SOUNDCHECK

THE DECEMBERISTS


THE CRANE WIFE (3 stars)

The Decemberists are stalwart. Yeah, that’s the adjective I’d use. This Portland band, with its fiddle- and accordion-driven melodies, hyper-literate frontman and song cycles based on Japanese folk tales, is a stalwart outfit. That’s a lot nicer than saying that Colin Meloy and company are pretentious dweebs who have just released a pop-folk concept album. Besides, the latter statement, while factually precise, doesn’t speak to how lovely the album is.

Those who love The Decemberists’ previous album, Picaresque, will be happy to hear that the depths and heights suggested by that record’s best tracks ("The Infanta," "We Both Go Down Together") are reached and exceeded on The Crane Wife. The haunting Civil War lament "Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then)," the heavy-handed rocker "When the War Came" and the 12-minute medley "The Island"—based on the aforementioned Japanese mythology—are sung with heart and conviction by Meloy, filled with soaring peaks and seemingly bottomless valleys, and are quite gorgeous.

Unfortunately, these same songs are so straight-faced and humorless that listening to them would feel almost like schooling, but for the occasional prog-rock breakdowns. I don’t have an adjective to describe how those feel. Fans of the Decemberists will love this record, new converts will admire its songcraft, enemies will deride its pretensions—and all of them will use the fast-forward button at least once.

Elton John


The Captain & The Kid (4 1/2 stars)

I’m going to disagree with Elton John lyricist Bernie Taupin right off the bat. On the title song from The Captain & The Kid, John sings, "And you can’t go back and if you try, it fails." I think John and Taupin are trying to cover themselves here in case The Captain & The Kid doesn’t go over well. John and Taupin most certainly do go back on this disc.

Musically, it’s their best record in three decades.

A sequel to 1975’s autobiographical concept record, Captain Fantastic and The Brown Dirt Cowboy, John and Taupin’s newest batch of songs sound a lot like some of their early ’70s cousins—catchy rock songs with hooky, twist-and-turn choruses.

"Tinderbox," for example, is 2006’s "Tiny Dancer."

It’s not just the lilting melody and catchy piano of "Tinderbox" that convince me of that. I can actually picture Drive-By Truckers and a herd of their groupies sitting on a tour bus somewhere in Middle America singing along to it while an earnest teen writer from Pitchforkmedia.com watches and later joins in.

As for John and Taupin’s love letter to New York City, "Wouldn’t Have You Any Other Way (NYC)," I know I heard a zig-zaggy synth solo near the ending that I also heard the last time I listened to "Funeral For a Friend." "The Bridge" nearly steals the sweet piano melody from "Your Song."

Not everything works. The music in "Just Like Noah’s Ark" sounds like a billion other boot-scootin’ boogies on country radio.

John has said in interviews that Captain Fantastic was about the songwriting pair’s struggle with the climb up, while The Captain & The Kid is about the problems of remaining at the top. For instance, John, once addicted to cocaine and alcohol, sings "The sun is up and the shades are all pulled down/I’m more paranoid with every little sound" on "And The House Fell Down." Nothing as revelatory as the suicide save from "Somebody Saved My Life Tonight," but honest and soulful nonetheless.

So John and Taupin prove here they can go back. But don’t get carried away, boys. Resist the temptation to do Madman Goes Back Across the Water.

THE HOLD STEADY


BOYS AND GIRLS IN AMERICA (4 1/2 stars)

On their third album in as many years, the Brooklyn-by-way-of-Minneapolis quintet pulls off a whole ’nother kind of hat trick, simultaneously producing a classic rock ’n’ roll masterpiece (vocalist Craig Finn’s familiar Springsteen mutter; riff-heavy guitar work), a psychedelic rave-up (swirling keyboards; drugs, drinking and Jesus-speak) and an irony-free examination of the gamut’s worth of disparate emotions that fall under the "love" umbrella. "Stuck Between Stations" opens with a jubilant yet ultimately fatalistic burst; it also presents the album’s overriding metaphor for both altered states and modern romance: "He likes the warm feeling but he’s tired of all the dehydration."

Guitars evolve throughout "Party Pit" from flirtacious noodling to apocalyptic hailstorm as both inhibitions and the social gathering in question rage uncontrolled, while "Chillout Tent" unfolds as a sweetly twisted tale of missed opportunity in the Burning Man Age. There’s even a ballad or two thrown in, notably "First Night," a slow-burning, vaguely countrified hand-wringer dedicated to a downward-spiraling friend. Above all, America is desperate to not merely survive but unapologetically cling to turbulent nights packed with dancing and drugging and youthful lust for life. Why can’t those weekends—and those feelings of invincibility—last forever? Then again, would we really want them to?

