New Music: VietNam, Arab Strap, Julie Doiron

VietNam - Priest, Poet & The Pig - Kemado (2007)

VietNam - VietNam / Kemado

One of the things Francis Ford Coppola does so brilliantly in "Apocalypse Now" (which shares a similar font to VietNam's self-titled debut) is illustrate the dramatic differences between seeing things from afar and seeing things up close; the raid on the beach was a videogame for the pilots but hell on earth for the troops on the ground, for example. The Brooklyn quartet VietNam is similar; put on in the background as white noise filler, the album's quiet, scenic passages dominate the sprawling psych-grime of certain tracks. But given a closer listen, the songs burst forth with a hippie filth altogether VietNam's own.

One of the other well-documented things about "Apocalypse Now" is how long the journey upriver takes with little to no action; days are spent aboard Marlow's boat with nothing to do but wait for bullets from VietCong or a checkpoint with Playboy bunnies. VietNam's album continues in this same grand tradition: Beautifully meandering bits interspliced with violent outbreaks and Michael Germer's wreckless howling. "Priest, Poet & The Pig" is an early example of this, drawing you in and swirling about like a purple haze gone awry. The irresistable allure of conquering the second half quickly becomes its own jungle, but there's no turning back after "Mr. Goldfinger." Hear that? That's bluesy psych-rock done well. And there's nothing I like more than bluesy psych-rock done well in the morning.












Arab Strap - To All a Good Night - Chemikal Underground Ltd. (2006)

Arab Strap - Ten Years of Tears / Chemikal Underground Ltd.

Arab Strap is an altogether different beast. Whereas VietNam represents the anxiety and hold-and-release tension of the jungle, Arab Strap is exactly the music you expect to hear for broken hearts and wasted minds in Falkirk, itself a bit of a geographical purgatory caught between the thick accents and strong arts community in Glasgow and the refined governance of Edinburgh. Crisp cold and clear vocals (minus that Scottish burr) complement humid heat and disorienting echoes all unified by the grand theme of a musical haze. Whether that be via drugs or booze, it never matters. Aidan Moffat and Malcolm Middleton know this well: In fact, they've been lamenting lost loves, meaningless shags and pub grub with a sly sense of humor for over a decade now (Don't be fooled by the title).

And for every Anglophile looking for a reason to mope without Morrissey, Arab Strap had two songs to play back for you. Here's the proof: "Ten Years of Tears" is fully 18 songs long and doesn't even include all their castaways; a motley bunch of tunes still hide in the depths of their back catalog even now. There are even better examples of the technique (Gently swaying strings, lilting piano lines and occasional horns trumpeting the lack of triumph on tracks like "(Afternoon) Soaps" or "The Girl I Loved Before I Fucked"), but the dichotomy between the acoustic strumming of "To All a Good Night" coupled with the humor of the card conversation at the end perfectly encompasses the ethos of the ultimate sad bastards (for which they will always be loved). This hodgepodge of songs from 1995 to 2006 might be the best way of introducing two guys who now, finally, can move on with their lives in different directions. The dawn is coming as I write this. Yes, it is a new day. Despite past solo efforts, perhaps this new day and era will provide something more optimistic than just a wink and a knowing nod that things will end up okay. Or maybe, as they suggest, there is no ending. They're probably right.

Julie Doiron - The Wrong City - Jagjaguwar (2007)

Julie Doiron - Woke Myself Up / Jagjaguwar

...Or maybe, as Julie Doiron knows all too well, endings are happening all the time. The sun has arrived a few minutes later here and I'm no longer writing this in the cloudy-headed methods of the half-asleep. Julie certainly wasn't writing "Woke Myself Up" half-asleep, either: Her sixth album on Jagjaguwar (and first since 2004's "Goodnight Nobody") finds her turning inward more than ever before to examine what led to her cheating on her long-time husband and destroying the foundations of the family values she'd been raised on. What's interesting about Doiron's latest is that it shows the psyche of the cheater rather than the cheated; there aren't many artistic works that illustrate this that I can think of offhand (unless you want to count "House of Meetings" by Martin Amis, but equating cheating with rape is something I'd prefer to stay away from), so this perspective is still a bit fresh even for folkies who might as well have conquered every other subject this side of psoriasis. Doiron in particular isn't new to music, having started her career a long time ago (1990) in a land far, far away (Moncton, New Brunswick)... But this album might be her best yet, an acoustically sprase yet dense and emotionally wrecked set of songs that anyone who has cheated on someone else will relate to. Hopefully it goes some way to repairing her lost relationships and those of the listeners that can relate in some way.

That failing, of course, you either give them napalm or you give them a drink and a "fuck off" with a Scottish burr. Add a wink and a knowing nod to always leave them wondering.