Just like clockwork, a new year has brought with it a new British pop sensation, one that will supposedly save rock and roll from its current, sorry state and lead it into a golden age. The 2006 installment of this phenomenon is Sheffield, England's Arctic Monkeys, a fiery teenage four-piece led by nineteen-year-old singer/guitarist Alex Turner.
Around Valentine's Day, music has the tendency to degenerate into trite love songs and Kenny G Hallmark-inspired drivel so wimpy that even the guys responsible for elevator music cover their ears. When Clogs (a project of Padma Newsome and Bryce Dessner that predates their indie rock band The National) actively advertises itself as influenced by a 16th century lute player, you can be forgiven for expecting their music to join the Valentine's Day quagmire of New Age feel-goodery.
Technically, this isn't a new album. In fact, it's the oldest Mastodon material you can get commercially. Five of the 29 tracks on "Call of the Mastodon" are remastered from the band's first release, 2001's "Lifesblood," and the other four are previously unreleased tracks recorded at the same session the "Lifesblood" tracks were laid down.
Huge moving images are projected onto the white mass of screens hanging from the walls and the tall ceilings; you feel engulfed by the videos covering all surfaces. The showing at Tisch Gallery this season offers the Tufts community something completely different than its usual exhibits: An eye-opening and full-body experience that stirs the senses in new directions.
Los Angeles-based duo She Wants Revenge (SWR) has opened for such beloved indie acts as The Raveonettes, The Kills and Bloc Party, but their self-titled debut proves that they are ready to be the headliners.
For the most part, pop recordings from Broadway stars are not overly appealing to the mainstream. Since stage stars are more dramatic in their vocal deliverance, their records are generally not exactly what fans of today's hip-hop are looking for.
Despite being arguably the most beloved indie-pop band of the past decade, Belle and Sebastian have always had a certain stigma attached to them. Described by Jack Black as "sad bastard music" in "High Fidelity" (2000), the Scottish seven-piece band's delicate chamber-pop style and cynically literate lyrics have painted the typical B&S listener as either a sexually frustrated art school student or a latte-drinking, scarf-wearing yuppie.
It is hard to produce an atmospheric yet engaging record under the flag of instrumental indie rock, or so-called post-rock. Accordingly, such attempts tend to be overly ambitious; they strive to make something intensely dramatic but come across as plain or clich?©d, tending to retreat into a tired m?©lange of dub bass lines, post-punk-inspired guitar riffs and standard-fare post-rock drum set syncopation.
These days, modern art is not new art. Rather, the term applies to Impressionism and the boom of artistic movements in the post-Impressionistic era. Yet what art historians and students now study as modern art, attributed to masterful painters commonly known as geniuses, was once contemporary - questionable and controversial before achieving classic status. This oft-forgotten distinction is vital to appreciating the "Degas to Picasso: Modern Masters" exhibit on display at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.
Last Wednesday, Chicago-based Overcoat Records released "The Brave and the Bold," a cover album jointly fronted by freeform jazz and math-rock outfit Tortoise and slowcore king Will Oldham under his Bonnie "Prince" Billy moniker. This unlikely duo recorded an album of ten covers originally by such pop music virtuosos as Bruce Springsteen, Elton John, Lungfish, Devo and Melanie Safka.
Cat Power (real name: Chan [pronounced "Shawn"] Marshall) is totally different from soul-singing legend Al Green.
