By RUSSELL BAILLIE
Welcome to the murky world of the international bloke singer-songwriter. A world where air- or video-play are but forlorn dreams (unless you're John Mayer or the next John Mayer). A world where good men's record deals die like dogs in the gutter, every time there is a
label shake-out.
A world where your only media friends are rock critics, for they appreciate the ancient arts of songcraft and know what it's like to be a lone voice to which no one listens, sniff. Anyway (hello, anyone still there?), here's a bunch of lonely and not-so-lonely tunesmiths doing that radical thing delivering an album of their own songs under their own name.
Ron Sexsmith goes first because he's now an elder statesman of the bloke singer-songwriter squad and commands great respect among many who sell many more records than him.
If his previous, sixth album, Cobblestone Runway, suggested he was stuck in a mope-pop rut, struggling to find arrangements that were both contemporary and sympathetic, then Retriever shows he's back on form.
It is recorded with the same Swedish producer, Martin Terefe, as its predecessor (backing musicians include Ed Harcourt and Travis drummer Neil Primrose) but there's a quiet vibrancy to the sound of the music behind Sexsmith's gorgeous tenor warble.
He is still the king of the downer opening line "I'm a bit run down/ But I'm okay" is how opener Hard Bargain starts, while the next song starts "Imaginary friends/They will always let you down". While on the empathy overload of ballad For the Driver, Sexsmith risks becoming a whole new thing - singer-counsellor. But that's all leavened by the romantic swoon of Tomorrow In Her Eyes and How On Earth, the soul-shaped Whatever It Takes, and a couple of upbeat Costelloesque tracks like From Now On.
The result is an album which for all its deep melancholy, is uplifting and one of Sexsmith's best efforts yet.
From the middle-aged master, let's swing to Ben Kweller, bright young singer-songwriter who rocks.
Having done time in a band called Radish and delivered an earlier little-noticed solo debut, the 23-year-old Texas-bred, Beck-lookalike still seems torn between being the front of a band and his own man.
His second album is produced with raw charm by Ryan Adams' regular studio partner Ethan Johns. While there are hints of Adams in Kweller's more countrified numbers like Different But the Same and Believer, the album's main strength is its simple but infectious fuzzpop numbers like I Need You Back, The Rules and Down, which suggest the Violent Femmes by way of Pavement. Add some lyrical, oddball numbers like the agoraphobic celebration of My Apartment, the title track, and Kweller shows he's a contender for the title of the new Evan Dando, perhaps.
Back to Canada, but also in powerpop territory, is Vancouver's A.C. Newman - Carl to his friends - whose album, as the sticker says, is "The solo debut of the leader of the New Pornographers".
His two-albums-old alt-pop supergroup isn't one to ring many bells in these parts but enough for him to get a government grant from something called the Canadian Music Fund. It's a solid outing of enjoyable if unremarkable psychedelic pop, the influences of which run to Bowie, Beatles, Beach Boys through to New Wave, especially on the Devo-ish The Battle of Straight Time.
Those who think the likes of Robyn Hitchcock remains an unsung genius will appreciate it best, and there's some cracking tracks, especially The Town Halo, with its extravagantly cello-powered arrangement suggests Ziggy Stardust and the String Quartet from Mars.
For a fine example of a modern singer-songwriter with a psychedelic bent, listen no further than Steve Burns' Songs for Dustmites. American Burns had a former life as the host of the Nickelodeon channel show Blue's Clues.
And for his strange, spacey and sparking debut he's had the help of Flaming Lips Steven Drozd and Michael Ivins, as well as Lips regular producer Dave Fridmann. It kind of makes sense - former kids' telly presenter collaborates with band with a thing for dressing up in furry animal costumes.
Fans of the band will recognise some signature sonic touches, such as drums sounding like they're trying to beat their way out of a space capsule and sunny melodies with an undertow of synthesized robo-bass.
But to Burns' credit, he doesn't make this sound like Lips karaoke, with a voice that seems beamed in from 80s pop radio.
It's quite the concept piece with its dozen tracks of sci-fi pop of seemingly microscopic obsessions, but still capable of some weirdly heart-warming symphonic pop anthems like the terrific Mighty Little Man and Troposphere.
And last but least, is the sophomore effort by Norway's Sondre Lerche. Having been a little noticed on 2002 debut Faces Down, the 21-year-old shows he's a sensitive singer of impeccable influences (Bowie, Bacharach, Nick Drake) and cultured Anglo-accent.
But, golly. Maybe it's the obtuse chord changes, maybe it's the lyrics which seem to have lost something in the translation, there's something remote and uninvolving about Lerche's album.
Takes a nice photo, though. Could be the next John Mayer.
Ron sexsmith: Retriever
(Herald rating: * * * *)
Label: Nettwerk/Shock
Ben kweller: On My Way
(Herald rating: * * *)
Label: ATO/RCA
A.C. Newman: The Slow Wonder
(Herald rating: * * *)
Label: Matador
Steve Burns: Songs For Dustmites
(Herald rating:* * * *)
Label: Pure Pop/Rhythm Method
Sondre Lerche: Two Way Monologue
(Herald rating: * *)
Label: Virgin
By RUSSELL BAILLIE
Welcome to the murky world of the international bloke singer-songwriter. A world where air- or video-play are but forlorn dreams (unless you're John Mayer or the next John Mayer). A world where good men's record deals die like dogs in the gutter, every time there is a
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