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Jucifer, "War Birds"
Velocette Records
The guy who told me about this EP described the vocals as being"sweet"; at first, I figured that meant that the singer either had adistractingly pretty voice or went the hack-pop-vocalist route andtried to affect one by warbling a lot. Thankfully, that's not the case,so when the heaviosity kicks in (all of 30 seconds into the firsttrack), there aren't any stinky reminders of bad goth rockers whothought that having a girl on the mic and bloodied angels on theiralbum covers would add layers of Biblical resonance. There's just asound somewhere between overdubbed soupy goodness and the hazy,late-night tranquility of a conversation with a good friend. The friendis thoughtful, and tempo changes abound: not in a chop-waggling way,but to let the conversation drift through slo-mo headbanging territory,ratchet into an even slower gear with just a glimpse of apprehensionpreceding the thud of each beat. It lurches into motion just longenough to get the blood pumping before the instruments fall away from aquiet, nodding vocal revelation. (There are lots of pauses for breathand reflection in this conversation.) Socially engaged where otherclever bands prefer to wallow in cotton-eared eclecticism, Jucifer alsosums up what's beautiful and good about the South on "My Stars,"stacking all of the badness that the Bush administration and its warbirds can muster against a simple, pretty plucked guitar melody and adignified story of innocence and ideals being chipped away by gradeschool, forty years of ugly politics, and a stubborn refusal to standfor anything. And then it ends, and forty-six minutes of crickets leaveyou to stew in your thoughts. This is what makes close friendshipsworth as much as they are. -
The guy who told me about this EP described the vocals as being"sweet"; at first, I figured that meant that the singer either had adistractingly pretty voice or went the hack-pop-vocalist route andtried to affect one by warbling a lot. Thankfully, that's not the case,so when the heaviosity kicks in (all of 30 seconds into the firsttrack), there aren't any stinky reminders of bad goth rockers whothought that having a girl on the mic and bloodied angels on theiralbum covers would add layers of Biblical resonance. There's just asound somewhere between overdubbed soupy goodness and the hazy,late-night tranquility of a conversation with a good friend. The friendis thoughtful, and tempo changes abound: not in a chop-waggling way,but to let the conversation drift through slo-mo headbanging territory,ratchet into an even slower gear with just a glimpse of apprehensionpreceding the thud of each beat. It lurches into motion just longenough to get the blood pumping before the instruments fall away from aquiet, nodding vocal revelation. (There are lots of pauses for breathand reflection in this conversation.) Socially engaged where otherclever bands prefer to wallow in cotton-eared eclecticism, Jucifer alsosums up what's beautiful and good about the South on "My Stars,"stacking all of the badness that the Bush administration and its warbirds can muster against a simple, pretty plucked guitar melody and adignified story of innocence and ideals being chipped away by gradeschool, forty years of ugly politics, and a stubborn refusal to standfor anything. And then it ends, and forty-six minutes of crickets leaveyou to stew in your thoughts. This is what makes close friendshipsworth as much as they are. -
