So you say baby.... what a high (Nixon - Lambchop)

Member Name: paul_mc_uk

Product:	Nixon - Lambchop
Date:	26/01/02 (42 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Production, Vocals, Class

Disadvantages: None, what-so, ever

Following on from 1995's How I Quit Smoking, Nixon sees Lampchop hit their undoubted creative peek to-date. Continuing with a similar style to its predecessor this release takes the soulful neo-Nashville sound and lifts it up to heights rarely heard in these days of pre-manufactured music.

Slipping in discretely through the backdoor, the opener The Old Gold Shoe caresses you tenderly, giving glimpses of the glory which follows it. The rest of the first side continues it melancholic fantastical sound, lush strings and discrete brass backing up the pin point guitar and swooning vocals.

The undoubted highpoint is What Else Could It Be. A perfect restrained falsetto sprinkled over a swinging tune which feels like slipping into a deep bath of honey. You can't resist turning it up loud, then louder and letting the hairs on the back of your neck rise with each "baby!". If this song alone doesn't touch you deep then you have no soul what-so-ever. After the obligatory two listens to this track, because at 3:40 it's nowhere near long enough, you can continue on.

They follow the high point by slipping back deep below the duvet, slowing it down a little more, delicate arrangements and sheer sublime vocals carry you along. You miss each track as it ends, until the next starts making you forget all but the present sound.
Steel guitars mixed with clear sky violins and gentle trotting beats. The voice of Kurt Wagner finishes the ensemble so completely, as though his throat was just another instrument. Concentration is needed to focus on his actual words. When you do listen to what he has to say he doesn't disappoint, with lines such as "this learning not to demonstrate/your asinine and callous traits/it could take some practice, I know".

The titles are as good as the lyrics, especially "The Petrified Florist". The track itself is a lazily soaring orchestrated sinking sand whirlpool. Begin
ning slowly, tugging shyly so as not to attract too much attention, upper and lower register piano parts tiptoeing cautiously, before everything takes off simultaneous. It starts to pull you under its spell and you're left helplessly, gloriously admiring it.

To end, they pick the pace up with the traditional tune The Butcher Boy. A bleak macabre tale of a young girl's suicide. Thinking Tindersticks on acid maybe. A superb and unaccountably uplifting end (considering the subject matter) to a unique and excellent album.

Summary: