Since the mid-‘90s Roddy Frame, the Scotsman most renowned as the leader of ‘80s indie pop mainstays Aztec Camera, has chosen to issue recordings under his own name. On August 19th, after a break of eight years, his latest effort Seven Dials hits the US through AED Records on multiple formats including 180gm vinyl housed in a gatefold sleeve with CD version and a bonus six-track live disc thrown into the bargain. Lacking in rust as the good decisions far outweigh the questionable, it finds Frame exploring his comfort zone with composed assurance.
Working greatly in Roddy Frame’s favor across the ten selections comprising Seven Dials is a seeming lack of anxiety regarding the trajectory of his post-Aztec Camera career. To be sure, Frame’s rep as a classicist has survived unperturbed over the years, with the pop auteur’s albums arriving infrequently and minus any straining stabs at the cutting-edge.
To the contrary, the first release offered as Roddy Frame, ’98’s North Star, revealed him doing little differently from the contents of the six record stretch documenting Aztec Camera’s existence, and 2002’s follow-up Surf, in a coincidental but fitting contrast to the clamorous musical decade that preceded it (an epoch largely at odds with Frame’s approach), scaled the setting down to just voice and unamplified guitar.
Seven Dials begins likewise, but before a minute’s elapsed “White Pony” blooms to full life through Mark Edwards’ sturdy piano and the precise but tastefully vibrant drumming of Adrian Meehan, the players complimenting Frame’s expert bass and electric guitar soloing. While somewhat formulaic in thrust, it’s still an acceptable start, though the depth of reflective pondering located in Frame’s lyrics does set a tone of rumination that’s additionally worrisome.
And the second cut’s sporting of the title “Postcard” could easily lead folks to believe Seven Dials is predominantly a lengthy middle-aged amble along recollection avenue; that it directly references the solo found in the opening track of Aztec Camera’s recently reissued High Land, Hard Rain definitely reinforces this, but as a piece of self-homage it playfully lightens the mood.
Frame pulls off this surprising twist by doffing the cap to Buck/Nicks-era Fleetwood Mac, both through the crisp ‘70s soft rock vibe and also briefly in the words. Altogether it supplies a nice counterbalance to the more traditionally Aztec Camera-like “Into the Sun,” that tune dressing up the vocals and hollow-body strum (Frame’s reliable core) with chiming notes, peals of distortion, a lively pop-metronome, and accents of keyboards.
It’s a solid song that further emphasizes the writer’s cognizance of his artistic strengths as well as his disinclination to divert very far from the modes that established him. A smart tactic, especially since he hasn’t really succumbed to playing it too safe; as the gracefully samba-inflected “Rear View Mirror” nicely embodies ambiance familiar from those ‘80s days, the writing displays structural flourishes that are very impressive.
I’ll add that the production, co-credited to Sebastian Lewsley and Frame (the album was cut at West Heath Yard, the studio of AED Records’ owner and fellow Scots indie pop lynchpin Edwyn Collins), remains squarely in a well-defined template, specifically an instrumental milieu that’s equal parts florid and economical. Others would’ve likely fallen victim to the urge to gussy-up the emotionalism of “In Orbit” with a dime-a-dozen string section and maybe even horns, but the focus here is placed on a gradual increase in forcefulness and the rather subtly introduced strains of organ.
The avoidance of the oversell keeps the abrupt ending securely away from triteness and it closes side one on a high note. The organ sticks around to play a significant role on the flip’s “Forty Days of Rain,” an uptempo cut with stanzas lending portraiture to growth through struggle, though it starts out with spirited harmonica and employs understated accordion towards the end.
“English Garden” smartly reduces the pace and provides Seven Dials with one of its strongest numbers, the track suggestive of but not dominated by an air of melancholy as Meehan’s brushwork delivers a jazzy touch. And then another deftly handled late-song shift brings it to a terrific, unexpected conclusion.
The brisker “On the Waves” signals a return to the ‘70’s soft-rock sector, though Frame’s confident croon and the trim backing manages to eschew the flagrantly retro. It’s followed by a shift into more stripped-down territory, “The Other Side” slowly building in emotion until its guitar solo openly tangles with grandiosity and obviousness (essentially the return of the opener’s dalliance with formula). “From a Train” scales things back for good however, and shows off Frame’s considerable abilities as a fingerpicker. Like “In Orbit” on side one, it presents the LP with a superb finish.
As can hopefully be gathered from the survey unfurled above, Seven Dials is on occasion highly reminiscent of Frame’s more lauded prior activity, but after time spent a less obvious comparison entered my mind, namely that of Three Chords Good, Graham Parker and the Rumour’s quite enjoyable disc from 2012.
Clearly there are differences; for starters, the Parker slab’s a reunion with the band that supported his finest work while Seven Dials continues to highlight Frame’s status as a multi-tasking pop-technician, but the similarity that strikes me most relates to each record unfolding without a hint of desperation as the tunes underscore the strong suits of the pair.
Not to infer that it’s a contest, but of the two Seven Dials holds a slight overall edge on Three Chords Good, in part because the songwriting is more consistent, though it also comes down to the qualities of voice. Succinctly put, Frame’s a joy to hear at this later stage, so much in fact that it can be tempting to evaluate his newest stuff as standing on equal footing with his greatest past achievements.
Just as concisely, it doesn’t, but it’s not short by a wide margin either, and upon deeper inspection Seven Dials does rank as his best LP since Surf. The tunes here and that voice demonstrate how the owner of both, a singer-writer defined from the outset of his career (and some might fairly argue burdened thereafter) by an aura of maturity, has landed firmly in his niche; it’s 2014, and Frame’s ambitions and life’s reality have synched up with apparent ease.
The recurring hope with veteran (i.e. aged) musicians is that they will choose to unplug the cord before serving up an unfulfilling finale or even erring into downright embarrassing regions, but as should be plain by now this applies differently to Roddy Frame than it does to some disheveled, sweaty, emaciated rocker. The outcome of his new one was far from inevitable of course, and a few small gestures keep it from attaining top marks, but it’s hard to imagine Seven Dials unwinding more naturally.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