When Shakira dropped "Fijaci??® ?ral, Vol. 1" last June, it wasn't the long awaited follow-up to 2001's smash album "Laundry Service" that many American Shakira fans were expecting. Not that "Fijaci??® ?ral, Vol. 1" wasn't an ambitious and grandiose record (it was), but the non-English lyrics that graced the album may have been lost on the U.S. CD-buying public (although "Laundry Service" did have several tracks with Spanish lyrics). Consequently, Shakira didn't rack up the sales numbers that she may have expected. Rectifying this dilemma, she has now released the album's sequel, English-language "Oral Fixation, Vol. 2." It's hard not to be mesmerized by Shakira as a performer. Her belly dancing and hip gyrations are cobra-like and exotic and her vocals evocative. After years of international acclaim, she stormed through to U.S. success in 2001. Her tangy singles (and videos) "Whenever, Wherever" and "Objection (Tango)" and a headlining tour (at the hockey arena level) showed her to be one of the most vigorous performers around. She has also proved herself to be a risk taker. While she could have easily followed the formula of "Laundry Service" - which would have guaranteed more mainstream chart success - she instead employs a myriad of styles and instrumental arrangements. As both "Oral Fixation" releases prove, she is not coy about experimenting. The album opener "How Do You Do" features Shakira flanked by a chorus with lyrics entwined in religious overtones that make you wonder if Shakira has been spinning some old Charlotte Church CDs in her spare time. Shakira chases away any fears of placidness as she gets down and dirty on "Don't Bother" (the CD's first single), turning catty and sarcastic over another female who rivals her for the attention of her "significant other." Elsewhere, Shakira proves that she has not lost a bit of her sassiness and ability to share her raw feelings. She throws out some subtle anti-war statements in the distinctive "Timor" (a loose reference to embattled nation East Timor). On the ferocious cut "Animal City," she refers to planet Earth as a "cannibal world" in a somewhat cynically laced view of life. Her collaboration with Carlos Santana on "Illegal" offers some interesting, yet unpredicted, results. Those expecting the Santana from "Smooth," with its burning, forceful solos, may be surprised. With its slow tempo, "Illegal" seems restrained, while atmospheric backing licks and solos from Santana emphasize a mournful tale of rejection. Crooning about a failed relationship (in other words... he dumped her) Shakira sorrowfully speaks of unkind sentiments concerning an ex-beau and is ripe with accusations of insensitivity. She opines, "You don't even know the meaning of the words 'I'm sorry,'" while intertwining her pain with "Jagged Little Pill"-like statements ("You said you would love me until you died / and as far as I know you're still alive"). "Illegal" certainly makes for one of the more haunting moments on "Oral Fixation, Vol. 2." A notoriously hands-on artist, the record lists Shakira as a producer. But she hardly acted alone; the fingerprints of production guru Rick Rubin (hot off working with Neil Diamond on his much ballyhooed "12 Songs") are all over "Oral Fixation, Vol. 2," and he certainly fuels the powerful tone and sound of the record. His mere presence on the album adds to the credibility of the project. While "Oral Fixation, Vol. 2" may not be what many were expecting of Shakira, especially not those who still remember her as the hip-shaking temptress of the convenience store clerk in her Pepsi commercial from a couple years back. It is a solid piece of work and one of the more intelligent and ambitious efforts we have seen in the past year.
It is pretty exceptional to find an album today that truly rocks. "Hypnotize," the latest by System of a Down, is one of these albums, the kind that get better with every additional increment of volume. Whether it is used for personal head-banging or for a pre-finals spaz attack, "Hypnotize" will not disappoint. As the second of a pair of albums, "Hypnotize" was released just six months after the moderately successful "Mezmerize." Whereas "Mezmerize" owed much of its success to "BYOB," a hard rocking political tirade that transformed into a sort of antiwar anthem, "Hypnotize" does not give the same weight to any given song. Despite the album's lack of potential future radio airtime, the first eight tracks tie together to form one long hit song. This rock opera style seems to be awakening an old trend, following the same concept as last year's Green Day's "American Idiot." It is evident from the way that "Hypnotize" flows that the rock opera feel was well thought-out. The album has three distinct sections, the first beginning with the simple lyrics and frenzied rhythms that made System of a Down famous. The opening song, "Attack," does not disappoint, as it only builds up for about three and a half seconds before it unleashes quite possibly the fastest beat that drummer John Dolmayan has ever recorded. The middle of "Hypnotize" is by far the deepest, most complex, and best overall section. Beginning with the one possible hit, the title track, this block of songs asks the relatively tough questions, all while adhering to the fast pace that was established before. In a bitter critique of the materialism of American society, the title track begins: "Why don't you ask the kids at Tiananmen Square / Was fashion the reason why they were there / They disguise it hypnotize it / Television made you buy it." The primary risk taken in the middle section is its unprecedented amount of harmonization. Such a technique inevitably features more input from backup singer, and main song writer Daron Malakian, who has a much lighter style than frontman Serj Tankian. While this vocal complexity may detract from the album's heaviness for some, it certainly adds new depth and is quite an accomplishment for a band with such a defined sound. The depth of the middle section does not end with the melodies. In the song "Tentative," writers Malakian and Tankian take what would typically seem like a slow song and give other parts of the track the same aggressive energy that is found earlier in the album. In mixing these two distinct moods, "Tentative" feels like a delicious dose of red bull and vodka, making your heart speed up and slow down at the same time. The