British Neo-Krautrockers and an Ex-Seattleite's Sublime Balladry
by Dave Segal
Every day, Dave Segal sifts through the hundreds of tracks that bombard his inbox. On a biweekly basis, he tells you about the two artists whose music mo
st impressed him. This time, British neo-krautrockers Beak> flex their soundtrack muscles and ex-Seattle singer-songwriter Eliana Glass makes stripped-down, confessional balladry sublime again.
Beak>, “SOS 5” (Invada)Over the last 16 years, Bristol, England's Beak> have established themselves as one of the preeminent groups in the neo-krautrock movement. Reviving the peaks of underground German rock from the late '60s and '70s is one of the most important functions of the nostalgic impulse, and Beak> have undertaken this task with utmost seriousness. That they've zeroed in on the sonic universe of Can just demonstrates Beak>'s savvy and ambition.
But perhaps less known to their fans, Beak> also run a nice side hustle in soundtracks, as this new one, State of Silence, proves. Following 2016's Couple in a Hole, State of Silence allows Beak> (bassist Billy Fuller, keyboardist/guitarist Will Young, and drummer Geoff Barrow) to flex muscles that rarely get used in their studio albums proper.
Turns out, they're very good at film music, and in fact, Barrow is leaving the group after their upcoming North American tour to focus more on that endeavor. In a media statement, the Portishead producer said, "Unfortunately, due to a dodgy ankle and other work I need to do before I get too old, it’s time for me to move on from being the mumbling drummer." Beak> will carry on without Barrow, but it'll be hard to fill the void.
Back to State of Silence. A documentary directed by Santiago Maza, it depicts the lives of four journalists in Mexico who face governmental hardships simply for spotlighting reality in their communities. This portrait of media clampdown resonates in America, where the current administration slanders journalists as "enemies of the people."
Anyway, the music. "SOS 1" is a noisy dirge that sets an ominous tone, while "SOS 3" is a forlorn fanfare that's nearly as poignant as Brian Eno's "An Ascent." In "SOS 4," desolate (synthetic?) horns waft over a trepidatious bass line and warped synth vapor in the Kluster vein. Beak>'s seldom-heard beatless side emerges on "SOS 8"; this is a miniaturist piece redolent of misty sadness. "SOS 10" is one of those post-rock-group-goes-melancholy songs that shed a single, meaningful tear. It's sonically sparse but emotionally abundant.
State of Silence closes with "SOS 13," composition of profound compassion and tender beauty—not a facet that Beak> reveal very often in their work. Best of all may be "SOS 5," with its hypnotic, tension-building rhythm enhanced by bulbous bass, distant crashing percussion, and etiolated synth. This track alone makes me want to see the movie.
Beak> perform April 4 at Neumos. It could be your last chance to see Geoff Barrow perform live.
Eliana Glass, “Shrine” (Shelter Press)I thought I was absolutely done with new "soul"-bearing singer-songwriters. But every decade or so, one precious confessional artist strolls along and makes my eyes stop rolling at the prospect of spidery acoustic guitar, spacey keyboards, and hushed vox for a minute. Brisbane-via-New York-via-Seattle's Eliana Glass is the latest vocalist/composer to make intimate, spare balladry sublime again.
It helps that Glass has exquisite musical taste: Annette Peacock, Nina Simone, Sibylle Baier, and Carla Bley (among other greats) have influenced her. From these innovators, Glass has distilled unimpeachable gravitas and exceptional phrasing into her own songs. She has a gift for extending flat notes and inflating sprechstimme into delightful, logic-defying twists.
Glass's debut album, E (out April 25), is going to turn some smart heads. All the folks who've crowned Lana Del Rey Queen of the Lugubrious should cock ears toward Ms. Glass. Right from jump, "All My Life" dips you into the deep end, as Glass's piano and Mike Rinne's bass gently buttress an abstract ballad in which our heroine emotes with jagged yet subdued intensity. The odd sonic angles and vocal elocutions add luscious tension to what could have been a conventional woe-is-me-athon. "Good Friends Call Me E" recalls Josh Haden's band Spain in its sly, jazzy tumble and soulful understatement, aided by Rinne's lithe bass and Mike Gebhart's nimble drums. It's understandable why Shelter Press would make it the album's second single.
"Flood"—which was cowritten with her brother/key collaborator, guitarist Costa Colachis Glass—rides a faintly undulating piano melody recalls that in Chicago's "Colour My World," but Eliana makes its lassitude sound heavenly. Singing in smoky, lower registers, Glass reveals an aptitude for penning wonderfully glum tunes, as on "Solid Stone," which she sings with tensile composure. "Song for Emahoy" is an instrumental that channels Ethiopian nun/pianist Emahoy Tsegué Maryam Guèbrous's feathery, melancholy playing. The piece takes you to church—one located in Elysium.
"Dreams" is not a Fleetwood Mac cover, but rather a stunning rendition of Annette Peacock's pensive, creepy ballad from 1971's Bley-Peacock Synthesizer Show, in which Glass elevates things to peak-era Nico territory with some weird, eerie piano chords. This tenebrous chiller would scare the Buckingham out of Stevie Nicks.
"Shrine" is what happens when a song of regret gets iced out; shivers ensue. Glass's voice is double-tracked into spicy counterpoint, like she's having an internal argument with herself. In the press notes, Glass says, "This song is more a series of images than a clear story. It’s about the people you encounter in life and the parts of them that live on in you—unbeknownst to them. It’s also about feelings of isolation, of being secluded or remote." Now, it's harrowing to hear a woman in her late 20s sing "I’m living on borrowed time," but on evidence of the velvety poignancy of E, Eliana Glass's time is actually imminent.
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