What do you get when you cross a bunch of white headbangers with a crew of hip-hop outlaws? Cracker Jacks. The main quality of this compilation of rap hits remade by rock bands is crunch, defined by the heavy guitar riffs Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine developed from the blueprint made by Black Sabbath's Tony Iommi. It's nicely sticky when the rhymes flow from masters like Xzibit, Everlast and the members of the Wu-Tang Clan. It's got some nuts, notably Crazy Town and Tha Alkaholiks, and a little caramel sweetness from Sugar Ray and Big Pun. But don't expect it to fill you up, because it's mostly corn and air.

Hip-hop hybridizers once linked the genre to jazz, an approach that left room for virtuosity and innovation. But as Loud Rocks flagrantly asserts, hip-hop has more impact when mixed with heavy metal, since big beats and roughneck confrontationalism are easier to grasp than agile samples and delicate flow. Aside from Everlast and Mobb Deep's smoothness match on "Shook Ones Part II," the most effective tracks here stress the obvious. Morello's soccer-hooligan reworking of "Wu-Tang Clan Ain't Nothin' to Fuck Wit'" -- with sledgehammer drumming from Chili Pepper Chad Smith and gleeful bluster from Shaolin -- centers the album. Sevendust and Xzibit devise a catchy chorus for "What U See Is What U Get," and Lajon Witherspoon's soulful howl sinks in. So does the roar of Lou Koller, singer for hardcore veterans Sick of It All, on a reworking of Mobb Deep's "Survival of the Fittest." And Ozzy makes his moment work, as he and Iommi cordially crash the Wu-Tang party in "For Heaven's Sake."

Most other artists stomp and roar on tracks that sound remarkably alike. On the radio, barnstormers like "Los Angeles Times," by Endo and Xzibit, might catch the ear. But they don't reward frequent listens. And did Incubus need to resurrect Big Pun for another version of "Still Not a Player"? That kind of easy move is what makes Loud Rocks a phat load of empty calories. (ANN POWERS -- RS 849)

Ryan Adams Heartbreaker (Bloodshot)

Though he's only twenty-five, Ryan Adams, the lead singer and songwriter of Whiskeytown, is the sort of artist who seems perpetually on the cusp of a masterpiece. He came close with his star-crossed band, which is currently trying to find a new record label, and now he's taking his own shot with Heartbreaker, his first solo album. Adams' sources run deep -- from Paul Westerberg to Hank Williams -- and he has the raspy, quavering voice and innate tunefulness to be worthy of them. And the boy is nothing if not sincere. Heartbreaker opens with Adams debating guitarist David Rawlings about a Morrissey song, and that's followed by a folk-rocking track called "To Be Young (Is to Be Sad, Is to Be High)," which recalls the exuberant Dylan of the mid-Sixties. The dreamy, sweetly psychedelic "AMY" evokes the otherworldly wonder of Nick Drake; Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch and Kim Richey add background vocals. Unfortunately, Adams' songs too often fail to rise above their plain-spoken details to take on the symbolic power he yearns for. Summoning legends at every turn, he makes you uncomfortably aware of what he hasn't yet achieved. His considerable talent and charm, however, make you hope that soon he will. (ANTHONY DECURTIS -- RS 849)

Mojave 3 Excuses for Travelers (4AD)

It is one of the most tired devices in the great big book of love: the letter marked RETURN TO SENDER. Yet Neil Halstead, the primary singer and songwriter of British sad-core specialists Mojave 3, can't resist it. On the band's spectacularly sullen third effort, he wrings every drop of purple pathos from the conceit. By the third verse of "Return to Sender," Halstead has even turned to a priest for consolation: "He said, 'God will take care of those that help themselves/But you look pretty screwed, send a letter.'" Halstead's particular genius is timing: arriving on the scene in his songs just in time for the twist of the knife, the moment when the bittersweet turns pathetic. Excuses is a diary of such finely wrought situations, from "She Broke You So Softly," a Nick Drake-ish chronicle of rejection, to "When You're Driftin'," an exploration of listlessness. Halstead employs a delicate-soul whisper when he sings, but, as compelling as his vocals are, it is still refreshing to hear band mate Rachel Goswell take over on "Bringin' Me Home," a transcendent bit of shot-through-the-heart sadness that makes you wish Halstead shared the microphone a bit more. (TOM MOON -- RS 850)

