By Monica Alonzo
By Stephen Lemons
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Dulce Paloma Baltazar Pedraza
By Ray Stern
By Pete Kotz
By Monica Alonzo
By New Times
Thankfully, the extended legal tussle that took place between the Honeydogs' former label, Mercury, and their new imprint, Palm, didn't claim this album as a victim, thus robbing us of a dark masterpiece and 2001's first truly noteworthy record.
Tellingly, the group -- which recorded some 18 songs during the Here's Luck sessions, including more conventional roots versions of several numbers -- has ditched its comfortable Americana overalls in favor of a decidedly more ornate ensemble. In doing so, the band has thrown down the gauntlet to Wilco (currently preparing a much-anticipated release for the fall), the Jayhawks and any other alt-country-gone-pop contenders for the title of "album of the year."
Much of the somber tenor of Here's Luckis the result of the arduous circumstances surrounding the recording of the album (see interview below) but more specifically with the cycle of songs that group front man Adam Levy penned, the bulk of them composed on piano. Not that Seen a Ghostwas exactly an exercise in sunny joie de vivre -- just listen to "Those Things Are Hers" or "Sans Sucre" for proof -- but somehow Luck seems a more intrinsically satisfying merger of music and lyrics than anything in the band's catalogue.
From the mournful opener "Stonewall," it's clear that Levy has decided to replace the dizzying mirth of early Honeydogs tracks like "That's Me" and "Tell Me" with a sharpened sense of the grinding, often defeating realties of the day to day.
Overall, the mood on Luck is not so much black as it is varying shades of gray. The foreboding sense of desolation captured on "Wilson Boulevard" ("A piece of string, holding everything together/Unraveling, about to give way") hints at the coming emotional pall of "Hearts & Heads" ("I was a ticket out of boredom/I was something to do with your hands and mouth") and the absent-minded fatalism of "The Crown" ("Come hell or high water you're going down/Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown").
Elsewhere, the Mott-esque church organ and soaring guitar lines that color the album's brilliant centerpiece "Pins in Dolls" ("You bought a bridge last night, now you're watching it burn/How could you see the light, if your back was turned?") proves the group's capacity for turning out melodious melancholia. No litany of flowery adjectives could do better to describe the song than to simply say it provides the same thrill as hearing "All the Young Dudes" for the first time.
From start to finish, Luck showcases Levy's remarkable gift for painting detailed images -- "Standing with my black socks on, looking just like a busted john" -- with a maximum of verbal economy, especially when surveying the emotional debris left in the wake of heartbreak.
Indeed, much of the themes here surround the lives of people standing on the societal and emotional fringes. To wit: "Freakshow," an elegiac paean to misconstrued oddballs everywhere; the bitter romantic misfits captured in "Sour Grapes"; the tortured and torch-bearing ex left behind in "For the Tears."
Helping shape the Honeydogs' opus is producer John "Strawberry" Fields (Evan and Jaron, the Hang Ups), who takes Levy's bleak dirges and melds them with his own well-defined Anglophilia and meticulous sonic values. The result is an odd but effective synthesis -- sort of like combining the visceral lyricism of a Harry Nilsson or a Randy Newman with the grandiloquent production aesthetic of Todd Rundgren, circa XTC's Skylarking.
Fields trades Ghost's crying pedal steel and soothing swells of fiddle for washes of Wurlitzer, Chamberlain strings, Mellotron and other twiddly bits of noise that make brief, memorable cameos -- the looped drop-out at the end "Freakshow," the electronic swirls on the album's stately coda of "Chasing the Sun" -- all over the record.
The balance of the disc is like a trip though the well-worn vinyl of a discerning record collector: the vocals-through-Leslie trick on "Red Dye #40"; the a cappella intro to "Losing Transmissions," which tips its fireman's hat to Brian Wilson's Smile-opener "Our Prayer" (actually, the snippet is the bridge of "For the Tears" turned backward -- itself a neat little Beatley tribute); the baroque curlicues and effusive violas that turn up everywhere else.
Given the problems and behind-the-scenes business wrangling it took for the record to be made and released, the listening public should feel fortunate that this album -- a triumphant piece of orch pop grandeur -- has finally seen the light of day. Here's Luck, indeed.
New Times talks to the Honeydogs' Adam Levy
New Times: Tell me a little bit about the circumstances of making this record. It seems like the process played a big part in how the album ended up sounding.
Adam Levy: We made the record in the fall of '98 and at that time it was not clear whether we were going to have a deal or not. We had been through a bumpy six months with Mercury. They were kind of hot and cold on us. So we were really surprised when they handed us a pot of money and said "Go in the studio" and didn't really give us any parameters.