ShareThisBy CHUCK CAMPBELL
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
"WINTERSONG," Sarah McLachlan (Arista)
Sarah McLachlan takes Christmas seriously.
Her new "Wintersong" isn't a festive collection of holiday tunes. There are no kitschy covers of "Santa Baby," no boisterous versions of "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," no joyful "Sleigh Rides," no giddy "Let It Snows." That's not McLachlan's style.
Perhaps "Wintersong's" most gleeful moment is the faint piano riff of "Jingle Bells" that floats out like an apparition toward the end of McLachlan's textured version of Joni Mitchell's melancholy "River." And even if she projects an uplifting message with "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," the song is hardly awash in levity.
Yet while "Wintersong" isn't a party album, it's an unusually gorgeous one _ regal and reverent, with only a trace of the stagey preciousness that sometimes hounds somber artists such as McLachlan.
No one could cover John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" and make it their own, but McLachlan makes a poignant go of it, complete with the support of a children's choir from her hometown of Vancouver, Canada. She also delivers lovely, understated versions of "What Child Is This? (Greensleeves)" and "I'll Be Home for Christmas" _ though the line that jumps out on her version of the latter is "... if only in my dreams."
"Wintersong's" other highlights include a "Silent Night," featuring appropriately angelic backing vocals, and a lush collaboration with pianist Diana Krall on "Christmas Time Is Here" (from the cartoon "A Charlie Brown Christmas").
Then there's the ambitious and epic fusion of "The First Noel" and "Mary Mary," which soars from its humbly dainty beginning into a rousing world-beat soundscape.
Whatever the song _ and that includes the title-track original penned by the singer _ McLachlan graces the stately arrangements with her characteristically warm vocal that resonates in breathy stretches and flips distinctively at key points.
There's nothing in the way of silliness here, but if you're the type to skip the eggnog and go straight for the rum, this is the soundtrack to your Christmas.
Rating (five possible): 4
"THE TRAGIC TREASURY: SONGS FROM A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS," The Gothic Archies (Nonesuch)
Big and little goths alike can get their grim gamefaces on with the Gothic Archies' "The Tragic Treasury: Songs From a Series of Unfortunate Events."
Timed to coincide with the 13th, and final, book in Lemony Snicket's "Unfortunate Events" series (which in turn serves as a prelude to Halloween), "The Tragic Treasury" features songs recorded for each edition of the "Unfortunate Events" audiobooks.
Ostensibly a collection of stories for children, the series' tongue-in-cheek morbidity and mean-spiritedness has entertained teens and adults, too, since its debut in 1999.
"The Tragic Treasury" has the same cross-generational appeal.
The Gothic Archies is another project from the prolific Stephin Merritt of Magnetic Fields, The 6ths, Future Bible Heroes and various soundtrack and showtune efforts. Other than support on accordion from Lemony Snicket himself (aka Daniel Handler), "The Tragic Treasury" is a one-man show by Merritt, who wields his low voice with dramatic flair across a diverse soundscape.
Lilting opener "Scream and Run Away" sets the tone for the compilation, which proceeds through the throbs and echoes of the melodic "In the Reptile Room," the carnival atmosphere of "Freakshow" and the creepy darkness of "Things Are Not What They Appear." Merritt's histrionic baritone plus campy synthesizers and a slapping beat collude on "The World Is a Very Scary Place" to harken 1980s dance music, "Crows" brings to mind an ominous folk tune keyed to a gorgeous hook, and "Shipwrecked" (created for the final "Unfortunate Events" book, "The End") sails on steel-band ambience as Merritt sings merrily about lopping off the heads of a ship's crew.
Even though a couple of tracks may be too gloomily minimalist for their own good, Merritt throws in noteworthy lyrical spikes _ like "Everyone you despise will die, so smile" on "Smile! No One Cares How You Feel" and on the "usurpations" _using "When You Play the Violin," he sings of "Scullery, skulls and skullduggery, sir/Haplessness, hype and hypnosis/But oy vey the horrible din/When you play the violin."
"The Tragic Treasury" ends with the theme song "We Are the Gothic Archies," where Merritt drones, "Be sure to buy our record, and don't forget to tip."
Tip big: Just because the "Unfortunate Events" are finished doesn't mean the Gothic Archies have to be.
Rating: 4
"UNDERNEATH THE RADIO," Goldenboy (Eenie Meenie)
The title of Goldenboy's "Underneath the Radio" works on several levels.
Most obviously, it gives a name to the closing track, a wistful bit of subdued, piano-based reminiscence. "Underneath the Radio" also reflects the likelihood that Goldenboy won't appear ON the radio _ at least not on any corporate, mainstream station. And the "underneath" part is apropos to Shon Sullivan's singing style, usually low and often nearly subliminal.
The Southern California duo, which includes frontman Sullivan on guitar and keyboards and Bryan Bos on drums and backing vocals, aims for the simple enchantment, though the pair forge an unlikely lush feel for their indie-pop sound.
"Underneath the Radio" launches with a chorus of melodic sighs on opening cut "Ice Breaker Blues" and then finds more ways to politely infiltrate the brain with sparkle and hum as it plays through.
"Summer of the Evening" is deceptively laidback for it vibrant vocals and uptempo rhythm; "Blackbird at Heart" sounds like a glowing merger of exotica vibe, folk guitar and a breathy Sullivan; and just when it seems like the singer is too mumbly to pull off "Perfect One," in slides a Bacharach-esque horn set to smooth things over.
Although Goldenboy drapes its lyrics in melancholy, there's a dreamy spirit of romanticism shimmering through the veil, whether Sullivan is swirling in the echoing confines of "Motorbike" to reach the conclusion, "I'm feeling complete," or offering oddly casual charm on the Americana sing-along, "Goodbye Erica."
Goldenboy's unyielding gentility will test the need for stimulation of more than just thrill seekers, but "Underneath the Radio" is virulently unassuming. When Sullivan sings on the evocative "End of Forever," "When I held you close I could tell that I was yours," he wraps his metaphorical arms around the souls of his listeners.
Rating: 3-1/2
