(Indie, Alternative) Christina Rosenvinge - Continental 62 - 2006, FLAC (tracks+.cue), lossless

***
The Madrid/New York-based musician Christina Rosenvinge's third (mostly) English-language LP is a mixed bag: On about half of the songs, her blend of loungey art-rock and mannered, Nico-esque vocals is inventively alluring; on the other half, it's pleasant enough but roundly unmemorable. To understand why a musician as talented as Rosenvinge, who has a knack for evocative ice-melt arrangements and striking textural vocals, would squander that talent on some of the non-events that pepper this album, we might look to her origins.
Indie fans probably know Rosenvinge from her trio of Smells Like Records LPs and her collaborations with Lee Ranaldo, who lends guitar and backing vocals to a couple of tracks on Continental 62. But she's been active in music since the 1980s, when she was half of the tart-pop duo Alex y Cristina, who were stadium-packing mainstream stars in the Spanish-speaking world. In the early 1990s, Rosenvinge left the group and began to explore more sophisticated, idiosyncratic fare as a Spanish-language solo artist, then switched to English-language U.S. releases around the turn of the century. Imagine that you're a musician with heady aspirations who spent the 80s spinning sugar for television audiences in the most outrageous blonde bangs imaginable (seriously): Mightn't you go to any lengths to distance yourself from this persona? I'd probably write a few boring songs too, just to make a point.
Of course, this is pure speculation, and it's equally possible that Rosenvinge's muse is just finicky. Continental 62 is most successful when she uses stately dream pop as a baseline, contrasting it with unexpected textures and tangents, rather than an ultimate end; the four tracks that privilege inventive songwriting over hazy atmosphere are the best. The title track's creeping, solitary piano and cooing vocals move through three distinct phases of emphasis, unlike the weaker songs' equivocal drift; contrasts occur as crisp edges surface from and subside beneath the blue blur of her voice. Album standout "White Hole" is distinguished by its frosty yet lively vocals, slashing rock bridge, and the inspired, Life Without Buildings-ish onomatopoeia that precedes the chorus. On "A Liar to Love", Rosenvinge trades her ice princess routine for a naturalistic singing style that's well suited to the song's spry lilt, evoking the liquid cool of Stereolab or Georgia Hubley. And on the Spanish-language song "Tok Tok", Rosenvinge's voice directly engages with the terse textural elements seething beneath it, rather than drifting amid them, similar to Under Byen's broken clockwork sprawl.
The album's other six tracks aren't bad; they just don't have the substance to recommend repeated listening. On "Window", with its mincing vocals and tinkling music box accompaniment, Rosenvinge draws pretty pictures but neglects to animate them. "Jelly" drags with an unappealing blend of seriousness and preciousness permeating Rosenvinge's monochromatic warble, and "Helicopter Song" is very similar. Meanwhile, "Teclas Negras" is like a Spanish version of the title track with less dynamic melodic phrasing. In its entirety, Continental 62 is fine for background music. But the substantial number of moments when it vividly leaps into the foreground makes one wish, on the main, for more sound effects and fewer affected sounds.
By Brian Howe
***
There exists something both elusive and timeless in Christina Rosenvinge’s trim yet evocative songs, which is made manifest in the subtle complexity of her intricate and memorable arrangements. Her third full-length on Smells Like Records, Continental 62, finds Rosenvinge once again joined by Lee Ranaldo on guitar, and is held together by a potent rhythm section that includes masterful drumming by Steve Shelley. The title of the record refers to the flight between Madrid, Spain, and Newark, New Jersey — a flight frequented by the Spanish-Danish vocalist. The bulk of the record was in fact recorded in Madrid and then mastered in New York City, resulting in an album adorned with stylish and cosmopolitan overtones. In addition to Rosenvinge’s breathy and heavily accented vocals, Continental 62 exhibits a romantic European sensibility rife with florid melodicism and polished off with an American indie rock sheen.