The 6ths Hyacinths and Thistles (Merge)

With the 6ths' second release, Hyacinths and Thistles, Stephin "Magnetic Fields" Merritt's rotating guest-singer project points in a direction befitting an acclaimed composer with limited vocal appeal (cf. Bob Dylan). But doing "covers" of his own songs with the voices of New Wave heroes (Gary Numan, Marc Almond) and like-sounding contemporaries (Momus, Bob Mould) keeps it way too indie rock and insiderish for those of us who think Madonna and Britney Spears should be popularizing his songs. While memorable tunes abound, and at least one left-fielder scores (Sixties folk-pop singer Melanie returns, singing like Tom Waits channeling Lotte Lenya), the 6ths largely seem inclined to preach to the converted. Call this one 14 Self-Love Songs. (RONI SARIG -- excerpted from RS 849)

Bettie Serveert Private Suit (Hidden Agenda)

Sporadically brilliant since 1993's entirely brilliant Palomine, the best Dutch indie rock band in history severed ties with terminally cool Matador as their lovely brand of lush and ambling pop fell off the relevance radar. It's no surprise, then, that Private Suit, their first album in three years -- finally picked-up for stateside distribution months after its Euro release -- bears the rich, rewarding sounds of a band creating entirely for itself. Seconds into the opener "Unsound," the heavenly Bettie signatures float up: Peter Visser's graceful, echo-drenched riffs yield to Carol Van Dijk quirky angel's voice whispering "I took a Tylenol and an hour's drive/and somehow found a reason why I'm still alive." With Van Dijk's mastery of English apparently finally complete, the endearingly goofy lyric work and song titles are no more, though her voice sounds as unique and passionate as ever. Layers of soft fuzz, subtle pings and understated harmony fill the background, even if their once swelling guitar-jam outros have given way to quicker snatches of pop (maturity's such a bitch). (GREG HELLER)

Brad Mehldau Places (Warner Bros.)

Need a vacation? You could do a lot worse than to visit Places like this. Pianist Brad Mehldau wrote these thirteen songs, each named for -- try to follow along now -- the locale in which it was written. Despite the obvious titles -- "Los Angeles," "Madrid," "Paris" -- these aren't just spots on a map, but emotional landscapes (and not -- thank goodness -- the kind of travelogues that lesser musicians might have indicated with kitschy musical touches). "Los Angeles"'s sweet lyricism belies the city's vapid reputation by finding its aching, battered heart, while "Madrid" evokes feelings that don't require a Rough Guide to comprehend. Sure, "Airport Sadness" may tip its hand a bit (are there any other emotions in the departure lounge?), but the disc soars on the strength and quality of Mehldau's sprawling, classically influenced compositions and elegantly emotional playing in both solo and trio settings. Oh, Dr. Seuss promised us, the places you'll go. Thanks, these will do nicely. (ERIK PEDERSEN)

Trans Am Red Line (Thrill Jockey)

With song titles like "Where Do You Want To Fuck Today?" and "Village In Bubbles," there's no doubt that the members of Trans Am have a way with words. Too bad their music is mostly instrumental. On the swift follow-up to this year's You Can Always Get What You Want, the futuristic Washington D.C. trio continues to explore the incongruous relationship between thrift store guitars, analog synthesizers and technological static. Red Line is their least user-friendly album to date, which is no easy feat for a band that got its start by splicing up songs by Boston and Yes. Here, Trans Am test listeners' patience by carelessly veering from assembly line beats ("Casual Friday") to the computer-enhanced voices and industrial drones ("Polizei [Zu Spat])." They have seen the future and it sounds like crap. (AIDIN VAZIRI)

