Untitled Document
W hen it comes to zeitgeist, timing is all, and the
so-called freak-folk scene, with which Noah Georgeson is perhaps unfairly
associated, is due for a backlash. Already blogosphere wags are mocking
Devendra Banhart’s dirty bare feet, the same feet they were kissing a
year ago; how much longer before they sink their fangs into the
golden-haired darling of the movement, the prodigiously gifted Joanna
Newsom, whose recent Ys turned otherwise snarky crit-geeks into slobbering sycophants?
(It didn’t hurt, of course, that Newsom is ridiculously pretty; as
her recent press photos prove, she looks adorable even with an animal
carcass perched on her head.) Freak-folk, one suspects, reached its apogee
with Ys. On to
the next microgenre!
Georgeson, Newsom’s ex-boyfriend and the
producer of her first album, 2004’s The
Milk-Eyed Mender, has lousy timing. Even
though his recent debut, Find Shelter, has been in the works since 1999, it’s getting
press now, just as the chattering classes are running out of new ways to
describe eccentric acoustic music made by bearded twentysomethings and
their poetess consorts. Georgeson wrote these songs while living in a tiny San
Francisco apartment with Newsom and her ginormous harp; she wrote most of
the songs for her first album there, too, but, unlike Georgeson,
who’s been busy producing Banhart and (proto-freak) folk legend Bert
Jansch, as well as playing guitar with Vetiver, she got her damn record out
in a reasonable amount of time, well before the bandwagon ground to a halt.
It might have enhanced his cred if he hadn’t
waited so long, but it wouldn’t have made for a better record. Find Shelter is a sumptuous blend of
virtuosic playing and uncommon writing, an album poised midway between
highbrow art music and hum-in-the-shower folk-pop. Like Newsom, and unlike
the great majority of their indie-rock contemporaries, Georgeson is an
actual musician — the kind who can read standard music notation and
discuss the finer points of Morton Subotnick’s oeuvre. While earning
an M.A. in music at Mills College, he studied with composers Pauline
Oliveros and Alvin Curran, both major heavies in experimental-music
circles. He’s a classically trained flamenco guitarist and a
more-than-competent pianist who wrote, scored, arranged, recorded, and
produced Find Shelter in addition to singing and playing most of the instruments.
(For the remaining parts, he conducted the Kite Hill Chamber Orchestra.) He
has a tuneful, somewhat stagy baritone reminiscent of Rufus
Wainwright’s and Neil Hannon’s (Divine Comedy); when he dips
into the bottom of his register, he sounds a little like the great John
Cale. Add some elliptical but always interesting (and sometimes quite
funny) lyrics to the mix, and you’ve got yourself a winning
combination indeed — a bit lofty, maybe, but never obtrusively so.
Innovatively arranged and sensitively sequenced, all
of the CD’s dozen tracks are excellent, which makes it hard to choose
favorites. “Walking on Someone Else’s Name,” a loping
cowboy-glam reverie about the anxiety of influence, combines painstakingly
erudite lyrics (who, besides his word-drunk ex, would dare to sing about
isthmuses and archipelagos?) with sun-dappled synths, shadowy woodwinds,
and fingerstyle guitar. “Build and Work,” a critique of the
Protestant work ethic, intersperses a spacey organ with hard-panned cymbal
clashes and syncopated handclaps. With its somber horns and pregnant
silences, the stately “Priests of Cholera” brings to mind
Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, whereas the next track, “Glorious Glory,” mixes
grunting horns, intricate guitar, and curlicued piano to create an
infectious avant-vaudeville ditty. If there’s any justice in the
world, this beguiling debut will withstand the inevitable freak-folk
backlash and reach those who care more about talent than trendiness.
Contact René Spencer Saller at rssaller@core.com.
Contact René Spencer Saller at rssaller@core.com.
