Reviews by verlainemorrison96

The atrocious album cover confirms that 'nothing's shocking' - its blaring image of sexual violence no longer astonishes or appalls. But the music is, to an extent, shocking, not b/c of its content but b/c it weds heavy metal to a nascent alternative movement. True, other 80s acts like Dinosaur Jr. and the Pixies showcased similar dynamics, but not as forcefully or as plainly as Jane's Addiction: this isn't slacker intelligence or nerdish obscurantists treasuring the odd for odd's sack. This is, simply put, hard-hitting rock 'n' roll. Just listen to Perry Farrell's purpose: 'I want to be more like the ocean / no talking / all action.' The issue is, Farrell tends to talk too much, even if he's plain as muck, and there's only one eternal, superb track: 'Jane Says.'

Jeff 'Skunk' Baxter (lead guitar) and Walter Becker (electric bass) get this record going w/ a nod to The Allman Brothers's genius for instrumental hooks, precipitating an ecstatic and resourceful rock/blues/pop experience. Heavier than Pretzel Logic, b/c featuring more guitar soloing and gut-punching grooves, it's no less colorful or spotlit. I still don't know what Donald Fagen is singing about - 'While the poor people sleeping / With the shade on the light' - but that becomes a part of the fun: an item that is so immediate requiring dissection only gains in pleasure. 'Show Biz Kids' and 'My Old School' are absurdly catchy, but every track here is a memorable apotheosis. 'All I got to say / I'm alive and feeling fine.' Off the wall(s).

'But I've kissed your mother twice / And now I'm working on your dad.' It's wry British humor, that's true, but it's also para 'the common people,’ or so it is supposedly. That is, when Jarvis Cocker isn't intent on outsmarting his audience, which he too often is, there's something resembling a meat-and-potatoes sensibility: 'It's more a case of haves against haven'ts.' The big hits - 'Common People' and 'Disco 2000' - are absolute classics, and 'Live Bed Show,' 'Something Changed,' and 'Underwear' are worthy second-tier slappers, but tracks like 'I Spy' and 'F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.' betray the record's prevailing flaws: too cold, too aimlessly theatric, above all, too fatally competent. I follow it but I'm not so sure I feel it. You feel me?

Exporter of mbalax, a popular Senegalese music, Youssou N'Dour put together a short, accessible, and luminous record w/ Immigrés. I don't know what he sings about, but his voice is bright and elastic, the music is flavorfully upbeat, tho gets a bit too pensive on 'Pitche Mi,' and the whole thing offers moment and authority. Tho not really comparable, N'Dour's voice reminds me of the vocals on many Raï records, showcasing high and wobbling strength. The best track here is the nearly twelve minute 'Taaw,' which has the most powerful drum work and horn play. The weakest song is 'Pitche Mi,' which is an overall lull on an otherwise buoyant, compelling record: the guitar work is too smooth, lacking intensity and optimistic grit.

Mick Hucknall isn't Tom Jones, Bobby Hatfield, or Bobby Caldwell, but he sure can sing nonetheless. His artistry isn't profound, and no song here is as passable as 'Heaven' or 'Holding Back the Years,' but he has enuf talent to overcome the saccharine disco-soul that comprises much of the record. I hesitate to employ the pejorative 'boring,' but that's how it ultimately falls w/ this one: tracks like 'Come to My Aid' and 'Jericho' are dull, not so much blue-eyed soul as shut-eyed soul: yawn, yawn, go to bed. Thing is, when it comes to The Righteous Brothers, classics like 'Unchained Melody' and 'You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling' are what they are: classics, songs I return to constantly. What's here that's got me coming back? No mucho.

'So, I'll leave the ways that are making me be / What I really don't want to be.' I have never had to acquire a deep regard for Nick Drake's music. If anything, I've had to reevaluate my initial impression of his genius. But the more I listen, the more I'm absolutely convinced that he's a special talent, the composer of three uniquely excellent albums. What I admire most is that he's no malcontent; although he offers a morose image, that's mere superficiality: he wants, more than anything, to be rid of his worst habits. He has a real poetic sensibility, w/ evocative lines like: 'Three hours from speaking / Everyone's flown.' The orchestration is never ornamental, only appropriate, and his genre is a superb amalgamation of folk, jazz, blues.

It's not that I don't get the pleasures of sinking into the celerity and flow of the 'bass and drum' sound, it's that the monotony and space-agedness of the enterprise leaves me cold. Stemming from 'jungle,' in reality there isn't much resembling a jungle here, more like a scrambling for the next hit, a hunting for yet another bump. That's something I've experienced and that I've enjoyed, but I gotta be out for that: the impact of such a record is thus too narrowly defined. I know that not all brilliance fits every mood, but I'd like to think that it should accommodate more than one. On top of that, the vocals, provided by Diane Charlemagne and Lorna Harris, are a weak link difficult to overcome: uninteresting, detached. Upswing for influence tho.

