Archive for January, 2009
CD Review: The Boogers, “Road to Rock”
The Boogers – Road to Rock (2008, Spire)
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Putting together a kids’ version of a band whose music celebrated eternal adolescence might seem like a rather pointless thing to do, but don’t be so quick to write off the Boogers — as it turns out, making Ramones-inspired music for grade schoolers is a pretty good idea, and Road to Rock (patterned, from the cover on down, after Road to Ruin) is a lot of fun.
Now, having said that, I have to add that I’m not really sure who the audience is for this stuff, or if there even is one. Musically, Road to Rock has all the attitude you’d expect from a band that bills itself as “the anti-Barney” and “the Wiggles’ worst nightmare,” and packs 20 songs into its brief 26-minute runtime, but lyrically, it’s mostly made up of nursery rhymes, which creates a bit of a riddle — how many kids are old enough to get excited about punk, but young enough to put up with even the most rockin’ version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”?
The answer, I’d wager, is “not many,” although the Boogers seem to be doing pretty well for themselves, and I’m not ashamed to admit I got a kick out of listening to Road to Rock. I’d suggest these songs for vintage t-shirt-wearing boys and girls between first and fourth grades — sort of a narrow demographic, I guess, but why look an anti-Barney in the mouth? Crank it up, teach your toddlers how to make devil horns with their adorable little fingers, and get ready for them to raid your collection of the real stuff in a few years.
CD Review: John Carlin and the Kids Music Underground, “Welcome to the Kids Music Underground”
John Carlin & the Kids Music Underground – Welcome to the Kids Music Underground (2009, Firehorse)Way back in the dark, grungy days of 1993, when every label was looking for the next Nirvana, I received a package from RCA containing the self-titled debut from a band called 700 Miles. The record didn’t do anything on the charts, and I was pretty vehemently anti-grunge, but 700 Miles still stuck with me — particularly the songs “Messages” and “Cherish This” — to the point that I was probably one of maybe two dozen journalists who called RCA’s publicity department to request the band’s second effort, Dirtbomb.
Now, 700 Miles wasn’t the best band in the world, but I’ve always had a soft spot for the underdog, and later in the decade, I checked around to find out what happened to the band members after they went their separate ways. I knew frontman John Carlin moved on to a solo career, but for whatever reason, never got around to covering or purchasing his albums; all I knew of his work was the harrowing stuff he did with 700 Miles. So imagine my surprise a few years ago when I learned that Carlin had started a new career as a children’s musician — and the sort of children’s musician who wears brightly striped shirts and decks out his album artwork in Day-Glo colors.
If Welcome to the Kids Music Underground is musical carpetbagging, it doesn’t show in the songs; it might come clothed in some goofy packaging, but the contents are breezy, funny, and sensitive. Even better, the album has what might be the biggest age range I’ve heard in a kids’ record in some time — these 14 songs have something to appeal to young ones (“A Dinosaur Named Fred”), not-as-young ones (“Meet You at the Playground”), and even pre-teens (“Air Guitar”). Hell, “Jambalaya Road” has as much authentic New Orleans flavor as Huey Lewis and the News’ “Old Anetone’s,” a song I remember finding fairly funky at age 14. It resists pandering to its audience as successfully as any children’s album I can remember hearing, and the songs are terrifically catchy — not to mention short enough to fit young attention spans.
In the liner notes, Carlin says the group “journeyed far and wide, through our imagination and beyond; one stop was Brazil, where we discovered a different language of music” — but Underground isn’t exactly Rhythm of the Saints, if you know what I mean. Any world music influences have been blended pretty finely into Carlin’s own brand of well-written pop, which is nothing but a good thing. Purchase it for your brood now, and thank me later.
DVD Review: “Oliver and Company”
Oliver and Company (20th Anniversary Edition) (2009, Walt Disney)
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We look back on The Little Mermaid as the movie that lifted Disney out of its long journey through the shadow of the valley of cheesy live-action features (like 1981′s Condorman) and subpar animated adventures (1985′s The Black Cauldron, natch), but the truth is that the process was really more gradual. Giving the fishtailed Ariel all the credit for the Disney revival leaves out a handful of quality movies, including 1986′s The Great Mouse Detective — and 1988′s Oliver and Company.
It’s been sort of swept aside in the second Disney golden era — it wasn’t even released to the home video market until the late ’90s — but Oliver‘s box-office success helped lift the studio out of its doldrums, and the movie was notable for a number of other reasons, too: It was Disney’s first animated musical since The Fox and the Hound, it marked the studio’s first use of extensive CGI (more on that later), and it helped kick off the era of big-name celebrities clamoring for voiceover work, employing the services of Billy Joel, Bette Midler, and Robert Loggia. (It also includes the voices of Dom DeLuise and Joey Lawrence, but hey, you can’t win ‘em all.)
Fortunately for those who saw and enjoyed Oliver and Company in the fall of ’88, Disney is forever scouring its vaults for older features to reintroduce as “classics,” and now it’s Oliver‘s turn to receive the deluxe anniversary treatment. Yes, 2009 is technically the movie’s 21st anniversary, but why quibble? This beats another direct-to-video sequel, right?
