Start off by
postulating that “Pink by White” was without question one of the
most memorable songs of 2006 — House Of Love by way of “Marlene
Dietrich”-era Peter Murphy; a dreamy foray into 12-string
never-never land that slithers its way into the listener’s
psyche like some insidious melodic zephyr. Songs of Green
Pheasant’s Duncan Sumpner, he of the four-track kitchen-table
recording aesthetic and “Scarborough Fair” preoccupation, has a
way of doing just that: of transcending his low-fi genre to
incubate a mature and enveloping sound that is leagues beyond
that of his more torpid contemporaries. While not so arresting
in aggregate as his jaw-dropping 2005 debut, Aerial Days
is nonetheless another fine example of unearthly aural
introspection, and is virtually guaranteed to foster some
meaningful introspection of your own.
Legend has it
that SOGP’s first batch of songs languished at Fat Cat Records
for three years before being released; given the Tolkien-esque
ambience of his music, one can easily imagine Fat Cat’s fat cats
passing the bong and shaking their heads, wondering what to do
with such eccentric and distinctive output. Indeed, the
tingling, airy strains running through Days seem to take
on a life of their own, aided and abetted by Sumpner’s laconic
guitars and smooth Garfunkel-style vocals. Hearing the redolent
“Wintered” is akin to wandering lost in a forest for four
wondrous minutes, while album closer “Brody Jacket” nearly
brings tears with its plucked guitar and grieving saxophone.
Granted, anyone downloading the record will probably be most
struck by song five’s familiar title — a tight, ringing cover of
“Dear Prudence” (yes, that Prudence) which sounds oddly
at home amid its fellow tracks. But whatever your taste, “Pink
By White” is well worth a quick test drive.
***
Artist:
Marshall Crenshaw
Album:Mary Jean & 9 Others
Released:
1987
Label:
Warner Brothers
Online Track to
Try: “Somebody Crying”
When Marshall
Crenshaw’s self-titled debut hit college airwaves in 1982, his
uncomplicated guitar-based style was hailed as a welcome return
to polished pre-punk songcraft. To this day the album is
reckoned a lovelorn ’80s classic, as much an homage to the
iconic “teen love song” as a sterling example of crystal-clear
studio production. Of course, contrarian that I am, Marshall
Crenshaw’s antiseptic vapidity and plainspoken girl-boy
naivete always bored me to tears. It wasn’t until years later,
when I first heard 1987’s more muscular and battle-hardened
Mary Jean & 9 Others, that I got bitten by the Crenshaw bug
for good.
Maybe it’s my
age, but there’s something tangibly satisfying about watching
atavistic puppy love get knocked on its tender ass by unkind
experience. And I don’t mean this in the gloating schadenfreude
sense, either. Where maturity finally meets love (or lust), one
usually finds poignancy — that underrated cinematic quality so
often missing from our day to day lives. And that’s why Mary
Jean succeeds where Crenshaw’s debut fails: Songs like “At
Crying Time,” “This Street” and “Somebody Crying” ache with need
of a weightier kind, the sting of loss embodying far more
pertinence for our imperfect lives than some sugary ditty about
trying to find a date. His ingrained optimism still manages to
peek through — “Mary Jean” may be a lover’s lament, but what a
hook! — yet it’s a tempered optimism, chastened somehow, as if
that magical longed-for Saturday night didn’t quite live up to
his expectations. There were other girls before, and there’ll be
others after — or so Mary Jean seems to affirm, with the
infectious certainty of a guy who’s been around the block a few
times since that first self-titled fling.
Marc Stephens
is a Web consultant by day, writer by night. Comments? E-mail
sunpostmusic1 at bellsouth.net.
