Adventures in Listening, January 26 2023

Iggy Pop revels in bad taste; Rachael & Vilray set the standard; and U2 looks back.

Iggy Pop - Every Loser

Iggy Pop has never been one to make the same album twice, so it comes as some surprise that his latest, Every Loser, is something of a back-to-basics record. But if that description suggests that the shirtless septuagenarian is aging gracefully, the music itself is something mercifully randier, rowdier, and stranger. It’s not just that he’s reconnecting with the feral spirit of Iggy Stooge for the first time in years; it’s that, after several records of crooning and relative gentility— even Post Punk Depression, an ostensible rock and roll record, felt moody— he’s positively reveling in bad taste. Pop swears a blue streak, howls his way through crunching rockers and frenzied new wave, paints an unvarnished picture of addiction on “Strung Out Johnny,” and mercilessly lampoons “Neo Punk” poseurs on a song that inexplicably features Travis Barker, presumably in on the joke. That’s to say nothing of an Andy Warhol theater piece and a wistful elegy to Pop’s beloved Miami (here christened “New Atlantis”), where Pop takes it as a given that climate change will wreak havoc on an apocalyptic scale. (In one of the album’s genuinely moving moments, Pop says he’ll know the end times are upon us when he starts noticing fewer wild fish and birds.) You’d have to go back to something like Harry Nilsson’s Son of Schmilsson for an album more emblematic of the singer’s unleashed id, and like that album, Every Loser wears its lack of inhibition (even its spiteful moments) with a loose, cheerful spirit. This is Iggy Pop sticking to his strengths like he hasn’t in a long time, and not coincidentally, it’s one of the most raucous good times in his entire catalog.

Rachael & Vilray - I Love a Love Song!

While the ignorant and the incurious may regard vocal jazz as a genre stuck in time (“granny music,” to borrow a phrase from John Lennon), real heads know that the form is a wellspring of invention, from the technical innovations of Cecile McLorin-Savant to (my favorite) the expansive and exploratory works of Jazzmeia Horn. And then there’s the music of Rachael & Vilray, which will probably never be heralded as groundbreaking but is impossible to hear as anything less than delightful. Though unashamedly old-timey in its sound, the music feels timeless in its good humor, its erudite perspective, and its casual virtuosity. Only one of its 13 tracks is an actual oldie (good luck figuring out which one without consulting the liner notes), the rest warmly written by singer/guitarist Vilray to capture the canny craft and melodic acuity of old Tin Pan Alley favorites, with lyrics that are sly, funny, and touching, sometimes within the course of the same song. While the album title suggests rhapsodies for romance, much of the material comes from a place of disillusionment, even cynicism: “Is a Good Man Real?” doesn’t ask for perfection, just a guy who isn’t a total drip, and even that feels like a lofty request. “Even in the Evenin’” laments a partner’s increased workaholism, while “Hate is the Basis (for Love)” advocates for building a relationship on objects of shared derision. (If you and your intended both happen to hate raisins, this is one you’ll want for your wedding playlist.) It’s far from experimental but it does feel lively and fresh, the sound of two connoisseurs who want to build on the past rather than replicating it by rote. Of course Rachael Price (also of Lake Street Dive) is immaculate in her phrasing. And of course the whole affair is charmingly chaste… well, until the album-ending rendition of “Let’s Make Love on This Plane,” which has entendres for miles and miles.

U2 - Selections from Songs of Surrender

As my friend Stephen Thomas Erlewine points out, when bands start re-recording their old material, it’s seldom a sign of creative vigor. So I’ll say this for “Pride (In the Name of Love)” and the early-release teaser snippets of “Beautiful Day” and “With or Without You,” three appetizers for the upcoming Songs of Surrender: They demonstrate a real willingness to raze familiar landmarks and erect strikingly new structures in their place, rejiggering melodies, lyrics, tone, and style. You can’t accuse these retreads of being lazy. What they fail to demonstrate, at least to my ears, is an understanding of what made these songs engaging in the first place. While all three are great songs, I’m not sure that any of them benefit from a stripped-down approach that shifts the emphasis almost entirely onto the lyrics; these are songs that were always intended to be anthems, their meaning and their substance drawn as much from their kinetic energy and their playing-to-the-cheap-seats grandeur as from the words themselves. It just seems baffling to me that anyone would willingly choose the coffee shop version of “Pride” over the crackle and pop of the original, or that “Beautiful Day” is somehow better for losing its crowdpleasing crescendos. Having said all that: From the standpoint of phrasing and restraint, Bono remains a compelling (and, if anything, underrated) singer, aging gracefully into an empathetic interpreter of his own material. That’s enough to save these re-recordings from being flat-out embarrassments.

And finally: D’Angelo’s Voodoo at 23

Happy anniversary to a modern classic. While Voodoo isn’t my favorite D’Angelo record (that would be Black Messiah) or even my top pick from the golden era of the Soulquarians (Mama’s Gun forever), it’s nevertheless an album that’s been a reference point for me for a long time now. The first time I heard it, I was slackjawed at its daring— here was an album that aimed to be irresistibly funky while remaining languid and expansive, taking its time, rarely raising its pulse, but conjuring grooves for the ages and completely changing the weather in the room. It’ll outlast us all.