The Late Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered Covered
If ever the over-used sobriquet "fractured beauty" was apt, Daniel Johnston deserves it. He's spent his life in and out of mental institutions, yet has crafted hundreds of songs which obliquely capture his disturbed yet undeniably affecting reponse to woe and romance. This CD draws from some half-dozen of his albums, presenting both Johnston's original recordings of the songs as well as covers thereof by hipster cognoscenti faves like Tom Waits, Bright Eyes, and M. Ward. I haven't had a chance to check out the recent documentary about Johnston, The Devil and Daniel Johnston, but I'd like to--if only to gain a better understanding of the poor soul who fashions these hauting odes to a damaged psyche.
Death Cab for Cutie: Plans and Transatlanticism
Granted, I was one of many who spent months deriding Death Cab's breakthrough album Transatlanticism as another emo wankfest. That was, of course, before I'd heard the album, because once you hear it you cannot help but be pulled in by its grandly romantic sweep--and like all great romances, the one that inspires this masterpiece seems to be in a state of creeping decay. The album is, I'm told, a study of long-distance relationships, but it conjures distance in other ways as well: the distance between a lover's hand and the beloved's flesh ("Tiny Vessels"), the distance between memory and reality ("Title and Registration"), and, in the epic ache of the title track, the distance between two hearts.
Plans, Death Cab's most recent album seeks to hold those fans who came to the band via Transatlanticism and grab a few more curious listeners as well. If it doesn't seem to quite make the same impact, it is perhaps because it does not seem as thematically rich as its predecessor, though Ben Gibbard's songcraft is still as strong and Chris Walla, the producer, stretches the band's sound into a few new directions--nothing radical, but some tracks seem to feature a few computer effects that hearken to Gibbard's work in The Postal Service. Also, Plans never quite seems to reach the cathartic rush of "Transatlanticism," so it ends leaving the listener a tightly coiled mess of repressed longing and unrequited passions. But hey--it's tough to follow a masterpiece, right?
