What to listen to next:Live shows with moments of otherworldly beauty

Keith Jarrett,Bordeaux Concert
★★★★

Dale Barlow Quintet with Bernie McGann,Memories of McGann
★★★★

They’re like children,records,living on after the artist has retired or died – proof that he or she once breathed and sweated music. And,a bit like illegitimate offspring,new ones can suddenly spring to light long after the person has stopped (pro)creating. These albums document concerts from two jazz giants:a 2016 solo performance from pianist Keith Jarrett,whose late-career output was curtailed when he suffered two strokes in 2018,and a 2008 quintet performance from the late Australian saxophonist Bernie McGann,who died in 2013.

Who knows whether more live albums will be exhumed from the vaults,butBordeaux Concert is the latest in a half-century series of Jarrett solo improvisations,made famous by 1975’sThe Koln Concert,and perhaps crowned by 2011’sRio. This one initially finds him in a ruminative mood,feeling out the piano,acoustics and audience,as he sculpts a sparse opener,carrying all the foreboding of a lowering sky,and ending with a glint of sunshine that lingers into the light-on-water sparkle ofPart II.

Yes,the 13 improvisations are again titled merely with Roman numerals,and,as has been the case with Jarrett’s new-century output,they are kept pithy (averaging six minutes) rather than turning into epics. Strands of French Impressionism,gospel,jazz balladry,blues,country and abstraction intersect at the whim of Jarrett’s bristling creativity,and result in moments of such otherworldly beauty as the end ofIV.

One might reasonably ask just how many solo Jarrett albums one needs,but all are different,given his too-rare capacity for purging extant vocabulary in favour of genuine in-the-moment invention. Some fully-fledged “songs” spontaneously emerge,like the wistfulVI andVII,which momentarily veer towards grandiosity,before Jarrett pulls them back from that brink,whileVIII,a rolling blues,offers him respite from devising structures on the run. Most telling is Jarrett’s paring of his work to the minimum needed to carry his emotional narratives,as onXII (after the more operaticXI). When I interviewed him in 2013,he said he found much of his early solo work unlistenable because it was too busy. He might well enjoyBordeaux Concert,therefore,especiallyXIII,which continues to haunt your ears long after the final note has faded.

Alto saxophonist Bernie McGann is still speaking to us from beyond the grave with his unmistakable bird-in-the-bush-like sound on an alto saxophone. This superbly recorded live set features him joining a vibrant band led by tenor saxophonist Dale Barlow,with pianist Bobby Gebert,bassist Alex Boneham and drummer Cameron Reid. Because it’s not McGann’s band,it draws him away from his conventional repertoire,a blisteringD-Day apart.

There are four Barlow compositions,including the lilting,slightly mysteriousNuforia,on which McGann sounds less at ease than Barlow and Gebert. On Gebert’sDaleo’s Dance,however,he has his alto fluttering and crying;hitting that zone of lyricism mixed with crazy juxtapositions which made his playing unique in jazz history. Among the standards is a livelyWhat’s New,with Barlow fluently riding the groove,before McGann breaks it up with stuttering off-beats and floating notes that land as unexpectedly as a fly on your nose. On the ballads the whole band sounds sumptuous,and onThe Breeze and I Barlow swaps to flute,while McGann leaps between intervals like an abseiler. This is a significant addition to his legacy.

- John Shand

Carly Rae Jepsen,The Loneliest Time
★★★

The gigantic sugar-rush chorus and hook of 2012’sCall Me Maybe — still the best-selling song of the 21st century by a female artist — obscured a truth found in the lyrics and since reaffirmed on Carly Rae Jepsen’s past three albums. The Canadian pop singer is a tragic romantic,one whose depth of feeling has endeared her to the LGBTQI community and anyone who relates to feeling hopelessly sensitive and perennially misunderstood.

Other critics have commented on Jepsen’s inaccessibility,her “real” self supposedly masked by an “unshakeable vagueness” in her music. But those who see themselves in Jepsen get it,and are likely to be as profoundly affected by the sentiment expressed in her best songs as they are by their sparkling bridges and walloping choruses.Emotion,released in 2015,combined these qualities particularly effectively,exploring the euphoric,devastating spectrum of limerence across an album of bangers.

