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2005-06-27T14:49:00.000-04:00

Show Review: Wilco at the Agganis Arena

It’s official. Wilco are the greatest band working today.

Okay, maybe there are a few out there who would tie for first place, but they’re definitely up there. The band’s de facto leader, Jeff Tweedy, has gone from alt country poster boy to Brian Wilsonesque power-popster to experimental noisemaker, while all the while keeping his sense of melody and lyrical mastery intact. Their most recent album, A Ghost Is Born, is a far cry for A.M., their 1995 debut, but it doesn’t take a lifetime of listens to hear similarities.

Their delicate balance of songwriting prowess and avant-noise was on full display last Friday at Boston University’s Agganis Arena. Singer/songwriter/guitarist Tweedy, bass player John Stirratt, drummer Glenn Kotche, guitarist Nels Cline, keyboard player Mikael Jorgensen and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone favored new songs over the old (ten songs from A Ghost Is Born and none from the debut album, if that’s any indication), but made them all seem timeless. Hitting the stage with “Airline to Heaven,” from Mermaid Avenue, Vol. II (their second Woody Guthrie tribute collaboration with Billy Bragg), the country/folk followers of Tweedy’s older days were appeased. The rollicking “I’m the Man Who Loves You” followed, and while quiet, brooding numbers like “Muzzle of Bees” and “Jesus, Etc” weaved in and out of the show, they were tempered with dissonant numbers like “Handshake Drugs” (with its cathartic feedback coda) and the epic drone of “Spiders/Kidsmoke.” Guitarist Cline has been something of a secret weapon of late, incorporating his manic experimental guitar stylings into Wilco’s shows and also dialing down the theatrics in order to pick up a lap steel guitar on the more roots-oriented numbers.

Besides his constant desire to experiment musically, Tweedy has been uncharacteristically good-humored lately, imploring the audience to incorporate the word “Boston” into the sing-a-long portion of “Kingpin,” calling their current stretch the “arena tour” with tongue firmly in cheek, and even walking onstage for the encore wearing a BU hockey jersey with “Tweedy” emblazoned on the back. As he’s said in recent interviews, Jeff Tweedy is the happiest he’s ever been.

Regardless of the ongoing maturity of Wilco’s music, they never seem to forget that they’re a rock group and are more than happy to indulge in fun, harmless clichés -- the wild light show was a supreme guilty pleasure, and Sansone’s Pete Townshend-style windmills during the raucous “I’m A Wheel” were straight out of Rock Star 101.

Power-pop crowd pleasers like “Heavy Metal Drummer” and “I’m Always In Love” were featured (and the term “crowd pleaser” should not be considered derogatory – the Wilco crowd has pretty damn good taste in music), and one of the night’s nicest surprises was the closing number, a sublime cover of Bob Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released.”

My Morning Jacket, a band I’ve been suggested to check out, opened for Wilco and clearly had fans of their own in the crowd, judging by the enthusiastic support. Their music is definitely worth a listen. Kind of roots-rock, with a definite 70s feel (lots of long hair bobbing back and forth, complete with Gibson Flying V’s and rock star poses), their look is misleading, since their songwriting is stellar. This is the rare case of me witnessing an opening act and making a mental note to check them out the next time they tour solo.

Wilco is a rare band in today’s climate – they refuse to ride trends, they’re not hopelessly derivative, and they play all their instruments and write their own songs. Even at the height of their powers, they refuse to rest on their laurels, constantly moving forward. They sound better than ever. Do not miss a chance to see them.

For a full setlist of the Boston show, go here.

2004-12-09T14:35:00.000-05:00

You Didn't Ask For It, But...My Favorite Music of 2004

This one almost made the top ten.

If you know my taste in music and who some of my favorite artists are, you may feel that this year’s list is somewhat of a cop-out. Almost everyone who made my “top ten” is a personal favorite of mine, whose work I would probably enjoy no matter what they chose to do. But these are all albums I enjoyed greatly. I have to admit that I didn’t really discover too much “new” music this year, in terms of new artists and whatnot. I spent a fair amount of time diving into a lot of classical music, so that’s probably where all my efforts went. In fact, a 2004 “classical” list may be coming your way shortly. In the meantime…

First of all, I have to give my standard obligatory warning: I do not necessarily consider these the “best” albums of the year. I’m sure there’s a lot of great stuff out there that I never got around to hearing, and just because I like it doesn’t necessarily make it great; these are ten albums released in 2004 (along with honorary mentions and a “reissues” section) that I happened to enjoy a lot (in alphabetical order by artist, if you must know). Also, I apologize for not making links for any of these albums. That would take me forever. Okay. Let’s roll.

The Beautiful South - Golddiggaz, Head Nodders and Pholk Songs: Covers albums can often seem like the ultimate admission of writer’s block. Executing this type of project successfully, in my opinion, requires a two-pronged attack: make interesting cover choices, and avoid standard arrangements. Hull’s famous sons (and daughter) have accomplished both quite nicely with their first-ever covers album. And while their famous lyrical bite may be missed, it’s hard not to smile at a ballad version of “You’re the One That I Want” or a latin-soaked “”Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Paul Heaton’s falsetto on “Stone In Love With You” is a pretty beautiful thing, too.

Elvis Costello and the Imposters – Delivery Man: Easily the best thing Elvis has done in years. While 2002 signaled a return to rock and roll with the visceral When I Was Cruel, this time, he’s truly letting loose and having fun. A quasi-concept album recorded in the Deep South, Elvis and the Imposters (his famed Attractions backing band with Davey Faragher replacing Bruce Thomas on bass) embrace loud, distorted country rock. The witty wordplay is intact (check out the priceless “Bedlam”), but this time around he truly seems to be having a blast. It’s quite possibly the most effortlessly catchy work I’ve heard from the guy. Loud volume recommended.

Steve Earle - The Revolution Starts…Now: There are plenty of poseurs out there pretending to be country music’s “bad boys.” Steve Earle could kick their collective asses in his sleep. Long abandoned by the country music mainstream after drug addiction, countless personal battles and a refusal to pander to the lowest common denominator, Earle has emerged as an intelligent, left-leaning troubadour, whose causes are almost as bracing as his ability to sing and play his heart out. On his latest album, he mixes anti-war songs (“Home to Houston,” “Rich Man’s War”) with freedom of speech tributes (the Ramones-meets-Springsteen “F the CC”) and heartbreak (the gorgeous “I Thought You Should Know”) with lusty reggae-fused pleas (“Condi, Condi,” a hilariously catchy ode to Bush’s Secretary of State). It’s loud, distorted, infectious, makes you think, makes you dance and at just under 40 minutes, there’s not an ounce of filler.

John Wesley Harding – Adam’s Apple: There are basically two different John Wesley Harding albums. He either releases witty, funny, catchy acoustic albums (often concert recordings), or witty, funny, catchy full-band albums. Adam’s Apple is the latter, an album first intended for release in 2002 before his record label went out of business and Wes was forced to shop around the tracks until the tiny DRT label picked him up. With albums like this, you get the best of both worlds: there’s the Wes Wit, but with a great Beatlesque/Brian Wilson feel as well. As much as he admires the folk vibe, Wes is a power popster of the highest order. Tight instrumentation makes songs like “Nothing At All,” “Sleeper Awake” and “She Never Talks” shine like long-lost AM radio favorites. And “Sussex Ghost Story” is a brilliant, moving collaboration with contemporary classical composer Gavin Bryars. There’s also “Sluts,” the funky nod to hedonism, and “Protest Protest Protest,” wherein the singer lampoons his own folky persona. Not his best album, but a great place to start.

Mike Keneally – Dog: I extol the virtues of Keneally so much that I sometimes feel like I deserve a commission from his manager. But how can you not love a guy who writes brilliant music, is an absolute jaw-droppingly talented musician, and his funny as hell to boot? Sort of a more optimistic, slightly more accessible version of his mentor, Frank Zappa (in whose band Mike played in 1987 and 1988) Keneally’s been making wild, twisted, utterly uncategorizable albums for a dozen years. This one, his latest, is basically a solid rock album, backed by a crack group of stellar musicians (Bryan Beller on bass, Nick D’Virgilio on drums and Rick Musallam on guitar). The lyrics seem to make little to no sense (to me, at least), but have a whimsy to them that’s hard to resist. These lyrics are framed by a guitar-heavy sound, particularly in the faux-Metallica riffs of “Louie” and the dizzying “Choosing to Drown.” Gears are shifted for more reflective, dynamic numbers like “Splane” and “Bober” (although the latter track contains a priceless guitar meltdown finale), as well as the completely goofy “Gravity Grab” and the low-key funk of “Panda.” But let’s not forget the trippy, psychotic 15-minute “This Tastes Like a Hotel,” which sounds like the work of a musical prodigy with both multiple personality and attention deficit disorders. Not a bad collection of music.

Brad Mehldau – Live in Tokyo: Brad Mehldau is, in my humble opinion, one of the most innovative, interesting, creative and eclectic artists on the jazz scene today. He excels at standards, oddball rock song covers, as well as his own original pieces. While he works exceedingly well in the standard trio format, this live album is actually a solo piece, with Brad playing songs by Nick Drake (“Things Behind the Sun,” “River Man”), Thelonious Monk (“Monk’s Dream”), George and Ira Gershwin (“How Long Has This Been Going On?”) and Radiohead (“Paranoid Android”), among others. The sheer talent and imagination required to pull off something like this is mind-boggling. And he makes it seem so easy. Brad’s ingenuity and ability to make music completely on his own terms is sadly lacking in today’s world.

