Max Cantlin

Zach Jones: Things Were Better

Sam

Better and Better

Zach Jones gets all Smokey and Wonder-ous

Isn’t Zach Jones a guitar player? He certainly was with Rocktopus/As Fast As, on his following two solo records, and as a sideman for the likes of Pete Kilpatrick and Aaron Lee Marshall and Amy Allen [this originally ran in June of 2012]. A sinewy and smart guitar player, actually, with subtle tone and great instincts.

And yet, on the brand-new Things Were Better, it would appear he doesn’t play a single note, handing off guitar duties to the likes of Max Cantlin (Fogcutters/Anna & the Diggs, etc.) and Anthony Drouin (Lady Zen’s backing band, the Lazy Suzans, etc.), so that he can focus solely on lead vocals. He has reimagined/recreated himself here as a 1960s soul singer, a la Smokey Robinson with the Miracles, and it is really easy on the ears.

Or better yet, Stevie Wonder’s break-through record, the precocious and infectious Up-Tight, where Stevie went from child prodigy to songwriter and soul-singer. Jones shoots for the moon, with falsetto and drive and a terrific mix of easy soul and just plain good times.

The opening and title track, especially, is a keeper. Penned by Jon Nolan, who recorded the album at his Milltown Studios and did just about everything right in getting the organic sound this record needed, “Things Were Better” fires up with a guitar tone like walking barefoot onto the back lawn on a warm summer night and when Jones’ vocals enter he’s so fucking charming I was hoping he’d offer to buy me a drink. Then it gets better. The pacing is terrific, somehow both a rave-up and relaxed, with a sense of urgency and real passion, but nothing forced. It’s deep-seated. Enough so that “I need you like a bird needs feathers” doesn’t sound remotely corny. There are classic Motown “yeeea-aaah” guttural wails and sax duets from Kyle Hardy and Brian Graham and I’m pretty sure Bryan Brash and Tim Garrett chime in with viola and cello at one point or another.

It’s a listen-10-times-in-a-row kind of song.

In the same way that Aloe Blacc couldn’t hope to sustain the intensity of “I Need a Dollar” for the whole of Good Things, however, not every song here is that terrific. “If You Don’t Care” feels like an idea that didn’t completely come together, a ballad without resolution. “Wish I Could Dance,” despite being a hell of a lot of fun, comes off a tad anachronistic, a song that lives in a sitcom. In the same way Kurt Baker performs – okay, lives – in a pure-pop alternate universe and the Tricky Britches still write train songs in black and white, Jones is taking us outside of our everyday existences by conjuring a shimmering past that reminds us (maybe for the first time) of what used to be.

“Hard to Get” is a sugar-pie-honey-bunch number where the piano is mixed excellently to the center of the left channel, commanding your attention, but not stealing the spotlight. “Just out of Reach” teams Jones with Anna Lombard, like Otis Redding with Carla Thomas (that King & Queen is not on iTunes is a shame), a song with give and take and a playful sexuality.

Don’t sleep on “All the Time,” either. Kate Beever butters you up with the high end of the vibraphone before she’s joined by a skittering drum beat from Christopher Sweet. There’s just a tad of classic rock here, maybe coming from Tyler Quist’s active bass.

Best of all, though, is when Jones cracks open his chest and deals it straight. He has enough backlog with us now that we care – at least I do – about the mistakes that “have helped me learn from myself,” which fill the melancholic “Bittersweet Melody.” Too, when Jones rephrases Dylan with his closing “Used To Be So Young,” it’s hard not to think about Stevie Wonder’s take on “Blowing in the Wind,” a cover that said as much about Wonder’s musical acumen as any original.

Jones lets his voice break just a hair on his repeating and finishing delivery of “I used to be so young,” enough to make you believe it. Perhaps, back then, “it always seemed much easier,” but it seems like Jones has managed to figure out a thing or two along the way.

