Album Review: By the Horns

By the Horns by Julia Stone (Nettwerk Records, 2012. 38 minutes)

Julia Stone (b. 1984) is an Australian singer and songwriter. She is most known for the work with her brother in the band Angus & Julia Stone, which began in 2006. By The Horns marks her second solo record.

Airy and Light = Good or Bad?

Julia Stone’s voice airily permeates her newest solo album By the Horns, with a light and easy quality which is hard to ignore. But, I wish I could ignore it. Her voice grates on me, I think. It’s frankly hard for me to tell, as I love the music, the melodies, the mixing, and everything else on the album. The question has become for me, can I take Julia Stone one her own without the more mellow voice of her old counterpart, Angus Stone?

A National Influence

Steeped in the influence of The National, Julia Stone’s newest album By the Horns is even produced by Thomas Bartlett and has a guest appearance from drummer Bryan Devendorf, both from The National.  In a cover of The National’s “Bloodbuzz Ohio”, Stone sings the all-too-familiar lyrics.

“Lay my head on the hood of your car, I take it too far”

By The Horns

The title track, “By The Horns” shows duality in the album. Strewn with mellow tones from a Rhodes, strings providing a simple texture in the background, and an easy groove from the drums, the song sounds beautiful. Then you add Miss Stone’s voice and you’re forced to listen to emotional lyrics. Her voice is so aggressive and nasal, yet light and easy. I hate to admit it, but it works.

“I believe in love / No, darling, you can’t take that away from me”

It’s All Okay

The final track of note is “It’s All Okay”. The track to me suggests that Julia Stone’s solo career may in fact be all okay. A simple piano riff starts the song, while a drum beat creates a toe tapping atmosphere. Guitars swoon in the background in semi-Explosions-in-the-Sky style. And the lyrics; they’re fantastic.

“The story is different now the records are playing in the living room / And you might say you’re wounded, and I might say I’m hurt / But, we knew the difference then between the fire and the earth / And we may say we’re broken, we may say we’re weak / But, we knew before we started oh the secrets we would keep”

So, the more time I spend with By the Horns, the more I like it. I think Julia Stone may have a promising solo career ahead of her, and I urge you to try out By the Horns. You may not like it at first, maybe like me due to the quality of her voice, but let it marinate, and the album may grow on you.

Verdict: 3 out of 5
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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson


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Album Review: Ashes & Fire

Ashes & Fire by Ryan Adams (Capitol Records/Pax Americana Record Company, 2011. 43 minutes)

Ryan Adams is a singer-songwriter renowned for his contributions to the alt-country genre. Originally a member of the band Whiskeytown, Adams began his solo career with Heartbreaker in 2000. A prolific songwriter with 13 albums released since 2000, Adams garnered the most commercial success with Gold. In addition to music, Adams has published Infinity Blues and Hello Sunshine, books of poetry. Adams married Mandy Moore in 2009 and took an extended hiatus—for him, at least—from music. In 2010, Adams founded a record label, PAX AM and has released has latest two releases on the label.

The Rubric of Great Art 

There are times when music pauses reality with a unique melody or a noteworthy phrase. A song penetrates the soul at far from objective depths. These moments intrigue a listener; one wants to unveil the songwriting process, connect to the artist at the most basic of levels.

What if, having queried an artist, you learn your emotional connections to a song mean little to nothing, the deep movement protruding from the sonic textures translate to nothing more than a paycheck for the artist instead of a moment from a personal diary? Would such a result alter the way you think of the song?

On one hand, I want art to forge the connection between creator and consumer. Yet, beautiful art remains exemplary regardless of authorial intent.

Given these quandaries, Ryan Adams’ Ashes & Fire intrigues. Emotionally honest and abstemious alternative country, Ashes & Fire feels like a counseling session. In this openness, I feel a personal connection with Adams. Whether or not the person emerging from the lyrics equates to Ryan Adams in reality, the lyrical content on openness to a successful relationship and the fears of its quick demise provides the foundation for an outstanding record.

Dancing in the Dirty Rain 

Ashes & Fire opens with “Dirty Rain”. With a thin acoustic guitar and piano accompaniment from Norah Jones, Adams introduces the overarching themes of the album with his first verse:

“Last time I was here it was raining/It isn’t raining anymore/The streets were drowned, the waters waning/All the ruins washed ashore/I’m here, just looking through the rubble/Tryin’ to find out who we were/Last time I was here it was raining/It isn’t raining anymore”

With a history of self-afflicted drug abuse and alcoholism, Adams views his current successful relationship with doubt. How long will it last before the rain drowns everything of value? When Adams sings, “And you and I are out dancing in the dirty rain,” it feels like a plea to stick together through thick and thin.

To Wait in Uncertainty 

“Do I Wait?”, another highlight of Ashes & Fire, continues the theme of doubt. A descending chord progression, similar to “The Shadowlands”, my favorite Ryan Adams tune, suggests the dread of a relationship in peril. Adams commences the song with questions:

“Do I want to say the things that I say?/When I know that they are wrong?/Do I wait here forever for you?/Did you ask me to?”

As the uncertainty in the song builds, Adams’ voice feels more strained until a gorgeous guitar solo introduces the song’s climax.

The Pros and Cons of a Boundary 

The next song, “Chains of Love”, announces a shift in emotion. Perhaps the commitment of a relationship does not mean an inevitable slide into discord.

