bells. And on Shotgun Blues, there’s Campbell, her little girl voice wrapped in a barbed wire blues, singing a song about an itch that needs scratching. It’s innocent and filthy. But mostly filthy. ALASTAIR McKAY UNCUT Q&A: ISOBEL CAMPBELL Were you trying to keep the songs simple? Do you enjoy writing songs to be sung by a man? Do you worry that your collaborations will overwhelm
your solo career? The Mercury prize nominated 'Ballad Of The Broken Seas' revealed a surprise pairing of contrasting opposites that in lesser hands could prove so much scrambled egg, but the gruff baritone of Mark Lanegan (The Gutter Twins, Screaming Trees, Queens Of The Stone Age) and the Tupelo honeyed vocals of Isobel Campbell (Belle & Sebastian) again proves one of those wonderful dalliances that have come about as beauty and the beast pairings in the guise of Nick Cave & Kylie Minogue, Lee Hazlewood & Nancy Sinatra, and Serge Gainsbourg & Jane Birkin. This follow up, 'Sunday At Devil Dirt', cements that friendship with Lanegan clearly wearing the trousers in the relationship and the whispered tones of Campbell playing the atmospheric supporting role, the pitched baritone taking the songs firmly in hand. The dynamic lies in the duet, and the songbook here is coloured by a search for redemption with tales of seafarers, lost souls, forbidden love and lamentations. The delightful 'Seafaring Song' takes to the high seas with a Cohen-esque ballad on a tale of long ago with accordion and lilting strings, and 'Who Build The Road' ignites the relationship on a song of wild souls saved by the redeeming power of love, while 'The Flame That Burns' has sepia antique-tones on a seductive bluesy rag with Campbell cooing like a dove. The Cohen/Cave flavoured 'The Raven' sets a tone to a spaghetti-Western with a sense of foreboding as Lanegan barely raises a register above a croak, and the Dr John-like pan-African voodoo of 'Back Burner' stalks with a slow staccato beat with all the intensity of a stiff espresso and a whisky burn. On 'Shotgun Blues' Campbell swelters, singing oh so naughtily - "...ooh Daddy/ climbing on your knee/ I got an itch needs scratching/ you take good care of me..." to a riffing bottleneck blues guitar, while Jools will no doubt love to get on down for 'Come On Over (Turn Me On)', a track that swoons with a seductive flick of the hair and a revealing dress as bluesy licks and waltzing strings add to the air of intoxication Softer tones are explored on the rummy old 'Salvation', written by Jim McCulloch, a Dylan-esque nugget that reminds of big Bob's 'It's All Over Now Baby Blue', Lanegan singing "...my blood is flowing slowly like the tide/ and blood is thick and so's my old grey hide...", with the galvanising rallying call - "...gotta get up and moan...", and the hay-bale country duet of 'Keep Me In Mind, Sweetheart' makes for a slow square dance, while the rhyming couplets of 'Something To Believe' seem a trite laboured but the melody lifted by the Whittaker-esque whistles. Cat Stevens and Ray Lamontagne have had a good crack at that old demonmeister, trouble, and on 'Trouble' a weary tone is set by standing bass and a slow waltz while the duo make for a complimentary rather than contrasting pair singing "...Oh trouble/ haven't slept a day in years..." as Hammond organ and strings give the weary souls some reprieve. Campbell likens the vignettes of 'Sunday At Devil Dirt' to scenes from a Tennessee Williams play with no hint of braggadocio from the Scot who has earned herself a place in Harry Smith's Anthology Of American Folk Music. The folksy blues of 'Ballad Of The Broken Seas' with its' tales of murder and revenge are replaced by a need for succor and redemption on 'Sunday At Devil Dirt', no easy task with your face in the mud. Yet the musicality is given an airing and the tones shift throughout as waltzes, blues rags, a spaghetti-Western coda and country ballads are set to lilting and soaring strings. With Campbell working at this album some two years and the Lanegan's voice-for-hire contribution some nine days, my money's on Campbell making this relationship endure. It was another surprising detour in a career composed almost exclusively of detours: Isobel Campbell, former Belle & Sebastian member and sometime solo act, teamed with Mark Lanegan, taciturn former Screaming Trees singer and serial collaborator. With the release of their Ballad of the Broken Seas, the "Beauty and the Beast" lines came fast and furious. So did the Nancy and Lee comparisons, which were probably welcome. The pairing of Lanegan and Campbell may have come as a shock to fans of the latter (and maybe even the