Number 6 of 2007 — Tina Dico: Count To Ten

It begins with a single breath.

Tina Dico’s 2005 album, In The Red, revolved around the concept that ‘all you need is one,’ either with one other person, or merely yourself. Count To Ten, its successor released last year in Denmark and this year in the UK and US, lives with the results of these conflicting alternatives. Tina decided to self-produce this album with long-term band mate Dennis Ahlgren, recalling the intimacy that made Notes and Fuel so attractive. This pairing strongly influenced the songs that were created this time around, but the overall sound remains semi-acoustic folk-rock with splashes of electronica to add to its atmosphere.

Count To Ten introduces us to this album, documenting the mental cacophany of a busy life when trivial issues and behaviours are over analysed, leading to breakdown. Although the song (and much of the album) follows expected musical paths, the increasing use of piano on this song effectively mirrors the rise in tension. The recommendation “And sometimes if you wanna hold on you got to let go” is a cliché, but it’s exactly the sentiment that’s required when you realise that this thought could be applied to yourself or another.

Some reviewers have criticised Count To Ten for having little musical development over its predecessors. This is true on the surface, although there’s more piano here (and its appearance throughout is a revelation) but it’s the subtleties that provide greater reward. Tina’s voice continues to grow in strength and Count To Ten seems to be constructed to emphasise it and her lyrics. Those lyrics draw imagery and convey moods far more successfully than many of her contemporaries. Reach behind them and it’s quite surprising to discover how little the music needs to offer. This being the case, Tina still gives advice and offers friendship to those who need (or seek) help. My Business uses piano riffs to fill in and around her vocals and there’s an extremely well hidden beautiful harmony towards the close of the song. We don’t really get any rock-out moments – the subject matter is too personal to warrant this – but the super-critical You Know Better wants to, but has to make do with strong piano chords, hanging guitar lines and charming backing vocals.

Craftsmanship and Poetry is ostensibly a song about the emptiness of break-up (literally and figuratively, complete with a ticking clock) with further advice to a friend, but in its recording is a small laugh that hints at introspection. After all, what is songwriting other than craftsmanship and poetry? Whether to her friend or herself, Tina concludes “You need someone to turn you on, you need to let yourself have fun.” Do songwriters write for others, or themselves?

When I listen to In The Red, I notice its similarity to many of Lunik’s albums. Given the gradual progression here, the same is true for Count To Ten. Open Wide is a micro-anthem that could pass as a Lunik song. It speaks to me of half-hearted relationships, letting someone into your life but not sufficiently deeply to avert conflicts.

The path set by In The Red’s lonely Room with a View continues with Sacre Coeur, this time in Paris rather than London, so given the options “I could go home to my love.. Or I could go on running off into the night, lonely and haunted” the inevitable conclusion is “..the sad thing is / I don’t know which I prefer.” But during On The Run she admits that “..it looks like freedom and it smells like fun / But it feels like being on the run”. There are parallels here – relationships with people, with careers and with music. Night Cab picks up from On The Run and could be a post-gig or post-relationship song, although “There’s a deep blue sea out there / Of birth and death and the lovely mess in between” gives a clearer indication.

On The Run:

I’ve now lived with this album for ten months and each song that I considered to be my favourite has eventually been nudged out by another. Currently this makes the closing song (on the CD version) Everybody Knows – a nod to Leonard Cohen, perhaps? – the top dog because it fittingly bookends the opener – “And there’s only one thing you can do / Let it live and let it through / It’s time to open..” There’s a unexpected minimalist vocal break on this song which magically teases out this opinion, ultimately joined by a simple piano riff that lifts the entire track.

With Count To Ten, Tina Dico’s fourth album delivers more or less the same as her previous three, but overall the songs are far stronger despite the continuing personal claustrophobia – one day she’ll roar, she has to. This is in every respect an essential purchase.

Tina Dico: Count To Ten – iTunes UK
Amazon UK
Official Website
MySpace

Number 7 of 2007 — Roísín Murphy: Overpowered

Over the past decade or so, Madonna’s music career has been marked by an obsession to remain relevant and cutting edge by enlisting producers who used their unique styles to bring her singular vision to the forefront of the industry. I’m sure that was the plan, but ironically, ever since Ray of Light she’s been involved with people whose best work is behind them. The results are songs that are a couple of years behind everyone else. It’s doubly ironic because she doesn’t recognise this.

