 | Overall Rating: 8.1 Lyrics: 7.6 Melodies: 7.4 Arrangements: 8.6 Thematicity: 7.2 Originality: 8.6 Production: 8.5 |
I would advise anyone whose first experience with James Toth's music involved falling in love with last year's Harem of the Sundrum & the Witness Figg to take the following into account when listening to his compositions with The Vanishing Voice: don't expect any similarity between them and his magnificent solo debut. That's not to say that Gipsy Freedom, his latest effort with said band, can claim no share of magnificence, but that one shouldn't expect the thematic unity, the surrealistic fire-and-brimstone sermons, the old-time folk aesthetic, the basement recording production quality, or the lyrical focus that defined Witness Figg (though shades of it can be found on "Dread Effigy"). Instead, expect psych-folk at its most abstract; this record consists mostly of the kind of meandering compositions the band's previous releases have involved, though it must be said that Gipsy Freedom can boast two advantages over the rest of the band's catalogue. The first, which is perhaps the more celebrated of the two, but, truth be told, the lesser in importance, is Daniel Carter's cameo appearances playing jazz flute; the second and more significant is a dramatic improvement in production quality. Carter is certainly an asset, and his presence on "Friend, That Just Isn't So" makes the track, but while they're tastefully integrated into the band's material, they also aren't by any means the centerpiece of the record (he only appear on one track out of eight). The focus is really the instrumental textures built out of scrapes, slams, scratches, and a plethora of auxiliary percussion instruments, which is finally, after so many releases (this is, after all, one prolific band), satisfactorally captured by some impressively deft engineering work. Admittedly it's not a very accessible record, but despite its vagaries it exemplifies why psych-folk deserves to be taken seriously and why Wooden Wand & the Vanishing Voice deserve more attention than most other bands working in the genre. Still, as impressive as it is in certain regards, it also suffers from many of the genre's stereotypical excesses, and as much as I like Gipsy Freedom, I can't justify touting it as one of this year's premier releases.
The primary issue I have with Gypsy Freedom is thematic. The problem isn't that it emphasizes noise over melody, or that it favors experimentation over consistency (a characteristic of free jazz, the aesthetics of which guide this record) ; it is rather that it seems an assamblage of pieces, each designed to fit some other mold (as opposed to arising spontaneously), thrown together haphazardly. Perhaps the most striking example of this is to be found in the compositions' lyrics, which range from the spontaneous, imagistic diatribe of "Dead End Days with Caesar" to the corny, pseudo-hippie jargon of "Friend, That Just Isn't So" and "Don't Love the Liar" (which comes across at once as both arrogant and naive). Admittedly, as with Broken Social Social Scene's You Forgot It in People, a lot of it can be chalked up to a multiplicity of songwriters and songwriting styles, but the question remains as to whether the album stands as anything more than a collection of interesting singles. Admittedly, the arrangements (one of the record's strongest assets) do a good job of providing something of a common thread, though there are even exceptions in that regard (for example, the track featuring Carter on flute). I also feel that if an album includes a track that exceeds fifteen minues in length, there better be a reason for it, and Lord help me, I can't find one for "Dead End Days with Caesar." Despite all this, however, there are some fantastic individual songs on this collection: "Genesis Joplin," despite its idiotic moniker, channels Bjork's vocal style and mythic and sexual symbolism quite effectively; "Dread Effigy" (on which Toth's influence is the most obvious) is actually quite memorable melodically, and the clanging cadence of and catchy vocal trebling of "Didn't It Rain" make it one of the record's most memorable tracks (though if the band is tipping their hat to Jason Molina somehow here I'm still unsure). Gipsy Freedom is certainly worth listening to enough to get past its initial abrasiveness and truly enjoy, and is genuinely more about music than noise, though like most pieces of professedly hippie art it claims to say and do a great deal more than it actually does. There's a hell of a lot of substance here beneath the posturing (a posturing which isn't even that pronounced), and albeit somewhat uncoordinated, Wooden Wand & the Vanishing Voice's latest offering is a pretty impressive one, and more accessible than you might think.
-BT
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