SOUNDCHECK

Gwen Stefani, Clipse, Ciara, Pavement, Plague Songs, Brats on the Beat


Gwen Stefani


The Sweet Escape (2 1/2 stars)

I miss the old Gwen Stefani. Maybe it's not fair to begrudge the once (and future?) No Doubt singer her transformation from O.C. mall rat to pop-star glam queen, but she was so much more endearing when she was a little more insecure, both emotionally and musically. Stefani's second solo album, The Sweet Escape, nearly collapses under the weight of its awkwardly appropriated hip-hop braggadocio, with Stefani distancing herself even further from the sunny, new-wavey pop-rock of No Doubt.

Like Stefani's 2004 solo debut, Love. Angel. Music. Baby., Escape is a bit schizophrenic, with a range of producers and co-writers including The Neptunes (who handle five of the 12 songs), Nellee Hooper, Swizz Beatz and No Doubt bassist Tony Kanal. It finds Stefani not only touting her own hotness, clothing line and Grammy wins, but also often delivering vocals in a style that's not quite rapping but isn't exactly singing, either—it's a sort of dancehall-style patter that sounds inauthentic no matter how much brio Stefani puts behind it.

As she did on LAMB, Stefani sounds most relaxed and appealing on songs that hearken back to No Doubt's breezy pop, most successfully personified in the title track, a bright pop nugget co-written and produced by Akon, and easily the album's best tune. Its successful counterpoint is the sweeping, mournful ballad "Early Winter," co-written with Keane's Tim Rice-Oxley. Both sound like glimpses into what No Doubt might have done had Stefani stayed with them to continue their bold pop experiments; instead she ends up mostly playing second fiddle to hot producers while sounding more concerned about her wardrobe than about her musical direction.



Josh Bell





Clipse


Hell Hath No Fury (3 1/2 stars)

Though Virginia is geographically on the East Coast, its hip-hop style has generally reflected a bifurcated topography—the East's attention to lyricism spliced with the South's embrace of adrenaline-heavy angst. And despite an impressive list of contributors to the genre—The Lady of Rage (arguably the best female lyricist of the early '90s), superproducer Timbaland, Grammy-magnet Missy Elliott, quick-tongued rapper Mad Skills and the we-can-make-anybody-relevant production team The Neptunes—the Mountain State has largely been a musical afterthought, rap's regional Rodney Dangerfield.

Virginia Beach duo Clipse (brothers Malice and Pusha T) represents the Commonwealth well on Hell Hath No Fury, creating a dark album more aligned with East Coast sensibilities: understated wordplay ladled with double meanings and slathered over hollow, if stark, beats.

We've heard the tales of crack sales and triple-beam scales, loose women and itchy trigger fingers ad nauseam, but these Brothers Grim (Malice's real name is Gene Thornton; Pusha's is Terrence Thornton) sound more believable than, say, a 50 Cent, who's thuggin' in a multimillion-dollar Connecticut mansion. There's a definite sense that, hey, if this rap thing doesn't work out, it's back to slangin' on the block.

Songs like "Nightmares," "Dirty Money" and "Momma I'm So Sorry" convey a melancholy sense of constriction, of being trapped in an endless cycle of ghetto crime. Every now and then, the duo encourages people to be smart with their ill-gotten gains. Emblematic of the double entendres is "Keys Open Doors." Yes, keys open actual doors, but Clipse is talking about how keys of cocaine can open doors to a better, albeit more dangerous, life.

Neptune man Pharrell Williams' choruses aren't as grating as his singing ("Hello New World") and neither detracts from what the Thornton brothers do best—make the criminal sound mundane. An ode to their arsenal, "Chinese New Year" manages to be violent without being gratuitous: "In and out of homes like the Orkin man/Never listened to my parents like an orphan man/Strong finger on the trigger like it's in a corpse's hand."

This ain't music for the principled and pious.



Damon Hodge



Ciara


The Evolution (3 1/2 stars)

Ciara's previous release, Goodies, contained three of the best R&B singles of recent years ("Oh," "1, 2 Step" and the title track), but the album was a bust—or maybe the singles were so good nothing else stood a chance. The Evolution is a much stronger statement overall, and I do mean "statement" with all its highfalutin connotations. There's a palpable sense of self-discovery throughout the album. Sometimes it's expressed through a spoken interlude ("I can still feel myself evolving," she says; reminds me of the kid in grade school who claimed that he felt his feet growing in bed!); more often it's implicit in Ciara's performance, which demonstrates the requisite amount of verve for modern R&B, but also a strong awareness of what she's capable of vocally.

The truth is, Ciara doesn't have the vocal range that Mariah or Christina or Beyoncé have, but without gesticulating wildly or flapping her hands about, she taps into quieter reserves of emotion than her contemporaries (I just find her more likable than Mariah, et al., even while acknowledging that they can all sing circles around her).