Like her most recent album,2019’sDedicated,The Loneliest Time doesn’t land in quite the same way — at least,not immediately,and like its predecessor it also suffers from bloat (kind of unsurprising given that she typically whittles down an album from 100-200 contending tracks). It’s 16 songs long,which is about six songs too many when most are a variation on a theme:alchemising heartbreak and yearning into pop that is polished and nimble-footed,but ultimately,mild (Beach House is a jaunty,naff but kinda fun exception,describing the carousel of disappointment that is online dating,complete with a parade of unsuitable suitors providing guest vocals).

But while it’s true that there are scarcely any “hits” onTLT compared toEmotion,these are tracks that grow on you,and with repeat listens you’ll find yourself getting more attached to them too. Jepsen has always danced along the margins of pop with daring and self-doubt in equal measure,and even her middling songs at least feel more authentic and honest than most.

TLT was indeed written at the loneliest time of a lonely girl’s life — while Jepsen was isolated in California at the height of the pandemic. She was unable to return to Canada when her grandmother,to whom she was extremely close,died. This,paired with a recent relationship breakdown,triggered a period of heightened introspection in someone who already seems painfully self-aware,but this time Jepsen was finding it harder to tap into her joy.

As with past albums,Jepsen assembled a power squad of collaborators to help pen these tunes — everyone from Patrick Berger (Robyn),John Hill (Khalid,Foster the People),to Rostam Batmanglij,formerly of Vampire Weekend,who previously made magic with Jepsen onEmotion and here provides two of the album’s gentler tracks - the hopeful ’80s synth balladWestern Wind,and what might be a personal favourite,Go Find Yourself,Whatever. The nonchalance of the titular chorus lyric — sounding like something Taylor Swift would serve with venom — is immediately followed by Jensen’s more wrenching,unflattering candour:“I hope it treats you better than I could do/ And I’ll wait for you.”

Meanwhile,So Nice is as milquetoast-sounding as the love object it describes,while her repeated admission of “I get all my confidence from you” inSideways made me wince out of concern for her self-esteem.

And yet,this is exactly why Jepsen’s stans will hold her through her heartbreak till the end. Contrary to what some say,she’s never shied away from revealing the full range of her emotions,from the good to the ugly. In owning her less aspirational qualities,Jepsen makes the rest of us feel less alone.

- Annabel Ross

The 1975,Being Funny in a Foreign Language
★★★★½

By this point,The 1975’s perennially polarising frontman Matty Healy is a singular voice in pop music - and for some,still,an acquired taste (“knobhead” might be the most recurring descriptor you’ll find in internet comments about him;critics settle for the more civil categorisation that he’s “a lot”).

Wherever you stand,you don’t leave a 1975 album wondering who Matty Healy is or what the now 33-year-old self-appointed mouthpiece on millennial malaise thinks about,say,cancel culture or the prison industrial complex or internet porn or social media’s dehumanising effects. There’s more reflection and provocation and profundity and funny,off-kilter stumpers in one of his verses than most floppy-haired dudes with guitars can manage in a whole album. And even if the listener’s response is often one head-shaking “pfft lol” after another,there’s something endearing about a pop star so unconcerned about embarrassing himself while aiming for something big and sincere (right next to a post-ironic sax solo,no less).

And so,when I say thatBeing Funny in a Foreign Language,the band’s fifth full-length,is surprisingly contained and insular,a tidy and cohesive release from a band,and songwriter,that rarely thinks in terms less than “define this generation … with ambient interludes!” (or,as Healy puts it,“On this record,I said,‘Instead of a magnum opus,what about more like a polaroid?’“),it’s all relative.

Sure,compared to 2018’s eye-openingA Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships (“the millennial answer toOK Computer,”NME once noted),which pushed the band’s profile beyond their early,perceptive emo-girl following,and the earnest dystopian rave that was 2020’sNotes On a Conditional Form,which opened with a melodramatic,five-minute spoken word intro from Greta Thunberg,Being Funny offers a more introspective shift,with Healy’s character-driven storytelling at the fore. But it’s hardly sparse.

For starters,the album’s self-titled opener (featuring Warren Ellis on strings) is reliably bonkers,a state-of-the-world anthem that echoes LCD Soundsystem’s chuggingAll My Friends where Healy sings about his doom-scrolling boner,the bizarre pull of Qanon and online conspiracy theories,rhymes “Adderall” with “Aperol” as a generation’s odd twin vices,and apologises to Zoomers for their apocalyptic inheritance (“I’m sorry if you’re living and you’re 17,” he chants). Of course,there’s a sitcom sax solo in it,too.

