New Music From Radiation City, Ebo Taylor
Radiation City
Coda
(Polyvinyl)
There are certainly far worse misfortunes in the grand scheme of things, but it’s always a bummer to discover that a band that you admire has broken up—in this writer’s case, by unexpectedly coming across a YouTube concert video that is labeled “Last Show Ever.”
The band is Radiation City from Portland, Ore., and the break-up is particularly stinging because its final album from 2016, Synesthetica, was its finest effort and one that was obviously sweated-over; in a better world, it would’ve been a cross-over hit and ticket out of the “indie ghetto,” but the harsh reality is that the cream rarely rises to the top.
Formed around nine years ago by the core duo of Elisabeth Ellison and Cameron Spies, Radiation City was a slyly eclectic pop band with a certain elegance and nostalgia, mixing organic and electronic instrumentation; it had a warm soul, which was refreshing among detached indie peers and could use synthetic elements in a humanly manner, if that makes any sense.
Although the group’s break-up happened in late 2016, there’s a new, surprise final release—a digital EP titled Coda comprised of tracks that were incomplete at the time of the disbanding and finally mixed down.
As a document of closure, it can’t help but be bittersweet, and its finest moments tease the listener regarding the heights it could’ve reached. The gentle bounce of “Dirty Looks” entices with lush layers and a hard-to-place exoticism, punctuated with short, glitchy moments, including occasional vocals that ricochet between the right and left channels; also excellent is “Ghost Organ,” with its pop guitar stabs and hearty beat, bringing to mind mid-’60s girl-group pop tenderness and harmonizing.
“Cartoon Love” mixes slinky soul with new-wavey synths, while “Song 6” starts with an epic arena-rock style before opening up with space, giving way to its emotional maelstrom and peak volume.
While this final EP is fittingly titled Coda, its closing track is enigmatically named “The Middle”; one could see Radiation City’s breakup as a transition, as Ellison settles both into her new musical outlet Cardioid and her new homebase of Los Angeles.
She sings “I’m coming up into your house, and it’s a shame it’s not the same” as the track slithers out not with defiance but with perception and acceptance.
Ebo Taylor
Yen Ara
(Mr. Bongo)
Ebo Taylor will bury us all—the Ghanaian legend, now 82 years old, has been musically active since the ‘50s, most prominently playing highlife and Afrobeat, and with his vital, movement-inducing new album Yen Ara, there are no signs of him slowing down.
His most notable groups include the Black Star Highlife Band, Ghana Black Star Band and Uhuru Dance Band, and he collaborated with the likes of Fela Kuti and others while living in London.
In the ‘70s he was involved with the Apagya Show Band and played with highlife notable C.K. Mann, and more recently, his work has regained interest partially due to contemporary hip-hop artists sampling it.
Rhythmically, Yen Ara feels like it is unstoppable, bursting with energy and being both jittery yet absolutely tight, with each instrument occupying its own place as carefully assembled as an orchestra or a jigsaw puzzle.
Taylor’s charged singing uses simple, direct lyrics with an undeniable enthusiasm, and the album has a subtle modern sheen—most notably, with occasional echo effects—that sets it apart from vintage recordings but isn’t distractingly pandering to current audiences.
“Poverty No Good” wastes no time in getting things fired up, with its audacious horns, swift drumming and hand-struck percussion that are getting the bejesus beaten out of them. Taylor has explained that “Mumudey Mumudey” revisits an old song originally covered by the Apagya Show Band, using a story of the Fante people about a sharp-dressed little person, and it uses relentless call-and-response exchanges that push the listener.
Both that track and “Abenkwan Puchaa,” which features a furious disco-esque backbone, have powerful trombone solos that are standout performances on the album, and throughout the album, there are low-key psychedelic touches, like the wah guitar on “Ankoma’m.”
Keeping things sounding fresh after over six decades in the business is a minor miracle, but Yen Ara has the proof that Ebo Taylor can do it.