Clist – In Care of Lena

From their subtly dirty name to the unsettling illustration of a group of people clubbing seals on their web-page (or hell, just the fact that they are from Nashville), Clist seems intent on making listeners slightly uncomfortable. Overdriven 4-track recordings, distorted signals, and brutal feedback are all part of Robbin’s arsenal. The vocals range from cold Factory Records-sounding industrial vox to a jittery straight-forward tenor, which when combined with less overdriven sounds brings to mind the Leaving Trains.

“In Care of Lena” seems like it would be done with a touch of sarcasm, but the delivery is so serious that it is difficult to see it as a joke about mental illness. But then maybe it isn’t supposed to be: to quote Philip K Dick, “Mental Illness isn’t funny.” A song toying with the idea that every family has a crazy relative, the lyrics are difficult to make out above the din of buzzing bass, guitar, and cymbal sound that meld together to create a homogenous heavy sound – like a bad bootleg of a Melvins show where the tape recorder was left next to one of the onstage speakers for the duration of the recording. Structurally, the song is linear rather than cyclical and has a minimal amount of variation on the primary driving riff, either melodically or rhythmically. The lyrics tell a story, sort of building up to the fear that a crazy relative can induce in their family, and then the vocals are replaced by a noise-guitar solo with additional squeals coming from what sounds like microphone feedback.

Even though their songs range from the simplistic to the insipid (e.g. their song about Katie Holmes is a desperate attempt at being clever), Clist has a commanding presence on record and come across almost as overbearing. That is commonly only achieved by cock-rock and a few Touch & Go bands. Perhaps because they are so blunt, Clist’s songs must be delivered with greater force to make an impact.

No-Fly Zone – Fear of Pain

NFZ keep track of how many times they have been compared (in print) to a particular band, which seems to be designed to make us critics self-conscious. Well, call it a lazy move on my part, but their influences are impossible to ignore. Their spacious recording techniques – where silence itself is a sound – brings to mind a decade of production, embodied by U2, Simple Minds, Tears for Fears, Echo and the Bunnymen, etc. It’s that big artificially “open” sound achieved by tons of compression, panning effects, and just the slightest suggestion of delay. Their guitar sounds seem to fit into two categories as well: one an austere electric sound, drenched in watery reverb; the other a dense yet warm distortion forming a sonic blanket a little rougher than most 80s pop band’s, but not quite as overwhelming as the noise produced by the Creation records crew (Ride, My Bloody Valentine) and their shoegazer offspring. This is music with a mainstream appeal, and I would put NFZ up there with Coldplay in terms of talent if they signed on to a Hollywood-style record deal. NFZ are informed more by a nostalgia for the introspective reserve of a certain strain of 80s pop-rock than by rap-rock or the Seattle Sound. This allows their particular style to shine through a little more, particularly with the vocals whose presence is engrossing – the only lack of clarity coming from the band’s Italian accent as opposed to a comedic faux-Cobain/Vedder/Staley growl.

“Fear of Pain” starts off with two guitars twinkling an introduction, one stating a melodic theme, the other color effects. The bass and drums come in, and the theme is restated by the group, leading into a instrumental break, a second verse, and then it builds up to a great chorus, where all three guitars are working together with different parts and the vocal melody demands you shout along, even if you can’t understand what the singer is saying. It returns to the verse, with slightly fuzzier textures, and then again with the chorus. After the second one, there is an instrumental break that starts out with a weak descending line and overuse of filter-effects … but this quickly straightens out into something more fitting for the groundwork laid so far. A buildup to a final soaring chorus, and then an outro section to close the piece with the song title being repeated over and over. While the arrangement is pretty basic, it works for this material and allows for subtle shifts in dynamics and textures especially with the interplay between the different guitars. The drums and bass play a hidden but very important role in creating a seamless backdrop over which the other instruments (including the vocals) can exercise their freedom. Repeat listenings are rewarding as well, as you will notice incindental riffs that are thrown in, embedded in the web of sound; and you are not likely to tire of the melodic hook of the chorus.

While not as good as most of the bands they take their sound from, No-Fly Zone still have a lot to offer for those seeking mainstream music that is accessible without being condescending. “Fear of Pain,” while completely derivative stylistically, features nuanced writing, catchy melodies, and solid performance.

