By Seth Colter Walls
By Brett Koshkin
By Spencer Wilking
By Christina Black
By Calum Marsh
By J. Pablo
By Phillip Mlynar
By Jenna Sauers
The New Danger
Musically, Mos Def has always been a little dullso caught up in his own smarts he let verbal flow carry his albums. Here the defining flow is sonica shadowy, guitar-drenched tone poem of the streets. Songs transmute into raps as the album shifts from Black Jack Johnson blues-metal toward smoother beats that quote Hairand twice reference What's Going On in mix and mood as well as content before building to a soulish horn band, some catchy rock nonsense overdubbed entirely by Mos Def, a heart ballad he very nearly sings, and a party-ready requiem cum call to action. "My work is personal, I'm a workin' person/I put in work, I work with purpose," he reminds anyone who would reduce "hard work" to a right-wing slogan. But an equally telling lyric on an album whose secret hero is Bad Brains' Dr. Know is a silly one: "Black Jack Johnson NYC/R-O-C-K-I-N-G." A MINUS
Most of the musicians are Malian, but on just two songs the dread Kronos Quartet establish the size, clarity, and justness of this young pretender's ambitions. Not merely because both tracks are strikingly beautifulalthough Kronos recorded in Marin County with a separate producer, they fit right in on a collection whose delicate formalism seems deeply African despite its intermittent groove, and also specifically Malian (the lyrics are in Traoré's native Bamanan, a minority tongue). Overrated overreachers like Susana Baca and Milton Nascimento couldn't equal the lithe discretion that cloaks her sense of drama if they had the sense to try. The translations are welcomethis is a strong, modern woman. But before long that vulgar manifestation of the music's meaning is subsumed in sound. A MINUS
Dawson's high little voice and whimsical imaginings camouflage a brave heart that gives her the courage to be sillyand enables her to confront psychological dysfunction more candidly than any mopeaholic or drama queen to come to my attention (which both types admittedly have a hard time getting). Her chin-up ditties don't connect every time, but her abandonment of home recording will win new listeners anyway. Pop quiz: Who do you think is the target of the do-what-I-do advice "They can't all be ballads Julian"? A MINUS
"Oh, who's that? Oh, oh that's your girl, you're with her? She looks like everyone else in heah." The dis caps a spoken-not-rapped intro mini-skit, and the intonation is perfect: Jay-Z in cute braggart mode. Grae can rhyme, and if she had a male larynx and a production budget (plus a little luck and additional applications of promotional muscle), her hype men, chipmunk soul, minor-key piano hooks, and "I wanna rock a fella so bad" might stand underground on its head. But she doesn't have those things; she's an "insecure failure/Can barely maintain I wanna scream like Mahalia." Thus her triumph remains strictly aesthetic, and pretty strange, which in the long run can only increase her insecurity. She needs a message bad. B PLUS
Handsome Boy Modeling School
Not the better class of white people, I'm afraid, although Paul and Dan manage to ground lounge-and-proud Chan Marshall, Julee Cruise, and Jamie Cullum more firmly than usual after feckless rocker Mike Patton gets away from them. Instead, what carries the album is, I swear, the skitsGuido Sarducci and Tim Meadows turn out to be as replayable as Posdnuos and Trugoy. Suitably, the very best of these, Meadows's "Knockers" ("Oh, wait one second, my illegitimate son is here"), climaxes the multipartite tour de force "Rock and Roll (Could Never Hip Hop Like This) Part 2," the sole occasion when the perfectly interesting rock tracks hip hop enough. The hip hop, fortunately, hip hops plenty. B PLUS
The Way I Were
John Lennon gets to unveil a throwaway like "Oh Yoko" as the stroke it is. But can an unknown risk such a thing? Not if he craves respect. As it turns out, there are several such strokes among these demos, all preceding or circa 1989's overworked The Trouble Tree and 1992's fine-tuned Can You Fly. Johnston would never put the multi-tracked talkathon "Happy Birthday" or the folkie rave-up "Friend in the City" on a real album, but both achieve a fun his real albums avoid with no sacrifice in ambivalence or bite. And then there are great lost outtakes like "I Do, I Do," in which the excited suitor awaiting the delivery of his mail-order bride croons, "I'm the guy you're belonging to"not, for instance, "I'm the guy you're longing for." Get somebody else to splice on the guitar-bass-drums and that would be a Can You Fly bonus track to remember. A MINUS
Predictably, Morrison's predictably intelligent solo debut puts personality where the Dismemberment Plan's synergy used to be. If the old ploy almost works, that's because he gets synergy out of sidemen and because the album's better half focuses on his circumstances rather than his feelings, which bog the songs down toward the end. Try "Born in '72," a detailed account of privilege's lineaments and limitations, and don't think you're too well-informed for the edutaining ditties about the penny, the nickel, the dime, and the quarter. B PLUS
