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Monster Magnet God Says No (Interscope)
Monster Magnet are a band that has always said "yes" to excess, and their fifth album, God Says No, could be their most over-the-top yet. It affirms that singer Dave Wyndorf -- despite his well-embroidered reputation as the godfather of the current stoner-rock revival -- is the savviest dude in metaldom since the days when Blue Oyster Cult were communing with the Reaper.
God Says No has the bombast and testosterone of a codpiece-and-leather-pants ensemble. But Wyndorf's leer always comes with a wink; when he promises, "You'll swim in the sweat of a million orgies," he trumps Kid Rock at his own game. God Says No is all about overkill; the false ending in "Melt" lingers for five interminable seconds before revving back into a torrid guitar solo. In contrast to the relatively concise muscle car that was Powertrip, Magnet's 1998 commercial breakthrough, God Says No luxuriates in a decadent psych-rock whirlpool, improbably bridging the chasm between the Music Machine and Nine Inch Nails. It takes the flying-saucer guitars and dime-store organ riffs out of the Nuggets-era garage and uses them to evoke the alien atmospherics of The Fragile (NIN co-producer Alan Moulder was enlisted to mix).
Beneath the heathen-horde boogie of "Doomsday," "Heads Explode" and "All Shook Out," God Says No plays with big themes such as death, betrayal, self-esteem and loneliness. The uncharacteristically poignant "Queen of You" is even written from a woman's perspective. Sitars, slide guitars and Casio-keyboard beats widen the album's reach even further, from the thickly distorted John Lee Hookerisms of "Gravity Well" to the nursery-rhyme simplicity of "Take It." But more than anything, on God Says No Wyndorf brings the rawk: sexy, dark, melodic, celebratory and, above all, huge. (GREG KOT)
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds No More Shall We Part (Reprise/Mute)
Poor Nick Cave, nearly half a century old and he still can't get a break. On his first album of original material since 1997's sparse The Boatman's Call, the Australian singer-songwriter returns to familiar terrain of love, loss and spiritual collapse. Despite titles like "Sorrowful Wife" and "Darker With the Day," however, it's not all storm clouds and winter tears. Joined by longtime associates Blixa Bargeld and Mick Harvey, with Dirty Three violinist Warren Ellis, Cave has transformed his mournful voice into a thing of wonder, making like a ribald lounge singer on "As I Sit Sadly By Her Side" and sweetly crooning "God Is in the House." And when folk singers Anna and Kate McGarrigle drop by, No More Shall We Part practically turns into the party record of the year. (AIDIN VAZIRI)
Ani DiFranco Revelling/Reckoning (Righteous Babe)
With her twelfth studio album of original material in eleven years, Ani DiFranco is showing no signs of let-up. Revelling/Reckoning is a complex double album of emotional longing ("Rock Paper Scissors"), political discontent ("Your Next Bold Move") and sad-eyed observation ("Subdivision"). And she gets funky when she wants to: James Brown saxophonist Maceo Parker joins her for vocal duties on the lead-off "Ain't That the Way" and sax for the sunny morning bounce of "What How When Where (Why Who)." But she mostly keeps it quietly acoustic and confessional, occasionally dropping to a near whisper ("Tamburitza Lingua") or an aching bluesy moan ("Whatall Is Nice"). Recorded primarily at her home studio, Revelling/Reckoning is both an accomplished album complimented by a loose-jam of ensemble players and a bare sketchbook where DiFranco sits alone in her room, creating a private universe accessible to anyone with the will to listen. (ROB O'CONNOR)
M.J. Cole Sincere (Island)
Aside from the occasional booty jam or house remix, when was the last time you heard something speedy on R&B radio that wasn't recorded more than twenty years ago? Up-tempo R&B virtually vanished in America soon after disco died -- the frenzy of James Brown, the sweet rush of Motown, the aspiration of Gamble and Huff's Philly soul, and the Afro-stomp of Seventies Kool and the Gang spawned few sons or daughters who rocked with the same abandon. In this age of formulaic cool and computer-generated jiggy, we've forgotten how to sweat.