Ben Kweller – Sha Sha

Not many artists have scored a major record deal, toured the world, had a top 40 single in the UK, watched their band dissolve, and finally made a solo comeback all by the age of 20. Perhaps this unique experience is what gives Ben Kweller’s first album on ATO Records a level of maturity and introspection that is rarely retained by someone twice his age. Following up on the self-released Freak Out Its and his 2001 EP Phone Home, Sha Sha delivers just under a dozen sincere and quirky songs that run the gamut from finger-snapping power-pop to dynamic piano-driven ballads.
The quality of Kweller’s compositions are hardly surprising, considering how long he has been at work playing and writing music. Coming from a musical household (his father was friends with Nils Lofgren during Lofgren’s time with Bruce Springsteen), Kweller was proficient on piano and guitar by the age of 8. He started writing his own songs and won an honorable mention from Billboard Magazine in their yearly songwriting competition when he was 9 years old. At 13, the pop virtuoso started Radish with his first electric guitar, and the pop-punk outfit soon became favorites around the Dallas scene. (I was 13 at the same time and I believe that I was listening to Hootie and the Blowfish and thought a “scene” was something found in a painting.) Radish signed a much-publicized deal with Mercury records in 1996 and ticked off the string of accomplishments listed above before they called it quits in 1999. With Sha Sha, Kweller returns to his roots, crafting heartfelt and fun songs that take their influence from New York’s anti-folk scene.
The album opens up with the catchy, if not vaguely annoying title track, “How It Should Be (Sha Sha)” but quickly picks up speed with “Wasted and Ready,” which starts off sweet enough but quickly breaks into a crunchy guitar-laden chorus. The track stands out with just enough arena rock flair (given the bold declaration “She is a slut but X thinks its sexy”) to get your feet tapping. The middle of the album proceeds somewhat predictably but includes stand-out ballads such as “Lizzie,” a musical love letter, and “In Other Words,” where Kweller emotionally croons that “the butterflies are passive/aggressive; and put their problems on the shelf; but they’re beautiful” to a backdrop of rich piano. Sha Sha ends with the same strength that it began on with “Harriet’s Got A Song,” a piece that if plunked down in the middle of Pinkerton, even the most discerning Weezer fan probably couldn’t separate it from one of Rivers’ own concoctions.
All too often, either the lyrics or the music are good, but not both. This simply is not the case with Ben Kweller. He has composed devastatingly clever lyrics to go with music that completely rocks out, tugs at your heartstrings, or both. Check it out for pure fun, power, and junk culture references.

Tommy Guerrero – Junk Collector EP

Post-rock isn’t really my thing. This trend in music is actually rather depressing. The genre name can’t help but remind me of the post-punk genre, which I strongly favor. But funk is my thing. A lot of the post-punk that I love is just as much funk as anything else. And Junk has got plenty of funk.
Junk Collector doesn’t sound like the type of music that a former professional skater-punk would make. The beats are slow, the punk replaced with funk. Guerrero plays bass, guitar, keys, and drums to create five songs, or 24 minutes of music. The drum introduction to “Rusty Gears Lonely Years,” mimics the funkiest of drumming found on any of Gary Numan’s songs: “Films.” The song is one of the more straightforward to be found on the EP, and it successfully sets the ball rolling toward greater gems. “Organism” picks up the pace, having a more drum ‘n’ bass sound. Gresham Taylor contributes unintelligible vocals to the song. The song triggers a dance reflex.
“Birds Over Head” is the most interesting and diverse track here. It makes use of a cutesy keyboard and bleeps, which play over a strong bassline and pounding drums. The latter half of the song turns crazy-style with staccato drum playing and with, to the songs advantage, no let up in bass funk. I guarantee that any music fan will find something to find in this strongest track on the EP. “Sea Sick” departs from the sound created on the previous three songs, in favor of a more sinister Spanish feel, a la something off of Migala’s Arde. “Terra Unfirma” plays as a more fleshed-out version of the first track, “Rusty Gears Lonely Years,” as more instruments make it into the mix over that always standout bass. The similarity between songs makes the “Repeat” option essential.
Junk Collector is a worthwhile EP for any fans of rhythm. If that isn’t your thing, then bug off. You’re crimping my style.

