The Sadies - Favourite Colours

Back in the late sixties – early seventies, there was a movement in music toward what Gram Parsons once referred to as “cosmic American music”. The idea was to fuse some of the trappings of the psychedelic with the more traditional sounds of country and western. It was a sort of “back to roots” moment, in way. The sadly over-hyped but vastly under-rated (at the time) Moby Grape got it under way, but it really took off with The Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers, and Parsons’ solo work. This fusion of the trippy and the earthy was dubbed “country rock” – not a terribly imaginative name, but certainly a descriptive one.

Then The Eagles came along with the other so-called “cocaine cowboys” and fucked it up for everybody. It’s only been recently that the genre, now often referred to as "Americana" or "alt.country" (whatever that is), has been rehabilitated, although many of the neo-country rockers are leaving out the psyche angle. Which is fine, of course. Personal choice and all that, follow your muse, etc.

And then there’s The Sadies, god bless ‘em, who have proudly taken up the “cosmic American music” banner and run with it. The fact that they’re Canadian just makes it all the more poignant.

What we have here is a collision between twang and fuzzbox. And just as it was in the famous chocolate/peanut butter controversy, they’re two great tastes that taste great together. So put down that Toby Keith CD, my friend, and shake yourself. The Sadies have got the goods, and they’re here to deliver.

To be perfectly honest (and hey, it was bound to happen sometime), the only context in which I’d heard The Sadies previously was in their incarnation as Neko Case’s back-up band. They do a fine job of that, providing the requisite velvet for Neko’s diamond of a voice. Nothing too flashy, just good solid musicianship. On their own, though, they do a fair bit of shining themselves.

This album has more instrumentals than some people are gonna be comfortable with: four, to be precise. Now, for some reason, otherwise intelligent folks tend to freak out sometimes when presented with what the British so quaintly call “pop music” that doesn’t have a vocal track. I’ve never really understood that, myself. Some tunes can covey their meaning without words. Isn’t that what jazz is generally about? So why not apply the same logic to non-jazz idioms and just relax a little. All that tension can’t be good for the blood pressure, right? Besides, The Sadies aren’t just screwing around – all instrumental tracks are Grade A, #1 quality goods. The galloping “Northumberland West” gets things rolling nicely, in what sounds to me like a nod towards Bakersfield (although, if pressed, I couldn’t really pin down exactly why it hits me that way); “The Curdled Journey” is not unlike something Ennio Morricone might have put together, were he in a dark and brooding frame of mind; “Iceberg” is melancholy, in a psychedelic way – not a bad trip, I hasten to add, just one that maybe makes you a little wistful, if you can imagine such a thing; and then there’s the hellish waltz of “A Burning Snowman”, all reverbed guitar and crashing drums. And, y’know, let’s hear it for heroic drummer Mike Belitsky, godammit, who does some genuinely nice work throughout. As do all The Sadies, really, but drummers always seem to get the short end of the stick. No pun intended.

Article Author: bmarkey

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