November 21, 2009
UTNE READER

Music Reviews

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Frigg
Oasis
(NorthSide)

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An evening in the woods, with the red light drifting away through the trees -- that kind of peaceful -- then ripe sticks on the fire, snapping and sending sparks up, one foot starts tapping and then the other, a waltz, now a polka, now a schottische, if you have no legs I'm sorry, yet even your hands will dance. Frigg, the Finnish/Norwegian ensemble that is breathing fresh air into the body of traditional fiddle music, is named for the Norse goddess Frigg, 'she who loves.' And you'll feel her move into your midst like smoke and become solid. Hands together for the fantastic Finns! Move your feet, if you have no hands. Move your phantom limbs. -- DW

Various Artists
Our New Orleans: A Benefit Album for the Gulf Coast
(Nonesuch Records)

In 1974, when Randy Newman first sang about bursting levees and presidential indifference in his song 'Louisiana 1927,' he was a sardonic songster, ballsy with the freedom of distance from his subject matter. In the 2005 version, recorded for this Katrina benefit album, history is suddenly no longer a plaything. Each of the tracks, donated by venerated New Orleans artists and producers like Irma Thomas, Joe Henry, and Dr. John, takes on a special character in light of the flood. Allen Toussaint's composition 'Tipitina and Me' is full of rolling, resolving, impending doom, broken by ascending flourishes of human spirit. Meanwhile, the Dirty Dozen Brass Band proves poignancy can be so funky it leaves your CD player smelling like it for weeks. -- Tyler Otis

The Zincs
Dimmer
(Thrill Jockey)

Zincs' front man, Jim Elkington, is known to perform with only a guitar and an electronic drum beat. He seems content to sketch out his songs in performance, which works fine because they're so well crafted and catchy. His voice, low, with a masculine vibrato, is patient and unobtrusive -- the voice of a reasonable person, worth hearing out. His lyrics often have a suggestive incoherence, leaving your teased imagination to wander to mysterious places. If each phrase were a stroke of paint, mixed, the image would grow opaque, the canvas would disappear, and a snake would suddenly bite your leg. -- TO

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