By: Melanie Taylor |
Thursday November 08, 2007 |
Genrerock PublisherCooking Vinyl External Links |
Brood, known as well for his drug use as for his music, took his own
life in a leap from the Amsterdam Hilton in 2001, after having been
diagnosed with a terminal illness. Images of sex, drugs, rock and
roll, and death permeate
"Captain Pasty," kicks off the album with a glorious, driving bass
line, propelling the song and the album on a trajectory worthy of the
legacies of Brood, the Pixies, and Frank Black in any of his various
incarnations.
"Threshold Apprehension" conjures metaphors of sex, heroin use, and
what it might have been like balancing on the precipice, moments
before taking that leap in '01. The undeniable beat may be dance-y
but maintains its edge in lyrical content and manic urgency.
"Test Pilot Blues" likewise evokes images of contemplation before the
final jump, going over the pre-flight checklist: "Breathing mask,
gloves and leather, stations of the cross/ I got no wings full of
feathers, just my engines and a little sauce." "I've seen blue you've
never seen" conveys a spectrum of interpretation, from depression, to
the keen eye of a painter, to the unmistakable hue of the sky seen
from midair seconds before impact.
"Lolita," "Your Mouth into Mine," and "Discotheque 36" keep listeners
on their toes by veering musically a bit more mainstream. The songs
incorporate slightly more traditional instrumentation and channel
flashes of Elvis Costello, Tom Petty, and Leonard Cohen. Francis then
heads back towards the dark and addiction with "Tight Black Rubber,"
his ode to smack paraphernalia.
Brood's story is most overtly sketched in "Angels Come to Comfort
You." Francis paints a picture of the artist as "Prettier than
Brando/ He was punker than punk/ Slave to rock and roll/ And a slave
to junk." He details such particulars as Brood's full name, his
careers as piano player and painter, and the location of his demise.
The song's coda fades eerily from the haunting intonations of
Pixiesian angels to siren song to the harsh, distinctive blare of
European ambulances.
Francis's cover of Brood's "You Can't Break a Heart and Have It," is
faithful to the spirit of the straight-forward rock original, while
simultaneously infused with his signature discord.
The strummy, melodic pop sensibility of "She Took All the Money"
nicely contrasts the bleak resignation conveyed in the lyrics, while
the musical form and lyrical function of "Bluefinger" dovetail
perfectly in palpable desperation.