Turn Up That Noise An eclectic survey of recent recordings. Stephen Grimstead, Editor As astute and regular contributors to the Noise record review column, the following writers feel the need to alert attuned and faithful readers of this paper to the idea that the following albums — all released within the past decade, more or less — did not achieve a deserved level of timely recognition. Echolyn, As the World, (Sony 550 Music) Much like “fusion” — its hybrid-generating cousin from the jazz world — “progressive rock” has fallen on hard times. The genre served as a favorite target for most of the critical establishment from its birth in the late ’60s/early ’70s on. These reviewers were put off by aspects of prog style that they deemed to be self-indulgent, inappropriately intellectual, musically overreaching, and hopelessly pompous. Prog fans, on the other hand, were thrilled to hear songs which featured lyrical content largely unconcerned with the traditional and tiresome “boy la-la-la-la loves girl” theme, and they were equally attracted to the stellar musicianship and showmanship displayed by outfits like Yes, King Crimson, Genesis, Gentle Giant, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. Later, when the inevitable pendulum swing kicked in, punk intensity and progressive rock’s seeming inability to fend off creeping decay spelled disaster for die-hard prog fans. Finally, the very term itself was appropriated by a new breed of rather boneheaded metal bands, the likes of which no self-respecting Yes devotee could ever love. Toward the end of the ’80s, a group of fairly regular guys with a lot of native talent and a great deal of enthusiasm were honing their chops in Pennsylvania, determined to make the type music they felt best conveyed their world view, regardless of prevailing musical trends. Calling themselves Echolyn, some of their early efforts were a somewhat unwieldly combination of decent ideas, adequate execution, maudlin pondering, and a slightly screwed-up sense of direction. But in 1995 they unveiled a stunningly beautiful and powerful prog masterpiece called As the World. With this one mighty release, Echolyn raised hopes in the hearts of those of us who still believe in prog’s possibilities. Unfortunately, the band’s new label (Sony) didn’t get behind them, in a big way. (I knew things were astoundingly awry when I called a Sony publicist after business hours to express my unmitigated delight with the CD, only to have her chew me out the next day for taking up too much time on her answering machine — 40 seconds, or thereabouts.) The intricacy, depth, positive vibe, and inventiveness of this CD speak for themselves, so pick it up and listen. Can’t find it? The band split for a while, but are on the verge of releasing a brand new album (not on Sony), so their old stuff should soon be available again. — Stephen Grimstead Daniel Lanois, For the Beauty of Wynona (Warner Bros.) Daniel Lanois is primarily known for his work as the producer with the Midas touch. Every work he produces, from big names like U2 and Peter Gabriel to Luscious Jackson and Emmylou Harris, turns to gold, or at the very least garners rave critical reviews. Lanois’ much more symbiotic approach with the artists he produces offer tantalizing hints of his broad musical range and prowess. But his little known solo work is an intense journey through this talented musician’s fertile visionary imagination. While not as seamlessly brilliant as his 1989 debut, 1993’s For the Beauty Of Wynona is nevertheless a stunning testament to a man on a serious search for mystery, both on a spiritual and physical plane. He specializes in creating atmospheres (when he produced the Neville Brothers’ classic, Yellow Moon, he swathed the studio in Spanish moss), and each song on this CD transports the listener to a different time and space, from an L.A. gang war to a Louisiana swamp to the wildness of Labrador. A master at manipulating sound effects, Lanois possesses a lush, often-dark signature sound, from the oddly delicate barrage of guitar noise on “Death of a Train,” to the sparse, skewed acoustics of his Gothic vignette, “The Abduction of Marie Claire.” Like fellow Canadian Robbie Robertson, Lanois explores the mind and terrain of North America with haunting, mystical results. With his French-Canadian background, Lanois is equally at home with the zydeco of Louisiana or Acadian folk as well as with urban rock. — Lisa Lumb Jack Wilkins, Artwork (Koch Jazz) While some jazz artists camp out in New York and wait for the big break, others opt for a bit more stability and take positions in academia. That’s the route taken by the gifted tenor saxophonist Jack