Morrissey – You Are the Quarry: Morissey fans (and I’ve been one since his Smiths days, back in the Eighties) have been waiting for the Pope of Mope to release a new album since Maladjusted was released seven years ago. Waiting that long can spell doom for most artists -- fickle fans can give up on you much quicker -- but Morrissey has clearly recharged his batteries, as evidenced by this album. Quarry is one big blast of terrific songs, with Morrissey’s voice sounding better than ever, the lyrics as witty as always, and his band tearing through the songs with gleeful abandon. Producer Jerry Finn has helped Moz craft what I feel to be his best album since Viva Hate, his classic 1988 solo debut. Songs like “I Have Forgiven Jesus,” “You Know I Couldn’t Last,” “The First of the Gang to Die” and “Come Back to Camden” are among the finest he’s ever made.

Geraint Watkins – Dial “W” For Watkins: This album came out of nowhere and totally won me over. Welsh oddball singer/songwriter/instrumentalist opened for Nick Lowe on his recent fall tour and charmed the pants off the crowd with a winning set that combined R&B, boogie-woogie, ballads, gospel and whatever else he could sic on Nick’s audience. On this album, Watkins performs most of the instruments himself, and the songs are almost all originals (except for his excellent version of the Beach Boys’ “Heroes and Villains”), but most of them sound like long-lost standards, a mixture of Jerry Lee Lewis piano and Van Morrison Celtic gospel. There’s some pretty far-out stuff in here as well, that can’t really be compared to anyone (I can’t even begin to describe “Turn That Chicken Down”).

Paul Weller – Studio 150: What is it with my favorite artists making covers albums this year? Fortunately, Weller excels at this type of thing, despite the fact that he’s a marvelous songwriter in his own right. As usual, he covers some rare songs, and adds originality to the better-known tracks. Gordon Lightfoot’s “Early Morning Rain” is given a wonderful acoustic flavor with a nice fiddle break, Neil Young’s “Birds” contains some beautiful piano and female backing vocals, Allan Toussaint’s obscure “Hercules” is a muscular funk workout, as is the cover of Gil-Scott Heron’s “The Bottle.” Weller’s cover of the Carpenter’s “Close to You” (yeah, you heard me) could have been a disaster, but Weller’s soulful voice raises the song up from the schmaltz and gives it a classic R&B flavor. This guy could sing the phone book and it would sound great. My only complaint: the world does not need another version of “All Along the Watchtower.” Still, a great album.

Wilco – A Ghost is Born: Releasing an album two years after your previous one is one thing; when the previous album is Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, you could definitely say there’s a lot on the line. Wilco’s 2002 masterpiece was hailed by critics and fans alike, a dizzying masterpiece of brilliant songs and groundbreaking production (and also suffered a minor, ridiculously unfair backlash). How do you top that? The simplest answer is, you don’t. Ghost is not better than its predecessor. But it’s still very, very good. The idiosyncratic production techniques are replaced by a more organic sound that sometimes reduces the songs to a whisper (“Muzzle of Bees”). The soft/loud dynamic is never used as a cliché; rather, it enhances the overall listening experience. The opening track, “At Least That’s What You Said,” starts with quiet, almost inaudible piano. Before long, singer/songwriter Jeff Tweedy has his amp on “11” with cathartic guitar solo recalling vintage Neil Young. “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” veers back and forth from almost catatonic repetition to a heavy guitar-and-piano monster riff. Give co-producer/unofficial band member Jim O’Rourke a good chunk of the credit for allowing this supremely talented band to continue experimenting while still keeping the songs hummable. This is an album that gets better with every listen.

Honorable Mentions:

Badly Drawn Boy – One Plus One is One: I feel horrible about the fact that I snagged a free promo copy of this a few months ago and haven’t given it much of my attention. Especially considering how much I love Damon Gough. I’m going to assume that this belongs on the list.

Beastie Boys – To the Five Boroughs: No, I am not much of a hip-hop fan. But the Beasties’ dorky white boy persona has always made me smile. This love letter to New York City has lots of great moments. Another one I need to devote more attention to.

Elvis Costello – Il Sogno: As far as rock songwriters writing classical music goes, Elvis does a pretty good job (not surprising, considering his eclectic nature). I don’t think he should quit his day job, but would you rather listen to Billy Joel’s classical music?

Jamie Cullum – Twentysomething: That sound you just heard is my “street cred” flying out the window. I like this guy. So sue me. I like his voice, he’s a great pianist, and his arrangements are interesting. It may be jazz marketed for MTV, but it still sounds good to me.

Iron & Wine – Our Endless Numbered Days: While so many bands out there fall over themselves in an attempt to be cool and “alternative,” Sam Beam (a.k.a. Iron & Wine) quietly goes on making indescribably beautiful Nick Drake-inspired music. This one missed the top ten by a hair.

Mike Keneally and Metropole Orkest - The Universe Will Provide: I’ve barely listened to this since I got it a couple of months ago. Why? Because I’m an idiot. While Costello makes some pretty nice classical music, Keneally excels at it. This is crazy, dissonant, beautiful, mad stuff. Undoubtedly, Mike’s affiliation with Frank Zappa has paid off in spades. Remind me again to listen to this more.

Reissues that made me very happy this year:

Elvis Costello -- Almost Blue/Goodbye Cruel World/Kojak Variety: Rhino’s latest batch of Costello reissues includes a much-maligned 1981 country covers album, an even more maligned keyboard-heavy 1984 album (that sounds utterly 1984), and a decent 1995 covers album. Not his best crop, but I’ll take Costello’s worst over whatever horse manure is being shoveled over on TRL. Most of this trio of albums has aged well, and Rhino’s bonus discs alone are worth the price.

Echo and the Bunnymen – Ocean Rain: If I’m not mistaken, all of the Bunnymen releases were reissued this year, with fancy o-card packaging and a bunch of bonus tracks. Ocean Rain would easily fit on my list of top 20 favorite albums of all time, so despite the fact that the bonus tracks here are only so-so, this is still a welcome reissue.

Brian Eno – Music for Airports: Eno’s another artist whose the subject of a massive reissue project. This is the only album of his that I’m intimately familiar with, and if you don’t know of it, you should. Four long instrumental tracks of pure ambient beauty.

Harry Nilsson – Nilsson Schmilsson: Nilsson, a late great singer/songwriter of the highest order (who counted the Beatles among his biggest fans) made a string of albums in the seventies, and this is the crown jewel. Picture Randy Newman rocking out a bit, and you’ve got the general idea. A classic. With some nice bonus tracks, and liner notes by Nilsson uber-fan Curtis Armstrong (also known as the guy who played Booger on “Revenge of the Nerds”).

Rockpile – Seconds of Pleasure: Nick Lowe, Dave Edmunds, Billy Bremner and Terry Williams – the group responsible for Nick’s solo album Labour of Lust -- released this album in 1981 and basically disappeared forever. Now’s your chance to hear this long-lost classic of rockabilly fury. You need this in your collection, trust me.

Talking Heads – The Name of this Band is Talking Heads: While even the casual Heads fan will admit that Stop Making Sense is an amazing live document (both the film and the soundtrack), purists will insist that this 1982 live album is better. I agree. Their early days playing gigs that were not much more than living rooms, in addition to the early eighties when they began exploring more exotic musical forms are all represented here. It’s frantic, catchy, insane stuff. Lots and lots of bonus tracks, too.

The Wailers – Burnin’: I was a diehard Marley fan in the early nineties but began to listen less and less once frat boys began singing his praises. But you can’t go wrong with this early masterpiece, now paired with a bonus disc of live material. Those of you who think that the overplayed Legend is the ultimate Bob Marley document need to get your head screwed on right and pick this up immediately.

Weezer – the Blue Album: I’m biased, of course. Weezer, in my opinion, can simply do no wrong. That’s why this reissue of their debut album makes me so happy. The original disc is paired with a bonus disc of demos, live tracks, b-sides and lots of other crunchy goodness. And lots of liner notes for a liner notes freak like me.

Yes – Drama: Rhino also reissued Tormato and 90125 this year, but I don’t care for those two albums. Drama is an underrated work from those prog-rock demigods. Singer Jon Anderson had been replaced (temporarily) by future-legendary producer and onetime Buggles leader Trevor Horn, and while Trevor can’t hit all those high notes that Anderson was known for, he does an admirable job and the songs are quite good.

2004-10-07T15:51:00.000-04:00

Show Review: Brad Mehldau at Scullers
Jazz music's unlikely young hero

There are jazz artists, and then there’s Brad Mehldau. Not content to sit back and rest on his laurels as an accomplished pianist and master improviser, Brad pushes the boundaries of jazz without falling into the usual trappings of “sellouts” or “crossover artists.”

Brad’s solo performance Wednesday night at Scullers Jazz Club in the Doubletree Suites Hotel confirmed his status as a supremely talented musician who insists on doing things his way.

There’s a lot of people out there who approve of Brad’s way of doing things, judging by the sold-out crowd in the luxurious, intimate room. Arriving on stage with little fanfare, wearing an un-tucked, black button-down shirt and brown corduroys, Brad greeted the audience in his usual friendly-yet-shy manner and began the set with one of his many odd cover choices – “Junk,” from Paul McCartney’s debut solo album.

Coaxing the pop-rock world into the jazz universe has always been a favorite pastime of Brad Mehldau. This is the man who, after all, has recorded his own versions of at least three Radiohead songs. What he seems to do time and time again – something other jazz artists can’t seem to get a handle on – is cover something by Radiohead, or the Beatles, or the late folk legend Nick Drake – and not only make it sound devoid of gimmickry, but also transform it into a jazz standard all its own.