“I can see the chains of love/The chains/Talking about the chains of love/Can’t take us away”

Even though the use of a chain as a metaphor for a relationship conjures the feeling of love as a prison, Adams’ voice suggests the possibility of chains as a metaphor for healthy cementedness in a relationship.

Steadfast Despite Doubt 

With this shift in place, the back half of Ashes & Fire carries more hopefulness, culminating in the final song, “I Love You But I Don’t Know What to Say”.

Including reserved and bare instrumentation, the track acknowledges the difficulty of a relationship while maintaining the commitment of moving forward.

“I promise you/I will keep you safe from harm/And love you all the rest of my days/When the night is silent/And we seem so far away/I love you/And I don’t know what to say”

Do We Need Confessions from a Personal Diary?

Whether or not we are receiving glimpses of his personal diary, Adams writes convincing songs; they feel genuine and the hopeful-despite-scared quality resonates with any relationship.

If I met Ryan Adams tomorrow and he told me Ashes & Fire exists for a paycheck alone, the quality of the music and the emotional pull would not change. I like imagining Adams as a tortured songwriter but a good song is a good song no matter the process behind its creation. If you like emotionally honest singer-songwriters and find affinity with alt-country, check out Ashes & Fire.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

What do you think? Are you a fan of Ryan Adams or alternative country? Do you want your music to have a level of honesty? Does the artist’s intention matter to you? Share your thoughts below.

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake: A Novel by Aimee Bender (New York: Doubleday, 2010. 304 pp.)

Author of The Girl in the Flammable Skirt, a New York Times Notable Book; An Invisible Sign of My Own, an L.A. Times pick of the year; and Willful Creatures, Aimee Bender lives in Los Angeles and teaches creative writing at the University of Southern California. Her most recent book, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, won the SCIBA award for best fiction and an Alex Award. Her short fiction has been printed in many publications allowing her to receive two Puschart prizes.

A Case for Food and Family

Food is one of the most basic needs for human beings, the symbol of community, and an opportunity for aesthetic and gastronomic excellence. Food is the central ingredient at the dinner table and, by default, the reason around community. When I think of the qualities that define a nuclear family, the dinner table comes to mind.

At the table, a family connects; it recaps the day; and it nurtures healthy relationships. Of course, such musings offer a romanticized view regarding the meaning of a family dinner. Perhaps, some families find more meaning in TV dinners and hectic schedules, but the occasional family dinner seems to carry significance.

Tasting Emotion

What would happen, though, if the perfectly cooked meal betrayed the secrets a parent tirelessly works to conceal. In The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Aimee Bender ponders this very scenario. Bringing the magical realism of José Saramago and Gabriel García Márquez to popular fiction, the author’s book is as accessible as it is fantastical.

The tome’s protagonist, Rose Edelstein, realizes at a young age that she can taste the emotions of the people who have prepared her food. As such, both family dinners and school lunches become almost unbearable.

Bender illustrates Rose’s budding tastes:

“But the day was darkening outside, and as I finished that first bite, as that first impression faded, I felt a subtle shift inside, an unexpected reaction. As if a sensor, so far buried deep inside me, raised its scope to scan around, alerting my mouth to something new. Because the goodness of the ingredients – the fine chocolate, the freshest lemons – seemed like a cover over something larger and darker, and the taste of what was underneath was beginning to push up from the bite. I could absolutely taste the chocolate, but in drifts and traces, in an unfurling, or an opening, it seemed that my mouth was also filling with the taste of smallness, the sensation of shrinking, of upset, tasting a crowded sense of her thinking, a spiral, like I could almost even taste the grit in her jaw that had created the headache that meant she had to take as many aspirins as were necessary, a white dotted line of them in a row on the nightstand like an ellipsis to her comment: I’m just going to lie down…” (9-10).

Where food functions somewhere on the spectrum between a necessary utility and fine art form for most people, Rose suffers under the weight of secrets no child should be expected to bear.

“Truth was, it was hard to see George eat those cookie halves without hesitation. Without tasting even a speck of the hurry in Janet’s oatmeal, which was so rushed it was like eating the calendar of an executive, or without catching a glimpse of the punching bag tucked beside every chocolate chip” (64).

Not only does Rose encounter the feelings of those preparing the food, she is able to distinguish between the factories that process and regions that grow the food.

A Family Affair

Coupled with this sixth sense in the narrative is Rose’s complicated relationship with her older brother, Joseph. Blessed with intelligence beyond his years, Joseph prefers the comfort of his room to conversation and community of any kind save his one friend, the aforementioned George.

As the story unfolds and Rose grows up, the family secrets that tortured her grow into surrealistic symbols of a family, perfect on the outside, but cracked on the inside.

The Particular Sadness of this Book

Although Bender writes from an excellent premise, I find The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake to be flawed. First, the purpose of magical realism is to critique systems, institutions, culture, and/or relationships. In this story, the fantastical portions do not serve any greater social commentary than to remind the reader that family life is difficult.

Second, the book ends much too quickly. With quick chapters and 300 pages, Bender is unable to create much depth in the characters. With the twist she creates at the end of the narrative, the book really needed a microscopic examination of the characters.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the read. In The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Aimee Bender focuses on the importance of food in uniting a family. By imagining a character with a unique sense of tasting other’s emotions, the author manufactures an entertaining read much more accessible than other authors in the magical realism category. If you enjoy the genre and are looking for an easy read, I recommend this book.