Method Man


4:21 THE DAY AFTER (3 1/2 stars)

It’s beginning to look a little like ... 1993. That’s when Wu-Tang Clan clobbered eardrums with the seminal Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers, a never-before-heard mix of gothic-infused street rhymes laid over stark, dark and cacophonous beats. It’s also when we met the Staten Island collective’s unofficial leader, Method Man, a raspy voiced class clown of an emcee with perfect teeth, a Hollywood smile and gift for double entendres. On "Ice Cream," Meth wasn’t talking about Baskin Robbins: "Watch these rap niggas get all up in your guts/French vanilla, butter pecan, chocolate deluxe/even caramel sundaes is getting touched/scooped in my ice cream truck."

Neither the wittiest Wu (that’d be Genius), nor thuggiest (Raekwon), craziest (Ol’ Dirty Bastard) or rhymingest (Ghostface, Killah Priest), he was Most Likely to Earn Crossover Cred—which he did via movies (the poor man’s Cheech and Chong ripoff How High) and television (the poor man’s Fresh Prince ripoff Method and Red.)

With half-hearted efforts on Wu reunion songs and 2004’s utterly forgettable Tical 0: The Prequel, he was in danger of becoming a better actor (not that good) than the rapper he was (bordering on great.)

On 4:21 The Day After (the title refers to the day after April 20, national weed smoking day) it’s back to the spitfire form of 1994’s Tical, which featured classics like "Release Yo’ Delf" and "Bring the Pain."

Back in the Wu-Tang production mix, RZA’s haphazard beats (anything from banging gongs to the sound of a can opener) give Meth the platform he needs. Best of the RZA-produced joints is "Presidential MC," where Meth and Raekwon boast of being lyrical bluebloods. Other good stuff abounds: "Walk On," where he and fellow weedhead Redman trade back-and-forth verses, and the Streetlife-blessed "Everything." The few low points occur when he overreaches for the mainstream—he and Ginuwine are thoroughly unbelievable in love-songy "Let’s Ride."

Bookending Ghostface’s near-perfect Fishscale and Raekwon’s anticipated Only Built 4 for Cuban Linx sequel, 4:21 The Day After rekindles hope that the Wu’s best days might not be behind them.

"Weird Al" Yankovic


Straight Outta Lynwood (3 stars)

It seems like it would be easy to be "Weird Al" Yankovic. Listen to Top 40 radio, pick out one of the big hits, change the words to feature jokes about food or watching TV, rerecord, sell lots of records. Indeed it probably sometimes is that easy; "Polkarama!," the requisite polka-fied medley of recent popular songs on Yankovic’s new album Straight Outta Lynwood, is the epitome of Weird Al on autopilot. But after 2003’s disappointing Poodle Hat, Yankovic shows great wit and verve on at least half of Lynwood’s tracks, and for someone whose musical effectiveness depends greatly on the quality of current pop music, that’s a pretty good rate of success.

On the parody side, Yankovic finds his best targets in self-important R&B singers Usher and R. Kelly—"Confessions Part III" combines Usher’s trademark histrionics with Yankovic’s penchant for songs about relationships gone bizarrely wrong, and "Trapped in the Drive-Thru," clocking in at nearly 11 minutes, proves that Yankovic is able to go toe-to-toe with Kelly in epic, complex story songs (as fans of "Albuquerque," from Yankovic’s 1999 album Running With Scissors, already know). Lead single "White & Nerdy," taking off from Chamillionaire’s "Ridin’," is also sharp and funny.

Anyone doubting Yankovic’s lyrical cleverness only has to look to his originals; couplets like "Jillian was her name/She was sweeter than aspartame" and "She had a smile so incredibly radiant/You had to watch it through a piece of smoked glass," both from "Close But No Cigar," are as evocative as anything by the crack songwriters Yankovic parodies. And closing track "Don’t Download This Song" makes the whole album worthwhile on its own. Not only is it an incisive satire of the record industry’s fear of illegal downloading, but it’s also a pitch-perfect parody of the tone and style of overblown celebrity charity singles like "We Are the World." Naturally, it’s available for free download on Yankovic’s website.