Vitamin C More (Elektra)

Coming off her hits "Smile" and "Graduation (Friends Forever)," former alt-rocker Vitamin C betters her 1999 platinum debut with a dozen ultra-catchy ditties that deal with some eternal pop dynamics: love vs. sex, innocence vs. experience, girls vs. suckers. Although Miss C gets plenty of songwriting and production help from the usual barrage of studio Svengalis, her own ability to wink at the microphone while generating teen pop's requisite sincerity personalizes their factory-made hooks. On tracks such as "The Itch," the former Colleen Fitzpatrick, ex-singer for the utterly unremarkable alt-rock band Eve's Plum, tries on the jiggy beats that didn't fit the Spice Girls. But she refuses to fake R&B's vocal bravado, and her lyrics, unlike those of her peers, never resemble poor translations of Scandinavian tongues. When she drops the playgirl persona for "As Long As You're Loving Me," C radiates a natural warmth that circumvents power balladry's hot air. If you crave teen pop's sparkle but spurn its saccharine, Vitamin C may be just what the doctor ordered. (BARRY WALTERS -- RS 861)

Frank Black and the Catholics Dog in the Sand (What Are?)

The mid-Nineties transformation of Charles Michael Kitteridge Thompson IV from alternative rock mastermind with the Pixies to a surf-guitar battering, sci-fi obsessed solo artist was a remarkable disappointment. Under the guise of Pixies frontman Black Francis, Thompson used to make records that mattered. The band left behind a canon of work that inspired faithful followers like the Smashing Pumpkins and Radiohead, who capitalized on the group's penchant for dynamic melodies and dramatic noise. Since then, Thompson's career has been a dud. His last disc, Pistolero, was recorded live in less than three days on a two-track recorder and sounded like it. But with Dog in the Sand, it seems like reparations are being made. A good deal of the Pixies' weirdness has resurfaced, as has the occasional penchant for a stellar melody. "Robert Onion" and "Hermaphroditos" even approach past glories. It's a start . . . (AIDIN VAZIRI)

Le Tigre From the Desk of Mr. Lady (Mr. Lady)

With their seven-track EP, From the Desk of Mr. Lady, Le Tigre deliver a new salvo of pro-woman political savvy on a traipsing train of New Wave punk and tinkertoy keyboards. The synth-pop "Get Off the Internet" finds lead provocateur Kathleen Hanna ordering desktop activists to abandon their cyberlives and "destroy the right wing." "This is repetitive," she sighs at one point, and that's the crux of Le Tigre's musical message: Nothing much has changed since the Eighties, and all a thinking artist can do is twist the traditions. But Hanna and her fellow Tigres, J.D. Samson and Johanna Fateman, do it well on From the Desk of Mr. Lady. "Mediocrity Rules" offers a punkalicious dig at the cave-man mentality, capped by a lilting "yabba-dabba-dabba-dude" coda; "Gone B4 Yr Home" loops a vintage reggae rhythm to illustrate the weary tread of women's never-ending shopping spree for selfhood. Le Tigre understand that simplicity and catchy choruses can convey complex issues more acutely than the most baroque polemics. Seductive? You bet -- and as subversive as a bra-burning at the Vatican. (NEVA CHONIN -- RS 862)

DeeDee Ramone Greatest and Latest (Conspiracy Music)

The true father of punk revisits his greatest moments and then some on his fourth solo disc (one as "DeeDee King," three under his usual stage name), remaking his most-celebrated Ramones songs, as well as a slew of fascinating covers and solo career re-arrangements. Picture a record full of Stones tunes sung by Keith as opposed to Mick and you have the general idea here -- the precision and expertise of the original lead vocalist replaced by the enthusiasm and rawness of the ex-backup singer. Croaking his way through well-worn Ramones classics from "Blitzkrieg Bop" through "Rockaway Beach," doing ample justice to Chris Spedding's "Motobikin'" and hammering out a remarkable version of the Everly Brothers' "Cathy's Clown" with wife Barbara Zampese singing over the slowed-to-a-crawl beat, DeeDee has once again proven himself to be the only living Ramone in terms of a viable career after the Queens quartet cashed it in. The Ramones made a new musical genre out of stripping hard rock down to its rudiments, and DeeDee strips the Ramones old repertoire down even further. If your main complaint about the venerable punk band was their mechanical delivery and zero soul, this collection actually demolishes that idea. (JOHNNY ANGEL)