Valender – The Giant Slingshot

Some of my favorite indie-rock albums sound like they were recorded on a Dictaphone: Pavement’s Crooked Rain Crooked Rain, Built to Spill’s There’s Nothing Wrong With Love, Death Cab’s Something About Airplanes, Dismemberment Plan’s !, Pixies’ Doolittle, among many others. Admittedly, the quality on those records are really not that bad, but they are far from a polished Sum 41 album. I’ve often wondered what my reaction would be if those albums were produced in a multi-million dollar studio. Somehow I doubt they’d have the same effect. I can only assume that each trivial mistake during the recording would be re-recorded until “perfection” is achieved, and the raw energy would be lost under a sea of compression and digital EQ settings.
Thankfully, the indie-world’s standards are fairly low in terms of production. Enter: The Giant Slingshot. Append the album to the list of low fidelity indie-rock albums, as Valender has created an eight-song rock album on a measly four tracks. Though not on par with the mainstream world, the quality is absolutely perfect for indie-rock afficianados.
Valender is a triad of guitar, bass, and drums. Each track consists of a guitar through a delay pedal, as well as arpeggiated chords and simple strumming, causing most of the songs to sound like a tamer rendition of a Built to Spill song. The rest of the instruments are simple yet often create subtle crescendos and dynamic shifts. The vocal melodies are incredibly infectious, but they still retain the same care-free attitude that blankets each instrument. They are often doubled with the use of echo, creating a palpable rawness that only adds to the personality of the album.
My only complaint is that The Giant Slingshot is essentially a pastiche album. There’s nothing particularly distinguishing about the band; comparisons are endless. Normally this would result in a nasty diatribe, but with such lovable personality, it’s hard not to enjoy the album. And plus, the album is only around 30 minutes; it’s not a triple-disc prog rock album with bonus CD-ROM features.
Overall, there is nothing really serious to complain about (I’m optimitic, aren’t I?). With all the sub-par albums out there, it’s great to hear one that is a little more satisfying than the rest. Valender is a band with heart and soul, and it really shows in the recording. I really can’t imagine what this album would sound like on a big budget. I’m just glad that bands, what with their relatively easy access to digital equipment nowadays, still know how to effectively use the primitive 4-track.

Starlet – When Sun Falls on My Feet

One thing I can say about those Swedes is that they have an innate sense of pop songcraft. No matter whether they make disco, rock, or electronic music, they could find a good melody in a soundproof room. The unhappy tunesmith’s of Starlet may not sound much like their more mainstream, sunnier compatriots, but they’ve got that same guilty gift of tossing out slick pop gems without even breaking a sweat.
Starlet’s When Sun Falls on My Feet is a toast to those melancholy muses of heartbreak and longing. The band keeps its muses held at arms distance, never drawing them too close to bog the rhythms down or cloud over the melodies of the songs. While Starlet’s words are filled with loss, mournful imagery, a sense of tragedy, and all sorts of sad, lonely places, the music, always appropriately remorseful, still floats above the drama in perfect pop poise. These songs pack in the hooks with jangly guitars, smooth deep vocals, strings, trumpet, and even tambourines.
Through 10 tracks, Starlet isn’t offering any earth shattering information with their lyrics. The words don’t distract or feel out of step with the music. They’re just standard boilerplate broken heart stuff. In “When Sun Falls on my Feet,” Starlet offers, “claim that I’m a fool / sure I do forgive you / (but how will I forget?).” In “To Sleep This Evil Day Away,” we get “I want to come home to a place where I am known / a place where I can feel kind of whole.” Lead vocalist Jonas Färm breathes, pauses, and emphasizes in almost perfect Morrissey poise, but his words lack the self-absorbed wit of Morrissey. Still, for all their faults, these words are honest and personal, and that does go a long way. In fact, when the singing doesn’t suggest immediate Smiths comparisons, you hardly notice the shortcomings.
What makes this CD work is the delicate, addictive songweaving the quartet produces. These songs have the power to entrance and connect, creating dreamy soundscapes that hold tight even after the music ends. Each track is skillfully constructed with flawless, darn near perfect melodies and nuanced, impassioned instrumental performances. In “When Sun Falls on My Feet,” guitars glide from staccato California-surf plucking to jangling chords, and following each chorus, a trumpet blares in Herb Albert glory. This song, and so many others on this disc, effortlessly build into music worthy of Johnny Marr’s talents. Their acoustic pieces like “Not Alone” and the gorgeous “To Sleep This Evil Day Away” are equally as inspired, with impeccable drumming cameos and clear, simple guitar picking. And yes, even though I supplied a rough critique on the lyrics, in the last song, “Stop and Let It Go,” the words, heartrending vocals, and wistful, melodic piano leave me guiltily wishing for more. Yes, I’m hooked.
This album is achingly addictive, even for those who generally feel that life is pretty good. Starlet’s pop sense is almost eerily instinctive and When Sun Fall on My Feet will climb up next to you wherever you are, and you’ll find yourself reminiscing about some old flame that done you wrong.

