I thank Anna from Sweden.

I don’t have much Swedish contact yet, but I am well aware of how friendly Swedish audiences have been to American music that isn’t commercially popular in the States (going all the way back to the great jazz artists like Roland Kirk.) I love Swedish film–Ingmar Bergman, Max Von Sydow, Liv Ullman, Girl with the Dragon Tatoo…

Andrew says: “Villain” is hands down among the top 10 releases of 2011.”

Villain has been reviewed more than any I’ve released so far. Most of the reviews are kind, some glowing. None, so far, are blanket pannings. But I am truly glad that Andrew likes it, because he’s one of the few critics who pays deep attention to the story-writing. Most critics talk about the “sound.” They refer to content only in passing. And this, in some way, tips off the lack of time and attention lent to the material. For my part, it takes me a lot of listens before I’m ready to talk about what’s really going on in a record. There are countless albums that I initially felt as bland, pedestrian, even boring. Only to discover much later that they are understated, economical, deceptively profound, if not sublime. On the other hand, I’ve absolutely drooled over stuff I thought was imaginative and intense. Only to realize later that these qualities lay merely on the surface of the “sound,” leaving me, in the long run, cold and indifferent to something ultimately contrived, posed and manipulative. (I will not name names, because I hate to hear myself disparage any fellow artist. But I will say I donate a lot of CD’s to Goodwill, made by hugely famous cutting edge bands.)

I want to say this about Andrew’s music journalism: Even if he hadn’t liked the album, he “gets it.” He interprets every song correctly. (And he covers each and every one of them. Only one other reviewer I know does that: Wildy from Wildy’s World.)

My favorite of Andrew’s descriptions is when he says I have “never been more unrestrained.” This is precisely what I have been working on for many years now. To find honesty instead of artistry (or perhaps “contrivance” if I’m going to be harsh on myself) without sacrificing craft.

It’s a fine thing to wax poetic and clever about any number of deep thoughts. But what really works is getting down to telling it like a real human being.

Andrew, you’ve made me feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. Thanks.

Allow me to delve further into the difference between one reviewer and the next. (They criticize us. Why can’t we criticize them.) In my opening song, “Lion,” the main character is beset by doubts, plagued with insecurity and defensiveness about her chosen path. She laments: “Everyone’s a critic/but I’m the one who did it/So why don’t they all just get out of the way.”

Here is how reviewer #1 responded: “Well, I would be happy to get out of the way, but your label sent this my way for a review, so here goes.”

Here is how reviewer #2 (Wildy) responded: “Villain opens with “Lion”, an interesting reflection on culpability, responsibility and choices…”

The relationship that Reviewer #1 wants to talk about is the least interesting relationship: between me-the-author and him-the-reviewer. (Or maybe me-the-author and the state-of-the-biz, or me-the-author and whatever fans I’m trying to woo.) Boring, boring, boring.

Wildy takes for granted that a story is being told. He wants to talk about the relationships in the stories. He shows an interest in what might motivate my character to say the things she says. (Meanwhile, there’s nothing in the song to indicate that my character is a singer/songwriter? For the record, she is not me; the song is not autobiographical.) Wildy, as a fine journalist, allows his imagination to take a ride as he listens, before he sets his pen in motion. He doesn’t inject himself or his cleverness into the review.

Typically, reviewer #1 goes on to say pretty much nothing–in the form of lazy genre descriptions like: “This is singer-songwriter material, slickly recorded with nice production and arrangements with many instruments including strings.” And; “There are some country styles and classic light rock songs.” He also wastes column space to talk about how difficult it was to find info on the film I mention in my press kit. Now, don’t get me wrong. This fellow’s review was actually pretty kind. “Smart and interesting,” he said of me. And he called “Some Hidden Things” an excellent song. So I am grateful for that.

But frankly, he says nothing about the experience one might have while listening to my album. His review reveals much more about himself than the work on Villain.

I may sound like I take this personally. And yes, I do, somewhat. But not merely out of defensiveness and insecurity. We artists value reviewers and critics. More than that, we depend on them. And they depend on us. The hard work it takes to create a listenable eleven song record is quite a match for the hard work of journalists to create valuable, readable content, vainly describing the multitude of CD’s that sit stacked on their desks. We deserve better than to have them toss it off their wrists.

Allow me to put it another way: A bad review from #1 would have pissed me off and caused weeks of sleepless nights. A bad review from Wildy would have had me back in my rehearsal space addressing my flaws. (And believe me, a couple thoughtful reviews already having me putting on my thinking cap.)