former) but the music itself was less than revelatory. Indeed, the Lee Hazelwood/Nancy Sinatra template is iconic for a reason, and to borrow it means to risk imitating them. It also means treading closely to Leonard Cohen, Scott Walker, or any other somber, late-1960s orchestral pop act. Still, the results were beautiful and brooding, with Campbell's songwriting significantly enhanced by this very specific setting. Sequels, however, are inherently built on familiarity and a sequel to the solid yet by-the-books Ballad of the Broken Seas could be as problematic as the Hollywood models are. Yet while Sunday at Devil Dirt may be more of the same (with glimpses of Tom Waits' junkyard blues tossed in to good effect), Campbell and Lanegan were never out to do anything different. Once again, melancholy, minor-key folk melodies, and bits of spy-theme and spaghetti-western cool color the album, typically enhanced by only the classiest of accompaniment-- upright bass, strings, brushed drums, twangy electric guitars, and other chamber-pop mainstays. And once again, Campbell works better as a supporting player on her own record than as a leader, cooing and chiming away in the background. Sure, she provides most of the songwriting, but it's Lanegan who provides the gravitas. Fortunately, Campbell seems to realize her place here as writer and arranger first and foremost, generally ceding the spotlight to Lanegan on the likes of the bleak (of course) "The Raven" and "Back Burner", the somewhat lighter country-blues of "Salvation" and "Sally Don't You Cry", and the spare folk of "Something to Believe". Compared to Lanegan, Campbell sounds thin singing lead on "Shot Gun Blues" or as duet partner on "Who Built the Road" and "The Flame That Burns". Her vocals are almost like post-production special effects. In a lot of ways that's what makes the disc such a good, breezy listen. Campbell's turn on "Come On Over (Turn Me On)" aims for sultry yet can't get beyond sweet and innocent; in Lanegan, however, she's found a substitute singer that's a perfect match for the strength of her compositions, a rumbling, grumbling vessel through which to channel her songs, themselves channeling the vibe of a lost but not forgotten time of smoky bars, scratchy jukeboxes, convertibles, open roads, broken hearts, cheap motels, and cheaper thrills. It's a bit like a dust-specked and flickering faux Super-8 road trip reel, with Campbell manning the camera and sitting in the director's chair and Lanegan glowering away in the uncomfortable glare of the sun. - Joshua Klein, May 9, 2008 Rating: 8/10 This is more powerful and more cinematic than previous Ballad of the Broken Seas. The more old he gets, more darkness his songs become, and Campbell's back vocals are adorable. After all, closing songs are not that much dark, they're almost sweet despite Mark Lanegan's smoky voice. No need to mention about Serge Gainsbourg, Tom Waits, Bonnie 'Prince' Billy, and Mark Lanegan, you should drink to this album. Devil loves rock, and that's not your only match with him. Isobel Campbell And Mark Lanegan - The Raven MM picks: Who Built The Road, Come On Over (Turn Me On), Back Burner TimesOnline The undercurrent of Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan’s first album, Ballad of the Broken Seas, is an overcurrent on the follow-up. “Come on over, turn me on,” they sing (on the song of the same name), the captivating contrast between her barely-there voice and his speaker-filling grungy growl more marked than ever. On Shotgun Blues, she is purring “Love to hear you moan”, and I don’t think she means she enjoys hearing Lanegan’s views on irritating ring tones. It’s a relief when the “Get a room! Oh, you have” ambience lets up for some alt-country strum-alongs; yet, even when Lanegan switches to his ballad voice, the chemistry between the two is riveting. Throughout, Campbell’s songs are simple, direct, gorgeous. If, after the brilliant Ballad, you had said that this pair would reunite and make an even better album, I wouldn’t have believed you – but I think they just have. Drowned
