Tuesday, May 3, 2011 The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com 19 Jessie J corrupts vocal gymnastics By JOE DIMUZIO adopting Christina Aguilera's Daily Arts Writer National Anthem at Super Bowl XLV as holy word. Jessie J would like to have Jessie's lack of character is it both ways, but ends up with colored in with songs that every- neither. The 23-year old Brit- one else has done better. So she ish singer plays ketchup, laying it on as songwriter ** thick as possible to obscure the (who's openly lack of any original flavor. On bisexual, take Jessie I "Do It Like A Dude" she's all that Middle . posture, no swag; opting to "do America) has it like a brotha / do it like a dude her fingers Universal/Republic / grab my crotch / wear my hat in so many low like you" mistaking aggres- pies on debut sion for empowerment. She calls album Who You Are that she B.O.B. in for a hit single on "Price never has the balance, restraint Tag," a tailor-made recession or taste to answer her own inter- four chord like "Halo" or "Bleed- rogative. ing Love," proclaiming "it's not If time is forgiving and has about the money, we don't need a sense of humor to match, this your money / we just wanna album has the fate of a cult clas- make the world dance / forget sic. It's shambolic pop at best and about the price tag." It's $1.29 earnestly chart-targeted plati- on iTunes. "Abracadabra" is Dr. tudes from a cloying, spoiled girl Luke on jury duty, trying "Teen- at worst. It's practically thrilling age Dream" on for a palette in its consistent crash-n-burn. swap, "Mamma Knows Best" Who You Are gives the impres- dresses retro-soul with tedium, sion that little gold-hearted Jes- written-in-the-hospital-acoustic sie's lying to herself in new and "Big White Room" would like to exciting ways on every tune. be Tracy Chapman but comes off It's perfunctory to praise Adam Sandler. Writhing around this playpen is talent strangled by apprehen- sion, scraping the walls of sin- cerity as if posing for a picture us how you every minute. She says she can "do it all." She can't do any of it. Burlesque Chatting with The Daily Mail a month ago, Jessie claimed "I'm not afraid to say I'm very com- fortable with who I am," which her voice in the same way that is fine, darling, we believe you. Katy Perry and Gaga deserve it; she's got range and heft, but hoo boy, she should have listened to Janet. Because the most incredible (and by that I mean unbeliev- able) is Jessie's lack or sheer dis- regard of control. Every single a song is manhandled by Jessie's vocal gymnastics for vocal gym- A nastics' sake. Jessie transcends trying too hard - it's in her bloodstream. Every single space, every chorus, intro, outro, bal- lad, bridge and banger has more riffs than Slayer. One comes Don't be fooled: They're not a boy band. 'Blues' hits temark Fleet Foxes' second album masters the art of helplessness By JOSHUA BAYER Daily Arts Writer To call the Fleet Foxes a "renais- sance band" would not be far off the mark. The Foxes' stately blend of folk jam- mery (complete with jaw-drop- ping, four-part harmonies) cer- tainly reads as a throwback to the golden days of late-'60s folk- Fleet Foxes Helpless- ness Blues Sub Pop Shrine/An Argument" shifts from acoustic reverie to surging crash cymbal-ridden anthem to plaintive pseudo-acapella to abrasive free- jazz noise outro that will likely scare the crap out of you the first time you hear it. While the rest of the record is decidedly less epic (save for action- packed five-minute suite "The Plains/Bitter Dancer"), the free- wheeling aesthetic is prominent throughout. "Sim Sala Bim" fronts as a sparse rainy-day folk number, before abruptly piling on a deluge of Herculean strings, deciding two minutes in to drop the vocals entirely and storm out with a brisk shuffle of unplugged guitar calis- thenics. Centerpiece "Helplessness Blues" bucks verse-chorus-verse in a less jittery fashion, literally pick- ing up electricity halfway through as it melts away into an aching three-guitar whorl. As a result, the band's sec- ond studio album feels inevita- bly heavier than its predecessor. Where Fleet Foxes succeeded as an airtight collection of retro- chic pop powerhouses, Blues suc- ceeds as a breathtaking series of sonic adventures. Vocal-less "The Cascades," with its progressively plucked arpeggios and cavernous tambourine rattles, feels more akin to the score of a pirate film than to anything off the band's debut. Even "Battery Kinzie," the record's most straightforward pop offering, feels compelled to open with the lyrics, "I woke up one morning / all my fingers rotten / I woke up a dying man without a chance." While Blues may lack the rela- tively sunny-side-up pulse of Foxes, its baroque melodies retain the same heart-stopping gorgeousness. "Bedouin Dress" and "Lorelai" are perfect examples of how the Foxes have expanded upon their signa- ture sound without remotely for- saking it. The former folds a Celtic fiddle riff seamlessly into its buoy- ant hop while the latter summons jazzy vibraphone tinkles to flesh out its aquatically rippling texture. Both songs exemplify the band's ability to channel its experimen- tal impulses toward atmospheric enhancement rather than spacey indulgence. Just for good measure, the group throws in a handful of relatively understated songs. Opener "Mont- ezuma" sets the record's tone per- fectly with its gently submerged beauty, showcasing the Foxes' eerie ability to craft a sound that is full- er than that of virtually any other indie band out there with little more than a couple of guitars and melt-in-your-mouth vocal harmo- nies. And "Someone You'd Admire" and "Blue Spotted Tail" both spin pure ear candy from the no-frills troubadour template, the latter even ditching the reverb complete- ly for a refreshing moment of vul- nerability. Helplessness Blues undeniably takes a few listens to settle in, but when it does, the experience is borderline religious. While it cer- tainly isn't going to be the feel- good record of 2011, it's the closest thing to a masterpiece we've seen all year. pop. But the band is incalculably more than the sum of its nostal- gia-drenched influences. Laden with oodles of requisite reverb and prickling with Gen-Y ennui, the band's sound is unquestionably a product of the 21st century. While the Foxes' rustic guitar balladry may radiate with a sunny naivete, an uncanny sense of ghostly intro- spection seeps through the cracks. With the aptly titled Helpless- ness Blues, the band further devel- ops the foreboding undertones that bubbled beneath the surface of its largely sanguine debut (Fleet Foxes). The tracks are grander and more ornate, circling melancholi- cally around their emotional and melodic centers rather than shoot- ing straight to the point. Over the course of eight minutes, "The to love the silence in between tracks, as they are theonly ref- uge from the sound of a thou- sand American Idol auditions cOURTESY OF ISLANDUNIVERSAL "Peace out, good music!"