Buckcherry Time Bomb (DreamWorks)

Buckcherry make no secret of their roots. The Los Angeles quintet cranks out a compelling combo of juicy riffs and unassuming hooks driven by down and dirty backseat rhythms that clearly echo AC/DC. Singer Josh Todd snarls and rants with saucy panache that falls somewhere between Bon Scott and the Black Crowes' Chris Robinson. The most potent numbers on the band's second effort are raunchy and unruly -- "Time Bomb" detonates like a "Bitch"-era Stones piece and "Porno Star" sounds like a Celebrity Death Match challenge only Nashville Pussy could answer. The album also packs a plethora of subtler rock and pop components. "Underneath" is a grimy-sweet song about true love that hearkens back to the Replacements, while the poppy punch behind "Place in the Sun" smacks of Cheap Trick. A couple tracks, like "Without You," prove Buckcherry capable of softer sentiments -- but these boys are at their best when they're being bad. (SANDY MASUO)

Shawn Colvin Whole New You (Columbia)

This new collection from the folk-pop powerhouse with the gnomish voice immediately gets down to business. As front-loaded with commercial ammunition as any Mariah Carey album, Whole New You leads with two songs -- the Spanish-inflected "Matter of Minutes" and the title number, which expertly renovates antique Sixties teen pop -- whose tasteful hooks catch and grab, just like "Sunny Came Home," the intense little Grammy-winning tune from Colvin's 1996 album, A Few Small Repairs. The rest of Whole New You is as professional, if less immediate. But that's fine, because the contrast between Colvin's manner-free singing and the pristine arrangements by her co-songwriter and producer, John Leventhal, creates an interesting dance of the offhand and the strategic. In "Another Plane Went Down" and the curious "Mr. Levon," Colvin's voice drifts through Leventhal's crafted ambient folk -- like dream pop that stops just short of heavy snoozing. (JAMES HUNTER)

2Pac Until the End of Time (Death Row/Interscope)

Tupac Shakur may be gone, but he isn't forgotten -- and won't be if his mother Afeni Shakur and Death Row have anything to say in the matter. And they do, since this double CD -- the latest installment of the posthumous 2Pac story -- is the first of two double albums culled from his final recordings sessions for 1996's Makaveli. Heavy on outside contributions and certainly missing 2Pac's editorial control and final production decisions, Until the End of Time bops and weaves from peak to valley in schizophrenic fashion. Ballad of a Dead Soulja kicks things off with sparse, pumped bass and a tough, firm beat, but the lean aggression that was 2Pac's legacy is frequently sweetened with superfluous choruses ("This Ain't Livin'") and over-busy arrangements. Within the twenty-nine tracks, however, there are pieces ("Lil Homies," "Lastonesleft" featuring Outlawz) where sublime melodicism manages to successfully polish these rough drafts. (ROB O'CONNOR)

Joshua Redman Passage of Time (Warner Bros.)

The equivalent of a concept album for the jazz musician is a set of songs that have a thematic thread, a narrative flow. Granted, not every sax player, for instance, can conjure the weight of John Coltrane's Love Supreme. But Joshua Redman succeeds with a simple, linear slant to his first CD billed with his working quartet. After dabbling with soprano and alto saxes (and dipping into standards by Bob Dylan and the Beatles on 1998's Timeless Tales), Redman focuses on tenor. Then, between the floating filigrees and drones of his solo opener "Before" and the more defined "After," Redman and his band deliver a contemplative, segue-bridged set. On the two-phase standout "Free Speech," pianist Aaron Goldberg pushes against drummer Gregory Hutchinson's crashing pulse, before the band drops into a subdued progression that slips in and out of stately melody, the mark of Redman's rite of passage. (PAUL ROBICHEAU)

The Living End Roll On (Reprise)

With punk pop's day in the sun fast turning into a distant memory, the Living End's second album is the perfect record to take you back to that time when Green Day did it all for the Dookie. But Roll On is actually closer kin to an even hoarier antecedent: the Clash's London Calling. The Living End, a trio from Melbourne, Australia, stomp all over the boundaries between punk, reggae, rockabilly and plain old rock & roll -- and it still sounds like a revelation, twenty-two years after the Clash did it. The pupils don't quite outpace the masters here, but the Living End live up to their promise in the title song to "roll on with our heads held high," barreling through the album with both audacity and ability. As a singer, Chris Cheney makes the most of that tiny window between a smirk and a sneer; as a guitarist, he broadcasts his versatility in the twisted psychobilly lines of "Don't Shut the Gate," the wanky hard-rock breaks in "Carry Me Home" and the choppy reggae strumming in "Blood on Your Hands." The Living End's thirst for variety can make them sound quadrophrenic. But the band is obviously having such a riotously good time that you'd be a sucker not to stomp your foot and join the party. (JENNY ELISCU)

