In an earlier era, Amy LaVere might have fronted a big band, and by now would have been as celebrated as say, Lee Wiley or any number of vocal stylists who had ears for jazz but sang pop. On her latest, Anchors & Anvils, the Memphis singer gathers up the odd corners of funk and country with the help of a band that includes multi-instrumentalist Paul Taylor, whose Open Closed displays a sharp ear for the deep conventions of Anglophile pop. The records make a nice argument for Bluff City eccentricity, even when they don’t work.
LaVere’s debut, 2006’s This World Is Not My Home, had its moments. Produced by Taylor, the record was a spooky take on alt-country, with terse, atmospheric backing from Taylor, guitarists Jason Freeman and Jimbo Mathus, and pianist Jim Dickinson. A Louisiana native who cut her teeth in Detroit punk bands and spent time in Nashville in the ’90s, LaVere seemed caught halfway between Music City finesse and Memphis experimentalism. Anchors replaces Taylor with Dickinson, whose production honors the loose and accidental and enlivens a classic busted-relationship record.
LaVere sings in a retiring purr that conceals lyrics of positively Victorian slyness. In “Cupid’s Arrow,” she sings, “I found a bow and a little arrow / In a store / That was full of nothing / I was there for / I bought it for a song / I had saved up in a pocket.” She recasts Carla Thomas’ “That Beat” as world music, complete with gypsy fiddle, and sounds comfortable over the mild, astringent funk of “Washing Machine.” Confessional and evasive, it’s a strange, woebegone set.
Still, Anchors takes chances, and never descends into the Billie Holiday-worship that afflicts many modern jazz-influenced records. Cool and a bit distanced, Anchors could benefit from more camping and less vamping. LaVere’s persona—a femme fatale with a broken heart—is oddly wholesome, and one wishes for something more pointed.
If Anchors casts LaVere as oddball torch singer, Taylor’s Open Closed takes as its model the tightly packed pop of Memphis forefathers like Van Duren and Alex Chilton. Overdubbing virtually everything himself, Taylor sounds spaced out on the title track, while “Get Things Done” features a piano part that suggests a neurotic Badfinger. It’s ambitious stuff, and on the amazing “He’s 15, She’s in a Magazine,” he conflates Van Dyke Parks and Gilberto Gil, and even has something new to say about the loneliness of the one-man band.
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