It's time for Tuesday Reviewsday, our weekly new music segment. This week music journalist Steve Hochman joins the show to bring in his unique selections.
Artist - Buika
“Vivir Sin Miedo”
Songs - “Vivir Sin Miedo,” “Mucho Dinero”
Buika became something of a world music sensation with her last album, 2013’s “La Noche Más Larga,” with a mix of Afro-Latin jazz and bold pop-jazz sensibilities. With her new one, she’s got her eye on being simply a world sensation. In the title song, which opens the album, she takes that on with fierce confidence, daring to evoke the image of the standard-bearer for moving from cultural-specific identification to being a global icon: No less than Bob Marley himself, whose “Exodus” is cited and quoted in the lyrics.
That title, “Vivir Sin Miedo,” does translate as “To Live Without Fear.” And that is the bold tone we hear throughout, as the Spain native sings more in English than Spanish for the first time (some songs sporting both), even doing a duet with Jason Mraz on “Carry Your Own Weight.”
Now, we should note that Buika is not exactly a new, young artist ripe for the pop charts. Maria Concepción Balboa Buika — also known as Concha Buika — has had a solid career, going back to her first album in 2000. This is her ninth album, and along the way she’s worked with artists ranging from Cuban piano great Chucho Valdes to Indian-American innovator Anoushka Shankar to jazz star Chick Corea to soul man Seal to pop singer Nelly Furtado. She’s had several Grammy and Latin Grammy nominations, her “El Ultimo Trago” (featuring Valdes) winning the latter for best traditional tropical album in 2010. And in 2011, Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar, a big fan, had her not just contribute songs to the soundtrack of his movie “The Skin I Live In,” but gave her an on-screen acting role as well.
Yet, “Vivir Sin Miedo,” while building on the past, has the aura and determination of a fresh, hungry artist looking to start something new — and big. There are distinctive, even unusual approaches at every turn. Some of the best songs, notably “Mucho Dinero,” seem almost like a more-produced, less-capital-A-Arty Tune-Yards, with Afro and Afro-Caribbean rhythms piled around her sturdy, rough, not-really-pop voice.
The one thing that bears any mark of calculation is the Mraz duet, the slightest song on the album, at least musically. But even that feels like something that came together naturally. The one other duet holds more weight, “Waves,” pairing her with Flamenco star Potito. And while co-producer Martin Terefe is known for work with such mainstream figures as Mary J. Blige, Jamie Cullum and Coldplay, his role here seems to have been to help Buika craft a sound.
Shye Ben Tzur, Jonny Greenwood and the Rajasthan Express
Album - “Junun”
“Junun” is just your basic collaboration of an Israeli composer with Indian Sufi Qawwali musicians and singers, with devotional lyrics in Urdu and Hebrew, produced by Radiohead regular Nigel Godrich and featuring some musical contributions from that band’s Jonny Greenwood — all recorded in a 15th century fortress in Jodhpur. Oh, and the whole thing was filmed by Paul Thomas Anderson, who has put it together in a vivid documentary.
Yeah, just run-of-the-mill pop fare.
Israeli native Shye Ben Tzur has been living part-time in India for years, composing primarily qawwalis, having been inspired in his youth by seeing a concert pairing two Indian stars, flute player Hariprasad Chaurasia and tabla master Zakir Hussain.
The beauty of his approach is that he finds a place in the traditions for his own elements, always enhancing or complementing, generally with great subtlety, never imposing. This is the case whether on the title track, with an ecstatic build of traditionally qawwali harmonium, percussion and vocals spiked with blaring brass, or on the pulsating, atmospheric “Roked.”
And that includes the words, some coming from Sufi poetry and some from Tzur’s own poems. Much of the time any culture-blending seems organic, a product of the combined sensibilities of the participants, including Greenwood’s always restrained presence. He finds places inside the others’ music in which to play, rarely taking the spotlight for himself, working more with the ear of someone who has composed fine film scores than that of a rock star.
The one place where the blending is overt and explicit is “Allah Elohim,” in which Tzur’s Hebrew statement of Jewish faith is alternated with an Urdu Sufi verse promoting mutual respect between Hindus and Muslims. The music flows between traditions easily, unforced and natural. And that is true as well for the mix of art and tradition, a neat trick that many try but few succeed with to this extent.
Last Forever
Album - “Acres of Diamonds”
“Lady Franklin’s Lament"
Sonya Cohen had one of those voices — not the kind that blows you away, but one that beckons you in. Not exactly seductive, mind you, but friendly, with natural, unaffected beauty, both earnestness and playfulness. And she had the perfect complementary collaborator in Dick Connette, a composer and arranger who crafter a wide range of neo-folk settings for some wonderful recordings they made under the duo name Last Forever.
Sadly, we are having to use past-tense, as Cohen died recently of cancer, just 50 years old. And that brings a somber patina to the eternal implications of the name, though there’s a second meaning one could take, as in it’s the Last Forever, a moment of finality.
Her career was as understated as her voice (I’d never heard any of her music until she’d died), with only a handful of albums from the late ‘80s to the present. But the latterly discovery is one worth making, and a wonderful addition to the folk legacy of which she was part: she was the daughter of John Cohen, mainstay of the key ‘60s folk group the New Lost City Ramblers, and niece of no less than Pete Seeger.
Regardless, this album, released just days before her death, is a fine testament to her and Last Forever’s talents. The mix of real folk songs and new songs derived from folk traditions walk the fine line between evoking past eras and sounding wholly in the moment, or as it says in the subtitle, “New and Old Songs out of the American Tradition,” while the cover design mimics the look of the old Folkways Records,’ playing off Cohen’s heritage.
On the folkiest side of things, “Lady Franklin’s Lament” twists the old English ballad “Lord Franklin,” with a delicacy that contrasts its heavy melancholy. The title song is sort of secular gospel in musical tone, the lyrics a satirical look at a poor man’s paradise a la “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” And the tour de force is the closing, 13-minute “Boll Weevil Blues,” starting with a four-minute string quartet prelude followed by a slow-building building, fantasia/meditation on the mordant, gallows-humor account of the devastating cotton infestation.