The voices of Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan go together like milk and mustard; like fine wine and a UFC heavyweight title bout; like Jesus and that inconsiderate chubby guy who gets his rocks off by poking all the candy bars at the drug store and exiting having only purchased a disposable lighter and a squeaky six-pack of room-temperature Aquafina. This is not to say that the couple doesn’t pair well, but rather that their differences greatly outweigh their similarities. And history has taught us well that such disparity can be amplifying- What calls attention to the smoothness of milk better than the harshness of mustard? What pays tribute to a Chuck Lidell choking submission maneuver better than the non-choking versatility of a Napa Valley Chardonnay? What illustrates the dedication required to love all of humankind more so than the humbling rage and lack of compassion felt when opening a Mounds Bar to find each segment flattened by a malicious thumb? Contrast can be an album’s asset just as it can be the force that builds the universal love needed to access heaven and/or a 7-11 stockroom, both fabled lands where candy bars and souls rest uncorrupted and the expiration dates assigned to afterlives and Danishes seem inconceivably distant and forever afar.
That having been said, don’t expect Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan to save your soul, pay your Pay-Per-View bill or restore the soft, refreshing moistness to your flaky stale bakery items. “The beauty and the beast” contrast concept peddled by V2, the album’s distributor, isn’t one easily bought, and while the unique talents of each artist pay tribute to those of the other, the labors of Mark and Isobel ultimately merge gracelessly before ears and eyes with a drop-kicking force that hits unexpectedly sour, having been touted sweet; one that surprisingly renders the seemingly simple task of enjoyably swallowing their wine-smooth vocals virtually impossible.
As you’d imagine after such an introduction, Ballad of Broken Seas boils over with contrast a-plenty, yet even once settled, stirred and served, its hard to find any complement in its taste and much easier to locate an overbearing and debatable flavor. While the offering’s contributing contents, two unique vocalists, are fresh, as top ingredients merged with respect to a questionable recipe, they blend like penne and pennies to yield a product plainly worth much less than the sum of its promising but ill-applied parts. Isobel Campbell, ex-Belle and Sebastian chanteuse, whispers her saintly vocals in a pleasing key one step below the amazing pitch of a dog whistle, but always one step as well behind the deep leading voice of Mark Lanegan, ex-Screaming Trees lead/ Queens of the Stone Age handyman- (even though her more recognizable name appears first in the pairing’s chosen moniker.) For the majority of the album’s songs, her angelic vocals are buried almost laughably beneath Mark’s contemplative voice-of-god tenor-growl that chimes like a dense narrow bell in a tone one would imagine Kris Kristofferson’s voice would have form if given the chance to parody Johnny Cash at a Friar’s Club roast of the man in black. (To win a copy of 20th century Fox’s Cash biopic ‘Walk the Line,’ compare this proposed Kristofferson impersonation to the one performed by Joaquim Phoenix in the film. Keep your entries between 250 - 750 words and mail them along with 10 Mounds Bar proof of purchases to Kevchino, the Friars Club, and/or the charity of your choice.) - Sadly, never does a track supply the groundwork needed to extract the full potential of Isobel’s voice, and songs such as Black Mountain and Saturday’s Gone must paint her to unfamiliar ears as little more than a theme park talent checked at minimum-wage to serenade coaster-tired tourists at the head of each hour.
As for Mark, while lent the effort’s reigns, he ultimately proves through dull effort that his deep breaths are unable to inflate the lyrics and arrangements written for him by his cherub-faced partner in crime, and finally, out of breath, he steers their vehicle mercifully into a ditch a mere 6 miles into a 12 mile journey that peaked at its commencement. This early peak is the album’s first track Dues Ibi Est, a darkly metered anti-war number that flirts with a spoken-word classification and pulses with briefly-held vocals that bring to mind Phil Ochs’ writing style, if not the actual span of his voice. Still, aside and forward from this promising start, Mark uses the album’s remaining slots to offer little more than deep, whine-less yowls suggestive of John Hiatt at their heights and sing like shallow mocks of Cash at their depths.
Based on voice and not vision, and with little substance and less originality to offer, by the time The Circus is Leaving Town announces Ballad of Broken Seas’ intention to do the same, it’s hard to feel anything but disappointment that such promising artists didn’t focus their efforts intrinsically and release two good albums in the place of a single mediocre one.
Sure, its airs of traditional folk and perceivable shards of Americana and Celtic influence display the talents of its musicians, but its impossible to ignore Ballad of Broken Seas’ lifelessness that drifts ‘tween bounds and intentions undefined and ultimately shows alone that the final product of these talents is a collaboration between friends rather than artists. As its creators briefly tour to tout its happy worth, the album’s listeners are left in its sad wake to gnaw on songs that unfold to disappointment like thumb-scarred candy, and renewed but by sugar and failure to appreciate both the complementing but varying tastes of chocolate and coconut and the skills needed to appositively merge two unique styles in a single inventive one. With tested faith in Mark and Isobel, they should look past this falter and ahead to the latter’s announced solo release and the eventual release of the former, all the while praying to Jesus Christ and Chuck Liddell that these musicians can fashion further contrast in their careers by charting individual successes in the aftermath of the lingering failure they share. |