And then there’s the remarkable centrepiecePart of the Band,a laid-back burner that finds Healy at his literarymost,opening with an evocative hand-jerk and racking up ridiculous quotables from there. “I know some vaccinista,tote bag,chic baristas,sitting in east on their communista keisters,writing about their ejaculations,” he offers. “I like my men like I like my coffee,full of soy milk and so sweet it won’t offend anybody,” he adds. “Am I ironically woke? The butt of my joke? Or am I just some post-coke,average,skinny bloke,calling his ego imagination?” he wonders. Yes,he’s a lot. But what,you’d prefer he didn’t go for it? Where’s the fun in that?

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How The 1975 created'the millennial answer to OK Computer'

Arena-ready bangersHappiness andLooking for Somebody to Love lay on the delightful cheese,pairing big feelings with ’80s pop slickness,sounding like The Hooters’And We Danced or General Public’sTenderness,the kind of big-hearted swing that could soundtrack a John Hughes prom scene,if only the latter didn’t double as an,I assume,lacerating incel anthem (“Somebody lacking in desire,the type you just don’t f—/ a supreme gentleman with a gun in his hand,looking for somebody to love”).

I’m in Love with You,a sort of millennial update on Teenage Fanclub’sNorman 3,is another life-affirming pop wonder,with the added bonus of Healy’s ever unique,ever head-scratching perspective:“You show me your black girl thing/ pretending that I know what it is (I wasn’t listening),” he cryptically sings,before reproving himself from self-sabotage:“I got it,I found it,I’ve just gotta keep it/ Don’t f— it,you muppet!”

For all their machismo-skewering pop eccentricities,the StonesyAll I Need to Hear,the expansive U2-churningAbout You and acoustic closerWhen We Are Together are subtle reminders that these guys started as post-Libertines landfill indie - those familiar tight-pantsed,tousle-haired rock lads,clutching guitars and affected postures - and can still easily do the “classic band thing” when not knob-twiddling or indulging in ’80s pop excess. But again,it’s all done with a slant:“It was poorly handled,the day we both got cancelled,because I’m a racist and you’re some kind of slag,” Healy sings to an ex-lover on the closer. “I thought we were fighting,but it seems I was ‘gaslighting’ you;I didn’t know that it had its own word”.

Is there a more engaging,awkward,intelligent,ridiculous,catchy and hilarious band working in pop music today? I doubt it. Thank god for Matty Healy’s a lot-ness,and thank god for The 1975.

- Robert Moran

Darren Hayes,Homosexual
★★★½

Darren Hayes’ first solo record in more than a decade is an act of emancipation. On his fifth albumHomosexual,the former Savage Garden frontman reclaims the word and his identity as a gay man,delving deep into his psyche and memories. There’s defiance on these songs,a middle finger to those who have kept him down until now,and a naked,unabashed sensuality intertwined with a sense of freedom after being subjected to the homophobia and pressures of the music industry for decades.

That freedom is also shown in Hayes’ disregard for the conventions of mainstream pop music – most of these synth-driven tracks race past the five-minute mark,with some pushing closer to 10.Homosexual is Hayes doing music on his own terms – the musician took the helm on every aspect of this record,from composition and performance to production and arrangement. Everything is exactly as he envisions it – this is a world all his own.

Harking back to the Savage Garden days,Hayes has always been a master of melody,with a real knack for an earworm chorus. That remains here,but there’s a bolder sense of experimentation alongside it – these songs are more esoteric than the ballads casual listeners might expect from the man who wrote some of the most romantic songs of the 1990s.

Take the dark,nine-minuteHey Matt,where Hayes adopts a lower vocal register to address an alter ego whose desires he’s suppressing:“my daddy issues still ache/but they’re just so heavy I think I’ll leave them here for someone else to claim”. His vocals jump to the other end of the spectrum with the glitteryMusic Video,almost cartoonish in pitch,as he name-drops primary school classmates,and himself,to unpack very early memories of difference,and an escape through pop culture:Pat Benatar,Michael Jackson andBack to the Future all get hat-tips. Hayes’ famous falsetto is front and centre on the slower numberPoison Blood,exploring his family history of mental illness. The musician’s range is impressive and on full display.

Then,to the other side – a fully formed adult,now 50,who carries the scars of these years but has come into his own. It’s all in the joyousness of the title track,which is split into two acts. There’s an audible relief in these songs,which are designed for the dance floor:all pulsing rhythms,heavy bass and shimmering,echoing reverb.

