It’s been busy here in South Boston the last week or so, and I apologize for not putting out any posts (the three people that read the blog regularly must truly have been shattered by that). Every week there are a couple of tunes that I burn through repeatedly on my computer or iPod, and here are this weeks:
“Twice a Year,” Jay Bennett – From Bennett’s posthumous release Kicking at the Perfumed Air, the track plays like a recording that was never made it onto Wilco’s Summerteeth. The gentle, dueling melodies on guitar and piano do well to illuminate Bennett’s past as a major influence on the sound of Wilco’s earlier albums, before he split with the band due to difference of opinion while recording Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. “Twice a Year” is steeped in isolation and impossible longing, as Bennett bemoans his attachment to a woman he cannot come to terms with letting go of: “I saw her yesterday, but she’s not here to stay / She’ll be gone sometime next week / I see her twice a year, and it breaks my heart.” The track sharply exposes what very well could have been the mindset of Bennett during his last months, a tortured nostalgia of what if’s which is vulnerably laid bare in the repetitive chorus (“I see her twice a year, and it breaks my heart”). The whole album can be downloaded at the Jay Bennett Foundation website (http://rockproper.com/JayBennettFoundation), where you can also make a donation.
“White Table,” Delta Spirit – Admittedly, I could have probably included the entire list of tracks from Delta Spirit’s History From Below, and it has been hard to narrow it down to just one. “White Table” encapsulates many of the qualities of Delta Spirit’s sophomore effort, which is marked by a high degree of musical maturity and depth. The layered, multiplicity of the percussion dominates the track, and building with repetitive a guitar riff as lead singer Matthew Vazquez’s vocals become more stirring. Lyrically, “White Table” appears obtuse and conflicting, and several times Vazquez promises to await, in solitude, the arrival of an unnamed woman, “Someday, darling maybe / You could, be my baby / Until then, I’ll be waiting / At my lonesome, white table.” On the other hand, the lyrics of other verses portray the vocalist as broken, worn, scarred by love and so perhaps incapable of loving this woman, who perhaps he has idealized during his period of vigil for. This dichotomy between the willing and inability to truly love is further annunciated by Vazquez’ elongation of the word 'true,' which comes at the end of the verse: “Tattered and worn / Battered and bruised / I’ll give you my love but it won’t be true.” Coincidental or not, it is this elongated tone that is constant through the rise and fall of musical layers and the depth of sound during “White Table,” as the track cyclically ends with the same bare instruments as it begins.
“White Blank Page,” Mumford & Sons – “Little Lion Man,” is all over the radio here in Boston, but the key single from Mumford & Sons breakout album Sigh No More proves to be only the top layer of an album packed with a wealth of tremendous tracks. “White Blank Page” embodies the dual aspects that characterize this London group, the track intertwines a rising, emotional chorus that is thickly layered with sound, together with a noticeable folk music influence. The track asks a great deal of questions, namely those centered on the intimacy of love, and the possibility of a rejection of that intimacy once emotions have been bared: “Can you lie next to her / And you give her your heart, your heart / As well as your body / And can you lie next to her / And confess your love, your love / As well as your folly.” From the beginning, lead singer Marcus Mumford and his soulful tone annunciated these fears backed on by a delicately picked guitar. After moving through the chorus which is very a much a defense of this intimacy (“But tell me now, where was my fault / In loving you with all my heart”), the track is thickened by rising, surging juxtaposition of strings, piano, percussion, and the banjo work that is a staple of most Mumford and Sons songs. With the tonal emotion of the track building, the most biting lyrical is uttered as an indictment: “You desired my attention, but denied my affections, my affections.” Yet, in spite of this hostility, “White Blank Page” offers some hope for explanation and mending this relationship. For the track closes, with Mumford erupting from amidst the driving, layered sound that dominates the song’s second half, calling out, “Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life,” as if challenging this woman to prove him wrong, that she harbors a genuine affection for him.
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