David Vandervelde - Waiting for the Sunrise (Secretly Canadian)
3/5
By: Alex Hibbert
BUY DOWNLOADHaving flitted from city to city in the U.S, Vandervelde settled in Nashville but stayed road bound on the whole before releasing his debut The Moonstation House Band. But, like Vandervelde himself, it was an album that strayed through the influence of memories, sometimes rearing up with a glammed up 70's swagger and at others firmly ensconced in melancholy, and never settling on anything distinct. Unfortunately the ambition was there just not fully realised. Moonstation's indistinct form only really worked when the disambiguation was there for a reason, as on the quite sublime 'Jacket,' rather than because of the incomplete realisation of ideas. Waiting For The Sunrise, therefore, could be the moment where Vandervelde puts the critiques of previous work to bed, as David finally revels in an unfettered idealism of past greats.
Having always been nomadic, it's no surprise to find, on Waiting For The Sunrise, that Vandervelde's transitional nature sees him leave the effervescence but not the decade behind, instead burrowing deeper into the roots to a more serene nostalgia. Opener 'I Will be Fine' recreates the reverb drenched dream of his bittersweet Americana memories, as a lonely keyboard stab intersects the hazy yearning of Vandervelde's solace before slowly mutating into a monosyllabic trip out. 'California Breezes' recreates The Band for the individual, as close as you can get to a free wheeling drive down Route 101, and Vandervelde's band, relatively unused in 2007, share centre stage to great effect.
'Someone Like You' builds on the early promise, a bristled strut and cocksure lament, as a pronounced doo-wop chorus of band members springs to life it seems to be the best thing here, but then carries on and on some more. Vandervelde makes no bones about his love affair with the past, but his rendering of the landscape which has shaped so many of his thoughts sometimes bears almost too true to the original, as meandering passages dilute ideas born to be concise. Almost half the album runs too long, 'Hit The Road' is so stoned out it by the time its finished you've forgotten how it began, and 'Knowledge Of Evils' good orchestral intentions get lost in a heterogeneous labyrinth of ideas.
Waiting For The Sunrise is a reminiscent daydream of a time of musical heritage oft forgot to easily, unfortunately an obtuse recreation of something needing to be streamlined and packaged for the iPod generation means what could have been great only reflects as good, and Vandervelde doesn't yet reach the stars - for now, the clouds will have to do.
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