MJ Cole and Artful Dodger want to make you do just that. With its dazzling production values, jazzy arrangements, champagne-smooth vocals and hypersyncopated rhythms, Cole's Sincere has got to be the most luxurious black sound since Soul II Soul -- and it's a whole lot faster. ( CONTINUED)
Spacehog The Hogyssey (Artemis)
Ever since their initial entry into the treacherous biosphere known as the Manhattan club scene, Spacehog have made a virtue out of being absolutely preposterous. The fact that snotty glam-rock epics out of the Queen/Ziggy-era Bowie school were not exactly prized in circa-'95 New York bothered these four ex-Leeds residents not a whit, and with the help of vocalist Royston Langdon's mile-wide vibrato and good taste in feather boas and platform heels, they created something of a market for such retro stylings. It didn't hurt that they also had some great tunes, like "In the Meantime" and "Zero." Sadly, the memorable melody index has decreased on this, their third album; songs like "This Is America" (just what we need, another British expat's empty musings on the state of the States) and the title track, a woeful white-funk rearrangement of Richard Strauss' "Also Sprach Zarathustra" (didn't Deodato have the same idea almost thirty years ago?), go beyond camp into the realm of the truly embarrassing. Yet several cuts -- "Jupiter's Moon," "Perpetual Drag," "At Least I Got Laid" -- justify the bombast with irresistible choruses, indicating that given the right material, the 'Hog can still snort with the best of 'em. (MAC RANDALL)
Anne Sofie von Otter Meets Elvis Costello For the Stars (Deutsche Grammophon/Universal)
When Elvis Costello snuck in with the punk movement in 1977, it would have taken someone more prescient than Nostradamus to predict that a quarter century later Costello would record for the venerable Deutsche Grammophon classical label. Those accustomed to hearing Swedish mezzo-soprano Anne Sofie von Otter in the world's opera houses may be similarly surprised to hear this unique and utterly magical pairing. Typically when classical artists, singers particularly, assay popular music the result is an awkward novelty showing how far apart the worlds are. Costello, who successfully bridged that gap coming from the other direction with his 1993 collaboration with the Brodsky Quartet, The Juliet Letters, serves as arranger and producer here, drawing deeply human performances from von Otter on eighteen songs by artists ranging from Abba to Tom Waits, with a goodsome helping of Costello. While it is all superlative, particular standouts are the two Brian Wilson Pet Sounds songs, "You Still Believe in Me" (with a vocal assist from Costello) and "Don't Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder"; the melding of Waits' "Broken Bicycles" with "Paul McCartney's "Junk"; "Just a Curio" by Costello and the experimental Swedish string quartet Fleshquartet; and the achingly exquisite Costello-penned title track. (JIM WASHBURN)
Nebula Charged (Sub Pop)
With vets of the proto-stoner rock band Fu Manchu in their ranks, it's no surprise that this meaty, groove-y power trio sound like its from a world where Black Sabbath got the respect and admiration they deserve, and Rush never discovered keyboards. Crossing the raw vocals of Detroit with the plodding rhythms of Birmingham, England, "Do It Now" -- which opens this, Nebula's third album -- sounds like the mighty Sab if Kid Rock were their singer, while "Giant" and "Ignition" recall Metallica's early raw covers of Blitzkrieg and Diamond Head. But the best tunes are the ones like "Shaker," "Goodbye Yesterday" and "Instant Gravitation," where this titanic threesome lock into a boogie-powered groove, with the latter finding them swapping electric guitars for acoustic ones but with no loss in power. (PAUL SEMEL)
The Chick Corea New Trio Past, Present & Futures (Stretch)
Chick Corea's sense of invention hasn't let up for some three decades, and his latest ensemble -- a trio with bassist Avishai Cohen and drummer Jeff Ballard -- applies a lively, spare combo dynamic to compositions that incorporate a variety of dance themes. The playful "Jitterbug Waltz," with its glossy piano, brushy drums and plucky bass lines, sounds like something the Peanuts gang would dig. "The Chelsea Shuffle" (dedicated to Corea's old high school friends in Massachusetts) swaggers around a bolder theme. Latin rhythms percolate subtly in "Rhumba Flamenco," while "Anna's Tango" simmers with more flamboyant flair. "Life Line" closes the album with an homage to the heart and soul of indigenous musics around the world, a pulsing, percussive affair brimming with joie de vivre. But no matter where or when the New Trio finds its inspiration, Past, Present & Futures unwinds with an elegant spontaneity that gives it extemporaneous charm in the here and now. (SANDY MASUO)
Shaver The Earth Rolls On (New West)
The saddest line of this honky-tonk album is in the liner notes: "Eddy Shaver, June 20, 1962 -- December 31, 2000." A heroin overdose took Billy Joe Shaver's guitar-hero son after the two band mates collaborated on The Earth Rolls On -- and in places the album is eerily sad, as if the elder Shaver had been dreading another jolt of devastating news. So "Blood Is Thicker Than Water" transcends the cliches of its chorus, with Billy Joe and Eddy trading world-weary verses about testing family bonds during bad times. But mostly the two Shavers rock without regret, opening with the power-pop stomper "Love Is So Sweet," which Steve Earle's co-producer, Ray Kennedy, helps turn into a forgotten Dave Edmunds classic. The elder Shaver, who wrote songs for his pal Waylon Jennings in the Seventies, turns away from melancholy completely on the funny "Leavin' Amarillo," in which he bids "screw you!" to an entire Texas town. (STEVE KNOPPER)
