Ponderosa (Europe) / Northern Spy (USA)
A culmination of a thirteen-year itch to get back to business, Cuidado Madame cuts into some of the sweetness of previous outings to revel in skittish twists of modernity. Percussive off-centres pivoting round the African rhythms of candomblé and the taut recoil of the Afro-Brazilian hand drum, the atabaque, a ubiquitous (sometimes brittle) machine-fed perkiness falling through sparking guitar, gliding organ and stabby mottlings of piano. Arto Lindsay‘s distinctive lover-man smooch is always at its core, molten with oddball sensuality and slanted references that circle your skull with the wishfully glow of warmer climes.
Cuidado Madame is a rewarding listen, digitally scribbled and samba swirling.
Easy listening inclinations are mithered by tasty obliques and whirring undercuts. The pattering Tupperware and keytoned counter-attacks sometimes finding a curious
Liberace glimmer, even a touch of
Ambitious Lovers‘ slap-badassery.
Its ruffled contours bowl you over; then Arto lets his guitar rip and it’s a savage breath of fresh air, asphyxiating in
grasps of amputated vocals that straddle a fine line between orgasmic and disturbing. A brilliant manoeuvre that lets a little more chaos into the mix; “Uncrossed”‘s prickly pears of processing noisily mingling with those loose jivers of fret. “Unpair”‘s tight tribal wares and gliding Hammond smashed into a surprise mangle of guitar and barmy ballroom incidentals, leaving “Pele De Perto” to
Gainsbourg your senses with a little Russian crooning to a gentle tip-toe from the old Joanna.
Another high point from Arto and company that does more than serenade sweetly in your ear.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
A culmination of a thirteen-year itch to get back to business, Cuidado Madame cuts into some of the sweetness of previous outings to revel in skittish twists of modernity. Percussive off-centres pivoting round the African rhythms of candomblé and the taut recoil of the Afro-Brazilian hand drum, the atabaque, a ubiquitous (sometimes brittle) machine-fed perkiness falling through sparking guitar, gliding organ and stabby mottlings of piano. Arto Lindsay‘s distinctive lover-man smooch is always at its core, molten with oddball sensuality and slanted references that circle your skull with the wishfully glow of warmer climes.
