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0 Written by Meghan Garner
As part of a small writing project in one of my music classes, I got to review a Polaris Prize-winning album by a Canadian artist, Yves Jarvis, from Montreal. I listened extensively to his sixth album, All Cylinders, which includes eleven original songs (the deluxe version adds five extra tracks).
I wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, to be honest. But as I learned more about how Yves Jarvis composed and produced this album, I couldn’t help but admire Jarvis’s creativity and determination. He composed most of this album on a broken laptop in a small basement in Montreal. Up until this class project, I wasn’t aware of this popular Canadian artist. The Calgary Herald praised Jarvis in their article: “[Jarvis] has long been admired by critics, and All Cylinders is the sort of album the Polaris jury tends to embrace: A low-budget, uncompromising enterprise that showcases a singular vision and general indifference to commercial prospects.” Jarvis said that he listened to Frank Sinatra for about a year in preparation for All Cylinders, and George Strait’s music was also a big inspiration. He condenses genres of folk R&B, country, blues, and contemporary music into an original blend of something that sounds retro and futuristic at the same time.
All Cylinders by Yves Jarvis is an album in which Jarvis displays his digital audio skills in recording and producing his original retro pop and funk album without a single outside contributor! He tastefully composes a season of his life—in literal and metaphorical ways—in terms of love, relationships, and everyday life. The most compelling aspect of his album is the various bits of beeps, whirrs, echoes, twinkles, drumming, and sampling that Jarvis decorates each track with. Besides “All Cylinders,” you can hardly expect to sing along to any of the songs. No, this kind of quirky album is meant to pique the active listener’s brain. Yves Jarvis constantly shifts pulse, mood, rhythm, and phrases in a way that could easily distract, but somehow blends into an unexpurgated arrangement of music.
His opening song “With a Grain” begins with an intro that is equalized, sounding hazy and tinted: then the EQ is abruptly turned down at forty-five-seconds when a bell rings, and Jarvis sings the first melodic phrase—almost as if everything is suddenly clear and in focus. I wonder if Jarvis wanted us not only to listen to the music but also to envision it. I can’t seem to explain how this album makes me see colours, places, and people simply with the music and not with the lyrics. It’s hard to pin down exactly what genre All Cylinders belongs to due to its random uniqueness. I mean, who else has an entire track dedicated to two solid chords filling the space of just thirteen minutes? Listening to this album feels familiar, as if I’m experiencing déjà vu. Despite being a digital native, I’m tempted to buy All Cylinders on vinyl.
