>>PREVIEW
LUKE DOUCET
Saturday, October 29
MacEwan Hall (U of C)
There are songs about hurt and then there are tried-and-true hurtin’ songs. Songs that rip your soul apart and make you want to gouge your eyes out. The latter has perhaps been most prevalent in the realm of country music (and of course the blues), but the theme has spanned an entire range of genres. Everyone from preppy pop stars to angry metalheads wear their hearts on their sleeves from time to time.
With his new album, Broken (and other rogue states), Luke Doucet takes hurtin’ to a whole new level. In fact, Broken is sort of an Encyclopaedia Britannica of heartache. Odds are, if you’ve felt it, it’s here.
Some quick statistical analysis shows that the word "heart" turns up in approximately half of the album’s songs, often in combination with words like "attack," "cold," "break" and, of course, "broken." Add scenes of drunkenness, drugs and a little self-loathing, and you’re a tourist in the state of Broken, Luke Doucet: governor. While the central theme of the recording is all things broken, Doucet didn’t originally intend to keep coming back to matters of the heart.
"The second time I wrote a song where I employed the terms ‘broken-hearted,’ I realized I was being redundant," he says. "And I thought, either I could do it once, and let it be, or I could flog the fucking thing to death and make it the central theme of this album, and try and depict that state in a variety of different settings – some of them to inspire sympathy, some of them to inspire anger, some of them to inspire laughter and some of them to simply inspire empathy."
You’d hope that not all of the 13 tracks on Broken are autobiographical, otherwise Doucet had better call some sort of helpline. He reassures that while a number of the songs come straight from his heart, the stories extend well beyond him.
"There are other characters on this album, certainly other than myself or a lover – people whose stories I’m telling that are completely unrelated to my life," he explains. "I think the theme of things being broken runs throughout, regardless of whose story I’m telling and whether what is broken is a person’s spirit or their ability to take care of themselves."
Yet, this isn’t a sad sounding album. Using loosely defined roots music as a base, Doucet effortlessly switches musical styles from song to song, ranging from the ’70s TV-theme influences scattered throughout "It’s Not the Liquor I Miss," to the Mariachi trumpet within "Emily Please." There are a number of melodically upbeat songs, despite the common thread of despair winding through them.
And perhaps it is the use of a pervasive theme that enables Doucet – who is also a producer, front man for Veal and backing musician for such artists as Sarah McLachlan – to embrace a myriad of musical styles.
"I wanted to present that whole state of brokenness in as many different lights as possible, as opposed to the obvious one that is ‘oh, isn’t that sad that he’s feeling sad,’ because that gets tired after about half a verse.
"Redemption is a big part of it and I think in order to have credibility in my own eyes, there’s a fairly big tongue-in-cheek element, too," says Doucet. "I’m taking the piss out of myself as much as throwing darts at a former lover."
In a way, Doucet shows that broken isn’t always a bad place to be.
"I think it’s important to be able to step back from whatever happens in a person’s life that is difficult or perceived as difficult, and be able to walk away going ‘Now I have thicker skin and it’s OK. Everything is fine.’" |
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