second section's musical brilliance extends through track eight, "Holy Mountains," which could (and should) have been the album's conclusion. Tracks nine through twelve seem more like hidden tracks then part of the same album, used primarily for experimentation. Although System of a Down is well known for their quirkiness, "Vicinity of Obscenity" is just plain silly. It is hard to excuse these lyrics as a poetic expression of some drug binge, because, frankly, they sound like they were written by a five-year-old who ate too many Cocoa Puffs. It's possible that this five-year-old druggie was a creative writing persona for Tankian, but "Vicinity of Obscenity" simply takes away from the seriousness of his other songs. Fortunately for "Hypnotize," the third section's isolation prevents it from ruining the rest of the album. Though true fans would rightly prefer a hard copy, a logical choice for everyone else would be to utilize iTunes to the fullest and just buy tracks one through eight. Though it is only a partial album, it is one long string of brilliance. The differences in quality beg the question of why "Hypnotize" and "Mezmerize" were not combined into one normal-length masterpiece. It would certainly be feasible to combine the consistent eight tracks from "Hypnotize" with "Mezmerize"'s few hits. It seems that the band was swayed by the media coverage that accompanies the accomplishment of releasing two albums in the same year. Overall, though, System of a Down continues to overstep such labels as "metal" and "nu-metal" and has put out some of the best rock and roll of the last decade.
When The Darkness' first stateside release, "Permission to Land," hit shelves in winter 2004, audiences were wowed by the pomp and vigor of the contemporary quartet from Norfolk, England. Praise for the band's interpretation and emulation of the classic rock sound flooded from media outlets, as did comparisons to myriad bands of the '70s and '80s. Most remember them, however, from radio disc jockeys' obsession with blasting "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" at all hours of the day or from lead singer Justin Hawkins's infamous falsetto. But they may be remembered; the band has made a name for itself by inciting wistfulness for rock behemoths of yore. By adapting their musical nuances and dressing in spandex, The Darkness pays homage to the unrestrained energy and gusto of their musical predecessors. Last week, the band released their sophomore stateside effort, "One Way Ticket to Hell...and Back." In contrast to their previous album (whose songs merely evoked the ghosts of classic artists), in "One Way Ticket" The Darkness wholly impersonate them in sound and instrumentation. Whereas "Permission to Land" combined the originality of The Darkness with that of their influencers to create a uniquely nostalgic sound, their new album sounds as if it were a cover album of classic rock tunes from decades past. The Darkness scarcely used more than keyboard, drums, bass, guitar, and Hawkins's fluctuating voice to fashion songs on "Permission to Land," but in "One Way Ticket" the band expands their repertoire considerably in terms of the variety of instruments and vocal techniques. Sadly, what would appear to be a positive influence on the band proves pernicious as The Darkness uses these musical means to imitate their predecessors too closely. The album starts out with a one-minute pan-flute and Gregorian choir intro on the title track. During that same song, one can hear a consistent cowbell and multi-track vocals that can't help but remind listeners of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long." The album then shifts to "Knockers," a song appropriately about a woman on which Hawkins screams like Big Star's Alex Chilton in "Don't Lie to Me." The following song, "Is it Just Me?," is transformed into a blatantly Judas Priest-inspired song by dint of Hawkins' vocals and the crisp driving guitar. The same goes for "Bald" later on in the album. Surprisingly, string and horn sections make it onto the album as well. In "Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time," "Girlfriend," and the clincher "Blind Man," string and horn sections turn potentially emotional and lyrically potent songs into ones that resemble cheesy seventies Meat Loaf ballads. Something similar happens in "English Country Garden," where the grand piano and Hawkins's Freddie Mercury-esque vocals make the song sound as if it were straight off a Queen record. Probably the most original song on the album is "Dinner Lady Arms." Still, it sounds as if it could be a B-side off "Permission to Land." That is, they sound like The Darkness on their first album, but it is not up to the standards of the other songs from it. All of the aforementioned new instruments would seem to be a constructive force for the band. Yet the way in which The Darkness uses them becomes regressive as the band begins to resemble its influencers too closely. Many of these likenesses can be attributed to the decision by The Darkness to employ producer Roy Thomas Baker. Baker was the producer and a great power behind two of Queen's albums (including their seminal hit tune "Bohemian Rhapsody"). By soliciting the ex-producer of a band to which The Darkness is overwhelmingly likened, the band concedes its image as a wannabe classic rock band. This realization not only detracts from the band's credibility as artists but also damages their image as progressive musicians However, it would be arrogant not to point out the good in this album. The clarity of their new sound is laudable. The songs are indeed upbeat, catchy, and fun. Also, the varied and new sounds that the band takes on in "One Way Ticket" prove an admirable endeavor. They have a clear, cohesive sound and accordingly, one cannot deride the album for being as insignificant as it first seems. Eventually it appears that The Darkness didn't actually plagiarize the sound of their classic rock idols, they likened their music to them. The group probably should have been more conspicuous of their appreciation, something that's hard to do with Queen's old producer. Fans liked The Darkness because their oldness was something new. Hopefully, this relatively lackluster release will allow the band to see that their success emanates from their novelty, and not from their association with '70s rock and '80s hair metal.