Emilia Dahlin: God Machine

Sam

All that jazz

Emilia Dahlin delivers on her potential with God Machine

With natural charisma that fills up any room she’s in, Emilia Dahlin hardly has to take chances. She could stand up on stage, her five-foot frame half hidden by a big acoustic guitar, and sing just about anything, daring the audience not to fall in love with her. Instead, she’s assembled a crack band, delved into creative jazz phrasings, and nearly completely thrown off an early reputation as your standard girl-power singer/songwriter.

It’s taken a fair bit of work, of course. Dahlin has never shied from gathering a fanbase, promoting herself and using the folk infrastructure to get her music in front of people whose opinions other people take note of. From showcasing for college booking agents to making the finals of the NEMO and Telluride Music Festival songwriting competitions, winning the Best Music Poll in surprise fashion in 2005 or as the favorite this year, Dahlin has used what’s out there to build the impressive resume of a professional musician [this review originally ran in June 2006].

In 2004, she released Emilia, a reintroduction of sorts to the Portland scene, building on songs first worked out on her Stealing Glimpses EP. There was some plus songwriting, and touches of the aggression and self-confidence she exuded in person, but now, with her sophomore full-length, it appears Dahlin is ready to fulfill her ample potential. In these days of independent releases, we often hear what would have been demos as debuts and have the opportunity to watch artists evolve on successive albums. When a performer works as hard is Dahlin, and is willing to let other musicians contribute, it’s worth watching.

On her new album, God Machine, Dahlin has fully embraced the jazzy sound she introduced with “No End” last album. Right out of the gate, with the infectious and tantalizing “Candy,” Dahlin meshes her capable band, which seems to want to push her into interesting arrangements and upbeat flourishes. “Candy” opens with Dahlin on a freakin’ accordion, for cripe’s sake. But she’s still a songwriter at heart, and “Candy” also has her talent for turning a phrase on display. How’s this for an opening couplet? “Candy was the sweetest girl, as sweet as sweet could be/ And all the boys with sweet tooths wound up with cavities.” It’s delivered, too, with a burlesque affect, dripping with sass. It threatens to get a little too cute, but Dahlin senses that and cuts it off at 2:12.

That leaves Adam Frederick to open the next tune, “Home to Grey,” with an urgent break on his standup bass, which you’ll have a hard time ignoring throughout the disc. Here Dahlin puts on her best charm, using her true voice, which doesn’t have a hint of husk or breathiness, and delivering a fisherman’s song, of leaving home on the ocean to make a fortune and missing home. Later, in “Sad Affair,” we get a tale of an illegal immigrant, which is certainly politically poignant, and Dahlin does her best Nelly Furtado in trying to sell it and mostly succeeding. Drummer Seth Kearns trades in his kit here for the sabar and kashini (think congas), and Dahlin’s flamenco turn on her acoustic guitar completes the effect.

This song particularly, but the album as a whole, is mic’ed exceedingly well by recording engineer Jim Begley, whose work at the Studio and on the Big Easy soundboard is always above average. There’s virtually no feeling of a room, but neither does the disc sound manufactured. Every sound is crisp and well placed.

The album’s title track starts with a nice Begley touch, a hollowed out guitar and vocals, like listening to a transistor radio, lending the creepy, historic vibe the song requires. Dahlin leads with the old children’s rhyme, “Trot, Trot to Boston,” then segues into a Cab Calloway tale of a religious nut who thought he’d found God in industry. But Dahlin wags her finger at him, “oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” super sexy, with multiplied vocals tracks going higher and higher in the register. Here, too, newly found guitarist Maxwell Cantlin is excellent with his work on the electric guitar, doing a nice Pat Metheny impersonation at times.

The resulting album as a whole establishes Dahlin as a genuine chanteuse, less annoying than Diana Krall and not nearly as coy as Nora Jones. She’s got the female empowerment thing going on, clearly, but she doesn’t try to cram it down your throat and you get the impression she’s having a great deal of fun. Like her live shows, you’ll be won over right out of the box.

In the second half of the disc, she actually scats her way through “Loneliness Is …” Seriously. When was the last time you heard scat on a local album? It’s been years for me. It’s a ballsy choice, but it’s a chance that Dahlin likely took without a second thought, and I dare you not to love it.

Photo credit: Featured imaged by Sam Cousins.