Kids' music often resides in the realm of the real -- the concrete here and now. Music from Southern California's Todd McHatton doesn't follow that formula, especially on his latest disk, Galactic Champions of Joy.
Sure, there's a song about going to the pool -- "Tommy Had a Super Towel," which kicks off the album -- but it's much more about the towel and Tommy's imaginative (and perhaps literal) flights of fancy with it. One "Little Money Man" and "Say Hello to My Hippo," McHatton sings consecutive songs about flatulence; in the former, money appears when the title character "cuts the cheese." And on the final track, the surreal and genius (and totally justified hit) "I Think I'm a Bunny," McHatton takes the role of a monster who thinks he's, well, a bunny, while the young girl he duets with has to convince him that he is, yes, indeed, a purple monster. (I would be disappointed if the song doesn't turn into a picture book at some point.)
The music here is mostly swirling psychedelic power-pop that could have been released at any point in the past 35 years (say hello to the Beatles, or McHatton's hero Harry Nilsson, or Matthew Sweet). It can be gorgeous at times, and it's rarely simple. (This is Exhibit A in the argument against the notion that music for kids need only be bland.) Kids ages 5 through 9 will most appreciate the music (and lyrics) here. You can stream the 47-minute album here.
If parts of Galactic Champions of Joy feel a little bit like a daydream, that's entirely appropriate. The imaginative life of a child can be every bit as important as the concrete day-to-day details, maybe more so, so an album that dives deep into those ideas should be valued. Most families will enjoy at least part of it, but some families will probably find this to be one of their most beloved albums. Recommended.
Folks like Justin Roberts or Recess Monkey aren't the only kids' musicians who can write a musical earworm that will get stuck in your kid's (and, by extension, your) head. Here are a couple albums by lesser-known artists with their own fair share of hooks.
Florida's Mr. Richard (Richard Peeples) has released his fourth album, Backyard Astronauts, which continues his lo-fi indie-pop work often filtered through the perspective of the wisecracking older brother (Sample lyric from "5-Second Rule": "A pizza slice landed right-side up / If I can just grab it fast enough / I count out loud one two three four / And hope it doesn't taste like floor"). And while he'll write a song making fun of not using "The Good Towels," he's occasionally sweet (on "Birthday Wish," the narrator wishes it was his "birthday everyday," in part so his best friend won't have to move). Peeples' music will remind listeners of R.E.M. and Jonathan Richman, which are not bad musicians to echo. (I also particularly enjoy the bass work on tracks like "Saturday Morning Cereal Bowl").
You can sample the music from the 31-minute album here (and download "Garbage Man" here). The album is most appropriate for kids ages 4 through 9. It's his best album yet.
If Mr. Richard takes a jangly-pop approach from the '70s to his songs, on his second album Holy Cow!, Gerry Stanek AKA Roy Handy and the Moonshot draws from the rawk of the '60s, with a lot of British Invason influence. Like Mr. Richard, however, Stanek has a bit of a sarcastic streak that will enamor him to the young wiseacres (and perhaps their wiseacre parents). The title track is the most bracing opening song of the year (and my favorite on the album), but if you're looking for a gentler, almost wistful tune, I'd suggest "Tilt-A-Whirl," about going to the local fair and going on the titular ride.
You can listen to "Holy Cow" and the '50s harmonizing on "When It's Time to Go" here (or listen to samples at Amazon or iTunes). The 16-minute EP is most appropriate for kids ages 3 through 7 and shows continued growth from his enjoyable debut I'm Gonna Be (Your Best Friend).
Neither album is without flaws -- Backyard Astronauts could use a little more polish and lyrical tightening, while the songs Holy Cow! could probably be fleshed out just a little more (he's not the Ramones). But those are concerns more for the middle-aged parent who might have to listen to the disks repeatedly at the request of their kids who'll want to play them a lot. If anything, these albums prove that if you can't find kids music with a bunch of catchy melodies, you're not looking hard at all. Recommended.
Weird, weird, weird, weird, weird.
But in a good way.
I can't imagine anybody would ever call Brooklyn's The Deedle Deedle Dees a typical kids music band. The band's always been content to follow its muse -- chief songwriter Lloyd Miller drawing inspiration from biographies and folklore in writing the songs and the rest of the band providing a wild musical counterpoint. While some of the band's songs (e.g., "Major Deegan" from Freedom in a Box and "Little Red Airplane" from American History + Rock'n'Roll = The Deedle Deedle Dees) are very catchy, they've never been shy about wearing their curiosity (musically and lyrically) on their sleeves. In so many ways, the Wiggles they are not.
