M Ward - 'Transistor Radio' (Matador Recordings)
3/5
By: JJ Florio
The techi types among you will be aware of the ongoing battle of the relative superiority between the merits of analogue verses digital recording. For the non-anorak of you who do not subscribe to 'Sound on Sound', have a girlfriend or simply don't let such analities enter your stream of consciousness, here is the basic crux of the matter; in the one corner we have our old friend analogue, the 'old way' of recording: tried, tested and loved by countless musicians for its warm 'classic album' sound, but it's expensive and produces excess noise. In the opposing corner, we have the relative newcomer, digital: cheap, reliable, user friendly yet deemed by many to be too 'clean' and 'cold'-sounding.
And in an age of ever-accelerating recording technologies it is perhaps perplexing to see so many bands reverting back to the old analogue system, with The White Stripes' 'Elephant', not only recorded exclusively on pre-1970's gear, but released solely on vinyl in its first week, being probably the most-high profile example. Following this trend on his fourth long player is M. Ward, who has produced a work 'designed to be heard on vinyl.' (If this is indeed the case, we at rockfeedback were slightly disappointed when it came to us on the CD format, probably akin to watching a snooker game on a black and white television).
For those of you not overly familiar with this particularly respected Californian, M. Ward is a singer/songwriter who recently won an increased sense of notoriety having contributed his guitar skills on the latest Bright Eyes album and tour. 'Transistor Radio' is an ode to deep Southern Americana and of a golden age when families gathered around the wireless instead of the TV. The visual qualities of this album are not to be underestimated. Its 1930's blues laden acoustic guitars, lusciously coarse vocals and old school production values evoke beautiful images of warm, hazy Sunday afternoons, lazily reclining on rocking chairs whilst basking under the dying embers of a hot sun and, when listening like us on a rainy Monday afternoon in North London feels like a perfectly small slice of American country comfort.
Amidst the exterior of such rose-tinted ethics, the album holds core moments with a profound sense of loneliness as displayed on 'Fuel For Fire', a melancholic blues, almost gospel-inspired anthem to a feeling of deep solitude and 'Four Hours in Washington' which painfully displays the relentless intensity of the lone insomniac. These elements are sharply juxtaposed with 'Transistor Radio's blatant, yet eloquently realised sentimentality, though strangely enough, it is on the darker moments that the record truly comes to life.
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