Tricky Blowback (Hollywood)

Tricky earned his stripes as a premillennial pop icon with the imposing, inventive soundscapes of his 1995 debut, Maxinquaye. But across a handful of follow-ups, the trip-hop pioneer nudged toward irrelevance by steering down a dead-end alley of increasing sparseness and inaccessibility. Blowback doesn't constitute a new beginning -- Tricky's stuttered guitar treatments, passive-aggressive breakdown beats and desert-parched voice still preside -- but the record does suggest he is trying an alternate route that might have provided a more fruitful path after Maxinquaye.

The new road leads to Disney (on whose Hollywood Records he debuts), and if Tricky's not quite as chirpy as Mickey, his outlook and tone are certainly sunnier than ever on Blowback. Less singing from Tricky helps brightens things; guest appearances by Live's Ed Kowalczyk, Chili Peppers Anthony Kiedis and John Frusciante, Cyndi Lauper, Ambersunshower and Hawkman provide more inviting vocals. Credit also goes to Blowback's focused, melodic songs and stylistic range -- the album veers from dreamily childlike to furiously metallic, from bouncy dance-hall reggae to funked-up TV-theme fun. There's even a pop single or two. If there was career rehabilitation for Moby, why not Tricky? (RONI SARIG -- RS 872)

White Stripes White Blood Cells (Sympathy for the Record Industry)

Anyone can grab something off a thrift store rack and call it fashion -- but it takes a lot of chopping and channeling to create genuine style. Detroit's White Stripes have style for miles and miles -- and not just in their candy-cane threads. The boy-girl duo, often lumped in with skronk-blues minimalists like Jon Spencer, are too slippery to fit into that pigeonhole. Yes, there's a bit of fuzzed-out Zeppelin (and a lot of Willie McTell) in the shiver-inducing "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground," but deep indigo is only one of the colors in Jack and Meg White's palette. The pouty garage-stomp "Fell in Love with a Girl" tracks dayglo footprints everywhere it frugs, while the voice-and-drum "Little Room" (one of the most succinct, self-aware descriptions of an artistic career arc you'll ever want to hear), explodes in blood red tones.

The duo's appeal is more than just ear-deep, though. Singer/guitarist Jack White projects -- through both his mottled yelp and his guileless lyrics -- a yearning vulnerability that's eerily reminiscent of Kurt Cobain. You can hear it plainly in the gentle elementary-school amble of "We're Going to Be Friends," but also in the subtly affecting loss-of-innocence rave "I'm Finding it Harder to Be a Gentleman." And by the time he's finished muttering, moaning and whispering through the despondent "The Union Forever," you'll not only get the message he's sending, you'll feel it so deeply that you'll want to deliver it by hand. (DAVID SPRAGUE)

Lonestar I'm Already There (BNA)

Despite the Michael Bolton-esque histrionics of their mega-hit "Amazed," Lonestar is actually an accomplished country-rock group -- sort of a kinder, gentler Eagles, without the decadence and misogyny. And on I'm Already There, the follow-up to their multi-platinum breakthrough Lonely Grill, the specter of Henley past, present and future lurks everywhere -- from the quartet's stellar harmonies to the "Life In the Fast Lane"-esque lick that kicks off the album's hardest rocker, "Must Be Love." But what really saves the band from becoming just another New Kid in Town is its knack for choosing unusual and well-written material. Hey, not every act could turn a tune about a psycho girlfriend ("Usually Unusual") into a breezy and upbeat love song. The disc's true highlight, though, is the poignant title track (co-written by frontman Richie McDonald), a finely detailed snapshot of everyday life that'll have anyone in a long distance relationship reaching for the Kleenex. Lonestar break no new artistic ground here, but if the band was simply hoping to create a solid, enjoyable album and a round of radio-ready tunes, well they're already there. (ANDREA DRESDALE)

Bacon Brothers Can't Complain (Zoe/Rounder)