What you have here is the original, Oliver Twist-inspired feature — in which a cat named Oliver (voiced by Lawrence) makes his way through New York City with help from a gang of talking dogs (led by Joel, who plays Dodger) and eventually finds a home with the pampered-but-sweet Jenny Foxworth — and for the anniversary edition, Disney has added a handful of bonus featurettes, including videos for the big musical numbers (Joel and Midler make musical appearances, naturally, and they’re joined by Huey Lewis, who sings the movie’s opening number, “Once Upon a Time in New York City,” and Ruth “Mr.” Pointer, who takes the lead on “Streets of Gold”), as well as some behind-the-scenes promo footage that was filmed around the time of the movie’s first release. None of them provide much in the way of added value, although “Backstage Disney: The Making of Oliver and Company” is unintentionally humorous, as it includes a lot of bragging about the studio’s use of the same hand-drawn animation techniques that Uncle Walt helped pioneer, as well as promises that no matter how advanced computer animation got, Disney would never forsake the traditional way of doing things. Whoops!
The movie hasn’t aged as well as some of Disney’s others — the plot is pretty threadbare, and some of the dialogue is rather atrocious, particularly Cheech Marin’s work as a four-legged Mexican stereotype named Tito — and the studio’s vaunted hand-drawn animation was, at this point, a far cry from what it had been 40 years before; it really doesn’t look all that different, in terms of quality, from an episode of DuckTales. Still, there’s something to be said for animation that has a bit of a rough edge to it, and watching Oliver and Company may make you feel nostalgic for the days when cartoons had a more human feel — more recent Disney features are certainly prettier, but they have a hermetically sealed look to them that can’t help but create a certain emotional distance. Oliver, for all its many flaws, takes you back to the old days — or the end of the old days, anyway.
Those who purchased the last Oliver release, 2002′s “Special Edition,” will notice that most of the content remains the same, including the bonus features; the main difference here is that the film itself has been digitally remastered, which adds a slight coat of polish but doesn’t take your breath away. For those consumers, this edition probably isn’t worth the $25, but if you have young Disney fans in the house — or you are one yourself — this slight but enjoyable entry in the studio’s canon is a safe investment.
CD Review: Dog on Fleas, “Beautiful World”
Beautiful World – Dog on Fleas (2008, Dog on Fleas)
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Until I listened to Beautiful World, I’d never heard of Dog on Fleas, but now that I’ve let the album play on repeat a few dozen times — and I know it’s the band’s fifth kids’ collection — I’m making it my mission to find out where they’ve been all my life.
I have to be honest and tell you that Beautiful World failed the Sophie Test — despite my enthusiasm for Dog on Fleas, my three-year-old has never shown much of an interest in these songs — but I don’t care, because this is one of the smartest, most adventurous children’s album’s I’ve had the pleasure of listening to. The band is known for its freewheeling experimental approach to record-making — their debut was apprently recorded around a single microphone, and 2006′s When I Get Little adopted a world-music feel — and Beautiful World reflects this, making room for everything from gently loping ballads to falsetto funk workouts, and utilizing everything from kazoos to electronic flourishes in the process.
It’s a lot of fun, no matter how old you are, but since this is a kids’ record, Beautiful World also comes packed with an assortment of positive messages about self (“Star Tonight”), family (“Crawl to Your Mother”), people in general (“I Love Your Accent”), and the world (“Water Planet”), with all the pure silliness you’d expect, too (“Do You Wanna Know My New Dance Step?,” “Balloon Man”).
Beautiful World is obviously targeted toward a youthful audience, but it’s an album I wouldn’t mind listening to even when the kids aren’t around — and I just might toss a track or two into future editions of the Popdose Friday Mixtape, just to see if anyone picks up on their tunes-for-tots origins. Great, great stuff.
CD Review: Brady Rymer, “Here Comes Brady Rymer and the Little Band That Could”
Brady Rymer – Here Comes Brady Rymer and the Little Band That Could (2008, Bumblin’ Bee)Kids’ music has come a long way from the says when its creators were expected to treat their listeners like tiny little mental patients, but even in this golden age of non-nauseating listening choices for parents, some of the old rules still apply. For instance, most kids’ album artwork is still done in bright colors, and filled with pictures of performers proudly displaying open-mouthed grins — and the songs themselves often tend to be overly sweet or self-consciously wacky. As adults, we often count ourselves lucky if we can remember our younger, sillier selves, but what we forget is that kids don’t always feel like acting goofy, and even though they think fart jokes are funnier than the average adult, they’re also capable of serious thought and occasionally startling insight.
Brady Rymer‘s latest release, Here Comes Brady Rymer and the Little Band That Could, shouldn’t exactly be your first stop for serious thought or insight, startling or otherwise — but it doesn’t pander to its audience, either. This is relatively smart pop music that just happens to be aimed at kids, and although it lacks the sort of crossover non-breeder appeal enjoyed by, say, They Might Be Giants, it’s still a deeper, more relaxed, more thoughtful collection than you might think after looking at the cover.
This is no accident; as a member of From Good Homes, Rymer released a handful of rock records in the ’90s, and toured with big names like Davids Byrne, Crosby, and Matthews. He calls his songs “music for kids with a rock ‘n’ roll heart,” and even if that overestimates the material’s actual rock quotient, it’s close enough to the truth to explain how he’s managed to make five kids’ albums (and counting). He’s a likable frontman with an honest voice, and the songs have some wonderfully positive energy; Rymer even has the good taste to end the disc with a cover of Pete Seeger’s “Well May the World Go.” Your kids probably won’t care about that last item — at least, not unless they’re like my three-year-old Seeger groupie of a daughter — but they’ll still enjoy Here Comes Brady Rymer and the Little Band That Could, and so will you.
