Brood --- My Friend the Chocolate Cake --- 1994 (Liberation Music)
I've said it before and, guess what? I'll say it again: sometimes the only thing to attract me to a new artiste is the name, either of the band or the album, or sometimes both. This is one I just came across yesterday, and had to check out. With a name like “My Friend the Chocolate Cake” it just had to be worth delving into! Turns out it's not such an obscure album after all, winning the Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA) Award for Best Contemporary Album, 1995. So it's well known and appreciated, at least Down Under.
But who, or what, is or are My Friend the Chocolate Cake? Well, it seems they're a duo, based out of Melbourne, consisting of David Bridie and Helen Mountfort. Both were part of another Australian combo called Not Drowning, Waving, but started this as a side-project, continuing on after the original band had split. Their music is characterised by mostly acoustic pop with folk tinges, as well as elements of chamber music and other influences like Celtic traditional sounds. Bridie is the main songwriter, takes the lead vocal and also plays the piano, while Mountfort is a cellist, and leads the
in situ string ensemble that always plays on their albums. To date, the band have released seven studio albums, their last being 2011's “Fiasco”. This is their second album, and was re-released, along with most of their catalogue, in 2005.
It starts, quite beautifully, on slow cello and strings with soft choral vocals as “Dance (You stupid monster to my soft song)”, already a candidate for strange track title of the album, flows out of the speakers and into your ears. Some lovely piano joins in and it's clear this is going to be an instrumental, as it proves to be. And a short track to open, just over two and a half minutes. Ambient folk music? You'd not be too far wrong, to be honest. In contrast, “I've got a plan” recalls the best of Deacon Blue, with a laidback poppy number, a soft drumbeat carrying the piano and a little further in, viola, cello and violins, David Bridie's voice calming and soothing but with a slightly ragged edge that gives you the idea he can let loose when he wants to. A lot of emotion in this, and then we're into “Throwing it away”, with a little more punch but still quite poppy.
It's mostly the piano of Bridie, as well as his almost hypnotic voice that pulls at your attention throughout this album, backed up by Helen Mountfort and her sometimes mournful, sometimes energetic cello, and the rest of the string section. Some great upbeat fiddle or violin on this track, and it's the most uptempo on the album so far. “Greenkeeping” brings in some gentle mandolin to join Mountfort's cello, very pastoral, and another instrumental, with some very celtic overtones, then Bridie is back, and very welcome at that, for “The old years”, where Mountfort's soulful cello melds perfectly with his tired, wounded voice on a lovely little bitter ballad.
The only cover on the album, Magazine's “Song from under the floorboards” is a lot more uptempo, with almost Bowie-style vocals from David and a jumping little beat, the song more piano than cello-driven, though Helen certainly plays her part. There's a slight sense of Men at Work about the song too, then it's back to very celtic beats for the
very boppy “Jimmy Stynes”, great reels and jigs with some fine mandolin and ukulele (yeah, that's what I said!) taking us into the longest track on the album, at just over five minutes, “Slow way to go down”. This slows everything down to a crawl, and is the closest to a dark song on the album. Trudging along at the sort of pace that usually accompanies funeral marches, it's almost Nick Cave-like in its use of dark cello and slow, measured drumming, Bridie's vocal sharp and thick, with some heavy, almost discordant piano lending to the feeling of unease in this track. It's the more unsettling as it's so out of step with the rest of the album, which mostly seems to be going for the cheery, breezy, happy angle, and for something like this to slap you upside the head out of left field: well, it's a shock.
It's followed by what can only be called a virtuoso performance by Helen Mountfort on the cello, and with some ghostly vocals from the lady too, though more in a backing style than lead, even though there are in fact no lead vocals. She's really using her voice here as another instrument, you feel, and what she sings is not anywhere near as important as how she sings. Halfway through the acoustic guitar of Andrew Richardson joins in, and “Bottom and the Rustics”, essentially an instrumental, takes on a more celtic and then even heavier edge as the song moves towards its end. “Rosetta” has a much more lively violin opening it, and Bridie is back to sing a simple love song that licks along nicely, but ultimately comes across as something of a throwaway; MFTCC are much better than this.
A point they quickly prove, if any doubted it, with the heartbreakingly beautiful piano ballad “The gossip”, which in places reminds me of the best of Roger Waters. Helen's sumptuous cello again works its magic, as do the violins and violas in the ensemble, all creating a backdrop for Bridie's soft but gently angry vocal, wistful and bitter. I'd have to say this is the standout, and considering how excellent this album is, that's praise indeed, and not a decision taken lightly. The title track is another instrumental love affair between Helen and David, gentle piano meshing almost seamlessly with flowing cello, no percussion to speak of, no other instruments, and no words needed.
The musical marriage is carried through into the next track, the oddly-titled “Yandoit”, where some tin whistle from Andrew Carswell adds a very celtic feel to the music before it suddenly kicks up a gear with some organic vocals from Bridie, more sounds than words, though I think I hear the word “Why” in there; again, what's sung is not important. It's the sounds that you listen to, not the lyric, if indeed there is one. This takes us into the almost bluegrass-tinged “The pramsitters”, which ups the tempo a lot and gives your feet something to tap to, until Bridie's slow gentle piano takes it all right back for “Aberystwyth”, some more lovely lonely tin whistle from Carswell creating the scenery against which Bridie sings his song of longing for home in the Welsh highlands.
And ukulele, of all things, carries “The red wallpaper”, a short instrumental and showcase for Greg Pattern, somewhat in the vein of Waits' weirder and more organic tunes, before heavy cello and violin introduce “John Cain Avenue”, with Bridie's strong piano adding its muscle, a lovely little semi-ballad to take us to the closer, simply entitled “Low”, and a showpiece for Bridie on the piano, with Michael Barker adding some effective but not overly intrusive percussion, and the vocal from David so low as to be almost inaudible most of the time. Low-key ending indeed.
I would compare the style of this band somewhat, though certainly not entirely, to Prefab Sprout at their less energetic and, as already mentioned, Deacon Blue, mostly in their quieter moments. But it would be unfair to lump My Friend the Chocolate Cake in with those, or any other bands, and just write them off as another pop band, for they are certainly not. With strong elements of classical, ambient, folk and celtic influences, this band is something very unique and special, and I'm very impressed. I've always had a liking for chocolate cake, but now I have even more reason to.
TRACKLISTING
1. Dance (You stupid monster to my soft song)
2. I've got a plan
3. Throwing it away
4. Greenkeeping
5. The old years
6. Song from under the floorboards
7. Jimmy Stynes
8. Slow way to go down
9. Bottom and the Rustics
10. Rosetta
11. The gossip
12. Brood
13. Yandoit
14. The pramsitters
15. Aberystwyth
16. The red wallpaper
17. John Cain Avenue
18. Low