The Sampler: French For Rabbits, Jason Isbell, FABLE

Tony Stamp marvels at the new album by Whanganui-a-Tara folk outfit French for Rabbits, and a deeply spiritual EP from anonymous South Auckland artist FABLE, while Elliott Childs assesses a star-studded covers album led by American musician Jason Isbell.

The Overflow by French For Rabbits

In the run up to the new French for Rabbits album The Overflow, I’ve been almost as impressed with songwriter Brooke Singer’s quotes about the album as I am with the finished product.

She gives great sound bite, and as tempted as I am to just read them all out, it would fill up this whole review.

But let’s start with one, her description of the album as “a warming cup of tea accompanied by  serious newspaper. Something that makes you calm but also makes you think” 

Singer has an amazing way with words. 'The Dark Arts' creates poetry out of hoarding things, an idea that spins off into metaphor. Again, I’m tempted to just quote the whole song, but here’s a line that contains volumes: listing the sentimental detritus in her home, she sings “a picture I drew that I gave to no one, there was no one I knew to give it to”.

In terms of craft, the album is faultless. It’s meticulously constructed without sounding overworked, and while the marketing and so on makes it clear these are Singer’s songs, there’s diplomacy in the way they’re put together.

An obvious example is the way Ben Lemi’s voice is given room to breathe in the call and response on the album’s poppiest track ‘Walk the Desert’. That’s one of those songs that keeps unfolding, presenting new chords when you thought you had it figured out. Each one is a pleasant surprise. Singer said it’s about having big feelings, and trying to keep them contained, which to me reflects the album’s balance of musical complexity with those universal emotions that don’t explode, but simmer. 

It’s a tiny detail, but as another example of the band’s thoughtfulness, listen to the triangle ding that starts the verse on the song ‘Passengers’. 

As someone with the last name Stamp, I wonder how many jokes Brooke Singer had made about her name even before she was the vocalist in a band. It’s like if I worked at a post office. But I’m so glad she does it. I can’t remember the last time I was this impressed with songs’ rhyming structures (outside hip hop that is).

Singer said this is an album for introverts, and I’m assuming she counts herself as one- on ‘Ouija Board’ when she says “you never say what you’re thinking” I wonder if she has someone specific in mind. 

Last week I talked about the number of recent albums that sound comforting, and this is another one. I saw someone wonder online where all the protest music has been these last few years, and my guess is everyone’s exhausted. Albums like this one by French For Rabbits, dreamy and empathetic, are more than welcome. 

Another poetic description of it by Singer was “a constellation of all the different ways in which someone can be anxious”, and maybe 'The Overflow'  is alluding to the moment those anxieties spill over. But it never sounds anxious. Every song here is beautifully written and immaculately constructed, a lovely respite from the outside world. TS

Georgia Blue by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

In September of 2020 as the results of the American election loomed large in the news cycle, the southern state of Georgia (normally a safe bet for the Republicans), seemed a vital and unlikely battleground for the two candidates. Trying to do his bit to persuade people to vote for Joe Biden, Jason Isbell tweeted to his 400 thousand followers that if Georgia voted for the democrat candidate, he would record an album of cover songs by artists from the state.

Whether or not it made a difference, we’ll never know, but Georgia voted democrat and just over a year later Isbell and his band the 400 Unit delivered on his promise and released Georgia Blue.

There’s an in-escapable element of the old school tribute album here. You know the kind. More often than not they’d feature one or two well know artists covering a song by an act you love and then a string of bands you’d never heard of making a dogs dinner of some of your favourite songs. But, very occasionally, you’d find one that bucked the trend and was filled with clever and creative interpretations of the works they were covering.

Jason Isbell and the 400 unit have contributed to these kind of albums themselves in the past, including a version of 'Sad But True' to The Metallica Blacklist, a four disc set consisting of multiple versions of a handful of Metallica’s most enduring tracks by artists like Phoebe Bridgers and Mac Demarco. And if that sounds like it might even be slightly your kind of thing, I strongly recommend you go and look for it.

The important factor in those compilations was getting the right band to cover the right song and that’s where Isbell has excelled here. His choice of collaborators and songs is impeccable, and they are well matched throughout.

A great example is 'The Truth', a song originally by the late, little known blues musician Precious Bryant, performed here by the wonderful Aida Victoria, a musical descendant of Bryant’s. Victoria perfectly captures the hushed, quiet element of Bryant’s original vocals but adds a subtle but knowing overtone to the song, making it her own.

The selections on Georgia Blue run the gamut from soul classics like 'I’ve Been Loving You Too Long' by Otis Redding to Southern, instrumental Jam Rock such as 'In Memory of Elizabeth Reed' by the Alman Brothers. But the core focus of this album is indie rock giants REM, who along with bands like, of Montreal and the B-52s originally hailed from Athens, Georgia, the same city that Isbell’s former band The Drive By Truckers are based.

Not only is the album bookended by two REM songs, 'Nightswimming' and 'Driver 8', but there are songs by a host of REM’s collaborators and contemporaries here too, including Now It’s Overhead and the late Vic Chesnutt.

