Sixties homage that sets a cancer journey to different musical styles.
Thee Holy Brothers is a supergroup of sorts, formed of Willie Aron and Marvin Etzioni, whose full CVs would take up this entire review. Etzioni writes the songs for their second project, whose title comes from his elation at the all-clear after a bout with cancer, a disease, wretchedly, Aron lost his wife to.
The presence of a pedal steel on ‘I Am Time’ adds suitable melancholy to a lyric that includes the line “everybody wants more of me”, which is even more stark given what Etzioni went through. ‘I Can See Through My Window Now’, complete with a small horn section, is a jubilant pastiche of about three eras of the Beatles’ catalogue. The duo invites you to play Spot The Influence, given that Etzioni’s cancer is a bitter pill that needs some sugar to accompany its digestion.
Opening track ‘Born Torn’ seems to imagine a world where the Beatles and Pink Floyd were both in Abbey Road Studio Two in 1968; “the rain pours down like silver” could have been written by John Lennon or Syd Barrett. It is quite a shock to realise that this sort of music was first made six decades ago. ‘The Holy in Everything’ has the close harmonies of Laurel Canyon acts, as the duo purr a depressing lyric: “I don’t see the good in anything…I want to erase my face”. ‘Magic Jacket’, meanwhile, could have slotted on any number of Who albums thanks to its chugging Townshendesque acoustic guitar: “I can break through any wall…I will save your soul in the key of dreams”.
‘Sunshine In My Veins’, a direct lyrical reference to chemotherapy, and ‘Guru Honk’ have the power-pop feel of The Raspberries or Big Star, complete with both “beep beep” and “sha la la” to undercut the harsh lyric of losing control and being unable to feel things. ‘Emily Parade’, the album’s five-minute centrepiece, offers a Dylanesque vocal delivery, quirky chord changes and a passage of guitar, ‘Ode To Harry Cell’ is a satirical kiss-off to one of the cancer cells who was “never meant to be my friend”, before the cathartic title track, with its celebratory opening line “this must be Carnegie Hall”, closes the album, again with a Beatlesque flavour and a long coda which includes the title sung a cappella.
Given that millions of people have either had cancer or know someone who has fought or died from it, this album should have a wide audience. It will certainly be the only record you hear this year which is effectively a cancer journal set to music that was popular at a time when, amazing to think, Etzioni would probably have fallen victim himself. These days, there is every chance that a cancer sufferer will live to sing the tale.