Those albums prepare the listener -- sort of -- for Strange Dees, Indeed, which is all over the map, musically. From the very first track, "Ah Ahimsa," in which the Dees talk about Gandhi's non-violent approach to music I would describe as "Bollywood-meets-The-Band," the band lets their many musical freak flags fly. Aided and abetted by producer Dean Jones, the album goes on to feature: dreamy atmospherics on "a song for Abigail Adams," klezmer on "The Golem," the sounds of '40s France on "Marie Curie," and what Miller describes as his attempt to channel Queen's Freddie Mercury on "Sacagawea." That's only halfway through the album, before the spoken-word piece with jazzy accompaniment featuring one of the band member's grandmother recalling the time she (literally) bumped into Mayor LaGuardia ("Mayor LaGuardia's Stomach").
On their earlier albums (particularly Freedom in a Box), the Dees' albums could be an awkward mix of the historical songs and more toddler-focused songs Miller hones in his weekly sing-alongs. But now that Miller's found a separate outlet for some of those simpler songs, what's left over are, with a few exceptions, songs written with older kids in mind -- most appropriate for kids ages 7 and up. You can listen to five of the songs from the album here (or at the player below).
My favorite song on the album is the penultimate track, "Henry (Hudson), How Ya Gonna Find a Way?," which "Sacagawea" notwithstanding, is the album's stadium sing-along (with bonus hand claps). It's appropriate to me because lyrically, the Dees' songs usually focus on a small facet of a historical personage's life, rather than trying to teach the listener everything they need to know about, say, Sojourner Truth. It encourages further exploration, Henry Hudson-style. With Strange Dees, Indeed, the Deedle Deedle Dees have done their part -- will your family do yours? Definitely recommended.
Disclosure: I received a copy of the album for possible review.Strange Dees, Indeed (sampler) by Bethbcpr
Looking to take a bit of a break after a long tour and giving birth to her son, Portland-based singer-songwriter Laura Veirs decided to do a kids album. But instead of writing a dozen or more songs with kid-friendly themes, she decided to research kid-appropriate folk songs. The result is titled Tumble Bee: Laura Veirs Sings Folk Songs for Children -- a simple, direct title reflecting the simple, direct music inside.
Many of the dozen songs (plus an instrumental reprise) on Tumble Bee will sound familiar to a long-term listener of music for kids or anyone who has more than a couple Smithsonian Folkways albums. (There is but one wholly original track, the title cut.) "All the Pretty Little Horses," "The Fox," "King Kong Kitchie Kitchie Ki Me O" -- these aren't songs that Veirs rescues from obscurity -- they're part of the (American) folk canon. Nor is "Jump Down Spin Around," which Raffi nicked from Leadbelly (and recorded it as "Pick a Bale o' Cotton"). But that latter track -- which Veirs credits to Harry Belafonte (she was struck by his version of the track) -- is given an extra boost of energy on the new album, with a chorus of friends singing along in response to Veirs' words and adding a few stomps for emphasis.
I'd call Tucker Martine's production of his wife's music as unfussy, designed to highlight Veirs' voice and the classic melodies -- why get in the way? Bela Fleck provides lovely (but not showy) banjo work on on "King Kong Kitchie." Colin Meloy duets with Veirs on "Soldier's Joy," making it sound a little bit like a track from some Bizarro Decemberists album where all the song have happy endings. And perhaps my favorite vocal turn is from Veirs herself, yodeling on "Prairie Lullaby."
Given the timeless nature of many of these songs, my typical suggestion of an age range is somewhat foolish, but it'll probably be more appreciated by kids ages 3 and up. (Though perhaps if you start younger, by the time they hit preschool they'll have all the lyrics to "The Fox" memorized.) You can sample the disk anywhere, but for a little while longer, go here to stream the album.
Tumble Bee is a lovely album through and through. Fans of Elizabeth Mitchell's and Dan Zanes' family albums should be especially drawn to it, though this trawls narrower, folkier waters. But it also compares well to albums of Mitchell's Smithsonian Folkways predecessors like Pete Seeger and Leadbelly. Methinks Ruth Crawford Seeger, another one of Veirs' inspirations for the album, would be proud of it. It's a small gem, and while it's not actually a Folkways album, it's a kindred spirit to that tradition. Highly recommended.
Chip Taylor is a name that might not be immediately familiar to you, but some of the songs he wrote -- "Wild Thing," "Angel of the Morning" -- probably are. On his new Smithsonian Folkways album Golden Kids Rules, Taylor is joined by 3 granddaughters -- the "Grandkids" -- to sing some songs which trade in the urgency of "Wild Thing" for the experienced perspective of a grandparent.
Which, yeah, I know sounds dull, but it's really not. On "I'm Just Thinkin' About What I'm Thinkin' About," Taylor sounds like John Prine channeling a daydreaming kid. "Quarter Moon Shining" might be the most beautiful song I've heard all year, filled with questions all kids ask -- "what's beyond the sky?," "how high do birds fly?," "when old dogs die, where do they go?" -- and (some) answers from Taylor, in a soaring chorus. The grandkids are not an afterthought -- they sing on every track. I don't think you'll tire of their voices -- they sound like real kids singing (in tune), rather than KidzBop shouters.