Madonna, once the sexually liberated, erotically charged, persona-changing pop icon of the '80s and '90s, is embarking on her newest reinvention. Apparently, it is that of a prudish schoolmarm. The perpetrator of 1992's book "Sex" and a handful of explicit videos now ghost-writes children's books (which must look a tad funny alongside "Sex" on a bookshelf), boasts that she bans her own offspring from watching television (probably so her kids won't come across her "Justify My Love" and "Vogue" videos), and embraces her newly-acquired Kabbalah religion. In the midst of this newfound born-again attitude (or calculated image revamping), it's almost surprising that Madonna didn't record a gospel album. Instead, "Confessions on a Dance Floor" goes back to her club kid roots. This isn't to say that anything on the CD comes close to the dance classics she created on her 1983 self-titled debut, but at least she realized after 2003's disappointing release, "American Life" (who can forget that pathetic rap she attempted on the title track?) that she should get back under the disco ball and leave the hip hop to Missy Elliot. Actually, "Confessions on a Dance Floor" is not a bad effort. Clearly she has come to terms with the fact that dance tunes are what people actually want to hear from her. The blistering dance track "Hung Up," the first single, has carved another notch in Madonna's belt of hits. Other standout songs, "Jump," "Get Together," and "Let It Will Be," employ the synthesized dance beats of "Hung Up" and will make her die-hard dance floor disciples extremely happy. "Let It Will Be" is especially appealing; more of a raw-produced dance track, it is akin to the '80s remixed Madonna hits which were made even more magical by legendary DJ/mixer John "Jellybean" Benitez. "Push Me" also contains a certain energy, but its repetition makes the listener wonder if we truly need another song praising some unknown mentor who apparently "pushed" or "pushes" or "inspired" Madonna (or us) to be better. One would have thought that songs with this kind of trite sentiment died after "Wind Beneath My Wings," but alas it has not. The CD's biggest letdown is the saccharine "Forbidden Love." The slowest track on "Confessions," the song may have been Madonna's attempt to decelerate a bit, but it just stalls with its sappy lyrics and lukewarm delivery. One must wonder: after the hoopla over "Hung Up" passes, how much interest will there be for the rest of the CD's myriad dance tracks? It is unlikely that many present day club DJs, currently overloaded with requests for Kanye West and 50 Cent, will be excited about spinning a new Madonna dance product. Although Madonna has apparently resigned herself to the fact that her days of shocking the world are over, her fans still seem interested in the singer's newer and cleaner incarnation. The things she used to do to astonish - which seemed outrageous 10 or 15 years ago - would now be as uninteresting as any calculated Paris Hilton PR stunt. But, for now anyway, the material girl-turned-mom (twice) has toned it down. If the CD's Number 1 debut in 28 countries is any indicator, the world has seemingly embraced the more grown-up Madonna. Then again, maybe her actions are more subliminal than they appear. There once was a time when all would have scoffed at the thought of a "settled" Madonna. In a way, maybe she's trying to shock us by doing something we never expected of her: maturing.
