Today marks an historical moment. This is by far the most recent release I have ever written about. This past Tuesday BJ Block and Dawn Pemberton's The Land of Make Believe was released on iTunes, but can also be found on cdbaby. It's the work of BJ Block and his friend Dawn Pemberton, who after having many successful shared shows have finally written some music together, and the result is refreshing and uplifting. Local Vancouverites BJ and Dawn are each incredibly talented musicians, but this is definitely one of those collaborations where the sum is even more than its parts.
The album notes on cdbaby describe The Land of Make Believe as "a children's record for grown-ups," and when I read that I laughed out loud. That is exactly what it is. BJ's guitar lines often sound 80's-Sesame-Street-inspired, and the references to the classic television show get a little less subtle when two tracks, "You Happy?" and "Up and Down" lift direct samples from my favorite Sesame Street guest: Little John John. The result? Wisdom from the mouths of babes, and a nostalgic smile on my face.
I'm getting ahead of myself though; those are nearly the last songs on the recording. "Just Be" beams us straight into a happy "make believe" world, without it feeling too foreign a place. In fact, a lot of the album has an optimistic take on life in a way that is almost otherworldly, yet Dawn Pemberton's soulful voice make it thoroughly believable.
When "Unlucky"'s dirty bass line begins to groove I find myself unexpectedly weighing the ever-debated paradigms of choice vs. circumstance. "Turn It Around" feels a bit like a continuation of the same thought, but I don't find it quite as strong. There are, however, some pretty boss guitar solos. And I am left wondering whether to call this jazzy soul or soulful jazz.
The next stretch of songs are my favorite, probably because they are all danceable party tracks. "You Happy?" makes it clear that this is far more than a "children's album for adults," but the kind of album that anyone can enjoy. I am seriously thinking of getting it for my parents, my brother who has three young children, and my teenage nephew who plays guitar. And I can literally think of nothing else that would be a good gift for all three of those demographics. Except maybe food.
By the time I've thought this thought I realize how perfectly appropriate the name of the next song is: "Everybody's Party." BJ and Dawn just want everyone to have a good time, and I think they're accomplishing their goals pretty well. And though the last couple songs have done their job at creating a certain mood for the room, I am quite sure that "Up and Down" makes me want to do the muppet dance (you know, the one with the limp arms?) all on my own. I can't help imagine the guitar licks expressing the movement and language of some ridiculous new Jim Henson creature popping up around buildings and from behind trash cans.
The album is rounded out by two slightly more reflective love songs, "Without You" and "Tender," which do their part in making me crave more from this duo. BJ and Dawn to answer your question, I am happy too.
When Arcade Fire’s Funeral is mentioned, I must admit, what comes to mind first is not always the music. I think of the thin cardboard disc jacket that often becomes hidden among my other CDs, and the single sheet bulletin style liner notes which in a short band bio notes, “the irony of their first full length recording bearing a name with such closure.” Ironic indeed. For as the tracks explore mortality and loss, they never gets bogged down with grief, but push ahead full of drive and… well, life!
Leaving my iTunes minimized, I pop Funeral into the ghetto-blaster that acts primarily as an alarm clock on my bedside table as I attempt to clean up my pig sty of a room before my roommate gets home. Christmas presents must find spaces, clothes must be washed, and papers must be sorted: welcome to the new year! I’m finding myself spending a lot more time with the lyrics than with all I need to put away though.
The album begins with 4 tracks with the same name: Neighborhood #1, 2, 3, and 4, with a short intermission between #2 (Laika) and #3 (Power Out), called Une annee sans Lumiere (Sorry, but I have no clue how to add French accents in here). #1 (Tunnels) paints a childhood dream in vivid picture of a town completely snowed in (did I mention these guys are from Montreal?). The two love-struck kids dig tunnels to meet in town alone, and find themselves in their own world, forgetting what life was like before.
