The Castanets In The Vines
The CD is in the disc drive and I click on play. As In The Vines begins to play, I'm transported to a very different place a long way away. I've entered a stale and sweaty smoke- filled bar with neon lighting. The town is somewhere between nowhere and hell and as I meander through a crowd of misfits I can hear the melancholic murmurings of Ray Raposa. The songs on this album feel like they could be the ones which are playing in movies scenes set in mid-western truck town bars.
Ray Raposa is essentially The Castanets. When touring the Castanet community does form with friends and colleagues lending a hand to a man who is well regarded in certain less publicised music circles.
To anyone who has listened to the album it will not surprise them to learn that following a long gestation period the record was rubber-stamped after a terrible year for Raposa which ended with his mugging at the hands of three masked robbers outside his Brooklyn home.
The album reeks of depression and hopeless reflection. It ambles along with apathy while the vocals feel almost forced. This all works to its advantage though. There is nothing wrong with a record that ashamedly seeks to express depression; such albums only ever fail when they lack the sincerity to make the feelings believable. This cannot be said about In The Vines with Raposa's pain being explicit and quite tangible.
In terms of negatives, there is a thin line between experimental and pretentious, a tightrope which some bands nauseatingly reside on. There are tracks that do balance precariously on said line such as the opening track Rain Will Come. The song progresses nicely with a strum and a swinging tempo and we are first introduced to Raposa's whiskey-torn vocals. Half way through, a bomb is dropped in the form of what can only be described as interference. An ungodly screeching and scratching that does nothing but offend the ears and causes you to wince like an old geezer straining at 'this new fangled rap malarkey'.
Perhaps there is a bold metaphor or artistic motive the inclusion of this effect, whatever it is it eluded me. I can only describe it as unnecessary and gratuitous. Especially given that it persists for all of two and a half minutes.
Besides this the record is recognisable folky with a series of modern twists. There's a tribal drumbeat on Strong Animal and the drum machine on the final track comes out of the blue and is oddly reminiscent of The Streets. All these innovations add to the album to provide us with a tremendous mix of sombre songs, sincere vocals and all superbly produced.