Thursday, February 20, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Nocturama

Critics seem to revel in describing Australia's Nick Cave as a "goth balladeer" or a "dark troubadour," in part because his literary lyrics often mine the depths of human emotion, in part because his voice tends to nosedive into an almost morose bass. But Cave isn't really all that different from other great rock lyricists of our day, such as Bruce Springsteen, Van Morrison and Neil Young. Cave simply doesn't write bubble-gum pop songs full of poses and false emotion. This is music for adults. That's not to say Cave isn't hopeful at times, as several songs on his new album, Nocturama, testify. The album is Cave's 12th since the demise of his punk band Birthday Party and the formation of the Bad Seeds, and it's one of his best. Cave and the band recorded the songs on Nocturama in a week, resulting in a rawer, more spontaneous feel than some past Cave efforts. The album alternates between stripped-down ballads, such as "Wonderful Life" and "There Is a Town," and rev-up rockers, highlighted by the guitar-driven single "Bring It On" and the satirical noise-fest "Dead Man in My Bed." The only miscue is the relentless, 15-minute closer, "Babe, I'm on Fire," which starts just fine but ends up being about 10 minutes too long.--Geoff Schumacher

The Bleachers

The Bleachers EP

Ah, those hoary indie-rock conventions: lo-fi touches, artful doses of noise, shoegazing lyrics and that certain underdog sensibility that champions the lovable loser, the weakling, the charming malcontent. Yeah, it was novel enough through the '90s, but doesn't a new millennium demand a new stance? Or at least a new schtick; certain parts of the new EP by The Bleachers--a local duo of Joe Maloney and Marco Brizuela--are so self-consciously, stubbornly indie, they'll inspire Olympic eye-rolls: a shower spattering in the background on the otherwise beautiful "The Fine Print," or Maloney's washy pre-pube voice that quavers--intentionally? not?--at high notes on songs such as "Whistler," or the samples-for-sample's-sake that sometimes work--but sometimes don't.

In short, The Bleachers are a fine acoustic act with indie touches that doth scream indie too much. Fortunately, their craft outpaces their artiness. In the end, the songs--brisk, competent acoustic tunes that themselves have a roomy, cafe feel--generally work, whether it's the sweeping downhill tumble of "Quiet," the swaying "Russian," or "Counterfeit," the forceful final track that sees tuneful divergence between descending guitar figures and Maloney's climbing vocals. Odds are the duo is delightful live--as long as they don't try to pull that shower thing.--Andrew Kiraly

The Raveonettes

Whip It On

According to their bio, Danish duo Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo set down some ground rules before recording their eight-song debut, Whip It On. For starters, every song had to be recorded in B-minor, and limited to three chords and three minutes (they wound up failing with the latter condition three times). Additionally, ride cymbals and high hats were forbidden. Throw in a fetish for Phil Spector, B-movies and a Beat Generation-style repulsion toward revision, and you've got one potentially precious band that seems to be going for something awfully specific. Or the Scandinavian version of the White Stripes, perhaps.

It's a great time to play in the Raveonettes, the newest entry in the lo-fi/retro sweepstakes. Its noisy, garage a go-go sound sits well on the Tower Records promo endcap of current bands mimicking and mining the feedback-saturated icons of the '80s (Sonic Youth, Suicide, Velvet Underground, Jesus and Mary Chain), as well as the stacked compositional style of the '60s (the Ronettes, the Shangri-Las, the Animals). It's not so original, in that each of the eight songs on Whip It On does nothing to hide its influences. But it's a minor revelation because Wagner and Foo blend those influences so well, an uber-taut approach to their modern old school.

Like Clinic, whose music also recalls old Sunday matinee and motorcycle run soundtracks, the Raveonettes aren't into anthems or ear candy as much as aesthetic and atmosphere. Sune's songwriting is nothing less than melodic, but his sense of distinction and nuance--as well as his faded vocal style--test any pop classification. Whip It On is arguably too cool, too explicitly nostalgic and too disdainful of anything remotely current (an exception: the band's use of Pro Tools). Which also makes it visionary, a moody and theatrical reverie that provides maximum rock 'n' roll escapism.--Mike Prevatt