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By Rudy Klapper, December 24, 2009 12:00 pm

The Veils – Nux Vomica

Rough Trade

Released: September 18, 2006

Rating: 10/10

New Zealand collective the Veils have always been a front, a smokescreen for the roiling mess of emotions that make up singer/lyricist Finn Andrews and his nakedly emotional, often abrasive tales. He’s the kind of obsessive frontman who writes all the songs, directs everyone how to play, and truly becomes the soul of the band; it should come as no surprise, then, that Nux Vomica, the Veils’ sophomore effort, features an entirely new cast of backing musicians than their debut did. Perhaps even more importantly, it features Andrews (son of Barry Andrews of ‘80s power-popsters XTC) doing what he does best: emoting exactly what he feels, as dramatically and as powerfully as possible. One would think all this single-minded input would lead the Veils’ to become a bit stale. On the contrary, however, Nux Vomica is Andrews’ shining achievement, a tightly focused, poetic work that establishes Andrews’ as a gifted songwriter in his own right and perhaps one of the most impassioned performers in rock today.

With The Runaway Found, the Veils seemed too attuned to major label interests, writing songs that yearned for radio airplay but in the process tended to suffocate Andrews’ outsized ego and combustible personality. It’s immediate right from the opening howl of “Not Yet,” however, that Andrews isn’t going to restrain himself this go around. A Western-tinged rollercoaster of sliding guitars and rollicking drums led on by Andrews’ fiery vocals, it’s an appropriate opening thesis for Nux Vomica, telling the kind of literate story and twisted metaphors that Andrews long ago mastered with wild instrumental fervor. Andrews has never been one to be subtle (“Not Yet,” after all, could either be read as a struggle with indecisiveness or the tale of a young boy discovering sexuality via his mother), and his extravagant vocal stylings make that readily apparent.

The Veils’ have often been compared to the Bad Seeds, both for their musical approach and lyrical attitude, and Andrews’ vocals even call to mind Nick Cave, with a little bit of young, intelligible Tom Waits thrown in for good measure. It’s a potent if sometime caustic combination, and it makes for a number of songs that would fit right at home on the alternative end of the FM dial: the Celtic hue of “Calliope!,” where arching strings and lively drums highlight one of the band’s most straightforward love songs, and the gender-flipped confessional of “Advice for Young Mothers To Be,” full of pleasant “oohs-aahs,” female backing vocals, and tragic lyrics that belie the tone, are the most obvious ones.

But it’s when Andrews lets it all hang out, musically and vocally, that the Veils shine brightest. “Jesus For The Jugular” is that type of song, the kind of outright blues that would make the White Stripes proud. Andrews enunciates every word carefully, with the vehemence of a revivalist preacher and the fury of the damned, and the band’s hard-hitting stomp is all fire and brimstone. The title track is even more of a revelation, a slow burn of staccato drum rolls, threatening bass, and occasional jabs of guitar noise framing Andrews’ long and increasingly chaotic questions: “Am I living wrong? / Do you see a long road with no one on it / and the right of men that you learnt only to forget / you see my sad wife and my high margin of profit / but you don’t care at all.” It’s a crisis of faith that only propels itself along with Andrews’ erratic temper and the growing fever of the band which bubbles below the surface, finally exploding as Andrews screams “I’ll see you all / and I’ll raise you” and then collapsing in on itself with the last, haunting series of lines, where Andrews cautions “honey, it ain’t hard to loose your grip in the midst of all of this / but it ain’t far to fall / it’s not far at all.” It’s a masterful exercise in tension and release, and a microcosm of the record as a whole.

Nux Vomica is a difficult record to pin down, going as it does from ‘60s-pop songs to Jeff Buckley-esque ballads to tough-as-nails, blues-influenced rock ‘n roll, but what keeps the ship steady remains Andrews’ consistently brilliant performances, from the wretched anguish of “Not Yet” all the way through to the melancholy “House Where We All Live.” It’s an album that succeeds largely based on something that is often so hard to catch, something that many artists search in vain for throughout their careers: the very heart of a emotion or feeling, encapsulated perfectly and without editing into a song. It’s doubtful that an individual as volatile as Finn Andrews will ever release a record that so accurately transcribes his feelings and stories as well as Nux Vomica does. But even if he never comes close, the Veils have still left us with one of the great sublime records of the decade, a triumph of heartache and longing that is so intensely personal, it’s message becomes universal.