R.L. Burnside Mississippi Hill Country Blues (Epitaph)
Since stepping into the national spotlight in the mid-Nineties, R.L. Burnside has been translating the primordial ooze of the blues into a language easily understood by modern-day rock primitivists. That's resulted in some mighty compelling music, but, as this stunning reissue proves, Burnside is never more powerful than when he's communicating strictly on his own terms. These recordings, which date back to the early Eighties, are blessedly free of distracting bells and whistles, letting the spotlight shine starkly on the weathered spectacle of a grizzled man playing grizzled songs on a grizzled acoustic guitar. Sticking to traditionals, Burnside lets loose what seem like decades worth of backed-up emotions, moaning -- with both voice and slide guitar -- mournfully on "Lost Without Your Love" and "Greyhound Bus Station" and wailing with quittin'-time abandon on hypnotically driving numbers like "Shake 'Em on Down" and "Rollin' and Tumblin'." There's nary a second of instrumental excess on the nineteen-song set, but the intensity with which Burnside pulls notes from his six-string -- often pounding hard enough to make you think there's a tiny percussionist hidden within -- should give faux-blues flash-mongers a thing or two to think about. If ever an album merited a sticker proclaiming it "old and improved," it's this 'un. (DAVID SPRAGUE)
Eileen Rose Shine Like It Does (Compass)
The first four songs on Eileen Rose Giadone's American debut are pleasant enough, edgy pop songs enhanced by a crack band. But "Lincoln Park," the fifth number, lifts everything into another sphere. This is a melodic made-for-the-car driving tune with allusions to Neil Diamond that makes you want to roar down the highway with the windows open and a finger on the repeat button. Twenty minutes later you may deign to play through but won't find anything remotely as rewarding until "Shining," a few tracks down the road. Rose fatally flaws the album by positioning it as an "autobiography," and takes it too literally. Variety along with dull points may make an interesting life but can be detrimental to an album. But it mostly works, and decent albums with one or two great songs are often worth keeping. (CHARLES BERMANT)
Charlie Robison Step Right Up (Columbia)
Down Austin way, a few hard-core fans of Charlie Robison are already grumbling that the devil-may-care Texas singer-songwriter has lost some of his edge in his transfer from Sony's Lucky Dog imprint to the big leagues of Columbia. But if Step Right Up is the sound of a sell-out, then the guy got away with a hell of a deal. Song-for-song, Robison's last outing, 1998's Life of the Party offered more honky-tonk kick, but his trademark smart-ass wit and ability to detail the lives of small-time losers remains fully intact, particularly on "Desperate Times" and "Life of the Party," which recall the best story-telling and humorous elements of fellow Texan Robert Earl Keen's twin anthems, "The Road Goes On Forever" and "Merry Christmas From the Family." Dixie Chicks Natalie Maines and Emily Robison (his wife) lend vocal and banjo help on "The Wedding Song" and "John O'Reilly," respectively, but Robison brings so much raw charm and energy himself to the table that the Chicks are merely gravy. (RICHARD SKANSE)
Mad Caddies Rock the Plank (Fat Wreck Chords)
So, you're a ska-punk band, and ska-punk is hopelessly out of vogue, even with the ska kids and the punk kids. What to do with that horn section? What to do? . . . For Mad Caddies, the solution for most of the album is to bury them in a barrage of above-average, but basically predictable, pop-punk. That the Caddies' rockers feature some catchy guitar riffs makes them far more interesting than the two chords and nasal whine offered by an army of Blink-182 clones -- but it's nothing a half-dozen bands on their label don't already do better. Mad Caddies are at their best when blowing their horns. On Rock the Plank, they do so for rather silly purposes: a ragtime punk number ("Mary Melody") and a wild pirate sing-a-long ("Weird Beard"). These tunes are disposable, but undeniably fun. That is, a perfect substitute for now tired ska beats. (MIKE MAGNUSON)
Lemon Jelly Lemonjelly.ky (Beggars Banquet)
For a music motivated by the common goal of moving butts, electronica can be dreadfully glum, and the perky, big-beat-y stuff often comes across as if some DJ is pointing a gun at your feet. That's why Lemon Jelly's debut album -- a collection of their first three EPs, released between 1998 and 2000 -- is such a delicious, improbable treat. The British duo of multi-instrumentalist Nick Franglen and DJ-graphic designer Fred Deakin creates tunes as dreamy and sample-intensive as the likes of DJ Shadow while wielding a liberating wit that doesn't require a laugh track. With a studio-session pedigree that encompasses both Hole and the Spice Girls, Franglen builds subtly twisted lullabies that soothe and tickle with gently bubbling sonics. Deakin applies spoken non-sequiturs and whimsical loops. Elements of ambient music, cocktail jazz, hip-hop, folk and Monty Python combine in unholy marriages of mirth and craft. "A Tune for Jack" spins a sprightly melody out of a gurgling baby, while "Come" croons its title over a bittersweet cut of woozy beauty. You're gonna love the way Lemon Jelly break the chill-out mold. (BARRY WALTERS)
(April 10, 2001)