All of this is an important back story to Overpowered because here Roísín Murphy has borrowed the fundamentals of Madonna’s best work (i.e. everything up to and including Erotica) and married them to sounds inspired by the sleek electro of Billie Ray Martin. Looking back over twenty years to generate music that firmly lives in the Noughties.

This makes Overpowered a wholly different experience to Ruby Blue, Roísín’s solo debut which was a natural development from her time as one half of Moloko. As a result, it’s more commercial – intentionally so – and successful, albeit with two problems that prevent it from being a beacon for modern pop music.

Kicking off proceedings is Overpowered. Placing the title track of an album right up front is always a dangerous thing, because it implies that the rest of the album isn’t up to much. Overpowered was also the lead single, so there’s a lot resting on this song. Despite some trancey blips and a moving bassline it underwhelms, lacking the momentum which usually propels Roísín’s singles, serving instead as an introduction to the overall sound of the album and to the subsequent track You Know Me Better.

You Know Me Better, co-written with Groove Armada’s Andy Cato provides a soul disco vibe complete with handclaps that could have been fliched directly from Madonna’s Spotlight. It’s a great song that is undermined by Roísín’s vocals – the first problem I have with this album. With Moloko, her vocals fitted the music and style perfectly. Arguably, her vocals gave Moloko its quirkiness – what would Fun For Me be with another voice? For this album, the vocals sometimes distract ones attention, reducing the impact of some songs, especially those that should have considerable emotional resonance. In contrast, Pandora, the final track from the iTunes version of the album (inexplicably absent from the CD) shows the benefit of focussing on a particular technique for a given song, thus demonstrating the marvellous voice that Roísín has and in turn building empathy with the listener. It’s just a question of being more selective. Primitive, for example, growls lustfully exactly as it should.

The paranoia of Checkin’ On Me approaches Electribe 101’s finest moment (that’s the Frankie Knuckles remix of Talking With Myself, by the way), complete with synth strings and horn stabs. This continues later with the fairly weak Tell Everybody, and here’s problem two: the length of the album. At 14 tracks – on my version – a couple of songs should have been deferred to singles, raising the overall quality of the album further: Movie Star, which is such a glaring Goldfrappism that someone should have spotted it and quietly made it a flipside, and Footprints. Footprints does have cowbells, which are one of my favourite percussive devices but I’d rather not hear a song that reminds me so much Prince’s Sign of the Times album. Without these tracks, Roísín’s paean to her father, Scarlet Ribbons might not sound so out of place. Dropping something this obvious into an album that’s best unwrapped gradually doesn’t feel right, and while I happily accepted Tori Amos’ The Beekeeper for Ribbons Undone or Ireland they found a place within that album’s concept. Scarlet Ribbons differs by arriving without such pretensions and it jars against the bioscience of Overpowered or the eco-dance Z-lister commentary of Dear Miami.

These two problems are on reflection, very minor quibbles, because the other tracks are collectively outstanding. The first arrives immediately after Checkin’ On Me: Lovers of piano house will adore Let Me Know, which gradually shakes and handclaps its way to a string laden break, before winding up once again. The aforementioned Dear Miami provides a minimal haunting reflection on humanity’s predictable demise. Billie Ray Martin’s No Brakes On My Rollerskates gets reborn on top of a sizzling Underworld bassline, electric crickets and more cowbells for Cry Baby and the final sequence of songs, Body Language, the chunky yet poignant Parallel Lives and Pandora’s synth-drenched finale are superb. What’s bizarre is that these three songs may or may not appear on the album, depending on which version you have – oh, and EMI have plans to release a ‘deluxe edition’ in July 2008, whatever that means.

Overpowered easily surpasses Ruby Blue, taking Roísín Murphy’s solo career in a direction sign-posted by the later Moloko singles. I hope that next time around, there’s more musical focus that can take her to the front of the pack.

Roísín Murphy: Overpowered – iTunes UK
Amazon UK
Official Website