Wilkins, who studied with David Baker, the best jazz educator in the country. After teaching at Oberlin, Wilkins settled in as a jazz studies professor at the University of Southern Florida in Tampa. Don’t be fooled by the academic robes: Wilkins can hold his own with about any tenor saxophonist playing today. He’s an extremely creative composer and a sizzling soloist. Artwork, his only solo CD, was self-produced in 1995, and was soon picked up by Koch Jazz and distributed nationwide. On the romping, Blakey-esque title track, Wilkins’ displays a buttery tone undercut by an electrifying energy. “Hebron” bounces along on Wilkins’ catchy lead and improvisations, while “Wasaw” invokes a somber feel through the tenor’s full and gentle timbre. There’s some bright bop, a Latin number, and some beautiful, expressive playing on “12th Rose” and “Chelsea Bridge,” the latter being the only tune that’s not a Wilkins’ original. While Jazz Times gave Artwork a great review, most people missed this disc when it came out. It’s one of the most often played recordings in my collection, a rewarding and enjoyable outing that sounds better with each new listen. Seek this one out — it’s one of the sleepers of the decade. — Gene Hyde John Cale, Walking on Locusts (Hannibal/Rykodisc) The Nineties witnessed the return to form of John Cale, one of rock’s most fascinating yet reluctant participants. Cale’s creative output remained constant (and prolific) over the decade through his involvement in a number of soundtrack projects, a full-fledged ballet (Nico), a superb solo live performance (Fragments of a Rainy Season), successful collaborations with Brian Eno and Bob Neuwirth, two unexpected reunions with former creative partner/tyrant Lou Reed (including a short-lived Velvet Underground revival), and a couple of long overdue career compilations. Yet when Cale’s stunning redefinition of his own peculiar brand of rock music, Walking on Locusts, was first released in 1996, few picked up on it and even fewer seemed to care. Which must have been quite amusing to Cale, an artist known for his propensity for never doing things the same way twice, an attitude that has often led to some confusion regarding his recorded output. Walking on Locusts reveals a bemused talent at ease with himself but still uneasy with the wicked, wacky world around him and its shifty, not-to-be-trusted inhabitants. As the best sounding and most elegiac record of his career (with the possible exception of Paris 1919), Walking on Locusts deserves to be heard and appreciated by a wider audience. John Cale is one of rock’s true Renaissance men, and Walking on Locusts stands as his understated and overlooked modern musical masterpiece. — David D. Duncan Sleater-Kinney, Dig Me Out (1997) The Hot Rock (1999) (Kill Rock Stars) Nirvana may have captured the Zeitgeist, but the greatest rock-and-roll band of the decade was a different power trio from the Pacific Northwest. The all-female, twenty-something punk band Sleater-Kinney may release their albums on tiny labels (Chainsaw and Kill Rock Stars) and may have never been played on a radio station that isn’t college or community-run, but by the end of the decade, their greatness has become so unavoidable that even the critically conservative Entertainment Weekly asked whether they’re the best band on the planet. (Answer: Yes). Sleater-Kinney’s music is built on the interlocking and overlapping words + guitar of Corin Tucker (the flashy singer and plain guitarist) and Carrie Brownstein (the plain singer and flashy guitarist). Together, over the course of three wonderful records (and one hiccup of a debut), Tucker and Brownstein have engaged in a conversation — musical, intellectual, emotional, political — that dramatizes friendship, community, and interdependence with more precision and insight than any other rock-and-roll band, maybe ever. On the breakneck Dig Me Out, the tension between the rock-and-roll power they hold at their fingertips, and their insistence on questioning that power is exhilarating. With “One More Hour” they unleash what may be the most emotionally overwhelming break-up song in the long history of the genre, while “Dance Song ’97” actually validates the cliché “dancing with tears in your eyes.” The more contemplative The Hot Rock is a lovesick bruise of a record, somehow more musically intricate and more emotionally profound than its predecessor. In an age of cheap irony, culturally conservative pop music, and rape-inciting frat rock, this band is nothing short of heroic. What else? With rock-solid drummer Janet Weiss mediating, they’re also the tightest thing since Gang of Four or the Famous Flames. — Chris Herrington