The list is long and luminous: Don Johnson, Bruce Willis, Danielle Brisebois . . . we have entire cut-out bins dedicated to their work: actors who insist on quitting their day job for the chance to release the music hidden deep in their souls. Now, Kevin Bacon's brother Michael scored television shows in the past and the Bacon Brothers are up to album number three, so this passing phase is obviously something more than a way to expand their name brand recognition. That, however, doesn't diminish the schmaltzy docudrama of "She is the Heart." It also doesn't make the husky heartland stylings of "Grace" or the rock-star dissing of "Don't Leave the Lava Lamp on For Me" sound any less like the soundtrack to a cheesy TV movie about a band living on the edge. Which might make a nice vehicle for Kevin's "other" career. (ROB O'CONNOR)

LFO Life Is Good (J)

LFO were boys with humble aspirations on their quickly recorded 1999 debut, coveting mall-wear-clad nymphets and playing scratch-n-sniff with the TV screen. Two years and several hits later, they've grown up enough to get the girls (most notably lead singer Rich Cronin's aborted affair with Jennifer Love Hewitt), and on Life Is Good they're way less sanguine about love than before. Life Is Good finds Cronin and Company getting schizoid with it, musically and emotionally. Romantic obstacles litter the album -- jealous ex-boyfriends on "Alayna," frenetic touring on the banal "28 Days." But deception is the primary culprit. Cronin gets cuckolded on "Dandelion," while over the earnest guitar-pop of "Every Other Time" he does battle with a belligerent girl who "did a doughnut on my lawn, then drove off with one finger in the air." He unexpectedly drops an octave and channels Dave Gahan on the aquatic, synth-pop-y "Erase Her." Cronin might have graduated from boy-band boot camp, but they could find that the good life -- like love -- can be hard to maintain. (JON CARAMANICA -- RS 872)

Ernest Ranglin Gotcha! (Telarc)

There's jazz that proclaims how anxious and edgy it is at every turn, and then there's Jamaican guitarist Ernest Ranglin's disarmingly inviting approach. He and his cohorts on Gotcha! -- including pianist Warren Bernhardt, drummer Steve Jordan and bassist Anthony Jackson -- play as if they might be whiling away an afternoon in a beach cabana, but inside their languid reggae grooves, Ranglin's playing bursts with invention and risk.

In his long and largely unheralded career, Ranglin has been all over the musical map. He played jumping swing in Fifties dance bands, all but single-handedly originated the ska guitar style in the early Sixties and then became a first-call reggae session man, long associated with Jimmy Cliff. After a batch of pop instrumental albums, he emerged in the Eighties as a topnotch jazz player, who on recent albums has explored African styles. With Gotcha!, the sixty-nine-year-old Ranglin returns to the percolating reggae-rooted jazz he explored on 1996's Below the Bassline. On numbers like his "Way Back When" and the Melodians' "Rock It With Me," Ranglin ranges from lyrical melody to long, complex, skittering solo lines to lush chordal passages, and sometimes halts to work a single note with the tenacity of a pneumatic drill. (JIM WASHBURN)

BR5-49 This Is BR5-49 (Lucky Dog/Sony)

Nashville's BR5-49 began as a country-western bar band so determined to reproduce the classic sounds of fiddles and steel guitars their sound almost collapsed under the weight of its own history. But the power-pop thesis statement of the thirty-six-minute This Is BR5-49, the quintet's third studio album, is far less intimidating. On bright, hopped-up rockabilly songs, personable singer-guitarists Chuck Mead and Gary Bennett lead a tight honky-tonk rhythm section through such touchstones as the Everly Brothers ("The Price of Love"), Rockpile (a superb version of "Play That Fast Thing (One More Time)") and NRBQ's Al Anderson ("Look Me Up"). The originals, like Mead's opening "Too Lazy to Work, Too Nervous to Steal" and Bennett's "While You Were Gone," still skew twangy, but overall, the only things distinguishing This Is BR5-49 from the rocking Dave Edmunds-Nick Lowe joints of the late Seventies are those fiddles and steel guitars. (STEVE KNOPPER)

