About a year ago, Richard Swift horrifically fractured his left ring finger. For a moment his nimble guitar and piano work flashed before his eyes. Doctors were saying things like "movement and feeling could eventually return," etc, etc. Certainly, not even a little blip on the sadness radar of humanity, but a massive bummer for a fellow who has carved out a niche as one of independent music's sought after session players and producers — and especially in relation to the astounding Richard Swift solo output we all know and love.
So, it's with a great, collective sigh of relief that he's back to churning out new material like "Whitman." It's chugging, chiming and triumphant, featuring Swift's always-endearing falsetto and casual call-and-response lyricism. "I've got my own Whitman...Farewell, farewell/I hope it did you good/To say the things/My father never could," Swift pines. The song is a cryptic salute to Walt Whitman, whose American lineage of primal, urgent art can be traced to include Kerouac and Dylan, Bo Diddley and Beefheart — right on through to modern outsider-pop wunderkinds like Swift. And according to Swift, "Whitman" is a nice taste of what we can expect from his next longform recording.
The same can be said for the remainder of the Walt Wolfman EP. Conceived in the same spirit that gave us 2008's cult favorite Ground Trouble Jaw EP, these blown-out, basement R&B rippers are not for the faint of heart. They require movement and sweat, dancing with a cocktail glass in your grip until your shoes are soaked in booze. Highlight of the set, "MG 333," is a raw and ghostly trance, a blast of kinetic energy and jazz cigarette smoke. Meanwhile, the neu-vintage jive of "Drakula (Hey Man)" and "Zombie Boogie" pack a timelessness that transcends their seasonal titles. And yeah, that's Swift himself on rapid-fire drums across the whole damn set. Shit, he might have been fine without that measly finger after all.
The Atlantic Ocean is the fourth release from American singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Richard Swift. Celebrated for his lo-fi, experimental mélanges saluting genres from Doo-Wop to lush American Pop, Swift adds jaunty synthesizers and Motown soul to make Ocean his most danceable record to date. After touring the US with Cold War Kids, Wilco and Stereolab, Swift started recording The Atlantic Ocean in Wilco's Chicago loft on a vintage analog tape machine sold to him by Wilco's frontman Jeff Tweedy. With a methodical approach and help from engineer Chris Colbert (The Walkmen) and mulit-instrumentalist Casey Foubert (Sufjan Stevens, Crystal Skulls), Swift's vintage mixtures on Ocean are seamless and bright. A collaboration with producer Mark Ronson on track "Ballad of Old What's His Name" features the talents of Ryan Adams, Mark Ronson, Sean Lennon and Pat Sansone of Wilco, a strange pairing of musicians, producing beautiful results.
The Atlantic Ocean continues Swift's tradition of defying musical categorization while showcasing his signature wry, whimsical style. Title-track "The Atlantic Ocean" opens the album with bouncy synth-powered pop while orchestra swells blend with electric guitar solos on "The First Time." Ragtime horns parade on "Bat Coma Motown" and single "Lady Luck" brings the album to a close with Swift's signature croon hearkening serious 60s soul. With a balanced mix of dry, minimal rock and roll, and futuristic synthesizer stabs, Swift himself refers to the album's sound as "Prince sitting in on John Lennon's Plastic Ono sessions".
The double-EP Richard Swift as Onasis is as creatively fortifying as it is unhinged and unpolished, a primal slab thrown into the fire for dancing and merriment during the chilly months while we await Richard Swift's second full-length. Once upon a time, the idea of a record was to capture a performance, to grab the those undulating wavelengths from the air and stick them to this thing that went round and round, so later on that performance could be heard and felt and experienced again. Before the beloved studio trickery of our beloved Beatles or Beach Boys, cats gathered around a couple microphones, plugged into that thing that went round and round, and let at it. This is hardly a forgotten art, but its purveyors are languishing in the onslaught of computer perfected 1’s and 0’s coming from our speakers, where honesty and blemish and truth are subjected to a recording filter called Sheen that actually has setting to choose how much Soul is removed from the music. So it’s no surprise Swift, a long-in-the-tooth impresario of all not-a-computer, would jangle and stomp out this tangent of jams that tape-echo a generation of pioneers who believed Rock and Roll and the Blues a celestial calling and not a lifestyle choice. Now most listeners won’t think about how Swift did this on a cheap four-track; they won’t immediately see his nods to Link Wray and Howlin’ Wolf; it doesn’t matter. The songs stand up. The songs get in your belly and wiggle your hips and stomp your foot and bob your head. Some of them float around like organ music that slipped out the church backdoor and headed to that bar with vinyl booths and a Little Richard photo over the burbling Wurlitzer of 45’s. They got vibe and atmosphere. They act like great harmony, making whatever they’re accompanying richer and wider and thicker.
This is the debut single from Richard Swift's new full-length Dressed Up For the Letdown for which Mojo had the following to say: "FOUR STARS. It's not stringently retro, more a Tin Pan Alley of the Imagination." The A-side is pure Swift — a piano-driven pop tune sung with the moxie of a wizened songsmith. "So come on, love, nobody wants to see you cry," he sings. "All of your heartbreak has been sung." It's three minutes of wonder that takes you back thirty-five years to a classic era of smart L.A. pop music. Which makes the B-side so interesting, as it's Swift's sublime take on Prince's "Paisley Park" that jumps ahead a generation to cover the Purple One's late-80s under-appreciated gem. The second offering on the two-tune B-side is an ethereal tumbleweed of a number called "Cowboy Song #6". A Swift-penned out-take from the Dressed Up sessions, "Cowboy Song #6" finds Swift strumming his guitar, waiting for his train to come in, in whatever fashion it may take.
Richard Swift has confidently composed yet another original masterpiece; employing an archaic attitude of tempered restraint on a fresh collection of ten songs, without appearing shamelessly retro or kitschy. Playing a vast majority of the instruments on "Dressed Up" himself, by virtue Swift has created something that is characteristically his. And considering his rough-around-the-edges exterior, one could rightly assume that Swift desires the listener to accept him as an ordinary honest man with some honest songs -- unmasked blemishes and all. Yet when one engages with Swift on this narrow-road-less-traveled, one immediately ignores the subtle imperfections shadowed by the all-consuming white light of well-crafted pop songs in an analog heaven. In effect he's saying, "Just listen to my songs... the riffraff in the background is inconsequential." Sure Swift... whatever you say.
We realize that you've never heard of Richard Swift. We here at Secretly Canadian will change that. In fact, Richard Swift will consume your life. "The Collection Vol. 1" is a great place to start. The Novelist — Swift's highly acclaimed, succinct, eight song, nineteen minute and thirty-eight second-long, audiophile archivist experiment — immediately ushers the listener deep into the recesses of Swift's creative core for a kaleidoscopic trip aboard an intergalactic vaudevillian steamship with a speakeasy code-word. Yet, The Novelist is only one small manifestation of Swift's entire musical manifesto and only one-half of this double-disc set. Walking Without Effort — the second disc in the two-disc set — is the first, and perhaps most deceptively complex, yet decisively understated, Swift release to date. A slight step eastward from the eclectic musings of The Novelist, Walking Without Effort intentionally paints another image, and baptizes believers born-again into Swift's unique brand of sonic schizophrenia. Gramophones are replaced by 8-tracks and Persian rugs are covered with shag, as Swift nods to the early 70's solo efforts of McCartney and Harrison, while waving to Burt Bacharach and Van Dyke Parks. They're just passersby as he drives down main street in a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. Don't be scared, be excited that Swift intends on writing and releasing music until the day he dies and intends to never make the same record twice... not even on a double-disc.