Time Without Consequence
|
Time Without Consequence Alexi Murdoch 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson |
In response to the inevitable question: “Doesn’t that tree-hugging hippy listen to anything new?” I give you Alexi Murdock, a current artist – well sorta. One listen to the Scottish singer/songwriter’s 2006 debut “Time Without Consequence” will affirm that Murdoch’s sound owes a major debt to 70s folk immortal Nick Drake, and that’s not such a bad thing. Better Nick Drake than Tiny Tim or Slim Whitman. The tragically depressed Drake was worm food long before Murdoch was a zygote in his dad’s eye, so whoever programmed him to appreciate Drake’s music needs to be thanked. The question is what does Murdoch’s music sound like when he removes his Drake veneer? Quite frankly, more often than not, it’s a repetitive mess. Murdoch may not have a handle on his own sound, but when he’s interpreting Drake’s intimate style, “Time Without Consequence” shines.
While Murdoch’s voice is permeated with Drake’s rich tenor, even Murdoch’s most intimate songs can’t hope to duplicate Drake’s disillusioned view of the world. If Murdoch had absorbed Drake’s wounded personality as well as music, he might be playing checkers in a straightjacket instead of the guitar. The most important lesson Murdoch seems to have learned from Drake’s short lived career is its better to entertain than to suffer. Drake was a manic depressive with a crippling inability to function outside of music -- Murdoch at least sees some light at the end of the very dark, emotionally draining tune, and that pinprick of optimism is what separates him from his mentor.
“All My Days” has plenty of Drake’s world-weary presence. Hints of Murdoch’s Scottish origin and his residence in London surface in Murdoch’s enchanting delivery. Oliver Kraus’ elegant cello asides are a welcome, classy addition to the CDs first two cuts, and Jay Bellerose adroitly handles the drums, giving the song a hopeful bounce that belies its haunting lyrics: “Well I’ve been quietly standing in the shade, all of my days. Watch the sky breaking on the promise that we made, all of this rain. And I’ve been trying to find, what’s been in my mind, as the days keep turning into night.” Murdoch is the antithesis of Drake in the last verse: “Now I see clearly, it’s you I’m looking for, all of my days. Soon I’ll smile, I know I’ll feel this loneliness no more, all of my days.” You’ll replay this moody eloquent charmer over and over.
“Breathe” is breathy, sparse, with great atmospheric tension, as if Murdoch is holding his breath in anticipation. It’s stretched out, allowed to…well, breathe, thanks to a trio of musicians (Bellerose, Al Sgro and Pete Thomas) improvising on percussion.
“Home” is the first mistake, spacey, feedback riddled psych with the line, “When do you really get to go home” repeated so many times you’ll start checking your CD for divots. On the positive side, “Home” has nothing to do with Nick Drake, its pure Murdoch, with disorientating, screeching electric guitar and out-of-touch tabla. The bad news is this “home” is about as inviting as standing downwind of an outhouse on a hundred degree day.
The captivating “Song For You” makes up for “Home”’s considerable confusion. It has an optimistic Mersey influence, like Gerry and the Pacemakers gone cool. The subtle, layered backing from the string section and the moderate pit-a-pat percussion spruce up Murdoch’s very English delivery.
“Dream About Flying” may have traces of Drake’s paranoid view of the world (“These days I’m afraid of everything, ‘cause everything will die”), but the rhythm track, supplied by studio veteran Jim Keltner, is punchy and hopeful. Murdoch’s thick voice comfortably guides the arrangement. His crisp picking is fully Drake-worthy, and Ben Peeler’s lap steel glides like a bird on wing over sun kissed swamp.
“Love You More” comes across as incomplete, like Paul McCartney’s inexcusable “Brother Can You Take Me Back” rant that ruins the end of “Cry Baby Cry.” The arrangement is tight and thoughtful, particularly the mood-setting drumming of Ramy Antoun, but Murdoch repeats the title like a mantra, and it’s a boring one. Without a second’s worth of separation, “Love You More” slips into “Blue Mind,” a fully-realized, peaceful ballad that drifts along on the strength of Peeler’s lap steel and Marvin Etzioni’s mandolin.
“12” is a disaster that has filler written all over it. It’s Murdoch’s “Revolution #9” with the accent on revolt(ing). It shows a great deal of promise when it starts out with high flying guitar, dominant Jack Bruce bass runs and paddle-steamer drums blanketing a recorded conversation. Then Murdoch enters screaming “Shine!” Actually, it’s more like “Shiiiiiiiiiiine!” which he repeats for nearly seven agonizing minutes, making this loud morass as much fun as chewing tin foil with a mouth full of cavities. A shame, because guitarist Greg Leisz’s clean, David Gilmour-like licks are wasted.
The capper, “Orange Sky” has appeared in numerous TV shows and movies, including “The O.C.,” “House,” and “Ladder 49,” and was part of a four-song EP released in 2002. (“Blue Mind” and “Song For You” were also on the EP. “It’s Only Fear” was the only song struck from the full-length CDs play list.) Murdoch has re-recorded “Orange Sky” to match the CDs relaxed vibe and it works magnificently. It’s a compassionate look at his relationship with is family and friends and one of his more sincere compositions.
“Time Without Consequence” is a promising debut. Only time and subsequent releases will tell if Murdoch can find his own sound without leaning too much on the Nick Drake crutch. He could also use a lyricist. It’s alright to repeat lyrics if you’re an emotive singer along the lines of Steve Winwood, Mike Harrison or Joe Cocker, but if you’ve got a flat-line delivery like Murdoch (however attractive it may be) you can’t turn every song into a lyric loop. And don’t drag half-baked ideas like “12” out to marathon lengths Alexi, or it’ll be a lot longer before your second album. It’s frustrating when the ghost of another artist dominates your sound the way Nick Drake blankets Murdock’s, but if it’s your bread and butter embrace it.(Way too many people tell me I sound like Richard Manual when I sing, which is great, but I sure as hell don’t want to wind up like him either.) So spend some time with Alexi Murdoch – the only consequence you’ll have to face is the wait for his second CD.
Posted January 17, 2007 Permalink