The neighborhood tracks beckon us into a coming-of-age story, as we discover what we are to become only in light of reflecting on all that we’ve lost. #2 subtitled Laika refers to the first dog sent into space without intention to bring him back as a metaphor for the black sheep of the family. I love the relational dimensions brought into this song though, sung from the point of view of a sibling, we picture the fights with a parent, and even the way neighbors can revel in a good story to tell, regardless of the pain it causes. It’s sung with a lot of tongue in cheek goodness.
Thus begins the year without light. Une Annee Sans Lumiere breaks from the cycle of neighborhood pictures to find a moment to grieve and reflect, but only a moment. Upon closer investigation (looking up a translation), the song is really a joining of the songs on either side of it. Une Annee combines metaphors of family struggle (the father wears blinders like a horse) with a dark world that’s lost it’s power (“hey! The streetlights all burnt out”). In preparation for Neighborhood #3 (Power Out), Une Annee speeds up with tambourine and shouts of “Hey!” that make me want to start running all the way into the next track. Power Out continues to describe the town searching for light, and extends the metaphor to a final frustrated thought and plea: “and the power’s out in the heart of man, take it from your heart put it in your hand.”
Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles) uses actual kettle whistles above the repeated string patterns in between verses. It drives me a little crazy, but creates a mysterious effect as Butler continues to reflect on the relationship between birth and death in lines like, “Time keeps creepin’ through the neighborhood, killing old folks, wakin’ up babies just like we knew it would,” and “they say a watched pot won’t ever boil… just like a seed down in the soil you gotta give it time.”
Crown of Love seems to be the center of this album, while all the other songs run at full pace this one is a simple apology: “if you still want me, please forgive me, the crown of love is not upon me,” showing of Butler’s ability to embody great passion. In the final minute, the track’s string driven 6/8 feel breaks into 4/4 and I break out dancing for the last minute of the song. My only disappointment on the entire album is that it fades out instead of developing the energy yet again, and expanding the song to 6 minutes.
But I forget all disappointment as soon as Wake Up strikes up and calls everyone to sing along to the syllable of “oh” like a good U2 chorus. In this song we return to the theme of growing older, and although the song begins heavily, they cleverly transition into dance beat that seems to face death without fear, affirmed by Butler shouting, “you better look out below!”
Hanging up clothes as Haiti plays, I can’t help but think the repeated counter melody sounds like a steel drum melody, though it tends to be played be flute and voices. Suspended electronic sounds remain while nothing else does, and the anticipated Rebellion (Lies) beat enters right on top with energy-contagious kick drum and bouncing double bass combo. I don’t want to close my eyes, because it’s simply not safe when you’re jumping around the room.
Finally Funeral comes to a close with female vocalist Regine Chassagne, who sings with a haunting Bjork quality. Until now she’s only headed up “oohs” or accented words or lines sung primarily by Win Butler, and I wonder if she was held back earlier in the album in order to create the surprise that In the Backseat brings. Swinging between two feels of either thin arch-shaped piano lines, and a heavy rock underscored by bowed bass, the instrumentation seems to hint at the song’s theme of moving between childhood and responsibility: “My family tree’s loosing all it’s leaves, crashing towards the driver’s seat”. At the end of Funeral, this is one of the few songs that appropriately fades into silence, and I’m left with nothing to do other than push play again.
It really wasn’t so many years ago that Set Yourself on Fire was left on repeat on my stereo for several months, and even now I don’t feel as though I’ve exhausted its effect on me. The sentimentality of the record is varied in such a way that it seems to fit any circumstance: it’s great on my iPod, on a road trip, or while I’m at home studying. Or like this Friday, cranking out the stereo as I prepared brunch for myself and a friend.
Before I say too much, I should mention that as soon as I put this album on I am automatically in danger of completely contradicting my philosophy of albums and the intention of this blog. The reason being I could quite easily spend the entire post on the first track, Your Ex-Lover is Dead. I’ll try to keep it short. Your Ex-Lover is Dead provides a window through which to view the rest of the songs of the album, and sets the tone for what the album (and the band in general) is best at: break up songs.
