GHOSTS
Mark Geary
Former Dubliner Mark Geary makes his home in that part of Ireland known as New York -- a place where brogues are spoken, pubs are frequented and the Irish Echo reports the soccer scores from an office on East 47th Street. So-called stereotypes amount to practice here. So it's not out of line to use another timeworn term -- indomitable spirit -- to characterize what keeps Geary's second album, "Ghosts," from falling into the cliche trap suggested by its title.
"Ghosts" builds its success on diverse rhythms, sparkling instrumentation and compelling vocals. Geary has one of those whispery voices that evokes Nick Drake comparisons, but here it's as if someone's put a gun to his head and demanded, "Let it out!" Fellow low-talker and Signature Sounds label mate Josh Ritter guests on the title track, but his music is evoked more by "Mid-Nite Sun," a broody little country number that reveals "Your baby's got a wandering eye." The best of the quieter songs is "You're the Only Girl," which, with quavering vocals and electric guitar that manages to sound like an ambling banjo, sounds very lonely: "You're the only girl for me in this town."
It's the more extroverted songs that use Geary's gifts to their best advantage. On the exuberant "Fanfare," Geary almost brings himself to a sneer -- "How come you said it'd be easy / Leaving me here on my own?" -- but his voice breaks on a high note on the delicate bridge. "A Prayer for St. Rita," which warns, "Don't fall in love with ghosts," brims with lively spirit -- not just the expected jangly strings, but also some funky synthesizer buzzes and warbles. "I'm afraid of ghosts," sings Geary, but he couldn't sound more confident.
-- Pamela Murray Winters
Mark Geary will perform on Feb. 27 at the Black Cat.
OCTANE
Spock's Beard
Given the commercial longevity of Pink Floyd, Rush and even Yes, one might expect classic prog-rock fans to gravitate toward a modern band pumping out similarly grandiose sounds. But nothing makes sense about Spock's Beard:
Vulcan Starfleet officers don't wear facial hair (except, as Trekkies remember, in an evil alternate universe), and mainstream consumers don't line up for Spock's Beard albums.
But if "Dark Side of the Moon" and a room filled with black-light posters is your idea of a blissful Saturday night, you need this CD. Powered by shamelessly retroactive creative fuel, "Octane" sounds excellent (play it through your stereo's surround system). Songs are supercharged by artsy, not-so-subtle nuances ranging from brief theremin and generous Mellotron to symphonic flourishes ("Letting Go") and ominous guitar jams ("NWC"). Soft moments are dabbed with the familiar, comforting scent of aged pomp-rock cheese -- the finishing touch to a standout lava-lamp listening experience.
It's a shock from Spock. When the Los Angeles group's vocalist and primary songwriter bailed in 2002, implosion seemed imminent. But drummer Nick D'Virgilio stepped up, à la Phil Collins in Genesis. On his second disc as frontman, D'Virgilio (who also drums for Tears for Fears) exudes a settled-in confidence. He injects vulnerability into "I Wouldn't Let It Go," then switches gears and swaggers on the double-clutching, Led Zeppelinesque "Surfing Down the Avalanche" -- both part of the album's first half, a seven-song melodrama about a traffic-accident victim whose life flashes before him. Like, welcome to prog.
Despite such affectations, Spock's Beard's eighth CD signals an accessible, hard-rocking new focus. Like a freshly emerged butterfly, this veteran quartet sounds like it's just beginning its heady journey.
