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Review: Bob Mould’s Sunshine Rock Beams with Surprising Positivity

The album proves that the tortured-artist path isn’t the only way to great rock n’ roll.

3.5

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Sunshine Rock
Photo: Alicia J. Rose/Big Hassle

Bob Mould’s 13th solo album, Sunshine Rock, is in one sense a continuation of a renaissance for the erstwhile Hüsker Dü and Sugar frontman. Like his recent work, it sees Jason Narducy on bass and Superchunk’s Jon Wurster on drums, and is characterized by overdriven guitars and surging melodic hooks that contribute to the album’s high-octane, raw-nerve energy. But there’s something different about it too, as Mould sounds almost happy throughout. As recently as 2016’s thunderous Patch the Sky, he seemed as mired in despair as ever. And yet, even though the doomsday he foretold on that album’s “The End of Things” and “Lucifer and God” has often seemed like it’s come to pass over the last three years, Mould sounds determined to not let his misery get him down.

Mould’s relatively sunnier outlook would seem to be more a result of changes in his personal life than any sort of reassessment about the state of the world. In 2017, he moved to Berlin to cope with the death of his parents by adopting a concertedly upbeat mindset. One evidence of his success is “Sunshine Rock,” the title of which is a double entendre that seemingly describes both the physical location of some passionate outdoor sex and the radiant major chords and melodic refrains that course through the song. There’s even an 18-piece string arrangement that takes the song further into pop territory.

That’s only one of the four songs on the album in which the sun is mentioned in the title—all of which flirt, appropriately, with bubblegum-pop textures. Among them, the gentle, nostalgic “Camp Sunshine” is the most disarming, featuring Mould issuing a rather earnest greeting: “Greetings from the camp/Where every day is fun/The weather’s warm, everyone is cool.”

If that sounds iffy coming from one of the architects of post-punk, be assured that Sunshine Rock maintains a mostly sharp-edged sound, at least approaching the same prodigious level of guitar fuzz that made Patch the Sky such a bracing kick in the jaw. The anthemic closer “Western Sunset” in particular is classic Mould, marrying fist-pumping hooks with “Waterloo Sunset”-esque backing vocals and a pummeling wall of guitars. Elsewhere, “What Do You Want Me to Do” strikes a more caustic tone but features an equally cathartic shout-along chorus, built on the back of a roiling guitar riff that ranks among the catchiest Mould has come up with recently. And perhaps needing one more classic rock-style hook to round out the album’s themes than he cared to write himself, Mould covers Shocking Blue’s minor 1968 psych-rock hit “Send Me a Postcard” in a considerably rocked-up arrangement.

Sunshine Rock’s middle stretch intermittently lacks the same balance of melodicism and aggression as its highlights. While the speedy punk rave-up “Thirty Dozen Roses” will satisfy Mould’s old-school fans, drearier rockers like “I Fought” and “Sin King” are far less memorable. But even on what seem to be, on the surface, Sunshine Rock’s bleakest songs—“The Final Years” and “Lost Faith”—Mould’s newfound optimism peeks through. On “The Final Years,” he’s ostensibly back to singing about the end of the world, but he acknowledges that even if it’s all about to go up in flames, dwelling on that fact is a waste of time: “Where did I put my sense of misplaced rage/Who crossed the lines I dreamt up in my fevered stage?”

On “Lost Faith,” the foreboding riff that drives the verses, along with his insistence that he’s “lost faith in everything,” again places Mould squarely in a troubled headspace, as the string section from “Sunshine Rock” returns to add a sense of sweeping drama. But he snaps out of it on the unexpectedly upbeat chorus: “We all lose faith in troubled times/You better find your way back home.” It’s good advice, and, like the rest of Sunshine Rock, proof that, contrary to popular belief, the tortured-artist path isn’t the only way to great rock n’ roll.

Label: Merge Release Date: February 8, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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Review: Chaka Khan’s Hello Happiness Runs on Good Vibes

As its titles suggests, the R&B singer’s first album in 12 years radiates positivity.

