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Michelle Branch Hotel Paper (Maverick)
Michelle Branch defines a new breed of pop star, the Girl Who Likes to Sing. Branch, Vanessa Carlton, Norah Jones -- none of them may be a genius in the songwriting department or a virtuoso on her instrument. But when you listen to them sing, you notice that they really like to sing. They're an inevitable development in teen pop, building on the archetype of the Girl Who Needs to Perform, the driven Britney-Christina pro who conveys a desperate craving for attention. The Girls Who Like to Sing are pros in a different way, trying hard to project maturity and sincerity. But the most likable thing about them is that whether or not they're any good at what they do, they sure enjoy getting to do it.
Michelle Branch sings, plays guitar and writes her own songs, sometimes solo, which doesn't necessarily mean jack shizznit in terms of quality -- Neil Sedaka wrote his own songs, Dusty Springfield didn't, but which one are people still listening to? In her songs, Branch doesn't show the wisecracking Led Zeppelin fan she reveals in interviews; she isn't a better-than-average songwriter, not yet. She has written some great ones, such as "Everywhere." But she also has to take the rap for her Santana duet, "Game of Love," one of the most excruciating hits of the past few years -- that "A little bit of this/A little bit of that" chorus is God's way of letting you know you've stayed at the mall too long and it's time for some fresh air.
Hotel Paper isn't a big advance -- more like a holding pattern. The title song is the best thing here, and even if it's the ultimate singer-songwriter cliche -- a song about how lonely it is to spend all your time on the road -- it takes a piece of your heart anyway. But in the course of the album, it's hard not to notice that all the songs sound the same, and for that matter, they all sound the same as that Avril Lavigne song about the damn cold night, even if Michelle technically got there before Avril. (So why didn't she bring Avril a sweater? It's damn cold out there!) Branch can't be blamed for the hammy mainstream-rock production, but since every song plods to the same midtempo rhythm, nothing stands out -- even the Sheryl Crow duet "Love Me Like That" fades into the background.
The lyrics are your basic second-album material: the mysteries of bus stations, packed bags, driving in the rain and long-distance romance. Her wit doesn't appear. Hotel Paper shows that Michelle Branch is determined to mature and that she has the talent to become the long-term pop pro she clearly wants to be -- it's just a matter of working on her craft until it matches her drive. (ROB SHEFFIELD)
Liz Phair Liz Phair (Capitol)
Back in 1998, Liz Phair attempted a subtle compromise between indie rock and adult rock, Whitechocolatespaceegg, with dullish results and disappointing sales. On the new Liz Phair, she teams with Avril Lavigne hitmakers the Matrix as well as Michael Penn, Pete Yorn and Yorn's producer R. Walt Vincent. Downplaying her melodic quirks to blend in and chase hits, Phair doesn't even play much guitar on her own album.
And yet beyond the nearly anonymous single "Why Can't I?" there's no denying her lusty, whimsical and disarmingly direct lyrical presence. No other Lilith Fair vet would try to get her record in America's malls while extolling the beauty-enhancing properties of "hot white cum," driving home the phrase seventeen times.
Newly divorced and with a kindergartner in tow, Phair is once again ready for randy singles action, yet she's still a responsible mom. On "Rock Me," the punchiest of four Matrix collaborations, she aims to seduce an Xbox-playing stud who doesn't "even know who Liz Phair is." On "Little Digger," the most contemplative of the five Penn productions, she watches her son struggle to comprehend the implications of Mommy's new male friend. Both match the lofty songwriting standard of her 1993 debut, Exile in Guyville, and there's plenty more hook-y vitality. Phair is a fine lyricist, and although she's lost some musical identity, she's gained potential Top Forty access. The rest is up to radio, and you. (BARRY WALTERS)
Black Eyed Peas Elephunk (A&M) On Elephunk, their third album, Los Angeles alterna-rap group the Black Eyed Peas make another bid to crack the big time. To that end, they break out some marquee names -- Justin Timberlake, Papa Roach, Brazilian samba legend Sergio Mendes -- as well as add a female member, Fergie, to their crew. Party anthems predominate, from the Southern-fried rapid rap "Hands Up" to the Parliament-inflected "Let's Get Retarded," and they all achieve their booty-shaking goals. The snags occur with the group's efforts at grit and substance (the sappy prayer of the Timberlake collaboration, the formulaic rap rock of "Anxiety"), in which cliched observations, preachy lyrics and MTV-ready posturing float atop meticulously detailed production. Ironically, it's that less inspired material that may finally earn the group its breakthrough hit. (ERNEST HARDY)
Guster Keep It Together (Palm/Reprise)
While their third album, Lost and Gone Forever, saw Guster signing to a major label and working with legendary producer Steve Lillywhite for an impressively slick release, their good-natured spirit didn't change. The Boston trio's classic pop basks in their bond as friends, and five years after that glorious record, Guster returns with Keep It Together. Rich in both sonic texture and lyrics, the new release isn't as hollow as their previous efforts, because lead vocalist/guitarist Ryan Miller, guitarist/vocalist Adam Gardner and mad drummer Brian Rosenworcel branched out to master other instruments. Instead of limiting themselves to hand percussion thriving on Miller's and Gardner's harmonies; pianos, electric riffs, and a bit of noise creep from behind the drum kit to blend with Guster's signature vocal warmth. They're focused on moods and atmospheres without being cliche -- the sunny reflection of "Amsterdam" highlights Guster's approach. Keep It Together is sentimental without being sappy, and innocent without the naivete. (MACKENZIE WILSON)
