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 Caught in the Carousel - Music Reviews and More
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Mark Harvey
Two of Diamonds
Mute
Being an unabashed fan of both the Birthday Party and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (though mostly my uxorious allegiance is pled to the former), I wondered whether Mick Harvey's music would bear similarities, would intone and trail down the same themes and staked territories that is found in the bend and curve of his work with Cave (an entirely lugubrious world of sounds, sooty, swart and mirthless). The music was fairly typical and practically replicated any expectations I might've previously had--one could definitely sense that there was some uncanny link between the two respective artists, the terrain was altogether familiar. I suppose what was surprising was Harvey's voice, which I had lazily predicted to mirror that of Cave, and though he has the same arch, gothic drawl, it is pronouncedly more southern; pensive, almost lachrymal, the kind of thing that can loom perilously close to the edge of self-parody and public derision. It's also a bit less ominous, a more playful and impish permutation of Cave's brooding paroxysms, something he has necessarily perfected.
Two of Diamonds is comprised mostly of cover songs of artists who impassion Harvey. The album tends to be rather diverse in its selections, with songs by Bill Withers, his own Crime and the City Solution, James Cruickshank of Cruel Sea, the Saints, Emmylou Harris, P.J. Harvey, David McComb of the Triffids, and an arcane and sadly unknown ‘60s Australian pop act called the Loved Ones. Most of the selected acts are indigenous to Australia, and Harvey consciously drew upon their relative obscurity, knowing full well some of the aforementioned acts are virtually unheard of in the States. The album has a wonderfully sustained atmosphere that evokes daguerreotype photos, duplicitous card games and the windswept sound of bottles being blown off the counter of some dusty saloon, spilling clumsily out onto the creaked and splintered floor boards. The presence of James Johnston and his sonorous organ, with its vaudeville drones and circus chirps that find their place in most of the Bad Seeds' work, accentuates this spectral charm--as does the double bass provided by Rosie Westbrook. Harvey's cover of "Sad Dark Eyes" might take its claim as my favorite song on the album, as its incensed chorus with the spindly, ghost-like glissandos and sputtering organ form a truly delectable song (incidentally, it's also one of the songs closest to the Bad Seeds). Harvey's own "Little Star" is an exceptionally well-written tune, one whose lyrics and alliterative stresses conjure wonderful images and shapes (the line "like stars stuck in the sky, far apart as you and I" being one of the many lyrical delights). His cover of an unreleased P.J. Harvey song called "Slow-Motion Movie Star" is endearingly hypnotic, creating waves of sound for the listener to sink under.
--Brandon DiSabatino
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