Continental 62 begins in an impressively haunting manner with the stunning title cut. Driven by a spare, Schubertian piano phrase, the piece seizes the listener’s attention with its air of immediacy and candid simplicity. A melancholy, passionate cello melody from Raül Pinillas and a smattering of spooky glockenspiel accompaniment from Charlie Bautista help to solidify the track’s moody resonance. Rosenvinge effortlessly manages to impress with how deftly she integrates so much into her arrangements without undermining the underlying spartan nature of her songcraft. “Jelly,” for instance, features, along with Rosenvinge’s seductive vocals, little more than a few simple, jazz-based guitar figures, brushed drums, and some delicious yet sparse glockenspiel. Taken as a whole, however, the track comes off as extraordinarily powerful. Furthermore, Rosenvinge demonstrates the ability to wrest a great deal of emotion from the listener with the bossa-flavored “¿Quién Me Querra?,” another of the album’s highlights and one that calls to mind images of blue skies and summer sun as competently as anything imagined by Astrud Gilberto. “Tok Tok” showcases her more rollicking side with its caterwauling violin, menacing piano chords, and Shelley’s propulsive drumming, and bolsters the already varied and heterogeneous nature of Continental 62.
With a finale almost as dramatic as its introduction, Continental 62 closes with the tense and barely restrained “Nickel Song,” a track that makes effective use of Suso Sáiz’s classical Spanish guitar chords, which then give way to Ranaldo’s somewhat unsettling and psychedelia-inflected descending six-string leads. Absorbing and affecting, the piece is an inordinately mature ending to a splendidly crafted album. A strong recording that never ceases to grow on the listener despite repeated spins, Rosenvinge’s Continental 62 comes highly recommended.
By Olskooly
***
As Christina Rosenvinge smooth-coos “Ooh la-la” at the end of_ ‘A Liar to Love’ I can’t help but agree; those exact words go through my head every time I listen to _Continental 62, a ten-batch of tunes with enough character to match the velvet purrs of its headmaster. Ooh la-la indeed... in a period of my life where seductive female-fronted acts are fairly commonplace (Niobe, The Finches, Under Byen... insert disturbing kissing noises here) I still can’t relegate this veteran singer to the fringe of my Current Listening bin.
A former member of Christina y Los Subterraneos, as a solo artist Rosenvinge sounds like she could just as easily have emerged from the American underground, or the French or UK underground, for that matter, as she derives palpable influence from Laetitia Sadier and The Cranes’ Alison Shaw. Save three Spanish-language songs,_ Continental 62 _is fully integrated indie-rock, and though I’m not averse to culturally influenced music, she seems right at home. Cuddling up next to — rather than inside of — your ears like a puppy wrapping its torso around your feet, Rosenvinge delivers a workmanlike performance.
But that’s to be expected. What elevates_ Continental 62 above other solo-singer releases is the sturdy backing. Providing more lumbar support than a girdle made of sheet metal, multi-instrumentalists Jeremy Wilms and Charlie Bautista haunt the corners of the castle while Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley makes sure the clocks run on time on the drums. Most importantly, they allow for flexibility. The bizarre, _‘A Day In The Life’-lite swell at the conclusion of ‘Window’, for example, could never have been achieved without a good supply of able hands and dextrous fingers. With such stellar musicians bringing up the rear Rosenvinge is free to concentrate on writing material that drips tears without breaking a sweat, and she has succeeded.
