Echo & The Bunnymen

“Meteroites”

429

The “personal approach” taken by Ian McCulloch in the 11th Echo and the Bunnyman’s album is, quite simply, sublime. The liner notes talk about McCulloch’s “complex relationship” with his father, which seems like tired ground for a band as established as this. But instead of a waa-waa-waa wank fest that is the usual acoustic exploration of daddy issues, this album, by comparison, is beautiful. It’s intensely listenable, whether on purpose or as the soundtrack to a solo bottle of wine drunk on a windy beach at sunset. These are the kinds of songs that would be playing while you messily made out with that manic pixie dream girl you’ve wanted from afar, or the ones that would play when she dumps you. Rarely does current release music take you back to the maddening days of being 17 in 19-whenever. But this album? This album will. CV

Jack White

“Lazaretto”

Third Man

I love Jack White. He’s a chameleon. As such, while everything he does feels vaguely familiar, it’s surprisingly difficult to talk about his work in generalizations. “Oh, you know, like how Jack White sounds”. This album is a LONG LONG way from the White Stripes. Really, it’s a step away from anything he’s done yet. I’d say some of it harkens to early Red Hot Chilli Peppers (back when they could still make your mom clutch her pearls), yet some of it reinvents Jack White anew. Surprise violins, funk bass lines, classic dirty guitars and gritty cigarette-smoke-laced vocals. You can tell that several backing bands are with him on this one, providing a depth and variety that complements White smoothly. I want to say listening to this album takes me to some southern bayou bar with loose women and throat-burning whiskey, but I cant. Like I said, I love Jack White. And like the man, I can’t pin his album down to anything. Quite frankly, this is a difficult album to describe. He’s an underrated artist who I’m glad to see has truly endured. CV