By Team Backbeat
By Amber Taufen
By Jon Solomon
By Tom Murphy
By Jesse Livingston
By Alejandra Loera
By Stephanie March
By Tom Murphy
The four men in the band Live are not what you'd call innovators: If they've ever had an original thought, they apparently have not seen fit to share it with the general public. But even if they're not stellar when it comes to making fresh music, they at least have shown the ability to recognize it when they hear it. For example, they tabbed the exceptional P.J. Harvey to open for many of their 1995 appearances, and they placed Morcheeba, an intriguing new British act, on the bill for a series of small-hall dates intended as harbingers for a full-fledged Live tour this summer.
But while Live's largesse deserves applause, it should be noted that the acts on the receiving end of it are presented with a considerable challenge. When Harvey joined Live at Red Rocks, she put on an artistically superior show that nevertheless went straight over the heads of a majority of the crowd ("Live and Let Live," August 30, 1995). Morcheeba lead singer Skye Edwards feared much the same thing might happen to her. In a conversation on March 5, only hours before a gig at Denver's Paramount Theatre that would mark Morcheeba's first Live pairing, she admitted, "I'm a little worried. It's flattering that they chose us; I heard they had a list of fifty bands that they could have taken out with them, and they picked us. But we're very different from them. I'm not sure how the audience is going to take it."
According to sources who were at the show, Edwards need not have been anxious. Although the Live boosters in attendance didn't tear the joint apart to demonstrate their enthusiasm for Morcheeba, they were attentive, respectful and appreciative--reactions that an unknown opener encounters far too seldom.
This response becomes more surprising, and more satisfying, when you take into account Morcheeba's subtlety. To put it mildly, Who Can You Trust?, the Discovery Records debut by Edwards and her associates, brothers Paul and Ross Godfrey, doesn't bust listeners in the chops. As Paul notes, "It's subconscious music, really. It's not particularly direct. It's very kind of wormlike."
Indeed, Trust is a discreet effort that can disappear into the background if you're not paying close attention. But give the disc a little time and you'll encounter an alluring mood piece that gradually draws you into its deceptively sturdy web. At first, only a couple of songs rise to the surface--"Trigger Hippie," the trio's seductive single, and "Tape Loop" are the most likely candidates. Hang around for a while, though, and by the end of the CD you're apt to feel just the sort of pleasant buzz the name Morcheeba suggests. Hell, the flesh under your eyes might be kind of puffy, too.
Not that weed is necessarily a prerequisite for enjoying Morcheeba's slippery pleasures. "Paul does like to smoke," Edwards concedes. "He says it helps him focus on the music late at night. But I can't really do that. I have a baby--Jaeger, he's fourteen months old--so I have to be a little more together."
The Godfrey boys started making music together at a young age, with Ross contributing sounds inspired by what Edwards describes as "blues and psychedelic-rock-type stuff" and Paul drawing from vintage folk rock and old school hip-hop. "In my opinion, music was pretty bad from around 1975 until fairly recently, with the exception of people like Grandmaster Flash," Paul says. "Around that time, the great artists of the late Sixties and early Seventies just lost it, and there was an oversaturation of disco. After that there was punk, which was good at the time because it shook things up, but I don't think it left a particularly good imprint on music. And then there was the New Romantic stuff in Britain, which was just horrible. When I was confronted with that, I would retreat to my albums by Nick Drake and Crosby, Stills and Nash and say, 'Now, these are proper influences.'"
Fortunately, Paul and Ross didn't devote their creative energies to, say, a CS&N cover band called Our House. Instead, they assembled and recorded instrumental tracks that melded the lushness and sweep of British art pop with hip-hop techniques such as scratching and looping. Four years later, in 1995, they met Edwards. They soon learned that her musical tastes differed substantially from theirs: When she's asked if she is as fond of Soft Machine as Paul is, she first assumes her questioner is quizzing her about Soft Cell, then admits that she has never heard Soft Machine in her life. But her love of Joni Mitchell's music provided her and the Godfreys a common ground. Before long, Paul and Ross decided that Edwards's voice would match perfectly with their rich soundscapes.
Although "Trigger Hippie," the irresistible offering that subsequently introduced the act to the British music community, proved that the siblings had made the right choice, it also led to Morcheeba being categorized as a trip-hop group. This conclusion makes a certain amount of sense: Edwards's detached delivery has something in common with the work of Tricky and Massive Attack. But Edwards feels the descriptor is simplistic. "It's a shame," she contends. "To me, it's just a lazy title, because the music goes deeper than that. If you were to strip away all the beats and all the electronic stuff, you would just have some really good songs."
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