3.5

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Chaka Khan
Photo: Island Records

“I’m tired of hearing bad news,” Chaka Khan sings on the title track of her 13th solo album, Hello Happiness. The last time the singer was in the news, in 2016, she was entering rehab to treat an addiction to fentanyl, the same drug that killed Prince. Given the general sense of ennui that’s endemic to life in the 21st century, you’d be forgiven for expecting a more morose Chaka Khan in 2019. But as its title suggests, her first album in 12 years radiates positivity.

Hello Happiness’s breezy sensibility is intrinsic to its design. The 27-minute-long album’s opening track begins with a kind of mantra: “Music makes me sing/Goodbye sadness/Hello happiness.” The ebullient “Like a Lady” is punctuated with serotonin-spiking disco string stabs, while the chorus—“Ooh, you make me feel like a lady, baby/Ooh, I think I’m falling in love”—feels timeless and nostalgic. If it isn’t enough to put a smile on your face the first time around, Khan repackages the whole song again on the closing track “Ladylike,” pairing the same verses and chorus with a more up-front melody and a sparkling acoustic guitar hook.

Much of the credit for Hello Happiness’s relentlessly good vibes goes to co-producers Switch (formerly of Major Lazer) and singer-songwriter Sarah Ruba Taylor, who plunder the sounds of Khan’s 1970s and ‘80s output for a mélange of styles and textures, from the fat Bernie Worrell-like synthesizers and fuzz-laced guitars of “Don’t Cha Know” to the echoing dub effects of “Isn’t That Enough.” Sometimes the production steals the spotlight a little too much: With its infectious Fatback Band-interpolating bassline, lead single “Like Sugar” barely needs Khan’s vocals to make you groove. Her placement in the tracks, often deep in the mix and drenched in reverb, can give the impression that she’s a guest on another artist’s remix.

Yet, it’s worth applauding Khan, who turns 66 next month, for continuing to make an album as vital and contemporary-sounding as Hello Happiness. Few artists still releasing new music as they approach their fifth decade in the business are producing work like this, with an ear to dance floors rather than the Grammys and NPR. One need only hear the sizzling man-eater’s blues of “Too Hot” to know that Khan is still in fine voice. On Hello Happiness, she pairs those ageless pipes with some of the most danceable music in her career.

Label: Island Release Date: February 15, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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Review: Yola’s Walk Through Fire Feels Like a Musical Time Capsule

The British soul singer’s debut seems to have emerged from a time capsule circa 1969.

3.5

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Walk Through Fire
Photo: Alysse Gafkjen/Nonesuch

Everything about Yola’s debut, Walk Through Fire, seems to have emerged from a time capsule circa 1969—from the album cover, with its muted color palette and chunky vintage fonts, to the musical arrangements, which mix baroque-pop signifiers like glockenspiel and pizzicato strings with more timeless organ and pedal steel. The album’s session musicians are of a similar vintage: Drummer Gene Chrisman and pianist Bobby Wood are both veterans of the house band from American Sound Studio in Memphis, ground zero for Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds” and Dusty Springfield’s Dusty in Memphis.

It’s tempting to ascribe this studious retro sensibility to producer Dan Auerbach, whose 2017 solo album, Waiting on a Song, treaded similar territory with some of the same musicians. But Yola, whose colorful backstory includes a brief stint with trip-hoppers Massive Attack, has a voice that lends itself to the analogue treatment: rich and mellifluous, adept at both caressing the melodies of a lilting ballad like “Shady Grove” and blowing the roof off of a belter like “Lonely the Night.” The British singer simply sounds like the product of another era, closer in spirit to the likes of Mavis Staples than to 21st-century R&B stylists like SZA.

If Through the Fire sounds like it’s from 1969, that’s because the late ‘60s were the golden era of country-soul, when a small but significant group of artists, songwriters, and producers were blurring the boundaries between working-class black and white roots music. Yola, who’s cited Dolly Parton as a crucial influence, is right at home in this space, sounding as natural singing atop the fiddles and pedal steel of lead single “Ride Out in the Country” as she does over the organ and horn section of “Still Gone.” The ease with which Yola, Auerbach, and their collaborators blend these genres is a powerful reminder of their shared roots—particularly at a time when musical styles feel at once more amorphous and more rigidly segregated than ever.