India.Arie Acoustic Soul (Motown)

It's only fitting that India Arie's debut album is titled Acoustic Soul: as this singer-songwriter strums her acoustic guitar and croons with effortless grace, the album generates an irresistible quality of soul. Starting with the album's intro, in which she sings a brief-yet-heartfelt dedication to Marvin Gaye and a few other deceased soul legends, Arie embarks on a sensual journey through gratitude, passion and inner-strength. Overall, she exudes a righteous aura found in such contemporaries as Tracy Chapman, Erykah Badu and even Jewel while simultaneously establishing an identity all to her own. India is not shy about expressing herself -- whether she's coming clean about her natural image on "Video" or painting a romantically vivid sexual experience on "Brown Skin," her blues-y, folk-y, sultry delivery simmers with remarkable confidence, track after track. But the most unique element comes to life every time she sings a ditty to honor her inspirations -- serenading everyone from Jimi Hendrix to Karen Carpenter, from Stevie Ray Vaughan to Stevie Wonder. The positive vibes on this freshman effort are never-ending. (PAT CHARLES)

Saliva Every Six Seconds (Island)

If you were a record-label scientist mixing chemicals in a laboratory, you couldn't invent a more generic merger of mopey metal and alternative rock than this booming quintet from Memphis. Singer Josey Scott carefully cribs his moaning angst from old Alice In Chains albums, although gloomy sentiments like "you got me crazy in my head" and "no one can make me feel like you" (punchline: "and no one can thrill me like you do") are barely worthy of Layne Staley, let alone Kurt Cobain or Eddie Vedder. (Although guitarists Chris D'abaldo and Wayne Swinny aren't bad.) If Saliva can squeeze into FM's Fuel-Linkin Park-Orgy niche, the jumpy, shrieking "Click Click Boom" could be huge. These days, radio likes it generic. (STEVE KNOPPER)

Jimmy Scott Over the Rainbow (Milestone)

The cult jazz singer's peculiar high-pitched voice remains undiminished, even at seventy-five years of age, on this well-executed collection of a dozen standards. It's true that a few of the selections, such as "Over the Rainbow" and "Pennies from Heaven," are not the most imaginative choices for sentimental jazz singers. Still, as Scott declares in the liner notes, he's waited a lifetime to do "Over the Rainbow," so who are we to deny him that pleasure? Although that song is smothered in warm fuzzy vibraphone, for the most part the arrangements are tastefully spare, aided by top players like Joe Beck on guitar and Grady Tate on drums. For "Strange Fruit," only, David "Fathead" Newman contributes tenor sax, putting Scott into an uncommonly ominous, stormy setting that rates as the session's highlight. Throughout the disc, Scott's voice is an odd mix of reserved, precise passion and sorrowful vibrato. (RICHIE UNTERBERGER)

Train Drops of Jupiter (Columbia)

Even though they scampered straight to Hollywood as soon as they troubled the charts, the Counting Crows left an indelible impression on at least one San Francisco band before taking off. "Tell me, did you sail across the sun/Did you make it to the Milky Way to see all the lights faded," sings Pat Monahan on the title track of Train's sophomore album, Drops of Jupiter, conjuring vivid memories of Recovering The Satellites. The anthemic song is the centerpiece here, showcasing the singer's yearning voice and band's swooping, string-laden melodies, but Train has more to offer. The brooding "Mississippi" presents an intoxicating mix of acoustic guitars and dreamy horns, while "Let It Roll" mixes mournful slide guitars and loose-limbed rhythms in the perfect meeting of blustery earnestness and unapologetic commerciality. (AIDIN VAZIRI)

Shuggie Otis Inspiration Information (Luaka Bop/Narada)

Guitar prodigy Shuggie Otis cut his gap teeth in the Sixties, in his legendary dad's R&B-soul revue, the Johnny Otis Show. Recording his first album in his teens, he played with everybody from T-Bone Walker to Frank Zappa to Bob Dylan; in the mid-Seventies, he was even invited to replace Mick Taylor in the Rolling Stones. Otis' smooth, trippy soul-funk opus, Inspiration Information -- first released in 1974, now remastered and reissued by David Byrne's Luaka Bop label with four bonus tracks from 1971's Freedom Flight -- was his third album for Epic records; in the Stevie Wonder soul-auteur vein, he wrote, sang and played almost every instrument on the album. Songs like "Happy House" and "Strawberry Letter 23" (a Number One R&B hit for the Brothers Johnson) embraced the incense-and-peppermint psychedelia of the times without falling out of the pocket. The electronic grooves of "XL-30" and the Isaac Hayes-like power of "Not Available" reveals an expansive creativity that appeared unlimited -- maybe even a Prince-size talent in the making. But in the late Seventies, Otis largely faded from the scene, only to become a favorite of crate-digging DJs. This first-ever CD pressing of Inspiration Information should help change that. (ANDY GENSLER)