There are only a few albums in your mom's music collection that you can actually imagine her sitting and listening to. They are the oldies she has a story about when they come on the radio, the albums that she was excited to get on CD when they were re-released. They are the Joni Mitchells and the Carole Kings that you just know she flipped endlessly from side A to B and back again, listening as her high school sweethearts held her hand or broke her heart. And for the combined reason that they're a window into your mom's soul and they're just plain good, you like them too. With "Extraordinary Machine," her most recent addition to a cache of already impressive and critically acclaimed albums, Fiona Apple becomes your Joni. Some day a listen to her music will evoke nostalgia - not in the embarrassing way that "Barbie Girl" makes you think of the choreographed dance you made up in middle school, but a different brand that reminds you of real sentiment. Like Apple herself, "Extraordinary Machine" has a sordid past. No, it didn't come out with a precocious and powerful debut at the tender age of 18, film a borderline soft-core music video and famously proclaim that "this world is bullshit" in an acceptance speech at the VMAs. Instead, its bit of scandal came from an Internet leak of an early version of the album. After releasing the widely praised and commercially successful "Tidal" in 1996 and the widely praised though not-so-commercially successful "When the Pawn Hits the Conflicts He Thinks Like a King..." (1999), Apple retreated on a six-year music hiatus. She eventually broke her silence by recording tracks with producer John Brion but then decided to shelve the album. These songs, not intended for release, were leaked as the nasty rumor spread that Apple's label, Sony, was withholding the record because it felt the songs weren't appealing enough. Apple, insisting she was the cause of the album's shelf status, tried again with producer Mike Elizondo, known for his past work with Dr. Dre, Eminem, and 50 Cent. The unlikely pair worked on a simpler take on Apple's songs - one that takes care to showcase the artist's vocals and piano stylings. Brion's touch can still be felt on the first and last tracks, both of which are holdovers from round one. These two songs are among the most memorable on the CD. The title track opens the album with a bouncy, show tune-esque song, proving that Apple didn't emerge from her time away wishing to sound exactly as she did before. "Extraordinary Machine" ends on an equally positive note with the optimistic "Waltz (Better Than Fine)." Staying true to its title, the three-quarter time breezy tune manages to impart a simple, hopeful message while Apple's well-wishing comes across as genuinely sincere. On the rest of the album as well, Apple provides a diverse and well-executed collection of tracks that hold their own next to previous favorites like "Criminal" and "Shadowboxer." With some songs infectiously upbeat and others beautifully woeful, all boast the type of timeless composition that separates the "Blue (Da Ba Dee)"s from the "Big Yellow Taxi"s. "Extraordinary Machine" is the type of album on which each track will be a favorite at some point. Individual experiences may vary, but Apple has provided enough range in both style and tone to suit all of the emotional needs of her audience. Apple's strength undoubtedly lies in her lyrics, which she manages to craft poetically without sounding overwrought, and in her thoughtful distillations of emotions you hadn't realized were universal until she put them into words. She manages to make a circular argument sound lovely ("Last night's phrases / Sick with lack of basis / Are still writhing on my floor") and the routine sound lyrical ("Home is where my habits have a habitat"). While the idea of a singer and her trusty piano is by no stretch a new one, Apple holds her own in the genre and confirms her unique style among her contemporaries, some of whom weren't around last time she was adjusting her mic. With more street cred than Norah Jones and Vanessa Carlton, and with a shade less feminism than Tori Amos, Apple gets it right, as per her usual, on this new album. "Extraordinary Machine" exists as a wholly enjoyable and thoughtful record from first track to last, plus all the new ones in between. It can provide background music or solace and its lyrics can, as is Apple's strength, take on a chameleonic role to fit with the listener's own emotion.