Not that she over emotes, however. Akin to an indie-rock version of Aimee Mann, she emits more urgency than despondency, per se. In other words, she puts her feelings on display without theatrics, without overwrought, attention-getting devices. This lends her material to more repeat listens than the spazz-hardy, as does the aforementioned virtuosity of the backing band. The biggest insult that could be leveled at_ Continental 62 is that it’s mood is a little too thick and uniform. A bigger push at certain intervals would have propped Rosenvinge’s angelic vocals even closer to the heavens above. Then again, as she rattles on the title track, _“Angels don’t pay the rent”, so perhaps we should be thankful she has chosen to stay grounded.
by Grant Purdum
***
Christina Rosenvinge's third Smells Like Records outing, CONTINENTAL 62, works much of the same magic as its stellar precursor, FOREIGN LAND, and with many similar star indie musicians in the fold as well (Sonic Youth's Lee Renaldo and Steve Shelley among them). The recipe here is at once cinematic and delicate; it's music that's perfect for a rainy day tea and a swooning heart. With nods to Astrud Gilberto, Francoise Hardy, and Laetitia Sadler, Rosenvinge's gentle vocals keep the tunes constantly unfolding in ways that are sprightly but not twee, melancholy but not indulgent.
by Rovi
***
Christina Rosenvinge, a Spanish-born Danish-blooded singer-songwriter, has a penchant for the exotic and the mysterious. Her songwriting style is dark and alluring, like the soundtrack to a French noir film, the delicate minor-key melodies almost demanding a thick layer of fog in a foreign airfield, or a pair of eyes peering over sunglasses in a passing black cab. On Continental 62, Rosenvinge’s new full-length, at least the airfield concept applies, the title itself being a reference to the flight between Newark, NJ and Madrid. And judging by the delicate mystique of the album, this one’s definitely a red eye.
Rosenvinge’s arrangements are stark and minimal, rarely escalating in volume or indulging in orchestral pomp. They exude a cool sophistication, a romantic mystique that can only be constructed with the utmost subtlety. Aside from the literal interpretation of the album’s title, “continental” is an apt way of looking at the album, that continent in particular being Europe. Though Rosenvinge is a musician living in America, her Euro-roots show on this set, bringing to mind 1960s French pop, the oft-referenced Nico, or even the chilly ambience of fellow Scandinavians Under Byen and Múm.
The album begins with the title track, a melancholy ballad with melodies so intricate and alluring, they seem to tell a narrative of their own. The gorgeous, almost Serge Gainsbourg-like “White Hole” adds a bit more of a rock sound to the suave, ambient pop (played by members of Two Dollar Guitar and Sonic Youth, no less). The song approximates something of a noisier torch song, as one could easily imagine Rosenvinge playing a Deitrich-like singer, puffing on a cigarette between lines like “love is a big white hole.” “Window” comes across like a lullaby, Rosenvinge whispering above a twinkling melody, yet “A Liar To Love” is a more straightforward arrangement, a jazzy, shuffling tune with gentle plucks of acoustic guitar.
Continental 62 is a gentle album, but a seductive one. Its sounds may tread lightly and graze your ears, only to fade into the distance, but after the final strums, plucks and brushes are placed, its melodies will most assuredly return to haunt your dreams.
by Jeff Terich
***
What's the allure of Christina Rosenvinge? Formerly half of the cheery duo Alex y Christina, the fine-featured Rosenvinge became an internationally recognized icon in the Latin-pop world from the late '80s to mid-'90s. Growing weary of the music machine, she took a break in the late '90s and, with the encouragement of Steve Shelley (Sonic Youth drummer, Smells Like owner and Rosenvinge collaborator), visited New York to record and perform with his Two Dollar Guitar side project. What was intended to be a brief visit became the next five years of her life, during which she raised a family and recorded a few albums of quiet, gloss-free ditties. Through it all, the same label and community that launched the careers of brave-hearts like Cat Power and Jad Fair has embraced her.
But none of this fully explains Rosenvinge's allure. Perhaps because Rosenvinge's potential speaks more than any of her tangible actions. As a pop idol, her pretty looks and fun-time hooks were easily digestible, but her blank gaze suggested a critical mind at work. Her introspective solo work has been honest and revelatory but has never cohered as any sweeping statement. However, she has opened up with each release, writing songs with a sense of something exciting around the corner.