Sugababes One Touch (Sire-London)

Further proof that the major labels think American kids are stupid: The Sugababes debut album arrives on these shores with dubiously glossed-up cover art and a drastic MTV make-over for the unusually credible teenage threesome. Never mind, the music on One Touch still remains vital and raw; like a downtown version of TLC or All Saints without the gargantuan studio budget. Lead-off track "Overload" is a pulsating, cool-headed R&B concoction, while the title track sounds more deep, down and dirty than anything that has appeared on pop radio in recent memory. Scour the import bins for the original unfiltered version. Other girl groups will look utterly lightweight in comparison. (AIDIN VAZIRI)

Duane Jarvis Certified Miracle (Slewfoot)

Considering the caliber of folks for whom Duane Jarvis has wielded his Gibson Nighthawk -- including Lucinda Williams, Dwight Yoakam and John Prine -- it's a good thing he isn't just content to be a sideman. D.J. (as he's known to his friends) is also a fine songsmith and rough-hewn singer with a keen grasp of American roots music and British Invasion rock. Jarvis co-wrote "Still I Long For Your Kiss" with Williams, an aching ballad that she recorded for both Car Wheels On a Gravel Road and The Horse Whisperer soundtrack. He offers a soulful version of the song on Certified Miracle, his third solo outing (featuring guest appearances by Nashville cool cats Phil Lee and Buddy Miller, plus sweet harmonies by Joy Lynn White), but the disc emphatically proves he's no one-tune pony. From the Tex-Mex flavored "Forgive the Fool," to the Memphis soul stew of "Intoxicate Me," from the ebullient retro-pop of "You Stopped Lovin' Me" to the Byrds-y, cosmic American music of "If That's All You Need," Jarvis resurrects the ghosts of Doug Sahm, Buddy Holly and Gram Parsons for one heck of a jam session. (MEREDITH OCHS)

Vision Of Disorder From Bliss To Devastation (TVT)

Oh what can you say about Vision Of Disorder that hasn't already been said about every other angst-metal band who's followed in Korn's wake? Sounding like Black Sabbath fans who are pissed at nothing and yet everything, V.O.D. have all the requisite ingredients -- crunchy guitars, plodding rhythms, and alternately moaned or gutturally screamed vocals -- in precisely the right proportion to land them a spot on Ozzfest. In fact, the only thing different about these guys is that most of their songs don't sputter or lurch awkwardly like those of their brethren. Sure, "Sunshine" and the title track do jerk clumsily like a car with a fuel injection problem, but most of their tunes actually have the kind of catchy, classic hard rock flow that's on the endangered species list these days. Admittedly, that's a backhanded compliment, but unless these guys get a lot more distinctive -- real soon -- it might be the only one they get. (PAUL SEMEL)

Sean Croghan From Burnt Orange to Midnight Blue (In Music We Trust)

Pacific Northwest scene staple Sean Croghan, ex of Crackerbash and Jr. High, takes a twinkling and introspective turn with his solo debut. Alternating echoing the Velvet Underground's lo-fi drone and Richard Thompson's insatiably yearning folk, From Burnt Orange to Midnight Blue, makes a compelling case for the former punk as reborn poet. Clearly hatched in a alienated space, the album is rich with reflective rhymes, many dropped atop sparse beats and spare shuffles -- in "Friday's Face in Sunday's Suit," Croghan croons, "I'm hanging my face from a rock-a-bye baby moon/so disconnected from the life in the room." Croghan stretches out for the album's impassioned, must-hear highlight, "Otis Tolstoy," a big chunk of white-guy-does-Stax/Volt soul (outfitted Greg Dulli style) that swells to nothing short of a four-alarm passion fire. (GREG HELLER)

(June 25, 2001)