The British funk band Cymande’s fame was momentary 50 years ago or so. They released three notable albums [their self-titled 1972 debut, followed by Second Time Round (1973) and Promised Heights (1974)] with less essential efforts in 1981 and 2015, toured with Al Green and Patti Labelle and headlined at the Apollo before calling it quits. Their grooves were later mined by the likes of De La Soul, EPMD, Fugees, Gang Starr, the KLF, Queen Latifah and the Wu-Tang Clan. More recently, the 2022 documentary Getting It Back: The Story of Cymande, while being a bit overly celebratory, traced their career, influence and reunion.
The fruits of that reunion (founding members Patrick Patterson and Steve Scipio, longtime members Adrian Reid and Raymond Simpson plus supporting players) are to be heard on the new Renascence (LP, CD, download available from BMG January 31). The album opens with a groove that would do Hot Chocolate proud, or could work as incidental music on an episode of Baretta—they step back firmly into that ’70s groove. “Chasing an Empty Dream” floats a vocal line of social commentary over thick bass, rich percussion and shining horns, building with smart orchestration. The rest of the album steps back a bit, not in meaning but in meter, with memorable melodies and midtempo messaging. That messaging is, beginning to end, simple, strong and straightforward. Cymande are exceptionally good at being convincing, especially on “Darkest Night,” which asks if progress is possible, or if it has even happened, with neither hope nor doom. That song is followed by “Carry the Word,” which closes the album like a lowkey, Neville Brothers anthem.
Will the sixth time be a charm for the London nonet? The grooves are in place and they’re touring the states, with a stop at Irving Plaza in NYC next month. Cymande deserves a second moment in the sun.
Perverts and the people who love them. On her debut album, 2022’s Preacher’s Daughter, Ethel Cain seemed to want to indulge in what she was trying to reject. Born and raised in Florida and christened (apparently) as Hayden Silas Anhedönia, Cain actually is the offspring of clergy
When she sang “A life full of whiskey but I always deliver / Jesus, if You’re listening, let me handle my liquor / And Jesus, if You’re there /Why do I feel alone in this room with You?” she might have been trying to separate herself from the pack, but the country pop music and the cheerleader costume in the video suggested a desire to be in with the in crowd. There’s a lot of pain and personal politic in Cain’s songs. She was out as gay by the age of 12 and publicly as a trans woman at 20. She was later diagnosed as autistic. She doesn’t address such issues directly in her songs, but it’s there in her self-portraits of doubt and insecurity. Past songs have addressed Palestine and American gun culture, but she’s at her best when examining her own identity.
On Perverts (out Jan. 8 from Daughters of Cain as the follow-up to Preacher’s Daughter, which gets its first vinyl release Jan. 17), Cain seems intent on separating herself not just from the pack but from her former self and aspirations The album starts boldly with a brief hymn (“Nearer, My God to Thee”), sung a cappella with tape warble, which cuts off abruptly, leaving a disquieting hiss with occasional, distorted whispers. It’s like a found cassette that you know you shouldn’t be listening to and wish you could stop. That track goes on for 12 frightful minutes. It’s followed by a sad and beautiful, confessional ballad (“Punish”) with piano accompaniment and disembodied loops of sorrow. A wonderfully slow and eerie video in rich black-and-white with empty hallways and faceless bodies completes the picture. Other songs do lean closer to pop sensibilities, but they’re still slow and moody. Cain wrote, performed and produced all of Perverts and it’s a perfect piece of haunting introspection. It might scare you, but don’t let it scare you off.
Queer as (Good) Folksinger. Despite the typecasting of our polarized politics, the southern states aren’t and haven’t always altogether been, a conservative bastion. Comedians such as Nate Bargatze and Cliff Cash remind us of as much, and country music has long had liberal leaning representation. It’s not quite the progressive front of outlaw cowboys and outspoken women it once was, but Willi Carlisle has been working to right the balance toward the left again. He’s outspoken too, but doesn’t force issues in his songs. He was born the son of a polkaman in Wichita, KS, but he’s no party lineman. He also holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Arkansas, but hell, the late and truly great Kris Kristofferson got his degree in English lit from Oxford. Ain’t no harm in being smart.
Carlisle champions abortion rights, gender and sexual fluidity and economic justice, but more than that delivers professional, unpolished Americana; the politics don’t overshadow the purity in the music. (He posted to the platform formerly known as “Twitter” in 2023 that he gets “sick of ‘queer folksinger’ being an advertisement for my work, and would much prefer ‘good folksinger,’ but you know what’s worse? That queer people friends get bullied and denied civil rights. So here we are.”) He has released three albums and a number of singles since 2016 and in December issued a solo session through Anti-Corp’s The Magnolia Sessions. (The album is streaming on most platforms with a limited edition LP benefitting Hurricane Helene relief out Jan. 31.) It’s a brisk set, 11 songs in under 30 minutes, including a particularly lovely rendering of the traditional blues “Careless Love” played on dulcimer. The politics come a bit more to the fore in a stirring banjo take on “Which Side Are You On?” and on “When the Roses Bloom Again,” a Woody Guthrie lyric set to music by Billy Bragg and Wilco for their album Mermaid Avenue Vol. III, performed here on banjo and harmonica.
But the highlight is a gentle rendition of the Shaker hymn “Love is Little” played on (I’m gonna guess) concertina like a lullaby for hard times. Carlisle sings in a sincere, unaffected voice against a casual, backyard ambiance replete with crickets. He’s a strong songwriter, but through his Magnolia Session, he shows that he can be a traditionalist as well, despite outside forces trying to dictate just what the traditions might, or should, be.
Big grrl energy. Brighton’s Lambrini Girls know how to cause a stir. The English duo-plus-drummer first shook things up in 2022 with their single “Help Me, I’m Gay,” a direct confrontation of the male gaze. Another single followed in the first part of 2024, and then at the end of the year caused another small ruckus with “Big Dick Energy,” an attack striking deeper than the gaze. Like their spiritual grandmommies the Slits, they’re forcefully feminine, using allure as a force while exhibiting zero need for men.
It’s plenty fun to upset apple carts, but Lambrini Girls are tight and efficient. Phoebe Lunny yells her way through crisp paragraphs of verses and keeps it catchy, and her guitar attacks are as pointed as the lyrics. Lilly Macieira’s bass is fast and grounded. Only three of the 11 songs on their first full-length, Who Let the Dogs Out? (CD, LP and download out from City Slang Jan. 10) break the three-minute mark, but they manage smart invention and variation within their fast and fierce constructions. The album flies by in a furious and memorable half hour.
Treasures old and new. The folk metal band Nine Treasures arose from Inner Mongolia in 2010 and in the 15 years since have issued five hard-to-find albums of traditional song forms and strings (balalaika, morin khuur, tovshuur) with blast beats and proggy riffage. A new album is due out in 2025—their first in five years—but for the meantime, they’ve reissued two titles for streaming and download. The 2017 album Wisdom Eyes has been remastered for rerelease, and they’ve rerecorded the 12 tracks from the 2021 compilation Awakening From Dukkha. The latter is a vivid and visceral place to start: sea-faring songs and battle cries played with clean precision and scorching guitars, just in time for the Year of the Snake.
