[review 2004: the honourable mentions]

Even before she struck out on her own, Sarah Harmer could be counted on for the Canadian music equivalent of comfort food. Weeping Tile was a much louder outfit than her current solo gig, but even then you could hear her hallmarks in songs like “South Of Me” and “Tom’s Shoe Repair.” You Were Here was an album full of folkish comforts best appreciated in settings closely resembling Harmer’s homestead just outside of Kingston. I still wonder if one of the reasons why You Were Here took off even without the initial benefit of major-label distribution was because it came out in the middle of cottage season. Definitely I still attach the sounds of “Coffee Stain” to the last time I stepped foot in someone’s cottage, when the days passed in a peaceful, sleepy haze.

All Of Our Names doesn’t deviate too far from You Were Here’s blueprint, both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it means we get new songs in the same vein as Harmer’s debut, like “Tether” and “New Enemy.” On the other hand, it means we get new songs that don’t quite sound new. This would be more of a problem if not for the aformentioned fact that Harmer’s music is like comfort food. There’s something very reassuring about All Of Our Names, even down to the return of the trumpet on two songs. The gently-plucked guitar and Harmer’s soothing voice on “Go To Sleep” is exactly the sort of thing to keep you warm on a winter’s night, like an old friend come back to visit.

Hopefully, Harmer will find some new directions for her third album of original material; you can only sit at the cottage and look out over the lake for so long. But in the meantime, All Of Our Names is just as much a cure for what ails you as You Were Here was, and for now that’s more than enough.

[review 2004: the honourable mentions]

Yes, The Tigers Have Spoken is a stopgap album; yes, the live shows were probably better in person; yes, there isn’t enough original material; yes, it’s too short. All those things make Neko Case’s live album merely a good album rather than a great one. But the essential qualities of Case’s live show come out, if a little blunted by the format.

The two original compositions are great, and it’d be more of a shame they won’t be on a proper album if they weren’t done so well live. “If You Knew” in particular is a great definitive version, thanks in part to air support from the Sadies and (I’m guessing) Kelly Hogan. Also very successful are the two older tracks; I can’t remember ever liking a slower live version of a song before, but “Favorite” comes off better because of the tempo change.

As for the covers and standards, they also sound great�noticing a trend here?�but aren’t quite as fun simply because they’re not really her songs. “This Little Light” seems to lose a lot in the translation from stage to record; to actually see Dallas Good, Neko Case and all the rest belt out the song must’ve been quite the experience. And then there’s “Loretta,” which almost seems like a spiritual tribute to her Maow days. “Train From Kansas City,” “Rated X”�all great versions, and Case goes a long way towards making each cover her own.

But after finally seeing Neko Case in concert with the Sadies in November, I can safely say that the biggest thing the album shares with her live show is the feeling that it didn’t go on long enough. Case specifically didn’t want to truck out her old material for the live album, but even though she played nearly all of The Tigers Have Spoken as well as a number of songs old and new during her Vancouver show, it still wasn’t enough. Really, no reasonable amount of Neko Case live would be enough, and so the album can’t help but disappoint a little.

Oh, but next year, and a new album, and a real copy of “Baby Sparrow.”

[review 2004: the honourable mentions]

Winds Take No Shape is a sharp left turn for Call And Response, whose last outing was chock full of twee-pop and indie funk. In the three years since their self-titled debut, Call And Response revamped their sound entirely, taking a more melancholy and nuanced approach. The boy-girl harmonies were dropped, and minor chords dominated the new material. The subject matter shifted from the joys of rollerskating and blowing bubbles to far more abstract concerns, and the overall mood is completely different. In short, Winds Take No Shape is a completely different album from Call And Response�so much so that Badman decided to release the demos Call And Response recorded for Emperor Norton to shed some light on how the band moved from point A to point B.

Winds Take No Shape feels as though it were painstakingly constructed note by note; every guitar pluck, every drum beat seems to have a meaning, a small part in holding the whole song together. This is especially evident on songs like “Colors Bleed” and “Station,” where the individual instruments seem to snap into crystal-clear focus, as if the band were playing in your own living room.

Winds Take No Shape is immaculately produced, almost to a fault�if there’s a problem with the album, it’s that the affair seems a bit sterile. This is partially due to the huge contrast with the almost-awkward performances on the original Kindercore version of Call And Response’s debut; there, the amateurish quality of the vocals and arrangements lent a juvenile energy to the music that was ultimately a benefit. But Winds Take No Shape is obviously a very different record, and the refined production helps to give the material an autumnal air. It essentially comes down to a matter of taste; for what the band is trying to do, the slower tempos and the restrained energy helps.

So, an accomplished second album, and perhaps a better album than Call And Response had a right to record. This is especially true considering the major stylistic shift. And yet it’s hard to be passionate about the album because it seems resolutely dispassionate. Still, Winds Take No Shape is a harbinger of good things to come for the band; it’ll be very interesting to see what they come up with next.

[review 2004: the honourable mentions]

The Cowboy Junkies have, more often than not, been a dependable old standby. Their late career has been filled with relatively inoffensive and fairly pleasant albums, with one possible exception being 2002’s Open. There the band took a stylistic left turn and tried out some darker material for a good chunk of the album; before they retreated back into the light, the Junkies had put together some fairly interesting bluesy material, the likes of which they’d only hinted at with earlier songs like “A Common Disaster.”

So what do you do for an encore? You apply roughly the same formula, erring on the side of caution. Thus One Soul Now doesn’t have quite the same dark overtones as the last album did. There’s no song that haunts quite like “I Did It All For You,” nothing to match the melancholy of “Upon Still Waters.” In their place, though, are smouldering numbers like “He Will Call You Baby,” a moody piece that would’ve fit right into Open. And the material that more closely resembles the Lay It Down era is pretty good as well. “The Stars Of Our Stars” is the most upbeat song the Cowboy Junkies have done since “Miles From Our Home,” and the title track is a perfect example of what the Junkies do best these days: light country rock with a hint of black.

But after hearing “I Did It All For You,” it’s hard to go back.

[review 2004: the honourable mentions]

Mirah Yom Tov Zeitlyn put out three albums over the course of a year, but C’mon Miracle was the album proper. Her collaboration with Ginger Brooks Takahashi was for a good cause but otherwise unspectacular; the album of protest songs she did with the Black Cat Orchestra was similarly uneventful. You can guess where this is going.

If You Think It’s Like This But Really It’s Like This was the wide-eyed child and Advisory Committee was the experimental, “difficult” adolescent, then C’mon Miracle is the record chronicling the adult years up to the midlife crisis. In other words, it’s very pleasant but somewhat lacking in conviction. In trying to strike a balance between her first two albums, Mirah has lost what made both albums so interesting; it’s like taking a bunch of bright colours and mixing them thoroughly until you get a uniform brownish-grey.

The best songs on C’mon Miracle are the ones that approach the moods of her earlier albums. “Don’t Die In Me” sounds like an evolution of the material on “Advisory Committee,” and has more emotional punch than the rest of the album. The album closes with a relative throwback to Mirah’s early material, “Exactly Where We’re From.” Again, the song sounds more like an evolution of her Storageland and You Think It’s Like This days rather than a straight rip, and is better for it. But between moments like these, there are pleasures more slight and less fulfilling to be had. So it’s hard to write off the album because it’s so easy to digest, and if pressed hard, you could say something very charitable about every track. Come back two weeks after a listen, though, and it’s unlikely you’ll actually remember much of the album.