Legendary jazz pianist Thelonious Monk was famous for leaving audiences hanging. He would end a song one note short, leaving the listener waiting to hear it resolved, but knowing that resolution would never come. When archivists found a 48-year-old live recording at Carnegie Hall featuring the historically significant but rarely recorded Thelonious Monk Quartet with saxophonist John Coltrane, it seemed too good to be true. This was a resolution fifty years in the making. When Larry Applebaum, a Library of Congress employee, stumbled across an unmarked box in the archives and found this recording, he probably thought some fellow librarians were trying to pull a fast one on him. A find like this would be like turning over the cheap painting in your living room and finding "DaVinci" scrawled across the back. Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane's collaboration in 1957 is well-known among many jazz fans; however, recordings are few and far between, and their sound quality is amateur at best. The collaboration came at an important time in both musicians' careers. Monk's eccentric style was gaining acceptance, and he would soon become one of the leading figures in jazz. Even more so than Monk, Coltrane was poised for his breakthrough. Having just recovered from a heroin addiction that lead to his expulsion from Miles Davis's band, Coltrane was a man on a mission when he joined Monk. Within the next few years, Coltrane would become a monumental figure in jazz history, playing on Davis's landmark "Kind of Blue" (1959) and his own intensely personal "A Love Supreme" (1964). Coltrane's passion is on display in this recording. On "Epistrophy" and "Bye-Ya," he hints at glimpses of things to come later in his career, blazing through his solos and stretching his limitations. These recordings will undoubtedly lead many jazz fans to question how much Coltrane's playing evolved from his time with Monk. It is clear that Monk's unorthodox stilted style of play kept Coltrane guessing and pushed him into a realm of experimentation that he probably hadn't experienced before. The night's set kicked off with "Monk's Mood." Monk begins by exploring on the piano for the first two minutes, testing out different sounds and chords. Coltrane enters by himself, his playing slow and slightly melancholy, while Monk runs back and forth along the keyboard. At roughly four minutes, the rest of the quartet joins, the tempo picks up a bit, and the set hits its stride. The album is book-ended by another signature Monk tune, "Blue Monk." The opening riff is immediately recognizable to many people, even those who don't listen to jazz. Monk and Coltrane start out playing in unison before playfully echoing each other. Soon, Coltrane takes off on a mind-bending solo, driving the original theme in a million different directions at once. Perhaps Monk's finest moment comes on the ballad "Crepescule with Nellie." For the first half of the song, Monk's playing is stunningly sparse. But in the second half, Coltrane and the rest join in. The combination of Monk's ascending notes coupled with the beat of the drumming - which shines on this track - makes listeners feel like they're floating out of their seats. For almost 50 years, jazz fans have first been exposed to the genre through classics like "Kind of Blue" or "A Love Supreme." Though "Carnegie Hall" will never match the historical and cultural significance of Davis's classic, it is destined to provide an introduction to generations of future listeners. Coltrane and Monk do it all on this record, from delicate ballads to blazing solos, creating an accessible and entertaining recording that's welcoming to uninitiated ears, all while pushing the limits of experimentation. It may have taken Monk a while, but this resolution was worth the wait.
Rick Rubin had it easy producing Johnny Cash's last records. Even after making unremarkable albums for twenty years, he was still The Man in Black, a rock prototype. All Rubin had to do to bring Cash back into the mainstream musical landscape was put him in a room with a guitar and recommend a few songs to cover. Johnny Cash was just that cool. Neil Diamond is not cool. Over the past several decades he has become something of a joke, appreciated ironically by hipsters and with achingly earnest devotion by middle-aged women. Next to Fat Elvis, he is the definition of extravagance and kitsch. Even his last name is gaudy. Back in the '60s and early '70s, Diamond was a pop dynamo. After earning his stripes in the Brill Building, a Tin Pan Alley hit-producing studio, he set out on his own career, leading the singer-songwriter movement. As he developed a reputation as a charismatic live performer, his fan base expanded and he began his slow decent into easy listening. Rick Rubin, producer of minimal classics by artists ranging from LL Cool J to the aforementioned Cash, wondered where the spark of Diamond's earlier records had gone. Rubin lobbied him to record an album together, and Diamond agreed. The result is the acoustic-pop gem "12 Songs." The record kicks off with "Hey Mary," a quiet, gentle love song with a slightly repetitive chorus. It is followed by "Hell Yeah," a song that acknowledges the new direction the record is taking, while noting that this 'return to form' shouldn't detract from his other work. The record hits its stride with a run of stripped-down vintage Diamond classics. "Save Me a Saturday Night" is a classic pop ballad with hooks to kill. Even if Diamond's soft-spoken delivery over a xylophone melody and a great bass line almost make it a lullaby, it's the catchiest lullaby you'll ever hear. "Delirious Love," could be the long lost twin of "Sweet Caroline." There's a reason that "Sweet Caroline" will still be played in Fenway for years to come, long after everyone's forgotten about the Dropkick Murphy's annoying "Tessie" - it is a perfect pop song. "Delirious Love" is a worthy successor, building up slowly, generating giddy suspense before Neil belts out the chorus. A