@Number 71

Archive for March 2nd, 2010

Have One On Me, by Joanna Newsom

On a scale of 1-10, where 1 is way too early to discuss Joanna Newsom’s new collection of songs, Have One On Me, and 10 is just the right time to do so, we are at -1. I call the release a ‘collection of songs’ rather than ‘album’ because Have One On Me, even more than Ys (2006) before it, seems to raise its eyebrow at such irrelevant terms as  ‘record’ or ‘LP’: a three-disc boxset of songs ranging from friendly 3 minute ditties (’81′) to 11 minute monsters (‘Have One On Me’), this latest from Newsom refuses even the lip service Ys, a five-track threepenny-opera-on-acid, paid to the concept of the traditional rock record.

Not that Have One On Me doesn’t also share much with Newsom’s most straight-forward record, her debut, The Milk-Eyed Mender. In that this third proper full release consists of songs played for the songs themselves rather than a grand aesthetic – gone are the flamboyant theatrics of Ys – then Have One On Me is also a return to a straighter bat: the glorious ‘Good Intentions Paving Co.’ is as infectious a piece of songwriting as you’ll hear all year, despite its seven minute running time.

But these songs twist and narrate far more than something like ‘Inflammatory Writ’ or ‘The Sprout and the Bean’. Recalling ‘Monkey and Bear’ from Ys in content if not in tone (“Miss Montez, the Countess of Lansfeld / appealed to the King of Bavaria”), ‘Have One On Me’ is full of personified arachnids and fabulous phrases – “I saw a chunk of thrown coal / As if god himself spat like a cornered rat.” On the other hand, opener ‘Easy’ woozes in and out of a swirling refrain, sounding grand and epic but on the level of lyrics being as plain a love song as Newsom can write.

The astute reader will have spotted all my examples are taken from the first CD. Like I said, -1. If the other two discs match the first for inventiveness and intelligence, however, Have One On Me will be hard to displace as ‘record’ of the year.


71 is the number of an apartment we return to regularly in Whinfell Forest, Cumbria. We like it there.


‘We’ are Anna French and Dan Hartland. The Story and the Truth is a sort of inadequate catch-all term for what goes on here: we tend to talk about novels, history, food and fashion, politics and music, but there may also be photographs of soft toys and musicians. Stick around and see.

Words We Like

The Blind Man's Garden, by Nadeem Aslam


Aslam's fourth novel is that rarest of things, a focused picaresque. It has been criticised by the formidable Adam Mars-Jones for a failure of courage - and yet having read the novel cover to cover and word for word, I found myself more in agreement with the praise of Pankaj Mishra. In this story of two young men who travel, naively, to Afghanistan in the October of 2001, it is the very ambivalence of the resulting consequences which render its portrayal of history at the sharp end so memorable. We are used to hearing, from one side or another, the verities of black and white. In The Blind Man's Garden, Aslam paints in technicolour shades of grey. Essential.

Sounds We Like

The Stand-In, by Caitlin Rose


The ever-present temptation to be cooler-than-thou might have demanded I list Lord Huron or Keaton Henson in this space, and yet few records I've been listening to this month have had the sheer charisma of Caitlin Rose's third LP. There's a cleverness - even a slickness - to how Rose balances the cache of retro country with the accessibility of the modern pop sound here, and, if that sounds like a demerit, then the way in which this sly production always works in support of often fabulous songwriting is certainly not. They do make 'em like they used to, after all.

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