Recently, a new online friend from Italy posted a review of Villain on his blog: Resto in Ascolto. Admittedly, I already know I’m in friendly territory here, ’cause we’ve communicated back and forth by personal e-mail, and he has said some nice things. But I am fascinated by the whole idea of language, dying to know how he describes my music to his fellow countrymen.

First, I scan the review in the original language, trying to decipher as best I can. (I took French for 5 years, and studied Old English, so there are some European words whose meaning I can guesstimate. I enjoy this linguistic exercise.) So far, I see the phrase “album dell’anno.” If this means “album of the year,” I’m going to faint. And when I wake up, I’m sending him flowers.

As I comb through the remaining text, I realize that Italian is not as “guessable” as other European languages. So I look for certain English references. I see “Salvador Dali,” which must be a reference to the cover photo. (That’s pretty cool. Considering that Italians don’t remember Snidely Whiplash, Salvador Dali, as an Italian alternative, is exactly the kind of villainous fellow who might steal your girl, as my title cut tells.)

Reading further, I see references to Wilco, Tweedy, T-Bone Burnett, and Decembrists! (That can only be good.)

I let those first vague impressions steep for a day or two before I break down and type the entire content of the review into one of the available online translators. (Babelfish, Yahoo, Google, etc.)

Invariably, online translations come up jibberish, showing absolutely no respect for the nuances and elegant idiosyncracies of different languages. But they at least bring me closer to knowing whether I get a thumbs up or a thumbs down.

Finally, I seek out a friend who speaks the language at hand, who, at last, gives me a sensible reliable translation. (Usually, these reviews are pretty good. Because Europeans don’t seem to waste a lot of time covering stuff they don’t care about… Imagine that!)

So, with optimism for this review I type it into Babelfish. Lo and behold! The translator doesn’t even come close to making sense! But there are some terrific phrases in here that I would love to make song lyrics out of: “I become unbalanced myself.” “Farewell my opinion.” “…other small caskets to open.” “In the next life, the skirt drinks bad.” (I think this is the translator machine attempting to translate my on lyric which reads, “In my next life, I’m gonna be bad.”) There are more, apparently positive, translations of my Italian friend’s generous word: “Big fine disk, in definitive, of those that my organism appreciates more with the to pass some years, what musical nourishment essential.” But then, at the very last, the translator implores the cosmos with a desperate existential demand: “Me it want to do of it a fault?” The only possible answer, of course, is: “The I triumph some feeling on the reason. Good listening.”

I just love playing with the translator.

But if there’s an Italian speaking friend out there who can bring me and my friend Gianni into mutual comprehension, please step forward.

“If you are hankering for mid-period Elvis Costello with a fresh lick of paint then ‘Villain’ is the album for you… his brittle voice delivers cutting asides as astutely as Costello in his prime. Yet, like Costello, he can sound vulnerable and desperate the next moment.”

(Click above for the entire review.)

“…you will undoubtedly fall into the velvet embrace of John Shipe’s Villain… lush collection of highly descriptive tales of love and woe… There will be undoubted debate about which effort truly stands out.
‘Love Belong to Everyone’ is a warm, luxurious effort… The bouncy ‘Another Disaster’ and wrenching “No Use Crying Over a Spilt Life” make a tremendous one-two combination… John Hiatt and Jeff Buckley fans will instantly gravitate to this, particularly the witty and intelligent lyrical play of ‘What Right Do We Have to Fall in Love?’ and the powerful piano ballad ‘Dead Kite’. …atmospherically beautiful and harmonically sensual; a rich combination of musical dexterity and lyrical erudition. This is a striking record worthy of immediate attention.”

Click here for entire review.

Thanks Rich. Means a lot coming from such a fine music writer.

Two things stand out which please me: First, he cites the pop/rock song “Promises” as one of the better songs on the CD. Other reviews either ignored it, or mentioned it in passing as “stylistic meandering” that veers away from the tidy semi-acoustic stuff on the rest of CD.

Second, he describes the writing as “naive and innocent.” This sounds like a slight, but I think he meant it in a good way. Plus, I think of such naivete as kind of a writer’s victory. I had been honing the writer’s skill of making a distinction between author and the character who is speaking. Previously, some Shipe tunes would be saturated with too much awareness. I wanted the Yellow House characters to speak from specific points-of-view, limited to the experiences portrayed in each song, while broader and deeper meanings would go un-said. In other words: more story-telling, and less poetic, emotional philosophizing (Not to mention all the dark cynical impulses that accompany all that agonized deep-thinking.)

The paradox is just how much work it takes to become so “naive and innocent.” (In the same way that Picasso spent 60 years learning how to paint like a child.)