Sitting at the piano, creating a swirling kaleidoscope of sound and swaying back and forth (with eyes often closed and feet pumping away at the pedals), Brad’s approach to the songs he plays – either his own, or in well-chosen covers – is to start with the song’s standard melody and then drop some engaging dissonance into the mix, followed by a unique brand of soloing – at times sweet and tender, and often brutal and cacophonous. There was really only one occasion Wednesday night where I noticed Brad sticking to a conventional jazz approach – during his performance of Thelonious Monk’s “Monk’s Dream” – and while there was little dissonance and envelope-pushing during that particular song, its elegance was disarming.

Undoubtedly promoting his latest album – the solo Live in Tokyo – Brad played two songs from that album, “Monk’s Dream” and Nick Drake’s “Things Behind the Sun.” He also played standards (“On the Street Where You Live”), originals (“Los Angeles II”) as well as the obligatory Radiohead song (“Knives Out”) and closing out the set, the Beatles’ classic “Martha My Dear.” A transcendent performance, no doubt, but really just business as usual for Brad Mehldau.

2004-09-29T11:11:00.000-04:00

Show Review: Nick Lowe at the Paradise
Rock's most legendary obscurity plays a winning set

It’s hard to see your musical heroes grow old, mainly because a good deal of them don’t know how to do it gracefully. Fortunately, Nick Lowe is not only aging gracefully, he seems to be having the time of his life, and his singing, playing and songwriting are as sharp as ever.

That was the conclusion I reached Saturday night as I stepped out of Boston's Paradise Rock Club, after Nick performed for about 90 minutes to a delighted, appreciative crowd.

Nick’s name may not be altogether familiar to the average music fan, but if you’re a student of punk and power-pop from the late seventies, not knowing who he is should be a crime. Nick gained notoriety as a staff producer at Stiff Records, where a young Elvis Costello was first signed in 1977. Nick produced many of Elvis’ early albums (and subsequently had his hand in a few of the later ones, including Brutal Youth and Blood and Chocolate). In addition to Elvis, Nick produced works by the Damned, Graham Parker, the Pretenders and more.

He also found the time to write and record wonderful albums of his own, including Jesus of Cool and Labour of Lust (the latter album contained his only U.S. hit, “Cruel to be Kind”). His music was part new wave, part rockabilly with a streak of black humor. His side project with guitarist extraordinaire Dave Edmunds, Rockpile, yielded a fantastic 1981 album called Seconds of Pleasure (which was reissued earlier this year -- you should really own it).

Over the last decade or so, Nick’s quietly assumed the role of middle-aged elder statesman, playing more sedate, rootsy music with a crooner’s voice, while still keeping the black humor just under the surface. Albums like The Impossible Bird, Dig My Mood and The Convincer are hardly what you’d expect from one of punk’s premiere architects, but if you follow the trail of Nick’s career, it seems a natural transition, and one that doesn’t at all seem forced.

Opening for Nick on this tour, and accompanying him on keyboards at various times during the show was Welsh singer/multi-instrumentalist Geraint Watkins. Normally I’m not a big fan of opening acts, but Watkins was terrific. A frequent collaborator of Nick’s for the last several years, he can best be described as a combination of Van Morrison, Brian Wilson, Jerry Lee Lewis and Tom Jones. Banging away at the keyboard, Watkins conjured up zydeco, rockabilly, boogie-woogie, rhythm and blues and gospel. It’s a rare treat to have a support act who sounds great and isn’t just an excuse for the crowd to wander to the bar and restrooms. He performed mostly original material (except for his stellar version of the Beach Boys’ “Heroes and Villains”), but the songs were so good they almost sounded like standards (and his latest album, Dial “W” For Watkins, is readily available in stores if you’re interested).

Nick took to the stage with an acoustic guitar and treated the audience to a wide range of songs from his rich repertoire. Old songs were revisited (“Cruel to be Kind,” “Half a Boy and Half a Man,” “I Knew The Bride When She Used To Rock and Roll”) in addition to a few numbers from last few albums (“Lately I’ve Let Things Slide,” “Soulful Wind”). The songs often took a rollicking, upbeat turn, but Nick also dialed it down to a near whisper with gorgeous versions of “The Beast in Me” and “Lover Don’t Go,” two of his most beautiful ballads.

Nick was in a winning mood, bantering occasionally between songs about subjects such as the Paradise (which he claims to have played “267 thousand times”) as well as previous venues on the current tour (Portland’s Aladdin Theater, which he informed us was “a decommissioned porno theater”). He was completely gracious and seemed to be thrilled at the packed house.

Although not a particularly political artist, Nick did in fact end the set proper (before a couple of well-received encores) with a sublime rendition of (“What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding,” which was popularized by Elvis Costello but actually written by Nick. Accompanied by Watkins on piano, Nick’s impassioned singing (which sounds better than ever, by the way) gave the song great urgency, particularly given the current state of world affairs.

No fog machines, no lip-syncing, no Jumbo-tron TV screens, no self-centered divas. Just an incredibly talented singer/songwriter – hell, a legend – playing great music.

2004-09-09T15:14:00.000-04:00

The Beautiful, Twisted World of Frank Zappa
Put something daring in your music collection

There’s nothing quite like a preconceived notion to block out an experience that could make your life so much richer. Consider, if you will, the strange case of Frank Zappa.

Zappa was a composer, singer, guitarist, arranger, bandleader, would-be politician, and all-around enfant terrible. Nothing in his art was ever really conventional. He hated what was considered “traditional.” He broke barriers. He worked in all genres and created new ones. He invented the concept album (his debut album with the Mothers of Invention, Freak Out, was apparently one of Paul McCartney’s inspirations for Sgt. Pepper), he probably invented jazz fusion, and composed classical music so brilliant that legendary French composer/conductor Pierre Boulez agreed to perform it.

Still, he’ll always be the guy who wrote “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” and “Valley Girl.”

How frustrating is this for me, who’s been a fan for more than 20 years? More than a little. I’ll admit, when I first heard Zappa’s music, it was the toilet humor that drew me in. Hey, I was in junior high school. Sue me. Over the years, through my older brother’s endless acquisition of Zappa vinyl (both official and bootleg titles), in addition to front-row seats at a 1984 Zappa concert (my first rock concert), the creation of countless Zappa mix tapes (for myself as well as Zappa acolytes), the acquisition of Zappa’s ever-growing CD titles, and deep sadness at hearing of his passing in 1993, Frank’s music has been a constant in my musical upbringing since the age of 13.

Why does this music speak to me? For one thing, the man was a complete and utter genius. His eclecticism floored me – he could write brilliant pop music (usually with tongue firmly-in-cheek) and then turn around and give you some dissonant chamber music. Or a sax-drenched jazz workout. How about a semi-parody of heavy metal? An instrumental for synthesizer? Sure, why not?

Frank did all this and made it so easy. The only common thread in his hundreds of compositions is probably the ridiculous titles he would give his songs. A transcendent duet for bouzouki and violin is titled “Canard du Jour.” One of his knottier instrumental numbers is called “Alien Orifice.” Classical pieces are not spared these idiosyncracies, either. How about a piece for orchestra (performed by the London Symphony Orchestra) called “Bob in Dacron?”

If you’re interested in diving into the Zappa archives, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Fortunately, the wonderful folks at Rykodisc have remastered virtually the entire FZ catalog on CD, and it all sounds wonderful. My own personal preferences for the ultimate Zappa starter kit would include “We’re Only In It For the Money,” “Hot Rats,” “One Size Fits All,” “Lather” and “You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore, Vol. 2.” There’s also some fine DVD product to peruse as well (Baby Snakes, Does Humor Belong in Music, a long-awaited imminent release of the Roxy & Elsewhere concert).

I could go on with a long-winded biography, but this is just a starting point. This is music that has affected my life very deeply, and has done the same for countless others. See what the fuss is about.

2004-09-03T10:55:00.000-04:00

The Beautiful South
A modest plea from me to you to embrace this band of Brits

There’s really no reason to bow to convention, unless you’re trying to impress your date’s parents. Unfortunately, some of the most unconventional music slips under the radar because its risky nature is not being adequately financed by the major labels. Or maybe everyone’s saving their money for the upcoming Paris Hilton album. Whatever.

This could be why the Beautiful South, while achieving reputable status in their home of England, have barely registered in the United States. Sure, they have their share of American fans (myself included), but a mere mention of their name will most likely garner confused looks from Yanks.

To be fair, their lack of popularity is somewhat understandable. Let’s examine the lyrics, for example. One of the most interesting and unique aspects of this band is their juxtaposition of sweet melodies and caustic, biting words.

They say always use a condom, I say always use a whip
They say be careful where you come at night, I just shoot straight from the hip
When it comes to loves great fountain, I won't just take a sip
I'll swallow and I'll gulp until the fountain makes me sick.

The song, “Mini-Correct,” is from the band’s 1994 album, Miaow, and is told from the point of view of a chauvinistic, sadistic bastard. Often, the band’s lyrics are like theater, with the two male vocalists and one female vocalist acting out the parts. Singer/lyricist Paul Heaton enjoys writing about relationships and seems to take a particular interest in the sometimes cruel and thoughtless nature of men. The women in his lyrics know this behavior all too well.

A woman goes to heaven, it's not important when,
As soon as she arrives, God has to send her down again.
"You've got an extra five years to clean up after men."
"I mean no disrespect, God...but you'd better make it ten."