in Sound Some people have all the luck. You know the ones I mean; the sort of folk who stride through life safe in the knowledge that Lady Fortune will prescribe yet another dose of opportunity upon which their dreams can be realised. It’s said that such fortuity favours the brave, yet when things like this and especially this happen it becomes increasingly difficult to believe that luck is anything other than a prerequisite of the privileged. It would be easy then to argue that mouse-shy Isobel Campbell is one of the luck-struck few. Having been part of cultish twee-mongers Belle & Sebastian during, what was arguably, their most prodigious years, the Glaswegian-born songstress’ career nosedived on the release of her poorly received debut solo album (discounting two distinctly ‘meh’ Gentle Waves LPs) Amorino, leaving Campbell’s decision to flee Stuart Murdoch’s flock of bedtime reading jingle-janglers looking like a disastrous spot of self-aggrandised folly. But then, as luck would have it, Campbell hit gold. By coaxing gravel-pit grizzly Mark Lanegan into collaborating on smoke-stained long-player Ballad Of The Broken Seas (review), the reticent cooer was transformed from corduroy-clad pin-up girl to ravishing, blues-smudged chanteuse. A devilish, fiery-eyed record exuding arresting tales of love, lust and loss, it was a remarkable juxtaposition of sandpaper and silk or, as many a hack would eagerly deduce, beauty and beast. Musically, Ballad… may not have been an entirely satisfying affair, but the stark contrast of Campbell’s sheenful purr brushed against Lanegan’s baritonal growl produced one of 2006’s most intriguing records. Fast-forward two years and the unlikely Mercury Prize-nominated duo are once again caught in a smouldering embrace – but this time the element of surprise has disappointingly vanished. Album number two, Sunday At Devil Dirt, is comparable to the rekindling of an old flame; filled with memories of good times gone yet lacking the spark of fresh, unexplored pastures. Again penned almost entirely by Campbell before tweaked to fit Lanegan’s whisky-guzzled grumbling, there’s a distinct element of ‘seen it, done it, milking it’ to every rootsy, airsome shanty and, although executed with exemplary grace, it seems there’s not quite enough fuel left to stoke the fires of desire once more. That’s not to say Sunday At Devil Dirt is an unmitigated catastrophe. Any record that contains the lachrymose presence of Lanegan and the smoky wafts of bromidic tone he exhales cannot fail to intrigue. But from the first brittle notes of ‘Seafaring Song’ it’s apparent that the enveloping captivation of Ballad… has disappeared, replaced with a stale, minor-key haze of strum and string while Campbell lingers sultrily in the background of Lanegan’s dilapidated crow. And it’s in this opening number’s formation where …Devil Dirt’s main problem derives. For much of the proceeding 40-odd minutes Campbell appears so innately aware of her brutish accomplice’s ability to draw crowds she’s consigned herself to bit-part wing-woman. Tracks such as the sluggish ‘Salvation’ and gloom-laden ‘Something To Believe’ lack the sleight of touch her wistful mew provides, leaving what could be two heart-rousing duets to kick their heels in the dust-bitten rabble of Lanegan’s less than invigorated, bass-heavy growl. For sure, there are times when the ex-Screaming Trees frontman is an esteemed vocal exhilarant – adding an unequivocal snarl to ‘Back Burner’’s demanding voodoo-blues or the equally ravaged ‘The Raven’ – but, with Campbell’s main input confined to breezy harmonies, the likes of ‘Trouble’ and ‘Keep Me In Mind Sweetheart’ feel lonesome and bare-boned amidst a spate of perfunctorily arranged country laments. When Campbell finally gets to have her say the results are heavenly: ‘Shot Gun Blues’ is a simmering bar-room rankle of steel guitar and vixen-like pleading while the tombstone bound ‘Who Built The Road’ writhes over a windswept tundra of melancholic chimes and eerie string arrangement. Yet such peaks too often succumb to Lanegan’s limelight-hogging, culminating in the beard-stroking boredom of closer ’Sally don’t You Cry’, a track that exits on such a whimper of humdrum couplets it could well have been scribed by a Johnny Cash-aping ten year old. With Campbell’s second solo LP, 2006’s Milkwhite Sheets, barely garnering a crumb of acclaim in the pages of the unforgiving music press, it’s of no surprise to find her pulling out the stops with a double dose of prize-catch Lanegan. Yet, judging by the standards set on this less than sparkling offering, her lucky charm may be her eventual undoing. The
Independant Like its predecessor, Ballad of the Broken Seas, this follow-up collaboration capitalises on the emotional piquancy of the contrast between Lanegan's smoky baritone and Campbell's honeyed tones, a dialectic of innocence and experience that animates the flawed spirits in her songs.
As for the melancholy, antique tone, it can be summed up in this couplet from "Salvation": "Blood is thick, and so's my old grey hide/Gotta get up and moan." Pick of the album:'Back Burner', 'Trouble', 'Who Built
the Road', 'Something to Believe'
|