Beck
THE INFORMATION (2 1/2 stars)
It almost sounds like Beck's holding back, no longer willing to just freestyle and create singular nonsense like he did on earlier albums. On songs like "Strange Apparition," Beck's a little forlorn but nowhere close to breaking down like he might have in his youth. As admirable as emotional control can be, it's pretty damn boring when you're creating art. And all the blips and spacey noises throughout the album do little more than annoy—they sound mostly like somebody's cell phone keeps going off.
But then Beck goes and drops a song like "New Round" that reminds you of his great range. It's a folky lullaby like few others. It, like the also-notable "No Complaints," is proof that nervous energy doesn't mean you have to tear stuff up. Sometimes, it makes you want to slow things down. Of course, the song right after "No Complaints" is the decent "1000BPM," so maybe there's no need to make up your mind.
Andy Wang
Josh Bell on Joshua Bell |
I've been aware of violinist Joshua Bell, who's as much of a superstar as one can be in the world of classical music, for some time now. It's rare that people mention his name when I tell them mine, but every once in a while a classical-music aficionado will make a crack about my skills on the violin. It also makes Googling oneself a bitch (that unfortunate habit has also taught me much about Josh Bell the minor-league baseball player and Josh Bell the poet). As far as celebrity namesakes go, Joshua Bell isn't a bad one to have; he's not out dating starlets or getting arrested for DUIs, but he has performed on the Grammys and was named one of People's "50 Most Beautiful People" a few years back. Bell's new album, Voice of the Violin, finds him performing compositions originally written for singers. Like most classical music, it worked perfectly well for me as background music but never really commanded my attention. Playing it on my drive home one day, I occasionally forgot that it was even on, but stopping at a red light just as Bell launched into a particularly passionate passage, I couldn't resist indulging in a little air violin, a moment of kinship with the more talented version of myself. |
VARIOUS ARTISTS
ROGUE's GALLERY: PIRATE BALLADS, SEA SONGS AND CHANTEYS (4 stars)
We've been through lounge-core and emo-core, me hearties, which means the time is ripe for chantey-core. While making the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie, Johnny Depp and director Gore Verbinski got the jones for a record of pirate songs—and before anyone could put the "arrr" in "various arrrtists," producer Hal Willner had assembled a motley crew of talents that included everyone but Motley Crue. Rogue's Gallery boasts a boatload of offbeat talents, from Nick Cave to Lucinda Williams to actor John C. Reilly, singing songs of the briny sea—and, by thunder, it ain't half-bad. Many of the two-disc set's best moments come when some of Willner's press-ganged minstrels step out of their comfort zone. Bryan Ferry's vocal on "The Cruel Ship's Captain" is raw and ragged, completely opposite of everything he's ever done. "Blood Red Roses" brings out the cutthroat deck hand in Sting. Even Ricky Jay—Ricky Jay, matey!—puts down his loaded dice to recite a piece. It's solid entertainment, from stem to stern. That said, few come close to Seattle-based folk singer Baby Gramps, whose spirited performance of "Cape Cod Girls" could have been made hundreds of years ago. His raspy vocals—nearly indiscernible in timbre from a digeridoo—seem suited to nothing but chanteys. When he sings, you could swear you're rocking with Popeye.
Geoff Carter
Evanescence
THE OPEN DOOR (2 1/2 stars)
The first Evanescence album, 2003's Fallen, was unfairly lumped in with the booming nu-metal movement, misrepresented by the guest spot from 12 Stones singer Paul McCoy on hit single "Bring Me to Life." Fallen was really more of a goth-rock record, with nods to old school metal courtesy of Metallica-loving guitarist Ben Moody.
Since then, Moody has left the band, leaving singer Amy Lee to essentially construct a new group (she and Moody were mostly joined by studio musicians on Fallen). Former Cold guitarist Terry Balsamo is Lee's principal collaborator on The Open Door, co-writing nine of the album's 13 songs. And, with few exceptions, the album finds Evanescence sounding exactly like what their detractors accused them of being in the first place: a mediocre nu-metal band with an ethereal, Tori Amos wannabe for a singer and the occasional faux-goth keyboard flourish.
Lee's voice is as powerful as ever, and the songs she writes solo—"Lithium," "Like You" and "Good Enough"—tend to have a more sweeping, epic feel than the collaborations with Balsamo; that balance between piano-driven ballads and hard rockers worked well on Fallen. But Balsamo isn't able to come up with any memorable riffs on the guitar-driven songs and isn't much of a lead player. Nothing comes close to Moody's Master of Puppets-era playing on the Fallen stand-out "Tourniquet."
Lyrically, Lee is still tortured and angsty, although she sounds a little more empowered, admonishing a boyfriend to "Call Me When You're Sober" on the lead single and generally sounding liberated from people (including Moody, no doubt) who were holding her back. It's a positive sign for her musical future, as long as she finds bandmates who can match her passion with equally vibrant musical support.
Josh Bell
Sparklehorse
DREAMT FOR LIGHT YEARS IN THE BELLY OF A MOUNTAIN (2 1/2 stars)
It took Mark Linkous, aka Sparklehorse, five years to churn out his fourth album, a period marked by titanic battles with depression and drug abuse. But comebacks are nothing foreign to Linkous, who was nearly paralyzed a decade ago following a bizarre incident in which he lost circulation to his legs while he slept, forcing him to perform in a wheelchair until he recovered.
Now, he's back with his innovative blend of electronica, rock and twang, crafted in new environs, having moved from his Virginia home to a new studio in North Carolina's Smokey Mountains. He's also brought along Danger Mouse, half of flavor-of-the-month Gnarls Barkley, who claims co-producer credits on four tracks.
Fans of Linkous' past work will instantly recognize the distorted, overmodulated vocals, fuzzy guitars and distant, echo-laced twists that haunt you though the haze. Highlights include "Don't Take My Sunshine Away," with its mournful violin and acid-rock breakdown; "Ghost in the Sky," an uptempo pop-rocker that would fit in with most radio playlists if not for the feedback-heavy vocals; and "Knives of Summertime," with its dark lyrics and droning beat that drive you slightly mad, and right back into Linkous' twisted embrace.
Patrick Donnelly
The Rapture
PIECES OF THE PEOPLE WE LOVE (2 stars)
Apparently The Rapture grew weary hearing whispers that the band was less responsible for its bewitching brand of dance-punk than touted production duo James Murphy and Tim Goldsworthy, better known as turn-anything-riveting team The DFA. So the New York quartet brought on three fresh studio sorcerers and made Pieces of the People We Love, a disc that makes the most convincing case that, in fact, The DFA was the linchpin holding The Rapture franchise together.
The group's second full-length album contains nearly as many winning ideas as 2003 predecessor Echoes, and probably more than 2001 EP Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks. But where those projects' best cuts—"I Need Your Love," "Sister Savior," "Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks" and, of course, underground club hit "House of Jealous Lovers"—succeeded largely on the backs of their groovy yet perceptibly dark presentations, the 10 tunes on Pieces feel as though they were engineered with the most obvious, undistinguished draping possible.
One of beat-layer du jour Danger Mouse's two contributions, "Calling Me," stands out somewhat for its jittery, layered approach, but Brits Paul Epworth and Ewan Pearson wipe the same bouncy, overslick sheen over their eight tracks, stripping the intensity from Luke Jenner's vocals, wiping the danger-around-the-bend vibe from the music and making fans yearn for the old production pair with the cool, three-letter acronym.
Spencer Patterson