The Trouble With Sweeney I Know You Destroy! (BurntToast)
On the Trouble With Sweeny's second full-length album, the Philadelphia band find their place in the continuum between alt-country and indie rock with a solid new rhythm section that ponies up the urgent backbeat for the acoustic numbers and a steady hum for the rockers. But it's still frontman Joey Sweeney's lyrical turns that make you take pause. Sweeney, a music journalist for the Philadelphia Weekly and former leader of indie band the Barnabys, likes telling stories full of bittersweet reflections of childhood and observations on the ironies of getting and being older. "The Snitch" looks back, exploring the subtler tortures of adolescence: "Now Peter, you and me are just coming from a different stock/Everything you wanna do I just say no 'cause it's not my idea." "At Noon" deals with adult life, when mid-workday smoke breaks are fueled by new reasons for an identity crisis: kids and nine-to-five jobs. "And what about your boho soul?" Sweeney presses his other half, "Oh baby, say it's not time for us to start getting up before noon." Call it middle-class rock -- the Trouble create a poignant soundtrack for the every day. (CHRISTINA SARACENO)
Chris Lee Cool Rock (Misra)
Chris Lee looks like an accountant and sings like an angel. The unassuming Brooklyn-based crooner has won the ear of Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley (who released Lee's previous album on his Smells Like Records label and plays drums on his new one) and a number of New York avant jazz players with a sophisticated, mellow sound that reinvents Philly Soul with a downtown New York zip. His keening falsetto is frequently compared to Jeff Buckley's, but where Buckley went for ethereal, haunted dirges, Lee's third album, Cool Rock, opts for sugary, easy-on-the-ears blue eyed acoustic soul ("Lately I Want You") and playful power pop ("Bronx Science (Julie Ann)") that soothes rather than spooks. These songs wouldn't be out of place on a Seventies soft rock station, assuming it played breathy Elliott Smith-like ditties with titles such as "Cossacks of Love" and "(I Was a Teenage) Symphony to God," the latter featuring a scat outro worthy of Al Jarreau. Understated acoustic guitar paints "Nobody Cares for Me," a Mississippi John Hurt blues redone as a fragile lullaby on which Lee proves that soft doesn't have to mean flaccid. (GIL KAUFMAN)
Delerium Chimera (Nettwerk)
Originally a side project of Front Line Assembly's industrial architects Bill Leeb and Rhys Fulber, Delerium's world music-infused, danceably ambient pop tunes have moved them center stage. Now run primarily by Leeb, with Fulber helping out, Delerium continue to augment atmospheric dance tunes with such angelic guest vocalists as Julee Cruise, known for her work with on the Blue Velvet soundtrack, and Sixpence None the Richer's Leigh Nash, among others. Their music, at times, can be seductively soothing (the Nash-sung "Orbit of Me") or exotically upbeat ("Love"), but like Fulber's side band, Conjure One, Leeb's Delerium sometimes gets a little too smooth for its own good. "Run for It," for example, is so overproduced and aloof that it sounds more appropriate for a trendy clothing store than a club. Thankfully, those moments are the exception, and not the rule, on this otherwise engaging collection. (PAUL SEMEL)
Diana Darby Fantasia Ball (Delmore Recording Society)
There's a popular misconception that quiet music has to be gentle music, a notion that's turned on its head on Diana Darby's Fantasia Ball. Subdued guitars provide most of the instrumentation, a cello adds the requisite atmosphere, and bass and drums lurk somewhere in the background, but it's Darby's scraped-dry vocals that hold your attention, murmuring phrases like "Why are all the flowers dying?" or "You taught me how to be afraid" in your ear. Darby has an excellent grasp on how to create a mood that envelops the listener, even as the mood becomes increasingly disturbing, as in "My Own," an ode to mother that ultimately takes a sinister turn. The final track, a stripped down reworking of the Stones' "Blue Turns to Grey," sums up Darby's aching worldview. (GILLIAN G. GAAR)
Allison Moorer Show (Universal)
On this live LP, Moorer's band plays it loose and a little sloppy, avoiding the gloss that made her pop-country studio creations sound a little stiff. Moorer's rich, throaty voice handles the rootsy stuff well, but the album mostly banks on laid-back country rock, with a nice Neil Young cover and a Kid Rock cameo fitting into the mix just fine. (CHRISTIAN HOARD)
Jay Farrar Terroir Blues (Artemis)
Like his former bandmate, Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy, ex-Uncle Tupelo and Son Volt leader Farrar fleshes out his slightly depressive alt-country tunes with spacey psychedelia, subtle electronic touches and arty experimentation. The big difference: Farrar's introverted neofolky material is pretty forgettable. (CHRISTIAN HOARD)
Dead Meadow Shivering King and Others (Matador)
DM's dense, stoner, psychedelic rock channels Sabbath-via-Creem on their third full-length. The inception of the trio's musical journey may have taken place in the aggressively political D.C. punk scene (their first efforts were for Tolotta, a label owned by Fugazi bassist Joe Lally), but instead of marrying politics and heavy guitar rock like the community that preceded them, the Meadow turns on and trips out. Why not, when surrounding mystical lyricism with gratuitous wah-wahs, grimy drum fills and fuzzed-out guitar solos feels so good? Ethereal and surprisingly delicate instrumental asides("Wayfarers All") frame the album's filthy-hot tracks ("Good Moanin'"), foiling thematic powers of good and evil and showing that the Meadow is capable of writing more than just metal. The descent is mesmerizing. (JOAN HILLER)
(June 23, 2003)