In 2004, Enya’s management company, Aigle, had to backpedal the overly enthusiastic announcements of Warner Bros. Japan regarding a new album by the meticulous Irish songstress.
So when Tower Records Japan started accepting pre-orders for a new Enya album back in September 2005, I had to wonder whether it would be for real.
To gauge whether I looked forward to a new Enya album, I took out A Day Without Rain, her previous album from 2000, and gave it a spin. At the time of its release, I didn’t warm up to it. When I listened to it again half a decade later, I confirmed what I couldn’t bring my long-time Enya-loving ass to consider — it really, really sucked.
I never listened to Hüsker Dü nor Sugar, and the only exposure I’ve had to Bob Mould’s solo work is a 7-inch single from his first album, Workbook.
So I can’t approach a review of Body of Song in context of his previous work. My credentials are insufficient.
I can, however, approach the album in terms of gay men who play rock music. Lesbians usually have a lock on the really good rock bands, ranging from the defunct Butchies to the gay-inclusive Sleater-Kinney. What do gay men have? Judas Priest and Pansy Division.
Insert requisite Seinfeld quote here. (“Not that there’s …”?)
To call the Brennans of County Donegal, Ireland, a musical family would be inadequate. Patriarch Leo Brennan was a musician himself before opening a tavern, but his children have found phenomenal success with their careers.
Multi-platinum seller Eithne releases her first album in five years, titled Amarantine, on Nov. 23, 2005. Her siblings in Clannad have been together for three decades, scoring the first Top 5 hit in the UK sung in Irish with “Harry’s Game” back in 1982.
Youngest daughter Bridin Brennan watched as Enya and Clannad became international stars, but instead of following in her siblings footsteps, she decided to become a hairdresser.
Back when I was a pre-teen, I followed Eurythmics closely, buying just about every album the duo made. But as the years passed, I realized I didn’t love any one of those albums in particular. Eurythmics produced some great music on the whole, but a lot of its individual songs were filler.
Death Cab for Cutie, similarly, strikes me as a band with a great overall sound. But listen too closely, and you have to get through some dead weight.
Kronos Quartet deserves a lot of credit for You’ve Stolen My Heart.
In dealing with the music of prolific Indian film composer R.D. Burnam, Kronos eschewed the usual process of comissioning string quartet arrangements and tackled recording of the album itself.
The ensemble complemented its line-up with Wu Man on pipa and Zakir Hussain on percussion. And, of course, Asha Bholse, Burman’s wife and go-to singer for his work, contributed vocals.
As frontwoman for lightweight alternative pop band the brilliant green, Kawase Tomoko cultivated a stage persona often described as coquettish. Her quiver of a voice and demure presence made her an appealing, fashion-conscious figure.
So when she launched a solo project as Tommy february6, she revamped that image to become the nerdy babe — all bright colors, big glasses, and happy music. Even more unexpected was a further spin-off … Tommy heavenly6, the dark, Goth-punk alter ego.
Three years after introducing Tommy heavenly6, Kawase unveiled that persona’s debut album. And a strange debut it is.
I wasn’t convinced that the White Stripes’ Elephant was as good as other pundits believed it to be.
The state of music in 2001 — dominated by nü metal, with teen pop well into its decline — fostered the kind of desperation that made said pundits cling for dear life onto something that sounded genuine.
So when the White Stripes released the follow-up to the surprise 2002 hit, White Blood Cells, critics made sure to shower the album with praise, perhaps unconsciously hoping the good press would mean never having to listen to another fucking Linkin Park album ever again.
It’s probably not a good sign when the track that stays with me the most is a skit.
The opening of “Joy” finds Missy Elliott donning the persona of a Jamaican cook, expounding to some “boy scouts” the “perfect recipie for a delicious meal”. Her ingredients include (but aren’t limited to) a “half a teaspoon of Mary J and Ciara”, a “tablespoon of Timbaland”, a “dash of Slick Rick” and “half a Neptune”.
Thus starts The Cookbook, Elliott’s follow-up to 2003’s tight but relatively unsuccessful This is Not a Test!. It’s a clever introduction for an album with a clever creative direction.
Five years ago when I began exploring Japan’s music scene, I got behind Yaida Hitomi as fervently as I did Cocco and Shiina Ringo.
Yaida started out quite maniacally — her exuberent debut daiya-monde burst out with a confidence that was infectous as it was exhilirating. And the listening public in Japan agreed — Yaida catapulted to the top of the charts.
As she released subsequent albums, it seemed like she catered more and more to pop tastes, toning down the exuberence and smoothing out the rough edges. She worked with the same backing band and producers — a unit named Diamond Head, after the signature volcanic landmark in Honolulu, Hawaiʻi — for four albums, and she got into rut.
The two years she took to write and record Here today-gone tomorrow perhaps indicates she recognized it too.
Japanese pop releases follow a pretty predictable schedule — three or four singles, then an album. Back in 2003, Onitsuka Chihiro looked like she was following that path, with four single releases after her hastily recorded third album, Sugar High.
Not being a total fan, I was waiting for the album that would collect those four singles. It never came.