Northern artist drops gritty album
Friday was drop day for the new album by Ndidi Onukwulu. She also goes by Ndidi O to keep it simple. We know her better around these parts because she grew up here, just down Highway 16 a couple hours to the west.
The new package of songs is called These Days and it’s the first new CD for the former Burns Lake music star in about five years.
She’s hardly been languishing for that time. She has split her recent living time between Los Angeles and Vancouver, to go along with expensive international travel related to her music. Every mile and every month seems to add new knowledge and capability to her considerable skill set. She is already a Maple Blues Award winner, she was nominated for Juno Awards in 2009 and 2015, had concerts broadcast nationally on CBC Radio, has collaborated with many stars of the music industry (Madagascar Slim, Jane Bunnett, Jim Byrnes, Roy Forbes, Alex Cuba, etc.), and this new offering will only extend those borders.
The lead single is called Hands High and it was the roaring early release that signaled the coming of the album. Hands High has a chorus effect on the vocals, a grimy fuzz painted over the guitars, and a moody rumble to the drums. If you want to go for a long run with your earbuds propelling you forward, this is the tune you should start the playlist with. It has the punch and stride of Serena Ryder’s Stompa or One Republic’s Love Runs Out. It’s relentless, uplifting, motivating.
But is it indicative of the whole album? Audiences often get left in puddles of complaint when they love the front door song but find out later there’s nothing inside the house.
Onukwulu did not spend five years of personal and artistic ex- would have played Before You as the credits rolled and the cowgirl in the white hat rode away into the sunset from the body in the dirt of the rowdy thug she just plugged in a quickdraw finale.
If Onukwulu ever dove headlong into that style, Lindi Ortega would finally have a Thelma to her Louise. Scarlett Jane would have a sister of another colour. Whitehorse would have a new pony to gallop with across the hot prairie.
Some of the prevailing traits of this album are the torchy hum of the jangly guitar and the dull thuds of the drums.
From song to song, Onukwulu’s voice is honey soaked in whisky. She’s a stranger who walks right up to your little table at the back of the nearly empty midwest bar, pulls out the opposite chair, sits down, stares at you wordlessly, and snaps her fingers for the bartender to bring over the whole bottle.
You can tell she’s going to outdrink you but you throw that row of shots down your throat anyway. And in the morning she’ll shake off the hangover with a deep breath, the shake of her curls, and the twist of the key in the ignition of her ’57 International A-Series, her guitar on the red leather passenger seat and her cowhide suitcase in the box, heading for – where did she say, again?
Was it Austin?
Was it Abilene? – you can’t quite remember because you’re still fighting last night’s bar band drum beat in the thick echo-chamber of your head. But you’ll pull your boots on even if you can’t find both socks, fasten that belt buckle and roll outta town as soon as you can swallow the razors of your pride with black coffee and greasy bacon.
The highway is a big place, and she’s got a long head start. But she left you an autographed copy of a CD called These Days and that’s all you’re going to listen to until you catch up.