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Spencer Krug, known for his other group efforts, Sunset Rubdown and Wolf Parade among the many, also does solo work on his own under the moniker, Moonface. For a few years now, Krug has used this project for home-recorded experimentation, somehow creating even more tunes that don’t fit into any of his other works. On Julia With Blue Jeans On, Krug is stripped and simple, consisting of piano and vocals, and he lets his songwriting do the talking in this facet of his musical talent.
Opening the album is dark and sinister, “Barbarian,” if you are no stranger to Krug’s brilliant writing, then you’ll find yourself right at home in this slightly self deprecating opener. The piano is even, at first, and juxtaposes nicely with Krug’s deepset yelp of a voice that offers you the deepest of confessions. Though cryptic, the vocalist sings about being not only a “barbarian, but sometimes a lamb upon your altar,” bringing together these two contradicting ideas in the same line of the song. This song starts the record with a swirling wind of darkness with breaks of meandering piano that keep it from getting too dark too quickly, though I doubt that would be an entirely bad thing for Moonface.
Soon you’ll find that Julia With Blue Jeans On is simultaneously delicate and violent work: one moment in a song you’ll think you have found a reserved Krug, and the next he is banging away at the piano in angst. Take title track for example—sixth in the lineup, it hits you a little more than halfway through the whole album. Soft piano and half falsetto’ed vocals lead you through the number, slowly breaking to a whispered repeat of “Julia as beautiful and simple as the sun.” Though the track doesn’t end here and Krug brings things back in with almost manic sounding pressure on the keys, twisting to a sinister note, with the vocals rising to meet the intensity of the piano. The result is beautiful and tragic—possibly my favorite moment of the album.
In the end, you must take Julia With Blue Jeans On with a bit of a grain of salt. By that I don’t mean to discredit Mr. Krug in the slightest, by this mean to say that this album is very much just a man and his piano. There is nothing wrong with this, on the contrary it is enjoyable and emotive, but it’s only at certain moments that it means a lot more—the culmination of songwriter and his instrument combine to create something special and magical.
Man, everyone is getting re-released these days, which is actually quite alright with me, as this latest re-release is sort of dear to my heart. My favorite time period is probably the late 70s NYC, or Lawrence in the late 90, but will stick with the former for now. The Student Teachers were one of those underground acts that I only heard about; I knew I’d probably like them considering all the bands they’d played with, and that one of Blondie’s members helped record their stuff. While I’m harping on this whole NYC punk bent, you’ve got to hear the single they’ve re-released to get you acquainted with their music. It’s definitely not punk, though there’s still that outsider affinity. Seems like a natural bridge between Bowie and NY…to me anyways. So, if you like what you hear, you can grab the Invitation to The Student Teachers from Nacional Records.