'I've got the bombs to make you blow / I got the beats to make it bang.' Far ahead of the rest of us, Maya felt the need to regress morally and politically in recent years, but that's besides the point. This record, like the one that followed, not only gave a voice to unheard millions, but was an artistic and political statement that we hadn't heard since...who? Buffy Sainte-Marie? Peter Tosh? NWA? But this shit's globalized: 'Somewhere in the Amazon, they're holding me ransom.' It's also educational music, not protest music: 'Get yourself an education' is its flavorful dictum. It hits not b/c she has all the answers, or even wants to. It's that she's a one-off, so recognizable and thoroughly universal. Postcolonial, but mostly slamming and palpable.

'I say the time has come for decision / Better steer my boat for a reason'; 'The milky way results from the crowding / Of extremely faint stars'; 'As the fruits of the loops of the friendships that droop.' That which is pretentious and/or nonsensical on this record is more than rectified by an energizing creativity. The instrumentation is erratic but strong, there's an interesting set of backing vocals, and the lyrics, while at times devolving into elective gibberish, are mostly compelling. Above all, there's a true assortment of sounds and ideas, a blending of influences from Simon and Garfunkel to The La's. More innovative than The Strokes (a contemporary), tho perhaps not as tangible, The Beta Band defines an under-the-radar gem. Bang-up.

'Always have to comfort you everyday / But that's what I need you to do, are you gay?' It's her voice, obviously - that innovative throwback that's so much the substance - but it's also the wit, the storytelling, the details, the getting back at in order to get back w/ 'Frank.' Sartorial concerns occupy her - 'your Beastie's tee,' 'your jeans are too tight,' 'The Moschino bra you bought me last Christmas' - but that's b/c life for Amy is in the facts and particulars. She sings w/ flexibility as well as precision, so that while she extends her lines like an r&b singer she has the composure of a jazz singer, which she is. 'Amy, Amy, Amy' (muted trumpet is killing on this one), where do I begin? Not as perfect as Back to Black, but she's invariably essential.

'You can walk it home straight from school / You can kiss it, you can break all the rules.' Radiohead becomes Radiohead, which means Thom Yorke is waxing incoherent while the music is expressive thru experiment. But it's also not quite there yet, so Yorke can be a straightforward moaner and the songs are forthright pop and indie. When a balance is struck, as it now and then is, particularly on tracks like 'High and Dry,' 'Fake Plastic Trees,' '(Nice Dream),' and 'Bullet Proof...I Wish I Was,' it's a prolific cohesion. Often, however, there's a rawness that suggests an indecisiveness and a want of identity, e.g., 'My Iron Lung' is a feeble take on Seattle grunge. I often go for raw origins, but here 'finding their voice' leaves me w/o a strong one.

Impossibly, Jason Pierce (Spacemen 3) manages to be both spaced out and thoroughly grounded. No part of me aimlessly floats listening to this record but, then again, there's a gorgeousness that's got me feeling: 'I wanna step into the breeze.' But vagueness, at least one that doesn't always adhere, has its breaking point, and on this album, that comes w/ 'Symphony Space,' an unnecessary instrumental offering. Lyrically, Pierce has a 'you' in mind throughout, one he doesn't exactly explore but merely addresses, e.g., 'And when you smile / You know you blind me / To all the horrors I see.' Quality production, tho, and elegances such as 'You Know It's True,' 'Shine a Light,' 'Angel Sigh,' and '200 Bars' furnish a triumphant sheen that's undeniably pleasurable.

Too forceful to be indie but too cerebral to be 'guitar rock' (whatever that actually means), The War on Drugs isn't a war at all, more like a unification of various traditions: retrospecting and portending at the same time. Not folk rock either, since they don't neglect soul for a strained profundity or a wistful nothing. Adam Grundeciel sings w/ a contained turbulence in the way of a Bruce Springsteen, while the music balances length w/ essence. Lyrically, there's uplift and pain, like anywhere, but here compellingly and necessarily: 'Don't want another dark time to think to myself / We won't get lost inside it all, you're on my way'; 'I wanna rise on a road / Just let me rise up against the waves.' And wrenchingly beautiful as well.