While Through the Fire’s facsimile of ‘60s country-soul is uncanny, the sturdiness of its songcraft is even more impressive. Yola and Auerbach composed the majority of the album with seasoned songwriters—most notably Dan Penn, who as the co-writer of standards like “The Dark End of the Street” and “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man” played no small role in the creation of country-soul as a genre. None of the songs on Through the Fire are of quite that caliber, and some feel like they’re trying too hard to be: The subject matter of “Ride Out in the Country” is a bit too bucolically on the nose, while a few stray lyrical references to “across the great divide” and “love [is] a losing game” come across as distracting tips of the hat to more canonical—and, frankly, better—songs. But on tracks like “Keep Me Here” and “It Ain’t Easier,” Yola seems capable of not only expertly mimicking the sounds of the past, but also creating something that will itself stand the test of time.

Label: Easy Eye Sound/Nonesuch Release Date: February 22, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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Review: Tedeschi Trucks Band’s Signs Points to Better Times Ahead

The band’s raw, crowd-pleasing blues-rock remains as rousing as ever on Signs.

3.5

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Signs
Photo: Shore Fire Media

Tedeschi Trucks Band’s raw brand of blues-rock is a thrilling resurrection of bygone genres endemic to the southeastern United States, and they play with the freewheeling improvisatory energy of hallowed country-rock bands like the Allman Brothers, Little Feat, and Black Oak Arkansas. The group’s sound hasn’t noticeably evolved since their 2011 debut, Revelator, but their craft—particularly the electrifying, full-throated howl of singer Susan Tedeschi—remains as rousing as ever on their fourth album, Signs.

Lead single “Hard Case” fuses Americana, Memphis soul, and New Orleans swamp funk to tell the story of lovers who can’t quit each other. Tedeschi’s wails seamlessly intertwine with Matt Mattison’s gruff warble. “You’re a hard case to refuse,” Tedeschi sings, her voice tinged with both overwhelming desire and a creeping sense of self-doubt. Like most Tedeschi Trucks songs, “Hard Case” attempts to capture the blistering kinetic energy of the band’s live performances, and it mostly succeeds: The drums pummel, the solos meander, and the guitars, expertly played by Tedeschi’s husband, Derek Trucks, unexpectedly leap forward.

“Hard Case” is the closest Signs comes to matching the unbridled dynamism of “Part of Me,” a soaring standout from 2013’s Made Up My Mind. Yet the album also contains a handful of irrepressible trad-rock jams that allow Tedeschi’s vocals to take center stage, as on the Motown-inspired “I’m Gonna Be There” and “They Don’t Shine.” On “Walk Through This Life,” her voice veers from exuberant and unrestrained to subtle and declarative, yet it never loses its luster, evoking, at turns, that of Bonnie Raitt, Stevie Nicks, and Gladys Knight.

Many Americana outfits have become sociopolitical observers in the Trump era, and Tedeschi Trucks Band is no different. “Signs, Hard Times” is a blue-eyed soul rave-up that calls on bystanders to get off the sidelines in a time when passivity amounts to complicity. “No more fooling around,” Tedeschi shouts, urging us to take action before it’s too late. Yet, at times, their activist message comes off as stilted. “Shame, there’s poison in the well/Shame, you know we can’t un-ring the bell,” Tedeschi proclaims on “Shame.” It’s a well-intentioned but ultimately shallow truism—a lyric that states the obvious without offering any solutions.

At their best, the songs on Signs bristle with a kind of wide-eyed optimism. On “Still Your Mind,” Tedeschi seems to sum up the album’s mission: “You’re not alone/So many people feel that low/But I’ll help you grow.” While not without its flaws, Signs heals in this way. It’s often so joyous and spirited that, for a moment, it’s easy to envision better times ahead.

Label: Fantasy Release Date: February 15, 2019 Buy: Amazon

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