(from “Gates,” on the album Gaze)

But the lyrics can also be sweet, unironic, and unapologetically romantic:

I once had a friend who I loved from my heart
But I went on and left her 'fore I'd made a start
Now I'm moaning the blues like the rest of the charts
Take me back

So I'll cry with a limp
Just get by on a limb
Till these blue eyes of mine they are closed
So here's to an old fashioned peck on the cheek
And farewell my sweet Northern Rose

(from “One Last Love Song,” on the album Carry On Up the Charts: the Best of the Beautiful South)

The Beautiful South, which formed in 1989, rose from the ashes of the Housemartins, a mid-eighties band where Heaton served as singer/lyricist (and whose bass player was a gentleman named Norman Cook, now better known to the world as Fatboy Slim). The best way I can describe the Housemartins is if the Smiths attended a gospel revival. The band made two excellent albums and released a greatest hits collection (featuring lots of rare tracks) before breaking up. Heaton soon formed TBS with the Housemartins’ drummer, Dave Hemingway, joining him on lead vocals. Soon a female vocalist (Briana Corrigan) was added, in addition to guitarist/songwriter Dave Rotheray, bass player Sean Welch and drummer Dave Stead.

Over the years, TBS have released a slew of albums (Welcome to the Beautiful South, Choke, 0898, Miaow, Blue is the Colour, Quench, Painting it Red, Gaze) rich with melody and biting wit. In the process, they’ve gained a huge following in the U.K., and have gone through three female vocalists (Briana Corrigan and her replacement, Jacqueline Abbott, have both quit due to personal conflicts with the band; their latest singer is Allison Wheeler, who, at this writing, is still with the group).

If you trust my Housemartins description, perhaps you’ll go along with my TBS description – actually, a friend who attended a TBS show with me in 2000 actually came up with the description, but I think it works: Elton John meets Squeeze. It’s pop music, all right; but teeming with sophistication that a thousand Britneys could never muster up. The vocals are always gorgeously arranged and sung (particularly by Heaton, whose voice is utterly amazing) and there are many traditional touches in the arrangements (lots of piano, for example), but they’re not afraid to throw in a subtle drum machine here or there, or even an odd sitar riff to give a tune a unique color. They pay homage to favorite songwriters by way of subtle imitation (“Pretty” copies an Elvis Costello line, “newlyweds and nearly-deads”) or even the traditional way, cover songs (their versions of “Everybody’s Talkin’” and “Dream a Little Dream of Me” are sublime).

In my experience as someone who enjoys introducing friends to new music, it’s worth noting that most people I know who hear TBS for the first time almost always like the music and subsequently seek it out. Every once in a while someone will lose interest once they hear the lyrics. But if you have beautiful music and boring lyrics, what fun would that be?

TBS has two best-of collections, Carry On Up the Charts (1995) and Solid Bronze (2001). The first one is a good place to start (the second one is a little redundant, if you ask me). I suggest getting the individual discs. My personal favorites are 0898 and Quench, but really, they’re all good. Get them now. Knowing the lack of imagination displayed by your friendly neighborhood record company executive, it may not be long before all Beautiful South albums fall out of print after a while.

2004-06-29T15:01:00.000-04:00

Greg Kot, "Wilco: Learning How To Die"
Picking apart the legend of Jeff Tweedy

Rock bios are generally full of sex, drugs and rock & roll -- unless they're about Wilco. Here we have virtually no sex, not much drug taking (apart from some early tales of alcohol and a relatively insubstantial painkiller addiction), but plenty of rock & roll. And in the end, isn't that what it's all about?

Chicago Tribune music critic Greg Kot lays out the story of Wilco in this detailed, informative biography. Actually, it's more the story of Jeff Tweedy than anyone else. Born and raised in the southern Illinois town of Belleville, Jeff met singer/guitarist/fellow music nut Jay Farrar in junior high school and eventually formed a band, the Primitives, with him. Their sound was deeply rooted in American country and folk, but fused with the raw power and nihilism of punk rock. Think Johnny Cash meets Black Flag.

Kot's book takes the reader through the Primitives' days and nights living in shithole apartments and playing shithole clubs. Eventually the Primitives become Uncle Tupelo and gain and even larger following, resulting in recording sessions, contracts, albums, tours -- making it it out of Belleville and beyond. The band recorded three critically hailed albums and virtually spawned the "alt-country" genre, but Farrar left the band suddenly, forcing Tweedy to reconstruct under the name Wilco. Farrar's follow-up band, Son Volt, gained the initial upper hand (their debut album, Trace, fared much better than Wilco's debut, A.M.), but Tweedy, determined to push Wilco unto more and more adventurous territory, had the last laugh.

Despite A.M.'s mediocre performance with fans and critics, Tweedy pushed ahead with the sprawling, ambitious Being There (he deferred a good deal of his songwriting royalties in order for the album to be released as a double CD at no extra cost to the customer), followed it up with the twisted studio wizardry of Summerteeth (aided in large part to Wilco's latest secret weapon, multi-instrumentalist Jay Bennett) and became a cautionary tale for boat-rockers everywhere with the dense, difficult, beautiful, and briefly unreleasable Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

Almost everyone with a passing interest in contemporary rock music over the last three years knows the story behind that album. Tweedy, Bennett, utility player Leroy Bach, bassist John Stirratt and drummer Glenn Kotche pushed the envelope about as far as it would go, creating beds of noise and dramatic arrangements for the gorgeous songs of YHF. Their label, Warner/Reprise, wouldn't accept it, Wilco took the album to the smaller, more adventurous Nonesuch Records, it received boatloads of acclaim, and now Wilco are the coolest kids in the school while Warner Brothers come off as clueless corporate suits.

This isn't the first time Wilco was snubbed by execs. When Summerteeth was brought to the record company in late 1998, the powers-that-be complained that there was no "hit" to extract from the album. Hotshot producer David Kahne was asked to help mix "I Can't Stand It," in an effort to beef it up for airplay. Of course, airplay never followed. Wilco on the radio, as delightful a prospect as that is for discriminating music fans, carries the same probability as Philip Glass on a reality TV show.

Kot tells the story in amazing detail, drawing from an exhausting pool of interview subjects (it seems as though everyone involved in Wilco's history was interviewed). The book isn't merely a linear telling of how the band got together and went on to prosperity; a good deal of music-business politics is discussed and dissected as well.

Whenever speaking of Wilco and its history, it's always crucial to note how they've become symbolic of music business bullshit and how genuinely talented artists fall victim to almighty dollar. Tweedy is a singer, a songwriter, a musician, but certainly not a corporate ass kisser. He didn't get into music for the money and makes that fact clear throughout the book. Kot constantly hammers home the point that once upon a time, record companies were interested in artist development, whereas now it's just a matter of who can score a hit. Here today, gone tomorrow. No wonder one-hit-wonders are more popular today than ever before.

Tweedy's fickle nature with band members is also evident in Wilco's history. Kot does a good job of remaining objective, and although you get the stories from all sides, and Tweedy basically seems like a nice guy, you can't help feeling that the myriad personnel changes in Uncle Tupelo and Wilco may have something to do with Tweedy's stubborn nature in dealing with people who fly in the face of his overall musical vision. Guitarist Bob Egan was gradually phased out with little sympathy, as was outspoken drummer Ken Coomer (replaced by Kotche after Tweedy was introduced to him by noise-rock guru Jim O'Rourke, who would end up having a huge effect on Tweedy's musical experimantalism). Jay Bennett's dismissal from the band in 2001 was not only acrimonious, it was a substantial subplot of "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart," Sam Jones' 2002 documentary on the making of YHF.

Reading interviews with Bennett, Tweedy and the rest of the band members, in addition to hearing Kot telling the story from the beginning, it's easy to see how Bennett's studio domineering and general head games got in the way of the band. Was Tweedy feeling threatened? Perhaps. Was Bennett nudging Tweedy out of the spotlight? Maybe. But as difficult as it is for a Tweedy fan like myself to admit, Bennett's prowess as both as a musician and a studio engineer were crucial to YHF's sound. The band may be happier, but Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is a peak that they may never surpass.

This is indeed a great story about a musician who loves music, and will compromise nothing for his vision. Fans of Wilco and Uncle Tupelo will be in heaven. Casual fans who just want a good story about making music on your own terms will learn a few lessons. Readers looking for stories about groupies, heroin addiction and dressing room debauchery will have to look elsewhere.

2004-06-29T07:35:00.000-04:00

The Tragically Hip, "In Between Evolution"
An offering from our neighbors to the North

By Tom Johnson, Delicious Media Contributor

Canada's other big musical offering (besides Rush, not to mention Neil Young), the Tragically Hip, have been turning out high-quality rock for nearly two decades now. A staple in their homeland, the Hip is hardly known in the US. Their latest effort, In Between Evolution, seems to be a concerted effort to break through to a little more exposure in the states. Unfortunately, as with most efforts to break through, it suffers from a few flaws. Minor as they may be, it's unfortunate to see a band struggling to get attention. Explaining that the Hip deserve the attention should be unnecessary - but as with all things truly good, it generally misses the attention of the public at large who seem to need things more watered down and generalized.

The problem with In Between Evolution is that it sounds, in a way, like two separate pieces - a short section of "different" material (for the Tragically Hip, at least) followed up by a too-short album of traditional Hip material. The album kicks off in high gear with the raw, almost-punk energy of "Heaven Is A Better Place Today," singer Gord Downie straining to reach the upper echelons of his vocal range. In some respects, it's as if the Hip made a conscious effort to resurrect a bit of the "hard rock" sound they shed after their first couple of albums Up To Here and Road Apples - with mixed results. It's not as if these first three songs are bad songs - they just seem to lack some of the heart this band pours into their music. There's an odd transition between "Gus The Polar Bear From Central Park" and "Vaccination Scar" that illustrates the change that happened in the band between the classic Day For Night and the follow-up Trouble At The Henhouse - from a rock band with thoughtful lyrics to a thoughtful band that happens to rock. Between tracks three and four, the tempos change, the attitude changes, the song structures change, and that's a good thing - I don't think I would have gotten that much out of an entire album filled with that many out-and-out rockers, to be honest. What I've come to love with the Hip is an ability to straddle folk-rock and hard rock, favoring just slightly the folk-side of things due to Downie's intriguing, oft-humorous, but always thoughtful lyrics.

