Karen Hunter - Rubble
When I stop to imagine an overall scene that fits with Káren Hunter's Rubble, a smoky room comes to mind. A David Lynch kind of room, with red velvet curtains, round tables surrounded by slouching people who are all smoking cigarettes and barman that has a limp and knows everyone in the room. Someone coughs, cats in berets nod knowingly and Káren plays from a poorly lit low-rise stage in the corner.
For those who know Káren's music, no introduction is necessary, for those who don't, think Michelle Shocked, Rickie Lee Jones, or even Sarah Jones of "your revolution will not happen between these thighs" fame. Think melodic jazz infused female vocals, and stripped back accompaniment that is more country than folk. Think snare shuffles and guitars that meander, most of all think of story telling lyrics introduced by unstrained singing.
Káren has an extensive musical history in New Zealand; she's been on stage as a singer songwriter since the early nineties and has released eight albums in twelve years. Having recently been awarded a Bachelor of Music with Honours, the results of her studious years are obvious in this album. On first listen it's deceptively casual, with the lyrical content being at once humorous and observant. Given another hearing you'll find layers of beguiling complexity, with dedications to a dangerous diva who's got a voice that's worth a fortune, a smattering of scat, some spoken word and a song about flying. This is a mature album and will surely be admired by the mature listener.
Jamie