The project started when Taylor wrote some songs for the wedding of his son Kristian. He wrote three songs for he and his grandkids to perform the wedding, included here at the end of the album. Despite the very personal nature of the project, it's to Taylor's credit that the three songs have enough universality to them to make me, someone who's never met Kristian and his wife Anna, understand the songs anyway. (With just a little bit of lyrical tweaking, "Happy Wedding" could easily become a joyful reception staple for any wedding.) With the exception of "Kids to Save the Planet," which is the only overt "do this!" song and therefore the least interesting one on the album, Taylor's guidance is offered gently and obliquely.
The 38-minute album is most appropriate for kids ages 4 through 9. You can download the title track and listen to samples from the rest here. As with all Smithsonian Folkways disks, the liner notes are excellent. Golden Kids Rules would be a perfect "from the grandparents" gift to your kids, but even if you're not receiving the AARP magazine just yet, you (and your kids), you'll probably enjoy the warmth and good humor in these folk-rock melodies. Recommended.
Disclosure: I received a copy of this album for possible review.
What do I have to do, people? I tell you -- repeatedly -- about Austin's Biscuit Brothers, and yet they're still not internationally-loved kids music stars.
I suppose I could tell you how Get Up and Go, their fifth and latest album, continues what the Biscuit Brothers have done from the beginning of their TV show (now entering their sixth season on a variety of PBS stations) -- seamlessly blend top-notch musical performances with entry-level musical education. It's always been liking hiding the shredded carrots in the mac-and-cheese, and a song like "Tempo Tongue Twister," featuring the always hysterical Tiny Scarecrow singing a tongue twister that gradually increases in speed (aka tempo) is a perfect example of that. [Note: Tiny Scarecrow doesn't play quite as large a role on this album as he does on others, so those of you who are fans -- e.g., me -- should take note.]
But really, why bother? Why tell you that the Biscuit Brothers band, though Americana country and folk is its home territory, covers the genre ground from zydeco ("The Crawdad Song," of course) to jazz ("Bill Bailey") to surf-rock ("Dance Party") to funk (the title track) with aplomb just as they've always done if you're not going to buy the albums or watch clips from the shows. There's no point in telling you that there is more pure joy on a Biscuit Brothers album than almost any other kids music album (which is already a fairly high-joy genre) -- their version of "Little Red Caboose" may be the most fun track I've heard all year.
So go ahead. Ignore me. Your kids aged 3 through 8 who would get the most out of this album can ignore me, too. Get Up and Go is yet another solid album of traditional favorites done fresh and with good humor, mixed in with a few originals, an album which would be a good entry point for non-fans into the Biscuit Brothers show. It's definitely recommended, not that you care.
Kids' music often resides in the realm of the real -- the concrete here and now. Music from Southern California's Todd McHatton doesn't follow that formula, especially on his latest disk, Galactic Champions of Joy.
Sure, there's a song about going to the pool -- "Tommy Had a Super Towel," which kicks off the album -- but it's much more about the towel and Tommy's imaginative (and perhaps literal) flights of fancy with it. One "Little Money Man" and "Say Hello to My Hippo," McHatton sings consecutive songs about flatulence; in the former, money appears when the title character "cuts the cheese." And on the final track, the surreal and genius (and totally justified hit) "I Think I'm a Bunny," McHatton takes the role of a monster who thinks he's, well, a bunny, while the young girl he duets with has to convince him that he is, yes, indeed, a purple monster. (I would be disappointed if the song doesn't turn into a picture book at some point.)
The music here is mostly swirling psychedelic power-pop that could have been released at any point in the past 35 years (say hello to the Beatles, or McHatton's hero Harry Nilsson, or Matthew Sweet). It can be gorgeous at times, and it's rarely simple. (This is Exhibit A in the argument against the notion that music for kids need only be bland.) Kids ages 5 through 9 will most appreciate the music (and lyrics) here. You can stream the 47-minute album here.
If parts of Galactic Champions of Joy feel a little bit like a daydream, that's entirely appropriate. The imaginative life of a child can be every bit as important as the concrete day-to-day details, maybe more so, so an album that dives deep into those ideas should be valued. Most families will enjoy at least part of it, but some families will probably find this to be one of their most beloved albums. Recommended.
Folks like Justin Roberts or Recess Monkey aren't the only kids' musicians who can write a musical earworm that will get stuck in your kid's (and, by extension, your) head. Here are a couple albums by lesser-known artists with their own fair share of hooks.
Florida's 
If Mr. Richard takes a jangly-pop approach from the '70s to his songs, on his second album Holy Cow!, Gerry Stanek AKA 
Weird, weird, weird, weird, weird.
But in a good way.
I can't imagine anybody would ever call Brooklyn's 
Looking to take a bit of a break after a long tour and giving birth to her son, Portland-based singer-songwriter 
What do I have to do, people? I tell you -- 
