Dawes - That Western Skyline

So Dawes opened for Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros last week in Calgary. Sharpe was effin' sharp-as. But Dawes provided the perfect backdrop to Ed's dance and sing along like it's your birthday everyday approach.

The instrumentation was oh so tight - these guys can play. Extended solos, swinging rythm, and a lead singer with just the right mix of twang and heartache to match the sunny California harmonies without sounding tooooo derivative. $10 for their album? And they happily signed it for us after the show? Por que no?

The studio, sadly, is not Dawes' strong suit. The instrumentation becomes too sparse, each song a pale pastiche of its predecessor. But oh, "That Western Skyline", the first song - methinks it sets the bar mighty high.

The song redefines less is more. It aches and bleeds. The vocals are trepidacious and regretful. He is so shattered by his decisions that he can't even fathom making another one. The drums are there, but they don't give a damn, like they can't really be bothered to keep up time, but do it anyway, out of habit.

Premise is simple enough - I chased after a girl, moved cities, but oh, oh my, it didn't work out. It's written in the form of a letter, to someone named Lou. "Oh Lou/ no my dreams did not come true/ they only came apart".

For the first few listens it just sounds like a Neil Young ripoff. To tell you the truth, it still does on the ninth listen, but I'm alright with it.

Simon and Garfunkel - Richard Cory

You think of S&G, you think of bright prickly harmonies. You see couples with picnic baskets enjoying lunch by the seaside. You imagine a big bonfire singalong on a beach. You would never think of a song like "Richard Cory".

This is a tale of jealously, angst, confusion, simoultaneous disdain and awe for the rich and famous socialite with seemingly no flaws. He owns half ot his whole town. He was born into money. You love to hate him, but then when you meet him, or see him interviewed, you can't help but admit that, yeah, that guy's awesome. I wish I was him. I still hate him though.

Simon and G feel the same way. They dream of the orgies on his yacht. They toil in Richard Cory's factory. The instrumentation is sparse, detached, angular - the acoustic guitars leave little to the imagination. The opening licks to the verses are brief, muddled, bleak. The drums are simple, driving, oppressive. you learn to love to hate Richard Cory after a few lilstens.

And then the end, sweet redemption, or disillussion - Richard Cory goes home one night and....silence....no chord....Paul barks out "and put a bullet in his head". Another pause. Think about it. Then the drums come back in and guess what - You still work in his factory, your life is unchanged, you'd still rather be famous and dead than working your dead-end job.