BYRON
ISAACS
A
Man of the Times
This
is a new era in music. Slowly but surely, we are getting away from
the cohesive side-one-side-two mentality, replacing it with what I
call sound-byte mentality. The discovery of two sides of
magnificently arranged songs (my own discovery was Sgt.
Pepper, but there have
been many others over the years) is giving way to an era of
stand-alone songs. Whether or not songs are arranged beautifully,
you see, no longer has the impact it once had. Our mentality is
changing. Most of the younger people I know hit 'random' when
using their CD or mp3 players. They no longer think of music in
terms of album. It is now song.
Which is why this review has been so hard to write. Whereas I grew up during the heyday of the single, in which every song stood on its own, I have since spent years bathing in the glory of sequencing, the art of arranging songs in a certain order (and don't kid yourself, it is an art). It has been hard for me to adjust to this new digital world and, in truth, I haven't. I do listen to individual tracks sometimes, but the real thrill is still the discovery of that full album which flows, each song almost a movement of a symphony.
I got that feeling with Brian Cullman's All Fires the Fire and Glenn Patscha's Songs From the Jefferson Highway, those two albums more of a flower arrangement than just individual songs. I did not really get it from Byron Isaacs' brand new effort, Disappearing Man. What I did get is a reason to disregard sequencing for once for Isaacs, as I hear him, is as good a songwriter as I've heard recently, the key word being 'song'. My first few listens were a misguided attempt to string them together until I realized that in this one instance, it just didn't work--- for me, at least. Luckily, it doesn't have to. Each of the nine songs on Disappearing Man are stand-alones and excellent while sharing the magic of Isaacs' voice and vision, a cohesive factor in itself.
Myself, I can hardly imagine the process of writing a flowing and beautiful ballad like Seeing Is Believing and then moving on to the more brash rock 'n' roll New York/London feel of Daddy's Farm or Crazy Love. The former conjures a mountaintop next to a beautiful valley under a full moon, the latter two downtown New York during rush hour. Total opposites in feel yet belonging on the same album. You see, Disappearing Man is Byron Isaacs and Byron Isaacs can write. And sing. And play.
When I got the album, it didn't take me long to find favorites. I listen hard. They can't avoid me. I am most taken with what is coalescing in my head as The Big Four: Seeing Is Believing, a haunting and astonishingly beautiful song supported by floating electric guitar, deep bass and an otherworldly vision of love; Disappearing Man, an acoustic rocker with a slightly outside-the-box chord progression, outstanding lead guitar riffs and an ending which knocks me out thanks to a rocking beat and catchy harmonies on the “background” vocals (when you hear it, you'll understand the quote marks); Man of the Times, which follows Disappearing Man's example while remaining a completely different song (I listen to this a lot just for the harmonies and hook on the chorus); and the closing song, Gypsy Wind, which has closer written all over it. Isaacs nails the vocals on this breathtaking magic carpet ride of a song, and the absolutely superb production doesn't hurt. Think south sea islands and soft breeze with maybe a perfect sunset for effect.
That is hardly the whole album. There are surprising moments beyond those. I struggled to place the sound I heard on Shadows On the Wall until my brain uncovered my love affair with the Jackson Heights' Bump 'n Grind album, so much a favorite over the years that it makes the “box-I-carry-rather-than-ship” each time I move. You capture Bump 'n' Grind, you've got my interest. Crazy Love has that sleazy glam for which The New York Dolls are known. Radio Night is stargazing material--- slow, ethereal and tied to earth with an acoustic guitar riff base which carries the verse. Daddy's Farm has worked its way into my consciousness with its in-your-face lyrics and Rolling Stones'-like dooh-doohs.
I don't know how much of this album can be attributed to the aforementioned Cullman and Patscha, but I tend to think a bit. Cullman, who co-produced, has a touch in the studio I am finding fascinating (here is a review of both Cullman's and Patscha's latest albums, just so you understand what I am saying) and Patscha seems to make everything he touches better. Both Isaacs and Patscha, by the way, are crucial members of Ollabelle, as if there isn't a member crucial to that band. Did I not mention that earlier? I should be shot.
Momma used to tell me that good things come in threes. I found Cullman and Patscha together and it sent me on a musical journey. That journey has brought Isaacs to the table, and Ollabelle, and the string of musicians who played on the various albums. Even in my ignorance of math, I can see that it goes way beyond three. But Cullman, Patscha and Isaacs started it and I don't see it ending any time soon. In other words (words I tend to say a lot these days because music is better than ever), life is good. Isaacs just makes it better.
Frank O. Gutch Jr.
Supporting the Indies Since 1969