word to music downloaders - you are infinitely better off buying this album from iTunes; not only is the CD copy-protected with software that could potentially harm your computer, but on top of that, the iTunes version comes with a rendition of "Delirious Love" featuring Brian Wilson. Though the record flows perfectly and moves at a rapid pace, there are a few duds. "Create Me" is slightly self-important and its bravado borders on Andrew Lloyd Webber territory. "We" is a funny little love song, bouncing along to a plodding tuba and honky-tonk piano while Diamond sings about how love isn't about "you or me / love is all about we." It's goofy, hokey and nothing you'll remember. In the liner notes detailing the album's creation, Diamond says the songs, "are done so simply and truthfully that only the heart of them remained." The album succeeds based on this honesty. It isn't a record trying to convince hipsters that he can be appreciated in earnest; he still is sentimental and even bombastic at times. This is not, as it could have been, a Rick Rubin pet project, a chance for the producer to show how he could take the lame Diamond and make him cool and edgy. Rubin really did strip away excesses to get at the heart of the material, leaving only Diamond and the essence of 12 songs. Diamond has had a career spanning thirty years and even if he hasn't been trendy, he has entertained many people. When addressing the question of whether he is happy with his life's work, the answer is an emphatic "hell yeah." Diamond does not try to recreate the strikingly austere and mortality-obsessed atmosphere of Cash's final records. This is a Neil Diamond record; it is simultaneously catchy, cheesy, somber, and honest. But Cash and Diamond do have some things in common - Cash covered Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man" on his third record with Rubin. Both Cash and Diamond are solitary men in the world of pop music, Cash dressed in black on one side of the spectrum and Diamond in a white jumpsuit on the other. Both stand alone, unafraid to be pariahs and unashamed of their work- wait a minute, maybe Neil Diamond is cool after all.
Have you ever been engaged in a conversation about your love for Modest Mouse when, all of a sudden, someone interrupts with "Oh yeah, I've heard of them, I love 'Float On'!" Did you avoid brutally murdering the ignorant fool for fear of seeming elitist but quietly suggested that they don't know what the hell they are talking about? Sun Kil Moon tackles this dilemma by composing "Tiny Cities," a cover album of acoustic interpretations of Modest Mouse's greatest hits and a must-hear for those so-called "elitist" fans out there. "Tiny Cities" being Sun Kil Moon's second full album, the band is taking a big risk by showing this level of creative freedom so early in their career. But lead singer Mark Kozelek is no stranger to experimentation, especially as it pertains to covers. He has put out numerous albums over the years under his independently-owned label, Caldo Verde, including 2001's "What's Next to the Moon," in which he takes on rock gods AC/DC. You might be thinking to yourself, "Modest Mouse? AC/DC? This guy really knows how to rock!" It's much more interesting, however, for Kozelek to turn the dial down from eleven, since these bands have been playing at one louder long enough to hold us all over for many years to come. In general, the most interesting cover albums are recorded in a style far different from the originals, and "Tiny Cities" is no exception. Just as Me First and the Gimme Gimmes found their greatest success doing punk covers of classic soul hits, Sun Kil Moon brings a slow, steady, soft-rock style to some of the most raw, experimental rock music available to form a striking contrast. The most evident change that Sun Kil Moon has brought to Modest Mouse's work is steady simplicity. Whereas the original music can ranged from grunge rock ("Convenient Parking") to a country hoedown ("Jesus Christ Was an Only Child"), Kozelek somehow makes each song stylistically fade into the next. Although some are simply guitar and vocals and others feature percussion and a string section, the songs are brought together by the common approach. The band combines complex, fast progressions with a soft, gentle voice reminiscent of The Beatles' famous "Blackbird." Modest Mouse's lyrics are so abstract that they can accommodate any musical interpretation. The classic "Trucker's Atlas," for example, normally accentuates a sense of excitement with jerky rhythms and a fast tempo, but as these elements are stripped away and replaced by a slower rhythms listeners must think even harder about what the already abstract lyrics mean. After listening to this album, fans of the poetry of music will want to own an energetic version of Modest Mouse for the morning and a softer, gentler Modest Mouse for the evening. There is a reason, though, why The Beatles only wrote one "Blackbird." Listening to "Twin Cities" without the proper context will put the average college student to sleep faster than an 8:30 philosophy lecture. The album is a tribute, a corollary to an already impressive display of music and poetry. In discovering this album, the average consumer must therefore be careful not to overlook the music's origins, because having two interpretations of each song to compare is what gives Sun Kil Moon's work here life and meaning. Overall, original Modest Mouse is far superior, but Kozelek's unconventional experiment successfully pays tribute to the complexity of Modest Mouse's work and adds new dimensions to the words. Fans of Modest Mouse will greatly appreciate new dimensions that "Twin Cities" brings to these classics. Those who aren't as familiar with the band's work should realize that even the mere existence of such a masterful cover album proves the influence and importance that this legendary indie rock band has demonstrated over the years. Our advice: discover Modest Mouse first, and when you are ready check out "Tiny Cities."
