REVIEW: Congo Norvell, Abnormals Anonymous (Jetset)
- Patrick Carmosino
Congo Norvell is the musical union of ex-Cramps/Bad Seeds/Gun Club guitarist Kid Congo Powers and vocalist Sally Norvell. Their latest release, Abnormals Anonymous is a mix of fiendish, desperate and probing moods: combining American gothic, torch song desperation and charm, blues and on "Johnny In The Boudoir", new wave nostalgia noir. The buzz on the Los Angeles-based duo was that of something just a bit rockier than, say, Combustible Edison. Truth be known is that although things seem to begin with and are based on the loungey, torchy voice of Sally Norvell, the band has quite a broad palette, wearing the influences of past associations with Nick Cave, Jeffrey Lee Pierce and Wim Wenders (both Powers and Norvell have been in his films) on their collective sleeve.
Song titles such as "She's Like Heroin To Me", "Brother Jack", "Dark Eyes" and "The Last Word: Jack Is Back" alone bring images of the pulp and the desolate to life. If things aren't dark enough, America's king of beautiful mope, Mark Eitzel duets with Sally Norvell on five tracks. "Brother Jack" is perhaps the most stunning of these songs; with momentum slowly building up with Norvell's whispery scream of "brother Jack" repeatedly being answered by Eitzel with an incredibly throaty "will your family take you back?". "Blue Sky" finds Congo Norvell entering into Eitzel's American Music Club territory with its mellow, sprawling arrangement until it reaches its tense, instrumentally expanded chorus which reminds you whose album this is. Later, in "...Jack Is Back" , Eitzel's contribution is a monotone, deadpan, spoken delivery with lines like "I'm sorry there was no audience for your crucifixion." Amongst the Eitzel-less highlights is the hypnotic "Dark Eyes" which has to be the most haunting celebration of a new born ever put to recording tape. "Johnny In The Boudoir" is basically the Shangri-La's meet Martha & The Muffins meet Josey Cotton in Death Valley '69: a pastiche of organ-driven retro, manic melodrama whose suddenness virtually splits the record in two. Meanwhile, always lurking in the background is the scratchings of Powers' guitar, reminiscent of Daniel Ash's work with Bauhaus, which informs the heart of Abnormals Anonymous as well as Norvell's soulful take on torch singing which, from time to time, stretches to a Patti Smith-like passion.
Abnormals Anonymous evokes evolved moods from a couple of thirty-something former punks who may not have been considered punks because of any outward aggressive approach to music but more because they have built a career out of approaching music in their own incredibly unique way. The darkness doesn't necessarily fade away with life experience, but one certainly gets a few more different views of it as one's adulthood progresses. Abnormals Anonymous is a good soundtrack for the desperate hours that remain long after the restlessness is gone. The comforts of the lounge set cannot contain Congo Norvell.