In this sense, Continental 62 can be disheartening, but for all the right reasons. Written during the dissolution of a long-term relationship, the album explicitly details the emotional mess of breakups and the gradual process of healing -- which, for her, took returning home to Spain. The support from old mates, like Two Dollar Guitar's Tim Foljahn and Steve Shelley, makes the album akin to Rosenvinge's prior works, but she stands out by working out her heartache with surprising clarity. She paints intimate pictures of her ordeal -- she discusses such things as packing her kitchenware and belongings -- but keeps the music aloof and comfortably distant, like she is sharing the experience more than dumping her emotional baggage on a listener. As such, she closes the album with a weary waltz that suggests an acknowledgment of movement rather than stagnation in a torrid hailstorm of tears. Continental 62 represents a significant change of course for Rosenvinge, both personally and artistically, but it promises another welcome change in her years to come.
by Dan Nishimoto
***
Rosenvinge is definitely a chanteuse; her beguiling, heavily accented voice cracks and murmurs through a set of dark ballads and dreamy, somewhat folk-tinted introspective songs which sometimes remind me of Nico's vocal delivery.
A fine LP and quite surprising; I'd not heard much of Danish songwriter Christina Rosenvinge, apart from the odd track here and there, and they'd passed me by. This album is a cracker though. After what seems like a perfectly sane piano-led beginning with opening track Continental 62, White Hole kicks off to spectacular effect, all growling guitars and strident drumming. It certainly gets you wanting to hear more.
Rosenvinge is definitely a chanteuse; her beguiling, heavily accented voice cracks and murmurs through a set of dark ballads and dreamy, somewhat folk-tinted introspective songs which sometimes remind me of Nico's vocal delivery. This is true on the chorus to Window (which incidentally has Lee Ranaldo on backing vocals). Quien Me Quierra? is a strange blend of sixties pastoral and loungey jet-set boss nova. There are elements of weirdness too (necessary to the role) as seen in the frankly strange, dreamlike Helicopter.
It is true; this LP does owe a substantial debt to certain sixties genres; maybe its the drumming or the organ on Liar to Love, maybe its the woozy cocktail bar shuffle of Jelly, maybe its the chanteuse stance Rosenvinge adopts throughout... whatever. No matter, it's bloody effective. It can be bloody romantic as well; Tok Tok is Mick Harvey like in its passionate intenseness.
A very, very good release and one worth checking out immediately.
by Richard Foster
***
It's quite often a fool's errand to read too much into an artist's work, digging for details about their personal lives. Yet, Christina Rosenvinge is quite upfront about the fact that her latest album, Continental 62, is an album full of songs about what happened to her since we heard from her last.
The lovely chanteuse of Spanish descent has had to deal with the end of a relationship and a heartbreaking move back to her home country after spending the better part of five years living in New York City. In fact, the title of this album is a reference to the flight that would take her and her children from the airport in New Jersey to Madrid. And the title track spells it all out in rather excruciating detail. Over funereal piano and quiet string accents, Rosenvinge sings of "packing up my housewares" and selling the furniture, bidding farewell to the "kaleidoscope girl." It’s a heartbreaking song but one filled with the small details one must deal with in the wake of a breakup.
Other songs on the album, particularly "White Hole" and "Liar to Love," address simply and directly the troubles of a marriage on the rocks, spelling out the remembrances and anger that only hindsight is able to provide in these situations. That she is able to couch these emotions in her lovely and breathy vocals matched up with plaintive pop and not letting any anger or upset she may feel bleed into the music is a testament to Rosenvinge's compositional abilities as well as her strength in the midst of her emotional turmoil. Rosenvinge also seems to welcome her move back to Spain with a trio of songs written in her native tongue. They also happen to be some of the best work on this album. "¿Quién Me Querra?" is especially bracing, thanks to the simple guitar picking and flute-and-vibraphone accompaniment, not to mention the pristine singing.
It's an emotional album, not without a few troubling moments, but one that will hit the mark with anyone who has ever been on the bad side of a breakup.
By Robert Ham