Whooping Llama

Gospel music has a reputation of being…well, let’s be frank, boring and square. I for one have seen my share of tone deaf family bands in matching suits. To think this is all the genre holds, however, is like giving up on rock ‘n’ roll because of the latest Fall Out Boy record. Believe it or not, there is such a thing as good gospel music and the Geary Auditorium stage was graced with some of it recently.

Kentucky’s Crabb Family came to UC by way of the first Steadfast Homecoming, held on February 15^th (Steadfast, now called “Fully Immersed,” is a local contemporary Christian music group). Fully Immersed served as the opening act and did an excellent job. CCM isn’t my cup of tea exactly, but they’re talented musicians nonetheless.

When their set was finished, two shaggy looking dudes (one of which was sporting a University of Charleston hoodie) came onstage. They sat on stools, electric guitars in their laps, patiently waiting for the MC to finish his patter. Thinking we were in for another opening act (ugh), I began to get antsy. Just as I was about to make a break for the restroom a booming voice came out of the UC hoodie. I sat back down.

It turns out one of those shaggy looking dudes was Jason Crabb. He proceeded to belted out the bluesiest version of “Shout to the Lord” I’ve ever heard. I’m still amazed how a big voice like that can come out of a skinny Kentucky boy. His guitar playing, accompanied here by lead picker Zach Smith, was just as impressive, sounding like a John Mayer who found religion.

After that wrecking-ball opening number came to an end, Zach and Jason were joined by the rest of the band and two more Crabb’s, Adam and Terah (Jason’s younger brother and sister). I’ve known and loved the Crabb Family’s music for many years, but they’ve never sounded like this. The vocal harmonies have always been pristine, even in the early days, but the stage band was one of the tightest ensembles I’ve heard…in any kind of music. Each musician was completely tuned in to what the others were doing, so much so that at times the band sound became more than just a group of several instruments, it became a single entity.

Pulling triple-duty as lead vocalist, rhythm guitarist, and emcee, Jason Crabb worked the crowd with the style and grace of an old-time preacher. He didn’t just introduce songs. He took the songs and related them to way we all live this life, believers and nonbelievers alike. This discourse may have bothered some who were just there for the music, but I loved it. The man believes in a loving God, and he isn’t afraid to tell people. In a perfect world, every singer would believe in their songs as deeply as Jason Crabb does.

My favorite moment of the night (if I have to pick one) was the band’s moving performance of their hit “Through the Fire.” A mid-tempo roots gospel romp, the song is the best example I can give of real gospel music. The siblings sang as if their life depended on every note. When they finished the song there was a tense feeling in the air, as if something had not been completed. Without missing a beat they jumped back into the chorus, the crowd whooping and hollering and shouting like it was Sunday morning.

Unfortunately, August 1^st will be the Crabb Family’s last date as a group. Each family member is going on to pursue their own personal ministry, and the Steadfast Homecoming will likely be their last southern West Virginia performance. If by some bit of extreme luck or divine intervention they do come back, I implore everyone to go hear them. No matter your religious beliefs, you’d be hard pressed to find a better group of musicians or singers.

On January 23^rd, indie boys the Shins released their third studio effort, Wincing the Night Away. Like their two previous albums, Oh, Inverted World (2001) and Chutes Too Narrow (2003), Wincing is chock-full of the band’s ethereal 60s-influenced pop. The disc has struck a chord with both its independent base and the mainstream listening public, debuting at #2 on the Billboard 200 chart and sitting pretty at #8 in the second week after its release.

The success of Wincing the Night Away is certainly justified. No other band around today can pack this many hooks into one album, let alone one song. In the great sunshine pop tradition of groups like the Beach Boys and the Mamas and the Papas, the Shins deliver fun melodies and pristine harmonies that will leave you humming for days on end. Unlike the work of those oldies radio staples, however, none of the lyrics on this record mean anything.

