- Artists:
- Howe Gelb »
- Label:
- Fire Records »
A lot can be made of Howe Gelb's collaboration with famous Spanish Flameco guitarist, Raimundo Amador. It might trouble some that Gelb decided to venture in this direction, forgoing his propensity for lo-fi Americana in favour of more, how shall we say it, musically clichéd pursuits. And there's no doubt that Alegrias is unafraid of what it is. There are plenty of hacking harmonic minor to major chord progressions and jaw-dropping arpeggios. Spanish guitar, played well, is right up there for its ability to totally stupefy. You can imagine Gelb sitting there with pretty much the same expression. A stew of vacant wonderment and wry envy.
Gelb's Band Of Gypsies provide the rhythmic claps and taps and sultry vocal support, and there isn't a lap-steel in tobacco-spitting distance. Recorded on a sun-laden Cordoba rooftop, the album's tone is almost uniformly sedate, save for very occasional bursts of hotheadedness. Lyrically, Gelb is also in a quieter, more thoughtful place. As ever, Gelb uses surrounding geography for inspiration, but there's nothing Stars-and-Stripes American about Alegrias. It almost feels like Gelb has crossed the El Paso border with little intention of returning. A Giant Sand purists' record, this is not.
But Giant Sand fans needn't all turn their back on Gelb's latest foray. In some ways, and quite predictably, Alegrias' slight movement away from the lo-fi roots rock sound of Giant Sand places Gelb closer to his other musical brethren, Calexico. While nowhere near as nourishing as an album like Feast Of Wire, Gelb has delved a little deeper into himself with Alegrias, employing flashes of Calexico's ghostly, semi-spiritual, semi-redemptive palette to colour his parochial storytelling. Gelb's dryness, both in terms of his lyricism and wit, still remains, however. And this may be this album's deal breaker. It takes time and perhaps a particular time of day and inclination to appreciate Alegrias fully. In the wrong setting, Alegrias' demands are too particular, too specific. In the right setting, Alegrias works like Gelb and his ensemble cast just turned up for your garden patio wedding afterparty.
Like any marriage that's got a chance of working, Alegrias is more than just the sum of its parts. As well as its stellar live production and mixing work (taken care of by John Parish), Alegrias' other trump card is its ability to produce more than just the same argument at varying pitches. Whether it's the marching Flamenco of '4 Door Maverick', the wisened, rambling country-blues of 'Notoriety' and 'The Hangin' Judge', the surprisingly soulful 'Blood Orange' and 'Broken Bird And The Ghost' or the playful Spanish folk-rock of 'Cowboy Boots On Cobble Stones', Alegrias never sips the same poison for any length of time, like a cocktail that doesn't care how it gets drunk. It should be noted that like anything meant to satisfy innumerable tastes, Alegrias is likely to impress and frustrate in equal measure. Name one consistent Howe Gelb record and you're doing well. But being as prolific as Gelb has been over the years, this isn't much of a unhappy trade-off.
Typically, Gelb appears to be saving the best 'til last. Final track, 'One Diner Town', probably the album's simplest track, is a pretty, melancholic tale of quiet love, loneliness and life in a Southwestern state bigger than most countries. "_I want someone to tell my sins to_", confesses Gelb, under his breath. If he ever does find that someone, it'd be a story I'd like to hear someday.
- Howe Gelb - Alegrias
- Giant Sand to release first album for four years
- Thrill Jockey celebrates 15th with covers record
- End Of The Road update: Ryan Adams announced!
- The Late Review (aka albums we should have covered weeks ago but didn't, in a single article)
- Gelb's new Arizona Amp
- Howe Gelb - The Listener
- Howe Gelb - The Listener
muck-a-luck
here’s what i noticed. . .
when my stuff gets reviewed by anyone under 40, it suffers. worse when the age plummets below 35. disastrous when under 30. it’s become rather obvious when certain subtle intended references are lost on those of such tendering. its almost sweet.
but mostly sticky.
i know its good judgment to never indulge in any kind of retort.
but i don’t mind taken the reviewers to task, in fact i find it a fine hobby ( my only other one is booking air travel, which i find both exceedingly rewarding in my golden years.. . sadly ).
but certain elements of said critique give away the writer’s prowess or limited resolve and general lack of sonic life experience. and that is ok too, except that they are in a position primarily to inform, and in doing so, when so uninformed to begin with, judge with wild card speculation based on taxing deadline tethered by a salary free internship just this side of blogdom. (if i were british, this could be perceived as a “put down”, but no, am strictly american by default, so not to worry.)
to the point then. a coupla things about reviewing “alegrias”.. . in relation to this zine's gideon brody.
“the ballad of lole y manuel” is a softly humorous ‘sonny and cher’ homage to the amazing couple who changed the course of flamenco in the 70s for the counter cutlture of spain much the way led zepplin changed the blues for yours. the beat is neither mexican nor calexican, but brazilian, actually. using the calexico analogy at all is just lazy. joe admitted years ago he never places himself in his own songs, where as i am always one of the characters embedded within said soundscape for at least the duration. their music is nicely mariachi or spaghetti western. this record is neither. and all these songs are true .. . eventually.
any relation to something 'south of el paso' as gideon puts it, borders less on mexico and more on sonic racism, lumping anything spanish with something south of the border. maybe an innocent mistake, i’m sure, but still smells of stereo type casting.
anyhow.. i am not trying to be mean, just elderly.
“lost like a boat full of rice” is a very old andalucian expression (actually every sputter of spanish used in “lole y manuel” is an expression particular to different states within spain), and that expression squarely fits the wit of any attempted reviewer who skims this muck rather then indulges i know life is short, so no problemo.
the meandering piano track is set to break up the album much the way the instrumental guitar broke up ‘sno angel like you, a momentary intermission of sorts. a way of signaling those that remember when vinyl was the order of the day and the point when you would flip the record. the tune itself is a homage to the likes of manuel de falla, who is not a meanderthal at all.
when the “leather” track kicks in, it represents leaving the collective posse behind, it having only one cordobian on percussion along with thøger and i on string things. this leading to the stark finale of “one diner town”, which is sorely solo and signals the dream is over, but is absolutely not the best thing on the album by far.
it should further be noted, aside from raimundo’s masterful boleria intro to “cowboy boots on cobblestone”, there are no such flamenco beats on the entire album. intentionally so because i do not understand them. what i do know is stunning guitar when i hear it. in the proximity of these fellows, the most astonishing guitar play and improvisation happened at every turn. this is what this record is, in the same way the gospel choir lent their stunning dizzy spell of changing human overtones every time we gathered. songs nestled within the confines of people who play guitar like their ancestors invented it. and in fact, the album cover illustrates the actual grandfather, there posing on guitar, of our band’s juan panki.
to contend that this album is actually flamenco is to be sadly misinformed. these are guitar people. all of us. coming together in various tunes to administer the pluck. the beat is something relative where we can all meet to do so, such as the brazilian or the cuban. any well informed, reasonably experienced critic can notify the public accordingly, i am almost certain.
the end
-howe
Shame..
our pals at Pitchfork don't allow such freedom of post-analysis!
All understood. I SHALL NEVER WRITE AGAIN.*
*for an hour
and PS..
every frikkin review of this album (as well as the PR literature as far as I can recall) associates this album with sodding flamenco. *smacks own face on table*
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