Adam Green: Sixes & Sevens (Album review)

Fifth studio album from the Moldy Peaches frontman is another mixed affair

Adam Green’s a funny old one. After the The Moldy Peaches went on hiatus in 2004, a successful solo career for the quirky, New York songsmith seemed inevitable. Yet after four albums of erratic ‘love it or hate it’ material, Green’s solo work has only briefly captured the anti-folk spark which illuminated the New York scene back in 2001.

At times, when Green whips out bar stool and acoustic guitar, his wry, ironic lyrics create that magical mix of dark cynicality and knowing irony (most notably Friends of Mine’s ‘Jessica Simpson’). But at other times, when Green decides to veer into Phil Spector, big strings, pop territory, his atrocious lounge-jazz vocals come to resemble Vic Reeves’ pub singer (take Sixes & Sevens ‘Morning After Midnight’).
It’s an unusual balance of styles that sits uneasy with the current indie scene, although that perhaps, is the point. With the startling amount of po-faced, image-conscious art-rock flooding the scene at the moment, it’s somewhat refreshing to hear an indie artist taking influences from Al Green and Sly & the Family Stone, rather than the same stale, old post-punk references. That said, it’s still strangely unnerving to hear panpipes on the downright peculiar ‘You Get So Lucky’.

Unconventional seems to be the word, as Sixes & Sevens becomes a name the impression game: Take ‘Tropical Island’, a dreamy bit of melodic pop reminiscent of Elvis’ Hawaii moments. ‘That Sounds Like a Pony’ meanwhile, with it’s short duration and syncopated jazz drums is lifted straight from Minutemen. Yet with that stupid singing voice and dark, but tongue-in-cheek lyrics littering the album, it’s a mental battle to stop yourself thinking that Adam Green isn’t… well, taking the piss a bit.
But that’s not to write off the album, when he forgets his lounge-singer pretentions and narrows the focus there are some genuinely charming moments here, with tender ditty’s like ‘It’s a Fine’ or the gloriously delicate melodics of ‘When a Pretty Face’.

For all those moments though, the biggest sticking point remains: Adam Green really can’t sing. Hardly a revelation, and something that injects an earnest bitter edge into his anti-folk material, but the moment he starts to think he’s Al Green; he might as well be on a cruise ship.
By: Dave Allen

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