Ultimate Fakebook – Open Up and Say Awesome

So they’ve had their shot at the major labels, and now they’re back. The three boys of Ultimate Fakebook scored a touring van out of their deal with Epic, the label that released the excellent This Will Be Laughing Week, and now they’re setting up camp at Initial Records with their latest, Open Up and Say Awesome.
Looking back at the discography of Ultimate Fakebook is like looking through the diary of one of the teenage kids that the band writes so many of its songs about. The trio’s debut effort, Electric Kissing Parties, was like freshman year of high school, with the awkwardness of not really fitting in and not really knowing what to do with yourself. This Will Be Laughing Week was a more confident and polished effort, showing signs of experience and maturity. Nights were spent contemplating love and life, enjoying the simplicity of making out and rock and roll. Now we have Open Up and Say Awesome, which enters a more developed and slightly jaded stage in life. It is little less sugary-sweet and carefree, but still full of energy and vigor.
These guys aren’t afraid to admit their simultaneous love for both cheesy pop and hair metal. The pop melodies, huge hooks, and crunching chords come from singer and guitarist Bill McShane, whose smooth and diverse vocal stylings are often compared to the likes of Elvis Costello. His work is strengthened by bassist Nick Colby and drummer Eric Melin, who pound away furiously one moment and retreat into peaceful contemplation the next.
What were once the slower songs scattered throughout an album, worthy of play at a junior high dance, have now been amped up a notch or two. For examples, see “Forever, Forever” and “Combat Fatigue,” which features supporting vocals from Kansas buddy Matthew Pryor of The Get Up Kids. Fellow Get Up Kid James Dewees contributes keyboards on two tracks, while Stephen Egerton of The Descendents and All is also on the guest list, performing the guitar solo on “Before You Leave.” If you miss the aforementioned slower songs that were more prevalent on past albums, there are the gentle “Girl, Here’s Another Lie” and “Red Elbows.” On the other hand, what were once the more aggressive tracks are now even heavier. The opening track, “Wrestling Leap Year,” is the perfect example, as it rocks harder than any song the band has ever released, and “Before You Leave” is a quick little punk rock snippet. Songs like “The Scheme to Listen No More,” “When I’m With You, I’m OK,” and “Goddamn Dance Craze” display that patented pop-punk-metal sound the band adores so much and has gotten so damn good at. And it wouldn’t be an Ultimate Fakebook album without a fun-loving song about the guys and their love for rock and roll. “Let me warn you first cuz we weren’t cool / We were the only rockers at our school / Playing Cinderella covers cuz there wasn’t nothing else to do,” McShane sings on “Popscotch Rock Party.”
At first, Open Up and Say Awesome will slightly pale in comparison to the band’s last effort, but it is one of those albums that you really learn to adore after a couple of listens. Just goofy and poppy enough to make you smile, but rocking enough to have you bouncing off the walls. Emo-pop plus cock-rock equals the infectious Ultimate Fakebook.

