 Steve Hefner and Friends of Friends Steve Hefter and Friends of Friends will leave you wanting to break it off with your significant other, get locked up, and write him/her heart-wrenching love letters from the inside, for better or folkin' worse  Chiara Angelicola Chiara Angelicola Written by Damon Orion
Wednesday, 07 March 2007 Bird Songs | Independently released As with her work in the local band Morning Theory, the five tracks on Chiara Angelicola’s new Bird Songs EP show her to be a fine vocalist, capable of setting her uncommonly pure voice to Silky, Gutsy, Sad, Sultry or Pissed with the flick of a dial. In contrast to Morning Theory’s pop/funk/rock bounce, however, Bird Songs showcases a more personal side of Angelicola; set to stripped-down, melancholic folk/pop with shades of country, jazz and blues, these songs’ lyrics deal mostly with the singer’s relationships—and from the sound of it, they’re stormy ones indeed. “Dear Mr.,” a plea to a lover who’s keeping the singer at arm’s length, begins the disc on a somewhat dejected note, thanks in no small part to some deliciously disappointed-sounding slide guitar, vintage amp tones and tremolo bar sobs courtesy of producer David Reep (also the composer of the bulk of the music on the CD). “Fight the Wave” is far breezier, surfing the emotions that accompany a breakup in almost celebratory fashion … but the sunny mood proves momentary, with “Sake Of” hinting that too much partying of the non-cake-and-ice-cream variety might be taking its toll. Some somber organ sounds from Jack Passion add to the drama here. On the final cut, “Unkind,” Angelicola accompanies herself on piano, weaving an innocuous melody that smuggles a surprising amount of vitriol. “Sweep out the dirt under the mat and throw it all away,” she sings—and as the final chord fades, we sense that’s exactly what she’s just done. Bird Songs is available at Streetlight Records or through myspace.com/chiaramusic.
Empty Bottles was the first track by Santa Cruz songwriter Reed KD that I really felt like I was getting a sense for him as a lyricist. The song is a synergy of so many beautiful elements: from the bittersweet words to the subtle sweep of the acoustic picking. I asked him if he remembered writing it and the reaction he got the first time he played it to someone: ‘At the time I wrote Empty Bottles, I was living in an old garden shed that had been turned into a studio. There was a gap between the roof and the walls so that you could see outside while in bed in the loft. The bed sat on top of the bathroom and the kitchen doubled as a living room — or my recording space. Besides the bugs that came in through the gaps, and the neighbor’s cat that would climb in through my screenless skylight, I was living alone. However, this place more than made up for its lack of integrity with charm. When I first played Empty Bottles for my closest friends, it seemed like they were a little surprised. I’m typically very shy, so being outspokenly intimate probably seemed uncharacteristic of me. Paraphrased, I’d say their typical response was, “Really?!. That’s so sad. But I really like it. Is that an accordion?!” Ha ha …’ Would you describe your songwriting as confessional, or do you more project into other people’s lives to form your lyrics? ‘Hmmm … I’d say that many of the songs on The Ashes Bloom are loosely, but sometimes rigidly, based around autobiographical happenings’. You Can Call Me is a big diversion from the rest of the material on the album — if only for the classic synth pop feel (long live The Cars!) A pointer for the next album perhaps? ‘Yikes … This is a deceptively complicated question for me. I’ve been working on a few electro-pop songs, some boot stompin’ hand clappers, some ambient songs. I hate to be vague, but I’m still a fan of the idea of covering myself in body paint and throwing myself on the canvas to see what feels good’. |
