Some people like to come back to the classics as they get older: “I’ve finally read the ‘Elective Affinities’ again.” “At the moment I am listening to Karajan again, all Beethoven recordings.” And if these older people are famous musicians, that can also mean: “So now I have recorded an entire album with just Bob Dylan songs.” Bryan Ferry, Judy Collins, Robyn Hitchcock, Leslie West, Steve Wynn and, and, and. Now “Standing In The Doorway” appears: Chrissie Hynde Sings Bob Dylan “(BMG Rights). Hynde got the idea last year in lockdown, so she sang songs like” You’re A Big Girl Now “,” Blind Willie McTell “or” Tomorrow Is A Long Time “into her smartphone and sent the recordings to her old one Pretenders-Colleagues James Walbourne. He then built a few instruments around it on the laptop at home. The result sounds like they made music together: unexcited versions, straight forward and true to the work. His Bobness probably likes them too. On the other hand: who knows what they’re hearing at the moment.
And while we’re on cover versions: The great, half-forgotten blues hero Hound Dog Taylor always deserves more people to re-enact his songs. The man came from Chicago, but his profession was not the beer-bellied Chicago blues, but the rough, bony alternative, hard and sharp-edged. Now the trio pays homage to him GA-20 with the album “GA-20 Does Hound Dog Taylor: Try It … You Might Like It!” (Colemine Records). The approach is as straightforward as it is loving: no reinterpretations, no modernizations, nothing there, but please, everything as original as possible (the band is named after an old guitar amplifier). Two guitars, drums, no bass, exactly the same instrumentation as Jon Spencer or that Black Keys inspired. Completely detoxified and direct, three men in a confined space – in some places you get the impression when listening to them that they are already nose to nose in the apartment door and the next thing to do is to dismantle the kitchen. And if you were to say, well, they do very well, but can’t I listen to the original? Then the gentlemen would answer: Hurray, if we can get even one human being to spot old Hound Dog Taylor, we will have done everything right. An act of love.
Seven years ago the band became Jungle Celebrated as the new big thing in England, smooth disco soul pop with just so many edges that it never slipped into favor. Then unfortunately it took them four years for the second album, the magic moment was over, now album number three is rolling in. It’s called “Loving In Stereo” (Caiola / Rough Trade), and now all edges are gone. A shame. Everything is actually right: Beats danceable? Check. Lots of violins according to the Schwabing Disco Convention of 1976? Check. Women’s choirs like the best Chic-Times? Check. Curtis Mayfield, Earth Wind & Fire and Deee-Lite on the influence list? Check. Nevertheless: It almost never goes beyond very good background music. But let’s put it this way: if you only need a perfect album for the cocktail afternoon on the terrace this year, buy this one.
Irish songwriter Conor J. O’Brien releases album after album under the band name with gentle persistence Villagers – with changing musicians. Up in the north, his wistful indie folk always lands at number one on the charts. In the rest of the world, he’s more like the cousin you overlook at family reunions. His songs can keep up with those of godfathers like Elliott Smith or M. Ward. On the new album “Fever Dreams” (Domino) he leans a little more in the direction of pop with big refrains, arms spread out, cinemascope width. The soft rock moments are also lovable: The wonderful “So Simpatico” takes you straight to the Amalfi Coast around 1978. And again and again, when the details are particularly artfully and finely chiseled, when the violins languish and a solitary trombone begins to solo , then O’Brien’s music is reminiscent of that of his Northern Irish colleague Neil Hannon. Hannon has been producing his fantastic music for years under the name The Divine Comedy. Now maybe the two of them could explain what it is all about with the band names, behind which there is only one man. After all, this column is not signed with writing group south, but with: Max Fellmann.