Maybe the blame lays with producer Adam Kasper - known most significantly for his work with the Foo Fighters' last two albums, both of which possessed a decidedly harder edge than their predecessors. Throughout the album the guitars are turned up loud, panned hard left and right, drowning out Downie's voice that floats right down the center of the soundstage. I find myself straining often to make out what Gord is singing - a shame with lyrics as impressive as his always are. This is likely a purposeful effect to play down the band's true signature, Downie's trademark tuneful, choked warbling. It's no secret that the Hip have struggled to take off in the US while enjoying massive success in their homeland. Where the Hip are basically Canada's answer to Pearl Jam, in the States the Hip have barely made a dent in the market. The band frequently sells out arenas at home, but it's nothing unusual to find them playing small clubs stateside. When I've played the Hip for the unitiated it's always been Downie's soft barkings that draw the most comments. "You get used to it," I say frequently, but I don't believe it - I've always enjoyed Gord's voice and have never understood how it turns people off. What is there to "get used to?" Gord's slightly nasal delivery is no less characteristic than Michael Stipe's voice, yet it
somehow manages to stand out just enough to throw off newcomers. Perhaps it's because it's unfamiliar and unusual - when it comes to the unfamiliar and unusual it appears that US listeners are most hesitant. American audiences need their rock verified - maybe we got burned on too much meaningless, throwaway rock the labels threw at us for so long, who knows. All I can say is that before most Americans can commit to something, we need to know the music is good by seeing it endorsing commercials, backing action sequences and love scenes in movies, or hawked at the end of meaningless teen dramas. Without that, sorry guys, we just can't determine if it's any good. (But we have no problem downloading mp3 after mp3 of pop pablum. We've got no issues spending hours downloading the latest sound-alike tune from Nickelback - they did, afterall, have a track in Spiderman a couple years back. But parting with our hard-earned cash for something that might be different sounding? No way, we're not having it.)

The identity issues evident early on in the album are erased quickly with multiple listens as the album finds its own groove and pacing. I probably won't ever be able to hear it as a single, solid piece, but upon inspection, I can't find a better place for the three oddballs on the album than right up front - get 'em out of the way so they don't throw off a good flow later on. Placing them at the end would blow the emotional closer, another Hip trademark. Regardless of whether it's an up-tempo or down-tempo number, the Tragically Hip has managed to end on a note of beauty with a track that always leaves you wanting more. "Goodnight Josephine" is no different. An upbeat ballad of sorts to a young girl lost, as far as I can tell, in the distractions of teenage life, dating, and maybe abuse, "Goodnight Josephine" somehow manages to beat the odds its subject matter might impose on other bands to actually wind up sounding hopeful. And that's the thing that really keeps the Hip from making it in the US. There's nary a song in their catalog about suffering, hurting others, drowning sorrows - if you haven't been paying attention to what sells today, these are sure-fire hit material. If the American music-buying public can't openly sulk to their purchases, it has no place in their collections. Downie writes not out of a need to heal his own scars, but in hopes of getting everyone else see the good and the beauty that's out there. That's too bad - it's hard to place happy, thoughtful songs in movies with lots of explosions and over-emotive teens. We just can't get enough of that crap.

Tom Johnson likes corn, but only if it's popped. Accomplishments include being crowned "belch king" for the first half of 6th grade. He also enjoys writing his own bios.

2004-06-28T11:25:00.000-04:00

a programming note

As you may have noticed, Delicious Media has been a little light on content lately. I'm still very much interested in maintaining this site; however, my "real" job has been much busier and it's getting rather difficult for me to get a decent wireless signal at my house when I use my girlfriend's iBook. So blogging in general has been somewhat neglectful on my part, and I apologize. My priority in terms of blogging has always been my main blog, pressure drop, and I would be doing a disservice by throwing half-ass reviews up here. I will do everything I can to get reviews of the following items on Delicious Media this week:

Mike Keneally Band, "Dog" (the long-awaited new album from one of my favorite singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalists; expect lots of superlatives)

Wilco, "A Ghost is Born" (another long-awaited one: Jeff Tweedy and the boys get even weirder, but more "organic")

The Decemberists, "Her Majesty the Decemberists" (a new "favorite band" for me, and a great new album with a unique sound. Me likes)

Greg Kot, "Learning How To Die" (speaking of Wilco, this is a great new book about the band, which traces back to Tweedy's humble Illinois beginnings, through Uncle Tupelo and the current incarnation of Wilco. Good stuff)

All this week. Check it out.

2004-06-01T15:58:00.000-04:00

"Solaris" and "Solaris"
Two brilliant directors take on Stanislaw Lem

Tarkovsky or Soderbergh? That's the question I was asking myself last night while settling into bed for a good night's sleep, the perfect end to a lazy holiday weekend.

Monday afternoon, while Liza was earning holiday pay at Borders, I sat on my porch and read "The Dogs of Riga" until it got too cold, did some laundry and watched my two latest Netflix acquisitions, Andrei Tarkovsky's 1972 film "Solaris" (based on the Stanislaw Lem science ficion novel) and Steven Soderbergh's own 2002 version of "Solaris". I enjoyed them both a great deal, and although the purist in me hates to admit it...I have to say that the more recent version was more interesting to me.

This isn't altogether surprising; after all, Soderbergh is a brilliant, fascinating, unique director. In my opinion, the Coen Brothers are the only contemporary filmmakers who are in the same league (and, if you ask me, they've been slipping a bit lately). Soderbergh's "Out of Sight" and "Traffic" are among my favorite films of the last ten years. So if anyone's going to do a remake, why not bring in the best of the best?

Tarkovsky is a director (I should say "was" -- he died in 1986) of whom I've heard great things, but have never seen anything from until yesterday. His groundbreaking "Andrei Rublev" is considered one of the finest Soviet films ever made, mired in controversy due to Cold War-era restrictions and sitting on the proverbial shelf from 1966 until its release in 1971. Anyone who gathers accolades, controversy and DVD releases from Criterion deserves my attention.

So I watched the 1972 film. The cinematography is lush, bright, and manages to convey brilliantly both the beauty of nature (in its initial scenes) and the cold, clinical settings of outer space. An obvious comparison can be made between this film and "2001: a Space Odyssey" (which Tarkovsky reportedly hated for its "coldness"), and like Kubrick, Tarkovsky revels in long, ponderous shots that take their time, allowing the viewer to soak in the settings. Call him the Anti-Tarantino.

Like the novel, the 1972 version of "Solaris" (and its 2002 counterpart) concerns a space station orbiting the planet Solaris, whose astronauts have been cosmically freaked out by strange goings-on. Psychologist Kris Kelvin is sent to the space station to check things out. There's a lot of exposition -- a bit too much, in my opinion -- prior to Kelvin's blast-off. When he arrives, Kelvin finds that the two remaining crew members (not counting the one who committed suicide) are being visited by characters from their past. Kelvin is apparently not immune to these bizarre events...his long-dead wife appears as well.

The story is an interesting one, and Tarkovsky makes a lot of noise about love, loss, and our existence in general. I enjoyed the sights and sounds of the film, but it almost seemed too idiosyncratic for its own good. It's hard for me to put this in context with the rest of Tarkovsky's work since I haven't seen any of it yet. The shortcomings of this otherwise satisfactory film make me want to explore more of his work ("Andrei Rublev" is on my Netflix cue).

Soderbergh admits that his film is not a remake of Tarkovsky's, but rather another interpretation of Lem's novel. Fair enough. Almost from the beginning, it seems as if it's on a different wavelength as the 1972 film. Kelvin (played excellently here by George Clooney) is shown in the opening scenes as dark, depressed and moody (his wife committed suicide several years prior), but is told of the failed Solaris mission and is whisked off almost immediately. There he finds -- like in the original film -- freaked-out crew members, their long-dead friends and family, and -- of course -- his long-dead wife.

Unlike Tarkovsky's version, Soderbergh chooses to focus on Kelvin's attempt to hang on to this apparition that poses as his wife, in an attempt to repair the broken relationship and make amends (he feels responsible for her suicide). He's deluded, of course; his wife is dead and is no longer real. While concentrating on the relationship may illicit groans from purists and give the film "chick flick" appeal, there's really nothing wrongheaded with taking this approach. It gives the science fiction genre a humanistic element sorely lacking in an age of robots and special effects. Beneath the hum of space station machinery, there lurks a cerebral, caring film.

I wholeheartedly recommend both versions of "Solaris," while leaning a bit more on the 2002 version. But keep in mind that these are not whiz-bang special effects-laden movies. If you're willing to sit back and enjoy an interesting story that takes its time and looks great (and also sounds great - the modern-sounding score in Soderbergh's version is brilliant), you're in for a nice ride. Two of them, in fact.

2004-05-25T14:01:00.000-04:00

Skinny Puppy - The Greater Wrong Of The Right
A kinder, gentler puppy

By Tom Johnson, Delicious Media Contributor

It's not so difficult to imagine Skinny Puppy continuing to exist through the mid-90s - most of the solo output of the members has sounded more like Skinny Puppy than the band's own "final" album, The Process, actually did.

