Norah Jones – Come Away With Me

Back when it was all right to like effeminate boybands and silly-looking girlbands (which included yours truly, I remember clearly dancing to Backstreet Boys’ Shape of My Heart, something I have no qualms sharing with you guys and gals) and when jazz was perceived as music for people with large spectacles and a penchant for cigars made in Cuba by elderly men with cantankerous behaviour, came this little album from a little lady with a voice that was as smoky as it is hazy in Kuala Lumpur.

It was in college when my good friend Irwin and Kinsat bought a pirated CD from good ole Petaling Street. On the badly printed cover was this pretty, Indian-looking girl with freckles and a white woman’s name. When Irwin offered me a grubby-looking headphone to me I was assaulted by extreme tenderness. Her voice was husky and the song that I was listening to was slowly draining the lifeblood of me. I abhorred her and the world of jazz was forevermore off boundaries for me.

Funny how a few years and a good knockin’ from life can transform a man’s/guy’s/bugger’s life.

Yes, you purists will definitely vilify me for saying this, but Norah Jones is jazz albeit not of the variety that takes pride in its ability to play 100 notes a second. Her brand of jazz is tinged with hints of country and pop, meshed together to create music perfect for those days when I don’t feel like having my brain mashed by a cacophony of beats and riffs. When I first heard her voice I thought there must be something wrong with the headphones, she sounds just like an old singer I used to listen to when I was just a child. I shrugged it off, calling it boring as heck and went back to listening to Korn. (Which I have no qualms in admitting that I actually bopped my head to some their songs.)

The songs range from slow and breathy to slightly up-tempo. Opener Don’t Know Why pretty much sets the tone for the album. Probably the one most inane thing about the album is the fact that the title track, Come Away With Me, is apparently a bad song. This shocking revelation is due to the title itself, say it aloud, many times if necessary and think of the skin industry (ugh, nekkid people) and you’ll know what I mean. Still don’t get it? I sure as hell still don’t. It’s a beautiful song yet people with funny minds brand it immoral, decadent and detrimental to the soft and delicate ears of the Malaysian public. And let it be known that we have no problems with songs and the accompanying video clips from Pussycat Dolls who performed here and guess what, they weren’t exactly dressed in Eskimo clothing either and Nelly Furtado who incidentally is absolute horse droppings and a sell-out and can’t rap to save her life is signing about being promiscuous.

Maybe the moral guardians have a tough time in trying to figure out which word carries a negative or sexual connotation to it. I think a dictionary is a good investment for these prehistoric, cigar-chomping dolts.

Anyhow, the album closes with not one, not two, but three very good songs: Nightingale, The Long Day is Over and The Nearness of You. Every time it rains or when I travel I will play these songs for they really put me in a nice place. If there’s one Jones I’d like to keep up with then this lady is the one.

Initial Rating: 8/10

Current Rating: 8/10

Dream Theater – Octavarium

Let me be the first to tell you that as much flak is given to Falling Into Infinity, the band’s 4^th album, I love it. Its main criticism is, what else?, the music: it was too commercialised, sterile at parts and had Hit Song potential written all over it. But overall it isn’t, in fact it has some of Dream Theater’s most memorable moments just sandwiched in a couple of stinkers. But that’s another review altogether. What we have here is Dream Theater’s 8^th studio album and is a “back to their roots while forging forward” sort of album. The world calls it, I and I’m sure many long time fans will agree with me call it OctaDisappointmentExtravaganzarium.

Let’s go straight to the bad on this one. If the preceding album, Train of Thought, was to show that hey, we have a metal side and Octavarium is our pop side. The single, biggest disappointment lies in the lap of guitarist, John Petrucci. There is no denying this man is a genius, a savant of the 6-string, his melodies have captivated fans all over and we’re often beseeching for more. This time however we’re pleading, on our knees, for a heck a lot more. The intricate guitar playing that once characterised earlier albums is now replaced by a need to unleash mediocrity. Or maybe he ran out of ideas, I’m not sure. Just listening to his solo album (which you can’t buy from the stores because he’s selling it through his website, the bugger) makes me wonder if their record label had put a leash on him, restraining him and only letting him free briefly. It is with this opinion that I believe that Dream Theater has failed to deliver what could have been the album of their career.

But a single person doesn’t go about sabotaging his own money-maker, no, it’s a collective effort. Maybe it was the dastardly pushy record label, forcing them once again to deliver a more radio friendly album. Maybe they thought, “Hey, let’s make a middle-of-the-road album and then make a really good one to show that we’ve bounced back from the ‘setback’.” With all things going against them, it’s a shame and a sad thing to note that the other members deliver solid performances. James Labrie especially has kept his higher than high register to a minimum and voices the lyrics to great effect. Mike Portnoy’s drumming is still inventive and vibrant though the need for him to sing is rather annoying. His voice is frightfully unexciting while Petrucci’s own is flat and diffident. And John Myung is John Myung, nuff said.

Songs like the ballad The Answers Lie Within make you wonder what the hell they were thinking. There’s also a chugga-chugga ditty in the form of These Walls which is good but not good enough. Then when the opening chords of I Walk Beside You start emanating you can’t help but smile at the pitiable attempt at a U2-like song. And who can deny the wrath of Never Enough with its venomous lyrics asking the fans to cut them some friggin’ slack every now and then. Sacrificed Sons is Dream Theater’s contribution to the memory of 9/11. Another set of angry lyrics with some interesting stop-go riffing and drumming. Nothing great.

But the most anticipated song is undoubtedly the title track, which also happens to be the album’s closer. It’s a 24-minute behemoth that is a lesson in patience, aggravation and what could have been a hugely momentous occasion marred by directionless directions. The opening sees keyboard wizard Jordan Rudess playing all sorts of instruments to create a soundscape that either leaves you befuddled or hitting the Stop button. The next 20-minutes or so is a hit-and-run: the good is good but often suffers from a meandering syndrome while the bad is cringe worthy of the highest order (listen to the part where LaBrie and Portnoy battle it out with hilarious results when they sing “Trapped inside this Octavarium!”). Its salvage point comes, not surprisingly, at the end, where Petrucci shows us again as to why he’s the best guitarist to hear and not watch (if you’ve watched any of his live performances, you’ll know what I’m talking about). It is however, too little, too late.

If this is going to be your formal introduction to this band then by all means it’s an all right place to start off. As for long-standing fans such as myself, I have a simple message: Dream Theater, I hope you guys do something better next time.

Initial Rating: 5/10

Current Rating: 6.5/10 (I’m being more than generous, really)