The song showcases Stars’ two lead vocalists Torquille and Amy, by having them play the parts of two departed lovers. Before we know anything of the intended setting, a string section and a cello line sets a mood that paints a picture in my head. And even though I'm sure it's influenced by my foreknowledge of the lyrics, I’m immediately transported to a rainy evening on a cobblestone street, trying to hail a taxi.
It’s also hard not to hear this song without mental pictures of the film, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but I’m positive that’s only because the music video makes pretty clear references to it. Other great things about this track: the shift between a lighter 6/8 feel characterized by the orchestral strings and a more punchy every-beat-emphasized feel in 3; along with great bitter-sweet lines like, “I’ll write you a postcard, I’ll send you the news from the house down the road from real love”.
But moving on to the title track, Set Yourself on Fire. It’s a fairly smooth transition actually, partially because the intro of the song keeps a meter in 6/8 before snapping back into common time for the verses. What this song does really well is move us from the beauty of the first track into further exploration of failed relationships through the rest of the album by unifying the world through experience of the “one thing”, which of course is up for interpretation, but not really.
I begin to pull out ingredients for hash-browns, but about 3 minutes into the song I’m tempted to crawl back into bed to add to my “20 years of sleep”. Thankfully, by the time I convince myself, Ageless Beauty kicks in and reminds me that Sarah will be at my door in about 20 minutes, and I need to chop some freaking potatoes! So I do, to a slightly more poetic and hopeful view of love and life (“we will always be a light”).
Reunion comes next, reminding me that I have one myself to look forward next year: Ten years past high-school. I’m not so sure that I’ll go, but for now I’ll enjoy this song about nostalgia for old crushes and youthfulness.
Then, once again, Stars play off their duet capabilities in The Big Fight. These are always my favorite songs of Stars. This song is relaxed and groovy, and even though I’m spending my time boiling potatoes, I feel suave. I kind of imagine myself sitting by a fire with a stiff drink in hand. But then the mood breaks a little when I picture Torque and Amy acting out their disagreements through a dance off during the long instrumental outro…
All I can say about What I’m Trying to Say is that I find it impossible not to sing along with. It captures an awkwardness of relationships that songs rarely can without sounding awkward themselves. “I am trying to say… what I want to say… without having to say… I love you” So great.
Sarah arrives and I make her help with all the brunch that hasn’t been finished, while I also lose my focus on the music playing in the background. Instead of ignoring my friend to blog, I wait and put the CD on at work during the evening shift.
One More Night (Your Ex-Lover Remains Dead) gets even deeper into the complexities of end-of-relationship phenomena: The last night together. It’s dark, and I love it. I also love how it’s back to back with Sleep Tonight, the one fairly simple, love song on the album. Yet even on Sleep Tonight, we’re aware of what we’re ignoring: “with buried heads we both forget all of the past and its regret”. Still, “all the love’s alive tonight”. Maybe it is still possible to love after all of the disappointment and pain that we’ve been experiencing.
Nearing the end of the album, we get a brief picture of a beginning of a relationship: The First Five Times. I’m not nearly as into it this time, but in the past it’s been one of my favorites to bounce around to.
He Lied About Death is just plain angry. I have never loved this song. Sometimes I yell to it a bit, and it was a little fun listening to at work, but for the most part I don’t see how it fits with the rest.
Finally the trio completes it all: Celebration Guns, Soft Revolution, and Calendar Girl. We have another clear return to the strings and brass that began the album, creating a bit of a nostalgic and reflective tone. Next Soft Revolution jumps back in to the familiar steady beat to get us ready for the ultimate end-of-album ballad (Calendar Girl) that spends some time repeating that, after all is said and done, I am alive.
So in the end, Set Yourself on Fire is relatively hopeful and thankful for life, allowing the title to take an ironic tone. Maybe we can survive our broken hearts and failed attempts at love. And even when it feels like we won’t, we have a great album to relate to.