After Dwayne Goettel died of an overdose, the band finished up that album and released it to a world that was rapidly growing sick of the industrial sound. While the album maintained much of the attitude and fury SP was known for, they had begun to absorb more mainstream sounds - guitars were featured heavily and song structures veered more toward standard rock than ever before.

While guitars had been a part of the mixture, they had never been so prominent, not even on the very "rock" Rabies (which featured the influence of Ministry's Al Jourgensen). The Process failed to satisfy many fans - which is unfortunate because what's good on the album is pretty great - but what's not . . . isn't.

The members of Skinny Puppy disbanded, but the sound continued on as Download - named after a cacophonous Skinny Puppy track from the seminal Last Rites. The first two albums as Download, Furnace and The Eyes Of Stanley Pain along with their accompanying EPs, Microscopic and Sidewinder, respectively, picked up where Skinny Puppy had failed to pick up with The Process, incorporating SP's penchant for intriguing sounds and angular structures with touches of techno.

Later Download albums would explore the techno end of music more as they shed the identity of being Skinny Puppy Part II. In the meantime, on various other side projects, the Skinny Puppy sound still continued - you can't blame them for seemingly being unable to get away from sound they helped pioneer. Ogre's project Ohgr was really a more pop-oriented Skinny Puppy, and his other project, the (so far) one-off Rx, with the legendary drummer Martin Atkins was akin to what Skinny Puppy might sound like with less reliance on keyboards and computers - I always liken this to "acoustic industrial."

It came as a pleasant surprise to hear that Skinny Puppy had reformed for a reunion concert, which was documented on Doomsday: Back and Forth, Volume 5, and only a slightly more shocking surprise to hear that a new album was in the works. The Greater Wrong Of The Right brings Ogre and Key back into the fold with new member Mark Walk. But is is really Skinny Puppy?

A quick answer that those less familiar with SP might offer is an undoubtable yes. For those who've surrounded themselves with their music, you might have a hard time swallowing some of this as "really" Skinny Puppy.

On initial listen, it's obvious the band has been very influenced by much of the edgier mainstream rock - I can't help but think the band really, really likes something as unlikely (for them) as Linkin Park because opening tracks "I'mmortal" and "Pro-test," the latter of which features Ogre rapping, of all things - and don't overlook the inclusion of Static-x vocalist Wayne Static on "Use Less," which also features Tool drummer Danny Carey. But you know what? It works.

I was initially taken aback by the new, more mainstream attitude of Skinny Puppy, but once the shock wears off after a few listens, this is an engaging, satisfying album. Putting aside the notions of just what Skinny Puppy "should" be reveals that it's possible to continue on with a legendary name and not sully the name and image. They've rightly chosen to follow the vein that The Process started, but they've wisely managed to steer clear of that album's disappointments. Where The Process felt like a forced reaction to the light, radio-friendly pop that industrial had become in the wake of the massive success of Nine Inch Nails, The Greater Wrong Of The Right feels more like a natural progression - at least from the startling changes of The Process.

Skinny Puppy die-hards will likely balk at the new, "easier" sound, but those who can look beyond this will find an album that is much more satisfying and enjoyable than one might expect.

Tom Johnson likes corn, but only if it's popped. Accomplishments include being crowned "belch king" for the first half of 6th grade. He also enjoys writing his own bios.

2004-05-20T14:04:00.000-04:00

Morrissey, "You Are The Quarry"
Manchester's favorite son makes the world safe for moping again

It's safe to say that you either love or hate this guy. There are people out there (some of them I know personally) who would give their right arm for a front-row seat at a Morrissey show, rushing the stage, hugging him and probably giving him a bouquet of flowers. Consequently there are also people who will see the image above this paragraph and roll their eyes in frustration. "Not him again..."

While I wouldn't sacrifice any limbs or rush any stages in his honor, I have to say in all honesty that I'm a pretty big fan. I loved the Smiths when I was in high school and began buying all the full-length solo albums, starting with the wonderful "Viva Hate" in 1988.

Morrissey's solo career has had an interesting trajectory: "Viva Hate" won critical raves and was a smash with the fans; 1991's "Kill Uncle" was a true sophomore slump, getting so-so reviews and containing, in my opinion, about three decent songs; 1992's "Your Arsenal" was a bright, vibrant, glam/rockabilly return to form; and 1994's moody "Vauxhall and I" was a brilliant exercise in dynamics.

After that, things get hazy for me. I passed on the two follow-up albums, "Southpaw Grammar" and "Maladjusted," mainly due to the bad reviews and indifference from even the most hardcore fans. Had the Moz' music really run its course?

It's amazing what seven years can do to a guy. That's how long it's been since "Maladjusted" limped onto the music scene. Since then, Morrissey moved to California, went a little grey around those ever-present sideburns, and generally stayed off the radar. That is, until now. "You Are The Quarry" is Moz in the New Millennium.

Has he learned anything in those seven years? Not that I can tell, if the music is any indication. In other words, if you like Morrissey, you'll love this album. This is him, pulling no punches and making no compromises. The day the album was released (this Tuesday), I asked Dave, our music supervisor at Borders, what "You Are The Quarry" sounded like (I had yet to hear it myself). "It sounds like Morrissey," he explained. Nothing wrong with that!

The old piss and vinegar is intact, and comes out immediately. Really. The album's first song, "America is Not the World" starts with the line, "America, your head is too big." The staunch vegetarian also adds that the U.S. not only invented the hamburger, but also suggests a place where they can stick the invention. So much for mellowing with age.

Alan Whyte and Boz Boorer, guitarists and co-songwriters who've been with Morrissey for about 15 years, provide fresh, vital instrumentation, complete with chiming guitars and occasional crunchy distortion. Keyboards are also a bit more in the mix than past albums, but never to a distracting degree. There's some slight nods to current technology, but it all fits.

Piano and strings even come out for "Come Back to Camden," a beautiful, sentimental love letter to England that shows that you can take Moz out of England, but not England out of the Moz. "Under slate-grey Victorian skies," Morrissey croons, and it's a quintessential Morrissey line. Without the sarcasm.

Jabs at self-loving celebrity airheads are certainly welcome in this age of Britney Spears and reality television, and they get their due in "The World Is Full of Crashing Bores," which has great lyrics, but is made even better by the anthemic, almost majestic quality of the music. Oh, and have I mentioned that Morrissey's voice sounds better than ever?

If you're looking for a new Morrissey, one who may have given up on being bitter or sarcastic (or coming up with song titles like "I Have Forgiven Jesus"), you won't find a new guy here. It's the one you know and love (or hate). But with a few new suits in the closet.

2004-05-14T15:52:00.000-04:00

J. Geils Band, "Love Stinks"
Boston's white boy funksters straddle a line

Some people say “change is good,” while most people rightfully decry the concept of “change for the sake of change.” I’d like to think that Love Stinks, the J. Geils Bands’ 1980 official entry into new-wave credibility, fits the former maxim and not the latter.

At the dawn of the Reagan era, it would have been easy to dismiss this album as a sell-out, but it’s also entirely possible that Boston’s own white boy soul men ran their blues angle into the ground and were looking for a fresh sound. A “fresh sound” is certainly what listeners got when they dropped the needle onto the opening track, “Just Can’t Wait.” Keening synthesizers drive the song along, and vocalist/frontman Peter Wolf’s lusty pleas are egged on by guitarits J. Geils’ beautiful, hook-laden guitar solo. This is clearly a band with recharged batteries.

Not that the band’s old sound was anything to scoff at. Since their beginnings in the late 60s, Wolf, Geils, keyboard player Seth Justman, bass player Danny Klein, drummer Stephen Jo Bladd and the wonderfully named blues harp master Magic Dick forged a unique blend of bluesy swagger and party funk. Concert favorites like the self-explanatory “Detroit Breakdown” and their rousing covers of a variety of obscure blues chestnuts like “Serves You Right To Suffer” coexisted happily with the reggae-pop of “Give It To Me” and the hit ballad “Must of Got Lost.” It was almost as if new wave party anthems were just one more format these guys needed to master.

Obscure covers haven’t been abandoned with the new sound, though. Their version of the Strangeloves’ “Night Time” is here, and boy, does it cook – they sound like a young hungry bar band while tearing through this party starter.

Revisiting this album for the first time in many years (I picked up the CD last night), I was struck by how well it’s held up. Sure, the synths reach a sort of cheesy fever pitch during the second song (the discofied “Come Back,” a pure retro guilty pleasure in all its Jordache splendor), but that’s also what we love about Gary Numan’s “Cars.” If you want loud guitars and attitude, why not try the title track? Those of you only familiar with Adam Sandler’s “Wedding Singer” version (which I’ll admit, my ambivalent feelings towards Sandler aside, is pretty funny) will be pleasantly surprised at the energy and vitality of the original version. And while the title track’s guitar riff is a blatant rip-off of “Wild Thing,” you can’t deny its impact, or that of “Takin’ You Down,” another potent rocker on this long-forgotten album.

Love Stinks only deviates from the party atmosphere twice: “Desire” is the album’s sole ballad (and one that will perhaps grow on me, but in the meantime is a track I normally skip over), and “No Anchovies, Please,” is a hilarious skit that shows the boys have a sense of humor underneath all that boogie bluster.

Love Stinks was a local smash in Boston and on national rock radio, while serving as a springboard for what would be their biggest smash yet, 1981’s Freeze Frame (which would contain their only #1 pop hit, “Centerfold”). By the time that album was released, Justman pushed the band to a technology-obsessed critical mass, which had its moments, but for most fans (myself included) stepped over the line. Eventually Wolf left the band, they made one god-awful album without him, and promptly broke up.

Love Stinks shows Boston’s other bad boys straddling the line between snotty R&B bar band and cutting-edge pop nirvana the only way they can – with a whole lot of attitude.