The Veils – “Not Yet”

See larger image Nux Vomica (Audio CD) List Price: $14.98 USD New From: $21.01 In Stock Used from: $3.00 In Stock Release date April 24, 2007.

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By Rudy Klapper, April 28, 2009 12:00 pm

The Veils – Sun Gangs

Rough Trade 2009

Rating: 8/10

The Veils are one of those bands where one really can’t believe they’re still just as relatively unknown as they were when they released their debut, The Runaway Found, in 2004. Kiwi Finn Andrews and his original band crafted a delicate, haunting collection of indie rock that found its way onto hit shows like One Tree Hill, but the band never took off and disagreements disbanded it shortly thereafter. 2006’s Nux Vomica was even more under the radar, with Andrews collecting a new, talented group to share his raw lyrical outbursts and instantly recognizable vocals. It was also one of the best albums of the year and still a perennially underrated favorite of mine.

Sun Gangs still finds the band on Rough Trade, surprising considering their continuing lack of success, but the Veils’ penchant for sharp guitar melodies, affecting acoustic slow-burners, and Andrews’ inimitable vocals and nakedly emotional lyrics remain just as fine-tuned as ever before. Opener “Sit Down By The Fire” is vintage Veils, opening with a gentle piano/guitar riff and Andrews’ compelling, Nick Cave-y voice. Lyrically it starts off a bit rusty, with more than a few forced rhymes and cringe-inducing heart-on-your-sleeve sentiments (“just say you don’t love me anymore”), but when the bluesy bridge kicks in and Andrews intones “some day / a little rain is bound to fall,” it’s clear that the Veils haven’t lost a step yet.

The following title song is a gentle piano dirge that alternates between optimism and self-pity, with the controlled vocals as the main attraction. It’s placement on the album, however, is more than a little odd, stilting any momentum the surging “Sit Down By The Fire” generated at its end, and the climactic crescendo seemingly promised in the last third never arrives.

Highlight single “The Letter” quickly dispels the gloom, however, supported by a descending, chiming guitar melody that swiftly sticks in the head and featuring a sonic blast of a chorus that coats itself in waves of reverb and Andrews’ piercing howl leading the way through. “The Letter” kicks off a run of the album’s best, most notably the fierce “Killed By The Boom” and the reflective blues of “It Hits Deep.” The former recalls Nux Vomica’s “Jesus For The Jugular” with its distorted rip current of a guitar line and Andrews’ anguished, throat-tearing screams. It’s the only song on the record that approaches the best of the sonic nastiness of their sophomore effort, and Andrews’ performance is that of a man possessed. “It Hits Deep,” meanwhile, is the kind of gradual, poignant buildup that the Veils have mastered and that their singer has made his trademark, creating the same kind of tension that the title track mustered and releasing it all in a sing-a-long ending that is restrained and cathartic at the same time.

The rollicking rock of family tragedy “Three Sisters” is pulsating, fist-pumping guitar glory in its finest with the kind of primal lament Andrews has made his own, while upbeat “The House She Lived In” is a complete 180-degree turn into regretful ‘60s Brill Building pop and typically emotive lyrics. Both are excellent examples of the Veils’ versatility and Andrews’ consistently passionate lyrical talents.

“Scarecrow,” unfortunately, is also a fantastic example of what drags the Veils down, namely plodding metaphorical ballads that threaten to go somewhere but never really develop from what they started off as. The dangerously long (eight-and-a-half minute) “Larkspur,” however, is a microcosm of the Veils’ oeuvre as a whole, taking the band’s mastery of the crescendo to the extreme. It’s an interesting illustration of the band’s bread-and-butter, a slowly rising boil of fuzzy distortion and Andrews’ undeniable charisma, but it is neither gripping nor innovative enough to merit such an extended running time.

The band ends, as they tend to do, on the soft, contemplative notes of “Begin Again,” merely Andrews and a commanding piano framing a fairly clichéd “start anew” lesson. While the record ends with a disappointing whimper, Andrews and his supporting cast have made another worthy addition to the band’s neglected discography, one that fails to match the epic indie rock ‘n poetry of Nux Vomica but one that more than stands up on its own, with some of Andrews’ most vehement showings and eloquent lyrics. One can only hope that they’ll be able to continue doing what they do best, and damn the sales.