Rye Coalition – On Top

Rye Coalition, those New Jersey princes of super-rock, are back with a new release, and it couldn’t have been better timed. I could be wrong about this, but I believe this is a very important release for 2002. Rye Coalition not only have their finger on the pulse of a modern sound, but they’ve reached way back in rock history to the blues-based riffs of the early 70s. My ears have been thirsting for something like this, and I’m certain I’m not alone. But if you consider yourself a fan of adjective-free rock, you really need to hear this one.
My perfect description of this band? They’ve somehow found a way to meld AC/DC and Fugazi. (And coming from me, this is the highest of compliments.) Does this sound absurd? Well, it shouldn’t, if you think about it. I’ve always thought that Guy Picotto had an eerie vocal resemblance to the late, great Bon Scott of AC/DC. Think about it: Those upper register wails, the way he pushes his voice to get it as loud as possible. They have a lot more in common than most people are willing to admit.
And anyway, what’s wrong about professing your love for a group like AC/DC? There is no more unifying sound in rock than AC/DC. They are the ultimate bar band, and with Bon Scott at the helm they were the consummate entertainers. If they couldn’t get it done with a simple beat and open guitar chords, it wasn’t worth doing. They are literally the perfect blueprint for rock music in its most stripped down and direct. By being such a prototype, AC/DC is a tough sound to be indifferent about. There isn’t much lurking underneath the surface in their music. You either get them and rock out, or you don’t, and you look with disdain upon the yahoos who sing along and regularly pump their fist to an AC/DC stomper.
Which is what makes this release something different. Rye Coalition’s roots lie in the post-punk, hardcore vein, where Fugazi reign supreme as the band everyone looks up to. These roots are still firmly there. So what we have is a band that has decided to take their music closer to blues-based 60s and 70s rock, while still being “children of Fugazi.” This, my friends, is a brilliant move, and it should serve as a breath of fresh air in the vast sea of Fugazi copycats. Whereas people who are reluctant to get into early rock because their parents and radio have been stuffing it down their throats for years, Rye Coalition has changed the code and found a way to create a whole new breed of “classic rock” that still sounds modern. The band could logically open for Fugazi or Guns ‘n’ Roses and be accepted by both audiences.
Recorded by Steve Albini, who brings his usual dry guitars, thundering drums, and lacerating bass, the band sounds bigger than ever. Ralph Cuseglio rants and struts his way through these 10 cuts, sounding like Guy Piccotto with a belly full of beer. The opening song, “One Daughter Hotter Than One Thousand Suns,” sets the tone: The bass and drums build slowly, followed by the guitars. The dual guitar sound is raw and unaffected, the sound of plugging it straight into an amplifier and turning it up all the way. By the time the song explodes, you’re literally being pummeled by this massive riff. Once the verse enters, the Fugazi influence becomes more apparent, using more dissonant notes and switching up the beats. But Rye Coalition know that you need the money shot: Once the chorus hits, if your fist isn’t in the air, then you’re hopeless. Stick to those Belle & Sebastian disks, buddy.
The way this band can straddle the line between heady hardcore and all-out cock rock, between seriousness and jest (who names a song “Stairway to the Free Bird on the Way to the Smokey Water”?), between 70s rock and modern sounds, well, it blows me away. They can do it all. My personal favorite track is “Heart of Gold, Jacket of Leather.” Over a rousing Led Zeppelin-style riff festival, Cuseglio gives us all a “welcome to Jersey City,” accompanied by a sly “fuck off” and a veiled threat that “New York’s gonna have to pay.” Rock music has gotten so self-serious lately: It’s great to see a band take the opposite approach. Here’s to rock music being fun again!
Long story short: If you like high energy rock music, you want this. You need this. This is the kind of album that can be the catalyst for a movement. And if the results are as rocking as they are here, the possibilities are delicious. These guys are the real deal.

Paul Westerberg – Stereo/Mono

With this new record, Paul Westerberg delivers two very different discs. One disc is of singer/songwriter tunes similar to his previous solo work, while the other from his side project, Grandpaboy, is of Replacements-like rock. Westerberg shows that he is equally adept at both styles through these discs. Those that have wanted Westerberg to return to what he did with The Replacements will be very happy with the Grandpaboy disc Mono. Fans of both Westerberg’s solo work and the work he did with the Replacements will have something to enjoy.

Stereo starts off with one of the catchier tunes on the disc by way of “Baby Learn to Crawl,” which has some great guitar work by Westerberg. “Dirt to Mud” starts off with some great lyrics: “As long as my veins are flown with blood / as sure as the rain turns the dirt into mud / dirt into mud / as long as there’s blood in my veins I will search / as sure as the sun turns the mud into dirt / I will hurt.” Westerberg really shines with some wailing vocals that add to the emotion of the song. “Got You Down” carries a tune reminiscent to the one used by the Goo Goo Dolls in their song from the movie City Of Angels but done better by Westerberg and more enjoyable.

“Boring Enormous” shows what makes Westerberg such a good songwriter with some fun wordplay. “Nothing to No One” has some very nice slide guitar work to match the moan of Westerberg’s vocals. “We May Be the Ones” has Westerberg doing his best Dylan, with an aching folk song. “Mr. Rabbit” is a loping song with a fun guitar part. “Let the Bad Times Roll” drags on for longer than necessary, and Westerberg’s performance is lackluster. Stereo ends on a high note with “Call That Gone” that has an infectious vocal performance by Westerberg.

