MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE
THE BLACK PARADE (4 1/2 stars)
Whereas the five-piece's gritty 2002 debut was catchy enough, their raw energy remained unfocused until 2004's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge gave substance to undeniable style. A break-neck, fist-pumping concept album in the same vein as its full-throttle predecessor, Parade is dark with MCR's now-signature death, destruction and despair (even guitarist Ray Toro's prodigious 'fro has gone darker for the occasion). But this time around there's also a bit of keyboard balladry ("Cancer"), winkingly sincere guitar solos ("Teenagers") and burlesque swing ("Mama")—and, most importantly, there's hope. "We'll carry on," Way repeats in the multi-movement jaw-dropper "Welcome to the Black Parade." He later emphasizes the theme during the rousing chorus of closer "Famous Last Words": "I am not afraid to keep on living/I am not afraid to walk this world alone." This final echo is gorgeous and haunting; a more realistic Parade finale than a smiling, waving Santa could ever be.
Julie Seabaugh
WILLIE NELSON
SONGBIRD (4 1/2 stars)
The obvious take would be that Songbird will do for Nelson what the Rick Rubin-led American Recordings did for Johnny Cash—namely, help make a country music icon more relevant to a younger audience, thus broadening his appeal and extending his career. But an equally hopeful outcome would see Nelson's professionalism rubbing off on—and helping to resurrect the career of—Songbird's producer, the multitalented, self-destructive Ryan Adams. Adams, who's been a hit with the hipster set since his days fronting Whiskeytown, has meandered through a prolific but maddeningly inconsistent solo career, at times brilliant but lacking focus and prone to meltdowns both public and private. But here, he teams with his band, The Cardinals, to provide the backbone for the 73-year-old Nelson's trip down a musical memory lane.
The 11 tracks include covers ranging from a rock-tinged version of Gram Parsons' "$1000 Wedding" to a dreamy take on the Grateful Dead's "Stella Blue," from the subtle emotions of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" to a reverential stab at the title cut, penned by Christine McVie for Fleetwood Mac's Rumours album. Nelson kicks in a few originals, including the Dylanesque "Rainy Day Blues" and a couple of tear-in-my-beer classics. Along the way, Nelson and Adams help breathe new life into some old favorites and lift each other to new heights as they position themselves for another healthy swig from the cup of relevance.
Patrick Donnelly
John Legend
Once Again (4 stars)
My main criticism of Once Again, John Legend's follow-up to 2004's triple-Grammy Get Lifted, is his MySpace description of it as "a pop/soul album fueled by intelligence, intuition, sensuality, spirit and creativity."
Right you are, John, about its "intelligence, intuition, sensuality, spirit and creativity." But calling it pop/soul? Huh? Pop is everything soul isn't—unimaginative, insubstantial and, well, soulless. And Once Again is soul writ large, powered by Legend's growth as a singer, songwriter and pianist (a riveting piano burst at the end of "Save Room")—and as a person (tackling new topics such as war and politics and finding ways to make love songs interesting).
It's all about love with Legend. Sure, the lyrics to "Slow Dance" ("Forget about the news, put on your dancing shoes/Let's not talk about the war, I don't know what they're fighting for/I propose we go to the floor and slow dance") and "Show Me" ("Turn the TV off for a minute/That politics and talking shit ain't none of my business") sound like cut-and-run, but he's actually stressing love's importance in tough times.
"P.D.A. (We Just Don't Care)" is about loving hard and not worrying who sees—friends, neighbors, people in the park. On the love-is-painful tip, "Again" encapsulates the emotional tug-of-war in relationships: "Accusations fly like bullets do, damn I love you, but this is crazy/I have to fight you, almost daily/Why can't we just trust each other?/You can hate me, but be my lover."
Thanks to John Legend, real R&B isn't dead.