Various Artists Blockbuster: A Glitter Glam Rock Experience (Conspiracy Music)

What is it about the Glam movement of the early Seventies that inspires such enduring fascination, yet seems so impossible to reproduce? Unfazed by the horrifying spectacle of the 1998 film Velvet Goldmine, Blockbuster wants to give us another reason to strap on our platform boots, but misses the mark entirely. Executive-produced by legendary L.A. DJ Rodney Bingenheimer -- whose English Disco was a popular Hollywood haunt for original glamsters -- this tribute album features fifteen bands (most of whom you've never heard of) paying homage to the glittery likes of David Bowie, T. Rex, the Sweet, etc. Unfortunately, only Cyclefly (whose "Five Years" outdoes Bowie's for sheer apocalyptic dread) and Dramarama (a rip-roaring version of T. Rex's "Raw Ramp") rise above the pale imitations and ill-conceived rearrangements of their colleagues. A simple compilation of the original hits, complete with nostalgic Bingenheimer liner notes, would've made for a far fizzier affair. (DAN EPSTEIN)

Matthew Good Band Beautiful Midnight (Atlantic)

After a handful of alternative radio hits up in the Great White North, this dually melodic and acerbic Vancouver quartet takes a crack at winning over its neighbors to the south with a vibrant, hook-injected, modern rock roar. A cheerleader chant and a wall of guitar feedback initiate the aptly named "Giant," which launches the record in supreme fashion, before giving way to the snaring beats and edgy riffs of "Hello Time Bomb." That pulsing contagion doubles as a source of wry amusement as frontman Good yelps lines like, "The devil's on Sugar Smacks/Down at the Radio Shack/Turning shit into solid gold." Less urgent, but more enduring is the strummed, downbeat "Strange Days," which combines the frustrations of everyday life -- like sitting in rush hour -- with a superbly emotive vocal turn. Cemented by charged, smartass alt-pop ("Load Me Up"); accessible bullhorn rawk ("The Future Is X-Rated"); and punky little love tunes ("Jenni's Song"), Beautiful Midnight is first rate. (JOHN D. LUERSSEN)

Rainer Maria A Better Version of Me (Polyvinyl)

Look, if you're going to name yourself after a famous poet it helps to be Bob Dylan, or at least a group with a snappy moniker like Crazy Yeats or Shameless Hiney. Named for the German symbolist 78484@-->Rainer Maria Rilke, this Wisconsin trio has obviously studied verse -- as their impenetrable lyrics should convince you -- but have channeled their energies into a loud-guitar-and-doleful-chanteuse emo thing. Due in large part to singer Caithlin De Marrais' vocals and the crashing waves of guitar noise, the band's third full-length has a can-do charm (which on tunes like "The Contents of Lincoln's Pockets" is reminiscent of the dear departed Butterglory), and it's that charm that saves this anachronistic collection from being an another semester of dour undergraduate indie rock. It still sounds like any number of discs you already own, but Better ain't bad, nonetheless. (ERIK PEDERSON)

Eliza Carthy Angels and Cigarettes (Warner Bros.)

Carthy provides a new twist on the singer-songwriter bag, filtering her British folk roots through modern textured haziness. The results have an oft-kilter familiarity, taking a sharp left turn every time she edges toward a cliche. And the music belies the dour pose she strikes on the CD cover. One song begins "I've given blow jobs on couches/To men who didn't want me anymore." Oddly enough Carthy co-authored this one with her father, traditionalist Martin Carthy. Carthy also takes musical chances, using a fiddle in place of a rhythm guitar and setting steel guitar colorings over a salsa beat. Two or three albums from now Carthy's genre-bending, second-generation, fiddle-soaked pop may evolve into a brand-like Enya, but right now it sounds pretty fresh. (CHARLIE BERMANT)

Bill Frisell Blues Dream (Nonesuch)