But there’s still some sorrow in the present-day songs,including the bittersweet eight-minute singleAll You Pretty Things,which pays tribute to the victims of the Pulse nightclub shooting. Adopting elements of disco,it’s laid thick with grooves to rival Kylie and embraces the communal joy of the queer club. It highlights the importance of creating safe physical and emotional spaces for queer people,as he sings:“we’ve got to dance to remember them”.

Some of these tracks can veer towards the cheesy,both in sound and content,and there are some less compelling points – see the unnecessary autotune and speak-singing onEuphoric Equation,which is more musically than vocally successful. A record like this tipping over the one-hour mark does mean it begins to get repetitive after a while,particularly with the constant thumping bass.

But there’s something thrilling about hearing a musician who’s been a mainstay in Australian pop for so long go his own way,with little care for others’ expectations. There’s a real sense of hard-won independence on this record,a sense of personal liberation,that’s a joy to bear witness to.

– Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen

Bjork,Fossora
★★★★

The annals of pop have long been decorated with brilliant eccentrics,from David Bowie and Prince to Kate Bush and Grace Jones. Perhaps none,however,are quite as singularly quirky and celebrated as Bjork,the Icelandic pop savant whose every release since 1993’sDebut has been met with breathless anticipation from fans eager to discover her latest universe.

The title of her latest albumFossoraloosely translates to “she who digs” and its cover art depicts Bjork as a luminescent high-fashion high priestess crouching above a magical mushroom underworld. The mushrooms symbolise the sense of nourishing groundedness Bjork,56,has felt over the past two years after moving back to Iceland full-time during the pandemic,and though there’s been a notable loss (the 2018 death of her mother) since her last album,2017’sUtopia,the mood is still buoyant. “My fungus period has been bubbly,” she said in a video shot for Pitchfork at her fantastical cabin home,featuring walls covered in tufts of wool resembling pastel fairy-floss and an ornate octagonal outdoors reverb chamber for singing.

Across the album,Bjork foregrounds the bass clarinet,an instrument well-suited to embodying the woody earthiness of fungi. It also lends a distinctly folk-like character to these songs,many of which feel fit to soundtrack an Icelandic pantomime — at least in parts (there is also a rendition of an actual Icelandic folk song,Fagurt Er í Fjörðum) — while cacophonous and abrasive elements act more like the psychedelic varieties of mushrooms,providing jarring,strangely beautiful disruptions.

Warm woodwinds with alternately soaring and plucky strings introduce Fungal City,featuring the creamy vocals of experimental musician Serpentwithfeet alongside Bjork’s breathy wailing. The singers’ reverie is eventually pierced by icy synth stabs that transform the scene into a strangely bucolic techno bunker. On the opening track,Atopos,organic drumming starts out conventionally enough,then erupts into the kind of hammering beats most associated with a Dutch subgenre of hardcore techno called gabber (Indonesian punk-club duo Gabber Modus Operandi provide percussion on multiple tracks). The title track also mimics this progression,with the drumming eventually reaching a speed and intensity most commonly associated with Berlin nightclubs. By the song’s end,each blow feels like a reforging of the self. These frenzied bursts of energy mirror Bjork’s life during COVID,she says,when,amidst all the enforced isolation,small gatherings at her place would often ascend into full-throttle dance parties where Bjork would DJ gabber tracks.

Other songs are more plainly pretty. OnSorrowful Soil,an ode to her late mother,the environmental activist Hildur Rúna Hauksdóttir,a sparse bass line is the only accompaniment to Bjork’s multitracked vocals,arranged in her inimitably unorthodox fashion,and a choir. Bjork’s son Sindri Eldon provides backing harmonies on Ancestress,a lovely,resonant,epitaph for Hauksdóttir,while metallic sounds mimicking hammer and nails hint at a spiritual rebuilding. Romantic songs,such asFreefall (I let myself freefall into your arms,into the shape of love we have created…)and Ovule (now/with your romantic intelligence/sensual tenderness/we dissolve old habits) contribute to the album’s optimism without dominating it,while onHer Mother’s House Bjork comes to terms with being an empty nester following the departure of her 19-year-old daughter Ísadóra Bjarkardóttir Barney,who co-wrote the lyrics and sings (beautifully) on the track.

IfUtopia depicted Bjork’s euphoric emergence from the heaviness that coloured 2015’s post-divorce album,Vuniculura,Fossora represents a more tethered,peaceful equilibrium where sadness is acknowledged but is not the main character. Bjork’s feet might be firmly planted on the ground,but she’s looking toward the light.

– Annabel Ross

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