The Sheila Divine Where Have My Countrymen Gone (Co-Op Pop)

The Sheila Divine's countrymen apparently went back to the Eighties, given the band's Morrissey-meets-U2 sweep. The rich, moody melody of "Antidote" even recalls the 1985 all-star single "Do They Know It's Christmas?" -- yet the Boston-based Sheila's attention to epic pop structures remains timeless. Aaron Perrino builds cathedral-scale vocals on the haunting landscape of "Wanting is Wasted," then rocks with strident passion in "Sideways" and "Ostrich." No song quite matches the hooky power of "Like a Criminal" or "Hum" from Sheila's Roadrunner debut. But the group stays the course on this hometown-indie follow-up, retaining producers Brian Charles and Mike Denneen, while accenting its hush-to-howl dynamics with the textural addition of second guitarist Colin Decker. The focal point of the now-quartet remains singer Perrino, even if his lyrics about feeling soulless in a monarch-run world are a bit oblique. (ROBICHEAU)

Oh Susanna Sleepy Little Sailor (Catamount)

A former librarian, Suzie Ungerleider's (a.k.a. Oh Susanna) songs often take an historian's interest; she wrote an entire album, Johnstown, around a catastrophic 1889 flood. Water is a central theme again on her third release, Sleepy Little Sailor, with characters sailing in and out of songs on waters both realistic (the girl born on the slave ship of "All That Remains") and metaphoric (the sibling betrayal of "River Blue" -- "Sister I don't blame you/For thinking I sold you/Down that river blue"). Ungerleider's striking voice is the album's front piece. An amalgam of the twisted phrasing of Richard Buckner, gloomy cast of Gillian Welch and the sweet bluesy ache of Lucinda Williams, she's as much at home belting out the torchy twang of "Ted's So Wasted" as she is soul-crooning on Otis Redding's "I've Got Dreams to Remember" and on the lullabye of "St. Patricks Day." Her accompanists, including Blue Rodeo's Bazil Donovan, provide the perfect sparse backdrop of grand piano (played evocatively by Bob Packwood), B3 organ and a periodic Neil Young style electric guitar rip. Sleepy Little Sailor is part sea chantey, part hazy childhood recollection steeped in ocean mist, but this album is no sunny day at the beach. It's gray and gorgeous, with a myriad of hidden memories rolling in off the fog and a life-altering storm brewing on the horizon. (MEREDITH OCHS)

Snow Patrol When It's All Over We Still Have to Clean Up (Jeepster/Never)

Snow Patrol's 1998 debut Songs for Polar Bears was an amalgamation of jangly-guitar-rock influences -- none too original, but interesting nonetheless. Chugging, distorted guitars still provide the foundation for some of the Northern Irish trio's compelling second release, driving tracks like "Never Gonna Fall in Love Again" and "Black and Blue." But it's on the disc's softer, more atmospheric songs that Snow Patrol sound most at home. Singer Gary Lightbody's hushed voice is perfectly designed for the band's new drifting, moody songs; he invokes Lou Barlow on the tortured "One Night Is Not Enough," Nick Drake on the horn-augmented "An Olive Facing the Sea." A few tracks, like the Yo La Tengo-esque "Batten Down the Hatch," still betray Snow Patrol's sources of inspiration. But for the most part, these quiet moments present a matured band, one that's transcended its influences to find a sound all its own. (NINA PEARLMAN)

Pete Yorn musicforthemorningafter (Columbia)

By fusing classic rock and Americana, New Jersey-born singer-songwriter Pete Yorn delivers a striking major-label debut that delicately balances artistry and accessibility. Recorded with Brad Wood (Liz Phair, Smashing Pumpkins) and R. Walt Vincent, musicforthemorningafter is an ambitious outing that starts out strong and just won't quit. Rainy day love songs like the beautifully fragile "Strange Condition," the pensively restrained "June" and the introverted, piano-led "Lose You" carry enough hum-along hooks to sustain most long players, but this high-caliber set doesn't stop there. "Murray" is charged power pop, "Closet" pays an ace tribute to the Vedder camp and although the rootsy, rumbling "Life on a Chain" snatches portions of its melody from Grant Lee Buffalo's "Lone Star Song," one suspects it's done subconsciously. When Yorn tosses a change up or two -- like on the echoey Sixties-derived nugget "Just Another" or the Steve Malkmus-galvanized "Black" -- the outgrowth is similarly superior. During the acoustic guitar-strummed pop delight, "Sense," the singer inquires, "Is there something wrong with me?" Not so far as we can tell, Pete. (JOHN D. LUERSSEN)

March 27, 2001