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Opening an album titled Revenge with a protest song of the same name implicitly (if not explicitly) sets a tone, intentional or not. Especially when the song critiques the Bush administration's foreign policy. However, on Revenge, Philadelphia producer Brian McTear, a.k.a. Bitter Bitter Weeks, bears his teeth and retreats. Revenge doesn't take a stand; in fact, the album’s tone is more resigned than ferocious (folk music serves better as a conduit for reflection more often than fury). Which might be why, on “Revenge,” a seemingly overwhelmed McTear longs for December 21, the best day for sleeping all year.
Revenge is McTear’s second album as Bitter Bitter Weeks. Along with Amy Morrissey, he recorded and produced these eleven songs at their Miner Street/CycleSound studio, recording whenever studio time became available between paying gigs. The liner notes come with a list of recommended bands, stretching from the Lucys, a relatively obscure pop band, to the Malarkies, a contemporary Brooklyn outfit (whose drummer, Ruth Keating, guests on the album). The records might help give context to Revenge, but whatever the circumstances of its recording, or the nature of its inspiration, I doubt that further acquaintance would make the album seem any less sporadic or uneven, its only real flaw.
In the realm of recording projects with a single constant participant (I’m straining not to use the phrase “singer-songwriter,” since there are about a half-dozen other musicians credited), being sporadic and uneven just seems to come with the territory. Revenge at least partly fits this pattern. Some efforts, like “Kings” and “Boy Takes on Tornado,” spring forth with a melody and a purpose. Others, like “Y” and “Deer in the Headlights” (which are unfortunately situated back to back), lose their way in a maze of scatter plot instrumentation. They seem to meander as the instrumentation swells, going well past the point when a simple crescendo might save them. It might work out live, but it works no wonders on the stereo at home.
Revenge neither coalesces around a single theme, be it anti-war or anything else, nor finds a consistent style. It has its payoffs, and some will welcome McTear’s emphasis on the pop elements of folk. As he heads off in multiple directions, however, we have to take the bad with the good. Revenge is McTear’s second album as Bitter Bitter Weeks. Along with Amy Morrissey, he recorded and produced these eleven songs at their Miner Street/CycleSound studio, recording whenever studio time became available between paying bookings. The liner notes come with a list of recommended bands, stretching from the Lucys, a relatively obscure pop band, to the Malarkies, a contemporary Brooklyn outfit (whose drummer, Ruth Keating, guests on the album). I’m not terribly familiar with this catalog; it might help give context to Revenge if my own listening overlapped with McTear’s at the time that he wrote it – at the very least I’m curious to hear the Lucys’ “Song for John” after hearing the live cover version contained here. Whatever the circumstances of its recording, or the nature of its inspiration, I doubt that further acquaintance would make the album seem any less sporadic or uneven, it’s only real flaw.
In the realm of recording projects with a single constant participant (I’m straining not to use the phrase “singer-songwriter,” since there are about a half-dozen other musicians credited), being sporadic and uneven just seems to come with the territory. Revenge at least partly fits this pattern. Some efforts, like “Kings” and “Boy Takes on Tornado,” spring forth with a melody and a purpose. Others, like “Y” and “Deer in the Headlights” (which are unfortunately situated back to back as the ninth and tenth tracks), lose their way in a maze of scatter plot instrumentation. It’s particularly unfortunate that these songs seem to meander simply from a wish to bulk them up, and they go on well past the point when a simple crescendo might save them. (Although that technique is nonetheless used.) It might work out live, but it works no wonders on the stereo at home.
Revenge neither coalesces around a single theme, be it anti-war or anything else, nor finds a consistent style. It has its payoffs, and those who search in vain for that part of the canon that the folk revival has yet to really revive will welcome McTear’s emphasis on the pop elements of folk music. As he heads off in multiple directions, however, we have to take the bad with the good. By Tom Zimpleman
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View all articles by Tom Zimpleman
