The Sunroom Sessions reviews
_________________________________________________________
Review by Janice M. Janostak
In a recent article for The New Yorker (Oct 22, 2007), Sasha Frere-Jones the
separation of “black” and “white” music in the past decade, and the lack of soul,
syncopation, or rhythm in white indie rock:
“I’ve spent the past decade wondering why rock and roll, the most
miscegenated popular music ever to have existed, underwent a racial re-
sorting in the nineteen-nineties. Why did so many white rock bands retreat
from the ecstatic singing and intense, voicelike guitar tones of the blues, the
heavy African downbeat, and the elaborate showmanship that characterized
black music of the twentieth century? These are the volatile elements that
launched rock and roll...
“...in the past few years, I’ve spent too many evenings at indie concerts
waiting in vain for vigor, for rhythm, for a musical effect that could justify all
the preciousness. How did rhythm come to be discounted in an art form that
was born as a celebration of rhythm’s possibilities? Where is the impulse to
reach out to an audience - to entertain?”
Had Mr Frere-Jones been given the chance to listen to 3rdSide’s Sunroom
Sessions beforehand, his article might have emerged a bit differently. Such artists do
indeed exist, but they are very, very hard to find.
I myself have recently had the opportunity to dig through the CD collection of a
local independent (in the truest sense of the word) radio station (they were selling a
lot of their CD’s to raise money during a fund-raising drive). Most of the CD’s we
listened to went, very quickly, in the “reject” pile. The first few seconds - perhaps a
minute, even - were promising: infectious drumbeats, or austere guitar chords, or
some whiff of rhythm, enough to make me bob my head and think that something
good was in the works.
And then the singing began - and nine times out of ten, the CD went right into the
reject pile.
There are some very very good instrumentalists out there, but a great many indie
artists have no idea how to merge their voices successfully to the music they are
trying to create. There are the young guitarists who are great players but (unlike, for
instance, the Duhks) whose voices don’t match the world-weary lyrics or timeless
melodies; they simply sound like kids in the college coffeehouse. There are older
musicians who can’t sing worth a penny-whistle, but do so anyway as if the
raggedness is meant to be part of the charm. And then there are artists of every age
who are trying to throw too many genres and styles together into an unconvincing
whole. In short, very little of what I found that day at the radio station begged a
further listen.
On the other hand, I have listened to Sunroom Sessions more times than I can
count in the past five months, and have yet to feel like it’s possibilities have been
exhausted. Here is a CD in which a variety of genres are gently melded into an
organic (but not monotonous) whole, where nods to rock, reggae, funk, folk and
even classical guitar weave their way, but at no point do I find myself comparing
3rdSide to other, more famous artists in a “they sound like this” manner, which is all
too easy to do when one encounters new music. The sound is completely their own.
Or his own, I should say - in the person of singer-songwriter-guitarist Derek
Windle. Yes, he’s a hyphenate, which in many artists can lead to dangers, delusions
of grandeur . Derek, on the other hand, is entirely capable of tackling the various
chores he has taken on; and in terms of acoustic guitar (there are three acoustic
tracks on the CD) he is an outright master. His lyrics are sometimes ironic,
sometimes witty and warm, other times rueful, but never precious, never artsy-for-
arts-sake or incomprehensible. At times there are astonishing juxtapositions; in the
last track, “Words” the most outright ballsy rock song on the CD, the lyrics begin
like a random, vulgar and unlovely street-corner conversation:
“F****d up, same old shit, just living in a different day,
Man it sucks, to be trippin’ over words someone never heard me say”
and then this vivid image shifts things entirely:
“and in a reckless moment she tore through my skin”
A metaphor, yes, but an entirely accessible one, backed up by driving guitar chords.
It’s a metaphor in itself for the album as a whole, as Derek leads us through a
variety of moods and through the back catalog of his musical influences: head-
bopping reggae beats in “Criminals” and “Watcha Started”, the dangerous wit of a
trickster in “Hellava Ride”; the gentle, fluid appreciation of the beauty of the
mundane in “Pearl” that evokes the hush of a grey rainy morning; the befuddled
lover of “Butterfly”, which captures the “war between the sexes” better than almost
any song I have ever heard:
“...she cries sometimes and you don’t know what it means
maybe our souls are tuned to different frequencies...”
By the time “Words” finishes the album, with it’s searing, insistent chords and raw
vocalizations scraping Derek’s throat like shards of glass, I find myself feeling like
the foolish fangirls who flock to the edge of the stage, hearts beating wildly inside
their chests as their palms slap the floor at the feet of their idol. Derek Windle’s
music may at times be introspective (and never more so than in his acoustic tracks),
but he NEVER forgets that indeed there is an audience to entertain, and he does so,
keeping all the tools in his music toolbag close at hand, but using them judiciously.
Would that Sasha Frere-Jones had the opportunity to listen to Sunroom Sessions,
for then he would be reassured that at least in the hands of one practitioner, “white
indie rock” has not lost it’s soul, it’s rhythm, it’s roots - nor it’s sexuality.
