• Reviews

• All
• Music
• DVDs
• Live
• Cinema
• TV
• Books
• Comic Books
• Video Games

Jun 14, 2011 Web Exclusive By Michele Yamamoto

When Chuck Klosterman referred to Brian Burton (Danger Mouse, that is) as the “D.J. Auteur” in the New York Times Magazine nearly five years ago, many key elements for 2011’s Rome were already in place. Burton had already met Italian composer Daniele Luppi two years earlier, had already bonded over the music of classic Italian films, and had possibly even begun composing material for a project with Luppi that would pivot on the nostalgic sound of those Spaghetti Westerns. In the article, Burton even postulates that his need to use film directors as models for what he’s ultimately trying to do with music is a product of his need to be in control. Klosterman’s take on the musician was surprisingly apt.

Five years and several trips to Italy later, Rome is a finished work and Burton’s theory holds true. His desire to have the album sound a certain way led to a long and costly process, which included hunting down vintage equipment in the city, recording in studios originally co-founded by Italian film composer Ennio Morricone himself, and working entirely within the constraints of analog.

The Spaghetti Western influences of Luppi and Morricone pervade the album with its longing string arrangements and touches of psychedelia. The hum of the organ, the warp of the guitars, and the lament of the choir fashion a romantic landscape lush with mood—a pitch perfect backdrop for the vocal interplay between Jack White’s distinct intensity and Norah Jones’ rounded warmth. Interspersed between transitioning instrumental tracks, these compositions read like scenes. There is the ghost of a complete story unfolding here, even if there isn’t really.

And while the album wears its main influence on its sleeve, it’s also unmistakably a pop album. “Season’s Trees,” which features Jones placidly delivering catchy lines, is driven by a bass groove hanging over watercolor strings. “The Rose With the Broken Neck” is a slow, plaintive dance with Jack White winding down melodies.

As a whole, Rome is cinematic without being overwrought, its sound evocative of a certain vintage while still firmly rooted in the present. And while the idea of it being a “soundtrack without a film” is not far off, Burton and Luppi have first and foremost created an album with the scope of a film. There’s nothing missing here. (www.romealbum.com)

Author rating: 7/10