Paul
Silver
Consummate rocker Ted Leo has had a rough time of it over
the past several years, since his last studio album, The
Brutalist Bricks, came out in 2010. In that time he’s
dealt with crises, both personal and professional. He wasn’t
completely silent during the whole time. He released a live
LP, did a project with Aimee Mann (The Both,) and released
a couple of singles. But now Leo has returned with a full-lengther
of music that ranges from power-pop to Americana, from lightness
to darkness. A strong proponent of the DIY ethic, Leo eschewed
a record deal with a known label and self-recorded and self-released
this album, crowd-sourcing the funding to make the project
a reality. The album opens oddly, with the dark, noisy, minimalist
“Moon Out of Phase.” Featuring stark vocals and
deep growling guitar, the track is unsettling. Like past works
commenting on the Afghan War, this politically charged song
seems to reference the unreality the morning after the last
presidential election, when it became clear that Donald Trump
had taken the electoral victory. “Used to Believe”
is the next track, and is what I would have expected to open
the album. It’s a really strong power pop track, perhaps
the best of the fourteen on offer. “Run to the City”
is another great power pop track and another favorite. “The
Nazarene” has a deep brooding quality that appeals,
and I love the intimate feel of songs like “Gray Havens,”
with its sparse instrumentation and very present vocals. The
track starts out with electric keyboard and Leo’s stark
vocals, but halfway through the track a drum machine joins
in and the arrangement grows thicker. Yet it still retains
that intimate feel. It’s these quiet songs that I enjoy
more than most others. “Lonsdale Avenue” is an
Americana folk song, featuring Aimee Mann harmonizing with
Leo over simple electric guitar. The lyrics evoke a resignation,
a sadness and tiredness, a homecoming with no joy. “Let’s
Stay On The Moon” closes out the album, and is another
quiet one, reminding me of a blend of Elvis Costello and The
Beatles. Not all the songs are perfect gems. Though Leo is
a great songwriter, and I love the diversity on display, “Can’t
Go Back” feels like a throwback to the 70s era of light
pop of the sort I learned to avoid even at a young tender
age, while “The Future (Is Learning To…) jumps
a decade into the 80s, with a blending of new wave and power
pop that just feels too close to top 40 sounds. On the whole,
though, the diversity and sincerity shine through on most
every track of this album.
Richard
Quinlan
The first aspect of the new Ted Leo album one may notice is
the lack of any Pharmacists, save drummere Chris Wilson on
a handful of tracks. This is Ted Leo off on his own, baring
his soul with heartbreaking intensity and fearless vulnerability.
Leo has endured heartache and loss over the past several years
in both his personal and professional lives, and The Hanged
Man captures that pain over the course of thirteen sprawling
tracks. While there is a collective catharsis that runs through
the record, the songs themselves are, as per usual, highly
distinctive. The opening “Moon out of Phase” features
a thundering, droning, bass line that permeates the dread
and darkness felt when one woke up on that world-rattling
Wednesday morning after the recent Presidential election.
The disquieting nature of Leo’s voice grasps the listener
as he declares; “this world is not for you”, and
the line can be applied to either those feeling lost and confused
or the man who just inherited the most powerful position in
the world. Leo is clearly reflecting back upon his life, taking
stock of where he has been, and like so many, is completely
unsure of what lies ahead. He speaks for people enduring a
fear about the future that perhaps was not expected, as “Used
to Believe” surmises. Despite its jangly, genteel nature,
the song embodies frustration and self-doubt. A similar buoyant
swing is heard on “Can’t Go Back” and “Anthems
of None.” In both cases, the light-hearted pop aesthetic
masks a seriousness and profound sense of insecurity.
Ted Leo has always had a dazzling penchant for storytelling,
and this ability shines through most clearly on “The
Future (Is Learning To…)” An adrenaline-fueled
post-punk vibe and crunchy guitar riff surround Leo’s
assertion that “the future is learning to wait around
for things you did not know you wanted to wait for,”
There are not many who could deliver such a line without mangling
the words or making it seem trite, but part of Leo’s
brilliance is the adroit quality of his linguistic skills.
He paints stories on “The Nazarene” (“You
would make a gift into a gun”) and “You’re
Like Me,” whose fuzzy guitar and vocals seem to recall
the horrors of sexual abuse. “Make Me Feel Love”
is steeped in sadness, but is does not wallow there. Instead,
there is a faint light of hope and a comfort found within
Leo’s vulnerable vocals. This juxtaposition of hopefulness
and hopelessness defines The Hanged Man, and makes
this required listening regardless of one’s previous
interaction with Leo’s work. For a man who has suffered
much, perhaps The Hanged Man will provide a resurgence
for a performer deserving of greater accolades.
Jim
Testa
On November 9, 2016, America woke up to a new reality.
Ted Leo remembers that day on "Moon Out Of Phase,"
the dirgey one-chord threnody that opens his first album
in seven years, The Hanged Man: “Wednesday,
wake up/Thinking about make-up/Barely make it into clothes/The
creeping and the menace grows/Into a world of foes.”
It's almost as if Leo is waking up after a long troubled
sleep, one filled with the sort of nightmares only adults
have. After the release of 2010's The Brutalist Bricks,
Leo lost his record label, felt the financial pinch of declining
record sales and tour receipts, and tragically lost the
daughter he and his wife were expecting due to a miscarriage.
Throw Trump into the mix and it's enough to send anyone
into a tailspin. There are telling moments on The Hanged
Man when Leo sounds as if it's all broken his spirit;
"Used To Believe" and "Can't Go Back"
bristle with pessimism and discord, while "“The
Future (Is Learning to Wait Around for Things You Didn’t
Know You Wanted to Wait For)” laments the stunted,
thwarted expectations of his generation. It's a testament
to Leo's indominable spirit that no matter how downcast
the lyrics, his music retains its vibrancy and ability to
lift us up, from the signature Thin Lizzy- stomp of "Used
To Believe" to his invocation of heroes like Nick Lowe
and Elvis Costello on "Anthems Of None" and "Run
To The City," to his putdown of liberal complacency,
"The Smug Little Supper Club." On "The Nazarene,"
this Irish Catholic boy from the Jersey suburbs ruminates
on Jesus and Judas, set to a McCartney-esuqe piano melody,
while the seemingly upbeat "You're Like Me" hints
at a history of sex abuse as a child, a topic he's broached
in recent interviews. The album ends with two crushing tracks,
"Lonsdale Avenue" (about the death of the American
middle class) and "Let's Stay On The Moon," where
his pain from the loss of his child is concrete and palpable.
When George W. Bush won a second term, Ted Leo bucked us
all up, inspiring us to "shake the sheets," exorting
us to "sing just to exist and resist," and reminding
us that we "had a lot of walking to do." Now,
in the age of Trump, Leo's best advice is, "Let's stay
on the moon, and watch the earth go down?"
Say it ain't so, Ted. "The Hanged Man" in the
Tarot, I'm told, can mean ultimate surrender, but it can
also represent being suspended in time to meditate and change
old patterns, a time of planning and growth leading to spiritual
enlightenment. We're all wondering where we go next. The
only acceptable answer is upward - which, let us not forget,
is where the Hanged Man is staring.
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