There's nothing wrong with Kero Kero Bonito's sound and style. I can enjoy some fluffy twee-bop now and then. The problem is that the songs on this album are almost uniformly mediocre. Most of them sound like tossed-off throwaways with perfunctory melodies that immediately fade from memory once they're over.
KKB might have a great album in them eventually, but they're gonna have to step up their songwriting game considerably to get there. Until then, their undeserved hype seems to be due to little more than the Caucasian hipster's ever-growing obsession with all things Japanese.
This Album is Squaresville, Daddy-O. Imagine if you took a pre-pube Frankie Avalon, gave him a head cold, multiplied him by two, and then sicced the less-than-dynamic duo on a bunch of songs about cities (as if no one had ever thought of that tired concept before). Berry and Torrence's singing style is so nasally and whitebread it makes Mike Love sound like Howlin' Wolf. And they manage to out PatBoonify Pat Boone on stiff-as-a-surfboard desecrations of Chuck Berry, Bobby Bare, and Wilbert Harrison tunes.
Not everything these guys did was bad. They had a handful of decent singles, and Save for a Rainy Day was a mildly interesting foray into Baroque Pop. But if you even know who Jan & Dean are, then you already know the Brian Wilson-penned #1 hit that leads off this album. So you can safely give the rest of this crap a wide berth.
Laura Nyro was one of those rare and singular talents that comes along once in a lifetime, if you're lucky. In her original music, the disparate sounds of Soul, Jazz, Folk-Rock, Doo-Wop, Broadway, and Brill Building Pop coalesced into something that was magically hers alone. Her wild and untrained 3-octave mezzo-soprano, while powerfully expressive, was not to everybody's taste. So it's no surprise that so many of her songs became hits when covered by other performers, but never for herself. ("Stoned Soul Picnic", "And When I Die", "Wedding Bell Blues", "Stoney End", etc.)
One of the first things you notice about Nyro's music is how much she was a product of her surroundings. New York City exudes from every musical pore in her body. While I've never called New York my home, I've had the pleasure (and pain) of spending time in all five boroughs at various points in my life. And nothing takes me back there like Nyro. When listening to her now, I'm reminded of the streets I walked down, the sights I saw, and the people I met throughout New York. And I imagine what it must have been like to have grown up in her time and place.
All of Nyro's albums are worth hearing. But for my money, this one is her masterpiece. Simultaneously both intimately personal and grandly ambitious, it's a roller-coaster ride deep into her then 21 year-old psyche. And during those several occasions when her voice cracks, you can feel your own heart breaking right along with it. Haunting, arresting, deeply human, and flawless in it's flaws. If New York Tendaberry catches you in a particularly vulnerable moment, it just might leave you weeping.
