There are instances when online media fails to bridge geographical gaps; Aussie singer-songwriter M. Craft's debut is one such example. Released more than six months ago in his native country, Craft's downplayed take on mainstream folk failed to hook anyone statesde other than the odd mp3 blogger. The virus spread, died, and was picked up again as the record made it onto scattered year-end lists. Unified by a punchy timbre and muted, shimmying percussion-- a combination that sometimes results in memorable tracks-- the album's quiet, solitary perambulations around cyberspace fit the character of a lonely, lovely, and modest work.
Martin Craft has a persistent disposition for the atmosphere shared by the work of later Beatles, Van Morrison, Neil Young, and to some extent Captain Beefheart: reduced treble, percussion beholden to guitars and vocals, and slow, lazy rhythmic structures. The paw prints of Young's "Southern Man" and Beefheart's The Spotlight Kid are all over Craft's "Sweets", although the Aussie employs dusty female vocals that barely deliver the lyrical message. That's indicative of the album as a whole: Craft masters record-collector rock without pretension, but putting his personal stamp on the product is another matter.
The album's golden nuggets, "The Soldier" and "Love Knows How to Fight", do resolutely brand Craft as a talent to watch. These love-as-warfare numbers cancel out the numerous devolved and timid songs like "Sweets" and "Emily Snow". A sleep-inducing narrative about a young girl, "Emily" is an arid field to "The Soldier"'s Big Sur clifftop. "Soldier" begins with tumbling, throbbing percussion, guitar, and bass, still turned down to mezzo piano. Proximate chords rumble with just a hint of the melody to come, and before you know it, a startling female chorus has punctured the end of Craft's guitar-bass segment and repeats before the first verse of lyrics even begins.
The tone of the lyrics is equal parts pathetic and sexy, a finesse that James Blunt, to whom Craft has absurdly been compared, can only dream about dreaming about. Lyrics such as "What I would do to be close to you/ What I would do for your touch" are nothing new; it's the delivery that cinches the seams. Hand claps, a looping, ascending bass sequence, and those hollow, Morricone-inspired howls decorate the song throughout, and it's those moments rather than the more jarring key change in the chorus that stand out. (Craft has a penchant for changing moods mid-song, and it's typically a draw-- even on his less-interesting songs.)
Along with the aforementioned, "Love Knows How to Fight" pushes minimalist Bee Gees ballads like "Teardrop Tattoo" entirely out of the picture, though the reminiscent banjos and climbing vocal mumbles on the waltzing "I Got Nobody Waiting For Me" are worth a listen. "Fight" is like most of the album: Bound to romance, a tad sulky, but bemused and thoughtful to the point of actually deriving a fair amount of optimism from the artist's process. But "Fight" is the triumphal march to the daydreaming early movements. It still resides in the Craft comfort zone (same studio, same effects), but punches with a verve not often detectable on the album. Craft uses a winding, repetitive major-key melody and lyrics that roll off the tongue with surprising energy: "And the sky/ Is a roof made of tin/ With a million holes/ For the light to get in/ And beyond/ Is an endless sea/ Of lucidity/ An infinity of light." It may sound like a hipster teaching his kid about the universe, but you'll want to hear this lesson.
