Thursday, October 23, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

David Bowie

Reality

It seems David Bowie's fans anticipate a "return to form" nearly as much as Radiohead's. The problem for them is, the Thin White Duke pretty much left his glam-pop sound with the '70s, and has since been forging ahead with sounds that prefer a detached, futuristic vagueness rather than the uncertain modernism he's so known for. Most have found it tough to absorb much of his output since the early '80s, when the high-charting Scary Monsters and Let's Dance albums showcased some of the singer/songwriter's most tuneful and eye-candy inspiring work.

With last year's consistently pleasing Heathen, Bowie re-teamed with his '70s producer, Tony Visconti, and the result was the closest thing the artist had come to truly revisiting his golden era, both in terms of the quality of the material and the passion behind it. Fifteen months later, Reality accomplishes something very similar, only the songs pull you in more immediately. Whereas Heathen felt more spatial and ethereal--a post-millennial update of his work with ambient godfather Brian Eno--Reality is a tighter, even punchier affair, reminiscent of the fired-up Bowie of Scary Monsters. Guitar-driven poppers like the radio single "New Killer Star," the spirited "Never Get Old," the evocative, mid-tempo "Days" and the robust title track put a focus on melody, and as any one of his hits compilations indicates, this man can pen a tune.

Part of this revitalization has to be credited to Bowie's triumphant, hit-friendly live performances during last year's Area Two festival tour. The immediacy and harmony on Reality reflect the balance of pop showmanship and aesthetic grace he displayed in those outings.

It's as if Bowie finally reconnected with his legacy to put modern life--or how he perceives it--into perspective. It not only promises an equally resonant vibe for Bowie's forthcoming world tour, but affirms his second wind as less a comeback and more an artistic evolution.--Mike Prevatt

Coheed and Cambria

In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3

Somewhere at the dubious intersection of emo, mathcore, pop punk and prog rock is Coheed and Cambria, sparking energetic songs that pant with literate desperation. Between the sinewy guitars that creep, snap and crunch and singer/guitarist Claudio Sanchez's disarmingly slick voice, CC sure seems to be on to something. In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3 leaves the harbor with the kind of promise that makes you pray, pray, pray these guys are gonna somehow save the universe. Between the opening gambit, "The Ring in Return"--an operatic swell in response to an answered phone--and the title track, things couldn't get any more excellent. "In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3" is an eight-minute mini-epic that crackles into what can only be called an anthem, with Sanchez pulling ear-tingling vocal grooves over a mass of stuttering, crashing guitars.

But CC becomes victim to its own brilliance; with the bar raised so high so early, later tracks suffer. Oh, they're respectable enough; "Cuts Marked in the March of Men" is richly textured groovecore; "The Crowing" is a dreamy afterburner for the emo kids; and "Three Evils"--an improbable pogo punk tune crafted with an expertise that's almost daunting--finishes a close second to the title track. But one gets the sense that even the band knows all the tracks on In Keeping aren't keepers. Here's hoping Coheed and Cambria employs a finer filter on its next release.--Andrew Kiraly

Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man

Out of Season

I don't know what possessed ex-Talk Talk bassist Paul Webb to christen himself "Rustin Man" on his new collaboration with Portishead's Beth Gibbons, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it's a feeble reference to the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. After all, tears caused the Tin Man to rust, and Out of Season is so swollen with Gibbons' boo-hoos and weepy melodrama that Webb must have needed an hourly oil bath just to keep his picking arm from seizing up in the midst of one of her gloomy ballads.

Needless to say, this is not the same Beth Gibbons who won the world with her sultry blues on Portishead's sprawling masterwork Dummy in 1994. Not that I begrudge her the move from trip-hop--two studio albums and that had run its course--but Out of Season is waterlogged by its tears, piling misery on top of misery until, by comparison, even Morrissey sounds like a happy, well-adjusted boy. And the sparse instrumentation does little to help. In my experience, the only thing more depressing than a lone cello is a chorus of tortured sighs (also featured in abundance on Out of Season).

The assault of melancholia begins with "Mysteries," on which Gibbons croons like a lonesome maiden bemoaning lost love on a foggy moor (Irish brogue not included). Mercifully, "Tom the Model"--the album's finest track--lifts the mood ever so slightly, adding an R&B horn section to Gibbon's soulful wail. But it's all downhill from there. On "Show" and especially "Romance," Gibbons does her best Billie Holiday impression, and on "Sand River," she invokes Barbra Streisand's "water-colored memories." If that's not something to cry about, then I don't know what is.--Newt Briggs