2004-05-06T08:16:00.000-04:00

Terence Trent D’Arby, “Wildcard”
Gone, forgotten, but still breathing

Conceit never seems to be a smart career move in the music business, and Terence Trent D’Arby has spent the last 15 years learning that the hard way.

In 1987, the New York City-born R&B singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist blasted onto the music scene with an impressive debut album, Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D’Arby. A mixture of pop, funk, and smart urban melody, the album yielded a #1 pop hit, “Wishing Well,” along with two more successful singles, “If You Let Me Stay” and “Sign Your Name.” D’Arby was all over the place.

Unfortunately, so was his ego. Once the original huzzahs began to die down, the press (and subsequently, the music-buying public) latched on to D’Arby’s overconfident pronouncements regarding everything from his musical talent (he referred to his debut album as “better than Sgt. Pepper") to his sexual prowess (“I make love more often than I wash my hair,” he once boasted, which seems to say more about his lack of follicle hygiene than anything else). And so the backlash and apathy began.

When artists don’t deserve our attention in the first place, backlashes are excusable (think Milli Vanilli). But D’Arby’s debut album was an impressive collection of fiery funk, and his voice – evoking a modern-day Sam Cooke – a breathtaking instrument of emotion. No matter. Apparently, when you diss Sgt. Pepper, you’re off the guest list.

D’Arby twisted the knife even further in 1989 with his sophomore effort, Neither Fish Nor Flesh, a sprawling, dissonant, gospel-tinged emotional masterpiece. Regardless of its occasional critical acclaim (it’s a fantastic, if uneven, album), Fish tanked.

Subsequent attempts to revive his career (with excellent and rather accessible works like Symphony or Damn and Vibrator) proved fruitless and D’Arby eventually fell back on his “Wishing Well” royalties and a life of sporadic artistic output and minor cult status. Somewhere along the way, he moved to Italy and changed his name to Sananda Maitreya (really). Fame may do strange things to people, but not nearly as much as a fall from fame.

I have no idea if D’Arby has any more interest in reclaiming his original heights of popularity and success (I doubt it), but his latest, Wildcard, could be a significant contribution to such an effort.

It’s certainly not as experimental as albums like Neither Fish Nor Flesh. It’s funky, street-smart, and very much a piece of danceable, 21st century R&B. Nods to retro – old-school soul horns, wah-wah guitar, charming psychedelia – all are over the place, as are contemporary synth sounds, peppering the album with modern relevance (without ever sounding pandering or like an old fart trying to keep up). Drum machines are a dominant presence as well, but they merely provide a pulse and never seem to overtake the music.

D’Arby’s voice is still a mighty force to be reckoned with and has not lost an ounce of its original potency. “Fundamentally sound / my karma’s coming ‘round / and I’m not worried,” his gentle voice croons over a banjo(!) accompaniment at the very beginning of the opening track, “O Divina.” Before long, drums and horns kick in and the familiar soulful shout is there.

It’s easy to make comparisons between D’Arby and another funky oddball with a strange career path – Prince. They both have an awkward public image, are notorious control freaks, play most if not all of their instruments, and constantly straddle the line between funk and hard rock, not to mention the sacred and the profane (and of course, the name change thing). Like the Purple one, sex and relationships dominate much of the lyrical content. But instead of boasting like a modern-day Don Juan, D’Arby often reflects on getting screwed over – in more ways than one. “I once loved her / now I’m paying the bill,” he sings on the excellent “Designated Fool,” D’Arby’s ode to a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em ex. “My baby’s gone suga free / she ain’t sweet like she used to be,” goes the chorus of “Suga Free.” He still has a way with a killer line, too. The sexy, swaggering “SRR-636” contains the unforgettable “like a Rolling Stone / I jam with a Woody.”

Elsewhere, D’Arby sings of self-confidence and positive energy, in an almost treacly Dr. Phil way. “If you’re not good to yourself,” he warns on “The Inner Scream,” “your self-doubt becomes retribution.” He still hasn’t lost his penchant for the occasional flowery spoken word moment, either. But these drifts into navel-gazing are few and far between, and besides, would you rather have the overconfident boasting of the 80s?

Listening to Wildcard, I can’t help thinking that there’s really nothing on this extremely strong album that would make the average listener either recoil in horror or shrug in apathy. What’s continuing to keep D’Arby off the radar (besides his expatriate status) are various statements and attitudes he made back in the Reagan administration, which were obviously a) the result of a kid in his mid-twenties, unfamiliar with effectively playing the media, and b) not worth the scorn he continues to be subjected to in 2004.

But D’Arby himself seems to have made peace with his erratic past, and is in a warm, but no less creative and funky place. “Goodbye Diane” is obviously a touching break-up song, but one can’t help thinking that the opening line is a nod to the early phase of his career: “Once upon a time I said some pretty fucked-up things.”

2004-05-05T08:04:00.000-04:00

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
I’m fine with out you…

By Byron Schaller, Delicious Media contributor

Charlie Kaufman has a masterful understanding of the human mind, and even more importantly, how to translate the mind’s workings into a screenplay. We saw this first in 1999 comedy “Being John Malkovich” where Kaufman explored the ability to crawl inside the head of the famous actor. He continued to shape his art in 2002’s “Adaptation” where we find him navigating his mind as himself trying to write the very movie we are watching. This maze cinema approach and physiological insight reach their peak with his latest work, “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”.

The work done by everyone in this film is nothing short of stellar. Jim Carrey proves once and for all that he is a very proficient dramatic actor. He gives a fantastic performance as Joel Barish a quiet and introverted man whose mind becomes the backdrop for most of the film. Kate Winslet also gives a great performance as Clementine, Barish’s ill fate love. Tom Wilkinson gives the level of performance we have come to expect after such a great performance in 2001’s “In the Bedroom” as Dr. Howard Mierzwiak. Elijah Wood manages to separate himself quite well from the role of Frodo Baggins as plays a morally devoid technician named Patrick, and Kirsten Dunst rises above the normal flighty teen shtick she is know for as Dr. Mierzwiak’s receptionist Mary.

The film’s main focus is on one of our most human characteristics, our memories, and how they define us, challenge us, and control us. The film supposes that there is a procedure that can erase something from a person’s memory completely, leaving them as if it had never happened. The movie itself in follows a nonlinear timeline and takes place both in the real world and Joel’s mind. The transitions are clear and easy to follow and don’t disrupt the telling of the story at all. In fact it enhances it.

The special effects inside Joel’s head are fantastic. From easy “Blair Witch” style flashlight and camera work to surreal effects like jumping between memories and having things disappear out of nowhere the special effects accent the story and in most cases the scenery very well. The idea of being in someone’s head has never looked better.

The most important part of the film, aside from its cinematic brilliance is its message. As painful as memories can be at the end of a relationship, especially a bad one, is it better to remember, because as painful as it maybe at the time, you will always have the good memories and those are priceless. On top of that it goes further to ask if you know how something is going to end, and it is bad, would you still do it? These are important observations and questions that strike at the core of the human condition.

This film is moving and inspiring and may change how you view your own life. Such and important movie should not be missed. Make sure to see it, preferably with someone you love. And don’t forget about it come awards time, you are sure to see there as well.

Byron Schaller is a guest contributor for Delicious Media. He mantains his own blog, In The Congo, enjoys writing, collecting records, and watching Italian horror film. He is a Hoosier, but looks nothing like Gene Hackman.

2004-04-29T07:52:00.000-04:00

Rilo Kiley, "The Execution Of All Things"
Hannah Nefler grows up...

By Byron Schaller, Delicious Media contributor

In 1989, Jenny Lewis fell into America’s hearts as the daughter of Phyllis and Freddy Nefler in "Troop Beverly Hills." Nine years later she did it again. Except this time she is fronting her new group, Rilo Kiley.

Rilo Kiley has been categorized many ways (alt-country, indie pop, indie rock), but none of them really sum up what this foursome is really about. The band did not release their first album, 2001’s “Take Offs and Landings,” until three years after they formed. This record was release on Barsuk Records. Jenny would later go onto sing the female parts on label mate Ben Gibbard’s 2003 collaboration with DNTEL, The Postal Service. In 2003 they released their second offering, “The Execution of All Things,” on Saddle Creek Records, located in Omaha, NE. Jenny even gives a small shout-out to the new label in the title track with the line: “Then we'll go to Omaha to work and exploit the booming music scene and humility.”

Anyone who has never heard Rilo Kiley before and expects the same sweet girl they saw in "Troop Beverly Hills" is in for a big surprise. The lyrics are dark and brooding with a lighter poppy back drop. Jenny grew up. In the title track she is not talking about execution as in “doing”, she is talking about mass genocide of everything, and does so in a disarming way. The music is intelligent, thought provoking and above all else, enjoyable to listen to. The melodies are catchy and the rhythms bounce along. So much so you will find yourself humming about death and destruction and everyone else will think “My, what a lovely tune.”

The album is full of great tracks. Starting off with “The Good That Won’t Come Out” and continuing on for the next two tracks with “Paint’s Peeling” and the title track. “Hail to Whatever You Found in the Sunlight” and “Three Hopeful Thoughts are also quite good. You’ll find many unexpected things as you listen as well. From orchestral instruments and pedal steel guitar to a full choir, the music is a constant surprise. Jenny’s bouts of Tourettes Syndrome may come as quite a shock too. She is not afraid to say “fuck this” and “fuck that” as often as she wants. It almost gives the songs a grittier tone, and I mean that in a good way.

