SOUNDCHECK

Janet Jackson


20 Y.O. (2 stars)

It was always nice to think of Janet as the sane, dependable Jackson. Then came the infamous Super Bowl wardrobe malfunction, and suddenly no one cared about Jackson's music; it was all about her breast.

It didn't help that she hadn't had a genuinely great pop hit since "All for You" in 2001. Jackson's new 20 Y.O. (the title refers to the 20 years since her breakthrough album, Control) is meant to rehabilitate both her image and her chart standing, but it's woefully unequipped for the task.

You know you're in trouble when 20 Y.O. starts with a spoken-word intro featuring Jackson musing on her career. There are four more such interludes throughout the album, which ends with Jackson pondering, "Twenty years of questions come down to: Who am I?"

Listening to 20 Y.O., produced both by her longtime collaborators Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis and her longtime boyfriend Jermaine Dupri, it would appear the answer to that question is, "Someone who needs to get laid." Jackson sings almost exclusively about sex and only incidentally about romance, and she's starting to sound a little unconvincing.

If Jam, Lewis and Dupri had come up with some better beats and hooks to back her, the tired subject matter wouldn't make a difference, but 20 Y.O. is a parade of unremarkable tunes, with Jackson's voice often overprocessed and lost in the mix; even Nelly sounds dull on lead single "Call on Me." There's some appealingly slinky sexuality to the electric guitar-flavored "This Body," and "Enjoy" mostly lives up to its title, even with its cheesy, life-affirming lyrics, but you probably liked those songs better when they were called "If" and "Escapade." Jackson took a huge risk when she released Control in 1986—moving from wholesome sitcom star to assertive, aggressive woman—but she's essentially been doing the same thing with the same people since then. Maybe it's time for her to start taking that introspection a little more seriously.

THE LEMONHEADS


THE LEMONHEADS (3 1/2 stars)

Now 40, married, with a new label (Vagrant) and 10 years elapsed since his last go-round with The Lemonheads (currently comprising drummer Bill Stevenson and bassist Karl Alvarez, both formerly of Descendents), '90s alt-rock poster boy Evan Dando returns with the gritty-pretty poetic lyricism and ironically sunny guitar work first showcased on the band's 1992 breakthrough, It's a Shame About Ray. This breakneck, self-titled collection remains upbeat even while exploring the disillusionment of love, innocence lost (i.e., drug use) and deep-seated daddy issues.

And why not? "Let's just laugh," Dando's hazy, winking croon suggests in an ode to shrugging shoulders, killing time and generally slacking life away. "We can never do anything about anything anyway." But elsewhere tedium and suspicion get the better of him; "Baby's Home" is a surprisingly country-fried (even by Dando's standards) tale of infidelity and homicide. The Lemonheads' stoner grunge-pop remains often catchy, rarely rambling and blessedly unhinged overall, and though this eponymous comeback doesn't necessarily cover new ground, it still feels comfy as a ratty thrift-store sweater that never really goes out of style.

Kasabian


EMPIRE (2 stars)

Like a more mainstream version of The Futureheads or Franz Ferdinand, British band Kasabian create bouncy pop songs that are full of verve but not that much heart. Other critics like to describe this kind of music as "angular." I'll just say that it's a lot easier to figure out than geometry. Which is not to say this isn't good music to dance and get drunk to; it's pretty ideal for that, actually. "Shoot the Runner" is all 2 a.m. swagger and would sound just right during a bar fight, no matter what side of the English Channel you're on. Problem is, there's just too much similar Oasis-knockoff growling on this album.

But on "Sun Rise Light Flies," the band does manage to rise above its otherwise low expectations to an orbit that's almost worthy of Muse. The guitars and vocals are epic enough to make you remember it the next morning, or at least to make you remember that The Chemical Brothers and Noel Gallagher created a better version of this song when they recorded "Let Forever Be." At least Kasabian has good taste.

PRIMAL SCREAM


RIOT CITY BLUES (2 stars)

Riot City Blues starts off with an initial swagger that the remainder of the record ultimately fails to match. The rollicking, Stones-like "Country Girl" is so goddamned great that it's difficult to imagine how Primal Scream could possibly sound a bum note in its wake. For the record, the same was true of the similar-sounding "Rocks" (the second track on 1994's Give Out But Don't Give Up) and "Kill All Hippies," the shrieking industrial manifesto that opened 2000's XTRMNTR. Sadly, however, Primal Scream is as capable of missing the mark as it is of producing rock epics, and such is the case here.

Mind you, Riot City Blues doesn't sound too bad. Bobby Gillespie is in excellent voice and the band is sharp, delivering the ballad "Sometimes I Feel So Lonely" and the glam stomp "Dolls (Sweet Rock and Roll)" with a sure-handedness that should please everyone from Brian Eno to the Glimmer Twins. That, unfortunately, is the problem: Riot City Blues sticks so closely by its influences that it could be a covers record. It doesn't stand up to repeat listens—the Stones are still recording, after all, and who needs another Stones clone?

That said, "Country Girl" will sound brilliant on the greatest-hits record Primal Scream really ought to produce. Every song on that record will top the one before it.

KASEY CHAMBERS


CARNIVAL (3 stars)

Raised in the Australian outback, Kasey Chambers broke onto the scene with a musical style that reflected her upbringing—desolate, dusty ballads influenced by the old-school C&W her parents played around the campfire every night. But on her fourth full-length album, Chambers sheds much of the rootsy flavor of her previous work, and the result is her most well-rounded, deeply textured disc to date.

Carnival stands out from Chambers' earlier efforts in a way that most alt-country artists would never even contemplate—there's nary an acoustic guitar on the entire album. Instead, the tracks are layered with fuzzy electric guitar and keyboards that create a more mature sound than Chambers, now 30 and the mother of a two-year-old son, has produced in the past.

Of course, there are a few dour navel-gazers to cement her arthouse cred, but the bouncy pop of "Sign on the Door" would light up the darkest room. "I Got You Now" is a rocker with a driving drumbeat, "Surrender" tiptoes into the world of techno-dance pop, and "Light Up a Candle" takes a sexy, bluesy stroll that leaves you hoping Chambers' transformation is more than a passing fancy.

Mouse on Mars


VARCHARZ (3 1/2 stars)

I'm not nearly schooled enough in Kraut rock to confirm just how successfully Mouse on Mars, on their latest CD, capture the essence of umlautically challenged Amon Düül in the six-minute, 34-second highlight, "Düül," but I do know a good Deep Purple cop when I hear one, and this bottom-heavy thrill-seeker of a track—one hesitates to refer to it as a "tune"—is every bit as insanely propulsive as "Highway Star," even if they do ride the Purple classic right into the ditch early on and just let the wheels spin through the mud for a few minutes.

Allowing the most extreme metal/industrial/sound effects parts of their brains to take over, while applying their studio craftsmanship with a strict regimen that is beyond obsessive (almost like they've got a Steely Dan complex or something), the resulting Varcharz is a mountainous pile-on of instrumental squelchiness and bleeping dissonance, occasionally leavened by detours into semi-satirical Muzak ("Bertney") and cute-as-a-button Pac-Man tributes ("Hi Fienilin"). A few of the longer tracks admittedly wear on the brain after a bit, but this is not some kind of dour mathematical exercise; there is actually—gasp!—a sense of humour at work here.