Westerberg’s side project Grandpaboy is a much more rock-oriented affair. Mono starts off with the crunching “High Times” that shows you what this disc is all about, with its loud crunching guitars and slurred vocals. “I’ll Do Anything” is a real rock song with a lot of attitude much like his previous work with the Replacements. “Let’s Not Belong” is one of the poppier moments on this CD without losing any of the attitude. “Knock It Right Out” is full of classic rock and roll attitude with its sloppy guitars and vocals full of attitude.

“Eyes Like Sparks” is a catchy dirty rock song with it’s choppy vocals, and stinging guitars. “Footsteps” is powered along by some driving, distorted guitars, and a moaning Westerberg. In “Kickin’ In the Stall” Westerberg uses his moan to wonderful effect that works very well with the driving rhythm section. “Between Love and Like” and “AAA” close out the dise sticking to the rock formula of the rest of the disc. “AAA” is a standout track with it’s catchy chorus, and biting guitar.

Westerberg gives fans of both his solo and Replacements work a lot to enjoy with these two releases. Westerberg has put together two very good discs with Mono being slightly more enjoyable. Westerberg shows his craft with his songs on Stereo while showing he can still rock out like with Grandpaboy on Mono. Westerberg has given fans a solid disc of folk rock that sticks to it’s guns and a high energy rock disc.

Red – Songs From a Room

It’s a well-known fact that musician-types aren’t really like you and me. Many of them are irrational, illogical, irresponsible, and idiosyncratic individuals. And usually what makes their art powerful is their singular ability to block out every distraction around them and pour themselves into their art completely, creating something new and relatable in their work. But before they create their greatest works, many of them will lose themselves in fixation on a particular artist. Dylan had Woody Guthrie, Oasis has the Beatles, and it has long been in the oral lore of rock that Brian Wilson was once so taken with the Ronette’s “Be My Baby” that he literally lay alone in his bedroom for weeks listening to it over 100 times a day. Apparently, Red (a.k.a. Oliver Lambin) has Leonard Cohen.
Covering Leonard Cohen’s Songs From a Room in every detail, right down to the cover art, Red takes his Leonard Cohen fixation seriously. And while he isn’t really that similar to Cohen in anything other than spirit, he is more than capable of creating interesting recreations altogether worthy of Canada’s greatest singer-songwriter (or is that Neil Young?). His voice is reminiscent of Cohen’s in as much as it seems to be of limited range and lacking considerable finesse, but probably is a little more Dylan-ish in its raspy hoarseness. As Red employs little more than an acoustic guitar and some electronic noodling, he also skillfully avoids Cohen’s penchant to allow his music to get weighed down in over-production. In fact, Red seems to enjoy casting his songs in the shadow of a considerable amount of dissonance, with tracks like “The Partisan” unfolding with somewhat annoying static tearing sounds akin to a CD imperfection and “Seems So Long Ago, Nancy” featuring what sounds like piercing random tones from a hearing test. Not always so pleasant, to say the least.
Still, most of Red’s interpretations do manage to capture a good portion of the original understated majesty in Cohen’s performances. The strange electronic moans and squeaks of the classic “Bird on a Wire” shed a good deal of the drowsy stiffness of Cohen’s original and captures a somewhat Tom Waits-ish quality with a backdrop of rattle-clattle percussion. The understated slide guitar of “A Bunch of Lonesome Heroes” and the interweaving of banjo and acoustic guitar on “Tonight Will Be Fine” also approximate a good deal of Cohen’s troubadour mystique. Never out of the listener’s periphery is a healthy dose of dissonance, whether random electronic skonk or tunelessly blown sax, truly adding a new element to Cohen’s original arrangements.
All in all, Red puts forth a more than admirable effort in playing out his Leonard Cohen fascination for us all. That he approaches the songs with the necessary mix of reverence and adventurousness is never in question, even though his delivery tends to obscure many of the words, losing some of the poignancy of Cohen’s songwriting. But if the purpose of a tribute album is to take something you admire in the work of an artist you greatly respect and twist it just a little to show how you would have done it had the work been your own, then Red more than succeeds in his sonic homage.

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