Heard Here

Hank Williams
Timeless

Tribute albums are strange creatures. And unfortunately, many are pretty much irredeemable, made by mediocre bands trying to ride another artist’s name to easy money. But occasionally, there is a tribute album with the rare combination of fantastic songwriting talent by the original artist and a talented group of musicians covering the originals. Even more rare is that those cover artists have the requisite reverence for the original artist, and can still add their own interpretation without wrecking the original. An album where all of these variables come into line is exceptionally rare, but they all seem to fall right into place on Timeless.
The album, featuring covers and reinterpretations of some of Hank Williams’ greatest songs, works simultaneously as a stand alone piece or for fans of Hank or any of the artists featured. Well, except Sheryl Crow. Her attempts at yodeling on “Long Gone Lonesome Blues” are excruciating, but those yodels are the only flaws on what is otherwise a fantastic album.
The star power alone would be enough to sell the record: Bob Dylan (in a very “Love and Theft” version of “I Can’t Get You Off My Mind”), Crow, Keb’ Mo’, Beck (yes, and his “Your Cheatin’ Heart” is the best outside of the original), Mark Knopfler, Tom Petty, Keith Richards, Emmylou Harris (on “Alone and Forsaken,” probably the record’s best track), Hank Williams III (playing at the Agora in March, and you’d better go see him), Ryan Adams, Lucinda Williams, and, oh yeah, Johnny Cash (who doesn’t disappoint on his rendition of “I Dreamed About Mama Last Night”) round out the track listing.
The artists, however, are not content to rest on their big names, and provide (even Crow) heartfelt and energized re-workings of Williams’ originals. As well they should — every artist on the album owes their career mostly to Williams’ short, brilliant life as a boundary-breaking country pop star. Despite slow songs mostly about love and loneliness, Hank Williams was the first rock star, in everything from crossover appeal to the cult of personality that developed following his drug-related death.
There really is no overstating Williams’ importance in the development of American popular music. He almost single-handedly created what we know today as country music (and is probably rolling in his grave if he can hear Martina McBride’s “country records”) while also being one of the first white artists to incorporate blues sensibilities into his music, and pushing America one step closer to rock’n’roll, all while writing some damn great pop songs. There is really no modern analogue to Hank Williams — though his grandson sure does a better job holding up the family legacy than his sell-out son, Hank, Jr. — and it’s a good thing that such a variety of talented and successful artists are so willing and able to prostrate themselves at the altar of Hank. He deserves it.

–Jacob Kramer-Duffield

Saul Williams
Amethyst Rock Star

Saul Williams spouts on his new disc, Amethyst Rock Star, “Am I happy? / Happiness is a mediocre standard for a middle class existence / I see through smiles and see truth in the distance. . .” Williams has been sorcering with words for many years, mixing spirituality and culture like I’d imagine Siddhartha would if he’d been a DJ. Amethyst Rock Star marks his inevitable expansion from spoken to the sung word. While he has been collaborating with various musicians (DJ Krush on Coded Language, most notably) and artists (he starred in and co-wrote Sundance Film Festival winner Slam); he can now officially add musician to the list of roles that he would say do not define him in any important sense.
I will not pretend to be anything but awed by Williams’ communication with language. There are parts of his poems that cause me to be certain that what I am reading is not the internal dialogue of a man, but the closest feeling to truth that I think myself capable of experiencing. At these moments I’m aware of him only as a channeler of — hear this word without faded, limp conntations — the Spirit, whatever that may be. “How much must you age before you’re ageless? / Align, yourself with the divine / allow your inner sage to burn you rageless. / Cause I find, / through testaments of time / there is no space for time within your mind…”
My adulation does not cloud me from my confusion over this new album, however. My conception of Saul Williams is of “I find peaces through Ommmmmm,” the man who uses breath and sound as meditation. I was, to say the least, surprised by the incongruency between that floaty concept and the unrelenting, voracious momentum of Rock Star, especially because a driving element is rage, a state that I never connected to this poet in search of peace. Passion, perhaps, or angst, but rage? It is certainly a contexually appropriate emotion, however, as most of the songs deal with the current race situation in America or its origins. References to lynching and false emcees abound. “Niggas used to buy their families out of slavery/ now we buy chains and links/smokes and drinks…”
“I love hip hop / like I love my mother / and wouldn’t bring most of you emcees home for dinner / oh well, I guess I’ll listen to Radiohead for another year. . .” I had not aniticipated the inensity of Williams’ commentary on the present situation. He has always appeared slightly intellectually removed from the subjects of his poetry, as though playing the part of the messenger even when addressing his personal issues of love and identity. Even the evocation of his confusion and pain is done in such a verbally inspired way that it transcends itself and is no longer personal. And here he yells! A lot! Basic overwhelming emotions! At first I attributed this to the novelty of the idea of “rockstar”; perhaps he adopted this form of loud fervency to match the image of his album title, the whirling prophet popstar. I am now much more inclined to say that on this album Williams has managed to maintain the precarious role of channeler; he is expressing not only his rage, not only the race rage bubbling so near the surface of our culture, but the rage and angst that accompany the state we call being human. Who am I? Who am I supposed to be? Who are you? Am I alone? Why do I have to ask these questions? Frustrating and painful.
Amethyst Rock Star could be categorized as a cathartic piece of art, but I would rather say that it simply is a catharsis, for Williams and for some who hear the album.
I hope this messenger will be shot skywards for this powerful piece of communication.

–Katrin Welch

Stephin Merritt
Eban & Charley (Original Soundtrack)

I should admit right away that I bought this album the day it was released, no questions asked. As a true blue Magnetic Fields fan, I didn’t think Stephin Merritt could do wrong. Sadly, I was mistaken. Of course, this is not a straight forward Merritt album; nor is it a Magnetic Fields album. Ditto for the 6ths and even The Gothic Archies. It is an original soundtrack to a film by James Bolton entitled Eban and Charley. As far as I know, no one has ever seen this movie. I gather from the photographs on the CD that it is, surprisingly enough, a love story about two very nice-looking young men. Stephin Merritt seems an obvious choice to lend his talents.
The soundtrack itself is a funny mix of things. Weighing in at a teensy 36 minutes, it contains only six songs with Merritt’s lyrics. Also included are the somewhat bizarre instrumental choices of “O Tannenbaum” and “Greensleeves.” In between these songs are brief interludes: crickets chirping, bicycle wheels rotating, water dripping. These I could have done without, especially when the rain track lasts for seven minutes and not one of the songs is longer than three. This struck me as an odd selection, and where the idea of “a soundtrack” is important to keep in mind.
The most significant facets of Merritt’s songs are their lyrics and perfect little melodies, and this album showcases neither. The reason I ran out to buy this album was the undying hunger for more perfect little love songs, and this just didn’t satisfy me. However, I should add that there are touches of undiluted Merritt. There are some delicious lyrics about player pianos, the moon, ukuleles and love. (From the song “this Little Ukulele” comes the classic Stephin Merritt declaration, “I wish I had an orchestra behind me to show you how I feel.”)
This is an important piece of any comprehensive Magnetic Fields fan’s collection, but it is no 69 Love Songs. Luckily, we all know that Merrit is shocklingly prolific, and so we can forgive him this indulgence while patiently awaiting the next installment. Who knows, maybe Eban and Charley will be a huge cinematic success and this soundtrack will be bigger than Footloose. Probably not.

–Emma Straub