Your Gateway to Music and More from a Christian Perspective
     Slow down as you approach the gate, and have your change ready....
SubscribeAbout UsFeaturesNewsReviewsMoviesConcert ReviewsTop 10ResourcesContact Us
 
Home
Subscribe
About Us
Features
News

Album Reviews
Movies
Concert Reviews

Top 10
Resources
Contact Us

 

 
Busywork
Artist: Jackson Jackson
Label: Independent Release (2001)
Length: 11 Tracks (38:23 minutes)

Growing up in Fremont, California, near San Francisco, Jackson Jackson's musical education began at an early stage.  At age six he inherited the remnants of his mother's record collection which included artists like Cream, Jimi Hendrix and Big Brother & the Holding Co.  After weaning himself on the acts above, along with classic '70s and '80s rock outfits like Led Zeppelin, KISS and the Police, Jackson eventually paired up with the members of the Bay Area band Shindig during the '90s.  The group garnered a spot among the top 24 unsigned bands in the Bay Area by BAM Magazine and netted a track on the magazine's 1995 compilation disc.   After releasing four cassettes of cover songs and original material and a Best of CD, the band called it quits .  For the next several years, Jackson did session work and played in cover bands before beginning work on his solo debut.  The album, Three, was released under the name Rover in early 2000.  Jackson released his follow-up effort, Busywork, under his own name in late summer of 2001.

Given that Jackson's association with music is such a longstanding one, it is hardly surprising that Busywork visits a host of points along the musical map.  "Gravity" and "At the Back Door" pitch Jackson's earthy, soulful voice against acoustically-driven modern rock textures, adding in elements of psychedelia and riff-driven arena rock.  The loping, semi-detached guitar textures and laid back vocal stylings of "Brother," on the other hand, are more the stuff of late night jazz clubs than rock stadiums.  "Sleepwalking" augments the jazz groove of "Brother" with traces of folk and electronica, while "Wrecking Ball" lifts its wah-wah guitars straight out of the mid-'70s disco movement.  On the more subdued end of the spectrum, the album-closing ballad "Letter to a Friend" rides a slow, heartfelt groove.  And the best-of-album "Middle Management" features a delicate and austere character that belies its exceptionally profound message.

At first glance, a good portion of the album's lyrics may come across as somewhat obscure.  But a closer inspection reveals a subtle depth and an often unsettling insight into human behavior that aren't immediately obvious to the casual observer.  Indeed, even at their most oblique, Jackson's lyrics still possess a witty, often incisive, character about them. "Brother" transforms the Clement Moore classic, "The Night before Christmas," into a modern-day account of familial intervention.  "Middle Management" is a similarly clever parlaying of the commonplace icons of nine to five office work into the larger themes of enslavement and freedom.  And even when Jackson's topics are presented in a more or less straightforward manner, the results are still equally affecting.  The sparse, open wording of "Simple" (Sometimes it's all to much/ This life of one's and zero's/ And, love, I can hear it/ Through all of the noise somehow) conveys its gut-level sentiment in a decidedly compelling manner, while "Rescue" paints an equally heart-rending account of addiction and desperation. 

While any number of artists, indie and otherwise, spend their time merely mimicking their representative influences, Jackson is able to appropriate everything from the most obvious to the more subtle and intuitive aspects of his inspirations, stamping the proceedings with a musical and lyrical signature that are uniquely his own.  Indeed, Busywork is as out of the ordinary as it is imposing, displaying Jackson near the top of his game - at once vulnerable and detached; simultaneously offhand and profound - and truly at home amongst the music that he loves and grew up with.

Bert Gangl  12/18/2001


 
 

 

   
 Copyright © 1996 - 2002 The Phantom Tollbooth