If you find yourself longing for the days of pompadours, poodle skirts and Elvis’ signature pelvic thrusts,Imelda May has got you covered. The Irish singer/songwriter recently released her fourth album on Sept. 23. “Tribal” is an unabashed homage to rockabilly; She has kept up with her reputation of updating the classic '50s sound with a punk-rock edge. Somewhat predictably, the new album is a continuation of her previous release, “Mayhem” (2010). While her songs are certainly catchy, they feel repetitive -- maybe even clichéd -- upon further listens.
However, May’s boisterous attitude and unrelenting energy make up for what her album lacks. “Tribal” may not be the most creative album of the year, but it’s fun, not to mention dance-worthy, leaving movers and shakers with far more interesting options than standard club-beat pop music. Furthermore, guitarist Darrel Higham -- May's husband -- cultivates a curious, nasty tone during his vocal performances on the album, giving May’s songs some much-needed spice.
The record starts out strong with the title track, but the true winner is up second. “Wild Woman,” perhaps a cheeky reference to Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Wild One”(1974), features a driving drumbeat and bluesy guitar fills. During the solo section, the listener might forget that she’s listening to a rockabilly album. As Higham plays with the angsty speed of a true punk rocker, May’s powerful vocals perfectly deliver this memorable number -- her snarls and stutters complement the ferocity of the lyrics. There’s a certain flare to the song that makes "Wild Woman" stand out, probably because May’s attitude on the track doesn’t seem forced or silly. Unlike some of the later songs, this one goes beyond mimicking typical retro chord progressions. Instead, it builds on them to create an interesting mix of genres.
“Little Pixie” is another highlight. Dousing the flames of the opening songs, it is an endearing ode to May’s daughter. A pleasant lullaby with charming lyrics, the best part of this track is its sincerity. May croons, “Her tiny hands, her little wrists / she'll clench your finger with her fist / Then grab your heart and steal that too / For that's what little pixies do.” It’s lovely to hear her voice soften, shedding its cocky, abrasive spirit. May remains tender throughout the tune, a choice befitting a mother's love for her daughter. The guitar solo is just as sweet as May's voice in this track, abandoning its harsh tones for an antique twang.
Unfortunately, these exciting tracks constitute an early peak for the album. None of the subsequent songs quite reach the bar set by the lively “Wild Woman” or the tender “Little Pixie.” Halfway through the record fizzles out into a set of tedious tunes that are too uniform to leave any lasting impression. While there’s certainly nothing wrong with any of the songs, they simply do nothing to warrant distinct praise. “Hellfire Club,” for instance, might be a good song on its own. However, in the context of "Tribal," the tune becomes an unnecessary repetition of the first couple of tracks. With the same dance hall drums and “edgy” lyrical content, they make the listener want to yell, “All right already!”
The three closing songs follow the same formulaic pattern, leaving only one other track to save the album. “Wicked Way” provides a change in pace, with smoky vocals and appropriately tribal-sounding rhythms. Once again, this song's deviance from the structure of a standard rockabilly tune makes it memorable. "Wicked Way" is sultry and sinuous, providing a break between a flood of upbeat numbers.
May should not be criticized for having her own style -- individuality is an important quality for a musician. But inevitably, artists who do not progress beyond their roots can become a bit boring. Clearly, May has the songwriting prowess to create some musically interesting pieces; if only she took a few steps outside her retro rock comfort zone, listeners would be able to handle more of her material all at once. As such, “Tribal” is a pretty enjoyable album -- as long as you can stand a bit of monotony.