Damon Hodge
Lady Sovereign
PUBLIC WARNING (3 1/2 stars)
Like any rapper worth her salt, Britain's Lady Sovereign loves herself to pieces, and has less-than-kind words for those not willing to get with the program. More importantly, she loves language. Which is to say she loves toying with words—bending them and coaxing them to work for her ("I'm a walking dictionary/I'm a talking thee-a-saurus"). Potty-mouthed and bordering on abrasive, she understands that comedy is her ticket, and her en-un-ci-at-ion is (usually) superb: cockney to the core but with few subtitles required. Lazy and self-satisfied she ain't. That said, Sov's first stateside album—a collection of new tracks padded out with some previously-released singles—has a stitched-together feel, and it captures greatness only fleetingly (a mixed blessing, in that it leaves me thinking her next album will be stronger). The singles here include the hilariously deadpan "Random" (as in "everybody get ..."), the supremely catchy ska groove "9 to 5," and a shrill but powerful beat-down called "Love Me or Hate Me." All of which are very good, none of which match the loony postpunk intensity of the title track. As an elementary guitar riff locks into a furious pace toward the song's climax, Lady Sov lets loose a string of catcalls ("yah-yah-yah-yah," etc.) with the force of a fire truck tearing down a busy city street. The last 60 seconds of this song are beyond thrilling; My finger's still working overtime on the repeat button.
Scott Woods
Sugarland
Enjoy the Ride (3 stars)
Sugarland's 2004 debut was a stealth shot into the heart of mainstream country. A trio of musicians from folk, gospel and rock backgrounds, teamed up to write songs that tackled traditional country topics in a straightforward, unadorned way, in stark contrast to the gimmicky, showy songwriting still dominating much of country radio. Singer Jennifer Nettles and guitarists Kristen Hall and Kristian Bush were also adept at creating indelible pop hooks, and Sugarland successfully infiltrated the country charts and toured with the likes of Kenny Chesney and Brooks — Dunn.
This seems like the perfect platform for the band to explore, Dixie Chicks-style, their diverse influences, and to bring some adventurousness to mainline country. Instead, Sugarland's second album, Enjoy the Ride, is a homogenized if appealing collection of songs that fit seamlessly into the pervading country paradigm. Principal songwriter Hall has left the group, leaving Bush and Nettles to collaborate with a number of pro songwriters on most of the album's tracks, and superstar producer Byron Gallimore, who's helped craft hits for Faith Hill, Tim McGraw and Jo Dee Messina, smooths out the group's sound with plenty of slick electric guitars.
"County Line" and "Want To" are catchy, easily digestible pop-country tunes that are hard not to like, but, Nettles' rich twang aside, they sound like they could have been written or recorded by anyone. The album reaches its nadir on the irritating novelty tune "Mean Girls," but rebounds on the last two tracks to remind listeners of some of Sugarland's early promise. "Stay," a sweet acoustic ballad, was written solo by Nettles, and "Sugarland," written with Hall, recalls the simple pleasures of the band's debut; pleasures that, one hopes, they'll be able to recapture in the future.
Josh Bell
BRAZILIAN GIRLS
TALK TO LA BOMB (2 stars)
The second album by Brazilian Girls (actually three guys and one girl, all from New York) features a song called "Sexy Asshole." Over a pokey, stuttering electronic beat, Sabina Sciubba (she's the girl!) sings the title and a few German verses in her pillow-soft, alluring voice—and it's almost as if she's in bed with you, crooning those bilingual insults directly into your big, fat, stupid American ear. You should feel like the sexiest asshole in the whole wide world.
That pretty much sums up Talk to La Bomb: There's a party going on all around you, but you haven't been invited to it. There are some fat-bottomed, downright tasty dance tracks here— "Jique," "La Territoire" and the Ric Ocasek-produced "Last Call"—and some slow burners that evoke Tricky ("Nicotine," "Rules of the Game"). But once the band has caught your ear, the strangest thing happens: The hooks dry up, and what was an open invitation suddenly and unexpectedly slams shut.
"All About Us," "Talk to the Bomb" and the aforementioned "Asshole" prove impenetrable—a circle of musicians playing to and for only themselves. Once you've been snubbed by those tracks, even the songs that drew you in seem to turn against you ("Last Call" being an exception; Ocasek knows how to rein in the band's worst tendencies and warms their sound considerably). It's a regrettable attitude, especially with so many great dance parties—hosted by Scissor Sisters, Basement Jaxx and the like—in tantalizing proximity.
Geoff Carter