Portishead were a simulacrum, their anchors sunk deep in sample culture with Beth Gibbons' torch singer stylings and Adrian Utley's soundtrack scrapings operating merely as tools in the sample yard. In its evocation of forgotten jazz, blues, film music, and hip-hop, Portishead's Dummy was the quintessence of "even better than the real thing", yet when the magic ceased on the band's eponymous sophomore album, it was ultimately due to their desire to be the real thing. On Portishead, the trio retained their hip-hop elements only in principle-- they played every sound themselves, pressed the results to dubplates, and then cut and looped them into backing tracks. In practice, Portishead had abandoned the sampler's art-- the recontextualization of sound and the creation of history from history-- and so, the thrill had gone. It's no coincidence that the best post-Dummy release from the Portishead camp remains DJ Andy Smith's eclectic mash-up, The Document.
Beth Gibbons, one assumes, was never much into hip-hop. Hers, after all, was the bleeding heart at the center of it all, and her remarkable, tortured voice (equal parts Billie Holiday and Sandy Denny), remains capable of gravitas for any occasion. "Mysteries" opens Out of Season brilliantly, folk arpeggios plucking their way around Beth's gasps while a cadre of gospel singers in the background oooooh the record into being. "Tom the Model" takes that cue and runs with it, answering delicate folk verses with a nicely retro big-band soul chorus. Beth attacks the song with verve, and even the hint of self-pity in the lyric is kicked into touch by her defiance.
If only the rest of Out of Season displayed that energy. Instead, we're quickly plunged into moodiness for the sake of moodiness, overwhelmed by Gibbons' frankly unpitiable obsession with her own misfortune. At their best, Portishead turned this kind of smoky cabaret blues into an invigorating showpiece. But replace crackling vinyl and subwoofer bass with somber piano and mournful cello, and all you're left with is... well, a pretty goddamn miserable woman who happens to have a great voice. That's "Show" for you, and for all its miserable pleading, it's as forgettable a song as Gibbons has ever crooned.
"Romance" tries some moaning french horns on for size, and frankly looks ridiculous in them. Chrissakes, who suggested a 90-second french horn solo was a good idea? And again, if Gibbons' Billie Holiday routine was engaging in Portishead's hip-hop context-- reconstituted blues that fit their mix perfectly-- here it threatens to go a little pantomime.
And now to the issue of Rustin Man: What is the deal with calling yourself Rustin Man? Are we supposed to let that slide? Turns out it's an alias for ex-Talk Talk bassist Paul Webb. Now, Talk Talk did some wonderful things-- Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock both proved what can be achieved with emphasis on mood and atmosphere. Here, however, Webb allows Gibbons to dictate both, and it just doesn't work. Striking as her voice can be, she does little to prove that it has the emotive range to match its power.
Elsewhere, "Resolve" is a pretty but inconsequential folk tune, and "Drake" and "Funny Time of Year" waltz their way in and out of the frame without forcing you to take much notice. Which leaves "Rustin Man" the song, a frustrating hint of what might have been. Its pure ambience (think Dot Allison's recent album, if produced by Tim Friese-Greene) sounds remarkably modern next to the trad fare that precedes it, and the warbling and sizzling of the synths forces Beth to be a little more active with her vocal-- she slips in and out of the mix, allowing atmosphere to build rather than overwhelming it with her moods. Sonically, of course, it's no less bleak than the rest of this album, and though it does bring in some much-needed excitement at the end, it's just not powerful enough to save the whole from its vanilla dejection.
因为看到封面上有Lisa Gerrard的名字，我毫不犹豫买下了这张CD，对于专辑的主人Denez Prigent我反倒并不熟悉。在PIZZA HUT拆开包装的时候，内页模糊的森林吸引住了我，Denez Prigent的声音一想起我就知道这张CD买给了自己一个惊喜－“We are leaves of the same tree/We are all moved by the same wind.”