Their cover of Neil Young is a satisfying and exciting take on that classic, while their sampling verges on MF Doomian peculiarity and creativity. The sweetness of the 60s - not The Beatles but Petula Clark, Lulu, The Crystals ('He hit me / and it felt like a kiss') - gets a house makeover that culminates on tracks like 'Girl VII,' 'Spring,' 'People Get Real,' 'Nothing Can Stop Us Now,' 'London Belongs to Me.' More coherent than The Cocteau Twins and more persuasive than Portishead, Saint Etienne is an imperfect act w/ a whole lot of heart and a talented cast that has engendered enduring songs. A bit long for what it is, no matter, it gives me a pleasure I don't often know where to go to possess. And if you didn't know, 'Carrie's got a boyfriend.'

Sananda Maitreya, formerly known as Terence Trent D'Arby, is at his best when he's full of shit in the right way: 'If You Let Me Stay,' 'Wishing Well,' 'Dance Little Sister,' 'Let's Go Forward.' Yes, three of those are the chief singles of the record, but that's the point: he ain't that deep. He puts his best foot forward by sticking to the horizons of pop. It's when he belts a thing like 'I've gotta hold on / Struggle through another day / To see the fire in my baby's eyes' that he becomes an ordeal. Maitreya can undoubtedly sing, but loads here is pseudo-gospel and pseudo-soul. Besides, even the standout tracks do not match the power of superiors: Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Prince, Michael and Janet Jackson, DeBarge, Smokey Robinson.

After its dadaist entrance, Fear of Music gets frightfully realist: 'Science won't change you, looks like I can't change you / I try to talk to you to make things clear'; 'Had a love affair but it was only paper'; 'I will find a city, find myself a city to live in / Help me'; 'This ain't no mudd club, or C.B.G.B / I ain't got time for that now.' This is the heaviest Talking Heads out there, by far, w/ 'Memories Can't Wait' bordering on Joy Division's later innovations, and 'Heaven' presaging R.E.M's sincere ballads, but somehow there's still a party, rhythmically prompted, happening between the lines. The Talking Heads are never my first thought to throw on, but whenever I do, I am reminded of how impossibly creative, seamlessly inventive they really are.

Zappa, especially + Beefheart, is where so much prog rock wanted to go but never could, too bogged down by pretensions, whereas the former, at least on this record, is all about substance and the goods. Few rock/blues artists can take a turn into European classical form w/o either being utterly overwrought or feebly intellectual, but Zappa doesn't go there to be cool, or to learn precision or perfection, but b/c there's something there that has the potential to pop and swing. 'Willie The Pimp' defines a classic, the best instrumentals are 'Little Umbrellas' and 'The Gumbo Variations,' and the whole gestalt does have a cinematic quality (Zappa's design apparently). I only wish we got more Beefheart - I guess he's the ultimate draw for moi.

My French isn't good enuf for me to appreciate the lyrical quality of this record, but the fact that Serge talks and whispers the 'historie' of Melody Nelson, a vulnerable 14 year-old muse, w/o getting on my last nerve is a testament to the effective dynamism and theatricality of the music. The strings do not detract from the funky quality of the opening track or a song like 'L'hôtel particulier,' and the album is short enuf to avoid the pitfalls of self-indulgence. W/ that said, I cannot tell if the concept is deep or the mere gazing of a male: whom does the story ultimately benefit? Moreover, while it doesn't repel me, Serge's whispering is hardly my preference, and I for sure would've dug vocals that matched the explosiveness of the music.

'When you're drunk you're terrific / When you're drunk / I like you mostly late at night.' Wyatt appears to run the gamut of reality but unfortunately picks up nothing along the way, so that while he ranges from the realist to the fantastical, neither perspective is ever effectively expressed. There're moments of musical ingenuity, specifically Wyatt's vocal abstractions on 'A Last Straw' and the horns on 'Little Red Riding Hood Hit The Road,' but it is often too technical or too weird to be moving or persuasive. I don't think Wyatt is insincere, and he's not going out of his way to be obscure or off the beaten track, but too much of 'We'll not grow fat / the mammary gland' leaves me wanting more in the way of vigor and less in the way of languor.

'And the whole world has to answer right now.' Truth b/c it's impossible not to answer to this guy, as much as you'd like to throw cold water on his career output. He's not only a once-in-a-lifetime talent. W/ the help of the highest level of production (Quincy), he's also the creator of tracks that are reminders of his context while simultaneously giving us groove-attacks as if he's the newest hit on the scene. It's just incredibly difficult to date him. The specifics of this record: more than half of the songs are utterly fantastic ('Bad,' 'The Way You Make Me Feel,' 'Just Good Friends,' 'Another Part of Me,' 'Man in the Mirror,' 'Smooth Criminal'), three are good but not great, and two are duds: 'Speed Demon' and 'Liberian Girl.'