These Tuaregs never get loud. Their tempos are deliberate, their sonics indigenous; their percussion comprises a single derbouka drum and some handclaps, and their chants eschew showmanship. Not that they're above reaching out, or marketingthey consciously costume themselves as desert exotics. But rarely has such a compelling electric-guitar band offered less rock and roll release. Even when they're inventing Sahara rap their goal is contained self-sufficiencya principled nostalgia for the community that has been wrested from them. A MINUS
In the mid '90s, before Black Star, Mos Def joined his little brother DCQ and great lost female Ces in this trio, and he's never been more likablehis wisdom is still eager, too untested for the quiet-confidence bit he developed soon enough. DCQ's broader style is downhome in a world where Bed-Stuy is Dixie. Ces is so articulate and directa woman speaking as a human, like Lyte at her bestyou feel how the indie-rap boys' club must have gotten her down. And the market-ready kung fu of their demos moves with a catchy quickness. A MINUS
Dud of the Month
Iknow it's hard to get a grip on, kids, but people keep getting older. They don't just reach some inconceivable benchmark50 or, God, 60and stop, Old in some absolute sense. The bones, the joints, the genitals, the juices, the delivery systems, and eventually the mind continue to break down, at an unpredictable pace in unpredictable ways. Leonard Cohen has had No Voice since he began recording at 33. But he has more No Voice today, at 70, than he did on Ten New Songs, at 67the tenderness in his husky whisper of 2001, tenderness the way steak is tender, has dried up in his whispered husk of 2004, rendering his traditional dependence on the female backups who love him more grotesque. Nor does noblesse oblige underlie all the adaptations and settingsLord Byron, Patti Page, a Quebecois folk song, various dead Canadian poets, himself. Rather they reflect the same diminished inspiration that makes you wonder whether his 9/11 song is enigmatic or merely inconclusive. Not only do I like the guy, I'm Old enough to identify with him. But I doubt I'll ever be Old enough to identify with this. On her deathbed, my 96-year-old mother-in-law was still relying on Willie Nelson's Stardust. That's more like it. B
Additional Consumer News
Poet's "industrial punk-hop" picks up big-time with just a little help from Sirj Tankian, Zack de la Rocha, or Bad Brains ("List of Demands," "Talk to Strangers")
The Best of the Early Years
Roots of the mecca of tourist music, roughly replicating the '20s 40 or 50 years later ("Olympia on Parade," "When the Saints Go Marching In")
Ancestry in Progress
Pygmies and babies sing the African diaspora that is her life ("Whatdidusay?" "Zap Bébés").
In New South Wales as in Nashville, heart tuggers are hard to get right ("Pony," "Guilty as Sin").
Songs and Artists That Inspired Fahrenheit 9/11
Rediscoveries, recontextualizations, redundancies, and new stuff (Little Steven & the Disciples of Soul, "I Am a Patriot"; Zack de la Rocha, "We Want It All")
Afrika Bambaataa and the Millennium of the Gods
Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light
Electro party for the party's sake, like back in the day ("Got That Vibe," "Take You Back")
Her heart cherishes Jesus' memory, but her mind, voice, and soul remain her own ("He Reached Down," "I've Got That Old Time Religion in My Heart").
Here for the Party
If not a true redneck woman, then an incredible simulation ("The Bed," "Homewrecker")
The Neville Brothers
Walkin' in the Shadow of Life
Funk meets junk in the real nitty gritty ("Kingdom Come," "Rivers of Babylon").
U-Know the Flex: The Mix Tape Vol. 01
DCQ a/k/a Illson avoids commercial compromise, which he could use (Mos Def, "Beef"; Medina Green, "Crosstown Beef").
The Beautiful Struggle
Maybe it's beautiful to mention Sierra Leone and build chart cred on the same record, maybe just impossible ("Around My Way," "Going Hard").
Preservation Hall Jazz Band
"That Bucket's Got a Hole in It"
(Shake That Thing,Preservation Hall)
(Tell Us the Truth: The Live Concert Recording,Artemis)
"Oval Room," "Springtime in Uganda"
(Oval Room,Lost Art)
Beth Nielsen Chapman
The Dana Owens Album (Universal/A&M)
(Peanuts & Corn)
Artemis, 130 Fifth Avenue, NYC 10011, artemisrecords.com; Babygrande, c/o Koch, 2 Tri-Harbor Court, Port Washington NY 11050, email@example.com; Bar/None, PO Box 1074, Hoboken NJ 07030, bar-none.com; Barsuk, PO Box 22546, Seattle WA 98132, barsuk.com; Fader, 71 West 23rd Street, 13th floor, NYC 10010, saulwilliams.com; Illson Media, studiodistribution.com; Jetset, 67 Vestry Street 5C, NYC 10013, jetset.sinner.com; K, PO Box 7154, Olympia WA 98507, krecs.com; Tommy Boy, 120 Fifth Avenue, 7th floor, NYC 10011, tommyboy.com; World Music Network, 6 Abbeville Mews, 88 Clapham Park Road, London SW4 7BX, England, firstname.lastname@example.org; World Village, c/o Harmonia Mundi, 2037 Granville Avenue, Los Angeles CA 90025, harmoniamundi.com
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