"Promise," a luscious ballad, is the highlight here, but I'm also partial to the crazed psychedelic militarism of "Bang it Up" and the loopy motivational exercise, "Get In, Fit In."



Scott Woods




PAVEMENT


WOWEE ZOWEE: SORDID SENTINELS EDITION (4 1/2 stars)

That Pavement—the '90s indie-rock deities known more for their unbothered, slapdash recording aesthetic than for any specific song—have embarked on a painstaking catalog preservation program will certainly go down as one of this decade's least predictable musical developments. Beginning in 2002, the every-other-year reissue project has lavished the band's first three albums with expanded liner notes and artwork; rarities, outtakes and live cuts galore; and, yes, even (apparently) remastered sound.

Third installment Wowee Zowee, first released in 1995, is generally considered the third-best LP, but the original 18-track program makes a compelling case as an equal to Slanted and Enchanted and Crooked Rain Crooked Rain in the Pavement pantheon. More than any time before or since, principal songwriter Stephen Malkmus brought a try-anything—make that try-everything—recipe into the studio, resulting in an idiosyncratic sonic bouillon where in-your-face punk slabs ("Serpentine Pad," "Flux = Rad"), loose-fitting rockers ("Rattled by the Rush," "AT&T"), zigzagging epics ("Grave Architecture," "Half a Canyon") and decade-defining anthems ("Grounded," "Fight This Generation") butt heads initially yet sit comfortably alongside one another in the final analysis.

Specific sound improvements are tough to detect, but that shouldn't stop anyone from coughing up $15 for the new two-disc upgrade. The Sordid Sentinels Edition collects key B-sides and compilation tracks like "Easily Fooled," "Give it a Day" and "Painted Soldiers," along with five outtakes and 13 free-wheeling live numbers (check out the alternate lyrics on "Fight This Generation"), the wildest of which only reaffirm that a meticulously organized Pavement sure is one odd oxymoron. Not that we're complaining about the returns.



Spencer Patterson



VARIOUS ARTISTS


PLAGUE SONGS (4 stars)

Plague Songs, a 4AD/Artangel release, is a concept record based on the biblical book of Exodus. Each of its 10 songs corresponds to one of the plagues inflicted upon ancient Egypt by God to convince Pharaoh to free the Israelites from servitude. Before you feel obliged cry a plaintive "wholly Moses," I'd remind you that this story has been told previously by Charlton Heston and Family Guy; in that company, there is little that the likes of Laurie Anderson and Rufus Wainwright can do to add insult to infestation.

The insect plagues land in capable hands. The Magnetic Fields' Stephin Merritt defines "The Meaning of Lice" with a breezy synth-pop gallop; Brian Eno and Robert Wyatt underscore the stately "Flies" with all-too-human buzzing noises; and locusts sound downright inviting as they swarm through Imogen Heap's Eurythmics-like "Glittering Cloud." British MC Klashnekoff gives "Blood" a streetwise and righteous bump-and-grind, The Tiger Lillies relate a Tom Waits-like morality tale with "Hailstones," and Rufus Wainwright delivers his usual sublime vocals on the elegiac "Katonah." Far from being a stunt release or an unlikely union of disparate talents, Plague Songs is one of those rare records that can soften a hardened heart.



Geoff Carter



VARIOUS ARTISTS


BRATS ON THE BEAT: RAMONES FOR KIDS (2 1/2 stars)


Kidz Bop with a faux-hawk? Parent-friendly alternative to the Wiggles? Or questionable bid to turn even pre-pre-teens on to modern pop-punk music (all the better to seize their meager allowances later in life)?

With Brats on the Beat, stalwart anti-establishment label Go-Kart Records has brought together a crop of bop-'til-they-drop singers—including Pennywise's Jim Lindberg, The Donnas' Brett Anderson, Alkaline Trio's Matt Skiba, TSOL's Jack Grisham and ex-Queens of the Stone Age vocalist-bassist Nick Oliveri—and the Gabba Gabba Hey Singers (a bunch of hyped-up, clap-happy rugrats) to reimagine 12 of the Da Bruddas' three-chord barnburners. The kids are losing their minds, indeed.

The results are no big surprise: a rapid-fire collection that is essentially harmless, impossible to take seriously and probably, in the long run, downright inevitable. Still, it is mildly amusing to hear a chorus of ankle-biters bemoaning the end of the '70s ("Do You Remember Rock ‘N Roll Radio?") and promoting hitchhiking ("Rockaway Beach"). On the upside, a portion of proceeds benefit St. Jude's Children's Hospital. One can only hope at least a few of the patients are recovering glue-sniffers.



Julie Seabaugh


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