|
|
|
Paul Michel
|
Quiet State Of Panic
Stunning Models On Display
Release: October 10, 2006
  |
|
Rated:
Review by:
Gisele Grignon
|
|
|
Whenever I struggle with how I sincerely feel about an artist's
latest efforts, I put the CD to the Dishes Test. Here's how it
works: If by the end of washing a medium sized load of dishes I
find myself frantically searching for delinquent dishes under the
couch, by the bed, even half-heartedly peaking from under the
car seat, in the driveway, all in order to hear the entire CD, or
better still, to hear it again, I know the CD deserves a genuine,
deliberate listen. If I start dirtying dishes just to prolong the
listening experience, then the CD passes the Dishes Test with
sparkling success (and look Madge! My hands are dishwater soft
too!) (And yes, we did have a dishwasher - but like the two
before her, she moved out on her own too.)
All of which is kind of surprising (to me, let alone Madge, I'm
sure) if you consider this bubble-buster: Originally, I was ready
to toss in the towel on Michel's effort, even before the second
cut began. On that first listen-through that almost wasn't, I
thought I'd go through the roof if PM didn't STOP REPEATING
THAT PLAINTIVE LAST PHRASE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!! Okay, now I
can admit it. I don't know what all my fuss was about. When I
replayed that first cut, I not only didn't mind that final phrase, it
had actually kind of grown on me. Honest. Ah, the power of
forgiveness and second-chances...and double-rinsing. Had I not
given Paul Michel that much deserved second chance, I'd have
missed out on an entirely unique, versatile, captivating and
simply enchanting experience.
Midway through Quiet State of Panic, I'd checked
out of the Suds and Supper Dishes World and taken up
permanent residence, if not in the world, then at least the era,
of black lights, free love, beaded room dividers, bohemian
brownies and bandanas.
Here's how I got there: By the third cut, I'd made up my mind
that the artist Michel most reminded me of is Rufus Wainwright.
Michel's voice, however is a less fluttery, more grounded version
of the 21st century Troubadour brand, and every bit as inviting
an artist as Wainwright. Perhaps even more so - like Michel
himself addressed the invitation to each and every listener,
welcoming them into his world, and "yes, by all means, take the
big comfy chair, and put your weary tootsies up and allow
yourself to soak up the lyrical and literal atmosphere in my
customized paradise."
Which is to say, you don't check OUT Quiet State of
Panicso much as you check INTO it.
And though Wainwright is an apt (in my sudsy opinion)
comparison to Michel, it is by no means an exclusive one. Here I
should admit that I'm about half way through a hefty and
exquisite Beatles biography (Can't Buy Me Love,
Jonathan Gould), that's transporting me to that rich and rocky
Beat music era. And so it's kind of inevitable that whatever I
listen to for the next bit at least, is being experienced through
the Beatles' filter. Could have been worse. Could have been
reading the life and times of Box Car Willie. Point being, when
weighing Michel's work against legendary icons, Michel in
general and Quiet State of Panicin particular, can
without too much stretching, be expected to hold its own.
Described in his promo copy as a "little bit of everything-Brit
pop, prog-rock, muted R&B, pure rock and acoustic country,"
Michel is all of that and then some. But stripped of the
ampersands, commas and hyphens, Paul Michel's talents are
allowed to effortlessly float to the top, leaving the drudgery of
everyday sameness behind, allowing you to soak up Quiet
State of Panic. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