Good Breton music was, until the late 80s at least, a feature of my corner of town, since that part of the country is served by trains from Montparnasse and some of the streets around the large southern Paris station acquired Breton "settlers", bars, shops and clubs. Apart from the many crêperies still to be found today, most of that has disappeared in less than two decades.
All honour, then, to Denez Prigent, a Breton musician from northern Finistère who first learnt a traditional and difficult a capella narrative style, known as gwerzioù, from his grandmother as a boy in the 1960s and has gone on to captivate people in Paris, the nation and recently, other parts of Europe, with some increasingly original and wonderful albums.
Like his internationally renowned compatriot Alan Stivell (Fr., Eng. and Breton), Denez believes that Breton musical traditions are best upheld and maintained by reviving them with a leap across barriers and venturing into some bold juxtapositions and harmonies of style.
His latest CD, Sarac'h' (Oct 2003, Barclay, Amazon Fr.), is proof that "he who dares -- sometimes -- wins". And, surprise, it's part of my ongoing exploration of the voices of women too. In this instance, those of Lisa Gerrard ('Immortal Memory' and ex-Dead Can Dance), Gaelic stunner Karen Matheson ... and Bulgaria's Yanka Rupkina as well as fellow Breton Louise Ebrei. This mixture works. Admirably and beautifully. And so does Prigent's call on musicians as diverse as Nabil Khalidi from Morocco, with his oud, or lute, Latif Khan playing Indian tabla drums and Marcel Aubé on both the guitar-like north African gembri and the Chinese violin in the accompaniments, alongside more customary instruments and some carefully dosed electronica. The recording is of spectacularly high quality and the CD's lavish presentation in little book form original. Some of the songs are on traditional, story-telling bardic themes, with unusual excursions -- 'La Gwerz de Kiev' on famine in Ukraine, 'Geotenn ar marz' on genetically modified crops -- and I've no idea what others are about, since not all the lyrics are translated and I don't understand Breton. In an interview I've just found at M La Music (Fr.), Denez explains:
"...I only translated what can be translated, because not everything is, like rhyme and humour. It's pretty difficult to translate a gwerz into French."
Not that it matters. Music is a language all its own. Though one French reviewer comments that if you have only just one album of Breton music, make it 'Sarac'h', I don't hear that myself. Breton it may be in origin and tradition, but the only possible pigeon-hole for this CD is "world music". It's that broad in its scope.
"Sarac'h" apparently means the rustling of the breeze in leaves. And there's a Ridley Scott connection. Prigent features on the soundtrack of 'Black Hawk Down', while we have Lisa Gerrard and Hans Zimmer to thank for the score to 'Gladiator'.
Charlie Landsborough或者是音乐世界里少有的几乎从来不想对自己的音乐有所改变的人，岁月磨砺留给他的是音乐里自然发散的明朗与开阔，第一次听他唱What Colour Is The Wind，第一次真的以为有风抚过。
也是2003年，我的这张唱片被人借走，从此杳无音讯，我的伤心都柏林......
What colour is the wind, Daddy Is it yellow, red or blue When he's playing with my hair, Daddy Does he do the same to you When he's dying does his colour fade Is a gentle breeze a lighter shade Just like his friend the sea The wind feels blue to me ------- When the blackbird starts to sing, Daddy Do the flowers hear him, too When he's pouring out his heart, Daddy Tell me, what do roses do Do they cast their scent upon the air And is fragrance just a rose in prayer Giving thanks to God above For the blackbird's song of love ------- CHORUS: Blow, wind, blow Wild and free My Daddy says You're a lot like me
I know each colour Its shape and size I've seen them all With my Daddy's eyes ------- I know that grass is green, Daddy I've touched it with my toes And snow is purest white, Daddy I've felt it with my nose But my favorite colour has to be The colour of your love for me And Daddy, I've been told That love is always gold ------- REPEAT CHORUS: My Daddy says You're a lot like me What colour is the wind