The Vandals Look What I Almost Stepped In . . . (Nitro)

SoCal veteran punk rock pranksters the Vandals discharge an optimum amount of humorous, hook-infused music on their latest album. Whether maligning the traditions of the music business ("Behind The Music"), kissing up to enabling parents ("Sorry, Mom & Dad") or coping with jailbait temptations ("Fourteen"), Misters Quackenbush, Fitzgerald, Escalante and Freese rarely sway off of the fairway. Blatant pop exhibitions like the contagious "Flowers Are Pretty" and the Beach Boys-tinged alcoholic love song "That's My Girl" are marvelously crafted. Even when the pendulum swings in an utterly tasteless direction for "Crippled and Blind," the melody remains intact. Good taste need not be an absolutely mandatory element of good music. (JOHN D. LUERSSEN)

Man or Astro-man? A Spectrum of Infinite Scale (Touch And Go)

Where does a pack of homesick alien future-schlock instrumental rockers go, musically-speaking, after producing ten LPs and countless singles that are, essentially, variations on a single theme? If you're Man or Astro-man?, the answer is a resounding nowhere. Spectrum doesn't stretch MoAM's nervous, New Wave, robo surf rock formula's boundaries. Rather, there are fleeting moments of sonic maturity and experimentation that hint at the deep listening, retro electro pleasures that lurk beneath the punky veneer. Birdstuff and Coco the Electronic Monkey Wizard are still leading the Astro charge, but the revolving door of Man or Astro-man? guitar-slinging collaborators seems to be oscillating as two new gents (Blazar the Probe Handler and Trace Reading) show up to make sounds here. Spectrum of Infinite Scale keeps the equation just engaging enough to help you hold out until Man or Astro-man's frantic, cult-like DIY-futurist theater live show rolls through again. (CHRIS HANDYSIDE)

Various Artists Dancehall 101 Volumes 1 & 2 (VP)

This two-part class session of dancehall (seventeen hits per disc) bubbled many a waistline throughout the Eighties and early Nineties. Volume 1's "Good Hole College" by Red Dragon is the first lesson, defining the onslaught of slackness lyrics in this era, but with the infectious computerized "riddims" taking storm also, few on the dance floor minded. The party got started anytime "Big Up" by Rayvon & Shaggy was spun, and even today, a hip-hop DJ's crate wouldn't miss these guaranteed dance floor shakers, or the required listening of Cutty Ranks' "Who Say Me Dun" and Beenie Man's "Who Am I," even if he doesn't know the difference between jerk sauce and pepper sauce. Two specially mixed bonus discs add live Jamaican-emceeing and sound-effects, making for as true of a dancehall atmosphere you're going to find on CD. (MARLON REGIS)

Damon & Naomi Damon & Naomi with Ghost (Sub Pop)

Ethereal husband and wife duo Damon Krukowski and Naomi Lang have found the perfect collaborators with Japanese band Ghost. Just check out their delicate cover of Alex Chilton's "Blue Moon" -- Lang's vocal is as cool as a forest stream, with a thick bed of dreamy instrumentation to sink into. Krukowski's gentle falsetto provides an equally dreamy counterpoint on a record that could probably lull the most earthbound soul into a never-never land state. Don't get too comfortable, though. Just when you think your alpha waves are about to spirit you away, something like the stinging guitar lead in the eight-minutes-plus "Tanka" comes along to sweep you into another universe entirely. A CD tailor-made to usher in the crisp snap of fall. (GILLIAN G. GAAR)

DJ Icey Essential Volume 2: The Funky Breaks (London/Sire)

One of the original Florida DJs responsible for kick-starting the American progressive house and trance scene, DJ Icey churns out a fresh mix of chunky, meaty tunes on this second volume of Pete Tong's Essential series. It's actually very much the product of taking Paul Oakenfold's trance laden mix on the first essential CD and tossing it in a blender with Fatboy Slim's hugely funked up CD on the same volume. Icey wraps in his trancey tunes, packaged between some house fueled party beats, allowing the decksman to stand out among his American peers who seem largely content with producing cheaply manufactured mixes full of boring old tunes well past their sell-by date. (JOLIE LASH)