“The Execution of All Things” is a great follow up to their debut. They really overcome the sometimes fatal “sophomore slump.” If you have not heard these indie darlings I suggest you change that. I have not seen them yet, but I also hear that they are a powerhouse live. Jenny Lewis and company hit one out of the park.

Byron Schaller is a guest contributor for Delicious Media. He mantains his own blog, In The Congo, enjoys writing, collecting records, and watching Italian horror film. He is a Hoosier, but looks nothing like Gene Hackman.

2004-04-27T11:18:00.000-04:00

John Wesley Harding, "Adam's Apple"
The return of gangsta folk

Naming yourself after a Bob Dylan album, well, that’s just asking for it. Nobody could accuse Harding (nee Wesley Stace) of being a Dylan soundalike…sure, there’s some Dylanesque threads in his neo-folkie sound, and early songs like “Red Rose and the Briar” are reminiscent of Bob’s epic narrative style, but what really got the critics in a lather in the late eighties (when Wes, as he will be known for the remainder of this review, began making albums) was his similarity to another guy who drastically changed his name: Elvis Costello.

It wasn’t just the quasi-punk, British-accented vocals and wry, caustic lyrics that brought on these comparisons. Wes upped the ante considerably by hiring Bruce Thomas and Pete Thomas – Elvis’ famed rhythm section – for his full-length debut studio album, “Here Comes the Groom.”

I’ll admit, I got caught up in the hype. I first heard Wes in 1990 while listening to Joe Reiling’s sadly now-defunct “no playlists allowed” show on Armed Forces Radio. The song was “The Devil in Me,” a hilarious, horn-spiked blast of fresh air with a heaping helping of old-school Hammond organ. Within a couple of weeks (this was pre-Amazon, and I was stationed quite literally in the middle of nowhere), “Here Comes the Groom” was mine. I still consider it one of my all-time favorite albums by anyone.

Wes eventually left Sire Records (home to Madonna and Talking Heads, among others) and appeared on a number of independent labels, all the while continuing to crank out what he calls “gangsta folk” and establishing himself as a hugely entertaining live act.

Wes’ latest, “Adam’s Apple,” was originally slated for a 2002 release (under the title “The Man With No Shadow”), but his label at the time (Mammoth Records) folded, and he was left with a bunch of songs and nobody to release them. Along came the small independent label DRT, who released “Adam’s Apple” in February 2004.

Was it worth the wait? Of course. Wes’ catalog has been peppered with largely acoustic, often live recordings, in addition to a covers album (“Trad. Arr. Jones”) and a few EPs (“The Garden of Eden,” “God Made Me Do It: The Christmas EP”). A good, full band album reminiscent of both “Here Comes the Groom” and 2000’s overlooked “The Confessions of St. Ace” could be just the thing to get Wes the commercial push he deserves – but I’m not holding my breath (I call “Confessions…” an overlooked album, but it does in fact contain the closest thing he’s ever had to a bona fide hit: “I’m Wrong About Everything” was featured in the soundtrack to “High Fidelity”).

If you’ve only seen Wes in concert and not heard his studio recordings, you’d think his music was overtly folk with little concessions to full band recordings, but “Adam’s Apple” is gorgeous studio power-pop of the highest order. Songs like “Nothing At All” and “It Stays” contain aching hooks and engaging instrumentation, often featuring lots of tasty Hammond organ. There’s a nice combination of upbeat stuff and slower ballads – the raucous “She Never Talks” (the only song I’ve ever heard to name-check the Strauss opera “Die Fledermaus”) sits comfortably alongside gentle numbers like “Sleeper Awake.”

As always, the Wes wit is alive and well in songs like “Sluts,” where brash backing vocals and a funky backbeat support a darkly comic commentary on materialistic, all-night club-hopping yuppies (“We’re sluts, the two of us/Why walk, when we can get the bus/Why get the bus, when we can cab it/Living large is our best habit”). “Protest Protest Protest” is a playful jab at protest singers, where Wes sarcastically complains to today’s crop that there’s nothing to protest about these days (“that negative attitude will get you nowhere”).

On the other end of the spectrum, there’s the dark, beautifully orchestrated “Sussex Ghost Story,” co-written by modern classical composer Gavin Bryars. The song, about an acquitted wife killer who gets what’s coming to him thanks to wife number two, ends with the line “I begged for my life.” Not exactly Hillary Duff material.

If you took Billy Bragg, subtracted the overt political statements, added a healthy dose of Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe, John Prine and a little Dylan for good measure, you’d have a general idea as to the sound of John Wesley Harding. And if you buy this disc, you’ll make the guy some money. And he deserves it.

Note: much of Wes’ back catalog was out of print for some time, but many of his earlier albums have been reissued recently. “Here Comes the Groom” and its follow-up, “The Name Above the Title” are now available as a reasonably priced set; “Awake,” “John Wesley Harding’s New Deal” and “Why We Fight” have also been reissued recently as well. These are all excellent albums, worthy of your hard-earned money. And don’t forget to see Wes perform live if he makes it out to your neck of the woods: he’s extremely entertaining on stage.

2004-04-22T08:05:00.000-04:00

Broken Social Scene, "You Forgot It In People"
Come on feel the noise

One of the most accurate things I can state with any certainty regarding Broken Social Scene's "You Forgot It In People" is that the album's title is inscrutable as the music contained inside.

And, to quote everyone's favorite jailed domestic diva, that's a good thing.

A Canadian "music collective" formed in 1999 by Kevin Drew (of K.C. Accidental) and Brendan Canning (of By Divine Right), I had never heard of BSS before picking up this disc. The band's (um, sorry, "music collective's") modus operandi is all over the map. It's as if some highly eclectic bar band of egghead college students performed "rock music history" set to shuffle mode.

The cover, with its dark, muddy black & white photo of the band in the middle of what appears to be a sweaty club gig, is misleading. I was expecting a thrashy blend of indie punk, and while there certainly is some of that here, when I first hit "play," the results were refreshingly more diverse. The opening track, "Capture the Flag," kicks everything off with ambient keyboards before a rising, intrusive trumpet barges in, signaling the beginning of the album proper.

This is the first major gear shift. The second track, "KC Accidental," is - make no mistake - heavily influenced by prog rock (by way of some D.I.Y. punk). The swooping melody and galloping rhythms suggest Yes as a bar band (as fronted by the Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne). Gears shift once again on track three, the heavily New Order-influenced "Stars and Sons." It should be noted (before I carelessly forget) that Sonic Youth's sound is all over this album as well. And so on. I doubt Blogger's bandwidth can handle the list of influnces these guys absorb.

There's lots of noise on "You Forgot It In People," giving the album an unpolished feel, but never compromising the band's commitment to aching hooks. Like Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot," there's plenty of distorted effects, random feedback, and "found objects" that give the listener plenty to chew on, keeping it infinitely listenable. It's one of those albums (again, like "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot") that you could listen to a hundred times and still discover something new.

There's a refreshing down-to-earth quality throughout. "Looks Like the Sun" lumbers along in sunny, acoustic beauty, while the singer (being a true "collective," the liner notes don't credit who exactly plays what) can be heard calling out chord changes between lines, in addition to various other instructions ("keep it going"). Let's try Britney do that (once she learns what a "chord" is).

The band employs sing-songy, idiosyncratic, nursery rhyme-like lyrics ("Anthems For a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl"), wah-wah guitar reminiscent of Ween's "A Tear For Eddie" ("Shampoo Suicide") and even tropical-influenced instrumentals ("Pacific Theme"). And that's just for starters.

There doesn't seem to be a game plan to "You Forgot It In People," just a need to create, experiment, and keep the music flowing. Even within the alleged originality and vitality of indie rock, Broken Social Scene finds new ways to keep it fresh.

2004-04-21T15:50:00.000-04:00

The Holmes Brothers, "Simple Truths"
God made them funky

The Holmes Brothers have been cooking up their unique brew of blues, gospel and funk for more than 20 years, even though I've only heard them for three. 2001 was something of a comeback year for the guys, even they hadn't really gone anywhere. A chance meeting with Joan Osborne after one of their New York City gigs led to a contract with the blues label Alligator, and the Osborne-produced "Speaking in Tongues" was the result.

Not only are Sherman Holmes, Wendell Holmes and Popsy Dixon accomplished musicians, they also sing their asses off. With Joan in the control room, the boys churned out an album's worth of exciting original material, along with an inspired array of cover songs (including songs by Bob Dylan, Ben Harper and the O'Jays).

Three years later, can Sherman, Wendell and Popsy continue the momentum? The answer is a resounding "yes," and then some. "Simple Truths" is arguably stronger than its predecessor, as if the critical success of "Speaking in Tongues" inspired them to push even harder. First of all, the original material is better than ever. Wendell's "We Meet, We Part, We Remember" is easily my favorite song on the album, with an easygoing yet gritty soulfulness that sounds like a R&B chesnut from thirty years ago.

The covers are eclectic and well-chosen: "Shine," the somewhat forgettable mid-nineties alt-rock staple from Collective Soul is given new life as a high-energy gospel stomper. Hank Williams' "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" manages to sound gleeful and sad at the same time (Wendell's deft guitar solo is part of the song's charm). They don't exactly break any new ground with their version of Bruce Channel's one-hit-wonder "Hey Baby," but the acoustic guitar-driven arrangement and the emotional singing raise the song to a higher level.

The sound is hard to describe, but its appeal is simple. A little Blind Boys of Alabama, a smattering of Bo Diddley, and just enough Wilson Pickett to give it the right amount of soul. These are all qualities sadly lacking in an era of remixes and Pro Tools. Get back to your roots and get funky with the Holmes Brothers.

2004-04-21T14:12:00.000-04:00

welcome

Stay tuned. I plan on stuffing this baby with content.