On his fourteenth recording for Nonesuch, guitarist-composer Bill Frisell integrates a three-man horn section into his quartet, moving comfortably with the enlarged ensemble from country to blues to jazz, respectfully but forcefully challenging tradition. "Ron Carter," written about the jazz bassist, builds from a simple bass line to an understated, deconstructed groove. "Pretty Flowers Were Made for Blooming" moves from the experimental jazz room to the mountains, where the air is crisp and the musical acoustic and twangy; "Fifty Years" plays like a country-hall anniversary waltz. "Episode" proceeds on a modal-like plane (beautifully played by trumpeter Ron Miles), then falls into the guileless New Orleans second-line, country-fusion of "Soul Merchant." "Slow Dance" and "Things Will Never Be the Same" bring it home, however, with pedal steel and pulsing horns constructing insinuating blues romps. Blue Dream is like the best of nighttime visions: mysterious yet with all the segments melding seamlessly in the clear light of day. (MARIE ELSIE ST. LÉGER)

Christina Rosenvinge The Frozen Pool (Smells Like)

Like a growing number of adventurous singer-songwriters kicked to the curb by trend-obsessed major labels, Madrid-born Christina Rosenvinge chose to downsize financially -- but not artistically -- by shifting her tack to a sympathetic indie. Abetted by Sonic Youth's Steve Shelley (Smells Like's label chief) and Lee Ranaldo (the disc's producer), she's molded a subtle abstract that retains enough familiar shape to beckon mainstream listeners as well. While she sometimes takes vocal coolness well past the freezing point -- as on the bleary "Hunter's Lullaby" -- Rosenvinge doesn't fall prey to the one-dimensionality that so often plagues the average European chanteuse. She can evoke world-weariness one moment -- in a wise-beyond-her-years take on Leonard Cohen's "Seems So Long Ago, Nancy" -- and finger-pop gaily the next, as on the gently jaunty pseudo-samba "Expensive Shoes." Nothing on The Frozen Pool leaps up to demand your attention, but sometimes the less-squeaky wheel deserves to get the grease. (DAVID SPRAGUE)

Plastiq Phantom Enjoy the Art of Lying Down (Sweet Mother)

The comparisons between Darrin Wiener, the man behind Plastiq Phantom, and his hero Aphex Twin are striking -- and not just because of the off-kilter beats that litter much of the young prodigy's debut. To listen to the music this twenty-one-year-old creates is to hear a unique mind at work. Using an intimidatingly lost list of equipment, Wiener has composed modern-day symphonies in which the string section is replaced by sequencers and the tympanis are played by a drum machine. Yet the results are surprisingly effective. A genuine attachment to melody marks Wiener's work, from the swelling simulated strings of "A Simple Chaos" to the piano aria that starts off "Falling Through Windows." It's this love affair with the melodic that saves Wiener's music from being off-putting or inaccessible -- a curse that has plagued many an artist with as unique a vision as his. (NINA PEARLMAN)

Various Artists Get Low Down! The Soul of New Orleans '65-'67 (Sundazed)

Along with being the city that birthed jazz, New Orleans gave rock its roll, with N.O.'s funky parade rhythms suffusing the music of Little Richard, Fats Domino and all who gamboled after them. It's such a rich musical town that this fifty-song collection from the obscure Sansu label packs a consistent wallop, the singers and players pouring their souls into songs that never had a chance of being heard during the height of the British Invasion. The kicker is that it's not just one city, but one man behind these fifty songs, the incredibly gifted and prolific Allen Toussaint, who produced and played on each track and wrote thirty-two of them. Those who know Toussaint only through his later MOR material (such as Glen Campbell's "Southern Nights") need to hear his daringly monotonic piano solo on "Get Low Down Pt. II," wherein he takes a single note and pounds it into an ecstatic state. The set unearths some gems by known N.O. names such as Lee Dorsey, Earl King and Art Neville (who, backed by his fellow Meters, romps through an ultra-syncopated "Bo Diddley") but it's mainly a celebration of artists and songs that got away, such as the Rubai Yats, Curly Moore and the chimney-throated Betty Harris, whose reading of Toussaint's "Bad Love" could melt asphalt. (JIM WASHBURN)

Chicks on Speed The Re-Release of the Unreleases (K)

Chicks on Speed go around in Seventies sitcom sweaters and with bad cases of bed head, but this feminist art-rock power trio is no post-grunge tag-along. After all, these former Munich Art School students are the world's only international performance-art enclave that poses as a modern rock band (or are they?). Mind-bogglingly short and tuneful, except when they're deliberately annoying, the one-offs, in-jokes and early stuff on The Unreleases turn the spotlight, variously, on the band's taste for deadpan, avant-garde electronics (courtesy of the German Chick); clever, snarky pop (Australian Chick); and apocalyptic guitar noise (New York Chick). Over thirty-three minuscule tracks, including covers of the B-52's and the Normal, immortal social observation and zany sound clips, there's plenty of subversive humor and a little self-indulgence but never a dull moment. (ARION BERGER -- RS 861)

