The Gaslight Anthem – Handwritten

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I’m always excited when a new Gaslight Anthem album comes out. American Slang was one of my favorite records the year it came out, as was The 59 Sound before it. So I had high hopes for Handwritten, their debut on Mercury Records.

Then I found out Brenden O’Brien was producing it.

Brenden O’Brien is the guy behind several big-name records from the past fifteen or twenty years, including Bruce Springsteen’s The Rising and the Wallflowers’ Rebel, Sweetheart. And while I really enjoy both of those records, O’Brien has a tendency to make the production of all the records he does sound the same. They’re bright, shiny rock records, with strummed acoustics, chiming and chugging electric guitars, and deep drums.

And really, what we get here isn’t exactly bad: the band are all excellent musicians, and there’s definitely craft at work in these songs. But the writing doesn’t seem as sharp, the choruses don’t seem as catchy, and everything sounds smoothed out and rather murky. It’s glossy, arena-style production, and the already-weak songs suffer because of it.

It’s odd that everything ends up sounding so same-y, because O’Brien helps the band bring in some new instrumentation to fill out their sound. There’s organs and pianos in several songs, and many feature acoustic guitars more prominently (granted, the band’s used acoustics before, but never quite this much).

There are some decent songs here. “Here Comes My Man” is a ’60s girl-group song that swings and rocks all at once; “Keepsake” is standard Gaslight Anthem, but stronger than much of the other material on the album. “Howl” is pretty solid, and “National Anthem” shows quite a bit of promising growth for the band.

The bad, though, is mostly just bland and uninspired. “Handwritten” is standard fare for the band, but doesn’t do anything particularly well. Several of these songs – “Handwritten” chief among them – feel like leftovers from other albums, lesser versions of songs we’ve already heard.

Ultimately, Handwritten is a bit of a letdown, not because it’s bad but because it’s not as good as it could be. This is an album that doesn’t live up to the promise of its predecessors. Hopefully they’ll turn it around for the next album.

Sketch a Day, Day 306

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Seriously, all I wanted to do was drink a beer and read Machiavelli. But no, the couple down the bar from me had to have the world’s most inane conversation about smartphones. At least the beer was cheap and the bartender was a decent fellow.

Ringo Starr – Ringo

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Here’s another oldie but goodie from the days of the Blogspot blog. Enjoy!

Poor Ringo was always the least of The Beatles. He wasn’t the writing genius like Lennon or McCartney, he wasn’t a spiritual guru like Harrison. He was this affable little man with a big nose who had an extremely limited vocal range and who occasionally sang songs about underwater gardens and brightly-colored submarines. It’s difficult to take Ringo seriously, honestly.

This isn’t to say that Ringo is without his charms. He is affable, after all, and he has a certain charm to him that’s hard to deny. Ringo is just so damn likeable. He’s loveable, and you honestly want to see him do well. You root for Ringo.

And so when The Beatles broke up in 1970 and inevitably started releasing solo records, you knew it was only a matter of time before even Ringo jumped into it; because honestly, he’s a Beatle, and Beatle = instant chance. So he put out a couple of almost noveltyish records, and then released Ringo in 1972.

The thing about Ringo? It’s really pretty damn good. Ringo knows what folks want to hear from him–vaguely folky, bright, uptempo songs that are poppy, fun, and probably just a little superficial; it’s what we expect of Ringo–and he delivers here. There’s not really any filler on the record, which is to say that all the songs are pretty decent. There are standouts, of course: “Photograph,” a song he co-wrote with George Harrison, is a fantastic number, as is his cover of “You’re Sixteen.” “Oh, My My” is fun, and “I’m the Greatest” (written by Lennon) is a tongue-firmly-in-cheek celebration of status, even if it’s only presumed status in one’s own imagination. The record maintains a consistent feel, which is that of a good time with old friends. There’s nothing groundbreaking here, nothing as overwhelming as All Things Must Pass or as daring as Plastic Ono Band or as self-consciously homemade as McCartney. This is just a fun record, and it succeeds on that level very, very well.

The record also serves as an unofficial Beatles reunion of sorts. All three of Ringo’s former bandmates contribute not only songs for the record but themselves: each appear on at least the track they penned, and their presence offers a legitimacy to the whole affair. Also on hand are Klaus Voormann, old Beatle pal from the Hamburg days, Billy Preseton, and The Band, who offer assistance (along with Harrison) on the excellent “Sunshine Life for Me (Sail Away Raymond).”

The CD release of the album actually manages to sweeten the deal, adding three bonus tracks–including the single “It Don’t Come Easy”–to the already strong record. Really, if you have any love at all for old Ringo, this is a fantastic record (much better than…well, pretty much anything else he’s released). It’s a comfortable, fun, almost superficial (in the best possible sense of the word) album that it’s hard not to enjoy. You’ll tap your toes, you’ll sing along, you’ll be glad you’re listening to it. Not liking it would be like not liking a puppy, and do you really want to be known as the person who doesn’t like puppies?

Divine Fits – A Thing Called Divine Fits

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When I first heard “Flaggin a Ride” this summer, I was sitting in the car with my brother. He turned to me and asked, “Isn’t this that new band Britt Daniel’s in? It sounds just like Spoon. Why not just make another Spoon album?” And I’ll admit, I was hard-pressed to come up with a response. On the surface, A Thing Called Divine Fits could have easily been a new Spoon album, with its stripped-down instrumentation and choppy vocals. Sure, there are some snyths here and there, but that’s not too far from where the band’s been headed the past couple of albums anyway.

All that being said, it is a slightly different animal than your usual Spoon record. For one, Britt Daniel isn’t singing every song. The other two guys in this project (both of whom I’ve never heard of, and I can’t say I’m all that familiar with the bands they’re in, either) both bring their own thing to the table, really, and it ends up a bit of a mash-up between the sound of the three members’ own work.

Thankfully, it’s a solid album full of catchy, well-crafted songs. The aforementioned “Flaggin a Ride” wouldn’t have felt out of place on Transference, the last Spoon record. Really, all of Britt Daniel’s contributions here (including a cover of “Shivers”) are pretty solid, and the rest of the band throw in a few great tunes, too. “Would That Not Be Nice” is a standout track, while “Civilian Stripes” is an acoustic-driven ditty that breaks the tightly-wound tension of the first half of the album. That first half is pretty relentless, with driving rhythms, sharp and clipped vocals, and dueling guitars and snyths. It some of the best stuff I’ve heard all year, actually.

Ultimately, A Thing Called Divine Fits is a pretty solid debut from a group of guys who have spent years honing their respective crafts. It’s a nice summation of what these three musicians can do, and hopefully the first of many more albums to come from the group.