Isbell’s version of Chesnutt’s ‘I’m Through’ is a standout moment on the album. The original is understated and almost sparse, but it simmers with an anguish distilled from the years of mental and physical pain that Chesnutt suffered through before his death by overdose at the age of forty five . Isbell’s interpretation isn’t as raw but its fleshed out arrangement and more polished delivery shines a new light on the song, proving that it still has power, even when removed form the context of Chesnutt’s delivery.

True to the political origins of this album, Isbell and the 400 Unit have a history of showcasing a strong sense of social justice and inclusion in their work and it seems that even if the songs they’re playing aren’t ones they’ve written, those values shine through.

Emerging singers like Brittney Spencer play a big part on the album, covering songs by important African American musicians like James Brown and Gladys Knight. There's a nod to the LGBTQ community too with Julien Baker and previous Isbell collaborator Brandi Carlile taking on queer icons Indigo Girls’ track 'Kid Fears'.

Incidentally, this song also ties in with the REM theme as Michael Stipe sang on the original version.

Whilst this album obviously has a political message at its core, there is also an undeniable sense of fun here. One of Isbell’s many talents is that he is a really rather amazing guitarist and his love of the instrument and the joy he finds in playing it is perfectly captured in his version of ‘In Memory of Elizabeth Reed’.

Joined by Peter Levin, a former keyboard player for Duane Alman, Isbell and the 400 Unit seemingly rip through this piece of classic southern jam rock. Rather than doing a perfect impression of Alman Brothers guitarist Dickie Betts, Isbell brings his own style to the tune. He even brings another piece of Southern rock history to the song by playing a 1959 Gibson Les Paul, the holy grail of electric guitars, once owned by Ed King of Lynyrd Skynyrd.

So what of those two REM tracks that start and finish this album? Well, to be honest, they’re a mixed bag. 'Nightswimming' swaps the flowing and reverberant piano and strings of the original for the sharp attack of a banjo and mandolin. And even though they’re played by progressive bluegrass icons Bella Fleck and Chris Thile respectively, the result feels stilted and almost disjointed in places.

'Driver 8' on the other hand is a fantastic version of one of REMs most underrated songs. It’s an acoustic version but it loses none of the momentum or power of the original. The train ride is still the same one as REM described with such clear imagery thirty six years ago, but it’s a different locomotive pulling the train this time. EC

 

I'll See You In Hawaiki by FABLE

Papakura artist Fable released his first EP last year. It was called A Place Called Home, and when I asked him in an interview what ‘home’ meant to him, he said it’s somewhere safe and warm. It was such a simple, beautiful answer, and it stuck with me.

His new EP I’ll See You in Hawaiki is a more complex outing in every way - in its themes, its production, and the numerous vocal styles he tries on. But it hones in on that specific feeling, of safety and warmth, and the result is music that doesn’t sound like anyone else. It just sounds like Fable.

'Let Me In' is about connecting with a friend - as Fable says, “over a cuppa”, but it could be a message to the listener. This is an EP (although at nine tracks it's practically an album), that is endlessly welcoming, and personal.

He’s an artist who can call a song ‘Good Thoughts’ and the music delivers exactly that, asking you to “put the words aside”, after delivering several verses in te reo Māori.

Fable’s earlier work was characterised by heavy use of autotune, masking his voice much like he masks his face in promotional photos. It’s used more sparingly here but is still a key part of his sound. The opening track ‘Aroha’ puts it to good use, in a track that unlocked the EP for me - it starts out in a dense fog of synths, almost oppressive, with Fable saying he has “blood on his mind”, before the clouds part and the track sets the stage for what’s to come, his tumble of words coming out cathartically and welcoming, even though the subject matter is serious.

There are lines about getting caned, and someone changing her name, and the key lyric “they don’t kōrero around here hon', we’re gonna have to change your brain”.

I don’t know exactly what it's about, but this is an artist invested in te reo, and keeping it alive. It’s not a stretch to think Fable might be relaying something that happened to a family member. It’s so telling that despite touching on this trauma, the song has the Māori word for love as its title.

The track 'Karakia' has been a success on student radio, and it’s easy to see why, but I’ll draw your attention to a neat musical trick at its start. We hear children singing alongside synth chords - but not the chords you might expect. I’m a sucker for this type of unlikely collaboration, and I wonder if the recording of the choir came first, and the song sprang from that, or vice versa.

Throughout I’ll See You In Hawaiki, there are mentions of a lost whānau member, and on 'That Will Never Change', what I think is a recording of them. Fable told bFM the album is a journey by waka to the homeland, and by the end the listener is reaching Hawaiki, where spirits find their final resting place.

This isn’t just impressive as a piece of conceptual writing - again, he could have easily called this an album - but feels intensely personal. Never morose though. The highest compliment I can pay is that having met him, this music is a perfect distillation of Fable as a person. There’s no posturing here - he might hide his face but his music puts everything out there. And it doesn’t sound like anyone else. TS