Albert Pujols is amazing; each year of his career, he has added something to or improved something within his superstar repertoire. But while he can rack up mind-numbing statistics, he can't win by himself. To win a World Series, the Cardinals need to surround him with a team that plays to his strengths, complements his abilities and picks up the slack when he isn't perfect. Enter "The Mouse and the Mask" by Danger Doom, the collaboration between masked emcee MF Doom and producer Danger Mouse, inspired and supported by Cartoon Network's Adult Swim. MF Doom is also amazing. He wears an intense iron mask onstage (MF stands for metal-faced) and refuses to be photographed without it. He raps in a lazy baritone, like he's lounging on a chaise in the studio being fed grapes by beautiful half-naked Arabian princesses. He loves comic books and obscure television cartoons, and pens bizarre, hilarious rhymes with a penchant for antiquated colloquialisms and super hero references. On his solo albums he spits gems, but he seems to save some of his A-material for collaborations. On 2004's Madvillain union with Oxnard, Calif. native Madlib, Doom (real name Daniel Dumille) reached his lyrical apex, swirling his laidback ironic wit and Japanese monster-movie jargon with self-deprecation and introspection, turning in one of the decade's best rap performances. While such superlatives do not quite apply to Doom's work on "The Mouse and the Mask," they barely miss. On each of the album's 14 songs, he weaves massive tapestries of pop culture nods, arcane disses, scene shifts and cartoon allusions that are so intricate and immense you need to consult the liner notes to make sure you don't miss anything. Though choosing snippets does no justice to his songs' lyrical expansiveness, "Crosshairs" is an adequate example: "When he's on the mic he's like the triggerman, fig jam / Doom, not to be confused with nobody / Especially since the flows he used was so nutty / Never to woozy to go study / crews got no clues / Like old cruddy, officer McGilicuddy." The album's Adult Swim theme, which admittedly sounds really lame, is wholly appropriate for Doom, whose very moniker is derived from a cartoon (Dr. Doom is The Fantastic Four's nemesis). He crams shout-outs to a variety of the bizarre programming's characters into his verses with the most vocal energy of his career. On the brilliant "A.T.H.F." which opens with the mucus-y voice of Meatwad spittin' gangsta' to sex offending neighbor Karl, Doom's rhymes are bouncy, even youthful. If it were a less avowedly cartoon-loving emcee rapping about a household of quirky, animated food products, he or she would almost certainly sound pathetic. Sadly, despite Doom's outstanding performance, this album is short of excellent. On "The Mouse and the Mask," the mask carries his weight, but the mouse lets him down. In 2004, Danger Mouse incurred all kinds of copyright-related fines by blending The Beatles' beats from "The White Album" with Jay-Z's lyrics from the "Black Album" into "The Grey Album;" a notable achievement, but nothing to swoon over. Nonetheless, Danger Mouse somehow became a hip-hop commodity. He produced a song on Sage Francis' "A Healthy Distrust," and in May, produced Gorillaz' "Demon Days." Again, both were solid outings by the producer, but nothing to suggest that he should succeed the incomparable Madlib as MF Doom's collaborator. And, as it turned out, he probably shouldn't have. His parts on "El Chupua Libre," "Bizzy Box" and "Mince Meat," for example, are toothlessly subdued and technically unimpressive, and if someone wasn't rapping over them there would be no incentive to listen. With his tiny beats, it's as though Danger Mouse wants to stay out of Doom's way. But that's not what the masked superstar needs. He needs someone to set a stage suitable for his unique and massive talents, not afraid to steal the show when the Frylock rhymes go stale. Danger Mouse shows fleeting glimpses of this, most notably on "Perfect Hair," where syncopated bass drums drive flute trills and keyboards from '50s TV. Sustain it for an entire album and you've got yourself a classic. Danger Mouse may well end up an excellent producer later in his career, but the problem on "The Mouse" isn't necessarily the quality of the beats, although they often suck - it's chemistry that's a problem here. Madlib knew exactly how to get the most out of Doom, and though his beats weren't always mind-blowing, the album was. Danger Mouse needs a better understanding of Doom's abilities if the two are going to try this again.
