DANIELSON - Best Of Gloucester Country

The world is full of records that nobody really needs, and the further things go the more that will be true. And yet, among these records, there are some that, against all odds, manage to find their place in the world. Take this "Best Of Gloucester Country" by Danielson, the extended family fronted by New Jersey's resident sprite Daniel Smith. It's a record that adds nothing to anything, one you could easily do without, a record that someone, somewhere, at some point, has probably already more or less heard, even played, even hummed along to. Had he released it forty years ago, Smith would have barely passed as a trailblazer. Today, well, what do we even call that? What do you call someone who writes songs that seem to have lost their ID card? Smith, on closer inspection, is a kind of counterfeiter. A counterfeiter who happens to be terribly good at what he does — and that's the other side of the coin.

So it can happen that, listening to the eleven tracks that make up the album, you end up feeling very, very gratified. Maybe it's the tart melodies, maybe the syncopated little choruses, maybe this profusion of guitars and mini-guitars capable of dragging you into the middle of hazy, lysergic visions — whatever it is, speaking ill of "Best Of Gloucester Country" is simply impossible. The charge of anachronism doesn't stick, but by now we're used to far more serious accusations in the overcrowded circus of pop and rock at this point in the third millennium. So there's no question of leniency here. The judgment will be made on merit, and it will turn out favorable for the simple reason that this is a record made of good songs.

Dan Smith, for those who don't know him, is one of those people who enjoy constantly changing face, name, collaborators, roping brothers and cousins and who knows who else into his projects, releasing music with this person and that one, lending a hand to others and founding his own labels. His track record is already a long one, if you consider that the very first Danielson family recording dates all the way back to 1994, the year that saw the release of the twenty-four songs on "A Prayer For Every Hour". Then came another handful of records under various names, leading up to "Ships", the last one on the list before "Best Of Gloucester Country". His path has often crossed with that of the princely Sufjan Stevens, and indeed, they operate in roughly the same territory: airy polyphonies, divertissements, exaggerated mannerisms. And while he doesn't quite reach the heights of the magical minstrel from Michigan, Smith too knows how to work his own alchemy.

The record opens with a sort of charging glam anthem that immediately calls up echoes of the seventies, and you half expect Ziggy Stardust to pop up at any moment demanding a bit more attention in some more or less disguised form. No, "Complimentary Dismemberment Insurance" isn't Bowie, but it comes pretty close. Either way, the path is set, the direction clear, and it won't be seriously questioned even in the tracks that follow. Without necessarily naming names, expect bursts of power-pop and psychedelia, with a few playful touches and a joyful, infectious aura. Smith's voice turns shrill at times, but it always stays clear, and the arrangements are nothing short of lavish. The first small shift in pace comes with "Lil Norge", a nursery rhyme that keeps climbing in pitch, with an amusing interplay between the voices of the frontman, his wife Elin, and Swedish pop singer Jens Lekman. But by "But I Don't Wanna Sing About Guitars" we're already back on the starting track, while "People's Partay" is another little joke, this time pared right down to the bone. "You Sleep Good Now" — and we're at the eighth track in the running order — seems to begin almost as a tribute to his friend Sufjan, but once, beneath the banjo tremors, it starts circling around its own full-bodied waves, the mind ends up drifting off elsewhere, still along those crowded routes connecting the present to the safe harbor of the early Seventies. "Hosanna In The Forest", then, is a final, rarefied, dreamlike chapter, a sonic carpet over which a distant mantra flows, soothing the temples, because after the time for partying, it's good to rest up like this too.

All that energy, flaunted almost to excess just moments before, fades away somewhat surprisingly, but it's a shift that leaves things suspended, and one that ultimately does this record good. It's true that this isn't the kind of material that will leave you clapping your hands raw, but we're nonetheless in the presence of considerable talent, and of someone who doesn't seem to have the slightest intention of letting it go to waste.

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14/04/2011