The Vandermark 5 Burn the Incline (Atavistic)

The Vandermark 5 rip through a versatile set of progressive-to-outside jazz that touches on both meditative and volatile moods. The quintet format allows leader Ken Vandermark to play both sax and clarinets, but also makes way for interplay between more saxophones (played by Dave Rempis), trombone, electric guitar and a rhythm section. It's true that you wonder whether the abundance of ground covered reflects a lack of focus, or represents the entire point of the enterprise. There's soulful afterhours blowing, hard bop, furious jagged guitar, a bit of strutting funk and some free jazz wailing that'll clear the party out when you've had enough of your guests. The cats can play, but as a writer Vandermark (who composed everything) might want to bring out the more languorous side of his persona, as he does on "The Trouble Is." (RICHIE UNTERBERGER)

The Damage Manual The Damage Manual (Invisible)

With alumni of Ministry, Killing Joke, Pigface, Revolting Cocks and Public Image Limited (Jah Wobble, Martin Atkins, Geordie Walker and Chris Connelly) in their ranks, you'd expect the music of the Damage Manual to sound like Nine Inch Nails stripped down. But on this, their first full-length album, the tunes are actually closer to aggro art rock than industrial. With pounding rock beats, guttural guitars and bombastic vocals, such engaging tunes as "Top Ten Severed" and "Sunset Gun (303 Edit)" sound more like the aggressive tunes on David Bowie's recent albums than any of Trent Reznor's primal scream therapy sessions. (PAUL SEMEL)

Youssou N'Dour Joko (The Link) (Nonesuch)

After a six-year absence from U.S. record-store shelves, Youssou N'Dour returns with Joko (The Link), a collection that shows off the forty-one-year-old's skills as a singer and composer to great effect. Again presenting his amalgam of Senegalese traditions, Afro-Cuban touches and American textures of soul, pop and jazz, N'Dour sails through this set. Despite the many outside influences, N'Dour remains resolutely himself, singing primarily in his native Wolof (although there's enough English to make less adventurous listeners comfortable, especially when longtime friend Peter Gabriel provides harmony, as on the beautifully haunting "This Dream"). As he has throughout his twenty-plus-year career, N'Dour highlights the plights and hardships of women in Senegal and elsewhere ("Miss") and delves into complex relationships ("She Doesn't Need to Fall"), all the while expanding the music of his home. This is serious music, but even as N'Dour's lyrics inform, educate and empower, his rhythms compel celebrating, laughing and dancing. (MARIE ELSIE ST. L+GER)

Brian Wilson Brian Wilson (Warner Archives/Rhino)

Brian Wilson was not created in the most comfortable climate. Not long before the 1988 album went into production, the Beach Boys, sans Brian, had acquired new commercial clout with their No. 1 party hit "Kokomo," an unlikely feat that meant Wilson's first solo foray would put him in competition with his former bandmates. In addition, the controversial methods of his family-appointed therapist Dr. Eugene Landy frequently hampered recording sessions and put the doctor at odds with Wilson's record label and the album's producers. But in retrospect, such adverse conditions make the album seem that much more of a triumph. The album's eleven original tracks give ample glimpses of Wilson's genius; cuts like "Love and Mercy," "Melt Away" and "Let It Shine" are brimming with his trademark layered arrangements, fragile melodies and the kind of vocal harmonies that gave voice to the California myth. And "Rio Grande"'s suite-like construction gives an affectionate nod to Wilson's elaborate mid-Sixties production techniques. Fleshed out with rare singles-only tracks, demos, interview clips and new liner notes, this reissue gives extensive insight into what was one of pop music's most anticipated rebirths. (MICHAEL ANSALDO)

(September 5, 2000)