There's no "Fast Car" on Let It Rain. Instead of creating more singalong ballads like those that have previously won her attention, Chapman wandered further into the shadows, creating a murky, emotional album. Let It Rain has little to do with the singer of "Fast Car," though Chapman's lyrical and musical abilities have not waned.
And the lack of radio-ready tracks on Let it Rain says nothing about the talent involved in the album's making. Chapman co-produced this work with P.J. Harvey's producer, John Parish, and worked with various musicians, including Tom Waits' guitarist and Beck's drummer. But the music is Chapman's personal blend and never delves into the styles of any of her band members.
If anything, the sound of songs like "Almost" could be tied to older tunes by David Grey. On the other hand, the cynicism of "Hard Wired," a tune that expresses the modern state of the pre-programmed mind, takes over the accordion, piano and folksy guitar like something by Joan Baez.
"Say Hallelujah" makes death a reason for rejoicing while being anything but trite, while tunes like the closing "I Am Yours" are simply confident and soft folk expressions.
Tracy Chapman knows a rare form of beauty, one difficult to locate amid the tumult of popular music.
Let it Rain is the reward to those who wait for that moment of calm after the storm and who search for something timeless to counteract the fast pace of life.
By Michelle Jarboe
BWB
Groovin'
3 Stars
Slick instrumental trio BWB walks the fine line dividing first-rate jazz from the dismal void of lite jazz -- that water-thin mush you associate with the waiting room of a dentist's office.
Despite an overarching smoothness to its sound, what saves BWB's Groovin' from tepidity is a tone that remains dense and rich.
While most bands lose such a thickness in the production process, all of BWB's talent is layered in a fashion that's subtle but evident to a discerning ear after the first few tracks.
BWB -- an acronym for primary members Rick Braun, Kirk Whalum and Norman Brown -- devotes itself to the path of homage for its debut, recording an album of covers of everything from jazz to R&B to funk.
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By and large the songs are instrumental, except Dee Dee Bridgewater's soulful vocals on "Let's Do It Again," originally performed by the great Curtis Mayfield.
The album opens with the familiar title track "Groovin'," a Rascals original rendered with polished saxophone for BWB's purposes. Other recognizable songs include "A Woman's Worth" by Alicia Keys and "It's Your Thing" by the Isley Brothers. Parliament's "Up for the Down Stroke" closes out the album in saucy jubilance, leaving even the most reserved booties shaking.
The interaction among BWB's members immediately distinguishes the album as a whole. The horn soloing is not simply blaring excess over a mere backdrop of bass and guitar. Nor do the bass and guitar overcompensate for their "rhythm-only" stigma. Rather, the bass and guitar weave humble yet warm riffs in between the horn section's moments in the limelight.
This is not to say that the string instruments don't get their time to shine. Song three, The Drifters' "Ruby Baby," really starts to boogie as Brown adds a soulful voice to his guitar solo -- he lightheartedly sings the notes as he plays them in a Hendrix-like effect that achieves the fullness of an overdub without actually using one.
Bass player Christian McBride similarly shows his chops on "Povo," leaving several minutes of the track invigorated by bouncy improvisation.
But the drum work on Groovin' is disappointingly restrained when compared to the loose and light style of other jazz percussionists. While a tightly structured beat can work to hold a predominantly improvised song together, occasional abandon on the drum kit would give the album a bit more breathing room without compromising its coherence.
As a whole BWB doesn't venture too far towards the extreme of musical rigidity. It handles the structure respectably well, shouldering the burden of rearranging other artists' music into a new form -- not blandly repetitive of the originals but at the same time, not an overextension into unrecognizable sloppiness.
While Groovin' certainly doesn't adventure into the unexplored possibilities of jazz, BWB has nevertheless debuted solid and refined on the music scene.
So turn to "Up for the Down Stroke" and ready your booty for shaking.
By Brandon Whiteside
Nathan Asher
Nathan Asher
3 Stars
Nathan Asher has been listening to way too much Bob Dylan.
In his self-titled solo compilation featuring a few live cuts, a few strumming spreads, a few spoken word rants and even a rap number, Asher always sounds like a young and angry Dylan.
But that doesn't mean that his similar blend of raw acoustical guitar strumming and cracking vocalization capture the same attitude that has won Dylan his legendary status.
Thankfully, Asher is a talented musician. His simple chords layered over his raspy voice build a backwater scene around the listener -- thrust into a smoky dive bar complete with a modern art motif and jazzy blue backlighting.
Songs like "The Blacks and the Jews," "Daylight" and "To Clara" best showcase his talent and unique style of songwriting. Each blend the sharp and even crass sounding chords with raspy lyrics for a forceful yet relaxed sound.
But that same characteristic is Asher's biggest weakness. Asher has a lot to say -- but chooses the wrong way in which to say it. His songs seethe with social satire and cynicism. When Asher expounds upon personal weakness in "You Cannot Quit Smoking" and lives out a sad life of lies and self-depravation in his rap single "Intentions," the message simply doesn't fit with the mood.
"We should/Get lifted/You look good/Buck naked ... You should/Get pregnant/Right now/By accident ... We'll feel/Real guilty/Decide to/Get married/I'll work while/You breast feed ... Forget all/Our old dreams/Regret the/Decision," tells the age-old tale of two irresponsible lovers. While the song is intriguing and at times the lyrics humorous, the social meaning is too heavy for rap-a-long tone.
Perhaps Asher is trying to make a statement about the undertones of pop-culture of the times. Perhaps he is trying to make a statement about general cultural trends and shortfalls. Whatever the meaning, however, it is lost in a sea of silly rhymes and exaggerated lyrics.
It is when Asher quits taking himself so seriously that he really shines as an artist and a songwriter. "David and Marie," which was recorded live, is a powerful rant about jaded lovers unable to cope the world around them -- and it works. His slow and sharp style accent the serious theme, and his intelligent writing dominates.
The end result is like teetering on a balance beam, trying to catch youthful angst and social unrest with an aged and folksy style. For Asher to find his niche he either has to mature as a songwriter or turn up the volume.
Dylan, Asher is not -- but he's got time to define himself.
By Nick Parker