Richard Lloyd The Cover Doesn't Matter (Upsetter Music)

In his seminal role as one-half of Television's astral-projecting guitar tandem, Richard Lloyd changed the face of cerebral rock improvisation forever, without receiving so much as a single hosanna when guitarists come to worship at the altar of the instrument's high priests. Will The Cover Doesn't Matter, his first solo studio outing in more than a decade, change that? It's tough to say, but there's enough immediacy -- not to mention genuine passion -- to make one hope. Retaining the serpentine slink of his best work, Lloyd veins no-frills songs like "Raising the Serpent" and "Submarine" with razor-sharp solos that cut to the quick before retracting without warning, a rare trick indeed. Unlike former partner-in-chime Tom Verlaine, Lloyd doesn't see himself as having outgrown the parameters of rock & roll -- although he's perfectly capable of scaling the genre's walls when the mood strikes. It doesn't strike often, but that's hardly a problem, given the depth with which Lloyd's c onstantly burrowing instrument mines the relatively narrow territory, turning up gem after sonic gem. (DAVID SPRAGUE)

Gladys Knight At Last (MCA)

At last, indeed! Gladys Knight returns, her voice as soulful and sensuous as ever, with her first R&B album since 1994's Just for You. (She released the inspirational-themed Many Different Roads last year). The love vibe is here, and strong: seven of thirteen tracks have the word love in the title. And the fifty-six-year-old Knight's treatment of the material -- as reverent and sultry as it was in her Seventies heyday with the Pips -- is classic. Hard to say if today's kids'll "get it," despite the extremely contemporary production, but Knight's husky warmth and skill is undeniable. She toasts her family matriarch on the Bill Withers staple, "Grandma's Hands," and does comedian Jamie Foxx solid by dueting with him on "I Wanna Be Loved" (Foxx acquits himself admirably). Even when At Last's production and instrumentation loses its legs, Gladys' voice never falters. (MARK WOODLIEF)

Tram Frequently Asked Questions (Sub Pop)

While making good dance music seems to be so easy that any teenager with big boobs or a slutty look can do it, making good chill-out music is, gauging by the lack of it, a lot harder. But with careful strings, strummed guitars, and slow, jazzy rhythms, Trams second album pulls it off, seductively. Though fronted by a man, such songs as "Now We Can Get On With Our Lives" and "Yes, But For How Long" actually recall the work of the female-fronted Mazzy Star, while the rootsy, bluesy, harmonica-flavored "Once I Was" is reminiscent of another woman-led outfit, the Cowboy Junkies. But while playing this slow and low can sometimes cause the kind of nodding off you did during boring college classes, the music here has an haunting, textural beauty that's both inviting and comforting, making Frequently sound like the musical equivalent of a lazy, drizzly afternoon. (PAUL SEMEL)

Velvet Crush Rock Concert (Action Musik)

Velvet Crush's fifth release is a strange bird to assess. There's the fact that it's a live album, and having been recorded at a show five years ago, not a particularly young one at that . . . and at twenty-eight minutes, it's not a particularly long evening of music. But on this particular night in Chicago, Velvet Crush might have been the best purveyors of garage pop in the world. Five of the eight songs here are from the pristine Teenage Symphonies to God but the four-piece (guitarist Tommy Keene joins the VC trio of Paul Chastain, Ric Menck and Jeffrey Underhill) gets its hands dirty on stage with an aggressive live attack; there's an urgency in this set that provides a nice counterpart to the band's impeccable studio work. With a terrific, albeit small, body of recorded work behind them, Velvet Crush fit snugly into the lush lineage of under-recognized pop royalty that includes the Flaming Groovies, Big Star, 20/20, Teenage Fanclub and Velvet Crush's buddy, Matthew Sweet. It's a damn shame that you can invite two or three buddies over with a case of brew, throw this disc into the stereo, and reenact the actual audience for a Velvet Crush show circa 1995. But with this release issued on their own label, there's a certain solace in knowing that Velvet Crush aren't concerned with making pop for the masses. (ANDREW DANSBY)

(January 30, 2001)