Please don’t read that last statement as an insult to the quality of the music on this CD. This is some of the finest new music I’ve heard from the rock world in a long while, but I defy anyone to extract meaning from these songs. Sure, a few poignant phrases slip through but for the most part its gobbledygook. Beautiful, beautiful gobbledygook. Although cohesive thoughts are hard to come by, the way lead vocalist/front man/guitarist/lyricist James Mercer strings his phrases together works brilliantly. It’s a rare talent, writing good songs that make no sense. By using unintelligible lyrics the beauty of the music itself is exalted. It’s genius.

Even if you don’t run out and buy this album (although you wouldn’t regret it), you should at least go download “Turn On Me” (legally!). This song is the centerpiece of Wincing the Night Away, a tightly constructed slice of pop nirvana. The opening guitar riff and drum beat evokes the ghosts of old Phil Spector “wall of sound” hits, and the melody is unspeakably beautiful. The vocals blend perfectly with the music, almost becoming another instrument. No matter what your listening preferences are, this is a song that fits on anyone’s iPod. Other key tracks include “Australia” (my second-favorite), and “Red Rabbits.”

Wincing has spun constantly in my room for the last week or so, and it only gets better with each listening. The Shins, though obscenely talented from the get-go, continue to grow and expand as a band, and fans of their previous work won’t be disappointed. I just wonder, is it still indie if you can get it at Target?

Rating: 4 out of 5

The old adage says one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but sometimes it works. With its shiny gold embellishments and jet-black cover, you just know The Geographer’s Library is going to be cool read—and it is.

The Geographer’s Library, author Jon Fasman’s first novel, is a delightful tale about the death of a crusty old professor with a last name that’s extremely difficult to pronounce. The details of his death are unclear (was it murder? was he just really old?) but nobody pays it much mind…until intrepid reporter Paul Tomm takes the case. What starts out as a simple obituary assignment turns into a full-scale investigation involving alchemy, history professors, a beautiful music teacher (read: token love interest), a cop who lives by his own rules, and a bartender named “Albanian Eddie.” The more Paul digs the darker and more mysterious the dead old guy becomes. Strange things start to happen as his history is revealed until—you go buy the book to find out what happens.

Fasman’s writing style won me over immediately. The narratives he pens for Paul are light-hearted and lilting, bordering on flippancy even as things get terribly serious. This comes in especially handy when characters start to die. The irreverent tone keeps this book out of the realm of depressing noir: it’s dark enough to be cool but not gloomy enough to bring you down. It’s too bad Fasman can’t keep the ball rolling long enough to put his literary prowess on full display.

See, The Geographer’s Library is almost two separate books. It’s set up in alternating chapters that flip between present day Connecticut and various places in the past (the Soviet Union of 1989, 12^th century Sicily, Estonia in 1974, etc.). It would be a cool concept if Fasman pulled it off, but he didn’t and it leaves the book feeling as jerky as rush hour traffic. Aside from ruining the flow of the novel, his prose doesn’t exactly shine when he’s trying to write like a Russian. The back story he tries to build is so fragmented from constant globe hopping the reader is always wondering what’s going on and who’s involved. Maybe that’s the point, but the constant disorientation left me with motion sickness.

The author also has a bad habit of using big, unfamiliar words when smaller and more appropriate words would work just as well or better. For example, “gesticulate” (which is apparently Fasman’s favorite word) is sprinkled liberally throughout the novel, feeling more uncomfortable with each use. The tendency isn’t bad enough to cause serious problems and I admire writers who try to improve their audience’s vocabulary, but conciseness is next to Godliness. Hemingway would agree.

Despite all that, this book’s positive attributes far outweigh its flaws. The Geographer’s Library is a quick and exciting read, the perfect sort of brain-rotting novel that eases textbook fatigue. I just hope Jon Fasman has his literary demons exorcised before he tries to write another book.

Rating: 4 out of 5