Janice M. Janostak
03/28/08
_________________________________________________________
Review by Janice M. Janostak
In a recent article for The New Yorker (Oct 22, 2007), Sasha Frere-Jones the
separation of “black” and “white” music in the past decade, and the lack of soul,
syncopation, or rhythm in white indie rock:
“I’ve spent the past decade wondering why rock and roll, the most
miscegenated popular music ever to have existed, underwent a racial re-
sorting in the nineteen-nineties. Why did so many white rock bands retreat
from the ecstatic singing and intense, voicelike guitar tones of the blues, the
heavy African downbeat, and the elaborate showmanship that characterized
black music of the twentieth century? These are the volatile elements that
launched rock and roll...
“...in the past few years, I’ve spent too many evenings at indie concerts
waiting in vain for vigor, for rhythm, for a musical effect that could justify all
the preciousness. How did rhythm come to be discounted in an art form that
was born as a celebration of rhythm’s possibilities? Where is the impulse to
reach out to an audience - to entertain?”
Had Mr Frere-Jones been given the chance to listen to 3rdSide’s Sunroom
Sessions beforehand, his article might have emerged a bit differently. Such artists do
indeed exist, but they are very, very hard to find.
I myself have recently had the opportunity to dig through the CD collection of a
local independent (in the truest sense of the word) radio station (they were selling a
lot of their CD’s to raise money during a fund-raising drive). Most of the CD’s we
listened to went, very quickly, in the “reject” pile. The first few seconds - perhaps a
minute, even - were promising: infectious drumbeats, or austere guitar chords, or
some whiff of rhythm, enough to make me bob my head and think that something
good was in the works.
And then the singing began - and nine times out of ten, the CD went right into the
reject pile.
There are some very very good instrumentalists out there, but a great many indie
artists have no idea how to merge their voices successfully to the music they are
trying to create. There are the young guitarists who are great players but (unlike, for
instance, the Duhks) whose voices don’t match the world-weary lyrics or timeless
melodies; they simply sound like kids in the college coffeehouse. There are older
musicians who can’t sing worth a penny-whistle, but do so anyway as if the
raggedness is meant to be part of the charm. And then there are artists of every age
who are trying to throw too many genres and styles together into an unconvincing
whole. In short, very little of what I found that day at the radio station begged a
further listen.
On the other hand, I have listened to Sunroom Sessions more times than I can
count in the past five months, and have yet to feel like it’s possibilities have been
exhausted. Here is a CD in which a variety of genres are gently melded into an
organic (but not monotonous) whole, where nods to rock, reggae, funk, folk and
even classical guitar weave their way, but at no point do I find myself comparing
3rdSide to other, more famous artists in a “they sound like this” manner, which is all
too easy to do when one encounters new music. The sound is completely their own.
Or his own, I should say - in the person of singer-songwriter-guitarist Derek
Windle. Yes, he’s a hyphenate, which in many artists can lead to dangers, delusions
of grandeur . Derek, on the other hand, is entirely capable of tackling the various
chores he has taken on; and in terms of acoustic guitar (there are three acoustic
tracks on the CD) he is an outright master. His lyrics are sometimes ironic,
sometimes witty and warm, other times rueful, but never precious, never artsy-for-
arts-sake or incomprehensible. At times there are astonishing juxtapositions; in the
last track, “Words” the most outright ballsy rock song on the CD, the lyrics begin
like a random, vulgar and unlovely street-corner conversation:
“F****d up, same old shit, just living in a different day,
Man it sucks, to be trippin’ over words someone never heard me say”
and then this vivid image shifts things entirely:
“and in a reckless moment she tore through my skin”
A metaphor, yes, but an entirely accessible one, backed up by driving guitar chords.
It’s a metaphor in itself for the album as a whole, as Derek leads us through a
variety of moods and through the back catalog of his musical influences: head-
bopping reggae beats in “Criminals” and “Watcha Started”, the dangerous wit of a
trickster in “Hellava Ride”; the gentle, fluid appreciation of the beauty of the
mundane in “Pearl” that evokes the hush of a grey rainy morning; the befuddled
lover of “Butterfly”, which captures the “war between the sexes” better than almost
any song I have ever heard:
“...she cries sometimes and you don’t know what it means
maybe our souls are tuned to different frequencies...”
By the time “Words” finishes the album, with it’s searing, insistent chords and raw
vocalizations scraping Derek’s throat like shards of glass, I find myself feeling like
the foolish fangirls who flock to the edge of the stage, hearts beating wildly inside
their chests as their palms slap the floor at the feet of their idol. Derek Windle’s
music may at times be introspective (and never more so than in his acoustic tracks),
but he NEVER forgets that indeed there is an audience to entertain, and he does so,
keeping all the tools in his music toolbag close at hand, but using them judiciously.
Would that Sasha Frere-Jones had the opportunity to listen to Sunroom Sessions,
for then he would be reassured that at least in the hands of one practitioner, “white
indie rock” has not lost it’s soul, it’s rhythm, it’s roots - nor it’s sexuality.
Janice M. Janostak
03/28/08
REVIEWS
~3rdSide album and live reviews~
____________________________
*The Sunroom Sessions reviews
*Live reviews
*Misc/Other
~3rdSide album and live reviews~
____________________________
*The Sunroom Sessions reviews
*Live reviews
*Misc/Other